Hurricane Season

Title: Hurricane Season
Fandom: Post FE10
Character/Pairing: IkeSoren
Summary: With Ike’s arms pulling him close, the storm outside seemed very far away indeed.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,777. Cool.
A/N: Ahahah, here’s a late-in-everything written in response to http://i42.tinypic.com/ehx9v5.jpg by blacklacelily (and what better way to celebrate Hurricane Ike? Albeit quite a bit late)

It was also meant to be something of a Christmas gift, except she hates the holiday so– nondenominational winter gifttiem? Or just a feelbetter gifty? Hope it helps...? The latter part was also inspired by a MUD log with r_amythest which I assure you did not turn out half as interesting as this did.

Finally, thanks to searains for being a good porn muse and holding my hand while I poked her with snippets. Without you, this probably would’ve been finished by next October.

--

Soren’s mouth was a thin line as he watched the dark clouds that came in, slowly filling the skies with their presence. They had followed the Aegeelis river for many miles now, it was wide and yet filled with rocks and swift currents. Soren didn’t dare try crossing it despite that their destination lay over its most brutal rapids.

Soren would rather go many miles out of his way than risk a makeshift splitting against the rocks, leaving them helpless to the swirling waters, though Ike seemed unsurprised by this. But, perhaps this was his reaction to everything. His sense of travel was languid and unhurried. He cared less about the destination and more about the task of getting there.

“It would be best to find a town soon,” Soren said.

He peered again at the clouds, they looked as if the gods had some unresolved anger at the mortals below. While hardly superstitious, Soren hoped that they hadn’t come upon a land cursed by heaven, he’d hate to have the sins of foolish mortals glance off on them and their travels.

They’d been traveling for most of the day and after wading through the last stream Soren’s boots had warped. Shoddy workmanship indeed. That was what he got for buying in a ignorant bumpkin village. They probably didn’t even know how to hold the tools right.

With the stormy season close at hand, they walked. Soren willed himself to ignore the stabbing pain in his left foot, running upwards with each step. It grew harder to do with each step along the way. Even with Ike’s overt suggestions, Soren refused to stop and rest, choosing instead to read the map while walking. According to the map, there was one about 25 miles northwest. If they pressed hard they could reach it within a day, maybe two.

Soren gritted his teeth. The safety would be worth the pain in the end.

However, it wasn’t five minutes before Ike caught on.

“You’re hurt,” Ike said.

“It’s nothing,” Soren replied. “I can rest later.” when we’re safe he thought.

“Well, since you won’t rest, I’ve no choice then.”

Ike swept Soren up into his arms before he could raise a complaint. Their each knew the limits of their own stubbornness, and Ike knew that Soren wouldn’t give in just as much as Soren knew that Ike would persist.

“It’s too heavy– You’ll hurt yourself,” Soren said. He steadied himself on Ike’s broad shoulders,
enjoying the feel of the strength beneath his fingers.

“You’re light, and hardly carrying anything anyways,” Ike said. “I can barely feel you.”

Soren grimaced at this. He hadn’t been able to carry much in the way of supplies, though they always packed lightly regardless of the fact. He wrapped his arms around Ike’s chest, tucked under his chin. Soren felt a mixture of pleasure and petulance, pleasure at the closeness and petulance that he’d been thrown over Ike’s shoulder like a rag doll, like some thin and inconsequential thing. But perhaps his greatest irritation was at himself, his own body for betraying him in a place where they could not afford weakness. There would be no reinforcements if hurt, and a damaged muscle could have him out for weeks, even months. They could not rely on the kindness of friends in this wild land, they only had their own resources. If those resources dried up, then so would they.

The dark maws of the clouds pressed onwards, eating up every trace of sky blue around them. A rumble of thunder echoed over them, long and drawn out in its throaty growl.

Soren could only hope that they’d reach the next town before the deluge came.

*

After studying the map some more, Soren noticed a small town that he hadn’t before in the poor lighting. It was barely a dot on the map, probably only a mere village or trading post. As well, it was perhaps more out of their way and would make the return journey more complicated. However, it was several miles closer, and with flashes of lightning playing over the murky skies, Soren did not wish to chance fate’s will.

It was five miles southwest, through a small wood that had many twisting paths, and yet was marked with signs. The signs were old, rotted with paint flaking and even crossed off-center. A bad sign, however Soren had little else to trust in this old wood with its soft mossy ground and muddy paths. It could result in them losing days for being lost, but no maps chronicled the tiny unnamed wood.

When the first drops of rain filtered through the trees, the forest had finally begun to widen, in the clearing they could just make out the shape of a town in the distance.

By the time they reached the town, both Ike and Soren were soaked.

*

After a booking a room, they both set aside their packs and began to strip off their wet clothes to dry. A well-kept fire crackled at the fireplace, and Soren nodded at it in satisfaction. It was warm and dry, though somewhat sparse. Comfortable was the best word for it. The innkeeper’s wife had been kind enough to draw some hot water for a bath, and the bath itself was surprisingly large. Soren had expected only a washtub, if that.

Built into the wall, of a border of brick and wood and filled with some metal Soren didn’t immediately recognize, the inn showed comforts that belied the size of the town.

Soren peeled off his wet clothes. They clung to him like a second skin. Ike soon followed suit, though he was hampered by buckles and leather. Soren helped unbuckle and strip of the leather. After much practice of taking off Ike’s clothes, he’d gotten quite good at the undoing of such measures.

Soren had thought to offer first bath, but Ike’s attention had been distracted by the plate of food that awaited him. Truly, this inn was a hospitable one indeed.

Though Soren felt like merely falling to the covers and giving in to the delirious siren song of sleep that compelled him on, he made himself wash away the grime with towel before easing into the tub. The heat was a shock to his skin but Soren couldn’t risk hypothermia. He waited for his body to adjust internally, muscle and blood and viscera expanding from their contracted state. It lulled him to a state of relaxation, of almost-sleep that was only broken when he felt the water dip and another body slip into the tub on the opposite side of his.

Soren’s eyes flitted open to find Ike resting his arms over the edge of the bath. For once, it seemed Ike had followed his example and washed off the accumulated dirt before bathing, something Soren had constantly harped on Ike about.

Before Soren could raise a complaint, Ike answered, as if anticipating it.

“It’s better this way, you’re always talking about ‘saving time and energy’. Well this does both.”

Soren could hardly argue with that.

Soren felt Ike touch his leg where it rested. It was a brief, intimate touch that was not a unspoken question, or an invitation, but merely an affirmation that he existed. Soren gave a weary half smile. He could feel Ike’s leg against his own, muscled thigh brushing his own, much more slender thighs.

“Tomorrow, we’ll do this properly,” Ike said.

And Soren knew that promise would be kept.

*

Ganala was a modest town.

There was not much to check through at first passing. No libraries or ruins or shrines with histories of healing the sick, rasing the dead or even of immortality. The marketplace was sequestered in the town center, most of the streets from it lead to simply more streets or dwellings in a tight knot of pathways.

Soren purchased some needed supplies, they had been lucky that the Aegeelis river was full of fish during this time, but this country offered little in the way of plant life except scrub brush and poisonous berries. Not that Ike would complain of the lack of salads, at least not until he got scurvy. There was imported fruit from the north, a tart yellow thing with an unpronounceable name, some leafy vegetables as well as plenty of dried fruit and meat for provisions.

Soren glowered at the coming storm. It had returned for more after the first day’s downpour. They were far enough from the sea to miss the worst of it, but with the storms the river clawed at the banks, almost eager to devour anything in its path.

They would be stuck for days at this rate.

Still, it was better to be safe and ensconced away than to be anywhere near the water at this time. A nagging worry of the Aegeelis overflowing pressed at his mind, scraping and cutting across his thoughts. Soren dismissed it. They were at a reasonable enough distance, the people of Ganala haven chosen to live at a short distance from the Aegeelis rather than on the banks. It caused more work to bring in the fish or trade, and some of the youth did want to move and expand ever closer. The memories of the elders, stopped them, however. For they had lived through the year of 614 where it rained until the river was filled with dark murky water, overflowing at the banks. The currents had been vicious sweeping away the firmament and their foundations with it.

From then on, their glory crushed and population halved, Ganla was never again known as a river town.

*

And it poured. How it poured. Soren watched out the window, gloomy and dour at the prospects. As a worst case scenario, this could set them behind in their schedule, and Soren didn’t want to take the brunt of the stormy season when it came to traveling the coast. Inland was wild and overgrown, filled the thieves and barbarians. While the worry of supplies was momentarily silenced, more worries sprouted from its corpse. A start too late could end up being disastrous, in these wild lands there was no shortage of dangers. From famine to floods, attacks to disease, away from Tellius’ safe harbors, any fear could surface and turn to truth.

If worse came to worse, they could winter in a place, though he preferred not a small town like this, a town built on memories of past glory with little knowledge to offer except myths and fairytales.

Soren tossed aside his maps in disgust. Ike, however, slept on, he was peaceful in his slumber, so deep it would take for more than the thunder coming to wake him.

It was too dark for graphing, too wet to brave the outdoors and find if there were any local tales about the wildlife out there. An entire morning’s work would be wasted stuck here. He could plot out what to do for the morrow, but without his maps it would be somewhat lacking. Besides, plotting with rain ready to delay his plans would only lead to frustration and obsession, and he’d had enough of that of late.

Soren’s brooding was interrupted by a shifting and squeaking of the bed. He turned to see Ike blinking into the grey light. The bedcovers had fallen down and his bare chest was exposed. Ike never slept in shirts, even in the winter.

“Come to bed,” Ike said. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, as if he craved that rest and blackness and forgetting again. With only a slight bit of reluctance, Soren complied. Soren felt an arm around his midriff. Ike pulled him closer in the small bed. The cold was soon forgotten.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice me leaving. You’ve slept through thunderstorms and hurricanes,” Soren said.

“‘was cold,” Ike muttered.

“You never have a problem with heat,” Soren said.

Sleep seemed close at had, Soren felt his body growing heavy as drowsiness began to overtake him. However he wasn’t so far gone that he hadn’t felt Ike’s hands searching over him. Soren moaned, in his state of half-sleep he felt Ike kiss his neck, and a simple question was asked without words.

Shaking the the remaining groggy feeling, Soren arched against Ike’s touches, wherever skin brushed, flinty heat rose up inside him. Each press of Ike’s fingers drew him a little farther into that heady warmth, that lack of thought and senses that was desiring. Ike tugged at his shift, and Soren pulled himself up enough and lifted his arms to let it be pulled off him completely. Ike threw the shift aside and it crumpled to the floor. Ike always slept in the nude, or at the very most, with little more than lightweight cotton pants. Last night it had been cold enough to make Ike remain somewhat clothed. It did complicate things, somewhat. Soren undid the drawstring and together they both pulled them off, only to have them fall in a pile on the floor with Soren’s nightclothes.

Without material sheathing his skin, everything felt softer, somehow. With Ike’s arms pulling him close, the storm outside seemed very far away indeed.

Ike laid Soren on his back and propped up the back of Soren’s head with his arm. It was cushioned in-between the glossy silken strands of Soren’s long dark hair. It was dark and murky, but he could make out the shapes of Ike’s muscles through the haze. Their lips met at an awkward angle, even with Ike leaning and Soren bending, there was always a nature of straining between their loving. Their noses bumped along the way, and Ike turned his head halfway to accomodate this. Even if their lips were only partway touching, even if it was clumsy and sliphod it was still and kiss and the faint pressure sent a prickle alight under his skin.

Despite the days they’d missed due to overall fatigue or injury, Ike was surprisingly patient. The pace was slow, easy, with a sleepiness still clinging in the grey morning as they kissed. Their bodies pressed close and Soren felt a rustle of pleasure flowing through him, growing deeper and more pronounced with each touch.

Abruptly, and out of focus Ike leaned up as he blindly searched for the remains of the last batch of vulneraries. They’d already used two doses, one on Soren’s injured foot and another for a an aching shoulder on Ike, but one last dosage was left. Ike coated his fingers with the sticky solution. Soren heard the top slide shut.

“Ready?” Ike said.

“Yes, Ike,”Soren said.

Soren spread his legs the appropriate distance and stared up at the ceiling. Ike was beside him, the feeling of his arms draped over him was comforting. The feeling of his hands cupping and finding and teasing until they fitted inside Soren flittered over him, under his skin until there was nothing else. The grey was backdrop, unimportant, extraneous. Soren’s eyes were shuttered, lolled as his body accustomed and muscles loosened to the slow pace of Ike’s fingers thrusting in and out. Soren’s hips moved by instinct, without his own consent and he rubbed against the sheets and felt the linen brush back against his skin. Everything within him was burning up and wanting and he let out a groan, of pleasure, frustration and even a tad bit of petulance. Soren wasn’t about to moan like some whore even if it did feel good.

“Enough,” Soren said.

Ike withdrew his fingers and kissed the side of Soren’s cheek, just below his cheekbone. He kissed the side of his lips too, and it felt like a thanks, though Soren thought it was merely an impulse of expression.

“Wipe your hands,” Soren reminded.

“Like you’d let me forget,” Soren chuckled.

And Ike resumed the position over him as before. Soren lifted his hips without being asked and bit his lip as Ike pushed into him. Soren took a sharp intake of breath through his clenched teeth as he focused on the grey above Ike’s broad shoulder. Every thrust was slow, the air filled with the palatable feel of their sleepy lust hanging like fog, the sound of Ike’s grunts and unrestrained breathing, and Soren’s faint gasps. It was no longer uncomfortable, and the pressure of Ike upon him sent deeply distracting attention across his erect member. Soren was not given to moaning or fits of passion, but neither did he simply lay back like a cold fish. He molded himself to Ike, he arched and fit and clasped until there was nary a distance between them. Ike moved steadily into him, without haste or overpowering desire. Soren answered every incline of hip, every seeking glance of Ike’s rough fingers with silent remark of his own body. A kiss on a shoulder, a brush and a breathe against Ike’s ear. A taste between the sections of the thick chest muscles that adorned Ike, just as thick as any armor. It was like the constant beat of waves on the shore. The rush itself was unblemished by ache or need, it simply washed over them both as they floated on.

When the tides came in, when the taste of sea-salty skin was too overpowering, they collapsed into the feeling. It was reaching in, just as steady, just as relaxed as the waves of pleasure rolled in and over their skins. Soren was spattered in white come, his own, bits of Ike’s. He thought of washing, for surely he must smell horrid and opened his lips to say as much when he felt Ike’s arm descend over him, locking him in like any fence would, but heavier.

Soren gave no more protest than the sigh of the defeated. They settled into the grey, cold morning and slept.

*

It rained for two more days. The cloudburst was incessant and both kept mostly to their room. Soren didn’t mind the rest when he actually was able to find any, his body was healing, and thus this extra time could be written off.

For the time being.

Ike had offered to brave the downpour to find the one thing that Soren had in all his fatigue managed to misplace: his quills. Their inks had also been lost while crossing an unavoidable river several miles back. While he could live without them hypothetically, and they weren’t a necessity per se, Soren felt uneasy without the feel of a feathered quill in his hands. He itched to map out and take notes of the surrounding area and locale for latter reference should the need arrive. One day it could prove invaluable.

In Ike’s absence, and without his notes and graphs to keep him busy, Soren set out to do exactly what Ike had ordered him to: relaxing.

However, it only took a few minutes to realize that without Ike there to enforce that relaxation, Soren had no idea how to relax.

With a sigh he gave up and settled on a bath instead. It was some facsimile of calmness, at the very least.

This time Soren drew and prepared the water himself. It was easy enough to heat, a simple spell cast ensured that it would remain the perfect temperature for as long as they needed. Just a few degrees above lukewarm, enough to be comforting yet not scalding.

Soren shed his clothes and took a breath, lulled by the knowledge of Ike’s soon return. He waited. He inclined his head, yet heard no noise to indicate Ike’s arrival.

After a few moments he shrugged it off and slipped into the water. The temperature hadn’t changed since the first enchantment, and it still held. Ike preferred the water colder, but Soren reacted horribly to the cold. While Soren was willing to compromise on many things, temperatures was not one of them.

Soren leaned back against the metal and wood backing and waited. His shoulders were stiff, locked and his thoughts drifted in stagnant circles.

He was inert, but hardly calm. Soren kept his eyes closed without the faint trace of restfulness until It wasn’t he felt large, coarse hands on his shoulders. Then they flitted open to find Ike above him.

“Soren, you’re still tense,” Ike admonished.

Under Ike’s fingertips, as if by command, Soren felt the tension begin to leave his body. His last, most pressing worry settled, he could finally be at ease, or the closest he could come to at the very least.

“A bit.” Soren admitted.

A minute or so later, Ike climbed in. This time he didn’t go to the far side as he had the day before. This time he maneuvered to be as close as the tub would allow. Ike pinned him back to the He pulled a small vial and undid the stopper.
The concoction poured out like scented salt, but fizzed and left a soapy lather floating atop the surface of the water. It smelled of some sort of fragrance, a pleasant enough mix of herbs, flowers and spices.

“You don’t usually buy such frivolous things,” Soren said on aside, a comment. He was more idly curious than irritated for once.

“It smelled good.”

Soren took in the scent and recognized the scent of Jasmine and Thalia Flower, a flower which supposedly contained aphrodisiacal properties.

“Ah, whore’s vial. I’ve heard of these,” Soren said.

“Is that what it’s used for?” Ike said. He half smiled, a little wry, a little teasing. “I’m sure we’ll put it to good use then.”

“Hmmm,” Soren said. It sounded almost like a stifle laugh, subtle a mutter of affection.

Ike gathered a bit of lather in his fingers, and pressed it to Soren’s chest and rubbed. It had a bubbling consistency, despite its seeming saltiness. It tingled, and Soren let out a moan that was lost as Ike crushed their lips together. Ike rubbed against him as Soren’s mind rose to that bloodless, pleasant oblivion that was deep arousal. The water provided a different feel and the bubbles tingled and popped between them as Soren placed one hand on Ike’s chest adoringly, possessively.

It was quicker than their lazy, languid sex of earlier in the morning. It was shaded with a different feel, of playfulness, and as always, the all consuming possessiveness of Soren. Soren bit at the bottom of Ike’s lips, bit hard enough to draw blood. He let out a groan and arched back as they writhed back and forth in the frothy water, erections bumping, brushing and grinding against each other in midst of all the buoyant white later. Soren titled his neck back and Ike licked at his neck, up from his tiny clavicle, over his small Adam’s apple to his chin. Soren was pinned, so complete against the back of the tub that it ground into his back with each grinding movement. It was a jolt, one that bordered on the boundaries of pain and pleasure. Even the pragmatic side of Soren knew he’d have bruises the next day, this was worth it. It was so worth it.

Any deeper and he’d be pushed under and drown but Ike held him up safe and each heady breath brought in the scents of the vial and Ike’s skin which had its own distinct scent even when washed, even when scrubbed dry. Soren buried himself against Ike as his mind dissolved into deeper passion, he clung tight as something within him vibrated, on the verge of falling— He felt droplets of water from Ike’s chest fall over his face with that same intoxicating scent of Ike and Whore’s vial. He fell into the last tinges of lust as the release came though. Ike grunted, held him tighter as he too succumbed. For a moment, it was just the mixture of heat and smells and Ike and his heart beating and the tingling feeling shooting out through him, relaxing every muscle within its wake. Soren let out one long last breath as the last shudder passed through. It was always quick, a simple taste of what other’s labeled paradise. Ike let out a contented sigh, and relaxed into Soren. The water came a bit higher as Ike’s grip loosened.

“Ike,” Soren said. He gasped out, pushed against Ike’s chest, hard enough to actually get his attention.

He liked being pinned, liked the pressure and total feel of Ike’s muscles and skin but at this angle and with Ike’s full weight upon him, he just might crush his rib cage.

“Mmmn,” Ike muttered as he lifted himself up, and a fresh batch of droplets rained down on Soren as Ike moved over. As Ike shifted back, Soren changed their position around until Soren was resting upon Ike’s lap.

“The water’s dirty, we should get out,” Soren said.

“Mmn,” Ike replied.

“We’re not sleeping in here, Ike,” Soren said, his voice rising. “The water will get cold and it’s defiled now.”

Ike did little more than grunt. He never was particularly talkative during the post-coital moments. A rain of water came off from Ike’s body down to the tub below. It fell over Soren like a sudden May downpour.

“Come on,” Ike said.

“Just a second,” Soren said. He attempted to lift himself from his side of the bathtub, but found it slippery to the touch, and falling backwards and breaking his skull didn’t seem a pleasant option.

He grimaced, tried again and found the substance had coagulated and left it unusable.

Ike sighed, smiled a lopsided grin and bent down to lift Soren up with him. Before Soren could reach for a towel he lifted him up from the ground.

“I hope you know the bed will get soaked like this,” Soren snapped.

Soren felt the down of a white towel land on his wet hair. It obscured part of his vision as it faded into white and then grey.

“Satisfied?” Ike said. There was the trace of hidden laughter in his voice.

“Reasonably,” Soren said.

“Good, otherwise we’d have to do it again.”

“You’d have to carry me all day then, I’d be covered with bruises,” Soren said, more than a perturbed.

“That can be arranged,” Ike said.

*

The rain did not let up by the second day there. This put Soren into a sour mood. Ike, however, was immune to Soren’s moodiness.

“Pacing won’t drive the rain away,” Ike said.

Soren sighed.

Ike patted his lap. Soren scowled and almost ignored the wordless command, but found the magnetism too strong. He sat down, petulant and pouting.

“Relax, it’s ok if we lose a few days. It’ll give your foot a chance to heal.”

Ike was right, of course. Still, it brought them perilously close to the stormy season. Soren felt Ike’s finger’s comb through black strands, and stroke his hair as if he was some pet or misbehaving child.. Soren turned to face him, and frowned, but the face that greeted him held nothing but bemused affection.

“It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Soren sighed again. He knew Ike was right despite whatever pressing worries of the future lay before him. It would be all right as long as they were together, as long as that was fulfilled, whatever delays and detours would be minuscule by comparison.

He stared out at the rain and watched it pitter patter about, almost smug at his plight. Let it fall, even if it meant they had to stay in this inn all damn winter. Let it, for he had Ike and they were safe and while he would tempt no fates to destruction, he could be as smug as he liked in the confines of his own mind.

Ike stroked his hair and Soren laid his head against Ike’s chest. The rain came down. It felt very far away indeed.