Title: Запретный Ночь / Zapretnyĭ Noch' ( A Forbidden Night )Characters: Gavril Andar-Nagarian, Jaromir Arkhel (mentions of sundry others)
Fandom: Tears of Artamon trilogy, book one: Lord of Snow and Shadows
Fandom: Tears of Artamon trilogy, book one: Lord of Snow and Shadows
Pairing: Gavril / Jaromir; implied Lilias / Jaromir and Eugene / Jaromir
Summary: They have no idea that tonight will be their last, yet they lie together as if it were the last night in the world. (Set the night before the Tielen siege of Kastel Drakhaon in chapter 38.)
Notes: Some spoilers for chapter 38 onward.
It was darkest night. Gavril lay awake, gripped by a sudden, fearful insomnia. The dreams had grown so vivid, so thick – he couldn't sleep for fear of them driving him mad. Not to mention, his mind was so full of absolutely everything, so all he could do was lie in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, waiting for morning. In the silence, he heard a faint, familiar click and sat upright in time to see the shadowed figure of Jaromir Arkhel slipping out from behind the tapestry. By the light of the moon, he made out the delicate shine of Jaromir's golden hair, made clearer as the young man approached his bedside.
"Jaro," Gavril whispered, glancing over the Arkhel heir's shoulder to the door, which was thankfully shut, "what are you doing? It's almost dawn; if Guaram should come in and see you here, it's all over." Jaromir grinned cheekily and lowered himself down onto the bed. They were close, their noses almost touching, and Gavril could practically count each of Jaro's long eyelashes.
"I was going mad in there alone," Jaromir whispered back, referring to his hiding place in the East Wing. His breath whispered across Gavril's lips, and something stirred deep in the Drakhaon's belly. "I had to see you." As soon as the last word was spoken, Jaromir leaned forward that fraction of an inch to press their mouths together. It was gentle at first, tentative, but grew more fervent with each exchange. Jaro's pale eyes glittered with mischief, and he chuckled quietly as they joined again. Gavril started as one of Jaromir's hands slipped beneath his nightshirt, ice-cold against his skin but welcome nonetheless. The chill would soon be banished from them both.
Agonizingly slowly, Jaro pulled the shirt from Gavril's body. When it was done, Gavril followed suit, albeit much more impatiently. In a brief moment of vindictive glee, the Drakhaon couldn't help but feel a sense of victory over Lilias Arbelian: it was he Jaro came to in the middle of the night, not that traitorous harpy. A sharp, delicious pinch at his chest pulled Gavril from his jealous thoughts: Jaromir had closed his teeth around one of his nipples, sucking and running his tongue along the sensitive nub of flesh. The last of the Arkhels pulled away and grinned.
"Like that, do you, Lord Drakhaon?" He ducked a halfhearted swat and returned to his ministrations. Gavril gasped when Jaro's hand dipped down beneath the waistband of his trousers; those cold fingers glided against his penis and sent a chill up his spine that was equal parts shock and pleasure. In sharp contrast to the icy touch, Jaro's breath was warm against his flesh as he whispered, "Lie back. Close your eyes." Gavril complied, and hefted his hips off the mattress at a nudge from Jaromir, who proceeded to strip the Drakhaon of his trousers and pants. The Arkhel took in the sight of his lover, prone and naked, eyes closed, patient, trusting. So trusting of the man that murdered his father that it made Jaromir's heart ache with sorrow and even a small twinge of regret. Banishing the thoughts from his mind, he bent to his task and took Gavril's cock in his mouth.
"Oh God, Jaro!" The exclamation was satisfying, if just a fraction too loud for all that they were supposed to keep this a secret. Jaromir shrugged; let them find him. He worked at Gavril's member to the rhythm of the man's panting breaths. It took so little effort to push the Nagarian over the edge: the first time they had lain together like this, Jaromir had barely touched him before he'd come. The innocence and inexperience had been a refreshing change from Lilias' overbearing skill, and paired with his lover's youthful eagerness, it was beautiful perfection. Gavril lasted a little longer this time, but not by much, and soon his seed filled Jaro's mouth. It was hot and salty, with just a tinge of something else – just a shade different from Eugene, though Jaro couldn't be sure if that was a difference in physiology or a side-effect of the Drakhaoul inhabiting Gavril's body. Nevertheless, he swallowed down the fluid and raised his head to gaze at the flushed, sweating form of the Drakhaon – his Drakhaon, now. When Gavril opened his eyes, they were glassy with the aftereffects of his orgasm. He smiled and Jaromir felt his heart leap.
"Jaro – I want –" Gavril rasped, cutting himself off with a deep blush. "I mean, would you –" The Arkhel blinked, his hand wandering over to his lover's thigh, stroking absently.
"What? What is it you want?" he inquired softly. "Don't be shy." Gavril swallowed and inhaled slowly, his cheeks taking on an indigo hue from the rush of blood to his face. Jaro found it all so charming.
"I want to – to –" Again, he hesitated, closed his eyes, and forced out, "I want to make you mine, Jaro." Jaromir smiled – not his usual, brazen grin, but an honest smile. Crawling up to lie down beside Gavril, he gently kissed his lover's temple. Such innocence was a novelty for him, for all his life, he'd been taught lessons in war, in vengeance, in rage, and ever since Volkh Nagarian murdered his family in cold blood, his heart had been filled with nothing but hate. Strange that the son of that monster would be the one to temper all of that harshness with love. Was it because he'd been raised in Smarna, far away from the blood-feud that had turned Jaromir's own heart to ice? Or was Gavril truly right in his assertion that the bitterness between the Arkhels and Nagarians could be quelled? He wasn't sure that it mattered now – he had Gavril in his arms, and no other person, living or dead, could make that untrue.
"Gavril," Jaromir murmured, kissing him again, "my Gavril. I want nothing more." Slowly, with trembling hands, Gavril turned on his side and eased Jaromir's trousers off, drinking in the sight of naked skin, so fine and beautiful. He traced his fingers along the gentle shape of the young Arkhel's slender hip, across the curve of his buttocks, down his thigh. He rounded back and threaded those fingers through coarse, curling hair, dark golden, and took in his hand the cock of his lover. It was half-hard already, but Gavril worked it slowly, helping it the rest of the way along. Jaro whimpered and sighed, eyes rolling; he turned onto his back, spread his legs just so. He made a slight arch with his back, leaving Gavril enough room to run a finger of his free hand along the crack of Jaro's ass. Jaromir twitched, breath hitching, but the delicate onslaught ceased as Gavril stood up and rounded his bed. At the desk sat a small phial of a yellow liquid, which he picked up and brought back.
"Saffron oil," he explained with a small, humourless laugh, in reply to a curious sound from Jaromir. "Kostya gave it to me – said I ought to become a man sooner or later." He crawled back into bed and coated his fingers with the oil, set it aside, and reached beneath Jaro to probe inside of him. Jaro sucked in his breath and held it, suppressing a moan he knew would be much too loud. Gavril, once finished, applied a thin coating of oil to his own prick before nudging Jaromir into position. For this, Jaro took the lead, moving his body just so to give his lover easy access. Gavril wondered at the fact that Jaro seemed to know so much, but kept his peace and focused instead on carefully pressing inside of Jaro. A slight hiss of discomfort from the Arkhel as he was stretched, but he relaxed quickly enough.
"Okay?" murmured Gavril; Jaro's answer was a nod and a slight buck of the hips. Taking this as permission to go on, the Drakhaon began rocking against his lover, easing himself in and out, further and further each time, little by little.
"Ahh, Gavril, in – in, all the way," Jaromir gasped, impatient, reaching forward to pull Gavril closer. He complied and pushed himself forward until he was buried to the hilt inside of Jaro. They moved together, Gavril thrusting and Jaro bucking, their skin slapping together to the rhythm of pants and moans. They silenced themselves with kisses, long and passionate, accompanied by exploring touches. Jaromir, for a change, came first, pumping his own cock with his fist as Gavril continued to thrust inside of him. Just before he came himself, the young Drakhaon pulled out; he came in spurts against Jaro's stomach, which he boldly bent and lapped up. He felt Jaro's stomach muscles twitch as his tongue tickled. This done, he crawled up next to his lover, peppered his face and throat with small, playful kisses, and settled, eyes closed, against Jaromir's shoulder.
"Love you," he murmured, suddenly very sleepy. Jaro chuckled and brushed some hair back from Gavril's forehead. He watched as the son of Volkh Nagarian relaxed, sighing, and was struck with an abrupt sadness – as if he would never see his beloved Gavril like this again. He shook his head: it would not be. They would find a way, they would be safe. One day, perhaps they might even be able to be together openly. He traced his fingers along Gavril's cheek, and a smile lit the Drakhaon's face. He mumbled now on the edge of slumber, "Stay, Jaro."
The sadness again. "I can't, my love. You know that. Someday. Soon."
"Soon," agreed Gavril, not really comprehending what was being said. With much care, Jaromir slipped out of bed and pulled the blankets over Gavril. One more kiss and a whispered I-love-you, and he dressed and was gone behind the tapestry again. It was to be the last time.