November

November 20: Sunday

Havar woke up to the pain of his shoulders being lowered from the bedpost. The sun was in his face, and cast in silhouette, Yavisk was standing over him, shirtless, his dog tags dangling down into Havar's face. Havar shook his head a little to clear it. The last few days felt like a blur. At the movement, Yavisk turned his attention from unlocking the other handcuff. Cold eyes were on him. Yavisk smiled. Havar sucked in a breath.
"You're awake."
Havar didn't respond. Like magic, the memories were back and he hated Yavisk all over again.
"You killed him."
Yavisk's smile vanished. He rolled his eyes and went on releasing the other cuff.
"Did you really think he was going to survive, Havar? He stole you from me, Havar, took you away. There is not a man alive who would take kindly to a gesture like that."
Havar groaned as his other arm was roughly lowered. Yavisk stood straight up, a black figure against the sunlight.
"We are done discussing Brian."
Havar felt an urge to be sick, but swallowed it down and tried to roll over, away from his husband. Yavisk stretched luxuriously, then slapped Havar's flank and sat down on the bed.
"Get up. Bathe."
Havar thought about arguing, but his body ached, he had to pee, and he felt clammy and sticky from the night before. A bath didn't sound bad. He wanted to be clean.
Yavisk stretched gracefully over the bed, propping himself up on one elbow to watch Havar. Havar blinked slowly, pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to dangle above the cold wood floor. Everything hurt. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. There was blood on the sheets beneath him when he moved, and he turned his head in disgust. He remembered their fighting, yesterday, all through the day and into the night. He remembered trying to take a blade to Yavisk's throat and having it turned on his own instead. He remembered Yavisk keeping it there, tight against the skin, burning into the first few layers of skin as he pounded into him.
He blinked, and he was back in the room again. Yavisk's room, he assumed. The room was spacious, the dark wood floors scattered with rich-looking tapestry rugs in gold and dark blue and heavy furniture upholstered in the same. The windows were large, and the window frames were painted in gold and blue as well. For such a large and airy house, Havar reflected, it felt quite warm inside. The bed that he and Yavisk currently shared was smaller than he would have expected, keeping them close together in the largeness of the room. Havar wondered how Yavisk could have ever slept, in such a big house, in such a big room, all alone. He imagined them sharing this big room for the rest of their lives and felt a knot of fear and anguish and unrecognized desire rise up into his throat. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, silently recited one of his father's poems to himself - a lullaby to soothe his nerves.
Yavisk's voice was gentle when it broke the silence.
"Go clean yourself up, Havar, and we can go down to breakfast."
Havar half-looked over his shoulder; Yavisk was watching him with a curious expression on his face. He folded and unfolded a little corner of the blanket beneath him.
"The others are expecting you."
The sickness came in a wave again. Havar imagined them - the others - saw in his head John Killian, and Awni-ra, and all the men who had been there that night. He tried to keep the weakness out of his voice, but it leaked a little anyway.
"I - I don't want to see anybody else." There was silence for a moment. "Please."
Yavisk reached out to touch him, a bit hesitantly, Havar noticed, and he wondered if his commander felt bad about any of this.
"It won't be a bad thing, Havar. It will be John Killian, and Awni-ra, and my brothers and one brother's wife."
Havar felt a weird panic begin in his gut.
"I don't - I can't - please, Yavisk, I'm not hungry. Please. Don't make me go downstairs, I can't go downstairs, please, Commander, please." he could hear his own voice turning hysterical, but it was early in the morning, and he felt disoriented and he hadn't slept and hadn't eaten and his throat felt parched and Brian was dead.
"Hush, darling." Yavisk was inching closer to him, pulling him closer. "Hush. I won't let any of them touch you."
Havar half-turned again, looked down at Yavisk's hand on his arm. The stillness of it made him realize he was shaking. He stared at it for a moment. Yavisk moved in closer so that now he was flush against Havar's back.
"Listen to me, Havar. I am your commander, do you remember that? I will tell you what to do. I will give you a command, and everything will be OK."
Havar shook his head.
"Please. Please."
What was he begging for? Couldn't quite seem to remember. He wanted to go home to his father, taste the inky dust of the desert sands again.
"Hush, darling. Everything will be OK." Yavisk repeated, more firmly this time. "You will be OK. I don't want to punish you, Havar, but I am your commander, and I will have to, if you continue to disobey me. Do you understand?"
Havar nodded. A command. A task. A lifeline.
"Very good, Havar. You're doing very good. Now, it's time for you to get up and bathe now, OK? Then we can go downstairs and eat. You're hungry, aren't you?"
Havar realized he hadn't eaten in days. His stomach ached. He nodded.
"Good. Then go, now, through that door, into the bathroom. There is a hot bath waiting for you. I will join you in a moment."
Yavisk prodded Havar gently, and he got up, wrapping a sheet self-consciously around his waist, and padded numbly across the open room.
Yavisk watched him go, admiring the sway of his hips and the flex and fall of the muscles in his back. After Havar had gone through the door, he leaned his head back and exhaled. He had a lot of work to do.

~:~

It was late afternoon when Miljan opened his eyes. He yawned; his back ached and his neck felt tight. He stretched, popped joints and felt muscles creak back into use. He looked around. Tiger was sitting awake, in the center of the bed, the blankets drawn up around himself and his eyes wide. Miljan made a face, rubbed his eyes, and tried to remember falling asleep in the armchair. The sun was filtering in through the blinds he'd half-closed last night. His boots were gone, laid in a pair next to him. He seemed to be covered in a blanket. He shrugged it off, blinked a few times, and addressed the pretty young thing balancing tightly in the middle of his bed.
"Dobro juto."
Tiger furrowed his brow.
"Good morning?"
Miljan inclined his head.
"How did you sleep?"
"Fine."
"How do you feel?"
"Bos gave me something for the pain."
Miljan laughed.
"I suppose that he forgave you, then."
Tiger shrugged, looked nervously out at Mil from his blanket sanctuary.
"Did I sleep here?"
Tiger nodded.
"You said you were going to be guarding me. To keep me from sneaking out. Then you went to sleep. Pretty much right away."
Miljan yawned and reached upwards, stretching his arms above his head, the blanket wrinkling down from his chest.
"Well, you're still here. I was successful enough. Was it you who did this?" he asked, nodding towards the blanket in his lap.
Tiger shrugged, looked away.
"I got up in the middle of the night. You looked...cold."
Miljan smiled lasciviously.
"You could have brought me into bed."
Tiger shot him a withering glare and Miljan laughed, then got to his feet, tossing the blanket on the edge of the bed.
"Are you hungry? There may be breakfast."
"It's 1300 hours."
"Then there may be lunch."
Tiger shrugged, then nestled back down into his blankets.
"Can I - can I call my dad today?"
Miljan stopped in his path, looked back at his ward.
"You just spoke to him yesterday, Tiger."
Tiger looked horribly sad.
"But...he's my dad."
Miljan felt a strange sensation in his chest that he supposed was his heart softening. He coughed to clear it and went over to the bed. Tiger scooted away as he sat down. Miljan frowned.
"Stop that."
"Too close."
Miljan rolled his eyes, reached for the nearest lump under the blanket, and used it to pull his mate closer.
"Tiger. Let us come, you talk to me. You understand what's going on, darling, yes?"
Tiger didn't answer.
"I don't want to hurt you, Tiger. You are mine. I don't want to give you up, either. Not to your father, or to anyone. I know he loves you, but you are very important to me, and I believe that Sergeant duCourt has not yet come to terms with how the changes you've undergone will be. You are a carrier. You will be wed, and you will be bred, if not by me, then by some other - perhaps barbarian - uniform man. I wish to prevent even the smallest risk of that. You are, in my mind, my wife already, and to myself and my family, this house is your winter home."
Tiger blinked at him for a few minutes, then set his chin down on his drawn-up knees.
"So you - you think I'm changing, too?"
Miljan teased a curl near to Tiger's ear.
"I know you are. And once you are changed completely, our relationship can fully begin."
Tiger jerked his eyes up to meet Miljan's penetrating stare, then turned them away again.
"Our relationship?"
"I know you understand me, Tiger. You are young, but far from a child. You know what is expected between a man and his wife."
Tiger swallowed.
"What if - if I don't want to do that?"
Miljan sighed, rested one arm on either side of the blanket-bundle of Tiger.
"I was seventeen, too, Tiger, and not so long ago. I remember what I felt, remembered what I did. I remember the thrill of another youth, the heat I felt then to touch skin to skin. You are new to these things, I understand, but they are not things you can prevent by staying away from me. The desire will come, and your needs will manifest, whether I am here to help you understand them or not."
Tiger was blushing furiously by this point, staring at some point on the far wall.
"Do you touch yourself, Tiger?"
Tiger yelped his surprise and got up immediately to leave the bed. Miljan caught him, held him back.
"Answer your husband. Do you touch yourself, Tiger? You do, don't you? Your father works long hours. There's no one in the house to bother you and nothing much to do. So easy, such a little relief in a long, dull day. Of course you touch yourself. Who do you imagine, Tiger? Your first love? One of the handsomer boys at school? Or maybe something more - a man, more grown than you are now. Perhaps you imagine myself?" Miljan let that hang there for a minute, his breath close on Tiger's neck. "Or perhaps you imagine Bos."
At the glare of disgust that flickered across Tiger's face, Miljan laughed outright. Tiger took the opportunity to try to bolt, but he was still caught up in the blankets and Miljan pounced on him like a cat on a moth.
"Tsk tsk. No running now. We were just getting comfortable."
Miljan was laying halfway on him, and he moved so that their bodies were aligned, his hips pressed taut against Tiger's ass. Tiger threaded his fingers into the tangled sheets and tried to breathe even.
"I know you like me, Tiger, although you may try to fight it. I see you watch me when I move, when I stretch. I see the hesitation, each time, before you push me away. I am no fool, little darling - I know our circumstances are less than ideal, but oh, Tiger, how I want you. How I've wanted you since I knew. Since I saw you, even - I'll admit to that. I hoped you were a carrier the first time I caught a glimpse of your face."
Tiger heaved in a breath.
"Don't fight me, please, little one. I can make things beautiful for you. Do you understand how very desirous you are to me?" Miljan nipped gently at one of Tiger's ears. "You make fire in me. Do you understand that? Can you feel that, Tiger?" Miljan shifted a little so that his stiff cock rubbed against the blankets between them, bumping against Tiger's thighs and legs. He thrust viciously, suddenly. "Do you feel how much I want you?"
Tiger nodded frantically.
"Can you - can you let me up?"
Miljan complied with a sigh, rolling over to release his quarry. Tiger scuttled out of his grasp, freeing himself from the blankets in a flurry of cotton and flailing. He resettled again on the opposite side of the bed, mostly wrapped again in the blankets, his legs dangling over the edge.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Da."
the door cracked open just enough to reveal Anton Yavisk standing there, an uneasy Havar beside him.
"Dorucak, prijatelj."
Havar seemed disoriented, his eyes somewhat scattered. Tiger moved to get a better look, rustling the covers. Havar glanced up at him, then snapped his eyes back. He looked nervously between Tiger and Miljan and then back up at Anton.
Yavisk furrowed his brow.
"Cubrovic. Introduce yourselves."
Miljan smiled.
"Havar. I am Miljan Cubrovic." he nodded his head politely; before he could go on, a small voice came from the blankets.
"And I am Tiger."
Miljan looked in surprise at Tiger, who was looking, with much interest and a bit of a smile, at the obviously-worn out, barely awake Havar. "I'm a carrier, too."