no angels could beckon me back

[baemeric]

[ Aymeric is aware he's been sent on this particular posting to harden him up. He is no longer the round-cheeked boy he was when he joined the Knights, and he'll complete a march without complaint, but the others still see him as soft. He knows it. Too much of a whiff of nobility to fit with the recruits from common families, and of stock too poor to fit in with those from high houses. His face works against him, as does his voice, and the questions he uses it to ask are unwelcome from one meant to follow every order. He is probably the only person in this particular group who hasn't committed any actual infractions. Estinien surely has, although this time Aymeric isn't quite sure what it is he's done - insubordination is usual, or fighting. It hardly matters; Aymeric is glad to have his company. Especially for work as dull (if needed) as this. The assignment involves a long, freezing march out to deliver supplies to a settlement, culling the beasts encroaching on it, and then another long, cold march back immediately after - the orders not to linger (and perhaps find people in the settlement who might be willing to share a fire or a hot cup of tea) were terrifyingly strict. But it's nothing Aymeric can't handle, under usual circumstances, and he is determined to prove his capability.

Even if these are very much not normal circumstances.

He'd supposed he was getting ill, at first. Feeling too warm, tired and fidgety all at once. By the time they were halfway out his skin had become so sensitive that it almost hurt to have his clothing against it, let alone his armor and the heavy pack he was laden with. He pressed on, determined not to complain, to squash the discomfort -

but once the wyverns attacked, he'd had to feed all of his efforts into fighting them instead of what malady gripped him. A swarm of them, far greater than the usual number found out here unless accompanied by dragons, and the fight had been long and arduous. By the end he'd been so consumed by the heat burning under his skin he would surely have been taken in the icefall had Estinien not hauled him bodily aside. There's rumbling, deep and threatening, and though Aymeric knows dimly what that heralds and hears Estinien's warning shout, he cannot think what to do.

All he can think of is the heat under his skin, the ache in him, and the scent of Estinien, the strength in his arms as he all but carries Aymeric into the cave. It makes sense now, though he'd rather it didn't. He would prefer to deny the undeniable. He tries, pacing the borders of the cave and the great white tumble of snow that has fallen over the entrance. He's so hot, and the need in him is great and only growing. He balls his fists, bites at the inside of his cheek, and when he sees Estinien is preoccupied with starting a fire (gods, please, not more heat) he steals the opportunity to scoop a handful of snow and press it to the back of his neck. ]

Not now. [ Whispered, low. ] Fury, not now.

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[baemeric]

[ He fights, at first. It's good, he knows it's good, why would Estinien deny them this? - but once he realizes what Estinien is doing he lets his hands be moved, and when the other man pins them above his head it sets the need in him to purring, delighted at the way the other man takes control. And then Estinien nips at Aymeric's ear and he moans, shameless, the feel of it sparking through him. ]

Yes.

[ He doesn't detect the lie. He's too pleased at the thought that Estinien is going to take care of him, that finally they'll be together. And if it's just to see him through this heat, to help him when the need in him is starting to approach agony the same way Estinien has tended a wound for him or shown him how to strap his pack so it doesn't dig at his shoulders - well, at least he has this. At least Estinien is the first. And he will try his damndest to see that it's good enough to have him back for more, and there need never be another. ]

Estinien, I need you. Touch me. Please.