athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

Sinric watches him for a moment before crossing to where Athelstan is pacing. He steps in front of Athelstan and takes his hands again.

He holds Athelstan's eyes, making him look up. "He's coming for you. There is hope, but you must hold onto it. Make it the candle you see clearly by." He strokes Athelstan's cheek, kissing him again.

His own heart is breaking inside, knowing the only man who loved him that much would die soon. And that he would be alone.

But he pushes his own pain back and pulls together his strength to give Athelstan what he needs - hope.

"I try." It's a whisper. "And it never goes out, but sometimes it's a weak and flickering thing."

"Let me help you hold it?" Sinric whispers, still cupping Athelstan's cheek. "We'll keep it from guttering."

He looks into Sinric's eyes and nods.

"You can build it up high, while we're here."

Sinric forces a smile and kisses him again, trying to keep too much heat from it. The last this Athelstan needs is guilt over that too.

He's trying to recover, but it's a slow, slow road with many setbacks - even if his body is as healed as it ever will be now.

He returns the kiss, drawing comfort from it.

Sinric strokes Athelstan's cheek, pressing his forehead to Athelstan's. "Will you lay down with me? I ask nothing more than that - just your embrace. It feels like too long since I have been held."

"Several nights", he says softly, "while Luka has been sick and Constantine occupied. Of course I will."

He nods, a little sadly. He turns away to shed his over tunic, stripping down to linen undershirt and light trousers. Enough to feel the warmth and touch but not so much to pressure Athelstan for more than that. Unless he wants it.

He peels back the sheets and stretches out on the bed, holding his arms open to Athelstan.

His ache for contact is almost painful, the need to be held.

He's fallen out of the habit, in the weeks and months he's been a captive, and the psychological causes of his impotence are many. (And possibly include being convinced he won't be able to.)

Silently, he kicks off his shoes and lies down in Sinric's arms.

Sinric tucks himself close in Athelstan's arms, resting his head on Athelstan's shoulder. He strokes Athelstan's arms, hands moving listlessly from shoulder to wrist just to feel the warm, human reality of being held.

"Poor Sinric", he murmurs. "It must have been very lonely for you."

Sinric starts to refute it, trying to sound more confident than he feels but he doesn't feel confident. He feels tired and sad and worried. And having Athelstan's arms around him makes him feel safer. "It... has not been pleasant, no."

"Then for tonight, at least", he says quietly, "we can ease the loneliness for one another."

"Forgive me." He hides his face in Athelstan's shoulder. "I should be stronger; for you, for Luka, for my lord."

"You have been strong", he counters. "Have you ever once let Luka see your sadness, as you cared for his needs night after night?"

"Probus and I are first amongst the Birds. It's our responsibility to take care of the others. Luka needs to know he is loved and protected." So, no. He hasn't let his mask down in days.

"Then don't feel shame for showing it to me. Luka is a sick child, you did right by him - but now you can allow the sadness out, and return to him the stronger for it."

He considers this in silence for a long moment before clinging a little to Athelstan and letting himself relax a little. Slow tears leak down his cheeks, in stillness and silence.

Athelstan holds him close, positioning them so that Sinric can't see the haunted look that never quite leaves his eyes now.

It doesn't take long before the tears dry, letting Athelstan's permission to weaken cleanse his heart a little. "I'm sorry. And thank you."

"You have no cause to be sorry", he says softly. "It would be unforgivably selfish if I were to think myself the only one who suffers."

Sinric shakes his head. "My troubles are so few and trivial," Competitively, "It is I who is being selfish."

Athelstan leans back to look at him.

"Few and trivial? Really?"

"A few nights without much sleep and without the comforts of my master's bed." He shrugs, berating himself for letting so little get so I'm top of him.

The big underlying issues are too much to think about when it is the small and trivial things that have broken him down.