The orgasm hits Yussa like a bolt. All at once Caleb feels his rocking stop and he goes rod-still in their arms, quaking but unmoving. His body squeezes tight, a vise on Caleb's brain and cock, and it's all the more precious to be inside him when he is like this.
He knows he lacks the constitution to go on this way for much longer, but he isn't done quite yet. Not before he fucks every thought from his wizard mentor's head. He reaches around Yussa's slim body down to his clit, hard and hot, to begin the abandoned work of rapidly swiping up and down. He is close enough to feel the spasm that goes through his echo's temporary corporeal form, and he intimately registers his thrusts stutter and then desperately speed up. Caleb chokes on a moan, and has no choice but to pick up the pace himself.
He pounds forward as hard as his hips will allow, remembering fleetingly that very same instance in that little captured corner of the Feywild. He's never seen Yussa come apart like that before or since--until now, perhaps. He barely thinks about it as his hand slides up Yussa's chest until he is bracing his head against his shoulder by cradling his slim throat, feeling the short moans forced out of him with every thrust against his palm.
"Too much?" he rasps, and across from him the echo lifts his head, desaturated eyes almost seeming to flash brighter before he ducks back down to lavish his attention on Yussa's breasts again. The echo grips Yussa's narrow waist in his cool human hands, bounces him forward and back between two cocks, while the slide of Caleb's hand against slick folds speeds to a purposeful, hard swirl of circular motion. When his fingertips glance against it several times in passing, he's surprised by the heat of his echo's cock. If he didn't know better, if the slight tingle of arcane magic wasn't present, he could be mistaken for a real man of flesh and blood.
Yussa jerks between them when Caleb's warm fingers find his clit, stroking furiously. He tries to climb the echo like he could actually pull away, even if his limbs won't support him. And they fuck him harder, the lewd sound of skin against skin is loud between them. The echo's hips stutter and it's strange to think how independent it is, how like Caleb. What else might it be capable of, he wonders.
But he cannot hold onto those thoughts and they slip from his grasp like water.
His breathing is ragged when Caleb's hand slides up to hold his throat. Yussa's eyes close and his pulse pounds against his lover's fingers. Another pair of hands grip his waist, forcing him to move when Yussa can't manage it himself. He doesn't know if Caleb is talking to him, the words barely registering, but Yussa couldn't answer even if he wanted to. Still riding the edge of the first, Caleb manages to drag another orgasm out of him as his fingers circle and rub against his aching clit. He shudders hard between the two men holding him and if not for the echo's hands and Caleb's, he might collapse completely.
All he can do is shake and breathe. His mind is empty with that last rush of pleasure, and now he is quickly descending into being oversensitive, but neither is he inclined (or even capable) to tell his lovers to stop what they are doing. No, he wants very much for them to finish as well. His cunt throbs around the echo's cock and his weight leans more into Caleb's hands, head bowed as much as it can with the other man's hand cradling his throat.
Predictably, Yussa tries to squirm away from the intense stimulation of Caleb's fingers. It doesn't work, of course, as Caleb and the echo are still connected. No answer to his breathless inquiry comes, only hard, uneven gasps. That doesn't worry him. It encourages him, actually, signaling that Yussa's mind is far beyond words, scrambled by the intensity of what Caleb has put his body through.
How many times has he made him come tonight? He would know the number if he gave himself a moment to count. Regardless, it should be once more, at least.
That thought has barely glanced across his mind when he feels Yussa shudder through another peak before the ripples of his first have had the chance to fade. The world slants. Oh fuck, he can't--it's too late to even try to draw this out, between the tightness around him and the pressure of his echo's cock. His movements are mindless; his fingers continue to stroke over Yussa's sore clit less because he means to and more because it is what he is already doing. The hand around his throat remains, perhaps even unintentionally tightens a fraction as Caleb's control slips.
His echo drives Yussa back onto Caleb's cock with his own thrusts, and he's lifted his head to nose distractedly against Yussa's sweat-damp curls, brow knit up with rising pleasure. For perhaps the first time, Caleb takes pity on himself; it is a completely foreign feeling. But the echo has done so well. Shouldn't he get something before he's banished back to whatever fading timeline he came from?
"Go ahead." The words scrape out aloud, the best he can manage, but it is enough. There are a few sloppy thrusts from each of them, and then the echo presses closer, head bowed against Yussa's with recognizable tenderness. Though Caleb doubts it's possible for him to produce anything tangible, the relief on his face and the tense shiver of his shadowy form is unmistakable.
Yussa, miracle that he is, takes both of their cocks to the hilt with ease when Caleb follows his counterpart a bare few moments later, sinking and spilling into the velvet-soft heat of his ass. Unlike his echo, his shaky groan is soft, but audible.
He remains trembling and tense as Caleb's fingers stay pressed against him, not exactly rubbing with any focus anymore but the pressure is enough to keep him from going fully boneless. It's too much, it almost hurts, and yet he still doesn't want it to stop. He would rather have Caleb's touch than not, even if it is working him past oversensitivity and into something else. Yussa can feel the man's other hand tighten slightly against his throat, sending an unexpected jolt through him.
Whatever he expected, he didn't count on feeling the echo driving into him with a very real urgency, chasing a release that Yussa didn't know he could feel. He hears Caleb's rasping voice giving permission and Yussa whimpers when the echo presses against him, skin cool against his. The affection is just as tender as what he would get from the man behind him, and a moment later Yussa is very certain that the echo comes, even if there is nothing to feel for it. That hardly matters when the very living man behind him pushes deep into him to follow in that pleasure.
Yussa can no longer even cry out, he can only whimper as his lover fills him. He's fairly sure he whites out for a few seconds, unseeing and unthinking as his body goes entirely weak. All he can do is pant for air, desperately trying to catch his breath as his entire body just--everything is warm and heavy, that delicious feeling rippling out to his fingertips and toes.
He cannot remember the last time he felt so thoroughly fucked, and somehow it feels terribly appropriate that it should be eclipsed by Caleb Widogast.
Caleb's head feels stuffed with cotton. His echo leans his forehead against Yussa's, sweetly enough that in a flash of suddenly remembered worry about this other self giving too much about him away, Caleb releases the spell. He's scattered enough not to consider the consequences in advance. In an instant, the echo disappears. Without his support, Yussa slumps forward and Caleb is left holding him up alone, a feat he is only rarely capable of at his best, let alone shaking and unfocused moments after a powerful orgasm.
"Scheisse," he curses sharply, wobbling. His head floats back to him enough to realize he's also been holding the other man's throat more tightly than he ever intended. Caleb releases his grip immediately, letting Yussa go limp. "I'm sorry," he gasps. Even in his own ears, his voice comes to him from far away. "Oh, gods. I did not mean to--to hold you for that long."
Bending forward, it's the best he can do to lower Yussa to his knees. His cock slips out in the same motion, and he fumbles when his fucked-out lover seems incapable of supporting himself even that way. On one hand, that is desperately hot. On the other, he needs to get himself together and make him comfortable.
Though he feels weak, he's able to ease Yussa onto his back. Brushing his hair out of his face, he looks him over, concern mingled with a hunger to see just how thoroughly he's wrecked him.
It might be comical if he weren't right in the middle of it. Very suddenly, the echo is gone and Yussa doesn't have the strength to flail for balance. Caleb, too, moves suddenly when he realizes he is holding Yussa's throat. He slumps onto the chaise, trying to support himself on his forearms, at least, but even that is a near thing. He can hear Caleb cursing and apologizing behind him and the words trickle through his mind without really landing.
With Caleb's help, Yussa sinks down onto the chaise, making only a soft, weak sound in the back of his throat when Caleb's cock slips free. He's left feeling utterly empty, and his awareness is far more pronounced with how well fucked the echo and Caleb have left him. Yussa doesn't have the strength to resist - or help - as Caleb eases him onto his back. His eyes aren't quite closed, but they aren't focused on anything in particular. His breathing is still heavy, but starting to calm; he still feels overheated, the flush lingering in his cheeks and chest even as sweat begins to dry on his skin.
Yussa blinks his eyes fully open as Caleb's fingers brush across his brow, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair. He manages to focus on the younger man, but it's clear looking at him that he's still dazed. Between his thighs he's a mess of his own slick and oil and Caleb's come, and whatever remains of a dragon's saliva.
He still feels like he's floating, even with the familiar support of the chaise beneath him ensuring that he isn't completely untethered. His entire body is too heavy and it takes far more effort than usual to do anything at all. Yussa, a man who depends on the sharpness of his mind and the precise command of his words can barely muster any at all. His mind grasps uselessly at passing thoughts but cannot hold them. His hand rests on the chaise and his fingers curl lightly in a gesture that might be beckoning if he weren't so wrecked.
It takes far too long to muster the words, but eventually he manages to murmur, "Do not apologize, sweet boy."
For some few minutes, Yussa is very out of it. His heavy gaze is foggy, unfocused, his body weak and weighed down, skin hot, tender and slick between the splayed legs he seems too spent to close. He is quiet as well, and rendering him speechless feels like a major accomplishment. Caleb sits beside him, strokes his fingers gently through his damp hair, and looks his fill. Yussa, archmage of this tower, is terribly beautiful this way; wrung out by his pleasure and obscenely debauched. Caleb is wickedly proud to be the cause.
The twitch of the other man's fingers catches his attention, and he leans down, closer, as Yussa pulls enough of himself together to murmur to him. He doesn't know what he expected, but what he hears strikes straight through to his heart. His soft, scraped together voice, the familiar endearment that never fails to make him flushed and giddy, a kind reassurance.
Gods, he is so fucked. He loves this man ridiculously. He cannot get past it, and he cannot admit to it. What is left?
"Okay," he murmurs back, cracking a smile that he knows is too tender, one that softens his eyes and deepens the lines at each corner. "No more apologies." He ducks down to kiss Yussa's brow, lingering as his hand cups his cheek. "You seemed to enjoy all of that," he says as he leans back again, clearly pleased with himself, but equally glad--and looking for some small confirmation that he hadn't overstepped. "Now I've made sure you will rest well tonight, maybe you will forgive me for interrupting earlier."
Yussa closes his eyes as Caleb leans down to kiss his brow. The other man's hands are so gentle now, even when not long ago they were gripping hard enough to bruise. Or was that the echo? At the moment it's all blurred together.
Even in his wrung out state, a smile flickers to life across his mouth. He doesn't open his eyes, but he does turn his face toward Caleb's palm. In this moment of strange, exhausted clarity, Yussa whispers, "I will forgive you, Caleb Widogast." His fingers curl tighter, trying to hold onto something that isn't there. "Stay with me."
It is what he wants. Yussa wants to go back to bed with the comforting warmth of his lover beside him, knowing that Caleb is whole and safe. He wants to wake to see his face in the morning light. He could not say it when Caleb made his fevered offer, and he does not know if he will be able to say it again come morning. But here, in the quiet, dim light of his sitting room where they first met two years ago, he can give Caleb that bare honesty.
Caleb's breathing has more or less evened out as his body calmed, but now he inhales sharply with surprise. The ache in his chest makes itself known in earnest as Yussa, exhausted and fond, asks exactly what Caleb had so badly wanted him to earlier--an offer he almost immediately regretted making. He's spent hours now trying to avoid a conversation about it. There is no way Yussa isn't aware of the significance. Those three words are wonderful and terrible to hear because he knows it isn't that simple.
He takes Yussa's curled fingers into his hand and squeezes, biting back every impulsive word he wants to say. He has already made that mistake tonight. Yussa is tired and dazed, and he doesn't mean it the way Caleb had wanted him to earlier. Even if he does, he won't in the morning.
Tonight, at least, he'll stay. That is an invitation he's accepted many times before, and will again.
"Ja," he agrees, trying to mask the rough, emotional edge in his voice with exhaustion. "Back to bed, then."
The first spell he casts is prestidigitation, cleaning them both of the worst of their mutual mess. The second is Teleport. They blink out of one room and appear in another, exactly on target in the middle of Yussa's bed. Impossible not to recall Yussa doing the teleporting, much more frantically, the first time Caleb ever laid eyes on this room.
Caleb grabs for the sheet, pulled down by him earlier, and covers Yussa's bare form with it before slipping away to pour a glass of water from the pitcher he knows he'll find on the table. Only once both he and Yussa drink one each does he lay down.
"Comfortable?" he asks, reaching for pillows, fussing to distract himself. He wants to be here, but he wants to be here so badly that it verges on uneasy.
Yussa's fingers curl tighter around Caleb's, holding onto him as much as he can. He can barely keep his eyes open and he lets them close again as his lover whispers the spell to teleport them back to his bedroom. With a blink of arcane energy, they are in the middle of his bed. He remembers with tired amusement doing that while Caleb was buried inside him. Gods, this man has seen him in ways very few ever have. Possibly none, in some cases.
He is useless as Caleb fusses with the bed, dragging up sheets to cover him, pouring water, urging him to drink. Yussa manages to sit up enough to do so without choking, and he drinks deeply to satisfy Caleb's urge to care for him. Then he gives in to his body's demand and sinks back down onto the bed, head hitting a pillow after Caleb pulls one down. Even this worn out, Yussa notices his lover's anxious energy. He reaches for Caleb, gently catching his arm with a squeeze.
"Caleb," he murmurs, "come here. Hold me."
It feels so easy to say these things now. It's hardly the first time he's made demands on the younger man, but he is far from imperious now. Yussa would rather feel Caleb's arms around him than stay awake through the way the other wizard tries to busy himself. He doesn't want there to be discomfort or unease here, not when it has been so easy for them in the past. And it has been, hasn't it? Once they managed to get on the same page, their chemistry has been flawless. Perhaps at times their communication leaves something to be desired, but surely everything else--
Yussa's hand slides to cup Caleb's cheek, coaxing him into a kiss that is full of longing and relief all at once. He's wanted to share his life with very few people, and in the last century or so he has made it a point to isolate himself. But this man, this brilliant arcanist, came crashing into his life, leaving a mark on Tidepeak - indeed, all of Exandria - that has never faded. When he is gone, Yussa is aware of his absence. He misses Caleb the way he does few others. Gods, how did this happen?
Those questions are not for the quiet peace of the night. Far below, the Lucidian Ocean crashes on the shore, and here in his bed is a man Yussa has come to adore. One who has absolutely wrecked him in so many ways tonight. He does not want to ruin that effort with a cascade of tumultuous thoughts.
Recognizing the effort it takes to reach for him and disinclined to refuse such a request, Caleb makes himself find a comfortable way to lay down. Facing Yussa, he slides his arms around him and draws him in close. Whatever else he might feel, this is something he is glad for. He's guided easily into a kiss which he returns with a similar mix of emotions, but he can't let himself linger on the longing he feels. He knows how quickly that turns into shame and guilt.
As their lips part, he strokes a hand through the soft pale waves of Yussa's hair, gently cradling the back of his head. He kisses his lover's cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his lips again fully, not quite satisfied yet.
It is late, and dawn will arrive well before he's had enough rest to replenish his reserves of arcane energy. He also recalls that he's left half of his clothing downstairs. His pants, specifically. So no possibility for a swift exit for him in the morning. If Yussa wants to have a conversation, he won't be able to escape it.
Well, if there is no avoiding it, at least he knows to be prepared. He can do damage control. To keep this relationship intact, he'll say whatever he needs to.
"Sleep, schatz," he murmurs, curling closer still. "I do not have any pressing appointments with sea monsters to keep tomorrow."
When their kiss breaks, Yussa rests his head against his pillow. He looks at the man in front of him and strokes his cheek, his jaw. His touch drifts down to brush over Caleb's chest, near his heart. How close did he come to losing this man? For all the horror Uk'otoa could unleash, it is that thought that haunts him still now that the best is put to rest. How long before there is some other danger that calls to Caleb? There is yet more waiting for him in the Empire, though perhaps a different kind. No less dangerous in the ways that matter.
Yussa breathes a soft sigh and tucks his head down against Caleb's chest, closing his eyes as he takes comfort in the warmth of his presence, the beat of his heart and the sound of his breathing. He will at least have Caleb in the morning. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers of the comfort and joy of having him longer. Tell me to stay.
"Then stay," he murmurs, answering the voice in his head or the gentle reassurance from Caleb. That is how Yussa falls asleep, absolutely wrung out by his lover in every way possible.
Caleb is surprised that he wakes first, and then he isn't. He knows he was asleep a little over eight hours, but as tired as he'd been, Yussa was really worn out. By him. In a very enjoyable way. That memory brings a sleepy smile to his lips and a warm spark to other places. Stretched out languidly in his lover's bed with the man himself still curled in comfortable sleep against his chest, he is content for a blissful span of roughly a minute and a half.
Then he remembers.
Fuck. He is a fucking idiot.
He wasn't thinking. His tongue got ahead of his brain, and of course he had to give away one of the few things with the potential to upset this whole arrangement--something he desperately does not want to lose. Why can't he just be grateful that he gets to have mornings like this at all? It's greedy, this desire for more. Why is he never satisfied?
After successfully avoiding the subject of his blunder in favor of several rounds of very enjoyable and creative sex, he'd had some hope that maybe they were past it. But Yussa had referenced it again, drowsy and addled. Not just once, but twice. He didn't forget. Perhaps he'd even meant it, in some way. The bittersweet ache Caleb is so familiar with constricts his lungs as he remembers the soft murmur of Yussa's voice telling him to stay.
As the light of a clear coastal morning brightens the archmage's bedroom, Caleb stares at the ceiling and thinks. He should apologize. If he gets it out of the way and reassures Yussa that he knows it was silly, perhaps they can avoid a longer conversation they would both find uncomfortable, and move on to forgetting it ever happened. That seems reasonable.
He's able to spend more than twenty minutes dissecting this problem from every angle before he feels Yussa begin to stir against him with the first signs of wakefulness. Despite a swirl of conflicting emotions, Caleb can't help but be captured by the ordinary beauty of a moment like this. How lucky he is that some days, he gets to watch the man he loves wake up in his arms. Looking on fondly, his hand rubs slow and soothing up and down Yussa's back, and he tips his chin down to kiss the top of his head in a silent greeting, knowing the elf will be too groggy for words for a few minutes yet. When one rarely sleeps, he would guess that waking up must be a uniquely disorienting experience.
It is uniquely disorienting, even if Yussa has centuries of experience both sleeping and trancing; he does the former infrequently enough that it still makes him incredibly groggy. Especially if he's fallen asleep out of exhaustion. His body wakes slowly as warm sunlight begins to fill the room. With windows on all sides, Yussa has both lovely sunrises and spectacular sunset views from his most private apartments.
He can feel the gentle pressure of Caleb's lips against his hair and the affectionate, comforting slide of his hand up and down his back. Yussa has lived in solitude for a long time; even when he takes lovers, he rarely indulges in this sort of intimacy. But with Caleb, it feels effortless. He takes a deep breath and tries to stifle a yawn as his mind rouses further. The very first shift of his body reminds him of the dull ache he feels from an evening well spent and he cannot help the quiet whine that escapes him. Gods, how has he found a partner that can give him so much? Who does so with a nearly unrivaled eagerness?
Slowly, Yussa opens his eyes. He peers up at Caleb and a tired smile tugs at his mouth. He has not forgotten the words exchanged between them, though other parts of the evening are fuzzy yet. Should he bring it up? Should he let it pass? Yussa doesn't want to give Caleb cause to retreat, but neither does he want him to slip away.
"Good morning," he murmurs at last, accent thick and voice soft.
Caleb knows it isn't good that those soft, sleep-heavy golden eyes and groggy smile so quickly decimate his resolve to say what he's been working up to for the last twenty minutes. But Yussa looks at him with such affection, and it would be a shame to ruin this moment. He can wait until they are at least a little more awake.
"Hallo," he says, voice equally thick, the softness of his smile deepening the lines of his face. His hand pets again down the length of Yussa's spine. He's sore enough himself, but he certainly hadn't missed Yussa's whine as he first moved. He's really got to be feeling a certain way this morning. (Caleb isn't sorry. In fact, he's very pleased with himself.)
"Feeling well rested?" There's some gentle teasing in his tone, of course, his lips twitching into a wider smile.
"I certainly am feeling something," he answers, lazy and loose and smiling as he nuzzles against Caleb. He brushes a kiss wherever he can reach without moving, then tips his head to look up at his lover again.
He has experienced this more with Caleb than any other in decades: waking up in the arms of someone he knows cares for him. Waking up with someone at all. Yussa isn't in the habit of taking lovers with any degree of frequency, and if he does, there is a line he keeps that he crossed long ago with Caleb Widogast. Perhaps it was a mistake to ever bring him here, to this most private space, but once he had it felt very easy to return.
A great many things feel easy with Caleb.
Yussa reaches up to stroke his fingers along his lover's cheek, admiring him. He's sore, though he would say pleasantly so, below the waist.
"But yes, I can say I slept very deeply." Rather than leaning up, his fingers lightly push against Caleb's jaw to coax him closer for a kiss. "I trust you are equally well rested."
Caleb's grin certainly doesn't fade as Yussa leads him into a kiss, which he returns with a playful but gentle nip to his bottom lip as they part. "Ja, I slept very well. As I always do in your bed." No need to guess why. He takes another kiss before he leans back again.
His hand rubs up Yussa's back, up his neck and into his sleep-mussed pale hair, threading his fingers through in a fond caress. His smile doesn't fade, nor does the warmth in his chest, but he thinks again about the logistics of this, of waking in Yussa's bed. He's been lucky enough to do it often in the last few months. Enough that he feels...not at home, but something close to that. Comfortable, safe, welcome. He doesn't want to ruin it by imposing too much.
"What I said last night..." His voice is low, still a little rough with sleep. "It was clumsy. I know that I cannot stay, for many reasons. You value your solitude, and my place is in the Empire."
A bittersweet ache fills his chest again and creeps into his smile, into the soft contentment in his eyes. "Things have been...difficult there lately. For a moment, getting away and spending every day between your bed and your workshop was a very appealing fantasy. Still, I should have known better. I put you in an awkward position, and I am sorry."
Yussa keeps his gaze on Caleb's face as the younger man's expression shifts. He brings up the words hanging between them and Yussa's hand falls to rest gently on Caleb's chest.
"It was earnest," he says softly, and with affection. Caleb is being honest with him, and it is the very least Yussa can do to offer him the same. His thumb strokes gently back and forth and he takes a careful breath. "Even if it is not... prudent."
He isn't sure that is the word that he wants, and Yussa is a man who very rarely questions his words. But he is also always very deliberate. He doesn't look away, searching Caleb's face. Everything he says is true, but most of all the fact that Caleb is needed in the Empire. He has work yet to do, and his life will not be easy, but it is work worth doing. Speak truth, Errenis. He does not often take lovers; even more rare are the occasions in which he takes students. Rarer still, at least in the past two centuries, has been his desire to share his life - intimately - with another. But he is not past that desire, apparently.
"As much as I value my solitude... I--" How to say this? How does he say this without leaving either of them exposed? Perhaps it is far too late for that now. He lowers his gaze at last as he tries to collect his thoughts. "It would not be an imposition to have you here every morning, Caleb Widogast. And every night. But even I cannot be quite that selfish."
As much as he would like to be. He peers up again, hoping that what he's said lands the way he hopes it will. Perhaps it was an impulsive thing to say, but the sentiment is not one-sided.
Caleb is quiet for a long few moments, taken aback. Then he breathes out, slow and even, like he's bracing himself. "Oh."
This is far from the response he expected from Yussa, so he isn't prepared. He knows the other man cares for him in his way, so he'd expected tender honesty. He'd expected to be let down gently, a tactful but firm agreement with his own assessment. But not like this. Reading between the lines, he hears what Yussa is not saying. He would not be an imposition because his presence is wanted. Yussa would like to wake up together every morning and fall asleep together every night. He would sacrifice his solitude to live this way, with Caleb. He cares that much. He didn't know.
To lose that in the same moment he finds out it is possible is devastating. His heart leaps high one moment, then plummets the next. The fantasy he'd already written off is more real than he imagined. It's just beyond his reach, in fact. But that is still too far to grasp. He can see it slipping through his fingers.
He chuckles under his breath, a soft, regretful sound. "Ja," he murmurs. "That would be selfish."
The extent of Yussa's honesty leaves him quiet, processing. He had no idea he was so loved. Though it feels almost like a bait and switch to find out in this way, he is very happy to know his own feelings are not one-sided. It's moving, humbling. Silently, he pulls his lover against him into a tighter embrace.
Yussa wonders if it would have been better to hold back when he sees the conflicting feelings across Caleb's face. The momentary shock, perhaps a flicker of happiness, and then a quiet devastation. It pains him to hear the regret in his lover's voice. Perhaps he should have let this go.
He doesn't resist as Caleb holds him tighter. Yussa shifts higher, allowing the other man the chance to rest against him, if Caleb would like to. His fingers brush gently into his lover's hair, attempting to offer comfort. Yussa isn't sure he can articulate how it felt to watch Caleb sail away, but it is not dissimilar to what he feels now. But there are a few key differences.
He tips his head to kiss Caleb's brow.
"Your ambitions, difficult as they are, are important," he murmurs. "As much as I would like to be, I cannot be a reason that you abandon them. But you are not barred from this place."
Yussa's fingers stroke gently up Caleb's jaw to tip his chin. A faint smile flickers to life.
Caleb takes that chance, slumping against Yussa at the first opportunity. He lays his head on the other man's chest and for once accepts every bit of comfort he's offered. His eyes close as Yussa's fingers sift through his hair, and he breathes deeply and evenly, as though trying to go back to sleep.
That isn't an option even if he wanted to. Yussa's voice is low and soothing, but the heavy sense of disappointment lingers, a weight in Caleb's chest. Self-imposed, mostly. He shouldn't have to be reminded of these things. He looks up when Yussa's touch trails along his jaw, and can't help feeling a bit ridiculous. Nothing has been taken from him. Nothing that ever would have been possible, at least. Why is he so upset about something he'd never seriously considered in the first place?
"So I am not being banished? That is good to hear." It's a weak joke, but he commits to it with a grim smile.
He has to wonder how Yussa is feeling. Last night he'd asked him to stay, and it sounds like he'd meant it, or that he wishes he could have. "Don't worry, schatz. There is nothing that could make me abandon my ambitions. As you said, they are too important."
"No," he says with a faint smile of his own. "This place will be a refuge, if you need or want it."
That is what he can offer to Caleb: the same thing he offered the day they met. A way to return. Since then, his door has never been closed to Caleb Widogast. The invitation has never been rescinded, and Yussa has actively encouraged his lover's return in his own ways.
He is quiet as he strokes his fingers through Caleb's hair. The weight on his shoulders is heavy, and has been for a long time. He cannot put it down forever, but he can put it down for a little while here, in a tower far from the spires of the Candles.
"I did not wish you to sail away into the unknown, yet could not bring myself to keep you from it. I do not wish you back into the fire, sydΓ€meni. But I fear that if I tempt you to abandon it now, you will live with regret."
Yussa leans down to kiss Caleb, hoping he has made himself understood. He does not expect it will make the truth of it any easier, but he hopes that his honesty has not made it worse.
What Caleb hates most about this, he decides, is that it isn't only him having his selfish daydreams dashed. He could deal with that. Caleb can sacrifice his own comfort and happiness all day every day if that is what it takes. But knowing it's something Yussa wants too, something he's reluctantly giving up for the sake of Caleb's goals--that hurts.
Even if he can hear the affection in the Elven endearment, he wonders what sydΓ€meni means. That's one he hasn't heard before. But then, it's the intent that matters most. He's never had to tell Yussa that when he says schatz it literally means treasure; Yussa understands that Caleb is calling him precious.
His heart aches with longing as he returns his lover's kiss. Having a refuge in this tower, in this man's arms, is a beautiful thing, and he will be grateful for it and humbled by it as long as he lives. But he will always know it could have been more than that, and he will always want more.
That hunger is not unique to him, however. Isn't it the hallmark of a powerful wizard to always seek beyond his means, no matter how much he already has? Contentment is not their way. If he didn't yearn for this, it would be something else. For the justice and resolution he seeks in the Empire. Even if he chose love and companionship, he would never find peace. Yussa clearly understands that. Perhaps that resolve to wade into the flames no matter the personal cost is part of whatever he finds admirable in Caleb Widogast, even if he would wish differently.
"You are correct, of course." His voice still holds onto its soft early-morning rasp. "There is change that must happen in my home, and I am uniquely positioned to do it. I cannot waste that opportunity. The cost has been too great." Holding Yussa's gaze, there is an urgency to be acknowledged, and perhaps absolved of the guilt he feels for making Yussa worry for him. For not being the partner he deserves. "If I abandoned this work, I would not be worthy of you, or any of my friends, or my parents' memory. I do not think I could face myself."
"As I often am," he says, lightly teasing in the face of all this. Yussa's expression grows serious again and he leans to give Caleb another gentle kiss in an attempt to soothe the pained urgency he sees in his lover's gaze. A silent granting of absolution, even if he thinks it is not for him to give in the first place. But if he can do anything that will bolster Caleb, Yussa will. Because of that, he does his best to ignore the feeling that he has let something slip through his fingers.
"And I do not wish that for you," he murmurs when Caleb acknowledges the regret he would live with should he give up now. He cannot be the reason that Caleb abandons something so important to him, something that has given him drive and purpose. He cannot become something that Caleb quietly resents. He will not do that to either of them.
Yussa strokes his fingers along the younger man's cheek, his golden gaze soft with admiration and a quiet sadness. Not only is the work that Caleb wishes to do important, it is also time-consuming. It will not be solved in a day, or even a decade. To an elf that matters far less, but Yussa knows that this will be the work of Caleb's life. A worthy dedication, even if it means sacrifice.
"But Tidepeak is not going anywhere, and neither am I."
He has been here for two hundred years, and if he has his way, he will be here for two hundred more at the very least. And he will be here for Caleb, in whatever capacity he can be. There is a part of him that feels--something like cowardice when he fails to make the offer that might be reasonable: to accompany Caleb back to Rexxentrum. But he does not belong there, for many reasons, and he thinks it wiser to stay in his stronghold here so that when Caleb does come to visit, he finds himself far from the shadows of the Assembly's holdings.
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He knows he lacks the constitution to go on this way for much longer, but he isn't done quite yet. Not before he fucks every thought from his wizard mentor's head. He reaches around Yussa's slim body down to his clit, hard and hot, to begin the abandoned work of rapidly swiping up and down. He is close enough to feel the spasm that goes through his echo's temporary corporeal form, and he intimately registers his thrusts stutter and then desperately speed up. Caleb chokes on a moan, and has no choice but to pick up the pace himself.
He pounds forward as hard as his hips will allow, remembering fleetingly that very same instance in that little captured corner of the Feywild. He's never seen Yussa come apart like that before or since--until now, perhaps. He barely thinks about it as his hand slides up Yussa's chest until he is bracing his head against his shoulder by cradling his slim throat, feeling the short moans forced out of him with every thrust against his palm.
"Too much?" he rasps, and across from him the echo lifts his head, desaturated eyes almost seeming to flash brighter before he ducks back down to lavish his attention on Yussa's breasts again. The echo grips Yussa's narrow waist in his cool human hands, bounces him forward and back between two cocks, while the slide of Caleb's hand against slick folds speeds to a purposeful, hard swirl of circular motion. When his fingertips glance against it several times in passing, he's surprised by the heat of his echo's cock. If he didn't know better, if the slight tingle of arcane magic wasn't present, he could be mistaken for a real man of flesh and blood.
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But he cannot hold onto those thoughts and they slip from his grasp like water.
His breathing is ragged when Caleb's hand slides up to hold his throat. Yussa's eyes close and his pulse pounds against his lover's fingers. Another pair of hands grip his waist, forcing him to move when Yussa can't manage it himself. He doesn't know if Caleb is talking to him, the words barely registering, but Yussa couldn't answer even if he wanted to. Still riding the edge of the first, Caleb manages to drag another orgasm out of him as his fingers circle and rub against his aching clit. He shudders hard between the two men holding him and if not for the echo's hands and Caleb's, he might collapse completely.
All he can do is shake and breathe. His mind is empty with that last rush of pleasure, and now he is quickly descending into being oversensitive, but neither is he inclined (or even capable) to tell his lovers to stop what they are doing. No, he wants very much for them to finish as well. His cunt throbs around the echo's cock and his weight leans more into Caleb's hands, head bowed as much as it can with the other man's hand cradling his throat.
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How many times has he made him come tonight? He would know the number if he gave himself a moment to count. Regardless, it should be once more, at least.
That thought has barely glanced across his mind when he feels Yussa shudder through another peak before the ripples of his first have had the chance to fade. The world slants. Oh fuck, he can't--it's too late to even try to draw this out, between the tightness around him and the pressure of his echo's cock. His movements are mindless; his fingers continue to stroke over Yussa's sore clit less because he means to and more because it is what he is already doing. The hand around his throat remains, perhaps even unintentionally tightens a fraction as Caleb's control slips.
His echo drives Yussa back onto Caleb's cock with his own thrusts, and he's lifted his head to nose distractedly against Yussa's sweat-damp curls, brow knit up with rising pleasure. For perhaps the first time, Caleb takes pity on himself; it is a completely foreign feeling. But the echo has done so well. Shouldn't he get something before he's banished back to whatever fading timeline he came from?
"Go ahead." The words scrape out aloud, the best he can manage, but it is enough. There are a few sloppy thrusts from each of them, and then the echo presses closer, head bowed against Yussa's with recognizable tenderness. Though Caleb doubts it's possible for him to produce anything tangible, the relief on his face and the tense shiver of his shadowy form is unmistakable.
Yussa, miracle that he is, takes both of their cocks to the hilt with ease when Caleb follows his counterpart a bare few moments later, sinking and spilling into the velvet-soft heat of his ass. Unlike his echo, his shaky groan is soft, but audible.
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Whatever he expected, he didn't count on feeling the echo driving into him with a very real urgency, chasing a release that Yussa didn't know he could feel. He hears Caleb's rasping voice giving permission and Yussa whimpers when the echo presses against him, skin cool against his. The affection is just as tender as what he would get from the man behind him, and a moment later Yussa is very certain that the echo comes, even if there is nothing to feel for it. That hardly matters when the very living man behind him pushes deep into him to follow in that pleasure.
Yussa can no longer even cry out, he can only whimper as his lover fills him. He's fairly sure he whites out for a few seconds, unseeing and unthinking as his body goes entirely weak. All he can do is pant for air, desperately trying to catch his breath as his entire body just--everything is warm and heavy, that delicious feeling rippling out to his fingertips and toes.
He cannot remember the last time he felt so thoroughly fucked, and somehow it feels terribly appropriate that it should be eclipsed by Caleb Widogast.
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"Scheisse," he curses sharply, wobbling. His head floats back to him enough to realize he's also been holding the other man's throat more tightly than he ever intended. Caleb releases his grip immediately, letting Yussa go limp. "I'm sorry," he gasps. Even in his own ears, his voice comes to him from far away. "Oh, gods. I did not mean to--to hold you for that long."
Bending forward, it's the best he can do to lower Yussa to his knees. His cock slips out in the same motion, and he fumbles when his fucked-out lover seems incapable of supporting himself even that way. On one hand, that is desperately hot. On the other, he needs to get himself together and make him comfortable.
Though he feels weak, he's able to ease Yussa onto his back. Brushing his hair out of his face, he looks him over, concern mingled with a hunger to see just how thoroughly he's wrecked him.
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With Caleb's help, Yussa sinks down onto the chaise, making only a soft, weak sound in the back of his throat when Caleb's cock slips free. He's left feeling utterly empty, and his awareness is far more pronounced with how well fucked the echo and Caleb have left him. Yussa doesn't have the strength to resist - or help - as Caleb eases him onto his back. His eyes aren't quite closed, but they aren't focused on anything in particular. His breathing is still heavy, but starting to calm; he still feels overheated, the flush lingering in his cheeks and chest even as sweat begins to dry on his skin.
Yussa blinks his eyes fully open as Caleb's fingers brush across his brow, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair. He manages to focus on the younger man, but it's clear looking at him that he's still dazed. Between his thighs he's a mess of his own slick and oil and Caleb's come, and whatever remains of a dragon's saliva.
He still feels like he's floating, even with the familiar support of the chaise beneath him ensuring that he isn't completely untethered. His entire body is too heavy and it takes far more effort than usual to do anything at all. Yussa, a man who depends on the sharpness of his mind and the precise command of his words can barely muster any at all. His mind grasps uselessly at passing thoughts but cannot hold them. His hand rests on the chaise and his fingers curl lightly in a gesture that might be beckoning if he weren't so wrecked.
It takes far too long to muster the words, but eventually he manages to murmur, "Do not apologize, sweet boy."
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The twitch of the other man's fingers catches his attention, and he leans down, closer, as Yussa pulls enough of himself together to murmur to him. He doesn't know what he expected, but what he hears strikes straight through to his heart. His soft, scraped together voice, the familiar endearment that never fails to make him flushed and giddy, a kind reassurance.
Gods, he is so fucked. He loves this man ridiculously. He cannot get past it, and he cannot admit to it. What is left?
"Okay," he murmurs back, cracking a smile that he knows is too tender, one that softens his eyes and deepens the lines at each corner. "No more apologies." He ducks down to kiss Yussa's brow, lingering as his hand cups his cheek. "You seemed to enjoy all of that," he says as he leans back again, clearly pleased with himself, but equally glad--and looking for some small confirmation that he hadn't overstepped. "Now I've made sure you will rest well tonight, maybe you will forgive me for interrupting earlier."
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Even in his wrung out state, a smile flickers to life across his mouth. He doesn't open his eyes, but he does turn his face toward Caleb's palm. In this moment of strange, exhausted clarity, Yussa whispers, "I will forgive you, Caleb Widogast." His fingers curl tighter, trying to hold onto something that isn't there. "Stay with me."
It is what he wants. Yussa wants to go back to bed with the comforting warmth of his lover beside him, knowing that Caleb is whole and safe. He wants to wake to see his face in the morning light. He could not say it when Caleb made his fevered offer, and he does not know if he will be able to say it again come morning. But here, in the quiet, dim light of his sitting room where they first met two years ago, he can give Caleb that bare honesty.
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He takes Yussa's curled fingers into his hand and squeezes, biting back every impulsive word he wants to say. He has already made that mistake tonight. Yussa is tired and dazed, and he doesn't mean it the way Caleb had wanted him to earlier. Even if he does, he won't in the morning.
Tonight, at least, he'll stay. That is an invitation he's accepted many times before, and will again.
"Ja," he agrees, trying to mask the rough, emotional edge in his voice with exhaustion. "Back to bed, then."
The first spell he casts is prestidigitation, cleaning them both of the worst of their mutual mess. The second is Teleport. They blink out of one room and appear in another, exactly on target in the middle of Yussa's bed. Impossible not to recall Yussa doing the teleporting, much more frantically, the first time Caleb ever laid eyes on this room.
Caleb grabs for the sheet, pulled down by him earlier, and covers Yussa's bare form with it before slipping away to pour a glass of water from the pitcher he knows he'll find on the table. Only once both he and Yussa drink one each does he lay down.
"Comfortable?" he asks, reaching for pillows, fussing to distract himself. He wants to be here, but he wants to be here so badly that it verges on uneasy.
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He is useless as Caleb fusses with the bed, dragging up sheets to cover him, pouring water, urging him to drink. Yussa manages to sit up enough to do so without choking, and he drinks deeply to satisfy Caleb's urge to care for him. Then he gives in to his body's demand and sinks back down onto the bed, head hitting a pillow after Caleb pulls one down. Even this worn out, Yussa notices his lover's anxious energy. He reaches for Caleb, gently catching his arm with a squeeze.
"Caleb," he murmurs, "come here. Hold me."
It feels so easy to say these things now. It's hardly the first time he's made demands on the younger man, but he is far from imperious now. Yussa would rather feel Caleb's arms around him than stay awake through the way the other wizard tries to busy himself. He doesn't want there to be discomfort or unease here, not when it has been so easy for them in the past. And it has been, hasn't it? Once they managed to get on the same page, their chemistry has been flawless. Perhaps at times their communication leaves something to be desired, but surely everything else--
Yussa's hand slides to cup Caleb's cheek, coaxing him into a kiss that is full of longing and relief all at once. He's wanted to share his life with very few people, and in the last century or so he has made it a point to isolate himself. But this man, this brilliant arcanist, came crashing into his life, leaving a mark on Tidepeak - indeed, all of Exandria - that has never faded. When he is gone, Yussa is aware of his absence. He misses Caleb the way he does few others. Gods, how did this happen?
Those questions are not for the quiet peace of the night. Far below, the Lucidian Ocean crashes on the shore, and here in his bed is a man Yussa has come to adore. One who has absolutely wrecked him in so many ways tonight. He does not want to ruin that effort with a cascade of tumultuous thoughts.
Caleb is here. That is what Yussa has wanted.
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As their lips part, he strokes a hand through the soft pale waves of Yussa's hair, gently cradling the back of his head. He kisses his lover's cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his lips again fully, not quite satisfied yet.
It is late, and dawn will arrive well before he's had enough rest to replenish his reserves of arcane energy. He also recalls that he's left half of his clothing downstairs. His pants, specifically. So no possibility for a swift exit for him in the morning. If Yussa wants to have a conversation, he won't be able to escape it.
Well, if there is no avoiding it, at least he knows to be prepared. He can do damage control. To keep this relationship intact, he'll say whatever he needs to.
"Sleep, schatz," he murmurs, curling closer still. "I do not have any pressing appointments with sea monsters to keep tomorrow."
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Yussa breathes a soft sigh and tucks his head down against Caleb's chest, closing his eyes as he takes comfort in the warmth of his presence, the beat of his heart and the sound of his breathing. He will at least have Caleb in the morning. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers of the comfort and joy of having him longer. Tell me to stay.
"Then stay," he murmurs, answering the voice in his head or the gentle reassurance from Caleb. That is how Yussa falls asleep, absolutely wrung out by his lover in every way possible.
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Then he remembers.
Fuck. He is a fucking idiot.
He wasn't thinking. His tongue got ahead of his brain, and of course he had to give away one of the few things with the potential to upset this whole arrangement--something he desperately does not want to lose. Why can't he just be grateful that he gets to have mornings like this at all? It's greedy, this desire for more. Why is he never satisfied?
After successfully avoiding the subject of his blunder in favor of several rounds of very enjoyable and creative sex, he'd had some hope that maybe they were past it. But Yussa had referenced it again, drowsy and addled. Not just once, but twice. He didn't forget. Perhaps he'd even meant it, in some way. The bittersweet ache Caleb is so familiar with constricts his lungs as he remembers the soft murmur of Yussa's voice telling him to stay.
As the light of a clear coastal morning brightens the archmage's bedroom, Caleb stares at the ceiling and thinks. He should apologize. If he gets it out of the way and reassures Yussa that he knows it was silly, perhaps they can avoid a longer conversation they would both find uncomfortable, and move on to forgetting it ever happened. That seems reasonable.
He's able to spend more than twenty minutes dissecting this problem from every angle before he feels Yussa begin to stir against him with the first signs of wakefulness. Despite a swirl of conflicting emotions, Caleb can't help but be captured by the ordinary beauty of a moment like this. How lucky he is that some days, he gets to watch the man he loves wake up in his arms. Looking on fondly, his hand rubs slow and soothing up and down Yussa's back, and he tips his chin down to kiss the top of his head in a silent greeting, knowing the elf will be too groggy for words for a few minutes yet. When one rarely sleeps, he would guess that waking up must be a uniquely disorienting experience.
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He can feel the gentle pressure of Caleb's lips against his hair and the affectionate, comforting slide of his hand up and down his back. Yussa has lived in solitude for a long time; even when he takes lovers, he rarely indulges in this sort of intimacy. But with Caleb, it feels effortless. He takes a deep breath and tries to stifle a yawn as his mind rouses further. The very first shift of his body reminds him of the dull ache he feels from an evening well spent and he cannot help the quiet whine that escapes him. Gods, how has he found a partner that can give him so much? Who does so with a nearly unrivaled eagerness?
Slowly, Yussa opens his eyes. He peers up at Caleb and a tired smile tugs at his mouth. He has not forgotten the words exchanged between them, though other parts of the evening are fuzzy yet. Should he bring it up? Should he let it pass? Yussa doesn't want to give Caleb cause to retreat, but neither does he want him to slip away.
"Good morning," he murmurs at last, accent thick and voice soft.
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"Hallo," he says, voice equally thick, the softness of his smile deepening the lines of his face. His hand pets again down the length of Yussa's spine. He's sore enough himself, but he certainly hadn't missed Yussa's whine as he first moved. He's really got to be feeling a certain way this morning. (Caleb isn't sorry. In fact, he's very pleased with himself.)
"Feeling well rested?" There's some gentle teasing in his tone, of course, his lips twitching into a wider smile.
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He has experienced this more with Caleb than any other in decades: waking up in the arms of someone he knows cares for him. Waking up with someone at all. Yussa isn't in the habit of taking lovers with any degree of frequency, and if he does, there is a line he keeps that he crossed long ago with Caleb Widogast. Perhaps it was a mistake to ever bring him here, to this most private space, but once he had it felt very easy to return.
A great many things feel easy with Caleb.
Yussa reaches up to stroke his fingers along his lover's cheek, admiring him. He's sore, though he would say pleasantly so, below the waist.
"But yes, I can say I slept very deeply." Rather than leaning up, his fingers lightly push against Caleb's jaw to coax him closer for a kiss. "I trust you are equally well rested."
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His hand rubs up Yussa's back, up his neck and into his sleep-mussed pale hair, threading his fingers through in a fond caress. His smile doesn't fade, nor does the warmth in his chest, but he thinks again about the logistics of this, of waking in Yussa's bed. He's been lucky enough to do it often in the last few months. Enough that he feels...not at home, but something close to that. Comfortable, safe, welcome. He doesn't want to ruin it by imposing too much.
"What I said last night..." His voice is low, still a little rough with sleep. "It was clumsy. I know that I cannot stay, for many reasons. You value your solitude, and my place is in the Empire."
A bittersweet ache fills his chest again and creeps into his smile, into the soft contentment in his eyes. "Things have been...difficult there lately. For a moment, getting away and spending every day between your bed and your workshop was a very appealing fantasy. Still, I should have known better. I put you in an awkward position, and I am sorry."
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"It was earnest," he says softly, and with affection. Caleb is being honest with him, and it is the very least Yussa can do to offer him the same. His thumb strokes gently back and forth and he takes a careful breath. "Even if it is not... prudent."
He isn't sure that is the word that he wants, and Yussa is a man who very rarely questions his words. But he is also always very deliberate. He doesn't look away, searching Caleb's face. Everything he says is true, but most of all the fact that Caleb is needed in the Empire. He has work yet to do, and his life will not be easy, but it is work worth doing. Speak truth, Errenis. He does not often take lovers; even more rare are the occasions in which he takes students. Rarer still, at least in the past two centuries, has been his desire to share his life - intimately - with another. But he is not past that desire, apparently.
"As much as I value my solitude... I--" How to say this? How does he say this without leaving either of them exposed? Perhaps it is far too late for that now. He lowers his gaze at last as he tries to collect his thoughts. "It would not be an imposition to have you here every morning, Caleb Widogast. And every night. But even I cannot be quite that selfish."
As much as he would like to be. He peers up again, hoping that what he's said lands the way he hopes it will. Perhaps it was an impulsive thing to say, but the sentiment is not one-sided.
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This is far from the response he expected from Yussa, so he isn't prepared. He knows the other man cares for him in his way, so he'd expected tender honesty. He'd expected to be let down gently, a tactful but firm agreement with his own assessment. But not like this. Reading between the lines, he hears what Yussa is not saying. He would not be an imposition because his presence is wanted. Yussa would like to wake up together every morning and fall asleep together every night. He would sacrifice his solitude to live this way, with Caleb. He cares that much. He didn't know.
To lose that in the same moment he finds out it is possible is devastating. His heart leaps high one moment, then plummets the next. The fantasy he'd already written off is more real than he imagined. It's just beyond his reach, in fact. But that is still too far to grasp. He can see it slipping through his fingers.
He chuckles under his breath, a soft, regretful sound. "Ja," he murmurs. "That would be selfish."
The extent of Yussa's honesty leaves him quiet, processing. He had no idea he was so loved. Though it feels almost like a bait and switch to find out in this way, he is very happy to know his own feelings are not one-sided. It's moving, humbling. Silently, he pulls his lover against him into a tighter embrace.
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He doesn't resist as Caleb holds him tighter. Yussa shifts higher, allowing the other man the chance to rest against him, if Caleb would like to. His fingers brush gently into his lover's hair, attempting to offer comfort. Yussa isn't sure he can articulate how it felt to watch Caleb sail away, but it is not dissimilar to what he feels now. But there are a few key differences.
He tips his head to kiss Caleb's brow.
"Your ambitions, difficult as they are, are important," he murmurs. "As much as I would like to be, I cannot be a reason that you abandon them. But you are not barred from this place."
Yussa's fingers stroke gently up Caleb's jaw to tip his chin. A faint smile flickers to life.
"I am not going anywhere."
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That isn't an option even if he wanted to. Yussa's voice is low and soothing, but the heavy sense of disappointment lingers, a weight in Caleb's chest. Self-imposed, mostly. He shouldn't have to be reminded of these things. He looks up when Yussa's touch trails along his jaw, and can't help feeling a bit ridiculous. Nothing has been taken from him. Nothing that ever would have been possible, at least. Why is he so upset about something he'd never seriously considered in the first place?
"So I am not being banished? That is good to hear." It's a weak joke, but he commits to it with a grim smile.
He has to wonder how Yussa is feeling. Last night he'd asked him to stay, and it sounds like he'd meant it, or that he wishes he could have. "Don't worry, schatz. There is nothing that could make me abandon my ambitions. As you said, they are too important."
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That is what he can offer to Caleb: the same thing he offered the day they met. A way to return. Since then, his door has never been closed to Caleb Widogast. The invitation has never been rescinded, and Yussa has actively encouraged his lover's return in his own ways.
He is quiet as he strokes his fingers through Caleb's hair. The weight on his shoulders is heavy, and has been for a long time. He cannot put it down forever, but he can put it down for a little while here, in a tower far from the spires of the Candles.
"I did not wish you to sail away into the unknown, yet could not bring myself to keep you from it. I do not wish you back into the fire, sydΓ€meni. But I fear that if I tempt you to abandon it now, you will live with regret."
Yussa leans down to kiss Caleb, hoping he has made himself understood. He does not expect it will make the truth of it any easier, but he hopes that his honesty has not made it worse.
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Even if he can hear the affection in the Elven endearment, he wonders what sydΓ€meni means. That's one he hasn't heard before. But then, it's the intent that matters most. He's never had to tell Yussa that when he says schatz it literally means treasure; Yussa understands that Caleb is calling him precious.
His heart aches with longing as he returns his lover's kiss. Having a refuge in this tower, in this man's arms, is a beautiful thing, and he will be grateful for it and humbled by it as long as he lives. But he will always know it could have been more than that, and he will always want more.
That hunger is not unique to him, however. Isn't it the hallmark of a powerful wizard to always seek beyond his means, no matter how much he already has? Contentment is not their way. If he didn't yearn for this, it would be something else. For the justice and resolution he seeks in the Empire. Even if he chose love and companionship, he would never find peace. Yussa clearly understands that. Perhaps that resolve to wade into the flames no matter the personal cost is part of whatever he finds admirable in Caleb Widogast, even if he would wish differently.
"You are correct, of course." His voice still holds onto its soft early-morning rasp. "There is change that must happen in my home, and I am uniquely positioned to do it. I cannot waste that opportunity. The cost has been too great." Holding Yussa's gaze, there is an urgency to be acknowledged, and perhaps absolved of the guilt he feels for making Yussa worry for him. For not being the partner he deserves. "If I abandoned this work, I would not be worthy of you, or any of my friends, or my parents' memory. I do not think I could face myself."
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"And I do not wish that for you," he murmurs when Caleb acknowledges the regret he would live with should he give up now. He cannot be the reason that Caleb abandons something so important to him, something that has given him drive and purpose. He cannot become something that Caleb quietly resents. He will not do that to either of them.
Yussa strokes his fingers along the younger man's cheek, his golden gaze soft with admiration and a quiet sadness. Not only is the work that Caleb wishes to do important, it is also time-consuming. It will not be solved in a day, or even a decade. To an elf that matters far less, but Yussa knows that this will be the work of Caleb's life. A worthy dedication, even if it means sacrifice.
"But Tidepeak is not going anywhere, and neither am I."
He has been here for two hundred years, and if he has his way, he will be here for two hundred more at the very least. And he will be here for Caleb, in whatever capacity he can be. There is a part of him that feels--something like cowardice when he fails to make the offer that might be reasonable: to accompany Caleb back to Rexxentrum. But he does not belong there, for many reasons, and he thinks it wiser to stay in his stronghold here so that when Caleb does come to visit, he finds himself far from the shadows of the Assembly's holdings.