NSFW, use discretion, sexual content ahoy
Dominicus needed to learn the rules. Written – unwritten – didn’t matter.
And what he had discovered was that being punished was, indeed, bad – but they weren’t going to end his career if the transgression did not merit it. This was, he thought, a rare virtue in an Ainjir system: the ollamh were not allowed to directly punish students, a third party ultimately made the decision.
Coincidentally, he had also discovered that Ghent had almost nothing to do with such minor goings-on among the Quartermaster’s officers as punishment. So Dominicus judged that they, like many of the little lords in control of little fiefdoms of Academy business, had a deep interest in keeping other lordlings out of their demesne and uninterested in their business. Attention from superiors was bad, or bothersome; attention from others was unwelcome; interference in their business was an affront.
That was a rule, of a sort.
One of the unforeseen benefits of growing up with Catillia as an older sister was that he was very good at rules. She, too, was very good at rules – mostly existing on all sides of them, choosing as she saw fit. He intended to mostly exist on one side, but thanks to her, he was well-prepared.
As long as he didn’t mind a beating, he could figure out the other rules that they had disdained to make clear to him along the way.
For the clear rules, there was a great deal of reading to do, but that was easy. Or, rather, that cudgeling-of-the-brain he was well-versed in. He knew what to do.
And now he knew how to do it.
He approached the Library.
This time, instead of carefully observing proper deference to a mostly-silent place of learning, he stalked and discovered the Librarian at his work among the tomes.
“Where are your Midraeic books?”
He had not asked before, both because he had not wished to disturb the Librarian, but also because he assumed there wouldn’t be much for him to discover there, if they had any to start with.
The Librarian appeared affronted, then sceptical. He had cold grey eyes, not unlike the stone of his abode, and a glass that helped him see fine print, and presumably the sins of filthy-fingered cadets. But something of his pride was also pricked by this question, so he ceased his work and gathering his cloak of office swept past Dominicus to lead him to the proper shelves.
Dominicus had to admit, these were more than he expected. Some eight feet, perhaps twelve shelves high, only the requisite gaps at the ends to make the collection comfortable. He peered at the bindings, and saw that some, even, were in the Midraeic language, instead of copies made to read in Ainjir.
Naturally, a library so large as this would struggle to contain all that had been written by his people – a task of every young Midraeic boy was to copy not just the Books but any tomes circulating in the community that were near the point of wearing out, and circulation was widespread and constant. He handled books from as far away as Adineh, even Ceantair Amuigh, which the Ainjir Midraeic saw no cause to ostracize for their independence. He had pitied the scribal hands of his country cousins (Ceantair Amuigh had very sophisticated script, but in Adineh they tended to slip into the characters of that language instead of keeping to Midraeic letterings).
These volumes were all plainly transcribed by either Ainjir-Midraeic or simply Ainjir scholars. The bindings were, for many, all but uncracked; few had even been opened, much less circulated, meaning their marginalia would be minimal. It was fine, he supposed, for Ainjir coming to learn something of what Midraeic thought and commentary was like, but hardly sufficient for much more than a beginning Midraeic student.
He grunted.
The Librarian – who Dominicus had not attended to during his silent evaluation of the collection – bristled.
“I see you have the Lido,” Dominicus said, magnanimously.
“Two editions,” the Librarian replied with disdain.
“But only the small one.”
“It has all we have proven to need,” the Librarian said.
“’Ha,” Dominicus said, evaluatively, gesturing up at the books on the shelf. “Well, you have only Historia in, what, three volumes?”
“There are no more,” the Librarian said.
“Eha,” Dominicus said, dismissively. “Commentary. It is necessary you know – so many elisions, suspect inclusions...”
“We have both of Gaius Placidus.”
“Only for her Historia – where is Barbarus, Victorium Elinguim?”
This time the Librarian grunted, but his attention fixed on the shelves, the slightest shortening of the distance between his brows.
“And no Aquila Magna,” this Dominicus said with a tragic tone, walking over to put his hand under the place where it should go, crowded with lesser philosophers.
“We haven’t been interested in collecting religious commentary,” the Librarian said, but with a touch of curiosity to his voice.
Dominicus clucked, shaking his head. “Even so – you should have Kindi.”
“I haven’t heard this name,” the Librarian said, suspicion and irritation rising – not a Dominicus, but at whoever had so impoverished his catalogue as not to mention these works.
“Pater skola, patria avus,” Dominicus explained, “starter of all – before the Prophet.”
“Before the Prophet,” the Librarian breathed, incensed.
“But – yes – much philosophy of souls, of the divine, of music – mathematics, of course, if such...” but Dominicus didn’t have to finish this query about interest in mathematics – the Librarian would clearly have been insulted by the implication it would not be of interest.
“Well, you have The Student,” Dominicus said, pointing to a slim volume, dreadfully unimpressive squeezed between such tomes. “I don’t know, you would maybe say, Son of the Flumes...”
“We use his proper name.” The Librarian ruffled, cleared his throat, took an evaluative stance as he surveyed the shelves. “Magna’s – the Guide, at least, we passed on by choice. Too much religion.”
“Well, it’s more, you know,” Dominicus said, after they had both stood in silent review a few moment.
“More what?”
“The account of the Guide – it is more. You know, it has the Probat,” he paused after each phrase as if to give his student time to affirm he had studied, “the Scripta discussion, is of parts of events – Comidri Valenti, the conquests of the Empire...”
The Librarian grunted again, and Dominicus let a silence fall.
“This is fine,” he said.
The Librarian scowled at him. “What did you want that is missing?”
“I want this,” Dominicus gestured at the whole of the collection, “but for Ainjir.”
After an incredulous moment, the Librarian asked, “What?”
“This,” he made an expansive gesture, whirling a hand over his head to encompass the whole Library, “is more than that. I want this,” he repeated his gesture at the confines of the shelves before him, “for Ainjir.”
The Librarian contemplated silently.
“And I don’t need dictionaries,” Dominicus added.
The Librarian scoffed – as if he would so misread the needs of an inquirer.
“Perhaps you ought to start with just the Academy,” he suggested.
“Yes,” Dominicus said, “that will do.”
**
Cole had Hal on his lap, fingers dug into the hollows just inside his hip bones, buried, buried, buried, to that deep and throbbing root.
Hal had sung out, but they were outdoors, so the leaves simply ate it. And now he struggled to make sensible noise, something other than stuttering, breath-starved catches and sighs, as if Cole’s cock held him open at both ends.
One hand pushed against a tree trunk, Hal ground himself down, but they had been at it some time and his sensitivity was getting the better of him. In response to the tightness of Cole’s grip, he put another hand on the tree, to better brace himself, but Cole released Hal’s hips to sweep both arms away. He rose to knees, pushing Hal forward, head turned so his shoulder now cradled the trunk, one of Hal’s hands softening the bite of the bark into his skin and the other keeping his torso up.
“Oh, fuck!”
Cole went to work a little recklessly, but he knew Hal could take it. He might even enjoy it. It had never been Cole’s primary pleasure to be so forceful, but again – it had its place.
That strong back stayed straight under his hands, never collapsing under his thrusts, and he did much to collapse it. He could imagine they shook the tree – which didn’t notice them at all, in fact – but the way the wind blew the dappled light he could imagine it. He could imagine leaves falling, light shifting, the noise of wind through the branches instead the shaking of his thrusts. The branches cracking, the bark breaking, the tree itself bending and groaning – to go so far as tearing it out of the ground felt silly, so he buried his thoughts again in taking, collapsing, crushing, feeling crushed. Something in that he liked, perhaps as much if not more than the feeling of the body around him.
That feeling, though, soon won out, and he gentled as he came, going for speed more than force, bending over Hal’s back, hand joining hand against the tree trunk, other hand wrapping around his torso. He could feel Hal’s hissing breath against his ear as he worked himself to completion, and the wet loosening of his jaw as he sighed his relief. No other sign would be forthcoming; Cole had drawn him near dry long ago.
Cole drew back, the dragging of his hands over Hal’s body his display of affectionate gratitude as he rolled over onto his back in the grass. Plucking a few sticks and rocks out from under himself made him completely comfortable, and he could catch his breath in peace.
Hal turned and sat at the foot of the tree. He brushed bark from his neck, picked bits of the ground from his knees, and they both listened to the wind in the trees.
Once he caught his breath, Hal thought: Cole was going to wear him out.
“When are you going to find another sucker to fall in love with you for a little bit?” Hal asked.
Cole, eyes closed, grinned.
“Not that I’m not enjoying the exclusive attention, but some of us have to be a little more careful with our physical well-being to keep our places, you know.” Hal shifted his seat, grimacing.
“I could always be gentler,” Cole said.
“There is no gentility to offset the pace,” Hal said. “I see why you’re so flirtatious, but I need at least some time to study.”
“We could study, too,” Cole said, still grinning.
Hal snorted in disbelief. “As if I didn’t forget half the things we talked about once we start fucking.”
“Well, that seems like a personal shortcoming,” Cole said.
“I’m sure your remedy is practice,” Hal shot back.
Cole chuckled and fell silent.
“I’m a little bit serious, though,” Hal said, and into Cole’s languorous but somehow still concerned look, repeated, “a little bit.”
“I’ll need to be spending a bit more of my free time with my team,” Hal went on. “Our match is coming up, you know.”
“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Cole said, closing his eyes and turning his face back towards the soft play of the light through the trees. “The team you’re against is going to fall apart. They can’t agree on a plan or a leader.”
“Well, that hasn’t always proved fatal,” Hal muttered. “But anyway, we really ought to be working on showing something impressive to the judges. By now they’re expecting us to have learned from the previous matches.” He dropped his voice back down to a mutter, “I’m not sure what I’ve learned...”
“You’ve learned plenty...” Cole said, grin returning.
“Yeah well if I could win by fucking the other team I might be set.”
“Maybe you could,” Cole shrugged.
His eyes were still closed, for which Hal was flooded with gratitude, as Cole couldn’t see the unhappy grimace that flitted over his face. Hal was adapting, but his squeamishness at their lack of exclusivity had taken him by surprise. He had always been quite content to adventure among adventurers, so to speak, and didn’t mind Cole fucking other cadets – so why did it bother him to think Cole didn’t mind his fucking other cadets?
Not that he was, at the moment, fucking other cadets. He had trailed off to the occasional play with mouth or hands with others casually looking to blow off steam. He could blame this on Cole’s latest devastation of another lover meaning Hal was temporarily receiving his exclusive attention, which seemed to be needed almost daily.
Then again, there were other reasons for this.
“I don’t need any more trouble with my roommates,” Hal said.
He expected the somewhat chilled silence that followed. All he could do was invite Cole to speak more openly – one couldn’t fuck one’s problems away (well, not exactly, or not all of them).
“That was only the first foray,” Cole said, eventually, eyes opening to fix on the tree tops. “There will be others.”
“The first... oh, you mean of challenges to the Prep cadets?” Hal had gotten a little cold, and rolled reluctantly away from the tree to at least find where they had chucked his jacket. The first one he found was Cole’s, which he brought with him, just in case.
“Not likely to be any time soon,” Hal said, offering the jacket, which Cole refused. He sat, holding his knees, how own jacket over his shoulders, and let himself do a little admiring of the body he had just been under. “I think it was pretty demoralizing, you beating your own roommate.”
He didn’t add, ‘and so easily’. Salt in the wound, that would be.
“If they can’t handle being demoralized, they’ll never make it,” Cole said. “It’s our job to bring the morale.”
“Is it now?” Hal snorted. “The other Prep cadets might need to hear it.”
Predictably, Cole said nothing to this.
“Speaking of, Aspen’s match is also happening with yours – I’ll be there to watch.”
Cole said this with a sly smile up at Hal, as if he knew what Hal had been preoccupying his thoughts with.
“Oh, yes,” Hal said, with mock displeasure, “and certainly to celebrate afterwards... or console.”
“Celebrate,” Cole said, reaching out to brush his calf. “And if you do want to practice, or discuss strategy, I’m happy to help.”
And he was – the offer was serious – and Hal would never take it. He couldn’t explain it in a way that made sense. It wasn’t pride; Hal was pumping Dominicus Galen, who he suspected had been grievously under-ranked, for every bit of help he had to offer, along with a loose collection of other classmates. They made a tenuous network of cadets trying desperately to avoid becoming enmeshed in the competitive politics of their class, while not abjectly hurting their chances of gaining rank by giving away all their secrets.
Except Galen. Hal suspected Galen had no secrets. Then again, Galen didn’t need to have any.
Cole, on the other hand, was entirely secrets, from tip to toe. Some were looser than others, but it was Hal’s principle misery in this relationship – whatever its nature – that he couldn’t help feeling he would never know all his secrets. What did Hal care for the secrets of any other lover? It had never mattered before. Then again, they had never seemed so intense or intrinsic (which just made it stupider that he wanted to know them), and at the same time meaningless – they were weightless to Cole, who carried secrets like he carried on relationships, which was to say, none of it seemed to matter.
Hal knew that wasn’t true – what was Cole doing half the time he was fucking Hal, but avoiding facing his roommates? Avoiding having to deal with the Prep cadets? Avoiding admirers and hangers on and aspiring lovers and instead doing... what? What were they doing (other than fucking, which they were definitely doing, but it had to be something else, too hadn’t it? Or did it not. How could he know? Why did he want to know? What – in the end – did he know?)
Hal was half-driven wild. He might not even know as much as he thought he did.
Like he could feel Hal’s admiration, or at least his turmoil, Cole pulled gently at Hal’s ankle, rolling himself up from the ground, those deep blue eyes fixed on Hal’s face as if there were nothing else in the world to see. Even as his stomach ached at the idea they might go again – ached with both want and the deep fatigue of not wanting – Hal felt his body unwinding, leg pulled out, other leg pushed aside, Cole climbing up to cradle his jaw and kiss him.
Hal opened like a flower. He was ready. He would take it again. It didn’t matter he felt almost bruised inside, that burning rose in his chest like old ashes rekindled. Except this time Cole mounted his hips, soft pulse draped on Hal’s stomach, a warm blanket over his lap.
“Fuck me,” Hal breathed when Cole released him from the kiss, “there’s class... haven’t we got to get ready?”
“Fuck me,” Cole murmured. “I’ll make sure you’re ready.”
To the best of his ability, Hal obliged.