Now Daromir is the one who has to look away. “Vana, I’m so sorry.”
“What do you mean?”
Nausea cuts through Daromir, cold and sick. “I’m sorry. If you felt me through the bond. I didn’t intend to do that to you, but that doesn’t change that you didn’t want it.”
Vana stares, frozen, before helaughs. The sound is mad, unhappy, broken. “For fuck’s sake,thatis hardly the problem.” Vana grabs Daromir’s arm, tightening his grip when Daromir instinctively pulls away. Having Vana so close in his space is fucking with Daromir’s head, almost as much as Vana’s next words. “Don’t you dare, Daro.”
“Vana,” Daromir says helplessly.
“Don’t you take this on yourself.” Vana’s grip tightens. “This isn’t your fault, and I refuse to let you make this into another horrible burden. You haven’t failed me. You haven’t hurt me. You never have. Can you trust me?”
“You don’t have to pretend,” Daromir starts.
“If I was pretending to be okay, I would have let you fucking finish!” Vana snaps, shocking Daromir into silence. Letting go of Daromir’s arm, Vana continues. “Neither of us is at fault. We’re together, as always. So don’t burden both of us with your misplaced guilt. Don’t do that to us.”
It isn’t an order from Daromir’s prince. It’s a plea from his closest friend.
“All right,” Daromir says quietly. “I’m going to put on trousers before we talk about this.”
“Maybe a shirt, too,” Vana says faintly, then flushes even deeper red. He whirls away, and Daromir closes the door with an echoing click.
The bathroom is still warm with steam. Daromir scrubs himself half-dry with a towel. He doesn’t care about the discomfort of pulling clothes over damp skin. Leaning against the counter, he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. He hasn’t felt this lost in years. Not since the night Vana closed off their bond, fourteen years ago.
Will this moment hang between them too? Or will it be worse?
A deep breath shudders through Daromir. Then another. He can’t panic right now. He splashes cold water in his face, towels off again, then leaves the bathroom.
Vana is pacing in the parlor when Daromir finds him. He’s neat again, a coat buttoned up to his throat, his hair tied back in a tail. If not for his bare feet, he would be ready for court. His expression is neutral. Polite.
A miserable mask.
At this sight, Daromir would usually grab Vana by the shoulder and drag him to the couch. Hold him close until he relaxed. Ground him with touch. That instinct is the opposite of helpful now. This is a problem Daromir has no idea how to solve, but he’s damn well going to try.
Daromir avoids the far-too-comfortable couch and pulls a chair out from the table. “All right. Let’s figure this out.”
Vana stops at a window, then paces closer. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Are you sure this isn’t nightrose or something?” Daromir asks. “Did you drink anything?”
“I’ve taken nightrose before. This was different. I wasn’t just aroused.” At the table, Vana pours a glass of water from the carafe. His hand is steady. “I felt specific actions on specific parts of my body. Did you, um, touch your nipples?”
Daromir uses every ounce of willpower in his body to answer, “Yes.”
The carafe trembles when Vana sets it down. “Exactly. Besides, I know what the bloodbond feels like just as well as you do, Daromir Azri.”
Daromir’s slight laugh surprises them both. “No offense intended.”
“None taken.” Vana laughs too. “Fuck, this is insane.”
Daromir leans back in his chair. “I think I would have remembered if they warned me about this in training.”
“Maybe that’s the part you missed when you left two years early?”
“I promise, the other cadets never would have shut up about it.” Daromir scrubs his hand through his damp hair, relieved they can laugh about it. That’s good. He and Vana will get through this. Even if Vana is still wearing that polite, protective mask. “This shouldn’t be possible. It’s only supposed to be pain. And why now?” Daromir’s mind is starting to work again, picking at this logically. Finding the situation’s parameters so he can plan an attack. “It’s never happened before, and I’ve certainly… touched myself before. And I assume…”
Vana takes a gulp of water, eyes darting away. “Yes, we’ve both masturbated before, and we’re not virgins. Unless you took the seneschal’s brother into your bedroom for a game of aerie two Song Solstices ago.”
Daromir is surprised Vana remembers the seneschal’s brother so specifically. He himself wouldn’t have remembered which solstice he bedded the man, at least not that easily. “I only ever play aerie with you.”
