52nd of Glade, Year 4619
It had been over a month since he and Lord Ryan had effectively moved in together. If he were any less head-over-heels for the man, Latham might have questioned why a Lord had decided to stay with him for so long, or why he'd never been invited to see his own abode within the city. In truth, some time ago his suspicions effectively disappeared, as he placed more and more faith in the other man, and regarded him with a level of importance within his life that was nearly binding. Latham was in love, and though neither of them had said as much, he was certain that Ashley was too. The nature of their relationship had begun to change -- they spent more time holding hands, kissing, laying within one another's arms. Even their most intimate activities had changed, becoming more sensual, slow and affectionate.
Their time together was unlike anything else. He craved it, needed it, and when he had it, he cherished it.
The Knight had spent the evening gone, though he had informed his lover as much before he'd left. Though they hadn't received any further news on Nora Brend or her activities, a smaller coven of Botchlings had been traced back to their nest. They had been easy enough to kill, but the blood spatter was gruesome, and he, Briala and Halion spent some time after cleaning their armor and complexions, searching their estate and ensuring they didn't leave until the streets were clear of onlookers. It wasn't as if their activities were, after all, entirely sanctioned.
The man returned home with a frayed look across his features, overstimulated and fatigued. He was wearing his thick, black-cladded armor, with his claymore strapped to his back, seared gloves over his hands and a satchel-belt filled with various necessities for the hunt. Taelian's mind reached back to the Botchling he'd last killed -- the way he cowered in the corner, against the wall, begging for his life as his body curled into submission. He thought of how happy he was, here, when he wasn't doing all of that. When he was making love, or cooking for the other man, or playing stupid games that Lord Ryan always seemed better at, bluffed or fooled into defeat nine times out of ten. He trusted the other man utterly, and that was fine. It meant he carried no guilt.
Removing his belt, the man sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he set it down, regaining himself. He tried to remember that he was safe, in their home, away from all of the brutality. He saw the vase at the center of the table near their door, filled with flowers. Ashley had gotten them for him. In return, Latham bought him a simple, silver ring. He didn't say what it meant, nor did he fully ascribe it any sort of meaning in his own mind. Life was short, though, and he knew one thing: he wanted to spend it with Ash. If he could add another ring to that one, some day, he would be glad. Maybe one befitting of his class.
"Ashley, I'm home," he said, as if it wasn't clear, given the small size of their flat. It was an hour from midnight, but he doubted the other would be asleep. His schedule was... somewhat erratic, compared to his own. "Could you help me take off my armor?"
