Archive of Our Own

Technically, they were called the Labyrinths of the Kirsen, but everyone in the Great Hall just called them the Sex Caves. It was a bit of a running joke, especially to the apprentices who had just hit puberty and to whom the idea of the opposite sex had stopped being gross but hadn’t yet become intriguing in a way that could be admitted to. 

Oh, two apprentices went to arrange the spell components? Time to giggle about them going to the Sex Cave instead. For a couple of years, it even became a euphemism for doing the deed—“Oh, yeah, we went to the Caves together,” with the appropriate eyebrow waggling, but that quickly became outdated and embarrassing to say. 

The bets were out on whether or not it was actually real. It certainly sounded like something that could be real: a long dead civilization had some off-color ideas about magic, died off, and left their mess behind for everyone else to deal with. Kirsen was even a real country. Small and obsessed with bloodlines, it existed only for about 100 years before it collapsed on itself, due to the whole bloodline obsession thing. 

The leading theory was that the Kirsenites wanted a way to bind their marriages, and the caves were a part of that. A willing element of the ceremony, some surmised, only triggering the magic in the case of true love. Other people thought it was less generous and that it forced recalcitrant spouses to consummate unwanted marriages. 

Either way, Olruggio had never cared about it. There was no proof of it being real, and it mostly existed as the holy grail of conspiracy theories for teenagers who had just discovered their own libido. He had always concerned himself with the more practical elements of magic: what he could actually make, and better yet, what he could sell. 

And focus on it he did, sketching out the doodle of his current idea: a tea cup saucer that made sure the tea never went cold. It should have been simple, but all his attempts so far had ended up boiling the tea again. He squinted at it. Maybe shorten some of the lines?

A knock rapped out on his door, familiar, one, two, three, and it creaked open. “Olly?” 

Olruggio picked his head up. That was Qifrey’s I’m Not Doing Anything Wrong voice, which was incredibly alarming. “What are you doing?” he questioned, already turning to look over the edge of his loft.

“Ohh,” Qifrey hemmed. “I just need you to watch the girls.”

Olruggio stared down at him. “You haven’t used that tone of voice since you were 14.”

“What?” Qifrey said, his eye going wide. “What tone?”

Enough of this. Olruggio tapped his shoes together and floated down to stand next to Qifrey. Which, seeing as how he had to look up at him to glare at him, maybe he should have stayed in his loft.

“Ahh.” Qifrey rolled his head, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s just that some of the villagers needed me to go out and patch some stuff up for them. I already made dinner.” He met Olruggio’s eyes. “It’s all laid out. The girls are just practicing with a few ice spells in the primer, and I just want to make sure that they don’t overwork—“

“What are you patching up?” Olruggio interrupted him.

Qifrey froze, and then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing to do with the Brimhats, is it?” Olruggio pushed, something unpleasant churning in him. Qifrey had been doing so good recently. He seemed like he had finally settled, happy with a peaceful life.

“Oh!” Qifrey waved his hands around. “No! Not at all. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” Olruggio settled. That was… reassuring. Somewhat. Not at all. “Why won’t you tell me where you’re going?”

Qifrey laughed, his eye scrunching up, rubbing his arm. “It’s silly. Do you remember anything about the Labyrinths of Kirsen?”

“The Sex Caves?” Olruggio asked, incredulous. “They’re not even real.”

“I know,” Qifrey said. “But some of the villagers were saying that people had gotten lost in a cave that opened up in a landslide, and that…” His face grew grim. “Well, a married woman and her husband’s cousin were accused of having an affair, but they swear that something in the cave forced them to do it.”

Olruggio’s eyebrows went up. What a horrible story. But Qifrey was… “You were going to go by yourself?!” he demanded.

“It might not even be the real Labyrinths,” Qifrey defended. “They just wanted me to check if there was actually any magic in the cave.”

Olruggio couldn’t believe this. He started pacing, pent up energy hot in him. “It could be the Caves,” he started, deciding that a list was very rational. “The Caves could force people, and you’ve heard the stories of people going alone!”

Qifrey winced. Everyone had. It was a punishment for anyone who dared to go in unpaired: sickening lust that left the poor soul so addled that they walked in circles until dehydration took them. “It could just be a story?” he tried.

Olruggio scowled at him.

Qifrey sighed. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Take me with you, was the immediate answer, and Olruggio got as far as opening his mouth until he realized what that meant and then found himself unable to speak, his face getting hotter and hotter.

Qifrey made a tight, uncomfortable noise that implied he had come to the same conclusion, which meant that Qifrey was thinking of Olruggio and him in the actual Caves and—

Olruggio bit his fist, his heart beating hard.

Something crashed in the living room. 

“Oh thank god,” Qifrey breathed, and Olruggio nodded.

“The girls, the girls,” he said, and Qifrey was nodding too.

“Yes,” he said, backing up out of the door, and Olruggio was following him. 

“Maybe they broke something,” he offered, and they both started jogging to the living room.

“Something complicated that would take a long time to fix,” Qifrey said, sounding strangely anticipatory. “Maybe even days.”

They made their way into the living room, finding all the girls clustered around something. 

“Professors!” Tetia popped up, and the other girls popped up too, chirping out greetings. Their little birds, Olruggio thought and felt something warm in his chest like a snugstone. 

“What’s going on?” Qifrey asked, sweeping down the stairs, his expression patient but alert. 

“We fixed it!” Coco held up a bowl, near vibrating with excitement. 

“Oh,” Qifrey said, a little flat with disappointment. “Good job!” His voice picked back up again and he hurried over to look at the proffered bowl. He investigated it. “Walk me through the spell you used,” he said, his eye already glittering at the perfectly intact bowl. 

Something complicated that takes days to fix. Olruggio couldn’t help his smile. Qifrey might say stuff like that, but watching him ooh and ahh over the spell, Olruggio knew better. 

Still. He caught Qifrey’s eye. Qifrey blinked, an innocent enough gesture. 

After dinner. He stared. He wasn’t done with that conversation. 

Qifrey slumped with realization. 

Dinner went as it often did, noisy with the girls talking over each other, asking for Qifrey’s attention, asking for Olruggio’s attention. Can you take a look at a spell I’m making, Riche asked him, her big eyes serious, and across from her, Agott was nodding intently, silently enraptured by a story Coco was telling about a wedding dress, and Tetia and Qifrey were giggling over something in the soup.

Olruggio helped Riche brainstorm but stopped her from getting up and retrieving the spell in question. No magic at dinner was one of the first rules that Qifrey and Olruggio had settled on when Qifrey decided he wanted apprentices.

It had happened without either of them really saying it, Qifrey’s atelier. Qifrey had announced that he was going to take the fifth test so he could become an professor. Olruggio had been so sick with relief that he didn’t even question why he immediately started the process of becoming a Watchful Eye. 

Qifrey had celebrated with him once he was approved, and he drank with Qifrey when he passed his test. Then they had started the task of scouting out an atelier, wandering from village to village, trying to find the best plot of middle of nowhere, and with every day away from the Great Hall, Qifrey laughed easier and his gaze grew brighter.

Once they had found the land they wanted and purchased it, they started drafting the blueprints. Olruggio had demanded his own space, a workspace, a furnace, and Qifrey had nodded eagerly, focused on how many bedrooms he could fit into the atelier.

At one point, Olruggio had looked over at his sketches, with their fine, even black lines, and counted up all the rooms. “Three isn’t bad,” he said, counting Qifrey’s room and the future apprentices’ rooms, “and if there’s two apprentices to a room, then you could have as many as four.”

Qifrey had just laughed, something terrible soft in his face. Olruggio remembered it clearly, the fragile smile that twitched wider and wider, like Qifrey didn’t know he could be this happy, and the way he covered his mouth, but his eye—Qifrey couldn’t rip his gaze away from the blueprints, his eye shining. 

“Four might be too many,” he had said softly, a little breathless, still staring down at the blueprints, his eye so bright that Olruggio had been afraid he was about to cry.

And then Qifrey had turned to him, smiling so wide it must have been painful. “What rules, do you think, Olly, for the apprentices?”

“No magic at dinner,” he had said, thinking of stray spells and exploding gravy.

Qifrey had laughed, then, airy and light, and Olruggio had never heard him laugh like that since or before. “No magic at dinner,” he had repeated, staring at Olruggio like he was his blueprints, like he was his future.

“Hey, no magic,” Qifrey called out and Agott made a grumpy noise. 

“Dinner’s almost over anyways,” she complained.

“It’s not yet,” Olruggio reminded her.

“How about this,” Qifrey proposed. “We clean up and do the dishes, and then you can show Coco the spell.”

She grumbled in the way that Olruggio knew she thought the idea was just fine but would be emotionally destroyed by actually articulating that. He feared for her teenage years. But for now… “You certainly have gotten a lot more comfortable showing your spells,” he said conversationally.

She scowled deeply, outraged that he could tell she wasn’t a creature of the night and had actually made friends with Coco. “I’m just—“ she started, but Coco grabbed onto her arm, distracting her from her very reasonable ire. 

“Let’s do the dishes!” she said, and Olruggio bit back a smile at Agott’s flush. A hand tugged his sleeve.

He looked at Riche. “Can you help me with my spell, too?” she asked.

“Try what I said about the wind signs,” he suggested. He still had to talk to Qifrey. And besides. She was a smart kid. “Spend a few days with it. Its important that you figure out your process for creating magic.”

“Hmm.” Her brows furrowed in determination and she grabbed her bowls to clean up. He watched, satisfied. Another little inventor. She was already so creative, he could see her making a tidy living off her ideas in the future.

Tetia ran off with her bowl to join the rest of the girls with the washing up, water running and soap bubbles floating in the air. Qifrey was reaching over the table, grabbing the main serving platters. Olruggio caught his eye. Sometimes Qifrey needed multiple reminders.

Yes, I Know, Qifrey’s mouth tightened, and then he nodded Not Right Now at the girls.

Olruggio stacked up plates and squinted When at him.

Qifrey huffed lightly, walking the long way around the table to walk past him. He grabbed the plates. “After they’re in bed,” he whispered, and then refocused on the girls. “Ah, so much soap! Do you want to see a spell that renews it?”

After they’re in bed found Qifrey puttering around in the kitchen, individually inspecting each lemon they had. Olruggio just folded his arms.

Qifrey hummed, theatrically thoughtful, and scratched at his chin as he started in on their flour, opening the bag and frowning in. “Do you think we need more flour, Olly? I was thinking of making bread rolls for tomorrow, but we already had the bread braid planned for this weekend, and that’s a lot of—“

“Qifrey,” Olruggio said.

“Its a lot of flour,” Qifrey insisted, not looking up from the bag.

“Do you want to talk here or in my room?” Olruggio asked.

Qifrey did not pick up his head from where he was staring into the flour like it contained all of life’s secrets. “Fine.” He looked up at Olruggio. “Your room. But we do need more flour.”

As much as Olruggio had pushed for this conversation, he did not actually want to have it, and therefore had instinctually taken comfort once he was in his room. That meant that he went to his loft, and then he want to his pillows, and then he pulled a blanket on his lap. This also meant that Qifrey followed him up to his loft and his pillows, and was now sitting in a nest of blankets and pillows with him, moonlight slanting over his cheek and firelight dancing softly around him, unfairly pretty.

Olruggio realized he had made a mistake. He slept here. This was a bed.

Qifrey took a deep breath and Olruggio braced himself. Qifrey’s mouth opened, and Olruggio waited, taut with anticipation. Qifrey’s mouth shut and he crumpled, making a sound like when Coco had accidentally stepped on the Brushbug.

The tension deflated in Olruggio too. “This is so awkward,” he complained, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It is!” Qifrey cried out. “Why did this cave even have to open up?”

But it was open. Olruggio looked at Qifrey, at the moon behind him, at his best friend who had come from a different world and looked more like that now than he ever had, like the moon had been squeezed like a lemon, Qifrey forming where it had splashed on the ground.

“Someone has to check it,” Olruggio said. “We can’t just leave it open.”

“I know,” Qifrey said, something settling in his shoulders.

“And if you go,” Olruggio started slowly, feeling heavy. “You have to take at least someone.”

Qifrey inhaled and Olruggio felt it deep in his chest. He couldn’t force that upon Qifrey—unwanted companionship. It was strange between them, effortless and easy and his mother asked every time he visited her if he was married yet and he always said no and it always felt like half a lie in his mouth. But Qifrey, for all his gentle ease and welcoming smiles, was skittish. Olruggio knew he was the person who knew Qifrey best, whom Qifrey trusted above all else, and because of that knowledge, he knew that this was what they might always be. 

“I—“ Qifrey said, and when Olruggio looked at him, he fell silent. His long, thin fingers tightened in Olruggio’s blanket. His mouth moved and his head ducked, and for some reason, his inability to speak made Olruggio’s heart lighter. 

“Or,” Olruggio suggested, his heart feeling all at once tender and like it might break. “I could go.”

Qifrey’s head jerked up, his cheeks pink. 

“If you don’t,” Olruggio continued slowly, correcting his misconception. “I could—“ He swallowed heavily. “If you can’t think of anyone…” Because who would Qifrey trust with this, really? “I’m sure I could…” He took a deep breath. He didn’t want it, but if the Labyrinths of the Kirsen actually were open, it was far too dangerous to leave them accessible. “I’m sure I could find someone,” he finished. 

“No,” Qifrey said, his voice oddly terse. 

Olruggio looked up at him. 

Qifrey was sitting perfectly straight, his face empty of all humor and sweetness. “No,” he repeated. “We can…” 

His eye blazed with an intensity that made Olruggio take a deep breath, something hot twisting in him. They could possibly end up… being intimate. His skin tingled. Who would be on— “We don’t even know if it’s the real Caves,” he blurted out. “It could just be nothing.”

“Yeah!” Qifrey matched him, just as abruptly flustered. “It could be nothing.”

“We could buy flour.” Olruggio seized at the attempt of normalcy. 

“Flour?” Qifrey repeated, his head cocked to the side.

“We need flour,” Olruggio explained. “They have flour in town. We could buy flour. Flour is great.”

“Oh!” Qifrey started nodding. “Yes! Flour, yes. We could, we could, we could pick it up before we, uh, swing by the cave.”

Olruggio paused. If it was the actual Sex Caves, he didn’t want to have flour on hand when it all went down. “Let’s just get it afterwards,” he said.

Qifrey paused for a moment before his cheeks went pink. “Yes,” he said, and then his expression grew peculiar, his eye wide and staring into the distance, his mouth tiny. “Um,” he said. “I can also bring any other, um, necessary, um, things, if it is, actually, you know—“

“Oh!” Olruggio realized what he meant and Qifrey shut up with a small anxious laugh, but by then Olruggio was vibrating with the realization that Qifrey had the necessary tools to have sex with a man on hand, just like that, and that he was taking it with him to possibly be used with Olruggio, and that, that—

Well, suffice to say, he could not speak, all tangled up inside and flushed and full of about twelve contradicting emotions. He made a garbled noise. He didn’t know what it communicated, but Qifrey nodded in commiseration, so at least they had that going for them.

At one point, lodged between the layers of oh god I’m going to have sex with this man and well, no, maybe not, and the alternating glee and terror and anticipation and embarrassment, it had been decided that they were going to head out first thing in the morning.

What had not been decided, apparently, was what they were going to tell the girls.

“What do you mean we can’t go?” Agott demanded. “I passed the second trial! I’m allowed to come help you now.”

“Uhhh,” Qifrey said, painfully awkward, and Olruggio would normally want to help him. Sometimes he could smooth things over when the girls got stubborn. But right now? He was just grateful to have an excuse not to speak.

“It’s very dangerous,” Qifrey tried again, which had been his first, second, third, and now fourth attempt to explain what was going on. “It’s not safe for—“

“But we’ve faced off against the Brimhats.” Agott stomped her foot, fuming. “Last time you were left in a hospital for a week!”

A chorus of agreements rose, the girls all arguing why they should be allowed to help.

Olruggio couldn’t help his smile. They weren’t being disobedient. They were just protective of their professor. “It’s not actually dangerous,” he said. 

The girls fell silent and Qifrey looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Normally, they never disagreed in front of the girls. It had even been one of their rules that they had set out when they were still building the atelier. Always present a united front, they had decided.

But sometimes, one could see something the other couldn’t. 

“Why can’t we come then?” Coco asked, frowning.

“It’s an adult issue,” Olruggio said. “It’s not appropriate for girls your age.”

The girls appeared to process this, quieting down.

Qifrey swooped in on the opportunity. “I know you normally love coming out to help, which is wonderful, so because you won’t be able to today, I’ll give you a free day. You can do whatever you want.” The girls perked up at that, glancing at each other. Olruggio braced himself for whatever chaos they would find once they came home.

But maybe… they could bribe them. “And there’s the cloudhawks,” Olruggio offered. 

“The cloudhawks!” Qifrey started nodding and turned to face the girls. “They’ll be migrating past here in about a week. We can take a day trip to see them. They have their own natural magic that creates unique shapes in the clouds as they fly, which gives them their name.”

“What?” Coco demanded, enthralled by the concept.

Qifrey nodded. “Yes, but only if you all promise to stay here today. If I learn that anyone left the atelier, we won’t go to see them.”

“And I have spells that can tell when you leave,” Olruggio added. 

“Really?” Riche asked. “How do they work?”

“It’s really interesting, actually!” Qifrey said, his eye dancing, visibly going into professor-mode. “They weren’t made with that in mind, but—“

“Qifrey,” Olruggio reminded him.

“Ah, right.” Qifrey straightened up. “Be good. There’s food in the pots. The red one and the bread rolls are for lunch, and the grey and blue pots are for dinner. I don’t think we’ll be gone that long, but if we are, make sure to do the dishes.”

“We’re also getting some flour and a few other groceries,” Olruggio said. Between the discussions of how to navigate the caves and possibly each other’s naked bodies, they had also made a grocery list. “We should be back before sunset.”

They glanced at each other.

It was time. There was nothing left to do. Well. Olruggio looked at the girls. With four apprentices, there was always a way to put things off.

He looked back at Qifrey and Qifrey smiled wanly. Olruggio could read all types of emotions into it if he wanted to—regret, anticipation, fear, desire.

Olruggio found he didn’t want to read anything into at all.

“Here it is,” the man said, his expression tight. 

A tumble of rocks spread before them. Giant boulders had fallen over each other, and a house was half crushed under one. Between the rocks, a dark opening beckoned, the wind whistling oddly as it blew through. 

“Is that your home?” Olruggio asked, eyeing the crushed house. 

“Yes,” the man said, shifting, his expression muted with a fierce emotion. 

“It was his wife,” Qifrey said lowly. 

“I just need to know if she’s lying or not,” the man snapped. “I can handle it if my house is destroyed. It will take a long time to rebuild my business, but it can be rebuilt. But my marriage?”

Ah. Olruggio nodded. He could imagine what happened. The rockslide came, destroying part of the house, and the wife and cousin either tried removing the rubble together or investigated the revealed tunnel by themselves. Regardless. “We can help with rebuilding your home,” Olruggio offered, gauging the amount of damage. 

“But the spell only functions at night,” Qifrey added and Olruggio nodded. That was smart. It would take a large spell and it would be easier to hide under the cover of darkness. 

“After we’re done investigating,” Olruggio said, adding the house to the to-do list after getting groceries. “We’ll come back to repair this.”

The man took an unsteady step back. “You can… you can really do that?” His eyes were big. 

Olruggio nodded. If it really was the Caves, then it was their duty as witches to mitigate the damage as much as possible. And even if it wasn’t the Caves, there was no need to force the man to spend all the time rebuilding that traditional means demanded. “Of course,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Qifrey smiling at him. He glanced over. What?

Qifrey just cleared his throat and focused back on the man. “We’ll be heading in now. Please don’t follow us. We don’t know what type of magic could be in there.”

The man glanced between them. “Wait,” he said. “The … both of you?”

Olruggio contained a wince. “Yes,” he said. “If it is what you say it is, then it’s too dangerous to go in alone. If someone goes in by themselves, its possible that the magic would end up killing them.”

“Oh,” the man said, his voice small, looking startled.

Olruggio just took a deep breath. And now a stranger knew that he and Qifrey might—well, no use dwelling on it. He glanced at Qifrey. “Ready?”

Qifrey looked at the cave opening. “If you’ll provide some light?”

For Qifrey? Always. He finished the circle on a basic spell and then held the fireball in his hand, and into the darkness they went.

Their primary strategy for not getting lost was a non-magical one. They tied a thin piece of wire to a unearthed root in front of the cave opening and let the wire unspool as the walked. Qifrey held the wire, arguing that Olruggio was already holding the flame. 

The light jumped and danced around them, licks of light flickering over the sloping roof and rounded walls. Each footstep echoed. Olruggio tried not to think about other noises carrying. 

“It doesn’t seem natural,” Qifrey offered. 

Olruggio glanced over. Qifrey was studying the walls, his hand running lightly over it. 

And he wasn’t wrong. It seemed more tunnel than cave, a consistent width and a ceiling that stayed roughly the same height, never forcing them to duck down. 

Still. “That doesn’t mean it’s the Caves,” Olruggio said. “It could just be regular ruins.”

Qifrey just hummed in response. 

They continued walking, the path never splitting, although it did snake, the walls twisting and turning. 

“Did you know,” Qifrey said abruptly, “that one of the theories about the Labyrinths was that they worked based on bonds?”

“Yeah?” Olruggio said.

“The stronger the bond,” Qifrey said tightly, “the more intense the magic.”

His voice sounded off. Olruggio glanced over at him. His lips were thin and he had his hands in his sleeves. 

“So marriage is naturally a very strong bond,” Qifrey continued, staring resolutely ahead, “which is why everyone thinks that the Labyrinths were created for wedding ceremonies.”

“Qifrey,” Olruggio said, suspicion squirming in him. 

Qifrey took a shuddering breath and Olruggio stopped. 

Cautiously, he asked, “Is it—“

“Are you?” Qifrey turned on him, breathing hard, his eye dark. 

Olruggio’s toes curled in his shoes, but he didn’t think that was from the Caves. “I don’t think so?”

Qifrey laughed tightly, the sound a little upset, rubbing his hands against his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, okay! I think we can—“ His head hung, his hands still over his face.  

“It’s the Caves?” Olruggio ventured. 

Qifrey just nodded, hunched over. Olruggio ached. He wanted to hold him, to make him feel better, but he didn’t think that was a great idea right now. 

The caves hadn’t changed, round and dark, so Olruggio just nodded to himself. “We’ve done what we came to do,” he said. “We’ve confirmed is the Labyrinth of the Kirsen. Let’s leave.”

“Yes,” Qifrey whispered, flushed in the firelight, and Olruggio hated this. He wanted to touch his back, help guide him out. 

Maybe it would be easier for Qifrey if Olruggio wasn’t looking at him. 

“Just follow my voice,” Olruggio said, spying the bounce of the wire. “We’re leaving.” He started following the wire, watching it go slack as Qifrey stumbled along behind him. 

The cave twisted, the wire skimming against the wall, and Olruggio didn’t know if he was grateful or not that it was ending like this. He couldn’t say that Qifrey wasn’t beautiful, that he wasn’t the only person he wanted, but it was better like this. Olruggio knew it was. He came around the turn and—

No. 

“Olly?” Qifrey asked behind him, his voice small. 

Olruggio couldn’t breath. The wire was held taut, shining from the light of his flame, magically split, going into five different tunnels. 

“What’s—“ Qifrey stepped around him, his voice dropping. 

“I don’t know which one to follow,” Olruggio said, his voice trembling, hyper aware of Qifrey next to him, of the fact that Qifrey was feeling the effects of the Caves, that the effects were desire, and that this was why Olruggio had come. 

His hands twitched. 

“I think,” Qifrey said, his breathing audible. “They probably all lead to the same path.”

A long slow breath slid out of Olruggio’s mouth, tension aching up his back. Possibilities scattered through his mind, tossed around like wind. Here, now, wander, try to free themselves, kiss Qifrey, lay on the hard, stone floor, follow the wire, bundle his cloak under his head, Qifrey’s skin under his hand. 

Quickly, maybe, he thought, something hot and tingling through his chest, and he glanced back to find Qifrey leaning up against the wall for support, his head hanging.

“Are you warm?” he found himself asking nonsensically, and then shook his head, feeling stupid, but Qifrey just smiled up at him softly. 

“Yes,” he breathed, and for some reason, that made all the tension sweep out of Olruggio’s body. 

He nodded, secure in something but not sure what. He moved closer, wanting Qifrey to stay warm, needing to take care of him. A single blue eye tracked him, unreadable and dark and it twisted all the way through Olruggio. 

“Here?” he ventured, afraid and wanting all at once. 

A small noise squeezed out of Qifrey, his eye shutting. “You,” he said roughly, his chest heaving, and he slid lower down, his fingers clawing at the wall. 

“Qifrey!” Olruggio rushed closer but Qifrey flinched away. 

Horror swept in like ice water. Did Qifrey really not want him that much?

The light of his flame flickered over Qifrey, his hair, his long pale robes, his heaving shoulders, and Qifrey crumpled to the ground, shadows pooling around him, harsh and deep. A wretched noise came from him, rough like something tearing. 

Olruggio could only watch, tearing in turn, seeing it clearer than he ever had: Qifrey didn’t want him. Not like this. 

Another noise sobbed out of Qifrey, the whole crumpled mess of him jerking with the sound. 

Olruggio had hoped. He had known, from all the flustered no it’s not like that’s that had haunted him in his youth, from the gentle smiles that never invited deeper, from the careful distance that Qifrey meted around him. He had just thought—

Qifrey contracted tighter on the ground, obviously miserable. And Olruggio knew that caves ran cold, that stone held little warmth, and that one of Qifrey’s first memories was being trapped somewhere dark and chilled. 

He kneeled. The cold seeped into his knees and he let his fireball rest on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

Qifrey’s head picked up, but he didn’t look at him. 

“I know this isn’t what you want,” Olruggio told him, wishing he could stroke his hair, wishing he could tend to him like he was sick, wishing he could hold him close and press all the tenderness and goodness he knew the world held into Qifrey. “And I know—“ His throat went tight. He swallowed and forced himself to speak. “I know you don’t want me.” His voice came out guttural and he hated how obvious his pain was. “But I’m here. Let me help you.”

Slowly, like he couldn’t not, Qifrey’s head rose, a single blue eye meeting Olruggio’s. And he didn’t know why and he didn’t want to know why, but Qifrey looked horrified. 

“Olly,” he said, “Olly,” his head shaking, and cold fingers were on his face. Olruggio inhaled. And a second hand joined it, cupping his face, stroking, and Qifrey just looked at him with the terror of a man who had just killed someone, and fingers ran down Olruggio’s cheeks like raindrops. 

“I—“ Qifrey inhaled, drawing closer. Olruggio could feel how cold he was, and it would be so easy to hold him. Qifrey’s head lowered, and it felt wrong, Qifrey pooled in front of him like this, a rustle of white robes and pleading hands that held his face, and now this bowed head, like Olruggio was what Qifrey supplicated to. “I’m so sorry,” Qifrey said roughly. 

Olruggio just shook his head, not understanding any of it—not their old, familiar comfort, not how horrifying Qifrey found intimacy with him, not this obvious, aching regret. “What?” he asked and Qifrey gasped like it had been a physical blow. 

He pressed harder, unable to stop himself. “What is it, Qifrey?” He grabbed his shoulders and Qifrey jerked to look at him, his expression torn open, wide and vulnerable and terrified. 

Qifrey started shaking his head, but his fingers slid into Olruggio’s hair, gripping tight and needy and his body arched towards Olruggio’s like they were the hewn from the same stone and all they were doing was returning to their original form. Each breath gasped through Qifrey like it was a heavy weight.

Olruggio pressed closer, feeling like he finally caught something, like he tricked a cloud into letting him grasp it. “You need to tell me,” he begged. “I won’t know otherwise.”

“Olly,” Qifrey sobbed, clutching to his head, pulling closer and closer until Olruggio could feel each rough breath rising against his own chest. Qifrey’s face contorted like this was some type of death, like he was killing Olruggio with his touch. Qifrey took a watery breath. “You’re so good,” he whispered. “You’re too good for me.”

“No,” Olruggio breathed, holding him instinctually, his waist fitting perfectly between his arms. “No, no,” he soothed, and Qifrey just took a rough, shuddering breath, arching against him, and this was the closest they had ever been. 

Cast half in shadow, half in flickering light, underground, buried, aching, and Qifrey’s arms were looping around his head and he was looking up at him, his eye big and gleaming and looking at him like Olruggio was the only person who could offer him penitence. 

“I’m here,” Olruggio said, not knowing what to say, unable to say anything else. “No matter what, I’m here.”

Their noses slid together and Qifrey just looked at him. It was a look that he had no memory of but that was still somehow achingly familiar. 

“You don’t know,” Qifrey whispered, the words hot against his mouth, his body pressed against his. 

“It’s you,” Olruggio said. “It doesn’t matter.”

Qifrey made a horrible, wretched noise like he had been stabbed, and then, somehow, either in the slip of Olruggio’s arms, or the wrench of Qifrey’s cry, or in magic that twisted through them or Olruggio’s own weakness, their lips pressed together. 

This was it, Olruggio knew, and Qifrey shifted against him like something melting, and this was it, this was the rest of his life, this gasp against his mouth, this tug closer, this press and this pull, this was all it would ever be for him. 

It fell into something wet and gasping, lips pressing against his, and pulling away, each inhale almost surprised, and Olruggio didn’t know who did what, if it was him that tilted his head closer, or if it was Qifrey that slid a leg against his hip. All he knew was that he had a lap full of Qifrey, climbing and clinging closer and closer, his head tipped down and Olruggio’s tipped up, and their mouths were still slanted against each other, Qifrey clawing closer, licking deeper, his hips rocking forward, something stiff pressing against Olruggio’s stomach. 

He gasped into their kiss and a hand tightened in his robe and Qifrey had sat on one of his sleeves so he couldn’t move his hand. Qifrey’s hips rolled again and Olruggio couldn’t stop the need and ache that answered. He felt hotter then he ever had, knowing he was getting hard and that Qifrey could feel it. 

“Olly,” Qifrey gasped, and then lips were pressing against his again and Olruggio was helpless against them, kissing back, letting his mouth open, melting under the tongue against his, and he wanted his arm free, so he started tugging on it. 

Qifrey ripped away from his face, a breathless smile playing over his wet lips. “You’re so red,” he laughed slightly. 

Olruggio just squeezed his eyes shut, even more embarrassed, and kept trying to tug his hand free. 

“Oh,” Qifrey breathed and shifted his knee off his sleeve and finally—

Teeth nipped at his neck and Olruggio gasped. Qifrey rumbled against his neck, a tongue dragging on his skin, and then teeth again, sharp and sweet and he couldn’t stop the gasp. 

“Gonna—“ Qifrey mumbled, sucking below his ear, pressing hard against him, his hips needy and grinding. “Gonna make you feel good.”

Somehow, that flustered Olruggio the most and he laughed, a short uncontrollable burst, his hands suddenly awkward and clumsy on Qifrey’s body. 

Qifrey mouthed at his earlobe. “Whatever you want,” he murmured, silky and low, and Olruggio throbbed, his face hotter than it had ever been. 

“That’s not—“ He tried shaking his head. That wasn’t why he came here!

“Olly,” Qifrey groaned and then suddenly they were both tipping over, Qifrey heavy and pushing him, and then the rock was at his back, chilled even through his cloak and shirt. 

His fire had been abandoned behind Qifrey, and now Olruggio could only see the wisps of his hair, the curve of his jaw, the metal gleam of his glasses. 

“Oh.” The word came shuddering from Qifrey, hands smoothing down Olruggio’s chest. “Oh, Olruggio.”

Could Qifrey see him? His face? He slung an arm over it. That wasn’t fair. 

Qifrey was still on top of him, straddling him, and his hips rolled. He made a shuddering sound. “What,” Qifrey gasped, fidgeting, and Olruggio looked at him to see him pushing his cloak over his head. “How do you want to—“ Words seemed to fail, the cloak falling behind him, settling on Olruggio’s legs. 

Qifrey fell forward, hands by Olruggio’s head, a nose skating along his and he inhaled, hotter than he wanted to admit to.

“We can do whatever you want,” Qifrey went on, and Olruggio could barely breath, not with Qifrey on top of him, not with him over him like this, not with him so close and plotting to come closer still. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stripped down to raw honesty. “So long as you stay like this.”

“This?” Qifrey gasped into the dark over him. 

Olruggio held him, finding the straps of his dress, the smooth black turtleneck beneath, burning heat against his hands. “Close,” he said. 

“Close,” Qifrey repeated, slowly, like he was tasting the word. A hand slipped lower, chilled by the rock, playing with the broach that pinned Olruggio’s cloak closed, and then it was split, slipping open over his shoulders. Qifrey made a pleased hum. 

They were doing this. Olruggio panted. Somehow that made it realer than anything else—Qifrey taking his clothes off. Qifrey settled back up, hands playing over Olruggio like they couldn’t not, curious and grasping. They fidgeted at his belt, obviously stymied, and Olruggio could see the shape of Qifrey’s skirts pooled over him, and that cut deep, brutally intimate. Qifrey, on top of him. Qifrey, trying and failing to undo his belt. Qifrey, spilling open on top of him like a flower, like the reflection of the moon poured over him.

The first clasp of three clicked undone and Qifrey made a small, victorious huff. Olruggio couldn’t help his smile. 

“This is hard,” Qifrey complained, tugging at clasp two and Olruggio couldn’t stop his snort at the double meaning. 

Qifrey snickered back, and wiggled his ass. Olruggio gasped. 

Qifrey’s fingers hesitated for a moment, plucking cautiously. And then—“It sure is,” Qifrey said in tone of a man who knew he was telling a terrible joke. 

Olruggio groaned and Qifrey giggled, the sound bright in the darkness of the cave. Fabric rustled as Qifrey swooped closer and Olruggio was sure if there was enough light to see, that Qifrey’s gaze would be gleaming. 

“Really,” Qifrey said. “What do you want?”

Olruggio groaned, tossing his arm over his head again, horribly embarrassed. 

“Hmm?” Qifrey asked way too cheerfully, all things considered. 

Having Qifrey wiggling on top of him was addicting in a way he didn’t think he stop thinking about for a long time, but equally so was the idea of Qifrey between his legs, claiming and searing, inescapable and impossibly close. But to say that out loud? Absolutely not. “Don’t make me chose,” he whined. 

Qifrey hummed again, the same pleased noise he had made before and hands braced on his chest. A nose sketched along the side of his neck, hot breaths washing over his skin. “I get Olly however I want?”

“Fuck!” Olruggio’s head tossed back and he squirmed under the weight of Qifrey, overwhelmed and overheated. 

“Ahh,” Qifrey breathed against his neck. “Does my Olly like that?”

My Olly. He panted roughly, his head tossing to the side. It felt like he had a predator perched on top of him, hot and ready to eat him whole, and he was so hard it hurt. “Fuck,” he breathed again. 

Qifrey laughed, a low, rumbling thing, and Olruggio felt lightheaded, his body aching. Qifrey stretched over him, long and languid, rolling his ass against Olruggio’s hard dick, and Olruggio bit his lip hard. 

“Do you like that?” Qifrey asked breathily. 

Olruggio just groaned, too embarrassed to admit to it. 

Qifrey made a breathless, anticipatory noise, and shifted off him. Olruggio’s legs were moved around, his skirt pushed up and rearranged and he could barely breathe, realizing what was going on. Qifrey’s thighs pressed against his, and then something hard pressed between his legs, and Olruggio had to cover his mouth, the pressure rolling through him like a full body twitch. 

“Or this?” Qifrey asked in the dark, and Olruggio just squirmed, incapable of responding. 

“No,” Qifrey said, and Olruggio looked up at him, worried. But then Qifrey was bending over, Olruggio’s legs splitting even wider apart, and there was nowhere they weren’t touching, Qifrey pressing against his ass, him against Qifrey’s stomach, their chests against each other, and an arm bracing by his head. “You said close. You wanted it close.”

Olruggio’s eyes fell shut, and he breathed out of his open mouth, his lips gone dry. He could barely think, swimming through sensation, through being completely surrounded, the press of Qifrey all the up and down him, and his head was spinning and then Qifrey thrust against him. 

He gasped.

“Yes?” Qifrey murmured, so close that Olruggio could barely breath, and he had no idea how Qifrey was the first to be affected by the cave and now he was just stupid suave murmurs and bending Olruggio in half like it was nothing. 

“You—!” he tried to accuse, too breathless to articulate Qifrey’s crimes. 

“Yeah?” Qifrey asked, pressing against him again, and Olruggio squirmed under him, gone mad with how good it all felt. 

He had nothing left to demand. He had never asked much from Qifrey, so this left him so overflowing that he didn’t even really know what was left to ask for. “Don’t play,” he managed, finding Qifrey’s head, his hair. “Don’t play with me.”

Qifrey stilled over him. The rocks had warmed beneath his back, and the flame from his fire flickered still, the light dancing over what little of Qifrey Olruggio could see. 

“Never,” Qifrey swore lowly. “Not you.” There was a strange ache in his voice, a pain that Olruggio didn’t understand. “I will do anything,” Qifrey whispered, “to keep you and our life safe.”

“Okay,” Olruggio nodded, knowing that Qifrey’s anything’s could be dangerous and that he’d have to chase that down, but so overwhelmed that in this moment, all he could say was, “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Qifrey asked, something fragile and splintering in his voice.

“Yeah,” Olruggio nodded, so close, feeling every inhale and exhale of Qifrey against him. 

And Qifrey exhaled, something explosive and shuddering and painfully relieved, nuzzling against the side of his face. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, Olly,” trembling, hands shaking and pawing at his clothes, and Olruggio was smart enough to know the Qifrey was still hiding something, but he was trembling against him like the time Olruggio had found him in a rainstorm, so he just held him close. 

A mouth pressed against his, scared, and Olruggio kissed back. 

“I want,” Qifrey gasped against him, his hands shoving up all the layers of rustling fabric between them. “I want you.” His voice broke like it was a confession to a crime, his hands shaking. 

Olruggio could only run his hands up and down his arms, feel the tremble of him, the horrible fear that he knew Qifrey had always carried. 

“Olruggio!” Qifrey cried out, falling forward, a mouth slanting at his cheek and then his jaw and finally his mouth, desperate and sloppy and begging, each tug and pull seeming to ask for something and Olruggio just held him, having caught the storm in his arms, and kissed back. 

His fingers found hair, silky fluffy strands that flattened under his touch, and Qifrey bucked against him, only the thin layer of their pants remaining between them and Olruggio could feel the proper shape of him now. 

“Please,” Qifrey begged against his mouth. “Please,” he kissed down his neck. “Please, Olly,” his voice broke. 

“Yes,” Olruggio breathed, lightheaded and pinned and aching, all reality narrowed down to the weight and writhe of Qifrey on top of him, and Qifrey groaned lowly. Hands slipped down and fuck, this was it. Each breath ran dizzying through Olruggio, and Qifrey’s fingers were plucking at the thin ties that kept him decent and then—

Chilled air was brushing against him. 

Qifrey made a low, shuddering noise, and fingers trailed over him, delicate and sparking and intense beyond words. A gasp ripped out of Olruggio and Qifrey whined. Thighs fidgeted against his, and then Qifrey was tugging down Olruggio’s pants, and fuck, the cave was cold. 

Qifrey seemed to struggle a moment with his pants, and Olruggio wasn’t sure what to do with his legs. Suddenly he was aware that he was half naked for Qifrey and—Qifrey was taking his shoe off?

“Qifrey?” he asked. 

“Your pants are complicated,” he panted, tugging one leg free and apparently settling at that, pushing his legs wide again with a low, savoring groan. 

Olruggio’s entire face was hot. “You’re one to talk. Your shirt is strapped to your legs.”

Qifrey made a disgusted noise at the mention of his own layers, hands stroking over Olruggio’s naked skin. Fingers slid over his ass and oh, oh this was happening.  

“Olly,” Qifrey rasped, and Olruggio could barely breath, one leg freezing cold, his toes curling, and he wished he could see Qifrey. The fingers slid lower and Olruggio squeezed his eyes shut, terrified and more turned on then he had ever been in his entire life. 

A touch skimmed over him, so electrifying that he jolted. 

Qifrey groaned above him and pressed fully against him and Olruggio flung an arm over his mouth. The finger ripped itself away. Ragged breaths gasped out above him and Qifrey was rustling through something. 

And then—

Olruggio’s eyes flew open. Something cold and wet dripped over him. He looked down to see Qifrey, cast in shadows, staring intently down. A finger slid over him and a strange noise escaped him. Qifrey looked up at him and he immediately laid flat, mortified. 

A hand soothed over his thigh and he bit his lip, his eyes squeezing shut. This was so intense and he hated that it was happening here, in the dark, but he had a suspicion that it would have been as exhilarating and mortifying no matter where they were. 

“I’m going to…” Qifrey said softly and Olruggio grabbed the hand on his thigh. It twisted in his grasp, their fingers threading together. 

Warmth flooded through him. He could at least have this—Qifrey’s hand in his. He breathed out slowly, calmer, and nodded. 

The finger slid in and he arched, gasping. Qifrey made a jagged noise above him but it was all the way in, stinging and hot and so, so odd and Qifrey. A thumb rubbed against his and he crumbled a little bit, his world recentering on the single finger inside him, the spark of sensation, and it moved, pulling out and his mouth fell open, so shocked and focused on the feeling that he didn’t know what to do with himself. In and out, it stroked, and he grew warmer and warmer, and it felt less and less odd, and he found himself meeting it. 

Qifrey squeezed the hand he was holding, and then the finger slid out, leaving Olruggio strangely empty, and when it slid back in, there was another. 

“Qifrey!” he gasped, fuller, stretched, comfortable, and beginning to realize that more wouldn’t be so scary. 

“You,” Qifrey choked out, gripping Olruggio’s hand tighter, and this was difficult for him, Olruggio realized, his mouth dry, the long fingers inside him pressing smoothly in and out. 

Licking his lips, feeling strangely warm, he pushed Qifrey’s hand out. It felt just as odd now to have nothing there as it felt in the beginning. 

“What,” Qifrey started, panting, but Olruggio was trying to unearth wherever the hell Qifrey’s dick had gone under all the fabric of their combined skirts. “Oh,” Qifrey breathed, and all the fabric was getting pulled up. 

Together, their hands tangled, pushing up the abundance of fabric, undoing the ties at his pants, and—hot skin slid under his finger. A pained noise rumbled from Qifrey but Olruggio couldn’t stop himself, his fingers skimming over him, the hard firmness, the twisting veins. 

“Olly,” Qifrey gritted out. 

“You can—“ He gave permission, a strange ache in him, and Qifrey blew out a gusting breath. 

It was a bit awkward to navigate, holding all the fabric out of the way, the cold air of the cave rushing over them, and the slippery drip of whatever it was that Qifrey was using to smooth things out. Qifrey never ended up properly undressed, just pulled out of his pants, but both their hands were navigating it it, holding Qifrey, stroking over Olruggio, and then something cool and smooth pressed against him. 

He stopped breathing. Qifrey panted like he had run a marathon. 

It pressed in. Slowly at first, splitting him wide, and deeper, inexorable, intimate, impossibly close, Olruggio’s mouth gaping open, and deeper still, like some type of gutting, shoving wide, thighs sliding along his, a hand spreading over the juncture of his leg and hip, and he was so full that he couldn’t speak, just trying his best to breath around the heft of Qifrey inside him. 

The hand squeezed on his thigh and Qifrey slid out. It dragged exquisitely, sparking up his spine. The hand kneaded at his leg, and just as slowly, back in, so deep that he groaned, deeper still, Qifrey’s hips pressed against the back of his thighs. 

“Olly,” Qifrey gasped. “Olruggio.”

“Yes,” he encouraged, and Qifrey made a wounded noise, collapsing forward, bending him in half, wide and plunging deep, so intense that he could only cling tighter to him, and a mouth was on his.  

And then—and then—

It was movement. A mouth biting and kissing at his, hips moving, being so fucking full, in and out, Qifrey covering him entirely, irrevocably close and hot and inside him, thrusting with his whole body like this was the only thing that mattered to him, his hips smacking against Olruggio. He groaned into his mouth, clinging at his back, the shift of muscles under his touch, the curl of his spine with every thrust, heat dragging tighter and hotter with every movement and moment. 

“It’s you,” Qifrey mumbled against his mouth, gasping, fucking deeper into him, shifting like he had to get closer and closer, pushing his legs back. “It’s you,” he gasped, each thrust burning hot and coiling inside Olruggio, fabric rustling and slick noises echoing around them. 

A noise escaped Olruggio, his head falling to the side, his body hot and consumed by this moment, this fierce closeness, and Qifrey groaned, his hips rolling in something rhythmic and addicting that had Olruggio gasping, something about the angle sparking and sparking and sparking, distracting and so fucking good. 

“Qifrey!” he called out. “Like that!”

“Yes,” Qifrey gasped, holding tight to his legs, fucking into him, smooth and hard and so fucking good and he moaned. He couldn’t help it, not with the heat and need that twisted through him, that curled through his toes and arched up his back, and Qifrey was moaning too. 

He scrambled to touch himself, finding himself in a cavern of fabric, and smoothed over his dick, feeling Qifrey’s naked stomach brush over his hand. 

“Are you—“ Qifrey gasped and Olruggio just nodded his head, too caught in the heat to speak, jerking hard, Qifrey thrusting deep into him, plunging so deep he could feel it in his stomach, friction dragging all through Olruggio, and he thrust harder, making Olruggio cry out, his dick spasming. “More?” Qifrey asked, and Olruggio didn’t know what more was, didn’t know if he could take more, so warm and needy and feeling so good he could only moan, his hand twisting over himself, feeling trapped and contained and wanted and claimed.  

Qifrey bent over again, a teeth tugging at his lips, and Olruggio gasped into his mouth, twitching with each thrust, arching and aching and wanting and moaning and he cried out, pleasure pulling through him like a white light, and he came all over his hand, panting hard. 

Qifrey made a tight, long noise, his hips working even faster, sensation flaring and sparking like fireworks on Olruggio’s raw nerves, twitching through him and he gasped again. Qifrey’s head buried itself in his neck, lips gasping against him, and a moan washed over his skin, each thrust erratic and hard, lingering and shoving in even harder and Olruggio was dizzy with it, holding tight, and then Qifrey moaned, low and pained, shoving in and staying there, grinding slightly. 

Olruggio just panted, hot everywhere, feeling the slight heat bloom inside him, sweaty and breathless. At some point he had looped his legs around Qifrey’s waist, he realized, and he was clinging to him as tightly as he could.  

He breathed, his heart pounding, not sure if he could stand, and let his legs fall down. Had he come inside their skirts? He vaguely hoped that if he had, it was on Qifrey’s. The white would be more forgiving to any stains. 

Qifrey made a noise in his ear. 

Having no idea what to do, Olruggio patted him on the back. 

“Hmm,” Qifrey said, which could mean anything. But that was a problem for the Olruggio that could walk, so Olruggio just dismissed it. Qifrey pulled out, a now slightly strange feeling, and Olruggio’s eyes opened. 

The ceiling of the cave stared down. Maybe Walking Olruggio’s problems were about to become his. He took a moment to revel in the injustice of the universe. He should at least have functional legs and not these jelly imposters for whatever conversation they were about to have. 

Qifrey made another noise and slumped onto him, apparently of the same opinion that conversation at this moment was unacceptable. 

“Do you want to take a moment?” Olruggio asked, his throat strangely raw. Had he been moaning more than he thought he had? His face heated. 

“Yeah,” Qifrey agreed, limp and breathless on him. At least his voice sounded a little odd, too, raw and low. Olruggio took what comfort he could from that. 

He just breathed, low and slow, trying to regain some form of equilibrium. Still, it was tricky to pretend everything was normal when Qifrey was slung across him, breathing heavily, and he could still feel a hot throbbing in his ass. 

His eyes squeezed shut. 

“God, I’m out of shape,” Qifrey panted. 

“Huh?” Olruggio asked. 

Qifrey’s head turned where it was buried in Olruggio’s shoulder. “I can’t catch my breath.”

Olruggio frowned, concerned. “Do you think the Caves are still effecting you?”

Qifrey made a low, embarrassed noise. “No.”

The conversation petered out, silence creeping between them. Olruggio studied the ceiling, trying to ignore the fact that Qifrey was still between his legs and that he liked that and that if Qifrey caught his breath, Olruggio might be up for more. 

The ceiling was upsettingly normal. 

Qifrey groaned. “My thighs are sore.”

“Your thighs?” Olruggio demanded. “My—“ his mouth clicked shut, heat burning in his cheeks. He didn’t exactly want to shout about his ass. 

Qifrey’s head picked up. Darkness shrouded his expression. “Are you…” he started out, his voice small. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

Ah. Olruggio’s mouth flattened. He felt great. He didn’t know if he could walk. He wanted to do it again. “It’s—“ he hedged. “I’m okay.”

“Okay?” Qifrey asked, concern deepening in his voice. He started to shift up, then froze. “Olruggio.”

“What?” he asked. 

“The caves,” Qifrey said, his voice low. “They haven’t opened.”

Olruggio turned around, as best he could and—

The five-way split still stood, the wire gleaming in the light of his fire. He slumped. “Did we do it in the wrong spot?” he asked weakly, images running through his mind of bending over in every chamber they reached until they found the exit. He grimaced, thinking of how sore he would be. “If we have to do this again, you’re taking a turn receiving at some point.”

Qifrey laughed behind him, a spluttering, high pitched noise that Olruggio had never heard from him before. He glanced back. Qifrey was hiding behind his hands. 

“You are,” Olruggio insisted. 

Qifrey made a tight little noise. “That’s—“ he said and giggled again. “Okay, but—“

“But?” Olruggio interrupted. Was Qifrey trying to get out of it? “I don’t want to even walk, and you just want to, what?”

“No, no, no,” Qifrey said, his hands waving frantically. They paused mid-air. “You can’t walk?” Qifrey asked, his voice strange. 

Olruggio’s head thumped down. “I’m sure I could if I tried, but I don’t want to.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” Qifrey accused, his voice tight and narrow. “You should tell me if you’re in—“

“I am fine,” Olruggio said, hiding his face. How humiliating. “I’m fine and also just… don’t want to walk.”

Qifrey didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Was it—“ he started, the strange, low note back in his voice. “—that good?”

Olruggio just groaned, embarrassment squirming through him. He didn’t want Qifrey to know this, to know that he liked it that much. Not when he was sure Qifrey planned on never doing it again.

“Oh,” Qifrey said roughly. 

Olruggio wanted out of this cave and this conversation. He pushed up, scooting back on his cloak. He’d have to do so much laundry when he got home, and his cloak was velvet. 

Quickly, he scrawled out a little spell. It flashed, light flaring up, and warmth started suffusing into the cave. He sighed. He should have done that in the beginning. 

He turned back to Qifrey, who was still staring at him, his expression unreadable in the dark. 

“Can you move the fire next to us?” Olruggio asked. He wanted to actually see the man’s face. 

“Ah, of course.” Qifrey pulled it around, his expression placid as it came into the light. Olruggio wondered what it had been in the darkness and what it meant that Qifrey would only show his true feelings when he knew Olruggio couldn’t see. 

“We need to get out,” Olruggio said, laying out the facts. “We—“ He swallowed. “—slept together, but it didn’t fix anything.”

Qifrey’s hands curled on his knees, but he nodded patiently and Olruggio wanted to shake him, seeing him slip into pleasant Professor Qifrey. 

“You said,” Olruggio offered hesitantly. “It was about bonds.”

Qifrey’s hands tightened on his knees but his expression didn’t falter. 

“And—“ God, this was humiliating. “Consummating them.”

“It’s just one theory,” Qifrey said. “There’s many. One is that the Labyrinths existed to ensure the production of next generation, in which case, I think we may have some trouble. Another theory is that it is specifically just for marriages, but I’m not sure then why it would work for us and on that other couple. The woman was already married.”

Olruggio blinked, blindsided by the spill of words. He had no idea that Qifrey knew so much about the Caves. 

“Of course,” Qifrey went on. “This may not even be the Labyrinths of Kirsen at all. Not many records exist from that time, and what records do exist on the Kirsen have extensive accounting of boats, which suggests a sea-faring society, and this is a land-locked village—“

“How do you know all this?” Olruggio interrupted. “I didn’t think you were into the Caves.” Most witches who were made it obvious, giggling and making stupid dirty jokes all the time. 

Qifrey flushed. “I wasn’t like that! I just—you remember.” He looked away. “I was searching for every scrap of information I could find on the Brimhats, and a location that made you do things against your will sounded just like something they would use.”

Olruggio stared at him, recognizing what was happening. Qifrey was clever enough to invisibly redirect a conversation that he didn’t want to have. Normally, Olruggio wasn’t bothered by it. He had his own methods to get information out of Qifrey, and it normally happened when Qifrey was happy and relaxed, chatting next to him as they made dinner. 

Normally, they weren’t stuck in a cave. 

“Why did it effect you so strongly?” he asked. 

Qifrey’s eye went wide. “What?”

“Whatever it is.” Olruggio leaned forward. “It effected you first and the most.” If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was magic at all that drove him to do what he did.  

Qifrey’s mouth opened, but Olruggio wasn’t going to let him squirm out of this.

“Obviously it’s not about making babies,” he said. “Or else it wouldn’t have worked on you at all.”

Qifrey’s mouth snapped shut. 

“And it has nothing to do with marriage,” Olruggio went on. “Or else it wouldn’t have worked on a married woman.”

“There’s many theories—“ Qifrey started. 

“It’s the bond, isn’t it?” Olruggio asked. “That’s the only one that makes sense. That’s the only one that could possibly apply to us.”

Qifrey’s mouth curled tight and Olruggio knew he was correct. 

“Why did it effect you so strongly?” Olruggio pushed, something strange and warm flaring to life in his chest. 

“Why didn’t it effect you?” Qifrey demanded back. “How were you able to just—stand there! And act like everything was perfectly fine?”

“Don’t make this about me,” Olruggio said, unwilling to let Qifrey squirm his way out of this. 

“It is about you, though!” Qifrey said. “It’s about both of us.”

Olruggio sat back. That was right. He looked at Qifrey, at the frustration and humiliation twisting on his face. 

A bond goes both ways. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he placed a hand over Qifrey’s. Qifrey stiffened and harsh regret bolted through him. He pulled his hand back. 

Qifrey stopped breathing. Up, Olruggio looked, until he found his face, and a naked look of revelation was on it. 

“What?” Olruggio asked. “What did you figure out?”

Qifrey started breathing again, not ripping his gaze away from him, breathing slowly at first and then faster and faster. 

“Qifrey,” Olruggio pushed. 

Qifrey’s mouth opened, and no clever words came out. 

“You need to tell me,” Olruggio said. “I need to know. You can’t do this by yourself. We have to do it together.”

Qifrey’s expression crumpled and he hid his face in his hands. “I can’t—“ he said. “I can’t do that to you.”

“Qifrey.” Olruggio grabbed his shoulders. “You haven’t done anything to me.” Qifrey’s head turned away sharply. “I’m an adult. I make my own choices. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

Qifrey stared off into the darkness, his gaze haunted. 

“What did you figure out?” Olruggio asked again, his voice softer. 

“It’s not about consummation,” Qifrey spoke slowly. “That’s just symbolic.” His head twisted to look past Olruggio and Olruggio wondered what he was staring at. “It’s…” Qifrey said, his voice airy and scared. “It’s about commitment.”

Olruggio froze. 

Qifrey finally met his gaze, his mouth unhappy and his eye scared. “That’s why,” Qifrey said, his voice strange and distant, “it didn’t effect you.”

Olruggio couldn’t breath. Qifrey looked at him, his expression knowing and wretched, and Olruggio felt gutted, skinned, like every awful, vulnerable part of him had been exposed. 

So what, he wanted to shout, so what if I love you, so what if you’re what I come home to, so what if our life is better than any of my daydreams or fantasies, so fucking what. 

But Qifrey just stared at him, haunted like an apology. Like he could never give him what he wanted. 

But the simple fact of the matter was:

“I don’t think that matters,” Olruggio said. 

“What?” Qifrey asked. 

Olruggio checked behind him, and the cave was still split five ways. He turned back to Qifrey, the gutting turned to kindling, something angry starting to burn in him. “We can’t leave,” he said. 

Qifrey’s eye glanced behind him. 

“I don’t know why,” Olruggio’s voice cracked, “you can’t stand the idea of being with me—“

“No!” Qifrey interrupted. 

“But I guess it’s me or starve to death,” Olruggio said, hating this, hating that Qifrey didn’t trust him this much. 

“It’s not—“ Qifrey was shaking his head, his eye wide and panicked. 

“Is our life really that bad?” Olruggio asked him, his voice rough and his eyes stinging. He rubbed at them. “I like it,” he admitted. 

“It’s good,” Qifrey insisted, hands frantically stroking over his arms. “It is good.”

Olruggio looked up. “But it’s not enough.”

Qifrey’s mouth opened and no words came out. 

“We have to get flour!” Olruggio told him. “For your bread braid! The girls are waiting on us!”

Qifrey was breathing hard but he still wasn’t fucking saying anything. 

“Would you really rather die than be with me?” Olruggio asked, his chest so tight he almost couldn’t breath. 

“Of course not!” Qifrey finally shouted, grabbing his arms. “Of course I love you! But it’s not that simple.”

“I know it’s not!” Olruggio leaned in close. “I thought we were old enough to know that! This isn’t a picture book and happily ever after doesn’t exist. We’re adults, Qifrey, and I thought you knew that life is complex and hard. Of course it’s going to be difficult sometimes!”

Qifrey was shaking his head. “It’s not—“

“I know it’s not simple!” Olruggio told him. “Do you think I love you because I like simple? You’ve never been simple a day in your life.”

Qifrey didn’t move, his expression stricken like he had been stabbed. 

“I’m happy with you, Qifrey,” Olruggio said, frustrated. “I’m happy when you’re happy, when we cook together, even when you flood my room with the smell of whatever meal you’ve made to get me out.” He rubbed at his eye. “Then especially.” He looked at Qifrey, defensive and aching and wanting. “And even when you lie. I hate it. But I still love you enough that I want to find out the truth. I just want you to trust me.”

Qifrey’s breathing trembled, watery and unstable, and his eye wide and shining. 

“I don’t want simple,” Olruggio said. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I don’t know,” Qifrey said, the words wobbling. “If you want—“ He shook his head. “I don’t know how you see me, but I’m not a good person,” he gritted out. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be! I still dream of that damn coffin every night and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I don’t know who I would be if I stopped. I’m always—“ He gasped, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be easy. Sometimes I’m so furious I can’t breath. I don’t know who I am, Olruggio, and it feels like everything I’ve built is hanging on something that doesn’t even exist!”

“I know,” Olruggio said. “I know. I knew that within five minutes of meeting you.”

Qifrey’s brows furrowed. 

“I’m not an idiot,” Olruggio said. “I could tell that you were angry and hurt. And I’m still here.”

“Why?” Qifrey asked, staring at him like a spell he didn’t understand. 

“Because you can’t see it yourself,” Olruggio said. “But I can. You’ve always been kinder than you gave yourself credit for. You see the people that no one else does, and you take care of them. You see who slips through the cracks and you make sure to catch them. You know how difficult this world can be, so you’re patient with the people who struggle with it. And I know you’re still angry, and that you’ll probably be angry for the rest of your life. But that’s why I want to be with you.”

Harsh breaths shuddered out of Qifrey, a tear slipping down his cheek. 

“You, of all people, shouldn’t be alone,” Olruggio said. “And we have a good life.” His voice cracked. “You have to know that. I want to live it with you. I want to show you what you can’t see, what you miss about yourself, and I want to be there when you’re angry.”

“Don’t,” Qifrey gasped. “I don’t deserve you.”

Olruggio’s mouth twisted. “It’s not about deserving. No one deserves anyone. It’s about choosing. And I chose you a long time ago.”

Slowly, Qifrey met his gaze, something fearful in the blue of his eye. It made Olruggio’s chest full, like something sweet and warm awaited him. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Qifrey said with certainty. “But.” His eye dropped. “If you made a choice, I can’t take that away from you.” He took a deep breath, something in his expression that Olruggio didn’t understand. And then he looked up. “I’m yours,” Qifrey said helplessly, “for as long as you want me.”

“I think that’ll be a pretty long time,” Olruggio breathed, overwhelmed. 

Qifrey’s expression was uncertain. “Even after you don’t want me,” he said roughly. “I think I’ll still be yours.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Olruggio gathered close and Qifrey came easily, hands settling onto his shoulders. 

But Qifrey shook his head, something achingly sad on his face. His arms looped around Olruggio’s face and their cheeks rubbed together. Qifrey took a shuddering breath. “I will always,” he breathed into Olruggio’s ear, “be yours.”

After that, and the whole redressing bit, it only took them twenty minutes to walk to the opening. 

Qifrey still seemed a little uncertain next to him, glancing over, playing with his sleeves. Olruggio wondered if they were going to hold hands. 

Would that be something they did now? Qifrey still seemed anxious and Olruggio didn’t want to push it. Still. The idea of them both in the air, the wind swirling around them, and Qifrey smiling at him with his drawing hand in Olruggio’s—

His heart beat hard. He felt fifteen again, easily overwhelmed and flustered. 

But when he smiled over at Qifrey, Qifrey smiled back, soft and small and fragile. It felt real. It felt them. 

Sunlight streaked into the cave, a brilliant golden stretch of it. Olruggio smiled at it. They still had enough time to pick up the flour. Maybe they could get something extra for the girls—chocolate perhaps?

The girls!

He turned to Qifrey. “What do you think?” he started, feeling a little silly and bashful. “What should we tell the apprentices?”

It seemed awfully embarrassing to just announce it, but the idea of sitting on the couch with Qifrey in his arms as all the girls practiced in front of them made him warm. Everyone eating dinner together, Qifrey’s hand in his…

They stepped into the sunlight, fierce and bright, and Olruggio shielded his eyes. 

“I don’t think we should,” Qifrey said. 

“What?” Olruggio turned to him. They stepped out of the cave. 

Qifrey looked at him, drenched in light, an aching longing etched onto his face. A hand traced over Olruggio’s jaw. 

Olruggio came easily, feeling beckoned, his hands resting on Qifrey’s waist. To look up at him, to stand this close—it made something warm and gentle bubble in him, like soup made together. 

Lips slanted closer to him. Breath caught inside Olruggio. A hand stroked over his cheek and air exhaled over his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut. Lips just barely brushed over his, the sensation dizzying and heady and everything he ever wanted. 

“I’m so sorry,” Qifrey said and shoved a hat on Olruggio’s head.  

His eye was blue. 

“What’s going—“ Olruggio started to say, and never finished.