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"One room please," Crisostomo says in fluent German. Being a polyglot has uses - for instance, booking rooms at inns in order to escape the tyrannical clutches of the Spanish authorities.
Days of looking over his bloody shoulder as Elias dragged him to safety had turned into weeks of hiding from place to place. From the humblest bahay kubo to a rich friend’s abode, they sought mercy and compassion wherever it was found.
Unfortunately, such doesn’t seem to be found in Wilhelmsfeld. At least, not until Crisostomo fishes out silver coins. They were nearing the end of the supplies he’d brought, but it was no matter.
"Take the room down the hall. One bed," the receptionist says curtly, throwing the key at the desk in front of them.
Annoyance flares in Crisostomo's chest, only to simmer down under bemusement. "I beg your pardon?"
"It shouldn't be a problem for two brothers of your kind, is it?" The man sneers, throwing an unsavory glare at Elias.
The anger burns brighter now. Crisostomo is about to admonish him–if not for Elias' hand on his shoulder, strong fingers tightening at the word, brothers .
"Come," Elias says quietly, leading him away. "He is not worth it. We must unpack at once."
Crisostomo nods, face burning - but now out of a strange embarrassment instead of rage. He's roomed with many men before in his sojourns in Europe, and has even shared many rooms with Elias throughout their journey.
The other man is never more than an arm’s length away these days; it’s both borne from Crisostomo’s own protective tendencies, and how natural it is to gravitate to him, like how the moon orbits the planet. There is no need for posturing or pretenses; even in the midst of heated debate, Crisostomo is free to express his innermost thoughts and truest self.
There is no one he’s more comfortable with than Elias, but for some reason… the thought of sharing a bed with him – no more barriers between them – sends heat skittering to his cheeks. He shakes it off and follows Elias to their quarters.
The room is small, and the bed even tinier than he expected. It sits in the center of wooden floors, the white linen stark against Elias’ dark skin as he sits down and presses a hand against it.
“It is not too comfortable, but it should do. Do you wager that it will last until the morning?” A wry smile quirks Elias’ lips.
Crisostomo chuckles, remembering the last wooden monstrosity that nearly gave them both a heartattack in the middle of the night when the bedframe splintered under his weight. “I bet that it will. This type of wood seems sturdy, but should it falter, then I shall save you.”
“My debt to you never stops growing, does it?” Elias asks, dark eyes soft as ash. “Whether it be crocodiles, guardia civil or bed frames, you seem keen on being my savior.”
“You’re worth saving.” The words tumble out of Crisostomo’s mouth on instinct. Elias seems almost surprised, so he repeats it again, filling each word with more conviction. “I will never regret any of those times, Elias. Just like our home, you’re worth fighting for.”
Elias’ gaze is inscrutable and, as always, unnervingly intense. But Crisostomo holds fast. He knows that the other man harbored guilt when Crisostomo had been shot at the river. By some miracle, they both managed to get out alive… at what cost? Crisostomo refuses to think about it. They would return to set things right, save his friend, and clear his name. But for now, they must focus on survival and gathering enough resources to fight back.
Though insurmountable odds to some, Crisostomo feels as if he can do anything when Elias is by his side. (He can only hope Elias feels the same way about their… Camaraderie? Friendship? Words do not do it justice. It is like they are brothers, yet unrelated. Tied together by bonds stronger than blood.)
After a long moment, Elias nods.
They drift into companionable silence, sorting their meager belongings and rations before the candlelight begins to dim. Crisostomo turns to ask about what Elias would like to have for breakfast when he stops in his tracks, mouth suddenly gone dry.
That same molten rush from earlier envelopes his entirety when Elias undresses in front of him.
It's not as if he hasn't seen the other man nearly naked before, especially when they used to ride out in Elias' boat. God knows that wet, white shirt of his provided little to the imagination; the translucent fabric hugged the curves and contours of Elias’ well-defined abdomen and protruding pecs, sticking to Elias' dark skin almost as much as Crisostomo's wide-eyed gaze did.
But those strange feelings were always washed out by the tide of his stubbornness, attention shifted to his debate with Elias instead.
Now, however, is a different story. There is no whisper of water to distract him from Elias' bare back as he lifts his shirt off to reveal an expanse of sun-browned skin and sinewy muscles shifting under candlelit.
No looming guardia civil to pull his attention from the enticing curve of Elias' ass in Crisostomo’s pants (all too small for him, but it is a blessing in disguise), so close yet so far. No passerby to draw his focus from the sudden urge to lick and lap all over Elias’ neck, wondering how his skin would taste under his tongue–
"Ibarra," Elias pipes up suddenly, and Crisostomo could not be more thankful that he had knocked the habit of speaking titles from his name. (He could not handle being called by his father's title in Elias' low rumble of a voice, not like this, not right now.) "Are you not going to change?"
Concern glimmers in Elias' dark brown eyes. Crisostomo looks away, shame churning his gut at such inappropriate thoughts about Elias, his dear friend – strike that, partner. (The word brother doesn't fit. He doesn’t think it ever will.)
Crisostomo swallows around newfound feelings and forces a nod. "I'm sorry, I am just a bit… exhausted, that's all."
Despite the unconvincing quaver in Crisostomo's voice, Elias only hums before turning his back and giving Crisostomo the privacy to change.
Crisostomo feels a stab of guilt for not having returned the favor. However, the thought of Elias sneaking glances at him stripping is sends heat snakes in his gut once more. Shaky hands hastily strip off his clothing as Crisostomo tries to push it all aside.
The humid night provides an excuse for him to sleep shirtless, letting his overheated skin cool off. However, he makes it a point to leave his pants on.
As does Elias, Crisostomo notices when he settles down on the bed, already dipped with the weight of the boatman lying on the other side. A pang of disappointment jolts in his chest when they settle next to each other– it is a strange, yearning sensation that adds to the rising tide of emotion inside him, like the fervent rocking of waves threatening to knock him under. (He’s never feared drowning nor diving into uncharted territories, but the mere thought of hurting his… dear friend terrifies him like no other.)
The scant space between them only heightens the feelings, making it impossible for Crisostomo to ignore the thoughts of the man behind him, the man who's always had his back despite painful pasts and uncertain futures.
The torrid present does not seem so daunting when Elias is by his side.
Crisostomo turns to his side, eyes tracing Elias' figure in the shafts of moonlight spilling through the thick curtains.
"Are you still awake, dear Elias?" His voice is a cautious whisper, a venture into the unknown.
"Yes." There's a ghost of amusement in Elias' voice. Fortunately or not, it appears he's been awake the entire time. He keeps his back turned, as he often does on the nights sleep eludes Crisostomo. At first, it had given Crisostomo comfort when he could bare his soul, safe in the knowledge that Elias had his back, the same way he would protect him.
But this time, Crisostomo does not wish to talk about philosophies or wistful moments in childhood. He wants to see him, needs to ask this question burning at the tip of his tongue. “Days ago, you… you mentioned leaving someone behind. Who was it?”
Elias turns around. Silver light kisses the slope of his prominent nose and the rugged cut of his cheeks, all the way to the hair on his chin. His eyes are unyielding in between strands of dark hair, and Crisostomo grapples with the every increasingly familiar urge to brush it aside.
“Salome was my lover,” he answers after a long time. “She left to be with her relatives in Mindoro, but told me I could stay in her house.”
“I see,” Crisostomo says. He tries not to wonder which of those houses they stayed at were hers. “Do you plan to return to her?”
“No.”
Crisostomo nearly jolts out of bed and hits his head on the ceiling.
“Is everything alright? Is it the Spanish?” Elias looks at him in alarm, hand twitching. Crisostomo knows it instinctually headed for the itak under the bed.
He shakes his head. “No, I apologize for that reaction. You simply caught me off guard.”
The tension leaves Elias’ shoulders, only to be replaced by a quizzical lift in his brow. “Then I ask why? Are you… questioning your own devotion to Maria Clara?”
“I will never forsake her. She is my friend, and I will come back for her.” Conviction rings true in his words. Ibarra doesn’t know when his feelings for Clarita had shifted from the rosy-colored hues of romance into something different, yet just as strong. A platonic devotion that is as unquestionable as the surging love he has for his country, a bloody heart laden in thorns of tyranny.
The smile that Elias offers him is a glimmer of hope in the dim light. “I shall do everything in my power to aid you, Ibarra.”
A strong, calloused hand is once again on his shoulder, but the searing heat of it on bare skin makes him shiver. Now if only his emotions towards Elias were as clear.
“Oh, are you cold? I hope my shirt can be of service.”
Before Crisostomo can react, that damned white shirt is gently laid over him. It smells like seawater, like Elias, like home . Crisostomo wants to drown in his scent as dual sensations of lulling comfort and burgeoning desire envelop him. He wants to – no, he needs more.
He reaches forward and – stops.
“Ibarra?” Elias’ voice is low and raspy, filled with warmth. “You are acting strangely. Is something the matter?”
Crisostomo knows he should go to sleep. They have more distance to cover if they are to reach the home of his friend. The responsible thing to do is to close his eyes and shut out his feelings.
But his mind, treacherous thing it is, zeroes in the very thing he seeks to avoid. Thoughts of Elias swirl around in his brain, taunting and teasing Crisostomo with their torturous proximity.
He can't run from the truth: his attraction to Elias has always been prominent, even back then.
At first, he dismissed it as brotherly affection, but he now knows it runs deeper than that.
He wants to reach out: tenderly tracing lines on Elias' dusky skin, planting gentle kisses on each scar and hearing their stories. He wants to hold Elias in his arms, protecting him against Spanish soldiers and rude receptionists alike. More than anything, Crisostomo wants to hold onto Elias and never let go, refusing to lose his last reason of happiness to anyone or anything.
Crisostomo doesn't know why these feelings grip him so fervently tonight. Perhaps it's the enclosed space, the weight of the wasted time, or the looming threat of borrowed hours, but Crisostomo can no longer bear it.
"Elias, something has been bothering me,” he admits.
Elias inches closer, so close their breaths mingle. “What can I do?”
With a trembling hand, Crisostomo reaches out, slowly the way one would approach a startled animal. But Elias is no prey, but a hunter, sharp eyes following Crisostomo’s hand as it lays gently upon his cheek.
“Is this… alright?" Crisostomo's voice is urgent yet polite as always. "If you do not like it, tell me at once–”
“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” Elias’ voice comes out breathless and… wanting .
Crisostomo closes the space between them.
It is nothing akin to the kittenish pecks he had exchanged with Clarita in their childhood. It is a clumsy expression of unnamed affection, blossoming into clacking teeth and chapped lips. It’s perfect. Elias’ mouth is searing on his, hungry and intent like a relentless whirlpool.
The need for air bears down on them, forcing Crisostomo apart. His chest heaves against Elias’ own. In his heady haze, Crisostomo wonders when the shared space between them had gotten so small – and more importantly, how to completely diminish that distance until nothing separated them.
Crisostomo can’t tear his gaze away: Elias’ own eyes have darkened even more with desire, growing half-lidded. Harsh breaths pour from his parted lips, and Crisostomo follows the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear.
Elias freezes, eyes widening at the unfamiliar gesture. Crisostomo immediately withdraws his hand. “Am I–Is this okay? We can stop at any time you’d like.”
With sigh tinged in fondness and exasperation, Elias gently takes hold of Crisostomo’s hand and links their fingers together. “And if I do not wish to stop? What then?”
Heat blooms on Crisosotomo’s face, thrills lighting up his whole body. “Then, may I taste you?”
A soft smile graces Elias’ face. He lifts their entwined hands, kissing the back of Crisostomo’s palm before laying it across his chest where his heart beats for him. “You needn’t ask. You already have all of me.”
This time, Crisostomo dives headfirst.
Finally getting his mouth on Elias is akin to quenching his thirst after years spent in a dessert. Crisostomo can't help the soft, muffled moan as he kisses the arch of Elias's shoulder, tongue greedily taking in the sweet-salt taste of his sweat.
The other man stiffens, and a bolt of fear courses through Crisostomo. He immediately jerks away, a thousand apologies on the tip of his tongue when one of Elias’ large hands tightens into a fist in his hair. A suckerpunch of arousal hits Crisostomo in the gut.
“Do not stop.” It is a plea, a prayer, one that Crisostomo is helpless to answer.
Not needing to be told twice, he mouths at the soft skin of Elias' nape, a hand drifting along the ridges of Elias' sides, the chiseled abdomen and pectorals that have haunted him ever since. Small grunts and moans start pouring out of Elias as his body twists under Crisostomo’s touch.
Crisostomo's breath comes out faster with each sweet sound gracing his ears. His movements grow faster, more incensed with the desire bubbling within him, threatening to burst. His tongue licks and laps at the curve of Elias' nape before planting a flurry of heated, open-mouth kisses along the lines of Elias' broad shoulders. Growing louder, Elias writhes in his grasp, fingers closing around Crisostomo's wrist when fingers begin toying at one of his pert nipples.
"Nngh! Haah…. Ibarra ," Elias groans in his ears, sending shivers down Crisostomo's spine.
"Say my name, dear Elias." Crisostom’s voice is velvety and husky, breathless with anticipation. He nips at Elias' ear, relishing in the other man's miniscule twitch.
" Crisostomo ," Elias moans, mouth parted in surprise when Crisostomo's clever fingers suddenly skate across his clothed cock. Crisostomo's eyes blow wide, an electric shock of arousal coursing through him at the sound of his own name, of the way the syllables burst through Elias' lips in such passion, lost as he is in the pleasure wrought by Crisostomo's hands.
Truth be told, Crisostomo is as lost as Elias is, mind still reeling–it's the perfect opportunity for Elias to strike.
“Oh!” Air rushes out of Crisostomo’s lungs when his back hits the mattress. Elias' palms are firm on Crisostomo's shoulders, pinning him down on the bed.
Surprise melts onto a certain sense of satisfaction and curiosity when Crisostomo eyes the flush dusting Elias' cheeks, and the way he stares at him akin to a hunter about to close in on its prey.
Dark brown eyes are clouded with desire, smoldering with a heat Crisosotomo feels in the pit of his stomach. Despite everything, the way Elias looks at him is always, always so tender. His gaze simmers with unbridled affection that Crisosotomo himself had tried to deny in all their moments together.
No more of that.
A gentle, if apologetic, smile graces Crisostomo's lips as he reaches up to cup Elias' cheek, fingers slipping through coarse, raven locks.
Something in Elias' gentle gaze shifts, softens even more. He turns his head slightly, placing a kiss on Crisostomo's palm. "Forgive me. I only wanted to see you… Crisostomo."
"Only if you forgive me for being so obtuse about my own feelings," Crisostomo is quick to reply, as always. His thumb caresses the curve of Elias' cheek with an open, honest affection he allows to course through every fiber of his being. It feels right.
“There is nothing to forgive.”
"Then let me show you how much you mean to me, my dear Elias," Crisostomo murmurs, a sultry whisper punctuated by half-lidded eyes and a tongue licking at his lips in anticipation.
Crisostomo leans up, tenderly pressing his lips against Elias' own. Their second kiss is a calmer calamity than the first explosion of passion, but no less intense in how earth-shaking it is. It starts out slow, probing: a cautious yet molten exploration of the warm cavern of Elias' mouth, and the hot slick and slide of their tongues.
Moans, trapped between the heat of their mouths, spill from Elias' lips once more in the wake of Crisostomo's fingers kneading the firm expanse of Elias' pecs, dancing a path down to the embossed lines of his stomach.
“You… are – nghh! – quite fond of doing that.” Elias manages to stay upright, his arms bracketing Crisostomo’s head.
“I’m merely appreciating the blessing before me.” Gaze glued to Elias' own, Crisostomo begins to tweak at one of Elias' nipples, pinching and rolling it in between his fingers. A tremor of excitement lances through him at the mewl Elias makes, the way his teeth softly bite at his bottom lip.
He wants to see Elias lost in pleasure he grants him, wants to see Elias' eyelids flutter and mouth fall open in a loud moan meant for him and him alone.
Crisostomo's fingers crawl past the waistband of Elias' pants and pull out his cock. It rests between their stomachs, and Crisostomo's mouth grows dry at the sight of each vein running along its wide girth.
He's painfully reminded of his own growing predicament. But this moment is all about Elias. He’s wasted too much time denying them both, and he won’t waste a second longer.
Heart wracking in his chest, Crisostomo's lips cover the other bud and suck. Elias' answering moan reverberates around the room and pitches even louder from the hand forming a tight fist around his twitching erection. Setting a feverish pace in time with the need simmering within him, Crisostomo rubs along Elias' length – and delights in every low groan spilling from Elias' delectable throat.
It has Crisostomo craving more .
His are ceaseless and unyielding: his teeth sink into the skin of Elias' chest, marking him, claiming him. The wet heat of his tongue apologetically lave over every love bite, making Elias shudder. His fingers roam all over, leaving tingling trails of pleasure along Elias' skin. His hand works fervently on Elias' dick, wrist twisting on every upstroke as Crisostomo seeks and works and yearns for the hot spill of Elias' release all over his hand.
"Cum for me, my dear Elias." His words are low and breathless, the hot, sultry command whispered directly into Elias' ear.
And finally, finally he sees it: Elias throwing his head back, cheeks reddening and eyes fluttering as his stomach twists and tightens, pleasure overtaking and overwhelming every inch of him that Crisostomo would love to get his hands and mouth all over.
For now, Crisostomo bears witness to the breath-taking expression on Elias' face as he releases. Crisostomo couldn't take his eyes off him even if he tried, basking in the heat of desire and the warmth of affection both thrumming in his veins, his bones, the entirety of his being.
As the rapture continues to tear Elias asunder, and Crisostomo holds him, intent on never letting go.
(When the morning light breaks through their shared space, Crisostomo ends up winning the bet. Despite their best efforts, the bed does not break under the weight, but it does buckle once or twice, making Crisostomo laugh against Elias’ smiling mouth).