Archive of Our Own

Galvorn Túrin had made a lot of mistakes in his life; he's probably made more mistakes and fuck ups than he has good deeds and responsible decisions, and he's doing his best to be at peace with the fact that's all he's good for.

He compensates in small ways - tries to learn new skills, practice old ones, throw himself into trades and hobbies until it no longer feels as though it's doing enough, until he's back at square one and nothing is better. Jack of all trades, Master of some - mostly just out of pure survival, learning and absorbing as a means to just get by, and these years are no easier than the rest. Told he's too young to feel this tired, too naive to even recognize despair, and yet each day he yawns into consciousness and tries to pluck it from his sleeves like lint with no real luck in getting it all out.

After a while, it's easy to not notice anymore.

It was fine. He was fine.

Then came the garden.

He'd tried to rationalize to himself whether it had been a gift or a curse, what happened. He'd needed the pull-away as his already fragile grip on his life was crumbling like sand between his fingers - and he was given it; given seawater in the form of wine glasses filled too high and far too sweet to realize he'd had too much. Given crushed limestone as words that laughed and understood and listened, in hands that guided him far away from troubles too immense and far more than he could stomach or handle. Lastly, in hands now too full, given clay, mixing it all together as a mouth that tasted so much sweeter than what he'd been drinking, found his in a rush of hazy want and in some primal need to get away too. They found each other in the garden.

Wet pliable cement forming into what felt like a foundation when they met again; like being trapped in a kiln, the edges getting the heat they need, but no matter how hot the fire burned, it never quite reached the center.

It wasn't for lack of trying.

They had wanted this - both of them, so much. Yet they were trying to pour unfinished cement that would never fully dry, because they never burned right.

Galvorn couldn't give him enough, and not because Revyn expected more out of him, but Galvorn had expected more from himself. He was gone constantly. Traveling hold to hold dealing with matters of the dragon crisis, sneaking into Thalmor encampments, the Embassy, avoiding the war, while trying to keep Delphine and the blades at an arms-length - The Greybeards were trying to be patient with him, but he could tell some days it was hard. Hard because he can't find a method that will both appease them and still keeps thousands from being destroyed by the mangle claw and maw of the World Eater. Nothing he tried mattered, it wasn't enough, he couldn't make anyone happy, they needed so much more out of him, while the dragon threat he was handling alone was breathing down his neck, and he didn't know what to do.

He felt like he was splitting some days, and his anxiety spilled into the parts of his life he wished so sincerely it wouldn't touch.

Revyn barely tried to hide his worry. Didn't want to. Careful hands seeking him out on the few nights Galvorn could even be there with him, and they'd smooth over his cheeks and run through his hair, and it made the mornings feel like a punishment. Pulling from covers and arms that seemed so untouched by it all, and having to redress and remask to face the world once again felt so unfair.

Revyn had this.. this habit, of sneaking food into his satchel. Leaving small notes into pockets, talking quietly because Galvorn looked so frayed some days it was clear he was afraid he'd eventually just shatter. Galvorn knew he ought to be more upset at being treated like he was delicate, but he craved it too much to put up any amount of fuss.

Galvorn tried to make it up to him in what ways he could; brought him gifts, pretty trinkets, stories- Revyn had a love for a certain kind of Elsweyr red wine, and greatly enjoyed new books and fresh parchment. He was a morning person. He liked flowers, and sunlight, both things he had very little access to in his little corner of such a frost-bitten city ravaged by poverty and war. He'd give him anything if he could - clear the skies just to watch him tilt his face up and soak it in; brought him books about preserving plants, so that Revyn didn't have to watch the flowers rot away.

He loved him so much that some days it left a physical ache in his chest that he didn't know what to do with; but all Galvorn could see after a while, was how much trouble he brought to his front door.

Love didn't change the fact that him being the dragonborn meant Revyn was in danger every single time they sought company together.

Time's he's realized he was being tracked when trying to seek his partner out again - he was wanted by the Thalmor, the Blades were trying to sink their teeth into him because he wasn't doing as they asked in dealing with Paarthurnax, and then there was just the rise in cult activity, bandits - it wasn't safe, and there was a target on his head. Seeking out his identity, where he lived, his loved ones - it became too dangerous to come and go like he used to. Became too dangerous to seek out his company, or steal moments between the early hours of the morning. Eventually his foot traffic would be followed - eventually that little hole in the wall shop would be discovered by those who could only mean serious harm.

Maybe it was overthinking, maybe he was just being paranoid. Yet, every time he goes inside the shop, certain he wasn't being followed, he's terrified that he's going to enter and find Revyn either missing, or killed, and it's been eating at him like a parasite. Haunting what dreams he even get's these days, and- and eventually he had to make choice. He didn't win no matter the outcome, but Revyn was safer when he wasn't there to lead danger his way.

Revyn wasn't aware of their last night together; at least, wasn't aware it was their last.

Galvorn had brought him to the Cabin; get him out of the city for a bit. They laid out in the snow and looked up at the stars and watched the heavy clouds go by, and Galvorn drank up the sound of his laughter, his hand heavy and warm in his own. He had wanted to tell him then. Wanted to tell him that this would maybe be the last time they would be seeing each other, and that he didn't know if he could come back. That he hoped to if he survived against Alduin, but he didn't know if he'd be welcome - that he didn't want Revyn to put his life on hold for him.

He tried to find the words, but every time Revyn looked at him, his face was so relaxed and full of mirth that he.. he couldn't. He choked on them, because some part of him didn't want to ruin this for him. He was in such a good mood, and telling him would sour it, even if it was the cowards way out.

Wanted to tell him when they made it inside - settled on the floor by the fireplace, but Revyn was straddling him, and the words were lost. The foundation was fractured, and only he knew where the cracks were, and it was unfair but he - couldn't. He couldn't. 

When morning came and the dragonborn walked him home again, Galvorn thought about the garden.

Galvorn had made a lot of mistakes.

Revyn hadn't been one of them.

Nowhere close to one, even. Just bad timing. Wrong place. Wrong everything. But he hadn’t been wrong. It wasn’t Revyn's fault, it was- him. Galvorn wasn't a good partner, a good presumed hero of legend, or a good person. He was a coward, and a fuck up, and it can't be on Revyn to pick up those pieces. Can't be on Revyn to protect himself when he shouldn't have to to begin with.

He didn’t know what else to do. Didn’t know how else to ensure that maybe at the end of all things, maybe they would find each other again.

It’s just- it’s been months now. Galvorn stopped opening the letters because each time it became harder and harder not to return, with every ink smear and dried daisies pressed between the parchment. He thinks maybe eventually Revyn realized he wasn't coming back; maybe he thinks he's dead, but every courier ensures to Galvorn that Revyn was alive and well, if not heartbroken, and it had to be enough for now.

He wants to go back.

By the divines, he wished he could.

He broke things off because he had to, but Revyn hadn’t been a mistake. Galvorn was simply very good at making too many of them on his own, and pursuing something too soon had been his own fault, and he’d hurt someone else in the process. He knew his work was dangerous, knew better than to get anyone else involved, and now this is where he’s at.

Back to where he started a year ago.

Galvorn was half slumped in his seat, a few maps spread out on the tabletop before him, his thumb tracing the lip of his mostly untouched drink. His eyes occasionally turning to the wooden pint to idly trace the somewhat faded ‘Dead Mans Drink ’ engraved just under the metal lip, where the contents tasted little better than ash. He couldn’t focus, his head felt heavy, there were a handful of farmhands and priests talking somewhere in the background, and he couldn't find it in himself to think about what he was to do next. Parchment page after next filled with errands, promises, possibilities of what's to come and where to go, but he found himself rereading the same few lines before eventually burying his face against the palms of his hands with a quiet sigh.

He brought the pint back to his lips, but smelling it before it came to his lips had him wincing; he set the mug down against the wooden top a bit louder than he intended, agitated. He doesn't even know why he bothered to order it to begin with- everything tasted so bland these days. With a distasteful frown, he made to eventually shove the barely touched drink aside.

A hand hit the top of the mug, stopping it in its tracks before it was moved too far away. Galvorn blinked, surprised, as his eyes snapped up quickly to take in a dark robe and -

“There’s my favourite drinkin’ buddy,” comes a boisterous voice that was faster to recognize than the face that eventually came into view. Legs were already swinging over the bench before Galvorn could get a word out, frozen in surprise when he was hit with the other’s hips that forced him to scoot aside, “how many have we had?”

“Sam,” Galvorn breathed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction in greeting, “ah, just the one. How- where did you come from-?”

“What ?” his drawl dragging out the ‘a’ several few beats too long before his hand was already waving towards the bartender. “What are you? Sober? That won’t do.”

“Really, it’s-” but the barkeep was already walking over, and Sam was sitting in a way that had him mostly leaning on the bosmer for support, voice loud as it carried on requests for a few rounds, before his hand pat Galvorn's thigh as the barkeep turned back around on his heel.

“On me this time,” Sam was saying, matter-of-fact as he returned his rather short attention back to the tabletop, where he gave a short half bemused gesture to all the journals and maps before them. “What in Oblivion is all this then? Work?”

Galvorn barely got a word out before Sam snatched the first thing in sight, treating the parchment with a lack of care; it was a map of some old ruins further south. The Greybeards had informed him of a word wall he needed to meditate on, but it's fallen further and further on his list of things he needed to deal with. Galvorn exhaled, snatching the map from his hands before he tore it.

"All of it, actually," Galvorn responded, a bit lackluster as he made to smooth the parchment before realizing it didn't matter. "I'm really very busy-"

“Not tonight you aren't,” as he haphazardly tried shuffling the pages together before Galvorn could reach a hand out and stop him. “No, we are celebrating today!”

“Celebrating?” he replied, eventually grabbing what he could before Sam could crush any of the parchment, relenting for the time being as he realized this was a losing battle, grabbing his bag by his heel. Accepting the messy pile of somewhat crumpled maps with a breath as Sam swatted him with them impatiently, asking with a pointed swat back with his journal before stuffing that away too, "and what’s the special occasion then?”

“Aw, Gal baby, and here I thought we had something special,” Sam placed his elbow on the tabletop, dropping his chin into his palm as he turned himself to face the bosmer fully, “it’s our friendaversary, you oversized oaf.”

Galvorn snorted, subduing his bewildered smile as the barkeep came by and placed a few drinks on the now cleared counter before them. Sam blew him a wet kiss as he stepped away, before shoving both the dragonborn's original mug as well as a fresh one in Galvorn's direction, who reluctantly accepted them with mumbled thanks.

“You know, I was thinkin’ recently,” Sam took a short swig, bumping knees with the bosmer as he spoke, “it’s been a long while since I saw some of my very very very good friends. Figured, hell, why not throw a party?" before holding up a quick hand as though Galvorn might interrupt, "and before you say a thing, I've already done all the planning! The invites are all out, but you, big guy, don't have a normal home address, and no the Cabin doesn't really count since you're never there."

Galvorn squinted at him, frowning, "You know about the cabin?"

"I know Meeko's zoomies anywhere," Sam responded instead, "where is the little guy by the way?"

He made a short face, "Lydia's parents farmhouse," he thought back a bit, "he had a broken leg, and Lydia's mom is good with animals. I've been meaning to swing by to check in on him, but-" he trailed off a bit. He's been avoiding Whiterun because of the war, and some part of him feels bad about leaving Meeko behind, even if to just recover; it was nice knowing he was safe. Galvorn was about to ask how Sam even knew about Meeko, but Galvorn was also not entirely foolish to believe that Sam was just a Nord either.

It mostly boiled down to how much he wanted to question it, and 'not at all' was fairly high on that list.

Sam made a bit of a face, seeming to think something over before taking another gulp, continuing, "Either way, you've been far too busy to catch up with for some time, but I’ve got some free time, and it looks like you’ve got some free time, so what do you think? Wanna take a break?”

“I don't have as much free time as you think,” Galvorn sighed a bit, but took the mug back into his grip, and figured he’d at least be friendly. Taking a short drink gave him pause; did this taste different? He ventured a glance inside, and-

“Don’t be stiff on me now, big fella,” Sam bumped him with his elbow, “you were all sad when I found you the first time. That trip to the garden did you wonders .”

“I barely remember it,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “look this is all well and good, but I've got to plans to finalize, end of the world, dragons, in case you think I'm doing this all for fun.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him, sitting back in his seat a fraction before doing a pointed once over in the room they were in. He placed one hand behind his ear, squinted, before shrugging fairly exaggerated.

“No dragons here,” he says, before knocking back the rest of his mug in one quick gulp. Galvorn snorted, half shoving him with his own elbow, to which Sam drew back dramatically. “Oh come on now. The night is young! You’re just gonna go to bed anyway, might as well unwind a little. Aren’t you stressed? Your shoulders seem real tense, you know.” using a hand to squeeze the one closest to him, ducking his head a bit to stay within the bosmer’s view, “listen to me. We’ll get a couple of rounds. Chat. See where the night takes us,” he smiles, and the sight of it is easily disarming though Galvorn knew better, “besides, the moons are growing null between veils, you wanna know why?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me regardless,” Galvorn said, lips against the rim of his mug.

“It’s the summer solstice!” and slammed his hand hard just between the bosmer's shoulderblades, causing him to spill some of his drink, "and I’ve got big plans this year I’d very much like you to be a part of.”

“Bigger than last time?”

Sam smiled brightly, “Every year is better than the last. You've even made quite the name for yourself in that time, haven’t you? Not doin' so bad for yourself since we met last, huh? Let's celebrate! A drink for old times sake.”

Galvorn didn’t bother to fight off the hand that was shaking his shoulder, chuckling in bewilderment, “you are awfully persistent this time around.”

“Yeah, well, I get a feeling you’ll benefit from a drink with an old friend,” was Sam’s simple answer, and he unsubtly pushed one of the other mugs in the dragonborn's direction.

Galvorn felt the weight of his bag by his heel, and made the half-responsible decision to get up and at least put his things into his room for the night, before rejoining the nord with a bemused sigh who clapped upon his return. It became easier, as he settled back onto the bench, leaning on his elbows as they began to chat. It felt almost like catching up, as familiar as Sam often behaved, though he was never certain if he was just that way with everybody. Continued talking about big plans, and fun ideas and never went into any real specifics that Galvorn could follow, as the drinks seemed to go down much faster than he could pay attention to.

It was silly to trust and make himself vulnerable around other people; especially those who enable awful decisions, but it felt alright. Felt better with every sip and encouragement, and he found himself laughing along to a joke he only half understood, and there is a hand on his back, and words against his ears, and they’re talking in circles again when Galvorn finds himself speaking unprompted, and being unable or unwilling to stop.

Sam listens, for no real discernible reason. Maybe he's nosey, maybe he cares, maybe it's all just in good fun; but he does listen. Listens as vaguely slurred words address the dragons and the war and Thalmor, until his thoughts are returned to snow banks and an icy sea where he left someone behind.

Sam asked about him; of course he would. Galvorn had kept the note that Sam had given him all that time ago with the hopes of one day thanking him. It felt wrong now, considering that he wasn’t able to keep what he'd been given undamaged, before leaving.

He didn’t know if it showed on his face, or something in his voice changed, but Sam was helping him to his feet and talking in a voice like honey that promised a break away from all of this. Someplace where none of that mattered, and Galvorn was too far gone to pay attention when they, at some point, left.

It was familiar, because this dance they found themselves in was once the answer to the dread of learning what he had to face - where now it was a reminder of months of mistake after mistake that was haunting his every step, until he couldn't bring himself to walk any further.

He was barely cognizant as things changed, where he felt hands on his face, his back resting on smooth wood that felt cool against his skin. Impressions around him of a throne, mostly lounging and sprawled with his knees apart and arms draped over the armrests, head tilted forward and- and there’s a garden.

Familiar, but not from this view.

It’s expanded since he was here last, all that time ago.

Galvorn blinked, inhaling hard as his eyes upturned towards the endless sky, and there's music and laughter and his head feels full of warmth. His glass he'd been holding dropped to the grass, soft under his bare feet, as he sees a glimpse of Sam step away from, what appears to be, an alter of sorts in the shape of a large fountain, a little way down in the center of it all. Red wine flowing freely like a river, where cups can be filled and there’s dancing and slurred singing, where exposed bodies swayed and splayed themselves over soft grass that stained their skin, with half-empty glasses that did much the same to their lips.

There was so much movement and friction, further off and somehow all around as the heat of the garden seemed to rise. Ecstasy in the air like a tangible thing, that lived and breathed with the ever growing huff of gasps, moans, and giggles, building in tempo.

Galvorn felt glued, overlooking and unable to pull his eyes away from the celebration as he felt warmth spread from his chest through his limbs. He doesn’t recall stripping down; doesn’t really know how he got here, or how much time has really passed; but he feels this short eternity race against his flesh, as the stars above his head seem to spin and move in all the strange little ways that they weren’t designed to do. 

“Enjoying the show?” came a voice from the short mossy staircase, leading up to where Galvorn had been seated. His eyes felt heavy as they met Sam’s lax but toothy grin, the man looking less and less nordic by the hour, though Galvorn couldn’t find it in himself to think much of it. He hummed, which was easier than attempting to find words he was too distracted to say. “Good, good. The parties going well, but, we’ve still the show of the hour to prepare for. You feeling ready?”

“Possibly,” he drawled, voice thick and warm, and earning another bright smile as a result.

Sam was laughing, giddy as could be, when he said, “Good enough! Close your eyes, and count.”

Galvorn exhaled amused through his nose, and did as he was told. He made it to three before asking, “wait, count to what?” but no response came. He started over.

His numbers, after a very short while, got a bit jumbled, a few repeated, and he’s certain he’s earned his way into the 30’s when he feels something brush along his bare thigh, and his breath catches in his throat. The numbers continue, vacantly and not in exact order, as he feels warm hands drag up along his chest as a weight finds itself on his lap, and all he can feel is skin.

His hands seek whoever’s hips these are, not looking, when those wandering sought the bosmer’s throat, his jaw, and cradled his face. A mouth found his forehead, trailing between his brows, where his cheeks were skipped only so long as a tongue brushed over his lips and - and the rush of familiarity had him pressing back.

Galvorn tightened his grip, hands moving up along the other’s waist as he pulled them down to meet him, and the moan was the same as the many before it; muffled against a shaky palm, trying to keep it from echoing against the stone corridors of the shop. The one hiccuped against his ear when pinned against the wall, legs wound tightly around hips as they were taken against the doorframe because they could not wait the several steps it took to make it to the bed.

Shaky breaths falling against his lips and he knew the taste of them. Knew the pattern those hands followed when trailing thumbs against the crook of his jaw - knew the nervous and uncertain way he struggled to initiate, careful and slow, and his thoughts could be so loud as he second guessed every little thing he wanted to do. These hands were just as unsure of themselves, just as hesitating, but there was a languid way their hips settled against him, and there was the smell of fruit and wine against their lips, and Galvorn was so afraid to open his eyes.

Anxiety and yearning didn’t mix well in his chest, as their mouth dragged across his cheek, finding the length of his ear where teeth scraped and caused heat to pool southward. Hands trailing down his throat, chest, seeking down his belly until he caught their wrist, stopping them. He felt them pause, then - he didn’t know what he was doing, other than that he wanted to, pulling the hand back up, and bringing it to his face, and when he pulled it to his lips, the hand was relaxed, meeting the backs of their fingers, where knuckles bumped his nose, and he pressed a kiss there because he didn’t need to open his eyes to know.

That hand pushed over to his cheek, and there were lips on his now, and there was far too much feeling there for it to be anyone else.

Galvorn choked on a groan when their body pressed close, hips dropping against his own as teeth nipped his lower lip. Hands grabbed the dragonborn's own as they led him to a waist that moved and ground against an ache that so desperately wanted attention after all this time. Mouths heat-seeking, where he pressed down thighs, squeezing the base of their ass as his arousal pressed against the heat between their legs and was rewarded with a hiccuped whine and-

“Varbaril,” he gasped, as his fuzzy vision was greeted with dark flushed skin and half-lidded deep red eyes that made his chest seize, his heart racing to his throat. There was still a haze between them, but his thoughts were not nearly so muddled as he pulled him down for another kiss, feeling the dunmer’s body respond with such enthusiasm and want, and there was such desperation there. Sadness, eagerness, hurt - seeking tongue and touch and friction they’ve been robbed of - that he'd given up.

It’s wrong - they shouldn’t. Galvorn had to leave him, he had to go all those months ago, it was barely a choice. All his justifications of walking away from him were based on his fear and worry, but it was so hard to think of letting him go when his dreams are haunted by the sound of him. Nights reaching for a body beside that wasn’t there anymore - and he did this to them. It was so hard to think about the why’s and the reasons; to even think of anything else. Hard to think at all when there are lips on him and they were so close together it was impossible to know where he ended and the other began.

Galvorn thinks, deliriously, with a chuckle in his throat and wine coating his tongue, that they really have to stop meeting like this.

He has to wonder if perhaps Sam knew - or if his choice in sad souls was always going to be like this. If they were always going to find each other with foolish ideas of merciful kindness and alcohol on their breath, where Galvorn is helpless against a timid touch that inevitably could crush him if they so desired. Weak against a silver tongue and clever eyes and a voice like the first sip of coffee in the morning. He was foolish to think he could ever really pull away, when every part of him is responding with a desperate vigor; his hands reaching between their bodies because he needed to hear him, and where the dunmer moans in a way that causes Galvorn to press his face against his exposed throat, almost wishing to capture the sound in way he could keep.

Entangled as he palmed at the other’s arousal, collecting every keen and choked sound until he had a trembling mess of a mer puddled on his lap, and he looked so...- Galvorn inhaled.

Revyn always looked so different like this.

He was a guarded man on principle. Brows perpetually furrowed, lips a firm line, and eyes often in some mix of narrowed and unamused despite his often helpful and kind demeanor. Revyn held himself in a way which kept him distant and unattainable; it wasn’t easy to leave him speechless, wasn’t simple to steal words from a practiced mouth where there was a response to just about anything.

Getting him worked up was a challenge he often enjoyed taking part in. Soften the hardened edges for short periods of time - seeing that firm mouth line go slack, and watch as careful eyes smooth out and go cross eyed with flushed cheeks and choked noises that were an accomplishment no matter how many times he’s earned them.

They rocked against one another like a pair of youths, and he didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed or ashamed that they were in plain view; everyone was busy with themselves, and much of the party down below was muffled by music and laughter and moans of their own, that their sounds felt drowned out by the chaotic activity building just beyond their bodies.

Some addled part of his brain felt some soft amount of surprise when Revyn shifted his hips and moved on his own. Galvorn’s head dropped to the dunmer’s shoulders, exhaling harsh; feeling flushed and short of breath as he pressed his mouth against Revyn’s throat, against his collar and along his shoulder, feeling Revyn jerk, sensitive, against his grip. Trembling hands squeezed at him, growing more and more tense, feeling words breathed against his collar, muffled. Galvorn turned his face a bit closer, listening, until Revyn finally raised his head a fraction, grazing and out of breath.

“I missed you- I miss you,” and it was said like it was some secret, hush against the dragonborns cheek, followed by a whine when Galvorn’s hands briefly stopped moving. A split moment ended when he adjusted his grip, swallowing regret like a bitter medicine as he turned to press a kiss against the dunmer’s ear.

“I know-”

“Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know how to explain his abrupt absence, and he had no way of knowing how Revyn would have taken his need to keep him left unknown from the world. Afraid of what might happen to him, terrified of outcomes he could never quite foresee, and words were spilling from his mouth unclear and unfiltered, the wine cursing him with a looser tongue, “I- I was scared you would get hurt. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me,” the dunmer responded, voice breathy, “please, please, hurt me. Just as long as you don’t go someplace where I no longer fit.”

“It’s- it’s not fair, to you, it’s not fair,” there are hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs against the spaces under his eyes and he didn’t have an ounce of desire to pull back from a mouth kissing every freckle on his nose, as he said, “it’s dangerous. What I do, and the enemies I make, you - you don’t deserve that. Don’t deserve to worry about targets on your back.”

“That’s for me to decide,” was said against his cheek, “I knew what I was getting into when I invited you back to my bed. I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Then why do you look so lost?” and their noses bumped, and Galvorn was too weak to not kiss back with absolute fervor when Revyn closed the gap. Galvorn felt his partner drop his hips, before a hand sought down and dragged his palm against the length of his arousal, and the bosmer choked. Deft fingers wrapped around, warm and firm as he led him closer, “I want to be yours, and you don’t get to push me away because you're afraid of possible unwanted outcomes.”

“I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you-”

“The only thing that’s going to happen is - it this, right now,” Revyn pressed his mouth against his jaw, “I’m too tipsy to have a serious conversation right now-”

“I don’t want you to think you did anything wrong,” Galvorn was saying, fast and a little delirious as he adjusted his legs, eyes drawn up and half-lidded as he watched Revyn’s flicker between their bodies and looking back, “that I walked away because of you.”

Revyn was fully looking at him now, eyes unblinking for a long handful of moments.

“I knew if I didn’t go, I’d never leave,” and their noses are close enough to brush, seeing the familiar pinch between the dunmer’s brows as he said, “it felt so unfair to drag you into my mess.”

Revyn swallowed, exhaling, “I like your messes,” and while there was still a glassiness to his eyes, there was also certainty there, “what’s unfair is you deciding for me that they were more than I could handle.”

“It’s more than I could ask of anyone,” he says, but Revyn exhaled through his nose, and dragged his hands down the bosmer’s chest, landing them at his sides.

“You’re thinking too much,” he responds, short but not unpleasant, “and you’re being ridiculous. Has anyone ever told you that? You-you think far too much? Far - far more than I care to when I-” a breath, then,  “- I can feel you under me. I’ve missed you. Missed this. I should be so angry with you and I’m not.”

Galvorn had a sort of relieved but guilty chuckle bubble up before he could catch it, and whatever that was seemed to break the building of tension, because the sound made Revyn’s eyes light up a fraction, and there was a tired faint smile on his lips.

“I’m not- I’m not mad,” he breathed again, “I just think sometimes you don’t tell me things, and you make up scenarios so awful it stops you from doing anything at all.” he pushed Galvorn further back into the chair, his fingers nestling against broad shoulders, “sort of how you’re holding me hostage right now.”

“Is this holding you hostage?” Galvorn dug his fingers against the other's thighs, “you think I could ever deny you a thing?”

“You’d take everything from me if you could,” Revyn said with a faint hysterical sounding chuckle, eyes alight and astounded, “you left and didn’t tell me.”

“Because I wouldn’t have if you had told me otherwise, and I-” he exhaled shaky, “- can’t risk you.”

Revyn tilted his head forward, expression clouded with something unfamiliar as his voice came out clear and unwavering, “what makes you think that’s up to you?”

Galvorn felt his cheeks begin to burn, heat flushing to his abdomen as the dunmer shifted, and the dragonborn loosened his grip enough to allow more freedom. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t Revyn sliding one of his legs off of the seat, hand against the armrest as his other slid up along the bosmer’s thigh. “I want to try something different.”

Galvorn felt himself freeze, looking wide-eyed at the dunmer as his brain tried to quickly process what was being asked of him, as a knee slid its way between his legs, and Revyn continued speaking.

“While I’ve no complaints about my size, I’m still not ah, fully equipped to do all the things you do to me, but,” Revyn leaned forward a bit, his hand disappearing beside the chair and closer to the ground where Galvorn couldn’t quite see, “our mutual friend thought it a good idea a few rounds in, and even provided some aid.”

Galvorn couldn’t quite find his voice, his heartbeat so loud he can hear it racing in his ears as his eyes flickered over Revyns expression, and all he sees is carefully ventured sincerity. His mouth was dry, watching as Revyn slid fully off his lap, falling to his knees before him as both hands ran up along thighs as lips pressed along his inner knee’s, carefully encouraging his knee’s to part, to scoot forward, closer- Galvorn felt a tremour race along his spine, heat painful and tight in his lower abdomen as he followed each wordless little command without question nor complaint.

Revyn trailed between a dragged tongue and kisses as he reached inner thigh, ghosting around his arousal, mouth warm and languid in it’s lazy path until it had Galvorn squirming, grip growing tight against the armrests, shifting in his seat with a whine in his throat he wasn’t aware he could make, and was met with an amused sound coming from the dunmer between his legs.

“You’re trembling an awful lot for a man I haven’t touched yet.”

Galvorn chuckled a little hysteric, “I’m a little anxious to find out what this aid is, to be very honest with you.”

Revyn smiled up at him, a small pleased thing as it was, before he tucked his face against Galvorn’s thigh once again, “I’m told it’s meant to be worn,” he says, lips pressing against the base of his arousal, causing the bosmer to jerk a bit in his seat, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek and barely swallowing the sharp inhale as Revyn’s tongue dragged from base to tip. The motions were slow; deliberate. Galvorn felt Revyn’s hands slide away from his legs to somewhere just under the seat of the chair where his eyes couldn’t follow, and stopped having the ability when Revyn finally took him into his mouth.

It wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; feelings of heat enveloping him, but it wasn’t often. Gal didn’t land on the receiving end out of pure preference. It wasn’t easy to allow someone access and control, of letting his guard down in a way that gave himself up to be toyed or played with in this way. There was an anxiousness trying to claw itself awake in the far side of his consciousness, but it all but melted away with dark flushed cheeks and coarse hair against his palms, his breath escaping sudden and harsh the further down his partner went.

It felt unfair; almost wrong as his fingers dug against the base of the seat, praises falling from his lips as Revyn hollowed his cheeks. Galvorn had left. He'd left. Revyn should have been furious - should be outraged with him, and he wasn't and he didn't understand what he'd done to deserve this - deserve him or his forgiveness or-

A noise spilled from his throat involuntarily when teeth had lightly scraped, feeling the slow stirring of release try and sink its grip into him. He wasn't going to last long like this; not when it's been so long and he missed him so much and he looked so -

He felt hands against his thighs as Revyn shifted, tongue dragging as he pulled away, a silvery string of saliva connecting them as the bosmer drops his hands to cup the other's cheeks, pulling him up a bit delirious where mouths met with clashing teeth and hands squeezing his thighs. Feeling now something pressing between his legs, sending heat shooting into his lower abdomen as it ground down against him. His fingers buried themselves in Revyn's hair, choking on a weak whimper, face flushed as the dunmer pulled back just far enough to get a better look at him.

"I can see why you like this so much," was breathed against his cheek, followed by a mouth and teeth that latched against his throat, hands pulling up the bosmer's thighs around him, pressing down with a pleased sound, "you're so pliant like this."

The friction was a lot; attempting to shift his hips up and move on his own was met with a chuckle against his skin and Revyn pulling his hips back just enough to prevent it from doing much.

"Darlin'- please-" his voice was tense, pleading, unable to get nearly close enough.

"I don't think so," and he sounded almost giddy, expression a mixture of heat and amusement as his hands pressed down against the bosmer's waist, keeping him mostly in place as he huffed, "You don't get to walk out and then make demands. I'm going to take my time, and you're going to behave, do you understand?"

Revyn's eyes, despite their slight glossiness from some amount of intoxication, were very aware as they eyed him purposefully. The heat and weight in his expression had Galvorn's chest tighten a bit, before eventually nodding; seemingly pleased, Revyn's teeth caught the bosmer's lower lip, before his hips dropped down once again, swallowing the helpless sound that followed. 

Galvorns hands slipped down from his hair to his shoulder blades, glancing down where leather straps were tightened around the other's waist; he let his legs slip down a bit, rubbing against it as his eyes took in the size and shape with a flush. Revyn's eyes followed his line of sight, where hazy eyes grew fractionally uncertain, glancing back up towards the bosmer, keeping close.

"Is this okay?" he breathed, and if Galvorn weren't so familiar with the subtle way the dunmer's demeanor shifts, he might not have otherwise noticed the hesitancy.

Galvorn couldn't find his voice, couldn't even articulate the words to describe the way he was feeling, and found himself nodding a little feverish. Revyn seemed to gauge his reaction with eyes far too careful and cognizant for someone more than a few cups in, growing more confident in his movements, as he rolled his hips in a way that elicited a sharp gasp, his breaths blurring into incoherent words, his nerves feeling on fire as he began to crack the more his partner kept this up.

Pressure was building once again, mouth trailing against his jaw, throat, collar- he just couldn't get close enough to him, full of heat and seeking friction when he heard the other inhale sharply, his voice a rasp when he said, "how do you want me?"

As if he could answer in words-

He couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything else other than the movement of their bodies and the ache it left when it began to slow, words falling from lips as he pulled Revyn's face back up again, struggling between strained speaking and pressing his mouth anywhere he could reach; "I want to-" and by the divines, he didn't know if the pain in his chest was from adrenaline, or knowing they weren't alone, or if it was simply because the last person who had him in this way was.. Galvorn exhaled with a tremour, it's been so long, and - "I need-"

Revyn was looking at him so closely, hands squeezing at his waist and thighs and he pressed so close when he captured his mouth once again.

Galvorn didn't know how to say it, didn't know how to be clear when he felt far more exposed than just simple nudity, and he hoped that his meaning got across. It seemed to, anyway, as he was met with wide blown-up eyes where eager hands sought his face, kissing him with a much recognized and familiar intensity he was always so full of when it came to such wanton intimacy. A sloppy clash of tongue and teeth, craving and starving, and oh how he missed the smell of him, the taste - like brewed tea leaves from all the steam that's rolled over his face that now clings to him like a second layer; all narrow and angular and somehow both tense but loose-limbed as he pressed back down, and where fingers brushed against the edge of the bosmer's mouth, who took all of two seconds to realize what was being asked.

Obediently his lips parted, and his teeth were carefully passed as fingertips met tongue as he took him into his mouth.

Revyn was humming something against him, tone lax and consonants rough and it took a moment to realize he was speaking dunmeri; his brain caught only a handful of words, praises, until lips pressed against his cheek once again and his fingers were pulled free.

The garden felt like it was almost spinning around them.

There were cheers somewhere far off, conversations, the obscene slapping of flesh as a crescendo of moans and boisterous slurred laughter trailed their way. It was so hard to pay attention to, so hard to remember where they were when all he could comprehend was the heat of his body pressed so close against his own, and he felt so lost among it. The air smelled of sour fruits, codeine, and sweat; like too strong tobacco smoke from a street away, and of wet grass and burned applewood logs, and it was confusing as the noise of bodies intermixed so seamlessly with music with no known origin. Revyn's hand slipped between their bodies, his mouth muffling the choked groan when pressure sought him out.

He moved slow, mouth dipping down and tracing faded scars with his tongue, as his fingers circles and coaxed the bosmer to relax; not doing anything until pleas were falling freely, where Galvorn saw the other's eyes flicker up, watching him a long moment, before pressing in.

His head moved to the side, brows pinched as a careful deft hand coaxed him down to the first knuckle. 

Galvorn's own hand brushed up to his hair, trying to relax against the intrusion, and some ailed part of his subconscious told him that this should have burned; even just a little - noticing a tad feverishly, that any possible pain he should have experienced, was replaced instead with easy give. He blinked, huffing as a faint surprised sound bubbled out, remembering where they were when moving to dislodge Revyn's hand as he breathed out; "I don't- not here. You don't - you don't have to here."

The garden, if he remembers correctly -which isn't a given-  revolves around a different set of rules.

Revyn seemed to understand after a moment, face tucking against the other's chest as though steeling himself as he pulled free, before he got a grip on either side of the bosmer's waist, scooting him half off of the throne. Galvorn's hand shot up, almost as if to prevent himself from slipping further, but Revyn was already hoisting his hips up, mouth trailing over his chest, and they couldn't wait.

Bracing himself had been almost entirely unnecessary; like letting out a breath held far too long as Revyn pressed against him. Their foreheads touching, noses brushing, as Gal's eyes shut tight; down until their waists were pressed flush against one another, and he couldn't quite catch his breath, now intermixed with Revyn's own. It was - surreal. Everything felt too hot and too much and it still wasn't enough, as he watched Revyn blink a few times, as though confused or startled. Galvorn was going to ask, but his voice was lost somewhere between his chest and oblivion, and Revyn seemed to have this astounded smile fighting its way on his lips.

"I-" Revyn swallowed, his face flooding with unadulterated affection he couldn't mask; and the mirror image of how many times Revyn must have watched on the receiving end felt stark in that very moment.

"If I'd known-" and Revyn sounded breathless, face flushed and brows pinched, "-that there was a way to do this, I would have- have done this so much sooner. Almalexia, mother of mercy, look at you-"

He couldn't even if he wanted to, because he couldn't stop staring at him.

Revyn's cheeks were flushed. Coarse hair sticking up, lips parted and eyes dark - the hair on his chest, decade-old faded scars, and the angles of his hips that fit so well between his legs and it made his pulse race. He couldn't get nearly enough air, and it was dizzying as Revyn had one arm hooked under Galvorn's leg, the other braced against the seat of the throne as he gave the dragonborn time to adjust. Galvorn gasped, shifting his hips, and for some reason his thoughts are clouded and brought back to a time so far disconnected from where he was now - to dusty curtains and the distant haze of noise of busy city streets in the middle of the night.

It's hard to shake at first, until he feels a mouth against the side of his own, and he's weak; turning to seek, where even with the mix of drinks between their tongues, he's brought back to the present. Galvorn melts against his mouth, eyes struggling to stay open as he feels Revyn gently rock his hips, taking his time, and there is so much he wants to say, but Revyn was already halting his thoughts with slow-building movements. 

He couldn't believe he tried to walk away from him.

"I-I'm sorry," he says, fingers digging against his waist, and there is a deep flush against the other's chest and throat, looking up at Galvorn almost curiously, who stumbled over his words between choked breaths, "I'm sorry- I'm sorry I didn't say. It wasn't - fair. To you. I'm so sorry- you're so good. So good, and I- I fucked it up. I've fucked it up-"

“No, sh,” using his knees to test the waters as he pulled back a fraction and adjusted himself, “no- no talking. You’ve said - you’ve said enough. Focus on me. Pay attention to me.”

Galvorn found himself just nodding, his mouth feeling like cotton, arousal a painful ache between their bodies left untouched, and did as he was told.

It didn't take very long for Revyn to get a lot more sure of himself; pace going from controlled to more erratic, eliciting varying reactions and sounds, and if Galvorn were less a fool, he'd have realized sooner that Revyn was almost playing with him; his face warm with mirth as he seemed to figure out what got the better reactions and leaned into it with such vigor. Galvorn's legs were trembling, and the more he seemed to come undone the more confident Revyn became with him.

Revyn's eyes switched from watching his face to looking between their bodies, brows pinched as he dropped his hips, still adjusting, and it didn't connect at first that he was looking for something, before Galvorn was seeing white.

He comes back to it with a hand over his mouth and a cry barely muffled against it, sudden and intense pleasure racing through him, and Revyn's pleased expression coming back into focus over him. Galvorn couldn't recover fast enough, and while Revyn wasn't necessarily unrelenting, he was persistent, careful, thorough- the dragonborn's head fell towards the side against his own shoulder.

Spikes of intense pleasure again and again until the tightness in his lower abdomen was growing almost painful, and some unthought-out attempt to relieve it had the dunmer's own hand snap out and capture his own before it could get far.

Galvorn whimpered.

"Please-" and he didn't even recognize the sound of his voice at first, but Revyn pushed his palm up against the captured hand, interlacing their fingers as he pushed it off to the side with a shake of his head. Some of his hairs had fallen loose over his forehead, moving in tandem.

"You don't get to be in control all the time," he sounded like honey, "I've already got you."

Galvorn has never known Revyn to be vindictive; not really. This, however, was torture. He didn't know how to want something so badly despite getting more than he could have ever asked for.

Revyn wasn't trying to drag it out either, at least not exactly, because his breathing had grown ragged and harsh and Gal could feel the quake in his legs too - and it wasn't long until heat seemed to seep south until he was choking on the rush of euphoria that followed not long after. It hit the way that sucking in the first breath after being submerged in water felt; feeling heat spill between the rocking of their bodies until the body above him still and a mouth found him again.

Slipping away.

The noise seemed to fade around them, and he found himself shooting forward, covers slipping from his body.

Panicked wild eyes looked down at himself, reaching wildly for someone who wasn't there anymore, and Galvorn felt the drop in his stomach because he lost time again. His head still felt clouded, dropping his head to rub the palm of his hands against his eyes, letting one of them fall against his chest and he - he isn't sticky. Falling further as he shifted, thoughts running miles a minute as he made to kick out of the bed and grab his things and-

-and he's not at the Dead Mans Drink.

Galvorn froze, confused.

This didn't happen last time.

He quickly took in his surroundings, noting quickly that his bag was dropped haphazardly against an old wooden doorframe; taking in the familiar wood rot and damaged stone. The table, fireplace - he risked a glance down; dark blue threadbare blankets half-covered legs that were wearing pajama bottoms he didn't recognize, when he heard a breath.

Galvorn felt the pang of fear in his chest, hesitation, but he still traced the shape in the blankets towards bare familiar shoulderblades, and - he was fast asleep.

Revyn.

Galvorn's heart was still beating impossibly fast, looking down at his hands, and nothing about this felt real at first. He closed his eyes, taking a few grounding breaths in, before risking looking around once more.

It was still the backroom to the Shop.

His eyes fell to his lap, going between staring and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to comprehend what had happened and- he eventually exhaled, running a hand down his face before letting them fall to his sides.

Intrusively, he considered slipping away.

The thought of Revyn getting hurt because of him felt worse than dying, but- he didn't move. He couldn't. Not when he was so close and in reach, and while the garden is surreal and other, Revyn was very real before him now, and he found himself unable to move at all.

He noticed a scrap of paper then, on the pillow.

With a quiet sniff, he carefully picked it up, unfolding it with his thumb.

Hopefully this time next year

you'll be less busy, and share

a drink with a good friend, when

you return to the garden.

Obviously, you're very welcome.

With love,

Your best friend, Sam :^)

He looked over the note, a huffed bewildered noise blew past his lips, before folding the little scrap of parchment close, when he noticed one of the corners had familiar dark lined ink, and chuckled under his breath where he recognized part of his own map. Galvorn pinched the bridge of his nose, not sure what to make of any of this, before dropping the parchment off to the side.

Revyn made a soft sleepy sound at his side, face pressed against his pillow, and when Galvorn looked down at him, he did not leave.

Instead, he dropped back to his side, brushing his hand against the other's back, pulling the blankets down a little bit as he gently tried to wake him. Soft endearments falling from his lips as he pressed his nose against his hair, pressing kisses against anywhere he could reach, until he heard the other stirring. Revyn's back pressed against his chest as he pressed his mouth against his neck, down to his shoulders, until he heard him make an amused snort.

Revyn languidly rolled to face him, tiredly pressing his cheek against his chest as arms wrapped around one another - and they settled back down. He pressed his face against the top of the dunmer's head, feeling the lingering trails of exhaustion still gripping him, breathing him in.

Galvorn made a lot of mistakes; was full of them, to be exact, but as Revyn sighed softly against him, and Galvorn felt the edging of sleep yawn its way between them, he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.