Let Go
Tad awoke sometime in the night. The minutes stretched as he lay still and silent, listening to the soft, rhythmic snores emanating from the man behind him. Each gentle puff of air on the back of his neck, the heavy arm draped over his side, fingers splayed out across his ribs.... Tad longed to lose himself in the simplicity of these things and tumble back into sleep, but it eluded him like he knew it would. The moment had been broken as soon as he opened his eyes.
With a sigh he gently disentangled himself from his lover's embrace and padded towards the small washroom, heedless of his own nakedness. It was nearly pitch-dark, but faint traces of moonlight filtered through the shuttered windows. It was enough for Tad's eyes. Deftly, he picked his way around their hastily discarded clothes and gear, toppled furniture and other items strewn haphazardly about. The room was in quite a bit of disarray after their frenzied bout of lovemaking. He'd been somewhat less than aware of it at the time, of course, his mind entirely occupied with the abuse he'd been on the receiving end of and, ultimately, the driving force behind.
He splashed some lukewarm water from the basin onto his face and stared at his reflection in the dark mirror. By all rights his body should be peppered with bruises, gouges, bite marks - if not more serious injuries. Any normal person's would be. But there wasn't a scratch on him. Over the past few months Tad had grown immeasurably more resilient, both physically and mentally. Fighting armies of undead soldiers and three-story golems made up thereof tended to do that to a person, he supposed. Dashing from one end of the continent to the other and back again, entangled in dark machinations that had been set in motion more than half his lifetime ago, pitted against the very Heroes whose fame and legend had been the fuel of his childhood fantasies.... Not for the first time, Tad caught himself wondering how their fated band had managed to survive at all, much less emerge victorious.
This wasn't the end for them, either. That much was unquestionably clear. Tad wasn't sure whether he felt exhilarated or terrified by the prospect. A touch of both, most likely; the two emotions fed into each other in a viciously escalating cycle. This was what he'd always wanted, adventure and excitement the likes of which simply didn't exist in his backwater little town. Through all the pain and danger and drama the years had brought, he'd never once regretted leaving. But now, in the aftermath of everything, he felt strangely....disconnected. Or perhaps it wasn't so strange. After being thrust into the heart of the legends, all the monumental powers and nightmares come to life around him, and finding his own self able to contend on that same epic scale - was it any wonder that nothing seemed quite real, anymore?
The stale water wasn't very refreshing. Still, he scooped another double palmful over his face, ran wet hands through his disheveled hair - the only indication of the rough play he'd been engaged in earlier that night. Tad closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the other man's hands on him, his body all coarse, hard planes pinning him down, the ecstasy and utter relief of surrendering himself to that iron grip. A blacksmith by trade, the man had balked at first when Tad tried to goad him into violence, aware that he was by far the stronger of the two of them and concerned for the wizard's safety. He was a good man. You won't hurt me, Tad had panted in his ear, breathless, punctuating it with teeth that brooked no uncertainty of just what it was he wanted. You can't hurt me. But I want you to try. The man had performed admirably after that, leaving the room in its current state and the two of them in a sweaty, satisfied tangle of limbs and bedsheets. So satisfied that Tad had actually fallen asleep afterward, despite the fact that sleep had become for him more of a habit than a necessity.
He was just using the other man, of course. Tad had no delusions about it. The blacksmith was nothing more than a replacement, a covenient stand-in for what his mind and body really craved.
Granath.
He hadn't gotten over it. He would eventually, he knew he would - he had to - because there was no other option. But the young warrior still pervaded his thoughts, in a more than comradely way. Body that could have been chiseled from stone, with a face like a melted candle - Tad had long since gotten past the shock of Granath's disfigurement, and now couldn't help feeling an odd sort of fondness for that uniquely hideous visage, attracted irrevocably to the man behind it.
It didn't matter. He was a fool. Tad groaned, resting his forehead against the mirror, his breath leaving little clouds of regret on its smooth surface.
Granath had left Weston the day before, with the cryptic announcement that he was going to return a sword. It was something the warrior had to do by himself. Tad had known that, even as he'd half-heartedly offered to go with him, and as naively disappointed as he'd been when the man walked away, he knew it was for the best. Alone with Granath for an indetermined length of time.... Tad knew that at some point he just wouldn't be able to stop himself. He'd say or do something that, if it didn't get him killed outright, would irreparably destroy the friendship - albeit sometimes tenuous - that had formed between them. Some time and some distance were exactly what Tad needed to get this dangerous infatuation with the other man out of his system. That, and some very rough sex.
The others had gone already, too. Nyx was the first to leave, off to rebuild Jaelyn's ruined kingdom, or so Tad surmised. He hadn't asked. And he didn't want to think about what emotional trauma the cleric must be going through, having had to cut down his own father and mother - both! - as well as his Lady to whom he'd sworn fealty. It made his own angst seem so paltry, so childish in comparison. Zane and Granath had left not long after, each going their separate ways. Tad knew he should move on, as well. There was nothing left to do here but rebuild, and the people of Weston could do that better without their town's fabled witch in their midst.
With Elwè dead, Dun Elaine would need a new High Sorcerer. Grumwé had all but named him for the position, already. But Tad had no desire whatsoever to take up that mantle. Far beyond the unwanted responsibility, Tad cringed at the thought of being tied down to one place like that. It would be a prison disguised as a domain. Besides, most of the old, established wizards and scholars there despised him. He'd gotten on famously well with his peers and the younger acolytes, but those stodgy old coots would never get past the affront his innate talent posed to their lifetimes of study. His particularly irreverent, provocative nature probably didn't help much, either.
Tad gripped the edges of the washbasin tightly, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing over his head. He felt intangible, like he might just float away without something strong to keep him grounded. Perspective, that was what he needed. Recent events had skewed everything so ludicrously out of whack. Practically overnight the world had become a surreal copy of itself, and Tad wasn't sure of his place anymore. A game to which he no longer knew the rules, just that they kept changing.
He couldn't navigate this current - not right now, at any rate. Not as he was. He needed to get his feet back under him, get his head uclouded from all this legendary bullshit.
Purposefully he strode back into the bedroom and planted a kiss on his lover's lips, firm and demanding. Straddling the man's hips as he roused, Tad chased the vestiges of the other's drowsiness away with his ardent, desperate need. Felt supreme gratification when those adamantine arms closed around him and flipped them both over, gasped a little at the man's teeth on his collarbone. Tad knew where he had to go. He'd set out in the morning. But right now he needed someone else to take the reins, and let himself fall contentedly into round two.