Page 70 of Captive
"Because what you're becoming matters," Boarstaff said finally. "Because it suggests possibilities neither of our peoples have considered in generations of conflict." He took a breath, adding, "Because what grows between us matters. Not just alliance between potential enemies, but understanding that goes beyond what either of us was taught."
Steam rose between them, carrying scents of mountain minerals and ancient magic. Sebastian's body caught crystal light differently than before. The metal no longer reflected with hard, perfect angles, but seemed to absorb illumination, warming to a glow reminiscent of ore still nestled in living stone.
"And what am I becoming?" Sebastian asked quietly, a rare vulnerability visible in his expression. "Not vampire, human, or orc. Not what Cornelius made me or what your people would recognize. Still dangerous though. Still a predator."
"You're turning into something new," Boarstaff replied simply. "Something that remembers what existed before our peoples chose hatred. Before your ancestors turned to mechanical precision over natural connection."
Sebastian's laughter was soft, even in the quiet cavern. "You make it sound like noble purpose rather than desperate survival. Cornelius would say I'm devolving, not evolving. Giving up artificial improvement for primitive instinct."
"Is that how it feels?" Boarstaff found himself genuinely curious, drawn into the mystery of Sebastian's transformation.
"It feels..." Sebastian paused, seeming to search for words. "More real. More immediate. Like everything Cornelius's improvements filtered has come rushing back with overwhelming clarity."
"Including hunger?" Boarstaff asked carefully, hand moving instinctively to the weapon at his belt.
"Especially hunger," Sebastian's admission carried nothing but simple truth in his tone. "But differently than before. Not the carefully regulated need of feeding chambers, but something I have to actively choose to control rather than having it managed for me."
"And can you? Control it, without artificial regulation?"
"I believe so." Sebastian met his gaze directly. "What I'm becoming wakes up choice beyond artificial constraint. Control that comes from within, not from processed systems."
The answer satisfied something in Boarstaff that went beyond tactical assessment. He had witnessed Sebastian's restraint around the child, his careful distance despite obvious hunger. Had seen him choose something beyond predator's instinct, beyond processed precision.
"If you stayed," he said carefully, "there'd be conditions. Boundaries that couldn't be crossed, no matter your nature."
"Of course." Sebastian nodded. "I'd expect nothing less, given what I still am despite what I'm becoming."
"You'd need to keep proving yourself through choices, not words." Boarstaff outlined terms with the same directness he would offer any potential ally. "There'd be those who never accept you, who'd watch for any sign of betrayal."
"Like Thornmaker," Sebastian observed.
"Among others. Trust would build slowly, if at all. And there'd always be distance needed between you and potential prey."
"I don't know if I can be what your people need," Sebastian said after a long moment. "What you need. I'm still discovering what I am beyond Cornelius's careful lies."
"That's a beginning worth witnessing," Boarstaff replied. "Worth protecting, even against those who would see only the enemy, where possibility exists."
Sebastian rose from the pool, water streaming from his body. They stood facing each other in the blue-lit chamber, the air between them charged with something neither had expected to find. Sebastian took a step forward, closing the distance with deliberate care. His hand rose, hesitating just short of touching Boarstaff's face.
"May I?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The question hung between them, weighted with everything it implied. Grief and desire warred within Boarstaff, loyalty to Oakspear's memory battling against the undeniable pull he felt toward Sebastian. His body and mind were at war – one demanding release, connection, the simple animal comfort that would drive away grief for a few precious moments; the other reminding him of what he'd just lost, of Oakspear's sacrifice, of duty and honor and proper mourning. The right answer, the honorable answer, would be to step back. To maintain proper distance until grief had run its course.
Instead, Boarstaff closed the gap between them. The kiss carried nothing gentle in it - it was all the grief, the anger, the confusion of the day poured into a single point of contact. His hand gripped the back of Sebastian's neck with bruising force, fingers digging into the seam where metal met flesh. His other hand found Sebastian's hip, pulling their bodies flush together, heedless of the water soaking into his clothes.
Sebastian released a soft moan against his lips, his body leaning into the roughness instead of pulling away. The sound shot straight through Boarstaff, hardening him instantly. He could feel Sebastian's own response pressing against his thigh, the evidence that this desire wasn't one-sided. The heat of him, the taste of him – copper and something uniquely Sebastian – filled Boarstaff's senses.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard. The hunger in Sebastian's eyes had shifted from blood to something else entirely. Boarstaff could see his pupils had dilated, leaving only a thin ring of color. His lips were reddened from the force of their kiss, and a flush had spread across his chest where the brass components seemed to pulse with their own heat. Sebastian's hand moved down Boarstaff's body with careful deliberation, trailing along his chest, his stomach, lower still.
"Let me," he offered, voice rough and low. "Let me help youforget tonight."
The temptation was almost overwhelming. Sebastian's hand hovered just above the waistband of Boarstaff's pants, the heat of him palpable even through the damp fabric. To lose himself in Sebastian's touch, to let physical sensation drown out grief, to find temporary escape in another's body - it would be so easy. Every part of him ached for release, for the simple oblivion of pleasure.
And yet...
Oakspear's face flashed in his mind. The memory of his scent, his laugh, the way he'd looked at Boarstaff that last night. "Three summers was never going to be enough." The words echoed in his mind, a promise unfulfilled.
Boarstaff caught Sebastian's wrist, the motion abrupt but not cruel. "No," he said, though desire burned in his eyes and his body betrayed his words. "Not tonight. Not with Oakspear's ashes still warm."
