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Varka did not wait for ceremonies.
The city had prepared them anyway — banners strung from the battlements, polished knights standing in immaculate lines, a speech drafted and redrafted by someone nervous about wording. None of it mattered. The moment Varka saw Aether walking through the gates under his own power, dust-covered but upright, everything else became background noise.
“Alive,” Varka boomed.
The single word carried across the courtyard—and though it rang with its usual force, there was the faintest fracture in it. “Good. That’s all I needed to see.”
He crossed the distance in three long strides.
Before Aether could so much as draw breath, Varka seized him and pulled him into a crushing embrace that smelled of steel, pine sap, and the sharp bite of northern wind. The impact knocked the air from his lungs—and then his boots left the ground entirely.
For one disorienting heartbeat, the world narrowed to iron-clad arms and the deep, unrestrained rumble of Varka’s laughter against his shoulder.
Johoda let out a triumphant whoop loud enough to scatter birds from the ramparts. “He’s in one piece!”
Paimon hovered nearby, hands pressed to her face as tears streamed down freely. “You’re back—you’re really back! Paimon always knew you’d come back safe and sound!”
Varka finally set him down, though he did not step away. His hands shifted to Aether’s shoulders, firm and grounding, as he leaned back to look at him properly. His gaze swept over Aether with sharp, practiced precision—like a commander inspecting a blade returned from brutal use, searching for hairline fractures only he would notice.
A gauntleted thumb brushed lightly against a healing cut along Aether’s cheek. Varka’s jaw tightened.
“Scuffed,” he muttered. His eyes lifted to meet Aether’s—fierce, searching, almost disbelieving. “But not broken.”
The words were quiet, certain. Aether huffed a faint laugh despite himself. “It was a long trip.”
“And Dottore?” Varka asked, the name heavy.
“Gone.”
Not elaborated. Not needed. Varka held his gaze a moment longer. His jaw set, then eased. Slowly, he nodded. “Good,” he said simply.
He stepped back at last, rolling his shoulders as if shedding something invisible and suffocating.
“Then tonight,” he declared, voice rising once more to something bright and unshakable, “we celebrate properly.”
──── ˖ ᯽ ݁˖ ────
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the rough-hewn stone walls of the warrior’s quarters. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and the faint metallic tang of oil used to keep blades sharp. Varka sat sprawled on a thick bearskin rug, his massive frame taking up more space than any three men combined. His arms, corded with veins as thick as a lesser man’s fingers, rested lazily on his knees, the firelight dancing over the old scars that crisscrossed his bronze skin. He was a man built for war — broad shoulders that could carry the weight of a fallen comrade, a chest so deep it seemed carved from solid rock, and thighs like tree trunks, still dusted with the grime of the day’s training. His cock, even soft, was a heavy thing, resting against his thigh like a promise of the destruction it could wreak when fully aroused.
By contrast, Aether looked almost unreal beside him.
Strength showed itself clearly along his frame, defined shoulders, toned arms, the quiet evidence of countless battles, but it never seemed heavy. His golden hair caught the firelight like spun sunlight, soft and luminous against the dark. His skin, smooth and unscarred despite everything it had endured, gave him an almost untouchable air—less like a soldier, more like something sculpted by a careful hand.
The power in him, undeniably, wore the shape of beauty.
He knelt between Varka’s splayed legs, his slender fingers tracing idle patterns over the Grand Master’s calf muscles, each one as thick as his own wrist. Aether’s body was lean and his waist narrow enough that Varka’s hands could span it with ease. His cock, already half-hard from the mere proximity of the warrior before him, twitched as he glanced up through long, pale lashes. It was pretty…. small, but perfectly proportioned, the head a soft blush pink, the shaft slender and veined, nestled in a patch of downy blond curls. Even at full attention, it wouldn’t have filled Vakra’s palm, and that thought sent a strange, possessive thrill through the warrior’s gut.
“You’re staring,” Aether murmured, his voice light, teasing. He shifted forward, pressing his knees deeper into the fur, the movement making his cock bounce slightly. The tip glistened with a bead of pre-cum, the sight of it making Varka’s mouth water.
Varka grunted, his deep voice rough like gravel. “Can’t help it.” His hand twitched, fingers flexing as if already imagining the weight of that slender length in his grip. “You’re like a fucking feast laid out for a starving man.” He reached out, his calloused palm dwarfing Aether’s thigh as he squeezed, feeling his muscles tense beneath his touch. “And I’ve been starving for something sweet.”
Aeth shivered, his breath hitching as Varka’s thumb brushed dangerously close to the base of his cock. “You say that like you’ve never had a twink before.”
The warrior’s lips curled into something feral. “Oh, I’ve had ‘em. But none like you.” His hand slid upward, slow, deliberate, until his fingers finally, finally wrapped around Aether’s shaft. The contrast was obscene. Varka’s fingers didn’t just encircle his dick; they swallowed it, his middle and ring finger overlapping when he closed his grip. The heat of Aether’s flesh against his palm was maddening, the pulse of blood beneath the skin a rhythm Varka could feel in his own cock, now stirring to life with a heavy throb.
Aether gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Fuck— your hand—”
Varka chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Too much for you, Honorary Knight?” He gave a slow, experimental stroke, his thumb smearing the pre-cum over the swollen head, watching as Aether’s lips parted, his breath coming in short, needy pants. His cock was nothing in his grip — barely more than a mouthful, something he could have swallowed whole without even trying. And yet, the way Aether whimpered, the way his body trembled, made it feel like the most powerful weapon in the world.
“N-no,” Aether stammered, his fingers clawing at Varka’s knee. “It’s — perfect.”
Varka’s grip tightened just a fraction, his thumb pressing into the sensitive underside of Aether’s cockhead. “You like that, huh? Like being handled by a man who could bend you in half?” His other hand came up, massive and rough, cupping Aether’s jaw. The boy's face was so small in his palm, his fingers splayed wide enough to cradle the back of his skull. “Like knowing I could fucking devour you?”
Aether moaned, his hips rocking into Varka’s stroke, his cock already leaking steadily, the slickness making the warrior’s grip slide easier. “Y-yes…”
Varka growled, his own cock now fully hard, the thick length pressing painfully against the front of his leather breeches. He could have taken Aether right then… flipped him onto his hands and knees, split that tight little ass open with one brutal thrust. But no. He wanted to savor this. Wanted to watch the Honorary Knight unravel under nothing but his hand, his touch, his control.
His strokes grew firmer, his palm working up and down Aether’s shaft with practiced ease, his fingers curling just right to tease the ridge of the head every time he reached the top. Aether was panting now, his body trembling, his nails digging crescents into Varka’s skin. “G-gonna…”
“Not yet,” the warrior rumbled, his voice a dark command. He twisted his wrist slightly, his thumb pressing down on the frenulum, and Aether cried out, his back arching, his cock jerking in Varka’s grip. “You come when I say you come.”
Aether growled, his body straining, his cock throbbing. “C-can’t….”
Varka’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Beg for it, then.”
Aether growled. “Let me come, you…”
The warrior chuckled, his grip tightened, his strokes growing faster, rougher, his palm slick with Aether’s pre-cum. “That’s it,” he growled. “Take what I give you.” His other hand slid down, his fingers teasing over Aeth’s balls, rolling them gently before giving a sharp, possessive squeeze. “Come for me, little one. Now.”
Aether’s body locked up, his cock pulsing violently in Varka’s grip as the first rope of cum shot out, landing in a thick stripe across the warrior’s chest. Another followed, then another, each one weaker than the last, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. Varka didn’t stop stroking, milking every last drop from the boy’s spent cock, his own breath coming hard as he watched Aether collapse forward, his forehead pressing against Varka’s thigh.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the crackle of the fire, the occasional drip of cum sliding down Varka’s skin. Then the warrior’s hand finally stilled, his fingers gently, almost tenderly, brushing over Aether’s softening length. The contrast was still there, still stark. His hand could have crushed the boy’s cock without effort. Could have owned it. And yet, as Aether nuzzled against his thigh, his lips pressing a soft, grateful kiss to the rough leather of Varka’s breeches, the warrior felt something unfamiliar coil in his chest.
It wasn’t just lust.
It was hunger. A deep, gnawing need to keep this. To claim it.
To make sure Aether never forgot who he belonged to.
Varka’s cock ached, heavy and neglected, but he didn’t touch himself. Not yet. Instead, he tangled his fingers in Aether’s golden hair, tilting the boy’s face up until their eyes met. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice a rough promise. “Every fucking inch of you.”
Aether’s lips curved into a lazy, satisfied smile. “Prove it.”