Continued from here
35th of Vhalar, Arc 719
“Fates, Doran. That was…”
Llyr reached over and grabbed his messenger bag. He slid it against the floor to where he laid beside the human mortalborn. Only wearing his undershorts, though he'd just pulled them back on, the young mage's mutations were fully displayed: his crystalline legs, his gossamer wings, the iridescent tattoos along his slim waist, the halo above his blond head, the inky black tattoo on his back, and the new bright ethereal cracks in every one of his fingertips that perpetually glowed with moving white-iridescent light.
He searched through his bag while he tried to decide on a word to describe how he felt. But how could he describe just how marvelous his reunion with Doran had been? Hardly ten trials since they'd seen each other last, and he hadn't thought much of it… until he saw his initiate again.
In that moment, when he'd crossed from Emea into the proper world and Doran had smiled at him; those ten trials had suddenly felt like they’d been arcs separated from one another. After they’d finally undressed each other? ...it felt like decades. Llyr hadn’t realized until that very moment, the immense depth in which he had missed Doran.
Yet that suggested other things… how attached had he gotten to Doran? If he could feel such elation by being in his company again?
He assumed Doran didn't feel the same way because the other man had lived for centuries. Certainly the alchemist had a better grasp on the awareness of time than someone like Llyr, who was only just nearing his second decade of life. It was for this reason that Llyr focused on not getting too carried away by his feelings, to not entirely share what was on his mind, and to downplay just how amazing he felt when he spent time with his initiate.
Still he had seen the new mutations on his lover's hands. He knew the red markings were from the spark of Transmutation he'd seeded into Doran's soul. The connection between them, of their ethereal link to each other's souls, it was beyond any of his other initiations so far. Even dreamwalking paled in comparison to the sensation of when he exchanged ether with Doran. He had paid considerable attention to these mutations, to Doran's hands, and to the witchmark on his chest, while they had made love.
Squirreled away in the alchemy professor's office, Llyr might have tried to suppress his feelings... but he couldn't suppress his desire. Not with the Sesser. As he almost always did, he gave in to Syroa's temptations manifested through Doran. In the luxurious private space, he made use of the sophisticated dark wood furniture as different stages for their intimate dances. The desk, especially, had served them well for stability. Though now, there was a mess of papers and books left strewn about the floor next to where they'd finally concluded their cavorting.
Llyr retrieved a silver cigarette tin from his bag. He playfully tapped his foot against Doran's leg, then smiled. The svelte blond lifted and straddled the older man’s hips again. In the past couple of breaks, he had drained his lover of many things, but all in a pleasurable way that left Doran not exhausted… but intensely relaxed.
He leaned down and kissed Doran a few times on the lips before he sat up again. Llyr opened the cigarette tin, plucked a tightly rolled smoke from it, then held the tin to offer Doran: “Want one?”
Llyr got to his feet, once Doran let him, and went to pick up some of the fallen books from the floor. He didn’t light his cigarette, as he wanted to be certain that Doran would be okay if he smoked in the enclosed space, but he did keep it at his lips. If Doran didn’t say anything otherwise about it, he would eventually light the smoke. He set the books in a stack on the table.
The seeming-mutations on his fingertips weren't the only change to him though. While he'd been in Etzos, the young mage had also drank the remainder of his Edasha potions; now his teeth and his physique followed the alluring perfection that the other features of his skin, hair, and voice had.
Quiet momentarily filled the room. A few different thoughts flitted through his mind. He mentioned in a low voice, “So, I’ll be staying in Viden... for a few trials.”
He frowned slightly. His dark brows knitted together in a concerned expression. His eyes lost their iridescent glow, returned to his light blue irises of focus and concentration, a paired color that Doran would have learned by now during his time with the youthful biqaj. Llyr glanced between Doran and the books, then he said, “I’ll have to see where my coursework is at, with Dean Rush. Last we talked, he mentioned an essay or lecture, or something...”