Chapter 266 - 264: Meeting The King.

Chapter 266: Chapter 264: Meeting The King.

Because Loac is drenched and dripping .

​Khobi feels a pang of heat flare up his spine as he feels the weight of his chest pressing into him from behind, and the breath of a snicker ghosting beneath his ear has him biting back a shiver.

He always does this; gets up in his space, but suddenly it feels too close.

​Too much.

​Fuck, he looks good .

​The thought flashes through his head before he can stop it.

And the worst part is that it’s the goddamned truth, because with his hair plastered to his face and rain dripping off his chin and his shirt soaked to transparency and plastered so tight it shows off the dark skin beneath, Loac Trent looks seriously fucking good.

​Blue eyes slide towards him, glimmering, and Khobi’s mind suddenly goes...

elsewhere .

​A dim room shrouded in steam.

​Damp hair and damp, dark skin, and hungry blue eyes.

​Loac leaning in to kiss him .

​His breath catches in his throat, and his grip on Loac’s wrist tightens, infinitesimally. By all accounts his skin should be cold but for some reason Khobi’s palm feels like it’s burning .

​Then Loac flashes him a grin that’s all teeth, and with a flash of panic Khobi releases him like he’s been stung, cursing himself and hoping his face isn’t flaming the way it feels like it is.

​"Go get your own," he huffs somewhat belatedly, protectively putting his body between his bowl and Loac to deter him from trying to pilfer anything else.

"Where’ve you been all day, anyways?" But Loac just chuckles as he wolfs down the piece of Khobi’s dinner he’s already stolen and slings his drenched body down into the too-small space between Khobi and Rogard.

​"Why, did you miss me?" he inquires wickedly, and Khobi immediately catches the distinct and entirely unmistakable scent of perfume on him as he makes himself comfortable.

​"...Actually, forget it," he decides abruptly, voice coming out slightly more hoarse than he was expecting it to, "I don’t wanna know."

​The eyebrow Loac quirks at him sends a small thrill down Khobi’s spine.

​"You sure?"

​Khobi’s quite sure. He doesn’t need to be thinking about where Loac’s been all day, and what exactly he’s been doing.

That’s dangerous territory, and imagery he’s certainly not equipped to deal with at present.

​"...Ew, Loac, get away," Rogard balks as he makes himself comfortable, sidling away and shoving him deeper into Khobi’s personal space before he can soak him through, too, "You’re wet ."

​"Hey, don’t come over here !" Khobi chokes out, squawking as Loac’s familiar shape and weight crashes into him, pressing in close enough that icy, stale stormwater drips through his shirt to skin.

Somehow, it leaves him feeling dangerously warm all over, and he has to shove an arm between them to create some distance.

It backfires on him in spectacular fashion when through his drenched, transparent shirt, his fingers catch on the firm planes of Loac’s chest, and then, as he shifts, on one of his nipples.

​In the back of his throat, Khobi’s breath stutters, and he has to fight down a fresh, more insistent throb of arousal as he snatches his hand away.

​"Seriously, can you behave yourselves ?" Gandy complains irritably, and it’s not immediately clear just who exactly he’s talking to, "Montrel’s not here for one meal, and look at you .

Go sit by the fire!"

​Again, not entirely clear who he’s talking to.

​Rogard and Khobi both go anyways, and if Loac gets an elbow from each of them as they go, well it’s his own fault.

​"Hmm? Montrel’s not here?" Khobi muses as he takes up a new spot on the other side of the table; closer to the fire, and much more importantly, at a much safer distance from Loac.

Rogard settles in beside him, equally miffed but probably for different reasons.

​It suddenly makes sense why dinner had been so peaceful. Up until a few minutes ago, at least.

​"Didn’t you hear?" Gandy raises an eyebrow, taking a heavy slurp of his stew, "He got called into a meeting with the king.

We reckon it’s coz he let you break that fence the other day."

​"Hey, that wasn’t my fault –" Khobi complains, because who blames the guy who got pushed into the fence for breaking it? The fault lay with the guy who did the pushing, obviously .

And in this case, that would be Loac. " He started it."

​" He started it ," Gandy parrots sarcastically, "What are you, five ?"

...

Gurdet is not looking forward to this.

He taps his teacup impatiently, wishing it were wine.

It feels like he’s been drinking a lot recently.

​It also feels like he’s had a lot of reason to.

​In the end, she’ll do what she likes whether you like it or not.

She’s my daughter, after all.

​That’s what his wife would have said, isn’t it? And she’s right, obviously.

He can pretend all he likes that he has any say in these sorts of matters –because isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing all these years –but at the end of the day Xena will make up her own mind, and he’ll just have to make his peace with whatever it is she decides.

​He’s known that all along, hasn’t he?

​(It doesn’t mean he has to like it.)

​Ugh .

​Well, better to get it over with.

​Right on cue, the doors swing open, and the familiar face of Montrel strides into the room in full formal uniform, cloak and all, and looking about as perplexed about his being here as his king.

He stops just shy of the dais and stands to attention, and it doesn’t escape Gurdet’s notice that his uniform is looking uncharacteristically crisp.

He can’t help but spare Bongo a suspicious sidelong glance, but his faithful Third Captain is staring impassably ahead.

The doors swing closed, leaving the room silent behind them.

Gurdet opts not to greet him immediately, because he does so love making men sweat in their boots, and fusses with his tea long enough that Montrel’s brow starts to crease.