Chapter 282 - 280:Starving.

Chapter 282: Chapter 280:Starving.

Khobi suddenly has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, and when he says as much; expression pinched and voice thick and hoarse, Loac’s lips curl into a small, satisfied smirk.

​He looks pleased.

​"...That’s what I thought."

​...

​Khobi has his one drink.

It’s the longest drink of the night for all of them; the kind that goes down slowly because it’s made for savouring.

It pairs well with the soft end to a night well spent.

Somehow, they’re not even the last ones to leave.

But even the most patient and greedy of barkeeps have their limits, and when this one finally reaches his and bids them off to bed, they’re in no fit state to argue.

​By that stage it’s the drunk leading the even more drunk, and they make a terrible racket trying to keep it down as they bumble their way along the dark halls.

Montrel’s barely conscious, and it’s a miracle he hadn’t been left to fall asleep on a table since the soldiers propping him honestly up aren’t faring much better themselves.

Gandy’s knocked over almost everything he’s walked past so far; shushing everyone else each time, and on the two flights of stairs they’ve traversed, Rogard has tripped no less than four times.

​The fifth time it happens he almost takes Khobi with him, but Loac, trailing but a pace behind, still has just wits enough about him to catch him before he goes tumbling.

​"Whoa --" Khobi yelps as the dead weight of Rogard’s body sends him careening wildly backwards.

But then, before gravity can take its toll, an arm shoots out and catches him around the waist; reeling him back to safety and holding him firm and flush.

​"Hey, hey, watch it," Loac snickers on a murmur as it ghosts against the shell of his ear as Khobi stumbles into his body.

The grip on him tightens, infinitesimally, and Khobi feels the shape of his body searing into him wherever they touch, "...I got you."

​It’s a miracle that Khobi doesn’t fucking moan. It’s a close call, though; the breath that leaves his throat as his voice purrs across his skin and descends is certainly louder and more hitched than it has any business being.

​Where the fuck did that come from, and how is that the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to him?

​That’s the voice of the Loac in his dream; tempting, and deep, and full of promise --the kind where he could whisper anything in his ear or against his lips or into the nape of his neck, and it would make him ache.

​Not fair.

​Heart racing --from almost falling, surely, surely --Khobi swallows, and comes to the dim realisation that Loac’s still got his arm hooked around him.

​It feels very dangerous.

​"...I can walk," Khobi assures him, with the absolute confidence afforded only to man who has had far too much to drink, "I’m not that drunk."

​Which is exactly what someone would say if they were .

​"If you say so," Loac shrugs, obligingly pulling both hands back to let him prove it.

​Predictably, Khobi staggers off balance and immediately crashes into the wall next to him.

​" Ssssshhhhh! " Gandy hisses urgently from just up ahead as Loac does his best to hide a laugh.

​" Pssh, like you can do better," Khobi accuses, eyes narrowed and grin lazy as he leans back into the wall.

It feels good to have something solid to ground him what with the rest of the hallway swaying out of sync with his feet, and it feels nice and cool against his back after the sweltering heat of the tavern and the rest of the night with it.

​"Can too," Loac scoffs back, almost immediately swaying off balance straight into Khobi.

The sudden weight forces a surprised oof out through Khobi’s mouth, and it must sound as funny as it feels because Loac starts laughing as he tries without success to straighten up without having to use the wall to prop himself up.

It takes him so absurdly long that Khobi starts to feel a snicker bubbling up from within him, and before he knows what’s happening or why, he’s laughing along too.

​He quite likes Loac’s laugh. He’s been hearing it a lot tonight.

Up close it feels warm, like his skin. Khobi kind of really wants to touch it; his skin, not his laugh, although that he thinks that would probably feel nice, too.

​He’s lucky that his room is only two doors away.

The others have gone on ahead and have already vanished up the next flight of stairs, and Khobi really doesn’t think he’s got another set of stairs in him tonight.

In fact, right now he’d be pretty happy to never have to walk up another flight of stairs in his life.

​If only he could get into his fucking room .

​It’s like the lock is too small and the key covered in oil , because for some reason Khobi just cannot get the damn thing to stick.

It’s not fair that across the hall, Loac doesn’t seem to be having the same problem at all.

And after watching him drop his key for the third time, he graciously takes pity on him, stooping to pick it up and slotting it right into the keyhole first try.

It turns with a very irritating click.

​"Easy," he gloats, leaning into the doorframe, and Khobi rolls his eyes dramatically as he pulls the door open and peers in.

​It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but as far as rooms go, it’s pretty basic; little more than a bed and a chair and a little hearth burned right down to the embers waiting for company, but at this time of night and with this much alcohol in his blood it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

​(Almost everything.)

​As if by some will of their own, his eyes start to wander again, with purpose; the way they’ve been doing all night.

The magnetism itself is nothing new; Khobi has been aware on some level of the gravity-like pull Loac has on him since the moment they faced each other in that ring, but tonight it’s an entirely different beast and when Khobi turns in place, he finds a pair of blue eyes already on him, staring back.

​Waiting .

​Starving .