Chapter 329: Goosebumps.

Chapter 329: Chapter 329: Goosebumps.

Mutely, Khobi hands it to him, mumbling a perfunctory thanks as he turns around so he can wash down his breath.

The moment he does so Loac sucks in a low breath, and it suddenly hits Khobi that since he doesn’t make a habit of being naked around him, he’s probably never seen the scars there.

Felt them, maybe, but never really seen them, at least not this close. Sometimes, especially in days of late, Khobi even forgets that they’re there.

​A fingertip ghosts along the length of one of them; so feather-light and barely there that it makes him shiver. The touch withdraws instantly.

​"...Sorry," Loac mumbles abruptly, sounding distracted.

​"It’s fine," Khobi tells him, blankly, "...They don’t hurt anymore." He’s not sure why he says that.

It didn’t sound like that was what Loac was apologising for.

​"...Briyagi?" he asks quietly, and while it’s hard to tell from just one word, there’s definitely something off about his tone.

Khobi’s not sure what to make of it.

​"Yeah."

​He doesn’t say anything else, just dips the cloth into the bucket and brings it to Khobi’s back with no further preamble; carding it across his skin in wide curves and taking care to avoid the bandages and skimming lightly over the parts that have bruised.

It’s a strange sensation at first, because he’s never let anyone touch him like this except for Binny, and there had definitely been some dubious questions of consent around the first couple of times that had happened.

And this feels...different...from how it is with Binny. He can’t explain exactly how, but it just is.

And once he gets past the way of the chill of the water pierces his skin and his initial discomfort begins to fade, it...feels kind of nice.

Kind of really nice, even, and as Loac diligently sweeps up over his arms and presses into the the contour of his shoulder blades, Khobi slowly finds himself relaxing under his touch.

​For someone who can’t chop a potato without chopping himself and who had been about to climb into bed covered in blood, he’s surprisingly attentive; barely saying a word as he works the dirt off Khobi’s skin.

In fact, the air around them feels oddly serene; devoid of sound but for the light lapping of water at the edge of the bucket whenever Loac reaches by to rinse his cloth.

​In contrast, Khobi’s thoughts are considerably more turbulent.

Because things...aren’t making sense.

Haven’t been for quite some time, in fact. Not when it comes to Loac.

And today is just another shining example of that, because not only had he defended Rogard --not just against the guards, but also in socking his asshole of a father--but he had defended him.

The moment they’d stepped into the king’s corners to explain themselves Khobi had been so sure that he was destined to spend the rest of his life in a cell, but then Loac had come right out and called bullshit on the actual king, and for whatever reason it had worked and he’d been allowed to go free.

​And now this.

​(The guy’s a piece of work, right?)

​(...Right ?)

The cloth ghosts along his lower back, cold and agonisingly slow, and as he jolts out of his thoughts he just barely manages to resist the urge to arch his back.

​He’s not even that close, yet inexplicably Khobi can feel his shape as clearly as if it were pressed up against him.

​And he wants it pressed up against him.

​Badly.

​"Turn around."

​In the silence the words feel supernaturally close; like somehow, despite the space between them Loac’s been able to whisper them against his skin.

And despite the cool night air, Khobi feels heat.

​Swallowing down a soft moan before it can bubble its way out his throat, Khobi slowly turns back to face him.

He finds Loac exactly where he left him; not an inch closer, like somehow his feet have grown roots into the stone and have locked him in place.

And while he wants to tell him that he’s already washed the worst of it off his chest, before the words come out Loac’s pressing the cloth back to his skin again, sweeping from shoulder to shoulder and down;

catching the stray drops before they pool on his bandages.

The water somehow feels even more excruciatingly cold a second time around, and Khobi shivers, eyes sinking closed as the rivulets drag down over his collarbone and over his nipples.

​When he finally opens them again, for once Loac’s not looking at his face.

He’s focused on his own hand, or rather, what lies under it; eyes carrying weight as they rove without restraint across the expanse of his chest and past the bandages concealing the bulk of his abdomen to the ridges of his hips.

And as Loac’s hand skims lower, he’s hard pressed to convince himself that all of the goosebumps rising on his skin are from the cold.

​"You don’t have to –" Khobi sucks in a breath as the cold cloth presses into the skin just above his waistband, dragging over the crusted blood and barely-there marks still dusting his skin.

It’s too close to where he’s been wanting to be touched, and his stomach clenches; the muscles there twitching agitatedly.

He wonders if it’s too much to hope that Loac doesn’t notice.

​He does it again.

​This time it’s not Khobi’s stomach that jumps; it’s his cock.

Thankfully the fabric of his pants is thick enough that it’s not obvious.

​(He hopes.)

​"...Done," Loac declares thickly, voice pitched dangerously low as he hands the cloth back.

Swallowing heavily, Khobi takes it.

​"Do you want me to do you?" he finds himself asking; the words coming out before he can think better of it, and a whole lot huskier than he was expecting.

And for a second there --so fleeting Khobi might have thought he’d imagined it if it hadn’t knocked the wind straight out of his lungs --a dark shadow looms up over the blue of Loac’s eyes, threatening to swallow it all the way to black, but just as quickly as it had swelled it dissipates away.

​"Sure," he drawls offhandedly, peeling out of his bloodied shirt and turning to offer his exposed back for Khobi’s viewing pleasure.

"Knock yourself out."

​And it is a pleasure. Because while Loac’s never been in the least bit shy about his body (and why would he be) and almost taken pains to be shirtless as often as humanly possible, being this close is something of a rarity.

This close, Khobi can see with detail every imperfection that’s been carved into his body; the small knots of old scars and the deep shades of new bruises that at distance would be disguised by the rich hue of his skin.

And as the icy water hits him for the first time, he shivers, and it makes Khobi want to shiver along with him and feel the goosebumps blossom under his touch.