Orin let Tiiran bully him into the chair Tiiran had last seen him use in the reading nook on the second level. He set his pack on the floor under the table with a tired sigh, left his sword propped against the side of the chair, removed his cloak, and then fell into the seat as Tiiran had been insisting he do.
He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, opening them again when Tiiran hesitantly stepped closer. Tiiran met his stare before focusing on the cut, which was truly small and probably had only been stitched to stop the bleeding.
“It will scar,” he observed quietly. There didn’t appear to be anyone else on this side of the second level. He couldn’t hear anything from downstairs, and the third level was rarely used.
“And mar my handsome face?” Orin joked, or Tiiran assumed it was a joke at least. Orin was not handsome in the way that many others were considered handsome, but he turned heads and must know it, so it had to be a jest.
Tiiran crossed his arms. “It isn’t funny. You… does it hurt?Hasa healer looked at it yet?”
“Jonal is better than most palace healers, limited only by being out on the road instead of in a workshop surrounded by potions.” Orin regarded Tiiran evenly, likely waiting for Tiiran to control himself.
Tiiran did his best, breathing deep and forcing his gaze away from the tiny, neat stitches.
“You have not explained how it happened,” he said at last, as calm as he could be.
Evidently, he was not calm enough, because Orin hummed before remarking, “Touch helps some in your situation, and I wouldn’t mind. It might help me in my situation too. I liked our embrace before I left, and the one downstairs just now. That needn’t be another worry of yours, Tiiran.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Tiiran told him, nearly silent. “You pulled me to you downstairs.” After Tiiran had clearly been about to run into his arms and had stopped himself. “Obviously, you liked it. I wasn’t worried about that… much. My ‘situation?’” he asked finally, reaching out to brush his thumb beneath the bruising around the cut. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes,” Orin answered honestly, gently capturing Tiiran’s hand again. “But not much right now. So if you want, you should come closer, little cat.”
“There is nowhere closer to go,” he informed Orin, only to stand there, staring, when Orin patted a knee. “Over it?” Tiiran whispered in shock, his chest so tight that he couldn’t have shouted if he tried.
Orin lifted both eyebrows, then graced Tiiran with a small smile. “Tosit, kitten, although now I’m considering saying yes. You asking that question in this moment makes me even more curious about what’s bothering you.”
“Isn’t it enough that you were injured and are avoiding talking about it? That would be enough for most people, I’m sure.” Tiiran couldn’t raise his voice. He looked down to Orin’s broad thighs and the knee in question. “I wouldn’t be a burden?”
“My pack weighs more than you,” Orin said pleasantly, lying, but only slightly.
“You’re not telling me to?” Tiiran glanced up again, momentarily more intrigued than upset.
“Oh, I could.” Bears did not purr, not as far as Tiiran was aware, but Orin came close. “But I want you to know you’re free to sit on my lap, or request comfort from me in a touch, whenever you please.”
“IfI please,” Tiiran corrected as he understood. “I’ve wanted to,” he admitted, cheeks burning, then gathered up his robe, turned, and sat so he wouldn’t have to see Orin’s reaction. Orin made a strange noise, almost pained, but then looped an arm around Tiiran’s waist to draw him back against his chest when Tiiran tried to wriggle to his feet.
Orin was solid and very warm, which was not a surprise. He didn’t smell like any familiar library or palace smells at the moment, only travel and something herbal, probably an ointment to keep his wound clean. Tiiran should look up more herbal knowledge, and maybe even healer knowledge if Orin was going to keep getting injured.
Which—Orin had better not, actually. And he’d better explain himself soon, and not try to distract Tiiran with an arm like iron around him and thighs that might have spread to fit Tiiran between them if Orin had been in a larger chair.
Or on a bed.
Tiiran sucked in a breath and eyed the entrance to the nook for several anxious seconds although he’d heard no one approach. Orin inhaled and exhaled behind him, deep, slow breaths, and though it seemed deliberate, it did also feel good against Tiiran’s back, so Tiiran decided to follow Orin’s example.
“You can lean back if you like, or move, or decide it’s not for you.” Orin’s measured words carried through Tiiran. His arm was steadying. “I’ve got you. No matter what, I’ve got you.”
Tiiran leaned back. His legs fell open around Orin’s knee, but his shoulders were supported, and Orin had him. He’d said so. Tiiran could stay there and Orin not only did not mind, he was pleased; his warm approval wrapped around Tiiran as surely as his arm.
“You’re really all right.” Tiiran didn’t ask, though he did shift to get more comfortable.
Orin made that strange, pained sound again, followed by a short laugh, his nose in Tiiran’s hair. “There could be no man in better condition than me at this moment. What’s in your hair? Normally, you smell of common soap or sometimes dust from the books. Today, there is something else.”
“Bad?” Tiiran wondered instead of thinking about Orin sniffing his hair. “The palace has been slow to dispense some things—I think someone in the housekeeping staff left. So we all gave Po money and she went into the capital to get us soap there. This is chamomile.”
“Good.” Orin made him hot all over with one word. “You should find more scents you like, if you can. If you like this one. It makes you smell welcoming, like a drink by a hearth.”
Tiiran grasped Orin’s arm at his waist as he scoffed, which did not stop him from shuffling a bit further back against Orin until he had both of Orin’s arms around him and he could rest his head against Orin’s shoulder. He turned his head to exhale and liked how Orin’s arms tightened when he did. Everything Tiiran did, even filling his lungs, reminded him that he was held securely and that Orin had asked him to sit with him like this. He could move if he wanted, but why would he ever want to?
“Oh,” Tiiran murmured after a moment or perhaps several moments of breathing and feeling Orin’s hold on him, strong and unchanging. “Oh, I didn’t know it would be this nice.”
