Kloy was not surprised when Feyl appeared at his door after his day out shopping with the King - especially with Vajur’s decision to reveal how they all knew he was the smithing spirit.

  “Would you,” Feyl shifted his weight, tail twitching as he sighed and asked, “Would you like to speak in my quarters?”

  “Certainly,” Kloy said - brows rising as that did surprise him. But he had heard second-hand stories from Hujur about the valet’s collection and would hardly pass up the opportunity to see it for himself.

  Feyl led the way down the hall, still clearly uncomfortable with the general situation, but there was little Kloy could do to ease that kind of distress until they began talking.

  His gieuls hesitated at the door to his suite - but then sighed again before pushing through his door.

  As Hujur had reyed, the room was dominated by weapons - they covered the walls, clearly organized by type. Weapon racks stood on the floor for longer pieces, and a few even hung from the ceiling on chains. Kloy made a circuit about the room to admire them as Feyl went to the kitchen attached to the hearth in the wall separating this room and the bedroom, rummaging for tea.

  As a hand-to-hand fighter, Kloy didn’t expect anything to catch his eye beyond general good craftsmanship - until he found a section of metal knuckles. They weren’t his favorite, as they were most effective with a closed fist, and he tended to use more grapples and open-hand strikes. However, the set that he suspected was dragonic metal appealed to him.

  “Take them if you want,” Feyl said, coming to sit on his couch - setting one cup of tea on the table as he kept the other for himself. As he sat back, he added, “They’re doing no good here.”

  Kloy considered, but left them - for the time being, at least. He sat and picked up the second cup, holding it towards his host in thanks before taking a sip - smiling at the taste of desire tea. While the dried petals of Bells of Desire were not aphrodisiac - that was from their pollen - it was still a common herbal tea amongst rough py participants for the association.

  Feyl rolled his eyes - then studied his drink as he said, “So. You were… aware I am… a bcksmith.”

  “I have been for some time,” Kloy agreed.

  Feyl hummed, swirling his tea in its cy cup.

  Kloy considered, then smiled and said, “My patron is Maenscul, by the way.”

  “What?” his gieuls asked, looking up sharply.

  “Jurao mentioned you assumed my patron was Vascus,” Kloy continued, “Which is a fair assumption, to be sure. My father was terribly displeased my oko caused me to have the wrong patron, with cer insistence on working on cer architectural project instead of staying in a medical ward.”

  “I see,” Feyl said, then sighed, “I take it Jurao mentioned my patron, then?”

  “Only to dissuade me from giving you a gift on your birthdecade,” Kloy replied.

  “Yes, that makes more sense,” his gieuls nodded, sipping his tea.

  “My older sibling was blessed with healing magic,” Kloy went on, deciding to share more of their simirities. It felt fair, in a way - as he knew more about Feyl than the valet had revealed on his own, he could even out their knowledge of each other.

  “So in addition to having the wrong patron, I was always in Vaene’s shadow,” the doctor said, standing to admire the weapons again - releasing his gieuls from scrutiny. He continued, “No matter how hard I studied, how successful I was in those studies, I could never compete with Vaene. But then, what more could a doctor that did not even have Vascus as a patron expect?”

  He stopped at the dragon metal knuckles again - running a cw along the edge of one ring. It didn’t hurt to recall anymore - he’d long made his peace with his past when he estranged himself from his father’s family and chose to settle in Casvven permanently. Aside from Oko and his daughter, Ergirri and his brood were his family, as far as he was concerned.

  “Eventually, I stopped trying. What was the point in working hard, if I would only ever be a failure in my father and mothers’ eyes? A counselor would likely say I started acting out to get the attention I never received by behaving,” he chuckled, “I would only argue that I did not get any more attention for acting poorly than I had for doing as I was expected to.

  “All that is to say,” Kloy left the knuckles be once more, taking his seat on the couch again, “I’m rather well versed in wanting to meet the unfair expectations of a parent.”

  Feyl was watching his partner with an unreadable expression. Carefully, he set his cup aside - moving across the couch to straddle the doctor’s p. He cupped Kloy’s face in his upper hands, untying his belt with the lower set as he said, “I don’t want to think right now.”

  “I can certainly help with that,” Kloy chuckled, though in truth, he didn’t feel particurly amused. Rather, he understood the request - after all, he had drowned himself in thrills and pleasure a plenty in his own misguided youth. He could admit it was not healthy in the manner he had gone about it, but asking an established partner to help alleviate discomfort for a short time? That he could endorse.

  Feyl kissed him with a weight and need, but nothing frenzied or demanding. Kloy let his hands travel up his gieuls’s thighs and chest, letting the valet set the pace for this encounter. Though he did feel a small glimmer of amusement as his partner paused at feeling what the doctor was wearing under his robe.

  “Oh, dear,” Kloy feigned surprise lowly, smiling as the valet sat back, “I was only trying it on, as a sample before the custom set is finished for the Feast. I suppose the surprise is rather ruined now.”

  Feyl didn’t call him on the lie - his eyes were roving the bck ce bustier Kloy had bought earlier that day. While he had bought it as a sample, and it didn’t quite fit as he would prefer, the way Feyl’s eyes subtly dited as he traced the scalloped edges was well worth the cost.

  He certainly won’t have trouble not thinking, Kloy thought, maneuvering his partner off of his p. He stood to shrug off his robe, revealing the matching garters - as the genital wrap common to beastkin had been entirely too uncomfortable - he was very pleased with the way Feyl’s eyes kept roving the underthings.

  Kloy took his partner’s chin to tilt his head up, saying, “I’d like to see you as well, young man.”

  Feyl nodded, eyes a little hazy as he pulled his tunic over his head, tossing it aside.

  Once it was gone, Kloy put one leg up on the couch, csping all four hands behind his back.

  Feyl needed no more encouragement - hands roving the doctor’s body as his mouth went to Kloy’s slit. His tongue thed the line of it before pressing inside - his upper hands exploring his partner’s ce-covered torso while his lower hands toyed with the garters.

  Kloy everted slowly from the gentle attention, still keeping his hands to himself as Feyl brought one hand down to stroke the base of his partner’s cock while he licked and sucked along the length of it. When his gieuls started taking more of the doctor’s cock into his mouth, he gently pushed his partner back.

  Feyl already appeared dazed, and Kloy briefly wondered how well his partner would enjoy a properly fitted set of ce during the Feast. But then his mind returned to the present as he pushed Feyl onto his back - straddling his face as he id over his partner’s body to give the valet’s also everted cock attention. Feyl moaned appreciatively, mouth back on the doctor’s cock as Kloy did the same for him.

  Kloy experimented with leaning up to rub his partner’s cock against the ce, earning squirming and more moans around his own member. The doctor chuckled, gd he had decided to wear the outfit - just in case.

  He took his time - leisurely using his partner’s cloacal fluids to finger open his hole while alternating between using his mouth and rubbing his partner’s cock against his ce-wear, keeping the younger man squirming under him.

  When he was satisfied, he stood - only to move between Feyl’s legs, pushing his cock into his partner. Feyl’s face was a mess as his hands dug into Kloy’s arms - smeared with cloaca fluid and eyes watering, mouth soft and open as he ground his hips into his partner.

  Gods, his partner was beautiful.

  Feyl hooked his legs around Kloy’s waist and breathed, “More.”

  Kloy dislodged his gieuls’s hands to pin three of his arms over his head with one hand - the fourth he csped in one of his own over the side of the couch. He wrapped a third arm under his partner’s waist to pull them flush, Feyl’s cock squirming between them as the doctor bit his partner’s shoulder and rocked into him. His fourth hand he carded into the valet’s hair, pulling his head back.

  Kloy growled as he came, tasting blood as he accidentally broke skin. He pulled back as quickly as he could without causing pain, panting, “Sorry-”

  “Happens,” Feyl replied, grabbing the physician’s face and pulling him back, “Don’t stop yet.”

  Kloy obliged - reaching down to tug his partner’s cock until Feyl joined him over the edge, pressing their foreheads tightly together as he did, sharing the breath they both needed to recover as they came down.

  After a few moments of shuddering, both their cocks retracted, Kloy asked, “Do you have a salve?”

  “Mm,” Feyl hummed affirmatively, going x on the couch, “In the washroom.”

  Kloy snorted - considering a moment before he kissed his partner’s forehead and got to his hooves.

  Feyl snorted, stretching his arms over his head without opening his eyes before settling again.

  Like most of the suites in the Royal Wing, Feyl’s washroom was through his bedroom. Kloy was unsurprised by the tidiness of both rooms - though it certainly made it easier to find a basic healing salve. With some consideration, Kloy began running a bath - the siren-engineered pipes pumping the water into the cy tub as he scooped charcoal into the slot beneath, lighting it to warm the water as it filled.

  When it had filled about halfway, Feyl appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame and grimacing as he carded a hand through his no doubt sticky hair.

  “I’m a mess,” his gieuls decred.

  Kloy chuckled, “A very pretty mess, young man.”

  Feyl rolled his eyes but plied himself against the doctor’s back with a sigh.

  Kloy chuckled again, letting his partner use him as a resting post until the tub was full and the water hot. He helped his partner into the water - stripping off his ce before joining him. Since he made the mess, he thought it fair he helped clean it up. Feyl made no objection to this - as pliant to Kloy’s hands helping him bathe as he was during sex. The only words spoken were the valet telling him which bar of soap was for body use and which bar was for hair use.

  As he worked the ther into his partner’s hair, Kloy reflected that it had been some time since he’d shared chaste intimacy in this way. He’d had a queerptonic retionship or two - mostly short-lived, as he had not been ready for the emotional intimacy that came with them. By the time he’d matured enough to be ready, he had less time to seek partners he might have an interest in that type of retionship with.

  It was too soon to say if this retionship would sway that way - or if it was something Feyl would want from the retionship. But he thought there was a spark there, and he found himself patiently excited to see where it would lead.

  After they both dried off, Kloy had Feyl sit on the edge of the tub so he could dress the bitemark he’d left.

  “I don’t think it will scar,” the doctor assessed - he hadn’t gotten very deep, realizing his mistake before that point.

  “It will hardly be noticeable if it does,” Feyl agreed, using a small polished obsidian hand mirror to look at the marks for himself before Kloy wrapped it. He set the mirror aside carefully as he added, “But I appreciate the concern.”

  “You did say you don’t like permanent marks,” Kloy replied, holding his partner’s arm at an angle that made it easier to wrap the wound.

  “So I did,” Feyl snorted. Eyeing the mirror, he asked, “Did Maenscul give you a first decade gift?”

  “They did,” Kloy said, “The golden scalpel I keep on my desk - though I didn’t know it was from Maenscul until my first Hundred Years Ball.”

  Feyl nodded and said, “Since Sculis are so fastidious about making Maenscul our family patron, we’ve long suspected the golden gifts came from them. I didn’t believe it myself until I asked them to make their gift to Gnene gsses. Vokes thought they weren’t aesthetically pleasing enough for them to have - but I knew he wouldn’t object to Gnene wearing a gift from Maenscul. When they did receive gsses, I realized it must be true.”

  “That was a kind request to make,” Kloy said, eyeing the mirror curiously.

  Feyl picked it up again as the doctor released him, turning it over in his hands, “I found this waiting for me in my room on my hundredth birthday. I think it’s from Viselos - so I did not feel left out.”

  “That does seem like something he would do,” Kloy mused. The God of Romantic Love was… enthusiastic, was the best way he could describe the god from their encounters during the Hundred Years Ball.

  Feyl snorted, setting the mirror aside and experimentally rolling his bandaged shoulder. He said, “I suppose there is an irony in being a bcksmith with Viselos as a patron that does not feel romantic love,” he snorted again as he rose, “When I told Nevve it worried me, she asked what the fuck your preference in retionships had to do with hitting hot metal into shape.”

  Kloy chuckled, bending to collect his mostly ruined ce while following his partner back to the main room, “She seems like a wise woman.”

  “She is,” Feyl agreed, picking his clothes up and folding them absently. He added, “Did you… want to stay for the night?”

  “You’re not going to go see the magic engine?” Kloy teased gently, pulling his robe back on.

  Feyl’s tail twitched as he said, “I had almost forgotten, to be honest.”

  “Gd I was effective at preventing you from thinking,” Kloy chuckled - hesitating a moment before adding, “Though I admit, I have been curious to see you at work.”

  Feyl shifted his weight between his hooves as he considered this, then shrugged and turned for his bedroom. He said, “I need to change first.”

  “I’ll meet you at your door after I throw this in my suite,” Kloy replied, heading out to do so.

  When he returned, he smiled as he took in his gieuls’s change in dress - a pin tunic and pants, with a simple rope belt - his hair braided and tied up in a bun.

  Feyl rolled his eyes at the study, but led the way to the Civil Smithy all the same - Kloy found the silence surprisingly comfortable. He hoped Feyl felt the same.

  “Was wondering if you were showing up,” Nevve remarked - her left brows arching as she spied Kloy behind her protege.

  “Yes, well,” Feyl sighed, “My gieuls and I needed to have a conversation first.”

  “You won’t even know I’m here,” Kloy promised, finding a stool to sit on nearby.

  Nevve snorted, “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

  As the pair set about taking apart one of the two engines - speaking in engineering terms the doctor only vaguely understood - Kloy understood her confidence. Feyl was soon completely absorbed by the work and conversation, losing the st of his carefully crafted court mannerisms as he did.

  Tail swaying as he watched, Kloy reflected that his queerptonic inclinations had all been artisans - his two brief retionships of that nature had been with a potter and a tapestry weaver, though there had been a few others he’d had an attraction for.

  If only he were strong enough to manhandle me like a soldier, Kloy mused, Then he’d hit all my preferences at once.

  Though, of course, it was rather unlikely - he was clearly stronger than his lithe frame would suggest to perform bcksmithing, but Kloy doubted it was at the level he preferred of his dominant partners. Still, it was a fun thought as he watched the pair try to reconstruct the engine they’d taken apart, quite enjoying the unexpected turn the night had taken.

  sbdrag