Forward: The following narrative contains non-explicit but potentially NSFW content. Descriptions may be over-decorated. If it looks like a crappy romantic novel, then I did it right. This thread will be updated episodically, so watch for bumps and feel free to comment. Title may be changed. Also, gay stuff. Interestingly enough, any character other than Thoreaux still alive at the conclusion of this story can potentially be RPed.
[align=center]The Thanalan Heat[/align]
Thoreaux stood; a silhouette against the massive fire before him. He took a step…two steps…then broke out into a frenzied run toward the conflagration. No pain would halt him nor any obstacle for three miles across the boiling landscape. The closer he got to the flames, the more he ached and the harder he fought to go on. At long last, he stood at the edge of a crater. It was here that he fell to his knees.
Nothing had survived.
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He lay there; arms behind his ash-brown hair, barely covered by ripples of ultramarine satin as if he were lounging in a shallow bath. The fabric clung to the valleys of his deeply tanned and well-formed Highlander body, accentuating each curve of masculine perfection with brightness stolen from the midday sun. His soft green eyes hung half open in a dance of smile and sleep as they lit upon the naked figure on the balcony.
The sky was as blue as blue can be over the wefted sands of the desert just beyond the walls of the estate. The palm trees lining the oasis seemed to greet the summer heat with daring as they allowed a sundrake to cool its scales in their shade mere steps from the sparkling, life-giving waters. The Hyur on the balcony squinted out over the expanse, elbows rested and hands supporting an ornate cup of tea. His own equally magnanimous body shone awash in sweat from the sweltering heat beating down beyond the chilled aura of water crystals in the bedroom.
Thoreaux looked over his shoulder; eyes as cool as the oasis below, smiling as he pulled the thick mop of blonde from his forehead.
“Good mornin’ goobbue.”
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Solmund slipped out from beneath the sheets of the canopied bed so intricately built by a carpenter in Ul’Dah. His feet stepped from floral carpet to tile, and then broke through the barrier of comfort onto the balcony. Immediately the heat would erase all trace of ever having felt a day of winter, but he ignored it. His heavy, calloused hands gently massage Thoreaux’s shoulders a moment before running down the length of his arms to reach his hands. As their fingers lock together, Solmund raises Thoreaux’s arms, crossing them over his solid chest; Solmund’s own arms wrapped around him like an overcoat. A matched pair of gold rings glint on their right hands.
“Goobbue?” whispers the darker of the two with a sort of half-chuckle, pressing his body against his husband. “You calling me fat?”
Thoreaux tightens his grip on Solmund’s hand, tapping their rings together. His own body pushes back just slightly. “No. It’s that big giant mouth of yours always smilin' at me.” He lifts his elbow to wipe a rivulet of sweat from his brow.
“Oh I gotcha.” Solmund lowers his neck forward and delivers a gentle bite to Thoreaux’s shoulder, squeezing three times before letting up. “Better to eat you with, my dear.”
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A knock at the door signals the prompt delivery of brunch. Solmund craned his neck to the side and bid enter the servants. A pair of Mi'Qote women in pristine servants uniforms entered the room bearing two covered trays and additional supplies in a basket. By now they were used to seeing his Lordship in all forms of dress and state of mind, and had learned to cope with there being a second body by his side. Not one of their eyes did bat as Solmund turned from Thoreaux; who watched in amusement as his husband casually wandered the bedroom in a visible state of arousal as the servants readied the brunch table. It was Thoreaux that chose to pull a matched pair of silk robes from the boudoir and drape Solmund in his signature patterns of blues, golds, and silvers which would fall over the broadness of his shoulders in a translucent sea of desert flowers. Only once the sash was secured and Solmund was slightly more decent did Thoreaux bid him to sit as he robed himself.
"You'll catch your death running around like that. It's a snowfall short of the Hinterlands in here." He pulled his chair out and sat as the servants filled their glasses with a mixture of orange juice and sparkling wine.
"Nonsense." Grunted Solmund between bites of toasted bread and berry jam. "You and I are built to brave the harshest of climates."
Thoreaux sipped his drink and leaned back in his seat, eyeballing the dazzlingly bright array of foods set before them. Dodo egg omelettes with all manner of bacon and vegetable. Rolls and toast freshly baked all morning. Small silver pots of jellies and jams of a dozen varieties. He heaved a hungry sigh.
"Yes but are these ladies built to brave the sight of you every morning?". The servants giggled and prepared to make their exit. Solmund tore a bite from a warm roll and retorted with a stuffed mouth,
"I suppose I'll have to be glad someone is."
The pair finished their meal in silence, neither willing to be the first to bring up the subject that weighed upon their minds more than even the war raging beyond the mountains that very moment.
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As the afternoon traveled ever onward, the servants heated water for the grand bathroom. This was yet another extravagance in the palace-like abode; nothing was unavailable to the merchant lords of Ul'Dah. Anyone could live like a Sultan if he had the taste for it. As far as the grand bathroom was concerned, gold leaf flecked the wallpaper in sunbursts, while lapis adorned the marble fixtures like blue veins on fair skin. The bathtub itself was also solid marble and carved to seat many- two could all but swim. The faucets on either end that ran hot water from the manual boiler below were gold. Thoreaux and Solmund sat on either end of the bath as their backs were scrubbed clean by the infinitely patient Mi'Qote.
But not once did Solmund smile here as he watched the preparations for the evening unfold. The question smoldered within him until; perhaps by the temperature of the bath, it caught blaze and burned through.
"Must you really leave?" The words struck as calm as the sound of a gong. He could naught but scowl at Thoreaux as the servants were waved away. "There is no reason for you to travel. I can send a caravan to Limsa before you even reach the mountains. Perhaps the Syndicate would even approve them a Brass Blade escort."
Thoreaux attempted reason. "You know full well they won't. Not with the Garleans knocking on our Nations' doors. Whether you like it or not I will not allow a lifetime of research to be handled by anyone but myself. If there is a raid of Limsa Lominsa, I could lose everything. I will away tonight and return in a week. It is final." His tone was pointed if not impatient.
This was not the first time they had volleyed this conversation, and it was becoming tiresome. Thoreaux's arms crossed tightly as Solmund waded the steaming water toward him.
"And what will I do? Sit around twiddling my thumbs? What if you die!?" The questions echoed around the room. As Solmund heard his words come back to him he immediately regretted them.
"I'm sorry...that's- I'm only worried about you."
For Thoreaux, it was not the idea of death that wounded him. "Indeed. What will you do when I'm gone. It is but one week! Have you the self control of an infant?"
He turned from Solmund, massaging his temples on the edge of the bath as if to dispel a persistent headache. But soon Thoreaux felt his husband's arms wrap around his torso and slowly tow him from his side of the bath to the other, turning him along the way. When they reached the opposite side Solmund; now in front of him and seated on the ledge, kissed him with all of the want of a man who had long been without, as if preemptively collecting all that he would need to pass the week. It was here that they made love.
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As the sun began to set over the sea of sand and a fresh breath of cool descended with the sun, a large Chocobo carriage was prepared for Thoreaux's weeklong trip to La Noscea. The carriage itself was not particularly grand- for a gilded wagon traveling alone through the mountains would have only been a glorious invitation for bandits to pay it mind. It appeared for the untrained eye to contain no more finery than that of a refugee. The secret hidden beneath the rotten boards of the carriage bed could not have been further from simple.
"It'd take any thug ages to find it." sang the cheerful voice of Nicholis; a young Hyuran architect recently employed from the Carpenter's Guild.
Preceding his employment under Lord Solmund and his then-fiancée, Nicholis had spent several years in perpetual ennui at the simplicity of life in Gridania. While most Midlanders adapt well to their surroundings, Nicholis could never quite get over the idea that trees and dirt and wild beasts might be the regularity of his existence. His want of what he considered "the good life" bled through into his work; requests for humble chairs becoming intricately etched thrones, and to his never-ending dismay, this was not welcomed with open arms in Gridania; land of raw and untempered nature. His ability to find commission trickled more slowly with every project, and the result became more outlandish as his discontent grew. It was at the age of nineteen that Nicholis elected to venture to the great city of Ul'Dah and attempt to sell his wares. It was here that he met Solmund, and his dreams were made manifest.
It was a day of usual hustle and bustle in the bazaars of Ul'Dah. Merchants from all over Eorzea had set up stands and decorated them with all sorts of wonders both exotic and common. Nicholis had obtained a license to peddle through his guild and set up his own stand at the furthest corner of the market, as this was the only spot left free. He would find very quickly that the reason for this was that from high-noon onward, the sun positioned itself in the perfect place to cast a dark, unattractive shadow over that exact corner, thus shrouding the ornate beauty of his woodworking in muddling gray. To his luck, his stall would by chance be stumbled upon by the rising Monetarist shopping for anything that might shout the name of Nald'thal to the masses.
Solmund squinted, trying to make out the minute details of a jewelry box carved with dozens of snowflakes; no two the same, with Menphina's crest embossed on its lid. This was the tenth item of Nicholis' display to be picked up and replaced by the elegantly robed Highlander standing just outside the border of where the shade began. Little bits of gold fiber sewn into his open coat accented the deep bronze of his exposed chest as each picked up the sunlight with a subtle twinkle. From the moment he dared venture to the lonely stand, Solmund could feel himself appraised by the copper eyes of the carpenter, and it only did to feed his voracious ego. He walked along that sunny barrier, careful not to step out of his spotlight, and always turning his good side toward the young merchant like a crested raptor flaunting its plumage. It was not simply business but transaction of self-esteem that Solmund pursued, and he could naught but succeed with such an ambitious entrepreneur. But perhaps; in spite of himself, Solmund could not help but find himself thoroughly intrigued. The designs, though cheap in material, were kindred to what he desired. This wild-eyed young man stationed apart from the crowd invoked within the merchant lord a curiosity for what he might do given finer tools and finer materials.
"Tell me, boy. What's your name?" Solmund leaned over the svelte Midlander; hands on his hips. Nicholis was for a moment diving off of the Lominsan cliffs and into the blue-green seafoam of the noble's eyes. He gulped hard, and seemed to snap out of his daydream as a dark hand extended to him.
"Solmund Whyte"; his voice deep but comfortable as soft velour.
"Er...Nicholis Greenford." He took the hand for what seemed like far too long, but couldn't force himself to let go first. Again, eye contact.
Solmund winked, locking eyes with his target. He grasped the rough hand of the carpenter firmly, knowing full well what control it laid over him.
"Ah, Nicholis. And where did you learn such craft?"
At last Nicholis tore himself from the withering hold at the mention of his passion. "Self taught. Well, learned the basics at the Carpenter's Guild in Gridania. Oh, but these are all my own designs." He brushed a matte of messy brown hair from his face, revealing angular features reminiscent of an Elezen.
Solmund returned his hands to his hips, scanning the young man's face. Reading him.
"I see. I can't say I've ever been fond of the Shroud. Who wants to live under the whims of something as fickle as an elemental? Not I." He turned away as he said this, pretending to investigate a set of eating utensils. The carpenter stepped forward, reaching out as the man turned but stopping himself before grasping his arm.
"Don't forget the mud. There's no wanting for mud for anyone." Nicholis gave his best disgusted face. This time, as Solmund turned to face him again, Nicholis found himself close enough to smell the merchant lord's perfume- like a warm summer night just before a rainstorm- and could not help but catch goosebumps as he felt the heat of the figure towering over him. A large hand rose to lift his chin up high, so as to meet their gazes once more.
"Mister Greenford," spoke the earthly voice once again, "things can't always be pure and white, now can they?" Nicholis very slowly shook his head.
[align=center]***More to Come***[/align]
