Bath Before Lesson
The forest felt heavier on the return trip.
Not dangerous, not anymore, but damp and oppressive in that way old woods became after a long hunt. Wet earth clung to Tristan’s boots with every dragging step. Sweat dried stiff against the back of his tunic. The sharp stink of monster slime still lingered on both of them despite the stream water they’d splashed over themselves that morning. Underneath it sat the smell of leather, steel oil, pine sap, and exhausted men who had spent too many nights sleeping outdoors.
Sylvan looked equally miserable.
His pale blond hair, usually soft and carefully tied, hung loose and tangled around his shoulders. Green slime stains streaked one sleeve of his alchemist coat. The vine beast had left faint pink marks around his throat and wrists where its tendrils had restrained him earlier that day. Even tired, though, he somehow remained beautiful. Tristan found that deeply unfair.
They’d eaten breakfast in silence that morning beside the remains of their campfire. Dried venison. Hard bread. Bitter herbal tea Sylvan insisted helped replenish mana. Tristan suspected it mostly tasted awful on purpose.
Now the two men walked side by side through the darkening woods toward the distant village lanterns flickering between the trees.
For a while only the sounds of boots crunching leaves and evening insects filled the silence.
Then Tristan finally grunted, “So. Fleshcraft.”
Sylvan glanced sideways at him immediately, amused already. “That tone suggests concern.”
“That tone suggests I got nearly strangled by a horny plant yesterday.”
Sylvan snorted softly.
Tristan rolled one broad shoulder, wincing at the soreness there. “I’m serious though. Feels like I should probably understand what exactly I signed up for.”
“You signed up to escort an alchemist through a few local contracts.”
“Yeah.” Tristan exhaled slowly. “Funny thing about that.”
Sylvan’s expression softened a little at the edges.
Weeks ago. It had only been weeks ago when they’d reunited at the guild office by pure chance. Tristan remembered thinking Sylvan looked too refined now for village life - all expensive fabrics, clever eyes, and smooth confidence. He’d assumed they’d do a handful of jobs together and part ways once the coin ran out.
Instead Tristan now knew the sound Sylvan made when he slept. Knew how his body trembled during climax. Knew the shape of his mouth against his neck. Knew how terrified he’d felt seeing those vines wrapped around him.
The realization settled strangely heavy in his chest.
I never agreed to follow him through his whole damned Journeyman pilgrimage.
And yet the thought of leaving him now felt impossible.
Sylvan caught him staring and smiled faintly. “You’re brooding again.”
“Thinking.”
“Careful, Tristan. That’s a dangerous pastime.”
Tristan huffed a tired laugh through his nose. “Just tell me about Fleshcraft.”
Sylvan adjusted the satchel bouncing lightly against his hip. “Most people hear the name and assume it’s entirely about lust. Brothels. Aphrodisiacs. Bedroom tricks.”
“Not entirely wrong from what I’ve seen.”
“That’s because you’re focusing on the enjoyable parts.”
“Oh, forgive me.”
A grin tugged briefly across Sylvan’s mouth before his expression became more thoughtful.
“Fleshcraft is resonance alchemy. Emotional and physical connection creates mana circulation between compatible bodies. Touch. Intimacy. Desire. Trust. Arousal. The body produces tremendous energy under the right conditions.” He glanced toward Tristan. “Sex simply happens to be one of the most effective ways to achieve it.”
Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “So every Fleshcrafter just spends their days fucking for power?”
Sylvan barked out a laugh at that, genuine and warm despite his exhaustion.
“When you put it like that, it sounds incredibly undignified.”
“Is it inaccurate?”
Sylvan smirked. “Only partially.”
The path narrowed ahead. Tristan stepped closer automatically so branches wouldn’t snag Sylvan’s coat.
“There’s technique involved,” Sylvan continued. “Control. Ritual preparation. Physical synchronization. Emotional resonance strengthens mana dramatically. Some practitioners never even engage sexually. Others form lifelong partnerships specifically to cultivate stronger resonance over time.”
That made Tristan glance at him again.
“Partners,” he repeated carefully.
Sylvan’s eyes flickered upward toward him through loose strands of blond hair.
“Yes.”
Something warm twisted low in Tristan’s stomach despite how tired he was.
“Still sounds like the sex is a pretty big perk,” he muttered.
Sylvan gave him an unbearably smug look. “Oh, absolutely. I never claimed otherwise.”
Tristan laughed, tired and low.
“Some perk,” he muttered.
Sylvan’s grin widened instantly, pleased he’d gotten the reaction he wanted. Damn him.
The smaller man reached over then, fingers squeezing Tristan’s thick forearm playfully through the leather bracer there. Affectionate. Easy. Familiar.
Gods.
Tristan felt heat crawl embarrassingly fast into his face.
Sylvan noticed immediately.
“...You’re blushing.”
“No I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Ok, Ok. Just- keep walking.” Tristan conceded, waving his arm before them, directing their path.
Sylvan’s laughter rang softly through the trees.
Still blushes, Sylvan thought warmly, unable to stop staring for a moment at the massive mercenary beside him. Even after pinning me against a bathtub and fucking me senseless. How is he still this sweet?
The village gates finally appeared ahead through the dusk.
Lanternlight glowed amber against the gathering dark. Smoke curled from chimneys. The distant sound of tavern music drifted faintly through the evening air along with roasting meat and woodfire.
Both men looked exhausted enough to collapse where they stood.
Tristan’s shoulders ached. Sylvan’s legs felt weak beneath him. They smelled awful. Monster slime still crusted stubbornly along Tristan’s boots, and Sylvan was fairly certain there was dried vine sap in his hair.
But neither of them slowed.
“We should wash first,” Tristan muttered.
“We should,” Sylvan agreed.
Neither moved toward the inn.
Instead Sylvan tightened his grip on the satchel containing the blossom.
“We need to find Fij before he leaves for the capital.”
Tristan nodded once. Quest first. Then baths. Then sleep. Preferably for an entire week.
— — — —
The Alchemy Guild Hall stood near the center of Greybriar like a polished jewel among rough timber buildings.
Warm golden light spilled from tall arched windows onto the damp evening streets. The building itself was all dark lacquered wood and pale stone trimmed with elegant brass detailing. Alchemical lanterns glowed overhead without flame, suspended in glass spheres filled with swirling amber solution that pulsed faintly like captured sunlight.
By comparison, Tristan and Sylvan looked like they’d crawled out of a swamp.
Mud streaked Tristan nearly knee-high. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead. Sweat and dried monster slime still coated portions of his armor, giving off a sour earthy scent beneath the sharper smell of steel and leather. Sylvan’s coat had fared even worse. One sleeve remained stiff with vine sap, and faint green smears marked the hem near his boots.
Neither man cared anymore.
Adventurers came through Greybriar constantly. Hunters, mercenaries, alchemists, escorts. Bloody, exhausted, half-dead people dragging quest trophies behind them was hardly uncommon.
Still, the young clerk behind the front counter raised both brows the moment they entered.
His gaze flicked slowly between them.
“…Long trip?”
Tristan grunted.
Sylvan sighed tiredly and rested both forearms on the polished counter. “We’re here to see Master Fij.”
Recognition flashed instantly across the clerk’s face at the mention of the name.
“Ah. One moment.”
The clerk disappeared through a side corridor while the two men stood silently beneath the lantern glow.
Sylvan leaned slightly against Tristan without thinking. Tristan shifted automatically closer to support him.
The guild hall smelled expensive. Cedarwood polish. Ink. Warm parchment. Faint floral incense drifting from somewhere upstairs.
Gods, Tristan wanted a bath.
A long one.
Preferably with Sylvan again.
His mind flashed briefly with wet blond hair, flushed pale skin, soap bubbles sliding down Sylvan’s chest-
“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” Sylvan muttered beside him.
Tristan blinked. “Wasn’t.”
“You were staring into space.”
“Thinking about punching you.”
“Mhm.”
The clerk returned a moment later, posture notably straighter now.
“Master Fij will see you in his chambers,” he said carefully. “Top floor. Last room at the end of the hall.”
Sylvan and Tristan exchanged a glance.
Neither of them particularly liked the sound of that.
Still too exhausted to argue, they turned toward the staircase.
The climb felt endless.
Two full flights upward with sore legs and drained mana reserves nearly killed Sylvan outright. By the time they reached the top landing, Tristan was convinced the alchemists intentionally built towers simply to torment visitors. The hallway upstairs was quieter. Plush rugs muffled their footsteps. Warm lanternlight reflected softly off polished wood walls lined with framed botanical sketches and gold-trimmed maps.
At the very end stood a heavy oak door. Sylvan knocked twice.
“Enter,” came Fij’s voice from inside.
Tristan pushed the door open first. The chamber beyond was enormous, warm and richly furnished in deep reds and dark walnut woods. Shelves lined one wall filled with books, glass apparatuses, and sealed jars of preserved ingredients floating in colorful solutions. A low fire crackled in a marble hearth near an enormous bed draped with gauzy fabrics. The air smelled of sandalwood smoke, spiced wine, parchment, and something distinctly masculine underneath.
Also, expensive. Very expensive.
Fij sat behind a broad desk scattered with documents and open ledgers. He glanced up as they entered and immediately burst into laughter.
“Oh, you two look atrocious.”
Sylvan rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “Lovely to see you too.”
Fij leaned back comfortably in his chair, still grinning.
And damn-
Even now the man looked unfairly attractive.
His bronze skin glowed warm in the firelight. He wore no shirt beneath the loose crimson shawl draped carelessly around his broad shoulders, leaving most of his muscular torso exposed. Defined chest. Strong stomach. Gold jewelry glittering subtly against tanned skin, including the small ring through one nipple that caught the lanternlight every time he moved.
His long dark hair hung loosely braided over one shoulder tonight, slightly disheveled as though he’d been working for hours already.
And he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Sylvan narrowed his eyes at him.
You knew exactly what that damned vine beast would do once it sensed our resonance, Sylvan thought irritably. You manipulative old bastard.
Fij’s sharp amber eyes flicked knowingly toward him. The bastard probably did know.
Tristan shifted awkwardly nearby, suddenly far too aware of the fact he smelled like monster guts while standing inside a room nicer than most noble estates.
Fij finally stood. He moved toward them with easy confidence, barefoot against the rugs, shawl slipping slightly lower across his shoulders as he approached.
“Well?” he asked brightly. “Did my new promising apprentice succeed?”
Sylvan exhaled slowly and reached into his satchel. The Pearlescent Blossom emerged carefully between his fingers.
Even in the warmly lit room the flower shimmered faintly silver-white, delicate petals glowing with internal mana like moonlight trapped in glass.
Fij’s grin widened instantly. “Oh,” he breathed softly. “Magnificent.”
For the first time since they’d arrived, genuine reverence entered his expression. He accepted the blossom carefully from Sylvan’s hands, fingertips brushing his apprentice’s briefly. Then he carried it across the room toward a waiting glass preservation case already prepared atop a side table.
Of course he already had one prepared.
Fij placed the blossom inside with delicate precision before sealing the latch.
Only then did he turn back toward them.
“You’ve both done exceptionally well,” he said warmly.
His gaze lingered over their exhausted bodies with unmistakable approval.
“Your reward is, naturally, the promised gold.”
Tristan nodded immediately at that.
Useful.
Necessary.
Bath money.
Food money.
Maybe replacement armor money after those damned vines.
But Fij’s smile slowly turned more knowing.
“…Though,” he added smoothly, “I suspect there may be something else the two of you are currently lacking.”
Sylvan’s pulse skipped once.
Resonance. Of course.
The vine beast had drained enormous amounts from both of them earlier. Their bodies still felt sluggish from it - physically exhausted in a way ordinary fatigue didn’t quite explain.
And for practitioners of Fleshcraft, there were ways to replenish that energy. Efficient and intimate ways.
Sylvan swallowed slowly despite himself because the thought arrived immediately and vividly:
A resonance ritual led by a Master Fleshcrafter.
Fij’s hands. Fij’s mouth. That deep calm voice guiding them both apart and together. Gods. The idea sent heat crawling unexpectedly through Sylvan’s tired body despite everything.
Across the room Tristan looked between the two alchemists with growing suspicion.
“…Why do I suddenly feel nervous?”
Fij laughed again at Tristan’s visible unease.
The sound filled the warm chamber easily, rich and unbothered.
“Oh, don’t look so alarmed,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not planning to harvest your soul.”
“That’s reassuring,” Tristan muttered.
“Though I admit,” Fij continued smoothly, resting one broad hand on Sylvan’s shoulder, “I have been considering giving my apprentice a rather thorough lesson tonight.”
His amber eyes slid deliberately toward Tristan.
“Man to man…” he added.
“…to man.”
Sylvan nearly choked on air. Even exhausted, heat curled instantly low in his stomach at the implication.
Of course he wanted that. Fij was a Master Fleshcrafter - experienced, powerful, beautiful - and Sylvan would be lying horribly if he claimed the thought of being guided through resonance rituals by those large hands and calm voice didn’t excite him.
Still, he maintained at least a shred of dignity.
“A bath first,” Sylvan said dryly. “And my guild stamp.”
Fij’s grin softened immediately into something warmer.
“Of course.”
He squeezed Sylvan’s shoulder once before releasing him.
“I would never forget your first completed field certification.”
There was genuine pride in his voice now beneath the teasing. Sylvan straightened slightly despite his fatigue.
Journeyman progression mattered. Official quest verification mattered even more. This blossom wasn’t merely valuable - it marked one of the first major successful field assignments under his specialization.
Fij’s gaze sharpened faintly.
“And I suspect,” he added knowingly, “you learned quite a bit already about Fleshcraft resonance during this expedition.”
Sylvan flushed.
Fij turned his attention lazily toward Tristan then, smirking outright.
“As did the mercenary, I believe.”
Tristan immediately remembered thick vines wrapped around his thighs. Mana pulsing through his body. Pressure against his ass. That strange involuntary clenching sensation afterward that had lingered for hours. A faint tingling warmth sparked low in his hole again just from the memory alone.
Not unpleasant.
Honestly… very far from unpleasant.
He cleared his throat roughly.
“…That plant was a menace.”
Fij’s smile widened because he clearly heard everything Tristan wasn’t saying.
Then the older alchemist clapped his hands once.
“Well. Enough standing around smelling like wet monsters.”
He gestured casually toward the far side of the chamber.
“A bath has already been prepared.”
Sylvan blinked.
Only then did he fully register the scent hanging subtly through the room beneath the sandalwood incense. Rose petals. Lavender oil. Mineral salts. Steam drifted lazily upward from behind the silk partition dividing the rear section of the chamber. Fij looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“I took the liberty once I heard you’d arrived downstairs.”
Sylvan was touched, if not pleased, by the gesture. Tristan stared towards the partition for a moment.
Damn. A hot bath.
His entire body ached at the thought alone. He stepped closer to Sylvan, lowering his voice slightly. “We’re… bathing here?”
Fij answered before Sylvan could.
“Tristan is more than welcome to return to the Hunter’s Guild if he prefers.” His tone remained easy, unconcerned. “Though personally, I believe it would benefit all of us considerably if he stayed.”
Those amber eyes flicked between them carefully now.
“The resonance between you two is extraordinary.”
Sylvan glanced downward slightly.
Fij continued.
“I’ve encountered bonded pairs, ritual partners, lovers, even married Fleshcrafters.” A thoughtful hum escaped him. “But what the two of you generated in such a short period…” He smiled faintly. “It is unusually strong.”
Tristan shifted awkwardly beneath the attention.
Fij tilted his head slightly toward him.
“With your presence, tonight’s ritual would become significantly more potent. More stable. More fruitful.”
The way he said fruitful should not have sounded that attractive. Tristan looked toward Sylvan instinctively. And there it was. That expression.
Anticipation carefully hidden beneath composure. Curiosity. Excitement. A faint nervousness too. Sylvan wanted this badly, even if he was trying not to appear overeager in front of his new mentor.
And honestly? Tristan was curious too. Very curious.
Because Fij was… well. The man was built like a fucking war god.
Broad shoulders. Thick arms. Smooth bronze skin warmed by firelight. Confident without trying. Comfortable in his own body in a way Tristan found strangely magnetic.
Not to mention the gold nipple ring.
Tristan kept accidentally staring at the damn thing.
With a low grunt of surrender, Tristan finally reached for the buckles on his armor.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Sylvan’s eyes widened slightly.
Leather straps loosened one after another beneath Tristan’s rough fingers. Damp armor hit the floor heavily piece by piece. His sweat-darkened shirt followed next, peeled upward to reveal thick muscle underneath - broad chest dusted lightly with fine copper hair, powerful stomach, a few scars earned from years of mercenary work crossing his pale freckled skin.
Fij openly appreciated the view without shame.
Gods, they really are beautiful together, he thought quietly, watching the contrast between them already forming so naturally.
Tristan rolled his shoulders once, relieved to finally be rid of the attiire’s weight. Then he started walking toward the partition.
“If I’m getting in that bath,” he said over one shoulder, “I’m not waiting all night.”
He pointed vaguely backward without looking. “Sylvan. Hurry up.”
Sylvan stared after him for half a heartbeat. Because suddenly Tristan seemed far too comfortable with all this. And somehow that made him even more attractive.
A smile slowly spread across Sylvan’s face despite his exhaustion. Not the quiet bath alone with Tristan he’d secretly imagined during the miserable walk home.
But perhaps something even more dangerous.More exciting.
He glanced once toward Fij, anticipation flickering openly between them now, then Sylvan turned and followed Tristan toward the rising steam.
Steam rolled thickly behind the partition, carrying the scent of lavender, rose oil, mineral salts, and clean hot water. It smelled heavenly.
Sylvan reached first for the clasps at his throat. Tristan watched openly. There was no point pretending otherwise anymore.
Not after their night together a few ddays ago.
Not after waking up tangled together beneath blankets while the memory of Tristan inside him still lingered warm and aching.
Not after the forest.
Sylvan peeled his coat away slowly, exposing smooth pale shoulders dusted faintly with freckles of gold alchemical shimmer. The sleeveless undershirt beneath clung damply to his lean body before he tugged that free too, revealing the narrow definition of his waist and stomach. Soft lines of toned muscle shifted beneath smooth skin as he moved.
Gods.
Even exhausted, covered in travel grime and vine scratches, he looked beautiful.
His blond hair hung messy and sweat-curled around his face. His cheeks carried faint lingering color from the steam already warming the room. Thin silver chains rested against his collarbones and chest, catching the lanternlight subtly as he undressed piece by piece until only jewelry remained against bare skin.
Tristan stared helplessly, because Sylvan somehow always looked touchable. Soft in ways that made Tristan’s chest ache despite the lean muscle beneath.
Sylvan noticed the staring almost immediately. Blue eyes lifted toward him with a bashful little smirk tugging one corner of his mouth.
“You’ve already seen me naked,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Tristan said honestly. “Still distracting.”
Sylvan’s expression softened instantly at that. This still felt new somehow.
Not the attraction - that had clearly been there far longer than either of them realized - but this openness. The ease of standing bare in front of each other. The way Tristan looked at him now without hesitation or embarrassment.
Desired him.
And Tristan-
Sylvan’s gaze dragged slowly over the mercenary beside him.
Huge shoulders.
Freckled chest.
The thick muscle packed onto his arms and stomach from years swinging oversized swords and hauling equipment across wilderness roads. Copper-red hair curled damply against the back of his neck, still tied poorly from earlier. A dusting of hair trailed down his stomach beneath the unlaced waistband of his trousers.
He looked overwhelmingly masculine in a way Sylvan found almost unfair. Like some village fertility god accidentally dropped into civilized society. And somehow he was sweet on top of it.
Tristan caught him staring now too. A crooked grin spread across his face.
“What?”
Sylvan huffed softly through his nose. “Nothing. Just wondering how one man ended up built like an ox.”
“Grandfather fed me constantly.”
“Clearly.”
Tristan laughed low in his chest and reached for his trousers.
Sylvan immediately lost the ability to think coherently.
Because Tristan turned as he shoved them down, giving him the full broad view of thick thighs, muscular ass, powerful calves streaked with old scars and travel grime. Massive. Warm bronze skin dusted with freckles and darker hair. The heavy shape of him between his legs briefly visible in profile before he stepped away.
Sylvan’s mouth actually parted slightly. No words emerged. Tristan glanced back over one shoulder and caught the look instantly. A pleased little flush climbed into his freckled cheeks.
Gods he likes looking at me, Tristan thought, warmth blooming stupidly fast in his chest.
Then he stepped over the edge of the bath. Hot water surged around thick thighs and up over his waist with a loud slosh.
“Fff-ahh, shit-”
He hissed sharply at the heat before immediately groaning deep in his chest as his exhausted muscles relaxed.
“Oh gods,” Tristan breathed, reclining backward against the stone edge. “That’s incredible.”
Steam slicked his skin almost instantly.
His chest glistened beneath the lanternlight, freckles standing out warmly against flushed skin. Wet copper hair clung around his temples as he stretched one powerful arm along the edge of the tub.
Sylvan stared again.
He could not stop staring.
Tristan looked like pure masculine indulgence sprawled there in the water. Big relaxed thighs spread beneath the surface. Strong stomach slowly rising and falling with tired breaths. Broad chest damp with steam.
Then Tristan reached up toward him.
Large calloused hand open. Sylvan smiled despite himself and took it. The difference in size between them still affected him every single time.
Tristan steadied him carefully as Sylvan stepped over the edge into the water, hot liquid sliding immediately around his calves and thighs. Sylvan exhaled shakily as the heat soaked into sore muscles.
“Mmmh…”
“There you go,” Tristan murmured softly.
The tenderness in his voice caused his heart to beat again. Sylvan settled carefully beside him, their thighs immediately brushing beneath the water- solid and comforting.
From the other side of the partition came Fij’s amused voice.
“Start washing each other.”
Sylvan groaned immediately. “You really do only have one teaching method.”
“It continues working remarkably well.”
Tristan barked a laugh.
Fij continued lazily, clearly smiling somewhere beyond the silk screen. “Touch encourages awareness. Awareness strengthens synchronization. Explore each other properly. Become comfortable.”
Sylvan rolled his eyes dramatically toward the ceiling.
“The same speech from three days ago.”
“And yet you listened.”
“…Unfortunately.”
A low chuckle came from beyond the partition. Silence settled briefly afterward except for crackling firewood and softly shifting bathwater.
Then Tristan looked at Sylvan. Sylvan looked back.
Both smiling slightly now.
A little sheepish.
A little shy despite everything.
Because Fij was right. They wanted to touch each other. Badly.
Tristan reached first this time. One massive hand slid slowly along Sylvan’s wet shoulder, thumb brushing lingering vine marks near his collarbone with surprising gentleness. Sylvan shivered visibly at the contact.
“There’s still bruising,” Tristan murmured.
“You’re one to talk.”
Sylvan reached for him in return, fingers trailing over Tristan’s broad chest beneath the water. Thick muscle shifted warmly under his palm. Damp chest hair caught lightly against his fingertips.
Gods.
Tristan made a soft sound low in his throat at the touch. Not even trying to hide how much he liked it. Steam curled around them thicker now while they explored slowly and openly - hands gliding across shoulders, arms, stomachs, scars. Learning each other again in entirely new ways.
Not hurried or performative. Just deeply curious and wanting.
And every touch sent faint golden resonance flickering quietly beneath the bathwater between them. Sylvan reached lazily for one of the folded washing cloths resting along the stone edge of the tub. He dipped it beneath the water first, letting it soak warm before wringing it slightly between slender fingers.
Tristan watched him with half-lidded eyes already heavy from exhaustion and heat.
Gods, he trusted him so easily.
“Hold still,” Sylvan murmured.
“Yes, sir.”
“That was mocking.” Sylvan grinned.
“A little.” Tristan winked back.
Sylvan smirked despite himself and pressed the warm cloth against Tristan’s shoulder. Dirt and dried streaks of monster slime slowly vanished beneath careful strokes. Tristan leaned into the touch almost immediately; his massive body relaxing by degrees under Sylvan’s hands.
The difference between them felt absurdly intimate like this. Sylvan’s lean frame tucked between Tristan’s spread thighs while he washed him carefully piece by piece, surrounded by steam and rose-scented water.
He scrubbed slowly across Tristan’s broad chest first. Warm freckled skin. Dense muscle beneath. Damp copper hair scattered lightly across his sternum.
Tristan exhaled deeply as the cloth dragged lower over his stomach.
“Mmmh…”
“You sound half asleep already.”
“Feels too good.”
Sylvan’s mouth softened at that. He continued downward methodically. Strong arms next.
Tristan lifted them obediently when prompted, exposing thick biceps and darkened damp hair in the deep crevices of his muscular armpits. Sylvan scrubbed there too without hesitation, cleaning sweat and grime from skin still smelling faintly of steel oil and pine smoke beneath the bathwater and soap.
Tristan actually laughed quietly in embarrassment.
“You’re washing me like a horse.”
“You smell worse than one.”
“Cruel.”
“Accurate.”
He washed Tristan’s neck after that, fingertips brushing damp strands of copper hair aside before dragging the cloth downward again over collarbones and chest. Everywhere Sylvan touched, Tristan’s body responded. Muscles flexed unconsciously. Breathing deepened. Cock thickening steadily beneath the water.
Sylvan tried very hard not to think about it. Failed immediately.
Because when his hand finally drifted lower beneath the surface toward Tristan’s hips, he felt it instantly.
Hot.
Heavy.
Already fully hard.
Gods.
The size of him beneath the water nearly made Sylvan dizzy every single time.
And Tristan was hard enough now that the flushed tip actually breached the waterline slightly. Tristan noticed at the exact same moment Sylvan did.
A bright blush spread instantly across his freckled cheeks.
“Oh for-”
He barked out a helpless laugh.
Sylvan lost composure completely, grinning against his shoulder.
“That is obscene.”
“I can’t exactly hide it!”
“No, apparently not.”
From beyond the partition came Fij’s warm amused voice immediately:
“Lean into it.”
Sylvan rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
“Of course you heard that.”
“I hear everything.”
“Disturbing.”
“Educational.” Fij corrected. Sylvan could picture the smirk on the older man’s face as he replied.
Tristan laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking beneath the steam.
But Sylvan-
Sylvan still wrapped his fingers around Tristan’s cock beneath the water anyway. The reaction was immediate.
Tristan inhaled sharply through his nose, thick thighs flexing beneath Sylvan where he sat. His cock twitched heavily inside Sylvan’s grasp, velvety skin hot and smooth beneath the water. Sylvan loved touching him.
Loved the sheer masculine weight of him in his hand. Loved how responsive Tristan became from even simple affection. No ego. No performance. Just honest physical desire written openly across that handsome freckled face.
Sylvan stroked him slowly once. Twice.
Water shifted softly around his wrist.
Tristan’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath with a low groan.
“Sylvan…”
The sound alone sent heat straight through him. Sylvan leaned closer then, wet blond curls brushing Tristan’s jaw.
“I really like touching you,” he whispered softly against his ear.
Not teasing now. Not joking. Honest. Tristan turned immediately. One large wet hand caught Sylvan gently by the side of the neck as he kissed him. The kiss hit with days of restrained affection behind it. Deep, warm and hungry.
The kind of kiss someone had been thinking about through exhausting travel and monster fights and muddy roads.
Sylvan melted instantly.
A soft sound escaped him as he climbed fully into Tristan’s lap without thinking, thighs spreading around the bigger man beneath the water. His arms wrapped around Tristan’s neck automatically while they kissed again and again through breathless little laughs.
Water sloshed softly against the tub edges as Tristan’s massive hands settled instinctively at Sylvan’s waist and lower back. Gods he fit there naturally. Like he belonged in Tristan’s lap.
Their mouths kept meeting between smiles and playful little pecks now - corners of lips, cheeks, jawlines. Tristan kissed him everywhere he could reach like he couldn’t stop himself.
“You were glaring at me all day,” Tristan murmured between kisses.
“You were impossible all day.”
“You kept looking at me.”
“You kept being attractive. Entirely your fault.”
Tristan laughed warmly against his mouth.
Then he reached for the washing cloth himself. Large rough hands began scrubbing carefully along Sylvan’s back while they stayed tangled together chest to chest. The cloth dragged over smooth pale skin and lean muscle while Sylvan shivered visibly beneath the attention.
Tristan loved touching him too. Loved how reactive Sylvan’s body was. How easily he melted under affection despite pretending to be composed.
Sylvan kissed the freckles near Tristan’s nose. Then his cheek. Then his mouth again.
From beyond the partition came Fij’s deeply satisfied hum.
“Yes,” the older alchemist called lazily. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”
Sylvan groaned into Tristan’s shoulder.
“You are unbearable.”
“And yet remarkably effective.”
Tristan just laughed openly at that before pulling Sylvan back in for another lingering kiss anyway.
The bathwater had become thick with steam and drifting rose petals by the time Tristan took over.
His large hands settled at Sylvan’s waist first.
Warm.
Heavy.
Possessive without force.
“Turn around for me,” Tristan murmured. The words alone sent a pulse of heat through Sylvan’s stomach. He obeyed immediately.
Tristan guided him carefully through the water until Sylvan’s back rested against the smooth stone edge of the tub. Hot water slid down his chest while he stretched instinctively, arms reaching back above his head against the rim for balance.
The posture exposed him completely.
Slim waist.
Defined stomach.
Smooth pale chest rising with quicker breaths now.
Tristan stared openly.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muttered before he could stop himself.
Sylvan’s cheeks flushed pink instantly.
“You say things like that entirely too casually.”
“Because it’s true.”
Tristan dragged the cloth slowly down Sylvan’s body again, but this time there was far less pretense about it being simple bathing.
Every touch lingered. The rag slid across Sylvan’s shoulders first, then lower over his chest where lean muscle flexed subtly beneath pale skin. Water beaded and rolled slowly down his stomach while Tristan watched like he could spend hours simply looking at him.
And gods, Sylvan loved being looked at like this. Desired this openly.
Tristan’s hands moved lower over his thighs beneath the water, broad palms spanning muscle easily while Sylvan shivered under the attention.
“Relax,” Tristan murmured softly.
“You’re impossible to relax around.”
Tristan grinned.
“Good.”
The cloth passed across Sylvan’s chest again. Then Tristan paused.
His eyes settled on Sylvan’s nipples.
Small.
Pink.
Already visibly hard from heat and arousal. A low sound rumbled deep in Tristan’s chest.
“Tristan…”
But the mercenary was already leaning down. His mouth closed around one nipple gently first, tongue dragging slow and wet across it before sucking harder.
Sylvan gasped sharply.
“Ah- fuck…”
The sound echoed embarrassingly loud through the steam. Tristan groaned softly against him at the reaction, one massive hand gripping Sylvan’s hip tighter beneath the water.
Gods he loved how responsive Sylvan was. Every touch showed immediately on him.
The second Tristan sucked harder, Sylvan’s back arched beautifully off the stone edge, toned stomach tightening while his fingers curled against the rim behind him.
“Mmmh- Tristan…”
“You taste good too,” Tristan murmured against wet skin.
He switched to the other nipple immediately, licking broad slow strokes across Sylvan’s chest first. Steam clung to Tristan’s freckled shoulders and broad back while he bent over him, all dense muscle and warm masculinity surrounding Sylvan completely.
The sight alone nearly overwhelmed him. Tristan looked enormous like this, powerful and safe.
His thick arms flexed every time he touched him. Damp copper hair curled around his temples while he sucked another helpless sound from Sylvan’s throat. From beyond the partition came Fij’s deeply approving hum.
“Excellent resonance response,” he observed lazily.
Sylvan groaned immediately. “Please stop narrating my arousal.”
“No.”
Tristan barked a laugh against Sylvan’s chest before kissing him there once more. Then those large hands slid lower. One settled beneath Sylvan’s thigh. The other at his waist.
And with terrifying ease Tristan spun him around in the water. Sylvan caught himself against the edge of the tub with a startled splash.
Now bent slightly forward. Now exposed.
Heat flooded his face instantly because he knew Tristan was staring.
And gods-
Tristan was.
The mercenary sat back slightly in the bath, broad thighs spread beneath the water while he looked openly at Sylvan’s ass like he’d discovered buried treasure.
Smooth.
Firm.
Beautifully shaped muscle shifting subtly as Sylvan adjusted himself against the edge.
“Holy shit,” Tristan breathed softly.
Sylvan looked back over his shoulder, blond hair damp against flushed cheeks.
“You’re staring again.”
“Can you blame me?”
Tristan’s rough hands settled on his hips.
Then slowly spread him apart. Sylvan inhaled sharply.
Cooler air brushed against sensitive skin while Tristan exposed him fully - smooth pink hole flexing faintly beneath the steam, still softened a little from their encounter with the vine beast.
Tristan actually groaned. A deep masculine sound that vibrated straight through Sylvan’s spine.
“Gods, Sylvan…”
The way he said his name. Like reverence. Like hunger. Sylvan bit his lip and gave one teasing little shake of his hips backward.
The reaction was immediate. Tristan growled. Actually growled.
Then leaned forward and bit lightly into one soft cheek.
“Ah-!”
Sylvan jerked at the sudden sting, laughter breaking into a whimper immediately afterward.
Tristan soothed it instantly with his tongue, broad wet licks dragging across the bite mark before lower-
Lower.
Into the cleft of his ass Sylvan’s breath caught hard.
Steam curled thick around them while Tristan spread him wider with both hands, openly admiring him before licking slowly downward again.
“Fuck…” Sylvan whispered shakily.
Tristan’s tongue brushed lightly over his hole for the first time. Just a teasing flick.
But Sylvan whimpered immediately.High, soft, and completely involuntary.
The sound hit Tristan like a physical blow. His cock jerked hard beneath the water.
Damn. It felt right. That was the terrifying part.
Not awkward.
Not embarrassing.
Not experimental anymore. But right.
Having Tristan’s massive hands holding him open. Having that warm rough voice murmuring praise against his skin. Having a man this strong and masculine handling him so carefully while still clearly starving for him.
Sylvan’s head dipped forward against his forearm with another helpless sound as Tristan licked him again, slower this time.
Golden resonance mana flickered visibly around the bathwater.
Tiny streams of light curled through the steam and across damp skin, growing brighter with every sound Sylvan made and every hungry touch Tristan gave him.
The air itself felt heavier now. Warmer. Charged.
This was no longer simply bathing.
And both of them knew it. Fij’s ritual had begun already and Tristan could not stop.
That was the dangerous realization settling deeper into him with every passing minute. Because this - Sylvan spread open beneath his hands, trembling and moaning in the steam - should have felt unfamiliar.
Instead it felt instinctive and natural. Like his body had already decided long ago that it wanted to worship this man.
His broad hands held Sylvan firmly by the hips while he licked him again, slower now, learning what made the lithe alchemist shiver hardest. Every soft whimper from Sylvan only drove him further.
Gods, the sounds he made.
Sweet little gasps.
Broken breaths.
The occasional helpless “Tristan-” spoken like a prayer against the humid air.
Tristan groaned against him and tightened his grip. Sylvan writhed beautifully beneath the attention, smooth muscular ass flexing each time Tristan’s tongue pressed more firmly against his hole. His back arched deeper while his fingers curled white-knuckled against the edge of the tub.
“Fuck… ahh… right there…”
“There?” Tristan murmured hoarsely against wet skin.
He licked him again deliberately. Sylvan jolted.
“Yes- gods…”
The reaction nearly made Tristan dizzy with arousal. Because Sylvan trusted him this much. Opened for him this much.
And Tristan - who’d spent most of his life understanding desire in blunt simple terms - suddenly found himself consumed by the intimacy of it. The scent of rosewater and arousal thick around them. Sylvan’s body shaking beneath his hands. The vulnerable curve of his spine disappearing into damp blond curls.
Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Tristan wasn’t used to this kind of intimacy. His life had been rough and practical. Even a weekly bath back then had felt indulgent. But two baths in a manner of three days, both with this beautiful man, his best friend turned lover? It felt like an entirely different life. Nearly an out of body experience for him.
Tristan rose slowly afterward, water cascading heavily down his massive body as he pulled Sylvan upright against him. One arm wrapped easily around Sylvan’s narrow waist. The other spread broad across his stomach.
Sylvan melted back instantly against Tristan’s chest with a soft exhausted sound. Their bodies fit together absurdly well.
Big and small.
Solid and lithe.
Freckled skin against pale smooth muscle.
Tristan kissed slowly up Sylvan’s spine. One kiss between his shoulder blades. Another higher.
Then his mouth brushed the back of Sylvan’s neck while his hands roamed greedily over lean obliques and toned stomach.
“Gods,” Tristan muttered against damp skin. “I can’t stop touching you.”
Sylvan shivered hard.
“Then don’t.”
The honesty of it nearly unraveled him. Tristan pulled him back tighter against his chest.
Chest to back now.
Water dripping from both their bodies.
Steam curling around broad shoulders and flushed skin.
Sylvan turned his face slightly and Tristan kissed him immediately. Deep. Still hungry. How long had they been kissing and touching now?
Sylvan reached one arm backward around Tristan’s neck, fingers threading roughly into damp copper hair as he pulled him closer. Their mouths moved together lazily now, intoxicated by heat and resonance and each other.
And between them-
Sylvan could feel Tristan’s cock thick and heavy between his ass cheeks. Hard. So incredibly hard.
The sheer size of it pressing against him sent another pulse of heat through his stomach. His ass flexed instinctively against the length trapped there, silently asking for more. Tristan groaned sharply into the kiss at the movement.
“You keep doing that,” he muttered roughly.
Sylvan smirked against his mouth. “Maybe I want something.”
“You absolutely do.”
Before Sylvan could answer, another voice entered the steam-filled room.
“A fascinating display of synchronization.”
Both men froze. Then slowly turned.
Fij stood just beyond the silk partition.
Completely naked.
And gods above.
Sylvan genuinely forgot how to breathe for a moment.
The older alchemist looked magnificent in the lanternlight - thickly muscular body gleaming warm bronze beneath drifting steam. Broad defined chest dusted with dark hair. Powerful arms folded casually across himself. Dense thighs planted confidently against the rugs.
The gold ring through one nipple caught the light beautifully.
His cock hung heavy between his legs, long and thick against a trail of dark hair disappearing up his stomach. Unashamed. Relaxed. Entirely comfortable beneath the openly stunned attention suddenly fixed on him.
And somehow that confidence made him even more attractive. Fij’s dark eyes gleamed knowingly. White teeth flashed in an amused grin.
“Well,” he said warmly, “you two certainly learn quickly.”
Sylvan realized belatedly that both he and Tristan were staring at him with thoroughly lust-drunk expressions. Tristan especially looked momentarily overwhelmed.
Sweet gods, Tristan thought helplessly. He’s built like a fucking king.
Fij cleared his throat lightly.
“As entertaining as this is becoming,” he continued, “before matters escalate further, we should begin the ritual properly.”
His tone shifted subtly there.
Still warm.
Still sensual.
But now carrying the calm authority of a master alchemist preparing serious work.
“Your resonance reserves are dangerously depleted,” Fij explained. “The vine beast consumed far more than either of you realize. Tonight should replenish that imbalance before exhaustion begins affecting your mana circulation more severely.”
Golden light flickered faintly through his irises briefly as he looked between them.
“And with resonance this powerful…” A slow smile spread across his face. “The results should be extraordinary.”
Sylvan’s pulse skipped hard. He wanted this. Gods, he wanted this.
Not merely sexually - though certainly that too - but academically, emotionally, spiritually. Fij represented years of mastery in the very discipline Sylvan had devoted himself to understanding.
And Tristan-
Tristan trusted him enough to follow him into this. That realization hit harder than expected. Sylvan looked back at the mercenary still holding him tightly in the bath.
Blue eyes met blue. Warmth passed silently between them. Then Sylvan leaned up and kissed him once more. Soft this time. Affectionate.
Tristan’s massive hand cupped the side of his jaw immediately, thumb brushing damp skin tenderly.
“Ready?” Tristan murmured quietly.
Sylvan smiled faintly.
“With you?” Another quick kiss. “Yes.”
He finally stepped carefully toward the edge of the bath.
Water streamed beautifully down his lean body as he rose fully into the lanternlight, blond hair plastered damp against flushed skin. His cock hung hard and heavy between toned thighs, still half stirred from Tristan’s mouth and hands.
Fij stepped forward immediately. One large hand offered a towel. The other reached instinctively for Sylvan’s wrist to steady him as he climbed from the bath.
Warm calloused fingers.Grounding. Confident. Sylvan’s breath caught softly at the touch alone.
Tristan followed moments later with a heavier splash of water, rising from the bath in all his massive muscular glory. Water rolled down broad shoulders and powerful chest while he dragged wet hair back from his face.
Fij looked between them once and smiled slowly.
The ritual had not even begun yet.
