As with GBR, this is the last chapter I wrote in advance; from now on, updates come when the story chooses to write itself. Note, this fic is not over; not by a long shot. But it might be a long time before you see the next update.

Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter ten

He hesitates, then knocks on the door, a total of four times.

"Come in."

It's a small relief to see Uvani unchanged, even though they've only been apart a week. It's odd, as well, how casual he looks. Despite the minimal and rather and rather bland furnishings common to an inn, Uvani looks as at-home here as he did back in the sanctuary, if not more so.

"It took you a while. I'm not that far away," is the first thing he points out.

Banus inclines his head in apology; "I had to sneak out, in the end. The sanctuary Master didn't want me to visit you."

"The sanctuary Master ought to learn his place," Alval mutters lowly, "Are they all still scared of me?"

He nods, "Very."

Uvani is quiet for a moment, "...Are you scared of me?"

He tilts his head, "No. But..." a smile plays about his lips, "...Impressed. That spell was powerful. They had to peel what was left of him off the floor."

"Good. I hope it took them hours," the elder snorts, then adds, "They haven't been taking anything out on you, have they?"

"No. Steering clear of me, mostly," Banus tells him, walking over, "What about you? Has the Wrath of Sithis come yet?"

"Oddly enough, no. I expected it, but nothing's happened."

"Hm. Maybe Sithis approves."

"One less idiot in the world. Sure he approves."

"Ah," Banus nods, then says almost hesitantly, "The sanctuary's different without you. Feels different, I mean."

"How so?"

"Just...quieter. Hushed."

Uvani waves a hand carelessly; "That's just everyone getting over that idiot's death. They'll go back to badmouthing me soon enough."

Alor glances away, but doesn't say anything. He wants to say that it's so much more than hushed – that it's stale and suffocating, hollow and barren. That even though it's still full of people, it's never felt emptier, more unfamiliar.

He wants to say it doesn't feel like home, but somehow, the words never come out.

Their first kiss is in the wetlands of Blackwood.

Actually, wait – that's not entirely true. Their first kiss was a while before then, back when Uvani still resided in the sanctuary, but Banus isn't sure if it counts as a kiss when one of the participants is asleep. It was so fleeting and whimsical that he barely remembers it; only glancing up from his book, seeing Alval had drifted off and then, quite out of the blue, leaning over the bed to press their lips together. But Uvani never woke, and Banus went back to his reading, so he isn't really sure what to classify it as.

Regardless, their first proper kiss is in Blackwood, sometime in early spring. There are no blooming flowers or frolicking animals, because Blackwood is defined not by seasons, but the fact that there is slightly less rain in summer than there is in winter.

And so it rains, soaks them both as they go about a routine forage for mushrooms. There's an odd silence between them; partially due to the noisy rainfall, which drowns out any attempt at conversation, but also something else. The memory, he suspects, of what happened last time they ventured this far away from Leyawiin, the intimacy of that embrace that still glimmers in his mind, even now. And he would be lying if he said he did not want a similar outcome this time.

These strings between them have been tensing for days now. He'd thought it was only him at first, but he sees it now: the rigidity in Uvani's movements, the strict, controlled rhythm of his breathing, the tenseness of his jaw...

His jaw...

Oh, but it is nice...

"Banus," Alval interrupts, sounding rather uncomfortable, and Banus realises he has been transfixed for a good minute or two, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I-" he begins, and realises there's no convincing excuse for it, "-Nothing. Sorry," he finishes, returning to his harvest.

Try as he might, though, his gaze drifts back to Alval as soon as he thinks the other isn't watching. Though arguably he has been attracted to Uvani all along – enthralled by the untouchable – he's never really paid attention to his appearance before. His blue skin, pale by Dunmer standards, and his hair, water-darkened, but still a pleasingly vivid shade of orange-red, like the flames he so frequently and expertly wields. And his jaw, which Banus keeps going back to, is such a silly and trivial thing to take notice of, but he can't help admiring it, admiring Uvani, because he looks so good.

He swears Sithis must be playing around with time, because one second he's a good distance away from Alval, and the next he's right by him, fingertips trailing along that jaw, and absolutely no idea how he got there. Uvani evidently doesn't know either, given the sheer surprise written across his face. It strikes him that he should offer up an explanation, or an excuse, or just say something, but he never speaks, and neither does Uvani.

From the corner of his vision, he sees the mushroom bag slip from the elder's grasp, and dimly notes that he should carry it next time if Alval is going to keep dropping it like that. When his eyes flick back up to meet Uvani's own, something has changed.

The strings have snapped.

And before he knows it, he's pushed against a tree with enough force to snatch the breath from him, though he's currently more preoccupied with Uvani's lips on his own. And unlike that whisper of a memory in the Leyawiin sanctuary, he can feel everything, from the rough, wet bark against his back to the slippery-smoothness of Uvani's hair as he weaves it between his fingers. The pool of mud and water around his ankles, the shivering of Uvani, who's as cold as he is, but doesn't give a damn. And that dank, woodsy scent of soil and mushrooms pervading the air, that he'll forever associate with frenzied kissing against a tree in the middle of a monsoon.

And frenzied is the word. He can't see, he can't think, he can't breathe for how roughly he was shoved back, and how greedily those lips steal his own without letting him pause for air. In the end he wrenches the other away and gasps like a drowning man, which is suitably akin to how he feels right now. Lost in the water of Things He Has Never Felt Before, overwhelmed and perhaps, for the first time in his life, truly scared by the enormity of it all. But he can't work out whether Uvani is the sea or the air.

Uvani himself is breathing hard, shaking from cold despite the flush of heat on his face and neck, and eyes glazed over as though he were feverish; Banus can't help but muse that he probably looks the same. But there's a secret thrill in knowing that Uvani – proud, masterless, unbreakable Uvani – feels exactly as he does, just as reduced to this dizzying, troubling, terrifying euphoria. That someone who is in absolute, unquestionable control of his emotions at all times should lose it – should allow himself to lose it – because of him, and only him.

Banus suspects Uvani has been intimate before; it doesn't bear thinking about, but that was no virgin's kiss. But he knows with certainty that no-one has ever seen Alval like this, so utterly exposed. It makes him feel warm and giddy and extremely important in a way he's never experienced before.

It is maybe five minutes of half-clinging, half-leaning into each other that Uvani pulls back, and already Alor feels compelled to grab ahold of him again. He speaks, with just enough Morrowind throatiness to make Banus shiver in delight, especially at the words stated:

"...Sorry. I got fed up waiting."

He smiles, not just with his lips but his whole being, a happiness that he didn't think was possible for anyone; least of all him, when he's never been any temperature other than tepid. He hopes Uvani can tell, because he feels he ought to know. "I figured one of us would snap eventually."

Nothing more needs to be said. He draws Uvani close for a round two, and wonders what the other assassins will think when he returns from his second three-hour harvest this month, a waltz in his step, and not a single mushroom at hand.