“Really?” The smile became a smirk.
“Not because I’m so excited for you to scratch me up, although I am.” Dagan shifted around behind the tub and helped Hen sit up. “Let’s do your back, sweetheart.”
“Mmm,” Hen sat forward, his broad back glistening and pink from the hot water. “Then why?”
“Because it meant you went into the See fully expecting to come back out again. Or you wouldn’t have bothered to ask Jak for anything.”
“That’s true.” Hen glanced over his shoulder, frowning. “You didn’t think we’d come back out again?”
“No,” Dagan admitted. “At least, once the fighting began, I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine how we would, since we were already found out. We didn’t even know what we were up against, apart from the guards and the damned assassins.”
“Yeah. Honestly, still a little bit impressed that assassins are real.”
“And probably very good against their own people.”
“Just not Heart Wood scouts,” Hen laughed and turned again, letting his head sink forward and his shoulders slump.
Dagan was quiet for a while, scrubbing the back of Hen’s neck, his shoulder blades and between them, letting his fingers trace long lines of muscle after the sponge did its work. “You believed it the whole time, didn’t you? You believed until you knew you’d broken your leg, I think.”
Hen nodded.
“We switched. While we were on our way here, you were the one who was sure we’d die. And then when I agreed, you changed your mind.”
“That’s why I need you,” Hen said quietly, sitting up straight again.
“You don’t need anything.” Dagan pressed the sponge into his neck, letting hot water trace down and over him again. “You’re complete and perfectly imperfect as you are, my love.”
“No.” Hen leaned back further, sliding to lean against the tub, his head against Dagan’s shoulder. “I need you. I’m okay with it if you are.”
“Sweet thing…” Dagan slid the sponge down Hen’s chest alongside his other hand. He said, into Hen’s ear, “Has anyone ever been as sweet as you are to me? You know just what I want to hear, and better than that, you mean it.”
Hen licked his lips and shifted suggestively, the water churning briefly. “Mmm…”
Dagan couldn’t help himself. He smiled and sat back on his knees again. “Come on, darling, your hair needs washed.”
Hen groaned. “Right now?”
“It’s awful. We haven’t washed it in weeks, probably, and you know how it gets.”
Another groan, and Hen dipped his head beneath the water to blow bubbles unhappily. Dagan kept an eye on his left knee, making sure it didn’t get splashed too much; it’d get uncomfortable having it up so high after a while, too, so they’d better get on with it. He left the sponge floating and soaped up his hands. The moment Hendrik reemerged from the depths, he set to lathering his hair and massaging his scalp. Perhaps a little too slowly and methodically, if the way Hendrik kept making impatient little sounds was any indication.
“Dagan—” he tried to protest.
“Shhh, darling. Almost done. Patience.”
“Mmmmmrph,” Hen replied.
“Wash the rest of you while I’m working up here, please.” Dagan tried out his best bossy voice.
Hen muttered but snatched up the sponge and started half-heartedly scrubbing his legs. “When I get to my cock I’m going to ruin this bathwater, though.”
“It’s yours to ruin, my love,” Dagan whispered. “In fact, I think I’d enjoy that very much.”
Hen’s gaze flicked to his. He grinned. “Would you?”
“Mmm. Only, I think I’d rather make you ruin it. Unless you really want to do it your—”
“Nope. Nope, would really, really love if you did it to me. For me. Whatever, please, fire and stone, just touch me.”
Dagan leaned forward again and nibbled at Hen’s wet ear. “I am touching you, Hendrik.”
Hen gave a lovely little groan of frustration.
“Rinse.” Dagan dipped his hands back into the water, washing off the soap. As Hendrik ducked under water, Dagan stood once more, adjusting his leathers for the sake of comfort. It had been far, far too long since they’d touched this much, in fact, largely because Dagan had been trying not to, lest this situation, ah, arise too soon. Hendrik needed rest and relaxation and healing, not to be tormented and exert himself.
But he was so bright, so vivid, so himself today…a little bit couldn’t hurt, could it? A small celebration. The gods all knew they deserved it.
He brought a bucket of warm water from the fire and poured it gently over Hen’s head, once he reemerged, until Hendrik’s hair was shiny and clean again. Hen reached out for him, grabbing hold of his shirt and tugging insistently.
Dagan set aside the bucket, and then took off his shirt. No point getting soaked, after all. “Lie back, Hen. Just relax, like you’re going to float. You remember how.” He knelt by the tub again, pressing gently against Hendrik’s chest until he tilted backwards. “There you go, darling. Just like that. I wish I could show you how pretty you look, right now.”
“Dags…” He huffed and clutched at Dagan’s arm beneath the water, sliding it downward. Over his ribs, until Dagan caught at his navel and flattened his palm there. Hen gave another whimper, smaller but somehow even more needy.
Something about that particular sound very nearly had Dagan cumming in his pants, it was so gloriously hot. Dagan leaned forward and brushed his lips against Hen’s, savoring the sweetness, the warmth, the vividness of the moment. “Relax for me, Hen. There’s a good boy.” He slipped his hand downward, past the crook of Hen’s hip, past his hard cock where it floated, waiting impatiently for his attention, and into the split of his ass.
Hen slipped downward, rocking his hips up.
“Shhh, darling. Let me do the work this time, yes?” Dagan put his other arm behind Hen’s neck, holding him steady so he couldn’t slip beneath the surface. “See. I’ve got you. You can let go.”
