Caleb/caduceus

"So," Caleb starts, licks his chapped lips as he stares through the campfire, "I suppose you will be headed off soon, then."

Caduceus nods once, slow and content, as he seems near always to be. "I suppose. Who's to know what the future holds." And Caleb hates that, the vagueness afforded only to those who aren't concerned about their trajectory, but he does not let his brow furrow.

"And before you return to your solitude, are you looking for companionship?" Caleb keeps his eyes up at the firbolg's, so close to making eye contact that the other man surely cannot tell he's looking at the stars past his shoulder. An old trick. He holds his breath at the twitch of an ear, the minute raise of a velvet brow, and lets it go, finally, when Caduceus nods again.

Caleb has gotten good at sneaking away from camp in the last month and a bit. This time is different beyond words, but parts of it /feel/ the same, and that's what he's after, more than any feeble attempt at affection. He backs Caduceus against a tree once they're deep enough into the woods by the campsite, and it's there that he falters, just for a moment; looking /up/ to kiss someone is a change that charges his heart with hot, angry fire, but there's an easy enough solution in dropping to his knees instead.

/Caleb Widogast doesn't do these types of things/, he thinks, and then: /Caleb Widogast has no idea what Caleb Widogast does and doesn't do./

There is a madness that comes with grief and it tastes familiar in his mouth whenever he pauses, so this time he does not pause. The firbolg's pants unlace easily, his erection a dappled grey and bigger than-- any he's taken before. It does not go easily, but eventually his jaw relaxes enough to take a fair portion in his mouth, and like a pleasant warm pressure on his chest, the ache of it soothes his mind enough to let him drift away, just enough.