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Chapter 106 - Chapter : 106 "The Shape Of A Name In The Dark"

Elias did not move at first.

He stood still in the hush, watching the boy folded into his chest as though August were the anchor of something too old to name. But in that stillness—something began to stir. A flicker. A fracture. A soft crack in the dam of forgetting.

A memory returned.

And then another.

Faint at first—like candlelight glimpsed beneath a locked door—but they came.

He saw August, fevered and pale, insisting to walk when his legs betrayed him. He remembered the stubborn furrow in August's brow, the pride that would rather break than bend. And he remembered lifting him, the way August fit in his arms—not like burden, but like purpose.

Then—

A flash. A child's toy.

A wooden knight—offered to a quiet figure with ivory hair and haunted eyes.

But no… it wasn't a child. It was him.

It was August.

The visions tore through him now—not memories but remembrances. Truths clawing their way to the surface.

The broth. The spoon. The way August had turned pale and sick, retching into his lap as Elias sat frozen, horrified, ashamed. And then later, alone, guilt blistering inside him like a fever he could not purge.

Another breath—sharper now. He remembered the weight of August leaning on him. The warmth of him in sleep. The night August clutched his sleeve and did not let go.

And then—the blade.

Killian's blade.

The masquerade in Khyronia.

The masks. The music. The moment the music died.

They had taken him.

They had taken August.

Elias blinked hard.

He was no longer lost in dreams or storms or blurred things.

He was back.

Fully.

And August was still in his arms.

With hands that trembled only slightly, Elias lifted August's chin—firm, close, reverent. The moment hung between them like the breath before lightning, electric and silent.

August blinked up, dazed, unaware, lips parted slightly as if to ask something… but before he could speak—

Elias kissed him.

Not softly.

Not hesitantly.

But like a man who had remembered everything he had ever lost.

August stilled.

The air left the room.

Time folded into itself.

His body went taut, not in fear—but in awe. His lashes fluttered once, and then fell, dark against pale cheeks as his eyes slid shut. His hands rose slowly, uncertainly, until they found the fabric of Elias's shirt and clutched it tight—not pulling away.

And in that trembling permission, Elias deepened the kiss.

His tongue slid gently into August's mouth, exploring, coaxing, claiming. Not with violence, but with something fiercer—belonging. The way two puzzle pieces snap into place after lifetimes of being misplaced.

August gasped softly, a sound that broke something inside the air. He leaned into it, into him, the heat of Elias's palms trailing lower now, possessive, aching, until they found the curve of his hips, his waist, and lower still—

A gasp. A sound that wasn't a word.

August was forgetting how to breathe.

But he remembered this.

He remembered Elias.

And when Elias finally pulled away—slowly, like moonlight retreating through a curtain—their mouths lingered, parted only by the silver thread of breath and a thin trail of kiss-wet saliva.

August opened his eyes.

Shaken. Breathless.

But not afraid.

And Elias whispered like a vow carved in dusk:

"I remember."

August's breath came quick and shallow, as though his ribs were trying to hold back a storm they were never built to contain.

Elias stood before him like a question long unanswered—the kind that does not ask permission, only waits to be understood.

And then—he moved.

A hand upon August's wrist. A firm pull.

Not forceful.

But certain.

As if the space between them had always been a lie, and now the truth called them into its center.

The bed gave a soft sigh beneath August's frame as he was drawn down into its silken hush. He did not resist. He lay there, breath unsteadied, curls falling like spilled moonlight across the pillows, his slender body framed in dusk and desire.

His gaze met Elias's—and something in it had changed.

Those forest-green eyes no longer carried the confusion of dreams or the ache of memory—they held hunger, fierce and trembling, like spring breaking through ice.

And Elias—gods, Elias could not look away.

He kissed August again, deeper now, like a man claiming the thing he had crossed lifetimes for. His lips tasted August's mouth like it was made of first light—sweet, aching, familiar. The kind of taste that once known, could never be forgotten.

And August—August melted beneath it.

His hands slipped up around Elias's shoulders, fingers curling into the broad strength of him, grounding himself to something real. His back arched—not for show, not for seduction, but from a need too long kept quiet. The kind of need that had teeth.

Elias kissed lower now—to the edge of his jaw, where bone met breath, where heat trembled beneath porcelain skin. His lips were reverent, but hungry, like a man starving on holy ground. And when they reached the delicate slope of August's collarbone, they lingered—pressing soft benedictions there.

But cloth still clung between them.

The lace.

The fabric.

The years they had waited.

Elias paused.

His breath feathered against August's throat.

"May I?" he asked.

A whisper. A vow.

And August—August, who had never shown himself to anyone, never bared anything but blade and frost—nodded.

Just once.

But it was enough to part the heavens.

Elias's fingers found the fastenings of the ivory shirt—its lace undone thread by trembling thread, until it fell away like a story no longer needed. The silk slipped from August's shoulders like dusk from the edge of the world, leaving only the high-waisted trousers between them.

Elias kissed his way down—over bone, over breath, over bloom. He memorized the pale terrain of August's body like a cartographer drawing a map to the only home he had ever known. Each gasp was a signpost. Each flinch, a sacred door.

And August—

He was no longer hiding.

The final layer was undone by Elias's hand—slow, precise, patient as moonlight.

And there he lay.

Bare. Breathless. Beautiful.

His long silver hair was tangled among the sheets like wild ivy through marble, his chest rising and falling like a hymn trapped between heartbeats. Sweat kissed the hollow of his throat, his temples, his ribs. His eyes—half-lidded and burning—spoke in a language that had nothing to do with words.

And Elias—

He looked down at him as if he were witnessing something holy.

No gods.

No wars.

No masks.

Only this.

Only them.

And in the hush of thunder beyond the windows, in the hush of breath and skin and memory, Elias swore—not aloud, but in every kiss, every touch, every glance—that he would not leave this moment unfinished.

Not tonight.

Not now.

Because they had both waited long enough.

And home had finally found them.

The storm outside was ravenous—lightning split the sky like a scream held too long, and thunder poured down in convulsions, echoing the way August's breath trembled beneath Elias's mouth.

The chamber burned with something older than fire.

August lay beneath him like a prayer turned sinful, his long limbs pale and sculpted by moonlight, his silver hair tangled across the linen sheets like ghostlight spilled from a dying star. His chest rose and fell with hunger, but not for food—for touch, for him. for "Elias"

Elias hovered above, all bare skin and battle-scarred grace, his body heat steeping the air like wine gone heady. And still—still—he waited.

He did not pounce like a beast, he descended like a storm that knew exactly how to ruin without breaking.

One hand slid beneath August's thigh, lifting it slowly, reverently—like he was parting the pages of a forbidden scripture. He kissed the inside of his ankle with lips that trembled, then let his tongue graze the sensitive bone just enough to make August's back arch like a harpstring pulled too tight.

A sound left August's lips. Ahh~

a moan. a gasp. A hymn unraveling.

Elias drank it.

His hands moved with unholy precision—palms branding heat down August's sides, fingers grazing the fragile notches of his ribs, thumbs brushing the hollow just above the hip like he was charting territory that had always been his.

"Be be! gentle,"

August whispered—breath hitching, lashes wet, lips parted in ache.

Elias froze.

Not because he couldn't. Because he must.

That voice—too soft, too raw—was a chain around the beast inside him. And yet, it only made the heat rise higher.

"Gentle?" Elias murmured, lowering his face to August's temple. "I've never wanted anything more. And I've never been less certain how."

August shivered beneath him, eyes shut as though he couldn't bear to see how exposed he'd become. His fingers gripped the sheets—then slowly, uncertainly, found Elias's shoulders instead. His palms pressed there. Anchored.

Permission.

Elias moved.

And August felt. And a moan escape his lips Ah~ ahh

He felt the world melt at the edges.

He felt himself open— just his body, but every locked hallway of memory and ache.

Elias kissed his throat like a confession. His collarbone like it could be unstitched. His chest, slow, reverent, his tongue drawing circles no holy man ever dared imagine.

And August—

August writhed.

Not lewdly.

But desperately.

His spine curved as though possessed, his lips parted not in cries, but in curses aimed at the moon for making him wait this long.

He clung. He gasped. He whispered Elias's name like a sin he was ready to commit again and again and again.

And Elias—who had never begged for anything—begged in the way he kissed, in the way he held August like glass and then gripped him like fire, both burned and burning. His mouth was everywhere—between ribs, at the edge of August's jaw, over the thrum of his pulse, as if trying to memorize the whole of him with lips alone.

August was no longer a man in that moment.

He was stormlight, he was ruin, he was the velvet scream of a cathedral collapsing in on itself.

And Elias worshipped the wreckage.

The bed creaked with rhythm. The rain howled louder, perhaps in envy. The thunder outside could not match the thunder within.

There were no more words.

Only hands, trembling and hungry.

Only mouths, tasting devotion disguised as desire.

Only the raw, holy truth of two boys who had suffered in silence for too long—and now, finally, were allowed to feel.

The world beyond the chamber unraveled—

Rain wept down the windows like a mourning veil,

but inside, beneath the dim flicker of firelight,

August's breath stammered into Elias's open mouth

as if trying to give voice to every feeling

he had silenced for years.

Their bodies were not simply entwined.

They were woven—

a tapestry of heat and hesitation,

threaded with trust and trembling need.

Elias hovered above him, bare skin kissed by candle-glow,

his dark hair falling like velvet shadows

onto August's flushed collarbones.

His breath was uneven, heavy with restraint.

"Say it," Elias whispered against August's throat.

"What you want."

August's fingers—delicate, bone-pale, trembling—

grasped the edge of Elias's shoulder

as if afraid he'd dissolve into smoke.

"I… don't know," August breathed. "I've never—"

Elias pressed a reverent kiss just beneath his ear.

"Then let me teach you."

The words were not a promise.

They were an oath.

Soft. Unyielding. Sacred.

August gasped as Elias's hand slid beneath the last veil of linen—

not greedy, not hurried—

but with the patience of someone

unwrapping a sacred artifact

he'd waited his whole life to hold.

"ple... Please.. be.. be .. gentle," August said,

voice like rain breaking on marble.

Elias did.

Every caress a slow hymn,

every kiss a forgotten language.

He did not speak as he moved,

but August could read the devotion in every breath.

Still—

"Elias…" August whispered,

a prayer wrapped in uncertainty.

"Yes?"

"Why does it feel like I've belonged to you…

before I even knew your name?"

Elias's hands paused,

fingers spread against August's hips

as if to ground himself.

"Because," he said, lowering his forehead to August's,

"some things… don't need remembering to be true."

August exhaled, his legs curling around Elias's waist,

and when Elias moved again—slow, deep,

with a rhythm drawn from the thunder outside—

August's mouth parted in a gasp that held no shame.

Only surrender.

" Ah~ I.... I .. feel you ," he said.

"I know," Elias replied,

and his voice broke on the edge of worship.

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