Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14016939.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tales_of_Graces
  Relationship:
      Malik_Caesar/Hubert_Oswell
  Character:
      Malik_Caesar, Hubert_Oswell
  Additional Tags:
      Canadian_Shack, Frottage
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-18 Words: 4130
****** Up In Mount Zavhert ******
by VSSAKJ
Summary
     Beset by an avalanche, trapped in a cave, and with only the
     suspicious Fendelian Captain Malik for company.
     How, Hubert wondered, could it ever get worse?
“Well that’s it, then.” Hubert declared. “I’m dead.”
Gazing up at the colossal wall of brilliant white snow imposing itself between
him and his freedom, he shook his head. Despite how bright the stuff was, the
cave in which Hubert found himself was rather dark, with no external light
filtering through any crevices or cracks. The snow wall was, in a word,
solid—as solid as the stone to his left and right. Hubert kicked at a mound of
fallen snow and frowned.
Someone scoffed behind him and Hubert whirled, his voice higher than he’d like
it to be. “Who’s that?”
The person chuckled. “You’re not dead yet, Hubert.”
“Yet?!” The Captain, Malik. The Fendelian. With the whiteness of the snow
behind him, his eyes were just beginning to adjust around the outline of the
man. Hubert’s hands flurried over his guns, eyes narrowed as he demanded, “Is
that a threat, Captain?”
“For…” Hubert got the distinct impression that the shape of Malik shook its
head, then raised its hands in submission. He thought so, anyway. “No threat,
Lieutenant. We’ll probably be here for a while. I’m going to start a fire.”
“And how do you expect to do that halfway up Mount Zavhert?” Hubert muttered
dismissively under his breath. It wasn’t that cold, so Hubert shoved his hands
beneath his armpits—to conserve heat, only. He didn’t need a fire, and
certainly not one lit by a Fendelian. He turned away from Malik’s position,
arms crossed.
“Suit yourself. You’ll freeze before long if you stick around here.” Malik’s
voice trailed from further down the cave, and Hubert snorted. Oh no, he
wouldn’t be going anywhere with that man. He was going to stay right here and…
actually, waiting for rescue was out of the question.
Hubert paced back and forth, extracting one hand from his underarms to press a
fist to his chin; he could dig his way out. As a man of Strahta, perhaps he was
inexperienced with cold such as this, but damn if he would be put off by
something so mundane as hard work. He paused in his pacing to examine the
blockage, twice as tall as he was and snug to the very ceiling of the cave. He
had no tools for digging.
… But he could blast his way through. Hubert stepped closer to the snowy
barrier and spaced out the blast radius of his artes. Yes, sufficient gunfire
would eventually pierce the depths and release him back into freedom. That
would do quite nicely.
Hubert settled into firing position with his guns drawn. As he exhaled and
prepared to fire, the wind outside screamed like a dying villain, at least as
furious as the horrible sandstorms back home in Strahta. Ever since he’d lived
there, he’d always been told to stay out of storming, because the sand would
sear skin away clean to the bone.
Gazing at the snow, slowly letting his guns fall to his side, Hubert wasn’t
convinced snow could do the same kind of damage, but it was cold. And heavy, if
the stories were true. And tumbling to death beneath the furore of another
avalanche sounded far too pathetic a fate for the youngest ever Lieutenant of
Strahta.
… Of course. Hubert rounded, pointing accusatorily at a man who was no longer
there. Of course!
It was all part of Captain Malik’s plan.
The snow, the avalanche, the cave, all of it!
‘Well,’ Hubert thought to himself as he stowed his guns and prowled off into
the darkness of the cave, ‘When you turn on me,Captain, I’ll be ready.’
Where had Malik gone, anyway? Was he already planning to spring the next stage
of this trap? Surely there couldn’t be means of escape further within the
cave?! It couldn’t be a tunnel, leading back to some sort of secret prison
complex in Zavhert, where he would be locked away and forgotten, never to be
heard from again!
Incensed, Hubert hurried through the cave all the quicker, one hand skimming
the ice-slicked wall to keep him from tripping in the dark. The further he
went, the blacker it became, cloistering coldly around him until not only his
hands and feet but his very eyes felt numb. Biting his lower lip, Hubert
refused to shiver, his opposite hand hovering over his gun (even though he was
no longer confident his icy fingers could work the trigger). But they wouldn’t
take him without a fight.
No, Lieutenant Hubert Oswell would fight to the last breath, with his icicle
limbs bashing and beating them off until they had to kill him to get him under
control!
He charged round a bend in the cave and skidded to a halt.
It was… a fire, Hubert determined, squinting against the sudden change in
light. Crackling and hissing and sparking, it was definitely, absolutely,
undeniably a fire. With Captain Malik kneeling beside it, unpacking… a number
of very useful-looking items from a pack. Pushing his glasses up his nose and
ignoring the warmth in his cheeks, Hubert sputtered, “You planned this?”
Folding over a thick woolen blanket, Malik gave Hubert a look, one eyebrow
raised and voice decidedly dry. “I planned an avalanche?”
“Of course!” That was familiar ground, much more sensible than the odd
fluttering his heart had started up a moment ago. “It all makes sense! This is
a ploy agreed with the Fendelian government to sabotage our attempts at
reaching—” No, wait, that couldn’t be right. On paper, Fendel’s government had
certifiably denied the existence of the Amarcians. Hubert tried again, fighting
the chattering of his teeth, “You were trying to—wait, Asbel, Cheria!”
Hubert spun, staring aghast down the cave in the direction from which he’d
come. How had he forgotten their wellbeing for so long? They were probably
frozen to death by now!
“Will be fine, along with Sophie and Pascal.” Hubert returned his attention to
Malik just as the other man stood and stretched, indicating the pack with his
foot. “I packed two and gave one to Sophie.”
“Why?”
Malik smiled, the expression tilted to one side. “Former local and all, I know
how temperamental Mount Zavhert can be. It’s best to be prepared, not
presumptuous. There’s nothing to worry about, Hubert, I know she’ll keep them
safe.”
Hubert sniffed—dismissively, not because his nose was starting to thaw—and
edged closer to the fire, crouching down to inspect the burning log. He
extended his hands towards the warmth, observing, “You weren’t carrying this,
surely. Eleth mixing?”
Malik rumbled an affirmative noise, dropping one knee back to the ground and
pulling more items from the pack. A pot, a handful of dried meat strips, a tiny
drawstring bag, and a hammer with a pointed end were each laid out side-by-side
on the blanket.
Shuffling in closer to the fire, Hubert scowled at each item and grumbled, “You
know, we could escape if you just burned through the snow blocking the
entrance.”
“We wouldn’t get far.” Malik returned, sounding far too comfortable with that
fact for Hubert’s liking. “Neither of us is dressed for a blizzard. Best thing
we can do for now is settle in and wait for it to blow itself out.”
“How nice.” It was Hubert’s turn to be dry, rubbing his hands together over the
heat of the flames.
“Glad you understand.” Malik extended the pot to Hubert, then seemed to think
better of it, standing up again. “You stay here and warm up. I’m getting some
snow.”
“What for?” Hubert called after him, as Malik vacated the circle of firelight.
“I’m making stew.”
Hot food? In the belly of Mount Zavhert, with nothing but a rucksack and a man
he absolutely did not trust? The thought made his heart flutter like it had
earlier—would he call that feeling it admiration? No, no, of course not. He
didn’t admire Captain Malik.
But Hubert had to admit that Malik’s level of preparation was exceptional.
Pulling his hands back from the fire and blowing on his knuckles as they began
to bend again, he studied the nook where Malik had laid out their campsite.
With pebbles by his feet and ice glistening on the walls, Hubert couldn’t
imagine getting a comfortable night’s sleep, but the promise of warmth inside
of him was enticing.The concept of comfort didn’t seem completely foreign.
Malik gave a little wave to announce himself when he returned, and settled down
crosslegged opposite Hubert, with the fire between them. He placed the pot near
the licking flames and slipped a small paring knife from a pocket Hubert hadn’t
realised was there. As the snow in the pot melted, he extracted what looked
like a large nut from the drawstring bag Hubert had noticed earlier. He drove
the knife into it and it split neatly in half, both sides firm and even.
“What’s that?” Hubert asked, more curious than he wanted to be.
“Spice ball.” Malik grunted, tossing half of it into the pot. The water went
deep brown, and the new smell wafting from it made Hubert’s mouth water. Malik
thrust a long-handled spoon in his direction, saying only, “Stir it a minute?”
Hubert did, watching as Malik rewrapped the remaining spice ball and returned
it to the drawstring bag. Next, Malik seized the strips of meat and tore them
each in half, releasing a strong, meaty scent. He peered into the pot then
leaned back with a satisfied nod, and added the meat.
“It smells nice.” Hubert murmured, going red when his stomach rumbled. “Pardon
me.”
Malik laughed. “It’s alright. I’m hungry too.”
When the stew started bubbling, Malik produced a flask from Hubert didn’t know
where and poured a dash into the pot. He reached for the spoon, still in
Hubert’s hand; their fingers brushed as Hubert pushed it into Malik’s grip, and
Hubert felt like the heat of the stew was already inside him. Cheeks hot, he
hunkered against his knees and watched as Malik lifted the spoon to taste the
stew. The way Malik’s throat moved when he swallowed was…
“That’s good.” Malik gave a satisfied sigh, and picked up the first of two
bowls.
“What was it?” Hubert asked, drawing his eyebrows together as he tried to sound
angry and suspicious instead of embarrassed and grateful.
“Ale.” Malik replied, passing the first full bowl to Hubert. “I managed to get
some before we skipped town.”
“Ale.” Hubert repeated, unimpressed. Eddies of aromatic steam drifted into his
nose and the smell prompted his stomach to gurgle again. He pressed his lips
together.
“Not much.” Malik offered as reassurance, lifting his own bowl to his mouth and
tilting it back to swallow a mouthful. “But it adds great body.”
Hubert sniffed. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Captain?”
“What?” Malik blinked, looking shocked. “No, not in this weather, anyway. It’s
dangerous to drink in the cold.”
Frowning, Hubert tipped his bowl, countering with a sour, “Drinking is always
dangerous.” Rich and hot, the stew touched his tongue and tasted better than
anything he could remember eating before, except rice omelette. The taste
flooded his mouth and made his chest warm, and after swallowing he could only
say, “It’s good.”
“Thanks.” Malik chuckled, offering his bowl above the fire. “Cheers to
surviving the worst Mount Zavhert has to offer.”
Hubert should have said they hadn’t survived the night yet. He should have
insisted that he didn’t trust Malik and didn’t appreciate the attempted
manipulation of his sensibilities. He should have dumped the bowl out and gone
hungry.
He held his bowl aloft to meet the side of Malik’s and said only, “Cheers.”
There was no need to talk while they ate; the only noises were the crackling
fire and the occasional pop of a bubble in the stew. Without asking, Malik
refilled Hubert’s empty bowl; as Hubert lifted it to his mouth, he glanced up.
“Pardon?”
Malik glanced up over the rim of his bowl, one eyebrow raised.
Hubert realised—that noise hadn’t been Malik.
Then everything happened at once: A beastly roar quaked the cave around them,
the shine of jaws glinted over Malik’s shoulder, Hubert heard his own voice
commanding “Get down!” and saw Malik dive to one side, then the cave rang with
gunfire. Three of his bullets struck the creature and it snarled furiously, its
eyes red and rolling in the light of the fire.
“Watch out!” Malik bellowed; in the corner of his eye, Hubert saw Malik’s hands
tracing rapidly through the air and watched his lips move in an incantation.
Eleth shimmered around Malik, and Hubert thought he could see a glint in the
Captain’s eye—an enticing one.
‘Idiot, pay attention!’ Hubert chastised himself, returning his attention to
the slavering monster as ghostly black chains burst from the ground beneath it
and bound it in place. It let out a noise that was half-shriek, half-howl, like
nothing Hubert had ever heard before.
“Now!” Malik shouted again, “Finish it, Hubert!”
Blades at the ready, Hubert charged forward and drove his dualblade clean
through the beast’s skull—an unquestionable victory. Its body crumpled to the
ground in a heap that seemed boneless, and began to… evaporate? Hubert stared
in horror as the creature simply dissolved into purple Eleth and faded into the
gloom outside their fire’s light.
Another sound—this time, it was Malik.
This time, Hubert rounded at the ready, but rather than sabotage, he saw the
Captain clutching his shoulder as a giant batlike creature swooped overhead. It
flapped in the air several times, judging its prey, and then dove, but by then
Hubert’s guns were levelled. He saw Malik wince as the bullet grazed his cheek,
but the monster careened off course and crashed into the cave wall. Hubert
peered after it into the dark until he was satisfied it wasn’t going to come
back, and then hurried over to kneel at Malik’s side.
Without bothering to speak, he simply began the incantation that would
encourage the Eleth around them to heal Malik’s wound. It began to pool beneath
their feet, warm and light.
Malik exhaled through gritted teeth and cocked his head in Hubert’s direction.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know about Fendel’s military, but in Strahta’s, we ensure our allies
are healed after combat.” Hubert returned crisply, placing his hand on Malik’s
chin and turning Malik’s gaze away from the gouge in his shoulder. Eleth curled
into the air like smoke and wound towards the wound.
Malik chuckled. “We’re allies now, are we?”
Hubert felt his face redden, but replied anyway. “We’ve eaten together, we’ve
fought together, and I’m fairly confident there’s grounds to argue that you
saved my life by encouraging me to stay in this monster-ridden cave instead of
breaking my way out into the snow. So yes, Captain, I would say we are allies.”
Malik’s voice was warmer this time when he replied. “Glad you came round,
Hubert.”
For some reason that was all the more embarrassing, and Hubert straightened up,
clearing his throat. “It isn’t a matter of ‘coming round’. Frankly I would
challenge anyone to be less than impressed with your level of preparation for a
crisis such as this. Further, your tactical choices under pressure are
extremely impressive.” Hubert strode two lengths away, motioning as he went on.
“With the limited light and therefore limited space we had to defend ourselves,
you elected to immobilise the beast and allow me, with melee precision, to
extinguish it. In short, you worked well with me.”
“I think you mean we worked well together.” Malik pressed his fingers into the
shoulder where his wound had been, skin now knitted shut.
“That’s what I said.” Hubert retorted, scowling into the fire. In the scuffle,
it had shrunk considerably, and Hubert became aware that the tips of his
fingers were beginning to quiver. To avoid letting this conversation go any
further, he said. “It’s getting colder in here.”
“Yeah.” Behind him, Hubert heard the shuffle of Malik straightening up to his
full height and then he startled as Malik’s hand rested momentarily on his
shoulder. Malik gave it a squeeze and went on. “We should think about bunking
down. If we get settled in before the fire goes out, we’ll get warm enough to
sleep. We’ll wake up a bit stiff in the morning, but it’s better than being
dead.”
It was… logical. Yes, logical. Hubert pressed his fingers to his cheek, finding
it warm beneath his touch. He shook his head. “How… ?” The question faded on
his lips as he realised he didn’t want to ask.
Somehow, Malik tidied their tools back into the pack faster than he’d made them
appear, and then only the heavy blanket remained, spread out and folded in half
next to the fire. He folded back a corner, gesturing, “You get in first.”
Hubert narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
Malik sighed, indicating the fold, “It’s the inside, so it’ll keep your body
heat in. Face the fire and you should be fine.”
It all sounded so simple. And, Hubert told himself as he sat down to unzip his
boots, they were both military men, perfectly capable of making reasonable
decisions in unreasonable circumstances. His current seat did not encourage the
impression of a comfortable night sleep, and frankly Hubert couldn’t imagine
feeling anything like warmth lying on the floor of the cave. He stared down the
blanket for a moment longer, then sighed loudly and shuffled inside it.
He had to admit, it was warmer than he expected. Warmer, but not warm. Hubert’s
teeth chattered and he pulled the blanket as tight to his chin as he could. He
kept his eyes fixed on the fire, wondering too late where to safely stow his
glasses for the night.
By then, he could hear the grunt of Malik settling in behind him—there was a
sharp breeze of cold before Malik’s warm back settled against his. Hubert drew
himself into a ball, trying and failing to edge away from the physical contact.
Malik glanced over his shoulder, “You planning on sharing any of this blanket?”
“Sorry.” Hubert stammered immediately, releasing his death grip on the blanket
to shove his glasses from his face and place them just beyond the edge of where
the fire’s ashes were falling. Malik tugged the blanket and Hubert felt himself
wedge harder against Malik’s back. His face burned.
Malik gave a heavy exhale, sounding comfortable. The fire popped, and the cave
went quiet but for easy, measured breathing.
Hubert was certain he could not be more awake if the morning sun was rising
from inside his own head. His voice sounding higher than he would like, he
said, “So. You’ve done this before?”
“Hmm?” Malik murmured. “Not for a long time.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“It’s a cave, Hubert.” Malik eased over enough to glance over his shoulder
again. “What do you expect?”
“Nothing.” Hubert snapped, feeling his cheeks flame. Ahh—that was the answer.
“The fire’s making my face hot.”
“Roll over then.” Malik returned to his previous position, one arm bent under
his head as a pillow. Hubert squirmed and wriggled and rolled himself to face
Malik’s broad back, lit by the glow of the flame. His body reacted without
regard for his thoughts—he felt his body slot into place, curling up into
Malik’s body warmth the way he’d seen siblings in litters of kittens do.
‘This is only for warmth.’ Hubert insisted, as he nuzzled in to the back of
Malik’s shoulder. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, but the rest of his
body slotted into Malik’s like it was meant to fit there. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’
Hubert chastised himself, edging his hips in just that bit nearer. He rested
his forehead against Malik’s shoulderblade, distracting himself instead with
approval: yes, this blanket was a good idea. He was feeling warmer already. His
hips made a small motion, back and then forward again—just adjusting.
A moment ago they’d seemed like a good idea, but now his arms were thoroughly
in the way, so Hubert uncrossed them, sliding one up to support his head—much
better—and letting the other lay where it fell, across Malik’s middle. Ahh,
there now, now he could edge even closer, and his hips moved again, and Hubert
drew his lower lip into his teeth. He was starting to forget about the stone
beneath him, distracted as he was by the feel of Malik’s body against his. He’d
never imagined himself in this position. He’d never imagined a cave halfway up
Mount Zavhert could be so warm.
Back and forth his hips moved, his teeth sawing into his lip as his fingers
gripped whatever part of Malik they could take hold of. As he ground himself
against Malik’s backside, his mind began to insist that he was clearly
searching for more than just warmth, and that this behaviour was rude and
unprovoked and untoward and unacceptable, and the louder the voice in his head
got, the harder Hubert bit into his lip.
“Hey now.” Malik’s voice, deep and husky, hit his ears, and Hubert froze in
place, his erection firmly raised between Malik’s ass cheeks. Malik turned,
somehow managing to stay beneath Hubert’s grip while moving to face him. By the
shadowy light of the fire, Hubert deciphered there was a smile on his face.
“Was it something I said?”
Facing Malik was considerably more difficult than grinding against him from
behind. Utterly awash with shame, Hubert tried to shuffle away, but the blanket
kept him in place—and besides that, his hips were still drawn forward, seeking
something to rub against. It was… there was no choice.
“If it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’d rather not speak right now.” Shrill,
Hubert decided, but controlled. Controlled enough that he replaced his hand on
Malik’s hip and pulled the other man closer, probing again for that warmth,
that heat. Compared to the nearness of their previous position, Malik’s body
felt positively miles away, and Hubert groaned in frustration.
Malik chuckled, a sound that made Hubert all the more desperate for him, and
slid his arm beneath Hubert’s body, slotting them together once more. Malik’s
own erection brushed against Hubert’s and Hubert gasped, bucking his hips
without regard for what he might think tomorrow. Later, later—he could think
later. This was now. This was everything.
Malik’s hand found its way to Hubert’s moving hips and squeezed; then it slid
down between their legs and held their penises together, despite the clothing
between them. Hubert heard some high, sharp, embarrassing noise escape his
throat, and somehow found both his arms wrapped around Malik, clawing needily
for some purchase against his back. Then—there, he could grip that, and he
ground his hips into Malik’s as hard as he could. Hubert felt like he was full
of liquid fire, flames brighter and bolder than anything their little campfire
had put out.
Malik’s fingers dug into the back of his head and pulled him closer; Hubert
could feel Malik’s breath, weighted and hot and so very close, and he pressed
his face into the corded flesh of Malik’s neck, his mouth open against it.
Funny, that he’d never noticed before. How muscular Captain Malik was. Malik’s
stubble grazed his face somewhere and Malik’s fingers wound between his penis
and his balls somehow and somehow Hubert’s hips still found reason to grind, to
want, to need even more desperately than before. The fire within him surged;
Hubert’s hips jolted; the heat coiled; Malik’s fingers tightened, and then
suddenly he was panting, emptied, like a sail when the wind dropped. Shuddering
and spent, Hubert lay with his face pressed into the place where Malik’s neck
met his shoulder, his body full of more sensations than he thought possible.
His penis twitched, reminding him that it was still nestled somewhere between
Malik’s fingers and Malik’s penis.
… He should say something. “I—”
Malik shook his head, tilting his face back enough to meet Hubert’s gaze. His
expression was ever too calm and collected for Hubert’s taste, and Hubert was
about to tell him so when Malik gave a light tug of his hair. “That’s one way
to keep warm.”
Hubert had thought himself beyond blushing now, but his face still glowed.
“Yes, well. That’s what I thought, too.” He shuffled, not away but into a more
sustainable position, and muttered with his chin down, “I’d prefer, Captain, if
we kept this excursion between us.”
The words made Malik laugh and, pressed together as they were, the sound went
all through Hubert’s body—he liked it. “Of course, Lieutenant. Consider it a
favour between friends.”
Between friends? That would have to suffice. “Between friends.” Hubert agreed.
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