Tomorrow Logue leaves for the northern border. Off to slay the dragon, alone. He'll come back a hero, Olifen is sure of it -- there's nobody else in the corps who can match him, nobody else who's that steady under pressure, who's that powerful in close combat. There's nothing to worry about at all.
But just in case -- after a feat like this, they'll probably make him Commander when he comes back, and that would keep him busy with his job and with the princess -- Olifen's sneaking out of his own bunk tonight, after the lights go out. One more time for the road.
He's still clumsy in the dark, and didn't have the good sense to plan his route ahead of time -- good thing they're not making him Commander of the Knights, isn't it? --so he trips over somebody's boots on the way out of the cadets' room and nearly falls. He bites his lip, doesn't let himself curse. The relationships the knights have are a really badly kept secret, but still, nobody's supposed to draw attention to it.
There's a guard on duty in the hall, like always, but he's pointedly looking out the window instead of watching for trouble inside. Olifen's face heats. Probably everyone expects him to be doing this. Or expects Logue to come find him, like usual -- he wouldn't, though. Logue's too serious, probably already thinking about how he's going to take the dragon down.
Olifen slips into the knights' barracks as quietly as he can, finds his way to the third bunk in the dark. Thank Atona for the moonlight from the high slitted windows, or he'd never manage this. He reaches out, lays a hand on Logue's shoulder.
Logue startles, draws a breath sharply -- he can't have been already asleep, can he? So unconcerned, so confident that he doesn't even lie awake worrying before he faces a dragon.
He catches Olifen's hand in his own, and must recognize him from that alone, because he draws the covers back in invitation. Neither of them say anything, keeping up the careful facade that makes all of this deniable. Sometimes that seems troubling, but tonight it's almost a relief; Olifen's sure that anything he tried to say would come out all wrong, awkward and clumsy. Simply touching is much plainer.
He presses his lips to the steady pulse beating in Logue's throat, wraps his arms around the broad planes of Logue's shoulders. When Logue pushes him onto his back, he gives easily; this is why he's here, to offer himself. He pushes to meet the touch as Logue prepares him, shows his willingness with the tilt of his hips. The silence suits them well. The soft hitch of Logue's breath when they come together, the shudder that wracks him when he reaches completion, are clearer than any words they've traded recently.
Olifen knows, when they've finished, he should leave. He can feel the faint tension of Logue waiting for him to gather himself together and slip away. Instead he twines their legs together, pillows his head on Logue's shoulder. After a moment Logue sighs, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Olifen smiles. He understands, with not a word at all.