Camp life was becoming more precarious by the day. Rations were depleting, and the closer the army drew to Begnion the more concerned Rhys became that his training was inadequate for the impending battle. He was a healer after all, hardly an expert in light magic but a devout student nonetheless. He had toiled over his tomes every night since he had awoken the luminary arts, but still it didn't seem to click. Perhaps it was wiser to channel his energies elsewhere; he had kept an eye on Mist, and her steed was growing more sickly by the day. What he lacked in speed he could make up for in efficacy. It was just a matter of reinforcing his talents.

Rhys found himself in the intensive care tent most nights, caring for soldiers too brash to abstain from the front lines. His most regular patients were the ones he cherished if only for the company; they were warriors to the core, and he valued their dedication while testing the limitations of his own curative abilities. Still, he hadn't met a wound he couldn't heal until they were at the brink of Begnion's border. Rhys was poring over a spellbook when the tent cover was shorn from its fastens. He raised his head and felt the breath flee his lungs; the great King Tibarn was heaving at the entrance, five arrows lodged in the wings now fluttering at his sides.

"Milord!" Rhys gasped.

Tibarn stumbled inside, collapsing on the closest fresh linens. "I need...a few moments your grace. Don't mind...me."

Rhys was on his feet before he realized, instincts flaring as he shuffled together supplies to care for the hawk king. When he grazed Tibarn's wings, the king raised a hand in dismissal before fatigue claimed its strength. "Your grace it's...nothing. I request several hours reprieve here and I will be on my way."

"Milord, you can't possibly expect to go back into combat so soon? Your wings, they're…" Rhys's fingertips traced the outer bone, eliciting a sharp gasp. Rhys was adamant, grasping the fluttering ligament in his hands. His soft gaze caught Tibarn's and he was disarmed; the hawk king was typically aloof, but now he looked fragile in the saint's grasp. Rhys felt a stirring in his stomach but forced it aside, running the pads of his fingers down to the first arrow in Tibarn's left wing.

"Damn Begnion soliders. I swear they...weren't this tough last time." Tibarn sighed, pondering with his eyes directed towards the ground.

Rhys grabbed the gauze and antiseptics. "Milord, I hate to ask this of you but...please be still."

The process was agonizing, though one wouldn't know it from Tibarn's reaction. The hawk king was stoic through the process, allowing the saint to remove all five arrows with care and clean the wounds left in the laguz's wings. He eventually dozed off in the bed, leaving Rhys to tidy up the tent.

Tibarn's recovery was swift. In the days that followed, Rhys found the hawk king rarely needing assistance with his bandages. Instead, he found Tibarn meandering amongst the more reckless soldiers who found themselves in intensive care. Some of them were Tibarn's own troops, but the vast majority had no previous ties to the hawk king. On several occasions, Rhys would catch Tibarn's gaze in the midst of his duties, the hawk king studying the saint with a calculated yet ambiguous eye. Rhys averted his sight each time, feeling the tickle of redness creep up his neck before he stifled it completely. Saints weren't meant to indulge in such fantasies.

It wasn't until the night before the army was set to invade Begnion that Rhys realized the consequences of these implicit moments. He was tending to the wounds of an unconscious soldier when he heard the rustle of the tent.

"Your grace, I ask your company when you are finished tending to our soldiers." Tibarn's gaze was unreadable, locked in Rhys's eyes but not giving any indication of intent. Rhys nodded, unsure what alternative he may have.

"Yes, milord. I will be done in just a moment."

Tibarn settled onto the edge of a spare bed until Rhys was done, observing as the saint disposited dirty bandages in the waste bin and stored his supplies. Rhys turned to Tibarn, and he felt that similar twisting in his stomach. "Your excellency has asked for my attendance?"

Tibarn nodded, standing. "Yes. If you would, please follow me your grace."

Rhys didn't often venture to the laguz sector of camp, oftentimes passing through on his way back from dinner. He had yet to see Tibarn's private quarters, a quaint if secluded tent on the outskirts of the campgrounds. He took a seat on one of the two chairs at the entrance, folding his hands in his lap in uncertainty. He caught the grin on Tibarn's face and felt that familiar blush tickling his neck.

"I never had a chance to thank you for your time and care that night, your grace."

Rhys looked up at Tibarn now, the hawk king hovering over him with that same determined look.

"Your excellency, I assure you it was no trouble at all."

A smirk blossomed across Tibarn's face, and Rhys found that he couldn't look away now. It seemed to ignite something within the laguz.

"You're...a fascinating beorc. I have long wondered of the sacrifices one must make to be granted sainthood, the selflessness one must feel and the toll that sort of abstinence must take on oneself."

The blush became a burning under his collar as Rhys felt Tibarn's fingers against his thigh. He kept his gaze down. "Milord you are...too brash."

Tibarn chuckled, "Of course I am your grace, I would assume you had already realized that after our first intimate encounter."

"I would hardly describe it as intimate-"

Rhys inhaled as Tibarn's grasp tightened on his thigh. "You don't understand the implications that come with touching a hawk laguz's wings, your grace. It is a sacred act."

Rhys met Tibarn's gaze then, disarmed by the earnestness in the hawk king's eyes. Tibarn continued, "No one has so much as grazed my wings since I left my mother's bosom, your grace. Surely you can understand the gravity of that."

"I don't follow, milord."

Tibarn's gaze softened, and Rhys felt the trickle rising up his neck once more. "Of course you don't, your grace. Please allow me a moment of selfishness."

Rhys didn't have time to process Tibarn's words before he felt the soft warmth of the laguz's lips pressed against his. He clutched the wooden seat beneath him tightly, eyes shut and lips eager. Tibarn guided them apart, settling between the saint's knees as his hand found Rhys's chin. He tilted the saint's mouth upward, tongue pushing into the beorc's mouth and wrestling with his tongue. Rhys crumpled in the hawk king's hands, allowing Tibarn to maneuver himself over him and claim his mouth with the caress of his jaw.

Tibarn pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. "I ask that you allow me a night of pleasure with your grace. Please forgive the bluntless, but I am overcome by lust."

Rhys's blush was unavoidable now, flourishing on his cheeks. Still, he found himself nodding without consideration. His words tumbled out before he could refrain, "I would be honored to indulge your desires, milord."

Before he could ascertain what was unfolding, Rhys found his garments in disarray at the foot of the hawk king's bed, his legs tossed over Tibarn's soldiers as the laguz lapped at the rings of his entrance. He felt his nipples hardening, brushing his fingers across his left pec and toying with the bud between his fingers. Tibarn's tongue was strong, easing away the natural resistance and tasting the warm heat of the saint's hole. Rhys had never felt pleasure this easy, the ripples of ecstasy relaxing his slim frame against the breadth of Tibarn's shoulders. The hawk king raised his head from Rhys's back, tongue tracing the saint's hard cock and finding a home at the base. Tibarn lapped at the dusting of curls around the base, eyes fastened with Rhys's.

"Milord…" Rhys gasped, fingers tightening in his scalp.

"Relax, your grace. I'm going to bring you the pleasure you have withheld from yourself for far too long."

Tibarn lifted himself onto his knees, settling onto the bed and raising Rhys's legs onto his shoulders. He unfastened his pants, shrugging out of his coat as he pulled his cock free of his drawers. Rhys caught a glimpse of Tibarn's cock; the hawk king was long and thick, cock curved up slightly with a mushroom head that was flush with desire. Curls blossomed at the base, tangled and thatched into a trail of hair that rose up to Tibarn's navel. It was the most beautiful cock Rhys had seen, and one of the only erections he had observed at this distance. He felt the muscles of his hole give as Tibarn teased his entrance. He caught the hawk king's gaze, watching as his wings fluttered with impatience. Something stirred in him before he could quell it.

"You want to fuck me, your excellency?"

He couldn't hide the flush of his face at his own indignity, but he felt his cock quiver at the smirk that it elicited from the laguz. Tibarn held his cock and the head slipped gingerly inside the saint, caushing Rhys to arch his back.

"Your grace has no idea." Tibarn stated, sliding further inside the saint. Rhys gasped, a sharp intake of breath as Tibarn pushed deeper and deeper, settling in as pubic curls brushed the saint's ass cheeks. Rhys opened wide for the hawk king, legs falling against his hips as Tibarn developed a steady pace of thrusts.

"You feel...so tight." Tibarn breathed, settling on his elbows as he rocked his hips into the saint. His breath danced across Rhys's face, pleasure jetting from his prostate to his hard cock as it slid between their bodies. "Milord is...large. It's filling...me...so full."

Tibarn chuckled, ghosting across Rhys's lips as the head of his cock caressed the saint's prostate. Rhys's right hand found his cock, jerking it fervently as Tibarn continued thrusting in and out. The hawk king was relentless, burying his cock deep into the saint with a grunt.

"Your grace has deprived himself for too long. This..pleasure…" Tibarn managed to groan, thrusts becoming more jagged as he found a steady pace. Rhys's legs tightened around his hips, the saint jerking his cock as their hips met in desperation. Tibarn buried his face in Rhys's neck, the beorc nestling his free grip into the laguz's hair. Rhys's pants turned into moans as his cock surged between their stomachs, the head bumping fervently against the hawk king's abs. Rhys caught Tibarn's smirk as he thrust purposefully into the other man, conjuring a deep moan.

"I love...seeing you in such disarray...your grace." Tibarn huffed, and Rhys could feel his cock quivering with the baritone. He jerked himself faster, willing his orgasm forward as lust clouded his senses. Tibarn pressed their lips together once more, thrusts becoming more erratic.

Rhys could feel his entrance giving way to the hawk king's cock, pleasure willing the laguz to fill the beorc with his fervent lust. Tibarn's knees dug into the sheets as he thrust up with increasing tempo, the bed creaking beneath them. Rhys's desire felt unquenchable, cock heavy in his hand as his prostate throbbed against the hawk king's erection.

"Milord, I'm…" Rhys felt the blooming of intensity in his lower stomach, rising to his cock as he let go and willed himself toward the edge.

"Come for me, your grace…" Tibarn commanded, thrusting furiously now into the saint's aching walls. Rhys's moans turned to pleas, no longer jerking his cock as his grip found the hawk king's hip. The friction between their stomachs wrought the saint towards his orgasm, ripping through him with the magnitude of a boy's first sexual encounter. Tibarn fucked him relentlessly through it as Rhys arched toward him, moaning out the hawk king's name and spilling his seed between their stomachs. His walls drew in on Tibarn's cock, drawing out the laguz's orgasm even as Tibarn continued increasing his tempo.

"Fuck, your grace I'm…" Tibarn huffed into Rhys's neck before the saint felt his cum filling him, his tight sphincter muscles milking the laguz dry. Tibarn's cock pumped warm semen into the saint as he groaned, his wings twitching with esctasy. Rhys accepted it willingly, feeling a pange of disappointment as Tibarn pulled out.

The hawk king settled on his bed beside the beorc, both men panting with shared exhaustion.

"If this war must end in tragedy…" Tibarn began. Rhys found his palm thrust against the laguz's mouth.

"Don't dare speak it your excellency," He breathed. "For if you do, I fear it will be the last time."