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“Rand?” He doesn’t answer, so Mat tries again, louder but still whispered: “Rand!” He swings his legs back onto the too-small bed they’ve had to share since they can’t afford a bigger room at this inn, and lies on his side, though still on top of the blanket.
Rand moves, rolls over. “Mat?” His voice is thick with sleep, and he blinks in the pre-dawn still-dark, the lines of his face only dimly visible. “What’s...?”
With the question (half-)posed, Mat finds he can’t put words to what he needs. “I...”
Rand, more awake now, props himself up on an elbow, concern clear — Mat can’t really see it but he knows Rand’s expressions well enough to imagine — on his face, and in his voice: “What’s wrong?”
They study each other in silence. Rand’s breath is warm and only faintly beery against Mat’s cheek. Mat’s body stirs.
“Dreams,” Mat says, finally. “I need...” To forget myself, forget everything, disappear — he’s afraid if he says it aloud it might swallow him up, the dark he can feel growing in him, pulling at the edges of his awareness.
“Oh.” Rand has put the pieces together; he’s always been reasonably clever about this kind of thing, except where Egwene is concerned. Make of that what you will. He shifts position slightly, and Mat feels the too-thin wool blanket moving as Rand’s arm emerges from under it. Rand’s hand comes to rest on Mat’s thigh, his touch as gentle as it always is, at first.
“Rand, I —”
Rand kisses him, his hand on Mat’s thigh tightening, and he moves again, pushing Matt down onto his back and moving to straddle him. He’s fully awake now — that much is obvious from the hardness Mat can feel through Rand’s underclothes, pressing against his thigh; his own cock moves, too, and Rand must be able to feel it. Rand’s hand slides between them, grabbing at the front of Mat’s underwear, stroking him, a little roughly, through the fabric. Mat lets out a long breath, not quite a whimper.
Rand smiles into their kiss, then pulls away and sits back a little, grabbing Mat’s wrist with his free hand. He guides it — not that Mat needs any encouragement — to his bulge, which throbs under Mat’s hand.
“You want this?“ he asks, his voice low, rough.
“Yeah,” Mat breathes.
“On your knees,” Rand says, and Mat scrambles off the bad, half-tripping over his own legs in his rush to get into position. Rand stands slowly, gracefully, with the confidence Mat has always — though he’d never admit it to Rand — envied. Rand is always in control of himself, of his life. Even now, so far from the Two Rivers, Rand seems to know what to do — which, right now, means slipping out of his underclothes and pulling Mat’s head forward onto his cock.
Rand is thick, the head even thicker under his foreskin, but Mat’s used to it — they’ve been doing this for years, now, after all, since the first time Rand kissed Mat and Mat crawled into Rand’s bedroll while they were camped in the woods after a day of unsuccessful hunting. Enough times, certainly, for Rand to know what Mat likes (the feeling of Rand’s hand on the back of his head, tightening, holding him down) just as well as Mat knows what Rand likes (the feeling of Mat’s throat working around him).
“Fuck, that’s good,” Rand says, his voice a low rumble, as his fingers tangle in Mat’s hair. Mat pulls back to breathe, just for a moment, and then Rand pushes him down again, thrusting forward at the same time. He seems to change his mind at this point, though, because instead of making Mat gag on his cock he instead abruptly grabs his head with both hands, bucking his hips to fuck Mat’s face. Mat closes his eyes and opens his mouth as far as he can, keeping his teeth out of the way. He focuses on the physical sensation — Rand’s hands on either side of his head, Rand’s cock pressing against the back of his throat, Rand’s his balls bouncing wetly against his chin — and on breathing when he can. His mind is, for once, not quite blank but closer than he ever gets otherwise.
“Fuck,” Rand grunts after a while, and lets Mat go. Mat falls back on his heels, gasping for breath. Rand doesn’t give him time to collect himself, though — he knows what Mat needs. “Get on the bed, hands and knees.”
Mat scrambles up, still panting, and arranges himself. He spreads his legs wide to give Rand room and hears-feels Rand move to line himself up, followed by the sound of spit, and then the familiar feeling of Rand’s fingers pressing against him, sliding in.
“Relax,” Rand murmurs, almost but not quite in his normal voice; Mat does his best to obey. Rand spits again and adds another finger; Mat squirms. “I know,” Rand says. “You need it.”
“Yeah.”
“Soon,” Rand says, soothing. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His free hand is on Mat’s hip, holding him steady.
It is soon, too: his fingers pull out, and he spits again, several times, and Mat hears the slick sound of Rand’s hand on his cock. Then Rand is pressing into him again, painful at first, and then less so as the head slips in, followed, more easily, by the shaft.
“Fuck,” Rand says, and he leans forward then, covering Mat with his body, one hand still on Mat’s hip, the other now supporting his weight on the bed. “Fuck. You’re so tight.”
Mat just breathes; Rand kisses the back of his neck, hard, and he starts to move, slowly, until he’s all the way in. “Relax,” he says again, and kisses the spot where Mat’s neck meets his shoulder. “You deserve this.”
He pulls back and thrusts in again, and Mat whimpers.
“Shh,” Rand says, soothing. “It’s okay.”
He’s moving faster now, though not as fast yet as Mat knows he can. His fucking is as steady-paced as everything about Rand is. Deep, thorough; his breath is hot on that back of Mat’s neck, his body hot against Mat’s back. Mat’s hand is wrapped around his cock.
“Fuck,” Rand grunts; his breathing is ragged, now — this is the only problem with this arrangement, really: that once Rand is balls-deep in Mat’s ass it’s all over so soon. Mat can feel him throbbing with each thrust now, and he’s moving faster, his balls slapping against Mat. He’s hitting the spot that makes Mat lose his mind, now — not with every thrust, but every second or third, pushing Mat closer to the moment of oblivion he needs. “So fucking tight — fuck — I’m close —”
Mat’s hand stroking himself speeds up, moving frantically as Rand continues fucking him, and then he lets out a long, soft whimper as he cums, and for a long moment the conjunction of physical sensations overwhelms him: the heat of Rand behind him, in him, the thickness of Rand’s shaft filling him up as he clenches involuntarily around it, the pressure of the head against whatever it is inside him, Rand’s hand gripping his hip still. Rand lets out a long, low groan, too, and then Mat can feel him cumming, his cock getting — somehow — even thicker with each pulse of his load. Rand collapses on top of him, panting, and for just a little while Mat’s mind is clear.
Slowly he comes back to himself — faster when Rand pulls out of him and flops back down onto the bed. Mat lets himself fall down next to him. Their bodies don’t touch, now, but he can still feel the warmth emanating from Rand.
—
He doesn’t ask Rand what he’s thinking about as they lie in silence afterwards. Instead he drifts off, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. He wakes from a darkness free, finally, of troubled dreams when Rand stirs and, after a moment, sits up in bed. It’s light now — full morning, by the look of it.
They don’t talk about it. What’s there to say? But there’s something in Rand’s face, now that Mat can see it clearly, when he comes back from the privy. He sits next down next to Mat, his hand resting lightly on Mat’s shoulder.
“Morning,” Mat says.
“Morning,” Rand says.
Impulsively, Mat sits up and, before Rand can move away, kisses his cheek. Rand freezes, then turns his face away, and Mat falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling to avoid making eye contact. He can feel his face getting hot.
Rand’s hand is on his chest now. He doesn’t take it away.
“Rand, don’t let me —” Mat starts, but Rand cuts him off just as Mat’s voice breaks.
“Never.”
Mat nods, swallows. “Alright, then.”
“Alright, then.”