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Territory	By : ibshafer Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 5794 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Series: Territory

Chapter Number: 2

Chapter Title: Sanctuary – INCOMPLETE

Author: ibshafer

Rating: NC-17

Character/Pairing: EdXRoy

Disclaimer: I don't own these people, they own themselves and are just nice enough to let me
spin them around the page now and then.

Summary: Revelations on the rocks: Roy has laid all his cards on the table, what about Edward?
Things take a serious turn…

Warnings: graphic sex; if you like, great!, if not, please do not continue reading...

Genre: Fullmetal Alchemist, yaoi

Spoilers: Up to episode 44

[A/N – I just realized that I’ve been posting “parts” of this still-to-be-completed chapter and
calling them “previews” and at first they were just meant to be that – snippets of the whole.
Later, I started posting those previews, basically, as subsequent “chapters” of the chapter itself,
but – aha! she finally realizes – I never actually posted the actual BEGINNING of the story…
wherein lies all the set-up for the chapter. And so… I have removed all those silly “previews”
and what you see now is what is currently completed of the story - Sanctuary. I have still to write
the… [dare I say it? It fits – I must!] …the climax of the story, but with lovely reviews, like
Amethyst-eyed Koneko’s, I’m feeling inspired… Once I finish the latest chapter of Branded, my
take on the EdXWin relationship (yes – I DO swing both ways, as it were…), I think this will be
my next focus.

And so, without further dithering…

Sanctuary

- ibshafer

Evening came to Rizembool gently, like everything else in this bucolic setting; serene under the
stars, with sweet breezes rustling the trees along the river and crickets chirping happily in both
wood and field. It was the stuff of great poetry…

Roy was quite certain that if he spent enough time here, he would go mad from all the
wholesome warmth and cheeriness, but as a refuge on the road, an interlude between soul-wrenching struggles, life-changing revelations, and the inevitable, necessary battles to come, it
would do quite nicely.

The local barracks were over run with the sudden influx of personnel sent to await (and capture!)
the fugitive brothers and the overflow had spilled to the town’s only inn. He and his contingent
had arrived late, having actually tracked down said fugitives and so found the tiny inn near to
capacity. When the last room was filled, he’d been offered the small guest cottage out back and
had, quite happily, taken it. While his tastes usually ran to the spartan when on the road, he
welcomed the plush accommodations, as well as the privacy.

Truth was, he needed time to himself, without his crew. Though he depended on them, to the
man (and woman), they produced a constant, running commentary on the world around them, on
life in general, on each other, on every single event that transpired, be it of major importance or
no consequence, and though their insight, and, yes, antics, had their charm, right now he needed
the silence.

He’d snagged a bottle of scotch from the bar down below, pleased that his wink still worked on
the ladies, even if the rest of him seemed to be leaning elsewhere these days, and after a long, hot
shower, he’d pulled the warm terry robe left for him around his aching shoulders, poured himself
a generous glass of the amber liquid, and settled on the balcony that skirted the second floor
bedroom to drink, contemplate the stars and think on the events of the past few days…

… the red glow that preceded the incredible and total destruction of Lior; finding out the truth
about the Fuhrer (and of course he believed their story), the creature’s unsettling command to
pass final judgment on the brothers if he felt it was … called for; realizing that Edward had run
off without so much as a second glance or a word of trust – why was that, after what had
transpired between them?; abject fear for him coupled with blind anger at him, at the slight; that
neither their encounter, nor their years of working together, years in which he had tried to build
trust in the boy, had earned him more; finding them there on the rocks, fighting them there on the
rocks; his admission to the girl, to all of them; how he’d fulfilled those fateful orders all those
years ago, how it had almost killed him and had ended up, instead, dictating the course of his
life; the blind rage, the absolute hatred in the Edward’s eyes as he’d come at him, convinced, yet
again, that he couldn’t trust him when nothing could be further from the truth, realizing that the
young man would probably never trust him again, the pain this realization brought him; meeting
the boy’s father, feeling vaguely dirty because images of the youth’s moaning, writhing body
were still running easily through his head and he could still feel him, still taste him and though it
rocked him to the core, the knew with a certainty that he desperately wanted him that way
again…

Shuddering, he drew a long sip of the scotch, letting the liquid’s fire wash the worst of these
remembrances down his throat and away. Maybe it was too much to expect that he’d be able to
process it all in one sitting.

Perhaps numb was the best he could ask for right now…

Draining the glass, he refilled it, downing half its contents immediately.

Damn…

In the night sky, a breeze had finally managed to dissipate the last of the cloud cover. Freed to
shine, the full moon gilded the fields below with an amber glow.

Something drew his attention to the shadows and as his eyes adjusted to the growing light, he
made out shapes in the field: a large rock; a skeletal fence; a huge oak, leaning to one side. In the
glow of moonlight, he even thought he spied an animal by its shimmering eyes, but realized that
was absurd from its placement; either it was sitting on a tree limb…or it wasn’t an animal at
all…

Tiny, glowing orbs were pointed directly at his balcony, at him, and gasping, he felt a shudder
involuntarily pass through him as he looked away, face flushing, heart hammering in his chest. A
sip from the glass to fortify himself, comfort taken from the clink of the ice as much as the burn
of the liquid running down his throat, and he drew his gaze back to the tree, searching for the
phantom glow.

There...

He barely could see it, couldn’t really be sure there was even anything there, but as if he were
holding someone’s gaze, he fixed his eyes to them all the same.

Suddenly, the shadows surrounding those embers separated themselves from the others and
began to move.

With a shiver, he realized he could now see something, a figure, sprinting through the half-darkness towards his cottage and he watched, heart in his throat, unable to move or make a
sound. In a flash of gymnastic brilliance, the figure effortlessly scaled the balcony, paused on the
railing to gather itself, then dropped to the deck not ten feet from where he stood.

As if by magic, (or was it alchemy?), the shadows of the Rizembool night had transformed
themselves into a boy, barely a man, face flushed, bound hair disheveled, eyes wild – a vision.

They regarded each other in the glow of the night, breathing heavily; one from his athletic
advance on the second floor, the other in stunned appreciation of those athletics.

With a longing that frightened him, he found himself contemplating what it would be like to once
again be inside all that youth and wild energy.

He was struck dumb by the boy’s presence there, by the method of his dramatic arrival, a
statement in itself, but though he had much to say, none of it seemed relevant right now.

Talk did not seem to be this evening’s intent.

He felt himself flush again, suddenly warm in the night’s chill.

Had he come to hurl more insults at him? He’d been cold to him earlier that evening at the
Rockbell house, but whether that was because of his own presence there or his father’s, he wasn’t
sure.

He did know one thing – that he was nearly overcome by the intensity of what he was feeling for
the boy, a strange mix of pride, anger, concern and utter lust. It took every bit of strength he had
not to kneel before him in utter supplication. He wanted nothing more than to throw him down
on the balcony floor and worship every inch of him, but if his own need startled him, it was
certain to send Edward running. And he was quite sure he would die if that happened.

And so he waited…

After a moment, the boy seemed to firm his resolve and, though faltering, he moved across the
deck to where he stood – he was still too stunned to have moved himself. This close, he could see
the youth’s determination and an intensity in his eyes that took his breath away. There was also
something else there, but he was at a loss in the half-light to put a name to it.

The boy seemed unsure of himself, something he was not accustomed to seeing in him, but also
utterly determined, an emotion he was well familiar with and, seeing it now, played out across
the boy’s face, in his carriage, hearing it in his breathing, sent shocks down his spine that sped
his own breathing and sensitized every part of him.

He was so close he could smell him – faint scent of cinnamon, sweat from his exertions –

and it was all he could do to still his hands.

Finally, the boy seemed to gather himself to action. A second to negotiate logistics and
differences in altitude, then, trembling hands at the front of his robe, he pulled him down roughly
into a hungry kiss, the force of which robbed him of all coherent thought and what little breath
remained to him.

Once again, he was lost in the taste of him, felt a world open up before him that both frightened
and excited him. He wanted more, he wanted it all, he wanted the small sounds in the boy’s
throat that only his hands could elicit; he wanted to touch him.

His fingers were grasping at the back of the boy’s black jacket, pressing him urgently to his chest
when the youth suddenly pulled away, leaving him cold and bereft and wondering if this tiny step
had been one step too many.

He took a breath to speak, but a smooth, metal finger to his lips silenced the question before he
could form the words.

He sought out those brilliant amber eyes, but they had turned towards the opened French doors to
the room beyond. Taking in its contents, apparently pleased with what he found there, he saw the
boy’s slow smile as he circled a warm hand around his wrist and pulled him back inside, and in
relief, awe and gratitude, he followed after him.

He was lead to the quilt-covered bed and with a firm, but gentle push, made to sit. Shyly at first,
then with growing hunger, half-lidded amber eyes raked over his body, making him feel exposed
in spite of the plush robe. Then a hand was tugging at the belt tie, pulling it open, and his skin
was bathed in the room’s warmth and the molten gaze of the youth standing before him.

It was not like him to sit in silence as such things were begun, it most certainly was not like him
to be directed, but looking to the boy’s beautiful face, he was suddenly able to identify the
unnamed thing he’d seen there in the moonlight: abject need; utter desperation; a silent plea:

Please. I need this.

And so when his own reaching hands were gently pushed away, he relented with a sigh and
watched in fascination as the boy, studying him intently, gathered himself for his next move.

A hand to his knee: he understood the cue, separating them gently, feeling his breath catch in his
throat in anticipation.

This was so unlike their last encounter, which had been fevered and hungry and entirely
unexpected. By comparison, this seemed almost a seduction, sweetly intent and carefully planned
out. At this thought, his breathing grew uneven and his blood rushed between his legs to
announce itself.

Missing not a beat, those wide, golden eyes were upon him there, to be joined shortly thereafter
by a tentative metal fingertip, the touch of which sent a chill up his spine and made him ache for
more.

While the finger gently stroked him, the boy moved more closely between his legs and settled
against his bare chest, pressing himself into every space, every plane; a simple, tender act that
made his breath catch in his throat. A warm hand threaded into his still damp hair, drawing his
head back so he was now looking up into the boy’s luminous eyes, (the hint of a smile played
across the boy’s face as he no doubt came to the same realization), then Edward leaned forward
and with a tiny cry of abandon, covered Roy’s open mouth with his own. He moaned against the
boy’s tongue, relishing the taste as much as the feel of it moving against his own.

On reflex, he moved his hands up to bury fingers in wild, blond hair, pulling that sweet mouth
harder against his own in an unconscious campaign for control. Moaning with surprised pleasure,
the boy allowed it for a moment, before pulling his own from where they’d been stationed (from
his hair, from his cock!), capturing them and moving them back to his sides.

Pressed against him as he was, he could feel the boy’s arousal, a dense heat through the rough
material of his trousers that melted into his own, bared flesh. With a needy sound in the back of
his throat, he felt himself start to move against him there, the texture of the boy’s clothing
providing blessed friction, the feel of the boy’s body, hard and smooth even through shirt, jacket
and pants, driving him mad.

At this, Edward groaned deeply. Thrusting both hands into his scalp, he ground into him with
abandon, then, breaking off the kiss with a ragged gasp, he threw his head back, arching into him.

Needing his mouth on him somewhere, he fastened lips to the smooth column of his throat,
heatedly probing with his tongue, shuddering at the taste of the pale skin beneath it. For a
moment, the boy hung suspended there, groin pressed tightly to his, the heat maddening, then,
with a plaintive cry, he had climbed up to straddle his crotch, trapping Roy’s arousal between
clothed thighs, both giving and taking friction there.

There was a moment of helpless thrusting, each lost in the pure pleasure of it, and then the boy
pulled back, shuddering, to look into his eyes for the first time since he’d set foot on the balcony.

Amber eyes seemed to search his desperately and he prayed the youth saw what he needed to. He
felt sure his feelings were written quite completely there: need, yes; lust, of course; but that he
was helpless before him, helpless to fulfill the boy’s every whim; that he desired him, wanted
him, cared for him, he hoped was just as evident. He’d only just come to see this in himself, it
should be right there on the surface…

And while he held his breath, hoping his soul could be easily read in his dark eyes, he found he
could see the boy’s heart just as plainly in his brilliant, golden ones: in the face of events that
numbed him, body and soul, his desperation to feel, to loose himself in the one thing he could,
still, control; to take something for himself, when so much was beyond him, larger than him; to
give in and finally let go, now, before it was too late...

This last sentiment, no more than an impression, but there, just the same, bewildered him. Had
the boy come to some conclusion he himself was not ready to make? Had he already seen his
future – suddenly possessed of some sort of sight.

He thinks he’s running out of time…

If that were so, was he not now bound to fulfill all that he saw, to make this real and whole, to
give it life, to give it flesh?

When the truth shifted beneath them like sand, when the lies we tell to protect ourselves and the
ones we care for become the very thing that in the end can kill us, when all that is left to us is
what we feel and how we act upon it, when at the last, we really have nothing more than our
hearts to offer…

This – this one thing he could give to him. This sanctuary…

Hands gently cupping that beautiful, expressive face, he drew the boy to him slowly, sliding his
tongue across those supple lips to taste him, dipping between, beyond, expressing without words
his promise to be all Edward needed this night, before both of their lives set them back onto a
track there could be no diverging from. As if in answer, he could feel the boy’s face grow wet
with tears and, drawing back, he smoothed the moisture away with the pads of his thumbs,
kissing the boy’s closed lids, drawing a cry and more tears from him.

Face flushed with sudden embarrassment, Edward turned his head away, as if ashamed at feeling
so much that it could not be contained within him; that his emotions, so vast, had leaked out to
stain his cheeks.

And as if he had no time for such things as embarrassment and uncertainty, he allowed himself
that single moment of weakness before, biting his lip, he drew his wide, still-moist eyes back and
with an almost evil glint, rotated his hips against Roy’s, causing them both to gasp in sudden
pleasure.

He looked down, groaning helplessly as the boy wrapped a metal hand around his weeping cock,
slick with his arousal, and began to slowly, deliberately stroke him. The cool steel against his
heat was a contrast in extremes that sent sparks running along his nerves and made his
impossibly hard cock harder still. Grunting, he applied lips to the bared neck before him, teeth
against the skin, unable to get enough of the taste of him. When steel thumbed across the head of
his cock, spreading moisture and pleasure, he threw back his head, crying out, helpless.

A moment later, regaining his breath, maddened by his need to feel the boy’s skin against his
own, (layers of black – Edward was still fully clothed), he slid trembling hands beneath jacket
and tank, urging them up, fastening lips on exposed flesh, biting at a pink nub, suckling. At this,
the hand grasping him squeezed reflexively, and he bucked his hips, thrusting desperately into
palm and fingers.

As if in understanding, or perhaps suddenly aware of his own need, and, he suspected, his
growing discomfort, the boy, with a brief sound of regret, released Roy’s cock, shedding black
layers in an instant. Fumbling with his belt, his frustrated whine drew attention, and mercy, and
with hands only slightly less tremulous, he came to his aid, gently slipping leather from belt
loops, unbuttoning, unzipping, untrapping…

Released from his restraints with a guttural cry of relief, the boy now struggled frantically to
remove the last of his hindrances without losing contact with the body pressed against him. After
a moment of frustrated, though pleasurable gyrations, the youth sprang from his lap with a low
growl that he felt as well as heard, stripping himself of boots and trousers, tossing them, heedless
of where they landed.

He seemed poised to launch himself back, when he froze dead in his tracks.

Suddenly aware of his position on the bed, of the expanse of his own, bared skin, of his cock,
slick with pre-cum and tight against his belly, throbbing visibly, wanting him, Roy looked to the
boy’s face, and saw the shadow of uncertainty once again cloud his features. He wished he could
dispel those fears, rise and fold the boy in his arms, caress his smooth cheek until the worry on
his brow eased, but he was afraid to move, afraid Edward would forget all the things they had
done thus far, the pleasure they had already given each other, and sprint for the balcony.

And so, again, he waited.

Instead, he tried to take the boy in, explore with his eyes what he wished to explore with
fingertip, tongue and cock: smooth, pale, honeyed skin; sculpted calf and thigh; the glint of
polished metal, of barely contained power; the perfection that was the boy’s manhood, defying
gravity, defying its owner’s fears, throbbing its own need, leaving glossy trails against a tight,
muscled belly…

Regarding him with eyes half-lidded, he hoped to convey with that simple expression of pleasure,
that he patiently awaited him there. On the bed. Ready for him.

Now…

But the boy’s brow was furrowed and his chest had begun to rise and fall with shallow,
quickening breaths; he could almost see the mournful cry rising up in the back of his throat.

Very clearly and painfully, it would seem that Edward had become aware of his own state, that
he stood before him, not just without clothing, but also without pretense; his arousal, his soul,
bared to Roy’s more experienced eyes, and the sudden uncertainty, that sudden awareness of
himself, was threatening to undo him.

Eyes still glued to Roy’s body, taking in his readiness, his need, his state, (the pre-cum had begun
to pool on his abdomen), the boy seemed lost. His flesh hand strayed to the hub at his shoulder,
cupping the metal as if to camouflage it and he slowly shifted his feet, moving the automail back
slightly.

This unexpected act of self-consciousness broke Roy’s heart.

In the face of his more experienced, whole body, the boy was ashamed of his … his
imperfections…

Imperfections?!

As if such beauty could be seen as anything less than perfect.

With a raised chin and beckoning hand, he willed the young man to return to him and seeing this,
Edward’s brow smoothed perceptibly.

After a second’s hesitation, he moved the three steps back, burying himself in outstretched arms,
finding warmth in a shared sigh of pleasure and relief.

Roy pressed his lips against that sweet, warm skin, excited beyond reckoning to be able to taste
him once again and was rewarded with a low moan when the boy leaned into him. Threading his
fingers through metal ones, holding fast, he drew the flat of his tongue across the well-muscled
chest, painting his appreciation from left side to right, satisfied when he felt the boy shudder
against him.

The youth let out a heated sigh, his lungs expanding more slowly, drawing in breath more deeply;
relaxing.

Pulling back, Roy surveyed the young man’s face, now filled with wonder and emotion. He
wanted to speak, tell him what this moment, what his presence, meant to him, but felt the sound
of his own voice, even, would be an intrusion. The boy had been right to banish words from this
night; too much reality, too much evidence of Who They Were would more than mar it; would
render it impossible.

Instead, he drew the hand he held to his lips and making sure to be in full-view, knowing the boy
would need to feel what came next with his eyes, he kissed the palm reverently and was rewarded
with a tiny, awed gasp. Finding neither the taste nor the cool sensation against his lips
displeasing, he began to trace the plates of his metal palm, pushing the boy’s hand back so that it
lay open to his mouth.

Roy heard Edward’s breath catch in his throat and smiling, he drew a jointed armor thumb into
his mouth, suckling briefly before running his tongue down the smooth, steel palm, circling the
screw that connected hand to forearm. He kissed a path past Edward’s elbow, along the jointed
plates beyond and then, finding the juncture where cool metal met warm skin, he traced the line
of it, massaging the smoother scar tissue, marveling that such a violent rending could be
survived.

This tangible evidence of an unimaginable pain brought back memories of their first meeting, his
horror at what he was witnessing, his awe at the boy’s strength and the utter devotion it took, in
the face of his own bloody shock, to drag himself up and out of his own pain long enough to
perform an act that would have been impossible for nearly anyone else in a normal state.

He knew awe then and was humbled by it.

Perhaps it was at that moment that something changed in him. He hadn’t known it, but his heart
had already committed him, tied him, to this boy and everything that came after, every exchange,
every word, every dance of aggression, just moved him closer to that promise…

Every part of him wanted this boy, every cell throbbed with pleasure and anticipation. His mind
was reeling and he’d long since stopped trying to explain what he was feeling. He was drunk
with it.

There weren’t words to express what he as feeling, so he set his mouth to explaining as best he
could…

Realizing that he had lost contact with the Edward’s skin and that he was frozen there, lips
poised an inch above that metal/flesh seam, he pressed his mouth back against him once again,
not wanting to undo the reassurances he’d so recently given. He released the boy’s hand to circle
both of his arms around his back, drawing his warm body tightly to him with a sigh filled with
emotion and deepest desire.

His tongue found a hardened pink nub and circling it, he drew it between his lips, suckling
gently, applying sharp teeth, then moist lips once again, alternating wet heat with gentle pain
until he’d hit the boy’s “release button,” causing him to fold back limply with a groan, back
arched, panting.

Oh, yes…

Their bodies were slick with their combined arousal and the boy’s length slid easily against his
abdomen as he breathed. He swallowed hard as the youth unfolded himself, bringing his chest
once again into contact with his own. Slowly, hands on Roy's hips, eyes fixed to his, Edward began
to move against him, their lengths paired hotly together, somehow matched. For a time he gave
in to the pure pleasure of it; the overwhelming feeling in his groin, the sweet rapture on the boy’s
face, his wanton desire, his own wanton desire, but knowing it would all be over too soon if he
did not stop him, stop them, he reached shaking hands up to thread through thick hair, drawing
the boy’s face down to his for a deep, hungry kiss. His passion was met with passion, and a sweet
needful sound that set his whole body on fire. That the difference in height also caused the youth
to lower himself to his knees to keep the contact with his mouth, was also a good thing…

Deepening the kiss, he drew that delicious tongue into his mouth, moaning when he felt the tip
trace along his own. For a moment, he let the boy explore, shivering at the extremes; instances of
real fire coupled with trembling delicacy, as though the young man could hardly believe his own,
powerful actions. Hands at the boy’s face, thumb caressing his cheek, he drew back, panting
raggedly, took in the bliss he saw on his face, eyes closed, brow creased with pleasure, then
clamped his mouth hotly on his smooth, corded neck, suckling deeply, drawing a rumbling moan
from him that he felt as well as heard.

Edward was moving in his arms now, fingertips trailing up his back, and he felt soft lips and
teeth at his neck, a tongue tracing a line from below his ear to the hollow of his throat. Closing
his mouth over Roy’s voice box, his narrow hips ground into him once, twice, making the man
groan deeply in his throat. He could feel the youth smile against his neck, then suck the spot
hungrily. Smiling as well, he remembered their last encounter; slick fingers and his mouth
clamped over the boy’s throat to elicit the same erotic vibrations.

Pulling far enough away to set hands and mouth on him, the boy began to work his way
downward. Gentle fingers, both flesh and steel, outlined the definition of his chest muscles and
shivering his appreciation, he threw his head back letting out a ragged moan. A fingertip and then
a wet tongue found and circled a swollen nipple as hands traced lines across his ribs and down
his sides. He looked down with a start; the boy was kissing a trail from his chest, down his
abdomen and he couldn’t restrain the needy sound in the back of his throat as he anticipated what
lay at the end of that path.

The boy lingered a moment at his navel and Roy squirmed as that tongue poked and prodded
then continued its downward trek, its pace agonizing and slow.

It was maddening; he was already struggling for control and the boy was teasing him. His arousal
was trapped against the smooth column of the young man’s neck and he sucked in a breath as he
saw and felt the boy swallow hard, then draw his tongue across Roy’s belly slowly, tasting him.

Suddenly looking up, those wide amber eyes sought his, blinking in hesitation, asking permission
to continue: after everything, still sweetly unsure.

Breathing heavily, he lay mute, for a moment uncertain how to respond.

How could he have imagined this, even after their hurried encounter in that empty office…

What had started out as strategic maneuvering and an attempt to reaffirm his mastery over an
asset he had long cultivated had revealed itself to be so much more. Under different, more
controlled circumstances, he might have dismissed the errant thoughts, resisted an undreamed of
temptation, acknowledged the conflict with his personal image, grateful to have escaped with his
self-image – “unparalleled womanizer” – intact and gone on to the next challenge.

But these were not different circumstances. Forced to view this life through a red-hued lens,
forced to feel this life through a haze of need and unexpected acceptance, he could only feel joy
in the realization, in the juxtaposition of realities, in this utterly unexpected revelation.

He loved this boy.

Not for his burgeoning skill with tongue and lips, or for the sweet, needful things they had done,
were about to do, but for the young man’s soul, so evident on his face, for his strength and
determination, his unwavering devotion to those he loved, to him, in spite of their conflicts, their
differences, in spite of the sudden, unexpected nature of what they had become.

He knew, without any doubt, that he would never have his fill of him; that like a brilliant light in
deep darkness, a light he was drawn to as a beacon, as a salvation, one he would not be able to
look at for long before he was blinded; he would not be able to hold this boy for long before
those very circumstances, of neither their making, drew him away, ultimately, finally,
irrevocably.

And he would have to go on, live on, in spite of that void.

All this he felt in the moments that hung suspended between them.

Somehow, he roused himself from this heady contemplation to smile gently at the young man
before him. Pushing the hair from the boy’s face with shaking fingers, he cupped a smooth cheek
unsteadily, and nodded his encouragement.

Yes…
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Territory