“Madam.” Celino rose and bowed to her deeply, then scooted out behind Aldridge. Once out of cookie-chucking range, he stopped and went over himself once more, sending a fine cloud of sugar drifting onto the antique rug. There were still crumbs in his hair. There were still crumbs in his damp

hair, ensuring that they were going to be there for days unless he combed his hair fiercely once it was dry. He made a low sound of exasperation. As low as he could, he asked Aldridge, “Who is she, really?”

—–

The mole-man was lurking in the foyer, presumably the ensure the guests didn’t pinch any of his mistress’s items on their way out, and SsillvrR gave him the sort of dazzling smile usually the sole province of more charismatic sorts. The mole’s eyes vanished in the folds of his scowl again, which seemed to amuse the elf, who waved in a friendly manner before closing the door after Celino. The night air was cooler than it had been at dusk, and the scent of rain rode the breeze warningly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” SsillvrR raised an eyebrow at Celino as the giant grey dog snuffed inquisitively at them from a distance. “She’s Tourmaline.”

-----

“But she thinks she’s–oh, come on,” Celino said. “Outside.” Once past the manor’s walls and out of earshot of passers-by, Celino said, “She thinks she’s Bitch-Queen Varonah. Presumably she really is someone important under all that, or your plan wouldn’t work, but who is she?”

-----

SsillvrR stuck his hands in the pocket of his vest, a thigh length thing which was the sort of off-white that suggested it probably had been white at one point and was merely as tired as the rest of the elf’s personal garments. Giving Celino a sidelong look that included a very mobile brow and one cocked ear SsillvrR chuckled. “She IS. Or…was. Except the bitch part. She’s much sharper now than she ever was as queen from what I’ve heard.”

-----

“I contest the bitch part,” Celino said. “There are cookie crumbs in my hair. I also contest that I am anything like her.” He sniffed. “Eccentric, my pink and rosy bottom. She’s mad! How on earth could she be Bitch-Queen Varonah?”

-----

“You did sort of imply she was…ah…ancient. Plus, in some ways I think she enjoys the infamy associated with being the king’s mother, so long as she’s the one who gets to reveal that anyway.” The streets were quiet in this section of town, where tall walls encircled expensive buildings and richly manicured lawns where the last lush growth of the season prepared itself for the coming cold. Their footfalls echoed crisply against the cobbles.

“What? Neither of you cares one bit what anyone else thinks of you. The pair of you read the same stuff too.” The elf scoffed. “She’s not mad, she just plays mad. One day, I think she just decided she was finished living up to everyone else’s standards.” He shrugged thoughtfully, pulling the shoulders of his shirt and vest tight. “Since then she’s been well… the way she is. And you can stop calling her that anytime,” the elf gave Celino a sideways look.

-----

“I did not!” Celino huffed. “This region is thick with kingdoms. She could have been the dowager queen of any of them. Or of potatoes and butterscotch, given the way her mind works. Besides, what’s wrong with being old? She’s quite beautiful. Older women can be ten times as interesting as younger women–when they’re not crazy.” He buttoned his collar against the lowering chill. “Look, do you have any proof that she’s Bitch-Queen Varonah?”

-----

SsillvrR considered giving Celino a cuff upside the head for using the word old again on Tourmaline’s behalf. “There are only seven kingdoms on the damned continent, and we’re weeks ride from any of the other six. Just which one were you referring to?” The elf’s shrug again raised his shoulders, his ears held thoughtfully that they were nearly parallel with them. “Given that the concept’s fairly abstract to me, I guess she is.” This time, at the word crazy SsillvrR did lift a hand in mock threat. “She isn’t crazy.”

“Proof? Oh come on!” The elf laughed disbelievingly, “I’ve known her since I was, twenty, I think. Maybe less. Haven’t you ever seen a painting of Varonah? Nobody else looks like that!”

-----

“We’re how many weeks from any civilized place in the Underground?” Celino shrugged. “One kingdom is as likely as another, and more likely than positing that homegrown royalty would be swanning around here.

“And yes, I have seen pictures of Bitch-Queen Varonah. Dozens. Hundreds. That woman was not wearing a dress held together largely by the pressure of a thousand lustful gazes, or holding any babies, and there was no bonfire anywhere. I counted. Twice. Her hair isn’t red, her skin isn’t notably white, her teeth aren’t pointed, and she looks about thirty years older than the oldest portrait I’ve seen. So. Even making allowances for flattering portraits and the possibility that there was no sabbat scheduled for tonight, how am I supposed to believe that woman in there is Bitch-Queen Varonah?

“Besides,” he added, tugging his collar higher, “if you knew her for all those years, you’d have met King Jareth, and you don’t seem debauched at all.”

-----

“Maybe a week, if you’re not riding hard.” The elf looked with some amusement at his co-conspirator then, eyes crinkling at the edges with the force of his humor “You really aren’t from around here are you? If there was visiting royalty, they definitely wouldn’t be in Ostmont. As notable spots go, Ostmont’s…more or less on the bottom of the list.”

“Babies, bonfires and skimpy dresses?” SsillvrR blinked, sidestepping a trash tin being ravaged by an giant tabby tom. “You might want to put down the romances and pick up a history. Her hair WAS red, but she’s gone blonde now. Her skin is the same color it always was, and her teeth are only kinda pointy. She never was one for skimpy dresses though. Last warning; use that word again to describe her and I will cuff you for her.”

Met.
Ha.
“Yeah well… I’m a stubborn sort.”

-----

“Who knows what other countries are like? Maybe Ostmont is a paradise to them.” Celino shrugged. “I won’t judge them for their lack of taste. After all, the rest of us are here when we could be elsewhere.

“You met King Jareth? Let me guess–he’s a middle-aged man with raggy hair, a little gut, a laugh like a horse, and a rose garden that he shows off to all his visitors. He grumbles about ‘me tum’ after meals, and under his desk, where he used to keep spare lovers for entertainment during long meetings, he now keeps a hot brick for his gouty feet. He has a thing for cookies, too.” Celino shoved his hands through slits in his outer robe and laced his fingers together over his stomach to keep warm, creating an odd bulge above his belt. “Oh, and Aldridge?” He looked up at him with an expression of half dubious amusement, half warning. “If you strike me, I strike back. And I won’t have to use my fists.”

-----

“Touche,” SsillvrR muttered, giving the broken lamp they passed the wry look he had thought better of pointing at Celino. All tolled, that had gone much better than he’d expected. Having schooled himself to expect as little as possible from situations always helped sustain his optimism; coming away with very little after expecting nothing at always made it more bearable. That Tourmaline had agreed to help… well, she was probably bored.

The elf’s lips pressed together hard enough to turn white before the unsteady wall of his resolve crumbled and he laughed the kind of laugh that sent the stray cats scrambling and disturbed sleeping shop keepers overhead. “Oh yeah,” the elf stole a breath between gales, rubbing the water from his eye with a knuckle. “That’s him all right.”

And somewhere, far away, Jareth probably found himself scowling for no apparent reason.

“Tell that to Tourmaline next time you see her; she’ll get a kick out of that. I’m going to assume then you haven’t seen any paintings of him lately either.”

“That’s alright,” the elf, who had gotten himself more or less under control again (save for the twitching of his right ear) smirked at the mage, “it’ll give me reason to throw you in a cell again.”

-----

Celino grinned broadly as he reduced Aldridge to howling with laughter. Visiting the madwoman had a most relaxing effect on the man. Celino had to get him back to her house as often as possible before she and her pirate sailing teacher tacked lee into the starboard whatever and sailed off for another year. “I’ve seen plenty of paintings of him, too,” he said, “youthful and sarcastic and luscious and–well, let’s just say that Evil King Jareth has had a formative effect on generations of young Cockaignese.” He smiled. “He’s always the villain, but that rarely stops anyone.”

He leaned against a wall while Aldridge recovered, kicking his heel idly against the foundation. The wall was still warm from the day, breathing a mossy scent into the night in the last few minutes before the cold sank in. It was an incongruous touch of the forest in the middle of the overbuilt oldest section of Ostmont. Celino wondered when he was going to have a chance to go into the wilderness again.

Not until that monkey was out of the city, that was for sure.

“That’s all right,” the elf, who had gotten himself more or less under control again (save for the twitching of his right ear) smirked at the mage, “it’ll give me reason to throw you in a cell again.”

“Another round of locked-room-and-three-things?” Celino said, smiling. “Me, a warm bed, and a cup of coffee didn’t work last time. What will it be this time?” He stretched his arms lazily over his head and crossed them at the wrist. “Me, a wall, and a set of chains?”

-----

SsillvrR chuckled, and decided not to weigh in on the accuracy of those particular portraits. Youth was a fairly touchy subject with Jareth anymore, and he was not particularly certain that last word (which he couldn’t quite bring himself to think let alone say) was right. Sarcastic was spot on anyway. Smartass wouldn’t have been too far from the truth either, but that was a term altogether too irreverent to share with someone who didn’t have the same ‘old friend’ status that might have allowed him to escape Jareth’s considerable displeasure.

“I’m sure he’d be ah… tickled scarlet,” another little snicker, “to know that.” Having never displayed the common aversion to being cast into the villain role everyone else seemed to, Jareth frequently took being so named as a compliment. SsillvrR had a theory on that that involved both laziness and the desire for attention, but didn’t dare air it.

Regaining his stride, he waiting for Celino to fall into step before giving the curve of the street ahead of them a crooked grin. “Eh, the whole idea of chains isn’t really my style. They’d be devilishly loud.”

-----

Celino decided to let the subject of King Jareth and Bitch-Queen Varonah drop. It was annoying him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. It was wasted breath because all of it was nonsense, but there was something else, something just out of reach. Here Aldridge was being merry and mischievous. Why waste the opportunity on pointless gossip?

“Eh, the whole idea of chains isn’t really my style. They’d be devilishly loud.”

Case in point. Did he just say that? Did he just mean that?

“Ropes, then,” Celino said, testing a theory. “Or just the force of the law and the threat of being impaled upon your mighty sword.”

-----

Celino’s continued disbelief in face of the elf’s insistence might rubbed him the wrong way if he’d been aware of it. Luckily Celino had kept that to himself, thus leaving SsillvrR’s uncharacteristically chipper mood untarnished. That the pieces were falling into place so easily had left him near giddy. There was something undeniably invigorating about a properly executed plan, arranging and coordinating every aspect of it, devising contingencies and viable exit strategies. SsillvrR, though not a thrill seeker by nature was focused, condensed even by challenge. Even if it happened to be a shade or two outside his beloved black and white moral boundaries

This time the elf rolled his eyes, tilting his head back to peer at the sky overhead where clouds clotted like spilled cottage cheese. “That’s the kind of line that makes you popular with the sixteen-year-old girls I’d bet.”

-----

“‘Chains would be too loud’ is your idea of subtlety, is it?” Celino said. He pulled his hands out of his robe and laced them together behind his head as he strolled along beside Aldridge. “Besides, you leap to conclusions. Why would I do something illegal? You can’t haul a man in for–” He drew a hand out of his hair and described a slow undulation in the air that could be a dismissive wave or could be a dance move. “–dancing, can you? Or for telling a city guard perfectly legal, if private, stories from one’s own experience?”

-----

“Hey, I didn’t use the word sword,” SsillvrR grinned, watching a light in one of the second story shops wink out, “there’s a line, and you danced right across it.” Watching the artistic twist of the mage’s wrist, reminding him abruptly and intensely of that whole incident. SsillvrR wondered, finding some humor in his memory’s ability to conjure up a replay with such precision and replay, if there wasn’t a bookshop somewhere nearby that had a volume or two on obelisks.

“I sincerely hope you’re not talking about the sorts of experiences I think you are. If so, I’ll give you a piece of free advice. The only people who want to hear the intimate details of someone else’s relationship are those who haven’t had their own. Again, more of a sixteen year old girl thing.” The grin that surfaced was slow, and considerably more thoughtful and had much to do with the sort of hip movements the elf was envisioning.

Maybe he meant dancing experiences?

Hmmm.

-----

“Oh, is that why you read entire books about those kinds of details?” Celino said. “Or is your interest in the likes of Auron and Corelis merely military? Perhaps you admire the skill of the fencing and the smoothness of the spying operations, and take notes on, oh, the clever way they manage supply lines?” He glanced at Aldridge and was captured by the reminiscent smile on his face. That… was sexy. Unconnected to any of the words coming out of Aldridge’s mouth, but wickedly alluring. On autopilot, he said, “Did you pick up any new military soaping tips from de Maris’s latest?”

-----

“Fictional,” SsillvrR defended himself quickly, one ear turning down as if his shoulder were muttering something important. “None of those things are real. I don’t have to look one of their characters in the eye on a regular basis and not think about the kinds of faces they make mid-coitus! Plus, that whole fencing scene? It made zero sense. Only an idiot uses a foil when your opponent’s wearing armor. Unless you happen to get lucky and hit a joint, the best you’re going to do is scratch it.” SsillvrR gestured with the fervor of his disgust before returning his hand to his pocket, as if he might forget it if it wasn’t kept in a safe place.

“Did you happen to get any tips on bedside manner from it?” SsillvrR had a terribly difficult time coming to the conclusion that there was anything alluring about someone recovering from a head injury (or having sex on the kind of cot Maris described… very cramped) but was willing to concede Maris probably wasn’t as familiar with injuries as he was.

That didn’t however, excuse the shoddy fencing scene.

-----

“Oh, the medicine is garbage,” Celino said blithely. “Auron should have been vomiting like an unburped infant with a concussion of that kind. The details about the infirmary cot were accurate, though. You really do have to brace your knees on the rails like that, or you’ll shove the flimsy mattress right through the slats. It’s unsteady, though. Leads to tipping at inopportune moments. Better to brace one foot on the floor, or better, if you’re young and flexible and the cot is narrow enough, brace both. You have to ride pillion, naturally.” He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging a few more crumbs that obligingly rolled down his collar. “One suspects de Maris had personal experience with infirmary cots.” He grinned. “One wonders exactly how much.

“Does it bother you to imagine how people look when they’re having sex? They fall into two main categories, after all: the majority who look like they’re in pain, and the minority who grin all the way through. When you’ve seen someone in pain and you’ve seen them grin, you’re 90% of the way to knowing exactly how they look in media res.”

-----

“But that wouldn’t have been particularly atmospheric. If Maris wanted a damned cot involved, Auron should have had… I don’t know, some minor flesh wound. At least that would have made the sex believable,” the elf wrinkled his nose absently as if he were just a little too familiar with the sort of sick Celino was describing. That didn’t however change the fact that he was holding forth on the subject of Maris’s literary works in public with another man. SsillvrR social conscience snorted in its sleep, and rolled over.

“You’ve spent way too much time considering cot sex,” SsillvrR assessed laughingly. “Either that, or you and Maris have done matching research.”

The clouds had thinned near the sliver of a moon hanging overhead, dispersing the wan light in a gauzy halo. SsillvrR considered it long enough to ascertain the approximate time before examining the contents of his pockets with his fingers. “Have you ever tried to give someone orders when you know exactly what they look and sound like during sex without letting anyone else know you know? I think I’d rather have a broken ankle.”

-----

“If you’re not familiar with wounds, you think that head wounds involve moaning and looking wan, and flesh wounds involve screaming and stitches. Head wounds always win.” He grinned at Aldridge’s accusation. “I worked in an infirmary from the age of sixteen or seventeen. Just you ask a 17-year-old to keep his belt tied all the way down two long corridors when there’s a lovely empty ward right through the next door.”

Aldridge’s next question startled a laugh out of him. “How on earth do you ‘let someone know you know’?” He mimed a drill sergeant going down a row of recruits. “Simons! Polish your boots. Willits! Retie all your points and get that smudge off your jacket. Lansings!” He stopped in front of Aldridge and took a half-step forward into his personal space. His eyes were sultry and his voice low as he purred, “Button up your vest.” His fingers traced the edge of the vest, the backs of his fingers brushing Aldridge’s chest through the thin material of his shirt. “If you can’t keep all your buttons done, private, I may need to send you to the brig for some–” He leaned forward until his nose was an inch from Aldridge’s like a drill sergeant’s, but his voice was breathy as he said, “–punishment.”

He could feel the warmth of Aldridge’s skin under his fingers. This close, Aldridge smelled clean, with a hint of cedar from his rarely-worn civilian clothes and the underlying scent of… himself. His look of passion wasn’t entirely an act as he waited to see what the “private” would do.

-----

SsillvrR rolled his shoulders again as the bank of clouds veiling the moon was prized apart by the fingers of a breeze that swept in off the water. The smell of salt came with it, and the damp scent of promised rain. The elf’s thoughts deviated briefly from the consideration of wounds and sex to the notion of a night rain, which would probably leave the barracks yard a giant sucking mudhole again. It still hadn’t recovered from its previous wettening; several pairs of his nice white trousers were stubbornly refusing to be white again as a result. “I think I’ll be keeping all doors adjoining the infirmary locked from here on out. Our healer’s got a sixteen year old apprentice,” the elf grinned wryly, turning a coin he’d found in his pocket over the back of his fingers carefully.

Celino’s laugh was met with a snort. “Start turning red around the ears and stammering and someone’s bound to take a guess at it. Guards are worse than school girls for gossip. If there isn’t any to be had, they’ll make some up. The best you can hope for is to be unremarkable enough that you’re not worth making up stories about.” Half-way through his imitation, the elf started laughing again. It didn’t dampen to a chuckle until sergeant Celino took one authoritative step into his personal space, at which point the ‘private’ offered him a cheeky grin. “Nobody actually talks like that.”

And then Celino’s eyes were all warm like melted chocolate and his words all smudged and soft around the edges like a charcoal drawing and SsillvrR’s eyes got a little bit larger.

Oh.

Wow.

There was a persistent thumping sound in his ears, and it took another moment or two (in which Celino purred something else in a buttery voice) for him to realize that was his pulse. Had the mage taken a step or two backwards, restoring that all important bubble of personal space to its owner, SsillvrR might have been able to realize he was toeing a precipice and yank himself back from it. But Celino didn’t. In fact he leaned forward even further, and that thinking, reasoning, considering part of his brain winked out like a candle in a draft. Several seconds later SsillvrR found his fingers buried in the still damp hair at the back of the mage’s neck, and every nerve in his mouth tingling where it touched Celino’s.

-----

Celino’s eyes went wide as his “private” snapped out of role. A firm hand on the back of his head, a burst of warmth as Aldridge closed the distance between them, trapping Celino’s hand against his chest, and–that was lips. Aldridge’s lips, and didn’t they feel good? prompted his hindbrain as his forebrain boggled uselessly. After a shocked second, Celino slid back into his body, and yes, they did feel good. He kissed back, moaning softly into Aldridge’s mouth. His free hand found its way under Aldridge’s vest and around to his back. He pulled Aldridge closer, instinctively planning for the moment when Aldridge awoke from this wonderful dream and tried to pull away. Aldridge’s mouth was delicious; Celino teased his lips open with the tip of his tongue, and moaned again when Aldridge responded.

This was success beyond understanding. While his sensual, physical self reveled in the sensations, his analytical self tried to unravel the questions it raised. Aldridge was sincerely interested in him? Aldridge was still playing along? This was a momentary passion brought on by a good mood and too much warming talk? Mmm, if you flip your hand over and run it over his chest, you can find his–focus. What are you going to do if he regrets it instantly? What are you going to do if he’s fine until the morning after? Will there be a morning after? A little presumptuous, aren’t we, and just a little hasty? Oh, there it is, so if you rub–focus. What about the monkey? Are they done, did the monkey turn him down again, is Aldridge just not interested? Will he have to fight the monkey for Aldridge? Presumptuous again, get through the next five minutes first, if you touch him this way he’ll–oh, to hell with focus. Celino melted against Aldridge and enjoyed everything he offered, taking as much as he could until the next turning point came.

-----

There was a distinct darkness in the elf’s thinking mind, the one which was concerned chiefly with moral and ethical governance, as well as how to do things which were not instinctual, like button vests. A number of thoughts blundered around in that darkness, bumping into one another and apologizing in mumbles as his baser instincts glowed like hot metal.

Well damn, they snorted, exactly why do you avoid this? SsillvrR couldn’t answer. There was probably a good reason, probably one of those very important reasons that usually got capitalized by his rational half. But there were some fairly pressing reason not to look too hard for a reason to break that kiss. Celino’s mouth, which was obscurely sweet (cookie, he recalled dimly, was probably the culprit) and pliant was reason enough, but there were also hands to consider and the strands of hair brushing ticklishly against the curve of his cheek. Pulling his fingers through the mage’s hair brought them down his neck to where the collar of his robe stood up against the night’s chill. The skin beneath it was contrastingly warm, and beneath the callouses his fingers discovered the twitch of a pulse.

What just what the fuck are you doing? SsillvrR conscience, bleary eyed from oversleeping gave his consciousness a good backhand. The elf blinked, going still a moment before a second shrill demand made him draw back albeit haltingly. Public street…not that late… fragmentary reasons why this was a damned stupid idea filtered down through a fog of endorphins and it took a moment or two to put them into an order which made any sense at all.

Celino was looking at him.

And now what do I say? ‘Oh sorry, momentary slip up. Don’t mind me, just terribly repressed. Ha! So, you were talking about books or something?’ Yes, that was perfect. About as serviceable as ‘Do you mind terribly if I just pretend that never happened?’ (Here the elf’s instincts shrieked bloody murder at the mere suggestion that the kiss be relegated to the ‘ignore’ pile. SsillvrR decided they had the right idea.)

You have to say something. Something good would be preferable, but anything is better than blinking at him like a damned headcase.

“Uh…”

Bravo.

-----

“Yes, they’d catch on if you did that,” Celino said, smiling. He and Aldridge were still pressed together. One of Celino’s hands was splayed across his lower back, the other across his chest. He felt Aldridge’s pulse racing. “Don’t you dare pull away,” Celino said, tempering his firmness with gentleness as best he could with his own blood on a boil. “Here–” He meant to say something reassuring and take-charge, but Aldridge was looking at him with the most bewildered and vulnerable expression, and his mouth was still flushed and wet from the kiss, and– Celino cupped Aldridge’s cheek in his hand and kissed him hungrily. Mmm. Mmm.

He broke the kiss abruptly and said, “It wouldn’t look strange if you were to take me to your rooms to talk business this late at night. Yes?”

-----

Who would catch onto what now?

Evidently that had something to do what whatever they’d been discussing previously. As in before some factors of an undoubtedly mystical nature (they had to be since they were beyond his grasp) conspired to smash his resolve into itty bitty little pieces not unlike the crumbs still dusting Celino’s collar.

The collar that stood up around his throat. The pale one, with the very soft skin that smelled like soap and–okay no. Just–
no. SsillvrR’s hand had inched its way up again during this internal dialogue, and was in conjunction with a few other anatomical features being completely unresponsive to his directions. Rather than drop to his side obligingly, it curled around the curve of the mage’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of a smile that was, by gods one of those ones that would have made him forget how to spell his own name.

“I wasn’t going–” –to. There were those lips again, and the hand splayed against his cheek. SsillvrR’s eyelids dropped like guillotine blades and the hand at Celino’s jaw was joined by a second that he bracketed the man’s face with them.

“Yes,” SsillvrR agreed abruptly, then blinked as if he’d been knocked between the eyes with a two by four. “I mean no! I mean–oh fuck, this isn’t a good idea.”

-----

Celino chuckled as he turned his head to nuzzle one of the hands bracketing his face. Aldridge’s hands were warm and smelled of salt… salt and something else. Celino brushed his lips along Aldridge’s fingers, enjoying the alternation of calluses and tender skin. He pressed a kiss into the center of Aldridge’s palm. Leather, that was the other smell, the leather of Aldridge’s sword hilt. He tasted the tang, mingling with the sharpness of the salt and the dry roughness of the calluses, and for a moment he was kneeling beneath one of the Spires by firelight, kissing another sword-roughened palm, one side of his body hot from the campfire and one side cold from the night and all of him burning. He came back to the present with the taste of Aldridge on his tongue and Aldridge’s hand in his hair, where it had slid when he turned his head, and all of him cold from the night, and all of him burning.

He turned his head just enough to look up into Aldridge’s eyes, lips against the man’s pulse. “Aldridge,” he said softly, breath hot on Aldridge’s skin, “my passion for you far exceeds the matters of the body, but if you don’t find us someplace private–to talk, if that’s all you’ll let me have–then by the gods I’m going to disgrace myself.”

-----

Later he would be ashamed at just how important the touch of Celino’s lips against his fingers seemed. Though the street was empty of all save shadows and wind, had a troop of jugglers in motley silks covered in bells leading a painted elephant caroused past, the elf would not have noticed them. His mouth brushed over the ugly ridge of flesh that streaked down his palm between ring and middle finger, and the elf’s eyelids seemed suddenly weighted.

Bad idea; let me count the ways! One, you’re in the middle of a public street. (More to the left of center really, SsillvrR argued). Two, it’s not nearly late enough for this street to be reliably deserted. (But it is by all appearances. Unless you count that raccoon over there, which doesn’t look like the blabbing sort). Three, what are you thinking?

SsillvrR lifted the damp weight of Celino’s hair experimentally, fingers skimming the neck beneath. What are you thinking? Not a whole hell of a lot really. Except that maybe whatever pride I have is starting to equate this extended period of celibacy with various inabilities. Inability to find someone (who won’t leave again when your back’s turned–
), inability to make time for anything that isn’t work related, inability to admit that this whole monk phase is getting a little old
–

Disentangling himself from the mage, SsillvrR’s lips still warm from the attention lavished upon them quirked. “Quit calling me Alderidge like I’m your damned errand boy then.”

SsillvrR retreated into his head for the remainder of the walk, hands jammed in his pockets. His expression explored a variety of flavors of ‘thoughtful’, waxing and waning from merely considering to deeply concerned though his ears remained angled sharply in a manner that suggested his thinking mind were not in control of them just now.

A circuit was leaving the barracks yard as they arrived, and its head paused long enough to give the elf a friendly nod. Returning it with a distracted haste, he waited long enough for Celino to catch up before ducking into one of the long low buildings containing the officers’ quarters.

Down a corridor whose major decorations included walls, a ceiling and floorboards, SsillvrR angled an ear sideways as if expecting ambush. It wasn’t until his fingers held the key poised against the lock that it came, in the form of a cheery looking man with sandy hair and wide brown eyes. The soldier, whose arms were heaped with clean towels peered past the captain to Celino then back again. “Workmen still in your office Captain?”

Workmen? Oh–
the roof. Right. “No.” Well then why aren’t you taking Celino there? Hmm–
good question. “But have you tried sitting on one of those chairs for more than a few minutes at a stretch?”

The man snorted seemingly in agreement before heading off in the direction they’d come. SsillvrR breathed out a long slow breath that felt as if it were composed primarily of concrete dust. The door shut tight against the rest of the barracks, a devious grin drifted up from the depths of the elf’s concern splitting his lips against teeth that were white in the dark. “Well
–I didn’t lie at any rate.”

-----

“Errand boy?” Celino drawled, amused. “Do you know the trouble I’ve had finding something to call you that won’t remind you that you’re the damned captain of the guard? What do you want me to call you?” He reluctantly allowed Aldridge to draw away. We have to step apart to walk, he reminded himself. He’s not leaving, he’s just… going over there. His side felt cold where it had been pressed against Aldridge. He jammed his hands into the slits in his overrobe and fell into step beside Aldridge, trying not to sulk. Several of the alleyways they passed looked clean enough for a quiet ravishing. Only Aldridge’s absorbed silence kept him from suggesting it. He hoped the man wasn’t going cold and stale while he was lost in his own head; desire needed to be kept warm, or it went clammy and congealed into uglier emotions. He hoped, fervently, passionately, that Aldridge was still mulling over his first thoughts and not moving on to second ones.

Celino’s fingers tingled with repressed energy, and as street after street passed in silence, his own surging emotions condensed into twitchiness. Talk, Aldridge, damn you.

Nothing.

So what were they doing? Was Aldridge expecting a fling? Or one night of release, then back to dirty wells in the morning? Or something much longer than either? Or just a long talk that ended with, “It’s not you, it’s me”? With another man Celino would have played it by ear, gone loose and casual while his quarry made up its mind. He didn’t have that luxury with Aldridge, he suspected. Courtship was all about ambiguity, and Aldridge hated ambiguity. Either he pinned him down one way, or Aldridge would pin himself down the other.

But he wasn’t sure he wanted Aldridge, either. The man was a fine companion and easy on the eyes, but his perfection could be wearing. Maybe he wasn’t right for Celino (Don’t be stupid, his hindbrain snapped), and then Celino would have committed to him with no good way out.

Agh. Agh.

He wished he could read Aldridge’s ears.

Celino pulled out maps and tucked them under his arm to aid in the subterfuge. He had no need to carry maps in the open even if he did genuinely need them, but the soldiers didn’t know that. He was tempted to talk about wells, but Aldridge’s continuing silence discouraged him. He followed mutely, feeling like he was sneaking into a boy’s room under the eyes of a hundred fathers, a hundred mothers, and a hundred and fifty gimlet-eyed little brothers. He wanted to smack them all–what did he have to be ashamed of?–but this was what Aldridge wanted, so this was what he would get.

“Well
I didn’t lie at any rate.”

He was grinning! Wickedly. That was a good sign. Oh, a very good sign. Celino flung the maps off to the side and entrusted them to fate. He pressed himself eagerly to Aldridge, planning to grab him and fling him down and improvise, with great speed and energy, but when his hands touched the man, his mind said, Slowly. Savor it. He drew his hands up from Aldridge’s waist, across the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the contours of his muscles and the ridges of scars. Over his chest, feeling the strength knotted up in his muscles, more scars, the nubs of his nipples. He stopped with his hands spread over Aldridge’s chest and leaned forward, slow and deliberate, inviting him into the kiss. His blood was pounding again, breath heavy, eyes half-lidded. Stop thinking for once and join me.

-----

During the walk, the elf was aware of Celino the way a freezing man was aware of a fire. He turned a corner, and Celino turned with him, a step or two to the left, a smear of color out of the corner of an eye and the sound of footfalls on cobbles. All the while his mind swam in frantic, ever tightening circles like a minnow caught in a jar. ‘Bad idea’ seemed to be the overarching theme, but he could not get a close enough look at the ‘bad’ to determine is specifics. Having been forced to describe it, he would have had to admit that it was really just a ‘bad feeling’ about the whole notion.

Of course he hadn’t really considered the extent of that notion either. What do you plan on doing once you get back to the barracks? SsillvrR slide sideways away from the query by deciding what he was not going to do, such as sweep the floor, clean stalls or shave. Evading the issue meant that by the time the door clicked shut behind them, he really and truly wasn’t sure what he intended.

More of the same would have been…well, wonderful frankly, but that all pointed in a terribly predictable direction, and SsillvrR balked at the concept of sex on a whim. He was in this assuming Celino wouldn’t decide somewhere along the line that this was exactly the sort of lecherous behavior associated with elves in general, and take himself off in an indignant huff. While he couldn’t say with certainty it would happen, he couldn’t discount it either.

That was the problem really; neither of them knew each other in any meaningful way.

And then Celino was there, the fabric of his robes folded heavily about his hands, the ones that were sliding up his stomach with a slow sort of confidence that made the elf’s knees feel as solid as the filling of a butter tart. Peering into eyes that glimmered beneath heavy lids, SsillvrR had to hand it to him; he did that face awfully well. Tipping his chin down, the elf caught the man’s lower lip between his teeth in a teasing nip. The kiss that followed was full of teeth and amusement, and broke only that he could map out the contours of Celino’s throat. “Please…tell me you’re not,” lips grazed the curved shell of the mage’s ear, seemingly fascinated by its shape, “going to change your mind.”

-----

This was far more chaste than any lechery Celino associated with elves, but then, Aldridge was far more chaste than the average… governess. Broke the curve, actually. So if after (some indeterminate time longer than) a whole week of acquaintance, after decorously retreating behind locked doors, Aldridge wanted to savage him like a wild Eastlander, Celino was willing to make some allowances.

Except that this wasn’t savaging. This was kissing (mmm) and nibbling (mmm) and what Aldridge was doing to his ear was probably prohibited by several religions, but– But the thought never got where it was going because Celino’s full attention was on Aldridge’s lips. He made small urgent noises, fingers curling in Aldridge’s hair and breath coming in little pants. Aldridge was saying something. What? Some kind of request. Words, he expected words back. “Whatever–” He gasped, fingers twitching. Oh, god. No, words, more words. “Whatever you want,” he said.

-----

Which was, in combination to the gasping, painting little sounds Celino was making as resounding an assurance as he could have hoped for. One of the elf’s ears tipped forward to catch a peculiar sound that might have been the squeak of an indignant field mouse, and SsillvrR smothered a sound of bright amusement against the curve of the mage’s neck. His teeth pinched tauntingly, before soothing the offended flesh with a warm swipe of the tongue.

Okay so, maybe this wasn’t a bad idea.

Celino’s fingers knotted in his hair, yanking heavy swathes of it free from its confining plait.

Maybe this was a very good idea.

It would be, SsillvrR considered, hands bumping against the clasps of the mage’s walnut colored outer robe, a better idea without so much fabric.

-----

Aldridge’s lips moved from Celino’s ear to his throat, and his mind cleared a little. He opened his eyes and found himself looking over Aldridge’s shoulder at the back of his door. Hadn’t gotten very far, had they? He smiled as he caught Aldridge’s earlobe between his teeth. It was still cold from the walk. He nibbled at it, flicking the earring, then tried to follow the rim of Aldridge’s ear higher. Pressed to his chest, Celino could do only so much; this was going to take cooperation from Aldridge. He nipped the now-warm lobe. “Tilt your ear this way,” he murmured.

Why are you fussing with his ear? his nerves shouted. Aldridge’s hair was twined around his fingers, his mouth was doing the most wonderful things to the curve of Celino’s neck, his hands were–well, that could be fixed. His body was hot against Celino’s, and Celino’s body responded with urgency and a certain prominence. Hands! his nerves said. “Do me a favor,” he said, still breathing a little hard. “Don’t make me redo all the buttons. If you undo my belt, the robes come off over my head.”

—–

It really was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts, but SsillvrR’s mind was uncharacteristically heedless of such propriety as it pointed out that garments with this many buttons were usually worn by the kind of people who weren’t accustomed to having to do them all up by themselves. If such a task would have been onerous first thing in the morning, then it was downright irritating under present circumstances. It was not necessarily that the buttons were small or the button holes tight, both were perfectly adequate sizes (and here SsillvrR reminded himself before any comparisons might be drawn that that sort of thought pattern was crude beyond crudity). The issue was simply that undoing them occupied his hands, which the rest of him suggested could be exploring things more interesting than clothing fasteners. As a secondary issue, having his hands engaged at Celino’s buttons meant the rest of him could not get any closer. Celino was not helping much either; his fingers periodically fell still as the mage’s mouth moved along his ear. That something as simple as a mouth could so badly impair the elf’s motor skills was probably laughable; SsillvrR however wasn’t going to do or say anything that might distract Celino’s mouth from its current course. So when the mage murmured a request, the ear in question followed without consulting his brain, and its owner realizing a moment later muffled an amused sound against the curve of his jaw.

“Mm?” SsillvrR reordered what appeared at first to be a collection of pleasant sounding syllables into words, the recalled the meaning of each in order that he could respond properly. No, apparently Celino didn’t hold with the idea of having someone else dress him after all. SsillvrR gave him bonus points for that, but subtracted one for the fact that the mage insisted on wearing such impractical gear to begin with. Feeling pleasantly obtuse, SsillvrR plucked another button free and feigned deafness.

—–

The length of Aldridge’s ear was cool against Celino’s cheek. Celino nibbled his way up it until he could suck on the tip. Aldridge was still guddling with his buttons–silly man. Celino ran a hand down his back and over the curve of his backside–oh, that was highly distracting, think, Celino, you have work to do. “If you want to keep doing it that way, you’ll have to take the time to undo every–” He pressed himself harder against Aldridge, rubbing his desire against a similar bulge in Aldridge’s trousers. “–single–” Grind. “–button.” Grind. “Undo my belt and lift my robes over my head.”

Men drunk with desire were much like men drunk with wine. Subtlety was lost on them. You needed clear orders, a confident tone of voice, and, other parts of his mind added, Aldridge naked and writhing in under two minutes.

That sounded like a plan.

—–

SsillvrR might have protested the mage’s manner and methodology; direct orders in combination with that sort of manipulative tactic seemed a strange mix, and as a target he was fond of neither. However there were a number of things going on at a level much deeper than the one on which existed his complaints re: Celino’s approach. One, the physician’s teeth were doing some remarkable things to the tip of his ear. Remarkable enough that the elf wondered fuzzily if Celino hadn’t had a run-in with a member of his own kind before; one who responded better to having their ears examined (yanked). He was neither quick nor concerted enough in his effort to entirely suppress the shiver that ensued, but by that time Celino was busy giving him a more intimate introduction to that little hip roll movement he’d called ‘dancing’ earlier and SsillvrR felt better that it would go unnoticed.

Thus, the battle was won, decisively. Dropping arms in surrender, the opposition found the belt was a great deal less time consuming an option (one belt verses, what, thirty buttons?). Happy to concede defeat, SsillvrR managed to find his voice again (the one that made more than monosyllable sounds of approval) by the time the belt had been dispatched. “Good point.” There was a robe, and then, there wasn’t. This was, the elf’s libido asserted, a large step closer to their goal, which was because it belonged to SsillvrR, referred to as the ‘mission objective’. There was some evening out to follow that involved the removal of a shirt. Nearly anyone else would have let it drop where it may, or flung it carelessly aside as proof positive of their passion. SsillvrR did neither, instead leaning that he could drop it over the back of a chair. This might not have been particularly significant to Celino, who wasn’t aware of the number of times nocturnal activity had been paused that he could fold discarded items of clothing.

The mage, as it turned out, was the owner of more layers than SsillvrR had expected. There was in fact almost a whole other outfit underneath it; it was probably inappropriate on some level (there were rules to interpersonal engagement that the elf had no manual for), but he laughed anyway. His only concession was that it was both a short and quiet one. This development implied that this was another Cockaigne custom, but asking would have involved a verbal response which would have wasted precious time.

Had he stopped to examine why he was concerned about time before the knock on the door, SsillvrR might have had to give a second thought to the idea of precognition.

There was no mistaking it for a knock; it was the sharp, assertive sort perpetrated by a knocker who believes their message urgent. SsillvrR went still a moment, as if he expected the person on the other side of the door might be able somehow to see him, and grit his teeth.

The knock came again; SsillvrR lips flattened briefly. “What?” There was a pointed, unfriendly edge to the word that gave the man on the other end of the door pause.

“Lieutenant Carpele requests your assistance; there’s a bit of a situation and–”

“Why?” SsillvrR hadn’t yet bothered to open the door, and was in fact leaning against it as if he expected duty to burst through and grab him. The guard’s pause was hesitant, and in those silent seconds the elf’s ears swiveled backward.

“There’s a bit of a personal…disagreement between Merick and Jonquil; something about ah… Jonquil’s wife, as I understand it.”

SsillvrR grit his teeth harder, and counted to ten in his head.

Then counted to ten again before letting his head fall back against the door with a thunk. “Fine.” When no footfalls signaled the man’s departure, SsillvrR added “Dismissed,” in a manner that made it sound more whip crack than word. An unfriendly expression was pointed at the rafters that they did not deserve when the sound of departing footsteps reached them.

A sigh wiped most of that expression off leaving a mixture of frustration and apology in its wake. “Wait for me?”

—–

Celino would have been annoyed at Aldridge. There was no reason for the man to be surprised that he had two robes on. He’d seen Celino change his outer robe; what did he think the underrobe was, a shift? But Aldridge did a delicious little shiver in response to… well, there was a lot going on, but there was a shiver and it was a response and Celino intended to perform some careful experiments and catalogue all of Aldridge’s shivers by quality and stimulus. As Aldridge pulled off his shirt, he slid into the circle of Aldridge’s arms to try a few with lips and tongue and the new expanses of skin Aldridge had so thoughtfully exposed.

He was in the middle of one such experiment when the rap came on the door behind them. He groaned softly. “I’ve met Jonquil,” he said, leaning his forehead against Aldridge’s chest. “Let Merick have her if she wants him.” He felt twitchy, as though there was something he was supposed to be doing, and remembered: Oh yes, those raps used to come on his study door all day long. He pulled away from Aldridge, combing his fingers through his hair to untousle it. “Yes, all right,” he said. “Do you want me to come? Is there something I could do?”

—–

Celino was regularly annoyed at SsillvrR; the elf was beginning to feel that given their current proximity and state of undress, annoyance was to the mage linked with more favourable feelings. Those feelings were not however going to deal with whatever juvenile disagreement was cutting into his personal time (important personal time). In that concern for time and its interruption, SsillvrR recognized the apprehensive assumption that this offer of Celino’s, whatever it was may have an expiry date. That consideration insinuated an ugly little tendril of awkwardness into the moment. SsillvrR felt the tickle of Celino’s breath against his skin, and found he was not at all sure that Celino wouldn’t have changed his mind by the time he got back.

He’d have time to think; time to consider the fact that this clearly was looking at it from any angle, a bad idea. The sort of idea that gave birth to complications not by ones, but in litters. Recognizing the strains of selfishness in his own desire NOT to give the mage time to better consider what he was doing, SsillvrR felt a trickle of guilt poured over his frustration.

That his selfishness wouldn’t have a chance to alter his actions in any telling way salved that guilt, but he felt an unreasonable resentment toward both Merick and Jonquil the moment Celino pulled away. Tugging his shirt back in a feigned decisiveness, he didn’t bother to tuck it in again. It was probably giving them too much credit to assume such a subtly would be noticed, but SsillvrR decided if they did, they’d understand just how interrupted he’d been.

“No…” SsillvrR frowned, pulling his hair back before realizing its tie was no longer to hand. Oh well; a second subtly for them to observe. “If I turn up with you in tow at this hour, there will be some interesting conjecture as to why by breakfast. I’d prefer you didn’t have to see me play nursemaid to grown men who should know better anyway.” SsillvrR felt the edge of his annoyance run beneath his restraint like a knife below fine fabric, and wondered if this wasn’t the sort of thing he was allowed to lose his temper over. A lock of hair flopped over one eye briefly before being swiped back behind an ear; he smiled briefly, small and tight with irritation. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

—–

“Of course.” Celino smiled back more naturally. “One more thing–” He kissed Aldridge, using the distraction to tuck Aldridge’s shirt back in so he wouldn’t look like he’d just rolled out of bed. He pulled his hands out from under Aldridge’s belt and squeezed him briefly before letting him go and stepping back. There, that would give them both something to think about. He considered giving Aldridge a little more to keep in mind–or to fix his mind in place–but time was wasting and grown men were having fits somewhere in the barracks. “Stay warm,” he said, and gave Aldridge a last kiss. “I’ll be here.”

—–

Celino’s ability to handle the interruption with such grace made SsillvrR feel as if he were the brat in the market square, throwing a temper tantrum. Needless to say it was not something he was otherwise accustomed to and the mage’s helpful clothing adjustments only reinforced the notion. He might have gone on to pick apart the comparison in search of hidden meaning had not the mage’s hand moved on, dipping down to where a considerably more optimistic portion of the elf was refusing to admit this little session was at end, even temporarily. The touch turned the breath sideways in his lungs that it came out as an emphatic groan quite without permission. Celino for his part looked perfectly composed, as if he’d done nothing more noteworthy than shake hands. SsillvrR closed his mouth just as soon as he realized it was open and briefly wondered if he could come up with a viable excuse for not leaving the room at all.

Sickness? Maybe, although he hadn’t mentioned it when the message came, which would hurt his credibility.

Forgetfulness? No precedent there.

Death? Difficult to explain when he turned up for breakfast. Temporary death was a hard sell at the best of times.

Damnit.

SsillvrR’s sense of duty managed to chase his libido away from the controls long enough for him to get to the door, but it couldn’t stop him from sighing as he closed it behind him, leaving Celino to his own devices.