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maderrFirst up, pure fantasy story. As yet untitled, and I may do a second story in this verse. We shall see ^^;
Untitled Thief Story
Autumn rains were chilly, but not quite in an unpleasant way. Early in the season yet, summer still clung, making the bite of the late night drizzle a nice contrast to the heat still fiercely clinging.
He shivered slightly as a breeze picked up, but the general pleasantness of the evening remained.
Of course, he could be slogging through a blizzard and likely his mood would be cheerful.
It would depress him, to realize how badly he'd fallen, if he was not already depressed by the fact that reciprocation was impossible.
Sighing softly, feeling the weight of the 'package' being delivered that night, he shoved back loose strands of hair and turned down the street that would take him to his goal – a dark, beautiful manor at the edge of the respectable district.
Lamps flickering with witchlight kept back the shadows on the street in front of it, and somehow only made the shadows behind the massive stone wall deeper. No entry, said that wall, not without permission.
He bypassed the lamps with familiar ease, hand touching the wrought iron gates with all the weight and firmness of a feather. They swung open smoothly, just enough he could slip in, and closed behind him, never once making a sound.
His boots were equally silent as he walked the cobblestone drive leading up the house; a drive which had not seen a carriage for at least a decade and probably longer. A single lamp, flickering with the familiar blue-violet witchlight, shone beside the dark, gleaming wood of the front door.
Rather than approach it, however, he turned off the drive and walked alongside the house, turning the corner and walking down about halfway – three stories up a single window spilled out golden light.
The wall was as familiar to him as the rest of the house, not even the dark an impediment as he scaled it, hands and feet knowing all the grooves and chinks which eased the arduous climb.
Gently he pushed the window in as he reached it, then hopped neatly from wall to sill, crouching there to steal a few seconds to watch, heedless of the way he dripped water on the sill and the lavish carpet beneath it.
Hex.
Unlike practically everyone else, Hex's hair was completely unmarked. It fell halfway down his back, bound loosely in a normal ribbon, the gold-brown color of the tea he was so fond of drinking. Currently his head was bent over one of his many magic books, a thoughtful frown shaping dark lips, warm orange firelight bathing his fair skin.
The hour was late enough Hex had discarded his robes; they lay thrown over the back of a chaise near the fire, with an open book laid face down over them. More books were piled on the chaise itself, a smaller stack on the floor before it.
Piles and piles everywhere; he swore the mess grew with his every visit.
Something was troubling Hex, but the wizard had never said what – only gave him new tasks.
Perhaps it was the cool night wind which finally stirred Hex from his thoughts, though he never knew for certain. Hex just always seemed to know when he arrived.
"Ah, Talis," Hex said quietly. His accent was clipped, but voice soft, betraying his northern origins where his coloring did not – a mixed breed, many said, but never where he could hear for the spells of Wizard Hex were among the very best. He turned his head to glance at the clock above the mantle, then turned back to Talis. "I had begun to worry."
Talis slid neatly from the sill to the floor, raking back his damp hair, shrugging out of his cloak and crossing the room to hang it on a hook before the fire. He listened to Hex close the window, not needing to turn and watch to know how fine Hex looked, the quiet, elegant way he moved, the way the simple breeches and lawn shirt clung just so slightly to the slender body, the way strands of hair would slip free to brush along fine-cut cheekbones before being shoved irritably back.
He did turn, however, reaching for the pouch at his thigh and swiftly undoing the various fastenings before pulling out an object wrapped carefully in velvet. "As requested."
"Thank you," Hex murmured, accepting the velvet-wrapped object, and Talis could see the tension bleed from his shoulders.
As always, he bit back his curiosity. It was none of his business, no matter how he might feel about this client who had somehow become so much more than that.
Hex stood close, far closer than was necessary, as he unwrapped the velvet to reveal the three tiny crystal balls hidden at its center. The costly crystals seemed to absorb the firelight, glow with it; like embers frozen and yet still burning. "Thank you," Hex said again.
"No problem," Talis said, then coughed to clear his throat, displeased at the roughness of it. "The job wasn't that hard, in the end. He was so enamored of the idea that the case of wine deposited on his doorstep was from 'his lady love' that he never questioned the veracity of the note. He was dead to the world – easy in, easy out. With your help, of course." He reached up to touch his hair; most of it was black, but here and there were strands of vibrant color. The deep, rich indigo strand he was particularly fond of.
So costly a spell was normally beyond his means. Until he began taking jobs from Hex six months ago, the only spells he'd been able to afford had come from the derelict section of the city he was forced to call home.
"Mm, I'm glad," Hex said with one of his soft, almost fragile-looking smiles. "Speaking of which, you are due another. Have you decided what you want?"
Talis shrugged, less interested these days the costly spells he received in payment than in how it would feel to have Hex's fingers weaving it. "Perhaps a ward against the winter which will shortly be upon us?" he finally said, realizing as he spoke that it was actually a good idea. Work always picked up in winter; which had struck him as odd years ago. These days, he tended to think people simply grew bored. He could not count the number of times A had wanted him to steal from B, who wanted him to steal from C, who wanted him to steal from A, until by winter's end they had all stolen from each other and ended the season precisely as they had begun it.
So something to protect against the cold would be very fine indeed.
Hex laughed softly and moved to the smallest of his six spell chests, all neatly lined up against the farthest wall, either on the floor itself in the case of the three large, or on tables in the case of the smaller.
The one Hex opened was filled with ribbons – a dizzying array of colors, patterns, widths and lengths. Perfectly ordinary in appearance, except for the way the colors seemed almost to ripple here and there with a shine that could only come from spell silk.
"Shall I weave it anew, or replace the heat ward?" Hex asked as he trailed his fingers through the various ribbons in a seemingly lazy fashion, at last selecting one which was a sharp, icy blue, half as long as his arm in length.
Talis shrugged and leaned against the curving back of the chaise as Hex drew near. "Replace the heat ward, I suppose. I'll not really need it now."
"Then we should give you an additional spell, perhaps, as my promise was each spell to last six months and you've had it only four."
"It's fine," Talis said, wishing his voice would stop turning all low and husky. He could not seem to help it, though. Hex just had that effect, and by the look in those pale gold eyes… He swallowed and held still.
Hex reached up and gently touched a deep orange strand of Talis' hair, murmuring softly. A moment later he tossed aside the barest frayed bits of deep orange spell silk; the strand of hair which he'd touched was now only black.
Murmuring more soft words, he began to weave the blue ribbon through the same strand of hair, the words a strange song as he worked. Talis barely noticed them, more interested in the voice itself, the warm, gentle fingers braiding the ribbon into his hair.
He felt the soft tug as the spell set, the ribbon dissolving, turning the chosen strand of hair the icy blue of the ribbon. He reached up to touch it, wondering vaguely how it looked against all the others – indigo to make him less noticeable, dark green to keep his strength up, bright blue to help his speed, palest yellow to ward against other spells, pale silver to mute the sounds he might make, and a vibrant red to be used in an emergency.
Fingers tangled with his as Hex reached up to double check the spell had properly set, and when their hands fell away from his hair they remained tangled. "Talis…" Hex said his name as softly as he said everything else, but with a hesitancy now that Talis always found as sweet as he did painful, because from the first night it had happened it had always been more about loneliness and need than emotions a thief shouldn't be feeling for a client anyway.
It had been the end of winter, the start of spring, the night brutally ravaged by an angry storm. The thunder had shaken the house, the lightning flashed so often and so fiercely it had killed the witchlights.
Neither of them had been themselves that night, each tired and weary and frustrated beyond endurance, and sense had fallen long before that.
Hex was always calm, quiet, a man used to taking utmost care lest he weave a spell wrong – but he had been as fierce as the storm that night, his kiss drawing blood. Talis had matched him however, leaving bruises and scratches of his own.
When their private storm had calmed, so too had the one outside. Hex had dozed off on the rug before the fire where they'd finally collapsed. Talis had reassembled his clothes and fled, certain the best client he'd ever had would never contact him again.
Only a week later Hex had, indeed, contacted him. No mention of their storm had been made, but when he'd returned triumphant with the book Hex had bid him steal, they'd once more wound up on the rug before the fire.
It happened rarely, and each time was a torture he did not think he could bear again – yet bear it he did, for sanity and sense seemed to falter entirely whenever he was around this strange and beautiful wizard.
This time was no different. Hex tasted like tea, which Talis could no longer drink without a pang, smooth and rich. He moaned softly as the kiss deepened, hands finding purchase on Hex's shoulders, warm and solid beneath the fine lawn.
A whisper-soft sigh was fed into his mouth in reply, and Talis kissed harder to hide his pain. Words were never exchanged between them in this. Hex, perhaps, had no need of them, and Talis kept silent for fear of saying what he dare not.
Delicate fingers smoothed away his shirt and Talis shivered as the cooler air washed over his skin, shuddering hard as warm hands banished the momentary chill. He moved to take care of Hex's clothing in his turn, making more soft noises as he bent to taste what was now laid bare. Hex's skin was fair, but not pale as was the fashion; he spent just enough time outside his skin was every so slightly sun-kissed.
Talis lapped at one nipple before biting it gently, murmuring soft approval at the shiver that elicited before moving to the other to repeat the treatment.
Then his head was urged up and he was treated to another devouring kiss as those hands mapped his body, moved to work at the fastenings of his pants, shoving them down, away, and he barely kept from toppling as he was tugged away from the chaise and pressed gently down upon the rug.
Heat from the fire washed over him, but was wholly insignificant against the heat of the hands and mouth upon him. He gasped and jerked as their cocks collided, slid together, and spread his legs to fit Talis between them.
Impatiently he reached up to pull away the ribbon still holding back the beautiful brown hair, sighing in satisfaction as it spilled down over Hex's shoulders, a soft curtain that smelled faintly of herbs and a hint of lemon, tangling with the scents of lust and burning wood.
He bit back an urge to speak, taking a kiss when he thought he might not be able to hold back, wishing more than anything he could voice what he felt, that he might hear what he wanted in return. That somehow this beautiful wizard might love him, instead of just finding in him a skilled thief and occasional warm companion.
A long, needy moan escaped as warm, slick fingers pressed inside him, teasing and stretching. He writhed and gasped, begging noisily for more, groaning low as the fingers slipped away to be replaced by a blunt, hard heat.
Holding fast to Hex's shoulders, he moved in time with the fevered thrusts, biting his lip when words threatened, taking a kiss when he could no longer bear it, feeding moans into the mouth that took his in time with the thrusts, the hand that wrapped around his cock and tugged. He tore away only to scream his climax.
When he could see and breathe again, Hex lay atop him, breaths already slowing as the wizard succumbed to sleep.
Talis wondered, sometimes, how often Hex actually slept. He suspected rarely. For the past year he had been set to collect one strange magical object after another – books, talismans, relics… Yet never had he divined the reason for it all, nor did he dare ask, and Hex had never volunteered the information. Always Hex toiled in his study, frowning over some tome or object, never truly happy even when he smiled.
One object for one spell was their bargain, and occasionally a too-brief moment of mutual pleasure. That was the extent of their relationship, and Talis dreaded the day it finally ended.
He felt Hex's weight settle as the wizard fell completely to sleep, and waited a moment longer before carefully shifting out from beneath him. His emotions were in tangles, hopelessly knotted and beyond saving, as he fetched his clothes and cleaned up in a wash basin near the door he suspected lead to Hex's bedroom.
Dressed, he hesitated. Always he left when it was over, resisting every temptation to stay and see if just maybe… With a rough sound he broke the thought off, and looked around the messy room, biting his lip with indecision.
Oh, bother it.
Sighing at himself, he moved first to settle Hex more comfortably on the floor, covering him with a blanket which lay over the back of a reading chair, tucking the discarded robe beneath his head as a pillow.
Then he moved to make the various stacks of books as neat as possible without upsetting their order. Finally he gathered up discarded dishes, and tossed out the used water in the basin.
Taking a last look around the room, wishing there was more he could do, that he could think of a reason to linger awhile longer, Talis crossed the room to fetch his cloak from the hook where he'd left it.
Swinging it up around his shoulders, he knelt briefly to brush a strand of hair from Hex's face, fingers lingering on the fine cheek, then stood and swiftly crossed to the window, climbing out of it and back down the wall, across the yard, and back out into the streets.
Aaaand a bit of the new Main Gauche, what the hey?
Main Gauche
Sweat streamed down his forehead and irritably Dagger wiped it away on his already damp and grimy sleeve. He gave the sword he was working on another look, then went back to pounding.
Another hard hour of labor later and he set the blade aside, then took care of his tools. Striding to the bucket in the corner of the smithy, he took several deep swallows and then dumped the rest of the water over his head.
It was hot. Summer at its peak and being stuck inside the smithy was not his preferred method of dealing with the heat.
Untying his hair, he raked it back into some semblance of order and retied the thong. Thick and black, it only added to his misery. He really should cut it, and accept his lot, but gentlemen wore their hair long…
Sighing, determined not to ruin his day further by dwelling on the stupid facts of his sorry life, Dagger looked over the work waiting for him and pondered what to do next.
He didn't want to do any of it, not really, but he would. Maybe some of the tools next, so he could finish his day working on the swords. Nodding, decided, he headed back into the work area of the shop—
Only to be stopped by a cacophony of shouting and cheering, the sharp tolling of the bells in the village square. A duel already? It was only midmorning. Rolling his eyes, suspecting he knew exactly who he would see in the dueling circle, Dagger snatched up a cleaning cloth and scrubbed at his hands and face as best he could as he walked down the street to the village square.
Sure enough.
Epee stood in the far right corner, the morning sunlight bringing out the threads of red in brown hair. Opposite him was Lord Sharp. Dagger rolled his eyes again. Honestly, these two never seemed to tire of trying to kill each other.
He narrowed his eyes as they fought, shaking his head slightly at Epee's slipping defense – but Lord Sharp was too hasty, as always. Their fights were becoming predictable. He would have to tell Epee so.
The bruise just below his left eye throbbed, a reminder of the last time he'd voiced such an opinion within range of his stepfather's hearing, and Dagger made a mental note to tell Epee about his slipping defense before they returned to the house.
Yesterday Lord Sharp had won. Today, Epee took it. Dagger clapped for his stepbrother, smiling faintly when Epee finally noticed him. Before he could motion Epee forward, to speak about his defense, his stepbrother was called away by another.
Oh, it was his stranger – Tan, he'd always called himself. Dagger knew nothing about him, save he was a noble and knew how to use the sword slung so casually at his left hip. Very fine hips, those, on a very fine body. Light brown hair, just long enough to barely be fashionable. Handsome features; if not for the smile he'd be rather stern looking. Simple, elegant clothes.
He conversed avidly with Epee, who clapped the man on his shoulder and motioned. Dagger blinked. Epee knew the man? Surely not…but they conversed lightly, easily. He watched, frowning now, as Epee motioned to the board where notices and all were hung. The frown deepened as Tan tore away a notice Dagger didn't recognize, though he'd looked at the board just this morning. Epee snatched it back, holding it laughingly out of reach, and Dagger could see he was taunting Tan. Where they friends? How had he never known Tan and Epee knew each other?
But why should he have known, Dagger acknowledged bitterly. He hardly moved in the same circles. He grimaced at himself and looked back at the two men – and realized they were walking toward him. Dagger suddenly felt every last bit of grime plastered to his body with sweat. His clothes were damp beneath the hot weight of his work apron; he looked nothing like Epee in his careless prettiness or Tan's simple elegance.
Well, of course he didn't. Dagger scowled at himself. He wasn't them, of course he didn't look like them. He'd been reduced to peasant status since his mother's death, when her will had left every last thing to her husband 'in good faith he would take excellent care of his stepson.'
He loved his mother, but she'd always been an idiot.
"Dagger," Epee greeted. "I could see from the look on your face that I was doing something wrong." He motioned before Dagger could speak. "Reprimand me later. I believe for now you have a customer."
Sketching a bow, Dagger quietly recited all the niceties and accepted the sword the stranger held out. "Greetings, my lord. I see you've been putting it quite thoroughly to use. When would you be wanting it back?"
"The sooner the better, of course," the stranger said with an easy smile. "However, there is no special rush."
Dagger nodded. "I can probably have it finished by tomorrow afternoon."
"Excellent. Thank you. It is always worth it to come out here to have my sword tended."
Dagger looked at his stepbrother, who had looked as though he were struggling not to laugh the entire conversation. Suppressing an urge to roll his eyes again, Dagger ignored his stepbrother and returned his attention to Tan, drinking in the sight of his hopeless crush to have new images with which to torture himself.
"Thank you," Tan said. "It's truly most appreciated. This should cover it, I think." He pressed a small bag of coins into Dagger's free hand, then clapped Epee on the shoulder and bid him farewell before turning and vanishing into the crowd.
Epee burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" Dagger asked.
"You—how long has he been bringing his sword to you, Dagger?"
Dagger shrugged. "At least as long as I've been working the smithy, I guess." Like he'd admit he knew exactly, to the day, how long Tan had been coming. Epee obviously had enough to be amused about.
Epee slowly got his laughter under control. "Never mind. Take a look at this."
Frowning, thoroughly vexed with his confounding stepbrother, Dagger nevertheless accepted the notice he held out. His eyes widened as he read it. "A tournament? Really?" His breath caught as he read the prize. Oh, he wished… Dagger shoved the frivolous thought aside. He was a peasant. Entering the tournament was impossible; dwelling on the idea for even a moment was stupid. "Are you planning on entering?"
"Of course I am," Epee said dismissively. "Why were you glaring at me after the duel?"
"Because your defense is abhorrent," Dagger retorted. "You're getting lazy and sloppy; it's little wonder to me that Sharp took you so easily yesterday."
Epee grinned; it was more a baring of teeth. "I'm sure he'd like to take me, the bastard, but father will give his estate over to you before that happens."
"You're an idiot," Dagger replied. "Go provoke Sabre; fighting him will force you to improve your defense. I have to get back to work."
"As you command. Father went to speak with his solicitor today, so if I were you I'd sleep in the smithy. Ta ta, little brother." Waving absently, Epee turned and began to walk back home.
Heaving a sigh, Dagger made his way back to the smithy.
Untitled Thief Story
Autumn rains were chilly, but not quite in an unpleasant way. Early in the season yet, summer still clung, making the bite of the late night drizzle a nice contrast to the heat still fiercely clinging.
He shivered slightly as a breeze picked up, but the general pleasantness of the evening remained.
Of course, he could be slogging through a blizzard and likely his mood would be cheerful.
It would depress him, to realize how badly he'd fallen, if he was not already depressed by the fact that reciprocation was impossible.
Sighing softly, feeling the weight of the 'package' being delivered that night, he shoved back loose strands of hair and turned down the street that would take him to his goal – a dark, beautiful manor at the edge of the respectable district.
Lamps flickering with witchlight kept back the shadows on the street in front of it, and somehow only made the shadows behind the massive stone wall deeper. No entry, said that wall, not without permission.
He bypassed the lamps with familiar ease, hand touching the wrought iron gates with all the weight and firmness of a feather. They swung open smoothly, just enough he could slip in, and closed behind him, never once making a sound.
His boots were equally silent as he walked the cobblestone drive leading up the house; a drive which had not seen a carriage for at least a decade and probably longer. A single lamp, flickering with the familiar blue-violet witchlight, shone beside the dark, gleaming wood of the front door.
Rather than approach it, however, he turned off the drive and walked alongside the house, turning the corner and walking down about halfway – three stories up a single window spilled out golden light.
The wall was as familiar to him as the rest of the house, not even the dark an impediment as he scaled it, hands and feet knowing all the grooves and chinks which eased the arduous climb.
Gently he pushed the window in as he reached it, then hopped neatly from wall to sill, crouching there to steal a few seconds to watch, heedless of the way he dripped water on the sill and the lavish carpet beneath it.
Hex.
Unlike practically everyone else, Hex's hair was completely unmarked. It fell halfway down his back, bound loosely in a normal ribbon, the gold-brown color of the tea he was so fond of drinking. Currently his head was bent over one of his many magic books, a thoughtful frown shaping dark lips, warm orange firelight bathing his fair skin.
The hour was late enough Hex had discarded his robes; they lay thrown over the back of a chaise near the fire, with an open book laid face down over them. More books were piled on the chaise itself, a smaller stack on the floor before it.
Piles and piles everywhere; he swore the mess grew with his every visit.
Something was troubling Hex, but the wizard had never said what – only gave him new tasks.
Perhaps it was the cool night wind which finally stirred Hex from his thoughts, though he never knew for certain. Hex just always seemed to know when he arrived.
"Ah, Talis," Hex said quietly. His accent was clipped, but voice soft, betraying his northern origins where his coloring did not – a mixed breed, many said, but never where he could hear for the spells of Wizard Hex were among the very best. He turned his head to glance at the clock above the mantle, then turned back to Talis. "I had begun to worry."
Talis slid neatly from the sill to the floor, raking back his damp hair, shrugging out of his cloak and crossing the room to hang it on a hook before the fire. He listened to Hex close the window, not needing to turn and watch to know how fine Hex looked, the quiet, elegant way he moved, the way the simple breeches and lawn shirt clung just so slightly to the slender body, the way strands of hair would slip free to brush along fine-cut cheekbones before being shoved irritably back.
He did turn, however, reaching for the pouch at his thigh and swiftly undoing the various fastenings before pulling out an object wrapped carefully in velvet. "As requested."
"Thank you," Hex murmured, accepting the velvet-wrapped object, and Talis could see the tension bleed from his shoulders.
As always, he bit back his curiosity. It was none of his business, no matter how he might feel about this client who had somehow become so much more than that.
Hex stood close, far closer than was necessary, as he unwrapped the velvet to reveal the three tiny crystal balls hidden at its center. The costly crystals seemed to absorb the firelight, glow with it; like embers frozen and yet still burning. "Thank you," Hex said again.
"No problem," Talis said, then coughed to clear his throat, displeased at the roughness of it. "The job wasn't that hard, in the end. He was so enamored of the idea that the case of wine deposited on his doorstep was from 'his lady love' that he never questioned the veracity of the note. He was dead to the world – easy in, easy out. With your help, of course." He reached up to touch his hair; most of it was black, but here and there were strands of vibrant color. The deep, rich indigo strand he was particularly fond of.
So costly a spell was normally beyond his means. Until he began taking jobs from Hex six months ago, the only spells he'd been able to afford had come from the derelict section of the city he was forced to call home.
"Mm, I'm glad," Hex said with one of his soft, almost fragile-looking smiles. "Speaking of which, you are due another. Have you decided what you want?"
Talis shrugged, less interested these days the costly spells he received in payment than in how it would feel to have Hex's fingers weaving it. "Perhaps a ward against the winter which will shortly be upon us?" he finally said, realizing as he spoke that it was actually a good idea. Work always picked up in winter; which had struck him as odd years ago. These days, he tended to think people simply grew bored. He could not count the number of times A had wanted him to steal from B, who wanted him to steal from C, who wanted him to steal from A, until by winter's end they had all stolen from each other and ended the season precisely as they had begun it.
So something to protect against the cold would be very fine indeed.
Hex laughed softly and moved to the smallest of his six spell chests, all neatly lined up against the farthest wall, either on the floor itself in the case of the three large, or on tables in the case of the smaller.
The one Hex opened was filled with ribbons – a dizzying array of colors, patterns, widths and lengths. Perfectly ordinary in appearance, except for the way the colors seemed almost to ripple here and there with a shine that could only come from spell silk.
"Shall I weave it anew, or replace the heat ward?" Hex asked as he trailed his fingers through the various ribbons in a seemingly lazy fashion, at last selecting one which was a sharp, icy blue, half as long as his arm in length.
Talis shrugged and leaned against the curving back of the chaise as Hex drew near. "Replace the heat ward, I suppose. I'll not really need it now."
"Then we should give you an additional spell, perhaps, as my promise was each spell to last six months and you've had it only four."
"It's fine," Talis said, wishing his voice would stop turning all low and husky. He could not seem to help it, though. Hex just had that effect, and by the look in those pale gold eyes… He swallowed and held still.
Hex reached up and gently touched a deep orange strand of Talis' hair, murmuring softly. A moment later he tossed aside the barest frayed bits of deep orange spell silk; the strand of hair which he'd touched was now only black.
Murmuring more soft words, he began to weave the blue ribbon through the same strand of hair, the words a strange song as he worked. Talis barely noticed them, more interested in the voice itself, the warm, gentle fingers braiding the ribbon into his hair.
He felt the soft tug as the spell set, the ribbon dissolving, turning the chosen strand of hair the icy blue of the ribbon. He reached up to touch it, wondering vaguely how it looked against all the others – indigo to make him less noticeable, dark green to keep his strength up, bright blue to help his speed, palest yellow to ward against other spells, pale silver to mute the sounds he might make, and a vibrant red to be used in an emergency.
Fingers tangled with his as Hex reached up to double check the spell had properly set, and when their hands fell away from his hair they remained tangled. "Talis…" Hex said his name as softly as he said everything else, but with a hesitancy now that Talis always found as sweet as he did painful, because from the first night it had happened it had always been more about loneliness and need than emotions a thief shouldn't be feeling for a client anyway.
It had been the end of winter, the start of spring, the night brutally ravaged by an angry storm. The thunder had shaken the house, the lightning flashed so often and so fiercely it had killed the witchlights.
Neither of them had been themselves that night, each tired and weary and frustrated beyond endurance, and sense had fallen long before that.
Hex was always calm, quiet, a man used to taking utmost care lest he weave a spell wrong – but he had been as fierce as the storm that night, his kiss drawing blood. Talis had matched him however, leaving bruises and scratches of his own.
When their private storm had calmed, so too had the one outside. Hex had dozed off on the rug before the fire where they'd finally collapsed. Talis had reassembled his clothes and fled, certain the best client he'd ever had would never contact him again.
Only a week later Hex had, indeed, contacted him. No mention of their storm had been made, but when he'd returned triumphant with the book Hex had bid him steal, they'd once more wound up on the rug before the fire.
It happened rarely, and each time was a torture he did not think he could bear again – yet bear it he did, for sanity and sense seemed to falter entirely whenever he was around this strange and beautiful wizard.
This time was no different. Hex tasted like tea, which Talis could no longer drink without a pang, smooth and rich. He moaned softly as the kiss deepened, hands finding purchase on Hex's shoulders, warm and solid beneath the fine lawn.
A whisper-soft sigh was fed into his mouth in reply, and Talis kissed harder to hide his pain. Words were never exchanged between them in this. Hex, perhaps, had no need of them, and Talis kept silent for fear of saying what he dare not.
Delicate fingers smoothed away his shirt and Talis shivered as the cooler air washed over his skin, shuddering hard as warm hands banished the momentary chill. He moved to take care of Hex's clothing in his turn, making more soft noises as he bent to taste what was now laid bare. Hex's skin was fair, but not pale as was the fashion; he spent just enough time outside his skin was every so slightly sun-kissed.
Talis lapped at one nipple before biting it gently, murmuring soft approval at the shiver that elicited before moving to the other to repeat the treatment.
Then his head was urged up and he was treated to another devouring kiss as those hands mapped his body, moved to work at the fastenings of his pants, shoving them down, away, and he barely kept from toppling as he was tugged away from the chaise and pressed gently down upon the rug.
Heat from the fire washed over him, but was wholly insignificant against the heat of the hands and mouth upon him. He gasped and jerked as their cocks collided, slid together, and spread his legs to fit Talis between them.
Impatiently he reached up to pull away the ribbon still holding back the beautiful brown hair, sighing in satisfaction as it spilled down over Hex's shoulders, a soft curtain that smelled faintly of herbs and a hint of lemon, tangling with the scents of lust and burning wood.
He bit back an urge to speak, taking a kiss when he thought he might not be able to hold back, wishing more than anything he could voice what he felt, that he might hear what he wanted in return. That somehow this beautiful wizard might love him, instead of just finding in him a skilled thief and occasional warm companion.
A long, needy moan escaped as warm, slick fingers pressed inside him, teasing and stretching. He writhed and gasped, begging noisily for more, groaning low as the fingers slipped away to be replaced by a blunt, hard heat.
Holding fast to Hex's shoulders, he moved in time with the fevered thrusts, biting his lip when words threatened, taking a kiss when he could no longer bear it, feeding moans into the mouth that took his in time with the thrusts, the hand that wrapped around his cock and tugged. He tore away only to scream his climax.
When he could see and breathe again, Hex lay atop him, breaths already slowing as the wizard succumbed to sleep.
Talis wondered, sometimes, how often Hex actually slept. He suspected rarely. For the past year he had been set to collect one strange magical object after another – books, talismans, relics… Yet never had he divined the reason for it all, nor did he dare ask, and Hex had never volunteered the information. Always Hex toiled in his study, frowning over some tome or object, never truly happy even when he smiled.
One object for one spell was their bargain, and occasionally a too-brief moment of mutual pleasure. That was the extent of their relationship, and Talis dreaded the day it finally ended.
He felt Hex's weight settle as the wizard fell completely to sleep, and waited a moment longer before carefully shifting out from beneath him. His emotions were in tangles, hopelessly knotted and beyond saving, as he fetched his clothes and cleaned up in a wash basin near the door he suspected lead to Hex's bedroom.
Dressed, he hesitated. Always he left when it was over, resisting every temptation to stay and see if just maybe… With a rough sound he broke the thought off, and looked around the messy room, biting his lip with indecision.
Oh, bother it.
Sighing at himself, he moved first to settle Hex more comfortably on the floor, covering him with a blanket which lay over the back of a reading chair, tucking the discarded robe beneath his head as a pillow.
Then he moved to make the various stacks of books as neat as possible without upsetting their order. Finally he gathered up discarded dishes, and tossed out the used water in the basin.
Taking a last look around the room, wishing there was more he could do, that he could think of a reason to linger awhile longer, Talis crossed the room to fetch his cloak from the hook where he'd left it.
Swinging it up around his shoulders, he knelt briefly to brush a strand of hair from Hex's face, fingers lingering on the fine cheek, then stood and swiftly crossed to the window, climbing out of it and back down the wall, across the yard, and back out into the streets.
Aaaand a bit of the new Main Gauche, what the hey?
Main Gauche
Sweat streamed down his forehead and irritably Dagger wiped it away on his already damp and grimy sleeve. He gave the sword he was working on another look, then went back to pounding.
Another hard hour of labor later and he set the blade aside, then took care of his tools. Striding to the bucket in the corner of the smithy, he took several deep swallows and then dumped the rest of the water over his head.
It was hot. Summer at its peak and being stuck inside the smithy was not his preferred method of dealing with the heat.
Untying his hair, he raked it back into some semblance of order and retied the thong. Thick and black, it only added to his misery. He really should cut it, and accept his lot, but gentlemen wore their hair long…
Sighing, determined not to ruin his day further by dwelling on the stupid facts of his sorry life, Dagger looked over the work waiting for him and pondered what to do next.
He didn't want to do any of it, not really, but he would. Maybe some of the tools next, so he could finish his day working on the swords. Nodding, decided, he headed back into the work area of the shop—
Only to be stopped by a cacophony of shouting and cheering, the sharp tolling of the bells in the village square. A duel already? It was only midmorning. Rolling his eyes, suspecting he knew exactly who he would see in the dueling circle, Dagger snatched up a cleaning cloth and scrubbed at his hands and face as best he could as he walked down the street to the village square.
Sure enough.
Epee stood in the far right corner, the morning sunlight bringing out the threads of red in brown hair. Opposite him was Lord Sharp. Dagger rolled his eyes again. Honestly, these two never seemed to tire of trying to kill each other.
He narrowed his eyes as they fought, shaking his head slightly at Epee's slipping defense – but Lord Sharp was too hasty, as always. Their fights were becoming predictable. He would have to tell Epee so.
The bruise just below his left eye throbbed, a reminder of the last time he'd voiced such an opinion within range of his stepfather's hearing, and Dagger made a mental note to tell Epee about his slipping defense before they returned to the house.
Yesterday Lord Sharp had won. Today, Epee took it. Dagger clapped for his stepbrother, smiling faintly when Epee finally noticed him. Before he could motion Epee forward, to speak about his defense, his stepbrother was called away by another.
Oh, it was his stranger – Tan, he'd always called himself. Dagger knew nothing about him, save he was a noble and knew how to use the sword slung so casually at his left hip. Very fine hips, those, on a very fine body. Light brown hair, just long enough to barely be fashionable. Handsome features; if not for the smile he'd be rather stern looking. Simple, elegant clothes.
He conversed avidly with Epee, who clapped the man on his shoulder and motioned. Dagger blinked. Epee knew the man? Surely not…but they conversed lightly, easily. He watched, frowning now, as Epee motioned to the board where notices and all were hung. The frown deepened as Tan tore away a notice Dagger didn't recognize, though he'd looked at the board just this morning. Epee snatched it back, holding it laughingly out of reach, and Dagger could see he was taunting Tan. Where they friends? How had he never known Tan and Epee knew each other?
But why should he have known, Dagger acknowledged bitterly. He hardly moved in the same circles. He grimaced at himself and looked back at the two men – and realized they were walking toward him. Dagger suddenly felt every last bit of grime plastered to his body with sweat. His clothes were damp beneath the hot weight of his work apron; he looked nothing like Epee in his careless prettiness or Tan's simple elegance.
Well, of course he didn't. Dagger scowled at himself. He wasn't them, of course he didn't look like them. He'd been reduced to peasant status since his mother's death, when her will had left every last thing to her husband 'in good faith he would take excellent care of his stepson.'
He loved his mother, but she'd always been an idiot.
"Dagger," Epee greeted. "I could see from the look on your face that I was doing something wrong." He motioned before Dagger could speak. "Reprimand me later. I believe for now you have a customer."
Sketching a bow, Dagger quietly recited all the niceties and accepted the sword the stranger held out. "Greetings, my lord. I see you've been putting it quite thoroughly to use. When would you be wanting it back?"
"The sooner the better, of course," the stranger said with an easy smile. "However, there is no special rush."
Dagger nodded. "I can probably have it finished by tomorrow afternoon."
"Excellent. Thank you. It is always worth it to come out here to have my sword tended."
Dagger looked at his stepbrother, who had looked as though he were struggling not to laugh the entire conversation. Suppressing an urge to roll his eyes again, Dagger ignored his stepbrother and returned his attention to Tan, drinking in the sight of his hopeless crush to have new images with which to torture himself.
"Thank you," Tan said. "It's truly most appreciated. This should cover it, I think." He pressed a small bag of coins into Dagger's free hand, then clapped Epee on the shoulder and bid him farewell before turning and vanishing into the crowd.
Epee burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" Dagger asked.
"You—how long has he been bringing his sword to you, Dagger?"
Dagger shrugged. "At least as long as I've been working the smithy, I guess." Like he'd admit he knew exactly, to the day, how long Tan had been coming. Epee obviously had enough to be amused about.
Epee slowly got his laughter under control. "Never mind. Take a look at this."
Frowning, thoroughly vexed with his confounding stepbrother, Dagger nevertheless accepted the notice he held out. His eyes widened as he read it. "A tournament? Really?" His breath caught as he read the prize. Oh, he wished… Dagger shoved the frivolous thought aside. He was a peasant. Entering the tournament was impossible; dwelling on the idea for even a moment was stupid. "Are you planning on entering?"
"Of course I am," Epee said dismissively. "Why were you glaring at me after the duel?"
"Because your defense is abhorrent," Dagger retorted. "You're getting lazy and sloppy; it's little wonder to me that Sharp took you so easily yesterday."
Epee grinned; it was more a baring of teeth. "I'm sure he'd like to take me, the bastard, but father will give his estate over to you before that happens."
"You're an idiot," Dagger replied. "Go provoke Sabre; fighting him will force you to improve your defense. I have to get back to work."
"As you command. Father went to speak with his solicitor today, so if I were you I'd sleep in the smithy. Ta ta, little brother." Waving absently, Epee turned and began to walk back home.
Heaving a sigh, Dagger made his way back to the smithy.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-01 03:45 pm (UTC)