Work Text:
There was no question of either of them paying a single demming that night at Wicked's. Each slice of onion tart or bowl of noodles came with the compliments of Mistress This or Master That, and each pitcher of ale and bottle of wine was set before them by a grateful mother, or cousin, or brother. Nicolas Rathe knew he'd have an aching head the next day, no question. They'd already had plenty to drink at Point of Hopes – Devynck had seen to that – and at the Pantheon. At least there he and Eslingen had been just part of the crowd, as it was Coindarel they were honoring, Coindarel who had been given most of the credit. Not that either of them had minded, particularly.
They'd gone for supper after, thinking it might be quiet. But the celebration had continued in taverns all over the city, and the southriver people knew what roles he and Philip Eslingen had played in rescuing the stolen children. And neither he nor Eslingen, cheerfully shoveling onion tart into his mouth and chasing it with a swallow of foamy beer, would be so rude as to refuse the thanks of the people of Astreiant whose children were now safely home.
"Adjunct Point Rathe," said a voice at his elbow. He looked up to see a tall young woman in a blue bodice and skirt, pale hair tied back in plaits under a kerchief. She gave him a quick, nervous smile, bobbed her head in what was almost a curtsey, then placed something wrapped in a cloth on the table in front of him. "Annet Farine. You rescued my brother."
The cloth held a thick slice of cake, something rich with fruit and nuts. Rathe could smell the spices. It didn't look like Wicked's usual fare. "Thank you."
Annet gave him a quick, soft smile. "You've so much food in front of you, I thought you might want something to take home for after."
She looked so earnest, so hopeful, as though if he declined the cake she might burst into tears, and Rathe couldn't help but return her smile. But it was no wonder she was emotional, after the return of her young brother. "That's kind of you, and thoughtful. I think I've eaten more tonight than I have in days. And it looks delicious," he added, which was more than mere politeness, but only the truth.
"Thank you," she said, blushing. Then, in a rush: "I made it – Wicked said I could bring it in – I'm senior journeyman in Baudin's bakery – it's just 'round the corner." She made a vague gesture, which Rathe assumed meant the direction of the bakery. "If you like it, come by and I'll give you more."
Not all she wants to give me, I'll wager, he thought; and that was a strange and distinctly uncomfortable feeling. He was starting to understand what Eslingen had meant when he had said he'd been happy to leave the Old Brown Dog because Adriana had been eyeing him for – what was it he had said? Dynasty building, that was it. But he only nodded, and smiled again, and she slipped away into the crowd.
Next to him, Eslingen stood abruptly. "Right. I think we've had enough."
"We?" murmured Rathe, but he stood as well. The room spun for a moment before settling back into place, so he supposed Eslingen was right. Anyway, he really was full, and he didn't want to have to turn away more food – whether or not it was given him by blushing young women. He picked up the cloth-wrapped cake and slid it into his pocket.
Wicked nodded to them as they left. She was doing a good business; all of Astreiant was celebrating the return of the children, and a fair number of them were doing it there. Rathe hadn't realized how close the room had felt, with the press of people and the savory scents of food and drink, until he'd stepped out into the cooling summer air. He took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh.
"Just in time, I think," said Eslingen, and his voice held a note of irony. Rathe looked over at his friend; the winter-sun was still high, and its silvery light limned Eslingen's fine features, showed his mouth set in an uncharacteristically tight line.
"I haven't had that much to drink," protested Rathe.
"No more have I. But it's not that I was speaking of." The streets were much quieter now; most had gone to taverns to continue their celebration, or home to gather their families close. Their boot-heels rung on the cobbles, echoing against the closed-up storefronts.
So that's what it is, thought Rathe, and he suppressed a grin. Fair turnabout, then, for all Eslingen's talk of Adriana, and the way he'd gone to embrace her when they'd come back into town. "I'll share," he said with deliberate obtuseness, and was delighted to see Eslingen turn his head sharply towards him. "It's a big enough piece for two." He paused. "The cake, I mean."
That got a laugh out of Eslingen. "I didn't," he admitted.
"I know." And it made him feel quite warm inside, along with the wine and the unaccustomedly large meal. He'd wondered if Eslingen felt as he did, that their easy friendship held the seeds of what might be something more. Not that Rathe had a type, precisely, but Eslingen was almost unfairly handsome, with that pale Leaguer complexion and jet-dark hair, and his careful, almost vain attention to his clothes. Though what the man might see in him…
"So we're in accord, then," said Eslingen. He stopped walking, so Rathe stopped as well. He was about to ask what it was the other man meant, to apologize for wool-gathering – had Eslingen said something else he hadn't listened to, while he'd been fantasizing? – but then their eyes met, and Rathe knew precisely what was meant.
"Yes," he said. He put a hand on Eslingen's arm, stepped around so he was facing him fully. Rathe wasn't that much shorter, but Eslingen's boots had higher heels – that vanity again – and he had to tilt his face up to kiss him. "Yes."
"Good," murmured Eslingen, and pushed him up against the wall of the nearest building, and kissed the breath out of him.
It was good; it was better than good, thought Rathe. Eslingen smelled nice – it was the stuff he used on his hair, Rathe thought, and he'd probably noticed it long ago, associated the faint scent with Eslingen when he walked into the room, but now he inhaled it full-strength, heady and sweet. Eslingen's thighs pressed against his, and his hands slid low down Rathe's back. His body was responding with alacrity. It had been far too long since his last lover, but that was only a small part of it.
Eslingen shifted against him as they moved against each other, and it was evident he was hard as well. Rathe let one hand slip down to brush between their bodies for one moment, just a quick light touch before moving to curl around the other's hip.
"It happens a lot, on campaign," said Eslingen, when they'd drawn apart enough that they could speak again. They still had their arms wrapped around each other, still stood thigh to thigh. "After the battle, after you've fought shoulder-to-shoulder. When you realize you're still alive. It's a natural impulse."
Rathe didn't believe it, particularly. The battle, such as it was, had been many days ago – it had been a slow journey from Mailhac, with the scores of children in tow – and anyway, as a pointsman he'd been in danger before, and he'd never felt the need to kiss a fellow pointsman against a wall. It was more than that for him, and he'd wager it was more than that for Eslingen, but still he said, "So that's why?"
"You know it's not, Nico." Eslingen traced his jaw with a finger as though he wanted to kiss it again. "But that's why now, at any rate."
They came together again, a slower, more leisurely exploration of mouths and bodies, until voices and footsteps reminded them they were on a public street. And that's all I need, thought Rathe. It was not as though they were breaking the law, but as the law's representative he felt as though he should be, at least in public, more virtuous than the law required – and anyway, if things continued in the delicious direction they were going, it would be better to not be on a public street. It would be better to be horizontal, on a pleasantly soft bed. He pushed Eslingen away, not without difficulty.
"Now, maybe," he said. "But not here." Eslingen looked disappointed – he couldn't blame him – but he nodded. A small group of revelers were coming down the street, laughing and joking. The street was not nearly private enough.
They continued along the street. "I'd invite you back to my rooms, if I could," said Eslingen, and Rathe laughed. Caiazzo would not take kindly to a pointsman spending the night under his roof.
"I'd come with you, if I could." But he couldn't, of course, because that would reflect even more badly on him. True, Caiazzo had been cleared of any culpability in the matter of the children, even though it had been his money. But there was no question the merchant had his fingers in any number of unsavory pies, though nothing that could be substantiated enough to call a point.
"Then this is goodnight," said Eslingen, with real regret in his voice. Rathe looked around, startled; somehow they'd come to the river way, where Eslingen would turn off to go toward Customs Point and Caiazzo's, and he'd turn for the Hopes-Point Bridge.
"Not at all," he surprised himself by saying. "My lodgings aren't far off. Come home with me."
Eslingen searched his face. "It's not just because of Mailhac."
"No, of course not." And it wasn't; it had been building for some time. But maybe Eslingen was right that it was because of Mailhac that it was happening now. Mailhac, and perhaps also the young woman who had smiled at him so prettily in Wicked's – Annet, he remembered her name was – the journeyman baker who had sparked just the tiniest bit of jealousy, Rathe was sure, in Eslingen's heart. Not that Eslingen would admit it; not that he himself would mention it. But it was another reason why now.
There were many reasons why now; also many reasons why they shouldn't, he supposed. But there was only one reason why they would, despite all that, and he knew neither of them would say it out loud. Not for some time, if at all. Instead he slid his hands into his pockets. His fingers encountered something wrapped in cloth, and he smiled. That reason would do, for now.
"It's because I promised to share," he said lightly.
"To share?"
"The cake," prodded Rathe. "I did say I'd share the cake with you."
"Mmm, and what else?" murmured Eslingen.
"That's to be seen," said Rathe. He started walking, slowly, toward the bridge. "But there will be cake in the morning, for breakfast."
"I'll make the tea," said Eslingen, and fell into step beside him.