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They stumbled up the steps to Rathe's lodgings, arms around each other, occasionally stopping to kiss. Once the decision had been made they found they could not keep from touching, and once they were in the stairwell and no longer in public it seemed silly to hold back.
"Come on," said Rathe, untangling himself from Eslingen's arms. "Six more steps and we'll be behind a locked door."
"How many steps to a bed?"
"Seven. It's a small room." It wasn't the strict truth – his rooms were not that small – but it drew a laugh from Eslingen, who made a mocking bow and indicated that Rathe should lead on.
Inside, the door barred behind them, they kissed again. Rathe lit a taper from the embers of the fire, and when he had placed it back in its holder and turned back to the room, Eslingen had already taken off his coat and hung it neatly from the back of a chair, and was beginning to untie his cravat. "I could rip them off you," he said, a little wistfully.
"You don't want me complaining about the cost of new linen," warned Eslingen.
"What, Caiazzo doesn't pay you enough for a new shirt every week and lace on Demesday?" He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Philip."
"It can't be just the two of us, can it."
Rathe pulled off his shirt with considerably less care than Eslingen had taken with his own, then stepped close, running his hands down the other man's back. He wasn't going to sleep with Caiazzo's knife; he was going to sleep with Philip Eslingen. "Tonight it is," he whispered, kissing Eslingen's neck.
"My boots," said Eslingen, and it came out hoarse and low. Rathe stepped away, nodding toward the other chair, and he sat and let Rathe pull his boots off. "Seidos's Horse, it feels good to have them off."
Rathe pulled him to his feet and kissed him again. "Just wanted to see what it would be like to be taller," he said when they parted, then sat in the chair to take his own boots off.
"I expect we're the same height in bed," said Eslingen as he removed his trousers and draped them carefully over the chair with his other clothes.
Rathe grinned as he rose from the chair, shoving his trousers down and stepping out of them. "Let's find out."
The bed was against the wall and they pulled each other toward it, hands on waists and hips and shoulders. With Eslingen's clothes off, Rathe could see that his pale skin was marked with scars; he'd taken a ball in his shoulder long ago, and a knife or a sword down his leg more recently.
Eslingen saw where he was looking. "Not so pretty with it all showing."
"Pretty enough, still," said Rathe. "But you'll have to tell me the stories. Later," he added, as they tumbled down onto the bed. It groaned and shifted, the legs squeaking against the floor, and he hoped the downstairs lodgers were asleep or out.
He groaned as well, with Eslingen's body half on top of his, pressing against him. When was the last time? Not since Forveijl, he realized. No wonder he'd been so susceptible; no wonder it felt so good.
"What do you like, Nico?" murmured Eslingen in his ear. "What can I do?"
"Anything. Everything. No, wait, sit up a moment."
He raised an eyebrow, but rolled off and pulled himself up to a sitting position, back against the headboard. Rathe slid a hand around his neck to where his hair was tied back with a ribbon. "May I?"
Eslingen grinned, and inclined his head. When Rathe undid the ribbon, dark hair fell about his face and shoulders, black on white, it seemed, in the dim light of the single candle. He ran his fingers through it, breathing in the scent Eslingen used, then leaned forward and kissed him again.
Eslingen twisted so he was on top, his hair falling about them both like a curtain. "Nice," murmured Rathe. The ribbon fell to the floor.
"You think?" Eslingen slid slowly down the bed, his hair brushing Rathe's chest, his stomach, his hips….
"Oh," said Rathe breathlessly, "you can do that."
Afterward, they lay entwined on the bed; Rathe reached down and curled his hand loosely around Eslingen's prick, more in the way of a promise than anything else. "Give me a moment," he said. "I want to bask."
"No hurry," said Eslingen. He thrust lazily into the circle of Rathe's hand. The clock struck the half-hour, the notes resonating in the room and then fading away. "Unless you have to be up early?"
Rathe groaned. "Don't remind me." He started to shift, thinking he'd reciprocate act for act, but Eslingen stopped him by tightening his own hand around Rathe's, moving hard against his body so they were pressing against each other again.
"Next time, I think." It came out in a hoarse, harsh whisper; Rathe nodded and stretched to kiss him as he moved his hand faster, harder, pushing his hips against Eslingen, swallowing his gasps as he spent across their joined fingers.
There was still some water in the bucket from his last trip down to the well, and a shirt that had been discarded in the corner to serve as a cleaning-cloth. "It's due for the laundry, don't look at me like that," said Rathe as he handed it to Eslingen.
"At least it will have to go to the laundry now," Eslingen said, with a look of faint distaste that Rathe suspected was not entirely feigned.
"I'll have you know I do occasionally get my clothes laundered. Despite all evidence to the contrary."
"You have to admit, it's quite convincing evidence."
"What, ashamed to be seen with me?"
"A bit," said Eslingen with a grin. "But that doesn't stop me."
"For which I'm grateful," said Rathe. "I'm not ready to give you up yet." On the streets, or in bed, he thought, and then he remembered what Eslingen had said, a moment before: Next time, I think. "Will there be a next time?" he asked abruptly. "I want there to be. In case you can't tell."
"If it were up to me…" said Eslingen softly, and his fingers trailed down Rathe's chest.
"It's not, though, is it." No more than it was up to him, Rathe thought; it was Caiazzo and Monteia who would be disapproving, and neither of them wanted to lose their jobs.
"I imagine if we're reasonably discreet we could manage."
"No more kissing in the street, then."
"No, more's the pity." Eslingen was still caressing Rathe's chest; now he slipped his hand up to curl around the back of his head. "But we're not in the street now."
"As it happens," said Rathe, "I am not, at this moment, on duty." He threaded his fingers through Eslingen's hair and pulled him in for a long and languorous kiss.
"No more am I," murmured Eslingen. "Well, not most of me," he added meaningfully.
Rathe smiled, and kissed his way down.
The clock struck the hour, but neither of them noticed.