Chapter Text
There’s something to be said about an Arbiter’s uniform. Black slacks, a white dress shirt, a plain dark vest and apron. It looks smart and proper - a uniform fit for the finest establishments a human could wander into, complete with scarlet bow tie. A bow tie Clavis is idly pushing and pulling at from his place at Ginti's bar.
Ginti doesn’t like wearing it. He says it makes him feel restricted, as though he can’t breathe. Clavis doesn’t mind, though he knows Nona had more to say about it than Ginti cared to listen to, when the red head had first left it buried in his second drawer. After all, he likes seeing the the sharp lines of Ginti’s collar bones peeking out from that white dress shirt. Enjoys the way the other man’s chest is suddenly more visible when Clavis catches him at just the right angle.
"You’ve ripped another?"
There isn’t any catching tonight. Ginti’s torso is bared for all to see, tanned skin glowing gold in the dimmed lighting of his bar. Clavis is seated at his usual seat, legs dangling down and swinging slightly as he smiles serenely up at the other man. Ginti’s polishing a wine glass, eyebrows twitching the slightest bit as he frowns down at it.
The red-head doesn’t answer, his face darkening as he polishes faster, towel squeaking across shining glass. It’s the same spot. Again and again and again. Clavis waits patiently, tongue tempted to let the teasing tip-toeing to its tip free. He doesn’t though. No. He has his own agenda to attend to first.
"Could I have a drink, bar-keep?"
It’s a fond name. One that irks Ginti but never fails to amuse Clavis. Ginti is too fun to rile. He rises to annoyances much like a hungry child rises to the smell of well cooked food, passionate and driven until its little else but crumbs and smears of mush on a chipped plate.
"I’ve told you not to call me that." Ginti says, putting the wine glass down to step back.
"Yes." Clavis agrees. His smile doesn’t falter as he leans forward onto an elbow, eyes following Ginti as he crosses in front of him. He's got a first class view of Ginti's backside.
There are shredded tatters hanging from the red head’s waistband. The remains of yet another white shirt, soon to be replaced. Nona has a steady supply being shipped in and sent straight to Ginti’s room. Clavis doesn’t even hear her complain about it anymore, not even on their longest rides. Clavis, for all of his manners and propriety has never complained. Carefully taking in the strong lines of muscle and bumps of bone, Clavis finds he doesn't mind Ginti's strange habit at all.
He watches, thrilled, as Ginti leans forward to throw the towel in the wash basket Clavis knows is hidden under the counter. The move gives him a long look at Ginti’s broad back and shoulders. His eyes trail over every muscle, cataloguing and counting. He hums idly, finger flicking the bow tie onto the floor just as Ginti begins to rise. It’s difficult keeping his smile much the same as usual as he listens to Ginti growl and grumble as he dips low again to snatch up the offending tie. His shoulder blade strains against what Clavis assume is hot skin as he grips at the counter’s edge, head ducked, the tips of his red hair tickling at his very base of his neck.
Then he’s straightening, Clavis’ eyes finding their way to sharp (everything about Ginti is sharp - even his eyebrows, Clavis notes with glee) hipbones and a cute, rounded belly-button.
"Your usual?" Ginti asks, hand rising to scratch at the back of his head, tugging idly on his pony-tail. When Clavis hums happily, the corners of his lips twitching up during, he continues, "Give me a bit to grab more ice. Want anything to eat?"
"No, thank you. A drink will be just fine."
And he is just fine. He's completely content with the world.
Clavis watches as Ginti turns, heading down to the end of the bar shoulders rolling with his every step, and thinks again, there’s something to be said about an Arbiter’s uniform. Simple, proper, it’s always well tailored; a perfect fit for any who adorned it. And he had to say, though only the slacks and apron remained, Ginti wore them well. His belt kept them held snug on his hips and his legs tugged at the apron with each of his steps. Tap tap tap. Pulled then released, then pulled taunt across Ginti’s backside again. It’s a steady rhythm and a welcome sight for appreciative eyes.
Flicking at the piercing lowest on his lobe idly, Clavis has to give it to the higher ups: They certainly knew how to dress their staff. He thanks them.