Chapter Text
Ringil wrapped his denim jacket tighter around himself. Fuck April. The weather had been positively balmy when he'd left his flat in the afternoon, but now, in the middle of the night, it was frigid.
Should have accepted this lift back home.
Grace-of-Heaven had insisted, but Ringil had refused. I'll walk home. Clear my head. Truth was, Grace had been a bit too pointed in his offer, and in his sour mood, Ringil had not been interested in what the older man had clearly been suggesting - or asking for, same thing really. He still wasn't, for that matter, but now he figured he would have found a way to send Grace packing once they got to his place. Or he could have asked for some money to take a taxi - And next time, try not to forget your wallet at home, stupid. Instead, here he was, his body growing colder with each step, and his thoughts spiralling ever more bitter with each passing minute.
Fuck you, Slab. You too, Poppy.
These two were never nice, but they had a way of turning downright vicious when they got enough flandrijn in them which always made Ringil sick to his stomach. It was hypocritical; he knew it. He was perfectly aware of what his "friends" did as a job. It was bad enough that his youthful acquaintance with them had sufficed to bar him entry into the local police force when he'd come back from the war, no matter how many medals and honours he was buried in.
Still, the way they could talk about the people who worked for them, sometimes... Ringil growled and pushed his fists deeper into his pockets. He really should think about dropping them for good, and building himself some kind of "real" life... Somehow...
A stronger gust of wind blew past him and he cursed through clenched teeth. Dammit! Wasn't alcohol supposed to numb the sensation of cold!? It certainly didn't feel that way. His stomach was unsettled, and he had troubles walking perfectly straight, so he knew he'd definitely drunk quite a lot, and yet he felt almost as cold as he had on that night on the front when--
No.
He shook his head to chase the memories away. He was feeling bad enough as it was.
He heard the distant purring of a car coming up behind him. He turned around and looked at the incoming pair of bright lights. He blinked. Refused to stop himself. He watched, almost curiously, as his hand rose out of his pocket and extended besides him, still balled into a fist but with the thumb sticking out now.
This was silly. Nobody in their right mind would pick a strange man up in the middle of the night, even in this cosy neighbourhood.
The car glided by him. Slowed down. Stopped. Ringil blinked again; well then.
He hurried on unsteady legs, and bent down to look into the vehicle through the open passenger window. The car's overhead light was unflattering, but he still very much liked what he saw. The man was young - his own age or about - and very handsome, with pale skin, dark long hair pulled back, and large dark eyes. Just looking at him brought a hungry grin tugging at the corner of Ringil's mouth.
"Where are you going?" The voice was soft but firm.
"Replete Cargo Street."
Ringil heard the hesitation in the silence that followed. The place was not exactly nearby, and it didn't have the best of reputations. Still, if he could only be taken closer to his destination...
He thought he caught a sigh before the man said, "All right. Come in."
Ringil beamed and eagerly reached for the door handle.
He barely repressed a hum of contentment when the warmth inside the car claimed him. He settled happily into the seat, and felt his cramped muscles start to relax.
"Seat belt, please."
Ringil refrained from rolling his eyes, and instead hurried to oblige. He certainly didn't want to be thrown right back out.
"Nice music," he hazarded. In truth, he didn't particularly like it, but that was what you said in such circumstances, right?
"It's just the radio." The man didn't seem terribly intent on talking.
Still, it didn't hurt to try. "Name's Ringil."
"... Seethlaw."
Okay... Ringil changed tactics. "I was out with some friends. Decided I had enough and wanted to go home."
Seethlaw hummed, which Ringil took as a polite way of informing him that the man had amply noticed he reeked of alcohol. Well, might as well play into it, then.
"Sorry for--" stinking up your car "--the inconvenience."
"It's all right." And then, "You'll have to show me the way, though."
"No problem."
The car drove on. It was nice and warm and comfortable inside it. It even smelled good, of some subtle exotic spices or something. Ringil vaguely wondered if it was coming from the man himself. Maybe it was some new cologne he hadn't encountered yet?
From the corner of his eye, he took a good, long look at Seethlaw's perfect profile, and let his gaze wander down the well-drawn lips and over the pointed chin, to the prominent Adam's apple. He felt the vaguest stirrings in his groin as he contemplated placing a claiming kiss there.
This time, he did roll his eyes - at himself. Seriously, Gil? You're not fifteen anymore. If he'd wanted to get fucked, then he should have taken Grace's offer.
Yeah, but Grace isn't nearly as gorgeous as this one, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. Which was true enough, but didn't mean he should ruin his chance for a taxi back home by showing unwanted attention.
Rather sullenly, he instructed, "Second lights, you go left." He could already feel his tentative new good mood crashing again. It didn't help either that his stomach was starting to rebel; he even began to wonder if he would make it home before he had to throw up. Fuck. No doubt Seethlaw would leave him to fend for himself if he asked him to stop so he could vomit on the side of the road...
After left came a right, then another right, and the more the car turned, the more Ringil's stomach lurched. His attention was quickly pulled away from Seethlaw and onto his own breathing and his making sure that his guts didn't start spasming. A thin, cold sweat settled on his forehead and his back, making him shiver even within the warm confines of the car. He was almost tempted to crack the window open to gulp down a breath of fresh air, but he didn't want to give his condition away.
"You turn right in this alley, and you can stop anywhere."
He could tell he didn't sound right anymore, but at this point he didn't care any longer. All he wanted was to jump out of the vehicle, let the frigid air shock his system into giving him a couple more minutes of respite, and hopefully make his way up to his flat before it was too late.
Unfortunately, as soon as the car stopped and he opened the door, he found that his legs weren't going to fully cooperate. He managed to stand up, but he immediately had to lean against the car as his head reeled and his vision swam.
"Hey, you okay?"
He ignored Seethlaw's concerned voice. He was too busy frantically breathing through his clenched teeth, wishing for his body to regain its coordination just long enough to allow him to walk the few steps to the building's entrance...
He heard the driver's door open and close again, followed by the passenger door behind it. And then clicking steps were coming his way, and a hand was clamping over his shoulder and pushing him upright. He staggered - and groaned both in relief and in mortification when Seethlaw sidled up to him, slipped under his shoulder, and grabbed him around the back. Gratefully, he leaned onto the solid support and whispered, "Third floor, 3C."
And then he let himself be guided, focusing only on taking a step at a time, and on delaying the now inevitable impending heaving. His feet shuffled on the ground, but Seethlaw had a death grip on him, so he could relax that he wasn't about to fall. Numbly, he tracked their progress: entrance hall, elevator, hallway, waiting in front of his door...
"Keys?" Seethlaw asked, his breath short.
When Ringil failed to answer, Seethlaw pushed him up against the wall, held him there with one hand plastered over his solar plexus, and proceeded to pat him down with the other, until he located the key ring in the jacket's pocket. He fished it out, and soon enough, Ringil heard the familiar clicking of his front door unlocking. And then Seethlaw was once again pulling him over his shoulder, and together, they staggered inside.
The realisation that he was almost, almost free to turn his insides out, only increased Ringil's heaving. He heard Seethlaw blindly tap on the wall, then light flooded the tiny entrance room. The door closed behind them at the same time as Ringil vaguely waved in the direction of the toilet and muttered, "Bathroom."
A few more steps. Another room - artificial smell of fresh pine - another light turned on, and then Seethlaw was lowering him onto his knees and Ringil could stare down the utterly welcome face of a sparkling ceramic throne.
He let go.
He was shaking like a leaf by the time he was done. He was covered in cold sweat from head to toe, and could barely keep his eyes open. His throat felt raw, and the disgusting taste of puke was everywhere in his mouth, but he was far too tired to consider doing anything about it. In fact, had Seethlaw not been there, he might have gone straight to sleep, right there on the toilet's floor.
But the other man didn't let him. He wrapped an arm around Ringil's chest, and pulled him up. "Come on," he whispered gently.
Ringil struggled to obey, to push himself to his feet. Once again, together, they staggered around. Seethlaw first took them to the bathroom next door. The sound of rushing water made Ringil open his eyes again. Gratefully, he ran his shivering hands under the cool flow, around the lump of soap, over his face. He even managed to get a few gulps of water into his mouth, swishing it around before spitting it out again.
And then off they were again. The place was small; Seethlaw had no problem locating the bedroom. Ringil positively groaned with relief when he was carefully made to sit down on his bed. Instantly, he felt all his muscles melting, and it was all he could do to make himself fall on his side rather than on his back across the bed. Shame very vaguely bubbled deep in his drowsy conscience when his sneakers were pulled off his feet, and his legs were raised and carefully arranged on the top of the bed. Shit. He couldn't let Seethlaw leave just like that. He must - he had to-
When Seethlaw leaned over him to reach behind his head and free his hair from the elastic holding it back, Ringil took the opportunity to raise a hand and grab onto his jacket. "Man?" His voice was slurred, but he insisted, "Thanks."
"No problem."
"Uhn."
He heard Seethlaw retreating. The light turned off.
He knew no more.
The light came back on after what felt like a depressingly short amount of time.
"Gil?"
He groaned. If Archeth was here, then he was in for a lecture.
"Jesus, Gil!" She sounded more alarmed than angry - so far. He felt the bed tilt as she sat down next to him. Fingertips ran along his forehead, pushing stray strands back. "Gil, you all right?"
He forced his eyes open, waited for them to focus, and looked up at her. "Feel like shit," he muttered thickly.
"You look like it, too."
"Thanks."
"You gotta stop doing that, you know that?"
There it was coming. He sighed and briefly closed his eyes again, steeling himself for the upcoming rant about the various reasons why he couldn't keep partying with people like Grace and Slab and the others: that it wasn't good for his health, and it made his employers - her father and godfather - twitchy, and and and.
But she only huffed and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Can you get up?"
"Dunno."
Carefully, he pushed on his elbow. His head swam a little, but it was tolerable. He dragged his feet over the side of the bed, and finished sitting up. With both hands planted firmly on either side of him, he finally turned his head and looked her in the eye.
She was frowning; of course she was. Her brown eyes were piercing, as though she were trying to read right through his skull. Her full mouth was turned downward into a pout. She'd changed her hairstyle again: it was now a forest of braids cascading on either side of her head down to her shoulders, each one sporting a couple of shiny coloured beads at the end.
"Pretty."
She blinked, then scowled. "Wish I could say the same about you."
He shrugged. "I'll survive." He'd gone through much, much worse, hadn't he? And then he resigned himself to asking the obvious question. "What you doing here?" According to his bedside clock, it wasn't that late yet, only mid-morning, so nobody could have noticed his absence or anything. Which meant she was here because...
"Dad sent me." Of course. "You were seen, Gil." She was growing agitated. "Do you know what it looks like when one of our employees is seen drinking and getting high with fucking gangsters ? We work security, for Hoiran's sake!"
That, they did. Top security firm in town, entrusted with all kinds of delicate and confidential jobs. And Ringil was one of their best employees - or would have been, if not for his personal acquaintance with 'highly disreputable characters'. He'd been warned several times already, but, well...
"Am I fired?"
She glowered. "Not this time, no. But I'm not sure I'll manage to talk him down if there's ever a next time."
There would be a next time; surely she had to be aware of that? Ringil searched her furious face, saw no sign of anything but anger and annoyance. That was a no then. He shrugged mentally; he'd see about that when he got there.
He tried to put on his best grin, the one that always mollified her. "I'm sorry?"
She punched him again, harder, in the arm. "I'm not joking, Gil! This is serious. You gotta stop wasting your opportunities like that."
Yeah, yeah... He looked away. He could feel the morning-after blues starting to encroach on his consciousness. This day was going to suck; he could tell. He swallowed and pushed to his feet. "I need a shower." He hurried past her, went looking for some temporary solitary refuge in the bathroom. He could almost sense her resentful gaze drilling a hole between his shoulder blades.
Ringil felt marginally better by the end of his hot shower. He certainly felt cleaner, both inside and outside. Even his mouth tasted almost normal, though he was looking towards his morning cup of coffee to chase the last drags of the night away from his mind and tongue.
He slipped into a fresh pair of jeans and a new t-shirt, and reached for his elastic where Seethlaw had left it on the bedside table. He cursed when the black ring jumped from his hand as he attempted to wrap it around his spread fingers, and fell to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it - and noticed from the corner of his eye, under the bed, something that shouldn't be there. He'd been in the army, and he'd brought back from it a habit of neatness that bordered on freakishness. So he knew for a fact that there shouldn't be anything at all under his bed.
He knelt down and went to retrieve what turned out to be a USB key attached to a lanyard. He blinked down at it. It didn't belong to him; that much, he was sure of. Perplexed, he attached his hair while staring at the key lying on his bed. It had to be Archeth's, he eventually figured.
The woman was waiting for him in the kitchen, sat at the tiny table and slowly sipping a cup of the coffee she had prepared.
"Yo, Archidi," he called out while holding the key up. "This yours, I guess?" He laid it down in front of her.
She took it and frowned. "Nope. Why?"
Ringil was stumped. "I just found it under my bed. If it's not yours, and it's not mine, then...?"
He looked into her eyes and saw the same idea that crossed his mind flash through hers. But it didn't make sense: who would bother to spy on him, and why would they plant something so visible? They both rejected the concept as ludicrous at once.
Which left... "Egar, you think?"
Archeth was unconvinced. "What would it be doing in your bedroom? He never goes there." She briefly looked away. "No, must be one of the guys you've brought home. None of them ever mentioned anything?"
She had kept her voice light and neutral; she wasn't looking for another fight. He replied in kind.
"Can't be. I cleaned the room two days ago, and it wasn't there." And no, I don't have a new man in here every single night.
Archeth looked as confused as he felt. She set her cup down, and proceeded to straighten the lanyard up, to read what was written on it.
"Illwrack's martial arts club. Ring a bell?"
"Not at all."
"Me neither. Hmm." She reached for her phone which she had left lying on the windowsill - no doubt after calling her father to report on her mission. "Let's see... It appears it's something that exists, all the way out in Ennishmin."
Huh. Ringil wasn't sure what to make of the piece of information. "Just because the lanyard comes from there, doesn't mean they'd know who it belongs to."
"True enough, but unless you want to go digging into the contents of the key, that's all we have to go on." She took a big gulp of her coffee. "Want me to drive you there? Ishgrim doesn't expect me home before lunch."
"Sure. Just let me get some of that coffee into myself first."
"Still not getting a car?"
The day outside the vehicle was lovelier than it had any right to be. Once again, the temperatures were unusually warm for April, and the sun was shining brightly in the almost empty blue sky. Both Archeth and Ringil had opened their windows, and the smells of the countryside quickly replaced those of the city.
"Nope."
"Still intent on getting your motorcycle licence one of these days?"
"Absolutely." It was one of his rare dreams. He wasn't giving up on it - yet.
"But it's still not the right moment."
"You said it."
It was silly, and thus downright aggravating: every time he thought about starting to take motorcycle driving lessons, he felt such a wave of anxiety that he had to turn his attention to something else, anything else. Sure, it didn't help that he was short on the necessary money, but that could be arranged. He only worked part-time after all; he could always ask for more hours - if he didn't get kicked out. No, the problem was really all in his head, and that annoyed him to no end.
Luckily, Archeth dropped the topic, and he could focus on the view unfolding in front of them. Ennishmin was a marshy area, about half an hour to the east of Trelayne. The place was dotted with plenty of small villages and hamlets, lost amid the rather gloomy forest. Still, in Spring, with the flowers coming out, it was pretty enough.
"Ah, Ibiksinri, here we go." Archeth barely bothered to slow down as she turned onto the smaller road at a right angle. Ringil sighed; to think that the woman kept telling him that driving a bike was dangerous!
They easily found the martial arts club, located in a former shop, on the village's main rectangular plaza. There was plenty of parking spots everywhere. Archeth glided into one of them, stopped the engine, and bent to decipher the name above the front window of the club.
"Illwrack's. That's definitely the right place."
Already, she was opening her door and stepping outside. Ringil followed her lazily. The warmth of the sunlight seeped into his muscles and he yawned as he stretched his arms and back.
An old-fashioned bell tolled when they entered the club. The dozen or so people assembled in the front room turned their sweaty faces to look at them. Most of the students were middle-aged or even older people, wearing simple white martial arts outfits, and looking happy for the short reprieve as their teacher, a young woman, strode towards Ringil and Archeth.
And as he looked at her, Ringil finally figured, without the shadow of a doubt, who the owner of the damned USB key was. The physical resemblance was uncanny: same pale skin and dark hair, and eyes so dark they seemed black, same high and prominent cheekbones, and delicate line of the jaw, and long and firm mouth even if hers was a bit plumper.
"I'm Risgillen. How can I help you?" Her tone was brisk, to the point, but welcoming still.
Archeth held the key up by the lanyard. "My friend here found this, and we were wondering if you knew who it belongs to."
The woman took the key and turned it over and over. Ringil thought she recognised it... Sure enough, she looked up at Archeth again and asked, "Can you give me a minute?"
Archeth nodded and the woman jogged to the other side of the room, where wooden stairs led to an upper floor.
Already Risgillen's students were turning their attention away from the newcomers. Some started practicing their forms again, together or in pairs. Some took the opportunity to sit down and relax for a minute, or drink a few mouthfuls from their water bottles.
Very soon, Risgillen was back, with someone else in tow - someone Ringil was utterly unsurprised to see. Together they ambled over, and Seethlaw held his hand out, first to Archeth, then to Ringil, while Risgillen introduced him, "Seethlaw, my brother. The key is his."
"Thank you for bringing it back." The voice was as cool as Ringil remembered, but the man seemed a little embarrassed. "Where did you find it?"
Archeth opened her mouth - closed it - looked at Ringil, who smiled thinly. "At my place." And then, because he really didn't want Archeth to get the wrong idea, he added, "Thanks again for helping me get home yesterday. I really appreciate."
As far as Ringil was concerned, blushing very much suited Seethlaw, even if he wasn't sure why the man seemed so flustered. "Ah, it was nothing." He was almost stammering by now.
A short, very awkward silence settled over them. Risgillen put an end to it with a swift, sweeping move of the hand towards her students. "If you'll excuse me, I have a training session to attend to." She didn't wait for an answer, turning on the spot and clapping her hands to call everyone's attention onto her.
And suddenly Ringil found that he was loath to leave already. Before he could stop himself, he commented, "Nice place you've got here." Nice music, nice place. Can't you think of anything more original, Gil?
Seethlaw blinked at him, then caught himself. "Thank you. My sister is the owner. I just come here to train once in a while."
"Oh? What sport?"
"Jiu-jitsu."
"Nice!" Gil, for fuck's sake! "Been, er, practicing for a long time?"
"Since I was nine."
Just like the night before, Seethlaw didn't seem too keen on talking. He kept looking away, as though unsure of what to do next. Between his fingers, the USB key kept turning, over and over again...
Archeth cleared her throat. "Shall we head home? I don't want to be late for lunch."
It was monumentally stupid, but Ringil heard himself say it anyway. "You go. I'll take a bus or something."
And then, very unexpectedly, Seethlaw came to his aid. "I'm going back to Trelayne this afternoon. I can take you with me, if you want."
Ringil couldn't help the huge grin which spread on his face. He nodded. "Yeah. That'd be cool."
Damn.
Seethlaw was flexible. Very flexible.
Watching him raise his legs so high, or twist himself into seemingly impossible positions on the floor, gave Ringil ideas - ideas he would prefer not to have in circumstances where he couldn't do anything about them.
So instead he tried to focus once again on what was actually going on between Seethlaw and his training partner - his cousin, apparently. Jiu-jitsu was not one of the several martial arts he'd tried while in the army, but he could easily enough recognise quite a few grips and moves. From what he could see, Seethlaw was faster, but Pelmarag was heavier, bulkier in the back and shoulders than wiry-framed Seethlaw, not unlike Ringil himself. As such, they favoured different approaches and different tactics, and it was quite interesting to watch them confront each other round after round.
When they finally stopped and bowed, they were both breathing heavily and looking quite satisfied. Strands of long, thick hair had escaped from Seethlaw's high bun, and stuck to his damp face. Ringil's fingers itched with the desire to brush them away; he ignored it, and pushed himself to his feet as the cousins came his way.
Pelmarag extended a hand and shook Ringil's with an apologetic smile. "I have to go. Ash is gonna kill me if I'm late again for lunch."
From the way Seethlaw snorted, Ringil concluded that the threat was not serious, but he nodded all the same and watched the man flee down the stairs. When he turned around—
God.
Seethlaw was fucking beautiful, looking at him with such intense eyes, his cheeks still red from the physical exertion. Unbidden, the image rose in Ringil's mind, of Seethlaw lying on his back on Ringil's bed, breathing heavily, gaze blazing and—
Stop it.
He swallowed. "So..."
Seethlaw nodded, almost solemnly, as though Ringil had said something of great import. "Let me take a shower, and then I'm inviting you to have lunch at the inn on the main road." He raised a hand when Ringil opened his mouth to protest. "My treat to thank you for taking the time to bring the key back."
Ringil was nonplussed. "After what you did last night, you don't need to thank me for anything."
Seethlaw shrugged and gave him a shy smile. "Humour me."
Ringil grinned back and watched him go.
The inn Seethlaw took the two of them to, catered mainly to passing truckers. As such, it specialised in hearty, traditional cuisine for a reasonable price. Soon, Ringil had a plate of some local meat stew under his nose, and his stomach was reminding him that it was quite empty indeed. He grabbed his spoon and eagerly dug in. Across from him, Seethlaw was busy cutting a huge steak, while picking at the vegetable mix which accompanied it. And between them, throning in the middle of the small table, sat a heaping dish of homemade, deliciously crunchy fries.
At first, they ate in silence, just like they had ridden the short distance with only the radio making any noise. It had been a bit awkward, but not truly uncomfortable. Now, though...
"So anyway." Ringil chewed a piece of meat, swallowed it. "Anything important on that key?"
"Nothing I don't have backed up somewhere else, but it would have annoyed me to have lost it. So, thanks again."
"You lost it because of me. That was the least I could do."
Seethlaw threw him a shrewd glance. "But you didn't know it was mine, did you?" You didn't go through it, right?
Ringil had to concede the point. "True. Though if I'd thought about it with a clearer head, it would have been obvious. Nobody else had been in my room since the last time I cleaned it."
"You live alone?"
... Did Ringil just imagine that the tone was a bit too carefully disinterested? "Yeah. It's just me. You?"
"I live with two colleagues. There were four of us at first, but one of them got married last year."
So you have a free room? ... No, Ringil, no. That was a far too dangerous mental path to walk down.
"What do you do?"
"I'm an air traffic controller at the airport."
Ringil stopped eating, and whistled. "Nice!" This time, he meant it. "Cool job!"
Seethlaw chuckled - a very pleasant sound indeed. "It's nowhere as glamorous as most people think. It's just screens everywhere and repeating the same instructions for hours on end." He downed a glass of the sparkling water he had ordered. "But it pays rather well, which is all that matters."
Ringil sipped at his beer. "You need the money?"
Seethlaw seemed surprised. "Doesn't everyone?" Then he frowned. "But yeah, I do. We do. With my sister, we're trying to buy back our childhood home. That's why I share a flat. All the money I save goes into the lawyers' fees." He caught himself, and broke into a contrite smile. "But you don't want to hear about that. It's boring." And before Ringil could protest, he was in turn asking, "And you? What do you do?"
"I work part-time for Archeth's father. The woman who was with me. He owns a security company."
"Oh?" Seethlaw tilted his head. "What kind of security?"
Well, that... wasn't a simple question to answer. Despite himself, Ringil was soon explaining the various types of services Flaradnam and Grashgal offered, which ones he himself could provide at the moment, and which ones he wished to move on to, except he needed proper training and he wasn't any good at sitting down and taking notes. He talked, and talked, and he couldn't stop himself, not when Seethlaw looked and sounded like he did, like he was genuinely interested, like what Ringil said actually mattered...
Damn, Gil, you're being pathetic. Was he really that desperate for a scrap of at least seemingly sincere attention? Then again, how long had it been since he'd had a simple, honest discussion like that with a guy? The ones he picked up on the app only showed up to fuck. Even if they met in a bar, the conversation was always kept to a minimum, and then off they went to do their business. Talking, just talking... He did that with Archeth, and Egar, but they were his friends, not a guy into whose pants he wanted more and more as the minutes ticked by.
Except that Seethlaw showed no inkling of being interested in such an outcome, and Ringil had to confront the obvious truth: the man didn't fancy him that way. Most likely, he wasn't into men. And possibly he already had someone anyway; a gorgeous, smart and nice guy like him, he must have, right? They always did. Either way, he'd only invited Ringil as a friend, not as a potential hook-up, and Ringil had to accept that. It stung a bit, but... Seethlaw was such pleasant company, if a bit quiet, that Ringil couldn't really feel sorry for himself. He couldn't deny that the day was going much better than he'd expected it.
They stayed seated long after they were done with their coffees and the room had emptied around them. They ordered more drinks along the way, and Ringil felt the beers loosen him up. Seethlaw, for his part, stuck to non-alcoholic drinks - probably, Ringil mused, because he was the one driving.
"And how did you get into that line of work?"
Ringil shrugged. "I needed a job when I left the army, so Archeth put in a word with her father, and there you go."
"You were in the army?"
"Yeah..." Only way I found to get the hell out of here and away from dear Dad's influence, as soon as I graduated high school. "It seemed like a good opportunity at the time." He'd tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but it seemed he'd failed, if the way Seethlaw didn't push the matter was any indication.
There was a short silence, and then, "And how do you know her? Archeth, I mean."
"Again, the army. She did a two-years stint before deciding it wasn't her thing."
"Oh? I wouldn't have imagined someone like her working in the army."
"And what would 'someone like her' mean, exactly?"
"Someone so... pretty, and... feminine."
Ringil snorted. "Don't believe the stereotypes, man. I know some women who could kill you with only their perfectly manicured nails." And then, because he had too much alcohol in him to fully suppress the jealousy, he added, "And before you go barking up the wrong tree, I must inform you that she doesn't swing that way, and she has a wife."
But Seethlaw only frowned. "I didn't mean..." He looked away.
Ringil grinned. "'S okay, man. You're not the first one. She leaves an impression wherever she goes." He shrugged, tried to sound utterly disinterested as he asked, "She your type?"
Seethlaw didn't seem terribly happy with the direction the conversation had taken. He was staring into his empty glass, with a morose expression on his face. "No," he muttered.
Ringil knew he shouldn't, but it was like playing with a healing scab, knowing full well that he'd regret it when he finally ripped it off, and the pain shot through him and the blood started flowing anew. He had to push, to press on, to know. "Then what's your type?"
... He'd done it. Seethlaw sighed, looked around them, and made to stand up. "I need to get back to town. We should go."
Congratulations, Gil. You've managed to fuck this up after all. You're pathetic. He briefly thought about apologising, but he knew he would only make things even more awkward, and Seethlaw was already ambling to the counter to pay for the meal anyway. Ringil's gaze followed him, tried and failed not to glance down at the tight little arse so perfectly moulded by the skinny jeans. Was never gonna happen, man. Give it up.
Ringil had feared that the trip back to Trelayne would be entirely spent in unpleasant silence.
He'd been wrong.
Seethlaw did turn on the radio, as Ringil had expected he would. But barely five minutes in, a news report came on, about the upcoming visit of the Yhelteth First Minister. As the journalist droned on about the potential political implications of this meeting, Seethlaw started, a bit hesitantly, "Funny thing about being an air traffic controller, we know about those visits in advance. Like, for example, I can already tell you that he won't be going straight back to Yhelteth. He's gonna go to Pranderghal instead."
Ringil forced himself to rally. "Pranderghal? What would he be doing there?" He didn't care in the least about the First Minister's intentions, but he did care very much that Seethlaw was still willing to talk to him. He was only too happy to listen to Seethlaw's suppositions, if it meant the other man relaxed and forgot about the incident at the inn.
The rest of the trip was spent this way, commenting on the news, exchanging harmless observations and opinions. Seethlaw chuckled at a couple of Ringil's stupid jokes, and Ringil couldn't help but mourn what might have been if he hadn't been so idiotically forward. Maybe he could have asked for Seethlaw's number when they separated? Maybe with time they could have become some sort of friends? Now they were just two strangers chatting politely to kill time...
He felt numb, and his guts heavy, as Seethlaw turned the car into Replete Cargo Street.
"Say..." Seethlaw sounded hesitant again, all of a sudden. "I was wondering..."
"Hmm?"
"I, er, was planning on going to see the Dakovash exposition tomorrow. Would you be interested in coming with me?"
Dakovash - Ringil searched his memory. Some kind of modern art painter? To his mother's despair, Ringil had never paid much attention to his art history lessons, and had never showed much enthusiasm in accompanying her to museums. But if Seethlaw wanted to go...
"Yeah, sure!" Except, "Ah shit, not tomorrow. I'm working tomorrow." Of course he did, with his luck.
"Day after tomorrow?"
Ringil could hardly believe his ears. "Yeah. Yeah, day after tomorrow is fine."
"So, I pick you up at, what, 2pm?"
Ringil felt a giddy grin smear itself on his lips. "Sure!" They'd stopped in front of his building entrance. He reached for the door handle, feeling suddenly light as air. "That's a deal." He made to step out of the car, but Seethlaw stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Wait. Can I have your number? You know, in case I can't make it for some reason."
Ringil's brain briefly stalled. Luckily, he didn't need it to rattle off the well-known list of digits. And then he watched, fascinated, as though from afar, as his fingers fished his own phone out of his pocket, added a new contact, and entered the numbers Seethlaw gave him.
And then he was out, standing on the pavement, watching the small grey car driving away, his hand still holding his phone...
As soon as he set foot in his flat, a single, overwhelming thought made itself known to him. It was an urge the strength of which he hadn't experienced in a long while, and strangely enough, this was the reason he decided to fight it instead of indulging it.
So while he did go to his room, it was only to pull on his sports clothes. Then he headed to the living-room, and proceeded to thoroughly warm up and stretch his entire body, before sitting on the bench of the exercise machine which took up half the space in the room. As always, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction as he did so, and he couldn't tell why. He just knew that this was easily the best investment he'd ever made, that it was one of the rare big decisions he'd ever taken which he didn't regret.
Soon, his muscles were starting to heat, and he grinned as he pushed himself through the various exercises. This felt good; this felt really good! These moments were among his ultimate favourite ones in his entire life. He felt utterly confident and competent as he pushed and pulled. He knew what to do; he knew how to do it. And best of all, he knew he could do it, and that he wouldn't fuck it up somehow. Here, while working on his machine, nothing could go wrong, and that was, for some reason he didn't care to examine, a huge relief.
For once, though, it didn't work at clearing his head. He did forget about, well, everything, as he focused only on breathing and moving properly and counting, but as soon as he stood up and reached for the pack of cleaning wipes, the thought of what he wanted to do next came back in full force. He tried to push it away, but it was futile. Soon, he was staring blindly down at a gleaming machine, all attention diverted to his guts and what was threatening to happen in his shorts.
He tried to shake his head, but that didn't help in any way. A bit desperately, he started his end-of-session stretching moves, hoping against hope that the urge would magically disappear as he unwound. It didn't happen - and now he was faced with the prospect of having to take a shower while in such a state.
He sighed - and gave up. It was silly anyway, wasn't it? Why should he refuse himself such a normal, natural desire? He'd never shown any such compunction before! So what was different this time? This last question he firmly ignored as he made his way to the bathroom and started divesting himself of his clothes.
He smiled when the hot water started running down his head and shoulders. He closed his eyes and raised his face, straight into the flow. As always, he enjoyed the sensation of his hair growing heavier and sticking to his skull, or the way his skin all over his body first prickled and then relaxed as the water reached it. He liked showers, and he liked...
He turned the water off, hung the shower head back in its resting place. Took a deep breath.
And then the old dance was on.
A hand reached up his belly, rubbed across his chest. His nipples hardened under his palm. Teasing fingertips pinched one, making him shiver, making his cock harden and his breath hitch. Oh, he was horny all right; he wasn't going to last long.
His free hand moved to cup his balls, before wrapping around his lengthening prick. He gave it a couple of tugs, pulling the foreskin all the way over the head, spreading the pearls of thick liquid that were leaking from the hole of the top. He was more than ready...
That was when he allowed himself to summon a mental picture of Seethlaw. He bit his lip as he imagined what the large black eyes would look like hooded with desire. The soft voice grew husky in his ear. The long black hair was spread on the pillow. And the tall, thin body--
He moaned. The tall, thin body was lying naked on its back, long legs open wide, narrow hips shivering with need. And Ringil wanted-- Ringil wanted to wrap his hands around those thighs, and push them up and up, until they lay flat against the chest, as he knew they could, until the small arse was fully exposed, until--
He tightened his grip on himself as he imagined himself lining up his cock head with the hole waiting impatiently for him, and then-- And then he was inside, and oh god, it felt so good! And he was pumping now, and his rhythm was growing wild, turning frantic and desperate until--
Fuck!
He saw stars as he came, harder and faster than he could remember coming in a very long while. And in his mind, Seethlaw was coming too, writhing under him, his name falling from the long, firm lips. Gil...
He was breathing harshly now, and his legs were shaking. He laid a cheek against the wet, cool shower wall, and waited for his heartbeat to slow down.
Seethlaw...
Ringil stared at the "Blue" painting. As far as he was concerned, it was just a random mix of various blue paints. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to appreciate the thing, or what others saw in it.
He threw a glance at Seethlaw, standing next to him, and looking at the work with a thoughtful expression on his face. Maybe he could just ask?
"You're probably gonna think that I'm a boorish, uncultured boar, which would greatly pain my mother, but... What do you see in this?"
Seethlaw briefly looked at him. His voice was slow and measured when he replied. "I see... the summer sky when I was little and everything was still great."
"What do you mean, 'everything was still great' ?"
Seethlaw sighed. "Our parents died in a car accident when I was eight. We went to live with our aunt and uncle - Pelmarag's parents. They've been very nice to us, always, but..." He didn't finish the sentence. There was now an air of melancholy on his face which, if possible, made him even more beautiful than usual.
Ringil waited a minute, then prodded gently, "Is that how you lost your family home?"
Seethlaw frowned, and seemed to pull himself out of a trance. "I told you about that?"
"Just that you're trying to buy it back."
"Right... Yes, that's how it happened. My sister and I inherited the house, but at the time there was a project to build a highway there, and people wanted us to sell. My aunt and uncle hired lawyers to help us defend our case, but the lawyers bamboozled them instead. We lost the house for a ridiculous price. And then the highway project was abandoned, so now the house just sits unoccupied." His voice had grown bitter. "If at least someone lived in it! But no, it's just... abandoned." He took a deep breath. "So yes, we're trying to get it back, because it means something to us."
"And... it's not working?"
Seethlaw shrugged. "It's too complicated. It's not even clear who really owns the house. It's not the city, but it's not anyone in particular either. We'd need much better lawyers to make sense of it all, but, well..."
He shrugged again, and Ringil repressed an urge to lay a hand on his shoulder. Instead, he just commented softly, "Sucks. Sorry you have to go through that."
Seethlaw threw him a small smile. "Thank you."
Ringil answered his smile, and then turned back to the painting. "Okay, so you see a summer sky. I see... Ah!" He grinned wide. "The sea! The sea down in Lanatray, when the sun is out." He looked at Seethlaw again. "Ever been there?"
"No."
"We should go one day."
Seethlaw shook his head but he was grinning. "No way. I'll burn."
"Pfft! That's what sunscreen is for." The image of himself applying that sunscreen on Seethlaw's back surged unbidden in Ringil's mind. His cock twitched, and he knew he'd unlocked a new fantasy for him to get off to. Oh well, as long as Seethlaw never learned about it...
They moved to the next paintings in the collection, sharing increasingly silly ideas of what each colour reminded them of. By the time they reached the final one - "Bubblegum icecream!" - Seethlaw was outright laughing, and Ringil's spirits flew very high. Who cared if he couldn't get into the man's pants? He hadn't had so much simple fun with anyone in... far too long. He was going to take what he could and be happy with it.
"Speaking of ice-cream," Seethlaw said as they stepped out of the museum, "I'm starving!"
"Want ice-cream in particular? It's a bit early in the season."
"Nah. I want... cinnamon buns. I know a coffee shop two streets from here where they make some to die for. Shall we go?"
"After you."
Ringil fell into step behind Seethlaw as they weaved their way through the afternoon crowd. The sky was clear; the air was warm. They chose to sit outside the shop, and soon Ringil was sipping on a coffee while Seethlaw was biting into a giant bun with a wicked expression of bliss on his face. Together, they observed the comings and goings in the street around them for a few minutes, in companionable silence.
"You know," Seethlaw started as he finished licking his fingers, "sometimes I find myself wanting to control people the way I do planes, so they don't bump into each other, and they can walk faster, circulate more efficiently."
"Tell me more about your job."
It turned out that today, Seethlaw was very much in the mood to expand on this topic. Ringil listened with an easy patience, quite taken by the other man's enthusiasm. Soon he was staring down at little diagrams Seethlaw drew on their napkins and watching as Seethlaw mimed flying planes with his hands. It was all quite fascinating, and he even surprised himself by asking more in-depth questions and focusing effortlessly on the answers.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s really not that hard. You could do it, easily.”
Ringil let out a bark of laughter. “And sit for hours on end on a chair, watching screens? No thanks!”
Seethlaw tilted his head. “You’re more of an action man, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I like to move and do stuff.”
“I see… Shall we get going then? Have a walk around town?”
“Sure! Let me show you some of my favourite places.”
And off he went, like some kind of private tour guide, dragging a willing Seethlaw around and pointing to details in statues and buildings and trees Seethlaw claimed never to have noticed. He couldn’t tell how long they were at it; he only knew they had to stop when a chilly evening wind rose, and Seethlaw had to close his jacket and unfold its collar.
“Dinner?”
“I would love to.” Seethlaw looked apologetic. “But I'm waking up early tomorrow. I really need to get going.”
“No problem.” Ringil forced himself to keep smiling. “And feel free to leave. I’ll walk back home.”
Seethlaw shook his head. “Don’t be silly. I’m not in that much of a hurry.”
Ringil was only too happy to oblige. He didn’t want the day to end. He didn’t want Seethlaw to disappear. He didn’t want to face his lonely, empty flat, nor his lonely, empty life… He tried to maintain a happy demeanour as they walked and then drove to his place, but truth was, he dreaded watching the little grey car moving away while he would stay all alone on the pavement, with nothing to look forward to…
“So what's next?” Seethlaw asked as he pulled to a stop at the foot of Ringil’s building. “Your turn to choose, of course.”
Ringil wasn’t sure he’d heard right, but when he looked into Seethlaw’s face, he saw nothing but a sincere expectancy. He cleared his throat. “I, er, I’ll have to think about it.” What did he want to do with Seethlaw, other than fucking him into the mattress? He hadn’t the foggiest idea.
“Sure. You have my phone number. Let me know.”
“Will do.”
The reminder that he had Seethlaw’s contact, and the reassurance that he could actually use it, joined together in his guts to create a little bubble of happiness, which buoyed him up as he opened the door and slipped out of the car. Now he was smiling as he watched Seethlaw drive away...
"So." Egar looked suddenly extremely interested in the contents of his coffee cup.
Oho. Ringil knew that tone of voice. He sighed inwardly; he should have known that Archeth would talk.
"Archidi told me she took you on a ride the other day."
"... Yeah."
"But she didn't bring you back."
This time, Ringil didn't bother answering. Instead, he made a show of swishing the hot liquid in his own mug, before sipping carefully from it.
"Said she left you in... good company."
Ringil rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
Egar snorted, loudly. "He lost his USB key in your bedroom, right?"
"He was helping me get home." Ringil allowed his annoyance to colour his tone of voice, but that didn't deter his friend in the least.
"Home. And in bed."
"I was trashed, okay!? Couldn't walk straight. So yeah, he helped me to my bed, but no, he didn't lie in it himself."
"But you'd like him to."
That stopped Ringil short, to his immense frustration. He huffed, threw a glare as poisonous as he could make it in Egar's direction, and gulped down some more coffee. "What I want is irrelevant. He's not into guys."
"Oh? Too bad." Egar grinned, rather evilly. "Archidi says he's very easy on the eye."
Ringil couldn't argue with that, so he just shrugged.
He wasn't angry, not really. His friends were nosy, yes, but he understood that it all came from a place of caring for him. They had their own lives all put together, and they wanted the same for him. And the thing was, he too wanted the same for himself! He just had no idea how to get there. He didn't know how to settle down into the kind of cozy and square little existence they had, with their stable, long-time partners and their jobs they weren't constantly jeopardising. He wanted this, but it kept eluding him.
"More seriously, though." Ah, here it came, the one talk Ringil had known was awaiting him. Egar was head of the physical security department where Ringil spent most of his time, and as such it was his job to remind him that... "You gotta stop messing around with Milacar and the others, Gil. Flaradnam and Grashgal are getting massively pissed off with your attitude."
Archeth's father and godfather were their top bosses. They liked Ringil well enough on a personal level, but they logically had a huge problem with his less savoury acquaintances. When they'd accepted to hire him, at Archeth's insistence, they'd made it clear that they expected Ringil to cut ties with Grace and the others. And Ringil... Ringil had played along, because he'd needed the job. But he couldn't help it: when his mood turned too sour, he always found himself yearning for the easy company of the mobsters, and sometimes he gave into the urge, and called Grace up, and, well...
He wished he could stop for good; he really did! But Grace-of-Heaven, and Slab, and Poppy, they gave him something that he'd never found anywhere else. They didn't expect anything from him. They didn't judge him. They didn't have any problem with his 'attitude', unlike literally everyone else, from his father to the army to his friends to his bosses. They took him as he was, and didn't ask him to change anything, and that... That felt good. It felt fucking good. So good that he wasn't sure he would ever be willing to give up on it.
Not that he was going to tell Egar that, of course.
"Do they want to see me?" Did the bosses want to scold him again, just like his father used to do all those years ago?
"No. Consider yourself lucky."
Ringil gritted his teeth. He hated it when his friends treated him like he was a wayward child. He'd had more than enough of that when he was an actual youth!
But then Egar was grinning again, and Ringil let out an inner sigh of relief. He was even almost happy that his friend should go back to their previous topic.
"So, what did you and Mr USB Key do when Archidi left you alone?"
"Nothing much. We just talked a bit and went home. Separately," he added very pointedly.
"And...?"
"And what?"
"You'll be seeing each other again?"
Ringil hesitated for a fraction of a second - but only a fraction of a second, and then the lie came smoothly. "Nah. Told you, he's not into guys." If he confessed the truth, he would never hear the end of it! It was better to snip this in the bud.
Egar looked a bit disappointed. Ringil crushed the wisp of guilt which threatened to invade his conscience: it was better this way. He didn't want his friends to delude themselves into thinking that he'd found his own Ishgrim, his own Imrana, and that he was going to settle down like they had, because... Well, Seethlaw wasn't into guys. That wasn't a lie, no matter how much Ringil wished otherwise.
Okay, this was stupid.
Ringil glared at his phone, and at his right thumb that wouldn't move to press the little icon. When the fuck had he become shy!? He'd sent dick pics to total strangers, for fuck's sake! So why was texting a simple "Hi" so difficult now?
He growled in frustration and nearly threw his phone away again. But that would make it the third time in two days, and there was some kind of finality to that number which he refused to give into. So instead he gritted his teeth, put his beer down, and clicked the icon with his left index.
And then, as the network processed his request, he wished for the universe to swallow him whole somehow becau—
Seethlaw: Hi :)
Ringil stared at the smiley. He didn't dare trust it. Surely it couldn't mean what it seemed to mean.
He reached for his beer again, swallowed another gulp of it.
Ringil: how u doing?
The answer came immediately again.
Seethlaw: Fine, thank you. You?
Ringil scowled. This was small talk, wasn't it? Except that he didn't do small talk. He just hooked up with guys, and they exchanged names and ages and maybe pics (of dicks or not), and then they went straight down to the business of figuring out what they wanted from each other, and maybe from there where and when to meet.
So why the hell had he initiated some small talk right now?
Ringil: fine too thanks
And now what? Was he supposed to keep chatting away, or was he allowed to go straight to the point? A point that wasn't about fucking, and he'd never had such a discussion before, so he had no idea how to handle it.
Luckily, Seethlaw unknowingly came to his rescue.
Seethlaw: Have you figured out what you want to do next?
Ringil: do u like bowling
Ringil: ?
Seethlaw: Yes but I suck at it.
Ringil: no problem
Ringil: when r u free?
Seethlaw: What time of the day?
Ringil: late afternoon evening
Seethlaw: Tomorrow?
Ringil blinked. Well damn. He'd taken two days to send his invitation, and here Seethlaw was jumping on it. If Ringil weren't so sure that the man didn't like guys, he'd be wondering indeed.
Ringil: sure!
Ringil: 6pm?
Seethlaw: That works :)
And here it was again, that fucking little smiley which did weird things to Ringil's guts...
"Yeah. I see what the problem is. Your stance is not quite right." Ringil grabbed a ball, and walked up to Seethlaw where he stood at the foot of the bowling lane. He flexed his legs and inclined his torso while still holding the ball with two hands. "You start out like that."
Next to him, Seethlaw tried to imitate him, but didn't quite manage. Ringil carefully set the ball down and moved closer. "May I?"
Seethlaw blinked, nodded. A pink dusting spread on his sharp cheekbones, and Ringil had to forcefully push the thought away that he looked damn attractive, slightly embarrassed like that. Not that Ringil was doing much better; he was glad he was wearing one of his longer t-shirts, which quite neatly hid the nascent bulge in his track pants.
Carefully, he reached for a thin arm and pulled it a little higher and back. He could feel the cord-like muscles moving under the thin fabric of the shirt. "There." He stood back, letting go of Seethlaw with a twinge of regret, and observed the man's new stance. "Bring your left foot a little bit more forward... Good. Can you feel the difference?"
Seethlaw frowned, then nodded again.
"All right. Now you throw the ball, but you keep control over it. You don't just send it flying; you specifically want it to go all the way to the central pin."
As he had expected, Seethlaw didn't manage to put enough strength into his throw - but his ball did firmly go in the right direction for the first time this evening.
"Oh!"
Ringil grinned at Seethlaw's surprised face - and firmly dismissed the unwelcome opinion that it was damn adorable. "Yep. The right technique does wonders."
Already, Seethlaw was pulling another ball from the rack and settling into position again.
Ringil flexed his knees a few times. "Make sure you're well grounded. Listen to your body and search for the rightest position. Take your time." He waited while Seethlaw adjusted his stance. "Now pull the ball as far back as you can without losing control of it, control its descent, and let it go."
The brilliant smile on Seethlaw's face as his ball went a little bit farther, and still on the right path, went like a punch to Ringil's guts...
Afterwards, obviously, they went for pizza nearby, because no bowling evening was complete without pizza. Seethlaw had eagerly accepted the proposal, and Ringil was a little surprised to hear him order a giant portion. Surely that was going to be too much for someone so thin?
But no. As they compared and contrasted their tastes in video games, Seethlaw steadily proceeded to utterly destroy his pizza, along with half the onion rings Ringil had picked, and a couple of mozzarella sticks.
He did skip on the dessert, though, happily declaring, "I'm stuffed!" while patting his insultingly flat belly. The thought briefly crossed Ringil's mind that he would very much like to stuff him indeed, but he pushed it away, and focused instead on the topic at hand. "If you ever wanna try playing it, you just have to come to my place. I've got a console and everything." He grinned. "We'll make popcorn." Of course, he didn't mention that the console and the TV were both in his bedroom; he would see about moving them to the living-room if it came to that.
Seethlaw nodded - and yawned. "Oh, sorry!" He did look apologetic. "Just, I woke up early for work this morning." He gave Ringil a lopsided smile. "We should go, I think."
Ringil hid his disappointment and picked up both trays to go empty them. When he turned around, Seethlaw was standing by the door and Ringil's heart did a strange somersault in his chest at the sight of the tall, gorgeous man waiting for him... Damn, why did he have to set his sights on someone unavailable!? He'd bedded more men than he could remember, but of course, none of them would have done, would they? No, he had to go for a straight guy instead. Dammit.
"Everything all right?"
Ringil forced a smile onto his lips. "Yeah." And then, because Seethlaw looked doubtful, he evaded, "I had a ton of fun tonight. Thanks for that."
Seethlaw's mouth bent. "So did I." He seemed to hesitate then. "Can I be honest?"
Surprised, Ringil nodded.
"I figured I'd made a mistake accepting an invitation to go bowling, of all things. I was sure you'd find--" He briefly hesitated. "You'd find the whole experience utterly boring."
Ringil blinked. "Why?"
"Because I suck at bowling? Can't be fun for you."
He was half-right, Ringil figured. If all he'd wanted was to play a game, then he would have been supremely bored indeed. But this wasn't what this evening was about, at least as far as he was concerned. He couldn't tell Seethlaw that, though, so he just shrugged and forced another grin. "You're a good student. Maybe one day you'll be better than me!" It wasn't even a lie.
Seethlaw chuckled at that and extended his hand holding his car key. Half a dozen paces away, the little grey car beeped and its lights flashed.
"Mind if I change the station?" Ringil asked as he pulled the seat belt across his body.
"Nah. Go ahead."
Ringil searched for a minute, before settling on a radio specialising in classic, comforting popular oldies. "So what's your type of music anyway?"
The trip back to his place passed in very companionable discussion about their respective tastes, both of them playing a game of shock-pretend that the other should like that. Ringil was grateful for the easy exchange; it allowed him to ignore the gnawing feeling of impending sadness which was eating at his guts. Soon, so very soon, the evening would be over, and Seethlaw would leave him behind as he drove away, and Ringil would be left to his own devices, to jerk off all alone in his big bed to thoughts of Seethlaw that could never become reality...
His throat was tight as Seethlaw parked in front of his building entrance.
"Say..." Seethlaw sounded hesitant.
"Hmm?"
"Can I use your bathroom? I really need to go."
"Oh. Sure!"
For Ringil, it was strange, truly, going up to his apartment with a guy he fancied but whom he was very much not going to fuck. It was the direct opposite of what he usually did, and he felt a weird sense of disjointness as he struggled to adjust to the concept.
"You know where to go," he said as they slipped inside his apartment. He didn't check on Seethlaw, choosing instead to head to the kitchen to make himself a late-night decaf.
Still his ears couldn't help but pick up the sound of the toilet flushing, and then that of running water coming from the sink in the bathroom. The hard soles of Seethlaw's dress shoes clacked on the wooden floor, before his soft voice rose from behind Ringil.
"Thank you."
Ringil turned, with his mug in hand. Once again, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man leaning against the door jamb. Seethlaw was fucking beautiful, with that long hair framing his pale face, and those large black eyes, and that tall body whose thin yet deceptively powerful lines were only enhanced by the tight button-up shirt and skinny black jeans he wore. Ringil remembered thinking that this wasn't the best outfit to go bowling, but it certainly was a good choice to make him lose his mind!
Seethlaw's gaze briefly fell down to the mug in Ringil's hand. "What are you having?"
"Decaf." Seethlaw made a face, and Ringil hurried to offer, "But I've got tea if you want?"
This time Seethlaw smiled, so Ringil set his cup down and pulled open one of the cupboard doors. Inside sat the assortment box Imrana had given him, for when she and Egar came to visit. He handed it over to Seethlaw, who hummed in appreciation as he inspected the selection.
Ringil went back to the counter, filled the electric kettle, and set it to heat up, before plucking another mug from the wall rack where half a dozen of them, all in different styles, sat in a long line.
In silence, Seethlaw prepared his tea while Ringil sat down at the tiny table and sipped at his mockery of coffee, observing without even trying to hide it every graceful move of his guest.
Seethlaw smiled at him as he came to join him. When he sat down and crossed his legs, his foot bumped into Ringil's shin, so Ringil pushed himself a little way back to give him more space.
He figured he should say something to fill the silence, but the truth was, he was quite comfortable like this. They were both winding down after their evening, and it felt natural to--
Only years of habit at hiding his reactions stopped him from yelping and jumping back when something very deliberately pressed against his shin again.
His blood roared in his ears, and his heart pounded in his chest as, undeniably, something rubbed up and down his lower leg.
Except that Seethlaw wasn't moving, wasn't even looking at him... And, Ringil's brain reminded him, Seethlaw wasn't interested in guys! He wasn't! He... He...
Ringil swallowed carefully. Without moving any other part of his body, he pushed his lower leg forward - and the hard thing followed the move, rubbing his calf now.
Well then. That... was a complete game-changer.
Ringil raised his eyes, went looking for Seethlaw's gaze. Held it. And now he could see it, flickering in the dark eyes, that familiar flame, even if Seethlaw still wasn't saying or doing anything overt. He just kept on drinking his tea, small mouthful after small mouthful, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening - as though, under the table, his foot wasn't pressing everywhere it could reach on Ringil's leg.
Ringil decided to take it slow, to let the other man lead. Clearly, Seethlaw knew what he wanted, so Ringil might as well just sit back, relax and enjoy the situation. So he smiled, a small half-smile that meant to convey that he was happy with the proceedings and willing to go further whenever Seethlaw felt like it.
When Seethlaw finished his tea and licked his lips - in a long, slow move - Ringil's cock twitched violently in his pants and he grinned wide. He wasn't against being teased, quite the contrary. He watched greedily as Seethlaw slowly stood up, hips canted in a pose so alluring that it was obvious he had practiced it often enough. Then the hard shoes were clicking against the ceramic tiles, as Seethlaw made his way around the small table - and still, Ringil forced himself to wait...
He waited, while Seethlaw looked down at him, eyes blazing.
He waited, as Seethlaw knelt down onto one knee, so that their faces were level.
He waited, still as a statue, when Seethlaw raised a hand, laid it over Ringil's jaw - and it was warm and dry and so strong as it pulled, even as Seethlaw leaned forward, until--
Seethlaw's lips tasted of tea, sweet and floral. They were as firm as they looked. His tongue was demanding when it slipped out of his mouth and demanded entrance into Ringil's. Ringil granted it easily, and he relished the small noise Seethlaw made when their tongues met and started dancing over and around each other.
The man was a great kisser; the fire in Ringil's belly grew hotter by the moment. He groaned, raised both his hands, wrapped one around Seethlaw's neck while the other reached for the top button of his shirt.
But then Seethlaw was pulling that hand away, and Ringil growled in frustration. What was the damn man playing at? He watched, annoyed, as Seethlaw pushed back to his feet - and undid the button himself. One, and then a second, and Seethlaw was taking backward steps, heading for the door, dark gaze boring straight into Ringil, daring him to follow.
A very hungry smile smeared itself on Ringil's lips. He swayed a little when he stood up, before following Seethlaw out of the kitchen. One by one, the buttons came undone, revealing ever more of that pale skin underneath, and Ringil's fingers burned with the desire to touch it already!
But Seethlaw was still walking away, until he had his back to Ringil's bedroom door. He undid the last couple of buttons, and agonisingly slowly pulled the shirt over his shoulders.
Ringil's mouth dried up.
He'd known that the man was stronger than he looked. He'd felt those muscles move under his touch earlier this evening. But seeing them exposed like that, so starkly defined under the cold, harsh glare of the entrance room's light, was something else altogether. Already, Ringil's mind was thinking ahead, of what could be accomplished in or out of bed with such a powerful and flexible partner...
When Seethlaw reached down to undo the belt around his hips, Ringil decided he'd waited long enough. He closed the distance between them in two quick steps, and wrapped his hands around the narrow waist. Seethlaw's frayed intake of breath, as well as the way his whole body shook, went straight to Ringil's groin and heart. With a huff, he reached forward and caught the long, firm lips in a heated kiss again.
Seethlaw was breathing harshly through his nose. His hands pulled Ringil's shirt up, and then slithered under it, and Ringil's skin shivered where the long, warm fingers touched it. He slid a leg forward, slipped it between Seethlaw's thighs, pressed his own erection against the man's hip.
God, this was good... Holding Seethlaw close, kissing him, rutting against him with abandon: it was everything Ringil had dreamed of and more.
He mourned when Seethlaw turned his head, breaking the kiss - but rejoiced when the soft voice, made husky with need, whispered straight into his ear, "Bed."
Bed. Yes, good idea! Almost blindly, Ringil reached for the handle of his door behind Seethlaw, turned it, pushed the panel away, patted the wall next to it until the light turned on. Together, they stumbled into the room, Seethlaw pulling and pushing until he managed to get Ringil's t-shirt off him. And then he grabbed Ringil by the biceps, turned him around, and pushed him down onto the bed, hard.
Ringil had all the air knocked out of him, both by his fall, and by the sheer thrill of being so easily and forcefully manhandled. He grinned up into Seethlaw's face, took in the way the dark eyes were wandering over his sprawled body as though he were some kind of mouth-watering buffet. He pushed himself onto his elbows, and when Seethlaw finally locked gaze with him again, he was ready to respond with what he knew to be his best insolent smirk.
It did wonders. Seethlaw's smile turned outright feral as he bent over Ringil's legs, worked his fingertips into both the band of his pants and that of his underwear, and pulled, not gently as all. He swept the mess of fabric down, all the way to Ringil's feet, where he also removed the sneakers with a few hard tugs, and then, to Ringil's surprise, the socks as well.
Ringil was utterly naked now, and very visibly aroused, and he revelled in the hungry look on Seethlaw's face as the man surveyed him from where he still knelt between his knees.
Then, tortuously slowly, Seethlaw's fingertips made their way up Ringil's legs again, from his ankles, to his knees, to his thighs, to his hips... Ringil cursed inwardly when they wouldn't touch his aching prick and balls, but he enjoyed what Seethlaw was doing far too much to complain. He had no doubt whatsoever that the man would not let him wanting.
Presently, Seethlaw was keeping one hand on Ringil's belly, while he turned his attention towards the bedside table, opening the drawers and rummaging through them one-handed until he found the tube and the pack of condoms Ringil kept there. He threw them onto Ringil's chest, before letting go of him and fully standing up again.
Ringil's complaint died on his lips at the sight of Seethlaw resuming his stripping. He took his time to open his jeans, held Ringil's gaze as he pushed them down his long legs. He cupped his erection in a hand and ground against it, while letting the softest moans escape him - and still, his eyes dared Ringil to move an inch, to do anything to hurry things up, to try to get what he wanted...
Ringil was transfixed. In none of his fapping fantasies over the last few days had Seethlaw come close to being so forward, so determined. Always he'd imagined he would have to seduce the man, to convince him to let himself enjoy what was happening. The difference with the actual Seethlaw driving himself crazy with one hand rubbing his prick and the other scratching a small nipple, was intoxicating.
When Seethlaw finally pushed his underwear down, and sent it plummetting to the floor with a practiced move of his hips, Ringil was more than ready for absolutely anything. He watched, both impossibly impatient and strangely willing to wait for as long as necessary, as Seethlaw knelt onto the bed between his legs.
And then Seethlaw was grabbing him under the thighs, and pushing them up, and Ringil lay back and smiled. He helped Seethlaw wrap his legs over his shoulders; he wasn't as flexible as Seethlaw himself, but this he could do; he had plenty of practice.
When Seethlaw extended a hand, and wriggled his fingers in a demanding way, Ringil hurried to grab a condom out of the box. Breath growing rough, he watched as the man opened the small packet, placed the bit of plastic on the tip of his long, thick prick, and pushed it down with a firm grip. And then the expecting fingers were back, and Ringil handed over the tube. Seethlaw liberally applied some of the gel both on himself and over Ringil's hole, making Ringil shiver with cold and need.
Seethlaw leaned forward, planted his hands on either side of Ringil's neck, and pushed himself down, slowly, taking Ringil's thighs with him, spreading them wide open. He kissed Ringil, quick and harsh, and licked a line along his jaw, before biting almost delicately on an exposed earlobe. Ringil grunted; his hips twitched.
Seethlaw pushed back, just far enough to look down into Ringil's face. They were ready. They were in position, and Seethlaw's gaze was burning as he looked into Ringil's eyes one last time, and Ringil nodded, breath too short to say anything...
He closed his eyes to better focus on the sensations as Seethlaw entered him. The man was cautious, taking his time, pushing shallowly with each thrust but still strongly enough that he kept impaling himself ever deeper into Ringil's body. He stopped when he was fully sheathed. Ringil heard and felt him take a few deep breaths, even as he himself worked on emptying his mind of all thoughts, on fully relaxing his body, on preparing himself for...
Seethlaw pulled out, slowly, and pushed back in. Again, he was being careful, and Ringil wanted to tell him that there was no need, but he didn't trust himself to speak two straight words anymore. So he just bit his lower lip, and waited as Seethlaw increased his pace. Ever stronger and faster he went, and Ringil was starting to see stars as the big cock in his arse kept rubbing against his prostate. His back arched. His hands went grappling for something, anything, to hold onto, and ended up making fists in the bed cover. God, he was close, he was so close already!
Seethlaw was losing his rhythm but he kept pumping very satisfyingly hard and fast and deep. His breath was rough, and when Ringil cracked his eyes open, he was met with the impossibly gorgeous sight of the pale face infused with growing ecstasy, its delicate traits tense with pure, raw need, its cheeks flushed. The long mouth was open around gasps and low moans. And the dark eyes... The dark eyes were staring straight into Ringil's, burning the world away, leaving nothing but their two bodies inflaming each other, and the decaying rhythm between them, and the sheer pleasure of it all!
Seethlaw came first, hips slamming a last couple of times against Ringil's arse, a harsh cry falling from his mouth, his eyes glazing over - and Ringil followed, because how could he not, when faced with something so impossibly beautiful? The coils of fire in his belly tightened and snapped, sending wave after wave of violent bliss rolling throughout his body and soul, and he saw white.
He felt Seethlaw's arms tremble, just before the man pushed himself out and off of Ringil, landing next to him, so close Ringil could feel the heat emanating from him, and the puffs of his harsh breathing brushing against his shoulder. Carefully, Ringil lowered his legs until they lay flat and trembling on the bed. He felt boneless now, utterly wiped out, and something else too, an inner elation which made him smile widely, and almost laugh.
He opened his eyes again, stared at the ceiling, waited as his breathing slowed down, until he could speak once more. "To think," he whispered, "that I figured you didn't like guys."
He'd expected Seethlaw to protest, or at least be surprised. Instead, he was the one stunned when the low voice, still a little bit breathless, replied quietly, "Sorry about that."
He turned his head, went looking for Seethlaw's feverish gaze. "What happened?"
Seethlaw briefly looked away. "I wasn't sure I wanted... this."
"Why not?"
A sigh. "It's complicated."
"You're not out?"
"Oh, no, it's not that."
"Then what?"
Seethlaw turned onto his back, spoke to the ceiling, slowly, hesitantly. "I... had someone."
"And?"
The dark eyes closed. "He died."
Oh. Shit. Ringil had wanted to know, but now that he knew, he wished he didn't. "Sorry."
Seethlaw shrugged again. "I figured I'd have to start living again someday, but I wasn't looking forward to just hooking up randomly with guys, hoping to find one that would stick around." He turned his head, smiled at Ringil. "And then you showed up, and you made it all so fucking easy."
Ringil couldn't remember hearing Seethlaw curse before, and that single thought deprived him of any answer. He could just stare stupidly into Seethlaw's deep, dark eyes, helpless to convey how really, it was Seethlaw who had done all the work here.
Seethlaw smiled again, then reached down to fully remove the condom threatening to come off his soft cock. He sat up, tied it off, and rummaged once more in the bedside table drawer in search of the wipes Ringil kept there as well. He pulled one out of the pack, wrapped it around the condom, and threw the whole into the dustbin in the corner. Then, with a second one, he proceeded to clean the cooling seed on Ringil's stomach and chest.
Ringil let him work. He enjoyed the soft, careful touch too much to protest that he could do it himself. And then he wriggled onto his stomach, crawled up the bed, opened the covers, and slithered under them. The touch of the cool sheet against his heated skin was heavenly. Grinning, he turned to Seethlaw, and patted the pillow next to him. He watched, openly admiring, as Seethlaw so elegantly slipped into bed and settled himself on his side next to Ringil, his hand supporting his head. The man sported a small, happy smile which turned Ringil's heart over.
When Seethlaw moved forward to kiss him gently, lazily, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Ringil opened his mouth, let out a short moan of pure satisfaction when their tongues met again, without any hurry this time. Ringil slipped an arm under Seethlaw's torso, pulled him half on top of him, pushed his dishevelled hair away from his damp skin. His fingertips traced the various lines of his face, almost reverently. Seethlaw turned his head, kissed the centre of his palm, and Ringil took that opportunity to bring their lips together again for a short kiss.
Then Seethlaw was stretching, and finding a comfortable position with his head on Ringil's shoulder and his hand on his solar plexus, and Ringil allowed himself to close his eyes.