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…
The Bandersnatched Bandit blinked, slowly once, then rapidly several times more as he came to. He was no longer on the floor, he realized as he felt the stiff cotton on his still-bare back, but rather laying on a thin bed— his hands still bound to the headboard above him, of course— and it was dark now, the slivers of the waning moons barely bright enough to make out his surroundings.
And… something warm and heavy pressed against his side. He was startled, when he turned around, to find that was the Red Knave, sound asleep and leaning against him, completely unconscious, defenseless, armorless, maskless—
— Maskless?
Sure enough, as he peered over he could make out the faint moonlight highlighting the pale, bare face. It was quite a pretty one, with a straight nose and even cheekbones and a lovely jawline, a sharp nosebridge lightly dusted with iridescent freckles that gleamed faintly even in this dim light. And although it did not distract from his beauty, most striking was the multitude of scarred-over deep gashes that sliced over his lips and mouth, as if someone had taken a blade to his face in a fury long ago. It was jarring, seeing him look so... human.
So this was the face of the creature that silently hunted him for so long, that pursued him day and night like the loyal bloodhound he was, chasing him over the ends of the earth, nearly getting both of them killed more times than he could count without so much as a single word spoken between them.
The creature who— ah right, who had railed the starlights out of him earlier that evening…
His face heated at the thought and he furiously shook it out of his head. As if on cue, the other man shifted in his sleep, sinking a little deeper into his shoulder with a faint sigh. The Knave’s position was awkward, he noticed, as if he fell asleep on accident… and, the way he was poised seemed, well, almost as if he had no prior experience in close physical contact with another being.
The Bandit never minded being alone. He rather preferred it, if anything. But as for the Red Knave… before all this, he was never once seen without the presence of Her Royal Highness or at least some other member of the Jabberwocky Palace— not touching, not talking, but always near. He had since spent months on end stalking and hunting the Bandit entirely by himself, rarely interacting and never speaking with anyone at all. Surely a creature like he would be deeply touch-starved by now, and from how inexperienced he seemed earlier that night…
“Well, I suppose I was wrong about the Queen liking to have her way with you. Tonight seems to be the first bit of action you’ve ever got, hm?” the Bandit mused. He was quiet enough, he thought, but the Knave’s long keen ears twitched at the voice and he slowly shook himself awake, blinking pale eyes clouded from sleep as the Bandit facepalmed himself mentally.
“Oh, fuck.” were the first words out of the Knave’s mouth. His voice was hoarse and rough, and the scars on his lips shifted and cracked with each syllable.
“So you can speak.” the Bandit muttered, suddenly eager to compose himself again the best he could. He became very aware that he had no clothes on, and neither did the Knave.
“Of course I can speak, you bastard.” the Knave spat stiffly, and unlike the Bandit, made no move to pull himself together, instead choosing simply to lay a hand over his face and sigh. “Damn you. Damn everything. Exactly how fucking drunk did I get?”
The Bandit would have never expected the Red Knave of all beings to speak in such an informal tone, much less use such vulgar language, or really be one to speak much at all. He had always been utterly silent when poised as the masked assassin hunting the Bandersnatched Bandit, after all, and although he hardly suspected that it was related, he could not help but glance briefly at the Knave’s marred lips. Noticing this (because of course he did), the Knave narrowed his sharp eyes before flushing with clear embarrassment and quickly turning his face away.
…
[unfinished]