Private Trouble at the gate [M]
- Thread starter Laric
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His jaw knit, already braced for an outburst, or more of that cold.
'I'm sorry, Walter.'
A part of him wanted to flee the room. He stayed rooted. Old wounds hurt, and Laric wasn't the one who caused those.
He didn't look up, brows furrowed slightly - not in anger, in thought. Lines at the corner of his eyes, one could almost see the cogs turning inside that hand before he spoke.
"It was that you startled me," he spoke. Nothing felt right, but he had to find some words. "I heard that you were visiting from Garrick, and... didn't want you to see me like a beaten dog. I'm not used to... to getting help. You may have noticed, I'm often the one helping others. And when I'm... in a bad way..." a quiet huff, as he reached to brush the hair from the temple back behind his ear, "I fought a monster, and bandits, and the weather on the way here, and I was ready to fight whatever shadow I found before me. You're not unwelcome. Just knock next time, or call my name, so I know it's you. Alright?"
Maybe he was still ready to fight. He just didn't want to fight Laric.
Walter tilted the glass to his lips, and left it on the table. That brought him a couple steps closer to Laric. The calloused fingers were lukewarm, but he wrapped them around Laric's hand. Brought the knuckles to his chest, thumb against the side of the palm.
The thunder drummed out, and threw a sheet of rain against the window in a violent watery lash.
"Let's... try and mellow out. Both of us." the baron brought Laric's hand to his lips, brushed against knuckles, kissed the back of the palm. "We have a little bit of time to plan the day. I wished to invite you for a ride together, but the hills and roads are going to be slick after this deluge... we'll have to come up with something else, at least until it dries. What would make you feel happier, tomcat?"
'I'm sorry, Walter.'
A part of him wanted to flee the room. He stayed rooted. Old wounds hurt, and Laric wasn't the one who caused those.
He didn't look up, brows furrowed slightly - not in anger, in thought. Lines at the corner of his eyes, one could almost see the cogs turning inside that hand before he spoke.
"It was that you startled me," he spoke. Nothing felt right, but he had to find some words. "I heard that you were visiting from Garrick, and... didn't want you to see me like a beaten dog. I'm not used to... to getting help. You may have noticed, I'm often the one helping others. And when I'm... in a bad way..." a quiet huff, as he reached to brush the hair from the temple back behind his ear, "I fought a monster, and bandits, and the weather on the way here, and I was ready to fight whatever shadow I found before me. You're not unwelcome. Just knock next time, or call my name, so I know it's you. Alright?"
Maybe he was still ready to fight. He just didn't want to fight Laric.
Walter tilted the glass to his lips, and left it on the table. That brought him a couple steps closer to Laric. The calloused fingers were lukewarm, but he wrapped them around Laric's hand. Brought the knuckles to his chest, thumb against the side of the palm.
The thunder drummed out, and threw a sheet of rain against the window in a violent watery lash.
"Let's... try and mellow out. Both of us." the baron brought Laric's hand to his lips, brushed against knuckles, kissed the back of the palm. "We have a little bit of time to plan the day. I wished to invite you for a ride together, but the hills and roads are going to be slick after this deluge... we'll have to come up with something else, at least until it dries. What would make you feel happier, tomcat?"
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"I think we should, it's not half bad. Lies about the mastery, though." He trailed off. Let his eyes drift closed and leaned into the touch with a soft sigh that sounded like relief, whole body letting the tension release some. Walter's hand rested on Laric's waist, pulled him in just for a moment longer. "My dear guest, be welcome," he murmured to the suggestion Laric be shown around. "I will show you everything I can."
He did not pull away, releasing Laric's other hand to pull the man in, slide both of his along the sides and up the back, then down until his fingertips would linger just above the spine.
"Nothing to forgive." That mouth against his neck made him weak, made him want for the lips to stay there and feel the brushing caress of words against the throat. "You didn't make the roads."
More.
Fingers stroked Laric's hair, gold like ripe wheatfields in the hour just before duskfall. He felt greed, not a violent kind but the kind that made him press the man lightly into the table beside. Walter had to reach upward slightly to kiss the other's forehead, then softly press against the lips again. He did not let himself indulge... perhaps, only giving in to one, two, three more moments before the distance between their mouths lasted longer than half a beat.
"You are not wrong, even if it's not something I do entirely by choice. If you mean what you say - I can take you with me next time. But we'll have to prepare well for that occasion, and right now, my thoughts are lingering on your scent and a little shameless indulgence."
When Walter tried to fill the glasses over without moving much, the murky ruby liquid leaking scents of spice into the air. The arm wavered, slightly, spilled a little off the edge. He didn't falter. An index finger ran sideways up to the rim. Lifted to the parting mouth, the tongue that slid over the sweet drop on the skin. The lightning that struck the waves somewhere down below, electric, lingered in the baron's eyes with a violet spark.
A chaise behind five paces, a bed - seven.
"Toast?" Fingers wrapped around the glass stem.
He did not pull away, releasing Laric's other hand to pull the man in, slide both of his along the sides and up the back, then down until his fingertips would linger just above the spine.
"Nothing to forgive." That mouth against his neck made him weak, made him want for the lips to stay there and feel the brushing caress of words against the throat. "You didn't make the roads."
More.
Fingers stroked Laric's hair, gold like ripe wheatfields in the hour just before duskfall. He felt greed, not a violent kind but the kind that made him press the man lightly into the table beside. Walter had to reach upward slightly to kiss the other's forehead, then softly press against the lips again. He did not let himself indulge... perhaps, only giving in to one, two, three more moments before the distance between their mouths lasted longer than half a beat.
"You are not wrong, even if it's not something I do entirely by choice. If you mean what you say - I can take you with me next time. But we'll have to prepare well for that occasion, and right now, my thoughts are lingering on your scent and a little shameless indulgence."
When Walter tried to fill the glasses over without moving much, the murky ruby liquid leaking scents of spice into the air. The arm wavered, slightly, spilled a little off the edge. He didn't falter. An index finger ran sideways up to the rim. Lifted to the parting mouth, the tongue that slid over the sweet drop on the skin. The lightning that struck the waves somewhere down below, electric, lingered in the baron's eyes with a violet spark.
A chaise behind five paces, a bed - seven.
"Toast?" Fingers wrapped around the glass stem.
Eyebrows rose, then a slight nod at the header of the bed - toss them there, soldier. Walter let Laric hold his glass, and kicked off his shoes before climbing deeper onto the bed. He sat there, legs crossed, as he took the glass - and held Laric's to let the man situate how he wished.
"To knowing," Walter smiled. Touched their drinks together to a small melodious clink, and took another draw of it - still warm, blooming with the last vestiges of aroma, apples now more prominent, the slight sour note of them. "Oh?"
His eyebrow perked slightly in a curious notion, then lowered, face lighting up with surprise and a pleasant warmth.
"Oh, that is a delight. How? It isn't the season, is it?" His gaze affixed to Laric, while fingers studied the outlines of briar petals carved on the small container. "Thank you." Pale fingers dove into the box, plucked one red juicy bead out from the rest, and, almost with trepidation, he brought it into his mouth. Pressed it with his tongue, and moaned lightly as the pure taste struck a stronger sour note that tilted sweetness to scale. "Let us share?" Glass settled against his lap, Walter plucked another from the box and offered it to Laric's mouth. Just for a brief moment, perhaps, before he recollected himself - his features spoke of being utterly enchantment.
Brought back to smaller, happier moments, sneaking in treats, having them with someone close.
Not entirely pure or innocent, but it didn't have to be. Was better this way, he thought.
The fruit in his fingers touched Laric's lips, and Walter's mind and attention wondered to the thought of what color would the juice stain them. Distracted, then and there, from even the noise of the sky ripping asunder above the manor.
What a pleasant kind of distraction.
"To knowing," Walter smiled. Touched their drinks together to a small melodious clink, and took another draw of it - still warm, blooming with the last vestiges of aroma, apples now more prominent, the slight sour note of them. "Oh?"
His eyebrow perked slightly in a curious notion, then lowered, face lighting up with surprise and a pleasant warmth.
"Oh, that is a delight. How? It isn't the season, is it?" His gaze affixed to Laric, while fingers studied the outlines of briar petals carved on the small container. "Thank you." Pale fingers dove into the box, plucked one red juicy bead out from the rest, and, almost with trepidation, he brought it into his mouth. Pressed it with his tongue, and moaned lightly as the pure taste struck a stronger sour note that tilted sweetness to scale. "Let us share?" Glass settled against his lap, Walter plucked another from the box and offered it to Laric's mouth. Just for a brief moment, perhaps, before he recollected himself - his features spoke of being utterly enchantment.
Brought back to smaller, happier moments, sneaking in treats, having them with someone close.
Not entirely pure or innocent, but it didn't have to be. Was better this way, he thought.
The fruit in his fingers touched Laric's lips, and Walter's mind and attention wondered to the thought of what color would the juice stain them. Distracted, then and there, from even the noise of the sky ripping asunder above the manor.
What a pleasant kind of distraction.
"How clever," the baron marveled. "But would it remaining rooted where it is not be a reason to visit it?"
The thought of a cherry tree that didn't bloom nor fruit in season seemed to intrigue him. Many Shroud-woven mysteries that altered the nature of things did, and something so peaceful and so joyful would have been a perfect cause to study.
His eyes caught onto the bead between Laric's lips, disappearing as it fell deeper into the mouth, a hint of tongue guiding it. His hand lingered a moment before tracking its way from Laric's mouth to Walter's own. One by one, eyes peering into the green ones with a soft challenge, his lips closed around the fingertips, removing traces of red-purple juice.
He drank, and set his glass away onto the wine table, plucked the box of cherries from the bed, and moved closer, rather without prelude, folding his leg behind Laric's back and pressing the other thigh against thigh as it hung over the edge barefooted. He nuzzled into the crook of the fresh lover's shoulder, careful to keep the treat away from clothes, for fear of accidental stains. Even on black.
"Did you catch a peek at my studies, last night?"
The thought of a cherry tree that didn't bloom nor fruit in season seemed to intrigue him. Many Shroud-woven mysteries that altered the nature of things did, and something so peaceful and so joyful would have been a perfect cause to study.
His eyes caught onto the bead between Laric's lips, disappearing as it fell deeper into the mouth, a hint of tongue guiding it. His hand lingered a moment before tracking its way from Laric's mouth to Walter's own. One by one, eyes peering into the green ones with a soft challenge, his lips closed around the fingertips, removing traces of red-purple juice.
He drank, and set his glass away onto the wine table, plucked the box of cherries from the bed, and moved closer, rather without prelude, folding his leg behind Laric's back and pressing the other thigh against thigh as it hung over the edge barefooted. He nuzzled into the crook of the fresh lover's shoulder, careful to keep the treat away from clothes, for fear of accidental stains. Even on black.
"Did you catch a peek at my studies, last night?"
"It doesn't. But it's one of those topics that I would address sometime later..." Came the murmur in response. The baron's mouth found a sweet spot above the line of collar, sighing with emphasized dejection when Laric would finally break that contact, and pull the box out of his hand.
Was it the full moons event? He was quite certain, feeling this alive usually meant the silver aspect reigned against the dark.
An eyebrow perked at an angle. "I can assure you, I've worked up quite an appetite." Healing was hungry work, and tending to affairs since morning... and this. His eyes widened slightly when he was finally dropped onto the bed. A surprised, pleased smile widened, chuckle escaping without any words, when Walter found himself looking at Laric from below and felt the grip on him.
"Oh..."
Words stopped stringing together, all of a sudden. For the most part.
"I will," he assured, a bit of hoarseness in the tone betraying how he found this situation. "The other shoulder's tender, but so long as you don't squeeze it... a touch over the last healing bits of bruising would hardly scatter my attention right now."
Walter found the swan-shaped clasp with the tips of his fingers as he kissed back, toyed with the relief of silver, contemplated being unruly. His head, however, lolled back. Daring. Inviting.
"The tour will be very educational," he breathed, "and have stops in darker and secluded corners, so the servants don't apprehend us. If you remember about my studies by the time night comes, I promise I will tell you."
Was it the full moons event? He was quite certain, feeling this alive usually meant the silver aspect reigned against the dark.
An eyebrow perked at an angle. "I can assure you, I've worked up quite an appetite." Healing was hungry work, and tending to affairs since morning... and this. His eyes widened slightly when he was finally dropped onto the bed. A surprised, pleased smile widened, chuckle escaping without any words, when Walter found himself looking at Laric from below and felt the grip on him.
"Oh..."
Words stopped stringing together, all of a sudden. For the most part.
"I will," he assured, a bit of hoarseness in the tone betraying how he found this situation. "The other shoulder's tender, but so long as you don't squeeze it... a touch over the last healing bits of bruising would hardly scatter my attention right now."
Walter found the swan-shaped clasp with the tips of his fingers as he kissed back, toyed with the relief of silver, contemplated being unruly. His head, however, lolled back. Daring. Inviting.
"The tour will be very educational," he breathed, "and have stops in darker and secluded corners, so the servants don't apprehend us. If you remember about my studies by the time night comes, I promise I will tell you."
His breath caught audibly with both wrists immobilized. A token struggle, tensing against the confines. But he was laughing until he was whimpering softly, to the soft noises of kisses. The pressure of tips of teeth, promised bite, summoned an open-mouthed sigh, Walter's chin tilting up. It was so easy to forget anything right now, certainly the question that was more of a tease. A flush came to his face easily, blooming rose on the cheeks, coloring the rims of his ears deeper. Didn't want to think. The weight of him felt good.
And, just the moment he wanted to beg Laric not to stop, there was a kiss to tangle the words between their mouths, and then... Walter stared at the ceiling, slightly out of breath, for a moment. Then stared at the hand, as if it took a bit of time to catch up with what the offer was. Took the hand, feeling light-headed as he stood, the quiet burning in his eyes directed at Laric as the knock repeated, fingers squeezing around the open hand. As if promising he wouldn't forget, either, though they might be meaning entirely different things.
"Go on," he murmured, lips parted as he took in another breath, finally let go. "It is your space. Let her come in."
The maid did not seem to expect the two of them, lord Thornley choosing to pour some water into the washbasin but his ears still betraying a cause for excitement. At least they were both dressed, Josephine ruled, hiding a smirk until the two did depart for downstairs.
The manor was alive. House servants hurried along the hallways and down hidden staircases for the daily affairs, eyes did not linger on Laric and Walter making their way to the dining hall.
There were, indeed, quite a number of dark corners, as Walter called them. Turns into narrow hallways leading either to servant passages or dead ends with small sun rooms or themed lounges. Alcoves that did not all house some sort of exhibit - perhaps, taken for cleaning or restoration, perhaps, never intended to be filled at all. Walter seemed to be attuned to the movements around him with a precision almost uncanny - and so, as they turned the corner to walk down a hall before the dining room entry, his usually ascetic manner in keeping distance was suddenly accentuated by fingers slipping around Laric's waist as he took the lead, just a moment later needing that space to exchange morning greetings with Anthea and all the hands to be kept perfectly decently placed.
*
It was a spacious, grim room, the antlers of elk and deer almost turning into an ornament to prop up the vaulted ceiling. Between them, hung the tapestries depicting huntsmen, but they were not hunting game, instead chasing away wolves, strange giant fur beasts, pale bats the size of a horse together with a rider, and dragons that snarled their maws while slithering from under the ocean waves.
Any heeled boots echoed in this space, every shuffle carrying slightly.
It could accommodate a smaller copy of how old Altalusian lords used to be seated - head of the house at the head of the room, and other tables sitting guests beside each wall. Right now, however, only one, heavy, large thing of hardwood cut the middle of it. Vines snaked up the table legs, and under the tabletop, turned into twining snakes embracing a star chart. Unseen.
Only two seats were filled, the lord's at the head and the one to the left-hand side.
"My ancestor built this place," Walter mentioned as he landed in his seat, and eyed the spread of eggs, season's turn vegetables and meats, and a brew of salvia left fresh for him just to the side. "I can appreciate his cunning when it came to placement and defenses... but he didn't seem to account too much for sunlight."
It was true - the hallways weren't too pierced by daylight, and even here, though there were tall, wide windows along the middle of one wall, the shadows lay deeper around the rest. The atmosphere reigned somewhat oppressive, making one want to scurry outside for a breath of air, make certain that the sky, whether blue or grey, was still in place, escape the looming walls.
The head maid wasn't overseeing, a footman named Leon serving the lords while the maid Sophie kept between the kitchen and a side table. They both exchanged a smiling good morning with Walter and wished one to Laric, casting glances between each other with an aptitude of a married couple.
Walter brought the herbal brew to his lips first, bitter as it was, but his eyes were fixed to Laric.
"If it's dryer outside tomorrow, I'm taking you out. Riding through the hills will be a good way to shake off the manor's cobwebs, and there is a festival in the towns in just a couple days. Do you partake?"
And, just the moment he wanted to beg Laric not to stop, there was a kiss to tangle the words between their mouths, and then... Walter stared at the ceiling, slightly out of breath, for a moment. Then stared at the hand, as if it took a bit of time to catch up with what the offer was. Took the hand, feeling light-headed as he stood, the quiet burning in his eyes directed at Laric as the knock repeated, fingers squeezing around the open hand. As if promising he wouldn't forget, either, though they might be meaning entirely different things.
"Go on," he murmured, lips parted as he took in another breath, finally let go. "It is your space. Let her come in."
The maid did not seem to expect the two of them, lord Thornley choosing to pour some water into the washbasin but his ears still betraying a cause for excitement. At least they were both dressed, Josephine ruled, hiding a smirk until the two did depart for downstairs.
The manor was alive. House servants hurried along the hallways and down hidden staircases for the daily affairs, eyes did not linger on Laric and Walter making their way to the dining hall.
There were, indeed, quite a number of dark corners, as Walter called them. Turns into narrow hallways leading either to servant passages or dead ends with small sun rooms or themed lounges. Alcoves that did not all house some sort of exhibit - perhaps, taken for cleaning or restoration, perhaps, never intended to be filled at all. Walter seemed to be attuned to the movements around him with a precision almost uncanny - and so, as they turned the corner to walk down a hall before the dining room entry, his usually ascetic manner in keeping distance was suddenly accentuated by fingers slipping around Laric's waist as he took the lead, just a moment later needing that space to exchange morning greetings with Anthea and all the hands to be kept perfectly decently placed.
*
It was a spacious, grim room, the antlers of elk and deer almost turning into an ornament to prop up the vaulted ceiling. Between them, hung the tapestries depicting huntsmen, but they were not hunting game, instead chasing away wolves, strange giant fur beasts, pale bats the size of a horse together with a rider, and dragons that snarled their maws while slithering from under the ocean waves.
Any heeled boots echoed in this space, every shuffle carrying slightly.
It could accommodate a smaller copy of how old Altalusian lords used to be seated - head of the house at the head of the room, and other tables sitting guests beside each wall. Right now, however, only one, heavy, large thing of hardwood cut the middle of it. Vines snaked up the table legs, and under the tabletop, turned into twining snakes embracing a star chart. Unseen.
Only two seats were filled, the lord's at the head and the one to the left-hand side.
"My ancestor built this place," Walter mentioned as he landed in his seat, and eyed the spread of eggs, season's turn vegetables and meats, and a brew of salvia left fresh for him just to the side. "I can appreciate his cunning when it came to placement and defenses... but he didn't seem to account too much for sunlight."
It was true - the hallways weren't too pierced by daylight, and even here, though there were tall, wide windows along the middle of one wall, the shadows lay deeper around the rest. The atmosphere reigned somewhat oppressive, making one want to scurry outside for a breath of air, make certain that the sky, whether blue or grey, was still in place, escape the looming walls.
The head maid wasn't overseeing, a footman named Leon serving the lords while the maid Sophie kept between the kitchen and a side table. They both exchanged a smiling good morning with Walter and wished one to Laric, casting glances between each other with an aptitude of a married couple.
Walter brought the herbal brew to his lips first, bitter as it was, but his eyes were fixed to Laric.
"If it's dryer outside tomorrow, I'm taking you out. Riding through the hills will be a good way to shake off the manor's cobwebs, and there is a festival in the towns in just a couple days. Do you partake?"
"That, and, story goes, an annual celebration of the day that a mysterious man had saved Bremen."
His gaze flicked to the hint of the tongue, then turned to the tapestry as Walter downed the brew and landed the tall clay cup on the aspen seat to be carried away, gesturing for Leon to pour him ale into the empty cup besides, a necessary pause as the bottom of Anthea's herbal brew always tasted worse than the top and he need to wash it down.
His hand remained motionless until Laric's fingertips found his forearm, just as Leon was straightening on the other side of him. Walter's fingers turned to capture Laric's, for just a moment, and drifted apart, grabbed a two-pronged fork to fill his plate, particularly curious about the spiced sausages and freshly baked bread. In his continuing smoothly, it was easy to miss him shake his head - no cover, servants present, no tomfoolery.
"The tides had been higher than the unusual ones we've been seeing this summer, and the great sea serpents, lindwurms, have been thrown out by some of the storms. Stranded, they squirmed and slithered all over the groves and hilltops, terrorized the people ate the cattle and every stray dog and brigand. No sword could slay the beast, but then came a man with a magic flute..."
He trailed off to bite into the sausage.
"We could find out. There is an apple tree in the hills, still there almost two decades later... race you to it, if you like. If you remember where. How does that sound?"
His gaze flicked to the hint of the tongue, then turned to the tapestry as Walter downed the brew and landed the tall clay cup on the aspen seat to be carried away, gesturing for Leon to pour him ale into the empty cup besides, a necessary pause as the bottom of Anthea's herbal brew always tasted worse than the top and he need to wash it down.
His hand remained motionless until Laric's fingertips found his forearm, just as Leon was straightening on the other side of him. Walter's fingers turned to capture Laric's, for just a moment, and drifted apart, grabbed a two-pronged fork to fill his plate, particularly curious about the spiced sausages and freshly baked bread. In his continuing smoothly, it was easy to miss him shake his head - no cover, servants present, no tomfoolery.
"The tides had been higher than the unusual ones we've been seeing this summer, and the great sea serpents, lindwurms, have been thrown out by some of the storms. Stranded, they squirmed and slithered all over the groves and hilltops, terrorized the people ate the cattle and every stray dog and brigand. No sword could slay the beast, but then came a man with a magic flute..."
He trailed off to bite into the sausage.
"We could find out. There is an apple tree in the hills, still there almost two decades later... race you to it, if you like. If you remember where. How does that sound?"