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It’s been a long day for Fjord. The night after the rest of the Mighty Nein had found him, Jester and Yasha, well. It hadn’t been the most restful sleep he’d ever had. Then came the journey to Shady Creek Run, and on to Zadash. Dealing with the Gentleman. Shopping.
So now, sitting in the corner of the Leaky Tap, four ales in and bone-fucking-tired, Fjord isn’t exactly watching his tongue. And Caleb is in his cups as well, Fjord thinks, since he’s swaying and humming along with the three-piece band in the corner opposite.
“Fjord,” Caleb declares in his alcohol-thickened accent. “I love this song.”
“Caleb,” Fjord replies, deadpan, “you’re drunk.”
“You know,” Caleb posits, interrupting himself with a swig of that honey-whiskey, “I have danced with Jester, Molly danced with Jester – gods rest him – and look, even Caduceus is dancing with Jester.” Fjord looked across the room and sure enough, they were bobbing back and forth to the music. “I know she’s interested in you,” Caleb continued. “She makes no secret of it. So why don’t you dance with her?” He takes another drink. “This is a good song.”
Fjord feels his face burn hot, and he’s sure the greeny-blue darkening of his cheeks is visible even to Caleb in this low light of the pub. “Oh, I, uh.” He stutters, which only makes him flush more. There’s just something about the way Caleb peers at him that gets him hot under his collar. Somehow no more words come to Fjord’s lips.
“You what? Do you not return her affections? I had never been quite sure but--”
“No!” Fjord barks, then winces. “No,” he repeats, softer. “No, I mean, Jester’s nice and all but that’s not it.”
Caleb gives a sort of shrug as his hands dance in a vague approximation of conducting the music. “Then what?”
“I, uh.” Fjord’s throat feels tight, his mouth dry. This was such a stupid thing, why the fuck couldn’t he just spit it out and move on? “I don’t… know how,” he nearly whispers.
“Vas?”
Fjord coughs awkwardly, looks away. “I don’t know how, okay,” he says a bit too gruffly. “I’ve never really danced with… with a partner before. Not like that.”
“But you are a sailor!” Caleb gapes.
“And?” It’s not like that means anything. It’s not like ‘sailor’ equals ‘dancer.’ It’s not like he’s ever really come across too many people he’d even want to dance with like that.
“And…” Caleb’s fire flares out for a moment, then returns with a fervor. “And I shall teach you.” He stands abruptly, holding out his hand to Fjord who blinks a bit blearily in response. “Come on,” Caleb urges. “It’s not hard, children can do it.”
“Wow thanks,” Fjord says dryly. “That really makes me feel better.” But he stands up anyway, and after allowing himself a moment to wonder what the fuck he’s gotten into, he takes Caleb’s hand. It’s warm, even through those bandages he wraps around them, and his fingers are soft. Fjord hopes his calluses don’t snag on the linen.
Caleb steps lightly around the table, still holding Fjord’s hand gently. “Lucky for you, we learned to lead and to follow at Soltryce.” Fjord gives him a questioning look, and he explains, “They taught us magic, yes, but also etiquette. We were to be the elites, leaders of the Empire.” Caleb makes a face. “We had to be prepared for balls and such. Now.” He holds his chin high, then begins a bow. “First, we bow.”
Fjord copies him, feeling ridiculous as he does so in this stinky, sticky, skeevy bar. But then Caleb steps closer, places his hand on Fjord’s shoulder, and Fjord’s hands move automatically into place. His left hand wraps all the way around Caleb’s scrawny hip, and even through the coat Fjord thinks he’s getting far too familiar with this dirty hobo wizard. But Caleb’s thumb rubs over his for just a moment and Fjord feels a flush of heat again, this time for an entirely different reason.
“Ja, good,” Caleb smiles. “Keep a straight back, chest broad, ja, just like that, very handsome. Now feel how this music is played in three. One two three, one two three. You will step forward side together, forward side together.”
Fjord tries this, causing Caleb to stumble and scramble to keep his feet out of the way. “Sorry,” he mutters. But before too long he’s able to waltz in a straight line – turns out it wasn’t that hard after all – and Caleb reminds him that the first “Forward” could be in any direction, actually. Now Caleb’s counting “Eins zwei drei” quietly for Fjord while Fjord leads them in a slowly-turning little box of dance steps. Caleb’s looking at him like there was no place he’d rather be, and Fjord tries to match his eye contact and not be constantly looking at his own feet.
It turns out however, when Fjord keeps looking at the blue of Caleb’s eyes their dancing falters a bit. Both of them slow to a stop slightly ahead of the ending of the song, and while their clasped hands lower a bit, neither one of them lets go. There’s a heavy, pregnant moment where Fjord feels like he should say something, or do something, but he’s too caught up in the golden green flecks of Caleb’s iris, too comfortable holding Caleb in his arms like a precious thing, too unwilling to break the spell.
“You are a quick study,” Caleb murmurs.
“You are a good teacher,” Fjord replies, just as quiet.
The bar has emptied out significantly since Fjord first sat down. The rest of the Mighty Nein left for their rooms and now all that remains are a couple of drunks still at the counter, and one table of six adventurer-looking types too caught up in themselves and each other to pay Caleb and him any mind. The band in the other corner begins a new song, but Fjord doesn’t really hear it because Caleb takes a step closer to him and lifts his chin, just a little.
Fjord lets his arm slink further around Caleb’s waist, holding him just a hair’s breadth away. Caleb’s lips part, his tongue sneaks out to wet them, and Fjord dips his chin in invitation.
“What about Jester?” Caleb asks in a whisper.
“What about ‘er?” Fjord responds. It’s not what he’d thought Caleb would say, and he’s thrown off a little to think of her now.
“From everything she’s said–”
Fjord chuckles wryly. “She can say whatever she wants. I’m not interested.” Not when he’s got Caleb right here, right now, in his arms. He brushes his nose over Caleb’s, nudges him aside to slot their mouths together but before he closes the distance completely he says, “I want you.”
Caleb’s hand slides up from its dancing position on Fjord’s shoulder to cup his jaw instead. His fingers curl into the hair behind Fjord’s ear and a jolt of desire shoots low in his gut. When Caleb leans up to close the distance between their lips it’s soft and delicious and just what Fjord needs. They kiss like they have all the time in the world, like there’s no one else in the room, like Fjord hadn’t been kidnapped and bound and gagged less than 48 hours ago. It’s slow and sweet. It kindles that hot pulse in Fjord’s belly until it’s a constant simmer of desire.
His tusks have grown longer than he usually likes to keep them, but it doesn’t seem to bother Caleb, who moves around them, or kisses and licks the scars they’ve made on Fjord’s lips. Caleb shifts, slotting his leg between Fjord’s, and it’s only the swell of laughter from that other table that reminds Fjord they’re in public, and he probably shouldn’t press himself against it. A little growl of frustration rises from his throat, and Caleb pulls away. For a brief moment, Fjord felt a shock of panic that he’d somehow scared Caleb off, and he backs up further, but Caleb’s smiling.
“Perhaps,” he says, and now his cheeks are reddening. “Perhaps we should head upstairs?”
“I’d like that,” Fjord answers, and as the musicians pack up their instruments and the innkeep sends the other adventurers away, he lets Caleb lead him upstairs.
It’s been a long day for Fjord, but it looks like his night has just begun.