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“Reynard!“, a voice called out and a hand ended up resting on his shoulder. Just seconds later Gascon's grinning face swerved into view, who had steadied himself on Reynard's shoulder in order to make this turn without losing his balance.
“Finally a friendly face around here“, he continued, looking up to a raised eyebrow and a face that didn't exactly ooze friendliness.
“How about a round or two of Gwent, eh?”
“Can't you go bother anyone else? There are more than enough men around here that know very well how to play cards”
“Oh, but they're boring!”, Gascon waved a hand, looking at the soldiers around them, “Those blockheads don't know how to play with tactics, they don't have finesse”
“Oh, but you do?”
Reynard didn't look too convinced by Gascon's methods of persuasion, especially considering the slight slur in the other man's voice. It was more than evident he'd had more than only one ale already, which made him – in Reynard's opinion – only more annoying than usual.
“What, do you say I play bad? I, who beat you how many times now?”
“You're drunk, Gascon”
“And you think that'd make me worse a player?”
Reynard's answer was a reluctant shrug and a nod, upon which Gascon put a hand on his chest in feigned hurt.
“You insult me deeply. I bet you I'm an even better player now”
“Sure”, Reynard said at length. There was an almost invisible twitch at his lips, hinting to a smile, and he shook his head, turning to leave. Yet, Gascon would have none of it.
“Oh you're just a chicken now! Too afraid drunk me would beat you high and mighty!” When Gascon started to imitate a chicken in surprising accuracy, Reynard stopped and turned his gaze back on him.
“Come on! Get that pike outta your arse and try to beat me”, Gascon continued, “I'll even do you the favour of drinking some more”
“Will you finally shut up then?”
“I might” The grin on the Duke of Dogs' face suggested otherwise, but he had with flawless aim managed to hit Reynard's weak spot. He would never admit it, but being told that he was too afraid of losing a game to a drunk brigand hurt his pride.
They sat down at their usual spot and Gascon shuffled away to get another drink, while Reynard dealt the cards.
“Say, how about we spice this up a little more?”, Gascon suggested upon returning to the table. The other man squinted at him, knowing this most likely didn't mean any good. Drunk ideas were never good ideas, especially if they were Gascon's.
“A small bet, nothing big”, the former brigand continued, “So we both have a little more gain to this than just stroking our egos ...”
“Go on”
“How about I shut up when you tell me for a week if you win. If I win, hmmmm … You owe me a kiss”
Reynard stared at him for a few moments, confusion evident on his face, “... What”
“I shut up if you win. You owe me a kiss if I win”, Gascon repeated slowly, as if explaining something highly complicated to a dim-witted soldier.
“Yes, I got that but. You can't mean that for sure?”
“Ahhh, come on! You said yourself that I'm drunk, so how hard can it be to beat me? Besides, there's way more at stakes for me here than for you! A whole week of silence? Unbearable!”
A long sigh escaped Reynard and he shook his head, but he threw a coin to determine whose turn it was to start nonetheless. It was a stupid bet, but Gascon must've been pretty drunk already to even propose something like that. Or so Reynard told himself.
***
“No way”, Reynard stammered, staring at the cards on the table.
“You cheated. You must have”
“Did not!”, Gascon defended himself, shaking out his arms as if to prove that he hadn't hidden any extra cards in his sleeves. Though drinking three more jugs of ale and a few glasses of vodka right before Reynard's eyes, Gascon had played flawlessly. And won.
Yet what hadn't shown while playing, became evident when Gascon got up – and nearly toppled over upon trying to take a step.
“Oh, gods be damned ...”, Reynard muttered under his breath and went to Gascon's side to give him support. He doubted any of the other men that were still left around the tent would offer their help – they were either drunk themselves or fast asleep on one of the benches. “Her Majesty certainly wouldn't be happy to see one of her advisors sleeping off his drunkenness in the middle of the mess-tent. Come on you fool, let's get you to your own tent at least”
Due to the fact that he had someone to lean on, Gascon even managed to get to his tent without falling face first into the mud. Reynard groaned silently when he was finally able to drop the other man onto his bed.
“Gods … Someone remind me to never play cards with you again when you drank that much”, he mumbled and stretched his back, relieved to be on his way now that Gascon was taken care of.
“Oi, you still owe me!”, Gascon suddenly called when Reynard was about to leave him to his drunken stupor. He turned, frowning at how clear that sentence had been, compared to the way the man had stumbled about before. “Are you even drunk or are you just feigning it at this point?”
“Eh, as if I'd tell you”, Gascon was quick to cover the distance between them, that ever present smile back on his face, but swaying just a bit and holding onto Reynard to keep his balance. “My word still stands, though. You owe me a kiss”
Reynard stared at him, not entirely sure what to make of the situation. “I … You're joking, right?”
Instead of receiving an answer, Reynard was pulled down to the height of the brigand, feeling lips upon his own that were certainly not those of a woman.
The moment seemed to stretch endlessly and he sucked in a deep breath when Gascon eventually let go of him – only to open his eyes to a wide, satisfied grin smeared across the smaller man's face.
“Now would you look at that. You liked it. Kissed back even”, Gascon teased, with a softness to his voice that made Reynard blink at him in confusion before finally regaining his wits.
“... Get out of my face already”, he snarled, pushing Gascon away and turning to leave. The small thud a moment later indicated that the Duke of Dogs had at least found his way to his bed while stumbling back, instead of tumbling to the ground.
“You liked it, Reynard!”, he heard once more upon exiting the tent, the amused giggling that followed it growing more silent with every step he hurried away to his own night stead. He was glad for the moonless night to hide a face red from embarrassment.