Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, come here often?”

You were skeptical when Julian first suggested it.

“Role play?” You had asked with a tilt of your head, eyeing Julian curiously. “What for?”

Julian’s resulting suggestive smirk told you everything you needed to know.

So, here you are, sitting at the bar on a hard wooden stool at the Rowdy Raven, tracing the rim of your cup out of boredom while you wait for Julian. The prompt is simple: you are enjoying some time out at the Rowdy Raven, waiting for nothing in particular, and Julian is a handsome stranger with a pension for flirting.

You expected nothing different.

He should be here any-

“So, come here often?”

Ah, there he is. You turn, smiling casually at Julian. He’s smirking devilishly, pulling up his own stool. You know he’s in his element. “Hm, I might if I get to see more of you.”

For a moment, Julian’s smirk falters. He knows that this is all an act, but it’s clear that your forward response to his silly line threw him for a loop. Part of him expected you to act aloof. Really, he should have known better. “Very forward. I like that.” He picks himself right back up and immerses himself in the act once again, taking your free hand and bringing it to his lips. Your heart swells in your chest as he kisses it, “tell me my dear, could I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

Damn, he’s good at this. You tell Julian your name, eyes lingering on him while he releases your hand.

Julian repeats it, as if testing the taste of it on his tongue. “So I was right to assume a vision such as yourself would have a name that’s just as enchanting.” Julian always knows exactly what to say when it comes to making you blush.

Your cheeks turn pink in spite of yourself. Julian summons the bartender, Barth, a man you both know well, and you take a sip from your glass. He smiles warmly and passes Julian his first Salty Bitters of the night, greeting you both politely, blissfully unaware of the little game you two are playing. You ignore the fact and know Julian will too. “They’re disgusting,” you find yourself saying, watching Julian out of the corner of your eye.

“That they are,” Julian agrees, setting his mug down. “Not sure why I even drink them.”

“Perhaps I could introduce you to something better?” you offer coyly, turning to face Julian. How brow piques with interest, and you raise your glass. “Try this.”

Julian leans in, purposely watching you with a smirk as he does. The opening in his shirt widens, and you see even more of the chest you love to curl up against as he takes the glass from your hand, his fingers brushing against your own. You feel giddy, like you’re in the honeymoon phase and getting to experience this seductive side for the first time all over again. Julian takes a sip, his nose scrunching. The sweet tasting concoction is a vastly different flavor pallet than what he’s use to, but in that moment he considers drinking more. You’re too distracted by his chest to notice that he’s handing your glass back to you until he clears his throat, “see something you like?”

“Yes,” you answer instinctively, the blush returning with a vengeance. You’re having a hard time discerning what’s role play and what’s actually you. Julian doesn’t seem to mind, and you can’t find it in you to mind either. You take the glass back and sip from it nervously. Why are you so nervous? “Ah, I-I mean-”

Julian laughs, a lovely, bold sound you’ve grown to love, “no need to be shy. We’re just two adults enjoying some drinks and each other’s company, right? Some playful flirting is harmless.”

You briefly wonder how he’s able to do this so easily before remembering that his entire personality is that of a dramatic flirt. You sip more of your drink. “I suppose you’re right.” Julian shifts in his chair. When did he get so close? He asks the bartender to bring him two more of whatever you’re having. You notice your glass is nearly empty. Suddenly, you recall that you forgot a crucial detail. “You know handsome, I never did catch your name.”

Julian turns to meet your gaze, and his smile widens, “my name? Julian, but you can call me yours.”

That’s the final straw. You burst out laughing.

Julian’s smile falls, and he looks at you with wide eyes, “um…did I say something funny?”

You fail to hide your laughter by covering your mouth with your hand, and after a few moments you know resistance is futile. “It’s just- pfft, I’m sorry, Ilya, but that was, ha ha ha, that was so dorky.”

Knowing the charade is over, Julian wraps an arm around you, and you turn to giggle into his chest. He chuckles a little too, kissing your head, “for what it was worth, I thought that line was perfect.”

“It was lame,” you disagree, finally able to stop laughing long enough to look up at him. “You did great otherwise, love.”

The tips of Julian’s ears turn pink at the praise, “as did you, darling. We should do this again sometime.”

“Mm, we should.” You lean into his embrace, forgetting all about the uncomfortable bar stools and instead focusing on Julian’s warmth. While the rest of the night doesn’t go as planned, you both leave the Rowdy Raven feeling giddy and satisfied.

Chapter Text

“What do you think you're doing?”

You knew what you were getting yourself into from the moment you extended an invitation to your bed for the first time.

Julian, despite his progress, finds the act of self care and preservation to be difficult. Who wouldn't, after all he's been through? Still, he tries – even if his attempts are less than effective. You suppose that's why he's become so good at distracting you from the bigger picture – namely, his many terrible habits –, a side effect of a lifetime of self-neglect weighing heavily on him and influencing how he approaches you after he does something he knows you'll end up disapproving of. Like neglecting sleep, for example. It's always his sleeping habits. You suppose that's going to be the hardest to correct, but persist nevertheless, too determined to back down.

Through the part in the curtains, the room is cast in a gentle glow from the edges of dawn curling around the horizon. You turn over onto your side with a soft noise, reaching out instinctively when you notice the absence of your favorite source of warmth. Your fingers curl around nothing, and before the creak in the floorboard has a chance to alert you of the movement you sigh, turning to your other side to see Julian trying to quietly traverse the few feet between your bed and the door. “What do you think you're doing?”

Julian freezes, back going ramrod straight before he turns to you, smiling timidly, shirt half on. The face of a man caught in the act, “o-oh. Good morning, darling, I was just-”

“Save it,” you interrupt, much to his chagrin, “get back here, Julian. You're not ready to be up yet and neither am I.”

“But-”

“Ilya, I know how little you slept last night. In the very least, lie here with me a little longer?” You decide that turning on the charm Julian finds so irresistible is the best course of action, gazing at him sleepily. “Please, love? I'm much more relaxed with you at my side.”

Julian flushes clear up to the tips of his ears, and you smile in spite of yourself, knowing that Julian won't say no to you. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he teases, removing his shirt coyly in an attempt to conceal how much your words affected him. You grin at him as he crosses the floor and joins you in bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Without so much as a word of protest, Julian allows you to take him into your arms, your chin on top of his head. “And here I thought I was the one with charm.”

“You are,” you agree, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. “I just like to save mine until I need it.”

“You conveniently only seem to need it when you want me to do something for my own benefit.”

“Hm.” If Julian has anything else to say, it dies in his throat when the warmth of your mouth meets the spot just below his ear. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I know...” Julian admits quietly, his hand caressing the bare skin of the arm you have around him. His fingers rise to tangle with your own, his lips brushing your knuckles. “It's hard.”

“I know, love.” You do know. After all, you had been there to witness firsthand how badly Julian treated himself before you began to get through to him. His progress is astounding for a man who's suffered as much as he has, and every day you remind him just how proud you are. “You know I'm proud of you, right?”

“You remind me every day.” Even from this position, you can feel Julian's smile. “Where would I be without you?”

You chuckle, “probably wasted on Salty Bitters.”

Julian returns the laugh, holding your joined hands to his heart, “you're right, my dear. I much prefer this, though. I'd take your warmth over all the Salty Bitters in Vesuvia any day.” At this, you lean up and kiss Julian's cheek once, twice, three times until he gets the message and turns his head, smiling up at you warmly, feigning innocence, “yes?”

You roll your eyes and capture his lips between your own.

The rising sun casts shadows in the streets of Vesuvia. Outside your window, birds sing to one another, a cheerful melody you've come to appreciate. Beneath you, Julian Devorak lies breathless, holding onto you like he never intends to let go as the kiss intensifies. Beneath the starry pattern enchanted onto your ceiling, your name is parting Julian's lips like a prayer. The world can wait a little longer, you decide, letting unspoken praises spur you forward. You think Julian is at his best like this, and as the morning sun sends the city into sharp relief, you tell Julian once more how proud of him you are, intercepting his lips in a kiss, the intimacy of which a secret only the two of you know.

Chapter Text

“Stay with me?”

Julian always thought it ironic when a doctor fell ill.

And by that, he means that he gave fate a subtle nod each time he got sick, acknowledging the cleverness of it. Curse his terrible habits.

Fortunately for him, he has a partner who specializes in taking care of him.

That doesn't mean he's a good patient though.

Unable to be his usual debonair self in the throes of his sickness, Julian's natural instinct is to be even more of a pain in the ass than usual. He readily denies the need for a helping hand, reverting right back to his old ways. Mazelinka would inform him and you both that he was, undoubtedly, the worst patient ever before sending the two of you on your way with a pot of stew to take home.

The first time he was afflicted with the flu, he was sure you would snap, unable to handle how much he brushed off your attempts to take care of him. As it turned out, he was delightfully wrong – and absolutely affronted by how stubborn you could be. Still, when he finally succumbed to your desire to make him better, he knew that he made the right choice in the Hanged Man's Realm. You were gentle where it was needed and firm where it wasn't, too familiar with how he worked to let him stop you. That first night was rough, but come the next morning he was already feeling much better than he had, praising you for your magic touch and following the statement with a signature wiggle of his brow. You had smacked him in the face with a throw pillow.

Julian knows how much you hate seeing him in this state and tries his hardest to be his usual self, cracking lame jokes and telling dramatic stories that end up being cut short by deep, hacking coughs. You sigh over the pot of soup you're heating on the stove, “Julian, go lie down.”

“Why? I feel just fine, my dear! There's no need... no need...” he pauses to sneeze mid-sentence, his body shaking with the force. “To worry,” he finishes weakly, unconsciously tightening the heavy quilt around his shoulders. So much for that, he thinks bitterly.

You turn and shoot him a warning look, “Julian.”

The look in your eyes is enough to render him completely silent. His eyes fall, and he turns around to walk back into the bedroom, the quilt hanging off his slim frame and dragging along the wooden floor. You almost feel guilty before remembering that being firm is the best way to get Julian to listen to you. The stew begins to boil, and you grab a bowl from the cabinet before removing the pot from the stove. You hear Julian shuffling in the next room and spoon some of the hearty broth into the bowl, deciding to test the waters with this before letting Julian eat something heavier.

The first thing Julian says upon your entrance is “that smells delicious. Mazelinka's recipe?”

“The very same,” you inform him, walking forward while he sniffs pathetically from within his blanket cocoon. You don't have it in you to laugh at the sight this time around. “Lie back, sweetheart,” you say gently, sitting down next to him on the bed. He turns, and you kiss his forehead, “you're burning up.”

“The only thing burning is my desire for you,” Julian tries, leaning into you with an expression that, had he not looked so sickly, promises nothing but trouble.

You offer him a sympathy laugh and balance the bowl on your lap, “will you at least let me feed you this time?”

Julian considers it for a moment, “only if you promise not to spent too much time helping me. I know you have a lot to do, darling.”

“You know I could never promise such a thing, Julian.”

“It was worth a shot.”

You manage to coerce him into drinking most of the broth before he stops you, “can I ask you something?”

You set the bowl on the night stand and brush a strand of sweaty curls back off his forehead, “of course.”

“Are you happy?”

Your brows furrow, and you glance at him. He looks nervous, his eyes unable to meet yours. “What do you mean?”

Several long, uncomfortable moments of silence follow before Julian speaks again, his voice thick with sickness, “with me. Are you happy with me.”

It's not phrased like a question anymore, and it worries you a little. You take Julian in your arms, “of course I am, Ilya. You think I keep you in my life because you're attractive?”

Julian's laugh is strained, but genuine enough, “if it were me I'd do the same thing.”

“Ah ah,” you tut, “remember what I said about talking bad about yourself.”

“I know, I know.” He stops, lying there in your arms, a sweaty mess. A year ago, Julian would have been dealing with this illness by himself, too aware of his position in society to let himself rely on anyone. Then you came into his life, and everything was a whirlwind from there. Never in his life had Julian expected to find himself enjoying the path he had taken – before you, he was nothing more than a man broken down by tragedy after tragedy, a man so vile and wicked that no one dared speak his name aloud. Julian Devorak never expected to make it to his thirties.

He never expected to be given a second chance.

“Julian?”

He turns, gazing up at you with weary, bloodshot eyes. Eyes brimming with tears. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

His sudden shift is concerning, and you tighten your hold on him. “Julian?”

“Words can't express how much you mean to me, my dear. Without you, I wouldn't be alive.” His breath hitches, and your heart breaks a little. “Every day, I thank every higher power I can think of for you. You saw me at my worse and still decided I was worth a second chance. For that, I can only express my highest gratitude.” He coughs, a deep, vicious sound that makes you flinch. When he looks at you again, tears are steaming down his cheeks. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too,” you answer, brushing a tear away with your thumb. “Now lie down, Julian.”

Rather than blatant disobedience, Julian complies without protest, his eyes falling shut. You rise and grab the bowl and spoon, walking to the door. “Wait.” Julian calls weakly. You turn to see him looking at you, pleading. “Stay with me?”

You are in no position to even think of denying him. So you don't.

The bowl is forgotten to the side as you take your place beside Julian, who moves over to give you ample room. It proves unnecessary when you pull him into you and close the small gap anyway. He tries to protest, something about you getting sick too, but you hear none of it over your soft humming. “Do you remember how I told you my mom use to sing to me when I was sick?”

“I remember.”

“Would you mind if I did that for you?”

Julian's eyes light up, “as if I could ever pass up an opportunity to hear your voice.”

You flush with pride at this, cradling him in your arms, his head against your chest. He's close enough to hear the rhythmic thumping of your heart; he chooses not to mention how immensely calming it is. You begin to hum the familiar melody, warming up your voice before starting to softly sing to Julian, “Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes, and save these questions for another day." Julian hums along, not recognizing the song itself but finding familiarity in the soft melody. You continue, rubbing Julian's back through the thick quilt. “I think I know what you've been asking me... I think you know what I've been trying to say.” He makes a noise of content, burying his face in your neck. “I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know... I never will be far away.”

Together you stay for the remainder of the song. Julian falls asleep against you about halfway through, his breath fanning out against your neck. You can't help but notice how at peace he looks in slumber, despite his scrunched up expression, lips parted, breathing labored. As much as you want to get him a cold cloth to wipe away the sweat, moving is entirely out of the question. You settle for plan B and focus your energy into the tips of your fingers, brushing the chilled digits over the heated skin of his forehead. The subtle movement causes him to stir but he remains asleep, his expression falling into one more relaxed, less pained. Cold fingers caress his flaming cheek before the temperature returns to normal. You settle into Julian and close your eyes, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

the song is one of my favorites. i highly recommend listening to it

Chapter Text

“Why have you been so secretive lately?”

Julian, to his credit, fancies himself a great secret keeper, thank you very much.

The only issue with that is that he's, according to Portia, “nothing but a loose-lipped gossip who can't keep a secret to save his life.” When Julian moved to protest his sister's claim, she refuted it by listing off numerous occasions where his big mouth got them into trouble- some of the stories had made you laugh until your sides ached, and Julian flushed clear up to the tips of his ears and didn't speak to either of you for the rest of dinner. Afterwards he pulled you aside and confidently assured you that Portia's words were completely untrue, only to drop the act immediately when Portia decided to jump into the conversation from nowhere to defend her honor as Vesuvia's most knowledgeable – “by that,” Julian corrected, “she means most nosy,” a comment that earned him an elbow to the ribs – handmaiden. It was only then Julian begrudgingly admitted that maybe, just maybe, he isn't the best with secrets.

Suffice to say, Julian's ability to withhold secrets, while formerly not an issue between the two of you, is getting on your nerves- it has been a week and Julian is very obviously hiding something from you, only this time he seems very intent on keeping whatever he's hiding under lock and key. No amount of questioning, pleading, even teasing – though you very nearly broke him a few nights ago with your careful touches and seductive banter – is working, and your curiosity is proving to be insatiable. What was so important that he had to dance around the subject whenever you brought it up? Julian stopped keeping secrets from you a long time ago, so what's different? You worry – could it be something dangerous? No, if that was the case he wouldn't be so keen. So what is it?

Your first attempt to coerce it out of him had failed, and you vowed to try again. So you interrogated Asra, who you had seen animatedly speaking with Julian the night before. In hindsight, it was a terrible idea from the start – Asra is the best damn secret keeper in Vesuvia, and no amount of questioning from you was going to change that. You tried Portia next, but she was either much too busy to pay attention to your request or too determined to let anything slip. The idea briefly crossed your mind that maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance that Portia didn't know about whatever Julian was trying to hide. That idea was quickly tossed out when you remembered who you were talking about.

Nadia, though a last resort, surely had some clue, right? After all, it was her job to know what was going on with her people. Alas, she knew nothing of Julian's plans and you were ready to give up. Until that night, when your opening came and you chose to seize it. This led you to where you are now, watching Julian furiously scribble like he's running out of time. He had been running around all day and night, coming home looking exhausted before holing up in the study you had set up for him prior to his moving in. You enter, making no effort to be quiet, “Julian.”

Your voice startles him so badly that he jumps, knocking his hand into the bottle of ink beside the parchment and tipping it over. He swears vehemently, snatching the parchment up from the table and throwing it to the side before jumping up and turning towards you, eyes still wide with surprise, “oh! I didn't hear you come in!”

With a wave of your hand the ink is quickly cleared and deposited back in the bottle, leaving behind no evidence of his accidental lapse. You stare him down – he looks nervous. “Why have you been so secretive lately?”

Julian swallows, “I don't- I don't know what you mean, my dear.”

“Julian,” you press, advancing. “Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about! You've been dancing around me all week and every time I've tried to get you to tell me what's going on, you brushed me off or ran away!” He bites his lip, and you continue on, angry. “I thought we stopped keeping secrets from each other!”

For a few tense moments, Julian has nothing to say. He looks left, then right, staring down the knot in the wooden floor to the left of you, eyeing the bundle of herbs safely held at your hip, meeting anywhere and everywhere but your scrutinizing gaze. Then, he turns, staring hard at something outside the window before turning back to you and cracking a signature Devorak smile, “ah, very well, you've caught me.” He strides towards you confidently, nearly breaking your focus, “I'm terribly sorry that I haven't been as transparent, but I can assure you that it was for a very good reason.” You open your mouth to demand to know exactly what the hell is so important that it made him avoid you for a week straight, but he beats you to it. “Tell me, what time is it?”

His question throws you off immediately; does he really think he can just move on like nothing is wrong? Still... It's an innocent enough question. You figure that, if anything, humoring him is a way to calm yourself down, “a little after midnight, why?”

Julian closes the gap between you two and takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips, “happy birthday, darling.”

Oh.

Oh.

Suddenly, it all becomes crystal clear to you. “You've been making preparations for my birthday?”

Julian grins, kissing your knuckles. “Mhm.”

“Ilya!” you chastise, your anger melting away with each kiss he delivers. “All you had to do was tell me!”

“Ah, but where's the fun in that?”

“Pfft, you had me worried.”

Julian scoops you into his arms and kisses you repeatedly. You yelp in surprise and fight against his strong grip, but eventually come to the familiar conclusion that resistance is futile. Julian kisses your cheek, your head, your nose, anywhere and everywhere he can reach while you giggle helplessly in his arms. Somewhere in between your peals of laughter, you tell Julian you love him.

It's only now that he stops, holding you close. He cups your cheek fondly, gazing into your eyes, “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

“Dance with me?”

Rain in Vesuvia isn't as uncommon as non-natives might expect.

What is uncommon is rain for three continuous days.

You don't mind the rain – in fact it's rather calming to curl up by the open window with a cup of tea and your familiar by your side, watching the rain fall steadily. However you have to admit that rain for three days straight is pretty unusual. You find it near impossible to ignore Julian's increased restlessness as the rain continues to fall, watching him pace back and forth trying to keep himself occupied. “Ilya,” you try, watching as he stops to acknowledge you, “You've been pacing for a long time. Come sit with me and relax.”

He apologizes and does exactly that, wrapping his arms around you the moment his body sinks into the sofa, “all this rain...”

“I know,” you assure him. Julian, above all things, is a man that likes to keep himself busy. To him, being cooped up inside is best in moderation. He enjoys any and all time spent with you, of course, and he'll be the first to tell you that some of the best memories he has with you are times where you two just put the world on hold for a day and spent time inside in each other's arms, savoring the quiet domesticity, but being cooped up inside for three entire days while heavy rainfall assaults the streets of Vesuvia is enough to make him a little more than stir-crazy – after all, why stay inside and do nothing when you could be out and about seizing the day? To some degree, you understand his frustration; as much as you enjoy the rain, you wish it was at least dry enough to make a visit to the palace gardens. Your familiar curls up in your lap, and Julian pulls the two of you into him comfortably. You sigh longingly. “It's never rained this much before, has it?”

“Not from what I remember,” Julian informs you, burying his nose in your neck, his long, nimble fingers gently caressing the small strip of skin exposed between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your pants. He mumbles something into your neck, and you hum, asking him to repeat it. He does, this time a tad louder, “I wish it wasn't so dreary outside.”

You make a split second decision and sit up, disturbing your familiar, who moves from the comfort of your lap indignantly, “it doesn't have to be.”

“What do you mean?” Julian inquires, following your movements curiously.

You stand up, offering your hand enticingly. “Come on, let's go have some fun.” If Julian has any other questions, they're quickly swallowed down when he sees you striding towards the door barefoot. He follows you out of the shop and into the downpour, crying out in surprise at the sudden pelting of rain against the exposed parts of his skin. You laugh, your clothes rapidly becoming soaked, and turn around to reach up and brush Julian's dripping bangs out of his eyes. He cracks a charming smile and reaches for your waist, but you slip just out of his reach and jump forward into a sizable puddle, laughing joyously when the water splashes upward at you in response. You push the hair from your eyes and jump into another puddle, then another before turning to see Julian doing the same with the most gleeful expression on his face. You reach down and dip your hand into the puddle you're standing in, smirking before launching a wave of water at Julian. He splutters in surprise before doing it right back, laughing with delight.

Together you splash around and play while the rain continues to fall. Some of your neighbors happen to glance out the window, smiling seeing two grown adults making the best of a dreary day. You splash more water at Julian and he grabs you by the waist, lifting you up with ease, laughter echoing around you two. When he releases you carefully, you grab his hand and look at him with pleading eyes, “dance with me?”

“It would be my pleasure, dearest.” Julian expects you to start off slow and is pleasantly surprised when you pull him into an upbeat series of movements. He follows to the best of his ability, but is completely thrown off guard when you spin him once and dip him back with a firm grip on his waist, your other hand clasped with his. He seizes the opportunity to kiss you passionately, which in itself is a pleasant experience, despite his misjudging how much of a hold you have on him. You two topple into a puddle and, after a moment of stunned staring at one another, burst into surprised laughter. There you stay for a few uninterrupted moments, reveling in each other's company. Maybe, you think to yourself, rainy days aren't so bad after all.

Chapter Text

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

Messing with Julian has become one of your favorite pastimes.

A little teasing here, some playful banter there, things are seldom off-limits when it comes to messing with your beloved. Banter is just a natural part of your relationship at this point, and being a smart-ass is your specialty. Where he takes pride in being what you’d bluntly describe as a little shit, you take pride in being able to take jabs right back at him. And fluster him. Flustering him is your favorite, and it’s so easy.

Such is the goal for tonight, based on an absolutely brilliant idea that you formulated in your head just hours ago. It’s no secret that Julian finds you attractive in all your forms, but this one will be a tad different- this one is aimed directly for Julian’s self control, which you know will be tested greatly when he sees what you’ve done. A personal attack launched in a less-than-subtle manner. So you take a trip to the market. Finding what you needed isn’t difficult, and neither is locating one of Julian’s spare shirts back at the shop; you live together after all, and his wardrobe is always fully stocked with his signature shirt.

Within minutes you’re dressed and ready to go. Julian and Portia are already waiting for you at the Rowdy Raven, and as night falls upon the quiet city streets, the rhythmic clicking of your boots against the ground boosts your confidence even higher. You feel authoritative, confident, sexy, even. Julian won’t know what hit him, and you swell with pride at the thought.

Tuesday nights at the Rowdy Raven aren’t especially busy - not when most Vesuvians have work to go to the next day -, and a night out with good company is much deserved after all the hard work the three of you do. With you running the shop, Julian running his clinic and Portia running her animal sanctuary, nights where you can all unwind and enjoy some free time are nights you cherish most. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if Asra will be joining you three.

When you arrive at the Rowdy Raven, you adjust yourself before entering. The little bell Barth keeps above the door signals your arrival, and you call a greeting to him as you step inside before asking where Julian and Portia are. He smiles and gestures to one of the corner tables. Sure enough, the Devorak siblings sit across from one another, Portia with a beer and Julian with a mug of Salty Bitters, laughing together at what you can only assume to be a well-timed joke. You smirk and make your way over to them, pulling out the most casual greeting you can muster. “God, Julian, I don’t know how you wear your shirts like this. I’m freezing.”

You aren’t, but you don’t suppose he cares too much as he chokes on his Salty Bitters and sets his mug down in shock. Portia whistles in appreciation, “look at you!”

You give her a little twirl, showing off your body in the form-fitting clothing, “like it? I call it my ‘authentic Julian cosplay.’”

Red in the face and ears, Julian wipes his chin on the back of his hand, struggling to pull an answer from his flustered haze, “uh… I- uh. Are you, are you wearing my shirt?”

You’re wearing his shirt all right, along with a pair of the tightest pants you could find and leather boots that come to rest just above mid-thigh. Julian’s spare gloves are considerably big on you, but they’re warm and comfortable all the same. His rhetorical question goes unanswered, and you smirk at him, taking the chair beside him and resting a hand on your greatly exposed chest, “yeah, hope you don’t mind, love.”

Julian is so flustered that he can’t form words. He groans and cups his burning cheek with a gloved hand before covering his mouth to prevent what might be any embarrassing noises. For someone who’s never bothered to care about such a trivial thing as privacy, it’s saying a lot. Across from him, Portia is taking immense pleasure from his plight, snickering. She raises her glass to you in a toast, “congratulations, you broke him.”

Poor Julian groans again, dropping his head to the table with a worrying thud and mumbling something about how you’ll be the death of him. “So you like it then?” You ask, leaning back in your chair and draping your arm across the back.

He lifts his head and brushes auburn curls out of his eyes to get a better look at you, flushed clear up to the top of his ears, “you aren’t playing fair.”

“Who said I wanted to be fair in the first place? Maybe I just like riling you up and watching you struggle to keep yourself together.” You pause to wink at him, looking ever confident in your position. “So tell me, what do you think?”

His chest heaves with a shuddering sigh; his self-control is slipping thanks to your teasing, and you know that if Portia wasn’t right there Julian would be begging for you. “You look- you look… Ah, I don’t even have the words to describe it, my love.”

“How about ‘sexy’?” You suggest with a wiggle of your brow, daring Julian to agree.

Julian swallows, noting the inviting way your lips curve with your blatant seduction, “y-yes, that works.”

Portia eyes the exchange knowingly, her expression playful over the rim of her glass. She abruptly stands, brandishing an expression that conveys nothing but smugness. “Remember, we’re in public you two- I don’t think Barth wants to kick out two of his favorite customers for public indecency.”

Julian splutters and chokes. You throw your head back and laugh before turning on the charm and throwing a look in Julian’s direction, “we’ll behave, won’t we Ilya?” Julian snaps to attention immediately, sitting ramrod straight and unable to tear his eyes from your own. “You’ll be good, right?” He nods wordlessly, helpless and watching your every move with increasing interest. “Thought so,” you conclude, turning your head to look at Portia. “Next round’s on me.”

“Well, since you insist!” Portia, though unbothered by the suggestive exchange she bore witness to, seems eager to get away to order more drinks. With a swish of her dress and a bounce of her long curls, she’s gone, already calling over to Barth and dodging the people dancing around the tables with practiced fluidity. You knew long before the words came out of your mouth that she would never turn down such an opportunity.

After all, who would argue against free beer? Certainly not Portia.