Work Text:
It was nearly Saturday when Ronald of Ness came knocking at his door.
The third and loudest set of knuckles rapping on the wood summoned Inference to his feet. He smacked his notebook down upon the desk, then powered towards the entrance.
There was just one man in his life whose selfish whims would send him knocking past the very last hour of the day. There, in the doorway, he stood wearing a suspiciously pleasant expression.
“Have you finally come to have me evicted?” Inference scowled, resting a hand on the doorframe. “One more complaint is all I need.”
“I had better come in then.”
Without waiting for an answer, he pushed his way inside.
Ronald had been here many times before, though since his last visit, the place had become a maze of books and files. Papers piled up in corners or had been strewn across nearly every available surface while other works were stacked up to impressive heights beside each piece of bargain furniture, all signs of a time before Mr. Inference’s surge in reputation. In the center of the flat was a woolen hand-tied rug, a colorful Himalayan import and the nicest piece in the room - that, too, half-covered by a jumble of documents. There was so little space to spare, in fact, that with his head out of his notes Inference found his enclosure unpleasantly confining.
Ronald had been informed of the complexities of his recent case, and came without an invitation, as he often did. He meandered his way around a small tower of police files, briefly scrutinizing their labels before leaning himself against the backrest of his usual seat.
“I interrupted you.”
Inference retaliated with a pointed look. They’d since agreed to avoid discussion of his work habits; the subject never failed to pit them against each other. As irritating as Ronald’s impositions were, Inference didn’t have it in him to fight with him tonight.
“We’ve been over this,” he said firmly.
Ronald took a few idle steps, then set his hips against the wall, wrinkling his nose. He picked up a nearby book, bound in sleek, black leather, and as he scanned the index, his brows perked up and his eyes became fixed to the page. Inference knew it when he saw it: it was one of several unconventional works he’d loaned out from that young and aspirational occultist. He knew Ronald would want to know more, too, of the books, the case, and all the odd characters he’d encountered in his research. However, the famous Inference did not discuss his cases until they were nearing their completion. To escape the possibility of questioning, he retreated to the dingy kitchenette and began to fix them both a pot of tea.
The impatient clanking of ceramic dishes drew Ronald's attention toward him. When Inference glanced back over his shoulder, their gazes met, and Ronald’s glinted with impatience. “Don’t move anything out of place,” Inference warned.
“Would you tell me if I asked what all this is about?” He gesticulated vaguely at the piles, one document waving like a flag between his fingers.
“Not yet.” Inference heaved the cupboard shut and craned his head toward his guest. “And if you keep nosing through my papers, I'll put you back on the street before my bothersome neighbors hear the rest.”
“You mean to say I should touch nothing at all, since you've taken me in despite the inconvenience to your schedule.”
“Any stray that comes barking twenty-three hours into the day should show a little gratitude. What if I were asleep?”
Ronald cocked his head back, exposing the lines of his throat, and then he smiled. “Since when do you sleep?”
It was nothing like those beguiling smiles reserved for the theater. Here, his teeth never showed; rather, one corner of his lip would sometimes rise, the other staying as it were to form a tiny, crooked smirk. Sometimes it attracted him, and other times, it was obnoxious. Today it seemed to tighten the rest of his expression.
They spoke now and then as they waited for their water to boil, exchanging news of the theater and of the names that made the papers in both scandal and achievement. No longer did Ronald’s appear in today’s post, nor did Inference arrive for their meetings knowledgeable of the theater’s newest happenings; all his information came from Ronald now, and from the whispering cafe dwellers and gossipy cart-drivers of Paris. Between bouts of conversation, Ronald went on shamelessly perusing his affairs. Inference watched him frugally and bit back any further protests, leaving Ronald to his curiosity.
Once the kettle had whistled them back to the present, Inference returned with two steaming cups of Ceylon, both of which slipped leftward on the old tea tray as he crept past his favorite armchair. He placed it on the small, pinewood coffee table that sat pleasantly between their usual seats and sank into his, extending his bad leg with a sigh of relief.
Ronald had since turned to join him. He had something like a bedhead, more likely signs of a long working day at the theater, although the whole of him lacked the formality of the stage. He tugged off his knit sweater, the green collared shirt beneath it aged and unbuttoned to the crown of his chest, and a pair of faded brown suspenders rose to his shoulders to hold up his slacks. He watched Inference as though he wanted to say something, and in the silence Inference earnestly returned his glances, forgoing the old sense of caution he once kept in Ronald’s presence. The man was always up to something - that aside, Inference did love to look at him.
Today, a little ungroomed and dressed in his casual autumn attire, he looked more like the Norton Campbell of the past; subtle, secretive and seeking something if the way his gaze wandered back about the room was any indication. Inference had been the first to know him - long before the public had adored him - then spoke poorly of his character, before the tragedies of the theater and the tireless fight to restore its public image. He'd known him when they'd been boys in uniform, buzzing about one another like a pair of insects, too eager to forget their hand in the slaughters they'd partaken in.
“Tell me why you're here.” Inference finally spoke, leaning back into his seat. The dying fire gave a small crackle just beyond them, its charred remnants sinking to a pile of ash and coal.
Ronald straightened himself. “I have a proposition.”
“One that couldn't wait till daylight?”
The young actor’s head tipped downwards. He narrowed his gaze, keeping it fixed on Inference as he spoke. “I don't need a reason to see you. But if you want one, I can give you one.”
The detective scratched the side of his head, then briefly fumbled with the handle of the teacup as he reached for his serving. “Well. Give me one, then.”
“I have a case. A small one.”
Inference lowered his cup to his chin. “You? You have a case for me?”
“More of a favor.”
“...What kind of favor?” Inference flashed him a sour look. He didn't have the luxury of taking on a second case, not while the first still had him running in circles. But especially strange was the request from Ronald himself. He grew tense, wondering if Ronald had gotten himself into some sort of trouble.
“They say the Earl of Plymouth will pass through France on his way to Naples. He’s a fan of the theater and intends to stay a few nights in Paris.”
“Get to the point.”
“I want more information on him, so that the Golden Rose is one of the theaters he chooses.”
Inference’s shoulders sank. He set his tea down, saying nothing yet. So, Ronald spoke again.
“You'd be doing the theater a great service.”
“The theater? You mean your theater.”
“And that of everyone else who works there,” he countered irritably.
“You're asking me to investigate some British noble so that you can better advertise to him when he comes through on his vacation?”
Ronald ran a scarred hand through his auburn hair. “I knew you'd fight me on this.”
“Of course I'd fight you. I’m astounded you thought I'd accept such a frivolous request.”
Perhaps he wasn’t being fair. The theater had struggled desperately this last year, and Ronald’s reputation was still in tatters; although things were improving, it would not soon again be what it was before the tragedy and all the money that came after. Ronald had done well to earn himself the distrust of his French following, for all their wariness and scorn for the nouveau-riche.
But rather than seeming angry over his comment, Ronald pursed his lips together in a way that made him look bemused. He tried again, his voice level and unaffected.
“This man has a following of enthusiasts who share his interests in the theater. Word of the Golden Rose’s talents abroad could attract tourists ignorant of the scandals that keep locals away. It makes sense to advertise to him. So consider it.” As he spoke, he leaned forward in a way that made his words seem almost forceful. He rested his elbows on his thighs, the skin of his chest peeking out as he went, a tawny V-shape where the upper buttons of his shirt had been left open.
Inference huffed, his patience visibly depleting. “As you can see, I have a situation of my own to deal with.” He gestured flippantly about them, then continued, but not without sparing Ronald's collar a gratuitous glance. “And you’d have better luck hiring an informant than a detective… but you already know that.”
“I'm asking because I know you won't run me dry like all the others will.” Ronald cracked that crooked smile of his again, and this time, it seemed to have regained its confidence.
How proudly stubborn this man was.
“Who says I won't? You should know I charge triple the usual for cases that inconvenience me.”
“I expect a discount would apply to close friends and family.”
Inference hesitated, quietly wondering which category Ronald had assigned himself to. “Perhaps, but only for those cases I accept. Why don't you rehire that informant you used to find me out in the first place?”
He recalled a name - Behamfil, the one who'd uncovered his old identity with uncanny ease and sold that information back to Ronald months before he'd revealed himself to begin with. Then came that scarlet invitation, the tickets to the tailored play, the needless drama of it all, all because Norton Campbell had been too afraid to meet him again in private. The thought of anyone making such a feat out of what might have been a simple reunion was exasperating, and yet he found all of it vaguely charming, much to his own chagrin.
Ronald of Ness would be a handful till the end.
The man in question gave a small snort, crossing his legs where he sat. “She's out of my price range.”
“But she wasn't then, when you were investigating me. How much did you pay for her?”
“Enough. And the least you could do is repay me for the sum I spent on you.”
“The location of my office is public knowledge. If you were so concerned about saving your money, you could have come by for a meeting in person. You'd have recognized me then.”
Ronald stiffened where he sat, and Inference savored the subtleties of that tiny victory, the way his lips curled downward at the corners and one of his brows furrowed a little more than the other.
“I had my reasons,” was all that Ronald said before he stood to carry the tray of empty cups back to the kitchen.
Inference waited, then shifted himself in his seat to a position where he could comfortably observe Ronald once his back was turned. His frame was larger than Inference’s, and his fitted shirt made it easy to watch every motion of his broad shoulders while he tidied up the counters. So, he was still embarrassed about that convoluted approach he'd taken all those months ago. The thought was enough to soften Inference’s hard exterior, but the fondness with which he watched him went unseen by his companion. Both of them had grown since then, yet nothing would stop Inference from prodding at those few tender spots he had access to.
When Ronald returned, Inference had risen to his feet, disrupting their idle space with a bit of cleaning himself. He found the detective with a stack of police folders in his arms, then watched him drop them to the busy surface of his oak wood desk.
“I'm still waiting for an answer, detective.” He pressed on, his words a bit sharper now. He leaned himself against the desk and made a point of clicking his fingernails obnoxiously against the wood.
“I have given you one, Ronald of Ness.”
Inference cleared the spot behind him, fearing he might interfere with the papers piled there. But Ronald took this as an invitation and planted his hips right there upon the edge.
Inference stopped, gazing up at him in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Waiting,” Ronald said. He leaned back, thrusting his jaw forward, and the handsome curve of his neck became visible again.
“Get off my desk.”
“There's no risk involved, and it's simple work. I'll compensate you however I can.”
“Then I’d start by having you get off my desk.”
And just like that, Ronald slid off, placing his heels back on the ground.
“And?”
Inference let out a dry laugh. “Did you think that would be your first installment?”
After a pause, Ronald rather childishly sat right back against it. He fixed his golden eyes on Inference like a brilliant lure in a pool of dark water. “If you need incentive, I can provide one.”
Inference hesitated, baffled and bemused by his behavior. Now he felt he might be missing something. Ronald’s mood, in a manner so unlike him, appeared to be operating independently of the progress of his proposition. For the first time since he’d made his request, Inference wondered if the case itself was really all that he was after.
Ronald’s posture slackened as he waited. He uncrossed his legs, leaving a fair amount of space between them.
A simple call for attention wouldn't lead Ronald to spin a whole story. The man didn't like to waste his time. But the coquettish look he had about him now left Inference with the feeling that he was being enticed. Perhaps, then, he ought to change his own approach.
“I am far too expensive for you.”
He took one step forward and found that the gap between Ronald’s knees was perfectly sized for him.
“You're flexible.” Ronald lowered his voice. “You take less payment from those who can't afford it.”
Inference dared to smirk at his suggestion. “I am the famed Inference of Paris and I have my standards. That leeway I afford to the less fortunate doesn't apply to successful actors of the theater.”
“Then I will stay until I hear a better answer.”
Ronald leaned himself back then, and Inference followed the motion of his torso, reaching mindlessly for the breach in clothing right beneath his collar.
“You do these things on purpose,” he scoffed, disrupting their steady back and forth. He gave the fabric a disdainful tug.
Ronald pressed on. “Just tell me what you want.”
“You have something that will sway me?”
“I do.”
Inference breathed out and realized only then that his breathing had quickened. He felt himself swallow.
“Anything I want?”
Ronald narrowed his eyes. “…Most things.”
“I wonder if you could offer me enough… to spend what little free time I have on something as trite as a stuffy nobleman's taste in dramas.”
“Whatever it takes, I said.”
No matter his conviction, Ronald seemed to waver. Inference’s heart drummed lightly in his chest, and without letting himself think too hard about it, he rested a hand on Ronald's knee, easing one leg back.
“I may intend to take more than you’re offering.”
Despite the vigilance that tightened every part of Ronald’s face, he looked, at once so suddenly affronted that he lurched forward, knotting a hand in Inference's collar and pulling him close with a single tug.
“Do you treat all your customers like this?”
Inference breathed out, his weight tipping further forward as he extended his arm, ignoring the assault on his dress shirt. He moved his hand from Ronald’s collar to his chest and gave the lowest button of his shirt a teasing pull.
“Just the ones I take to bed.”
Ronald’s mouth opened, then closed, his eyelids sinking lower as he stared. A moment passed, and he relinquished his grip on Inference’s collar.
“...You mean to distract me from my business here.”
He wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.
“It’s working, isn’t it...”
The detective took another step forward. A curious heat climbed the expanse of his neck, and he decidedly pressed himself into Ronald's space.
His hand slid firmly down the small of Ronald’s back. Inference watched his eyes light up with interest, a delicate space drawing Ronald’s lips fully apart as he sank into Inference’s embrace. One of Ronald’s arms lurched back behind him, supporting him at the edge of the desk as the rest of him pushed eagerly forward.
“Come on then,” Ronald said at last, and he pressed his hips against Inference’s. “I’m waiting, Inference.”
“You’ll wait.” Inference planted both palms on the same ledge, leaning into him in such a way that the space between them was reduced to nothing. “I intend to take my time with you.”
Ronald half-swallowed his answer. “I won’t.”
With a wry smile, Inference rested his chin in the crook of Ronald’s neck. Finally, he had him.
Against his own, Ronald’s body was unusually malleable, and his natural smell was provocative, hidden behind traces of morning cologne. Inference leaned into it, breathing him in, evoking memories of the intimate nights that had followed their stormy summer reunion. His face warmed as he shifted up past Ronald’s jaw, drawing a line with the bridge of his nose all the way to his ear, and Inference heard his wanting exhale as he went, and quivered with the urge to work his way inside him. He pushed against him, showing signs of his impatience, and Ronald’s strong arms came up around him like a cage.
The man’s auburn bangs hung down around his temples, obscuring part of his forehead as he tipped backwards.
“Your room.” He craned his neck in the direction of the bedroom door. “Lead me there.”
Inference leaned forward, making himself a little taller as he raised his chin. And then he kissed Ronald’s open lips.
“I will.”