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They stood with a rope in hand, wrapping it around their palm and elbow in a loop and staring straight at the sky. Solace was hot, even in its few terraformed forests. Hot, blinding, dry. It was not like the lava of their home, the candlewick narrow streams they used to toss sticks and stones into as a child. They could escape that heat, avoid it. There was no avoiding this helvíti. But there was no avoiding Hammond, either. Not anymore.
It was hard. No one wanted to come here, but no one could stay. Talos was dying. Gaea wouldn’t have them. Psamathe was not in the realm of affordability. Boreas was in no better shape, and Salvo and Tartarus were out of the question. Solace was the only place.
No one was happy. But everyone was safe. And if they kept their mind on that, they could deal with the general discontent they all felt, and the occasional spat with those in the village who seemed to forget Bloodhound had lost their home too.
They finished off the coil of rope and set it aside. They did another, on the other arm. They could see the sweat on their skin, gliding over scars. In some places, where teeth or blade had created a divot, the sweat gathered in a pool. They turned their arm and watched it drip onto the ground. Ugh, ógeðslegur.
“Ew.”
Bloodhound paused, then turned. It was Elisabet, Hekla’s little girl. She was looking where their sweat had fallen. “What do you want, Elsie?”
She looked up at them. “That guy who never leaves you alone is here.”
Their eyebrows raised. “Walter?”
“Yeah. He talks funny.”
“Don’t say that. It’s rude.” They finished wrapping their rope up much faster than they had the other. What was he doing here? What could have - they stopped the thought, swallowing at the memory of the forest, and then shivering at the remembrance of the kiss, how tightly he had held them. It had happened so quickly, and ended equally so. They hadn’t brought equipment for camping because they weren’t sure they could remain stalwart with him so close. That had gone out of the window in a way they never expected. He had walked them back to the village, they’d kissed again, in moonlight…
“Uuuuh Blóðhundur?” Elisabet said.
They shook their head, realizing they had closed their eyes. “Where is he?”
“I dunno. Why is your face all red?”
“I’ve been working all day,” they nearly snapped, pulling a rag they had tucked into their pants and rubbing their face. They had half a dozen more coils to do, and they needed to go down to the river and wash their clothes, and they had sweat rings around the chest and underarms of their shirt, and there was wood to be cut, because Solace nights were as cold as its days were hot… “Ugh, fucks sake.”
Elisabet’s eyes lit up. “Was that a curse word? An English one?”
They gave Elisabet a withering look. “If your mother comes to me about English curses then you’ll be the one getting an earful, girl.”
Elisabet threw her hands behind her back and smiled sweetly. “I’ve never heard of English before.”
“That’s right.” They inhaled deeply. They had a hunting party to go on the day after next, and with the wood especially, they could not stop their work. But they could pause it for Walter, say hello since he went through the trouble of a transport there. It did not matter if they wanted much more. “Just go, child. Please. I’ll go find him.”
With a nod, the girl was off. They rubbed down their arms, chest and neck as they walked, back toward the heart of the village. It was similar to their old one; they settled in a clearing near a river, and used the trees around them to build their houses, and just like on Talos, most stood on frames a half dozen feet off the ground, because Solace suffered from flash floods just like the village suffered annual flooding from the lake. The river they had settled near made the risk greater, which sort of made Solace feel more like home.
Most of their homes now, however, had solar panels, and some variation of metal reinforcement. More people were on Solace, which meant the small transport block that had been built in another clearing saw considerably more, and considerably cheaper, trade. Really, for having only been there a few weeks, the progress was phenomenal. Bloodhound took some degree of pride in it, though they were not about to step to the center and admire, especially given they had spotted Walter. Unsurprisingly he was surrounded by children who were very eager to hang off of his inexhaustible metal arm. It seemed they were trying to see how many of them could fit.
Walter lifted up three eight year olds. They stopped to smile at the squeals of laughter and to try and let the rhythm of their heart steady, but that went out the window when he looked up and saw them. “Houndy!”
They breathed deeply. They didn’t have their mask on and, for all of Solace’s faults, the air was dry, but not cold, meaning they had yet to have to use their inhaler that day. But seeing Walter smile at the sight of them like that? They almost pulled it out. “Walter.” They said lightly, nodding to the children. “You seem to be, um…what is it you are doing exactly?”
“Why, beatin’ an old record!” He lifted his arm higher, making the children that were hanging on squeal louder. “Got three of ‘em on here, tryin’ for six!”
“Record is five.” Added Leif, one of the older children, watching from the top of a supply crate.
At that statement, Walter lowered his arm and extended it out so another child could grab hold and be lifted up. It was not effortless, but the children weren’t exactly heavy and it was all gears doing the lifting. “Now he’s at four,” Leif noted.
Bloodhound got closer, crossing their arms over their chest. “I see. And I missed the first demonstration. When did this start?”
“Ah, when we were movin’ everything here and you all were arguin’.” Walter said casually as he lowered all four children. They began chattering on a strategy to fit six of them on his arm, gathering themselves by weight and age.
You all referred to Bloodhound and the elders, who generally ran the village after Uncle Artur had passed. Bloodhound had enough respect and experience with the outside world to earn a place among the leaders of the village regardless of age, and they were stubborn enough to make every elder regret it. “I remember that argument.” They said.
“Sounded like a mighty lion in there.” Walter smiled. He came closer, and they tensed with a nervous anticipation. He wasn’t going to kiss them, not here, they’d discussed being quiet. But Gods they wanted him to. Walter spoke, quietly. “Dropped by to see that mighty lion, actually.”
Ugh, the blush was terrible. They didn’t need to see it, they could feel it. Hotter than the damned Solace sun that didn’t seem to bother Walter at all. The bastard. “Hush,” they said quietly.
He bit his lip, glancing off to the side. He could play it cool though they recognized the awkward shift of his legs. “Too soon?”
They looked at him, and they thought, again, of what they were supposed to be doing. “Nej. I am happy to see you, but I…I am very busy.” He raised an eyebrow, which, apparently, was all Bloodhound needed to launch into an unintentional rant, listing all the rope to be coiled and stored, the clothes to be washed, the solar panels they had yet to fully install, how much damn wood they needed to split and then, when they remembered it, the mud that was still at the entrance to their house from their last hunting trip, and they had wanted to see him, but there was only so much sunlight, and they were sorry, and damn it they had socks to darn too, when would they find time for that? By Sif’s hair, they still needed to pack-
“Houn- dey! ” Walter exclaimed, suddenly clapping his hands on their arms. “Mate, you’re gonna drive yourself mad! You’re doing all that yourself?!”
They blinked slowly, realizing they’d gone into a rant. They glanced behind him, where the children were half distracted and half peeking at the two adults. “Ja.” They said. “It’s my rope, and my firewood, my clothes…”
“You mean nobody helps you with this?” He looked baffled. Walter had been to their village enough times to know it was odd they had no help at all.
“I have a house built.” They half shrugged. “Some still do not, and then there are the shops, and Hilda’s inn for traders, they’re coming in more than we expected, and we still have to fish, and there’s a hunting party out now, I’m going next and…we’re all busy.”
Walter stood in disbelief, then shook his head. “Yeah, nah. Let me help you.”
They shook their head. “Nej, do not worry about it.”
“Houndy.” He said it pointedly. That’s all he said. The look, the furrowed brow, the frown, the progression of his hand from their arm to their shoulder, their cheek. “Let a man help his mate, eh?”
His mate . “If you say things like that, nothing will get done.” They spoke before thinking. And they were not thinking with their head.
He smirked. Oh Gods did that alight something they hadn’t let themselves acknowledge before. “Wanna say that again, love ?”
“Now you’re doing it on purpose!” They whispered harshly.
“Mister Walter!” Called Leif. “We got it figured out!”
Walter glanced back, then smiled at Bloodhound. “Hey, what do I get if I lift up six of those ankle biters?”
Bloodhound snorted. “Nice try.”
“What if I do seven?”
Bloodhound quirked an eyebrow. He held his arms out, inviting them, wanting them to speak. He was teasing, hoping they’d tease back; admonish him, or dismiss him. But they were struck with a better idea. “If you can lift four of the ten year olds with your real arm,” they said, “then I’ll kiss you.”
Walter looked taken aback. The children had definitely overheard, looking at each other in varying degrees of surprise. Through them news would spread as quickly as a flyer took to the sky.
Realizing they were serious, Walter straightened up and looked back to the kids. “What’s say I show you guys how strong ol’ Fusey really is?”
Half stunned, half giddy, the children re-distributed themselves, and four ten year olds were ready to go within a minute.
First, just for good measure, he did lift six of the smaller children with his metal arm, breaking his old record because of course Walter would. But then it was time for the other arm. The children were lined up and all clasped their hands around his bicep; it was a tight fit, but much to Bloodhound’s surprise, they managed. But because it was Walter, he just had to add another in the mix, calling over a six year old who was all too eager to grab his hand. He looked at Bloodhound, then to the kids. “Ready?”
“Ja!” They chorused. Bloodhound found themselves chuckling at the absurdity of all this.
“Alright.” Walter adjusted himself, widening his stance, bracing with a hand on his hip. “3, 2, 1 and,” he lifted the little child first, flexing his arm up a ways, then with a great heave lifted up all the other children at once, much to their and Bloodhound’s surprise. He bent his arm down, then back up again, as if lifting a dumbbell, then leaned and lowered his arm to set all the children down at once. He stumbled when he put them all down, and put a hand to his back which made them worried he’d thrown it out, but he stood up fine after a roll of the shoulders.
“I think that was pretty good, ay?” He said with a boyish grin they’d grown to adore.
“Hm, satisfactory.” Bloodhound said, walking up closer. They could feel eyes on them, and not just the children’s, and it made their heart beat off rhythm, their hands shake. They had to do this now before they lost the nerve, rip off the bandaid, and so they did; once in range Bloodhound put either hand on Walter’s cheeks, leaned forward, and kissed him in front of every God and and almost every child in the village and a few adults that were not hunting or were working at home for the day. They made sure it was more than a peck, but not so long to be inappropriate in front of the children.
Walter had the dopiest, cutest half grin that they had ever seen.
They looked to the children. The older ones seemed more shocked and amused, while the younger were giggling at the silliness of adults, and perhaps out of confusion; Bloodhound knew they would have. “To the wind, dandelions.” They told them. It was much politer than go away now. Either way, they scattered. After they were all gone, Bloodhound let their arms rest on Walter’s shoulders.
When they looked at him, he giggled stupidly. “So, uh, care to explain the change ‘a heart Mx. ‘I don’t want to tell anyone for a couple weeks’?”
“I realized I cannot pretend that I don’t want to kiss you constantly that long.” They said, biting down a grin. “And I wasn’t sure if you could do that. Those kids are heavy.”
Walter snorted. “Tell that to me shoulder.”
“You are the one that added another.”
“Eh, that pup weighed ‘bout as much as a grape.” He waved it away with his metal arm. “But, y’know Houndy, I’m serious about helpin’ you out here.”
They’d almost forgotten. “I…if you insist.”
“I do. C’mon, what’s the thing holdin’ ya up the most?”
They thought a moment. “It is the wood splitting. I don’t suppose you have cut firewood before?”
He scoffed. “Houndy, how many times have we gone camping?”
“How many times have you cut the firewood?”
“I, erm…fair. But I can!”
They raised an eyebrow and crossed their arms. “Then why do I always have to cut it?”
He paused. “Where’s your woodshed?”
Their hands moved to their hips. “Walter Fitzroy.”
He copied their pose. “Bloodhound, er. Bloodhound.”
They scoffed and shook their head, waving him along. “Oh, enough. There are too many things and not enough time. The firewood is my most troublesome task so just follow. And thank you.” They added, leading the way to their home. It was an A-frame on a platform much like their old one, though instead of being in the center of town, they opted to be a bit further away, toward the treeline. At the treeline was their woodshed, beside it the chopping stump, axe, and enough logs for a good three cords of wood. “I have only half a cord now. If you could split another half that would be wonderful.”
Walter picked up the axe tossing it from one hand to the other. “I think I can do better than that, Houndy.” He gestured to his metal arm.
Bloodhound considered it, inclining their head. “You realize, metal arm or not, that you will be here…a few hours?”
He rolled his eye good-naturedly. “Yeah Houndy I know. Split a lotta wood mate. Go do your bloody laundry.”
They waited just long enough to actually watch him split a few logs and, well, he was very proficient with the prosthetic, so they got him a jug of water, made him promise not to overdo it, and went to do their bloody laundry.
Basket, washboard and soap all down to the river, where it was blessedly cool. Scrubbing and wringing and scrubbing again left their hands raw, but they were so happy to have a moment in the shade by the water that they actually forgot to wish for a washing machine. By the time they came back a little more than an hour and a half had passed, and Walter had chopped and stacked over half a cord of wood. “How are you that fast?!” They exclaimed, dropping their basket by the clothing line.
“Told ya it’d be handy!” He said, holding up his metal arm as he sat on the chopping stump. He was breathing heavily, and droplets of sweat were on his brow and falling down the sides of his face. He took the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe his face, exposing his bare midriff. They…ogled, then quickly turned their attention to the laundry basket at their feet.
“You still have not explained the lack of wood chopping when we go camping, Walter.” They noted while pinning a shirt to the line.
He smirked, resting the head of the axe in the dirt and clasping his hands over the knob at the end, leaning forward casually. When he didn’t reply Bloodhound turned back around, half a dozen clothespins in their mouth, to raise an eyebrow at him. This seemed to turn his smirk to a smile, half hidden as he rested his chin on his hands. “Same reason I’m watchin’ right now. I like the view.”
Bloodhound cocked their head to the side, then got it immediately after and made a flustered noise around the clothespins and immediately turned back to hanging their laundry, lacking a witty response. And, well, they didn’t want to drop the clothespins. They went on putting up shirts and pants, and then they got to the underwear; when they hung it up, Walter whistled. They turned to give him an admonishing look.
“What? Just a big fan a flower prints, Houndy! Especially,” he made a show of squinting. “Daisies.”
They couldn’t wipe away the amused smile at that, throwing their hand dismissively. “Heimiskr man, Walter. That is what you are.”
He stood back up. “Er…silly?” He queried.
They smiled. “Ja. Very silly, or foolish.”
At that, he gained his charming grin. “Well, which is it this round, Houndy? Foolish, or silly?”
They rolled their eyes, picking up a damp cloth from the bottom of their laundry basket and tossing it at him. “Wipe that grin off your face, mitt Walter. I have solar panels to install.”
There was a lot of cursing involved, but Bloodhound was eventually able to do just that. And knowing there was more than enough wood, they were able to keep working on all the little, inconsequential things that were bothering them. They swept their entrance, darned all their socks, packed for their coming hunting trip and were even able to tidy Artur’s nest and half a dozen other messes they had left lying around. It was ironic that they were suddenly embarrassed at the idea of Walter seeing those messes, considering ‘Walter Fitzroy’ and neat, tidy, or organized existed as water and oil: completely separate. Well, maybe not completely, he’d started using a laundry hamper after the first time Bloodhound dropped by.
They also changed their sheets and blanket for…no real reason.
Sol was beginning to drive her chariot over the horizon when they came back out. They hadn’t realized they’d been inside that long, having expected Walter to come knocking long before this. Instead they were greeted with the astonishing sight of over two cords of wood all stacked in the woodshed and Walter sitting once more on the chopping stump, this time with Artur perched on the axe that he’d stuck into the ground. He looked sweaty, and tired, and, rightfully, damn pleased with himself.
“You…you did all of this.” They said, struck dumb. He’d been working for close to five hours.
Walter shrugged. “Hey, makin’ up for all the camping trips, huh? Besides, like knowing you’re not freezin’ your arse off if I ain’t around to warm ya up.” He joked.
They just looked behind him. They wouldn’t have to chop anything for months . And once they folded their laundry, that was every major chore done. A good week’s worth of work, with how much times the Games and hunting took up, all done thanks to Walter. It was one thing to get help from someone in the village, but this kind of work was another thing entirely, he didn’t even have a need for the firewood, there was no exchange of work or resources. And he’d done it, on a whim . Without a single complaint.
They felt tears well up in their eyes before they could think to stop it. Walter saw this and stood quickly. “Hound?”
The concern. The thought-the care. They knew he loved them. They knew it, they’d admitted as much to each other in the woods. But it was so new, and to see it. They went right up to him, took his face in their hands again and kissed him. They popped away for a breath, angled their head and kissed him again, deeper, then dropped their head to his shoulder as his hands came to their hips, steadying them both. “Thank you,” they whispered.
“‘Course love.” He responded with soft bewilderment. He put his arms around them and pulled them closer; they felt a flash of security they hadn’t felt in long enough that the sensation almost made them cry. Blóðhundur, you are a sap. “You want help with the laundry?”
They sniffled, shaking their head and pulling back, letting themself smile unabated while they touched his cheek. “Put your butt back on the stump, Walter Fitzroy. You have done plenty.” They glanced to the side, seeing smoke above the treetops, toward the lake. “When I am done we can go eat; it is feast day.”
Walter nodded once, taking their hand, kissing their knuckles, and then sitting. “No objections here mate; I’m bloody starved.”
With a deep breath Bloodhound’s shoulders relaxed. They gave Artur a few scritches under the chin, then folded up and put away their laundry. They half thought about changing their clothes, they were certain they had graduated from ‘sweaty’ to ‘absolutely rank’ over the course of the day, but they weren’t putting fresh clothes on without a bath. And they were sure no one else had either. So they and Walter headed toward the lake.
There was a village feast once a week, usually midway through. Walter had been to a few of them, but always as Bloodhound’s peculiar friend with an inclination for explosives and a titanium liver. That was about to change, given their earlier display. But neither really knew what to expect; Bloodhound, as a matter of course, prepared for an onslaught.
Long tables were set near the lake. A cauldron filled with fish stew was on a fire, multiple beasts of the woods were on spits, and the tables were laden with bread, roasted vegetables and cooked fish. The children were mostly running amok, and the adults were sat on rocks, benches, logs or the ground with their plates and their mugs of mead. Bloodhound and Walter, both feeling the work of the day begin to seep into their bones, opted to get large bowls of stew, buttered bread, and mead, and sit in the grass somewhat away from everyone.
Bloodhound had not even gotten a mouthful of soup when Hekla appeared, speaking full Norse. Very few had believed Bloodhound when they said the outsider had learned their language. For their own amusement, neither Bloodhound nor Walter had taken to reminding them unless it was funny. “Is Elisabet telling me right?” Hekla asked.
Bloodhound did not spare the woman their exhausted stare. “That depends on what she is telling.”
“You! And him!” She pointed directly at Walter. “Kissing!”
“We did.”
Hekla screeched to a halt, visibly not expecting that response. Bloodhound could feel eyes on them, almost as much as ears. “Wait, really? You? You kissed him .” She said the second part slowly, as if still processing.
“Yes. And I will again.” They looked at Walter, ready to make a joke of it, but ended up leaning away. “Perhaps after he cleans the soup out of his mustache .”
Walter, having forgotten a napkin, sheepishly used the inside bottom of his shirt.
Hekla did not seem to register his response to Bloodhound’s Norse. “But you said you never would, ah, after. You know.”
Of course I fucking know , they thought, huffing. “Hekla, he is my partner. Boyfriend. Whatever you want to call him.” Then they switched to English. “Can I eat my fucking soup now?”
Hekla vanished to the wind with the eep of someone avoiding possible consequences for over-snooping. With a sight of relief, they finally started to eat.
“Somebody else is gonna come up in like, two seconds, huh?” Walter looked over at them.
“Yep.” Bloodhound said, realizing how much of a pain in the ass everyone was going to be for the next few weeks.
“Is everybody here a uh, what’s it called? Gossip monger.”
They chuckled, knocking their boot against his. “When there is only a few hundred of you, any news is big news. Wait, are you calling me a gossip monger?”
“I have been in enough relationships to know I should not answer that.”
They laughed, almost choking on their bread, just as Gerda with a toddler on one hip, a hand on the other, and her perpetual expression of tiredness appeared. She was Hekla’s best friend. Somehow. “Hallo, Bloodhound. Good soup?”
They tried to respond but ended up inhaling their bread and started coughing.
She watched to make sure they didn’t die, then looked at Walter, speaking English. “So, you and them, not just a friendship. Very much not friendship.”
Walter nodded. “Yeah. Since uh, since last weekend.”
“Hmph. And you plan on sticking around?”
He nodded again. “Yes ma’am.”
“Hmph. I have known Bloodhound since about here,” she held her hand about knee height, at which point Bloodhound closed their eyes and rubbed their face. You are not doing this, are you? I’m 37. Please tell me she isn’t doing this . “When their uncle brought them here. You know of this?”
Walter, now looking a bit more apprehensive, nodded.
“Good. And you know what happened to him? And about Boone?”
Walter, once more, nodded.
“Good. Then you must know how very important you are.”
Gerda this is so sweet but for the love of the Allfather, I. Am. Thirty. Fucking. Seven.
“I’d like to think so,” Walter said cheerfully.
“Do not think so. That makes you a fat head.” Bloodhound covered their mouth to stifle a snort at Walter’s perplexed look. “You are, but do not think it. Anyway, know this.” Gerda set down the toddler that had been on her hip and pointed toward her husband, in which direction the child ran. She now put a fist on either hip, leaning down so she was almost looking Walter in the eye. “You hurt them, I’ll put you in a soup. Understood?”
Walter, single eye wide, said, “Understood.”
“Good. You’re a nice man.” She stood again, now looking at Bloodhound. “I’ll keep the swarm away much as I can for a while. But if you don’t want to be bothered, I’d eat quickly.”
Bloodhound inhaled deeply. “Ja. Thank you Gerda.”
With a nod, the woman left.
“Well she’s a firestarter.” Walter noted.
“Of a kind.” They said. “Eat. I don’t think either of us want to be here too much longer.”
Walter nodded. They finished their meal, managed to swipe extra bread and some meat without question, and slipped away toward the waterline. Thinking of avoiding everyone as much as possible, Bloodhound proposed they take the long way back to their house, following the river that fed into the lake. They set on this path without fanfare, Bloodhound breathing in the coolness and the sweet smell of grass that hung in the air as it finally cooled from the day’s sun. Walter walked in tandem with them, quiet. That was one of the things they loved about him. He was loud in almost every sense, but he had no problem with silence. Sometimes they thought he even appreciated it as much as they did.
They came near Bloodhound’s house, where they had washed their laundry earlier that day. It was one of the shallow points in the river, only waist height, with a weeping willow leaning over and dipping its leaves in the current. Walter knelt by the water, to a resounding crack .
“Was that your knee?” Bloodhound questioned.
“Yep!” He said, half wincing, half smiling. “Does that sometimes. I’m old.”
“You’re not that old.” They said.
“I might’ve fucked it up a couple decades ago too.”
“Doing what, mitt Walter?”
He dipped his hand in the stream and glanced over, smiling sheepishly. “Er, jumping out a window.”
“Why were you jumping out of a window?”
“Might’ve found out the hard way that the guy I was seein’ was still married.”
“ Walter .”
“I didn’t know . And I told his wife after I found out! She tried to stab me, but I told her!”
Bloodhound breathed deeply. “You Salvonians really are terrible with communication.”
“Yep!” He looked back at the water. “This is the river you wash clothes in and stuff, right?”
“Ja. Why-Walter!” They blinked in surprise as the man unceremoniously dropped himself into the river, clothes and all, and ducked his head under immediately. His white t-shirt stuck to his torso in a very blush-inducing manner. “What are you doing?”
“I smell like a flyers arsehole, mate.” He shrugged, grinning boyishly. “Figured I’d wash my clothes too, eh?”
Bloodhound, on some sort of instinct, sniffed themselves and made a face that was evidently so hilarious Walter started laughing aloud. “Wait here,” they said, returning to their home and coming back with soap, shampoo and conditioner. They used to just have one of those 3-in-1 bottles of everything, but Loba had a conniption about their ‘hair health’ and now they would admit it did feel a lot smoother.
They chucked the soap at Walter, put the shampoo and conditioner on the riverbank, and slipped in with equally little ceremony, clothes and all. They pulled their hair out of its tie, ruffling it until it poofed up around their shoulders.
“Stick ya finger in a light socket, Houndy?” Walter teased.
“Bite me, Walter.”
“Later,” he said. Joked, more, but Bloodhound felt a punch of heat in their core at the idea. They smiled at him nonchalantly, but internally had begun a debate with themself. It was the season break, so neither of them technically had anywhere to be. Their chores before the hunt were done, so they had no reason to wake up early the next morning…
They ducked their head under water, and when they came up Walter had his shirt off again and was rubbing himself down with soap. They blatantly ogled his back muscles for a minute, nodding to themself. It is decided, Mr. Fitzroy: you are spending the night .
From that point the couple simply washed themselves of the grime of the day. Bloodhound took care of their hair first, having spent time trying to figure out how to signal to Walter what they wanted without having to say it out loud. They thought about sucking it up and being up front with their feelings, but decided taking off their shirt, when they had never done in front of him before, was more fun.
Walter stopping to stare at them with a dumb little smile on his lips made it all the more gratifying.
Almost as gratifying as him slipping two fingers into the waistband of their pants, pulling them over, and kissing them with a hand on the small of their back. They kissed him back, pressed skin to skin from the waist up. They took a shuddering breath. “House?” They whispered.
“House,” he mumbled into their neck.
They didn’t even bother putting their shirts back on, streaking from the river to home as darkness and cold began to take hold, laughing like fools straight to the door.
Loba was lounging on one of the couches in the dropship common room. They were hours before the first game of the season, playing poker to pass the time. “More treasure hunting this break, Loba?” Bloodhound asked.
“Not this time.” She smiled. “Just relaxed. Watched movies, ate junk food, spent time with Kairi. It was nice. What about you, beautiful?”
“Well, funny thing-”
“Houndy!” Walter appeared behind the couch, leaning over so his face was pressed against their mask. He opened one of the pouches they had wrapped around their chest and pulled out a licorice rope they had (now unsuccessfully) hidden from him. He kissed the side of their mask, winked at Loba, and walked off with his pilfered treat.
They breathed deeply. “Somehow, I knew he was going to do that.”
Loba blinked slowly, an amused smile coming to her lips. “So…break went well, huh?”
Bloodhound nodded once, smiling beneath their mask. “Yes. Very well.”