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“Like this?”
Wylan’s hands were already sweating and Jesper hadn’t even laid a finger on him yet. He wondered if the little merchling was always this nervous holding a gun, or perhaps it was something else making him fidget.
It was cool out on the streets of Ketterdam, the air brisk and salty from the winds of the True Sea rolling over the port. The streets were almost barren—it was dusk, the time of day where the hardworking laborers were already on their way home and the drunken bums were on their way out.
Wylan had in his sights the line of bottles placed on a stone wall. He switched from one closed eye to the other in the rear sight of his gun, a measly pistol Kaz had let him borrow for this training excerpt. He had to admit, when he heard that Jesper was going to be teaching him how to shoot a gun, he’d hoped to finally try out his infamous Zemeni revolvers.
Obviously, that was too much to ask for. Jesper had practically barked a laugh in his face. These babies were made by the best Zemeni sharpshooters I knew, Jesper had said. No one’s getting me to hand them over again. No matter how cute you are.
Wylan blew a frustrated hair from his sight. He made one measly mistake on a job (not that measly, considering he nearly took Nina's head off) and now he was forced to go through sharpshooter school, courtesy of Kaz Brekker and his insufferable personality. It was true Wylan was never really one for guns, science was more his thing, but he also couldn’t deny that knowing how to aim a shot wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“If you hold that thing any tighter it might just snap in half,” Jesper sighed, picking at his nails from somewhere in the back.
Wylan shook out his clammy hands and loosened his grip. “Now?”
“Does it feel right?”
“Is it supposed to feel like something?”
Jesper rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s supposed to feel like a part of yourself. Something comfortable. Like you and your flashbombs, or whatever.”
“We have different interests," Wylan countered.
Jesper weighed his head back and forth at the comment, a familiar smile creeping up to his lips. “Not that different."
Wylan flashed his eyes between him and the bottles, resisting any kind of reaction Jesper always searched him for. His hands were clamming up again. He squeezed an eye shut and let a shot ping at the stone wall. Not even close.
“I don’t think this scope thing is lined up properly,” he complained.
“I think you’re making excuses,” Jesper huffed. “Come here.”
Wylan lowered his gun and handed it to him. Jesper took the same place and in three beautiful, harmonious pops, the bottles shattered over the edge of the port. Wylan couldn’t help the giddy skip of his heart at the scene. Something about watching Jesper shoot always amazed him, how he could perform so easily like it was second nature. Like it was breathing for him. Jesper didn’t even blink all the while.
“Seems fine to me,” He held out the grip for him.
Wylan returned to his place and before he could even line his sight up, he heard a distressed groan come from the Zemeni.
“Is this how you aim your bombs? Because if so, I’m surprised you hit anyone at all.”
“They have a wider range,” Wylan protested, but his words were lost as he felt Jesper come up close behind him.
He could feel him then, the hard press of his chest against his back. The waft of his familiar scent drifting over him like a wave of the sea. The calm, sturdy breaths that came into earshot as Wylan realized his face was just over his shoulder. He went rigid, but his fingers trembled as he felt Jesper’s own close over them.
“The rear sight needs to be right at your eye level, or else everything else is off,” the words traveled into Wylan’s ear, and out the other.
He could feel himself frozen, flushing undoubtedly like how he hated so much. He knew the instant Jesper realized this too, because of the smirk that went to his lips out of the corner of his eye.
“I know I’m quite the masterpiece, Wylan, but try focusing on the target for now?”
He didn’t even notice he’d been staring. His cheeks went pink and he immediately looked back to the distance. “Shut up,” he groused.
Jesper’s fingers molded over Wylan’s, changing his grip and the placements of his hands. He raised the aim and let his palms drift back to the coarse wool covering the merchling's shoulders. He steadied him, and breathed an okay.
Wylan squeezed off a shot. He flinched. The bullet pinged beneath a bottle and clattered to the ground. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, his fingers had still been too shaky. He almost pointed the blame on Jesper, with all his touches, but he realized then that he’d have to admit to being distracted by the boy, and that would simply ruin his life.
“Closer,” Jesper said, with a shrug.
“This is useless,” Wylan grumbled. He clenched his fingers where Jesper’s had just been.
“You’re too wound up,” chided the sharpshooter, smiling all the sudden. “And here I thought I was the restless one. You need to relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“Are you?” he questioned. Jesper flashed his grey eyes at the merchling and he instantly dropped his gaze to the gun in his hand. “Or is something bothering you?”
“Nothing’s bothering me,” he defended. “Let’s just keep trying.”
Jesper allowed Wylan to take a few more shots without his help, and he watched with a pain in his heart all the little pings of bullets falling off the wall. Some even went up and over the bottles, probably into some poor man’s boat. Wylan didn’t want to admit it, but the closest shot he’d gotten so far was with Jesper directing him.
“Wylan, darling, please tell me that my astounding beauty is just too distracting for you to take a serious aim?” he sang loudly, from somewhere behind.
He fumbled with emptying the magazine clip, a grouchy frown on his lips and a line between his eyebrows. He said nothing, mainly because Jesper’s little joke had hit too close to home. The incessant staring and cringing of the sharpshooter destroyed any amount of confidence that he had with the gun, not that he had much to begin with. A desperate need to impress him began churning in the merchling's gut.
Jesper watched with a sigh as Wylan clumsily reloaded the pistol. Wiping his hands on his overcoat, he strolled back over behind him. The sun was set now, and the day was almost wasted.
“Don’t get frustrated, it’s just making you worse.” He advised.
“That helps,” Wylan muttered. He felt a warm presence behind him again and he braced himself, forcing his hands still.
Jesper’s chest brushed against his back again, his scent pouring over his shoulders. Wylan could feel the wild curls of his hair gently pushed aside so Jesper could lean over, his eyes piercing the rear sight.
His grip on the gun tightened. He knew it should be looser but he couldn’t help it. Little whispers continued in his ear, Jesper talking mainly to himself of okay’s and here’s as he made all kinds of adjustments.
“Holding your breath typically isn’t the best way to shoot.”
Wylan shoved the breath from his nose.
“What, do I smell or something?” he asked.
“No,” Wylan said, a bit too quickly. He shook his head, “No, it’s…”
Something dawned on Jesper then, as Wylan refused to meet his eye. He had thought maybe it was just the cold getting to the fellow, but he couldn’t deny now the obvious pink flush that had crossed the merchling's cheeks. The way his fingers trembled when shifting his grip. How stiff as a board his body became once stepping in behind him.
He was flustered.
Now, this wasn’t something Jesper could pass up. He resisted a smile. Jesper thought by this point the fellow would be over silly feelings like that, after working with each other for a near month now, but it was good to know that Jesper’s effect didn’t fade away so quickly.
Teasing him was about the best part of his day. Next to a good firefight.
Intentionally, Jesper stepped in closer. He let out a sigh next to his ear, and loved the way he stiffened beneath him. His feet were shuffling now, switching the grip between his two hands.
“Gently,” he said, into the shell of his ear, “Don’t cramp up.”
Jesper’s fingers gently pried Wylan’s tight grip. He allowed so, clearing his throat, and let the boy’s hands mold over his own. Together, they raised the pistol back up, aiming towards the last few bottles still standing.
“Think you got it?” Jesper breathed by his ear again.
Wylan hesitated, before saying, “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
He didn’t want Jesper to move. Jesper knew this all too easily. He pressed his chest closer into Wylan’s back, his soft ginger curls tickling his cheek.
With Jesper’s hands holding him steady, Wylan slipped his finger onto the trigger. He closed a single eye and just as he squeezed the shot, he felt a nip at his ear. The shot flew sideways and buzzed up and into the horizon.
“What the–”
Jesper’s laughing cut off Wylan’s curse. He laughed even harder when Wylan realized what happened and grew red, his free hand flying to his ear. “You bit me!”
“It was a lovebite.”
“I could’ve made that shot!” Wylan hissed.
Jesper started to chuckle now, his voice deep in his throat. He stared at the merchling with lidded eyes, and careless grin on his lips, “Wy, I knew halfway through this lesson that you were a lost cause. I just like seeing you squirm.”
Wylan gaped at him, mortified. Then it dissolved into anger. A cute, tight-mouthed anger. “You have no idea how much I want to shoot you right now.”
“With aim like yours, I’m not all that concerned.”
He was a seething red now. Tugging at his ear again, trying to rub off the feeling of teeth from his lobe. Despite the frustration currently clouding his eyes, Jesper could still see the scarlet blush he had. Nothing pleased him more, how the poor fellow was never ever truly able to hide it.
“I give you an A for effort though,” Jesper went on, nodding his head, “Come on, I’ll buy you a treat.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Not even a kiss?”
Wylan stomped past him with a grumble.
“What was that, darling?” Jesper crooned. He had on a baffling smile.
No answer. Jesper jogged to catch up to him and his angry steps, and slung an arm around Wylan’s shoulders. His laugh rang out again, stupid and happy, and despite the lack of reply, Wylan didn’t shake off his arm. He simply allowed it, with a burning pit in his stomach.
He'd get that kiss. Maybe not now, but once the night fell and the stars rose again - when Wylan got sleepy, and careless, and Jesper pined for nothing more.
Oh, yes. He'd get that kiss.