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The drinking continues after Art retires for the night, after one final toast to his happiness and success. The two remaining would-be suitors end up moving from Quincey’s luxurious ‘campfire’ back to John’s parlor, after the doctor mentions a particularly fine set of wines he’d been gifted but hadn’t yet had occasion to try. Neither of them is far into their cups, the night had been one far more of story-telling and well-wishing rather than settling in for serious drinking.
But despite the jesting and fond congratulations they’d sincerely wished, the mood is as bittersweet as the port John pours for them both with a sigh.
“Chin up, Jack.” Quincey tells him, after an appreciative sip. “We both lost on that field to an admirable opponent, Art’s more than worthy of her. All’s fair in love and war.”
“Which was this?” John asks morosely, slumping on the settee with his own glass, but chuckling reluctantly when the Texan thumps him on the shoulder in mock reproof.
“Love, of course! And the love’s still there - we each gained a friend, from what I heard. Here, now, a toast to friends, new and old.”
They both raise their glasses with every show of cheerfulness…and then they both sigh. The wine really is especially good, though Quincey notes that the parlor, also, seems like something John hasn’t had occasion to use. The room is just a touch too perfect. Presentable, but unlived in.
“I am happy for him.” John says, assuring Quincey, perhaps assuring himself as well. He knows they both are, their affection for Art is as overflowing as their glasses. “I just…I don’t know, I suppose I feel a tad ridiculous for having put myself forth.”
Quincey studies him, wondering at this turn in his mood. “That’s a bit low, Jack. You’ve got a fine place, you’re an established doctor, anybody would be proud to be called your friend. And, as I’ve always said: you’re a good looking fellow,” he adds, for the joy of seeing the doctor smile. “What do I have to offer in comparison?” He chortles when John sputters into his wine.
“How can you ask that! Fame, fortune, and, well,” Seward hesitates, but plunges on with, “And you’re a ‘good looking fellow’ yourself, you know.”
“I know,” Quincey says slyly, with a confident tip of an invisible hat to see John smile once more. “But it’s always nice to hear.”
It’s drawing late enough in the evening that it would be utterly sensible for John to suggest that the night come to a close. He would also be well within reason to offer Quincey his guest room, which he suspects is as similarly unused as the parlor. But Quincey doesn’t offer to leave, and, to his pleased surprise, John leans forward to pour himself another drink, resettling on the couch a good bit closer to his side.
“Speaking of nice to hear,” John says, carefully casually, “I don’t have your confidence or way with words. I’m sure your proposal was far more couth than my own.”
It would be unkind to ask if the doctor brought his knife along, so the Texan merely shrugs, and uses the motion to raise an arm so that John might continue to edge alongside, if he likes. They’re closer than they have been in quite a few years.
“Well, she does like a bit of slang, that gal.” Quincey muses, and drops his voice into a lazy, rich drawl. “I reckon I might’ve dropped a few phrases purely on account of makin’ the little lady laugh.” He watches with interest as John’s lips quirk up at his put-on purring accent. Seems Lucy’s not the only one who likes a bit of slang.
John chuckles even as he continues to tactically sidle up. “Who wouldn’t? You see, it’s just another advantage in your deck. No matter what you say, it sounds charming - and you’ve chapters and chapters of tales to tell besides. What would I speak to her about?” He toys with the stem of his glass, fretfully, unmindful of the remaining dregs threatening to slip and stain the carpet. “When all’s said and done, I’m a penny dreadful druggist, and you’re a dime-novel dream.”
“But Jack,” Quincey reminds him gently, “She didn’t accept my suit. You and I are together in the same boat. Did you forget?” He gently plucks the wineglass from his friend’s slack grasp, and then retakes John’s hand, squeezing gently. “No more of this, now, you’re a fine man. You could say plenty to a lady, I’ve heard the poet in that doctor’s frock. And, come, man, don’t half of my yarns include you at my back?”
John glances from his hand clasped in Quincey’s to his friend’s warm admiring look, and flushes with more than the wine. “I suppose that must count for something, even if I can’t promise someone that we’d ride off on Western adventures and into the sunset together.” And, with a pleased huff, he allows himself to be tugged alongside, Quincey’s arm snug around his shoulders.
“I didn’t propose to her like that,” Quincey muses. “If we’re baring souls, I called her my brave girl, told her ‘It's better worth being late for a chance of winning you than being in time for any other girl in the world.’”
“Even exceedingly charming in rejection!” John exclaims. “I don’t know that I would have the courage to say such a line. I’m surprised I steeled myself enough to propose.”
Quincey snugs him a bit closer, waits for him to settle contentedly against his chest, before dipping his head to whisper against the shell of Jack’s ear, purring in his most campfire croon, “That’s my brave boy.”
He hums with satisfaction when Jack predictably squirms, and wraps his arms around him with a delighted chuckle. “Gonna cozy up to me from a bit of sugar in my speech? You like a bit of ‘country colloquy,’ Jack?”
“You know that I do,” the doctor retorts instantly, though slightly muffled against his chest. “Don’t make fun, ‘partner.’” He sighs when Quincey runs his hands through his hair, pausing for an affectionate ruffle, before squeezing him reassuringly.
“I’d never. It’s all right to have a bit of fun, though. You’ve gone quite pink, by the way. Most fetching. Should I continue?”
“...What else did you say to her?” John asks, just a tad sheepishly, and Quincey grins. “She kissed you, did you say?”
Quincey gently raises John’s chin so that they’re eye-to-eye, but doesn’t move further. “Don’t come at a fellow like a sidewinder, Jack. What are you asking?”
“I’m not questioning your honor, you’re as fine a gentleman as any,” John protests, studying him earnestly.
It’s so quiet, far quieter in the soft parlor than the wilderness sounds of the raucous nights from the adventures they truly have shared. He can hear John’s breath catching in his throat, fancies he can hear his heart pounding with nerves.
“Are you asking for a kiss, Jack?” The affection and trust in his friend’s fond gaze quite soothes his wounded heart.
“Yes, if you have one for me. Though...” John swallows, and mumbles, “I’d like it if you weren’t in all ways a gentleman.”
There’s only one response to that: Quincey takes him firmly by the lapels and pulls him close for a kiss, and then another, and then another until John pants against him with delicious, needy gasps.
Despite John’s wish for Quincey to not necessarily be a ‘gentleman,’ he makes only a show of roughness. He plays at yanking John down by his tie while truly leaning him forward with a strong arm around his back. Rather than ravish his friend’s skin with marks, he trails gentle nips, laughing teasing affections. He dodges John’s kisses to instead drag the stubble of his chin against John's neck, startling from him a noise that’s half a laugh and half a whimper, and entirely lovely. They embrace in a laughing, playful romp that ends when Quincey manages to flip and pin him against the settee.
“My handsome boy,” Quincey whispers breathily, fondly, into John’s ear, and catches his hand when it would fly up to cover his mouth and stifle his moaning. “Put your arms around me.” When John does, he carefully swings his legs over and stands so that his friend’s held in his arms, peering up at him with trust, but also much bemusement.
“Are we going somewhere?” John asks dryly, willing to see what Quincey’s playing at.
“Gotta get my bearings to see which way’s west, so that I can carry you off into the sunset,” He croons, and Jack laughs openly in eager delight.
And, as luck would have it, his bedroom is indeed to the west.