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The end of the year at the Fount is always a fraught endeavor: full of mages, stressed for their final exams, who then dive headfirst into partying as much as possible before leaving their friends for the month of winter break. I in particular am often eager to get my carousing in, before being stuck at home with Father and Rainer, who are decidedly less my speed.
On one such afternoon, I walked between buildings in a near-daze, dreaming of when I would later be able to put down my books and head out into Lux. Which was why I nearly collided with Grimm.
I was surprised: I had all but memorized his schedule before the harvest break, and this was not part of it. Usually the only time we crossed paths organically were the class changes before and after Duality.
He looked at me with purpose, almost as if he'd sought me out. "Loveage," he said. Something about his face was off. Uncomfortable, almost.
"Grimm!" I replied, trying to force ease into my tone. "What brings you to the scrivers' side of campus, might I ask?"
"I was looking for you. I have... something to show you." Upon further inspection, he had an envelope between his fingers, made of fine paper, which he held with reverence.
I made a grabbing motion with my hands. "Well, do share, then!"
When he proffered the mysterious envelope, I immediately recognized the Coterie's insignia on the seal. My face split into a wide grin.
"Don't tell me this is--"
"Read it for yourself, Loveage."
Doing my best not to rip anything, I scrambled to extract the contents. Indeed, they began with:
To Mr. Sebastian Grimm, Caster;
We are pleased to offer you a position in Coterie Troupe No. 45, under Captain--
The name wasn't one I recognized, but I had no doubt that Grimm would have been offered a place anywhere but the very best. I let out a triumphant hoot, drawing the attention of many around us. Grimm wrinkled his nose, but underneath, I could parse out a little bit of pride. It was only right for him to want to boast a bit, especially to someone he knew wouldn't be jealous of his success.
"That's it, you marvelous man!" I cried, clapping him on the shoulder. My excitement was as great as it had been when I'd found out Agnes had gotten an offer. "Congratulations! Not that anyone will be surprised," I added.
"Thank you," Grimm replied stiffly. If he was going to be this coy about it, I wondered why he showed me the letter in the first place. Perhaps after growing up in a place where everyone is wary of your magical achievements, it was something he wasn't sure how to receive.
"You must celebrate," I continued. "Are your exams finished?"
He nodded. "I just finished my last one, in fact. I-- well, I actually wanted to ask you about that."
"My exams? Or celebrating?"
"Both, really. My parents sent me a nice bottle of wine, and-- well, I thought a night off might be in order, after everything." He looked away as he said it, and by gosh, Grimm was embarrassed to be inviting me somewhere. Shy, even.
As is often the case, I couldn't help but tease. "Well, I'll have to check my schedule..." I feigned consternation, tapping my chin. "And there's that Scripture final tomorrow afternoon, as well."
Grimm set his jaw. These tiny little muscles in his cheeks shift when he does so. "I see. Forget about it, in that case. I couldn't intrude on time when you should be studying."
I laughed at him, not unkindly, but he stiffened all the same. "I'm messing with you, Grimm. Tell me when, and I'll be there. Will Cassius be joining us?" Not that I was exactly itching to spend time with the scrivers' own Golden Boy, but it was Grimm's party, after all.
To my surprise, though, he shook his head. "He has more exams."
"I'm sure he'll be in the library until the wee hours, then, lest he get anything other than perfect marks," I agreed. "Not like us, who will be partying the night away!"
Finally, Grimm relaxed, fixing me with a bemused look. "I didn't say that," he insisted, but told me when I should come to his quarters all the same.
"Can't wait," I said, breezing past him. "I'll be there, courtesans in tow!" I added, just to see his face turn red as I walked away.
Although I'd previously been planning to tote my violin down to the pubs and revel the night away, I can't say I was disappointed at the change in plans. In fact, the thought of going to Grimm's quarters-- alone, at night-- occupied a portion of my mind for much of the rest of the day, making it even harder than usual to sit still and study for my upcoming test. Eventually I gave up on the pursuit altogether in favor of taking a stroll around the Fount's grounds, hoping some fresh air might help me center myself.
The sunset was at its brightest point, so I walked away from it, watching my own pink shadow lead me along. Not many people were outside, most either studying, eating, or preparing to go out, but I did run into my first-tier roommate, who I gladly greeted and conversed with before the both of us moved on. Still, my thoughts stubbornly refused to return to the Old Language words I was meant to be memorizing. Instead, they were wondering if Grimm might like it if I brought my violin with me, or if it would just be awkward to make him an audience of one.
I gave up on studying, and returned to the library to gather my things. I made a promise, which I knew wouldn't be kept, that I'd revise the material with renewed vigor the following morning.
I decided, in the end, that the violin would be overkill. Instead, I put on a clean dress shirt-- not what I'd normally wear to go drinking, but I could hardly imagine Grimm lounging in anything other than a full tuxedo-- and scrounged up the bottle of expensive whisky I save for special occasions.
The reason I know which room is Grimm's is twofold: one, because he'd reminded me earlier in the day, and two, because I'd once years ago set a cream pie to hang upside-down over his door until he walked under it in the morning.
That strange flutter in the pit of my stomach started up again as I rapped on his door, setting it to a rhythm because, as Agnes says, if I go somewhere without trying to be unique, I might just curl up and die right there.
To my surprise, Grimm was not wearing a tuxedo. Instead, he had on a soft-looking sweater. With slacks, of course, lest he be mistaken for someone who knew how to have fun, but still, it was perhaps the most casual I'd ever seen him, save for at his own home.
"Evening, Loveage."
"G'devening!" I grinned and bowed deeply. "I've arrived, so the festivities may now begin."
He rolled his eyes, but let me inside nonetheless.
Grimm's quarters, surprising no one, were spotless and meticulously organized. Save for an ottoman, he had the same furniture as was issued to everyone else living in the Fount, but the cleanliness of the room made them seem more upscale, somehow. A pair of glasses sat on the floor near the lit fireplace, along with the aforementioned bottle of wine, which I immediately appraised.
"Your parents chose a good one," I said with approval. "Sweet, but tastefully so."
"My father worked on a vineyard, in his youth," Grimm said, shutting the door. "He knows a thing or two."
"I see. Shall we?" I angled the bottle towards him.
I half-expected him to use a spell to uncork it: my father's friends always did, whether out of necessity or simply to show off. Instead, he used a real corkscrew. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, so I could see the tendons at work. It made my mouth dry, for whatever odd reason, so I was grateful when he handed me a glass.
"To be honest, I never took you for a drinker," I admitted.
Grimm pulled a chair towards the fireplace and took his own seat on the ottoman, his knees folding up nearly to meet his collarbones. I might have insisted he take the chair, being the one we were celebrating, if I didn't already know his stubbornness. "I'm a believer in moderation, though I'm not surprised that you're unfamiliar with the concept."
"I'm familiar, just not a practitioner," I corrected, taking a long pull from my glass for emphasis. Grimm's eyes flickered downward as I did, only for him to avert his gaze just as quickly.
"Ah, I nearly forgot." From my coat I retrieved the whisky and held it up like I was posing for a portrait beside it. At the sight of the label, Grimm's eyes widened. "For sharing," I clarified, in case he thought I was giving him my whole special-occasion whisky stash, which I most certainly was not.
He reached out to take the bottle from me, our fingers brushing at the neck. "I doubt I've ever drunk something of this... caliber," he admitted, examining it.
"Well, no time like the present," I said, splashing whisky in his empty wine glass, adding just a little more when he said, "That's plenty."
The whisky left a trail of fire down my throat, and I breathed it out with an exaggerated "Ah." Grimm, on the other hand, remained stoic through his first sip, the only evidence he felt anything being the slight tightening of his lips.
"Not bad," he conceded.
"No, not bad at all," I agreed. "You'll have access to all this and more with your shiny, new Coterie gig."
Grimm did something that utterly floored me: he chuckled. It was a low, rumbly thing, from his elongated throat as he leaned back, relaxed. It was an unquestionably nice chuckle, and I immediately resolved to make it happen more often.
Somewhere along the line, even curseless, I realized I'd begun to find impressing Grimm a more appealing prospect than annoying him. Only by a bit, but still. It was disturbing.
He stared into the amber liquid as he swirled it around his glass. "I should probably invest in better casting equipment before springing for things like this."
"Isn't it boring, being so pragmatic?" I groaned.
"No. It means I can avoid unpleasant surprises."
I thrust my glass in the air, indignant at such a stance. "Surprises are what makes life worth living! I, personally, endeavor to create as many of them as possible."
The corners of Grimm's eyes crinkled. He looked down his nose at me-- not unkindly-- and allowed, "Perhaps they're not all bad."
In my first tier, if you'd have told me I'd one day stay up talking with Sebastian Grimm until two in the morning, I'd have rushed you to the infirmary. Still, two in the morning it was when we finally reached the last dregs of liquor and conversation.
"You... have an exam tomorrow," Grimm said, brow furrowing. He'd abandoned the upright posture he was forced to maintain on the ottoman, opting instead for the floor. In the spirit of solidarity, I'd joined him. We'd been talking about the Fount and about the Coterie and about... life, so that I'd barely noticed the time passing. Grimm's voice did not slur, but it was obvious how much of an effort that was.
I made a long-suffering noise, but he was right. Maybe Grimm was a bad influence on me, but I felt as if I should at least attempt to be functional tomorrow. Or, technically, today. Whatever. With a grunt and the popping of a few joints, I hauled myself to my feet, and extended my hand to help Grimm do the same.
He stared at my hand for an elongated second, made longer by the drink, before clasping it with his own and pulling himself up to join me.
What warm hands he has, I remember thinking.
"This was... nice, all things considered," I admitted. Drunk mouths speak sober truths, so they say. "Yes, I liked this."
"I do not regret inviting you, Loveage."
In a fit of spontaneity, I looked him in the eye and said, "Leo. You should just call me Leo."
He blinked, if slowly, before nodding. There might have been more resistance, were we not both in the state we were. "Alright. Leo."
I liked-- loved-- the sound of my name on his tongue. In my drunken state, I hoped dearly that I would still have it committed to memory in the morning.
Picking up my coat and empty whisky bottle was easy, but righting myself afterwards was not: my head did not quite catch up with my body, and everything spun about for a moment, so that I lurched and had to grab the doorframe for support.
"Will you be all right to make it back?" Grimm asked, his brow still knit out of concern. Concern for me, of all people. How revolutionary.
"It's three floors, Grimm," I laughed. "I've managed further."
He mumbled something I couldn't catch.
"Beg your pardon?"
He cleared his throat. "Sebastian is all right."
My face smiled of its own volition. "As you say, Sebastian," I said, sounding his name out carefully. I turned back round to face him at this point, and he was right there at the door with me, the fireplace casting his pale hair in a halo around him. His eyes, his face, his lips, had never looked so soft.
A thought struck me then, and it was, There may never again be a time I get a chance like this.
I had accepted my attraction to Grimm long ago, after I was certain there were no last vestiges of the curse haunting me, only my own desire for the things I could never have. I knew what his lips tasted like. I longed to taste them again. When would be the next time he and I were drunk in the same room? Sober, I'd never have the guts to step foot on that bridge, and worst case, I could blame it on a drunken whim, a force of habit.
I took one step closer to Grimm. I could feel his breath, now, slow but quickening. His eyes roamed my face, searching.
For once, I was at a loss for words. I glanced downward, telegraphing my intentions, before I said quietly, "May I?"
He blinked, his pupils wide in the dark. Then, he nodded.
Grimm tasted of the fiery sting of liquor. He tasted of dark wine, but he also tasted of skin, of tongue, of flesh, just the same as everyone else I've ever kissed. But, oh, was he soft, and warm, and my heart did a somersault in the air as our lips met.
I had intended it to be a, chaste, efficient affair, but the sound he made. Just an inhale, but his voice shook on it, chopped it into little pieces, and instantly, I needed more.
No sooner than our lips had parted, I surged forward for more. Grimm's hands grasped at my waist, and a surprised noise rose from the back of his throat. Most importantly, he did not pull away. Instead, he met me with fervor, opening his mouth to allow me inside.
I grabbed at his sleeves, his arms, anything to stay anchored to the ground. The sounds of our kissing were loud, nearly obscene against the quiet crackling of the fireplace.
We began to move backwards into the room, half me pushing, half him pulling, and Grimm reached blindly behind him for the chair. He slowly sunk down to sit, and I followed him with my mouth until he tugged insistently at my belt. What was I to do but bracket his knees with my own and put my weight on the chair, practically sitting in his lap?
Somebody laughed just outside the room, and Grimm and I both startled apart to look. Instead of breaking the door down to catch us in the act, though, the sound of footsteps receded down the corridor. Likely just revelers on their way back from Lux.
No longer did either of us have the luxury of closed eyes and occupied mouths, and I made the mistake of turning back to stare at him. His expression was open, vulnerable, even, lips parted and hair mussed where I'd carved a path with my fingers. I can only imagine I looked much the same.
We just looked at each other for a moment. Him, breathing softly, and I, wondering when the consequences of my actions would come crashing down. To my dismay, I felt significantly sobered. This was the part where Grimm told me to get the hell out of here and never speak to him again. Or perhaps the part where he finally snapped and smote me from the earth with a lightning spell.
Surprisingly, he did neither. My mouth was opening to begin apologizing when he slowly smoothed his hand up my shirt from belly to collarbone, and then farther, to cradle my cheek. I was powerless but to lean into it. Time just then seemed infinite, suspended in amber.
I felt the distinct need to say something, explain myself, perhaps, but what was there to say? I'd laid it all out right there, and could now only wait for the kickback.
Then, Grimm kissed me again. Gently, guiding me towards him jaw-first, but soon building to the ardor from before. My heart pounded against my ribs. I felt like my skin might begin to smoke.
My breath shuddered as I felt a cool hand snake beneath the hem of my shirt, not touching skin, but so close.
Grimm broke apart just inches. My lips tingled at the ghost of his. "Is this alright?" he asked at nearly a whisper, quickly, as if he were forcing the words out before he could think better of them. I say this because I know the feeling.
"Yes," I replied, with emphasis. Nothing just then could have been more alright than his fingers tracing up my abdomen, palm pressing against my stomach. I tightened my grip on his forearm to express as much.
Grimm panted shallowly, like he'd just escaped a wild beast. Or rather, like I was the wild beast, whose teeth he was dangled in between.
I put those teeth to good use, mouthing at his jawline and then down his neck. I tried not to be rough enough to leave bruises. Secretly, I hoped I would anyway. He pressed at my skin in encouragement, using his other hand to begin unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up.
In the spirit of teamwork, I began working at my top buttons, meeting him in the middle and shrugging the shirt off with expedience. The chill of the air brought me gooseflesh, but Grimm soon soothed it all, smoothing his hands over every inch of exposed skin.
Feeling a bit exposed, now, I tugged at the hem of his own shirt, asking the silent question. He diverted his attention from me to pull it off over his head. He nearly smacked me with his elbow in the process, plus my knees were beginning to smart, so I stood to give him room, backing up the few steps I needed to be able to collapse back on the bed.
I've seen plenty of bodies, each of them remarkable in their own way, but when I saw Grimm's torso I was convinced I'd never seen one so splendid. It was even paler than the rest of him, granted, without much musculature to speak of-- why lift weights when you could move a building with your words-- but it was dotted with moles like constellations up and down. His shape was pleasant, soft bits and hard bits in all the right places, and most importantly, it was Grimm. Pulling his shirt off. So that he could bring himself the few paces forward to meet me on his bed and ask,
"Where do you think you're going?"
If I hadn't been aroused before (I had), I certainly was now. I grinned, hoping to keep those dark eyes on me, and grazed a finger beneath his chin. Contrary to my efforts, a faint pink bruise was beginning to well up above his collarbones. I couldn't bring myself to be disappointed about it.
"Nowhere," I promised, and hauled him up so I could kiss him again.