Work Text:
The night was warm and busy in the rollicking western district of Asgard's capitol city. Playful folk music and revelry poured from the open windows of a nearby tavern, mingled with the aroma of freshly roasted fare. Fandral gazed up at the moon, its subtle radiance gleaming softly in the star-speckled sky. He smiled to himself at the thought that even the realm's nearest celestial body might have its secrets, always obscuring half of itself in shadow.
His evenings were typically spent either with his friends in the Prince's personal den, or in the private company of a few select ladies—and the occasional gentleman. Tonight, he felt drawn to the latter. He handed some coins to a large man posted at the door of the tavern and stepped inside. The establishment was much larger than it appeared from the street, boasting two dining halls, a small theater stage, and a long bar, all packed into two floors and an elaborate cellar.
The barkeep greeted him with a nod and slid him a stein of his usual. Fandral handed her a stack of coins and leaned against the bar to study the room. He recognized most of the faces in the crowd, including a handful of women he'd gotten to know rather intimately. A bard sang boisterously with his troupe in the far corner, and the crowd was lively, some of them loudly singing along and others leaving their tables to dance drunkenly, much to the amusement of the rest. Two stools had already been broken and a random undergarment dangled from one of several large chandeliers overhead. Fandral chuckled into his stein. Appears that I've arrived at just the right time.
He glanced down at himself, nonchalantly fixing his shirt so that its collar hung slightly open. He set some more coins on the bar for a refill and chatted up a few familiar ladies. One of them pulled him by the hand over to a packed table at the center of the room, where she claimed his lap like a throne. His trousers tightened at the feel of her warmth pressing against him, her bare shoulders and cleavage made dewy with a light summer sweat. Her long braid tickled his chest as she leaned into him and laid her head back on his shoulder in laughter. His senses buzzed with the memory of the week-long fling they'd had in the early spring, of her soft skin beneath that lovely dress.
He tipped his head back and took a long drink as he considered his options that evening. While some of the women at the table were openly making their own plans for him, he was scouring the room out of the corner of his eye for any of the men he had known behind closed doors. Only a few were present, but like him, they were each visibly engaging with the ladies and seemed oblivious to his gaze. His eyes roamed the upper floor next, finding it every bit as bustling as the chaos around him. The balconies were crammed with guests, laughing and drinking the night away.
Fandral's eyes settled next on a stunning mane of bright red hair, and then he saw who it belonged to — and by the gods, he was beautiful. He stood tall and slender in stylish, form-fitting clothes, with one hand draped gracefully over the railing and a chalice in the other. His sculpted face was fair and clean shaven, with a radiance that devoured Fandral's attention. After a long laugh with those standing around him, the man cast a glance down into the dining room.
Fandral caught his breath and felt his heart flutter under the intensity of his stare. He managed a friendly nod, and the man nodded back with a sly grin before turning back to his circle of chatter. Fandral had an irrepressible urge to rise from his seat and make his way up the stairs just to get closer to him. Though he was certain they'd never met before—he could never have forgotten that hair—there was something distinctly familiar about him. It was impossible to hear him over the cacophony of the bar, but Fandral studied him as he spoke and found an unmistakable refinement in the way he carried himself. Perhaps he was of the regional nobility and they simply hadn't ever crossed paths.
Suddenly he felt fingers running through his hair and turned to find his ladyfriend giggling in his ear.
"We wish to walk you home tonight, to tuck you in," she purred, and kissed him. Her tongue was still cold from the honey mead he tasted on her lips. She snuck a hand into his shirt and lightly brushed his chest hair with her fingertips. Fandral glanced back up at the railing but the red-haired stranger was gone. He scanned the other balconies and then the dining hall, but he was nowhere to be seen. He felt another woman gingerly take a seat on his other leg and lean her head on his shoulder. He slid an arm around her waist and tickled her side, grinning as she giggled furiously and squirmed in his lap. He stared playfully into her big brown eyes, studying her lovely face and chestnut hair.
"And what is your name?" he asked.
"Ingrid," she laughed. She smelled of wine and scented oils. He laughed along with her, enjoying her vivacity — and her neckline.
"Well, fair Ingrid … welcome to my lap."
She smiled sheepishly and her cheeks flushed at his attention.
"I see there is room for one more," said the other, playing with his beard.
"You don't say?" Fandral grinned. She glanced across the table at a third woman, who sat twirling a lock of her hair with a smile.