Work Text:
The King Solomon's tavern was silent. Most people had exited or withdrew to their own room, leaving Samuel in a blissful quiet.
He absentmindedly wiped down the tables one more time, the wood cleaned of the day's grime and spills. Samuel faltered in front of the stairs leading to the cellar, where John was hidden. The young man turned away toward the kitchen, to fetch a pitcher of wine.
In the time Samuel and his people opened their arms to welcome Liechtenstein, Samuel found himself keeping company to the noble. At first, out of precaution - one must keep a close eye on those one cannot trust yet. His presence could endanger his people, and Samuel wanted, needed to make sure they hadn't made a mistake- and to tend the wounds of the man. But as Liechtenstein kept talking and Samuel listening, a strange bond bloomed between them. He'd found that Liechtenstein despite being a noble, had a curious eye and a took a liking to knowledge. His jokes could lift even the hardest of spirits, and didn't abuse of his blue-blood. A rarity, amongst nobles. His curiosity toward Samuel and his own people was new - he'd never met someone so eager to know about them, to listen without judge or animosity behind their intentions.
Samuel grew to crave John's presence.
The stairs were made of stone, each one of his steps echoing in the small passageway downward. The pitcher secure in his grasp, Samuel opened the door of the cellar.
Liechtenstein was sitting at the table, hunched over words scribbled into a piece of palimpsest. His gaze turned up to catch Samuel's lingering stare. He watched as the nobleman's serious face turned bright with a smile.
"Samuel ! Came to keep me company, didn't you ?" He said, hand coming to scratch at his temple. "I hadn't realised it is evening already. You'll have to excuse me, it is quite hard to tell underground."
The young man closed the door behind him. "No worries, sir. I brought some wine from the kitchen."
Samuel put down the pitcher on the table - it didn't stay long there, as Liechtenstein wiped it from the table immediately, looking around the table for something.
"Did you not bring any cups?" He asked.
Samuel realised he had only brought a pitcher and no tankards. He sighed, rubbing at his face. His eyes were sore from the day's work.
"I forgot. Let me fetch them." Samuel turned to walk away.
"You don't have to, Sam. We can simply take turns with the pitcher. You are tired, I think you could use a break, and to get drunk !" He rose the pitcher into the air as if to make the point stand.
Samuel's body halted. Sharing a pitcher was something new. He had shared a table, sometimes a meal with the noble, a drink on most nights, yes. But sharing a drink from the same recipient was new.
"I doubt Sir would appreciate sharing a cup with a commoner like myself." Samuel deflected in jest, head cocked to the side toward Liechtenstein's direction.
That earned a chuckle from the other man. "Nonsense ! Can't a man share a little wine with his friend ?"
Samuel couldn't help the ghost of a smile to appear on his face. "I suppose."
"Well, what are you waiting for ? Sit." He said, taking place on the chair, putting his lips on the pitcher and dragging the liquid in his mouth.
Samuel sat down next to him. Immediately, his body relaxed, the soreness in his muscles no longer muffled by the prospect of doing things. He reached a hand to rub at a sore spot in his shoulder.
"Sore muscles ?" The noble asked him, head tilted to the side to better look at Samuel. He extended the pitcher toward him.
"It has been a long day." Samuel muttered, taking a sip from the pitcher, cautiously avoiding where Liechtenstein had put his lips just a second ago.
The wine was bitter but flavourful. Samuel left the liquid in his mouth to better savour it. Then he swallowed, feeling the alcohol help with the soreness. The young man gave the pitcher to the man beside him in silence.
"Do you have any news ?" Liechtenstein asked, hand curving against the ceramic. He dragged a sip again - Samuel watched as his lips curved around the rim, right where his were mere moments beforehand.
Samuel couldn't help to rub at his own lips.
"No. The streets are silent and Goatskin is still useless."
"Don't be so hard on him. He's the sole contact I managed to gain in this city."
"He is going to sell us out. I know it. Do not be surprised when he will - I have warned you." Samuel took the pitcher from his hand and took a long sip, wiping the excess with the back of his hand.
"Have faith in the man, Samuel." Liechtenstein said, voice harsher but not angry. "Why not talk about something more lighthearted, what do you say ?"
Samuel sighed. The wine warmed his body, but the blissful buzz hadn't come yet.
"Sure. What do you want to talk about ?"
The noble hummed, swallowing his sip. "What have you planned for the future ? Marry a nice, proper woman is somewhere, I'm guessing, but what else?"
Samuel stilled, lips frozen over the rim of the pitcher. His face contorted into disgust. Marrying was something he dreaded - he didn't want to risk a relationship, either. He was too busy, and the prospect of ending up in a similar position as his mother was enough for him to avoid women altogether.
"Marrying isn't for me." Samuel said simply, dragging another sip. "I will simply stay working at the tavern. But we can never be sure of the future. And you ? Don't you have a... wife, to come home to ?"
Liechtenstein giggled. He gestured toward the man to pass him the pitcher. Samuel gave it.
"I thank the Lord that I do not !" The noble took a sip again, swallowing the alcohol.
Samuel watched as his throat moved to allow the liquid into the pit of his stomach. A drop of wine bloomed on the corner of John- Liechtenstein's mouth, threatening to spill over and run down his chin. The young man extended a hand, rubbing with the pad of his thumb at the edge of his mouth. Their eyes met. His eyes were frozen in surprise, pupils blown wide, engulfing the blue of his irises. They surely were a mirror of Samuel's .
"Sorry." The young man let out, shy, and absentmindedly dragged the thumb to his own lips, mouthing at the wine drop collected on it.
Liechtenstein's voice came soft. "Thank you." He dragged his finger over the corner of his mouth. "Though, I am sure you will have no trouble finding a wife, my friend. I can only find qualities in you, and you're handsome, I think you find no trouble making ladies' heads turn."
Samuel couldn't help the scoff, burying deeper the coil in his guts. "I doubt it. The few women I've been with hardly seemed picky."
"Their mistake." Liechtenstein answered softly.
Samuel stilled, feeling warmth climbing to his own throat. His eyes shifted to observe John's form, laid next to him. He had a small smile tugging his own lips, so different from the widespread smile he would always harbour. His eyes were downcast, lashes shading his eyes - stormy blue, like the sky before a storm, with a touch of forest green in the middle. He'd never seen such eyes before. A single strand of hair was tucked loose, peaking from underneath his hat. Samuel's hand twitched, aching to brush it back into place. A small blush had crept up his cheeks, no doubt from the alcohol they passed between them. John seemed lost in his own mind, hand clasped around the rim of the pitcher, index rubbing at a dent in the ceramic absentmindedly.
He was beautiful.
Samuel felt his own heart tug hard, toward John's direction, as if his heart itself begged the body to do something. He remained still, frozen, with the weight of it all rendering movement impossible.
He couldn't.
He couldn't have a repeat of what his mother went through.
Liechtenstein extended the pitcher toward him, as Samuel took it in hand. The ceramic was warm, where John's hand was holding it mere seconds ago. The rim was littered with different lip marks, and Samuel didn't know which was his or Joh- Liechtenstein's. He settled to avoid them all as he dragged the alcohol in his mouth.
He pictured the wine washing away his thoughts, hoping that if he saw it behind his eyelids with enough conviction, it would happen.
It didn't.
"What's got on your mind ?" Liechtenstein asked, head tilted to better look at Samuel's face.
"Nothing." Samuel answered.
The noble's hand came to clasp his shoulder in camaraderie.
"Lies do not suit your lips well." He answered truthfully. "Do tell me, friend. I wish to ease your burden."
Samuel could only feel the curve of his fingers, the heat from the palm, the lingering coldness from the fingertips, the weight of the hand, resting on the shoulder.
"I think you have enough worries as it is." Samuel said.
"Perhaps, but I find sharing them makes life easier. So please, Samuel. You have done much for me, let me repay you in kind." If Samuel annoyed or angered Joh-Liechtenstein with his refusal, the nobleman didn't let it show, tone only dripping with care and a curiousness so incredibly his.
Samuel's mouth kept close, racking his brain to come up with an excuse, a story he had yet to tell the nobleman, anything to replace thoughts of him.
Suddenly Liechtenstein let go of his shoulder, heat slowly fading. Samuel glanced away in an attempt to hide his disappointment. The nobleman was about to open his mouth when the other man's voice cut through.
"Have I ever told you the story of my parents ?" He asked, his own voice startling him.
Liechtenstein smiled, turning slightly toward him.
"I don't think you did, but do go on, I love a good story."
"My father was a goy. A blacksmith, named Martin." Samuel started.
Many nights he tried to imagine his father's face in his own. It was pointless - why care for someone he will never see ?
Liechtenstein only hummed, slowly taking the pitcher from Samuel's hands. They brushed against one another. Samuel cleared his throat to hide the blush creeping on his cheeks.
"One day, he came to Kuttenberg, seeking a room for a few days. All taverns were full, no one would take him in. That was when he met my mother. She knew the Solomon tavern had a free room, so she talked to my grandfather, vouched for Martin to be let in the quarter, just for a few days. He showed reluctance first - a goy had no place in our quarter, but Martin offered his services in exchange for the tavern bed. It just so happened that at the time, they needed the services of a blacksmith, so the rabbi, my grandfather, accepted."
The words came to him naturally, reminiscing of the many nights his mother would tell the story, a bittersweet smile on her face, tears swelling her eyes. The first time he saw her cry was the day Samuel promised himself he would not repeat his parents' mistake.
"What happened then ?" Liechtenstein asked, voice soft.
"Well, a few days became a few weeks, and Martin and my mother fell in love. He would bring her flowers from time to time, tell her stories of his travels and she would listen. Slowly, they grew closer. But it all stopped when my mother fell pregnant." A pause, Samuel looked into John's eyes. "It was scandalous, the daughter of the rabbi falling pregnant with a stranger was far from what was expected of her. And... he left. We never saw him again."
Closing his eyes, Samuel tried to stifle his heart - this story was as much of a reminder than it was a warning - no matter how desperate his heart made itself to be.
"That is quite a sad story." John said, voice careful.
"It is."
A pause. John shifted his jaw, fingers twitching slightly.
"I am grateful that your people took me in, despite the danger. You had many reasons to turn me away, but your people's kindness is unbound. I am indebted to you. If there's anything I can do, to repay the debt, tell me."
Samuel shook his head. "Keep yourself unseen for the time being is all we can ask of you, sir."
Lichtenstein's eyes came to meet Samuel's. "Please, drop the formality when we are alone. You can call me John."
The man felt a blush creep higher on his face. Perhaps the wine was talking, perhaps Liechtenstein was drunker than he looked.
"As you wish..." Samuel let out.
His mouth felt foreign around the name, like crossing a line that shouldn't have been crossed - he couldn't bring himself to say it. Yet John only let a small smile, bringing the pitcher to his lips... to find it empty.
"I think this is our cue to go to sleep." Liechtenstein said, staring at the pitcher in his hands.
Samuel nodded, taking the pitcher from him. He stoop up, pausing for a few moments in front of the door.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Sam."
Steps echoed in the small passageway.
Samuel was holding a pitcher of fresh wine and tankards clicking together rhythmically with his steps. In his other hand, was a hot meal Myriam had put aside for the noble. The young man struggled with the lock for a few seconds until it gave in, a soft click reaching his ears.
The cellar was silent.
Liechtenstein was not sitting at the table. In fact, only the various scrolls and documents laid messily atop of it, a single candle lighting the paper. The wax was dripping into the wood. Samuel put down the pitcherand cups on the table, where old wine stains had soaked the parchment and wood.
His eyes landed on John's sleeping form, curved around himself on the small bed. The candle barely lit his frame, but Samuel could make out the shape of his face, the way his hat had fallen off of his head, or the way his hand was grabbing the thin sheet with fervor. Liechtenstein's face was far from peaceful. His brows were furrowed, and his mouth curled inward in a frown. Slowly, Samuel approached the sleeping noble, then kneeled in front of the bed.
John was having a nightmare.
"Sir...?" He asked, voice low.
No answer. Liechtenstein's eyes squeezed harder.
A bitter wave washed over Samuel at the sight - face tugging into a frown as his heart gave a long squeeze.
"Sir?" Samuel asked again, grasping his shoulder and shaking.
No answer but a sleep-drowned groan. Samuel watched as a single tear escaped.
Samuel tentatively sat on the bed, dipping slightly under his weight. He shook the noble's shoulder harder, then, desperate :
"John?"
John's eyes widened, glossy and unfocused. He swiftly sat up, feeling his face and quickly wiping the tear that had escaped his eyes. He looked around, blinking as he slowly gained awareness. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, sweat sticking the strands together.
"Samuel ?" His voice was hoarse, eyes sweeping over the other man's frame before settling in his eyes.
"Are you okay si- are you okay ?"
"I am." He would have believed him if it wasn't for his red eyes and heaving breath. "I apologize, it's... Sleep has not been kind to me these days."
"When is sleep ever kind to men ?" Samuel mused. "I brought food, and wine, but if you prefer to sleep, I can leave."
The air stilled with an awkwardness Samuel could not quite place. He felt like he crossed a line, somewhere between having sat down on the cot and waking the noble up.
"Stay-" John's voice broke slightly. The noble cleared his throat. "You can stay. If you'd like, of course."
Samuel nodded then walked toward the table where he left the wine and bowl. Taking the pitcher and bowl in hand, he walked back to the cot, where Liechtenstein slowly regained his breath, cotton tunic clinging to his chest. He was sitting, back pressed against the stone wall. He extended a hand toward the bowl, then began eating slowly. Samuel put the pitcher down on the floor, next to the bed before grabbing the tankards and filling one up with wine. He stayed on his feet, unsure whether it was alright to sit on the bed or not. He had never seen John so vulnerable.
John chuckled quietly. it was weak, far from his usual laughs. "No need to stand around lost, you can sit next to me. As far as I'm aware, bad sleep isn't contagious."
Samuel released a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
"I hope not, or else it means my ailment spread to you."
He brought the second tankard and filled it with wine, silently presenting it to John. John hummed, a slight smile on his lips as he took a sip from it.
"Ah... You as well ?"
Samuel shrugged as he sat next to John. The wall was cold, freshness seeping through his pourpoint. It felt nice. He stretched to find his own winecup.
"The nights I do not spend awake are nights I spend amidst nightmares." A pause. "Do you... want to talk about yours?"
John set the bowl on his lap, eyes lost in the space in front of him. He taped rythmically against the bowl - a song that only existed in his mind.
Liechtenstein always fiddled with his fingers when deep in thought. It was as if his fingers seeked to take a hold, to manipulate the thoughts dancing behind his eyes. Just now, Samuel could hear what rhythm his thoughts formed in John's mind.
"I was stuck, in a deep cave, underground. It wasn't a natural cave, but a man-made one : Rooms filled with boxes, holes, some were flooded, water licking at the steps leading down. Rooms were followed by rooms and dark passageways alike." John took a sip of wine, a small bite of food. "I was being followed. I do not know who or what was following me, but it was always right behind my back, I could feel it. I try to run, to hide but it always found me. Whatever it was, it wanted me gone. You awoke me right as I faced a dead end."
Samuel hummed as he took a sip of wine.
Maybe if they slept in the same bed, then the nightmare wouldn't take hold.
The man wiped away the thought. It was ridiculous, John would never want that. He may call Samuel his friend, but that doesn't mean he'd be willing to do these things.
Far from it.
"I always make the same dreams." John noted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "If it is not this one, then it is one in a forest. It's as if the Devil gives me a taste of what awaits for me, deep in Hell."
Samuel's face craned to look toward John. His head was thrown back against the stones, revealing his neck and the small freckles ingrained in his skin. His hair was tousled, soaked in sweat, clinging to his forehead in small strands. His bloodshot eyes were barely open, blue-green eyes peaking through. His lips were cracked, the wine he drunk giving them a little colour. Without thinking, Samuel reached his hand to brush the strands of hair away. John's eyes widened as they held Samuel's gaze.
Bashful, Samuel withdrew his hand, securing it around the cup in his lap.
"I doubt that Hell is what awaits you." Samuel answered plainly.
The concept of Hell was foreign to him, but to his understanding, if Heaven was a place of love, happiness and of morals, Hell was its antipode. John would hardly fit in this afterlife. The noble's gaze still held him firmly, something dancing bethind his eyes that incited Samuel to continue.
"You're a good man. You fight for what is right, even if it may cost you your life. Unlike many nobles, you do not hide behind your blue-blood, and do not shy away from working. You're... You're kind to my people, to me."
John's gaze seem to harden, glossy eyes concealing what danced behind it.
"I am honoured that you think so highly of me, Sam. But truth is, I am far from a good man."
"If a man like you is only destined for Hell, I do not wish to see Heaven."
Samuel heard a soft gasp from the man next to him. Cold fingertips found Samuel's chin, gently tugging to make the man look toward John. Their touch was light but present - Samuel felt his heart skip a beat.
"Next time you cannot find sleep, come find me. Even if I am already sleeping, come to me."
Samuel slowly nodded as his heart thrummed heavily in his throat, "I will."
Samuel felt a wave of relief washing away s he passed the threshold of the tavern. It was quiet, not a soul was awake at this hour. He winced as he bent down to fetch a pitcher of wine - a reminder of the gash he took at the hip. Samuel had been careless, and it was by a miracle alone that he was alive.
Samuel thought he'd never be able to lose them ; he had gone around Kuttenberg's back alleys for hours trying to lose them, and spent another taking the long way home.
The candles were lit when the young man opened the door to the cellar. Samuel didn't have time to react that he was shoved into an embrace, soft arm encircling his aching body. He went limp against them, too exhausted to do anything but melt into the warm embace. A hand snaked to his hair, holding the short hairs. Samuel's body shuddered with the touch.
"I thought you'd never be back." John's voice whispered next to his ear.
Another shudder - Samuel tentatively posed his arms around John's frame.
"I am." A pause. "I brought wine."
He heard John chuckle against his shoulder. The noble patted his shoulder and withdrew himself from the embrace - dark circles laid under his eyes, but it didn't matter when he smiled as brightly as he did. Samuel felt his own crooked smile - a rare sight - yield forward. He took a step forward to put down the pitcher as a sharp sting of pain flashed before his eyes. Samuel hissed through gritted teeth.
"You're injured ?"
John immediatly guided him to a chair, putting the pitcher down in the table. Samuel relaxed on the chair, hand coming to grasp at the gash on his hip.
"I am alright. It is simply a stray hit I could not avoid. I've had worse."
"But if we do not take care of it, you'll fall ill."
Samuel batted John's hands away, which started to untie his pourpoint.
"I am alright."
John gripped at his shoulder and took a deep breath.
"You will not leave this chair until all your wounds are cleaned, is that understood?" Liechtenstein cut through.
Samuel recognised the voice he used, his noble one - demanding not by his harsh tone but by the surety of his words, in a way that meant his lineage's rule was evident and to be obeyed without question.
"Then who will tend-" Samuel shifted causing a wince of pain.
The noble fetched a vial from his pouch and opened it. A sweet sent of chamomile dispersed around the room. Liechtenstein gestured to Samuel's pourpoint.
"I will. Take it off-" the noble tone did not leave his words, then, softer "-unless you need help."
Samuel obeyed, untying the laces of his pourpoint one by one until he wore only his tunic. The white linen was wet with blood where the gash had hit him. it clung to his skin, and Samuel found himself too weak to peel the clothe off. Seeing his struggle, John's sure hands slowly removed the ruined tunic, careful in his every moment. He watched Samuel like a hawk, observing for any sign of pain, or discomfort.
The young man closed his eyes, trying to calm his eratic heart - half because of the adrenaline surging his veins, half in shame to be half naked in front of John.
"It's okay." John's voice mumbled, soft.
He felt a wet cloth rub in circle over his hip. Samuel frowned heavily, eyes closed, concentrating on the pain that bloomed as if to punish himself.
"What happened ?" John asked.
"I saw movement in the night. Sigismund's dogs are building a camp, near the city." Samuel opened his eyes, gazing at the noble's sure hands wiping the blood from the cut. "I was... reckless. In my haste to leave I stumbled upon a group of them. I managed to lose them in Kuttenberg's alleys, but not without one striking me with their sword."
Another wince - John breathlessly apologised.
"I am relieved to see you alive, Sam. I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you, out there. Your people shouldn't risk yourselves for me, for my mission. Especially you."
Samuel's laugh came as a short exhale. "Someone has to. For you."
John's face pulled into a sad smile. He put down the rag on the table next to them before digging again in his pouch. John took out bandages and began to roll it around the gash at his hip to stop further bleeding.
The wet rag - smelling of chamomile - came to his elbow, where, in his flight, Samuel had grazed his skin. The touch was soft, it didn't linger much, and quickly pressed again at Samuel's temple. John's other hand gently cupped his chin, holding it steady as he wiped. Samuel reflexively closed his eye.
"It's okay." John whispered again. "I won't hurt you."
Samuel hadn't realised he had hit his head until he saw the rag pull away, slightly reddish with blood. John extended another vial toward Samuel. He took it, smelling chamomile just like on the rag.
"Drink up." John said, the commanding noble tone gone. "It will help with the pain."
Samuel obeyed, downing the liquid in a few gulps. It tasted of chamomile and nettle. John took a few steps to the water basin near the bed. He dunked the cloth there before wringing it, taking out the excess water.
Kneeling in front of Samuel, John gently took hold of his hand, cleaning the dirt and blood from his digits and nails. John's touch was light, as if touching the most precious of relics. Samuel's chest swelled at the sight, a dangerous coil unleashing in his guts. He let John's fingers touch and manipulate his, the cold rag leaving a fresh print on Samuel's hand. When he was finished, John took hold of his second hand and continued his task. He carefully wiped the blood from his palm, softly holding Samuel's relaxed fingers open. Then, he turned the palm to clean the roughened knuckles, where Samuel had punched one of the soldiers.
Samuel couldn't help the blush of his face, watching with quieted breaths the man between his legs. John didn't settle his gaze any higher than Samuel's hand, and the latter felt the sudden need to watch his eyes looking up at him. His hand slowly came to brush at John's chin, tilting his head up. His thumb was just shy of the noble's lips. Their eyes crossed each other's, black pupil engulfing irises. John's lips parted slightly in surprise. Suddenly aware, Samuel dropped his hand in defeat, looking away to the rough ground. The wet cloth's movement started again, wiping one last time his fingers before tentative lips met his knuckles.
Samuel froze, tension flaring in his muscle. His head suddenly felt light, eyes wide open as they slowly dragged toward the press of lips. John was smiling softly, lips pursed, caressing with a softest of touch Samuel's reddened knuckles.
The touch was gone as quickly as it arrived and the noble quickly rose to his feet toward the basin. Samuel was suddenly alone, the heat from John's proximity gone and replaced by unbearable, cold air. More importantly - he still felt the press of lips.
John laid the cloth on the side of the basin and turned toward Samuel.
"A camp, you said?" The noble asked, voice sure.
The night had since long settled, veiling the sun under a blanket of stars.
Samuel laid on top of messy blankets, in a cot he grew up sleeping on. The ceiling he came to know by heart was engulfed in darkness, and he barely could recognise the skewed wooden planks that made the roof of his home.
Sleep didn't come. Why would it, when all that Samuel could do was think? Think of nothing and everything.
Think of past alongside future - of quiet truths and bold dreams.
Of stormy blue and forest green, of a smart tongue and eagle-sharp eyes. Of noble words and gentle actions.
His mother was long since asleep, shifting from time to time in her own covers. He could not see her in the darkness but Samuel came to know her shape in light and darkness alike. Outside had no noise except for the occasional wind clatter, or the soft steps of guards. Inside, only Samuel's breathing reached his ears. It was quiet, unbearably so.
Samuel rolled again, holding his pillow and burying his face in it. Maybe if he stopped breathing, sleep will come quicker - Samuel muses. Yet his brain stayed clear, sleep refusing to tug at the edge of his conciousness. Desperate, Samuel shifted again, grabbing the pillow to shift it to the other end of the bed. His face laid on the warm pillow, Body stretched to hang outside of the cot - he had long since outgrown it. He heard the joint of his spine pop as he did so, and the tension around his shoulders growing quieter.
In the back of his busy mind, a thought crept forward : "Next time you cannot find sleep, come find me. Even if I am already sleeping, come to me."
The young man shifted again, debating with himself : It would be cruel of him to disrupt John's sleep, especially if it was a night where his nightmares gave him respite. Samuel was no one to the noble, even if the latter told him otherwise - at the end of the day, they will eventually part ways, and John will forget about him.
Something selfish wrapped around the edges of his mind, something that said, maybe, just maybe, the impossible was possible.
The wooden floor was cold against naked feet as Samuel hurried to get dressed, switfly shoving his hose up, and messily tiying the laces of his pourpoint. His mind raced, trying to make the most before he inevitably changed his mind.
Giving one last look toward his sleeping mother, Samuel left, torch in hand.
••●••
The door of the cellar was locked. He had locked it hours ago, when he left the noble after giving him his dinner. Now, key in hand, his hand hovered before the lock. The same doubt crept back.
John was surely peacefully sleeping. He wouldn't want to entertain Samuel during the night's lost hours.
And yet...
Samuel turned the lock, the usual soft click echoing in the night. He pushed the door open, turning his neck to face John. The young man watched as John opened his eyes with the suddden light from Samuel's torch.
"Sam?" John asked, sitting up. "What's wrong, an emergency ?"
Samuel suddenly felt out of place, the bitter taste of regret coiling in his stomach and swarming his brain with doubt. He found himself shifting his footing, looking to the side.
"N-no I..."
"Ah. I see... Sleep could not claim you, is it ?"
"Yes. You said...' Samuel's gaze snapped to John. He was smiling softly, eyes squinting in the low light. "You said next time I could come to you. So I did."
John ducked his head and shifted in his bed, patting the space next to him. Samuel placed the torch in a wall hook, then tentatively sat down next to John. Their shoulders were touching. The stone wall was cold - Samuel concentrating on the roughness of the stone, the cold seeping through them as punishment.
"I didn't want to disturb your peace." Sam said quietly.
"You never disturb me, Samuel. I appreciate your presence all the same."
Samuel hummed, eyes closing and head coming to rest against the unforgiving wall.
"What were you thinking about, in your bed ?" John asked, head tilting slightly closer to Samuel.
"Of nothing." A pause. "Of nothing and everything."
Of you. Samuel thought. Your sweet smile, your stormy blue eyes, the way your fingers move when in thought, the way you are so close to me, yet so far. The way you sneaked into my heart like you were meant to be there.
"I couldn't make heads or tails of anything."
They were blinding in their clarity.
John chuckled, hand sneaking to claim Samuel's. The young man let him, not brave enough to squeeze the warm palm beneath his fingers. He felt heat crawl up to his face.
"Your lips are too pretty for lies like these. You can trust me." The noble said, hand squeezing Samuel's.
Samuel inhaled sharply, head craning to look at John. He squeezed back - heart taking over brain.
"Of you." Samuel let out, breathless.
John only hummed in query, slow grin extending on his lips.
"I thought of you." Samuel confessed. "In ways a man shouldn't."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, finally released from the heavy prison that was his heart. Before Samuel could realise what he admitted to, sure fingers came to cradle his jaw. John shifted slightly to put his forehead against his. He breathed deeply, the exhale caressing Samuel's lips. Their nose were just shy of one another.
"How fortunate." He breathed, smile evident in his voice. "So did I."
Samuel sucked a breath in, then, tentatively lowered his head. Lips met lips, barely there - a press of warmth, tickling by its softness. John tilted his head, gentle fingers at the chin sneaking to Samuel's neck to chase the touch, to press his lips against Samuel's. His lips were soft and warm, moving slowly against his own.
Warmth envelopped his heart.
Samuel cupped John's face with his other hand, opening his lips to capture his lower lip. Day-old stubble grazed pleasently against his own face.
Terror seized his heart - reality crashing down on him like pouring, ice-cold rain.
His mother-
Her tears came clear in his mind and with it, his promise - a child's promise to rectify what couldn't be, a bastard son's promise to learn from mistakes.
He couldn't - he couldn't break his mother's heart.
A gentle thumb grazed at his lips as they parted, the imprint of their lips felt.
"It's okay," John whispered against his lips.
Samuel felt his shoulder sack, all tension vanishing under John's gentle touch and sure words. He leaned forward slightly, reuniting once again. John hummed into the kiss as Samuel felt the vibration.
No matter how much his brain screamed - Samuel couldn't stop his heart from wanting, from needing John within it.
So he let it be.