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The most fucked up part was that it didn't start until after.
It would also have been fucked up, Ballister supposed, for his boyfriend to blow his arm off. But his boyfriend hadn't blown his arm off, because there had been nothing between him and Ambrosius back then. They'd been close, yes, and Ballister couldn't deny a spark or two, but nothing more had happened.
Nothing more should have happened. Ambrosius blew up his arm. Nothing more should have ever happened after that.
And yet.
And yet, Ballister was sitting in bed in a seedy room in a seedier inn, and Ambrosius was sleeping next to him.
It was a mistake. It was a mistake, just like it had been a mistake the last three times, just like it had been a mistake to kiss Ambrosius a month before. Ballister told himself firmly that it was a mistake, and that he wouldn't do it again.
It wasn't the first time he'd told himself that. He wondered if it was any more likely to stick this time around.
Ambrosius let out a quiet sigh in his sleep, nestling deeper into the blankets. Ballister was surprised he'd been able to fall asleep. He knew Ambrosius was a light sleeper, but he was still vulnerable, and he was right there. If Ballister wanted to hurt him, it would be so very easy to do.
Ballister looked at Ambrosius for another moment, then he got out of bed and reached for his pants.
The mattress shifted slightly, and Ambrosius jerked upright, eyes wide and hair wild. Ballister supposed he hadn't meant to fall asleep, then, and he took a moment to savor the flash of fear on Ambrosius's face as he realized that he had. Too quickly, though, the triumph turned sour, and Ballister sneered, "I didn't do anything to you while you were sleeping, if that's what you're wondering."
Ambrosius's jaw tightened, and Ballister waited for the accusation. He truly hadn't done anything, so there was nothing to accuse him of, but Ambrosius always found something. Perhaps he'd accuse him of drugging him asleep in the first place, or he'd spin out some grand plot of Ballister's to get him vulnerable.
Ballister almost wished he had some grand plot to get Ambrosius vulnerable. That would make more sense than this.
"Are you leaving, then?" Ambrosius asked, and he managed to make even that sound accusatory.
"Did you expect me to stay?" Ballister countered, tugging his pants on.
"I thought you might at least wake me first."
"What, like this is a relationship?" Ballister scoffed.
"It's a common courtesy," Ambrosius retorted, tossing his hair. It would have worked better if it weren't a tangled mess around his shoulders.
Once, Ballister had helped him brush it out. Now, the strands would just get caught on his metal fingers.
"As you love to remind me, I'm a villain," he said, shaking that thought away. "I don't have to bother with your common courtesies anymore."
Ambrosius's lip curled. "No wonder you became a villain. It suits you better than being a knight ever did."
It hurt. Of course it did; Ambrosius had meant for it to hurt. He'd taken careful aim, and he'd let the words blast into Ballister's chest the same way his lance had blasted into Ballister's arm. He was always so good at finding the weakest points.
Unfortunately for him, Ballister had always been better.
"Is that what you think?" he asked, honeying his voice as he let it grow crueler. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have enough of a brain to think for myself instead of remaining the Director's lapdog. Tell me, Sir Goldenloin, when was the last time you did something for your own reasons and not just because the Institution snapped its fingers?" Ballister arched an eyebrow and looked Ambrosius up and down. "Was it tonight? Perhaps it would be better if you let the Director do the thinking for you."
Ambrosius's face flushed, and even though he screwed it up into a scowl to make it look like it stemmed from anger, Ballister knew him too well; he had seen Ambrosius embarrassed before, and he recognized it now.
"Tonight was your decision as much as mine," Ambrosius snapped back.
"Yes, but I'm a villain. I'm allowed to deflower the hero." Ballister reached out with his prosthetic hand and tucked a lock of Ambrosius's hair behind his ear. He could feel how Ambrosius went still, how he hardly breathed.
He'd kept the glove on his prosthetic, and he'd kept his shirt on, but they both knew what was underneath. They both knew how strong the prosthetic was. If Ballister lowered his hand, if he locked it around Ambrosius's throat…
He wondered, for a moment, if Ambrosius would even stop him.
He slid his fingers down to Ambrosius's chin instead and tilted it up to face him better. "A hero," he whispered, "is supposed to make better choices."
Ambrosius looked at him, eyes hard as ice. "You're right. You're a mistake I won't make again."
Ballister scoffed, pulling away and reaching for his shoes. "I suppose that's one thing we can agree on. This is a mistake, and it needs to stop."
"You could make things easier on everyone if you stopped altogether," Ambrosius said. "What do you even get out of being a villain? Failure after failure? Learn from your mistakes and give up."
"Oh, I certainly learn from my mistakes." Ballister wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and headed for the door. "Until next time, then, Sir Goldenloin."
"You won't get away with this forever."
Ballister turned back. Ambrosius was still sitting on the bed, hair tangled, naked under the sheets. For a moment, he almost looked vulnerable. For a moment, Ballister almost wanted to return to him.
He clenched his prosthetic fist, listening to the almost-silent whir of its gears, and he left without another word.
It would happen again. He knew it would happen again. He would mean to avoid it, and Ambrosius would mean to avoid it, and somehow, they'd fall into bed together again. It would keep happening, but it didn't matter. He was a villain, and Ambrosius was a hero. No amount of nights shared would change that.
Ballister allowed himself one glance back at the inn as he left. The curtain was drawn in the upstairs room that he and Ambrosius had used; he couldn't tell if the light was still on inside. He wondered if Ambrosius had left yet.
It didn't matter. Ballister turned, and he walked away.
(Years later, when Nimona asked what the deal was between him and Ambrosius, Ballister would think of their latest night, of how he'd shoved Ambrosius up against a wall as a threat and it had ended up a kiss. He would think of how the kiss had still felt a bit like a threat, but he hadn't been sure who was threatening whom.
"It's complicated," he would say, because it was the only thing that didn't feel like a lie.)