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The only advantage there could be to this situation, Anton thought as he shoved his way through the main door, was that Paris wasn’t especially cold, even in January. Oh, it was certainly cold enough to wear a coat outside, but that would have been tolerable.
It was the water. The city was filled with it. There was no telling where the Seine ended and the streets began, except for those fences that still stood. Shop-windows were half-hidden beneath the gentle waves, waves that had pulled books from flooded libraries and scattered them through the streets like driftwood. In a matter of short days, the city had become a reluctant Venice. At least the city would have a chance to prove its motto – if this couldn’t sink it, then nothing could.
He almost felt sorry for the mortals. After all, it was more or less the Dead Men’s fault their city had flooded.
He found the room they had been lent by the Parisian sanctuary – prior to their arrival in France, as it happened. If nothing else, the building was quiet. Most of those who could had fled the rising waters, and given the rooms, everyone who lived there could afford the flight. His fingers, though numbed, barely fumbled the key to open their door.
Almost no one was home, given that he’d just left most of their comrades out in the field. Let them splash around like children – he was cold, and it wasn’t like that lot would get any work done that day.
The moment Anton walked into the main room, practically tossing his coat onto the rack by the heater, he heard muffled laughter. He turned, frowning.
Larrikin was curled on one of the couches, doing paperwork, his demi-gauntlet resting on the table beside him. He was also hiding his grin behind a hand, for what it was worth.
“What happened you?” he asked.
“The city is eight meters underwater,” Anton said. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it presentable, dismayed that so much water remained in it. “Erskine, let’s try not to flood an entire watershed next time we need to out-maneuver a single battalion.”
“Noted,” Erskine said. He was laying on his back on the couch across from Larrikin, holding papers above his head like he was actually reading them. “But you have to admit, it was pretty clever.”
“The locals may not think so.”
Erskine shrugged, succeeding mostly in dislodging the pillow he’d stuffed behind his head. “We saved them. They can’t complain too much.”
“I suppose so,” Anton said.
“Shall I get you some tea, dear?” Larrikin asked. He was still laughing. Anton was sure he could be that amusing, even if he did look like a drowned rat. “I’m in the mood for some myself.”
“I am going to push you into the river,” Anton said. “But yes, if you would.”
Larrikin unfolded himself out of the circle of papers and headed towards kitchen, brushing Anton’s shoulders as he passed. Anton couldn’t help but smile back, and leaned in so he could kiss Larrikin’s cheek. He blushed at the unexpected contact, and muttered something unintelligible before shuffling off to get that tea.
“You two are disgusting,” Erskine muttered, rolling his eyes.
Anton resisted the urge to kick him for being childish, as that in itself would be as such.
Erskine tipped the papers in his hand so that he was looking at Anton with the document hiding the lower half of his face. It might have been intimidating had he not been upside down.
“Are you sure you two should be acting like this?”
Anton gave him his best sarcastic smile. “Are you worried we might upset the locals?”
“Not at all. I couldn’t care less about that, in fact. I’m worried about you. Will you be able to fight as you had if you two keep acting this way?”
Erskine’s eyes were guileless, but Anton frowned all the same.
“Of course,” he said, his voice even. “And what were you planning on doing? Report us for fraternisation?” If that was Erskine’s thought, he’d have to report more than just Anton and Larrikin.
Erskine blinked. “I’m only worried about you. Both of you. I don’t want any weaknesses in our defense.”
After almost three hundred years of fighting, the war almost won, wasn’t it okay to begin exhibiting weakness?
“Neither of us is growing weak from this.”
Anton leaned against the window frame – next to the heater, as it happened – and crossed his arms. Erskine blinked again, and his look softened. He was smiling behind the paper.
There was a brief pause, punctuated only by the sound of the kettle boiling in the next room. Whether Larrikin had heard Erskine or not was another thing. Anton wasn’t sure he wanted him to have.
“Where are the others?” Erskine asked, breaking the silence. He redressed his posture into a more comfortable position.
“Still out,” Anton said. “Continuing business, they said.”
“So they’re either lost or flirting.”
“I would imagine so, yes.”
Erskine sighed and tossed his reading aside. “I suppose I ought to go rescue them before they get themselves into even worse trouble.”
“If it’s someone’s father chasing them, leave them be. They probably deserve it.”
Erskine grinned as he got up, and gave Anton’s shoulder a genial tap. “You get into something dry and warm up. Leave me to deal with the storms the rest of the day.”
“Easy for you to say,” Larrikin said, returning with the tea. He was half-glowering at Erskine. “Yer Elemental.”
“That I am,” Erskine replied. “I’ll see you two later. Hopefully, I’ll have found our wayward companions. They need bells on their necks, I swear…”
Still muttering to himself, he pulled his – dry – coat off a hook and left. Larrikin turned to Anton, grinning over the rim of the cup in his hands. He offered the other one to Anton.
“Thanks,” he said. He looked out the window as he drank the tea. Larrikin stood next to him in silence.
Outside, the zinc roofs darkened to blue as clouds gathered above. The limestone faces were already stained from the water, and now the marker would rise.
Always more to fight.
“I’m going to change,” Anton said as he put his empty cup down on the table.
Larrikin grinned impishly. “Would you like some help with that?”
It occurred to Anton that they were completely alone – and would be for quite some time, if Erskine was unlucky. Larrikin fluttered his pale eyelashes, and Anton found himself quite tempted.
Instead, he fluffed Larrkin’s already disheveled hair.
“I’m quite competent with that, I think.” He couldn’t help but smile at Larrikin’s slight pout.
“Fine,” he said. “Yer loss.”
Anton shook his head, and went to dig out something that was neither damp nor stained, if anyone’s wardrobes could possibly supply such a demand. In the end, he found some dry clothes – he was not sure if they were his or Ghastly’s, not that it mattered much anymore – and was surprised to find it was plenty warmer already. He used a towel to dry his hair, and didn’t bother to fix it. It was only Larrikin who was here to see him, after all.
Larrikin was still standing at the window when Anton returned, his hair vibrant red against the cream of the walls and the white of the curtains. So much of this city was white – or at least, it was so beneath the stains.
“Hey, love,” he said as Anton wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.
Anton could hear the smile in his voice. He could have seen Larrikin’s face reflected in the window but he kept his eyes close, tilting his neck to bury his face in Larrikin’s curls.
Larrikin lifted a hand to brush his fingers against Anton’s knuckles, hesitant in a way he never was without cause for worry. Anton turned his head, opening his eyes. Larrikin’s expression, reflected in the window, was unusually sad.
“Are you thinking about what Erskine said?” Anton asked softly.
“Perhaps,” Larrikin replied. “But, I wanted to know… if being with me weakens your Gist, why do it?”
Anton pulled him in tighter. He could feel the muscles of Larrikin’s back and shoulders pressing into him. He didn’t want to explain himself, but if he didn’t, Larrikin would pull away, and he wanted that even less.
“If I were to die in this war,” Anton said. “Then I would rather do so with the knowledge that we were together, and happy. I’ve been fighting other people’s wars for a very long time, and I want to be selfish now, even if it’s a bad time.”
“Is this not our war as well?”
Anton stayed silent, and closed his eyes again. Larrikin must have washed his hair at some point during the day. It smelled like violets from the Savon Surfin that had been left for them.
“What if I were to die?” Larrikin asked. “You haven’t addressed that.”
“No, I haven’t. But you’re not going to die on me, will you?” He pressed his lips against Larrikin’s neck.
“Nah.” He was smiling again. “And if that’s to be the case, then I’d much rather us be together now, too.”
A moment of silence passed between them, and Anton was aware that the rain had started up again. Raindrops tapped at the window, becoming more numerous with each heartbeat.
“’Après nous, le déluge,’” Larrikin said.
Silence fell again with the beat of the growing storm. Anton pressed his ear to Larrikin’s neck, the other man’s pulse almost as loud as his own.
He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat.
Larrikin turned around, pressing into Anton’s chest.
“Say. You still cold?” He was grinning recklessly, with that easy abandon he had when it came to moments like this.
Anton smiled back. “I might be.”
“Good,” Larrikin said. He slipped his fingers into Anton’s hair and pulled him close, kissing him deeply. His lips were warm, and slightly chapped.
Anton kept one hand between Larrikin’s shoulder blades and let the other one travel down his back as they kissed. The worn cotton eddied beneath his fingers as he rested his thumb on the dip at the base of Larrikin’s spine.
Larrikin pulled away briefly, trying to breathe normally and failing. Anton could feel him smiling against his cheek, even as he began to kiss the length of his jaw.
“Aren’t you worried the others will get back?” Anton asked.
“No, we’re probably fine. If I know Erskine, he got distracted by nice bread or something.”
“Your allies aren’t pigeons.”
Larrikin laughed. He ran his hands down Anton’s shoulders, back, sides, hips. Anton was beginning to regret the decision of having put on a shirt at all.
“You should keep that up,” he said. “Jokes suit you.”
“Not in the least,” Anton replied. “But for you, I suppose I can try.”
Larrikin smiled, so bright that it no longer felt like January.
“They’ll be back when they’re back,” Larrikin said. “But for a few moments – why don’t we pretend we’re alone here.”
He reached behind him, tugging the drapes closed to muffle the storm. There were no winds, only lashing rains and the promise of floods that would, with time, cease to be. And the city would remain then, though its inhabitants may forget these events.
Anton sighed, and let Larrikin take his hand and lead him wherever he wished.