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Piramida has been lively as of late. Given that the Wild Hunt's activity has slowed significantly following the defeat of Rerir, many Lightkeepers have returned from their posts to Piramida. There is an air of relief in the city, a sense of homecoming for many Ratniki. Of course, they are ever-ready to be redeployed should another crisis arise, but… rest is important to their cause as well, and they are overdue for it.
Flins is content to watch the mingling from afar on the somewhat rare occasions he finds himself in Piramida. The Starshyna had called him here today, via a letter delivered not by Flins' usual deliverer… but a fresh-faced Ratnik who slapped the letter into Flins' hands and hightailed out of the cemetery at record pace.
Although unfazed by the spooked Ratnik, given the unusual circumstances of the letter delivery, Flins quickly tore open the envelope, still standing in the threshold of his abode. As soon as he'd finished reading it, he set out for Piramida.
(Nothing was wrong, not really. Nikita's script told tale not of a Wild Hunt attack, nor any urgent paperwork Flins had overdue… Instead, the letter called upon Flins for a simple purpose: a certain Captain was in need of a hand with a report.)
He observes the merry atmosphere of Piramida for but a moment longer before he heads towards where he suspects this Captain in need will be — not mingling with the other Ratniki outside, nor in the mead hall…
Flins knocks softly on the door of Illuga's house, eyes lingering on his overstuffed mailbox. Illuga isn't often home — more frequently he's off on patrol, stationed at Cliffwatch, or running letters for Nikita — so his mail tends to pile up. The young man has a plethora of responsibilities, so Flins will refrain from teasing him about his mailbox… this once.
However, no one answers the door. Hm, Flins thinks as he tries the knob to find the door unlocked, no matter. Given that Illuga has verbally invited Flins into his home in the past (how naive Illuga can be when it comes to such things), Flins has no trouble entering.
He could — in fact, perhaps should — announce his presence, but opts not to. Illuga's house is small, and if Illuga is here, Flins will find him in short order, perhaps pulling him out of a workaholic haze by surprising him.
Instead, though, Flins pokes his head into Illuga's bedroom to see the other man slumped over his desk, a pen still gripped in his hand as he mutters to himself in his sleep.
Flins' face softens. The Ratniki outside are enjoying themselves, basking in their homecoming, and here is Illuga, working himself to the bone. Flins approaches him quietly and reaches towards him to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear, admiring the soft curve of his cheek and the dusting of his eyelashes upon it. Various paperwork sprawls around him on the desk, and a mechanical bird bearing Aino's telltale style perches on the desk corner.
Flins considers leaving Illuga like this — after all, the younger man hardly gets enough rest as is. However, as Flins watches Illuga murmur to himself, he sees that…
Oh, dear. Illuga is drooling on his report.
Flins makes his decision, then, and places a gentle hand on Illuga's shoulder. "Young Master," he says, giving Illuga a little shake.
Illuga's eyebrows scrunch together. "Mm," he hums, nuzzling his face into his crossed arms.
"Young Master Illuga," Flins says again, leaning down to speak directly into Illuga's ear, "You are ruining your report."
Illuga shoots up, "Sir Flins!" he exclaims, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. A red flush quickly overtakes his face as he pushes back out of his chair and stands, clearing his throat.
"My apologies for intruding, Young Master," Flins says with a bow of his head. "Starshyna Nikita sent me to assist you with your report. I suppose rescuing the report from its… cruel fate is just the beginning."
"Sir Flins, please," Illuga says, turning his face away in a futile effort to hide his blushing. He clears his throat again. "My old man had no reason to disturb you for something I have under control."
Flins smiles. "Under control, you say?" he inquires, eyes lingering on Illuga's face. He has bags under his eyes — a sight often seen on Flins, but rarer on Illuga — and there are red imprints from where his sweater cuffs had been squished against his face as he slept. "I believe my young master has been working himself to exhaustion," Flins comments, "No?"
Illuga sighs, looking at the damaged report. "It has to be done," he says, "And now I have to start over on a new piece of paper, too."
"Whether or not you appreciate Nikita's efforts, I am here now, ready and willing to help you." Flins quickly slips into Illuga's desk chair, sliding the tarnished report to the side and beginning to transcribe it onto a new sheet of paper.
"Sir Flins, I can't possibly—"
"Yes, you can," Flins interrupts, casting a glance over to the bed. As much as he'd rather forget the report and tuck Illuga into bed, he knows that Illuga wouldn't have such a thing. "Why don't you have a seat and dictate the report to me?"
Illuga sighs but does so, settling crisscross on the bed. Together, they make short work of the report, which is full of mundanity that reminds Flins why he dislikes writing these himself. The ruined report finds its place in the trash can, while Flins tucks the finished report into an envelope and then into his pocket.
Illuga opens his mouth to argue, but Flins quiets him with a knowing look.
"Rest up, Young Master. I'll deliver this to the Starshyna."
"Nonsense." Illuga shakes his head, standing from the bed, "I'm fully capable of delivering my own report." He smooths his hands down the front of his shirt and shrugs on his jacket before Flins can so much as protest. He extends a hand to Flins, expecting him to hand over the report.
"Very well then," Flins says, patting the report in his pocket. "We can deliver it together."
Flins half expects Illuga to grumble, but he just puts his shoes on and they're out the door. On their way to Nikita's command post, they are stopped no less than three times by Ratniki with requests for Illuga — Flins simply smiles at them until they leave.
When they arrive at the command post, Illuga outstretches his hand towards Flins again. This time, Flins obliges, pressing the enveloped report into Illuga's hand. "I want to have a word with my old man, if you'll excuse me for a moment."
Flins nearly raises an eyebrow in curiosity, but he simply watches as Illuga enters the command post on his own. Flins walks a few paces and leans leisurely against a wall, crossing his arms and allowing his head to tilt back. He can only imagine Illuga's pinched expression as he makes clear his displeasure with his father for fetching Flins.
Flins knows better than to take offense. Illuga — he hates being underestimated. So much is clear through his constant urge to prove himself worthy, to prove himself useful. To bear any burden. Flins only wishes to lighten that burden. He knows — and Nikita knows — Illuga is far more than capable, but he pushes himself too far for too long…
Flins shakes his head. His young master is truly a wonder to behold, and he will do what he can to stop that light from dimming.
After a few minutes, Illuga returns to Flins' side. He expects Illuga to be grumpy, but instead, Illuga laughs and says, "Pops said you failed your assignment."
Flins tilts his head curiously. "I beg your pardon?"
"Mhm," Illuga hums, "Wouldn't explain it to me, but said you'd get why."
Ah, Flins realizes quickly. I was meant to be a distraction from work. Give it to the Starshyna to expect Flins to shirk his duties for Illuga's benefit.
"How I have failed you, dear Young Master," Flins says, pressing his hand to his heart. "My sincerest apologies."
Illuga's eyebrows raise. "Don't apologize to me, Sir Flins. You've been very helpful."
"Indeed, perhaps too helpful," Flins murmurs under his breath before he says clearly, "You still need rest, Young Master. Allow me to accompany you back."
This time, there are no arguments. Illuga stifles a yawn behind his hand and allows Flins to stroll beside him back to his house. Flins casts menacing smiles at any Ratnik that so much as looks in their direction, so they make it to Illuga's house without interruption.
With his hand on the doorknob, Illuga turns to Flins and says, "Will you stay awhile?"
Flins blinks at him. "Of course, if that is what you so desire."
Illuga ushers Flins into the house, shutting the door behind them and kicking off his shoes. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it beside the door, stretching his now bare arms over his head.
Flins watches him intently, unflinching even as Illuga catches him looking. "Have a seat, Young Master. Let me fetch you some water."
Illuga stares at him. "We're in my house," he says plainly.
"Yes, we are. And I believe I know where cups and water can be found, so allow me this pleasure." He pauses. "Have you eaten recently?"
"Yes, Sir Flins, I had lunch before working on the report. Now you can stop doting on me, because I am very much fine." Illuga crosses his arms over his chest.
Flins hums. "I find myself unconvinced."
"And what could I do to convince you?"
Flins' tongue darts out to wet his lips. He again casts a long glance over Illuga's form — his hair is mussed, face tired, and Flins swears he can almost see the weight that bears down on Illuga's shoulders. Truth be told, not much could convince Flins that Illuga isn't in dire need of some far overdue rest.
"What are you trying to prove?" Flins asks, taking a step closer to Illuga.
Illuga balks. Flins lifts a hand to Illuga's face, cupping his cheek in a gloved palm. Illuga's eyes flicker up to Flins, and Flins holds his gaze steady, watching as Illuga leans ever-so-slightly into the touch.
"Allow yourself rest, my dear Young Master. There is nothing you have to prove to me," Flins says softly, leaning down to just graze Illuga's forehead with his lips. He allows himself to hold for a few moments, lips barely touching Illuga's skin, and then begins to pull away.
To his surprise, Illuga reaches forward and grabs at Flins' coat, pulling him back in and surging upwards to press their lips together. Flins, although caught off-guard, relaxes immediately into the kiss, looping his arms around Illuga's waist and pulling their bodies together. He feels the tension in Illuga's body begin to dissipate.
After the initial kiss breaks, Flins peppers a few kisses on Illuga's cheeks and eyelids, then another long kiss to his lips. "A valiant effort at distraction, Master Illuga," Flins murmurs against Illuga's lips.
Illuga's eyes flutter open to meet Flins' gaze again. "It wasn't a distraction," he says, pressing their foreheads together. "Rather… a thank you."
Flins smiles. "Then, I will plan to do you many favors in the future, so you'll have plenty reason to thank me just so."
Illuga flushes pink.
Now softened by touch and intoxicated by proximity, both men find natural course in crawling into Illuga's bed, limbs becoming a tangle as they nap into early evening. When they wake, Flins takes it upon himself to cook dinner for Illuga. Doting on his young master is reward enough in itself, but the kisses he receives in gratitude are certainly not amiss.
For now, Flins feels as though he and Illuga are in another world than Piramida, tucked into their own pocket of comfort. Of course, tomorrow will come, Piramida will await them out the door, and Illuga will be back to work — but now, for now, Flins will bask in this moment, Illuga's lips on his own and all work forgotten.