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From out on the street The Pirate Haven looked like any other pub in England. A building older than Rafe; all dark grimy windows and a ruckus that could be heard from outside. A building that Rafe Adler would never be seen stepping into, no matter the circumstances.
Yet here he was seated at the bar, drink in hand, considered a regular by the staff. But by no means was he comfortable here. Being at a place like this - somewhere where those who are lesser than him consort - was not how Rafe enjoyed his free time. Time that could have been spent managing business relationships to better his company’s standing. Time that could have been spent reading a very expensive book on Daedulus. Time that could have been spent with lips pressed against his and hands roaming and… and…
Rafe’s breath hitched and his thoughts were back to judging his surroundings. He could not afford to think like that, not when his face had an awful habit of publicly displaying his inner feelings. And so he went back to narrowed eyes and an almost scowl, as though nothing was different. As though he hadn’t displayed a moment of weakness.
No matter what he thought though, The Pirate Haven was a place to make business relations. Just not relations for his public business. The Pirate Haven was a popular meeting place for smugglers, and thieves, and conmen. A place for new deals to be made, recovery of artefacts to be planned, and old debts to be paid out. A place – a haven - for those involved in the treasure hunting lifestyle.
But tonight Rafe was not here for business associates; despite the fact that Marcus Cartier, who was currently teaching the bartender how to make a proper classic martini, needed a talking to about damaged artefacts. Tonight Rafe was here with Harry Flynn, dragged out to celebrate Harry’s latest successful job.
Harry had spent the last month chasing after a relic for a rich collector, and with the job complete tradition was being followed and he was treating himself and Rafe to drinks. At this point Rafe had stopped counting how many drinks Harry had had, and he was sure that all the money that Harry had earned from the job would be gone by the time the night was over. Harry’s tolerance was one of the few things that surprised Rafe.
Rafe listened absent-mindedly to what his friend was saying, his thoughts not on Harry’s words but on Harry himself. His thoughts on the shape of Harry’s jaw. His thoughts on how it would feel to have Harry’s lips on his. His thoughts on what Harry would taste like.
There it was again. That weakness. Rafe chastised himself. He would not let this – this longing – ruin the image he had constructed of himself. He had buried these specific emotions and buried they will remain. No matter how much he craved it, no matter how much he wanted it, he would not let himself fall in love.
“You know. Erin’s cute.” Now that Rafe was paying attention, he realised that he had agreed to let Harry be his wingman. “I mean she probably won’t deal with you in your bad moods but mate, her Italian is pretty impressive. And her-”
“No.”
“Hear me out mate. Erin’s got a great-”
“No. I’m not interested. Especially not with you as wingman.” Harry feigned a look of shock, as though Rafe’s words had wounded him. Harry’s love of theatrics seemed to excel twice fold after a few drinks.
“I’m a great wingman!”
Rafe scoffed, finishing off his drink before replying. “Eddy Raja would disagree.” The mention of Eddy’s name brought back memories of that disastrous evening and from the grimace on Harry’s face, it seemed that he too was suffering from second-hand embarrassment. The Eddy Raja fiasco had resulted with broken bones, a missing and very pricey 18th century pendant, and headaches that was partly due to a hangover and partly due to the beating the 3 men had received.
“That’s not my fault! How was I supposed to know she was the daughter of a mob boss?” Harry swivelled around in his bar stool so that he now faced Rafe. “My reputation is at stake now. If I don’t manage to hook you up with someone tonight then my name’s not Harry Flynn.”
Rafe stared into the bottom of his empty glass, his neck burning as he felt Harry’s eyes on him. Harry Flynn was a lot of things – a liar, a thief, an asshole, but he wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. Rafe knew that he would be wasting his own breath, and he didn’t quite have the patience to deal with his friend without a full-blown argument. So instead he would do the one thing that he did not like doing. He would pay his tab, get up, and walk away. He would drive himself back to the hotel and sleep until dawn. Harry could make his own way back.
Without a glance at his friend, Rafe motioned at the bartender. A hand pushed down Rafe’s own, and Harry shuffled his bar stool closer to Rafe. The metal scraping against tiles was an awful screeching but Rafe’s senses seemed overpowered by the touch of Harry’s hand on his.
Harry bowed down slightly so that his eyes reached level with Rafe’s, making up for the difference in height between the two men. Rafe still wouldn’t look at Harry, his focus still on the physical touch. Something quite rare for Rafe Adler. To be touched, to be loved, to receive emotions like these, they were only to be received at a distance. Rafe Adler did not allow himself to let people get close to him. He did not allow himself to be touched.
Rafe was vaguely aware of the bartender moving on to serve someone else and Harry speaking to him. He had let himself get distracted for the third time tonight by Harry Flynn.
“-you wanted to leave mate, then you should’ve just said so.”
Rafe drew away his hand sharply, clenching both hands into fists, still not looking at Harry, not daring to. Eye contact was powerful. When making important business deals, Rafe would maintain his eye contact, a small way to let others know who is in charge. Not looking at Harry was another weakness. But looking at him would mean also weakness. Looking at Harry would threaten those emotions that Rafe was keeping locked up to spill.
Harry Flynn was Rafe Adler’s biggest weakness.
“I’m going back to the hotel, Flynn.” Quiet and low was his voice and Rafe could barely hear himself over the noise in the pub. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart and the pounding in his head. He planned out his next steps in his head. Rafe liked that – planning, being aware of the outcome. It made him feel in control. He would get up and walk away. He would drive himself back to the hotel and sleep until dawn. Harry could make his own way back. Harry could pay Rafe’s tab too. Wasn’t that why they were here at The Pirate Haven? Here because Harry was treating the two of them to drinks?
From the corner of his eye, Rafe watched Harry get up and pick up his jacket from where it had dropped on the floor. From the corner of his eye, Rafe watched Harry brush off dirt from the jacket and wearing it over one shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Rafe noted the muscles and the curves of Harry’s exposed arms – something he had done a thousand times but would never admit.
Harry leaned over the bar counter and signalled the bartender. Pointing at Rafe but without looking at him, he said, “Rafey here’ll be paying my tab. See you around Mike.” He nodded a goodbye to Mike the bartender, a name that Rafe hadn’t bothered learning.
“I thought you were paying for tonight.” Not that Rafe had any issues with paying. Rafe had plenty of money to spare; he would often buy things not out of want or need, but because he could. Rafe had issues with people going back on their word. Harry was a slippery snake, and more than often referred to as such in less pleasant ways. But Rafe had hoped that Harry would not act so with him. Hope wasn’t something Rafe did often. No, he willed for something to happen.
A brief pause as Harry looked at Rafe for the infinite time tonight and Rafe looked back at him in the eyes for the first time tonight. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw his own self, his emotions and his wants and his needs mirrored back at him. Perhaps he saw only what he wanted to see. “I’ll pay you back tonight.” A wink and a smirk from Harry. Rafe had the sinking feeling that his friend was up to something and often with Harry Flynn that something was no good.
Harry left, leaving Rafe to pay for the night’s drinks. The bill totalled up to twice the usual amount despite Rafe having only one drink. Rafe cursed Harry under his breath; it was as though Harry had planned beforehand to spend as much money as possible and make Rafe pay for it all. It wasn’t just the drinks that Harry would have to pay him back for. Rafe would find a way to make him pay back the five moments where he was distracted by his friend.
When Rafe left The Pirate Haven a few minutes later, the cold air of the British night bit through his shirt, and the wind howled in his ears. He was tired, and he expected Flynn would be back in the car, half asleep as usual.
But no. Harry was waiting for him outside, shuffling from foot to foot. “Took your time, didn’t you?” His jacket was in his hands, still not wearing it despite the cold; instead he draped it around Rafe’s shoulders. The sleeves went past Rafe’s hands and the hem reached Rafe’s thighs, making him look small and vulnerable. Harry’s arm wrapped around Rafe, pressing him closer to himself as they walked towards the car.
“Told you I wouldn’t let you leave alone tonight.”
Rafe laughed, a hearty sincere sound that rang out against the night. “Oh yeah, you’re a very pretty girl.”
“The prettiest.”