Oh look, it's a weird pairing. That NEVER happens.

[mhari]

Anti-OTP? We don't need no stinkin' anti-OTP!

...we're this batshit insane all the time.

So. Um.


Awkwardly, "...Oh. ...Hello."

"Hi. The world-renowned martyr of the republic, I take it?"

"World-renowned? Hardly. Martyr? Less so. Republic? ...I'd rather hope."

"Depends on the world."

"A very, very small one, perhaps."

Mordred whistles a couple of bars.

Still more awkwardly: "What's that tune?"

"Apropos. And getting me kicked. So. Is it Justitia, or are you back to civilian life?"

He blinks. "Apropos? What is it? Something about worlds or martyrs? ...Justitia. Still Justitia." A clumsy little laugh. "I'm...more used to it, now."

Mordred looks at him a trifle oddly. "I guess so."

Justitia looks away, reddening faintly. "Right."

Mordred shrugs. "I'm not even sure what my name was originally, so I'm not one to talk. Whatever works for you."

"Does it matter?" a little too earnestly. "After all, what's in a name? It's just sounds, just syllables - it isn't what makes a person."

"Enlightened way of looking at it." Another shrug. "If it doesn't matter, why change it?"

"Because people think it does. People connect names with things. Would anyone follow a 'Niko'?"

"Greeks would." Little grin. "Or maybe not, but all other things being equal, why not?"

He adjusts his glasses. "On a more practical level, because one must try to maintain a modicum of secrecy about any revolution like that, you know."

"I suppose."

Justitia gives him an apologetic smile. "And, I suppose, it was rather a fanciful choice."

"Not especially." Mordred watches him closely, eyes bright and intent and faintly laughing. "At least it's thematically sound."

Niko - or Justitia - or he, laughs a bit, a little awkwardly. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" sprawling a little further on the deep couch.

"I do," he says, reddening - not for any particular reason, of course, just because he's...Justitia.

"You do. --Kid. Sit down, for God's sake."

Absently, "We don't believe in a --" .... He trails off, and sits down. Awkwardly.

"For sweet reason's sake," softly mocking. "Child of enlightenment, child of an eminently reasonable age--"

He flushes faintly, sitting on the very edge of his seat. "There's no call to make fun of me."

"I make fun of everybody. It's not personal."

"I shouldn't think it'd win you many friends," more dryly than Justitia is entirely capable of.

"It doesn't," flatly, not missing a beat.

"And yet you keep it up?"

Mordred gives him a twisty little grin. "Apparently. --Sit down, kid. Sit with me. Relax. I don't bite, unless you're some relation."

"Thank... goodness I'm not. I'd never live down the shame." Nonetheless, he sits down, very cautiously, next to Mordred.

"That's for damned sure." A gentle poke. "Is it true you've got a thing for my headmate?"

"Your headmate?" For some inexplicable reason (that reason being, he's Justitia), he turns red. "....Which one?"

"Lucian. Clarion. Whatever the hell it is this week."

"I don't," rather quietly. "By either name."

"He'll be relieved to hear that." Mordred grins. "Why? Is there one you do have a thing for?"

Niko blinks at him. "...Should I?"

"You're blushing. Or is that just your outraged innocence?" The eyes never stop laughing.

That, of course, makes him blush even more. "I always do," he mutters.

"It's cute."

He frowns slightly, still red. "...thank you."

Soft laughter. "It was a compliment, yes."

"I'm not very used to receiving compliments," apologetically.

"No? I'd have thought you'd have the mademoiselles or the frauleins or whatever lined up around the block. Or are they just dumbstruck?"

Is it possible for Niko to get any redder? Apparently. "No - no... misses, lined up anywhere."

"Maybe they've all got a prejudice against glasses." Mordred reaches over to lift them off his nose, very carefully, so as not to spook him; smiling all the while.

Justitia freezes. "...Or they just don't see anything to compliment."

"Oh, I doubt that."

Redder still, and now without spectacles to hide behind. "Well, I - well, it's - ..."

The smile brightens. "Don't believe me?"

"I admit I don't."

"Have to see the evidence, huh?" and Mordred leans over, in a sudden smooth motion, and kisses him.

Justitia starts - apparently, he didn't expect that, although we can't work out how he didn't - and pulls back. "What?" he gasps. "...What, what was that for??"

"Evidence," cheerfully. "And also for fun. What's the preliminary verdict?"

"Verdict?" he stammers. "...Aren't you the one doing the - investigation?"

His eyes light at that. "Kid's quick." He runs his fingers lightly through Justitia's long hair, just enough to disarrange. "Okay. You inclined to cooperate with the investigator, then?"

"Well, I..." He trails off, bright red and obviously uneasy at the touch, though he doesn't move any further away. Then, softly, "...perhaps."

"If he promises to follow the rules?" but Mordred withdraws his hand, leaning back a little.

That manages to spark the barest hint of a smile. "There are rules?"

"Oh, a few. Leaving marks without permission is frowned on, I believe."

That causes Justitia's cheeks to be in definite need of a new synonym for 'blush'. "...Oh."

A chuckle. "I'll behave."

"And that, I'll believe when I see it."

He leans back the rest of the way, folding his arms. "All right."

Justitia is silent for a long, long moment, staring flatly at Mordred, without the shielding benefit of his glasses. "...I didn't mean you had to."

...That gets a lift of dark eyebrows, and a moment's pause. "Really. Shall I be forsworn?"

"...Forsworn?" he blinks. "...Can I have my glasses back?"

Mordred grins outright. "What'll you give me for them?"

That engenders another blush - or, more accurately, a deeper blush. "...I - don't know."

"...all right, all right." He proffers them, with an expression not quite contrite, but gentler in its amusement.

Niko takes them with a muttered "Thanks" and slides them onto his nose. With glass between his eyes and Mordred's, he seems a great deal more comfortable.

"You can tell me to get lost, you know," softly. "--If you want to."

"...If I want to," he repeats quietly.

"Let me know when you figure it out."

He laughs shortly. "You can stay."

Mordred grins. "If I behave?"

"Even if you do-- yes, if you behave."

"Fair enough." He shifts slightly in his seat, settling back again.

Niko adjusts his spectacles once more, fiddling with the earpiece.

* * *


"...h'lo."

Mordred grins crookedly. "Hello yourself."

Niko coughs again and, nervous habit as it is, re-adjusts his spectacles. "How're you?"

"I've been worse," perching on the arm of a chair. "You?"

"I've been dead," dryly, "so I suppose I've been worse."

He chuckles. "Lot of that going around."

"It's a common, er, disease."

"That it is." Mordred studies him, half-smiling. "Doesn't seem to slow us down, though."

Niko stares back, half-pensive, half-embarrassed. "It seems not."

"You're blushing again."

His hand instinctively flies to his cheek, fingers lightly brushing the reddening skin. "...I do that."

The smile broadens. "Yes. You do."

He drops his hand. "And you repeat yourself."

"Can I be perfectly blunt? I find you charming. Not to mention refreshing. I may kiss you again at the least sign of encouragement. --I don't, however, ravish maidens -- of either sex. Ease up on the scholarly glare of doom, okay?"

That, somehow, elicits a most unlikely response - a quiet chuckle. "I didn't know I had one." He pauses for a moment before cautiously proceeding. "That - is blunt. ...and flattering. I think."

"It was meant to be." Mordred grins.

"Well - all right, then." Niko pauses again. "...What would be the - least sign?"

To give him credit, Mordred doesn't laugh, or look any more amused than he usually does. "Handholding's popular. So is leaning in all casual-like. Fluttering eyelashes is mainly a girl thing."

"I'll take care to keep my eyelashes as still as possible, then," Niko replies dryly, without the least quiver in his voice or eyelashes.

"Glad to help."

"You'll have to excuse me if I make a mistake," he continues. "I've never - ah. ...Er."

"No?" deadpan.

"...No," rather curtly, and just a tad annoyed. "I was rather too busy studying law and fighting for the rights of the people."

"No time for discouraging advances, huh?"

"Or encouraging."

Mordred settles a little more securely against the back of the chair. "I see."

"Or making my own, for that matter." He falls silent, awkward as usual.

After a moment Mordred reaches over to take his hand, carefully. "Really, it's the kind of thing where the thought counts."

"And what's your thought on the subject, then?" he asks - much more at home with word bantering than eyelash fluttering, anyway, though he's trying his damnedest to take Mordred's touch in stride.

"Hey, I already told you," tracing a fingertip across his knuckles.

His glance falls to Mordred's fingers on his own. "....oh."

"Being my direct and straightforward self." A gentle tug.

"Of course," rather vaguely. "You mentioned casual leaning, I think," he adds, suiting action (rather awkwardly) to word.

"I did, didn't I?" He shifts his balance a bit, sliding his free arm around Niko's shoulders as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "That usually works." And kisses him gently.

He manages, at least, to not actually flinch this time, but instead, uncertainly, hesitantly kisses back.

Mordred's hand tightens slightly, reassuringly on his shoulder; this is fine, you're doing fine, that touch says, in the most restrained translation. In a looser one it might be, don't stop.

Justitia doesn't stop, he doesn't stop, somehow growing slowly easier, more confident - his own hand drifting to Mordred's arm.

A smothered sigh, then; and he leans a little closer, himself, as though either the hesitation or the confidence is catching.

Niko allows the kiss to go on a moment longer - well, perhaps 'allow' is the wrong word, and something closer to 'insists upon' might be rather nearer the mark, now that he's growing rather less nervous about this.

Eventually, however, one has to breathe; so, presumably, do two. Mordred blinks once or twice, and grins lopsidedly. "That's promising."

Justitia, predictably, blushes. "Not making any, though."

Mordred chuckles. "Oh no, no, no. Wouldn't want you to." His fingers brush the back of Justitia's neck, just perceptibly. "Asking for trouble."

"Besides," he reflects, almost but not quite managing not to shiver at the light touch, "you're hardly the one to make any back."

"No." A small twitch that he manages to convert into a caress. "Bet we can come to a civilized arrangement without, though."

"P'raps," he says vaguely, un, or at least not entirely, consciously tilting his head into the touch. "...Probably."

"Probably." Low laughter. "God, you're a breath of fresh air, lad. You're no fool. Idealist or not."

"Without ideals," he begins semi-automatically, "what is th-- ...sorry. ...What d'you mean?"

Mordred laughs again. "What I said. See? You're quick. And you don't bear with nonsense."

"If I didn't," he comments, "I wouldn't be sitting here beside you now."

"I make perfect sense," grinning at him.

"None whatsoever, but we'll let it pass."

"Perfect sense," he repeats, and smooths Niko's hair absently. "No logic, maybe. It's in the nature of these things. Would you kick me if I said I love your mind?"

Being the sort of boy who'd die sooner than admit just how pleasant that caress feels (and did, come to think of it), Niko does not, in fact, lean into Mordred's touch, though he does say, "I'd certainly wonder about the state of yours."

"Pretty good for the amount of time it's spent in the gutter." Mordred grins. "Okay. Let's say I like you for your mind. Among other things."

Three guesses what Justitia's reaction here is - that's right, folks, he blushes. "Gutter, indeed."

Laughter. "What? You kiss well. For a republican."

"And who says beliefs, causes, faith and ideals immediately prevent one from being a good kisser?" is the immediate reply. "Does the erection of a barricade prevent the-- ........" ....blush. Blush. "Do you think just because one is willing to lay down ones life for the rights of the people, one mightn't be willing to lay--" ....staying away from that, too.

Mordred slides backward into the chair proper, laughing outright now. "Oh, come on, you're doing that on purpose."

"...Not enti--am not." He bites his lip. "Oh, well, it doesn't - but being, being a believer, following a cause, does not, dirty jokes aside, prevent - anything. Romance and Republic can go together."

"Oh, those wacky Romans." Mordred gets a breath. "Maybe so. Depending on how bad you've got it for Liberty."

Half a grin at that. "I may have been a willing martyr, but I'm not quite nuts enough to think Lady Liberty was a literal one."

"God save us, you're picking up the lingo. Nuts, forsooth. --Sit down?" Fingers through his hair again, this time with intent.

Niko closes his eyes - slowly, very slowly, and very briefly, too - and sinks down, as slowly, beside Mordred. "Too many modern headmates, perhaps."

"As long as I'm not a worse influence than I try to be." Mordred tugs him close -- much, much closer this time, and kisses him again by way of illustration.

Justitia has far, far fewer reservations this time about returning the kiss, nor about slipping closer - much, much closer, indeed.