Three's a crowd, chapter 10
I have dug this out, dusted it off, and with only mild threats of physical violence, I have forced it to a conclusion.
To recap - back from the Scanran War, Kel is kicking her heels in Tortall, and through a series of misunderstandings she believes Lerant has feelings for Dom, and in her Kel manner, decides she will smooth the path of true love. However, she has the direction of the secret crush back to front, for it is Dom who secretly cares for Lerant. At a Palace ball, Kel has just informed Lerant of her (incorrect) knowledge, and after Lerant rushed off in confusion, Dom told Kel the truth. Now read on....
Kel blinked at Dom, who was still avoiding her eye, fiddling with his wine goblet.
“You?” But you’re…I had no idea.”
“I’m, well, I’m…secrets,” Dom said eventually, lifting his face. “As I said, Lerant’s hasn’t got the monopoly on them.” He grinned ruefully. “Excepting it’s not a secret now, as I’ve told you.”
“What about Lerant?” Kel ventured, intrigued despite herself.
“You mean, have I declared my forbidden love?” Dom tried to drink from the empty wine goblet. Kel plucked it from his fingers.
“No, then,” she deciphered the sarcasm. “If you are really asking for my help, well, I can speak to him for you…”
“No! Please, Kel. I’ll sort this out myself.” He retrieved his goblet and looked about for a waiter.
“Like you have done? Now I actually know what’s going on, I might be able to help. I’ll try. It’s the least I can do.” She wrung her fingers.
“Kel…” Dom began, but he was cut off by a clear voice calling across the ballroom.
“Domitan!” A tall, older woman, dressed in a very fine gown of gray and royal blue silk, bore down on them.
“Great Aunt!” He scrambled to his feet, not quite stumbling, and held out his hands to his relative. “Kel,” he said, “this is my Great Aunt, Lady Abigail of Masbolle.”
Kel curtseyed neatly, and bowed her head. Lady Abigail reached the two young people, and nodded sagely at them. “Young Domitan,” she greeted her nephew, “and this must be the famous Lady Knight Keladry.”
“My Lady,” Kel said, straightening up. “I’ve very pleased to meet you.”
“As am I,” Abigail said. “Well done,” she added briskly, leaving a bemused Kel to wonder exactly for what she was being praised.
“Domitan, you look the worse for drink,” she commented, “but otherwise you seem well.”
Dom smiled as if this sort of bluntness was to be expected. “Are you enjoying the ball, Great Aunt?”
“Most entertaining. I had a close encounter with an excited young man in the corridor. One of yours, Dom, if I’m not mistaken.”
Kels face went perfectly, exquisitely blank, but her eyes flickered towards Dom. “What?” she mouthed at him, but Dom’s attention was fixed on his Great Aunt.
“…yes, in the Own’s dress uniform, so under your command, Domitan.”
“Not necessary, I am only a Sergeant…”
“But in spirit, all of King’s Own are your comrades?”
“Yes, but…”
“You should look into his welfare. He almost fell over that ugly table in the corridor, he was quite agitated. And I could tell he wanted to be rude when I offered him some advice. Rather fetching blond fellow.”
Dom’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, and Kel fidgeted as far as is possible in a tight satin gown.
“In that case, Great Aunt, I had best go and see to him immediately,” Dom said.
Duchess Abigail nodded, approvingly. “It was good to see you, Domitan. Lady Knight.” She swept away, like a ship in full sail.
“Phew,” Dom passed a hand over his face. He lifted his eyes to Kel. “Oh, Gods.”
“It was Lerant she was talking about?” she asked. Dom nodded. “Oh, Gods,” Kel echoed. “One of us is going to have to speak to him. I should, it’s my fault he’s upset, I should fix this…”
“No,” Dom said firmly. “I said to Abigail I would go, plus I don’t trust you not to try and take advantage of the situation for tactical match-making porpoises. Purposes.”
“You are the worse for drink. Your Great Aunt was right.”
“She’s always right, has Neal not told you of the Masbolle matriarchs?” Dom stood again, “Plus anything I say wrong, I can blame on the drink.”
“Just tell the truth!” Kel called after his retreating back. “Good luck!” She bit her lip and hoped for the best.
****
Dom wondered what he was doing. He was doing as his Aunt bid him do. He was apologising for and explaining Kel’s misunderstanding. He was going to tell Lerant…
Nothing. Nothing. The man was his friend, Gods curse it all, his comrade, his partner in arms…that was all. That was enough, plenty, more than enough. Dom paused to wonder where Lerant might have gone. Barracks? Mess? No, Lerant would have been looking for solitude, and if Dom knew him at all, some space for the frenetic pacing and clambering on things that usually accompanied Lerant’s more troubled moods.
Gardens it was.
Dom felt much more sober by the time he got outside, the cold air clearing his head, the fresh night scents sharpening his wits. By the time he had walked twice round the paths, checked the thankfully empty bower, the last clouds of wine had evaporated from his system, so much so that the idea of giving all this up and going back to barracks was seeming more and more appealing. Dom was on the verge of heading back when a flurry of movement on the far side of the fountain drew his eye. He turned, and saw Lerant - and it had to be Lerant, by the blond hair catching the light, the familiar swinging stride, the way Dom’s heart plunged into his stomach at the sight of him. Dom watched Lerant hustle round the edge of the fountain, two, three strides - and then sit suddenly, barely hitting the granite bowl, suddenly, horribly still.
Dom was sprinting before Lerant had finished falling, and he was couching in front of Lerant, unheeding of the sharp gravel, before he had drawn a full breath.
“Oh, by the Dice of the Graveyard Hag!” Lerant had his face in his hands, and seemed to speak to himself. “What if she told Wolset?”
“She hasn’t told Wolset…” Dom began, then stopped suddenly.
“Masbolle!” Lerant whipped away his hands and seemed to notice Dom for the first time.
“You okay?” Dom proceeded airily, “looked like you took a stumble there.” Lerant glared at Dom, still crouched on his knees. Dom began to feel slightly awkward, and rose to sit on the fountain’s edge next to Lerant. “I knew you weren’t all grace and poise,” he continued.
“You’re dissembling,” Lerant stated. Dom looked away sharply - he couldn’t stop himself. “She’s told you…” Lerant buried his face in his hands again. “Oh, Gods, she told you! And now you’re having a nice chat with me, setting the record straight….” Lerant suddenly clutched Dom by the shoulders. “It was all her, Dom, all Kel. I was her cause. Her project! She took ideas, in her head! I told you no good would come of me sparring with her! No. Good.” He shook Dom for emphasis here. “But I swear, Dom, I swear, you don’t have to fear for your maidenly virtue in the bath house, I am in no way interested, it was all in Kel’s imagination!” Lerant paused for breath, and seemed to realise his face was inches from Dom’s, and he was clinging onto Dom’s shoulders. Lerant let go and sat back. “Honest,” he added.
“Hah.” Dom made a noise that was half laugh, half cough, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I…”
“I know, this is uncomfortable,” Lerant interrupted. “But you don’t have to let me down gently, or soften the blow, or anything.”
“I wasn’t…”
“It was the thought Kel had told Wolset that made me a little panicked, there,” Lerant added. He managed to look Dom in the eye, and forced a sort of grimaced grin to his face. It was a deeply unbecoming expression, pulling Lerant’s lips thin and tight, but Dom couldn’t help but smile back.
“Panicked?” Dom asked lightly, raising one eyebrow a shade.
“Don’t give me that, Masbolle, or I will tell Wolset myself and the single entendres that pass for his sense of humour shall be your punishment for mocking me.” Dom raised the eyebrow a little further. “Well, maybe not,” Lerant conceded.
The two men sat in companionable silence for a minute or two. Maybe this will be ok, Dom thought.
“Has this ever happened before?” Lerant asked, suddenly.
“People setting me up? Yes, sometimes,” Dom conceded. “Emmit introduced me to his sister and his cousin, one Midwinter. I think he thought I’d make a good brother-in-law, or at least second cousin.”
“Yes, I heard that.” Lerant said, voice soft and thoughtful. “No, I meant men.”
Dom took two quick breaths, and stole a glance at Lerant. The younger man had calmed down, and was looking at Dom with quiet interest. Dom had no idea what to say. Kel had said start with the truth. In the absence of a better plan, Dom began to open his mouth.
“Only,” Lerant said, “it goes on, doesn’t it? And you’re about the best looking of the officers, and you’re kind, you know, you’re good to the new recruits. So there must have been lads with, well, crushes.” Lerant tilted his head, scowled, an enquiring look. “I was just wondering if you’d gone to explain before.”
“Well,” Dom said. He had, truth be told. There had been a recruit, two years ago, and up until now it had been the most horribly awkward conversation Dom had ever had. “Yes,” he conceded, “once.” He didn’t mention the faceless noble who had accosted him behind the bonfire last Beltane; Dom could not disabuse that admirer so easily. Admittedly, he hadn’t really tried.
“Because Kel got the idea from somewhere, and I know I was going on about you being my best mate ever, helping me get over Chiandra and with sparring and stuff, but when did Kel ever pay attention to me? Or just to me? There had to be something else.”
“And I was the number one choice for the young men of the King’s Own?” Dom couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. This is just feeding your ego.”
Dom chuckled. “I would have said you were far prettier than me,” he said seriously.
“Nice to know one of my friends is still talking sense,” Lerant sighed. “I’m so sorry, Dom, this must be so embarrassing for you. I know Kel meant well, but it’s you that has to deal with it. I appreciate your taking it so well. Not punching me and stuff.”
“And ruin that bone structure?”
“You know it’d be a crime. Seriously, thank you.”
“Seriously, Lerant,” Dom began, voice hitching, “seriously, it’s fine. And if it was true I’d be, well. I’d be flattered.” He looked determinedly at the flowerbeds in the distance, listened to the clatter and tumble of the fountain at his back.
“Flattered?” Lerant said. “Damn right, I’m a catch, I am.” He turned his head, and Dom knew he was looking for eye contact, for Dom to approve the joke, so they could share it. After a second, Dom felt Lerant turn his whole body towards him, linen whispering over the smooth stone of the fountain’s edge. Dom determinedly looked at the craft of the gardeners.
“Sorry,” Lerant said finally. “No more jokes. This can be one of things that we laugh about later.”
“No, I meant it,” Dom said quietly. “If you, well, if you did. If you were. I’d be pleased.”
“Pleased I had good taste?” Lerant tried.
“Pleased you liked me.” Dom decided suddenly that he couldn’t feel any more wretched and uncomfortable than he did currently. He swivelled, sitting knee to knee with Lerant. “Pleased. Happy. It would be a good thing. Because I like you.” Dom felt like he’d fallen in the middle of a tournament, or a battle, and in a few second the blow is going to fall, but until then, for the next few endless moments, he had to wait.
“That was a like with a capital L,” Lerant said. “So Kel wasn’t as wrong as she might have been. She was just back to front…” he tailed off.
The fountain continued to chatter away in the background. Dom was glad of it, because neither he nor Lerant were saying a thing.
“But,” Dom finally managed, “nothing is going to change, or happen, I just…I just wanted to tell the truth, after all of this mess.”
“Mess,” echoed Lerant. “Dom, I have fought on battlefields. I have seen refugees carrying everything they possess. My own family has torn itself apart over treason. I have lost friends and family, seen people die for causes good and bad, big and small. This is not a mess. You are my friend, and….Gods, I’m no good at this, Dom.” Lerant gripped Dom’s knee, painfully tight. “This is not a bad thing, it doesn’t even register as a bad thing. You’ll always be my friend, Dom.”
Dom finally turned to look at Lerant. “You’re taking it well,” he managed, because if he was joking with Lerant, then it was all going to be alright.
“I’d be hyperventilating if I wasn’t so cold,” Lerant said. Dom automatically placed his hand over Lerant’s, which was still on his knee.
“You’re freezing,” Dom said. “Right, in, now. Else you’ll collapse and then I’ll have to carry you.”
Lerant grinned. “Kel would be happy, then,” he said. “You know, mission achieved and all that.”
“That’d be a bit ironic,” Dom admitted. He risked a glance up; Lerant’s grey eyes were fixed on his face, clear and questioning. The sudden flash of hope in Dom’s heart was so much worse than prospective of the killing blow.
“You two weren’t in cahoots?” Lerant asked. “She did say it was your idea we spar together.”
“What? No!” The hope disappeared in the dark. “No. You thought yourself it was my idea to set you up with Kel.”
“Ah, but you’re cunning. I don’t trust you an inch,” Lerant smirked.
“You are teasing me!” All of Dom’s frustration, all of the wasted emotion, the hope, dear Mithros, the hope that dies before it had even lit up, it all flashed into anger. “Hells, Lerant, I thought you might not be a bastard about it. You of all people.” Dom went to stand, only to find he couldn’t.
That was because Lerant was holding his hand. Holding it tight. “Since when were you unable to take a joke?” Lerant asked softly. “Dom, I’m, well, I can’t say I’m not flattered, either.” He changed his grip on Dom’s hand, held it carefully, not gripping or pinching, just maintaining the contact.
“You’re going to say you’re just glad it’s not Wolset, aren’t you,” Dom managed, breath a little short. He could feel his pulse beating under Lerant’s fingers.
“No.” Lerant said. “However, as I believe I demonstrated earlier, it’s either the sarcasm or nothing, really. So, well, I’m at a loss now.” Lerant looked across at Dom. “What now?”
The sputtering flash of hope flared into a bonfire in his chest. Dom looked at Lerant, sitting quite still, half silvered and half shadowed in the moonlight. Dom leaned in, so, so slowly, amazed every moment that Lerant wasn’t running screaming, and pressed his dry lips gently to Lerant’s. Lerant didn’t move, not a muscle, not a breath, but Dom could feel the grip on his hand tighten, felt his pulse batter against the increased tension. Dom deepened the kiss, moving his mouth over Lerant’s mobile lips, lifting his free hand to touch the fine blond hair, making it flare with the moonlight. Heat flooded Dom’s body, flaring in his gut and the base of his throat, searing his lips and his fingers, every place his body touched Lerant’s. Every place Lerant touched him, because Dom realised, joy surging suddenly hotter than his lust, that Lerant had his hand on Dom’s neck and the tingling in Dom’s lower lip had a great deal to do with Lerant’s teeth clamped on it. Dom laughed and drew back just enough to whisper.
“Let go,” he breathed.
Lerant did so, resting his forehead against Dom’s. “I see what the youngest Hannalof daughter was so pleased about,” he smiled. Dom pulled Lerant’s hair for his cheek, but said nothing as his mouth was occupied planting small kisses down the curve of Lerant’s jaw. Lerant took a little gasping breath and swallowed hard. Dom knew this, because he could feel Lerant’s throat move under his lips, and when Lerant started to speak, Dom could feel the vibration on his tongue.
“I am going to have to thank Kel, I think,” was what Lerant said.
“Maybe later,” Dom murmured.
“Yes,” Lerant pulled Dom’s face back up to his, looked into Dom’s bright blue eyes. Not blue like sapphires, or the sea, or the sky, or any unoriginal nonsense like that. Blue like the eyes of a man who might love you.
“Later.
To recap - back from the Scanran War, Kel is kicking her heels in Tortall, and through a series of misunderstandings she believes Lerant has feelings for Dom, and in her Kel manner, decides she will smooth the path of true love. However, she has the direction of the secret crush back to front, for it is Dom who secretly cares for Lerant. At a Palace ball, Kel has just informed Lerant of her (incorrect) knowledge, and after Lerant rushed off in confusion, Dom told Kel the truth. Now read on....
Kel blinked at Dom, who was still avoiding her eye, fiddling with his wine goblet.
“You?” But you’re…I had no idea.”
“I’m, well, I’m…secrets,” Dom said eventually, lifting his face. “As I said, Lerant’s hasn’t got the monopoly on them.” He grinned ruefully. “Excepting it’s not a secret now, as I’ve told you.”
“What about Lerant?” Kel ventured, intrigued despite herself.
“You mean, have I declared my forbidden love?” Dom tried to drink from the empty wine goblet. Kel plucked it from his fingers.
“No, then,” she deciphered the sarcasm. “If you are really asking for my help, well, I can speak to him for you…”
“No! Please, Kel. I’ll sort this out myself.” He retrieved his goblet and looked about for a waiter.
“Like you have done? Now I actually know what’s going on, I might be able to help. I’ll try. It’s the least I can do.” She wrung her fingers.
“Kel…” Dom began, but he was cut off by a clear voice calling across the ballroom.
“Domitan!” A tall, older woman, dressed in a very fine gown of gray and royal blue silk, bore down on them.
“Great Aunt!” He scrambled to his feet, not quite stumbling, and held out his hands to his relative. “Kel,” he said, “this is my Great Aunt, Lady Abigail of Masbolle.”
Kel curtseyed neatly, and bowed her head. Lady Abigail reached the two young people, and nodded sagely at them. “Young Domitan,” she greeted her nephew, “and this must be the famous Lady Knight Keladry.”
“My Lady,” Kel said, straightening up. “I’ve very pleased to meet you.”
“As am I,” Abigail said. “Well done,” she added briskly, leaving a bemused Kel to wonder exactly for what she was being praised.
“Domitan, you look the worse for drink,” she commented, “but otherwise you seem well.”
Dom smiled as if this sort of bluntness was to be expected. “Are you enjoying the ball, Great Aunt?”
“Most entertaining. I had a close encounter with an excited young man in the corridor. One of yours, Dom, if I’m not mistaken.”
Kels face went perfectly, exquisitely blank, but her eyes flickered towards Dom. “What?” she mouthed at him, but Dom’s attention was fixed on his Great Aunt.
“…yes, in the Own’s dress uniform, so under your command, Domitan.”
“Not necessary, I am only a Sergeant…”
“But in spirit, all of King’s Own are your comrades?”
“Yes, but…”
“You should look into his welfare. He almost fell over that ugly table in the corridor, he was quite agitated. And I could tell he wanted to be rude when I offered him some advice. Rather fetching blond fellow.”
Dom’s eyebrows climbed his forehead, and Kel fidgeted as far as is possible in a tight satin gown.
“In that case, Great Aunt, I had best go and see to him immediately,” Dom said.
Duchess Abigail nodded, approvingly. “It was good to see you, Domitan. Lady Knight.” She swept away, like a ship in full sail.
“Phew,” Dom passed a hand over his face. He lifted his eyes to Kel. “Oh, Gods.”
“It was Lerant she was talking about?” she asked. Dom nodded. “Oh, Gods,” Kel echoed. “One of us is going to have to speak to him. I should, it’s my fault he’s upset, I should fix this…”
“No,” Dom said firmly. “I said to Abigail I would go, plus I don’t trust you not to try and take advantage of the situation for tactical match-making porpoises. Purposes.”
“You are the worse for drink. Your Great Aunt was right.”
“She’s always right, has Neal not told you of the Masbolle matriarchs?” Dom stood again, “Plus anything I say wrong, I can blame on the drink.”
“Just tell the truth!” Kel called after his retreating back. “Good luck!” She bit her lip and hoped for the best.
****
Dom wondered what he was doing. He was doing as his Aunt bid him do. He was apologising for and explaining Kel’s misunderstanding. He was going to tell Lerant…
Nothing. Nothing. The man was his friend, Gods curse it all, his comrade, his partner in arms…that was all. That was enough, plenty, more than enough. Dom paused to wonder where Lerant might have gone. Barracks? Mess? No, Lerant would have been looking for solitude, and if Dom knew him at all, some space for the frenetic pacing and clambering on things that usually accompanied Lerant’s more troubled moods.
Gardens it was.
Dom felt much more sober by the time he got outside, the cold air clearing his head, the fresh night scents sharpening his wits. By the time he had walked twice round the paths, checked the thankfully empty bower, the last clouds of wine had evaporated from his system, so much so that the idea of giving all this up and going back to barracks was seeming more and more appealing. Dom was on the verge of heading back when a flurry of movement on the far side of the fountain drew his eye. He turned, and saw Lerant - and it had to be Lerant, by the blond hair catching the light, the familiar swinging stride, the way Dom’s heart plunged into his stomach at the sight of him. Dom watched Lerant hustle round the edge of the fountain, two, three strides - and then sit suddenly, barely hitting the granite bowl, suddenly, horribly still.
Dom was sprinting before Lerant had finished falling, and he was couching in front of Lerant, unheeding of the sharp gravel, before he had drawn a full breath.
“Oh, by the Dice of the Graveyard Hag!” Lerant had his face in his hands, and seemed to speak to himself. “What if she told Wolset?”
“She hasn’t told Wolset…” Dom began, then stopped suddenly.
“Masbolle!” Lerant whipped away his hands and seemed to notice Dom for the first time.
“You okay?” Dom proceeded airily, “looked like you took a stumble there.” Lerant glared at Dom, still crouched on his knees. Dom began to feel slightly awkward, and rose to sit on the fountain’s edge next to Lerant. “I knew you weren’t all grace and poise,” he continued.
“You’re dissembling,” Lerant stated. Dom looked away sharply - he couldn’t stop himself. “She’s told you…” Lerant buried his face in his hands again. “Oh, Gods, she told you! And now you’re having a nice chat with me, setting the record straight….” Lerant suddenly clutched Dom by the shoulders. “It was all her, Dom, all Kel. I was her cause. Her project! She took ideas, in her head! I told you no good would come of me sparring with her! No. Good.” He shook Dom for emphasis here. “But I swear, Dom, I swear, you don’t have to fear for your maidenly virtue in the bath house, I am in no way interested, it was all in Kel’s imagination!” Lerant paused for breath, and seemed to realise his face was inches from Dom’s, and he was clinging onto Dom’s shoulders. Lerant let go and sat back. “Honest,” he added.
“Hah.” Dom made a noise that was half laugh, half cough, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I…”
“I know, this is uncomfortable,” Lerant interrupted. “But you don’t have to let me down gently, or soften the blow, or anything.”
“I wasn’t…”
“It was the thought Kel had told Wolset that made me a little panicked, there,” Lerant added. He managed to look Dom in the eye, and forced a sort of grimaced grin to his face. It was a deeply unbecoming expression, pulling Lerant’s lips thin and tight, but Dom couldn’t help but smile back.
“Panicked?” Dom asked lightly, raising one eyebrow a shade.
“Don’t give me that, Masbolle, or I will tell Wolset myself and the single entendres that pass for his sense of humour shall be your punishment for mocking me.” Dom raised the eyebrow a little further. “Well, maybe not,” Lerant conceded.
The two men sat in companionable silence for a minute or two. Maybe this will be ok, Dom thought.
“Has this ever happened before?” Lerant asked, suddenly.
“People setting me up? Yes, sometimes,” Dom conceded. “Emmit introduced me to his sister and his cousin, one Midwinter. I think he thought I’d make a good brother-in-law, or at least second cousin.”
“Yes, I heard that.” Lerant said, voice soft and thoughtful. “No, I meant men.”
Dom took two quick breaths, and stole a glance at Lerant. The younger man had calmed down, and was looking at Dom with quiet interest. Dom had no idea what to say. Kel had said start with the truth. In the absence of a better plan, Dom began to open his mouth.
“Only,” Lerant said, “it goes on, doesn’t it? And you’re about the best looking of the officers, and you’re kind, you know, you’re good to the new recruits. So there must have been lads with, well, crushes.” Lerant tilted his head, scowled, an enquiring look. “I was just wondering if you’d gone to explain before.”
“Well,” Dom said. He had, truth be told. There had been a recruit, two years ago, and up until now it had been the most horribly awkward conversation Dom had ever had. “Yes,” he conceded, “once.” He didn’t mention the faceless noble who had accosted him behind the bonfire last Beltane; Dom could not disabuse that admirer so easily. Admittedly, he hadn’t really tried.
“Because Kel got the idea from somewhere, and I know I was going on about you being my best mate ever, helping me get over Chiandra and with sparring and stuff, but when did Kel ever pay attention to me? Or just to me? There had to be something else.”
“And I was the number one choice for the young men of the King’s Own?” Dom couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.
“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. This is just feeding your ego.”
Dom chuckled. “I would have said you were far prettier than me,” he said seriously.
“Nice to know one of my friends is still talking sense,” Lerant sighed. “I’m so sorry, Dom, this must be so embarrassing for you. I know Kel meant well, but it’s you that has to deal with it. I appreciate your taking it so well. Not punching me and stuff.”
“And ruin that bone structure?”
“You know it’d be a crime. Seriously, thank you.”
“Seriously, Lerant,” Dom began, voice hitching, “seriously, it’s fine. And if it was true I’d be, well. I’d be flattered.” He looked determinedly at the flowerbeds in the distance, listened to the clatter and tumble of the fountain at his back.
“Flattered?” Lerant said. “Damn right, I’m a catch, I am.” He turned his head, and Dom knew he was looking for eye contact, for Dom to approve the joke, so they could share it. After a second, Dom felt Lerant turn his whole body towards him, linen whispering over the smooth stone of the fountain’s edge. Dom determinedly looked at the craft of the gardeners.
“Sorry,” Lerant said finally. “No more jokes. This can be one of things that we laugh about later.”
“No, I meant it,” Dom said quietly. “If you, well, if you did. If you were. I’d be pleased.”
“Pleased I had good taste?” Lerant tried.
“Pleased you liked me.” Dom decided suddenly that he couldn’t feel any more wretched and uncomfortable than he did currently. He swivelled, sitting knee to knee with Lerant. “Pleased. Happy. It would be a good thing. Because I like you.” Dom felt like he’d fallen in the middle of a tournament, or a battle, and in a few second the blow is going to fall, but until then, for the next few endless moments, he had to wait.
“That was a like with a capital L,” Lerant said. “So Kel wasn’t as wrong as she might have been. She was just back to front…” he tailed off.
The fountain continued to chatter away in the background. Dom was glad of it, because neither he nor Lerant were saying a thing.
“But,” Dom finally managed, “nothing is going to change, or happen, I just…I just wanted to tell the truth, after all of this mess.”
“Mess,” echoed Lerant. “Dom, I have fought on battlefields. I have seen refugees carrying everything they possess. My own family has torn itself apart over treason. I have lost friends and family, seen people die for causes good and bad, big and small. This is not a mess. You are my friend, and….Gods, I’m no good at this, Dom.” Lerant gripped Dom’s knee, painfully tight. “This is not a bad thing, it doesn’t even register as a bad thing. You’ll always be my friend, Dom.”
Dom finally turned to look at Lerant. “You’re taking it well,” he managed, because if he was joking with Lerant, then it was all going to be alright.
“I’d be hyperventilating if I wasn’t so cold,” Lerant said. Dom automatically placed his hand over Lerant’s, which was still on his knee.
“You’re freezing,” Dom said. “Right, in, now. Else you’ll collapse and then I’ll have to carry you.”
Lerant grinned. “Kel would be happy, then,” he said. “You know, mission achieved and all that.”
“That’d be a bit ironic,” Dom admitted. He risked a glance up; Lerant’s grey eyes were fixed on his face, clear and questioning. The sudden flash of hope in Dom’s heart was so much worse than prospective of the killing blow.
“You two weren’t in cahoots?” Lerant asked. “She did say it was your idea we spar together.”
“What? No!” The hope disappeared in the dark. “No. You thought yourself it was my idea to set you up with Kel.”
“Ah, but you’re cunning. I don’t trust you an inch,” Lerant smirked.
“You are teasing me!” All of Dom’s frustration, all of the wasted emotion, the hope, dear Mithros, the hope that dies before it had even lit up, it all flashed into anger. “Hells, Lerant, I thought you might not be a bastard about it. You of all people.” Dom went to stand, only to find he couldn’t.
That was because Lerant was holding his hand. Holding it tight. “Since when were you unable to take a joke?” Lerant asked softly. “Dom, I’m, well, I can’t say I’m not flattered, either.” He changed his grip on Dom’s hand, held it carefully, not gripping or pinching, just maintaining the contact.
“You’re going to say you’re just glad it’s not Wolset, aren’t you,” Dom managed, breath a little short. He could feel his pulse beating under Lerant’s fingers.
“No.” Lerant said. “However, as I believe I demonstrated earlier, it’s either the sarcasm or nothing, really. So, well, I’m at a loss now.” Lerant looked across at Dom. “What now?”
The sputtering flash of hope flared into a bonfire in his chest. Dom looked at Lerant, sitting quite still, half silvered and half shadowed in the moonlight. Dom leaned in, so, so slowly, amazed every moment that Lerant wasn’t running screaming, and pressed his dry lips gently to Lerant’s. Lerant didn’t move, not a muscle, not a breath, but Dom could feel the grip on his hand tighten, felt his pulse batter against the increased tension. Dom deepened the kiss, moving his mouth over Lerant’s mobile lips, lifting his free hand to touch the fine blond hair, making it flare with the moonlight. Heat flooded Dom’s body, flaring in his gut and the base of his throat, searing his lips and his fingers, every place his body touched Lerant’s. Every place Lerant touched him, because Dom realised, joy surging suddenly hotter than his lust, that Lerant had his hand on Dom’s neck and the tingling in Dom’s lower lip had a great deal to do with Lerant’s teeth clamped on it. Dom laughed and drew back just enough to whisper.
“Let go,” he breathed.
Lerant did so, resting his forehead against Dom’s. “I see what the youngest Hannalof daughter was so pleased about,” he smiled. Dom pulled Lerant’s hair for his cheek, but said nothing as his mouth was occupied planting small kisses down the curve of Lerant’s jaw. Lerant took a little gasping breath and swallowed hard. Dom knew this, because he could feel Lerant’s throat move under his lips, and when Lerant started to speak, Dom could feel the vibration on his tongue.
“I am going to have to thank Kel, I think,” was what Lerant said.
“Maybe later,” Dom murmured.
“Yes,” Lerant pulled Dom’s face back up to his, looked into Dom’s bright blue eyes. Not blue like sapphires, or the sea, or the sky, or any unoriginal nonsense like that. Blue like the eyes of a man who might love you.
“Later.