[OTA] I'm sure I used to be so free.

[i_machiavellian]

Jack of Spades. That's going to take some getting used to. Maybe it was slightly less demeaning than being called a number, even though he's had plenty of time to get used to that. But he has a feeling that they'll change his name from Michael to Jack whether he likes it or not

Comments

[expluribus]

This? This was big news, wasn't it? Not challenging for the spot of Jack but being appointed by the Queen. One would think it was news worthy of sharing with someone one had known for almost their entire life before it became semi-public knowledge. One would think one might hear it from the man himself. Surely, that wasn't too much to ask?

Lasse didn't think so but what did Lasse know, eh? He didn't hear about it from Michael but from one of his cute little kitchen minions, a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Two of his own Suit ('Chef, Chef! Did ye hear? Mista Brennan's been made Jack o' Spades!') who'd enquired excitedly if they were going to cook up a feast for Chef's friend. He'd smiled and told the boy that a newly appointed Jack probably had better things to do than indulge in debauchery but he could ask him

[i_machiavellian]

He had been too entrenched in Beethoven's frustration and depression to notice Lasse's arrival. The last note was cut a quarter of a second short as melancholy gave way to surprise and a creeping sense of uneasiness.

Lasse. In this Castle. In this room. Why? How did he know to come here?

Oh.

"Don't you start with that," he said as he got to his feet. Oh. No.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you." Tonight. Never.

[expluribus]

"'That' being what, my lord? Behaving myself according to the rules of this magnificent-" shithole "-house?"

He hadn't started anything. He was a guest in this castle and guests behaved regardless how said guest felt about these halls or the people inhabiting them.

"I'm sure you were." Liar. "But now the cat's out of the bag, we should celebrate. I've brought champagne."

Lasse held up the bottle and the champagne flutes - delicate, long-stemmed glassware - and his smile widened. Setting the glasses down on the polished piano top, he uncorked the bottle. Not with a loud pop and fizzy wine spraying everywhere the way amateurs liked it. No, it was a very quiet 'plop' and all in all a rather dry affair.

"Not your preferred choice of drink, I know, but this fits the occasion better, does it not, Lord Michael?"

Piss in a flute Michael had once called it, causing the blond man to snort it out of his nose, back in the day when they didn't know better. When they cared less.

[i_machiavellian]

Michael's shoulders sagged as his hands retreated from the keys. Lasse had every right to be unhappy about this situation they found themselves in. Rubbing it in was cruel, though. He didn't have to rub it in

[expluribus]

"Of course not

[i_machiavellian]

He nodded and moved back to the bench he had been sitting on before, straddling it so he could face Lasse

[expluribus]

Fizzy juice wasn't Lasse's favourite drink but sometimes, just sometimes he could appreciate it, the way it tingled in his mouth and how it sat fresh and sparkling in his stomach. Getting drunk on champagne was different. It didn't make you feel drunk, only happy and bold, fearless, like everything was possible if you just rolled up your sleeves and tackled it properly.

He'd felt a little boldness wouldn't hurt him which was why he'd brought it. Well, that and because he knew Michael couldn't stand it.

And now he hated himself for being so petty, for overreacting, for getting so worked up that he'd marched into this pit of vipers to make a point that rested on hurt feel- vanity, wasting an excellent bottle of champagne that would have made another couple very happy. On their anniversary perhaps.

"Just... shut up." Cupping the back of Michael's head, he brought their mouths together again, leaning into him.

I'm not angry, I'm just being childish, stupid and selfish.Hand squeezing Michael's thigh, he couldn't resist one last jab

[i_machiavellian]

If there was anyone who could make Michael giggle, it'd be Lasse. As appealing as the idea was - the throne not so much, but lounging around and trading sexual favours at least - it'd not be nearly as subtle as their relationship had been.

"How did I ever fall for a dirty old man like you?" he asked, except it wasn't really a question that needed answering.

He pulled back just enough so that their lips met again, and his hands slipped underneath Lasse's shirt, roaming skin warmed by body heat and champagne. The unused settee behind them was a little dusty, so they'd just have to stay here.

Jack of Spades and moving back into the Spades' Castle couldn't be all that bad if they could still steal moments like these.

His hands slowly went for the button and zip at Lasse's pants, as if they didn't want to be noticed until they made that sound of the zip coming undone.