[Fic] [Round 41] 'New Clothes....and Regret" PG-13
Author: tigersilver
Title: 'New Clothes...and Regret"
Characters/Pairing: Yosak Gurrier X Conrad Weller; Yozrad
Prompt/Theme(s): New Clothes; Regret
Word Count: 2,306
Warnings: None
New Clothes…
It was a funny thing - well, not amusing, exactly, but ‘funny’, like ‘odd’ - how Lord Conrad Weller always seemed to recognize him, no matter what he wore. And no matter where they might meet, apparently.
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?”
Yozak eyed his pint with fox-pelt brows charmingly arched above his summer sky eyes.
“No. I’ve seen you plenty of times with blonde hair, old friend - or even green. Charming.”
Here, for instance, at a backwoods tavern far from the beaten path, a place that one would never expect to see anyone one knew, even slightly. Yosak Gurrier was the brightest thing in it by far, a fact of which he was very much aware. Not even the lingering smoke from the turning spits and the gloom of age-darkened wood could dim his store-bought splendor.
Of course, the startling lime green fringed dress he was wearing had been a real find, buried in very back of that little shop in Bollyhood’s trendy SoHoeDown district, but who was he, a mere undercover agent in the service of the Maou, to pass up such a serendipitous bargain? Especially when he could write it off to ‘expenses’?
“My arms, maybe?”
Gurrier hefted the dainty lady’s mug - his fifth this evening, but who was counting? - and showed them off in all their smooth, tanned glory, for his slit-cap sleeves flowed nicely across rounded shoulders, exposing precisely the amount of skin he felt appropriate for an evening in the sticks. Alluring, but not tarty.
“They’re, um, maybe a little more sturdy then they’re supposed to be, Captain, but hey, that’s what clothes are for - distraction!”
“Miss Biceps”, or so the kiddo always called him when it finally dawned on him who the towering redhead wearing spangles actually was. ‘Course, the kid never really saw him when he didn’t want to be seen, something Yosak had the wits to make absolutely sure of, but that was beside the point. Lord Conrad Weller, at least, should know these arms of his very well, by now.
“Nope. Not it, though they, too, are delightfully supple.”
Lord Weller assumed a meditative air as he blew the foam off his second mug, housed in a much larger, manlier version of Yosak’s delicate blown glass half-pint.
“It’s not your arms, nice as they are.”
Yosak preened; he couldn’t help it, but still, he was curious.
“Then, what? My perfume? My calves?”
His calves were very shapely for someone of his proportions and Anissina had concocted a special perfume for her old friend’s best spy, one with a dollop of Lady Cheri’s orchid scent in it, formulated to make all men - and women - desire the wearer. It came in handy, particularly in Big Shimeron.
But he wasn’t in the Big Shimeron now; that was boringly obvious. ‘Merely passing through,’ as he told his newfound woodcutter friends earlier, ‘on my way to a very important engagement.’
Which was literally true, as per Lord von Walde’s orders, but it wasn’t as though he actually planned to ‘arrive’.
“No, not even close, ‘my lady’. Guess again.”
“My eyes? My shoe size?”
Gurrier stretched out a pedicured foot, long and boney and elegant, and was briefly proud the golden straps made it seem barely a size 10.
A grinning Weller shook his head at his friend’s transparent vanity and motioned for another round. The middle-aged barkeep bustled over immediately, stealing worried glances at the noble-born lady who’d mysteriously chosen to grace his humble establishment. This other man, the scholar, seemed well enough - a born gennelman, if’n he’d ever seen one, but still! The lovely Lady was his responsibility whilst she made her home at his humble inn and, by Shinou’s Scepter, he’d make sure she stayed one!
Gurrier’s wee pint was replaced an even smaller glass, this one with a worn gold rim, and obviously from the tavern’s tiny, misshapen collection of crystal kept ‘specially for passing, wayward nobility.
Yosak smiled his appreciation with honeyed sweetness; the thimble contained homemade blackberry brandy, and probably represented days of toil for the innkeep’s trodden-down wife, even though the miniscule amount he’d been blessed with was barely enough to make a horsefly’s head spin. No matter; he had a bottle stashed back in his room for just such occasions. No need to make trouble.
‘Trouble’ - as in swordplay and dastardly deeds done in secret - was very far from his thoughts, at least this night. Captain was here, unexpectedly.
The redhead turned back from charming his rustic knight and blushed immediately; Captain was, of course, still smiling, but this grin was a particularly warm one, bold enough to make Yosak’s toes curl within their confines of strappy golden leather.
“No matter…” The spy’s voice was just a tad bit huskier than usual, and he could’ve sworn he hadn’t deliberately made it so. Well…maybe he had. No harm in using those few charms he’d been born with, was there now?
“I’ll just take it that I’m special all over.”
But that was deliberate, that come-hither growl, as was the flutter of kohl-darkened lashes, long and luxuriant enough to be fake. Yosak waited for a reaction, breathlessly, concealing the tremble of his fingers on crystal with practiced ease.
There! Sure enough, the twist of finely-molded lips had just gained a deeper degree of intimacy. His Captain’s lids were heavy now and the lock of ruffled brown hair tumbling forward only barely obscured the predatory gleam in those fascinating silvery-brown orbs.
Yosak swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving under the gold fringed choker he’d fastened round his neck earlier that evening, anxiously primping the moment he’d caught a glimpse of those shoulders, that back sauntering through the cobbled courtyard.
“So, tell me…are you just passing through, sir?”
Edgy, the redhead settled more firmly on the barstool, a manicured hand on his stockinged knee only barely keeping the slit-sided lime silk together. His heart was thudding; the blood had risen in his ears, though, by Shinou’s Blood, he hoped desperately Conrad wouldn’t notice.
Some things were always secret.
“Yes, sorry. Something…came up.”
The even-toned voice had turned faintly regretful while Yosak fidgeted. Conrad’s eyes cleared instantly of the warm haze when he briefly glanced away from his stunning companion, surreptitiously doing a once-around the bar’s cavernous interior.
Yosak curved his painted mouth in the direction of his barely bared thigh, wryly.
Captain Lord Weller was known to be tightlipped, particularly when he was on the Maou’s business. Yosak knew that, just as he knew neither would mention their eventual destinations, even if they were both on similar missions - even if they both had the same goal. Some things were secret, right?
“Are you staying…here?”
This was possible. He, himself, wasn’t due to start his newest job until two days hence and then the results of his shopping spree in Bollyhood would be wistfully packed away in favor of a maid’s drab uniform. For the moment, he’d holed up where no one he knew could find him.
Still, a spot of pleasant company in the meantime would be spectacular, even if it was just for one night. An hour or two - or eight or ten - in Captain’s company would be even better than finding this dress in ‘clearance’, marked down seventy percent. Way better.
“I have a room reserved.”
The cool voice gave nothing away, but Captain stopped it anyway, tuning back to raise his glass in a toast before sipping.
The spy blushed again and scolded himself silently for it. One would think he would’ve learned to control his own expressions after all these years. Especially if his very life depended in it.
The last of Weller’s dark brew disappeared down a pale throat, muffled by a brown silk jabot similar to Little Lord Brat’s lace one. Conrad was dressed as a lordly third son, or maybe even a fourth one, pursuing a life of academics, judging by the hint of bookish dust on his purply-brown velvets and the ink stains on his long, thin fingers. The silvery rapier at his side gave the impression it was merely for show.
Yosak knew better. Not that it mattered; Captain was on his turf now and stilettos made excellent weapons when one was in a tight corner. The knife in his garter was also quite practical.
Still, this tavern was safe enough. He’d come here often enough - hell, he’d even worked here at one point, had the bartender but known it! - to feel fairly sure of it. No one would dare bother either of them here tonight, not now that the Whispering Woods were shadowed in darkness.
With a sudden, indelicate snort, Yosak downed the brandy. It burned a trail down a throat suddenly reluctant to make noises of any intelligible sort. How he hated this; how he loved it, this heart-stopping moment before asking. How he wanted it to be over and the answer to be ‘yes’!
A rustle of silk as he stood, all six luscious feet of him, and arranged the short skits to fall becomingly with quick, knowing pats of broad palms. That the lime silk was crumpling into folds between tight fingers was something no one realized but him - certainly not Captain, who eyed him with polite inquiry.
“Well, perhaps I’ll see you later then, ‘my lord’. A pleasant night to you, if not.”
Swish. In an elegant turn on tottery heels, the redhead reached for his beaded purse to pay his tab, tugging the fringed scarf he used as a wrap a tad tighter - but Captain was before him, golden Great Maous clinking onto the sticky surface of the bar from under the cage of his inky fingertips.
The tavern owner was there in a heartbeat, waiting to make sure the pretty Lady left his bar alone and in good order. T’other looked to mean no harm, drab and polite as he was, but who knew?
“Why, thank you, kind sirrah,” Yosak murmured softly, turning up the patented smile to a full hundred watts and sharing the leftovers with the dumbstruck barkeep.
“It’s always a pleasure to encounter a gentleman when one is travelling. And you, sir,” sea-blue eyes glanced back his temporary landlord, “are so very kind, keeping me so well guarded during my brief visit to this quaint little town.”
Swish, swish. Fringe tickled the backs of dimpled knees in a deliciously inviting way. From the doorway, which was a low and dark as the rest of the room, a cocky Gurrier looked back, aware as always of the handsome picture he made, with his shininess framed so rustically.
“Now I,” he purred in a low, raspy tone that carried perfectly well to the two men waiting behind him, “I always rely on the kindness of strangers-“
A flourish of hips, lean and muscled under clinging fabric, and a quirk of the lips he’d painted a dark moist rose red out of desperation earlier, hoping to entice.
“So very reassuring to be sure I can still do so!”
With a last flip of his intricate flame-red updo, the Mata Hari of Shin Makoku vanished, firmly escorted by the innkeeper’s tired wife upstairs to ‘her’ bedroom.
Had he stayed, Yosak would have heard that very rare thing: Conrad Weller laughing.
“I’ll take that room, I believe, if it’s still available?”
More golden Maous were laid on the polished mahogany. The innkeeper stop staring at the empty doorway long enough to stare at the money, his kind eyes startled.
“But a meal first, if you please.”
“Yes…Sir! Right away, Sir!”
An hour later, Yosak Gurrier lay in his rented bed, clad in peach lace and paper-thin ecru silk. The peignoir had been on the next rack over; he’d bought it on a whim, not even daring to think about what he might hope for, wearing such finery.
It was good he had not hoped. The inn was still and silent, for when the Whispering Woods slept, so did its wise inhabitants. Still and silent and nothing moved. No boot heels tapping ever so quietly down the tiny hallway; no nearly silent twist of a polished brass doorknob.
…Had he not managed to make it known, what he wanted? They met so seldom by ‘accident’, but even so, every time he thought Shinou must truly love him, half-breed as he was, to allow even a ‘chance’ meeting to happen, far from the prying eyes of Court. Every time, and he’d store up the joy of it like a dromedary stored water, making sure he had enough happiness to get through the next arid desert.
But sometimes things didn’t work out, he knew that: Captain was in a hurry, or he was, or both were fighting tooth-and-nail for their very lives. Those times, all he would get was the chance to look, maybe touch in passing; inhale deeply of that woodsy, fresh scent and soak up as much as he could manage of that ever-present smile. Then they’d part, he off to his duty, Captain off to do whatever - babysit Kiddo, most likely, or fend off the impositions of the ‘real’ Ladies of Shin Makoku.
Another hour, and then two, and now even the cockroaches slept the sleep of the just. Yosak Gurrier held his pillow tightly to his achy chest and wished it could hold him in return, for it was cold, even with the fireplace just beyond the bed, and it was dark, even with a single candle guttering.
At dawn, a military man disguised as a scholar slipped into his old friend’s bed, and wrapped warm arms around him. At some point during the gasping, sweaty moments of that cold, dank morning, halfway between stripping off the nightie ruthlessly and voraciously sucking in the taste of his Captain’s saliva, Yosak Gurrier shed ‘regret’ and lived solely for the moment.
END
.
And 'Regret'
Title: 'New Clothes...and Regret"
Characters/Pairing: Yosak Gurrier X Conrad Weller; Yozrad
Prompt/Theme(s): New Clothes; Regret
Word Count: 2,306
Warnings: None
New Clothes…
It was a funny thing - well, not amusing, exactly, but ‘funny’, like ‘odd’ - how Lord Conrad Weller always seemed to recognize him, no matter what he wore. And no matter where they might meet, apparently.
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?”
Yozak eyed his pint with fox-pelt brows charmingly arched above his summer sky eyes.
“No. I’ve seen you plenty of times with blonde hair, old friend - or even green. Charming.”
Here, for instance, at a backwoods tavern far from the beaten path, a place that one would never expect to see anyone one knew, even slightly. Yosak Gurrier was the brightest thing in it by far, a fact of which he was very much aware. Not even the lingering smoke from the turning spits and the gloom of age-darkened wood could dim his store-bought splendor.
Of course, the startling lime green fringed dress he was wearing had been a real find, buried in very back of that little shop in Bollyhood’s trendy SoHoeDown district, but who was he, a mere undercover agent in the service of the Maou, to pass up such a serendipitous bargain? Especially when he could write it off to ‘expenses’?
“My arms, maybe?”
Gurrier hefted the dainty lady’s mug - his fifth this evening, but who was counting? - and showed them off in all their smooth, tanned glory, for his slit-cap sleeves flowed nicely across rounded shoulders, exposing precisely the amount of skin he felt appropriate for an evening in the sticks. Alluring, but not tarty.
“They’re, um, maybe a little more sturdy then they’re supposed to be, Captain, but hey, that’s what clothes are for - distraction!”
“Miss Biceps”, or so the kiddo always called him when it finally dawned on him who the towering redhead wearing spangles actually was. ‘Course, the kid never really saw him when he didn’t want to be seen, something Yosak had the wits to make absolutely sure of, but that was beside the point. Lord Conrad Weller, at least, should know these arms of his very well, by now.
“Nope. Not it, though they, too, are delightfully supple.”
Lord Weller assumed a meditative air as he blew the foam off his second mug, housed in a much larger, manlier version of Yosak’s delicate blown glass half-pint.
“It’s not your arms, nice as they are.”
Yosak preened; he couldn’t help it, but still, he was curious.
“Then, what? My perfume? My calves?”
His calves were very shapely for someone of his proportions and Anissina had concocted a special perfume for her old friend’s best spy, one with a dollop of Lady Cheri’s orchid scent in it, formulated to make all men - and women - desire the wearer. It came in handy, particularly in Big Shimeron.
But he wasn’t in the Big Shimeron now; that was boringly obvious. ‘Merely passing through,’ as he told his newfound woodcutter friends earlier, ‘on my way to a very important engagement.’
Which was literally true, as per Lord von Walde’s orders, but it wasn’t as though he actually planned to ‘arrive’.
“No, not even close, ‘my lady’. Guess again.”
“My eyes? My shoe size?”
Gurrier stretched out a pedicured foot, long and boney and elegant, and was briefly proud the golden straps made it seem barely a size 10.
A grinning Weller shook his head at his friend’s transparent vanity and motioned for another round. The middle-aged barkeep bustled over immediately, stealing worried glances at the noble-born lady who’d mysteriously chosen to grace his humble establishment. This other man, the scholar, seemed well enough - a born gennelman, if’n he’d ever seen one, but still! The lovely Lady was his responsibility whilst she made her home at his humble inn and, by Shinou’s Scepter, he’d make sure she stayed one!
Gurrier’s wee pint was replaced an even smaller glass, this one with a worn gold rim, and obviously from the tavern’s tiny, misshapen collection of crystal kept ‘specially for passing, wayward nobility.
Yosak smiled his appreciation with honeyed sweetness; the thimble contained homemade blackberry brandy, and probably represented days of toil for the innkeep’s trodden-down wife, even though the miniscule amount he’d been blessed with was barely enough to make a horsefly’s head spin. No matter; he had a bottle stashed back in his room for just such occasions. No need to make trouble.
‘Trouble’ - as in swordplay and dastardly deeds done in secret - was very far from his thoughts, at least this night. Captain was here, unexpectedly.
The redhead turned back from charming his rustic knight and blushed immediately; Captain was, of course, still smiling, but this grin was a particularly warm one, bold enough to make Yosak’s toes curl within their confines of strappy golden leather.
“No matter…” The spy’s voice was just a tad bit huskier than usual, and he could’ve sworn he hadn’t deliberately made it so. Well…maybe he had. No harm in using those few charms he’d been born with, was there now?
“I’ll just take it that I’m special all over.”
But that was deliberate, that come-hither growl, as was the flutter of kohl-darkened lashes, long and luxuriant enough to be fake. Yosak waited for a reaction, breathlessly, concealing the tremble of his fingers on crystal with practiced ease.
There! Sure enough, the twist of finely-molded lips had just gained a deeper degree of intimacy. His Captain’s lids were heavy now and the lock of ruffled brown hair tumbling forward only barely obscured the predatory gleam in those fascinating silvery-brown orbs.
Yosak swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving under the gold fringed choker he’d fastened round his neck earlier that evening, anxiously primping the moment he’d caught a glimpse of those shoulders, that back sauntering through the cobbled courtyard.
“So, tell me…are you just passing through, sir?”
Edgy, the redhead settled more firmly on the barstool, a manicured hand on his stockinged knee only barely keeping the slit-sided lime silk together. His heart was thudding; the blood had risen in his ears, though, by Shinou’s Blood, he hoped desperately Conrad wouldn’t notice.
Some things were always secret.
“Yes, sorry. Something…came up.”
The even-toned voice had turned faintly regretful while Yosak fidgeted. Conrad’s eyes cleared instantly of the warm haze when he briefly glanced away from his stunning companion, surreptitiously doing a once-around the bar’s cavernous interior.
Yosak curved his painted mouth in the direction of his barely bared thigh, wryly.
Captain Lord Weller was known to be tightlipped, particularly when he was on the Maou’s business. Yosak knew that, just as he knew neither would mention their eventual destinations, even if they were both on similar missions - even if they both had the same goal. Some things were secret, right?
“Are you staying…here?”
This was possible. He, himself, wasn’t due to start his newest job until two days hence and then the results of his shopping spree in Bollyhood would be wistfully packed away in favor of a maid’s drab uniform. For the moment, he’d holed up where no one he knew could find him.
Still, a spot of pleasant company in the meantime would be spectacular, even if it was just for one night. An hour or two - or eight or ten - in Captain’s company would be even better than finding this dress in ‘clearance’, marked down seventy percent. Way better.
“I have a room reserved.”
The cool voice gave nothing away, but Captain stopped it anyway, tuning back to raise his glass in a toast before sipping.
The spy blushed again and scolded himself silently for it. One would think he would’ve learned to control his own expressions after all these years. Especially if his very life depended in it.
The last of Weller’s dark brew disappeared down a pale throat, muffled by a brown silk jabot similar to Little Lord Brat’s lace one. Conrad was dressed as a lordly third son, or maybe even a fourth one, pursuing a life of academics, judging by the hint of bookish dust on his purply-brown velvets and the ink stains on his long, thin fingers. The silvery rapier at his side gave the impression it was merely for show.
Yosak knew better. Not that it mattered; Captain was on his turf now and stilettos made excellent weapons when one was in a tight corner. The knife in his garter was also quite practical.
Still, this tavern was safe enough. He’d come here often enough - hell, he’d even worked here at one point, had the bartender but known it! - to feel fairly sure of it. No one would dare bother either of them here tonight, not now that the Whispering Woods were shadowed in darkness.
With a sudden, indelicate snort, Yosak downed the brandy. It burned a trail down a throat suddenly reluctant to make noises of any intelligible sort. How he hated this; how he loved it, this heart-stopping moment before asking. How he wanted it to be over and the answer to be ‘yes’!
A rustle of silk as he stood, all six luscious feet of him, and arranged the short skits to fall becomingly with quick, knowing pats of broad palms. That the lime silk was crumpling into folds between tight fingers was something no one realized but him - certainly not Captain, who eyed him with polite inquiry.
“Well, perhaps I’ll see you later then, ‘my lord’. A pleasant night to you, if not.”
Swish. In an elegant turn on tottery heels, the redhead reached for his beaded purse to pay his tab, tugging the fringed scarf he used as a wrap a tad tighter - but Captain was before him, golden Great Maous clinking onto the sticky surface of the bar from under the cage of his inky fingertips.
The tavern owner was there in a heartbeat, waiting to make sure the pretty Lady left his bar alone and in good order. T’other looked to mean no harm, drab and polite as he was, but who knew?
“Why, thank you, kind sirrah,” Yosak murmured softly, turning up the patented smile to a full hundred watts and sharing the leftovers with the dumbstruck barkeep.
“It’s always a pleasure to encounter a gentleman when one is travelling. And you, sir,” sea-blue eyes glanced back his temporary landlord, “are so very kind, keeping me so well guarded during my brief visit to this quaint little town.”
Swish, swish. Fringe tickled the backs of dimpled knees in a deliciously inviting way. From the doorway, which was a low and dark as the rest of the room, a cocky Gurrier looked back, aware as always of the handsome picture he made, with his shininess framed so rustically.
“Now I,” he purred in a low, raspy tone that carried perfectly well to the two men waiting behind him, “I always rely on the kindness of strangers-“
A flourish of hips, lean and muscled under clinging fabric, and a quirk of the lips he’d painted a dark moist rose red out of desperation earlier, hoping to entice.
“So very reassuring to be sure I can still do so!”
With a last flip of his intricate flame-red updo, the Mata Hari of Shin Makoku vanished, firmly escorted by the innkeeper’s tired wife upstairs to ‘her’ bedroom.
Had he stayed, Yosak would have heard that very rare thing: Conrad Weller laughing.
“I’ll take that room, I believe, if it’s still available?”
More golden Maous were laid on the polished mahogany. The innkeeper stop staring at the empty doorway long enough to stare at the money, his kind eyes startled.
“But a meal first, if you please.”
“Yes…Sir! Right away, Sir!”
An hour later, Yosak Gurrier lay in his rented bed, clad in peach lace and paper-thin ecru silk. The peignoir had been on the next rack over; he’d bought it on a whim, not even daring to think about what he might hope for, wearing such finery.
It was good he had not hoped. The inn was still and silent, for when the Whispering Woods slept, so did its wise inhabitants. Still and silent and nothing moved. No boot heels tapping ever so quietly down the tiny hallway; no nearly silent twist of a polished brass doorknob.
…Had he not managed to make it known, what he wanted? They met so seldom by ‘accident’, but even so, every time he thought Shinou must truly love him, half-breed as he was, to allow even a ‘chance’ meeting to happen, far from the prying eyes of Court. Every time, and he’d store up the joy of it like a dromedary stored water, making sure he had enough happiness to get through the next arid desert.
But sometimes things didn’t work out, he knew that: Captain was in a hurry, or he was, or both were fighting tooth-and-nail for their very lives. Those times, all he would get was the chance to look, maybe touch in passing; inhale deeply of that woodsy, fresh scent and soak up as much as he could manage of that ever-present smile. Then they’d part, he off to his duty, Captain off to do whatever - babysit Kiddo, most likely, or fend off the impositions of the ‘real’ Ladies of Shin Makoku.
Another hour, and then two, and now even the cockroaches slept the sleep of the just. Yosak Gurrier held his pillow tightly to his achy chest and wished it could hold him in return, for it was cold, even with the fireplace just beyond the bed, and it was dark, even with a single candle guttering.
At dawn, a military man disguised as a scholar slipped into his old friend’s bed, and wrapped warm arms around him. At some point during the gasping, sweaty moments of that cold, dank morning, halfway between stripping off the nightie ruthlessly and voraciously sucking in the taste of his Captain’s saliva, Yosak Gurrier shed ‘regret’ and lived solely for the moment.
END
.
And 'Regret'