[Diya/Ravindra] - Night out
Who:
Diya
Ravindra
When: Day after Diya's scolding.
Where: A local tavern known as the Coil
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, language, talk of sex
Diya and Ravi meet for a night out, Diya notices that Ravi is not down with conversation and completely misses the point of what social anxiety is, but hey, happy ending?
The Coil was always crowded, doubly so after dark, and Diya was grateful when he spied a table emptying. He took it quickly, eyes out around the door for any awkward, gruff Sergeants that might be his. The trouble with the Ledgers was that they had no pictures, he felt. He'd no idea what the person he was speaking to looked like. He felt himself a good enough judge of character that he could match faces to written voices well enough if given a lineup, but the bar was crowded and loud. Perhaps he should make a sign.
"Two of your strongest ale," he said to the serving girl when she sauntered over and handed her a few coins. She giggled at him, and when she left he watched her go appreciatively before his eyes drifted back to the door. His Sergeant would show up, wouldn't he? At the very least, Diya assumed he was identifiable. The only Tartessian in the bar. And there was always the chance Ravindra would be in uniform. Diya considered that, tongue drawing over his teeth. He'd never been fucked by a man in uniform before...
No uniform. As much as Ravi was used to wearing mail on a daily basis, it still wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world to relax and have a few drinks in. Instead, he was dressed in dashing, dark-coloured casual clothes with a sword at his hip, and looked just as intimidating as he did in any uniform.
Actually, "relax" was the wrong word--Ravindra was nervous as hell. It wasn't every day you got invited to keep company with a Tartessan lord who happened to share your preferences. At least he hid it well enough--he had years of practice in maintaining a confident, commanding presence no matter how he felt. So he strode into the Coil looking like he belonged there, like he was not anxiously scanning the building's occupants for the one he was supposed to meet.
Was that him, over at that table? Damn, he didn't want to assume and look like an idiot, but would it look just as idiotic to be caught standing near the door like he didn't know who he was supposed to be meeting? He folded his arms, scrutinizing the man on the other side of the pub. Maybe Diya would be smart enough to realize "Ravindra" meant the only Indian man in Tyrol.
The serving girl had returned with the tankards, both foaming, and Diya dragged a thumb up the side of one to catch a bit of the overflow, then sucked it clean. There were two men in uniform in the bar, he'd noticed, but they were both loud and boisterous and chasing the attentions of two women - whores, by the look of them - giggling and sitting atop their table. Not Ravindra, Diya thought, black eyes drifting over to the pair before he looked back to the door. How long would he--
The young lord sat up a bit, a smile stretching the corners of his mouth. That had to be him. Even if the staring didn't give it away, the expression did. He beckoned and jerked his head towards the empty seat across from him.
Ah, he'd been recognized. That was a relief. Minimal awkwardness, that way. He walked over and slid into the indicated seat. Still nervous as fuck, but still hiding it well under a calm, confident facade. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the man across from him. Good catch. He'd gotten lucky, with this one.
Ravindra hated small talk, the niceties that went along with greeting people and artificially drawing out a conversation. They both knew who the other was. No need for any of that. But he had to say something, of course, so he settled for what was foremost in his thoughts. "I was not expecting someone so handsome."
Diya smiled crookedly. "The feeling is mutual, Sergeant." Swarthy and dark-haired, strong jaw, deep voice... He eyed the other man openly before he wet his lips and nodded towards the drinks. "I'd wondered if I'd be able to recognize you. I see now I shouldn't have been concerned. You're from...India?" India or one of the Islamic countries was his guess; he'd seen men that looked like Ravindra in Tartessos, sailors all. Tyrol was much more uniformly fair-skinned.
Waiting for the answer, Diya lifted the tankard to his lips and took a hearty drink. He didn't plan to get drunk in front of his Sergeant, only warmed up. He had a feeling the other man wouldn't tolerate total inebriation. Stern father type...
That was a lie, he felt. Ravi didn't think himself particularly handsome. But who was he to argue? Modesty that came off as false and self-deprecating was not becoming.
It was thoughtful that Diya had already thought to order drinks for the both of them, but Ravi was...not entirely sure he wanted to drink right now. It was something he usually tried to avoid, though Balfour made that difficult when people drank wine like it was water. Maybe he'd just nurse the one drink through the night.
He acknowledged Diya's question with an affirming, "Mm." Not a lot to respond to there, though. Small talk, he hated it. Had to find something to add. "But I have been in Balfour since I was a boy."
That was it? Diya's eyes narrowed in silent laughter over the rim of his cup. An opening to speak of India, his childhood, his customs, and that was all he got? His Sergeant was close-lipped.
He set the cup down and leaned back languidly, eyes on Ravindra. "And Tyrol? Do you like it here?" A bland affirmative in response was his guess, but he couldn't help trying. There were rooms for rent in the upper floors of the tavern, but he wondered if offering to end the drinking half of their evening early would offend his Sergeant. "Caught any werewolves trying to get into crypts, things like that?" he continued, eyebrows raising.
That, at least, got half a smile and an amused "hm." "No werewolves. Not yet." The amusement faded as he answered the rest of it, though. "Tyrol is...not where I would have chosen." That was as close as he was getting to his real answer, 'I hate the fucking place.'
Diya's head tilted. "And where would you rather? Back to India?" He knew nothing of the land or its customs outside of what stories he'd heard from his father's sailors, but anywhere sounded far preferable to Tyrol. The Others were its only saving grace. He missed Tartessos and its sea smell, the endless roar of shouts and haggling and threats on the wharves, the warm winds and the sand constantly underfoot, wearing the whole city down smooth one grain at a time.
Where? He shrugged. Probably not India, as much as he'd like to be living around people who looked like him, speaking a language that didn't still feel wrong on his tongue even after 25 years. He didn't think there was any place for him there, now. "Where I would rather be does not matter," he answered. "However I may feel about the city, Tyrol is where my life is."
A proper military answer. Diya held in a sigh. What was it Cosimo had called the Sergeant? Stonewall? Stoneface? Wallface? Something like that. Apt nickname, whichever of the three it was. He only hoped the man wasn't as boring a bed partner as he was a conversationalist.
Diya nodded to the other man's still untouched drink, smiling curiously. "Not thirsty?"
Diya, you're just asking the wrong questions! The last thing Ravi ever wanted to talk about was himself.
Ah, he had been ignoring the drink. There was a twinge of embarrasment at that, the slightest change to his expression, blink and you would've missed it. Social customs, so much trouble. "Not really," he answered, and then attempted to brush it off and divert attention by saying, "Diya, yes? While we are here, I would have words with you about what you say to Cosimo."
"Diya," he confirmed, and nodded. It was tempting to finish his Sergeant's drink for him, but he kept to his own, long fingers tapping against the side of the tankard. Cosimo? Oh. They'd gotten to the scolding part of their conversation. Diya took a quick drink.
"Ah," he sighed when he'd swallowed, smiling crookedly down at the table between them. "Yes, of course. I've already been royally scolded for that, if you don't mind. My detention last night had the King shouting in my face about..." Diya grimaced and squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Speaking like a 'back alley whore', I believe was how he put it."
"Mm." He figured that audience with the king would have been something along those lines. "Don't worry. No scolding. I only want to point out that she works for me, and when you rile her up, I am the one who must deal with her after."
"I feel bad for you already," Diya laughed. He wondered what Cosimo actually looked like. Was she pretty? Doubtful. Pretty women were generally much too airheaded to be offended so easily, or much too polite. And a homely woman would have much more reason to join the Guard and hide under layers of mail or plate.
"I am sorry for that, truly," Diya continued lightly, fiddling with the handle of his tankard. "Like I said..." He ran his tongue over one eyetooth, black eyes flicking up to settle, intent, on Ravindra's. "I'll make it up to you."
Another amused noise and something that was not quite a smile, but close. It was quickly covered up by the rim of Ravi's tankard as he finally raised it to his lips, his eyes moving away from the handsome face in front of him. "You are shameless, aren't you."
He laughed again. "I've been told so." Loosely, he shrugged. "There's no harm in being transparent. I know why you agreed to come, and I'm quite certain it wasn't for the drinks and small talk." If this happened again, Diya thought, he'd skip the drinks half. Dinner was another option, but if alcohol couldn't loosen Ravindra's tongue he doubted a meal could.
Diya took a sip from his tankard, watching the Sergeant with a faint smile. "Does talking make you uncomfortable?"
Alcohol most certainly could, if he bothered to drink it. You just had to catch him in the right mood for drinking. Or, you know, crack his shell through repeated social interaction, which was something Diya stood a chance at if this became a regular thing.
The question caught him off-guard. He'd been setting his drink down when it came and he froze, eyebrows up, eyes slightly wide and focused on Diya. It was very brief, this look of being caught red-handed, and quickly replaced with his usual stony face as he sat up, back straight, shoulders squared. He didn't know how to answer. He had just sort of hoped Diya wouldn't notice. People usually didn't. They thought the rest of him was too intimidating to think something as simple as conversation made him uncomfortable.
"A bit," he admitted, after a silence that felt entirely too long to his ears.
A winning question. His prize was two words, but they explained enough.
"Is it the bar or... generally?" Diya's smile had softened at the Sergeant's answer, and he nodded his head back towards the stairwell. "There's rooms for rent upstairs. If you'd be more comfortable talking there, we can move." The Coil certainly wasn't a quiet place, full of jostling bodies and loud, drunken men. Not the best place for someone uncomfortable with social interaction, though it made Diya wonder how the man had risen to Sergeant. Did everyone just assume his silence to be wisdom or stoicism and leave it at that? His head tilted as he studied the other man. It was an easy assumption to make. Ravindra was certainly an intimidating man. Stoneface. Wallhead. Whatever it was. He'd ask Cosimo later.
There was hestitation before he answered, accompanied by the slightest hint of a wince, his eyes still not returning to Diya. "...Generally." That was kind of a difficult thing to admit. It wasn't something he discussed with people. Maybe it came up with his sister every once in a while, or Amelia would tell him to be more social, but otherwise he mostly just tried to pretend it wasn't a problem.
Diya was silent for a moment before he raked a hand through his hair and sighed, smiling. "Sorry. I'm not helping, am I?" He glanced up again, wincing apologetically. "I don't mean to pry. But really, it's not something to be embarrassed of. A bit of practice and familiarity, and I'll bet you could outtalk Cosimo. Just not," he ammended with a sheepish grin, "Like a back-alley whore."
He shook his head, let his eyes fall to the table, and distracted himself with another sip of ale before responding properly, this time with his eyes on Diya. Eye contact was the one thing he had no problem with; he'd been broken of that a very long time ago by his superiors in the Guard.
"It is not so much the talking," he said. He had a feeling that maybe Diya was assuming his accent was to blame, that he didn't like sounding so foreign every time he spoke. That had been part of it when he was younger, certainly, and definitely the reason why his accent wasn't quite so strong now, but he'd largely outgrown that aspect of his anxiety. "It is the people."
"The people?" Diya had no similar experience to draw from. People frightened him not at all. He could jump up onto their table that very minute and address the entire bar without breaking a sweat; it was how he was. What must it be like, he wondered, to be frightened of people?
Very lonely, he suspected. Constricted. "What about them?"
He wanted to clam up again, reply with, 'Nothing, never mind, let's move on.' Nobody ever understood when he tried to explain this. And he had tried, he'd tried time and again to explain to his best friend or his sister, even to Amelia at one point, but all he got in return was dismissal. He didn't think Diya would be any different.
But he also didn't think Diya would accept an evasion without prying; that type never did. He deliberated for what, again, felt like entirely too long a silence, draining his drink further as an excuse not to speak while he thought. Finally, he said, "It is difficult to explain. I don't think I could make you understand. But I am nervous, a bit, with people and situations I don't know well."
"Well," Diya said with a smile, missing the point entirely, "You don't have to be nervous here. Every man in the room is making a bigger fool of himself than you are." On cue, a table full of men at the back of the bar whooped and howled over the winner of a card game before ordering another round of drinks. He laughed and looked over his shoulder at them, then back to Ravindra. "See?"
Would he be nervous in bed as well? Diya didn't doubt he could help things along if he had to, and he supposed that the Sergeant wouldn't have agreed to come at all if the prospect of sex with a stranger terrified him. "Let's go before all those rooms get taken up, hm?" The young lord tipped his tankard back and drank all that was left, throat working before he set it down heavily on the table, slightly flushed. He grinned and nodded towards Ravindra's. "Bottoms up."
Yeah, not the point, Diya. Ravindra's expression at that was a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth, a slight narrowing of that same eye; an expression that said, 'that wasn't quite what I meant, but okay.' He let it drop. He'd had this conversation enough times already to know it wasn't worth having again.
He didn't feel like finishing off the rest of his drink, but Diya had paid for it, and wasting other people's money was pretty rude. He could probably just slide it over and let Diya finish it off, but argh that seemed rude, too. Maybe do it anyway. Maybe not; how would that make him come off? Fuck, he needed to quit caring so much about this shit. He drank it anyway.
Moving upstairs would be a welcome respite, at least. It was easy to leave his awkwardness behind at the bedroom door, because that was a situation he knew well-enough.
"Good man," Diya laughed, and rose from the table.
There was a woman at the bottom of the stairwell, sour-faced and large, but when the young lord pressed a few coins into her hand she moved aside and muttered, "First on the left." Diya took the stairs two at a time, energized by the warm flush of ale in his stomach. When he reached the top, he shouldered open the first door on the left, looked inside - a bed, a writing desk, a basin, and nothing else - and held it open for Ravindra, grinning. "Sergeant."
That sounded incredibly patronizing, actually, but Ravi's twinge of annoyance went unvoiced.
He followed Diya up the stairs at a less energetic pace. Hopefully there was nobody here who recognized him, nobody who was going to see the married Sergeant Ravindra Naran going upstairs with a handsome young man and start spreading talk about it. He was thinking about this too hard, really. Everyone kept consorts, and it wasn't that uncommon for them to be members of the same sex. It was silly to think his were any more worthy of scrutiny than other people's.
And yet, no amount of rationality could kill his paranoia. It was a relief to slip past Diya into the private room, away from judgmental stares and away from any pretense of idle chatter. Strange how he could be more comfortable in a bedroom with a stranger than in a conversation with one, but here at least he knew what was expected of him.
As long as Diya didn't turn out to be the type who wanted to talk during sex, everything would turn out fine.
Talking during sex was the last thing on his mind. His Sergeant didn't talk. Trying to get the man comfortable enough to talk dirty would take days, possibly weeks, and Diya didn't have that kind of patience. He didn't want talking, besides. He wanted a good thorough fuck and Ravindra looked like just the man to do it.
He pushed the door shut behind him and caught the Sergeant by the belt, pulling him close enough for a long, slow kiss. He even smelled exotic, how nice. And tasted like ale, though so, Diya expected, did he. "Step one," he mumbled against the Sergeant's lips with a grin, fingers working at the other man's belt, "In making it up to you." He slid to his knees and pulled a hand through his hair, black eyes on Ravindra's. Tonight, he felt, had gone well.
-- FADE TO BLACK LALALA --
Diya
Ravindra
When: Day after Diya's scolding.
Where: A local tavern known as the Coil
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, language, talk of sex
Diya and Ravi meet for a night out, Diya notices that Ravi is not down with conversation and completely misses the point of what social anxiety is, but hey, happy ending?
The Coil was always crowded, doubly so after dark, and Diya was grateful when he spied a table emptying. He took it quickly, eyes out around the door for any awkward, gruff Sergeants that might be his. The trouble with the Ledgers was that they had no pictures, he felt. He'd no idea what the person he was speaking to looked like. He felt himself a good enough judge of character that he could match faces to written voices well enough if given a lineup, but the bar was crowded and loud. Perhaps he should make a sign.
"Two of your strongest ale," he said to the serving girl when she sauntered over and handed her a few coins. She giggled at him, and when she left he watched her go appreciatively before his eyes drifted back to the door. His Sergeant would show up, wouldn't he? At the very least, Diya assumed he was identifiable. The only Tartessian in the bar. And there was always the chance Ravindra would be in uniform. Diya considered that, tongue drawing over his teeth. He'd never been fucked by a man in uniform before...
No uniform. As much as Ravi was used to wearing mail on a daily basis, it still wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world to relax and have a few drinks in. Instead, he was dressed in dashing, dark-coloured casual clothes with a sword at his hip, and looked just as intimidating as he did in any uniform.
Actually, "relax" was the wrong word--Ravindra was nervous as hell. It wasn't every day you got invited to keep company with a Tartessan lord who happened to share your preferences. At least he hid it well enough--he had years of practice in maintaining a confident, commanding presence no matter how he felt. So he strode into the Coil looking like he belonged there, like he was not anxiously scanning the building's occupants for the one he was supposed to meet.
Was that him, over at that table? Damn, he didn't want to assume and look like an idiot, but would it look just as idiotic to be caught standing near the door like he didn't know who he was supposed to be meeting? He folded his arms, scrutinizing the man on the other side of the pub. Maybe Diya would be smart enough to realize "Ravindra" meant the only Indian man in Tyrol.
The serving girl had returned with the tankards, both foaming, and Diya dragged a thumb up the side of one to catch a bit of the overflow, then sucked it clean. There were two men in uniform in the bar, he'd noticed, but they were both loud and boisterous and chasing the attentions of two women - whores, by the look of them - giggling and sitting atop their table. Not Ravindra, Diya thought, black eyes drifting over to the pair before he looked back to the door. How long would he--
The young lord sat up a bit, a smile stretching the corners of his mouth. That had to be him. Even if the staring didn't give it away, the expression did. He beckoned and jerked his head towards the empty seat across from him.
Ah, he'd been recognized. That was a relief. Minimal awkwardness, that way. He walked over and slid into the indicated seat. Still nervous as fuck, but still hiding it well under a calm, confident facade. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the man across from him. Good catch. He'd gotten lucky, with this one.
Ravindra hated small talk, the niceties that went along with greeting people and artificially drawing out a conversation. They both knew who the other was. No need for any of that. But he had to say something, of course, so he settled for what was foremost in his thoughts. "I was not expecting someone so handsome."
Diya smiled crookedly. "The feeling is mutual, Sergeant." Swarthy and dark-haired, strong jaw, deep voice... He eyed the other man openly before he wet his lips and nodded towards the drinks. "I'd wondered if I'd be able to recognize you. I see now I shouldn't have been concerned. You're from...India?" India or one of the Islamic countries was his guess; he'd seen men that looked like Ravindra in Tartessos, sailors all. Tyrol was much more uniformly fair-skinned.
Waiting for the answer, Diya lifted the tankard to his lips and took a hearty drink. He didn't plan to get drunk in front of his Sergeant, only warmed up. He had a feeling the other man wouldn't tolerate total inebriation. Stern father type...
That was a lie, he felt. Ravi didn't think himself particularly handsome. But who was he to argue? Modesty that came off as false and self-deprecating was not becoming.
It was thoughtful that Diya had already thought to order drinks for the both of them, but Ravi was...not entirely sure he wanted to drink right now. It was something he usually tried to avoid, though Balfour made that difficult when people drank wine like it was water. Maybe he'd just nurse the one drink through the night.
He acknowledged Diya's question with an affirming, "Mm." Not a lot to respond to there, though. Small talk, he hated it. Had to find something to add. "But I have been in Balfour since I was a boy."
That was it? Diya's eyes narrowed in silent laughter over the rim of his cup. An opening to speak of India, his childhood, his customs, and that was all he got? His Sergeant was close-lipped.
He set the cup down and leaned back languidly, eyes on Ravindra. "And Tyrol? Do you like it here?" A bland affirmative in response was his guess, but he couldn't help trying. There were rooms for rent in the upper floors of the tavern, but he wondered if offering to end the drinking half of their evening early would offend his Sergeant. "Caught any werewolves trying to get into crypts, things like that?" he continued, eyebrows raising.
That, at least, got half a smile and an amused "hm." "No werewolves. Not yet." The amusement faded as he answered the rest of it, though. "Tyrol is...not where I would have chosen." That was as close as he was getting to his real answer, 'I hate the fucking place.'
Diya's head tilted. "And where would you rather? Back to India?" He knew nothing of the land or its customs outside of what stories he'd heard from his father's sailors, but anywhere sounded far preferable to Tyrol. The Others were its only saving grace. He missed Tartessos and its sea smell, the endless roar of shouts and haggling and threats on the wharves, the warm winds and the sand constantly underfoot, wearing the whole city down smooth one grain at a time.
Where? He shrugged. Probably not India, as much as he'd like to be living around people who looked like him, speaking a language that didn't still feel wrong on his tongue even after 25 years. He didn't think there was any place for him there, now. "Where I would rather be does not matter," he answered. "However I may feel about the city, Tyrol is where my life is."
A proper military answer. Diya held in a sigh. What was it Cosimo had called the Sergeant? Stonewall? Stoneface? Wallface? Something like that. Apt nickname, whichever of the three it was. He only hoped the man wasn't as boring a bed partner as he was a conversationalist.
Diya nodded to the other man's still untouched drink, smiling curiously. "Not thirsty?"
Diya, you're just asking the wrong questions! The last thing Ravi ever wanted to talk about was himself.
Ah, he had been ignoring the drink. There was a twinge of embarrasment at that, the slightest change to his expression, blink and you would've missed it. Social customs, so much trouble. "Not really," he answered, and then attempted to brush it off and divert attention by saying, "Diya, yes? While we are here, I would have words with you about what you say to Cosimo."
"Diya," he confirmed, and nodded. It was tempting to finish his Sergeant's drink for him, but he kept to his own, long fingers tapping against the side of the tankard. Cosimo? Oh. They'd gotten to the scolding part of their conversation. Diya took a quick drink.
"Ah," he sighed when he'd swallowed, smiling crookedly down at the table between them. "Yes, of course. I've already been royally scolded for that, if you don't mind. My detention last night had the King shouting in my face about..." Diya grimaced and squinted thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Speaking like a 'back alley whore', I believe was how he put it."
"Mm." He figured that audience with the king would have been something along those lines. "Don't worry. No scolding. I only want to point out that she works for me, and when you rile her up, I am the one who must deal with her after."
"I feel bad for you already," Diya laughed. He wondered what Cosimo actually looked like. Was she pretty? Doubtful. Pretty women were generally much too airheaded to be offended so easily, or much too polite. And a homely woman would have much more reason to join the Guard and hide under layers of mail or plate.
"I am sorry for that, truly," Diya continued lightly, fiddling with the handle of his tankard. "Like I said..." He ran his tongue over one eyetooth, black eyes flicking up to settle, intent, on Ravindra's. "I'll make it up to you."
Another amused noise and something that was not quite a smile, but close. It was quickly covered up by the rim of Ravi's tankard as he finally raised it to his lips, his eyes moving away from the handsome face in front of him. "You are shameless, aren't you."
He laughed again. "I've been told so." Loosely, he shrugged. "There's no harm in being transparent. I know why you agreed to come, and I'm quite certain it wasn't for the drinks and small talk." If this happened again, Diya thought, he'd skip the drinks half. Dinner was another option, but if alcohol couldn't loosen Ravindra's tongue he doubted a meal could.
Diya took a sip from his tankard, watching the Sergeant with a faint smile. "Does talking make you uncomfortable?"
Alcohol most certainly could, if he bothered to drink it. You just had to catch him in the right mood for drinking. Or, you know, crack his shell through repeated social interaction, which was something Diya stood a chance at if this became a regular thing.
The question caught him off-guard. He'd been setting his drink down when it came and he froze, eyebrows up, eyes slightly wide and focused on Diya. It was very brief, this look of being caught red-handed, and quickly replaced with his usual stony face as he sat up, back straight, shoulders squared. He didn't know how to answer. He had just sort of hoped Diya wouldn't notice. People usually didn't. They thought the rest of him was too intimidating to think something as simple as conversation made him uncomfortable.
"A bit," he admitted, after a silence that felt entirely too long to his ears.
A winning question. His prize was two words, but they explained enough.
"Is it the bar or... generally?" Diya's smile had softened at the Sergeant's answer, and he nodded his head back towards the stairwell. "There's rooms for rent upstairs. If you'd be more comfortable talking there, we can move." The Coil certainly wasn't a quiet place, full of jostling bodies and loud, drunken men. Not the best place for someone uncomfortable with social interaction, though it made Diya wonder how the man had risen to Sergeant. Did everyone just assume his silence to be wisdom or stoicism and leave it at that? His head tilted as he studied the other man. It was an easy assumption to make. Ravindra was certainly an intimidating man. Stoneface. Wallhead. Whatever it was. He'd ask Cosimo later.
There was hestitation before he answered, accompanied by the slightest hint of a wince, his eyes still not returning to Diya. "...Generally." That was kind of a difficult thing to admit. It wasn't something he discussed with people. Maybe it came up with his sister every once in a while, or Amelia would tell him to be more social, but otherwise he mostly just tried to pretend it wasn't a problem.
Diya was silent for a moment before he raked a hand through his hair and sighed, smiling. "Sorry. I'm not helping, am I?" He glanced up again, wincing apologetically. "I don't mean to pry. But really, it's not something to be embarrassed of. A bit of practice and familiarity, and I'll bet you could outtalk Cosimo. Just not," he ammended with a sheepish grin, "Like a back-alley whore."
He shook his head, let his eyes fall to the table, and distracted himself with another sip of ale before responding properly, this time with his eyes on Diya. Eye contact was the one thing he had no problem with; he'd been broken of that a very long time ago by his superiors in the Guard.
"It is not so much the talking," he said. He had a feeling that maybe Diya was assuming his accent was to blame, that he didn't like sounding so foreign every time he spoke. That had been part of it when he was younger, certainly, and definitely the reason why his accent wasn't quite so strong now, but he'd largely outgrown that aspect of his anxiety. "It is the people."
"The people?" Diya had no similar experience to draw from. People frightened him not at all. He could jump up onto their table that very minute and address the entire bar without breaking a sweat; it was how he was. What must it be like, he wondered, to be frightened of people?
Very lonely, he suspected. Constricted. "What about them?"
He wanted to clam up again, reply with, 'Nothing, never mind, let's move on.' Nobody ever understood when he tried to explain this. And he had tried, he'd tried time and again to explain to his best friend or his sister, even to Amelia at one point, but all he got in return was dismissal. He didn't think Diya would be any different.
But he also didn't think Diya would accept an evasion without prying; that type never did. He deliberated for what, again, felt like entirely too long a silence, draining his drink further as an excuse not to speak while he thought. Finally, he said, "It is difficult to explain. I don't think I could make you understand. But I am nervous, a bit, with people and situations I don't know well."
"Well," Diya said with a smile, missing the point entirely, "You don't have to be nervous here. Every man in the room is making a bigger fool of himself than you are." On cue, a table full of men at the back of the bar whooped and howled over the winner of a card game before ordering another round of drinks. He laughed and looked over his shoulder at them, then back to Ravindra. "See?"
Would he be nervous in bed as well? Diya didn't doubt he could help things along if he had to, and he supposed that the Sergeant wouldn't have agreed to come at all if the prospect of sex with a stranger terrified him. "Let's go before all those rooms get taken up, hm?" The young lord tipped his tankard back and drank all that was left, throat working before he set it down heavily on the table, slightly flushed. He grinned and nodded towards Ravindra's. "Bottoms up."
Yeah, not the point, Diya. Ravindra's expression at that was a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth, a slight narrowing of that same eye; an expression that said, 'that wasn't quite what I meant, but okay.' He let it drop. He'd had this conversation enough times already to know it wasn't worth having again.
He didn't feel like finishing off the rest of his drink, but Diya had paid for it, and wasting other people's money was pretty rude. He could probably just slide it over and let Diya finish it off, but argh that seemed rude, too. Maybe do it anyway. Maybe not; how would that make him come off? Fuck, he needed to quit caring so much about this shit. He drank it anyway.
Moving upstairs would be a welcome respite, at least. It was easy to leave his awkwardness behind at the bedroom door, because that was a situation he knew well-enough.
"Good man," Diya laughed, and rose from the table.
There was a woman at the bottom of the stairwell, sour-faced and large, but when the young lord pressed a few coins into her hand she moved aside and muttered, "First on the left." Diya took the stairs two at a time, energized by the warm flush of ale in his stomach. When he reached the top, he shouldered open the first door on the left, looked inside - a bed, a writing desk, a basin, and nothing else - and held it open for Ravindra, grinning. "Sergeant."
That sounded incredibly patronizing, actually, but Ravi's twinge of annoyance went unvoiced.
He followed Diya up the stairs at a less energetic pace. Hopefully there was nobody here who recognized him, nobody who was going to see the married Sergeant Ravindra Naran going upstairs with a handsome young man and start spreading talk about it. He was thinking about this too hard, really. Everyone kept consorts, and it wasn't that uncommon for them to be members of the same sex. It was silly to think his were any more worthy of scrutiny than other people's.
And yet, no amount of rationality could kill his paranoia. It was a relief to slip past Diya into the private room, away from judgmental stares and away from any pretense of idle chatter. Strange how he could be more comfortable in a bedroom with a stranger than in a conversation with one, but here at least he knew what was expected of him.
As long as Diya didn't turn out to be the type who wanted to talk during sex, everything would turn out fine.
Talking during sex was the last thing on his mind. His Sergeant didn't talk. Trying to get the man comfortable enough to talk dirty would take days, possibly weeks, and Diya didn't have that kind of patience. He didn't want talking, besides. He wanted a good thorough fuck and Ravindra looked like just the man to do it.
He pushed the door shut behind him and caught the Sergeant by the belt, pulling him close enough for a long, slow kiss. He even smelled exotic, how nice. And tasted like ale, though so, Diya expected, did he. "Step one," he mumbled against the Sergeant's lips with a grin, fingers working at the other man's belt, "In making it up to you." He slid to his knees and pulled a hand through his hair, black eyes on Ravindra's. Tonight, he felt, had gone well.
-- FADE TO BLACK LALALA --