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Tulio ran his thumb around the rim of his tankard as he considered his next mark. He’d already gathered a few trinkets from the tavern’s other patrons, as a way of warming up before the main course: a middle-aged man drinking by himself at the bar. A rich merchant or lesser nobleman, perhaps, with gold buttons on his doublet that were making Tulio’s fingers itch.
An accidental spill of his drink on said doublet would give Tulio an excuse to touch it, but risked making the man too angry for obsequious apologies to smooth over. Tulio couldn’t be sure of the man’s temperament, as he hadn’t seen him interacting with anyone. Maybe drunken friendliness was the better approach …
Tulio’s musings were interrupted by the blond lute player, who had been wandering around filling the tavern with distractingly lively music all evening. Now the lutist sashayed up to the rich man, leaned in close, and plucked off the exact same loose button that Tulio had been eyeing.
Shock and resentment hit Tulio’s stomach like cheap wine. The lutist caught him staring as he turned away from the rich man, and immediately raised his eyebrows in a show of innocence. Tulio scowled back, and the lutist’s gaze swept him up and down before his mouth opened in a grin.
The lutist stamped his foot as he strummed the opening bars to a new piece, faster-paced and aggressive. There was definitely a challenge in those bright green eyes, fixed on Tulio’s own, like they were two bulls fighting over the same stretch of pasture. Tulio rose to answer it.
*
To Miguel’s delight, the dark-haired man raised his arms and began to clap, hips swaying as he moved closer. Miguel stepped towards him and they fell into a spirited duet, easily weaving around the tables and each other as if they’d rehearsed for hours. He was only dimly aware of their audience’s encouragement; his dance partner’s limbs moved with a sinuous grace, and his eyes were like lapis lazuli.
Miguel didn’t want it to end, but he knew his fingers and the onlookers’ enjoyment wouldn’t last forever. He jumped onto an empty chair for the final chords, and then gave the tavern a lavish bow.
As the applause faded, the dark-haired man grabbed Miguel’s wrist and headed straight for the door. Someone whistled as they passed, and Miguel threw a wink over his shoulder. The other man’s grip was surprisingly strong for such a slender body. Not that Miguel wanted to break free; the music was still singing in his veins, and he laughed as he was pulled outside and into an alleyway.
“Are you insane?” the dark-haired man snapped. “The best way to stay safe is to avoid leaving an impression, not give your mark a full-blown performance!”
“I thought it went quite well,” said Miguel, patting that evening’s stash of loot. “You were wonderful. Where did you learn to dance like that?”
The other man spluttered indignantly for a moment, while Miguel imagined running his hands through the thick waves of his hair. “How do you lift valuables and play music at the same time?” he countered.
Miguel shrugged. “Practice.” He looked at the dark-haired man thoughtfully. For all his blustering, he hadn’t yet left or demanded recompense. “It is difficult to maintain the rhythm, though,” he said carefully. “It would be easier if someone else was doing the lifting.”
The dark-haired man huffed and folded his arms, but Miguel could see the interest in his eyes. Before it disappeared, Miguel gathered his confidence and stuck out his hand. “I’m Miguel.”
The haughty look softened, and the other man took his hand. “Tulio.”