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“I’ve got a favor to ask, and I’m willing to pay for it.” Ballister cut right to the chase, barely waiting for Ambrosius to answer the phone before he was speaking, voice easy and calm despite the anxiety churning his gut.
“Or ‘hello’, as some people used to say.” Ambrosius replied dryly, and Ballister could easily imagine him rolling his eyes, “What’s the favor and is it going to end with me in a jail cell?”
“Nothing so high-stakes.” he laughed, “I’m meeting a contact tonight at Odelia’s. You’ve been there before, it’s the club with the busted neon sign and the glowing drinks.”
“Where we met?” Ambrosius asked, and Ballister’s heart fluttered at the fact that he remembered.
“Yes.” he bit his lip, trying and failing to contain a smile, “Where we met.”
“Okay, so you’re meeting a contact. Where do I come in?” Ambrosius asked, so easily hearing him out, showing none of the wary mistrust that would have sent him running for the hills only a few years ago. It made Ballister smile.
“I need you to accompany me.” he said, “And brush up on your theatre skills, golden boy, you’ll be playing a role for an audience.”
“Okay… what role?” and there was that charming skepticism, “If this is another blood harvesting scheme I swear to Gloreth I’ll shave that dumb mustache of yours.”
“Don’t be silly, that was a one time thing.” he chuckled, “The truth is, my ex boyfriend is going to be there tonight, and he’s going to try and win me back for the millionth time despite me having made my disinterest quite clear, so I want you there to act as a buffer.”
“Your ex?” Ambrosius sounded taken aback, “Wait, buffer meaning what exactly?”
“If he sees me all cozy with a man significantly hotter and stronger and more well-off than him, he’ll likely back off for good.” he chirped, “Or at least fuck off to tend his wounded pride for a couple of months. It’s that easy, just an hour or so pretending to adore me and you’ll be free to go with a few coins for your trouble.” There was silence for a long moment, and Ballister was beginning to worry he’d overstepped before Ambrosius finally spoke.
“So… let me make sure I heard you right.” he said slowly, “You want me… to pretend to be your boyfriend… so your ex will leave you alone?”
“Yep!”
“Okay… any reason you called me and not the dozen or so large intimidating criminals you regularly hang out with?” He asked, and well, Ballister couldn’t exactly say Because I’m pathetic and I want you to hold me and pretend like you love me even if just for an hour, so he gave the excuse he’d come up with hours before.
“The ex knows my entire social circle, but you’re a new factor.” he said confidently, “Besides, you’re incredibly handsome and famous and skilled with a sword, he’ll know he’s beaten if he sees me with you.”
“So this is like… a fake date?” Ambrosius asked, and Ballister could perfectly imagine the furrow of his brows, the thoughtful downturn of his lips.
“A fake date.” he nodded, “So what do you say, you up for it?”
“Well…” he seemed to think for a moment before giving a little sigh, “I guess I don’t have anything else planned for tonight. Yeah, sure, I’ll do it.”
“Fantastic!” Ballister beamed to himself, relief and excitement flooding him, “Meet me outside Odelia’s around ten pm, I’ll be the one in the white blouse and sexy corset.” Ambrosius sputtered, but Ballister hung up before he could get a word in, smirking to himself at the knowledge that even over the phone he could still fluster the man.
Then it hit him just what he’d gotten himself into, and he buried his head into his hands with a groan. A fake date with Ambrosius Goldenlion. Being held by Ambrosius Goldenlion. Being doted on, maybe even kissed by Ambrosius Goldenlion, Gloreth, why did he torture himself like this? Why did he insist on putting himself in situations that played with his poor heart? If Nimona were here right now, she’d be ripping into him about chasing waterfalls and pining over shiny knights that would never look twice at him, not the way he craved. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the soil and wait for death to claim him, become like the coal he’d shoveled as a child, hard and unfeeling and blissfully ignorant of the mortifying ordeal of being flesh and blood.
But Ambrosius was expecting him, and so he only whined a little as he stood up and started preparing for the night ahead.
—-
Nine fifty-eight pm found Ballister lounging against the wall outside Odelia’s, smoking a cigarette as he waited for his date for the evening, graciously ignoring the occasional catcall thrown his way. He knew he looked damn good in the outfit he’d selected for tonight, tight trousers and knee-high boots, his long-sleeved white blouse hanging off his shoulders, exposing bare flesh and the start of his prosthetic to the eyes of any who cared to look. It was cinched at the waist by his favorite black corset, making his figure look damn near hourglass, just begging one to put their hands on him, and he knew that because he’d spent way too long in front of the mirror agonizing and imagining Ambrosius’ face when he saw it.
And he was not disappointed. Ambrosius came dressed in a nice white sweater and jeans, his eyes on his phone as he approached the flickering glow of the club’s entrance, but at Ballister’s whistle he looked up and promptly went still as a statue. His eyes went wide, his lips parting, his eyes dragging heavily across Ballister’s body like he was a frosty glass of water in a summer heat wave, that intent gaze burning into him with a heat that pooled in his gut like liquid fire. Those dark eyes eventually found his, wide and almost helpless, and Ballister smirked, putting out his cigarette on the wall without breaking eye contact.
Ambrosius continued to stare, frozen in place. Ballister didn’t think he’d taken a single breath from the moment he’d laid eyes on him. It was intoxicating.
“See something you like, sunshine?” he called smugly, and Ambrosius seemed to snap out of it, shaking himself and walking over to him with all the dignity he could muster, though he made sure to keep his eyes firmly on his face like a true gentleman.
“Your outfit is… interesting.” he said, his voice a little raspy, “Special occasion?”
“No, I got all dressed up just for you.” he batted his lashes, teasing layered over his words to hide the truth within them, and Ambrosius rolled his eyes.
“Right.” he said dryly, “Let’s head in, then. Lead the way.” Ballister pushed off the wall and gestured for him to follow, a wink to the bouncer (a terrifying lady and a personal friend of Ballister’s) getting them in without issue. The club was loud and crowded, pulse-pounding music and flickering neon lights, a crush of drunks and dancers in various states of disarray crashing and writhing like a stormy sea, alive and wild like the beating heart of the Outer City. Ballister reached back and took Ambrosius’ hand, yelling an excuse over the noise about not wanting to lose him in the crowd, and he thought Ambrosius might have blushed, but it may have just been the lighting.
Odelia met them outside her private booth, tall and imposing with her sharp red nails and elaborately braided hair, raising an eyebrow at their linked hands before sighing and beckoning them towards the back. Her booth was a touch quieter than the rest of the club, the curved design letting sound escape more easily, even furnished with a set of nice round couches she’d fleeced from Upper City socialites. Ballister immediately pushed Ambrosius onto one of the couches and slid into his lap, arms around his shoulders and legs across his thighs, grinning when Ambrosius slipped steadying arms around his waist in return. Odelia gave him a look as she sat opposite them, skeptical eyes darting between Ballister’s grin and Ambrosius’ hand resting innocently on his leg.
“The fuck, dollmaker?” she said bluntly, looking deeply unimpressed, and Ambrosius’ brows furrowed adorably as he shot Ballister a questioning look.
“Dollmaker?” he asked, but Odelia answered before Ballister could, her Outer City accent crisp and clipped in a way Ballister had never quite managed to achieve.
“Ballister likes to make dolls in his spare time, likes to give them to the kids in the orphanages.” she leveled him with a stare, “Which you’d know, if you were actually his boyfriend.”
“I-“
“Come now, can’t a man have a little fun?” Ballister cut in, saving Ambrosius from having to respond to her, “Look, full disclosure, Charibert is going to show up at some point tonight and start badgering me, and I don’t want to sit through it any more than you do, so Ambrosius here is my fake date to head that leech off.”
“Your ex is still at it, huh? Why not just stab him like last time?” she asked, kindly ignoring Ambrosius’ startled what!? as Ballister sighed regretfully.
“No good, turns out he has a knife kink.”
“Damn.” she tutted, “Sucks to be you, I guess.”
“Indeed, life is a party and I’m the piñata.” he lamented, earning a snort.
“I have to ask, why did you pick Mister Upper Crust here instead of the countless others who’d kill for a chance to be your fake boyfriend?” she looked genuinely confused, “Hell, I know Marian would have leapt at the chance to be all over you, and she’d stick Charibert in her iron maiden without hesitation.” She gestured over to the lady in question, who waved brightly at him from her perch atop the bar, looking admittedly fucking hot in her short black dress and jester-esque makeup. It really was a shame Ballister only had eyes for one man (and that Marian was bloody deranged) or he’d have taken her up in a heartbeat.
“Oh I would, but see, I actually have an evil plan to set her up on a date with Thoddeus Sureblade.” Ballister confided with a grin, earning a bark of laughter from Odelia and an alarmed look from Ambrosius.
“That poor bastard will be ripped apart.” she grinned, looking gleeful at the idea.
“But he may fall in love in the process!” Ballister winked, earning a bark of laughter from Odelia.
“She’ll make him her bitch.”
“And everyone in the Kingdom can watch.” he laughed, “But if I may request we get onto business?”
“Course.” she leaned back, arms draped over the back of the couch, putting on her Business Face. The ensuing conversation was mostly shop talk, negotiations and deals involving smuggled goods and stolen property with Odelia’s club as a drop point. Ballister had taken his medicine earlier, so he didn’t have to worry about his lungs acting up in front of an audience, which left him free to focus on the task at hand. He could sense Ambrosius tuning out once he figured out the dealings weren’t anything dangerous or unethical, eyes drifting to examine their surroundings, taking in the atmosphere of the club like it was something new and strange to him. Hell, maybe it was, Upper clubs weren’t nearly this dark and rowdy, everyone strapped and spoiling for a fight, lit by neon and desperation, dancing and shrieking their troubles away before they had to return to the drudgery of life the next morning.
He wondered if Ambrosius was remembering the night they met, two bitter teenagers with gangly limbs and too-long hair, angry at the world and yearning for a change, meeting and mixing like oil and water with hatred and fascination warring within them, driving them towards each other again and again until their relationship became… whatever it was today.
If only those two little shits could see them now.
Ballister kept his eye on him, splitting his attention between him and Odelia for the next hour until they’d said all they needed to say, and she loudly declared that their business was concluded and that she needed a drink, dismissing them with a flick of her hand and a meaningful look at Ballister.
“Don’t break your porcelain heart, dollmaker.” she said, and with that, she was gone, melted away into the roiling crowd like a shadow, just as she’d taught him to do years ago. Ballister leaned into Ambrosius’ chest with a sigh, opening his mouth to tease about how well behaved he’d been, but lips at his ear startled him, Ambrosius’ arms tightening around him as he tensed up.
“Blond hair, green tunic, staring at me like I’ve killed his puppy.” Ambrosius murmured into his ear, his voice low and casual, “Sound like your guy?”
“Th-That’s him.” Ballister swallowed, relaxing into his embrace and playing cool, “Let me guess, he started getting up the moment Odelia left?”
“Yup. Incoming.” Ambrosius drew him closer, nosing at his temple and nipping his ear in the most titillating way, throwing himself into his role with a dedication Ballister hadn’t expected, leaving him melting in his arms and so distracted that he scarcely noticed when Charibert came to a stop in front of them.
“Ballister.” that annoyingly simpering voice spoke, and Ballister didn’t bother concealing his frown as he turned his head to face Charibert, looking like a sad wet puppy as his eyes darted around to Ambrosius’ hands on his corseted waist, his lips brushing along the nape of his neck like he just couldn’t help himself.
“Charibert.” he said dryly, and Ambrosius drew him a touch closer, “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but we both know, don’t we?”
“I… I saw you talking to Odelia, it looked pretty serious.” Charibert said, trying and failing to give a smile, “Who uh… Who’s your friend?”
“My boyfriend, actually.” he smiled dopily at Ambrosius, not even having to fake it, “I likely don’t have to introduce you, he’s all over the news twenty four-seven.”
“Boy… friend…?” Charibert had the audacity to look surprised, “But… But you… Him?”
“Who else?” Ballister rolled his eyes, “You? You had your chance and you blew it, Bertie. Haven’t I made that clear a thousand times over by now?”
“But… But I love you.” Charibert beseeched, desperation leaking into his voice, “I love you so much Ballister, I know I fucked up, I know I was a bad boyfriend, but I promise you I’ve changed, I promise you.”
“I’m afraid the spark is simply gone, Charibert.” Ballister felt absolutely nothing for him, neither pity nor affection, his fervent plea falling on deaf ears, “You need to stop chasing after me, it’s pathetic. Desperation is such an undesirable trait.”
“Ballister, honeydew, please-“
“Is this guy bothering you, dearest?” Ambrosius’ teeth tugged lightly at an ear piercing, earning a delighted shiver, “Need me to take care of it?”
“Oh he’s no one, love.” Ballister smiled, charmed by the act, the way he convincingly appeared so lost in Ballister that Charibert barely registered to him, “Just a buzzing fly I can’t seem to swat.”
“Cold.” Ambrosius laughed, low and throaty, the sound sending bolts of heat through him, “Say the word and I’ll toss him in the nearest dumpster. He’s interrupting my Ballister Time.” Charibert’s expression twisted in despair, and Ballister hoped that this time the message would stick.
“If you don’t mind, Charibert.” Ballister leaned into Ambrosius, dragging his lips across the underside of his jaw and reveling in the hitching breath it earned him, the fluttering of those pretty dark lashes, “I would like for you to leave now.”
“But-“
“If my multiple rejections didn’t drive the message into your thick skull, perhaps my boyfriend and his large pointy sword will convince you.” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. Ambrosius’ eyes slid open then, piercing Charibert with a single dark look.
“Bal is mine.” he said coldly, and Ballister stopped breathing, the words hitting him like a truck, “He chose me, understand? You’ve lost him. He’s mine now, and I’m not sharing. Fuck off, never speak to him again, or I’ll make you wish you’d never laid your pathetic eyes on him.” Ballister’s heart was pounding, and he forced himself to breathe, to remember that all of this was fake, an act, a ruse. Ambrosius wasn’t being sincere, he was acting, he was kindly doing Ballister a favor because he was a good person just trying to help him out, blissfully unaware of how he tortured him in the process.
Ambrosius’ words must have sunk in though, because Charibert gave one last despairing look before slinking off with his tail between his legs, tears streaming down his face as per freaking usual, and Ballister slumped against Ambrosius with a dramatic groan.
“Gloreth, you are so unfairly good at this.” he huffed, “Who taught you to be such a romantic?”
“I just do what feels right.” he smiled down at him, all teeth and sweetness, “Totally worth it. Poor guy looked like I’d kicked his dog and stolen his ice cream.”
“That’s because I’m a catch and he knows it.” Ballister grinned, “His loss. He should have treated me better.”
“Did he treat you badly?” Ambrosius frowned, a flash of protectiveness making Ballister feel warm.
“No, he was just a lazy deadbeat.” he laughed, “Cried like a baby when I kicked his freeloading arse out.”
“As would anyone.” he murmured, and then continued before Ballister could ask what he meant by that, “What now? Do we head out?”
“Yes, but not to the street.” he tilted his head consideringly, “Let him see us leaving together, there are some rooms upstairs we can head to, nice and soundproof so he can’t listen in to make sure we’re fucking.” Ambrosius blushed slightly at that, but nodded.
“Lead the way.” he said, and Ballister forced himself to unwrap his arms from him and leave the warm comfort of his lap, offering a hand with a cheeky grin to help him up, which he took with a fond roll of his eyes. He expertly led Ambrosius through the crush of people and up the stairs with intent, making damn sure everyone saw them going up together, holding hands and smiling at each other like two lovebirds. The wolf-whistles and drunken hoots that echoed behind them made Ballister preen like the cat that got the cream, while Ambrosius hid his face in embarrassment the entire way up.
The act dropped as soon as the door closed behind them, abruptly muffling the sounds of the club below. Their hands dropped as the two of them flopped onto the bed with twin sighs, sitting side by side in the sudden quiet. At least, as quiet as it got in a room atop a nightclub, even a soundproofed one.
“So… what now?” Ambrosius broke first, looking decidedly out of place in a tiny little room like this, nothing but a rickety old desk and a twin bed for drunk customers to fuck on, the single window covered with heavy curtains, a lone desk lamp casting the entire room in a dim pink light.
“Well… I’m not sure.” Ballister hummed, “I have some plans after this but I doubt you’d like them.”
“Dare I ask?”
“Nothing action-packed.” he chuckled, “I’m just gonna get high and listen to my music until I pass out.” His medicine was wearing off already, the effects seeming to last less and less time with each dose, and he felt the telltale tightness of his chest slowly but surely returning with a vengeance. It was too early to take another pill, so his only hope for mitigating the symptoms now was a hit of Myth.
“Getting high, huh?” Ambrosius’ brow furrowed disapprovingly, “That’s your big plan for the evening?”
“I mean, we could always get high together.” he suggested lightly, “Odelia keeps enough Myth up here to take us to the stars and beyond.”
“I don’t do drugs.” Ambrosius said sternly, and Ballister tilted his head.
“Oh, not even a little? Not even recreationally?” He slid his hand over Ambrosius’ leg, brushing over the spot on the inner thigh where a drug like Myth would be injected, and Ambrosius recoiled as if he’d burned him.
“Don’t.” he bit out, and Ballister drew back, blinking a bit at his sudden aggression.
“What?”
“Don’t do that!” he exclaimed heatedly, “Don’t touch me like that when you don’t mean it!”
“I wasn’t… I was just touching where a needle would go, sunshine.” He chose not to read too much into those words, trying instead to reassure him, and Ambrosius’ expression faded from indignation to confusion.
“What?” he asked.
“Drugs like Myth or Starlight are injected into the muscle.” he murmured, parting his own legs slightly to drag a hand along his inner thigh, circling finger around the best known injection spot, “Right here.”
“And you would know, huh?” Ambrosius sounded off, his eyes locked on the motions of his finger, “Do drugs often? Let strange men pull your legs open to give you a hit?” The words were crude by Ambrosius’ standards, a jab, an insult, but it only made Ballister shiver.
“Mn, jealous, are we?” he smirked, and Ambrosius turned his head away with a bitten off tch.
“Why do it?” he scowled, “What’s so great about getting high, I don’t understand it. Weren’t you drugged with Myth by some weirdo less than two months ago? And yet you still want to use it? I don’t get it.”
And… what could Ballister say to that? What could he say to someone from the Upper City where things like drugs and casual violence were considered lowly, beneath them? How could he explain the entire culture that had grown over the centuries as the Outer City was more and more neglected, more and more poverty-stricken? How could he explain the drive for individuality, for pleasure, for relief from the drudgery of existence and the pain of failing organs, even if just for a few blissful hours?
He couldn’t.
“I… had my first hit of Starlight when I was nine years old.” he found himself confessing, not looking at Ambrosius even when the man looked back at him with a start, “After I lost my arm. I was little, I couldn’t… handle pain the way I can now. Starlight was the only thing that made the agony bearable.”
“Ballister…” Ambrosius’ voice was soft now, shaken, and it did terrible things to Ballister’s emotions. Porcelain heart, Odelia had said, and she wasn’t wrong.
“I was lucky enough not to get addicted.” he continued, eyes on his lap, “I weaned myself off of it without too much trouble, despite my foreman’s best efforts. Easier to exploit workers when you can pay them in bootleg drugs instead of coin.”
“Gloreth.” Ambrosius whispered, horrified, “Does that sort of thing really go on here?” Ballister nodded, and Ambrosius cursed, a flash of genuine rage in his eyes.
“I’ll do something about it.” he swore with all the naivety of a rich Upper who had no idea how dark the world could get, “It might take time and a lot of yelling, but I’ll fix it. I have to, this… this can’t stand, this level of-of injustice-“
“I wish you the best of luck, pretty boy.” he said without hope, taking a deep breath to try and fill his lungs, “I really do.”
“You don’t sound like you believe me.” he frowned, and Ballister gave a wry shake of his head.
“That’s because I don’t.” he said easily, “But I’d love for you to try. See how many kids you can keep from ending up like me.”
“…I think you turned out okay.” he said softly, sincerely, and a vice squeezed around Ballister’s poor heart.
“I was lucky, but not everyone is as fortunate as I was.” he said, a tickle in his throat, “That’s why when I sell drugs, I do so at a discounted price. Especially if I know the person really needs it, and not just for a good high. You have no idea how many people just want to forget who they are, or escape from the pain of a failing body, just for a few hours. I can give them that. I can pretend I’m helping them, you know? I’ve been there. I understand them.”
“You shouldn’t have had to endure all that.” Ambrosius murmured, “No one should.”
“I know.” he replied softly, “But the world doesn’t care about what we deserve.” Ambrosius was quiet then, expression pained and thoughtful, and Ballister suddenly wanted very badly to lighten the mood. Gloreth, he needed a hit.
“Would you like a demonstration?” he asked, and Ambrosius blinked as he was pulled from whatever wild ideas had taken up in that pretty head of his.
“What?”
“Of how Myth works when done right.” Ballister stood, heading to a drawer where he knew Odelia kept the necessities stocked. He pulled out a vial of Myth and its injector needle, turning back to Ambrosius and demonstrating how to put them together, “Easier to fight something if you understand it, right? And since I was going to get high regardless, this will allow you to soothe your mother-henning soul by making sure I do it safely. In my experience, seeing how something works makes it much less frightening, wouldn’t you agree?”
He pressed the injector into Ambrosius’ hands, smiling reassuringly as he curled his fingers around them. Ambrosius considered them for a moment, eyes darting between Ballister and the instruments, lips pursed slightly in thought, conflict, and Ballister gave an encouraging smile.
“And you can leave right after.” he offered, “Just dope me up and dump me on the bed, I’ll be perfectly fine. Odelia’s is safe.” Ambrosius’ face did something complicated at that, but the expression faded before Ballister could discern it.
“…Alright.” he said, and Ballister’s surprise must have been visible because he rolled his eyes, “Only so I can understand it, and because you’ll just be doing it anyway. I still don’t condone any of this.”
“Of course.” he nodded, biting back a smile. He promptly slid his boots off, then his trousers, mentally thanking his past self for putting on a nice pair of black boxers as Ambrosius made a high-pitched squawking noise and practically hurled himself to the other end of the bed, covering his face like a blushing maiden.
“What are you doing!?” he shrieked, and Ballister tossed his trousers aside with an amused laugh.
“Thighs, remember?” he smirked, “The inner thigh is the best place to inject.”
“R-Right-“ he swallowed thickly, though he didn’t uncover his face, his voice adorably high, “I uh, I guess that makes sense. Right. Pants would just get in the way, right? Right. I’ll just… I’ll just do the thing. Right.”
“I’ll guide you the entire way.” Ballister braced himself against the wall, posing seductively just to be a brat, “But you’ll have to look at me, sunshine.” Ambrosius took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, before he lowered his arms and opened his eyes, and Ballister took great pride in the noise he let out when he saw Ballister leaning against the wall like a common streetwalker, pantless and corseted, waiting for him.
“You are… impossible.” he growled as he rose from the bed, closing the scant distance between them and sinking to his knees with a deep exhale, and Ballister’s mouth went dry at the sight. Ambrosius’ hand was warm as he grasped his thigh, pulling it up with an easy strength that threatened to take Ballister’s breath away, pinning it to the wall and holding it there with no effort at all as his other hand lifted the needle injector.
“And I just… right into the muscle?” he asked uncertainly, his thumb stroking repetitively along soft flesh, soothing and comforting, but which of them he was trying to soothe was anyone’s guess. Ballister nodded, suddenly not trusting his voice, trailing a hand down to press at the muscle of his inner thigh, fingers brushing Ambrosius’.
“There.” he murmured, and Ambrosius nodded. It hit him then, really hit him, that Ambrosius Goldenlion was kneeling between his bare legs, a strong hand easily keeping his thigh aloft as he examined it like it held all the world’s secrets, cheeks bright red but expression set and carefully blank. Ballister bit his lip and hoped the twitching of his cock wasn’t too noticeable, though he didn’t hold out much hope given Ambrosius’ proximity to it. Gloreth, it would be so easy for Ambrosius to lean in, to open that pretty mouth and-
A pinch at his thigh, a flush of coolness radiating out from the injection point, and then Ambrosius was setting the injector aside. He slowly let Ballister’s thigh drop with something almost like reluctance, his hand gliding along dark skin until Ballister was safely on two feet again, leaning against the wall as he tried to conceal the sudden wobble of his legs. How very typical that the slightest tenderness from his knight got him weak-kneed and wanting, the littlest touch making him swoon. It wasn’t fair.
Myth hit much faster when injected, and less than a minute passed before Ballister began to feel floaty and warm, skin buzzing and tongue tingling, the world taking on a soft hazy glow that seemed to draw out the black light in Ambrosius’ eyes as he peered curiously up at him. He sighed, soft and relieved, the tightness in his chest loosening as the pink light of the room wavered like the water of a mall fountain.
“Mn, that’s it.” he breathed, dragging his hands over his stomach, his chest, his throat, just to feel the warm ripples left in their wake, “Oh, I can breathe again.” He stumbled, but Ambrosius lurched to his feet to steady him, hands catching his waist with a heat so searing he let out a moan, pressing forward for more as Ambrosius’ grip tightened hard enough to ache. He wondered if he’d have bruises tomorrow, in the shape of Ambrosius’ fingertips. Gloreth he hoped so.
“Oh, don’t touch me like that when you don’t mean it.” he echoed Ambrosius’ earlier words, tilting his head up to mewl it in his ear, and Ambrosius’ answering shiver was wracking and fullbody.
“You’re high, I’m not doing anything with you.” he said tightly, trying to pull back only for Ballister’s needy grip to stop him.
“But you would if I were sober?” he asked, earning an exasperated little noise as he arched into his touch.
“Does Myth always-Why is it always about sex with you?” Ambrosius demanded exasperatedly, and Ballister gave a dopey little grin, charmed by his attitude, his looks, his voice, the way he kept hold of Ballister to keep him steady.
“Because how can I think of anything else when you look the way you do?” he asked softly, more softly than he’d intended, the words just spilling out of him like the waterfalls he chased, “And not just looks, Gloreth no, your whole personality is just… wow. You know?”
“I don’t know.” a slight crinkle of amusement formed around his eyes, a hint of laughter, “You like my personality?”
“You’re so nice.” he nodded earnestly, the motion making him dizzy, “You’re too nice to me. I’ve never met anyone as nice as you.”
“I push you around and call you names all the time, Ballister.” he pointed out with a curve to his pretty lips.
“Yes, but never with any malice.” he smiled, lashes fluttering, “S’nice when it comes from you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ambrosius murmured, and Ballister nodded happily, pleased that he’d get more attention from his knight. The room wavered again, making him sway in place, steadied by gentle warm hands, and he remembered distantly that Ambrosius had said he’d leave once he’d drugged him up.
“Can’t help but notice you’re still here.” he mumbled hazily, “Weren’t you supposed to head out?”
“You didn’t seriously think I’d leave a man drugged up in a shady establishment like this, did you?” Ambrosius asked the question like it was obvious, like Ballister should have seen this coming a mile away, and honestly he probably should have.
“I’d kinda hoped.” he groaned, dropping his head against Ambrosius’ sternum, “Don’t make me crack open again.”
“Crack open?”
“Like last time, in your room.” he leaned into him, soaking in his warmth, “I told you about my arm, I let you touch it. You saw me all… soft.”
“What’s wrong with soft?” Ambrosius asked gently, earning a snort.
“No one likes soft.” he shook his head, marveling at the soft texture of Ambrosius’ sweater, “At least not on me.“ Ambrosius made a discontented noise at that, and all of a sudden a hand was cupping Ballister’s cheek and lifting his face, a warm forehead pressing against his as an arm slid securely around his waist, pulling him close.
“Maybe I think you deserve to be soft.” Ambrosius murmured, so achingly sincere it almost hurt. Ballister’s breath caught, teeth catching on his bottom lip as he instinctively rejected his words.
“You don’t know what I deserve.” he replied, matching his tone, their breaths mingling, Ambrosius so close and so sweet and so lavender-scented and… and…
It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss him, to slide his arms around his shoulders and drag him in, just like in the alley but a thousand times better. No one to perform for, no danger to hide from, just him and his knight alone in a room like they were the last two people on Earth. Ambrosius’ lips were soft and parting, tasting of vanilla chapstick and sunshine, pausing only for a moment before moving against his like he was just as desperate for this, like he needed Ballister just as badly as Ballister needed him. Ambrosius gasped into his mouth, lashes fluttering against Ballister’s cheek, head tilting to deepen the kiss and pull Ballister flush against him with a grip so tight it took his breath away, secure and strong and safe and perfect-
And then Ambrosius abruptly wrenched himself away, chest heaving, pupils blown, and Ballister let out an honest-to-Gloreth whine, chasing his lips like the desperate dog he was, only to be stopped by Ambrosius’ shaking hands at his chest.
“Why’d you stop?” Ballister was panting, his hands coming up to run through Ambrosius’ silky hair, trying and failing to pull him into another kiss, “I want you, why’d you stop?” Ambrosius looked conflicted, pained, a tormented furrow to his brow, lips reddened and shining and calling to Ballister like a siren song.
“Ballister.” he rasped unsteadily, “This… This is the drug talking, I…I can’t…”
“Myth doesn’t put ideas in one’s head, silly.” he mumbled, giving up and dropping his hands, bereft, “Just makes everything floaty and warm. Loosens the tongue. Wanna kiss you so bad, all the time, every moment.”
“Why?” if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Ambrosius looked tortured, “Why are you saying these things, Ballister?”
“I think I’m in love with you." He was suddenly very tired, letting his knees give out and trusting Ambrosius to catch him, which he did without hesitation, strong arms curling around his thighs and hefting him up. Ambrosius murmured something Ballister didn’t catch, shaky and disbelieving, his grip tightening as carried him over to the bed and set him down so gently, so carefully, like he was important. It made his chest ache.
Which reminded him…
“Goldenlion?” he called, and a hand brushed the errant hairs from his forehead.
“Yes?” Ambrosius had the strangest expression on his face, and Ballister couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
“I’m dying.” he confessed, and Ambrosius snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a touch.
“You’re just high, Bal.” he said, and the casual nickname sent something wild scorching through his veins, better and more powerful than any drug, and any thoughts of disclosing his condition evaporated like steam.
“Call me that again.” he pleaded, not caring how pathetic he may seem. But Ambrosius, sweet kind wonderful Ambrosius, indulged him as he so often did, as if he deserved it.
“Bal.” he murmured, soft as the hand in his hair, “Sleep this off, alright? Or drift or do whatever it is you do when you’re high. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Ballister thought about responding, but the drug was pulling him under now, and opening his mouth seemed like such an inconvenience.
“Alright…” he mumbled, or at least attempted to, hazy eyes trying and failing to keep Ambrosius in his sight for as long as possible.
He swore he felt the barest press of something soft against his lips, but the waves of Myth pulled him under before he could think about it any further.
—-
He woke up with the clinging drowsiness that came after a good high, body pleasantly heavy and sinking into the soft mattress beneath him, the morning sun blocked out by the curtains, leaving the room pleasantly dim. He stretched with a satisfying groan, feeling his back pop, his aching shoulder complaining at him for falling asleep with his prosthetic on as he moved to get out of the bed, hoping to sneak down to the kitchens and snag something to fill his rumbling stomach.
Only to be stopped by a pair of arms wrapped around him, a secure and heavy weight that smelled of lavender, and the events of last night returned to him in a sickening rush as his blood went cold, recalling the pathetic way he’d thrown himself at Ambrosius like a cat in heat, stealing a kiss and rambling about his emotions, making his poor knight tuck him into bed like a child after confessing his love-
Gloreth, he was no better than Charibert.
Ambrosius was thankfully still asleep, his arms wrapped snugly around Ballister’s waist, slack face buried in his shoulder as warm breath ghosted against the bare skin, soft lips pressed sweetly to the junction of his throat in the most maddening way. It was everything he’d ever dreamed, and it was entirely unearned, undeserved. How could he have let this happen? Why couldn’t Ambrosius have just left? Why did he have to stay and let Ballister spill his fucking guts out like a lovesick maiden? Was that his plan all along, earn the dirty criminal’s trust and get him to spill his secrets, his weaknesses? Was it all a ploy to get leverage over him?
But as soon as thought formed, he discarded it. Ambrosius just wasn’t that kind of man.
“Damn you.” he whispered defeatedly into the quiet of the room, “Why do you have to make everything so complicated? Why do I let you?” Ambrosius, predictably, didn’t answer, snuffling slightly in his sleep and drawing closer to him, warm and perfect and utterly out of Ballister’s league.
It wasn’t fair.
“You’re so far above me it’s not even funny.” he murmured, “You’re like a star in the sky, and I’m a clumsy stupid little spider stuck in my dark hole, reaching for something that could never be mine.”
Ambrosius sleepily mumbled something into his shoulder, muffled and unintelligible, teeth lightly grazing his skin, and Ballister realized he had two choices. One, he could stay and wait for Ambrosius to wake, explain himself and make his excuses and hope to Gloreth he hadn’t pushed too far this time for even Ambrosius to put up with. Or two, he could flee with his tail between his legs like the dog he’d behaved as, sparing Ambrosius the sight of him and letting the man maintain the distance between them as he saw fit.
The choice was ridiculously easy. Ballister had always been a coward.
Extracting himself from Ambrosius’ embrace was like pulling a piece of himself off, like flaying himself alive, but he managed to free himself without waking the sleeping beauty beside him. He found his trousers folded neatly on the desk, smoothed of any wrinkles, and felt his breath catch at the simple kindness, forcing him to hunch over and physically force the coughs back down his throat, unwilling to risk waking Ambrosius. He dressed mechanically, slipping on his cloak before leaning down to tug the blanket more securely over Ambrosius, allowing himself a single selfish moment of watching his peacefully sleeping face, a single slot of morning light spilling across his lips as if to remind Ballister why he was doing this, why he couldn’t stay.
After a moment of just watching him, he reached into his boot and pulled out the little knife he kept, small and pretty, more an athame than anything else. But it was sturdy and sharp, a gold hilt and silver blade contrasting nicely with each other, like the sun and the moon, like day and night, like Ambrosius and Ballister. It was… poetic?
He was pathetic.
Feeling more than a little wretched, he wrapped the knife in a cloth and slipped it into the pocket of Ambrosius’ trousers, hoping Ambrosius took good care of it, hoping he saw it for the apology it was, a lovely parting gift from a coward. He exited the room and eased the door closed behind him, not waiting to see if the barely-there sound had woken his… the knight. He went downstairs, stopping just long enough to get a hungover Odelia’s word that Ambrosius would be guarded until he woke, and then he was pulling his hood up and stepping out into the smoggy streets, the morning light at his back, and Ambrosius along with it.