2. A Bardic Gift #2
And then, unfortunately, he did. A dozen times. He’d even fetched his harp at one point, and danced and sang for all those trapped within the inn during the storm, and drank free spirits gifted to him by the innkeep. The rain raged on as a bottle of wine joined the happy crowd, and—
The morning light fell over Aria’s face, blinding and painful before he opened his eyes, and he moaned.
He managed to roll away from the warm rays, and that made him moan again.
His mind rolled, and his stomach did the same, and the disorientation of his surroundings got worse as a pair of large, warm hands closed in around his hips from behind.
“Good. You are awake.”
Aria bolted out of the bed with speed he should not have been capable of considering how hungover he felt. His blurry vision cleared to reveal Rebel in his bed, shirtless and smiling.
“Sorry. I should have let you fall back to sleep. But I wanted to offer my services before it was too late. You plan to depart this morn, do you not?”
Aria pushed his tangled blond hair away from his face and took stock of himself.
All limbs accounted for. Clothes: on. Sobriety: returned.
Both things a miracle considering how much he’d imbibed.
His head ached, but at least he had no recollection of having behaved poorly.
For the majority of the night, he sang for patrons of the inn, and danced with one person after the next.
He danced with everyone, actually, except Noble Yves.
Aria remembered the last dance with Rebel, and Rebel asking to share in his bed, and—
Aria also remembered how they fell asleep without so much as a kiss. Aria’s voice took a minute to reach his hoarse throat, and he said, “I apologize. I’m a little hazy on, ah, everything. You said services?”
“Noble told me you wanted to have sex with someone. Desperate for it, he said, specifically. We do not have much time left, but it will be enough for me to suck you and fuck you both. In whichever order you prefer.”
The nausea that had been threatening Aria erupted, full force, into his throat. He stumbled back, towards the curtained chamber pot, and threw up. His knees pressed into the hard wooden floorboards, fingers tangled against his own scalp in an attempt to save his hair from the mess.
His stomach cramped, uncramped, cramped again.
After a moment of tense, pained silence—it passed.
Aria took a deep breath, shuddering, and managed to reach the sink nearby.
He washed his mouth, his face, his hands, and emerged minutes later from behind the curtain, towel pressed to his lips.
He hummed a small spell, clearing his mind and body of the winesick. Mostly.
Rebel’s frown greeted him as Aria sat at the edge of the unmade bed. Rebel was shirtless still, his glistening abs and folded hands stiff with concern. “Are you sick?”
“No,” Aria said, voice muffled. He lowered the towel and said, “Some. I don’t often imbibe.
But that is—ah.” He had no idea how to say what he wanted to say.
“Rebel, I apologize, but I do not want you to—” suck me and fuck me, he didn’t say.
His skin crawled with abject horror as the words echoed inside him.
He snapped his jaw closed, and he took to dabbing his face clean of the water again.
The words found him, again, and he finished, “I do not want to make love to you. I’m not desperate for it.
I separated from my boyfriend barely a fortnight ago, and I don’t mean to go to bed with someone this soon.
I’m afraid our friend Lord Noble Yves St. Clair misrepresented the situation. ” To say the least.
Rebel’s rich brown skin grew ashen gray. “What?”
Aria wanted this to all be over. He wanted to be in New Hieroph already. He wanted… He wanted to kill Noble. “Fucking Noble.”
“No, that name. Lord Noble Yves… St. Clair?” Rebel asked, eyes growing wider as he said each of Noble’s names.
Aria gritted his teeth, “Right? It’s a stupid name. I hate it. I hate him.”
Rebel jumped out of the bed and began searching the floor for his shirt. “Shit. Fuck. I did not know. He is a royal? He is a St. Clair.”
“Yes, obviously—” Aria started to say, and then reality dawned on him the way the sunlight dawned across the bed. The clarity, jarring. The rage, justified. “You didn’t know he was Noble. You didn’t know him. You aren’t actually old friends.”
“You called him My Lord, and I thought it was some kind of joke between companions,” Rebel said behind grit teeth.
He pulled on his black linen top and fastened the twine at the neckline.
“I never would have spoken a word to the man if I knew.” Rebel made his way to the door and said, “Sorry. About—you know.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that,” Aria said, stepping towards him, stomach tightening again. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. I apologize. For him.”
NOBLE
Noble hoped to cross paths with Rebel when he took off that morning, to debrief about the success of his and Aria’s coupling, but he had no such luck.
Noble instead departed the inn with the dawning sun and decided to proactively procure fresh bread and bring around the carriage, both ready for Aria’s arrival.
He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t sleep.
Sometimes he caught himself straining to hear… something. What was he listening for?
Nothing. No one. He busied himself by repacking his clothes for the rest of the trip and by having another cup of tea in the dining chamber.
You’re welcome, Noble planned to say, holding the door open, grinning charmingly and with all his might.
He’d try not to spend the whole day gloating about his success in winning Aria over.
But a little bit of preening had been earned.
It was probably the best gift Noble had ever given someone. A lover.
As Noble got a third mug of tea, he heard footsteps on the stairs, and he looked over to see Aria with suitcase in hand.
His hair was damp and pulled back tightly against his head.
His face was smooth, expressionless, blue eyes gray-looking in the dim morning light.
He passed through the central chamber and out to the carriage in the front.
Noble finished his tea in one gulp and sprinted out the doors.
He had to make sure to open the coach door.
That was the most important part of his Aria-specific plans.
Noble darted by Aria and stopped at the carriage door. Now, just like he planned: he grinned. “You’re—"
Aria snapped, “I do not need you to open my door.”
Noble’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Huh?”
“I do not mean to speak with you. I do not mean to be friendly with you. I mean to survive the next two days of our trip, and then I would like to part ways. Amicably.” He said, icily, “If possible.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Noble squinted at Aria, taking him in, the mid-morning light shining upon him like a spotlight above.
Aria’s face was entirely closed off. Colder than all the times before, like he wore a porcelain mask.
“Are you embarrassed?” He needed details.
How was it? Had Aria relaxed beneath Rebel’s hands like—
Aria interrupted his thoughts with a snap. “We are not going to talk about this.”
Noble sucked air through his teeth. Shit. “Rebel was no good.” A barely perceptible knot loosened beneath his ribs. It was replaced, almost immediately, by a new one. Caused by the glare Aria flashed his way.
Aria dropped his suitcase with a thump. “Rebel is a good person, and more importantly, not your old friend. You lied to me. And you lied to him. And you told him I was desperate.”
Noble cringed. “It’s not like I meant it badly, Aria. Truly, I meant only to sing your praises, so that he would want to… You know.”
“Suck me and fuck me,” Aria said, and his voice was toneless, flat. Noble could have laughed. Could have, if he wasn’t confused. “As he kindly offered.”
“You didn’t have sex, then.” Aria wouldn’t be spitting mad if he’d gotten off in the night.
“No.”
Good. No, wait—damn. “Why not?”
“I don’t want to have sex with strangers on the road. I care about my reputation.”
That sounded dangerously close to an insult. Noble furrowed his brow and took a step forward. “Did you not find him favorable?”
“You aren’t listening,” Aria said. “It matters not if I find Rebel favorable. I would not have sex with him either way.”
Noble threw his hands up. “Gods. I don’t know what else I could possibly do. I was trying to be kind!"
“You insulted me.” Aria’s fists trembled near his pale, unmarked thighs visible beneath the silky pinkish-brown tunic he wore loose around his frame.
“I did no such thing,” Noble said, forcing himself to focus on Aria’s doll-like face. Confusion and anger warred within his chest. “I wanted to help. I was trying to be a friend to you.”
“How would this help me?”
“You’ve been pensive—wound tightly—for days. I thought Rebel would relieve some of this tension. You said it yourself! You seek love.” His logic was undeniable. He spread his hands and said, “You could have tried it, at least. Why wouldn’t you?”
Aria said, behind gritted teeth, “I am not wound tightly. You think there’s something wrong with me, but this is who I am. And I don’t need fixing. Not by you, of all people. I’ve tolerated your lack of manners with as much patience as I possibly could.” He exhaled a trembling breath.
Noble blurted, “You’ve been an obnoxious lout this whole damned trip.” The confusion lost the war within. Noble saw it clearly now: Aria was an incorrigible snob.
“Forgive me for not falling to your feet like you’re used to.” Aria was an entire head shorter than Noble, but he managed to stare Noble down. The cool mask he wore slipped enough for him to look truly disgusted. “I am not like you or your friends. You have made that clear.”