play on.

And there’s the reason, the excuse, that it wasn’t stay she heard it was go. For when she wants to hear something she usually does, and it’s always through manipulation or pretense. This time, with him, she’s trying not to do that. It’s much harder to reveal than only appear to. 

Keeps her back to the door as she closes it, latch clicking with a sound that seems to reverberate long past she removes her hand. As she steps across to the base of the stairs, in fact, and maybe it’s necessary because she isn’t saying anything but is trying to communicate otherwise.  “I haven’t been able to read you at all lately. Since the boat.” Protecting her, suffering for it. This stifling caution that has her hold her breath. The way her gaze catches on his and doesn’t withdraw, the illusion of challenge while she is the one searching for clues. She’s doing it still, looking up at him in curiosity, waiting for some kind of answer, even as she steps out of her heels. The noise of them dropping neatly fills the silence again, or maybe it’s the intimacy of the act, the vulnerability of presuming herself permitted.  Steps up level with him, shifting to face without glancing away.  “You can tell me about those drastic methods another time. I wouldn’t want to tire you out, just yet.” 

There it is, the lightness, the lack of care, their little game. Doesn’t fit as comfortably as it used to, not when she less fears losing at it than having it be all there is.  Advances one step further up, despite the fact he leads the way. Lifts her hand for palm to curve in invitation. “Let me help you conserve your energy.” 

“Ah. But if I’d been easy to read. If I’d taken more than a kiss in the water.“ He watched as she stepped out of her heels. Delicate ankles, small feet. “I doubt you’d be here. And we have that in common, don’t we? The pair of us.“

Calina stepped up the staircase. Her bare feet padding softly on the marble as she brushed past, planting herself on the step above his to catch, hold his attention at eye level. “We don’t like things.... easy. Do we?”

His index figure was callous. The skin thick. Rough from tapping at triggers and drawing knives. And he dragged it along her collar, pressing on her pulse before tracing the line of her neck. Tipped her chin up. “So. Should we do it here? Or upstairs? You’ve just gotten so good at it. Undressing me. I’d rather not bother doing it myself.”

Orion leaned in. Mouth parted. Waiting for her to answer. And he was honest with himself.

He’d like to give her more than a kiss this time.

we should have guessed. should have noted. we paid in gold and heartache. we stood there in the winter sunlight, gray as ghosts.

It doesn’t take much for her to believe in confirmation. The idea that has haunted her for weeks- that somehow she tricked him, is still manipulating him. Pulling at strings she wasn’t aware were there.

And she knows how heady it is to be dependent on someone, to be free of responsibility or hassle. It’s never happened to her, but there’s a spiteful voice in the back of her mind that sometimes claims that’s why she was saved from death the first time. Dulls the senses and numbs clarity, restricts choice. Led her to appear as more than she is.  He’s been living in her house, spending weeks subject to her whims. She’d never thought of him without control, without freedom, until..  Can’t stop thinking about it now. Fearing that there’s truth to it, that his will is reduced by their intimacy, by the results of the.. For the past several weeks I couldn’t be rid of your company.  It takes a while for any other other words to reach her mind, though she stood and listened before looping the straps of the holdall on the door handle, reached across just inside the door but didn’t step over the threshold. Walked away down the drive. 

Halfway around the front of the car, her path to the passenger side, when she remembers why it is she can’t risk being wrong. Or why she wants to. Would rather she not get credit in this one case. It’s not worth anything, even if it saved her life.  Doesn’t stop in her tracks, just continues on to the passenger side, opens the door and settles down. Still time for those unfortunate beliefs, the ones that seem more solid than the question of why.  No, she shakes her head, offers some conversation finally to the driver, but only as a means to rid herself of words, perhaps a change in decision.  The engine has always been running, no harsh startup as she exits and the car pulls away. Just continuation.  She welcomes the distraction of it as she walks back to that door.  “You either want rid of me or you don’t. You’ve never been without choice.” Questions it still even when she has shown her hand. 

Impossible not to notice--the way Calina drew back. Turned her head, her body away from his flippant words. It was a subtle rebellion against the sentiment he’d fabricated to be airy and light, mild and easy to swallow. After all, it had been too thick--the air between them. The tension palatable. And he’d thought it would be best to dissipate it by playing at their old games. That nostalgic disregard. Yet--he couldn’t resist it. Making an offer. And this one shifted over the battle lines between their games and into a new territory of intimacy.

She had a choice.

Calina turned away.

Left.

And Orion tipped his chin down. Carded his fingers through his hair and moved up the stairway to the second floor. “Come along, Alexander.”

On the third step--her voice stopped him.

And he pressed his lower back against the banister, the wood notching against his spine. “Here I assumed my suggestion that you to stay was enough of an answer.” Gaze lidded. Caught on her face, all intent and invitation. “If my choice still unclear?“

He drummed his fingers on the banister.

“Calina. Don’t make me resort to drastic methods to keep you here. I’d rather save my energy for--”

Cassian hadn’t been invited.

This wasn’t a cause for concern - not yet - and it wasn’t as though he wished to go mingle, talk to those who had nothing but blood or frippery in their heads. 

He moved on with his life, as there were always more events, more networking to be done, a public image to be curating. Such as a charity gala, his thoughts on charity, philanthropism, government, more, requested and questioned and leaving them nodding to themselves. He could overwhelm them, feed them lines from reports and textbooks, but that was always a sign that you didn’t understand the material itself. He just - waited until the end of the conversation to do that. 

No need to be seen as something obtainable.

As the night dragged on, Cassian took a moment to step outside, to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by mundane questions and stupidity. Small lights guided the way, before he saw the face of Orion turning towards him.

The rose didn’t look bad against the clean lines of his suit, so Cassian left it in there, inclining his head at the quick comments. He was almost tempted to smirk, to show amusement, but merely stepped closer, dropping his mouth to Orion’s ear, the finger on his chest pressing into the layers of silk and linen.

“You mean like this?”

Then a scoff, and Cassian took two paces back, looking at his, his what, colleague, acquaintance, amusement, with an assessing glance. “And no, I wasn’t following you. You Italians are so quick to assume utmost importance. Though I must say it is rare for me to be accused of too much Americanism.”

At the mention of his fiance, Cassian shrugs, focuses on the lights inside the roses. “Public image is more her specialty.” It would be too easy to start talking about her, start talking around her and clues to be picked up on the exact nature of their relationship. The world was always such a tricky place to live in.

“Though how is your own love life coming along?” The two endured each other, talked in a way that Cassian didn’t talk with anyone else, anyone dumb. Mundane conversation could only be held by those who were decidedly not mundane.

Cassian moved in a way that made Orion’s shoulders tighten. Aware of his pulse–the escalating, rapid fire beat of it as Cassian advanced, mouth to Orion’s ear, pressure and proximity forcing him to withdraw his finger and spread his palm flat on Cassian’s chest.

You mean like this?

“Well.” Orion remained solid as Cassian withdrew, gaze half-mast and mouth curving leisurely. Roguish. “They did say you were a glutton for attention.“

And nature had a way of making the prettiest things dangerous. Bright tropical scales promising poison. Magnificent predators with oil slick fur and white, daggered teeth. And there was Cassian–with his attentive cat eyes. Cassian–with that honeyed and sharp tongue darting between canines with every though and this.

Silence, left in a vacuum. Sucking all his words in, his reply, leaving his lungs breathless. He breathes. Unmoored. Tip of his thumb curling into flesh, pads dragging across manicured nails.

He shuts his eyes. When he opens them again the world is out of focus.

“I don’t understand.” Hollowed out. The light gleaming on the key left on the table. He can see it without sight.

“You need to-” stilted, looking for the right word, the correct emotion, “You need to explain this to me. I don’t understand.” Feeble in its repetition even to his own ears.

Inside him a bubbling of hysteria, cut at the seams. Left to float up and out. Leaving his body like all the air in him.

He’s a fool and if Orion doesn’t tell him right now then Hector might get foolish ideas. There’s no helping it after all. He’s senseless and blind and–

Silence, again. Teeth aching, pressed together too long. Room too small, everything stuffed inside. Everything that can’t get out straining at the slit in the windowsill, struggle of air bunching up at the blinds.

“What am I to you.”

Absurd- as soon as he says it, able to taste the apology, bitter and wilting on his tongue. Odd fear that he will have disappointed. Like he should already know. Like Orion expects him to know. He doesn’t. He doesn’t.

There was a stillness in the aftermath of Hector’s not-question. More demand than request. And that (an appeal for more substance, reasoning, answers) was uncommon enough to hold Orion’s interest.

What am I to you.

But it wavered--the words. Unstable and hesitant. Vaporous. And if Orion was so inclined, he could ignore it. Feign ignorance and pretend he hadn’t heard. Absent of the necessary conviction to back it, the demand would evaporate. Crumble and scatter, abandoned by Hector’s hollow spine.

Orion curled his fingers around the handle of the coffee mug. Brought it up from the table and cooled the steaming surface with a long, drawn out exhale.

“You’ve chosen me. Haven’t you? I’m not ignorant to what you’ve given up for that decision.”

Hiran.

“It must have been difficult.”

A sip of coffee. A swallow, and pause to drive the point in, twist it--that practiced sympathy.

“So, I suppose. I’m taking responsibility for you. And speaking quite plainly.” He placed the mug down on the coffee table. Lifted his chin and caught Hector’s eye. “I want something more than just a casual fuck.“

He’d switched allegiances. Shrugged off old devotions. Tore promises and alliances to toss haphazard behind him as he stepped over drawn lines of loyalty. And the only constant had been--

“Hector.”

He stood. Moved. Stopped by Hector’s left side, close enough to smell, taste, take if he wanted to (and Hector always gave, didn’t he?). He leaned in. Lowered his voice as if there was someone around to hear aside from his likeness on paper, scattered on the table. Mouth open, breath warm, he soothed into the shell of Hector’s ear.

“I do what I can,” he said, eyes flicking up as he continued to work, a mischievous smile curling his lip. He silently watched Orion move about, going between him and the work at hand. There was only so much stiff movements could mean, and Nikolai wasn’t sure it was because Orion had shown someone else the tricks of his mind-blowing trade. If it were that, he’d probably be walking a little funny, too.

Orion’s reaction made Nik laugh, louder than it most likely should’ve been, considering the time and reason they were there. The idea of him riding on a white horse to save anyone was nothing less than hysterical. He preferred to swoop in and burn the whole town. “I’m always the dragon. Can’t say I see any locked towers to guard, though. Who’s got you caged?” He smiled, crossed a couple of wires and plugged them into their proper outlet. “Who needs a good roast?”

He heard the clink of the pin as it hit the docks before he saw the gleam of metal in Orion’s hand. The words had barely left his ornery mouth before the ticking time bomb was flying through the air, straight for Nikolai. He flashed his teeth, all smiles as he jumped to catch it, tossing it in his hand a couple times when he did. Eyes on Orion the whole time, he kissed it and threw it so it skipped across the water like a pebble, sinking into the depths just a few seconds before the water rippled, some spewing into the air like it had just burst from a volcano. Nik laughed with glee, rubbing his hands together. His work remained intact! The dragon wasn’t slayed! “Shit that felt good. Better than a fuckin’ cup of coffee.”

After the excitement had settled, he continued his work until all his explosives were connected, until the gas can Orion brought with him was stationed just where Nik wanted it. He checked his watch. And with time to spare. Hopping off the boat as if he were light as a feather, Nikolai grabbed a metal rod attached to the outside of his backpack, and a can labeled “paraffin.” When he told Orion he’d brought everything, he’d meant everything. And from the look of it, the princess wanted to have some fun. “Now we wait. Once our guy gets here, we can enjoy the grand finale.”

Eyebrows jumping in play, Nik dipped the end of the rod into the fuel, soaking the cloth attached to it and shaking off any excess over the water. His gaze met Orion’s, a warning twinkle in his eye as he flicked his thumb across the lighter he’d been given and lit the torch. Like hell he would let Orion do all the giving on this date. “Ever seen a dragon roar?”

He turned away from the flame, from the smell of burning paraffin, and inhaled deeply through his nose until he thought his lungs might burst. Grabbing the can of paraffin, he quickly poured a generous amount of fuel into his mouth, careful not to swallow as he wiped away any excess drops from his face. And then, with the torch flame aimed directly above the boat, Nikolai unleashed fiery hell. Fuel misted from his mouth as he blew with force toward the flame, fire rocketing into the night sky like an inferno that threatened to eat everything alive. There was a reason he fit in with the rest of Severine’s circus acts, and there was a reason his pyrotechnics booth had burned down. Performances sometimes had a way of going wrong.

Eventually all the fuel was gone from his mouth, though he continued to blow what air he could out so none of that beautiful fire came back to bite his face off, and to make sure he’d rid himself of any leftover vapors. He took another deep breath through his nose once he was in the clear, dipping his torch into the water to extinguish it. Nikolai turned back to Orion with a smile, and for a moment, it felt like wisps of smoke could be escaping from between his teeth. “You should’ve been there the first time I did that. Not nearly as pretty.”

“Better than coffee? Surprisingly tame a comparison for--“

His voice was drowned by the blast of the grenade. Orion turned his head, the droplets scattering on his profile, his suit, his shoes. The fabric damp and the oxfords glittering in the lamplight. And in the silence and glittering mist, he continued,  “--a man who enjoys the bite of fire.“

Always full of surprises--this one. Orion lit another cigarette, gaze latched on Nikolai as he bustled about the boat, hands quick, expression manic. There was something alluring about the volatile man’s attention to detail. 

Ever seen a dragon roar?

Orion’s shoulders tensed at the burst of flame. Heat and light poured from Nikolai’s open mouth, and Orion’s cheeks flushed--warmed by the fire, sweat dampening his brow. Tipping his head back, Orion laughed, wound pulsing in discomfort with the clenching of his belly. He’d always been enamored by things with teeth and sharp edges. Half the fun was the risk of getting cut. The thrill at the potential of pain. Nikolai was a natural disaster--a storm. Mostly fire, brimstone and bared canines.

Orion’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Glittered white in the aftermath of sparks and heat.

“Keep that mouth away from me.” Placing his fingers over Nikolai’s smile. The skin was warm there. Slick and slippery. Orion pushed--before drawing his hand back at the suddenly flash and dim of a car’s headlights turning the corner into the pier.

“Why don’t you take charge tonight, firestarter.”