“I’ve seen how you look at me,” Lucien said, his eyes glinting garnets in the shadow thrown from the campfire.

“And how is that?” Caleb asked, feeling pinned.  His hands flexed involuntarily.  He hoped, vainly, it could be passed off as a reaction to the cold night.

Lucien leaned closer.  Even his scent was familiar, Caleb realized.  Mollymauk had smelled like homemade herbal muscle balm, like strong tea, with an undertone of earth and spice. While Lucien bore no medicinal scent, the rest of the bouquet was still there, subtle and warm.  It filtered through Caleb’s senses, creeping into his brain and wringing memories from it.  Old wants, old longings. 

“Oh, I think you know,” Lucien murmured, his lips curling around the words, his breath warm against Caleb’s ear. “And just so you’re aware… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Caleb swallowed, tongue suddenly two sizes too big, and felt the world slip out from under him just a little more.

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