#rf lukas

Camus held two fingers up at the bar to signal for another round. He and Lukas should have been cut off an hour ago, but heavens knew that Emmett was never one to come between a broken heart and its liquor. They’d be scraped off the bar room floor at last call, or they’d be damned. 

It had been the worst day for both of them, and despite not knowing each other well, they’d become comrades-in-heartbreak in a matter of moments. The similarity? They’d lost the girls of their dreams to the same man. Raguna had come to town nearly four years ago and won the hearts of every one in town, including most of Kardia’s bachelorettes. When he left to search for Mist, so many of them had followed in his footsteps out of Kardia, for one reason or another. Including Melody and Rosetta. Really, it was unfair to blame Raguna, since it wasn’t his fault Melody had decided to look for more hot springs, or that Rosetta had had a fight with her father, but the coincidence of them leaving all at once was too much to ignore, or call chance. At least neither of them were going to call it that. It was easier to have a scapegoat and something to drink to. Emmett brought them their round, and Lukas and Camus clicked their glasses together in a toast before knocking them back. 

“Y’know the worst part?” Lukas continued on a conversation Camus had forgotten they’d been having. “I’d almost finished my epic poem in Rosetta’s honor,” he slurred.

“That’s rough. I was so close to confessing I just...” Camus’ voice trailed off, looking into his glass for answers. He didn’t know why he’d never confessed to Melody. Nerves, maybe. It was hard to look at the person you had strong feelings for and lay out your heart. He wished he had though. Even if it had been to be rejected. He wished he’d have known what she’d have said. It was too late for that now, and he called Emmett over for another round.

“Boys, maybe you should slow it down a bit...” Emmett started, but the looks on the boys’ faces made him sigh and pour out another couple drinks.

“I’m gonna die alone,” Lukas sighed. Camus felt for him. Didn’t want to admit he felt as hopeless. He’d never wanted to stay in this town, but it looked like he was going to live and die here, with no one at his side. Dad would get a kick out of that, he thought bitterly, then regretted it. It was the booze talking, he knew. His father loved him, wanted the best for him, but what his father thought and what Camus thought were different things.

“Hey, hey, hey. no,” Camus soothed, slinging one booze-heavy arm around Lukas’ shoulder. “Y’not gonna die ‘lone. We got each other.” He lifted his glass in solidarity to show he meant it. Lukas smiled, lopsided and Camus wondered it that was his vision, the drinks, or if Lukas just always smiled like that. It was endearing either way. They toasted again and downed their drinks. 

By the time the night was winding down, Lukas was leaning just as heavily on Camus as Camus was on him. They were still in their bar stools, even as Emmett was closing down shop. It was more for their safety than anything else, Camus reasoned as they slowly extracted themselves from their seats. They staggered out, and Camus shouldered most of Lukas’ weight, not by virtue of being more sober, but because he was strong enough to carry them both. Lukas commented on this as they made their way to Lady Ann’s Inn, and Camus tried to hide the heat that that brought to his already red face. 

“From those damn...huts...” Camus huffed, realizing how pleasantly warm Lukas was on his side. Underneath the smell of the drinks, he had a pleasant scent as well. Something herbal. It wafted softly, none too overpowering and Camus felt like it was playing with his head, because he looked at Lukas, and Lukas was looking at him, and there was something there. He didn’t know what it was but it turned his stomach in a way he couldn’t blame on the booze. He turned away, and shoved the door to Lady Ann’s open.

Most of the inn occupants were asleep, and so Camus did his best to be quiet, but how well he did was beyond him now. He tromped through the foyer until he came to the room Lukas pointed out as his. He shouldered the door, barely handling the doorknob of the center room as Lukas chuckled and shushed him. Camus couldn’t help but laugh too. They were a mess, and he could see them from outside of himself. A couple of heartbroken, drunken, losers, trying to get a door open. 

Finally he managed the door, pulling it open and spilling in like a wave. He and Lukas split, then came together like a dance. Lukas’ hat came off, falling onto the ground with a plop as he fell into Camus’ chest. 

“Whoa, buddy,” Camus warned, pulling him close as to not let him fall. Lukas was shorter than him by a head, and his hair tickled Camus’ nose. There was that herbal scent again. It turned his legs to jelly, and Lukas was so close he could feel his heartbeat. When Lukas looked up at him, Camus’ heart stopped and so did his brain. Lukas had nice, full lips, and his hair was so soft and that damn scent was clinging to Camus’ clothes and he didn’t think. He leaned down, taking those lips to his and kissing, hard, desperate. 

Lukas didn’t pull away.

In fact, Lukas met him, step for step, moaning into the kisses and practically melting into Camus’ arms. Camus balled his fist into the back of Lukas’ shirt, drawing him nearer, kissing harder, drawing out more and more moans from the other man. It was heady and coated with alcohol and Camus knew he should leave before he did something he’d regret, but instead he kissed down Lukas’ neck until he was trembling.

“Please, Camus,” Lukas slurred, and Camus couldn’t say no to that. He pulled Lukas to his bed, and they both tumbled down, and with the momentum, Lukas ended up on top, straddling Camus. He moved his hips and Camus’ neck snapped back into his pillow with the pleasure that sparked from of it. Lukas did it again and Camus cussed through his teeth.

“Like this?” Lukas asked, rolling his hardening length against the bulge in Camus’ pants. 

“Yes, please, yes,” was all Camus could strangle out as Lukas picked up his pace, chasing his own pleasure as much as Camus’. Every movement was a spark up his spine, setting fire to his nerves. He could still smell Lukas, and maybe it was in his sheets as well, but that scent was going straight to his cock, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything else except how Lukas rolled his hips, and moaned, panting into each thrust as Camus worked his hips in tandem. 

It wasn’t enough though, and Camus grew frustrated. He pulled Lukas down hard into another rough kiss, stilling him enough to pull off his clothes. It was awkward work but neither cared, too drunk to be self conscious as they twisted out of shirts and pulled at pants, still held on by belts. Hands bumped, and redirected, giggles exchanged in the dark until finally, blissfully, there was nothing between them but hot skin and sweat.Camus pulled Lukas back into his lap, pulling both of their leaking cocks together and stroking them together. Lukas’ moans turned needier, his mouth agape as Camus worked them both to orgasm. 

Lukas came first, biting a shout into his closed fist, slumping forward on Camus, breathing hard. He took a second to come to, before swatting away his hand to replace it with his own, finishing Camus off with a few good strokes. Together they fell deep into the bed, drunk, tired and sated. 

They slept til late the next afternoon, not waking until the sticky heat of two bodies and the summer sun woke them, groggy, thirsty, and horribly embarrassed.They didn’t make eye contact as Camus dressed, barely finding his own pants. He shuffled out, nearly a blur as soon as he left Lukas’ room and booked it for the inn door before Lady Ann could process who he was. Red-faced, he ran home, slamming the door behind him. 

That was going to be the last time he drank for a while.

Across town, Lukas stayed in his bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was a mistake, he told himself. He’d apologize to Camus tomorrow. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and this is how it ended up.

That’s why his heart was aching. Because it was a mistake. Because it was wrong to have ever happened.

That, he lied to himself, was the only reason.

Lukas wasn’t sure how to go about today. He was sure there was no etiquette on how to formally apologize to a man one barely knew  about sleeping with him drunk. Hell, Lukas wasn’t sure he was supposed to apologize when they both were entirely drunk and both involved in the sleeping together, but after spending a day in his bed, hungover with a strange aching in his chest, he knew he needed to see Camus again.Why? questioned the more logical side of his brain. You two have never exactly been best friends. Lukas shook that logic off. He wanted to see Camus. 

Why? Why? Why?

Lukas shook his head at his reflection in the mirror. It didn’t matter why. He couldn’t avoid Camus forever, and clearing the air was the first step to making their random brushes in town less awkward. Or at least that’s what he was going to tell himself. He didn’t want to think about how strong Camus was, how even in his drunken state he had been impressed by how muscular his arms were, how, even as drunk as he was, he had been so steady. He didn’t want to think of Camus’ face as he came, how warm his body had been as they had laid next to each other. How much Lukas wanted that again, and again, How much his body ached for that touch.

No, he told himself. Just go and apologize. Forget it ever happened. There was nothing there except a drunken mistake and he wasn’t going to pretend it was anything else. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling this way to begin with. He’d never paid much attention to men in the past anyway. He’d had the occasional tryst, to be sure, but he’d mostly come out of it with the impression it wasn’t quite right for him. A passing fancy from time to time, but nothing more. Camus should be the same. But the less logical part of his brain was caught up in the feel of Camus’ callous hardened hands on his hips and the way he’d completely melted under his touch. 

It was the drinks. Nothing more. Stop stalling and deal with this. 

Lukas straightened his hat and wandered out of the inn.

                                                      ---------

Camus breathed hard through his nose, trying to rid himself of the images in his head, but failing hard. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that night since it’d happened and although he’d swore up and down it hadn’t been anything, his body betrayed him. He gave in, taking his hardening cock in his hand and gripping it at the base. He hadn’t been able to get Lukas out of his head since the other night and this morning had woken him from a dream of the other man falling under him. In his dream, the subtle scent of herbs clung to his body. In his dream, he’d run his teeth along Lukas’ neck.

He breathed out, a shaky sound. He stroked himself, slowly at first, giving up on pretending to think of anything else. He thought of how soft Lukas’ hair was, how hot his body had been on his, and he moaned into the cloying air around him as his sped his strokes to the beat of his thrusts from his dreams. It was over embarrassingly quick and he shuddered his orgasm into his fist. His body thrummed with it, not quite sated, but the shame of it all was fast coming, and he knew there’d be no follow up. Camus huffed out a breath, not allowing himself to stay in bed. He cleaned up as best he could, and headed downstairs to ready the shop for opening time.

Neumann was always his first customer of the day, whether he needed something or not. They chatted for a while about their monsters, and whether Neumann needed any repairs to his huts, before turning the conversation to how he and Sabrina were faring. Neumann chuckled, shyly before giving a shrug.

“It’s wonderful to have her back. And Nicolas is growing so fast. I’m just sorry for the time we missed,” he replied. Camus nodded sympathetically.

“I’m glad you two are doing well though,” Camus offered weakly. He knew that the only reason they were was from Raguna’s meddling, but he wasn’t ready to give him the credit or praise. The memory of Melody was still sharp in his brain, bringing him another wash of shame as he remembered that this very morning he’d touched himself to the memory of someone else. 

“So what about you?” Neumann asked, slyly. “Anyone in town caught your interest?” 

Camus felt red heat fill his face, but shook his head. Neumann didn’t seem fooled, but he graciously dropped the subject. They talked for only a moment more before Neumann claimed he’d left the shop to Felicity for too long and he took his leave. Camus was glad for it as he dropped his head into his hands. He needed to be alone with his thoughts for a while.

Unfortunately, that was a fleeting dream, as the bell above his shop signaled someone’s entrance. He sighed, lifting his head to put on his best customer service face, only for it to drop as he saw who’d entered. 

Lukas stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. He offered a weak smile and greeting but Camus barely heard it over the rushing of his blood. Already he swore he could smell Lukas’ fragrance, drafting softly from the other man. He swallowed hard and smiled, sheepishly, back.

“Hey, I just, uh, wanted to apologize for the other night. It was a little bold, even for me,” Lukas said to the floorboards. Camus shook his head.

“No, hey, look,” he started. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. That he’d dreamed of him last night? That it had been, strangely, more than okay? Nonsense,  his head told him. Keep it cool. 

“No harm, no foul,” Camus finally said, something withering inside of him. “We were both very drunk.” Lukas laughed weakly.

“Yeah, we were,” he replied, removing his hat and running his hand through his hair. Caums’ mouth went dry. He knew how soft that hair was. How it smelled.

“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Lukas continued. “Sorry, again.” He turned to leave. Something broke in Camus’ chest.

“Hey,” he started. Lukas stopped at the doorknob, and turned back to look at him. Camus realized he didn’t really know where he was going from there. He just hadn’t wanted Lukas to leave.

“Maybe we should do that again?” he said, and then immediately panicked. “The, uh, hanging out thing, not the other thing.” Lukas laughed at that.

“I’d like that,” he said, and Camus was sure he imagined the flush on his cheeks. He turned again to leave, and Camus didn’t stop him this time.

Instead he closed shop early a few hours later and wandered the outskirts of town, trying to leave behind the wafting scent of herbs that filled his shop and the lingering memories that filled his head.