Author's Note: Happy birthday, Viscountess! Yes, they're out of character. I know. I am sorry. And if the lemon seems rushed, it is because they are desperate. Not, I repeat, not, because I was forced and/or guilt tripped against my will into writing that. Definitely not. Oh yeah, did I mention? There's lemon. I will put in a warning several paragraphs before the beginning of it so the more modest among you can read it comfortably. But seriously, if you don't like yaoi, why are you reading a fanfiction with two male characters and romance as one of the genres? Please review if you liked it! Hell, review if you hated it, too.
The practice tent is almost perpetually filled with a chaos of sound and motion. Color splatters the whole place, from the myriad rainbow props always spinning and dancing to the gleam of varicolored greasepaint slick on everyone's faces.
Of course, this is only if the tent is occupied. Empty, it seems far too cold and forsaken even to be the same place as it is when filled with voices and laughter. I practiced there alone quite a bit, when all the others were asleep or at meals, and the room is hardly different whether it's midnight or noon. Blue darkness shrouds the windowless area, broken by puddles of torchlight and the spidery ropes and frames stretching high above.
It took me a long time to adjust to the vacancy, but then again, I never really loved working with everyone else watching. There was enough pressure on me as the ringmaster during performances; I didn't need more when I practiced.
I had lost concentration and dropped all the juggling scarves in a fluttering shower by the time I got to that last sentence. The cascade drifted down past my hand as, distracted, I made no motion to catch them. Muttering a choice selection of incoherent and colorfully unrepeatable phrases, I knelt down, scrabbling for the thin fabric in a layer of loose dirt. I came up with the violently bright scarves draped, full of dirt, across my hands. A wash of dust spiraled down through a shaft of lamplight as I brushed them off, still grumbling curses.
A sound – a familiar one – stopped me dead. I looked around, taking a few moments to locate the source of the noise. The steady thud of knives in a target emanated from somewhere in the dimness, too far away for me to quite make out the details of the scene. Of course, I already knew what I would see as I moved closer. A tremor ran through me, though I refused to admit it was anything but the chill.
I watched, feeling uncharacteristically out of place as blade after blade stuck deeply into the makeshift wooden target. Soon a forest of them protruded from the board, and the thrower stalked forwards to retrieve them, muscles flexing across his shoulders as he jerked the knives out. He turned, and feeling, for some reason, guilty, I met his gaze.
"Oh…um…hello, Joker," Dagger said, looking vaguely embarrassed. One of the knives slid from his hands, and he dropped down to pick it up, blushing and managing to spill all the rest from his grip. I bent down to help, another bout of shivers coursing down my spine as our fingers brushed.
"What are you doing here?" I realized an instant after the sentence left my mouth how accusatory it sounded. "Sorry. I'm usually the only one to practice at night."
He shrugged and looked away. "I was bored. It's kind of nice, being here all alone…well…"
"Almost alone," I finished for him. "I can leave if you want." Please, please, don't ask me to.
"No! I've…um…been looking for you." I was unable to stop the little, not unpleasant, shock that sparked through me at that.
"Really? Why?" I asked, willing my voice not to crack.
"I've seen you watching me practice." Shit. You noticed. "So I was wondering if you wanted to learn. You know, to throw?" The embarrassment left me – mostly – at that. I still wondered slightly, though. Did he suspect something? Was he just being kind?
"Oh. Sure," I answered. If it gets me closer to you. Now what was that voice doing in my head? I would never think something like that. At least, I didn't think I would. I forced it to the back of my mind.
"Here," Dagger said, holding out a knife. I took it cautiously by the handle. "No, hold onto the blade. It's a practice knife; I don't sharpen it. Well, not much." I shifted the cold metal into my palm and gripped it nervously. Even mostly unsharpened, the edges bit into my hand. I flinched, loosening my hold. He tsked irritatedly. "Don't let go of it. It won't bite you." I wrapped my hand resolutely back around the blade, grimacing. "Look, do you want gloves?" I shook my head obstinately.
He left anyways, and came back with a pair of thin leather gloves. "Honestly. I don't need those," I protested.
"Yes, you do. If you can't hold the knife properly you can't throw it properly." He grabbed my wrist before I had a chance to pull away and slid the glove on. It fit loosely, more so than I had expected, until I looked at the contrast of our hands. Mine were thin, the skin pale and soft, while his were wide and calloused. I yanked my hands away, suddenly very aware of the places our skins touched. I could feel the voice – I didn't want to think of it as my own thoughts – preparing to comment, and ignored it. "Hold onto the blade," Dagger instructed. I clenched the knife in one fist. "Dear god, you're hopeless. Should I be trusting you with knives?" He pried my fingers apart and reshaped them along the metal. "There."
I turned towards the target and pulled my arm back, as though throwing one of my juggling balls. Dagger caught my arm from behind. "No you don't," he said, smiling. "Move closer to the target. I doubt you'd make it halfway at this point." I obeyed, growing exasperated. "Go ahead."
"What, no special way to throw?" I wondered.
"I want to see if you get it right." Truly annoyed by then, I hurled the blade as hard as I could at the board. Not surprisingly, it bounced off. "O…kay…" he said.
"Was that wrong?" I asked.
"Your technique was hideous, that's why it didn't stick. But I'm surprised you even reached the target at all. You're stronger than you look."
Was that a compliment or an insult? I settled for a murmured thanks. He handed me another knife. I held it the way I had held the other one, hoping I had it right. He nodded. I went to throw again, and he stopped me. "Fix your stance. Move your right leg back." I did so. He kicked me in the shin.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"Feet in line. Good. Now, turn your right foot out a bit. Keep your weight on the back foot, but bend your knees." I wavered, almost losing my balance, and he caught me by the shoulders. I fell back against him, eliciting a laugh as he shoved me upright and a burn rising rapidly in my face. Oh, really. I could almost see the voice rolling its eyes. That was such a perfect opportunity, and what did you do? Missed it.
I told it in no uncertain terms what it ought to go do with itself, realizing as I did so that I was swearing at my own brain. Making a face, I turned my focus back to the target. Dagger was giving instructions, which I caught only the end of. "Ready?" I nodded helplessly. "Go ahead."
The knife hit the dirt several feet from the target. "Were you listening to anything I said?"
"No," I admitted. He sighed, and repeated the directions. I tried again. This time the knife executed two slightly shaky full turns in midair, and fell short by more than a yard. I groaned and pushed my hair back out of my face. Dagger was staring at me, looking mildly confused and more than mildly irritated. "What?"
"Your first throw would have stuck if you'd had better technique, but you've gotten nowhere near the target on all the others. How come?"
"I don't know." I was thinking about you.
"Here, let me help." He stepped behind me too quickly for me to react. I tensed as I felt his arms around me, and my face went scalding again. "Relax," he whispered, breath brushing my neck. I found it understandably impossible. Does this mean you admit it? The voice was back. And it was probably right. But…I couldn't be in love with my brother. Could I? He's not really your brother, the voice supplied. I told it to be quiet. We'd lived together for nearly all our lives. That was close enough to kinship.
Dagger reached out in front of me, gripping a knife in one hand. "Mimic how I move. I want you to feel a proper throw." That's not all I'm feeling. His voice was muffled slightly against my shoulder.I stretched out one hand, unable to ignore the play of muscles beneath our skins. To hell with kinship; I was definitely starting to react to the situation. I blushed and hoped he wouldn't notice.
I followed his motions through the throw, too distracted to absorb anything he said or demonstrated. Finally, apparently realizing my inability to concentrate, he sighed. "Let's stop for now. I don't want you stabbing yourself on accident." I stepped away, only half relieved and wishing my interest wasn't quite as obvious as I feared it was.
"Well, I suppose I have to return the favor, then," I suggested, snatching four of the knives from him and flipping them into the air. I caught them effortlessly, and spun them in a neat circle around my hands. "Want to learn to juggle?"
"…give those knives back, please," he said stiffly. "They're the sharpened ones." His point, no pun intended, was proven when the tip of one of the blades slashed into my thumb. I bit my tongue and kept the knives, ignoring a drop of blood beading at the cut. "Please."
"Ah, you're no fun," I complained, tossing them back. He snatched all but one quickly out of the air. The last dropped and stuck, point first and quivering slightly, into the dirt floor. We both ducked down to get it, hands tangling momentarily on the handle. I jerked away, unwilling to submit to the flush of heat spreading through me at the contact. "Set those down somewhere. Unless you want a pierced hand, you'd better start with something a bit less pointed." I flicked the scarves out of my sleeves, where I'd vanished them as I noticed him. Brushing off the dust that still clung to them, I threw them into the air, where they drifted, leisurely, down towards him. He caught those, too, the knives having disappeared somewhere about his person.
Predictably, the juggling lessons did not go well. And so I ended up, an hour later, laughing uncontrollably as I tried and failed to catch the assorted scattered objects he dropped. "I give up," he eventually declared, laughing almost as hard as I was and kneeling down to collect the most recent round of losses.
"Try it once more," I commanded, regaining my breath. "Do you want me to show you?"
So maybe I was just looking for an excuse. I wrapped my arms around him, holding my hands straight out in front of me. He jumped, and I was suddenly horribly aware of the outlines of knives pressing through his shirt into my chest. "Could you warn me, at least?" he complained, slipping one of the knives back into his sleeve.
"You didn't," I said sulkily, resisting the temptation to slide my hands up his shirt.
…fuck. I tried to erase that last thought from my mind. There was no way I had just considered that. No way in hell. Dagger, apparently oblivious to my discomfort, passed me the scarves and threaded his arms along mine. I pulled my brain away from any other thoughts, and began the familiar motions, losing myself in the ever repeating circles.
My nearly meditative concentration shattered when Dagger pulled away, making me drop the squares in surprise. I looked up, eyes stinging slightly. I had apparently forgotten to blink. "I think I have it," he said, picking the pieces of fabric up. He tossed them into the air, and I watched as they managed one full roundabout before falling. "Okay, maybe not." I stared at him blankly for a minute, and then burst into a fit of laughter. He pulled a face at me, and then doubled over in hysterics.
"Is this…actually…so…funny?" I gasped, between giggles.
"…no," he choked out.
After far too long, we straightened up, redfaced and panting. "Any more lessons?" I asked.
"I don't think so," he answered. I started to walk towards the door, and stopped as I heard his voice again. "And by the way…" He threw himself at me. "This is for laughing at me." I barely managed a surprised yelp before tumbling to the ground on top of him. Startled, I tried to stand, but he yanked me down by the leg, laughing. We fought back and forth for several minutes before I gained the upper hand, kneeling over him with a leg on either side of his stomach.
This was an even more compromising position. I had to get away before he noticed.
"I win," I informed him, pushing myself up and beginning to stand.
"Not quite." He grinned and twisted himself under me, catching my legs with his, so that I ended up flat on my back beneath him.
Well, shit. "I win," he announced.
"Fine, fine," I surrendered. "Now let me up!" He smirked devilishly.
"Why should I?"
I pushed myself up on my elbows and kissed him, holding on as long as I dared before settling back to the ground. His reaction was almost comical. One hand went up to his mouth, which had dropped into a perfect O, as redness bloomed over his face. I squirmed out from under him and stood up.
Behind me, he rose to his feet, hand still clapped to his lips. I didn't know what the expression on his face was, but I doubt it reciprocated my own. "Look, forget it," I said roughly. "Forget I did anything." My eyes were burning again, and this time it wasn't because I'd forgotten to blink. I bolted, hearing him unfreeze and begin to call out to me.
"Joker, wait…" But I was already gone.
I sprinted into my tent, lungs aching with the long dash, and collapsed onto the bed, head in hands. Why did I do that? Why, why, why?
Just you wait, the voice reassured. He'll show up soon. That's how he is. It faded off into my normal thoughts, leaving me uncertain whether it had ever existed and questioning my own sanity.
Sure enough, though, just minutes later, a still blushing Dagger careened into the tent and straight into my arms. I reacted instinctively, throwing him bodily away from me, and then flinched as I realized what I'd done. Grabbing his hand harder than was probably strictly necessary, I pulled him to his feet.
We both started to speak at the same time, leading to a confused jumble of apologies that clarified nothing. Finally, as though surrendering, he leaned forwards and kissed me.
Now it was my turn for the laughable expression of surprise. I vaulted backwards away from him, already angry with myself as I landed sprawled on the bed.
It took an absurd amount of courage for me to stand up and move back towards him. He apparently had no such compunctions, pulling me into a gentle kiss as soon as I came near enough. It didn't exactly stay gentle. The voice noted that he did this extremely well.
"Well, fuck." I drew away after longer than I cared to specify, breathing hard.
He held onto me tightly, face buried in my shoulder. "Damn right." I relaxed against him, then jumped, startled, when he pulled away suddenly. Crossing over to the table holding my facepaint and props, he picked up a cloth and started to rub the thick, now rather smeared, paint off his eyes and cheeks. It smudged into dense black rings, and I laughed.
"Come here. Let me do that." I took the rag from him, dipped it into a jar of oil, and began to clean off the mess he'd made of the pigment. "Haven't you ever done this before?"
"All I do is put it back on when it's worn off," he admitted. He closed his eyes, head tilting back.
Author's Note: Lemon warning! But you probably figured that was going to happen, anyways.
When he opened them again, after I'd finished, he looked suddenly much younger. I leaned in to press a kiss to his lips, then stood back to remove my own makeup. Dagger scarcely let me finish before he was wrapped around me again. Fumbling behind my back, I managed to set down the cloth on the table without knocking anything over, and then returned the enthusiastic embrace. His fingers curled reflexively into my spine as I deepened the kiss.
Finally, just as I was beginning to feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen, we broke apart, breaths coming fast and harsh. Sweat stuck the dark streak in his hair down to his temples. I caught my breath, then resumed, unfastening the fall of cloth at his throat and leaning in to lick a bead of moisture off the pale skin there. He gave a choked laugh, then stiffened sharply as I bit down. I moved back. "I'm sorry. Too fast?"
He shook his head mutely, gasping. "No. No, don't…ah!" I stroked the mark I'd left, feeling his shudders run through me, and traced the thin wing of his collarbone through the striped fabric. He moaned as I slid a hand around to undo the line of buttons on his vest, his lips teasing down the side of my neck. I pushed the shirt roughly off his shoulders, following it back with my teeth and enjoying the way his whole body tensed with each touch, tasting salt and, faintly, blood as he arched closer to me.
As gently as I could, I pushed him back onto the bed, his hands tangling in my collar to tug me down on top of him. Lightly, I traced the lines of his chest with my fingertips, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. The muscles tightened under my hands, skin damp with sweat and patched with the faint slickness of scars.
I paused. "Knives, Dagger?" Wide leather bands held the blades taut across his stomach, and I could feel others pressing into my hips and legs.
He shifted restlessly. "Don't stop. Where did you think I kept them?" Grinning, I cut off his words again, reaching under him to remove the sheathes and pressing my fingers lightly into his lower back. He moaned, straining up against me, then went slack, gasping. "Damn…don't do that," he panted.
"What, this?" I made the same motion I had before, listening to the catch in his breath as he shuddered. A shock of pain ran straight down to the pit of my stomach as he bit down at the base of my throat, sending heat flooding through me. His hands caught at the fabric of my clothes, pulling the buttons carelessly undone.
I pulled the sleeves down off his arms and discarded the shirt, hands carefully outlining the arm and wrist sheathes he wore, then removing them. He lay flat beneath me, hands loosely above his head where I pinned them, chest heaving. Hours of knifework outside in the sun had turned his skin dark and muscles hard. I leaned in to press kisses to the silvery scar tissue highlighting his chest, marking each one, remembering.
There were the white lines on his stomach from cruel men with hard boots, the thick crescents of careless horseshoes with sharp iron edges. There were the shallow slices, some still reddened, across his palms from knives he swore didn't hurt him. Pale frostbite reminders patched his fingertips. I remembered the freezing nights when we had clung desperately close, trying to avoid the winter's icy claws. A chill ran through me. I pulled him close, lips pressing together, and the feeling of cold didn't last long. His tongue flicked along my jaw, making me shiver. I slid a hand down his chest, following it with my teeth and listening as his breath quickened, until I was kneeling in front of him.
His fingers wandered to the hem of my shirt, tugging it off the rest of the way before dipping to toy with my belt. I responded in kind, slipping the short black kilt he wore down over his hips and leaning further in, hands working at the fastenings on his prosthetic. He flinched, legs tensing together.
Not without effort, I shifted back. "Is this alright?"
"I…don't know. I wasn't…expecting this," he said breathlessly.
"I'll wait."
"No." He pulled me down to him. "I want you." Pressing my lips lightly to his heart, then moving further down again, I felt him tighten in anticipation. This time he kept his legs spread, though I caught a flash of anxiety on his face. I undid the rest of the connections on the prosthetic and set it down, out of the way. He gave a soft hiss as my hands trailed up his good leg, then further up. I kissed his stomach lightly, then further down.
He gasped, soft sound not quite concealing a moan. I started to move faster, teeth and tongue and lips on skin, hands around his back because he was shaking so violently with restrained cries that I thought he might collapse. His fists knotted in the bedsheets, knuckles white, muscle and tendon tensed. I bit down lightly, felt him arch up to press against me. He whispered something unintelligible between gasps. I felt him begin to convulse, and let go, smiling mischievously.
He glared at me, eyes mostly closed. "Goddamnit." I feigned innocence and mentally decided that he had never looked as beautiful as now, flushed and panting, trembling with lust. He dragged me back down onto him, teeth clashing in the hasty kiss, falling back so he was lying flat, my legs on either side of his. I slid my trousers off and, unthinking, shifted to enter him.
I felt him go taut as wire beneath me. "Ah. That…oh, god," he gasped. "Oh, god, that hurts." Muscles rippled below me, around me, sending heat flooding through me. I went still. His eyes had gone hot and bright, where before they had been soft and hazed.
"Alright?" Too tense to form a coherent sentence, I started to pull out.
"Don't you dare." He hooked his good leg around my waist, giving a low groan at the motion, then began to move, soft, keening gasps escaping him with each minute shift. I stayed unmoving, waiting until he settled, almost whimpering. "There."
I started to move again, biting my lip against a hoarse cry. He shuddered silently, hips jerking involuntarily up to meet each stroke halfway. The shivering, sighing, nearly sobbing quality to his breathing sent bolts of electricity through me. He murmured something, soft, against my neck, then bit as I pressed deeper.
With the beginning of a cry carefully stifled, his hands dug into my hips, pulling me down harder. I complied, changing the angle slightly and feeling his silent response.
Just as I was beginning to be sure I couldn't last any longer, he convulsed again, head arching back, mouth opening slightly. I kissed him softly, feeling heat on my stomach and listening to his trembling sighs, then pressing in again to find my own release and –
Ah.
I whispered his name as loudly as I dared, voice raw. Gasping, I collapsed onto him, enjoying the moment's silence, the heat between us, damp sweat and faint sweetness on my lips from his kisses. Breathing, in and out, in fast, panting unison. Bodies limp, limbs heavy, shivering slightly with relief.
Eventually, I disentangled my legs from Dagger's and curled around him, his back against my stomach, feeling our hearts pounding in synchronization; the blankets – somewhat mussed – were dragged across us. He shifted, groaned quietly, turned his head into my chest. I brushed my lips possessively along his jaw, and he looked up at me sleepily before initiating a kiss that left me gasping.
Author's Note: Lemon ends. Toothachingly sweet confessions commence.
He grabbed me as I went to stand. "Stay here."
"I'm just going to clean off, Dagger. You probably should, too."
His arms remained stubbornly around my waist. "No. Stay." I grinned and settled back around him, brushing a kiss against his cheek.
His small, satisfied smile was a mirror to my own. I kissed him again, tenderly, and we fell asleep like that, in each other's arms.
Several hours later, I opened my eyes again when he moved, restless. "Still awake?" I asked tiredly, propping my head up on one hand. He looked pale and pinched in the dark.
"I've been thinking," he said. "Leviticus 18:22."
"What?" I rolled away from him so that we lay side by side, still pressed together on the narrow mattress. It had only really been meant for one person. Unbidden, my hand clasped his over the blanket.
"The Bible. 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind, for it is an abomination.' " He looked across at me, eyes wide and black, voice sober. "We can't let anyone know about this."
I gripped his hand tighter and turned over to meet his eyes. "Everything will be fine. We'll figure something out."
"No!" He jerked his fingers free of mine and sat up. "No, it won't!"
"Hush," I reminded him, resting a hand on his chest. "Calm down. We'll figure something out."
He continued in a fierce whisper. "I don't mind having to keep it a secret. I can deal with that. But I don't want to think that whenever the priest pronounces the absolution that it's you I'm being absolved of! I don't want to have to go to confession just for the sin of wanting you! I can't do that!" He sank back down next to me, shaking. His voice went so soft I took several seconds to register what he said. "I love you. I have for a long time."
"Oh, Dagger," I murmured.
He glared at me, apparently unwilling to calm down. "And I don't know if you feel that way as well but I do, and I can't…I won't…" Trembling harder, he twisted closer to me.
I brushed his hair lightly back from his face. "You're an idiot," I said affectionately. "A complete idiot." Tilting his head up to me, I pressed my lips to his and whispered, "I love you too. Don't ever doubt that." He broke away, staring at me.
"How long?" He stumbled endearingly over the words.
"Years and years."
"Really?"
I growled quietly and felt him shiver at the sound. "I already said, don't ever, everdoubt that I love you."
He was grinning now, elated, like a child on Christmas morning. His hands found the skin over my heart, sending a flush of heat through me. "Say it again."
"I love you." I smiled, too, his enthusiasm infectious, and rested my hands on his ribcage. His pulse thumped wildly through my palms, skin warming at the touch.
"Again."
"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you." My fingers wandered from his heart to an associated area somewhat lower, trailing delicately along his stomach and hips. I smirked at his moan and leaned in to kiss him lightly, then not so lightly. He responded with surprising vigor, and that was the end of conversation for a while.
Author's Note: Eh. Whoops. Didn't warn you about that one. Ignore the last paragraph if you feel particularly prudish.
I woke to a rather irritated woman's voice shouting from outside the tent. Dagger murmured and turned over in my arms. "Joker! Come out of there now! I mean it!" Beast. I thought up a couple comments to apply to the situation, and decided against any of them, instead shaking Dagger sharply awake with a whispered command to hide. Grumbling quietly, he got up and secreted himself beneath the bed, apparently still mostly asleep. "Joker…" Beast called, a familiar warning tone lacing her voice. "Now." I scrambled out of the knotted sheets, trying to yank pants on as I did so. Cursing, I opened the tent flap, attempting and failing to block her view of the room, which was quite obviously in shambles.
"Hi," I said breathlessly. "What do you want?"
A flash of some other emotion ran across her face before resolving into a very odd look. "You're late for breakfast. Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" I saw her eyes turn pointedly downwards, winced, and tried to cover the bites on my chest and throat with one hand.
"Um…it was hot out last night?" It sure was. I felt my face heat at the silent comment.
"Nice try. It was almost freezing, and you have the lowest tolerance for cold of anyone I've ever met. Do you have one of the town girls in there or something?"
"…no," I said guiltily.
"Whose clothes are those, then? They aren't yours."
"…no one's." I avoided her gaze.
Her expression changed. I could see her inspecting the room closely, and I bit my tongue. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"…no."
Her face was almost pitying. "I'm not that stupid, Joker. Those are Dagger's." I lowered my head, bracing myself for the tirade on sleeping with people who were almost relatives, and male at that, and then looked up when it didn't come. "Well, I'll just leave you two alone then, shall I? Although I would advise you come to breakfast quickly, or you won't get any."
"Oh, I already got plenty," the still hidden Dagger answered.
"Dagger!" I blushed violently. Beast laughed tersely and departed, shoulders set. I watched her go, wondering why she was acting so strangely. A few steps outside the tent, I heard her start running.
Dagger squirmed out from under the bed, muttered something, and curled back up beneath the blankets. I shook him gently by the shoulder. "C'mon, get up." He pulled himself upright, using the bed to stay balanced, then staggered. "Ah! Damnit!" I cried, catching him instinctively by the shoulders and shifting the weight onto the bedframe so he wouldn't knock me over as well. "Are you alright?"
He changed position uncomfortably, and I flushed to realize what this was about. "I'm fine. I…wasn't expecting to be so sore." He finished the sentence in a rush, turning as red as I probably was.
"Oh. I…um…oh…" I managed. "Sorry."
"It's fine," he answered, grimacing. "Blame anatomy." I blushed even more at that, and distracted myself by leaning down to collect his clothes and toss them at him.
"We can't both be late without someone getting suspicious," I pointed out, tugging my shoes on. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Concerned, I came up behind him as he struggled with his prosthetic.
He shook his head, although I didn't miss the sharp intake of breath that accompanied the slight movement. "Save us all from children and their pride," I sighed, rubbing his back gently. "Do you need help?"
"I hardly think either of us counts as a child anymore," he returned, ignoring my question.
"Well…" I fumbled with my own false arm. "Goddamnit."
"Let me do that," Dagger said, snatching the porcelain appendage away from me.
"What, so you get to help me, but I can't do the same for you?" I protested.
"Unlike some people, I have full use of both arms. Unlike some people, in fact, I actually have both arms." He gripped my shoulder before I could move. "There." His hold relaxed a little, and he looked up at me with a mischievous smirk. Leaning down, he brushed his lips along the china joint at the wrist. "Milady."
I glared. "I'm no one's lady. Need I remind you…" I left that sentence unfinished.
"Oh, I know, I know. That was just too good to miss." I rolled my eyes and pulled out of his grasp, shrugging on my shirt and starting to do up the row of buttons along the front.
"So what do we do? Like I said, we can't both be late and then show up together."
"I'll go back to my tent and stay for a while. Pretend I got sick or something." He rearranged the layers of fabric at his collar to fall neatly to the edge of his vest. "You go on and just say you slept too late. Even if it looks a bit strange, at least we won't be arriving at the same time. Can I borrow your facepaint?" He gestured at a jar of it on the table.
"Go ahead. Pass me that brush?" I daubed on my own typical makeup in blue and black, not bothering with a mirror, and turned to him. "Presentable?" He grinned and twitched my collar straight. I wiped a smudge of paint off his cheek with one finger.
"There." He turned to leave, but I stopped him.
"Ah…what do we do about that?" I tilted my chin downwards.
"What?"
"The limp." Guiltily, I looked away.
He thought for a moment. "Blame it on the prosthetic. I don't know. No one'll be looking at it specifically." Turning around again, he paused and caught my eyes. "We have to…this has to work."
"Don't worry. Everything will be fine," I reassured, leaning in to embrace him. He rested his head on my shoulder for a moment. "I love you."
"I love you too," he whispered, turning his head up for one final kiss before walking away. "Oh, and Joker?"
"Yes?"
"Lessons again tonight?" He winked.
Author's Note: Just to be clear about this. Dagger would so have been seme, except he only has one leg and that would just be awkward. My friends and I spent days arguing this point before we remembered the missing limbs issue. And now onto more relevant points; I repeat the review policy as stated in my profile. Fifteenth, fiftieth, and hundredth reviewers get Kuroshitsuji oneshots. Same universe as my other stories, any pairings, rating no higher than, well, this story. Next, and last, chapter will be sometime after Half Human chapter five, and possibly – probably – six, seven, and eight as well. And that's it. Author out.