"World"

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Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, don't sue me. I'll pay you in paperclips and cheese.

Warning: Like always, this is yaoi, that is, men getting it on with men. Don't like, don't read, don't complain, or I'll punch you. A little different this time, this isn't a Flik/Viktor. It's a Nash/Duke. Huzzah for random pairings, don't you think? Anyway, this will likely be hella-long, and this is only the first chapter, so have fun and don't make fun of me or I'll cry.

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Words, even those uttered in excitement, are generally concrete and irrevocable. Once they pass through one's lips they hang in the air and linger, affecting all those who hear them. Some words have a greater effect than others do and all are interpreted differently.

If he could have now, he never would have spoken to the man. He certainly wouldn't have told him he loved him. It seemed that with the low murmur of those words he was plunged into darkness, pain radiating from his touch where only pleasure and comfort had before. It was an odd, sad situation; the betrayal from this man he loved shocked him into complacency, wounding him with emotional whiplash.

He cried out, not really meaning to, and struggled from the man's grasp. He should have been able to get free--his intensive training dictated that--but every time he tried to pull away his moves were countered, deceptively slim hands tightening their grasp. His own hand was brought before his face, as if the other wished to display the perfect, tapered digits. Casting a bemused stare at his beloved, he paused in his struggles for the briefest moment. It was then that the smallest finger of his left hand was seized and brought forward--forced into an awkward angle at the swell of his second knuckle.

The wet-sick sound of bone snapping echoed in the silent air, heart-stopping in its finality. He slumped before the other man, cradling his broken hand to his chest like a wounded bird. For a moment he was too stunned to feel pain--emotional or otherwise--but almost as swiftly as the man had turned on him, he was filled with rage. His anger sent him flying at the man, the hand that wasn't injured clenched in a tight fist, more than ready to inflict some pain of his own. But with the same ease of motion that the man lent to all of his movements, he caught the fist, using the wounded's momentum against him. He tumbled into his beloved's arms with only a grunt of pain at his jarred hand.

"Now, now," the man's sibilant voice crooned, oddly comforting despite the latent threat of violence it held. It shattered him inside, as the bodily harm done to him could not. He fell against the other man, sobs wracking his small frame. Perversely, the man held him as he cried.

"Why?" The question was muffled, screamed into the other's chest. He clutched at him, his uninjured hand fisting in fine clothes.

"Why? No reason, really..."

Blue eyes clouded with agony jumped to the man's face, disbelieving. A warm smile spread on the other's fine features, followed by a look of extraordinary pity. He gathered the crying man up in his arms and smoothed his hair back from his eyes. The man comforted him, rocking him back and forth. "Stop crying, dear... Don't you love me anymore?"

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Nash awoke from the familiar dream with a long-suffering sigh. He sat up in his small bed, leaning forward to retrieve the blanket he must have kicked off sometime during the night. His finger ached as it always did when the weather changed or he thought about it--a pleasant little reminder, or a warning rather... it was best not to get involved. But how many times had he ignored it? How many times had he loved someone?

Honestly, not often. His reputation as a wastrel was not unfounded--he wasn't terribly picky about whom he brought to his bed, just so long as he was satisfied and alone in the morning. That was as long and as in depth as he liked his relationships to be. There was very little chance of his feelings being betrayed if he had none.

Absently Nash popped his knuckles as he settled back onto the mattress. It was too long ago to be especially bitter about it now. He'd learned his lesson, and life went on. He was old enough to know now that it always did. He learned to go with the flow, that nothing was worth fighting for.

But sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he knew it was going too fast, that things were rushing past him before he could even tell what they were. It was getting harder to keep up... Perhaps it was time to retire, but then he'd really be alone. It seemed that was his fate, Nash just hoped he'd die before he got too old to take care of himself.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, the man chided himself, refusing to let his bad feelings linger. Yulie will take care of you...

A flash of guilt overtook him, and his finger throbbed sympathetically. He'd never told her about it--about any of it--and every time her then-guileless eyes had fallen to him the shame of what he'd done pressed down on him like an ever-increasing weight. That's why he left--why he'd run away. He'd never told anyone about what happened and how deeply he'd been involved. Nash had kept that secret for so long--fifteen years and counting--he'd be damned if he was going to bring it up now.

Nash folded his arms over his bare chest. As he closed his eyes, he tried not to grasp too desperately at the world moving around him.

++chapter one++

"Duke! Duke!! Over here!"

The fiery-haired man desperately wished he could ignore the throaty blonde signaling him over. But he knew from experience that Elaine wouldn't stop calling until he was planted by her side. Sparing them both the embarrassment, Duke strolled over to the table his teammate occupied. He sat down, suppressing a grimace as Elaine all but fell into his lap. It wasn't that he didn't like her, or that he was upset that he had a beautiful woman falling all over him, he just wished she wouldn't do it in public. It made him look bad, like some kind of romantic ninny. Duke separated himself from the woman to order a beer. Elaine backed away, trying to look knowing and confident but only managing to look put-off. Fine, whatever, he thought. Let her pout.

The beer came quickly, slammed onto the table by a careless waitress. The golden liquid sloshed over the mug, forming little foamy pools on the scarred tabletop. Duke brought the mug to his lips and drank deeply, concentrating more on the effect rather than the bitter flavor. He had a feeling he'd need it tonight.

Returning the beer to the table, Duke resigned himself to being with Elaine. The woman's taloned fingers closed around his thigh, squeezing an upward path. He took another swig of beer. She smiled coyly with a sidelong glance, which Duke pointedly ignored. His eyes scanned the bar room, looking for anything to distract Elaine.

The only other patron in the bar had his back to them. He seemed to be chatting up a waitress who was giggling and looking away shyly. Her gaze fell upon the couple for the barest moment before returning to the unknown man. Her look, brief as it was, was enough to make the man turn in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at Duke. He raised his cup in a silent salute before waving the girl away. Duke watched the man as he left a coin on the bar and left.

The mercenary turned to his female partner. "Who was that?" He asked. Elaine shrugged.

"Some guy," she answered. "I talked to him once, but I don't remember his name." Which basically translated to: "Some guy I once made a pass at but was too drunk to remember."

Duke grunted. "Never seen him before."

Not that that was unusual, of course. There were a lot of people he didn't know at Budehuc. He and his team had only arrived six weeks ago, and Duke really only spent his time in the bar or on the training ground. This guy must be one of those non-fighter types. If that was true, then he wasn't worth his time. Duke had no use for those that couldn't take up arms and fight. He took another swig of beer.

"Hm, so, Duke..." Elaine began, inching closer yet again.

He stood up briskly, shaking free of the woman's grasp. Elaine rolled her eyes, resting her chin on one of her hands, the other impatiently drumming on the table. Duke did this to her quite often with this attitude of "off again off again." Nowadays she practically had to throw her naked body at him before he'd express any interest. She didn't understand--she knew she was beautiful...

Oh, well... Maybe what her mother had told her was true--free milk and all that. Elaine sighed, watching the man retreat. Perhaps she'd come on too strong...

No matter, Elaine thought breezily, as she set her sights on another man. An opportunity lost is an opportunity gained, she always said.

My, she was just filled with old expressions tonight.

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Duke left the bar before finishing his first beer. And while he might have been pissed about the loss of his dear lover, alcohol, he was even more upset that he'd been driven from the place. Damn Elaine and all her feminine wiles straight to hell--that's what he said--and any other females could just hop right along and join her. He hadn't a use for them! Not a one.

Well, maybe just one.

The fiery-haired man rounded the corner, looking for somewhere--anywhere--to go to. It was still relatively early in the evening and for a man used to carousing until the wee hours of the morning; sleep was as far off as the plains of Karaya.

Duke knew what he didn't feel like doing, and that was Elaine. The man failed to suppress his bark of laughter at the joke, undoubtedly disturbing some of the hall's early sleepers. Mirth and good humor momentarily took him as he congratulated his own cleverness before his aimless boredom reasserted itself. He'd spent the greater part of the afternoon hours on the training field perfecting his hack and bash style and he didn't particularly feel like returning. The only other place he spent time at besides the tavern was his chambers, and he was only ever in there to boff and sleep.

So it seemed he had run out on his limited repertoire of things to do. Oh well. He figured it was going to happen one day. For a moment he toyed with the idea of calling Ace out, just to see the reaction on that ass's face, but wisely thought better of it before the door to that particular room was passed. Maybe some other time, when he wasn't so tired. Duke had to keep something for a rainy day, after all.

As if by thinking of his weariness, his muscles were suddenly reminded of just how tired and achy they were. Duke frowned as a tiny muscle in his neck throbbed with forgotten pain, bringing one sword-callused hand up to massage it. Not that it helped any--his untalented fingers did naught more than bring more attention to it. He cursed under his breath, shoulders momentarily slouching as he combated his rebelling body.

Perhaps it was time to take a well-earned break. Doubling back the way he came, Duke headed in the direction of the baths. At this time, they should be deserted...and it wasn't, he had ways of making it that way very easily.

Duke's sharp, cunning mouth twisted upwards in a caricature of a smile as he imagined the unfortunate bath takers running from him in fear. There wasn't too much he couldn't achieve with violence.

He was always surprised, walking the castle at night, of how many of the residents were in bed by midnight. Duke was glad that the walls were so thick; he didn't want to know what was happening just behind those doors.

Actually, he did know, he'd just really rather not think of it. Given his current position, he really didn't think it was his place to comment. Not, of course, that had ever stopped him before.

He entered the baths, stepping into the warm moist air. He came just in time to see Jacques, Geddoe's little teammate, pull on a yukata over his skinny body. A moment later Geddoe emerged, toweling his hair dry. Duke glared at the two half-naked men, but his malice went unnoticed by the others.

"Duke," Geddoe said, before covering up.

"Geddoe."

On his tongue were several scathing insults he was just waiting to let fly, but fortunately not even Duke was that foolish. It still pissed him off a bit, that Geddoe had ultimately beaten him in everything he'd ever tried to do in his life.

All right, it pissed him off more than a bit.

He followed the men with his eyes as they moved from the bathhouse, remaining perfectly motionless until they'd left. Sending a growl at the closed door, Duke kicked a small bucket of water and sent it flying. There wasn't much that could get him in as bad a mood as Geddoe. Coupled with Elaine and his lost beer, Duke was ready to throttle the next breathing thing that crossed his path.

Duke unclothed briskly, dropping his clothes in a disorderly heap. Not bothering with a towel, Duke simply poured a bucket of water over his head. The small stool he sat on creaked under his weight as he sat. Without much thought, he worked up a fine lather with some soap he retrieved from across the room. He was lost in the familiar motions of bathing--slick hands coursing over moist skin; kneading tired muscle. Duke washed his hair, too, just for good measure. He'd almost achieved a sense of calm when the door opened.

Duke turned to see the man whom had entered. It was the same guy from before, from the bar. He scowled at no one in particular--at least for now. The mercenary listened as the other man removed his clothes, and watched him from the corner of his eye.

He had been sure that this man was a non-fighter before, but now Duke wasn't so sure. The man was lightly muscled, slim; he had a body like one of those dancers Duke had seen in some tavern somewhere. But his paler skin was as marred by scars and wounds as his own. Admirable. He wrapped a towel around his waist and sat a few yards away from the red-haired man.

"Good evening," he said, scooping up a wash cloth. Duke grunted in reply, his annoyance showing through. "Pleasant night, isn't it?" He continued despite the lack of response and Duke's brisk manner.

"I suppose for you, maybe." Duke hoped his tone would discourage further conversation, unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.

The man responded with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, friend...Actually, I don't believe we've been introduced. I'm Nash Clovis."

"Duke." The mercenary stood up, making to leave. Under different circumstances he wouldn't have minded a little company, but...

"If you wait a moment, I'll join you."

But Nash seemed intent on joining him regardless. Duke decided to just give in. At least he wouldn't hang all over him like Elaine would.

"Usually I'm the only one in the baths this late; I'd be pleased to have some company." Nash smoothed back his damp hair, pushing rogue locks of it behind his ear. Duke regarded the other man warily, but could really see nothing wrong with him. He waited for him to finish washing before entering the bath.

The water was warm, as expected. Effervescent tendrils of water vapor escaped and dispersed in the air and upwards into the rafters, where eventually they would warp the wood. Duke slipped naked into the water with a groan and a sigh. Nash relaxed beside him, his towel now folded neatly and resting on his head. Almost immediately the blond man tried to strike up a conversation.

"So, Duke, was that your woman in there?" Nash's smile, as calm and pleasant as the water, struck Duke as false. He raised one suspicious brow at the other man, his blue eyes turned sharp.

"You could say that, I suppose." Duke's intense stare didn't waver as he spoke.

"Lucky man," said Nash, his own eyes falling shut. "Though I feel obligated to tell you that she tried to pick me up after you left."

Duke ignored the flash of anger that manifested itself at the other man's words. He didn't really care who Elaine spent her time with besides him, but the fact that Nash had come and told him about it bothered him. Was he trying to impress him or make him jealous, or something? Who did he think he was? Duke had started bar fights for less than this. Nash had a lot of balls, talking to him like this.

"Being a married man myself, I know how it is with women."

That comment brought Duke's eyes flying to Nash's face once again. How old was this guy? For the first time he really examined his face. Besides the fine lines netting the other's eyes, he could have been Duke's age. His blond hair showed no evidence of gray, and the whole of his face was youthful and generally pleasing to the eye. Duke scrutinized Nash, though he didn't know what he was looking for, if indeed he was looking for anything at all.

He was so taken studying the man that Duke didn't realize that one of Nash's blue eyes had opened and he was staring at him amusedly.

"Find what you're looking for?" He asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Duke turned away, though he knew it was a bit too late to save face. Nash's smile didn't falter. In his many years, he'd dealt with a lot of men just like Duke: gruff, possessive and arrogant--masculine in almost every aspect. They were often the most fun to mess with. Nash leaned forward so he could look the other man full in the face. His mouth opened as he prepared to speak, but Duke was already climbing out of the bath. The blond man blinked at his retreating backside, surprised that the man had suddenly turned skittish on him. With only a moment's hesitation, Nash pulled himself from the water to follow Duke.

The mercenary was toweling himself off when Nash approached, dripping water onto the slightly dingy cypress floor. Stooped as Duke was, he didn't see the other man come near and therefore wasn't given the opportunity to react when he was slammed against the wall.

"What the hell...?" He wondered aloud, his white-blue eyes shooting up to Nash's face. Duke was vaguely surprised to find that Nash was taller than he was--if only by an inch or so. "What do you think you're doing?!" Duke raged against Nash, but was held fast by his forearms. The blond chuckled, and braced himself firmly with his legs. Duke was stronger--obviously--but he had better leverage.

Nash paused for a brief second. Just what the hell was he doing, anyway...? Evidently, he was looking for some fun, if Duke wasn't too objective, but it was clear that he would be. Perhaps Nash had thought wrong, going about things with the direct approach--it'd always worked before, but... the look in Duke's eyes was affronted, not pleasantly surprised, pissed off and not yielding. Nash backed away, unsure of how the other man would react, but unable to resist stroking Duke's slick chest before he did so.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Duke yelled, after a short pause. His large hands fisted at his sides, ready to pound Nash into an unrecognizable pulp.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else. Someone I knew from a while ago," said Nash with a wink. He recovered smoothly, like he always did, joking off a potentially dangerous situation easily. Nash gave Duke his distance, unwilling to bet on the man's temper as it was. From the look of him, that was probably wise--his face was almost as red as his hair.

Nash continued about his bath; drying off and pulling a robe over his body to hid his nakedness. Duke sputtered in the corner, his surprise rendering his anger ineffectual. He stared after the blond man, disbelieving; as if something like that could never happen to him. Nash happened to glance up and meet his gaze, and returned it with a jolly smile.

"It was an accident, Duke. Don't get so worked up." Nash studied his face for another long moment, contemplating what he saw there, before turning back to synch his robe shut.

Duke's reaction alone, the older man thought, was enough to make him question whether or not he should have backed off. Imagine if he had continued...! If the man brought that fiery passion to everything he did...

Nash chanced a glance at Duke through the corner of his eye. He seemed to have recovered a bit--he wasn't blankly staring at nothing anymore, anyway--and had started to dry himself off. His well-muscled body glistened in the dim lamplight; his skin lightly bronzed except for the pale lines of scars, but Nash was no stranger to those, himself. Duke's face, while not Nash's usual fare, was sharp and broad--almost feral. A hint of a snarl still hovered on his full lips, which Nash seemed incapable of tearing his gaze from. Something about the man made Nash want to shove him against the wall and take him, but he wisely resisted. Later...

Duke, it seemed, had better start getting used to him--Nash was going to be around a bit more often...

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There he was again. Duke swore that Nash was deliberately hanging around at the corner of his vision--he was eternally there, never doing anything, just sitting. When Duke turned to confront the man, Nash always had a smile ready; patronizing him. It'd been a week since their first encounter in the baths, and ever since then Nash's presence was unshakable, like a wraith, a fleeting ghost of his vision.

Honestly, Duke couldn't figure out why Nash was hanging around. After that incident in the baths, he'd have thought that the blond would want to stay as far from him as possible. Did he want Duke to beat the living hell out of him? Because that's what was going to happen if he didn't leave him alone. What the hell did Nash want from him?

The tavern was busy that night, if Nash had wanted to be discreet and blend into the crowd, he could have. But the man seemed to take delight in bringing notice to himself. Nash walked by his table, heading to the bar, and as he did so, he delivered a knowing wink in his general direction. Duke averted his eyes; unfortunately, they landed on Elaine, whom gazed at him questioningly.

"Damned if I know," the mercenary snapped in regard to the gaze. Elaine sat back in her chair dejectedly. She hadn't even asked a question and Duke was biting her head off. Why couldn't she win with this guy? In a pout, she crossed her arms over her massive chest.

"Quit bitching," Duke told her, rolling his eyes. "If I knew what was wrong with that guy, I'd probably tell you."

"Probably?" Elaine echoed. She frowned, not entirely sure whether or not to appear hurt. It didn't matter either way, however. Duke was already turned away, chasing after Nash as the blond man left the bar. The female mercenary stared at the space her captain used to occupy, blinking.

Duke waited until Nash was a ways away from the tavern before rounding on him. He grabbed the man's wrist and jerked him backward, causing Nash to stumble a bit before he came to a halt.

"Yes?" Nash glanced at Duke's hand locked around his wrist, though he didn't try to pull away. "Something I can do for you?"

"How about you leave me the hell alone?!"

Nash had the audacity to look innocent. "I haven't spoken to you but once, Duke. How could I leave you anymore alone?"

Duke snarled, his hands moving to fist in the fabric of Nash's shirt. The blond grunted as he was slammed against the corridor wall.

"Don't screw around with me! You think I haven't seen you? Following me around?!" The red-haired man brought their faces together, their noses almost touching. Nash's eyes dropped to Duke's mouth, watching as his lips pulled back, revealing a row of white teeth.

Nash smirked, though his feet dangled several inches off the floor. His hands trailed down Duke's straining arms, quickly grabbing either side of his face. There was very little distance between them, and it took very little effort to close it--which Nash did, covering Duke's lips with his own.

The mercenary was too shocked to respond, even as he felt Nash's tongue at his lips, questing for entrance. After a long moment the Harmonian found himself sliding back to the ground, Duke's grasp suddenly turned lax. He broke the kiss and pushed Duke away, laughing to himself as he continued on his way down the hall.

Duke stared after him, his mouth agape. All of his rational thoughts flitting from his head like so many startled birds.

What...?! How?!?!?!

He was still peering down the hall when Elaine arrived by his side, an odd look on her face.

"What's your problem? Did he punch you or something?" The man didn't answer--didn't even turn around, but continued to stare blankly. After awhile, Elaine gave up trying to get a response from him but grabbed onto his arm. The sudden, squeezing pressure on the limb snapped Duke back from whatever paralysis he'd been in, and he gritted his teeth as he extricated himself from the woman's grasp.

"I'm not in the mood," he bit out, sending a disdainful glance her way. It was pretty bad when getting kissed by a man was favorable to letting Elaine touch him. With a parting glance down the hall, Duke turned around. He really needed to get plastered now. Maybe if he were lucky, he'd forget it ever happened.

He was deep in his cups before he thought of the kiss again, and only then it was one, resounding thought.

I thought he was married...?

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