Seville, Spain
August 1518
There was nothing in the world quite like the elegance of a truly well-executed con, Tulio thought, as he watched his partner take a drink, long and slow, from a goblet of wine. He was already deep in his cups himself, but he fancied himself just a bit better at holding his alcohol than Miguel. They had pulled off a spectacular bait-and-switch upon a wealthy but dull-witted nobleman that had been months in the making, and tonight they were celebrating in style. The night was cool, a welcome respite from the hot Andalusian summer days, and the moon was full, bathing the city in silver tones.
"You, my friend, are the man I want next to me in a sticky situation!" Miguel crowed. It was a joke, and a clever one at that: upon their flight from the manor, they had inadvertently taken refuge in a trough of molasses. It had taken ages to scrub themselves clean.
"You're not so bad yourself," Tulio said. His lips felt pleasantly numb, and he seemed incapable of keeping a smile off his face. It was . . . nice, for once, to not have to be in control, to live in the moment and enjoy the fruits of their labor. Tonight, the fruit of choice was distinctly grape, with a splash of rum and a kick of cinnamon and clove.
"To us!" Miguel said, raising his goblet for a toast. Tulio raised his own. "To the best con men in all Europe!"
"Shhhh!" Tulio shushed him, still smiling. It would be their luck to get away with the con only to be caught while in the tavern.
"Oh, Tulio, you worry too much!"
"And you, dear friend, have had too much to drink," Tulio said.
"Psssh," Miguel scoffed, waving his hand dismissively (and nearly knocking over his wine in the process).
The musician by the bar struck up a familiar tune, to raucous applause from the other patrons. Miguel joined in the verse, humming off-key when he couldn't remember the words. His strong baritone surged with new life as he sang the chorus. Miguel jumped up to dance and promptly fell over.
Normally, Tulio would have fretted about Miguel's state of intoxication and weighed the odds of how likely they were to be caught. Right now, feeling delightfully fuzzy, he couldn't bring himself to care. He chuckled at Miguel's antics. "Come on. Let's get you home."
They stumbled out into the cobblestone street, the night air cool on their skin, wearing the blush of alcohol as they were. Miguel slung his arm around Tulio's neck, dragging the taller man down. Tulio slipped his arm across Miguel's back to steady them both, and they tottered down the street together. Miguel couldn't stop giggling.
"Stop, stop," he said breathlessly. "I -" But he lost his train of thought. He stared up at Tulio, eyelids drooping, and Tulio sucked in his breath. He'd never quite noticed how brilliantly green Miguel's eyes were, perfectly framed by long golden lashes.
"Heh, why you look - hic - looking at me like that?"
Tulio swallowed hard. He didn't have a good answer. His limbs still felt heavy and warm, but his mind felt like he'd suddenly sobered up - never mind the fact that with Miguel's eyes on him he couldn't think straight, or how his gaze felt drawn to Miguel's thin lips -
Tulio didn't recall making the decision, but the decision was made nonetheless. He dragged Miguel against him and captured those kissable, kissable lips with his own - and to his supreme surprise, Miguel kissed him back.
He still smelled like molasses.
Wait - what was he doing?!
This was his partner! Partners did not kiss, and they certainly did not do so out in the street for all to see!
But once he'd made the leap, Tulio couldn't pull away. As lovely and intoxicating as wine could be, it didn't hold a candle to Miguel. He tasted like sangria, rich and spicy and sweet, and something else entirely, something uniquely Miguel.
He felt dizzy and flushed, his heart doing somersaults in his chest like he had wanted this all along. Tulio finally broke away, leaving both of them breathing heavily like they'd just run across town evading guards, and Tulio's stomach dropped. Had he ruined everything?
"I - I -" he tried to explain, but he couldn't find the words. I'm sorry. You're my best friend and my partner. Life with you makes me richer than gold ever could. I love you. That last thought nearly stopped his heart. Did he?
"That was -"
"Wrong," Tulio supplied.
"Yes, wrong," Miguel said, nodding. "But . . . nice?"
"Nice," Tulio agreed.
They were silent a moment. Tulio's arm was still curled protectively around Miguel, and they were leaning up against the stucco back wall of a shop. Tulio cleared his throat and withdrew his arm.
"We should, uh, get back," he said.
"Back. Right," Miguel said.
And after that, they went on as if nothing had happened. They sat hip to hip like always, thighs touching, as comfortable in each other's presence as ever. But Tulio felt it, and he thought Miguel did too: something irrevocable had changed between them. They never spoke of it, of the Night That Changed Everything, but Tulio felt the weight of it between them, the chasm of longing between what was and what could be. He wondered if they'd ever cross that bridge.