Jarlaxle held his head in his hands. "I started out so well removed. I knew what I was doing. How did it go so… wrong?"
"You fucked up," Zaknafein said, flicking his dagger at the rats infesting Jarlaxle's cellar.
They always went there to talk. Until Jarlaxle got rid of the nest of giant rats, he wouldn't be able to store anything there without the rats chewing through all the crates and eating it. That meant it was safe from interruption, as no one else had excuses to run down here for a wheel of cheese, or some rothe, of another bottle of wine. This was in the early days of Jarlaxle's mercenary organization. They were still reclaiming the property from the various creatures that had infested it and made it as cheap as it had been when the bald drow bought it.
Jarlaxle heard a shrill shriek and knew that Zaknafein had bull's eyed another large rodent. "You don't know what I'm talking about," he said. "You aren't even listening."
"Why should I, when all that you're doing is bitching like a priestess who's been robbed of carving someone's heart out?"
Jarlaxle looked at him and found that his friend's expression was hard.
"Look," Zak said, "why don't you just wrap a shroud around the body, dump it in the wilderness, and forget about it?" He growled.
He walked across the room, kicking rats out of his way, and pulled his dagger out of the furry corpse slumped on the ground in a pool of blood. He wiped it off on the body and crossed the room, eyeing his targets. The rats were too afraid of him to attack.
"You're terrorizing those rats," Jarlaxle said, changing the subject even though he knew his friend would know and change it back.
"What were you doing?" Zaknafein asked, narrowing his eyes at the rodents. They squeaked preemptively in fear.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Don't make me throw this at you," Zaknafein, hefting his dagger threateningly.
Jarlaxle averted his eyes and watched a spider the size of his hand weaving a web in the corner. His skin prickled. He didn't remotely want it there, but it had almost bitten his hand when he'd tried to shoo it away, so he wisely withdrew and let it spy on him. "I was having –" He couldn't make himself say it. He thought of ways to rephrase that. "- having alone time," he said, lifting his head and trying to preserve what dignity he had left.
He winced at Zaknafein's turn of phrase, which involved priestesses and rothe doing something unspeakable together. Then he said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He'd been wondering the same thing, but he didn't want Zaknafein saying that to him. Damnit, he wanted sympathy. He wanted his friend to ask what happened without automatically calling him disturbed. He put his head in his hands again.
"I thought you said you'd never do anything like the games priestesses play." His friend's glare was accusing, even offended.
Jarlaxle felt impaled on a spear of shame. "I didn't mean to."
"What did you say?"
Jarlaxle shouted, "I didn't mean to!"
Zaknafein grabbed his forearms, pulled him closer, and forced Jarlaxle to look at him. "Talk to me." He'd instantly gone from angry to afraid.
Jarlaxle felt the harsh pain of despair in his chest. "I know, it's not like me," he said, and he began to laugh. The despairing, caustic sound slowly grew louder. "It's not like me. Even Ghettarn would say so," he said, thinking back to the heavily muscled drow in his bedroom, lying with numerous cuts and a broken neck. He shut his eyes. He tried to block the scene from his mind by drowning it out with his laughter.
He almost let out a yelp of panic as his friend's arms locked around him with crushing force. Jarlaxle thought, He's killing me? Zaknafein's arms didn't tighten, cracking his ribs. The drow's arms embraced him, holding him. The crushing darkness Jarlaxle found himself lost in was welcome.
Jarlaxle gasped, jolted out of reverie by the body shifting against him. He panicked at finding himself still in someone's embrace, struggling to get away.
Artemis growled sleepily, releasing his grip on the drow mercenary. He blinked in the darkness, which was currently as black as the drow's skin. "What?"
Jarlaxle huddled on the furthest corner of the bed he could find without falling off, accidentally pulling the covers with him. He breathed heavily, clutching the comforter, his heart beating wildly. "I can't let you do this," he said. He registered in the back of his mind that the globe of silence had expired, allowing them to speak freely again.
Artemis grinned. "You already have," he said, sliding over and planting a kiss on Jarlaxle's lips.
The drow stared at him, shaken. He touched his lips. Artemis' kiss had felt oddly affectionate. "I…What?" He tried to remember what he'd done.
"Did you think that what you did would intimidate me?" the assassin asked, looking amused. "I was waiting for the first opening you gave me."
Jarlaxle looked at him flatly. "You don't know what you're doing." He had to stop the man before he got farther.
"That's your paternal streak showing again," Artemis said, kissing his neck. It felt like a rough scrubbing brush with a soft center. Entreri grinned and slipped his hands under Jarlaxle's shirt, squeezing the drow's hips. Jarlaxle struggled with his feeling of arousal, feeling his grip on the situation starting to slip. How could it end up like this?
"If I really cared about your safety, I wouldn't have ever chosen to sleep in the same room as you."
"You're making excuses," the assassin said.
"And what do you have to say about this?" Jarlaxle said, looking at him sharply.
Artemis nuzzled his neck. "I don't need excuses."
Jarlaxle found himself trapped between the bed and Artemis' body as the assassin lay on top of him. He suddenly felt hot. "I'm not doing this."
"You don't have to do anything," Artemis said, grinning. At the very real flash of fear in his companion's eyes, he said, expression worried, "I mean that. I'm not going to do anything, and you don't have to do anything."
The drow kissed him on the lips and flung his arms around Artemis' neck, clinging to him. "Then let me go," Jarlaxle said. He kissed the man on the lips again. "Let me go."
Artemis slid off of him and went back to his side of the bed. He lay on his side, looking at the drow curiously through a sheet of dark, disheveled hair that fell down over part of his face. Then he yawned. "What's the matter?" he said. "Or can I go back to sleep?"
Jarlaxle sat up and put a hand to his hand, covering his exposed eye. He still wore his eye patch. "How long have I been asleep?"
"A couple hours," Artemis said. "Why?"
The drow hung his head. "It seems like a long time ago," he admitted.
"What," Artemis asked, "since you gave into your uncontrolled lust and had to have me?" He grinned. "After saying that there was no way we could possibly have sex together?"
"And we still won't," Jarlaxle said in an instant. He hadn't known he was about to say that, but now that he had, he was absolutely sure that he had to make sure that they never, ever attempted such a thing. His eyes flashed. "I'm drawing the line here."
The assassin regarded him incredulously. "You can't be serious. You expect me – and you – to be in the same bed without ever committing –" He stopped, the insanity of it all crashing in around him.
"It's not safe." The drow mercenary's expression was firm. "I am not going to explain why, because it is not necessary for you to understand what I'm talking about. It's not safe, and you are not to tempt me like this ever again."
The assassin's face was burning in anger. "I am not some young mercenary from your band of reckless anarchists," Artemis said. His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger. It was a matter of control, keeping his temper in check. He squeezed it, knowing that if he held it, he couldn't do something more substantial, like sock his companion in the face. "I am going to ask, once, for the respect I deserve. I am not going to ask again."
"Do you demand more stories from my past?" Jarlaxle said, looking away. He was beginning to be upset himself. "I don't have to explain myself to you." He knew that he was ripping out all the stitches he'd put in to sew up their relationship, but the part of himself that realized that couldn't stop the part of himself that was blindly angry at being put in this position.
"That is true," Artemis said. His eyes were bitter. "But your curiosity, my friend, continues to find ways of tricking me into revealing the things that I would not have told you."
Jarlaxle was stung. He shut his eyes, against his will remembering all the times he had done just that, as fiercely as he wanted to deny the assassin's words. His voice came out a timid whisper. "Is it…so one-sided?"
"You've been hiding from me."
"I wish I had never inquired about your dreams," Jarlaxle said. If only I hadn't wanted to know so much…
"Then you shouldn't have!" Artemis wrapped his arms around his companion from behind, desperately nuzzling his neck. His face was up against Jarlaxle's vest. He didn't know what he was doing. He'd never felt so confused in his entire life, and the uncustomary admission intensified this reality.
Warm, soft sensations, coupled with something prickly, brushed against the drow's scalp. He let this go on for a few seconds in silence, his brow furrowed. Jarlaxle paused. "Are you kissing my head?" Artemis squeezed his waist in response. "Stop that!" He ineffectively swatted the assassin's arm. "It's embarrassing."
"Why?" Artemis whispered directly in his ear. Jarlaxle felt the hotness of his breath.
"Because it's my head," the drow said, crossing his arms. "I say so."
The assassin let out a small, husky laugh, deep in his throat.
"This is no laughing matter," Jarlaxle said, waving an index finger in the air without turning around. "This is a very serious problem you've gotten ourselves into." The assassin laughed again. "Very serious," he said, trying to catch a glimpse of Artemis' face to judge whether or not the assassin was listening.
"Good night," Artemis said, withdrawing with a teasing grin. He made himself comfortable and closed his eyes, preparing to go back to sleep.
Jarlaxle almost protested, but caught himself in time and watched as Artemis Entreri drifted off to sleep again, a smile curled across his face.
"Oh, dear," he moaned, and buried his face in his hands.
