He thought he'd never be able to go back to reverie, but exhaustion consumed him.

"I thought you'd never get back," Zaknafein said, waiting impatiently with his hands on his hips. They were in the rat infested cellar…

No, now they were in Jarlaxle's old bedroom, its shabbily furnished interior even more shabby than usual, broken items strewn across the floor that once were whole and magically ticking away on his stone desk.

Jarlaxle's vision temporarily spun. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"What were you doing, anyway?" his friend said.

"Being awake," Jarlaxle said irritably. "And this isn't the way the dream is supposed to go."

"Why do you think I give a fuck?" Zaknafein said, with a grin. "I never follow the rules, remember? I just pretend to."

"You know you're in my head, don't you?"

"Maybe you're in mine," he said, flipping his dagger into the air and catching it. He seemed to enjoy that, so he did a repeat performance.

"Please, not now," Jarlaxle said.

"Oh, I know," Zaknafein said, leaning over and putting a hand down on the mercenary's bed, gesturing to the mangled body that suddenly appeared there. "You're still sorry for this poor bastard."

For a moment, Jarlaxle thought he was going to faint or be sick or be sick and then faint. That body wasn't there until he looked at his bed. "Why is this happening to me?" he said.

"You're having a hysterical breakdown," Zaknafein said. "Why else would I be here?" He flipped his dagger into the air and caught it again. "You disposed of my body in a shallow grave so long ago that the memories you have of me are spun-sugar fictions." He paused. "Well, most of them, anyway. You still remember the way I threw up exotic shellfish all over the floor because you'd secretly slipped in scorpion fish just to see if I could eat it." He crossed his arms. "The priestess of the academy had me cleaning up that hallway for hours with a toothbrush, I'll have you know."

"So that's why you weren't at classes that morning," Jarlaxle murmured, stepping closer to the body, consumed with examining the slight details of his dead lover. The minute specks of blood on his death-pale cheek…the way his mouth was slightly open, exposing bright white teeth, savagely pointed…the pearly strands of hair out of place.

"I think she would have liked me to do it with my tongue," he said.

"Don't they always." The bald mercenary wasn't really listening. Jarlaxle was so close that he could almost touch noses with the dead drow. He reached out with his hand, fingertips tingling, but he didn't know what he intended to do.

His friend was suddenly beside him, at his left. "What are you thinking?" he asked, watching Jarlaxle with a contemplative, almost suspenseful look, the tone of his voice impassive.

"I'm thinking…" Jarlaxle said, pausing, "that he wasn't really all that handsome."

The other man nodded, waiting for Jarlaxle to continue.

The bald mercenary glanced at his friend, then back to the body. He forced himself to concentrate on it. "I'm thinking…I don't think I did this," he said, and blinked in surprise. The angle of Ghettarn's neck was unnatural, being broken, but he couldn't remember breaking it. He held his hands out, trying to figure out how he would have…could have, twisted it…like so… He just couldn't make sense of it. There couldn't be anyone other than myself responsible for this, could there?

"I don't know, could there be?" Zaknafein said, seeming unperturbed at having read Jarlaxle's thoughts.

"I thought my door was secure. There was no one else in the room," Jarlaxle said. "There were only two people here. Me, and him." He tried to think back to that day, staring at the body. "I don't…I don't think I like him," he said.

The other drow raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you get into bed with him?"

Jarlaxle reached another blank. "I don't know."

Zaknafein said, "Had you ever slept with Ghettarn before?"

"No," Jarlaxle said. That was odd. He knew that was a strange thing for himself to have done, but he didn't immediately have a reason at hand for that. "I don't think so…"

"Then what were you doing when you were fooling around?" Zaknafein said, acting exasperated.

The mercenary had a brief flash of himself, struggling against the bed and nearly throwing off the covers, fully clothed, and the large, bulky drow kneeling over him. The mercenary shook his head, trying to dissipate it like smoke. Instead, he came back to something else that was disquieting to him. "I don't think I'm sorry I did it," Jarlaxle said. Inside, he didn't feel much of anything when he looked at Ghettarn, all lumpy and lifeless, just taking up space. "What did I do in real life?" he asked. He couldn't remember much. It had slipped his mind, as if it wasn't important.

"You called me, you met me in the basement, we talked, you broke down, you and me hauled his body to the wilderness and left it there, and no one noticed what we'd done." Zaknafein shrugged.

"But what did I say happened?" Jarlaxle waited for Zaknafein's answer, looking him in the eye, perplexed.

"You said you raped him." Zaknafein turned away, unconcerned.

"No, that's not right," the mercenary said. It burst from him without his will. The words 'you raped him' were in his head, rearranging themselves horribly. It was almost too much – then he felt himself get past some barrier he didn't know existed. The words slapped sickeningly into their new place, and he was almost driven to his knees by them. He mouthed the words silently, his voice failing him, then he said, "He raped me."

"You said that after the first time I started questioning you," Zaknafein said, and at least he was calm. "First you said, 'It's my fault. I raped him'. It was all you would repeat, like some mantra or something." He turned towards Jarlaxle. "But then when I kept on questioning you – 'why?' 'how?' – That sort of thing, you know – I said, 'If you raped him, then why did you call me by messenger and tell me to get over here?' – And you started saying 'He raped me'." The other drow shrugged.

Jarlaxle felt himself throw up a little in his mouth.

Zaknafein said, "You're not such a sick fuck after all. You didn't do it."

His bones hurt. He stared at the floor. "I didn't do it," he said. He almost felt worse than before. He saw himself as so helpless, now. Raped by someone, then forced to break their neck to escape. But he did escape; he looked at Ghettarn. There were long slashes across his bare chest, and Jarlaxle had obviously kept fighting until he was able to escape, able to kill then other drow. His limbs started shaking. "I'm not…I'm not a rapist, I didn't hurt anyone…like that…" Jarlaxle sank to his knees and curled his body towards the floor, weeping uncontrollably in relief. "I didn't do it!" The feathers on his hat bobbed. "I didn't do it!"

Zaknafein went to him and gruffly patted him on the back. "It took a while. You take too much responsibility on yourself. I don't know where you get that inclination. It's nothing like a Drow."

When Jarlaxle woke up, daylight was streaming through the shutters in thin bands across the bed. He was sprawled out on his back, hatless, in vest and pants. He'd left his earrings in. Then he looked over at Artemis' back and realized that his eye patch was missing. He looked around for it.

When he shifted, one of the springs made a dull noise, and Artemis rolled over. A smile spread across the assassin's face. "So you're up," Entreri said, raking his hair out of his eyes with a hand. "I was resigned to lie here and think all day. What took you? Get to sleep late? Or were you merely sleeping in for a change?"

Jarlaxle thought of a lot of things to say, but what came out was, "What in the world did you do with my eye patch?"

Artemis held it up. He was holding it in one hand. "I thought you looked better with it off," he said. He let Jarlaxle take it back.

The elf slipped it onto his right eye. "I don't want somebody randomly coming along and reading my thoughts," he said.

"Because they would read like a porn novel?" Artemis asked, shifting closer and rubbing against him.

"Something like that," Jarlaxle admitted, modestly averting his eyes. "It would ruin all the fear people have for me, and any suspense on the battlefield."

"Heaving bosoms?" the assassin said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not this time," Jarlaxle said, eyeing the man's chest. He wanted to slip his hand into the v-neck of Artemis' shirt. His chest was smooth, light brown, and almost hairless. The drow felt his pulse rise.

Artemis reached up and carefully unclasped Jarlaxle's right earring. "This could be dangerous," he said. He removed it from his companion's earlobe.

"How?" Jarlaxle asked, unclasping the other and holding a hand out for its mate. He tucked them both into a pocket on his belt. He didn't fail to notice Artemis' eyes following the drow's hands.

The assassin's reply was a little incoherent.

The drow languorously wrapped his arms around Artemis' waist and reclined onto his back, smiling like a cat. "What was that?" he asked.

Artemis stayed on his hands and knees uncertainly. "What are we doing?"

"Celebrating," Jarlaxle said. He made to pull the assassin down closer to him.

"A vacation?"

"Whatever you want," Jarlaxle said. He watched a smile grow across his friend's face. "I mean to reverse the decision of last night." He waved a hand grandly, as though he were a king granting someone pardon, and put on a dignified expression.

Artemis gladly settled on top of him. He kissed the drow's neck. "Been made to see sense?"

"In my dreams."

The assassin said something that sounded like mumbling and then "…dreams, isn't it?" He was kissing Jarlaxle's ear.

"Shove me against the bed," Jarlaxle said, a pleading look in his eyes. He smiled.

Artemis shoved all of his weight down on his companion's body, flattening him against the protesting springs underneath them.

The drow arched his back, feeling himself becoming aroused. This time he didn't feel any of the guilt he'd been burdened with before.

He felt a certain region of his body throb.

He kissed Artemis, slowly and gently, and he felt the assassin's lips part. He ran his tongue behind Artemis' teeth.

The assassin pressed against his chest in response, lips pushing against Jarlaxle's. He closed his eyes, and they were both kissing without the other wanting to stop. They repeatedly broke up to take in gasps of air before their mouths passionately collided with each other again in slightly clumsy lust.

Then Artemis felt a hand brush his groin, which reacted in a way that set the assassin's face on fire. His body twitched, and Jarlaxle's hand quickly withdrew.

"I'm, sorry," Jarlaxle said between kisses, catching his breath. "I didn't know," Artemis forced him to stop for a few moments as they kissed again, "if you wanted to," Artemis stopped and let him finish, blinking at him, "I shouldn't have –"

Artemis smiled and cupped the side of Jarlaxle's face with his hand. He leaned forward, closing his eyes, and kissed the drow.

Jarlaxle felt the warm, callused hand on his cheek, rubbing his smooth skin affectionately. He became lost in the world of sensations in and around his mouth.

Artemis' hand moved down to his chin, then stroked his neck. It slid to Jarlaxle's vest. He felt Artemis tugging at his buttons, trying to release them. One, two, three, and the fourth tug ended in the buttons popping from their holes and a new, loose sensation on the drow's chest of fabric sliding across skin.

Artemis tenderly stroked the drow's chest, feeling hard muscle under Jarlaxle's shirt. He positioned a willing Jarlaxle's arms at his sides on the bed and slipped the drow's vest all the way off, Jarlaxle cooperating. "What do I do with this?" Artemis asked.

"Throw it on the floor," Jarlaxle said, looking unconcerned. When Artemis dropped it gently over the side of the bed, he grasped at Artemis' arms, tugging on him in an urgent signal to continue. Artemis grabbed his shirt and lifted it over his head while he was too surprised to resist and started to kiss his chest.

He didn't know what to do, so he lay there limply and let the man.

Artemis slowly worked his way back up to Jarlaxle's neck. Then chin. Then back to the drow's eagerly waiting mouth, which anticipated this move and met him halfway.

Jarlaxle considered rolling over and pinning the assassin to the bed so that he could have his turn on top, but he didn't fell like it. He was content where he was.

One of the assassin's hands strayed to his ear, lightly stroking it with his fingertips, occasionally moving over the point of Jarlaxle's ear, as if curious. Jarlaxle found this seeming naivete strangely moving.

Artemis felt Jarlaxle's arms around his waist, the drow's hands on his back comfortingly. He'd never felt so safe before, not in anybody's presence. He knew that even if they were interrupted, Jarlaxle would defend him, and he would defend Jarlaxle. It allowed him to do things he wished without fear of what was going to happen.

The drow felt Artemis' other hand suddenly between them, on his chest. He felt the man rub his hand over Jarlaxle's right breast. Jarlaxle gasped in the middle of their kiss and was momentarily stunned. He felt the tension in the region below his waist increase and shut his eyes. Small beads of sweat formed on his scalp.

The drow's hands clutched at Artemis' back convulsively. The assassin felt the space between Jarlaxle's legs pulse, which made his pulse in response. This is the furthest I've ever been with any living being, he suddenly thought. I'm actually doing it. I'm having a…a… a tryst with someone. He pressed his lips against Jarlaxle's with all of his soul, trying to block out any other thoughts to keep them from interrupting him.

Jarlaxle felt the surge of passion behind Artemis' kiss and responded by running his hands through the assassin's dark, tangled hair. The assassin's hand slowed, stroking the drow's chest with a fingertip, then sliding the back of his hand against Jarlaxle's waist. Artemis moved his hand up and down the drow's thigh. Jarlaxle pushed down on the back of the assassin's head with one hand in response. He found himself wanting Artemis to touch the place between his legs, wanting to feel pressure on it. Locked in a kiss, he silently pleaded, trying to will the assassin to do it. His chest heaved in and out.

Artemis felt the drow's skin become slick with sweat. It began to seep through his shirt, making it cling to his frame damply. He lifted his hands and broke off their kiss, breathing heavily, and began to lift up his shirt. He still kept his eyes closed, luxuriating in every sensation. He felt Jarlaxle take hold of his shirt as well, helping him. Jarlaxle pulled it over his head in one swift yank and tossed it to the floor with a muted thud. The elf ran his hands over Artemis' arms as if taking in every bulge, every depression of his skin.

I've forgotten about breakfast, Jarlaxle thought, out of nowhere, and his stomach contracted, tense with hunger. He flickered open his eyes, only then realizing that they had been shut. Artemis was blurry. He was startled to see small, fine black hairs trail down in a line from the man's stomach to his belt. Artemis saw him looking and watched Jarlaxle's fascination with his mouth slightly open in shock.

Jarlaxle cleared his throat. "I'd forgotten about breakfast," he said.

Artemis closed the gap between their bodies, their bare chests rubbing against each other. The assassin was surprised to suddenly realize that he was covered in sweat all over as well. He hadn't even been aware of it. "What's breakfast?" Artemis said, his voice coming from deep in his throat.

"I don't know," Jarlaxle said, seeming distracted. "We haven't ordered it yet." He wrapped his arms around his companion's waist, feeling hard muscles there. "Do you want to go…" The assassin pressed into him, nuzzling his neck. Artemis wrapped his own arms around Jarlaxle's waist. The drow tightened his arms. He felt Artemis' primal region pulse in response.

They were so aroused… And he was so hungry. He was torn between the two desires, both of which wanted to take precedence. This is no way to have sex, he thought. But then in response came the thought, But even if we don't do that right now, the timing is right. He had a sinking feeling that they'd never get around to doing this anytime soon if he left and got breakfast.

"You are more important than eating breakfast," he said gallantly, kissing Artemis on the mouth. He ran distracted hands through the assassin's hair, and then smiled at him.

The assassin tried to say something, but a low growl was all that came out. He was surprised by the limitations of lust on the vocabulary. Sweat was beginning to chill him. Inadvertently, he shivered.

Jarlaxle immediately grabbed the tangled comforter, shook it out, and wrapped it around the two of them. Artemis curled up against him, now using him for warmth. He held the assassin in his arms and settled back down onto the bed. He started to feel a little sleepy.

Artemis kissed his collarbone, the assassin's goatee brushing against Jarlaxle's skin. He reached out and toyed with Artemis' facial hair, somewhat amused of the human tendency to sculpt hair growing on their face into certain shapes. "What is this for?" Jarlaxle said, tilting his head.

"Mmm?" Artemis took his hand and kissed it.

Just a few months ago – He frowned. No, just a week ago, he would be disgusted at himself for behaving this way. For being in bed with, of all people he could possibly be in bed with, Jarlaxle. For finding something sensual in his partner, the madcap, garrulous, unpredictable, and almost unreliable person he relied on to make money in this world as something other than an assassin. He almost retched; he had to shut his eyes to make the feeling go away.

What is wrong with me? Why am I denying this? What's made it so repugnant to me? Sense, one of the voices in his mind replied. He shoved it away. There has to be a reason my suspicious side is acting up now instead of when I was in the middle of kissing 'my business partner', if that's what I'm objecting to.

I'm afraid of what's going to happen.

"Are you going to hire a whore the moment I leave?" The assassin's voice grated; he didn't want to have to ask, but he did have to in order to silence his own maddening doubts.

"Am I going to –" Jarlaxle started to repeat, and then broke it off, shaking his head with an expression of disbelief. His eyes were shocked. Then he broke out in a mixture between a frown and a smile, as if he couldn't decide whether or not Artemis were joking, or crazy. "What kind of question is that to ask?" he said. "I don't understand you, abbil. If I have a man who is willing to work with me, respect me, and be in bed with me, why could I possibly want to throw my money away on gaudily dressed trollops who giggle too much and insist on kissing my head?"

Artemis broke out into a grin that was almost too wide to manage without hurting his face. Relief stretched his facial muscles beyond the bounds of comfort. "I'm sorry," he said, his gray eyes feral and mischievous. "That was a stupid question."

"I'm glad you think so."

Artemis held him down and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Jarlaxle wrapped his legs around Artemis' torso, and they were back where they had left off. They were so into it that they lost track of time and missed lunch.