"About fucking time."
Door 202 was hauled open and out of Ienzo's palms with a strength befitting the ridiculous muscles of the guard on the other side. Ienzo found himself face to face with a shirtless man in half zipped pants above black briefs and it was all Ienzo could do not to hiss out the guard's name and scramble away. At Ienzo's eye level, tendrils of dark, damp hair dripped down the bare planes of a well-toned chest.
Braig whipped a damp towel from around his neck and cracked it in the air before tossing it over Ienzo's shoulder.
Ienzo stood clutching the parcel with white knuckles and willing the illusion enveloping his body to stay in place. The damp towel seeped into his uniform, and he firmly shut his swinging jaw, combatting the sick feeling in his chest.
Braig strode back into the tidy room like he hadn't just answered his door three quarters naked, and sat on the side of his bed. He drew up his zipper and motioned for Ienzo again before digging through a pile of clothing. "Well? Get your ass in here," he commanded without looking up.
Ienzo's feet swiftly obeyed while his brain spouted its objections. "Apologies," he muttered, halting in the center of the room, arms crossing, gaze shifting around the space.
The walls were unadorned and bright white, everything military in its tidiness except a pile of gear dumped hastily beside the door, reeking of sweat, and a red scarf strewn across the top of the bureau like spilt blood.
Braig tilted his head slightly and the door across the room smacked shut behind Ienzo.
Ienzo had seen enough magic to keep his footing, but he tried to look surprised, and it was surprising for Braig to show off his magic so freely when he wasn't licensed to perform it in the first place. Not that a random servant would know that.
Servant, Ienzo scolded himself, the weight on his shoulder a reminder of his position—a reminder that to Braig he probably wasn't worth the discretion of, say, fully done up pants.
"I—What would you like me to do with your...towel?"
Braig plucked a white button down from the laundry pile and rose to shift the rest into the drawer of his bureau.
"A strip tease."
Ienzo felt his throat constricting and fumbled a step back. He knew, everyone knew, Braig was a bit of a slut when it came to maids and young female guards, but there were other whispers.
Braig rolled his eyes when the drawer wouldn't open with his single free hand, and with a sharp gesture the handles glowed purple and the drawer flew forward. He set the stack away, and paused, sparing the stunned Ienzo a glance over his shoulder.
With a bark of laughter, Braig motioned to a wicker basket near a sturdy oak desk. "Just toss it in the laundry bin, dumbass."
Ienzo would have held in the embarrassed "Oh" but as Acacia it slipped out.
"Well, what did I expect?" Braig mused to himself. "You're what, nineteen?"
"Something like that."
"Younger? Shit." Braig chuckled as he returned to sitting on the side of the bed, bare toes curling in the carpet, right arm hanging loosely across his chest, left fumbling with the button of his trousers. He gave Ienzo a slow once over as he eased the button into place. "I'm Braig." The guard leaned forward and offered a teasing two fingered salute.
"Acacia." Ienzo returned the gesture hesitantly, skin prickling, though the air was humid.
"You're not one of my usual maids."
Gods. He knows. He suspects something is off. He...
No. Impossible.
"Uh, no." Ienzo nodded curtly, reassuring himself that he had made Acacia appear older than him, that Braig had a backward sense of humor in the first place, that this job was meant to be in and out, and he was halfway there. He held out the parcel in his arms. "Captain Aeleus requested these be delivered to you posthaste."
"Posthaste." Braig grinned conspiratorially. "The bastard."
Ienzo felt his teeth set on edge at the insult to his dad, but Braig took no notice, merely nodded and motioned him further forward. "Went out for a bit of training this morning, hungover, mind you, and got my ass handed to me by the old rock titan. Took a bit of a spill and sprained my wrist," he gingerly raised his right hand, wrapped in tape and attempted a half rotation which ended in a slight wince. "Damn thing's put me out of commission for the day."
Ienzo nodded again, trying not to think of how Braig planned to fill the free time, if he'd journey down to the labs later, and opting to hand him the potion first.
Braig examined its bubbling green contents, humming, "You are a dumbass" almost fondly. He raised the glass in his good hand to tug the stopper out with his teeth.
Ienzo stood with fingers outstretched. Braig's wrist was sprained and Ienzo had just made him uncork a bottle one-handed. Braig had moved too quickly for him to correct his mistake.
"My apologies," muttered Ienzo again, unused to making stupid mistakes of any kind.
"Cheers, mate." Braig waved him off with a reassuring grin and downed the potion like a shot.
Ienzo's eyes widened. That kind of thing should have made Braig's vision blur and head go fuzzy, but he stayed upright, brown eyes sharp as flint. He made a tiny, satisfactory sigh and handed the empty bottle off to Ienzo, who moved to set it on the desk. Ienzo couldn't help but think Even would be interested in studying Braig's level of tolerance. He was fond of pushing people to their limits.
Rumor had it, so was Braig.
"What's the note say?" Braig inquired, slipping into the near transparent white shirt and running a hand through his damp locks.
Ienzo would not make the same mistake twice. "Shall I open it for you?"
Another teasing chuckle. "If you haven't already."
Ienzo's hand flew to cover his heart. That accusation could get a servant fired, and since his position had been falsified, investigation would not end well. "I would never."
"Yeah," another eye roll from the thirty-year-old guard, "oh fucking kay, angel face, just get on with it."
Angel face. Ienzo was grateful his back was turned. Braig hadn't seen him cringe.
"My dearest Braig," Ienzo reads, "Your superior officers have become aware that the mutually enthusiastic attentions between yourselves and the female serving staff challenge your solemn and steadfast resolve to your Guard's vow of chastity."
Braig full out snorted, and if Ienzo had been less uncomfortable he might have joined him.
"Your superior officers continue to have faith that you have not broken this most precious bond to your duty and your king."
Braig shook his head in silent laughter, and Ienzo attempted to keep his tone even. He could hear Aeleus' wry sarcasm inked in every syllable.
"In order to aid you in your valiant resistance of further temptation, you will be placed on patrol duty with male guards. In addition, we ask that you allow the male-serving staff, such as the young gentleman I have tasked with this delivery, to attend to your needs for the time being. Signed, Captain Aeleus, First Division."
Braig stretched out his good hand for the note, and Ienzo quickly passed it over, lest Braig doubt its authenticity and accuse him of impertinence.
"What a bunch of fucking idiots," he muttered, scanning down the lines and tossing the paper off to his side where it fluttered to the floor. His sneer broadened, falling on the illusion of Acacia again, "Might as well send me a note demanding I go on a diet attached to a chocolate fucking eclair, eh, kid?"
Ienzo's brows rose but he kept his mouth shut, concentrating on maintaining his disguise through his rapidly shifting emotions. His dad had written this note? Had ignored the rules of the Guard to defend Braig? Had sent some unawares kid in case Braig decided to shoot the messenger in a less than metaphorical sense?
Why?
He realized from the intense look Braig was giving him that the man had something important to him, and Ienzo had missed it. Ienzo shook his head. "I don't understand."
"No, sweetie," the mocking smile returned, slow, and his arms spread as if he were inviting his young guest into an embrace, "of course you fucking don't." He read Ienzo's tense expression and fluttered a hand gently, "Relax. C'mere."
If anything, the softness terrified Ienzo more than the harsh barks and teasing. It was new, false, unwelcome. "Actually, I ought to be going back."
This took Braig a long moment to process. "Actually," Braig's arms dropped, no longer amused, "You ought to be doing what I fucking tell you to do."
Most of my fathers would cut his tongue out if they heard him speak that way to me.
But I'm not me. I'm a servant.
A servant captive in a room with one of the palace's most menacing and ruthless guards.
And I've made myself inconsequential. I've made myself a nobody.
Ienzo felt his heart accelerating. He inhaled sharply in attempt to allay the rapid rhythm.
Again, Ienzo's legs carried him stiffly forward. "Of course, sir."
"Hey." Braig sighed, eyes shutting, and Ienzo recalled that his activities that morning had likely exhausted him, his endorphin buzz slowing into weariness and pangs of pain. "Look it, I'm just in a bit of a bind. I can't even fucking," he tugged at one lapel of his shirt, a small furrow creasing his brow, as he attempted to align it with the other side without much success. "Buttons," he emphasized in a growl before Ienzo could do much more than stare at his bare chest.
Ienzo felt the briefest twinge of sympathy, as if a single nerve had been numbed of pain while the rest roared on.
"I'm from the kitchens. I'm not really trained to assist with…"
Braig stared at him in outright disbelief, returning a compact to his sprained wrist with a grimace. The ice water began to drip down his abdomen.
"Buttons?" Braig concluded.
This time the "dumbass" was implied.
Up close, Ienzo could smell Braig's peppermint soap and the faint cling of sweat. His stomach turned with each accidental brush of skin on damp skin as the buttons rolled under his thumb and flipped into place.
"So, tell me about yourself," Braig murmured, and Ienzo flinched at the vibration below his hand, pausing to see if Braig would turn this into a joke—almost wishing he would. "New kitchen boy."
A taste like vomit clawed its way up his esophagus and he swallowed it down. "There's not much to tell."
"Always somethin'." Braig rolled his neck. "Where ya from?"
Ienzo named the most populous part of the city, a borough furthest from where he figured Braig grew up. He added a few other details: nothing north of a primary education, his job in the kitchen, an imaginary cousin who put him there.
"You weren't kidding," Braig observed, after Ienzo described a mundane assignment baking bread he had actually accidentally been roped into one afternoon, "not much to it."
"Oh excellent," Ienzo sputtered, holding the last button between his thumb and forefinger, a courteous distance from Braig's chest, and realizing with dismay that it did not align with the final buttonhole on the other side of the shirt.
"Just now noticing that, are we?" Braig sneered, laughter low, chucking Ienzo beneath the chin with his knuckles. "Guess you better do 'em all again."
Ienzo's cheeks burnt red, even with Acacia's tanned complexion, but he began to flick open the buttons he'd just done, each snicker vibrating Braig's chest crawling up Ienzo's spine, chilling as the ice water that flicked at him each time Braig forgot he couldn't gesture with a compress to his wrist.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Ienzo knew the bitterness in his voice was a risk, but at thirteen, he couldn't restrain it.
"Dunno." Braig smirked. "Here, I won't bite." Braig's working hand slid down Ienzo's side, skinnier than he looked, but Braig didn't seem to notice, distracted by the rigid tension in his abdomen as he settled Ienzo between his knees, and drew his hand up Ienzo's bicep. "I suppose a massage would be a bit above your level of expertise, eh?"
Heat lit Ienzo's neck and fingertips and he took a sharp inhale, more peppermint, as Braig laughed. "Yeah, I thought so."
"So, you like cooking?" Braig tried again.
"Hm?" Ienzo knew from experience that the best way to get rid of someone was pointed silence, but Braig was clearly growing bored and was not to be trifled with.
"Your job. You like your job?"
"It's fine."
"You're wearing it, y'know—on your face."
Ienzo hadn't been to the kitchen all day, had triple-checked his appearance before knocking at Braig's door. There was nothing on his face.
Braig licked his knuckle and reached out to smudge at an invisible stain on Ienzo's cheek.
The rough dampness he left behind felt like a kiss, and Ienzo's muscles all tensed. He could feel the damp mark spreading across his face like a hot bruise.
Ienzo thought he felt the illusion slip out of his grasp, was half convinced his hair had flashed a steely color or his eyes had shifted to an ocean blue. But if it did, Braig never reacted.
"Didn't quite get it," Braig smirked, leaning in, lips slightly parted. "Mind if I…?"
"Please," Ienzo yanked back, dropping the fabric. "Braig, don't."
"Don't make you presentable for your senior officer?" Braig leaned back, arms crossing, brows rising, expression somehow professionally detached. "You wanna run that by me again, runt?"
The shift in attitude was overwhelming.
Perhaps he had let rumors and his imagination get the better of him. Perhaps Braig was just babying this servant like his adopted fathers babied Ienzo.
Ienzo dropped the hands he had raised in objection and cautiously returned to working at Braig's shirt instead.
Damn Acacia. Damn this whole idea. Damn.
Braig pressed his hand to Ienzo's side, repositioning him to better get at the buttons just below Braig's throat, and then forgot to remove it.
Perhaps not.
Ienzo tried not to react.
Let Braig think him stupid and oblivious. There are worse things. The massage of Braig's thumb was proof of that.
"Bet the pay is shit," Braig continued as if there'd been no interruption.
"I manage."
"He manages. As if." Braig's eyes narrowed, lips quirking, examining Acacia. "Y'know, pretty face like yours, you could do a lot better than that."
Ienzo slid the last button closed and pulled back, halted by Braig's hands at his waist. "...Pretty?" he sputtered.
"Gorgeous." Braig's eyes pinned his, painfully calm and steady, "You almost remind me of…" He shook his head. "Well, never mind. Point is: You could do better, and I am, apparently, hiring. What do say you and me go grab some drinks and discuss your prospects?"
It took all of Ienzo's willpower not to yank out of the over-friendly grasp. In and out. He just had to get in and out. "Prospects?"
Braig's good hand lowered to cup Ienzo's ass. "Prospects, dumbass."
Ienzo yelped, leaping backward out of his grip, twisting at Braig's injured hand as it snatched at his uniform shirt.
Braig hissed at the sudden pain, a scowl darkening his features as he rose to his feet. "A 'no' would have been just fine," he called after Ienzo, and made no move to follow him as he darted toward the shut door.
Braig appeared in front of him before he got there, stepping from a portal black as the night sky and frowning again at Ienzo's lack of reaction.
He leaned an elbow against the doorframe and studied Ienzo's face. "What's the issue, sweetheart? I won't get you fired. I know how to be discreet." He chuckled, purred, "I did get you delivered to my door, after all."
Ienzo shut his eyes, wracking his brain for a logical escape that didn't involve an illusion that would immediately give him away.
Braig rose an eyebrow. "Not gay? Because I can turn off the lights."
Ienzo scoffed. "I am not… I cannot…" His heart pulsed quadruple its typical rate. Thirteen. What are you doing, I'm...
"Not single? Not interested?" Braig ticked these off on his fingertips like he'd done so before.
"Yes! Yes. Correct. All of those things."
"Well, fuck, kid." Braig watched Ienzo's relief with a deepening frown, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe. "You know how to let a guy down easy."
"Sor—" Ienzo choked on the half-formed word, furious with himself for almost using it.
Braig shrugged, gesturing toward the town beyond his window. "Just drinks then?"
"I have to go. Please let me go."
"Sure, eclair." A glimmer of amusement crossed Braig's eyes. He flicked his wrist and the door unbolted and sprang open. "You ever want to ditch the white coat and get your hands dirty, you know where to find me." Braig winked, stepping out of his way. "You don't have to be alone."
In his head, Ienzo knew he was wearing a pristine white baker's uniform, but, in his chest, he couldn't help but imagine that Braig was looking at him and seeing Ienzo in an oversized white lab coat.
He made it out into the hallway only to have fingers wrap his shoulders from behind. Tears stung his eyes.
"Here." Braig deposited a small sum of munny into the breast pocket of Ienzo's uniform. It was customary to tip servants running errands outside of their designated roles, but nothing had been further from Ienzo's mind. "For all your trouble."
"Don't touch me." A shiver wracked his slender frame and he let the illusion fall away in its entirety.
"Well, shit." Braig blinked as Ienzo whirled on him, schooling his expression into neutrality before Ienzo could determine whether Braig had known all along or not.
"Couldn't make it five more minutes, huh?" Braig rustled the dark, silvery blue bangs shading one of Ienzo's eyes, before Ienzo could smack his hand back. "Always nice seeing ya, kiddo."
"Fuck off." Ienzo might have been a kid, but he had been raised by castle guards, not monks.
Lips curling, Braig gave Ienzo's shoulder a defiant squeeze. "Ciao, gorgeous." A slight push propelled him down the hallway. "Take care of yourself."
