Mercutio rested his back against the tree trunk and sighed contentedly. The garden was warm, the air heavy and somnolent beneath the willow tree as damselflies hovered over the dark, still waters of the pool.

Beside him, Tybalt slept peacefully, sprawled upon his back. His face was turned a little to one side, his dark hair tumbling in a tousled mess of black silk strands around his face and shoulders. His long dark lashes fanned out upon his cheeks, making dark semi-circles that almost obscured the hollow circles like bruises beneath his eyes, marks of far too many restless nights and lack of sleep. His lips were slightly parted, reddened still from the hunger of their kisses; it had seemed they were trying almost to devour each other, sharing one breath as Mercutio had coaxed the most beautifully plaintive, needy cries from Tybalt's throat. He smiled now to remember them; remember the way Tybalt's face had transformed, losing the haunted look that had become all too familiar of late.

He shifted down a bit to lean over Tybalt, resting his weight on his elbow as he gently carded his hand through the soft hair, smiling as he felt it slip through his fingers. Lightly he smoothed it away from Tybalt's sleeping face as he studied his aquiline profile. In sleep his face was relaxed, the stern forbidding glower that lingered often upon his brow giving way to a naked trusting openness in which Mercutio fancied he could see something perhaps of the boy Tybalt had once been; the man that may yet hide deep within Tybalt where even he himself could not dream of finding him.

He traced his forefinger very lightly down the side of Tybalt's face; the sleeping man did not stir as Mercutio's finger ghosted across his cheek down to the corner of those soft pink lips, then down the faint dimpled scar that ran across his jaw.

As Tybalt slept on peacefully, Mercutio let his finger drift further, gently tracing the line of Tybalt's jaw then brushing lightly across his scarred throat. He froze as Tybalt stirred slightly, his head shifting a little on the grass as he sighed softly, then grew still again.

Mercutio gently traced his fingertips across Tybalt's collarbone, then slowly down across his chest. He delicately explored an old scar that wound across Tybalt's shoulder; deeper at the top, growing more shallow and thin as it descended towards the smooth curve of his bicep. He wondered idly how Tybalt had come by such a wound.

He lightly caressed Tybalt's arm, running his fingers slowly from bicep down to wrist, admiring the play of light and shadows across the skin. Though slender, Tybalt was a strong man, his muscles well-defined; his was the body of a hunter, lean yet powerful – deceptively so. Clothed, Tybalt appeared lanky; some might even have mistaken his thinness for frailty. Yet no-one observing the way he moved or fought could ever think him weak.

Mercutio knew Tybalt did not think himself a graceful man, considering himself to be awkward, gawky, perhaps a little too tall – like some tall black heron, stalking its prey in the shadows amongst the dregs of humanity in the darker ways of Verona; yet Mercutio wished Tybalt could see himself now through Mercutio's eyes. He lay in abandoned repose, his limbs falling into a graceful sprawl, his long legs as beautiful as those of any dancer. His wrists were slender, yet Mercutio knew them to have supple strength and dexterity. He had the elegance of a predator, a hunter, a dancer of death yet capable of infinite tenderness rarely shown.

He explored the faint map of scars down Tybalt's right arm. They began with the knife wound upon his shoulder before Mercutio's questing fingers lightly ghosted around the slightly puckered dimple of an old bullet wound, long healed. Further down, a long thin line that wound from his bicep around to the back of the elbow. There were three curious raised scars, little more than round dots really, in a triangle pattern on the inside of Tybalt's forearm; they looked almost like burns or a brand, and Mercutio wondered at the story they told. He gently kissed each scar as he moved down over Tybalt's body before gently kissing each of the slender fingers that rested limply upon Tybalt's abdomen.

Tybalt stirred, his eyes slowly drifting open as he turned his head to gaze with unfocused eyes up at Mercutio. He smiled drowsily, his soft green eyes full of trust and dreams as they drifted closed again and he sank back into sleep once more.

Mercutio caught his breath as he stared down at Tybalt before exhaling slowly. He lay down beside Tybalt as he slept, and rested his head on his arm.

How on earth had he found himself in a relationship – an actual relationship, by God! - with Tybalt Capulet, of all people? Had anyone told him eighteen months ago that he would be lying here beneath a tree in the garden of the Capulet mansion with Tybalt lying peacefully and trustingly next to him, and feel no need to stray elsewhere, he would have laughed himself silly, declared the speaker even madder than he, and promptly forgotten about it until next time he encountered the Capulet – at which point no doubt he would have used it as another way to twit him and see how far he could push Tybalt until he exploded into rage or violence.

When had he allowed himself to let Tybalt in close enough to claim his commitment when none other ever had? He'd been so caught up in his own shallow pursuits, unwilling to let any see the real Mercutio inside save, perhaps, Romeo and Benvolio that it never occurred to him he could fall so swiftly for the last person on earth he would have considered. He had been so wrapped up in his bitterly unrequited yearning for Lady Montague's son that his obsession with Tybalt had seemed only an amusing distraction.

He felt a wistful regret over the thought of Benvolio. Their friendship had been strained by his seeming betrayal of Tybalt and Juliet to Lady Montague's troops. Mercutio still held him responsible for Tybalt's injuries at their hands; when he thought how close they might have come to killing him, he felt an almost overwhelming rage that -

He froze, shocked, as he realised just how easily his anger had been aroused simply from the memory of how Tybalt had been treated. He blinked slowly as he ran a hand gently over Tybalt's hip as much to reassure himself that Tybalt was safe as anything else. His skin was warm and smooth beneath his hand, the finest of light hairs tickling his palm as it swept down Tybalt's thigh, the skin marred only by the scar left by the bullet wound.

He felt protective of Tybalt in a way he had only previously felt towards Valentine. He had thought he could never find another who would fill that empty hole in his life with the death of his brother. Tybalt was different from Valentine, yet he seemed to compliment him in a way neither Romeo nor Benvolio ever quite had. He seemed to understand Mercutio, even if Mercutio still managed to wind him up chronically on occasion; there was more of a wry acceptance there.

Not that Mercutio never made a misstep with Tybalt; Tybalt's unexpected explosion of anger earlier over a teasing nickname Mercutio had used for him for years for example. He knew the moniker annoyed Tybalt but it had never aroused his ire to that extent. Perhaps he was more bothered over the disappearance of the cat than he'd let on; Mercutio knew Tybalt had been very fond of it and been comforted by Marlowe's silent, affectionate presence. He felt a strange, disquieting sense of vague guilt he couldn't fathom. He frowned then shook his head, pushing the odd feeling to the back of his mind.

Tybalt stirred restlessly again as a cool breeze stirred the willow branches into a soft susurrus of leaves and trailed light ripples across the dark surface of the pool. He murmured something indistinct, his hand shifting slightly upon his chest as he turned his face towards Mercutio as his eyelids fluttered.

"Shh, sleep," whispered Mercutio gently as Tybalt frowned slightly, opening his eyes.

"What time is it?" Tybalt asked, his voice rough and thick with sleep. Mercutio glanced at his watch.

"Just after four," he answered. "You needed the rest."

Tybalt rubbed his eyes slowly and took a slow, deep breath. "I wanted to get to the crypt before dark," he murmured.

"The crypt?" echoed Mercutio, curious. "Is that where you wanted me to go with you?"

"Mmm," agreed Tybalt.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to go alone," said Mercutio gently. "Are you sure you want to do this? We could just wait for the exhumation order and wait for the report. There's no need for us to go, really."

"No, they've stalled too long and I need to see for myself," replied Tybalt. Mercutio pulled a face.

"It won't be pleasant," he warned him. "It's been a few months now."

Tybalt sat up, and Mercutio pushed himself up to sitting next to him. He shifted around so he was behind Tybalt and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on Tybalt's shoulder.

"I'm not looking forward to it," Tybalt confessed in a whisper. "But I have to know."

"It's been there this long. It can wait another day," said Mercutio as he turned his head slightly to kiss the side of Tybalt's neck. Tybalt inclined his head slightly and Mercutio began to slowly trail light kisses along his neck then across his shoulder. "You need a while to relax. You've been so tense and stiff recently. You needed the sleep. You have no idea how good it was to see you sleeping so peacefully." He reached up and gently nibbled on Tybalt's earlobe before teasingly whispering in his ear, "You were even smiling in your sleep."

Tybalt snorted, and Mercutio grinned. "You were! It was very cute." He flicked his tongue over the shell of Tybalt's ear.

Tybalt pulled away with a half-hearted sound of annoyance. "I am not cute," he muttered.

"I beg to differ," grinned Mercutio. "So sweet lying there, fast asleep. I could just eat you up." He worried Tybalt's shoulder lightly with his teeth.

"Mercutio..." groaned Tybalt. "Behave."

"I am behaving!" protested Mercutio.

"Badly," replied Tybalt.

"But of course. What else do you expect?" Mercutio's grin was unrepentant against Tybalt's shoulder. He felt the soft sigh that rumbled deep in Tybalt's chest. "You know you love me really."

Tybalt's answer was a low rusty laugh. "I wonder why sometimes."

"You are overcome by my devastating wit and irresistible charm," replied Mercutio blithely. "Not to mention blinded by my amazing good looks."

"Don't forget your astounding vanity and ridiculously overinflated ego," replied Tybalt drily.

"Goes with the territory, oh Prince -" he checked himself suddenly as he felt Tybalt stiffen in his arms with a sharp intake of breath. "Of my heart," he finished, and was rewarded as Tybalt slowly relaxed against him slowly, letting his head drop back onto Mercutio's shoulder.

"Very smooth," he whispered.

"That I am," agreed Mercutio. "Also sorry for having upset you earlier."

"Mercutio Escalus, apologising?" Tybalt lifted his head and craned his neck around to stare up at the sky through the tree branches.

"What are you looking for?" asked Mercutio.

"Flying pigs," replied Tybalt.

Mercutio gave a mock-dramatic gasp and then laughed.

"I should bite you for that!" he replied. Tybalt turned and eyed him over his shoulder, baring his teeth in a grin.

"You're welcome to try," he answered.

"Is that a dare?" exclaimed Mercutio. "Oh ho, you're daring me?" His arms abruptly tightened around Tybalt, pinning his arms to his sides; Tybalt folded his long legs beneath him then suddenly lurched forward as he twisted around, wrapping his own arms around Mercutio and hefting him up off his feet as he stood, breaking Mercutio's grip on his arms.

Mercutio hastily grabbed at Tybalt's shoulders as he wrapped his legs around Tybalt's waist, laughing as Tybalt tried to wrestle him off, then cried out in surprise as Tybalt dropped backwards and rolled, throwing Mercutio forward over his shoulder as he came back up to his feet in a crouch and twisted round to stare at Mercutio over his shoulder, grinning in turn.

Mercutio came to his own feet with his back to Tybalt; as he turned Tybalt slammed his shoulder into Mercutio's back as he flung his arms around him, and they both went down. Mercutio twisted and tried to throw Tybalt over his hip, but Tybalt shifted his grip to grasp Mercutio's shoulder and suddenly they were rolling down the bank as the pool raced up to meet them.

Tybalt hit the water first and Mercutio saw his eyes widen briefly in alarm as the water closed over his face, and then Mercutio hit the water.

He felt Tybalt let go and try to push away beneath him. The water was dark; Mercutio could just make out Tybalt's face below him, tinted a ghostly green by the water. His eyes were open and staring up at Mercutio as he spread his arms out to either side slowing his drift downwards.

Mercutio reached down for Tybalt but the other man gave him an enigmatic smile as he twisted around in the water and with a smooth kick vanished into the darkness of the pool. Mercutio struck out for the surface and breathed in air with a gasp before shaking his wet hair out of his eyes. He glanced around for Tybalt as he floated, treading water.

Across the pool Tybalt's head broke the surface, his hair sleek and black, plastered against his head. He turned and glanced across the pool at Mercutio and smiled before diving back beneath the surface of the water. Mercutio could see his pale form slipping smoothly towards him, his skin mottled green by the water as his dark hair streamed behind in his wake. He resembled nothing so much as some strange denizen of the water; some fey water spirit perhaps, his movements graceful and almost hypnotic. He paused and stared up through the water at Mercutio, his hair fanning up around his face, and then he was surfacing next to Mercutio and laughing breathlessly.

"You were staring at me," he whispered.

"Was I?" asked Mercutio distractedly. "I never knew you could swim like that. You looked like a water nymph or spirit."

Tybalt gave him a strange look, then struck out for the bank. Mercutio followed after him. They climbed out, and Tybalt sat on the side of the pool with his feet dangling in the water as he wrung the water out of his hair before tossing the damp locks back over his shoulders.

"How deep is the pool?" asked Mercutio. Tybalt shrugged.

"I've never dived to the bottom; too dark down there. I nearly drowned the last time I tried."

"You, drown? I can't believe it – not after seeing you swim like that," objected Mercutio.

"I was only ten," shrugged Tybalt. "I don't remember learning to swim; it's just something I've always been able to do."

Mercutio leaned in close to him. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he breathed, brushing his lips against Tybalt's.

Tybalt merely smiled. "You're a strange creature," he whispered.

"Takes one to know one," murmured Mercutio as Tybalt turned away; if Tybalt heard him, he gave no sign as he drew his long legs out of the water and reached for his clothes.

They dressed in companionable silence then headed back through the garden. When Mercutio slipped his arm through Tybalt's, he said nothing but smiled.

They made their way slowly back to the house.