Jean took another sip of the wine, bitter, low quality, but he was trying to drown his worries, to get properly drunk and this was the only thing which would do the job properly and still let him stay in his senses. Damn Locke, that bastard. Always getting late. But the fault was his own, wasn't it? For caring too much? The twins certainly didn't worry themselves half to death whoever Locke was gone. Didn't have to get drunk to stop themselves from going out and hunting for that suicidal idiot every time he was an hour late.
But his games were so, so dangerous, and Jean wished that he could've been a better actor. A better liar. That he could've risked himself instead. It was always like this, Locke slipping away and Jean panicking. At least when he was also involved he didn't feel like this, knowing that Locke would certainly die if he tripped up, if not on his own.
A rustle at the door had him leaping up, embarrassingly. It opened, Locke peering inside. He looked truly drunk, the sort of drunk Jean had been aiming towards before.
His cheeks were red, hair sticking up in a way that reminded Jean, strangely, of a fox. He looked like a mess, but he was still the most beautiful thing Jean had ever seen, more so than any lady, even with her best makeup on could look. They didn't have his hair, or his cheekbones, or his wit. None of them.
He stumbled into Jean, burying his face into his shoulder. "Jean." he slurred, the Terrlivian accent still prominent. How could he even keep that, with how pissed he was, he didn't know. There was no reason to ask how the game had gone, Locke would be a lot more alert, even disoriented as he was if this had gone awry. From the alcohol, he could tell that he'd simply gone for drinks with their target after the show.
Jean sighed, letting Locke lean onto him as they made their way to his room. It was like a switch, he reflected, the way Locke shed the bearing of Altrystyr Varren and reverting back into himself as soon as he was in his own room. He liked Locke better this way, the bearing of a noble disappearing and the muscles in his cheeks, around his eyes relaxing back to Locke. He wandered over to his bed, throwing away his cravat (inelegantly loosened, still half-tied, they'd have to get rid of those creases) and kicking off his boots. Jean, worried melted away, made his way to his own bed, falling asleep near instantly.
He woke up sometime after midnight to someone poking him in the back sharply. Thin, hard fingers. Locke. The fingers disappeared, and he could feel the other thief weaseling into his sheets. He resisted all attempts at budging him, holding onto the blanket tightly. Jean turned, scowling, prepared to quite happily yank him out and onto the floor, by his hair, but Locke squirmed away, settling between Jean and the wall with the ease of one well-accustomed to getting into tight spaces.
Jean sighed. Locke curled around him felt lovely. More comfortable than before, even with him squashed. Locke had his hands curled in front of him, the way he usually slept, but his eyes were still open, and he was looking up at Jean. And, damn it, but the bed was too damned small and there was no way he could avoid putting his left arm around Locke's back, his curve of his spine a match down to the bone.He was in the midst of berating himself about feeling this warm when Locke reached up and leaned in.
He shouldn't have been surprised. A drunk Locke was an affectionate Locke, like all his worries about them dying, of dying himself was crashing back down onto him and he needed to make sure they knew that he cared. And, despite the fact that he only showed that side of himself on those rare moments, he always did it with a unique desperation, which couldn't have been anything but genuine.
He'd kissed Locke before, for complex games, or in relief on occasion, when Locke had come closer to death that usual. But never like this. It had always been this easy, this wonderful, but not quite this comforting. Because this? He could've stayed away before he wouldn't be able to stay away from this. But, then, maybe he wouldn't have to.