"How do I look?"

Guyot spun the chair he was lounging in around so he could give his friend a once-over. "I'd do you," he then replied with an easy grin.

Reynauld snorted, amused rather than flattered. "Don't let Lucy hear you."

He cast one last glance in the mirror, then turned away with a defeated sigh. He looked good wearing full body armour and an AR, not dressed up in anything fancy. So the end he had opted for combat boots (practicality before style!), cargo pants and an olive green shirt with his old tags underneath.

Not exactly the kind of attire you would usually pick for a date, but then Reynauld had not chosen a job where he had to wear uniform every day because he was good at anything fashion related. At least the clothes were clean and free of any patches. That, and he had showered and applied some cologne that he had accidentally dug up after having forgotten he owned it in first place. It would have to do.

Now to get his target's attention, chat him up, and get him to agree to leave the bar without him becoming suspicious. Think of a distraction and make the arrest without being shot or stabbed.

Easy.

Guyot quickly picked up something wasn't right.

"You sure about this?" he asked cautiously, like testing thin ice.

"Do you have a better idea?" Reynauld replied instead of answering the actual question.

"No," Guyot admitted, "but this strikes me as a really, really bad one," he pointed out.

"Eh, can't be worse than my last date, right?" Reynauld tossed over his shoulder with a grin. Because really, it couldn't be. Even if he got stabbed.

Guyot's eyebrows shot up. "The teacher?"

"Yeah," Reynauld confirmed as he stuffed his pockets with his wallet, car keys and, after hesitating briefly, a lighter and the package of cigs Guyot had given him. At least it would give him something to fidget with.

Guyot had to keep poking. "I thought you had a good time."

"The food and drinks were good," Reynauld said. "But I could have just as well pulled a sock over my left hand and it would have made for better conversation."

Guyot winced. "Ouch. Well, I guess the moral's don't let your ex-wife talk you into a date with one of her colleagues," he said, which earned him a wild look from Reynauld.

"You putting it like that somehow makes it even worse." Mostly because it made him realize how long it had been since he'd been on a date out of his own volition, with a person that he had genuine interest in.

How long it'd been since he'd had more, and now he was rusty and his first try was against a high profile target whose tally of crimes included murder, based on his erotic preferences that may or may not have been a prank.

Reality checks sure were a bitch.

"Want me to wire you up?" Guyot asked.

"No." Reynauld shook his head. "That'd give me away, if – ,"

"If you get to the hands-on part?" Guyot supplied and for some unfathomable reason he was flipping between being concerned in one moment and mischievously amused in the other.

"You're an arse, you know that?" Reynauld informed him. Just in case he didn't' already know that.

"What?" Guyot tried and failed to look innocent. "My best friend is going on a date. I just wanna make sure he's gonna have a good time." He lifted the printout of Dismas' picture so it was right beside Reynauld's face. "I think you'll make a cute couple."

"Couple?" A new voice asked, interrupting anything Reynauld might have said in retaliation. It belonged to none other than Paracelsus. "Is that your boyfriend?" the doctor asked, owlishly blinking at the picture that was still in Guyot's hands.

Were her pupils unusually dilated? It was hard to tell.

"No, Para," Reynauld sighed. "He is the criminal we're trying to get."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed, almost. "Well, he's hot."

Guyot had begun to snicker at the boyfriend comment, but the last bit had him giggle like a maniac as he slid under the desk, like he had suddenly liquefied. Since he was utterly useless like this, it fell to Reynauld to deal with the situation.

"Thanks for dropping by, Para, now why are you here?"

Instead of answering, she dropped a plastic bag with two small pills inside in his palm. "Here."

"What is that?" Guyot asked from his place on the floor.

"Flunitrazepam," was the doctor's prompt answer.

"What is that in non scientific terms?" Reynauld wanted to know.

"Rohypnol."

"A date rape drug?" Reynauld asked, looking at the small bottle of pills she had given him.

Paracelsus shrugged and then gave Reynauld a thumbs up and a smile that was probably meant to be encouraging before leaving the office as suddenly as she had come.

"Thanks," Reynauld said after her, feeling anything but thankful. Mostly, he was weirded out. Also, a bit scared.

"The fuck is wrong with that woman?" Guyot too was looking in the door through which Paracelsus had just disappeared.

"Many things," Reynauld stated wearily. "If you're still in gelatinous form, I'll have you know I'm leaving now."

After a moment's consideration, he pocketed the drug. It went well with the handcuffs that were in one of his pockets.

Shit, he really was terrible at this, wasn't he?

"Coming!" Guyot jumped up, brushed himself down, and followed Reynauld. "You don't really have a very seductive walk," he observed a couple of steps into the corridor.

"What?"

"Your hips don't sway. You're all stiff, Rey. You look like you wanna punch somethin' or someone. At this rate, you'll scare him away."

Reynauld scowled.

"No, not like that," Guyot groaned with a roll of his eyes. "Go for a sexy look!"

"Fuck off." Reynauld huffed because he was too damn close to cracking a smile.

"Light, you're hopeless," Guyot said and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. "Do you want my list of pick-up lines? I put it together just for you."

"Thank you, but no," Reynauld declined the offered gift. "Now please go away, get the rest of the team, and don't come until I call in!"

"Fine," Guyot pouted, pocketing his list again. "Do you know there's a betting pool?"

"What?" Reynauld stopped dead in his tracks. "There's a pool? What's the bet? Hey, what – "

But Guyot just continued past him and, once out of sight, hollered 'Good Luck!'

Sometimes Reynauld hated his friends almost as much as he loved them.

The drive to Jubert's taphouse passed quicker than Reynauld would have liked. He did not spot any tail, which meant that the team that was following him was doing a good job. They would wait nearby in case he needed backup. But other than that, he was on his own.

Reynauld hated undercover work. He also wasn't enough of a duplicitous bastard to be any good at it.

He pulled into the parking lot that was half full despite the relatively early hour, and killed the engine. The bar looked less out of place in the dark than it had during daytime. Unlike the neon blue signs of the modern clubs he had driven past, warm yellow light spilled invitingly from its windows. Reynauld took a couple of deep breaths to steady his nerves, just like he'd been told in the army.

Around him everything was calm until a rambunctious bout of laughter disrupted the quiet and a group of tipsy people stumbled out of the entrance and made their way hopefully to a taxi and not one of the cars. Tonight though, that was none of his business.

Reynauld realized he was stalling.

He hurried to get out of the car, and then briskly crossed the parking lot at a jog. He'd been to war, he shouldn't be panicking about the prospect of chatting up a guy in a bar and having a drink or two. He had no favourite sports team that could lose a mach, and wasn't even allergic to peanuts. Everything was going to be just fine.

People did this all the time, although most probably did not carry handcuffs and a knockout drug with them.

Reynauld pulled the door open and was immediately hit by a wall of noise and heat. Human smells assaulted his nose, a tang of sweat and beer with an undertone of fried foods and smoke. Jubert's was a pub like many others, and while it wasn't crammed, it sure was crowded. Reynauld had to fight down a rising feeling of despair – how was he supposed to find their guy amongst all these people, and without raising suspicion to boot?

"'Scuse me," a rough male voice said from behind, and Reynauld stepped aside out of habit, realizing he had been standing rooted to the floor and blocking the doorway.

He almost did a double take when he pulled his eyes off the interior of the bar and saw who was trying to push past him. He even had a name he could put to the face.

Dismas.

There was a moment when their eyes met, and Reynauld could feel his heartbeat quicken. The rush of blood was in his ears as his target passed him by, scarcely an arm's length away. For a split second he considered grabbing him then and there. But that was not the plan.

He forced himself to look away and to move on towards the bar, not missing how Dismas actually stopped and turned to look after him.

He hadn't just given himself away, had he? If he blew it now, their entire mission was screwed. Despite the doubts assaulting him, Reynauld decided to take a free seat at the bar, and ordered himself a drink.

To his great relief, Dismas sat down a couple of tables further away. In his pocket, Reynauld's phone vibrated, providing a short but welcome distraction He had one message, and it was from Guyot.

How you doin?

There was a pdf file attached to it, and when Reynauld made the mistake of opening it, he was graced with a selection of pick-up lines, one worse than the other. Reynauld had a laugh as he scrolled through them, before he typed his answer:

Good. He's here. Stand by.

Another quick glance showed him Dismas talking to the barman and owner, Jubert. The man was easily recognizable by his size and his moustache. With the general hubbub, Reynauld would have to be much closer to be able to listen in on their conversation, but after a while Dismas threw his head back and laughed. He caught Reynauld's eye, put his feet up on an empty chair, and winked.

Reynauld felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Wasn't he too old to feel flustered by some casual flirtation? He wasn't twenty anymore – not that he would ever have dared to go to a place like this back then.

Dismas certainly looked way too smug with the reaction he'd gotten. His posture was almost provocatively careless, and a smirk played around his mouth. Either he was clueless, or Reynauld was now the one being led on.

There was only one way to find out.

And thus began the dance to which Reynauld knew the rhythm but not all the steps. It was a subtle game of patience: which one of them would make the first move?

The bar did not strike Reynauld as a place where one could show their interest too clearly, and he tried to think of ways to approach the other man, all the while keeping one eye on the clock behind the bar. He did not want to rush, and be seen too desperate or easy, but neither did he want Dismas to get bored and decide he had better chances elsewhere.

All of this would be much easier if he did not have Guyot's voice on repeat telling him to make a sexy face. And if there weren't three strangers coming up behind Dismas in a way that spelled nothing good.

Reynauld had no idea who these guys were, or what was being said, but one did not have to be very skilled at reading body language to know that they were looking for a fight. And, judging by Dismas' manner, they had just successfully found one willing participant.

The crowd was stirring, sensing something was up. Like hounds that had smelled blood they drew closer, and a loose circle began to form. Reynauld sat up straighter to better see over the many heads. Dismas had gotten to his feet too. A low chant of 'fight' ebbed and swelled, before it was effectively silenced by the barman. He seemed disinclined to do anything about the confrontation though, and Reynauld felt the first spike of worry.

Should he intervene?

Three against one were bad odds, but the main aggressor was quickly identified. He had to be the leader of the group, the other two handing back – for now.

Reynauld was watching attentively and ready to jump into action if the situation got too ugly, but Dismas managed to turn the tables within the blink of an eye all on his own. A flash of movement, a scream cut off abruptly and his adversary had his head knocked against the sturdy wooden table, dropping unconscious.

His friends quickly backed off, and Dismas –

Dismas appeared to be ready for another round.

No one seemed fazed by the casual display of violence. Reynauld even heard a few cheers, and some curses, but most patrons lost interest as quickly as the fight was over, leaving Jubert to deal with the aftermath.

The thugs were shown the way to the door; Dismas got to stay. He downed his drink with what could only be called purpose, rose, and...

... fuck.

He was coming straight over. Reynauld watched the small figure in his glass grow larger, and braced for whatever was to come. Shit, he was in for a fight, wasn't he?

Dismas had fought low and dirty, confirming that he wasn't just some punk, but someone around whom Reynauld needed to keep his defences up.

"Hey there, hot stuff."

Light, help him. It was exactly the greasy kind of come-on Reynauld would have expected from a deadbeat like Dismas. And, arguably, worse than a punch in the face.

Reynauld turned, and to give him credit, Dismas did not so much as bat an eyelash at the scrutiny he received. Reynauld had seen how the other man's hand had gone to his back pocket, and it was his fair guess that was where he kept a knife. But there might be more, maybe even a gun. It was hard to tell with the kind of clothing Dismas wore. He realized he'd been staring wordlessly at the other man for a couple of seconds.

Now or never.

"Reynauld," Reynauld said, opting for his real name because things would get terribly awkward if he failed to react to an alias.

"Dismas," Dismas said, and Reynauld congratulated himself on not bursting out with a 'I know.' The other guy grinned, and Reynauld too forced his facial muscles into a prolonged spasm.

Thankfully the barman passed by just then, saving him the embarrassment of looking like he was having a stroke. "Two beer."

Or was that beers?

Fuck, he actually couldn't language anymore. And he was expected to hold a conversation!?

Dismas chuckled. Maybe he knew the answer, or something else was going on. Either way, he slid into the seat next to Reynauld, resting one elbow on the bar and turning sideways, towards Reynauld. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"No, I, uh...," Reynauld scratched the back of his neck. He really should have thought of a good story, not sure what madness had prompted him to make it all up on the spot. "I haven't been here before." At least the orange-clawed waitress wasn't here to call him out on his lie.

Dismas' eyes were on the chain that disappeared under his shirt. "Enjoying some downtime?" he guessed.

"Leave, yes," Reynauld corrected and instantly wondered if he should have done that. He didn't want to come off as condescending. Reynauld discarded the idea of asking if it was that obvious – of course it was, he'd made it so. So instead he said, "I heard the beer's good," and took a sip of what was left of his. It was lukewarm. Reynauld suppressed a cough and decided to leave the dregs be.

He should probably return the interest.

"And you?"

There, Reynauld, that wasn't so hard.

"Oh, I used to come here a lot," Dismas drawled. "Now it's just whenever I'm passing though."

"Business?" Reynauld ventured, trying to make it sound as harmless as possible. He knew what kind of business the other man was involved in, after all. But he was curious what the answer was going to be.

"You could say that," Dismas replied, and Reynauld had to give him points for evasiveness.

And, just because he could, he asked, "So what do you do?"

Dismas' head tilted like a bird's. "I'm a mechanic," he said, and most people probably wouldn't even notice the brief pause. "Sometimes I help out a friend with a garage. Vintage stuff."

"You like cars?" Wow, very mature. You just managed to sound like Thio. Reynauld tried not to wince at the small voice in his head, but Dismas' eyes lit up.

"And bikes," Dismas added, and the smile he shot Reynauld had to be the most genuine one he had displayed this evening. "Yeah, I like repairing them, making 'em work again, you know? Or putting somethin' together, from scrap. 'S how I got my bike. Couldn't afford a new one, so I just got the newest parts from a bunch of old ones, and... ," he flushed slightly, although with his complexion and the dim light it barely showed. "Don't wanna bore ya with details," he mumbled.

"Not at all," Reynauld assured him, glad their drinks arrived to break up the awkward moment. But the truth was, that for a second he hadn't seen a target as he had thought of Dismas until now, but a man talking about a hobby he loved. And it made a change, in both how Dismas spoke, and how he comported himself.

Reynauld thought, that for a brief moment he had seen a face the man did not show everybody. There certainly was no mention of it anywhere in his files.

"Really?" Dismas asked, sounding somewhere between hopeful and slightly abashed. Whatever it was, he caught himself quickly, returning to his usual drawl. "You know, I thought of joining the army once, just to drive one of the big rides."

"Like a humvee?" Reynauld asked, grasping at the topic like a drowning man would a lifeline.

"No," Dismas replied with a shake of his head and a grin. "The really big ones."

"A tank," Reynauld stated. Right, he could do this. "You know," he began, "we once had to steal one."

"Really?" Dismas didn't sound like he believed one word of it. "That must be quite a story, soldier."

It was. And so Reynauld shared a slightly embellished version of what had happened in Tipolis with Dismas.

"... and then," Reynauld said between bouts of laughter that Dismas joined in liberally, "They fired a mortar at us. Completely useless against APCs, you see, but I guess it was the only thing they had."

Dismas' chuckle was stifled as he took a last pull on his beer. "I'd say yer shittin' me, but it seems too crazy to be made up."

"All true," Reynauld assured him, holding up his fore and middle finger. "Scout's honour."

The corner of Dismas' mouth twitched upwards, a dimple appearing in his cheek. A hardened criminal shouldn't have dimples. Until now, Dismas had made a good job of looking the part; he had a gaunt, weather-beaten face and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and dark circles underneath them– but after everything they had put him through lately, it was no wonder if he slept poorly. His nose must have been broken on more than one occasion, and he could use a shave. The short, salt-and-pepper bristle made the thin scars across his right cheek and jaw all the more pronounced. At least one of them looked like it had been caused by a knife. The others, Reynauld could only guess.

But despite bearing the marks of a tough life, Dismas was quick with a joke or a smile, and his black eyes sparkled with amusement.

Reynauld shook off his thoughts in time to catch the next question.

"You were a boy scout?"

"For an embarrassingly long time," Reynauld confirmed, "It was a thing around where I grew up."

"What's it like, down South?" Dismas asked softly.

"Hot," Reynauld replied, "and dusty, and miserable."

Dismas snorted, sensing that he wasn't in a mood to talk about his childhood home. They spoke of other things instead. The two beers Reynauld had ordered became two more, before they moved on to harder liquor.

Sometime in the middle of conversation, Dismas shifted on his barstool, and his knee knocked against Reynauld's. He didn't draw away though, and Reynauld pressed back lightly enough that Dismas could not mistake it for an attempt to shove him away.

The night was still young, but Reynauld was buzzing, pleasantly so. What advantage he had in body mass over the other man, Dismas probably made up for in practice. If the alcohol was affecting him, he wasn't showing it.

Reynauld knew he wasn't being himself. But this was nice. The closeness. Having somebody else's interest, talking about and laughing at inconsequential things.

The glass in his hand was cool and dripping with condensation, and against his side, Dismas was warm. It made for a pleasant contrast, and it made him aware of something else – something he had not experienced during his recent dates. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. And, he wanted more.

"So how come you're here on yer own?"

"Hmm?" Reynauld hummed, caught by surprise by the question. "But I'm not, am I?" he asked. It barely required any effort to turn over his hand, the one that rested on the counter right next to Dismas' - but it took a lot of courage to trace his thumb from Dismas' first knuckle to the tip of his forefinger, and back. It was the barest of touches, yet it sent his heart racing.

Dismas leaned over, and Reynauld found himself frozen for a second, but then it was only an arm wrapping around his shoulders. "I can give ya a ride," Dismas murmured, leaning close.

Warm breath tickled the shell of Reynauld's ear and sent goosebumps all the way down his spine. His eyebrows went up in a way that made Dismas grin at him.

"On my bike, I meant," he clarified, and, one intense look later, "But also off of it."

Reynauld's mind went blank for a second, and then he tossed back what was left in his glass. Light, he couldn't even remember what he'd drunk, but it sure hadn't been water.

"Just going for a piss," he announced, relieved when he found he could stand without wavering.

"Sure," Dismas said, and rested his chin in his hand, drumming his fingers against his cheek.

The walk to the bathroom sobered Reynauld up a bit. He was drunker than he had planned to be. After relieving himself, he checked out his reflection in the large mirror above the sink. His face was flushed, his eyes a bit glazy. A splash of cold water helped. The dispenser was out of paper towels, so Reynauld dried his hands off on his pants. His fingers brushed against the pocket that reminded him that he was here to do a job, not to enjoy himself. He might have forgotten, over the last hours.

Dismas was still where he had left him, staring at the screen of his phone with a frown. Hopefully no one had tipped him off in Reynauld's absence.

"Everything alright?" Reynauld asked, announcing his return.

Dismas' head shot up, and after a pause he nodded. "Yeah. Just... I actually came here to meet with someone, but they never showed up," he admitted.

"Not a date, I hope," Reynauld chuckled.

"No, just a friend." The crease that had appeared between Dismas' dark brows disappeared when he shook his head. "Screw it." The screen flickered to black and he put the phone away. "If she can't be here on time, that's her loss. Ready?"

"Yes," Reynauld said with a nod, and then immediately corrected himself. "No. Wait. I forgot to pay."

Dismas waved a dismissing hand in the air. "I know Jubie," he said. "Had him put everything on my tab, he knows I'm good for it."

Reynauld thanked him, wondering if what Dismas said was true. For a man who had just lost most of his possessions and no stable income, he sure was generous.

They left the bar, Reynauld noticing the light press of a hand on his lower back as he stepped through the doorway. It was gone again when they rounded the bar to where Dismas' motorcycle was parked in the back.

"That's the bike you told me about?" Reynauld asked with interest.

"Yeah." Dismas smiled and gave the leather seat a pat. He pulled something from a box at the back. "Here."

Reynauld looked at the helmet that was being pressed into his hands, and didn't argue. He wondered if his backup was around here somewhere, if they were watching right now. If he would find Don't Drink and Drive stickers all over his workplace tomorrow.

He swung his leg over the bike – with Dismas steering, the two of them made for a very snug fit. Reynauld didn't even have to lean forward for his chest to be pressed to Dismas' back. He could smell leather and soap, and before he could think too closely on his actions, he pressed a kiss into the short, spiky hair at the base of Dismas' skull, following it up with a light bite to his neck.

"Fuckin' hell, Rey," Dismas murmured, just loud enough for Reynauld to make out. He let out a shaky breath, before smiling at Reynauld over his shoulder. "Hold on tight, yeah?"

Reynauld put the helmet on, and his feet up, and did just as Dismas had suggested. Both of his arms were wrapped around the other man's middle, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying the drive, short though it was.

Dismas pulled to a stop only a couple of minutes later, in the abandoned lot in front of a high building with neon letters that read HOTEL. Reynauld was fairly sure they were still the same district. He could see the river from here, and a street of lights on the opposite shore told him roughly where the pier was.

"'S not much," Dismas said, as if in apology, when he noticed Reynauld taking in their surroundings. "But it'll do for the night. Yer.. uh... welcome to stay the night," he offered almost shyly. "I'll drive ya back tomorrow mornin'."

"Sounds like a deal," Reynauld said, and despite himself he had to smile as the hopeful look on the other man's face turn to a flash of teeth in the darkness. It was marred only by the painful stab in his chest when he reminded himself that this was not real.

Now that they were on their own, Dismas was no longer quite the cocky shit he had been at the bar. He seemed to be genuinely caring, at least as far as casual one-night hookups went. The bravado was less but not entirely gone, and there was still enough of an edge to him to give Reynauld a thrill.

"Thanks for the helmet," he said, handing it back to its owner.

Dismas took it from Reynauld's hands and put it back in the box, and when he straightened, a small crease appeared between his brows – but it was less of a frown and more born of concentration. He reached out, his fingers threading though Reynauld's hair and lightly combing the messed up strands back into place.

Reynauld's eyes fell shut under the touch, and when it was gone and did not return, he opened them again.

Dismas was staring, and suddenly Reynauld could feel his gaze in every fibre of his body.

"Fuck me, you're gorgeous," Dismas whispered, running both hands down Reynauld's chest.

Joy, and confusion warred inside Reynauld. When was the last time someone had said something like that to him? But this wasn't real. He wished it was. And, just for a moment, it could be. There was no one here to witness but the crickets chirping in the hedge and the bats that fluttered overhead.

"Rey?"

Reynauld made a questioning noise, not trusting himself with words.

Dismas was still looking at him like he was someone who deserved this kind of adoration, and it twisted Reynauld's stomach even as it sent his heart racing.

"I wanna kiss ya so bad."

Yes. Reynauld swallowed. A half-step closer and they were chest to chest. Dismas' hands were on his shoulders, his own rested lightly on the other man's hips. Their noses bumped, beard rasped against stubble, and then Dismas' breath was hot on his lips right before he pressed them together.

It was just a touch at first, a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Dismas' mouth, and then another one right on top of it. Dismas wrapped his arms around him, his fingers curling tightly the leather of Reynauld's jacket. He was a polite kisser, didn't take more than Reynauld offered, although he did lean in.

It wasn't hurried, or slow. It was thorough. Reynauld enjoying the sensation, the light-headedness, the euphoria, the pure rush that was kissing someone for the first time. Dismas' lips were soft under his, lightly chapped in one place. It did not deter him from licking over them, asking permission to deepen their kiss.

The sting from a playful nip on Reynauld's lower lip was quickly soothed when Dismas sucked on it. Reynauld licked into his mouth, their breath hitching at the touch of tongue, almost too sensitive. They quickly found a rhythm, let the give and take of passion take over, steer their movements.

When they broke apart, just far enough to look into each other's eyes, Dismas looked stunned for a moment. He was breathing heavier than usual too, but he grinned when he said, "Now I can't wait to see ya out of these clothes, handsome."

Reynauld couldn't return any of the compliments, couldn't bring himself to deceive the other man like this. He ran his thumb over Dismas' cheek, the rest of his fingers tilting his chin up.

The kiss was no lie. His body was honest in a way he could not be, and it craved the other man's touch, his feel, his taste. Dismas had the right height for kissing, even though on his tiptoes he still wasn't quite on par with Reynauld. Their bodies fit together just right, and their mouths met halfway, sweet and hungry.

Dismas moaned deep in the back of his throat, and Reynauld pushed closer, swallowing those little sounds. They kissed until the necessity for air drove them apart, Reynauld drawing Dismas against him one more time before reluctantly letting go.

"Elevator's that way," Dismas said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and taking a couple of steps backs.

"Lead on." Reynauld followed, never loosing eye contact. He was surprised, but not unpleasantly so, when Dismas took hold of his hand and tugged him onward.

They shared a laugh, and another kiss, and didn't stop.