Author: the Fanfic Maestro

Rating: M to be safe

Pairing: SiegfriedXJames

DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. Not a single thing. Except my own, perverse and fan-obsessed mind, that is.

A/N: Suddenly, an unexpected sequel appears... well, I guess this now has a life of it's own. This is still unbeta'd. Please (still) inform me of any stupid errors I can fix. Thanks! Also, reviews are love. 3

James doesn't know whether to be proud or disgusted that he goes a full thirty days (and three quarters) before finding himself in the elder Farnon's clutches once again. This time, the image of Helen's smiling face, that look of trust in her eyes, stays with him up until the dénouement, so to speak.

Traditionally, James would have cleaned up and left, but after last time's little anomaly, Siegfried's little... indiscretion, anything goes. Making a conscious break from what he knows, James doesn't rise from the bed immediately afterwards. He's not sure if he can even stand – he feels as though he is living filth... less than that, even. Yet he can't deny he enjoyed the act... not when the very obvious proof is drying on his stomach.

Siegfried watches him for a moment, as if waiting for him to move, but when he sees that James is about as likely to budge as a statue; he rises with a quiet groan, pads over to the basin, and retrieves the cloth.

James is so focused on boring a hole in the wallpaper with his stare that he jumps when the moist towel touches his abdomen. He scowls and his jaw tightens.

"... James."

Siegfried, a man capable of a range of vocal volumes, speaks his name with the same voice he uses when soothing a frightened beast.

"James, given what just happened, I'd appreciate if you at least did something to acknowledge that you can hear me."

James responded with a shrug, still not turning to look at the older man.

"I've seen that look on Tristan once or twice. Never on you."

That gets a bit of a rise out of James, who looks over, eyes connecting with the topmost greying curls on Siegfried's chest.

"What do you mean by that?" he mutters, more coldly than he means to.

"What I mean, my dear boy, is that you look like I've deeply offended you somehow, and I've never seen you so angry, not at me. Exasperated, frustrated perhaps. Even a bit irritated, on occasion. But you've got a positively murderous look on your face."

"Well, I'm sorry my face isn't to your liking," James hisses, feeling stupid for being so cross. Siegfried sighs and lays a hand on James's shoulder, ignoring the flinch he feels under his palm.

"What is the matter? We were getting along famously, and all of a sudden you're absolutely frigid – I don't understand it."

"Oh, don't you?" James chuckles humourlessly. "Perhaps you wouldn't. I don't know. I always assumed you liked Helen."

The smile fades from Siegfried's face. His hand falls limply from James's shoulder, and he finds he misses the warmth it provided, in spite of himself.

"She... she doesn't know... does she?"

"No, of course not!" the younger man snaps.

"Well, then..."

Siegfried never gives any indication that he intends to finish the thought, so James finishes it for him.

"I really need to leave."

As he stands and hastily scrubs himself clean, James feels Siegfried's eyes on him, but doesn't hear so much as a whisper from his colleague. He tugs his clothes back on and makes for the door.

Back in the room, Siegfried smiles ruefully, wondering how he's gotten himself caught up in such an affair, at his age, and with a close friend, no less.

Across the hall, James doesn't look over his shoulder, to meet the eyes he's sure he'll see. In that moment, he doubts he'll ever be able to do so again.