THIS IS NOT THE CHAPTER. I posted thenew chapter and one-shot simultaneously. If you haven't read the new chapter and would like to do so, please click on the previous :). Sorry for the confusion.
This is Van and Dilandau's "date." It doesn't have to be read to understand the next chapter, but it's fun :). Hope you do read and enjoy it :).
Reviewer Responses:
Haruko: Lol, I kinda don't want to consider the one-shots as chapter because they only focus on certain characters. I'm glad that you thought that last one was well rounded enough to be a chapter. Yes, Miguel has gained some respect, but don't worry, you'll still get some laughs at his expense ;). Oh man, Allen playing spoons. He'd probably be the roughest player there. It's always the pretty ones ;). Thanks for reviewing girl; glad you liked The Chill Factor.
EbonysDove: Hehehe I've never heard anyone describe the playing of Spoons as cute no matter who's playing lol. You know I'll throw in more Miguel/ Viole moments in future chapters. I love those two ;). Hope you enjoyed Chapter 23 (Blah) and I hope you like the new one shot ;)
S.P. Vinter: Lol! You know who I'd love to see play Spoons? Folken. With that metal hand, he'd be pretty intimidating lol. Glad you liked it girl and I hope you like Van and Dilandau's date ;). Take care!
Pocketfirefairy: Hah! Miguel just may frame his spoon ;). Thanks for reviewing girl!
Jhaylin: Counting cards is a good poker strategy but I guarantee if you sat down to play any gambling game and it got out that you could count cards, no one would want to play with you lol. It is technically considered cheating. :) Glad you liked the one-shot :). Take care and I hope you like the "date."
Omnipotent Pyro: Hehehehhe, hey Miguel can now appreciate the guys on his tail for he now knows the secret of making them back off. Act interested, lol. Glad you liked it, and yup, Dilandau plays a bunch if gambling card games ;). Miguel is insulted that you believe him being has to signal Apocalypse. Thanks for reviewing girl, hope you enjoy the "date."
Strangedream: Egyptian Rat Screw? How is that played? I've never heard of it. But I know Spoons is dangerous. I've seen Spoon battle wounds, lol. When I was in high school we used to play in the band hall and used whatever we could find for spoons, so we're talking sharpened pencils, protractors, screws, etc lol. Imagine those sharp "spoons" and acrazed, bored band children dead set on winning lol. We saw blood... often lol. And then it was banned :(. Lol I'm glad you enjoyed it, and you'll have to send me the details of Rat Screw :). Thanks for reviewing
GlassAngel1: Hey chic, glad you liked The Chill Factor. I hope you enjoy Dilandau and Van's "date" lol. Learning to chill is a good lesson, hopefully Miguel will remember and keep being able to apply it to daily life ;). Thanks for reviewing!
Skippys Cat: So happy The Chill Factor could cheer you up. I really hope you like "If I didn't know better..." lol. I teased you enough about it. I hope it measures up to what I built it up to be ;). Thank you for reviewing– everything lol! Take care chic.
One Shot #2: If I didn't know better...
The fabric was softer than silk and poured over his skin like running water, cool and smooth. It shimmered as Dilandau turned, admiring himself in the mirror. The silvery blue tunic suited him, playing up the hue of his hair and cream of his skin. Dilandau placed thin hands against the reflective surface, staring deeply into his garnet eyes.
The boy that gazed back at him didn't seem to be standing at Death's Door like he had been only a week earlier. The newly returned warrior still remained. His beauty was back, the fire that had been restored still burned, and the boy grinned boldly, proud once more.
Dilandau removed his hands, letting them fall to his sides and frowning. But the boy was being fooled, wasn't he?
He thought he'd evaded Lady Death only to find that she would be waiting for him at his own Door.
"Dilandau, how's it look?"
Dilandau started, turning as if expecting to see Van right behind him. A thick velvet drape separated Dilandau from onlookers. He made sure it was pulled tight and the thick rope was securely fastened in its snap to hold it shut.
"Give me a minute; I'm deciding," Dilandau called back.
I should get it.
It was a nice shirt after all, and he hadn't had anything new in a while. He'd had no desire to have anything new. What was the point?
Hell, what was the point now?
Running the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, Dilandau hummed lightly, calming himself. After all, he hadn't come out with Van for this– to think. He'd wanted to have fun, get away from his men, and... pretend to forget why he felt trapped by the people who loved him most.
Dilandau had thought he was ready for Her, for Death; he'd prepared himself, but that was when he thought there was hope. He'd always had a trapdoor, a safety. He could escape Her, if needed. Folken only had to give him the key to remove the lock. Now he knew there was no key.
His safety was gone and sooner or later, Lady Death would come to see who was hovering on her "welcome" mat. And unlike before, when he could be tough and put up a strong front for his men, he was terrified. Looking into their concerned faces and seeing their heavy eyes only succeeded in unnerving him more. Dilandau wanted to run and never look back.
Gods...
He was scared and even more afraid to let it show. He couldn't appear weak, and if he stayed too near anyone too close to his situation, he'd crack, peel, and bleed rivers of salt on the poor soul unlucky enough to be present.
"You need help? Let me see. I can tell you if it looks good or not."
Dilandau shook himself, releasing the shirt tail and whirling to face the mirror again. Large ruby eyes, dark and dilated, peered at him from a tight, rigid face. Where was the beautiful one he'd glimpsed earlier?– the proud Dilandau?– the fearless warrior?
Had he died already?– So soon?
Dilandau shut his eyes, resting his hands on the small of his back and stretching until he heard a pop and felt the tension in his spine ease. He sighed in faint pleasure, taking a slow, deep breath and relishing the sweet scent of the floral incense burning in the shop.
Here he was in a nice shop, wearing a marvelous shirt made of a fabric he'd never had the pleasure of trying on before, on a cool night with company that hadn't a clue in the world as to what was going on inside Dilandau. There was no terror to feed off of, no worriers to fret over, and...
He felt...
Dilandau opened his eyes to smirk at the fire that greeted him again.
There you are.
... free.
Dilandau pulled the rope and drew the curtain back to reveal Van, standing there with a garment draped over one arm, staring at Dilandau first shocked at his sudden appearance and then appreciative? Hmm... had he read that one right?
Van smiled. "It looks great."
I know.
"You think so?" Dilandau pretended to fret and turned this way and that, gaining the attention of the tiny, female shop clerk who waltzed over, cooing and purring at Dilandau's modeling.
"Yeah, you should get it," Van said, he shook out a dark purple shirt and held it before Dilandau. "I think this one would look good on you too."
Dilandau raised a brow at the shirt then at Van. "I thought you needed a shirt? It certainly seems like we've only been shopping for me."
Van's cheeks stained pink and he looked a bit guilty.
What was it with this guy? Half the time Dilandau wanted to believe the king was afraid of him, but he always went out his way to get Dilandau's attention. He liked Van ok; he could be fun, and he was always amusing, but Dilandau always had to wonder what was going on behind those big brown eyes.
The boy king whose country Dilandau's men had razed to the ground, the man that had been incensed enough to attempt to slaughter him in his sleep, the guy that had marred his face– well, maybe mar was too strong a word to describe the thin scar barely visible on the side of face– was trying to be his best friend. Van had been the first to shake his hand and agree to a truce and had been falling all over himself to set an example for other former enemies of the Slayers to follow ever since.
"Well... I have so many clothes to tell you the truth I forget which ones I've worn and which I haven't. I just thought... well, you liked that shirt I lent you so well and I did say I would take you..."
Spit it out, man. I don't want to stand here all night. Dilandau didn't roll his eyes. Good boy. He took the royal lavender tunic and held it at arms length; it was sleeveless, contrasting with the long gauntlets of the silver shirt and the style of shirts he'd been wearing in the palace.
He frowned at it.
"You've got great arm muscles. I think you should show them." Van shrugged. "My arms are too skinny for things like that."
"You used to wear that short sleeved thing all the time," Dilandau dismissed the purple shirt, handing it over to the saleswoman. All of Folken and Marie's poking and prodding had left ugly little marks on his arms that were slow to heal. "What happened to that delightful little number? Burn it?"
Van snorted to Dilandau's surprise, a grin lighting his features. "My friend, Merle, uses it to sleep in now. It was pretty ragged, not really suitable attire for a king."
Dilandau had to agree. "I'll just get this one... and maybe..." A thought struck him then and he patted his pockets. "Well shit."
"What?" Van asked.
His money pouch was in his room, sitting on his dresser. Of course he wouldn't have it on his person; he hadn't expected to go anywhere after his flight.
Dilandau sighed, slightly embarrassed to have to admit to being penniless for the night and patted the light material of the tunic he wore regretfully. Time to say goodbye...
"All my money's at the castle. I didn't even think about it. Guess we'll have to cut the evening short, huh?" Damn, and he'd been interested to know how the night would turn out.
Van clapped a hand on Dilandau's shoulder as he turned to go back into the dressing room and remove the shirt. "Hey, I invited you out didn't I? It's only fair that I should treat."
Treat? Dilandau blinked. "You mean, you'd buy this for me?"
"Yeah, that and other things." Van shrugged easily under Dilandau's gaze. "Money's no object to me. I am a king and what I don't have in currency can be put on royal credit. Get what you want. Don't worry about it."
Dilandau placed a hand under his chin to keep his mouth from falling agape. "You... intend to pay for me? All night? Really?"
Van nodded. "Mmhm."
Dilandau stared, tongue licking the inside of his cheeks and backs of his teeth as he sized Van up. "Careful Van, people are going to think we're on a date."
Something flared in those cinnamon eyes at the statement and once again, Van's cheeks were abloom with pink roses. "Ah... let them say what they want." Van scratched the back of his dark head. "Friends do stuff like this for friends, right? You'd pay for me, and I... feel like being nice tonight. I wanna have fun and going back right now isn't part of the plan."
Dilandau smirked. Van was being bold and adventurous, and Dilandau really liked this side of him. Intriguing, indeed.
Trying his luck, Dilandau rubbed his chin. "Let it be known to you now, Van Fanel, that I'm not a cheap date, so if you're serious, we're not going back to the castle for a while. How do you feel about cloaks? I saw a nice cart a ways back. I want to get something for Folken to replace that rag he's been wearing. I know he says it's new, but that I swear that man does something to every article of clothing he owns to make it look old and boring!"
Van blinked, and Dilandau kept going. "Let me get out of this and have it wrapped up. You sure you didn't want anything for you?"
Van shook his head, watching the whirlwind that was Dilandau as he vanished behind the dressing curtain again, stripping and redressing in his original outfit. Hey, maybe he should get some pants too. He needed to be measured again. Dilandau had probably lost a good ten pounds since his last fitting.
"Hey Van, know any good places for casual pants?"
"Not really, but we've got all night to find one."
Van reclined in a plush arm chair watching Dilandau roaming the confines of the bookstore they'd discovered. Van had never seen so many books crammed into a such a small place in his life. The books were wall to wall, floor to ceiling and Dilandau was currently up on a ladder surfing the high shelves and occasionally calling on Van for a push to the next row.
Van was just fine sitting with the bags while Dilandau hunted. He was tired. Carrying several bags of clothing, boots, and a blade maintenance kit while fighting crowds and keeping pace with Dilandau in the fancy boots he wore was unanticipated exercise. Van really should have made Dilandau carry more, but then Dilandau wouldn't have been able to dart out in front of him, pulling and pointing as freely as he did. Van was charmed by it and wouldn't trade Dilandau tugging on his sleeves for anything in the world.
Well... there were certain things he would trade for, but they all involved Dilandau too at that point. "I think your friend plans to buy my store, Your Majesty," the older man that ran the store chuckled, coming to stand beside Van.
Van winced; he really hated being addressed so formally, but he truly needed to use his status to cover Dilandau's expensive tastes. Dilandau hadn't exaggerated in the least about not being cheap. Van had run out of currency stores and carts ago. It wouldn't have been so bad if Dilandau was only buying for himself, but he wasn't. He bought cloaks for Folken, slacks for Miguel, maintenance kits for Guimel, exotic sweets for Dallet, an antique abacus for Shesta, cards for Gatty...
"Viole would love this..." Van jumped as Dilandau was suddenly in front of him, shoving an open art book in his face, displaying various shading techniques. Van laughed softly. "Put it in the pile."
Van counted about 10 leather bound books stacked neatly on the sales counter. Shaking his head, he sighed. They'd have to have them boxed up and delivered to the castle in the morning. "Dilandau, you don't have to find everything you want tonight. We can always come back. Leave yourself something new to uncover for next time."
Heh... Van had just inadvertently asked Dilandau on a second date. Wouldn't Allen be proud?
Van paused at Dilandau's silence and gazed up at him. Dilandau had closed the art book, eyes seemingly captivated with its rich blue cover and gold lettering. "What is it?"
Every now and again Dilandau would have these short periods of what Van wanted to label as melancholy. If Van could only figure out what brought them on, he'd be careful to never mention it again.
Dilandau swallowed hard, lips twitching slightly as if he'd eaten something bitter. "Next time, huh?"
"Uh...yeah. I mean, we're having fun right? So I figure being out with me isn't so bad..." Van tried to read his expression. Dilandau wasn't getting bored with him, was he?
"It's not," Dilandau said softly. "It's different."
Different, but not bad.
Van could live with that. But then why did he look so... sad?
"Wow, I really did go a little overboard, didn't I?" Dilandau said, turning to look at the miniature book tower he'd created. "I should probably put some of them back."
"Hey, no way. Not if you want them," Van argued. I saw your face when you chose those books. I hope you'll look at me like that one day.
Dilandau shrugged, not facing Van. "I don't think I have time to read all of them."
"You'll make time, Dilandau. People who really love to read always do," Van assured him, a bit unnerved by Dilandau's solemn tone and phrasing. He didn't say: I don't think I will have the time... he said: I don't think I have time. Just how much work was Folken piling on Dilandau to where he'd think something as bleak as that had sounded?
"Hm," Dilandau hummed, suddenly smiling and focusing vibrant eyes on Van. "Lets get out of here, Fanelia. We passed something out there I've always wanted to do."
Van's heart skipped a beat at the way Dilandau was looking at him, like he'd found something special. "Uh...yeah... whatever you want to do. You're more interesting than I am, but... What about your books?"
Dilandau waved him off, patting the art book he held. "This is the only one I need. Lets pay for it and be on our way. I don't know how many customers the ink parlor takes a night, and I want to get in."
Ink parlor? Tattoos?
Van contained the apprehensive squeak that wanted to seep out. "I...ink parlor?"
He slung multiple shopping bags over his shoulders and trailed after Dilandau to the checkout counter. Dilandau slapped his book down on the wooden desk, grinning at the sales clerk and gazing at Van in amusement. "Oh come on Van, you're been so much fun tonight, don't wimp out on me now and change my new grandiose opinion of you."
I'm fun? Grandiose opinion... new?
Don't blush, idiot! Laugh it off... laugh. Van chuckled nervously. Dammit, he sounded constipated. "Uh no, I'm not afraid of a little tattoo. I'm just... surprised you'd want to get one. I mean, you've got such great skin. If mine looked like yours, I wouldn't want to mess it up."
Eep! What am I saying? I sound like a stuttering jackass.
Dilandau made a strange face, resting both hands under his chin as he leaned on the counter. The man behind the counter winked at Van, stifling a chuckle and pushing Dilandau's purchase at him. "Coins or credit?"
"Credit. King's credit," Van said, now feeling very uncomfortable with the way the old man was smirking at him.
"Ah, all right. You might have said something; I wouldn't have even rung your... friend... up if I had known you were covering his expenses for the night."
What the hell was the old guy finding so amusing?
"Of course he's covering the expenses; he invited me out, meaning I'm his date tonight," Dilandau said, voice lowering and taking on a seductive purr that sent a shiver up Van's spine.
Get a grip. He's just teasing; he's been teasing all night.
"Oh." A chuckle from the man. "I never figured you to be a two man kind of monarch, Your Highness. Um... what happened to that other young man you were...ah... courting a few days ago?"
So that was it! Van could have decked that old man right there, if Dilandau hadn't laughed, really laughed.
The silver god latched onto Van's shoulder, giggling helplessly. "That's King Van alright, a real man's man..."
"Dilandau..." Van hissed, trying to sound menacing but failing. He liked Dilandau's light weight and pleasant warmth on his shoulders.
"Can we have this sent to the palace in the morning?" Dilandau continued, pretending to be unaware of Van's complaint.
"Sure thing, anything for a...friend...of a king," the man winked, shooting Van another sly smile and shaking his head. "Stay out of trouble, Your Majesty, and I thank you for your business. You didn't want the rest of the books?"
Dilandau shook his head. "It's ok."
The sales man smiled. "Well... have a good night then."
With another little wink, the man waved, and Van quickly guided Dilandau, who still hovered near his shoulder snickering, to the door.
Stupid old man.
He was going to spread more rumors... But would Van really mind hearing the new stories about he and Dilandau?
Nah.
Dilandau had straightened up and had Van by the sleeve yet again, pulling him through a group of people gathered around a booth featuring a puppet show.
"The ink parlor was over here, I think..."
Van stumbled, and Dilandau beamed at him over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Van, I'll hold your hand."
Really?
Where was that parlor again?– and why hadn't they gone there first?
The small of his back was sore and sensitive. He was told it was one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, but it was also one of the few places Folken didn't look at regularly. The man would have kittens, when he saw what Dilandau had done. "You like it?"
Dilandau was trying his hardest to get a good look at the "sword with coiling serpent" he'd had etched into his back. The back room of the tiny parlor had mirrors on the walls and ceilings, an attempt to let the customer view the work without straining themselves.
Van stood beside him, holding his shirt folded above the artwork. The king looked impressed.
"It looks really good, Dilandau, and just wait until it heals. It'll be beautiful."
Dilandau froze at that. Wait until it heals. Damn. That could take a while...
He moved away from Van, letting his shirt fall back over his pale back and patting the area with a wince. That was going to be uncomfortable for a while, but Dilandau was used to pain.
"Your turn?" Dilandau raised a teasing brow at Van. The king had looked positively ill as he watched Gabriel, the slim artist sporting much of his own colorful artwork himself, work on Dilandau.
Dilandau had been quite content to lie on his stomach, flipping through a showy pamphlet of other possible tattoos to consider. He felt tiny pricks and slight pressure in the area Gabriel slaved over, but nothing more. Dilandau did frown at the occasional dropped towel stained with his blood.
He'd forgotten about his bleeding problem, and he hoped since Gabriel was barely going under the surface layer of skin that it wouldn't be that bad.
"Ah..." there went that nervous titter again. "Well... I guess... But maybe just a little one, you know? Somewhere less..."
Dilandau snorted, rolling his eyes at Van. "You don't have to do anything you don't want. Honestly Van, peer pressure can be an ugly thing, and I'd strongly advise you against falling prey to it."
"But I don't want to be a stick in the mud..."
"We're talking about permanent alteration of your body here," Dilandau said, twisting his back and testing his mobility. Very good.
Van sputtered. "Aren't you being a bit dramatic? It'll be little..."
"Yeah," Dilandau said, pushing past Van to pull the thin curtain separating the tiny viewing room from the main parlor, "and when you wake up in the morning and decide you hate it, I don't want you blaming me for it. I'd rather someone like you get something...washable."
"A washable tattoo?" Van snorted to Dilandau's delight. The king was showing obstinance; he liked it. "There's a such thing? You're not talking about watercolor, are you?"
Dilandau leaned into the papery curtain, scrunching up his nose at its pungent odor. Though Gabriel tried to burn incense, sweet oils, and candles, the place still reeked of paint and alcohol.
The walls were splattered with random collages of dark purples and blues that collided and dribbled into one another, becoming a grand collection of chaos. Dilandau wanted to make his room in the castle look like this; even after Van complained of it making him seasick.
Old, overstuffed chairs and sofas hugged corners and slouched against the walls, giving the small shop a rather homey feel, if one could ignore the stools and reclining chair in the center of the room sitting near trays of assorted paints and sharps. Dilandau really couldn't figure out why he wasn't scared out of his mind.
Perhaps he'd gotten used to needles.
"It's a type of dye Van, completely harmless, painless, and looks very cool. Best thing about it is: if the artist screws up, in a few weeks it'll fade." Dilandau ghosted fingers over the cool fabric of his shirt just over his lower back. The dull sting of fresh pain assured him that nothing he'd had done was going anywhere.
"And it looks like a real tattoo?" Van questioned. "Like yours?"
"It can," Dilandau shrugged. "Depends on how you want it done and who does it."
Gabriel was lounging on his work chair, twiddling a half empty tube of black paint between ink stained fingers. He was a young man, maybe 23, with long black hair and eyes to match. He wore tattered denims and a form fitting sleeveless top, displaying tattoos like whores displayed cleavage.
"Like it or you want more work done?" Gabriel looked up at them as they approached.
"It looks good. I like it," Dilandau said then he grabbed Van's arm, pushing him forward. "My friend here wants a dye job; you do that?"
Gabriel's thin lips twisted into a brief smirk, before he soberly responded. "Yes, I do. I charge a little more, because of the mess it makes, but what's cost to royalty?"
Dilandau blinked at the man, not amused in the least. "Are you any good at it? I've seen jobs gone wrong and Lord Van doesn't want trash on his body for three weeks."
Gabriel's tan skin flushed and he narrowed his eyes at Dilandau slightly. "You got a real attitude for a such a pretty boy, you know? When you first came in here, I thought you were gonna be one of those fluffy pansies that request...dye jobs."
Dilandau did spare the man a chuckle then as he eyed Van. "This guy's not afraid to leap out on a battlefield and let poorly trained enemy soldiers take stabs at spilling his entrails, but he's absolutely petrified at donating his body to art under the hands of a skilled professional."
Gabriel's thin brows rose in interest; he tilted his head, studying both Van and Dilandau, long hair falling over one shoulder. "The King of Fanelia and his flying dragon... that's you, and you... have to be the evil Zaibach warlord turned good."
Dilandau frowned. Evil? He wasn't sure he liked that description.
"Hah, they described you to a 't,' white as a ghost, red eyes, skinny... but they left out the part about you being..."
"Pretty?" Dilandau batted his lashes.
Gabriel dimpled. "Guess it's something you have to see for yourself and pass judgment on. Don't think anyone could have done you more justice than to just have you standing there, kid."
"Hm." He wouldn't argue. "So about Van..."
"What about him?" Gabriel's dark eyes followed Dilandau as he crept closer, leaning on the recliner Gabriel sprawled on with his elbows and peering at the man.
"Will you ink him?"
"I don't know. I don't really like to break into that stuff this late in the day. Maybe if you came back tomorrow..." onyx eyes shined through spidery dark lashes.
Is he flirting with me? Dilandau wondered in amusement. He wanted to laugh. As unattractive as he'd been finding himself as of late, it was nice to know on a good day, he could still make a person take notice.
Should I milk this?
"Tomorrow..." Dilandau pouted, tipping his head forward a bit so his hair fell into his eyes. "But we may not be able to come back tomorrow. We're busy people. How's about you make an exception... for me."
Gabriel flashed a dazzling white smile. "For you, huh?" He was biting. The man straightened up in his chair, bringing his face closer to Dilandau's. "Now that's tempting."
There was a funny choking noise coming from behind Dilandau and he lost focus on the spell he was casting to look back at Van. The boy king looked... strange. His face was pink and he seemed to be flustered about something.
"Are you all right?"
Gabriel gave a light groan, and Dilandau felt him moving away.
"I don't need a tattoo or ink or whatever. You're right. Lets just go." Van looked to their bags... or rather Dilandau's bags... in one corner of the room, near the black glass door.
"Ah Van, don't be such a spoil sport. Live a little. I have an idea." Dilandau reached out and snagged Van by the hand, pulling him to the chair beside him. "Gabe," Dilandau scratched his chin, "since you don't like to do dye, maybe you could let me do it. I'll clean up any mess I make, and... uh... we'll pay you like you did it for the use of your tools."
Van gave a small shudder and Dilandau frowned at him. "Unless you don't trust me, Van. I've never drawn on anything outside of paper, but I don't think I'd do too horribly."
Suddenly he really wanted to try this. If Van wouldn't let him, he'd purchase supplies of his own and test it out on Viole... or better yet, Folken. He chuckled to himself, imagining a slumbering Folken waking up to find "I love Marie," across his cheeks that couldn't be washed off for a month with a tiny side note under his chin, "Sprinklers, baby!"
"Let me do it, huh, Van," Dilandau squeezed Van's hand then turned back to Gabriel, who was scowling at Van. Three's a crowd, his eyes practically shouted.
"You can use whatever tools of mine want, milord," Gabriel said, brushing a hand over one of Dilandau's arms. "My house is yours."
Dilandau glanced over his shoulder at Gabriel's inviting smile and winked at him. "You hear that, Van?– his house is mine, and you're comfortable with me right?"
Van stared, swallowing hard . His palm was warm and sweaty and Dilandau was happy to let it go after Van nodded.
He nodded? "Is that a yes?"
Another nod.
Dilandau laughed, clapping his hands together in excitement. A living art project. Viole would be so jealous. He ushered Van to the chair Gabriel was vacating, grumbling about supplies and mixing pastes.
"Don't worry Van," Dilandau patted the monarch's tense shoulders. "I am going to make it good. Now... off with the shirt."
Van spent the best few hours of his life flat on his back, letting Dilandau paint on his bare chest. He could have died right then a happy man. Something... something that Van could only describe as amazing came over Dilandau's face when he sketched and shaded, something unlike anything he'd ever seen on him before. Van tried not to stare noticeably at the pale deity, whose eyes glittered like jewels and pink tongue caressed a full lower lip every few moments. Van had no idea what Dilandau was painting, but the emotions that came over his face as he added each new coat captivated him.
Dilandau didn't speak and nothing distracted him but Gabriel occasionally passing him a new paintbrush or telling him not to let the paste get too thick. Van closed his eyes, heart beating rapidly as Dilandau leaned over him, almond-scented, silver hair tickling Van's nose as he blew on Van's chest.
"All done, Van," he purred lightly, pretty fingers sliding over his work area. Van nearly gasped when Dilandau's thumb brushed a nipple. He's trying to kill me... He has to know what he's doing to me!
"It's... it's dry already?" Van's voice had croaked and he cleared his throat, praying the heat he felt creeping into his cheeks wasn't showing. The paste-like dye had felt wet going on, and Van was only just realizing that he no longer felt the cool sensation of dampness on his torso.
"Yeah," Dilandau grinned, eyes on Van's chest. "It dries quick. Almost messed me up a few times when I tried to blend, but Gabe saved me."
Gabriel. Van's eyes darted around for the man to find him standing at Dilandau's side, also staring at Van's torso.
"It's beautiful," Gabriel said. "What is it of? I don't think I've ever seen this place before."
Dilandau shrugged, frowning slightly as if deep in though. "Just something...out of a dream... I guess. No place I really know. You want to go look at it, Van?"
Of course he did! He wanted to look at anything Dilandau did to his body. The silver haired boy could have played tic-tac-toe on his chest, and Van would have been content. He sat up carefully, afraid to crease the paint.
"You don't have to be so cautious; it's fine," Dilandau said, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. Van wobbled a bit as he landed on his feet, disoriented from being on his back for so long.
He looked down at his chest, getting an upside down view of the work and Dilandau smacked him. "Go look at it for the first time in a mirror, Van!"
Van started at that, eyes widening. Dilandau laughed at him, shoving him toward the back room and turning to Gabriel who was speaking to him again. Van narrowed his eyes, but found some of the prior jealousy he'd been feeling at the attention Gabriel had been giving Dilandau fading. Dilandau still commanded Gabriel's full cognizance, but for a different reason now. Gabriel was no longer staring at Dilandau with lust, but with respect.
From one artist to another, Van guessed.
Van drew the curtain to the viewing room and stepped inside, turning to stare at his body in full and going slack with awe. Dilandau had planted a field on his chest. A large grassy plain sparsely populated with tall trees and wild flowers was depicted and off in the distance was a noble house with a gate and winding porch. A wind blew across the field swaying the long grass and golden flowers, rustling the leaves of the trees and stirring the... the roses of the bushes around the house.
Van squinted... yes, those were roses.
How did Dilandau manage to get such detail in on such a small space in only a few hours?
Van heard footsteps behind him and he peeled his eyes off his torso to glimpse Dilandau in the mirror. "Do you like it? If you don't... well, your shirts cover it anyway, and it'll be gone before you know it."
No... Van didn't want it to fade any time soon.
"It's... incredible," Van couldn't help but whisper. "I didn't know... How did you do this? I mean, you made my chest look like something that should be hung on a wall!"
Dilandau grinned, scratching the back of his head shyly. Dear god, had Van actually managed to embarrass Dilandau?
Score one for me!
"It's not that good," Dilandau said. "But... thanks. I'm glad you like it."
Not that good? "Dilandau, this is amazing! I don't want to put my shirt over it."
"The King of Fanelia cannot walk around with his shirt off, Van," Dilandau said with a snort. "But..."
"But?" Van raised a brow.
"You don't have to button it up all the way... if you don't want," Dilandau shrugged; the corners of his mouth twitched into a short smile. "Gabe says we don't have to pay him anything, if I promise to come back and draw with him from time to time, so we can go as soon as you put some clothes on."
Van yelped as Dilandau produced his shirt from the thin air behind his back and tossed it at his face. He caught it in one hand and shrugged into it, undoing the top few buttons to reveal the tops of a few trees.
He walked to Dilandau who still stood behind him, lounging against a mirror and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I really like it, Dilandau, and next time we come here... I want a real one... of this."
Dilandau's lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly, and wide eyes stared at Van. "Van, I can't..."
"You can sketch it and shade it again to give Gabriel a guide to follow," Van said seriously. "You and he could clean up in here together. You draw; he makes it permanent."
"I'm not that good."
"The hell you aren't," Van said, squeezing the shoulder he still held and letting his hand slide down Dilandau's arm. Gripping the slim muscle there and liking the feel, Van said, "You're the best artist that's ever had the pleasure of drawing on me. Stop being so modest about this, when you certainly aren't modest about anything else. You're good."
Van could have melted in Dilandau's warm smile or sugary laughter. "Well, if you insist, Your Majesty. What royalty says goes around here, doesn't it?"
Van rolled his eyes, gathering up the nerve to punch Dilandau playfully in the shoulder and step back. "Where to now?"
Dilandau cracked his knuckles. "I suppose we should find dinner. I could feel your stomach growling out there, and if I don't eat, your mother bear of big brother will nag me about it tomorrow."
Van flinched. Mother bear of a big brother huh? Only to Dilandau.
"All of the nice places are probably closed though..." Van sighed. He'd wanted to take Dilandau to a café he'd seen on the boardwalk. They served fresh fruit salads, hot bread, and baked meats so that the smell of them would be mild.
"Who wants to go to a nice place, man?" Dilandau stretched his arms and twisted his back again with a slight wince as the skin pulled around his tattoo. "I want ale, and... maybe a good game of Black Jack. There are a few taverns Guimel and Dallet frequent that have always sounded like fun to me. Lets go, Van. A few beers would be a great note to end on tonight."
A few beers... with you?
"Ok, sure. Why not? At least there, they won't care if I undo a few more buttons of this shirt."
Van had one beer that he ended letting Dilandau finish. He really wasn't much of a drinker at all, and he'd felt a little out of place among the rowdy men, some of them he knew from Allen's team or had seen around the palace, soldiers in general.
Dilandau, surprisingly, fit right in. He was greeted by the title of "Silver Boss," and readily invited to join in on the card game being played in the back of the room. Dilandau had tugged on Van's shirt sleeves, dragging him to the smoky area where men crowded, grunting and shouting obscenities. The group parted to make room for Dilandau and Van, and Dilandau straddled a wooden chair backward in front of a rickety, round wood table littered with paper money, coins, fine trinkets, cigars, and even some precious stones.
"What are we playing?" Dilandau had asked.
"Spades," was the answer given and after that, Van was lost in the events and conversations that transpired. He found a seat slightly behind Dilandau and sat transfixed with Dilandau's cool demeanor as he was dealt into the game and played his cards confidently.
A tray with two large mugs of beer and a loaf of brown bread and wedge of yellow cheese was brought to them and handed to Van. Van sliced himself a piece of bread and cheese, astounded at how tasty the combination was. He was afraid he'd eaten more than his fair share before the evening was up, but Dilandau was such a light eater that Van could have eaten much more.
How could someone live off of so little?
Between games, Dilandau would take bits of bread and no cheese, nibbling slowly as if forcing himself to do so.
"Did you want to play, Van? I feel bad to have you just sitting there," Dilandau said, tossing back the last of Van's beer and wiping his mouth on his sleeve in the most dignified of undignified manners.
Van floundered. "I don't know how to play..." And quite frankly, I'm afraid to after watching. Some of the men around the table looked positively evil now that most of them had lost their possessions. "No thank you. I like watching you."
Dilandau stared at him in the oddest way, a look that was becoming quite common to Van. Dilandau probably thought he was nuts, but Van didn't care. As long as Dilandau was having a good time and getting to do what he wanted.
"Well... watch me win this hand, and then if you don't want to play, I think we'd better get going. I..."
You...?
"I should have told some people where I was going tonight, and I didn't. I didn't want them following me, but I also don't want to scare them. I keep... doing that and not thinking about it until... well, times like now, when it's too late to do anything about it."
Van frowned. Was Dilandau talking about his Slayers? He didn't want them to come? He wanted to be alone with Van?
Van grinned. "Well, if it's too late, why hurry back?"
Dilandau sighed, setting down a hunk of bread he'd broken off. "You don't understand."
Van's heart plummeted. "I didn't mean..."
"No," Dilandau interrupted him. "It's ok. I like that you don't understand. It's why I came with you, but... I'm starting to feel guilty. I really want to go home after this."
Van couldn't decide whether to be elated or depressed. On one hand, Dilandau liked something about him and it encouraged him to do things with Van... on the other hand, the very thing Dilandau claimed to like was what was shutting Van out of truly knowing the other boy.
All night... he thought... all night, Dilandau still hadn't said a word about himself. Van knew as much as he had before, only with deeper meaning. He had known Dilandau was an artist, now he knew of Dilandau's art. He had known Dilandau was adventurous, spontaneous, witty... now he was versed in it; he had experience with it. He could truly be a real friend, but still not a close one.
Dilandau hadn't let him in.
But... maybe opening doors was for the second date.
"All right then. Win this hand, and I'll walk you home." Van winked and his heart fluttered at Dilandau's light titter.
"You see all your dates to the door?" Dilandau purred, clouds lifted. Van ignored the attention they were receiving from the men around them. Dilandau didn't seem to care so why should he?
"Only ones that look like you." Van passed the piece of bread Dilandau had set back on the plate to him and grinned when Dilandau took it, holding it loosely between his fingers like a cigar.
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
They left the bar a few hours later, Dilandau's pockets heavy with coins and lined with currency. "Did you see the tears in Reeden's eyes when he thought he lost his watch?"
Van chuckled. "He shouldn't have gambled something he didn't want to part with."
Dilandau shook his head. Poor, little innocent Van. "You're missing key the point of gambling. You're taking a risk. If you put up something you can part with, what's the thrill in winning and protecting your own prized possession and gaining someone else's as well. Hell, it takes the thrill out of winning, if you know the loser didn't really want what he put on the table."
"You gave it back," Van pointed out.
Dilandau shrugged. "What do I need with a watch?"
"You don't have one."
"Don't need one. Who wants to be able to see the minutes and hours pass by every time they look at their wrist. I'd rather... experience it for myself." Dilandau reached over to take a few of his purchases from Van. He felt kind of bad for letting the king carry it all, but Van hadn't complained and Dilandau really hadn't wanted to be bothered.
Maybe they won't be as pissed when they see I come bearing gifts... Dilandau chewed his lower lip nervously as he and Van neared the castle walls.
"Is something going on?" Van asked suddenly, halting Dilandau and squinting at the castle. Dilandau frowned.
The flags were raised and soft sounds of machinery, melefs being rolled into the courtyard, could be heard. The smell of sulphur and oil was becoming very distinct.
"They're getting ready for a battle," Dilandau breathed.
Damn.
He and Van stepped up their casual trot to a brisk walk, Dilandau feeling ridiculous for all of the baggage he was bringing in. "Drop the bags, Van."
"No way, not after all the time I spent watching you pick this stuff out," Van said. "We'll have someone take it to your room or mine, or wherever."
Dilandau chanced a glance over his shoulder at Van. The guy really was too nice to him, and Dilandau was starting to think that maybe he should return the kindness.
"It's Lord Van and he's got Lord Dilandau with him!"
A lookout was perched on the walkway of the palace walls. "Open the gates!"
Dilandau and Van stood, listening to the groans of the heavy doors being pulled open. "We look like women."
"Pretty women," Van shrugged.
"We really should have ditched the bags."
"Been shopping boys?" a random soldier called.
"Not a chance," Van elbowed him.
"We've been waiting for you," gray haired General Keller greeted them. "Lord Van, Sir Allen would see you in the small hangar, and Lord Dilandau, Lord Folken is waiting for you in his private rooms."
"What's going on?" Van asked.
"Zaibach's broken through the Eastern Border and are heading for the harbor. Sir Allen, his men, and yourself, Lord Van, are to be dispatched at dawn." The general then gazed at Dilandau, his light hazel eyes alight with a faint shimmer of hope. "And we could really use you and the expertise of your soldiers out there with us in the morning too, Lord Dilandau."
Dilandau raised a brow. A request for service? So, the Dragonslayers weren't already expected to be there. What did Folken want him for then?
"I'll see what Folken wants first, and I'll get back to you promptly afterward."
Keller nodded, patting his shoulder. "Leave those things here. I'll have someone take them up to your rooms."
"Just..." Van gazed at Dilandau, "Lord Dilandau's room. Thank you General."
Keller blinked. "Yes sir."
Dilandau set down the two bags he held and watched Van unload. They walked side by side into the castle, waving at the men and women that pretended not to stare at them as they passed.
"We sure are getting a lot of attention," Van said.
"They think you're cheating on Miguel," Dilandau said with a snicker.
"Forget Miguel."
Dilandau frowned at Van's whisper. Had he meant for Dilandau to hear that? Probably not– and what had he meant by it?
They came to a fork in their path, Van needing to veer toward the hangar and Dilandau to the stairs.
"Ah..." Van stuttered. Were they back to that again? Dilandau rolled his eyes and socked Van in the chest with a soft fist.
"Hey, thanks for a good time...er... lovely evening, kind sir. We'll have to go out again," Dilandau teased.
Van laughed, a rich sound that Dilandau was rather fond of. "I'd be honored."
There was a tiny gasp as a man servant quickly found somewhere else to be, his cheeks stained an unbecoming shade of pink.
Van ran a hand through his hair. "I better go report to Allen. I'll see you in a few hours."
"Yeah." Dilandau watched him go. "Hey Van?"
"Hm?" Van turned.
"My treat next time, ok?"
Van smiled. "Ok."
Dilandau felt his mouth curl in a weak echo of Van's bright smile then with a sigh headed for the main stairway.
Now to see what Folken wants.
He patted his lower back, grimacing at the dull burn of aggravated skin and thinking fondly of what it symbolized.
Fun, freedom, and permanence.
Dilandau really hadn't thanked Van enough, and he truly owed him something better than just the promise of a second outing.
Think, Dilandau, think hard on something to let Van know just what he gave you tonight and make sure he gets it... before you go.
Dilandau took the stairs by two's, ignoring the ache in his knees from being overworked. He reflected on his evening, thinking of Van and all the places that they had been and things they had done.
Hah, Dilandau chortled to himself. Hell, if he didn't know better, he would have thought he really was on date.
And maybe... maybe he didn't mind remembering it that way.
ONCE AGAIN IF ANYONE MISSED THE NOTE, THIS IS NOT THE CHAPTER. If you haven't read the chapter, please click on the previous. I posted the One-Shot andnew chapter at the same time.
The End
Author's Note: All done. What's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care? Let me know please! Thanks!