Chapter Text
Another Vrakhir.
Marat stared down at his cup of tea, as if it held the answers he was searching for, to solve this shit situation he found himself in. He thought he was getting more close to bringing down this tyranny of Brencis, only to hear the worst possible news this week. He lost Vladimir and his small group of fighters in the Silver Mines, and at first, he was angry; was Vlad loud about his plans? Was he not careful enough?
Until it dawned to him that men got killed because of him. Yes, the men knew of the consequences, that there was risk when found, but Marat felt it was his responsibility to protect them.
Not only that, the whole of Laslea got sacked, and if he had to believe Boris, no one survived. Except for one. One he wasn’t all too thrilled about, if he believed the rumors. Because that was all it was. Words. No one had seen the new Vrakhir, except for damn Boris, and his description didn’t help. A man he didn’t know. He was clouded by smoke, hard to see.
Marat took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes, doing his best not to think of the past week. He promised Sara, but it was quite hard to be drinking and having fun, when he lost so many men. When he opened his eyes again, he scanned his surroundings. The bar was dark, only a couple of candles lit, and men sitting at their tables, laughing at a stupid joke. An old lady was serving beer. His eyes stuck on a couple in the left dark corner. Soft smiles, blushing, and sneaking glances. He almost felt jealous with how careless and free they were.
But he couldn’t waste time to be feeling such a way, when there were more important tasks to be concentrating, such as this damn new -
“Your tea is getting cold.”
Drogos’ voice broke him from his thoughts, and he looked up to his friend, who cast him a look of concern. The rest of the group weren’t paying him any mind, sharing about their interests. They were a sight of a group looking normal, while he was brooding in his spot, raising suspicion. He cleared his throat, and he brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of his tea. It was cold.
“It’s still warm.” He lied. He didn’t even know why.
Drogos let out a small snort. “I am sure. What I also am sure of, is that this is a waste of time. We could search for -” He said, the last sentence a rushed whisper, but Marat eyed him sharply, shutting him up immediately. He had strong rules, and one of them was not to talk about their plans in the open, especially a damn bar.
“What you can do is search for the strongest liquor and fill your mouth with it.” Marat finished for Drogos, and he drank his cold tea at the same time someone entered the bar, daylight flooding in the dark room. It took Marat’s attention, his eyes narrowing at the harsh light, before they focused on the young man standing in the doorway. There were many kinds of people in Svartrau, that was the reason why Marat operated here, he could blend in easily. He was just an ordinary man among the many, but this one - oh no, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
Confused, his eyes darting around, and Marat got the impression that this man asked himself what in the hell he was doing here in the first place. Which was odd, to say the least, but not uncommon. Nowadays many people did not know what to do. No, what stood out, were his filthy farmer clothes, like he got dropped here just fresh from a farmer’s field.
Marat prided himself on knowing the surrounding area in Svartrau, he knew every town and their villagers, but this face he could not recognize. And oh, he would remember such a face.
The man closed the door behind him eventually, and he took a seat at a table, looking over his shoulder now and then. Nervous was the best way to describe him, and Marat couldn’t help but think he was very attractive. Scars on his left cheek, and above his left eye, and Marat was curious about the story of how he got them. Fuck, he didn’t share one word with the man yet, and he already was imagining having deep stories with him. Fucking pathetic.
Maybe Sara was right; he should talk with more people than just them. Okay, that was never going to happen. He had to build up walls, to save himself from traitors or death -
“Is there something wrong with him?”
Again, Drogos dragged him out of his thoughts, and he broke his stare on the man to look at his friend. He blinked at the question. “Who?”
“The man you keep looking at. Do you recognize him from something?”
Marat shook his head. “No, no… I was not staring at him. I was looking at the painting behind him.” Another lie. He could not even be truthful with his right hand man.
“I did not take you for being interested in fine art.” Drogos chuckled. A sound Marat didn’t hear often nowadays. Well, Marat wasn’t learned in paintings, but the man at the table was a fine piece of art. Much, much better to look at than the actual painting on the wall.
“I am filled with surprises.” Marat said dryly, and his eyes glanced at the man once more. The old lady was at his table, probably asking what he wanted to drink, and when the man smiled at her politely, Marat hated how his heart skipped a beat. But what he hated more was how he couldn’t move over to the man, because there would be questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer.
And what if he approached the man?
How big were the chances he was interested in him? He couldn’t take the risk. He knew the consequences if people knew of his… desires.
He sighed, already thinking of dropping whatever this was, until he felt eyes on him, making him look. He swallowed heavily when the man stared right back at him, feeling he got caught just now. He quickly averted his eyes, forcing himself to put his attention on Drogos. “H-How’s the beer?” He asked.
“It doesn’t taste like piss, so it’s okay, I guess.” Drogos said, giving a one shoulder shrug. “But I have to drink more to erase the bad shit.”
“Do that at home. I don’t want to drag your drunk ass on the streets of Svartrau.” Marat huffed, but he felt the ends of his lips twitch in a smile. “The last time you barfed all over my good shirt.”
“I apologized many times. Can you drop it?” Drogos said, and he rolled his eyes in fake annoyance.
“Never.”
Drogos chuckled once more, and Marat was suspicious that the alcohol was hitting his friend already. He took a quick glance back at the man, too curious if he was still looking, knowing he shouldn’t. Again their eyes met, and Marat noticed how his eyes were a stark contrast from his strong face; soft, and a kindness he didn’t see often. A kindness he forgot.
“I don’t know about ya’ll, but I am pooped!” Sara spoke up, and she stretched her arms above her head, before she stood up with the rest of the men. “I am going to rest.”
“Take Drogos with you, before he gets thoroughly drunk.” Marat told her, and he brought his cup of tea to his lips, just to realize it was empty. Oh right, he drank it all.
“Not coming with us?” Sara asked him, looking surprised.
“No, I need more alone time to think.”
Drogos and Sara shared a look, but said nothing, and Marat appreciated they didn’t ask more questions. He said his goodbye to them, and he suddenly felt alone, his table only occupied by him. He preferred to be alone most of the time, so he could think more clearly, without distractions. But there was a distraction, and it wasn’t one of his men for once.
And why did he stay? Did he really think he had a chance without risk?
Fuck, he had enough shit on his plate this week. He could not afford to be foolish, to have a chance to get his dick wet. Or a chance to get his head chopped off.
A chair scraped over the floor, making Marat startle, and he tilted his head up to see the man sit right next to him, a smile on his face. Upon close, he could see that the man’s eyes were different; the left eye was a vibrant yellow, like a rising sun. His right eye was a beautiful blue, if the dark sky got kissed by the moon. Marat had never seen such eyes before. Unnatural. He caught himself admiring the man in a very public space, and he sat upright, annoyed with himself. First, this man managed to catch him by surprise, which never happened, and second, he bloody should know better than to act like this.
“Hey, my name’s Mirto.” The man introduced himself, and he rested his hands on the table. They were strong, scarred, and Marat hated himself for imagining those fingers on him. Fuck, he would never listen to Sara again. Mirto was looking, a smile remaining on his face, and Marat realized that he was waiting on his name.
“Marat.” He blurted out, without thinking, and he inhaled sharply, seeing his mistake. No, it was okay, he calmed himself down. It was better than introducing himself as Crake, a name who everybody knew. No one knew Marat, except a handful.
“Marat,” Mirto rolled his name around in his mouth, as if he was tasting it, and it shouldn’t thrill Marat so much. He shouldn’t think he had a chance, and even if he did, he shouldn’t act on it. “Uhm, yeah, Marat, can I buy you a drink? Your cup looks empty.”
Marat looked down at his empty cup, just to break his eye contact with Mirto, and he licked his lips, not sure how to respond. He shouldn’t act on it. Ignore him. Ignore him.
“I would like another cup of tea.”
Mirto’s smile became wider, showing perfect white teeth, and Marat looked away again, praying he wasn’t blushing. This was getting embarrassing, how his body was craving for any interaction. Maybe Sara was right. When he got the chance to act on his desires, he could probably think more clearly. Be a better leader.
Did he really believe it, or was he looking for any excuse to justify getting in this man’s pants?
Mirto returned with a new cup of tea, and a glass of beer for himself. He took a long drink of it, foam hanging on the upper lip, and Marat felt the urge to wipe it off with his thumb. Instead he watched how the man licked the foam away with his tongue.
“Ahh, I needed that!” Mirto exclaimed, and he exhaled long, his eyes closed for a moment, before they settled on Marat again. “I had quite a long week.”
“Work beating your ass?” He guessed. Alright, he could do this. This was a normal conversation. Fuck the ones who said he couldn’t be civil.
Mirto wrapped his hands around his glass of beer, and he nodded slowly. “You can say that. I got a new… position, and I am not sure how to feel about it yet.”
“Does it pay well?” Marat asked, and he blew on his tea to cool it down.
“I can’t complain.”
“Ah, ah,” Marat pointed his finger at Mirto, wiggling it. “That’s a rich man talking. Then I must ask, if you have money, why are you dressed like some poor farmer boy?”
Mirto casted a glance at his dirty robes, and Marat saw an amused smile show up on his attractive face. “To blend in?” Mirto answered.
Marat blinked at his honesty, although he wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. Nonetheless, he laughed shortly. His own laugh sounded foreign to him. “You’re doing a poor job. I noticed you immediately.”
Mirto took a sip of his beer, and Marat could see he was thinking; lips pressed together after the drink, and a small frown between his brows. Mirto cleared his throat. “I hope it’s not just my poor wardrobe that took your attention.”
Marat was not prepared for such a direct flirt, if he was reading this right, and he sat frozen in his chair, dumbfounded. It was not often that someone took away his speech, since he was always in control. Well, until this damn week apparently. His heart was hammering inside his chest, and he didn’t know if it was because of arousal, excitement or pure fear. Maybe all of them.
Again, he wanted to hide. Be alone with this new man, so he could be bolder, and take matters in his own hands. But being in such a public display, he knew he had to be careful, and be more timid.
A cough made him look up, seeing Mirto avert his eyes now, ashamed. “I am sorry if I… I thought you were… I am sorry, forget this happened.” He said, and he moved to stand up. Marat realized that Mirto saw his silence as a rejection, and he wished he could shut his brain for once, that his paranoia wouldn’t fuck this one up, because this was just a man. Not a soldier of Brencis’ army, or some dumb mercenary. He didn’t get any of those impressions, and he knew the signs if he was one.
Ignoring his worries, basically every warning that made him stay alive until now, and he grabbed Mirto by his sleeve before he could leave. “No, not just your wardrobe.” He finally replied, barely a whisper, but to him, it was loud. For a second, he thought Mirto didn’t hear him, and he could forget it if he expected Marat to repeat, but the smile on the man’s face almost made him sigh in relief.
Mirto sat back on the wooden chair, and his soft smile turned into a cocky grin, and Marat hated how much he wanted to taste those lips with his own. He thought this over, where he could be alone with this man without eyes following them. The Manumite hideout was out of the question. Maybe The Middens? Not the most romantic, but they weren’t going on a romantic stroll in the damn woods either. It was a quick fuck.
“Let me pay for the drinks, and we can go to my home?” Mirto suggested, and his voice was quick. He was eager to leave, and Marat felt a pit in his stomach surge up, his lower abdomen getting warm. Oh fuck.
“Is your home far away?”
His grin only got more wide. “Not at all.”
So Marat stood up to leave with the stranger. His cup of tea got cold again.