Requiem for a King [MxM]

Hate Fucking

Quintus climbed the steps of the Salted Maiden tavern up to the room he'd be sharing with Gavrael for the night. Or Jaredeth, rather. He was more Jaredeth than Gavrael now that he was in his home country, and at least one person knew he was alive. King Jaredeth Archenhaud Valentius III. Even a week later, the thought of the name still soured his gut.

He felt tricked, betrayed, but at least he'd get to see a cathedral burn to the ground for his trouble. Maybe he'd find a pretty boy to fuck him—maybe even a boy as pretty as Gavrael. Then he'd jump on a boat to somewhere else, and drown himself in his barrel of ale.

Quintus pushed the room door open with his back, minding the tray of steaming food in his hands. He met Gavrael sitting in one of the two beds—he'd put an emphasis on two beds when asking for the room—with his head in his hands.

The strange feeling welled in Quintus' gut again—the pity. For someone so powerful, he did a good job of making Quintus feel sorry for him. Or perhaps Quintus saw a bit of himself in Gavrael. He, too, knew what it meant to be a victim of the Divine City's whims, knew what it was like to lose loved ones, though not to such an extreme extent.

"Dinner," Quintus announced, and set the tray of stew and bread on the table separating the two beds.

Gavrael startled and looked around, his eyes red and puffy and his nose leaking. He looked like misery incarnated. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in. Uh, thank you for the food." He yanked a hanky from his bag, the same black one Quintus had given him the night they camped out near the sea.

Quintus gave a grunt in reply, kicked off his shoes, and settled in for some light reading. He turned his back to Gavrael, tried to ignore that he was in the same room, or the hairs rising on the back of his neck every time he felt Gavrael's eyes on him.

He set more attention than necessary on the words on the page, and yet, it didn't provide the distraction he needed. Damn it. He thought they had a good thing going. He was just starting to enjoy Gavrael's company, even... like him, a little bit. Just a little bit.

It couldn't last anyway, because Gavrael wouldn't last—not as long as Quintus would last. He'd grow old and die and Quintus would continue on, forever young. Perhaps it was better this way. Saved them both the heartache of tackling the harrowing realities of mortality.

"Quintus," Gavrael said, his voice soft. "May I ask you something?"

No. Quintus huffed, feigning annoyance. In actuality, he hated silence, especially when there was someone else in the room. He actually preferred to talk instead of stewing in his feelings, but Gavrael couldn't know that. "What is it?"

"Why are you helping me?"

He turned a page in his book. "We had a deal. I help you get back on the throne, you let me burn down the Cathedral. Everyone wins."

"Yes but, you can do that without providing me counsel and comfort."

"What?" Quintus turned on his back and found Gavrael staring at him with those stormy eyes, the black hanky wound around his hands. "I'm not providing you with anything."

He shrugged. "When we were at the gazebo and Havers informed me of my mother's disappearance, you told me what I needed to hear and now." He gestured to the now empty tray. "You could've left me to starve and—"

Quintus scoffed. "If you want me to treat you like shit, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

"That's not what I'm saying." He sighed. "I just want to know where we stand. I mean, after what we shared, there are some unresolved feelings between us."

Quintus laughed, but there was no humour behind it. "Unresolved feelings? We kissed once. I've been fucked sideways by men who have far more to offer than you and walked away the next morning like we were strangers. I can't even remember half of their names. You're not special, your majesty."

Gavrael didn't seem fazed by his venomous words. If the smile that crossed his face was any indication, he was tickled pink. Was that his intention all along? Quintus wondered. To get a rise out of him? Shit. He had rubbed off on Gavrael.

"Then tell me, Quintus," he said ruefully. "Why do you sound so hurt?"

Quintus scowled, but beneath the angry visage, he was shaking. No one besides Octavia and Celesta had dared dissect him so. Somewhere along their way, he'd gotten too close, bared a little too much of his soul.

"I get it," Gavrael continued. "The meanness and the teasing, it's just a front. You're actually quite miserable, aren't you, Quintus?" His smile morphed from one of amusement to one of pity.

The look bore into Quintus and dredged up feelings he wasn't ready to contend with. And he latched on to the one he was most familiar with: anger. He stood up so fast the book fell from the bed and hit the wood floor with a smack that resounded through the room. A single stride took him across the distance separating him from Gavrael.

For his part, Gavrael didn't look afraid, despite Quintus looming over him, but he gasped when Quintus grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt and hoisted him to eye-level.

"You listen to me well, your majesty," Quintus said, his voice more of a growl. "Because I'm only going to say this once. Don't you dare act as though you know me. Are we clear?"

Gavrael closed his hands around Quintus' wrists, but instead of pushing him away like he should, he shifted closer, a little too for Quintus' liking. Close enough for him to smell the scent of juniper on his skin, to see hints of blue in his grey eyes, to feel the heat wafting from his body.

And closer still.

Until their lips touched.

Gavrael explored Quintus' lips from one side to the next. And Quintus let him. His simmering anger morphed into the heat of passion. He tipped his head back and moaned as Gavrael trailed kisses down his neck, tangling his hands in his hair. They moved across the room and crashed onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and half-discarded clothes.

No words were spoken. They both wanted this, both needed it. The one impassioned kiss they shared in Ewell would've never been enough. It would've come to this eventually, despite the bad blood, the misgivings.

Because, for all his bravado, there was one thing Quintus couldn't resist: the whims of a pretty boy.