The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Taboo

Night had fallen by the time they walked back down the broadway. The darkness brought Able some relief, even as he noted the pale Borealunders seemed to glow under the lamps hanging above the street. It only meant he was less visible. Still, more than once he had a puzzling urge to hold Lark's hand. Lark wasn't even walking as briskly as before, when that might have served as a solution against getting separated, instead humming lazily with his face turned up to the night sky.

The common room was largely deserted by the time they returned to the inn. Lark practically sprang up the stairs and was unpacking by the time Able had gotten his own self into the room. Now that he closed the door behind him and lowered the bar into the latch, he felt he could breathe again.

Had he had ever felt so tired in his life? Oh right, only two days ago. The bed was small but horizontal, and that was all he needed. The moment he flopped back on it, he realized he wouldn't be getting up again for hours. Which was fine. He let the tension seep out his neck and shoulders and tried to work his boots off with his feet.

"Would you like help with that?" Lark sounded amused.

"I'll get it eventually." Able flashed Lark a grin then watched him caringly mount his jacket and shirt on hangers. Able considered himself a tidy person but had never once considered bringing hangers along in his luggage.

"Suit yourself." Lark grinned in return then crossed, bare-chested and bare-footed to the mirror where he began undoing his hair.

"Thanks, I will," Able responded distractedly. Damn those black curls. With Lark pulling a comb through them, the strands extended practically the length of his arm. Able watched them uncoil under the comb only to spring up and drift back to the middle Lark's back. Able longed to use his hands in place of that comb.

"It is a pain to manage." Lark had caught him staring and grinned in the mirror. "Sometimes I think about all the time I spend on it, and I just want to take it all off."

"I—" Able swallowed down both the panic in his throat and the objection from his gut. "It's your hair."

Lark only laughed. "Never fear! I shall continue to put up with it for the benefit of you mortals."

"We mortals who can distinguish between pitches," Able retorted with a wry smile.

Lark turned and pointed his comb at him in challenge but failed to keep a straight face. "Well struck, sir," he congratulated instead.

Able saluted. "Thanks for playing."

Still grinning, Lark turned back to finish tying his freshly detangled hair into a tight braid along the back of his head. Like a mesmerizing magic trick, the dark sprays slowly vanished into a single rope, leaving Lark's muscular and clearly masculine back exposed. Able had thought his clamoring desires would also be tucked away into that plait, but no, he could not peel his eyes from the rippling skin that glowed like gold in the lamplight. What...why...

Fortunately, Lark was washing his face and couldn't see Able's. Taking off the black paint that was right up against his eye line obviously took some concentration. Good, that should give Able a minute to calm down and think about something else—hey, he'd never seen Lark without make-up, had he? Different applications, yes, but never without it entirely. Anticipation built for a couple seconds as he waited to see what emerged, but it was only Lark's dark eyes, maybe looking less deep, but no less charming with water droplets shining in his long lashes.

"Do I really look that different?" Lark asked from the mirror, where he had noticed Able staring again. Great.

"What do you think?" Able raised an eyebrow.