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"So," Laurent said. "Seven hours?"
Damen turned in Laurent’s direction, looking over across the wagon.
After their successful meeting with Heiron and Alexon, Charls had excitedly taken Cousin Charls and Lamen to see the new warehouse Charls wanted to purchase in Delpha. Then Charls had excitedly and somewhat drunkenly purchased the warehouse on the spot with an exchange of a bag of coin with the owner, and then Charls had assigned Lamen to unload half of one of the wagons into the warehouse and inventory all of the velvet.
Damen felt that since they were about to exchange Charls’s wagons with Makon’s to free the slaves that the least they could do was unload Charls’s cloth into his new warehouse, which was why Damen was standing inside of one of the wagons that they had parked in the warehouse.
Laurent was there because he liked supervising ‘Lamen’s’ work. And if he hadn’t intended to spend time with Damen he could have expressed his agreement with one of Nikandros’s twenty-seven numbered arguments about why it was bad for both of them to leave in the weeks prior to the coronation and stayed at Marlas.
Laurent kept his face straight and his expression even and raised a cool eyebrow at Damen.
Damen straightened slowly in the wagon. He was too tall to stand up straight in the wagon as Laurent was, which Damen had learned the painful way over the past two days as Laurent had seen him knock his head on the arches supporting the wagon covers at least twice. Laurent was able to stand, but the feather on his hat brushed the canvas awning.
But now Damen had learned, and he straightened most of the way and kept partially hunched over even as he looked over at Laurent. Damen’s expression said that he could tell Laurent was going somewhere with this comment but he was not yet certain where.
“What was his name?” said Laurent.
Damen rested his hand on a bolt of dark blue velvet. “Who?”
Laurent raised an eyebrow again. “The gladiator.”
Damen glanced down and to his left, which was a clear sign he was about to lie. “I don’t remember,” he said, looking back up at Laurent.
Laurent would have gambled a sack of coin the size Charls had paid for the warehouse they were in that Damen had never actually known the gladiator’s name. “You were with him for six hours,” Laurent said.
“Seven hours,” Damen said.
Laurent made a humming noise. “So you say.” Damen was surprisingly insistent on the seven hours timeframe, had he kept track of the time with a water clock?
Damen looked at the label on the bolt of blue silk and made a mark on his clipboard. Laurent watched as Damen moved his hands over a row of bolts, counting under his breath in Akielon.
“You could help,” Damen said.
“Inventory is a job for a merchant’s assistant, Lamen,” Laurent said, parroting Charls’s tenor.
Damen continued counting.
Laurent put his hands behind him on a stack of bolts, pushed up with his arms and jumped at the same time, and seated himself on the top of the stack. “What did you do with him for seven hours?”
Damen paused his count and looked over again, still wary. “You know what I did with him.”
“Be more specific,” Laurent said.
Damen found the label on a bolt of red silk and made another mark on his clipboard. “I fucked him,” said Damen. “Is that what you were wondering?”
Of course Laurent had already known that, and Damen knew that he knew. “For seven hours?”
Damen had to half-unroll the next bolt to find the label. “It was a long time ago,” said Damen.
Laurent had let Heiron serve him some griva at dinner; it had been just as terrible as Makedon’s. The aftertaste lingered. “How long ago?” said Laurent.
Damen did not answer. “I was much younger then.”
“You have not fucked me for seven hours,” said Laurent. He meant at one time; cumulatively he was sure they had surpassed that mark a year ago.
“He spent seven hours in my chambers,” said Damen. “But I also sent for food. We ate. We talked.”
Laurent ran his hands along the bolt of fabric he was sitting on; it had a thick nap. Charls probably had a word for that in Veretian and a separate word for the same thing in Akielon; Laurent didn't know either of them and he made a mental note to ask Charls the next day. “What did you talk about?”
Damen finished rerolling the bolt he’d had to search for the label. It was much messier now than it had been before he’d started. “Sports.”
“You never talk to me about sports,” said Laurent.
Damen looked over at him again. “Do you want to talk about sports?” said Damen.
“No,” said Laurent.
Damen made a very Veretian ‘and, so’ gesture that he had probably learned from Laurent, and unloaded the bolts he’d just inventoried from the wagon and stacked them in the warehouse.
Laurent watched Damen lift the bolts. Laurent knew from when he’d been pressed into loading the wagon that they were quite heavy; it was pleasant to watch Damen move them. Damen had stripped to his Veretian-style under tunic and his arms were bare. His golden cuff glimmered in the torchlight and Laurent could watch the muscles in his arms ripple as he worked.
Damen finished stacking those bolts and came back to the wagon. He rested a hand on the bolt of cloth on the top of the stack that Laurent was sitting on.
“I need to count these,” said Damen.
“Go ahead,” said Laurent, not moving.
“You’re sitting on them,” said Damen.
“How many hours from now until dawn?” Laurent said.
Damen’s eyes widened slightly, he glanced toward the warehouse window to gauge the height of the moon. “Seven,” he said slowly.
Laurent raised an eyebrow significantly at Damen.
Damen wet his lips, but he hesitated. “Charls wants me to finish inventorying the velvet--”
“Fuck the velvet,” said Laurent, feeling the fricative in his throat. Damen’s eyes widened further at the profanity. Damen seemed frozen in place and Laurent worried his expletives hadn’t been sufficiently clear. “Forget the velvet,” he said, “Fuck me.”
Damen stepped closer to him as though he were back on the ridiculous golden leash Laurent had kept him on in Arles. Laurent sat imperiously and did not lean in and made Damen come all the way to him, and then when Damen was standing between his legs he rested his hands on Damen’s shoulders and let Damen tug his head down to meet Damen’s in a kiss. The kiss was fast and still vibrating with Laurent’s “fuck me” command. Laurent’s hat tipped precariously and he raised one hand from Damen’s shoulder to push it back on his head more firmly.
It was a unique position, to be the one leaning down when he and Damen kissed. When he and Damen stood close together Damen was a head taller than he was, so Laurent was accustomed to looking up at him, not seeing the curls on the crown of his head and the straight line of his nose from above.
Damen seemed impatient with the position as well, and after a moment Damen positioned his hands on Laurent’s waist and then tugged, and Laurent slid off of the top bolt of cloth to the floor of the wagon, so that he was standing pinned between Damen’s body and the stack of rolls of velvet.
“That is one minute,” Laurent said, to goad Damen a bit. “You have a long--” and Damen didn’t let him finish before growling slightly and kissing him again, taking his mouth roughly and tightening his grasp on Laurent’s waist.
Laurent loved kissing Damen. He liked how Damen felt, taking Laurent into his arms and drawing him in, and he liked how Damen smelled when they were pressed close together, and he liked how Damen tasted when their lips met. Besides kissing Damen, provoking Damen was also one of his favorite activities--this was something that he would admit only to himself, or perhaps to tell Nikandros since he enjoyed harassing Nikandros also.
But because this was so, when Damen pulled back again and they were both breathing heavily for a moment, Laurent said, “Shall we talk about sports now?”
Damen said something under his breath in Akielon that was not a statement about sports. “Turn around,” he said, his voice deep.
“Unlace my pants,” said Laurent, dragging one of his hands down Damen’s arm and then drawing Damen’s hand to the lacing on his trousers.
Damen made a frustrated noise, but he obligingly began untying the laces. Laurent leaned against his chest and then bit his shoulder encouragingly.
“When you are king,” said Damen. Laurent liked the sound of that, so he bit Damen’s shoulder again. “When you are king you can start a new fashion that involves less laces.”
Laurent laughed. “How did you fill seven hours if you didn’t even have to unlace any clothing?”
Damen finished freeing Laurent from his trousers, and they fell slightly loose around Laurent’s hips.
“Turn around,” Damen said again, and then as Laurent did, he said, “Do you have--” and Laurent produced a vial from his pocket and passed it to him.
“How do you always have--” said Damen. Laurent could hear the slick sound of Damen preparing himself.
“Are you objecting?” said Laurent.
“But where do you keep it?” said Damen, and then he was positioning himself and pressing inside.
Laurent closed his eyes and fisted his hands in the velvet. “Damen,” he said, feeling desperate all of a sudden. Damen moved a hand from Laurent’s waist to clasp Laurent’s hand affectionately. “Fuck me,” Laurent said again, with only half of the tone of command he’d managed earlier in the evening. Damen obeyed anyway.
It was fast and shallow and Laurent shifted slightly, wanting Damen deeper.
“Take that ridiculous hat off,” said Damen.
“No,” said Laurent. “I love this hat.”
“The feather is tickling my nose,” said Damen.
Laurent felt that he ought to be objecting further and explaining the virtues of his hat, but he was losing track of their conversation. “Damen,” he said, because it was hard to think of what else to say and because Damen liked it when Laurent said his name. “Damen,” he said, trying to think. “Damen, it has only been four minutes--”
Damen growled again, and he let go of Laurent’s hand and lowered his hand to Laurent’s waist again. Damen used his grip there to reposition Laurent on the stack of bolts of cloth, pressing Laurent forward and settling his weight on the bolts so that he was balanced on top of them on his stomach. The stack was slightly too high for Laurent to stand and so he was poised on his toes with only the points of his boots still touching the floor of the wagon. The hat tipped off of Laurent’s head and fell between a bolt of silk and the wagon wall.
“My hat,” said Laurent.
Damen did not seem to share his concern about the hat. The fucking was deeper, in that position, pressed up on the tower of fabric. Laurent liked that. The feeling was more, when Damen was so far within him, and he was competitive enough that he liked taking Damen completely within himself.
“Damen,” said Laurent again, imbuing the word with all the feeling he couldn't manage to put to words in that moment. He released the velvet from one of his hands and reached for the hat. He did not want the feather to be crushed.
Stretching his arm out changed Damen’s angle slightly, and the bolts of cloth Laurent was balanced on top of shifted precariously with Damen’s next thrust. Laurent grabbed onto the edge of the wagon wall instead, for balance. Damen placed a hand on his back to hold him in place. Laurent’s toes no longer reached the floor.
“Stop wiggling,” said Damen. “You’re going to fall.”
“You stacked these bolts very poorly, Lamen,” said Laurent, and then he lost the conversation again in a haze of sex and saying Damen’s actual name again. The sex was a blur of sensations--the velvet beneath him, Damen’s body behind him.
Damen reached a hand around to stroke Laurent; his hand was already covered in oil and Laurent made a noise at the touch. “You are going to stain the velvet,” said Laurent.
“Fuck the velvet,” said Damen.
Afterward, Laurent slid off of the bolts of velvet to rest on the floor. His pants were unlaced but bunched around his thighs. Damen collapsed to sit next to him. They were both breathing heavily.
“Now we talk about sports?” said Laurent, and he looked Damen’s direction just in time to see Damen’s dimple appear for a moment before he laughed.