Chapter Text
Octavius still wasn't sure how he'd gotten himself into this.
One minute, he was drinking with John Peters, who was complimentary of the newly-opened honeyed wine. Then, the next, a small group of surly cowboys and railwaymen were proffering flasks full of all manner of liquors.
“This ain't nothin'!” one cowboy disparaged another, his lengthy gray whiskers wagging as he spoke. He snorted, pulling a flask from a pocket in his leather vest. “Now this'll put some hair on yer chest.”
The cowboy unscrewed the cap of the flask and passed it to Octavius. Octavius quirked an eyebrow, nose crinkling as he smelled the alcohol inside.
“What is it?” he asked.
“That there,” the cowboy replied, pointing at the flask, “is some West Virginia applejack. My cousin back east makes it, sent me on the road with enough to share—if'n a' course,” he continued, face smug, “the Roman can hold his liquor.”
And, well, Octavius wasn't about to take that lying down. He craved the respect of the Westerners, and, if passing this bizarre test would get it, then by the gods, he'd drink what he was offered. He steeled himself, sucking in a breath, and put the flask to his lips, sipping some into his mouth.
It burned. It absolutely burned, like nothing else he'd ever drank before—seeing as distilled alcohol hadn't been invented in Rome yet. But damned if Octavius was going to cough. He gulped, determined to not show any weakness. He was baffled at the sensation of burning flowing down his throat and into his stomach, but relieved that it eventually dissipated, and left behind a pleasant taste of apple.
The cowboy seemed pleased, chuckling, leaning forward to take the flask back.
“And he can,” he said, toasting to Octavius, then taking a much longer pull on the applejack. Octavius could already feel a pleasant sort of warmth spreading through his chest, and into his head. But he couldn't show that it was affecting him.
That was when another cowboy leaned in, a black hat slung low, chortling.
“You an' yer apple juice,” he quipped. This cowboy reached for his belt, where he had a specially-made pocket for a flask. And just as Octavius was wondering just how in the blazes every cowboy in this place had some kind of hip flask, the black-hatted cowboy shoved it into Octavius's hands.
“Now that,” he said with the sort of pride you'd normally hear out of a parent talking about their child's accomplishments, “is what yer lookin' for.”
The cowboy with the long whiskers huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Aw, hell. Is that yer homemade stuff? Smells like turpentine, tastes like it, too.”
“No it don't! Yer just soft!”
The long-whiskered cowboy leaned conspiratorially toward Octavius.
“Jus' pretend, boy. Trust me, you don't want any a' that.”
“Naw, naw,” the black-hatted cowboy shook his head. “He can handle it. Come on, bottom's up!”
“Hey, Octavius!”
Just as he was about to take a sip (which felt like the last act he would ever commit), Jedediah came in from outside the barn. Octavius was immediately struck by the look in Jedediah's blue eyes. There was a determination there that produced a kind of shuddering inside of Octavius's stomach. Or maybe that was just the applejack. He couldn't quite tell. But whatever it was, he liked it.
“Can I grab you for a sec?” Jedediah phrased it as a question, but it felt more like a statement. He was up to something, that much Octavius knew for sure. As he stood up (on slightly wobbly knees), John Peters raised a hand to get Jedediah's attention.
“Jed,” he said, “I need you to do somethin' for me. Would'ja check and make sure the wreath is in place up in the loft? Octavius can go with ya if you want.”
Jedediah smiled and nodded.
“Sure thing, John. Come on, Octy.”
“Wreath?” Octavius asked as they walked away, shouldering through the crowd.
“It's traditional,” Jedediah answered, straightening the ladder leading into the loft, “to put a wreath or a flag in the highest place in a new barn. Brings luck. Up we get.”
Jedediah clambered up the ladder with relative ease. Octavius, meanwhile, was having a slower go at it. He wasn't drunk persay, but he was feeling woozy enough that climbing the ladder was a bit more arduous than normal. Jedediah had reached the top, and was looking over the ledge. He smirked.
“You ain't never had liquor before, have you?”
Octavius shook his head, a little bit timid.
“But I assure you, Jedediah, I am perfectly—”
The sentence cut off in a little yipe as his foot missed its target. Jedediah's hand shot down and clasped Octavius's arm, pulling him up into the loft.
“You sure are,” Jedediah laughed, in a voice that sounded like a wink. “C'mon. Let's look for that wreath.”
///
The loft was empty, and quieter than the rest of the barn below. The new pine planks released their scent into the air, along with the piles of fresh hay scattered here and there. The lights from below echoed into the rafters, washing the cavernous room with a soft amber glow. It was a little cooler than the lower level, but Jed still felt like he was sweating through his shirt. But that, he reckoned, was for a different reason.
Jed was right grateful to John Peters for suggesting that Octavius come along with him. All these years later, John Peters always seemed to know what was going on, without having to be told. There'd been a glint in John's eye as he suggested the errand, as if he knew that Jedediah needed privacy for what he was about to do.
“So, we're looking for a wreath?” Octavius asked, getting to his feet.
“Yep,” Jedediah replied. “It'll be up in the rafters somewhere. C'mon, you look along that side.”
The two of them started to walk around the space, eyes up, looking for a pine wreath that they weren't sure existed. Jedediah tried his best to calm himself down, eyes following the lines of the rafters.
“Octavius?”
“Hm?”
I think I love you. “Have you ever thought about...you know...”
“Thought about what, Jedediah?”
Jed looked over to Octavius, across the room, moving parallel to him. Octavius's dark eyes were still raised to the ceiling. He was biting his lip—he always did that when he was concentrating, and Jedediah always found it cute. There was a pink flush coming to Octavius's face; it was a favorable sign. It had to be.
Jed took a deep breath.
“Well, have you ever...ever gotten all...romantical? With anyone?”
Octavius's eyes left the rafters and met Jedediah's. Octavius's chest rose, and his mouth opened, as if he was ready to respond. But the reply didn't come right away. His eyes went down to the floor as he kept walking. The blush deepened.
“...No.”
Jedediah's eyebrows shot up under the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Really? Handsome devil like you, I'd thought you'd have those Romans fallin' at your feet.”
Octavius laughed, but his eyes still traced the floorboards.
“Well, I suppose...I'd had offers. And I've accepted one or two. But...I never really connected. I never really felt...'romantical'.”
They'd both reached the same end of the loft, but Octavius kept his eyes everywhere but Jedediah's. God, even when he was nervous, he was beautiful. Jedediah leaned on one leg, arms lying limp at his sides.
“Never?”
Octavius shook his head.
“Did you ever want to? You know...connect with someone like that?”
Octavius met Jedediah's gaze. His pupils were widening, almost enough to rival the dark brown of his irises. One of his eyebrows raised, ever so slightly, just enough to denote surprise—or anticipation. Something tugged at the edge of Octavius's mouth as he answered.
“I think I already have, Jedediah Smith.”
Jedediah's voice was so soft he could hardly hear it himself.
“With who, Octavius?”
Octavius reached forward and brushed a lock of Jedediah's hair out of his face. The other drifted toward Jedediah's hand, fingers lacing loosely together. Octavius's smile broadened.
“I think you already know.”
Here it is. Moment of truth. Jedediah felt his breath leave him in a nervous laugh.
“Octy. I've got somethin to tell you.”
“I'm sure you do.” And, to Jedediah's utter elation, Octavius's mouth met his.
Octavius's lips were as soft as they looked, and boy howdy, when they started moving, it was something else. A thought ran like ticker tape across Jedediah's mind: “He likes me. He likes me. He likes me.” Jed felt Octavius's hands move, cupping his jaw, holding Jedediah right where he was. Jed wound his arms around Octavius's back, trying to hold himself upright. His legs were starting to go weak beneath him, with the surprise of it all, with the excitement, and with the simple factor of a lack of oxygen. Jed had never been happier to be out of breath.
Octavius was seemingly of the same mind, because as he pulled back, he inhaled, deeply, sharply, hard enough that Jedediah could feel the air move. The breath then came shuddering back out into space, wavering with the effort to keep control, and with a breathless laugh.
Jedediah blinked once, twice. Did that really just happen? He released his own breath in a low whistle.
“Lordy lou,” he whispered.
“That was...”
“Why the sam hill did we wait that long?”
Octavius let out a deep, quiet laugh that was more of a rumble than anything. One of his hands moved to the back of Jedediah's neck.
“Well...you were always stubborn.”
“Me? I'm the one that's stubborn?”
“Jedediah, I have never been shy about my feelings towards you. It was only a matter of waiting for you to come around to it. And I—” Octavius continued, pressing a quick kiss to Jedediah's lips, “I am so grateful that the waiting is finally over.”
Oh, Lord. How long had he kept Octavius waiting? How long had he left Octavius in the cold? How long had Octavius been hurting, in much the same way Jedediah had—hurting for the lack of the other in his arms?
Right then, Jedediah Smith felt smaller than—well, smaller than he already was.
Jed brought his hand up to the one still on his cheek, taking it in his own, and, surprising even himself, pressed a kiss to the knuckles there.
“I should've told you sooner.”
“Oh, cara. What is done is done, and forgiven.”
Octavius moved his hand to bring Jedediah's face level with his. Octavius's eyes...Jed figured he could drown inside his eyes. If he could spend the rest of forever standing here, in the loft of John Peters's barn, with Octavius holding him, kissing him—well, that'd just be swell.
“But we mustn't waste what time we have with those regrets. We're here, now. And that's all that matters.”
Jed couldn't help it. The way Octavius's voice vibrated through the air, the way fingers were toying with the blond curls at the nape of his neck, the way his other hand was clutched in his—Jed couldn't help himself. He leaned back in, ready to feel weightless and beloved once again.
Jed was certainly grateful for the luck the wreath had brought them, hanging, knowingly, above their heads.
THE END