Archive of Our Own ^beta

It wasn’t a requirement or anything, to marry the person you took to the Midsummer Ball, but it happened often enough that people thought of it as…a cute little tradition maybe. A fun coincidence. An interesting happenstance…that the gossip rags Noble News and Stars of the Realm would devote weeks of coverage to, discussing who was taking who and what they were wearing and what tech-generated pictures of their future kids would look like. Even KTV would cover the entire night, which had grown from the invite-only soiree that his great-grandparents had attended to the huge ball that his parents had been the star couple at.

Maybe that was the problem. It was a cute coincidence that a lot of pairs at the Midsummer Ball ended up married later down the line. But when it happened every time, like it did in his family, then it wasn’t just the news channels who had expectations. It was everyone.

And Ambrosius had enough expectations on his shoulders. He didn’t need new ones.

“So take a girl!” His cousin Valerianella said through the phone, only half looking at him as her nail drone did her tips. “Everyone knows you like boys, take a girl and everyone will know it’s not serious.”

“Ugh, that might be worse.” Ambrosius sighed. “Dad would be all over her as a potential surrogate. You know his generation still don’t trust the utero-pods, they want ‘all natural’ and all that nonsense.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot your dad’s kinda got a lance up him about the whole descendent of Gloreth thing.” Valerianella said, unhelpfully. She was his cousin on his mother’s side and so had dodged the the huge-expectations-because-of-your-famous-ancestor thing. But as his only cousin she still got all his family-related venting.

“Who did you take?” Ambrosius asked, peering quickly through the door to the training hall to check it was mostly empty before ducking inside; the only other people training this late were two senior knights in the far corner who looked like they were already finishing up. “Vari?”

“Oh, I took Sir Edwina. She was a hoot. Definitely no intentions of marrying her though.”

It probably didn't help that the Midsummer Ball only happened once every four years, so they'd only have one chance to attend as squires. There were smaller festivals and balls in the off-years but this was the pinnacle of the highborn calendar, the event that not a single member of the nobility would ever miss, the celebration of the Institute’s greatest champions past, present and future…which is why all eyes were going to be on Ambrosius, and his date.  

“I could be sick that evening?” Ambrosius tried, slinging off his bag. “Why don’t we go back to that neo-tapas place in the Lower Serf’s Quarter –”

“Look, cuz, I sympathise, but no way I’m missing the party of the year – the party of four years – to puke in a toilet with you all night again. Now look at my nails, and tell me you love them.”

“I love them. Do you have any advice for me?”

“Errr…not really, sorry kid. You’ve got a month though. Find the least likely person in the kingdom for you to marry and take them?”

“Thanks Vari,” Ambrosius sighed down at the phone and swiped his cousin’s cheerful face away. The two senior knights were leaving already, talking gruffly to each other as they headed out the door. They nodded politely to him as they went, which was – exactly the sort of shit he was talking about. Any other second-year squire would have been asked what the heck they thought they were doing here, training on their own so late at night. Don't you know training without a partner is the easiest way to muck up your form? Don't you know if you injured yourself you could bleed out before anyone found you? Don't you know this is against the institute’s rules?

But no. That was for other people. He could do whatever he wanted, because he was Ambrosius Goldenloin, the literal golden boy of the Institute.

Ambrosius blew his hair out of his face and told himself to stop being such a dramatic idiot. Was he actually complaining about not getting in trouble? That was some first realm shit right there.

He moved through his warm-up on autopilot, stretching out his muscles and working the kinks from his spine. Mornings were for martial training: swordwork, marksmanship, callisthenics and jousting practice, whilst afternoons they spent in study, with lessons on chivalry, urban warfare, mechanics, and formal etiquette. Which meant by most evenings he had so much pent-up energy that he needed to run laps round the Glorodome or fit in an extra hour of swordwork somewhere, otherwise he’d be too wired to sleep.

Vali’s childhood nickname for him had been Energiser Pony, which, whilst irritating, had been pretty apt.

When everything felt warm and loose he picked up his training sword and settled into the stance for a basic drill, letting his body move through the familiar forms with ease. This was the only time in his life when everything else faded away and he just felt right – like this was what he was born to do, not be a show pony for the Institute or advertise energy drinks or live up to an impossible legacy.

“Ow, Gloreth’s t-teeth!”

Ambrosius’ sword wobbled as his concentration broke, half with irritation and half with amusement. What – what was that? Who on earth had said that?

He marched around the training dummies someone had left out, scanning the deserted hall and trying not to think about how creepy the long shadows looked stretched out across the floor. A small movement from the far corner of the hall caught his eye and he moved closer, his sword point raised just in case…

Only to find the street boy from his class – Bannister? no, Ballister – poking forlornly at the shallow cut on his thigh, his own sword discarded on the floor beside him.

“You know,” Ambrosius said, leaning against one of the dummies and enjoying Ballister jumping like a startled goat. “I believe the usual oath is Gloreth’s tits. I’ve never heard the teeth variation before.”

“It’s disrespectful.” Ballister said automatically, and then his cheeks flushed a darker brown when he realised who he was talking to. “Um, isn’t she your ancestor? Shouldn’t you not want people to say that either?”

“A double negative, very clear.” Ambrosius teased, amused by the way Ballister’s flush was spreading across his entire face now. He’d never had much of a chance to talk to the other man before, many of their teachers were fussy about who Gloreth’s heir hung around with and they'd never been in the same groups. “And how did you manage that? Don’t you know your sword’s supposed to go into the other guy?”

“I was trying the left diagonal drill Sir Caristo showed us yesterday.” Ballister said. Or that’s what Ambrosius thought he said; it was mostly directed to the ground. But it was enough for Ambrosius to snort in amusement and go fetch his bag. Ballister nearly jumped to the ceiling again when Ambrosius dumped it down beside him and began rummaging for his personal first aid kit.

“I haven’t even attempted that drill yet; he only showed us so that we understood the progression. What are you even doing training alone in here? Don’t you know training without a partner is the easiest way to muck up your form? And what if I hadn’t been here – you could have bled out before anyone found you!”

“It’s just a scratch.” Ballister said softly. His voice was very soft in general; Ambrosius couldn’t really remember ever hearing him yell or shout or even talk much, unlike the rest of the pack of howling wolves in their class. He finished wiping down Ballister’s thigh with antiseptic and added a quick spray of Wound-Seal (resolutely ignoring his father’s picture on the side of the cannister), nodding approvingly when the microfilaments formed a protective seal over the wound.

“That still needs a bandage. Here, take these off.”

“What? No!” yelped Ballister, grabbing at his leggings. Ambrosius eyed him dubiously. They were clearly old workout gear: there were a dozen other holes and scratches besides the new one. “Can’t you just – bandage over the top?”

“The point of a bandage is to stay on.” Ambrosius pointed out patiently. “If I put it over your trousers you’ll have to take it off again in a couple of hours.”

“I just need it to last through training.” Ballister said. “I have more bandages in my room. P-please?” He looked up at Ambrosius, his long hair falling over one eye but the other one dark and pleading. He needed a shave, Ambrosius thought distantly, dark stubble coming in all over his jaw and round his mouth. Coupled with the hair and the tattered clothing he looked – well, he still looked a little like the street rat he’d been the first time Ambrosius had seen him, ten years ago, when Ambrosius’ mother had –

“Did you miss morning practice or something?” he asked, bending his head to the work. Ballister’s thighs were solid muscle, the sign of a practised rider. Ambrosius was an excellent rider himself, but he’d seen Ballister stay on both a bucking horse and a malfunctioning hovervehicle using nothing but these thighs. The man’d probably be able to stay on a rhinoceros if he had to.

“N-no…”

“Then what are you doing up here?”

“I…I like to get in some extra training in the evenings -"

"Really? I've never seen you here!"

"Normally I train in the eastern hall...”

“The eastern hall? Isn’t that out of bounds? It’s marked for renovation isn’t it?” Ambrosius placed the bandage ends together and watched the nanites in the microfibre weave themselves back together into a single snug loop. He tucked a finger under the fabric and nodded at a job well done. If he ever wanted to abandon his family’s entire legacy and give up on being a knight then he’d be quite a good medic. Remembering their conversation he glanced up again. This close he could see the thin white scar that ran down Ballister’s right eyebrow and on to his cheekbone – courtesy of Thodeus being an idiot, he remembered. “Wait – you normally train there? You mean, every night?”

Ballister nodded silently and Ambrosius pulled a face.

“Why? Why don’t you just…train in here?”

“I’ve tried. They send me out. I snuck in tonight because there were surveyors over in east.”

Ambrosius felt his own face heat at the obvious answer, because of course it was even more obvious that he was allowed to train here. He hated it whenever it was obvious that he got any sort of special treatment as Gloreth’s heir.

“Well…I’m in here most evenings too. So just tell them you’re here to train with me next time. Okay?”

There. If he was going to get special treatment, the least he could do was share it. Although Ballister didn’t look particularly overwhelmed with gratitude, only nodding a little awkwardly. Ambrosius shrugged it off – the guy was clearly shy – and smacked Ballister on his uninjured bit of thigh.

“Here, get up and do a few basic passes, just so I can check I haven’t actually cut off your bloodflow or anything.”

Ballister rose slowly to his feet, picking up his sword and eyeing Ambrosius like he thought he might cut him, and then set his feet, balancing out his weight. His form was…was actually amazing, poised throughout his entire body and perfectly balanced, and Ambrosius was so busy nodding approvingly that it took him a second that Ballister was in the stance for that Gloreth-damned left diagonal drill rather than a basic –

And then Ballister started moving.

The sword swept up, over – past his nose by a heartbeat – winging down to slide underneath his left elbow, the blade turning even as it rose back up in a straight sweep and then Ballister was moving backwards – quick as a rabbit, his feet nimble and perfectly steady, no hesitation at all – as it cut back and thrust forward again, upwards on the diagonal, Ballister pivoting on his left heel to spin round - and oh, this was the dangerous bit, not only did it bring the blade right across the body and shit, Ballister missed his own left thigh again by inches but he missed it, he was safe – but it exposed the whole left side of the body to the enemy unless you were fast –

Ballister was fast. The pivot turned into a spin, the blade flashing past so swiftly Ambrosius nearly missed it, coming back to the guard position, Ballister back to being beautifully balanced once again, barely even breathing hard. It was Ambrosius who let out a sigh that felt like it filled the hall.

“Sir Caristo showed us that once.”

“I – I’m good at copying what I see.” Ballister said, ducking his head down, so his hair nearly covered both eyes instead of just one. Ambrosius stared at the top of his head. He’d known Ballister was a good swordsman, had known his scores in all the martial disciplines were amongst the best in their year, had known that Ballister was good at copying what he saw, that was the whole reason he was here, but –

“Let’s spar,” he said, hopping up. Ballister immediately tried backing away, waving his free hand.

“No, no, I should take it easy.”

“Come on! Let’s do…I was practising the Florindel Parry? Good you know it. Come on, stand and face me!”

“I can’t…”

“Of course you can! I just watched you do that drill perfectly. Come on, spar with me.” When was the last time he’d sparred against Ballister? Hmmm, nearly two years ago. Ever since then their swordsmasters had kept Ambrosius and Blanche and a couple of others in an ‘advanced’ group for special practice – which, wait, why on earth wasn’t Ballister in that group as well?? Ambrosius had seen him watching them sometimes from across the grounds from the ‘standard’ group.

“Please don’t make me.” Ballister said suddenly, looking so miserable that Ambrosius’ swordpoint lowered slowly to the ground without him realising he was doing it. He swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Why – why don’t you want to? I’m good too, I promise, you won’t hurt me…”

Ballister was shaking his head hard, but as Ambrosius just kept looking at him he finally sighed hugely. His gaze never lifted off the floor.

“I…I’m not supposed to be better than you.”

The lump in Ambrosius’ throat had turned into a stone. It sat there solidly, choking him, and it took several long moments before he could swallow past it, and then he put every bit of sincerity into his voice that he could muster.

“Ballister? Please spar with me.”

There was only a moment’s longer delay, and then Ballister nodded, all his anxiety slipping away into a resolute calm that Ambrosius recognised from watching playbacks of his own drills, that perfect stillness that said this feels so right, and his sword lifted back up into the guard position. Ambrosius raised his own, and they were off.

Parry, thrust, lunge, block. Ballister was – he was good, he was great, he was – his form was magnificent, he gave nothing away, not a single muscle twitch betraying his next move, and he was strong, every move had power behind it even as he was also unfairly fast, whipping round from a block into a low single-handed thrust that missed Ambrosius’ hip by a centimetre and then he should have been off-balance and too low to defend himself but he was already stepping into and under the lunge, his blade meeting Ambrosius’ from beneath and forcing it up, and only Ambrosius twisting away, calling up all his own reserves of speed, stopped him from being the one who was forced down under a swordpoint.

He stepped away, dripping with sweat and panting like a dog and feeling achingly, unbearingly good, and Ballister grinned right back at him, delight making his entire face glow.

“Gloreth’s tits you’re good.” Ambrosius told him, and Ballister let out a ridiculous bark of a laugh and then they moved in perfect sync, reaching out to clasp arms and grin into each other’s faces some more.

Later, after several more rounds, and Ballister walking Ambrosius through the left diagonal drill, and Ambrosius teaching Ballister a nice little disarming parry they’d learnt in ‘advanced’ class that morning – although that word seemed somehow meaningless now, knowing that the best swordsman among them wasn’t in it – they sat next to each other on one of the benches, towelling off the sweat and beaming at each other in between gulping down water. Well, Ambrosius drank water. Ballister drank the stupid energy drink that his father had talked him into being the face of (insisting it was good to get started on his branding early) without seeming to notice or care that Ambrosius’ face was on the side of the can. He’d roughly finger-combed his long hair, damp with sweat, back away from his face and it revealed more of his features than Ambrosius had ever seen before.

A strong jawline, made even more masculine by the dark stubble. A sharp, somewhat prominent nose, but one that suited him, that fit well with the energy of his eyebrows. And those eyes – huge and dark and liquid. Those weren’t the eyes of a knight, Ambrosius thought in amusement, they were the eyes of…well, if he was being honest…probably a puppy.

He was handsome, Ambrosius realised, and wondered why he’d never noticed it before. Valerianella and he had sat down to rank his entire class by attractiveness early last year – wine from his father’s cellar may have been involved – and he think he’d put Ballister somewhere in the bottom third, and mostly only that high because he’d had a growth spurt and was one of the few men who was as tall as he was – apart from Todd. Todd was taller. Ambrosius wouldn’t touch Todd with a ten foot barge pole.

Valerianella hadn’t questioned it, in fact she’d seemed surprised that Ambrosius could even remember what he looked like, which was ridiculous because there were a dozen news articles about Ballister every year, the same as there were about Ambrosius, although with a different sort of tone. But everyone always seemed to assume that he and Ballister didn’t cross paths, as though he was the least likely person in the kingdom for him to –

“Ballister,” said Ambrosius. Ballister looked over at him with those big brown eyes. Ambrosius gave him his best smile. He was Ambrosius Goldenloin, golden boy of the Institute, one of the greatest squires soon-to-be-a-knight of his generation; handsome, smart, funny, and a utter gentleman. Who could resist him?

“Would you like to go to the Midsummer Ball with me?” he asked.

“No,” said Ballister, and walked off.

Ambrosius caught up with him at the door to the training hall, shoving it closed before Ballister could disappear through it.

“Why not?” he demanded, before remembering his manners. “I mean – please? It’d be great fun. Oh – shit, sorry, are you already going with someone?”

Ballister seemed to hesitate oddly, staring down at where his hand was still on the door Ambrosius was holding closed. His hair had fallen over his face again.

“B-Blanche asked me.”

“Oh.” Wow Ambrosius hadn’t been expecting that. Good for Ballister. Blanche was gorgeous enough that even he would have been vaguely tempted – tall and leggy, with skin like dark walnut wood and a mean right hook. She was indisputably top of their year in marksmanship, for both crossbow and energy blaster. “Okay, um, no worries, I hope you guys have a great time –”

“Why – why did you ask?” Ballister interrupted, which was very un-Ballister-like, or at least Ambrosius’ forty minutes of acquaintance with the guy told him it was. He blinked and leaned against the door as he thought about his answer.

“Oh, I just…I just thought we’d have fun, that’s all.” Oh no, what was a polite way of saying you thought there was no chance you’d ever end up marrying someone? Did Ballister even know about that stupid tradition? “It’s…there’s a lot of pressure, you know, on the dance? And I didn’t…I didn’t want to give anyone false expectations, so I wanted someone to go with as a friend…”

“And there’s no way anyone would think we were more than friends.” Ballister said, nodding calm agreement, like that was a totally normal thing to say. Ambrosius felt odd, like he wanted to poke the other man and tell him to have more confidence; he was cute! And tall! And a great swordsman! He was sure there were plenty of people who’d want to date him – like Blanche apparently – “I’m not going with Blanche.”

“What? Dude – did you turn her down?”

“No.” Ballister gave him a sideways look from under his hair. Ambrosius stared at him, and then clicked his fingers.

“Oh! Do you not like girls? Me neither, that’s totally fine.”

“That’s not – I, um, I like both.” Oh cute, he was blushing again. But his lips had clamped shut, which suggested he didn’t want to talk about the Blanche thing anymore. Oh no, was it the self-confidence thing again? Had he turned down Blanche because he didn’t think he was good enough for her? Would it be weird if Ambrosius gave him a hug and told him he was cute? “So if – if you were serious –”

Ambrosius’ head had been far away, imagining Ballister confident and suave, presenting Blanche with a bouquet of peonies – her favourite – and apologising for his previous mistake, begging for the honour of escorting her to the dance…they’d look so good together, both tall and strong, Ballister had a decent body underneath that tatty workout gear, once he was in a properly tailored suit…

“What, sorry?”

“Never mind.” Ballister was through the door a second later, and halfway down the corridor before Ambrosius had a chance to rewind the conversation in his head. This time Ambrosius caught up with him just before the doors to the elevator closed and had to lean against the mirrored inside, panting for breath. When he opened his eyes again Ballister’s gaze quickly jerked away, his expression odd. Ambrosius ignored that and kicked him lightly in the leg.

“Hey, I’m sorry, my brain was foggy. Yes, definitely I’m serious, let’s have a great time at the dance together!”

Ballister was standing stiffer than one of the flagpoles in the palace avenue, staring straight ahead at the back of the elevator doors with eyes that were like glass marbles, glazed and dull. Ambrosius checked; there weren’t even any interesting leaflets pinned there, just the schedule for the summer fayres and how to sign up for the am dram society, which was putting on a production of The Gale.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Ambrosius said, because it was the only thing he could think of to say in the face of Ballister’s sudden stoicism. But at the words Ballister turned liquid again, his shoulders slumping and his eyes going soft and dark as he smiled hesitantly at Ambrosius.

“O-okay. That sounds like fun.”

“Great!” Ambrosius grinned at him, a huge weight suddenly lifting off his shoulders and something fizzy and vibrant replacing it. “Now we just need to figure out what we’re going to wear!”

~

Going shopping had to be paused in favour of a much more important question: did Ballister know how to dance? Naturally it was Valerianella who raised it.

“So this is like…charity work?”

“What? Vari, no.” Ambrosius put his little watering can down with a thud. His mother had gifted him some Sweet Blooming Mornshade plants for his day of birth and he was hopeless at keeping them alive. “Why would you think that?”

“You’ve just never mentioned him before! If I didn’t watch the Noble News Knightly Newflash I wouldn’t even have known you were in the same class!”

She had a point. Ambrosius plucked at one of the drooping violet leaves of his Sweet Blooming Mornshade sadly and then let out a breath.

“Well, like I just told you, he’s an amazing swordsman. So we’ll just spend the whole evening talking about quillons vs basket-hilts, dance a couple of times, and call it a night. And then the next day the papers can be full of Todd taking Lady Genevieve or something like that.”

“Does he even know how to dance?”

Ambrosius paused. That was…also a good point.

“I’m sure he does.”

“Uh huh. Maybe find out before you starting planning matching outfits –”

“I wasn’t doing that.”

“ – you definitely were, and back to my original point: you love to dance, cuz. I think it’s really good of you to take the street rat to the ball, but make sure you have a good time as well, okay?”

Ambrosius glanced down at his phone with a frown. They weren’t on video – he was watering his plants and Vari was carrying her shopping home – but something about how she’d said that bothered him.

“Okay. I’ll ask him if he can dance. If not we can always practice.”

“You’ve got a good heart cuz. Send me a holo-pic of your suit when you decide what you’re wearing. Oh – make sure it’s something he can afford!”

“O…kay. Bye Vari.”

They hung up and Ambrosius said down on his bed with a huff and just stared at the opposite wall for a long minute. He liked things clean and minimalist, so most of his stuff was neatly tidied away and the only things out in his room were his sword-rack, his plants, and a framed poster of the famous spar between Sir Ulysses and Sir Gilmore. His closet was in the corner. They had Seventh Day off; the rest of the time they were in their Institute uniforms or their armour, but on that day they could wear their own clothes. Ambrosius’ were…nice. Normal. He liked clothes, liked wearing nice things that looked cute on him, but he didn’t think anything more about it than that. But now that he did…even his oldest, tattiest workout gear was still nice. He didn’t wear things that were full of holes and falling apart. He didn’t have to. He had parents who gave him an allowance to buy himself more workout gear whenever he needed, to buy himself new-whatever whenever he wanted.

He jumped up, and went to the door.

It took him a while to find Ballister’s room, down the far end of the corridor. He had to dodge a weirdly sticky bit on the floor and knock a bunch of times before it finally cracked open an inch.

“Hey,” he said to the large dark eye that filled the inch-wide gap. “You got a sec? Can I come in?”

The door opened, and Ambrosius was torn between two equally strong impulses for a second. See, the thing was: he liked men. He liked men. He liked all the typical traditional masculine things: he liked muscles and stubble and the way guys smelt after a workout and the shape of an adam’s apple and the way men’s bodies moved and grew muscle and gained fat and he liked the way dick tasted and come tasted and the sounds a man made when he was out of his mind with lust. He liked all of that. So he definitely liked the way Ballister looked in that too-tight sweater, stretching wide over his very nicely broad shoulders and down to that trim waist, firm over the heft of his biceps and the muscles of his chest. It was great. He loved it. He wanted to tell Ballister it looked great on him.

Except that he remembered that sweater. He remembered it from when he was going through puberty and his brain was buzzing constantly with starbursts of horny thoughts and he’d been rapidly shifting towards a full realisation of I think I like guys in a really-like sort of way and he’d noticed that sweater then, the first time Ballister had worn it, because black had always looked good on Ballister even before the muscles and the stubble had finished appearing with a vengeance.

Which meant that that sweater was approximately eight years old, and Ballister had been wearing it since he was a more-slender, less-tall fourteen-year-old, and it showed. It was definitely an eight-years-old sweater.

Well, that pretty much made it clear whether Ballister had a clothing allowance. So it was a good thing he was here.

“Hey Ambrosius.” Ballister said, sounding – resigned? Ambrosius shook off the twin thoughts boinging around his head of Ballister look good and Ballister no funds to frown at him as he stepped inside the room and let the door swing shut behind him. “It’s okay. You can just tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Ambrosius asked, and then promptly got distracted a third time. “Woah – is your room always like this?”

“Oh – yeah, sorry, I haven’t tided.” Ballister was rapidly flushing again, which – yeah, no shit he hadn’t tidied, his bed was an unmade mess in the corner and there were stacks of books and pens and weird little mechanical tchotchkes that Ballister had clearly made himself on every surface, clothes hanging off every available perch. The only tidy thing was his own sparkling sword-rack, although it only had two blades on it compared to Ambrosius’ six. But that wasn’t what had caught Ambrosius’ attention.

“No, I mean…this is so cool!” he said.

Across the entire ceiling and on every spare bit of wall there were pictures. He could recognise a bunch – that was Sir Daucas, and Sir Fortunella, and Lady Caprifolnia in the extended lunge for which she was famous, that had pierced through the guard of her opponent in 137 out of 139 winning bouts. Others took him a second longer, the ones that were cheap print-outs of shots Ballister had clearly taken himself rather than clipped from papers. He recognised Sir Edwina first, his cousin Vari’s own date to the Midsummer Ball, but it was her from three years ago when she’d been a final year squire herself, her sword held in low guard and a menacing glint in her eyes. There were a few other knights he realised had also been in the years above them and then, as his gaze travelled over the corner of the ceiling closest to the bed and he heard Ballister make a strange gargled noise, he saw a picture of a blond man, his long hair swinging around him, clearly just finishing a sweep from the elegant extension of his arm and floating tip of his sword, and a delighted half-smile on his handsome face.

“Oh, that’s me!” Ambrosius said, and then twisted round to gaze at Ballister in even more delight than his photo. “You think I’m as good as Lady Caprifolnia?!”

“No!” Ballister said. His face was already as dark as it could go but his expression was positively mutinous. “No one’s as good as Lady Caprifolnia. But you’re…” For a second his face flashed with something Ambrosius couldn’t identify and then he lifted his chin and looked…determined. As determined as he had as that little twelve-year-old shouting that he was going to be the greatest knight since Gloreth herself.

“You’re beautiful to watch, when you fight,” he said, quiet and calm, and Ambrosius could only stare back at him, something shaken oddly loose inside his chest. He could feel his own cheeks heating and forced the feeling away, stepping forward to shove Ballister lightly in the chest.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And you know what – you’re pretty awesome to watch too!”

The weird tension in the air broke as Ballister ducked his head and smiled.

“T-thank you.”

Ambrosius looked around again. There was a part of his brain shrieking in desperation for a clean line and some order to the chaos, but the more he looked the more it settled into a strange appreciation of the way the hundreds of pictures fitted together, each one a testimony of strength and grace and years of training, showing the very pinnacle of their craft. It was…beautiful.

And also –

“Hey, why is your Mornshade so large!” he cried out, suddenly afire with jealousy. The Sweet Blooming Mornshade perched precariously on the far side of Ballister’s desk – where it surely wasn’t getting enough light? Did he even rotate it? – was a gorgeous vibrant purple, the leaves all glossy and shiny and even a few white buds starting to uncurl. Ambrosius stroked over a leaf with a finger, looking at it with awe. “How often do you water it? What brand of nutrient blend do you give it?”

“…I put my coffee grounds in the soil sometimes?” Ballister offered, and Ambrosius whipped round to poke him on the chest again.

“You’re ridiculous!”

“And you’re really worked up over a plant.” Ballister snarked back, which was more personality than Ambrosius had ever seen him show before without a sword in his hand. He kind of liked it. Ballister was smiling back at him in a bewildered sort of way, as though he didn’t understand why Ambrosius was happy but he was glad to join in. That was cute.

Thinking about Ballister and being cute reminded him of why he was here.

“Okay, so,” he sidled up a little closer to Ballister and smiled at him in the way he did when he needed someone to do him a favour. Ballister just went sort of stiff all over again, which was a new response. “I have two things to ask you.”

“…what are they?”

“You’re so suspicious of me!” Ambrosius said indignantly. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

“…no. You’re right. You haven’t.” The last bit came out sort of quietly. Then Ballister lifted those ink-dark eyes to look at him again. “What would you like to ask me, Ambrosius?”

For a second Ambrosius’ brain went oddly static-y. He shook it off and smiled at the other man, holding up one finger.

“Can you dance?”

“Um…I don’t know?”

“You don’t – okay, we’re going to come back to that. Secondly…” Some instinct sounded in the back of his head, looking at Ballister sitting still and dignified opposite him, even in his ragged, too-small jumper with his hair a tangled mess over half his face. He tied it back sometimes, for training, which was a look, Ambrosius had definitely noticed that once or twice, but mostly it was like this. Without thinking it through he lifted a hand and stroked over some of the strands. Wow – it was really soft. If it turned out Ballister used coffee grounds on this too Ambrosius would probably kill him.

Ballister had gone from still to frozen, staring at him with massive eyes. Ambrosius quickly let go of his hair and smiled his most charming smile.

“Okay, for the Ball…I’m going to need a massive, HUGE favour.”

“You…you still want to go with me?”

“What? Yes of course, don’t be silly.” Ambrosius waved that nonsense away. He lifted his hand to play with the strand of hair again and then, when Ballister didn’t object, impulsively combed his hand through all of it, pulling it back off Ballister’s face and – oh.

Huh.

“Would you let me take care of our outfits for the Ball?” he asked, softly. Ballister didn’t even seem to notice Ambrosius still had a hand cupped against his face, just blinking back at him as Ambrosius spoke. “My – my father, he really cares about this stuff, he’ll want pictures, holo-vids, the works. And he’ll get sniffy if we’ve even got a single hair out of place. So can I get our suits – if you’re happy with a suit? We could do dresses, robes, whatever – whatever you want, just, you’d be doing me a massive favour if you let me get all the stuff, the things I know my father would approve of.”

Ballister looked at him. It was – it wasn’t like any other look Ambrosius had ever had. People usually looked at him…in very obvious ways. They looked at him and saw Gloreth’s heir. They looked at him and saw a handsome, rich boy they wanted to fuck or marry. They looked at him and saw the heir to his father’s title, and they wanted to use him for their own goals. It was all – obvious. Surface level. Superficial.

Ballister’s look peeled him open, like those dark eyes were gazing all the way down to his bones, not in a judgemental way, just…in a knowing way. Ambrosius felt known, under that look. Like Ballister wasn’t fooled for a second by the little white lie he’d constructed – because his father was a stickler for this stuff, not that Ambrosius gave a damn – but that he’d seen through to the reasons why Ambrosius had felt the need to lie, that the lie was offered from respect not pity, from a nervous wanting to share what he had in a way that Ballister would be okay with, that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing but just genuinely, truly, wanted to do right…

And then Ballister blinked and looked away and Ambrosius found he could take a breath again. He hadn’t been aware that he’d stopped.

“Why are you doing this?” Ballister asked quietly. He was picking at a fraying thread in his blanket as he spoke, those bottomless eyes thankfully elsewhere, even if some part of Ambrosius wanted them back on him. Feeling seen had left him static-y all over, a slow craving for it to happen again in the pit of his stomach.

“Because I want us to have a nice night at the Ball? Both of us,” he offered, the best he could do. Ballister’s nails were chewed down to the quick but he was still somehow pulling a thread out of his blanket, which to be honest didn’t look like it could lose all that many more.

“…okay.” Ballister said, after a slow breath. It was clear that was a temporary answer, but Ambrosius was feeling a little light-headed, so he was fine with that for the time being. He coughed weakly and took a step back, Ballister’s hair had fallen back over half his face, which was a relief.

“Okay – thanks, dude, I appreciate it. So, um, suits? I’ll make us an appointment at my usual, um, tailors. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you don’t have one.” That got him a quick flash of a smile, as though Ballister actually didn’t mind talking about the fact he had no money, didn’t mind joking about it, as long as it wasn’t him who was the butt of the joke. Ambrosius had noticed before that he had a cute smile. He shook the thought away so he didn’t get distracted. “Okay great! I’ll do that. But now we’ve got to focus on something much more important: what do you mean you don’t think you know how to dance?”

~

Over the next two weeks somehow word got out that Ambrosius had a date to the Ball, which was a relief because it meant people stopped asking him and he stopped having to gently turn them down, and which was very stressful because it meant three different gossip rags started running live betting polls on who he was taking and his father started texting him three times a day asking if this person understood what a responsibility it was to marry into the line of Gloreth. Vari, sensibly, had booked herself into a week-long spa trip and turned off her phone to avoid being hounded by both the press and nosy family members – although of course she’d made Ambrosius pay for it.

None of the polls had Ballister on them, which made Ambrosius smug that his idea had worked, and vaguely insulted on Ballister’s behalf. The man was more attractive than half their class – possibly more attractive than two-thirds of their class – why wouldn’t someone want to take him? Blanche had!

Ballister himself seemed totally oblivious to all the news coverage and the whispers that occasionally followed Ambrosius down the hallway, even when the whispers were following him too, by dint of proximity. Ambrosius had dragged him more or less forcibly into his orbit – insisting to Sir Caristo that Ballister be included in the Advanced group, as Ambrosius’ own skills would suffer unless he were allowed to spar with the most skilled opponents, which had made the crabby old swordmasters bushy eyebrows go up and then back down until he’d finally stomped away agreeing with a grumble – and deliberately choosing him for group work in class, which had been fine until they’d been assigned a battlefield scenario to work through and it turned out Ballister had the strategic abilities of a dormouse and the tactical abilities of a crow with a grudge. Which meant Ambrosius had had to explain to him three times why they couldn’t suddenly just ‘have’ more knights, but after the attack had been joined (in this scenario, a horde of monsters coming up through the sewers to harvest bones) Ballister had nearly wiped them off the map before the rest of them had finished scouting their sectors.

It had been fun. It had been really fun. It had led to Ambrosius ambushing him in his rooms that same evening with his 5D chessboard under his arm and they’d gone half the night before edging into a stalemate. He hadn’t been able to resist tidying up a few of the scattered books and stuff whilst he was there, which helped him feel less like the room was trying to eat his brain, and after they went back for a rematch two nights later – after their now-usual evening spar – he saw that the gross piles of dirty laundry had all been cleared away and it was blissful relief that made him slump down on Ballister’s bed and take a deep breath of mostly-clean air.

When he rolled his head over to the side it was to see Ballister staring at him with that strange expression again, half like he was looking at something he didn’t believe existed and half something dark and full of intent, the way Ballister usually looked just before he came at you with swordblade swinging. Ambrosius pushed himself up on his hands and blew his hair out of his eyes and grinned viciously back, and Ballister laughed, the dark look suddenly vanishing away. Then Ballister copied the gesture, blowing a lock of his own hair away, and Ambrosius had a flash of remembering how he’d looked with it all pushed back, and scooted quickly down the bed to do it again. Ballister froze with his hands on the chess pieces, blinking up at him as Ambrosius used both hands this time, playing with Ballister’s hair to see how it looked different ways.

“You’re, er, touching my hair?”

“Have you ever thought about getting it cut?” Ambrosius asked. He leant forward to push it back even more, smiling into his friend’s face as they got even closer. Ballister’s hair was so thick and heavy, coiling round his fingers. “I think it would look good shorter. And it’d probably be cooler too.”

“G-good?”

“Yeah. Not short-short. Still quite long, but you could slick it back…something like this…or, hm, like this?” he tugged it back a bit more and Ballister’s mouth fell open a little. He looked a bit dazed. Oh – obviously he couldn’t see what he looked like. Ambrosius gave him a stern look. “It looks good like this! Trust me. Let’s go to a hair salon before our fittings tomorrow, yeah?”

The nod that Ballister gave him felt as good as winning one of their sparring matches and Ambrosius beamed back at him before rolling away to sprawl out over the bed again and gesture towards the half-done board.

“Hurry up; I’m going to kick your arse this time.”

Ballister was a lot less agreeable the next morning. Ambrosius practically had to wrestle him into the chair at the hair salon, and then give an apologetic bow to the lady and her two assistants who were watching them with nervous eyes, probably not used to two six-foot squires putting each other in headlocks before getting their hair cut.

“Ladies, my sincerest apologies. My friend here needed some convincing that he was long overdue a make-over.”

“God you’re so smarmy.” Ballister muttered from somewhere under his left armpit. Ambrosius patted him on the head and shoved his arse into the chair. In the last few days Ballister had been getting sassier with him and Ambrosius had found he loved it.

“What…what would the gentleman like done?” asked the lead hairdresser, Lora. Ambrosius beamed at her. This was the place his mother came to and they were used to noble clientele being ridiculous (and could be relied upon for their discretion). He beckoned her closer and – with a stern look at Ballister not to bite him – began combing his hair back the way he’d done the night before.

“I thought – something like this? Still with some length, but…”

“Oh yes, to show off…”

“Mmm, exactly, all this face, and these –”

“Yes, lovely eyes, and his hair is lovely too.”

“Um, hello, I’m right here?” Ballister said. His cheeks were dark again. Ambrosius pinched one, telling him with his eyes to shut up and accept the compliments. Ballister shifted in his seat and blushed again.

“Ah, I see.” Lora said, although Ambrosius hadn’t said anything else, and clicked her fingers, and Ballister disappeared beneath her troupe of assistants with a squawk.

Ambrosius was in the neighbouring chair, drinking a very nice iced latte and flipping through an old copy of Stars of the Realm – which had an exclusive of how he was dating Todd as the lead story, eugh – when Ballister was brought back, dreamy-eyed and dazed from the hair wash and head massage that Ambrosius knew from experience were even better than the coffee. Ambrosius propped his chin on his hand and smiled fondly at him. He liked spoiling Ballister like this – they’d had an argument over who was going to pay for the haircut, which they’d settled by sparring, which Ambrosius had won, and the glow of victory was still carrying him – especially when it made his friend look like that.

“Pampering is good for the soul.”

“Shut up.”

“This much off?” Lora asked, looking between them both. Ambrosius said nothing, letting it be Ballister’s final call, and in the end the other man took in a deep breath and then let it out all at once.

“Yeah. Cut it.”

If he wasn’t certain that Ballister was going to look stunning with the shorter hair it would almost have been a waste, Ambrosius mused, watching as more and more dark strands fell to the floor. It had been as long as his, down past Ballister’s shoulders, and so gorgeously soft under his fingers. Well, it would probably still be soft but he wouldn’t have an excuse to touch it any more and he’d miss it. His phone dinged in his pocket as he wondered if it would be weird to ask for a bit to keep.

Cuz, you’ve got incoming, keep it cool! Sorry they finally got it out of me!

Okay. That was one of Vari’s weirder messages. Ambrosius frowned down at the screen when all of a sudden his phone started dinging so fast it was vibrating in his hand.

Ambrosius

Ambrosius Augustus Goldenloin

Reply to me

Amby darling please reply to your father before he has an aneurysm. You know the medics have concerns about his blood pressure. All my love, mum xx

Ambrosius reply to me

Who are you taking to the formal

Is it the boy

The one your mother found

On the street

Ambrosius I refuse to believe you are taking street boy as companion to the ball

The ball is v important event

For our family

Show some respect to your bloodline

You are behaving like child

Taking street boy just to make big gesture

Amby darling perhaps if you could reply to your father just to reassure him that everything’s well that might be a good idea. His heart, you know that darling. Love mum xx

Stop giving street boy ideas above his station

Ambrosius slammed his phone down on the salon counter so hard something cracked and both Lora and Ballister glanced up at him. He smiled weakly back and shoved it into his pocket and went back to his magazine, flipping over the pages too fast for any of the holopics to pop out.

“Excuse me, could you give us a second?”

Ambrosius kept his head down whilst Lora puttered away, but Ballister didn’t say anything and the silence began to stretch longer than he could bear, so he finally peeked upwards.

Ballister was gazing steadily at him, those eyes large and soft and round. He should have looked ridiculous, with his hair half cut, chunks all over the place, but it was too difficult to look away from those eyes to notice. And then Ballister crooked a finger at him.

“Get over here.”

Ambrosius was moving before he figured out what Ballister meant by ‘over here’, and then they were two full-grown men trying to wedge themselves into one hair salon chair, which was such a stupid idea and yet for some reason he wasn’t trying to get away. They’d been this close plenty of times – casual wrestling, hilts locking in a spar, when they’d watched several episodes of the latest Tales of the Under-Realm pressed together in Ballister’s bed – but it felt oddly different this time.

“What happened?” asked Ballister, low and soft, and Ambrosius sighed and tipped his head over. His long blond curls fell over Ballister’s shoulder, next to some stray strands of black hair. He thought he could feel the rasp of Ballister’s stubble against his forehead as the other man breathed out slow and deep beside him.

“My – father. Is being…himself.”

“And that’s difficult for you?” There was no judgement in the question, no censure, not the way there would have been from literally anyone else. Herculaneus Goldenloin was a famed knight of his generation, a direct descendant of Gloreth, now one of the most influential Lords in the Queen’s High Council. No one criticized him, ever. Not even Ambrosius.

“I…I don’t know how to be his son, sometimes.” Ambrosius said, brutally aware that Ballister had no parents at all. “I know that’s such a stupid thing to say, so many people have it worse –”

“It’s not. It’s not stupid.” Ballister was so warm, pressed up against him, even through the black salon gown thing they’d put him it. And he smelt good, kinda musky, something vaguely earthy, with a hint of the vanilla he used on his hair.

“Nothing exists for him except Gloreth!” The words burst out of him without conscious thought. “I’m not his son; I’m Gloreth’s descendant. I have to uphold the family honour, the name, the respect. Nothing about me matters, except that I carry the name in the way he wants me to.”

Ballister had been making low humming noises at various points to encourage him to continue. When Ambrosius paused for breath he finally spoke, calm and thoughtful.

“That sounds really tough. Sometimes I think it’s easier to have no family expectations at all, with all the pressure I see you and the others under.”

“Yeah, cos it’s much easier to shoulder the expectations of half the realm instead.” Ambrosius said, elbowing him. Ballister made an wheezing noise.

“What expectations – I’d wager all the realm’s expecting me to fail...”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ambrosius snorted. “Haven’t you seen the polls? You come second or third every year in ‘favourite knights of the realm’. Your exhibition videos every season always get thousands more views than anyone else’s –”

“That’s because everyone wants to see the street rat messing up –”

“You’re not a street rat,” snapped Ambrosius, the anger hot and churning in his gut. Shit. He hated that so much. Had people always called Ballister that? Had he just never noticed before? “Just – don’t. Please.”

“O-okay.” Ballister was quiet beside him for a long second. His breath was ruffling Ambrosius’ hair softly and Ambrosius reached up to brush it out of his face. Ballister made a tiny amused noise.

“You come first every year don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s because of your hair. It’s so shiny. I bet you only come first because of your shiny shiny hair.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Your shiny golden Gloreth hair –” Ballister clamped his mouth shut but it was too late, the words were out and in the same instant the same idea occurred to both of them. Ambrosius twisted to look up at him, breathing out the words in awe.

“Ballister, you genius.”

“No! No, I didn’t say anything! Don’t make me take the blame for this!”

“Do you think I should?” Ambrosius tugged one of the curls forwards, peering at it. “I mean, I like it like this, I guess…what would I look like without it long?”

“Handsome,” came the voice from above him. “You – you’ll always look handsome.”

They both went quiet.

“Hey, you’re not blond all the way down.” Ballister said, his voice back to normal. Ambrosius could feel fingers against his scalp, so tentative he wasn’t entirely sure they were there so he held very still so he couldn’t scare them away. The blunt, nail-chewed ends brushed through his hair. “It’s much darker at the roots."

“My beard grows in dark too.”

“You can grow a beard?”

“Oh, now I hate you. Not all of us can be hirsute.”

“I meant, I just can’t picture you with – ow – I’m sure it looks great though, really mature – ow – hey, you could borrow some of my beard if you ever want – okay I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

“I bet you’re hairy all over.” Ambrosius grumbled, settling back down. Trying to give Ballister a noogie had hurt him as well, crammed into this tiny chair. Then he caught sight of Ballister’s blush and all his grumpiness evaporated. “Oh, you are! Where? Let me guess – a nice hairy chest? Thighs too, hmmm. Where else…?” Pressed together like this, his hand was already level with Ballister’s hip. The static-y feeling was back in his chest, almost fizzing this time. His hand was so close. It was easier to touch Ballister than not to touch him, to walk his fingers over the bone of Ballister’s hip, across to where he was certain Ballister probably had the start of a treasure trail below his bellybutton –

Ballister’s hand caught his, as firm as only a swordsman’s could be. Ambrosius stared at it, at the golden-brown skin entangled with his own, Ballister’s thicker fingers and short nails. He didn’t look up. He knew Ballister was looking down at him, and if he looked up he’d be looking straight into those eyes.

“Excuse me, Miss Lora?”

Lora came bustling back over, looking pleased to be called ‘miss’ and her face too-innocent, like she hadn’t been watching them the whole time. Ambrosius’ chest was fluttering so hard he missed the first part of the conversation entirely.

“ – I don’t know, I think still long on top? Ambrosius? What do you think short back and sides and –”

“Give me an undercut.” Ambrosius said. His father had never let him get his hair cut that short: he was as proud of the gold hair as the rest of Gloreth’s legacy. Ambrosius’ dark roots were from his mother. “All along the back and sides. I’ll keep it long on top to style it. Yeah?” The last bit was aimed at Ballister, unfairly defiant, but he just nodded back softly.

“Yes. If that’s what you want. You’ll look good.”

“He has the cheekbones for it.” Lora offered, looking between them uncertainly. Ballister’s eyes didn’t shift off Ambrosius’ face.

“He does.”

“Okay…Ambrosius sweetie, if you want to shift to this chair over here…”

The first snip of the scissors felt like they cut through something inside him too, something that had been wrapped tight around him for so long that he’d gotten used to the pressure of it. Ambrosius closed his eyes as she kept snipping, the feeling of air against his neck, his ears, his forehead, totally foreign and unfamiliar. When he heard the buzz of the clippers he realised his hands were clenched into fists at his side.

“Okay, you’re all done.”

Ambrosius opened his eyes slowly. One of Lora’s assistants was still babbling behind him.

“So I – I trimmed it close, like Lora said. Kept it super long on top, I can take that in a bit more if you want but I think this looks – looks cool. I styled it a little, just some gel, so you could see…just some super hold gel, we sell it here if you want it, or I could recommend –”

“It’s good.” Ambrosius said. He looked – he looked like his mother. Her dark almond-shaped eyes. Her cheekbones. Her dark hair at his temples. And he liked the spray of gold on top; because he was proud of his heritage and determined to live up to it. He just wanted to do that on his own terms. Like this. “It’s good, thank you so much.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Lord Goldenloin sir,” the boy babbled, which was totally the wrong form of address but who cared. Fortunately he bolted a second later and Ambrosius was free to lean forward and touch himself, rub his fingertips over the weirdly soft bristle of the undercut, gently nudge against the gelled strands above.

“Do you like it?” Ballister asked, and Ambrosius nodded before twisting round to look at him.

“I do, I really do, thank you for – oh, fuck.”

“What?” Ballister jerked up in his chair, his hand going to his hip as though expecting his sword to be there. “What, what happened?”

“Ballister, your hair.”

“Oh.” Ballister’s entire face fell. “Does it…does it not look good?”

“Look good? Ballister – are you insane?” Ambrosius stared at him, his brain slamming up against the walls of his skull, too many thoughts and emotions colliding inside. “It looks amazing.”

Ballister’s hair was down to only a few inches long, carefully cut to show off the soft thick weight of it. It had been slightly slicked back, just the way Ambrosius had dreamed, and all of Ballister’s face was on display, his strong features and large eyes perfectly framed.

“I’m never going to top a poll again.” Ambrosius sighed dreamily, gazing at him, and Ballister blushed so dark his face matched his hair.

They managed to get out of the salon with only a little wrangling, signing posters for them to put up in the store (they only had Ambrosius’ on hand, but Ballister was bullied into swearing a solemn oath as a knight that he would return to sign one as soon as a poster of him with his new haircut was released). Ambrosius had to grab his arm and haul him out of the front before he finished apologising and trying to leave too large a tip.

“Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.”

Ambrosius managed not to say anything too bemused at Ballister’s archaic device – though he did make a mental note to find out when Ballister’s day of birth was and order one in time – and tapped in Vari’s ID code. It picked up but the screen stayed black.

“Who is this?”

“Vari! It’s Ambrosius, my phone’s busted so calling you off of Ballister’s.”

The screen flickered and Ambrosius quickly raised it up to get a good view of his face, ignoring Ballister leaning against the wall and smiling as he watched. Then Vari was shrieking down the line.

“Amby, your hair! I love it!! Oh my god you look stunning you jammy bastard, when I tried out an undercut I just looked sort of fuzzy.”

“Ballister talked me into it.” Ambrosius turned his head so she could see from all sides. “I love it.”

“I thought you guys were at the tailors today?”

“We’re going there now.”

“Okay. Send me more pics. Hey – did your dad call you?”

The reminder was like a bucket of cold water over his head. “No. He messaged. I haven’t replied.”

His cousin’s face was understanding, but somehow for only half the right reasons.

“Want me to tell him your phone’s broken? Might buy you some time.”

That was…probably the most sensible thing to do. Unless his dad was already in the palace hospital having a heart attack of course.

“Thanks Vari.”

“Anytime cuz. Sorry I couldn’t hold out. They sic’ed the grandparents on me.”

“No don’t worry, it’s fine. Speak soon.”

“Send me pics!”

Ballister was watching him curiously as Ambrosius hung up and tossed his phone back to him and then activated his watch-beacon for a hovertaxi. When one swooped down in front of them a moment later he offered his hand for Ambrosius to climb in and kept looking at him even as it began to rise into the air.

“I realise who you remind me of, with your hair cut like that.”

“Oh yeah. Who?”

“Your mother.”

Ambrosius’ head snapped round. He’d never been sure if Ballister remembered…

Ballister smiled at him. His eyes crinkled slightly at the edges when he smiled, Ambrosius could see that now, with his hair finally off his face.

“I don’t think I ever thanked her properly, for what she did. Would…would it be appropriate for me to, one day? Or could you maybe, maybe pass along my thanks? I owe her everything.”

“She wouldn’t say that.” Ambrosius got the words out through a throat swollen tight. “She would say she had just been doing her duty to the realm.”

“I’m not the realm.” Ballister said simply. “And it was more than duty, for me.”

Ambrosius’ mother was from one of the less noble families, a good bloodline but not a particularly famous lineage, no wealth, no status, no influence on the Council. But she’d been good friends with the Queen – the Princess, back then – and she’d been beautiful, and his father had loved her…did love her, Ambrosius would never deny them that. And she’d been a knight, a better swordsman than even his father, as fast on her feet as Ambrosius, a good enough swordsman that whilst on patrol one day she’d seen a small boy with no shoes, duelling a dummy made from old crates and sandbags, his clothes in tatters, using a stick as a sword, copying what he saw on the holovids of knight training…and where others would have seen nothing but a street rat, she had recognised talent in its purest form.

Ambrosius had been there, when she’d brought the boy back to the Goldenloin Estate, had heard her arguing with his father in the library whilst the Princess had been on her way, had peered over the balcony and seen that small dark head intently studying the walls of their home. Anyone else, any other child, it would have been fear or nerves, but Ambrosius had watched as Ballister had gravely inspected the portraits on the walls, lingering over each heroic visage and reading the list of their noble deeds underneath, nodding approvingly at each one, until he’d reached Gloreth’s, and then he’d risen, and bowed – then to shoot back into his seat as the library doors opened.

That had been the first moment Ambrosius could remember taking actual pride in his legacy, the moment his father’s endless lectures had finally stopped sounding like hollow, random words, and became something that he realised could inspire other people. That he could inspire other people. All thanks to…Ballister.

“You can thank her – and the Queen – by being the greatest knight of us all,” he said. Ballister looked startled and then sort of curled away.

“Isn’t that…isn’t that what you want to do?”

“I don’t…I’m going to have to take my father’s council seat eventually.” Ambrosius said. His mother’s messages hadn’t been soft warnings. His father’s heart was not good. “And I don’t mind that – I like the idea of getting to shape the realm like that.” Ballister’s scrunched-up nose made it clear he didn’t, which rather confirmed Ambrosius’ point. “And I want to be a good knight, but I might not end up a great knight, like one of those knights of legend. But you could. More than any of us, any of our class: you’re the best of us.”

“I practice my swordsmanship the most –”

“Ballister.” The hovertaxi swerved round a snarl-up of air traffic close to the central market. They both moved easily with the motion, well-honed reflexes, neither of their gazes shifting off the other. “Ballister. You’re the best of us. I will always believe that. I believe it with my entire heart.”

Ballister swallowed very hard, something shining in his eyes, on his soft, vulnerable face, that he’d revealed to the world because Ambrosius had told him to. And then, very carefully, he reached out and took Ambrosius’ hand, the way they’d been entangled in the salon chair, holding tight. His cheeks flushed again and he quickly looked away out of the window, but his hand didn’t shift at all.

Ambrosius sat there and stared down at it, his brain back to static, a dim white fuzz now compared to the fizzing bubbles from earlier. There were no thoughts in him at all.

~

 “- and you don’t understand, Vari, how he looked in that suit –”

“Uh huh. Cuz. I don’t understand what you want from me here.”

Ambrosius thunked his head back against his mattress several times. It had been startling, and a little saddening, to realise that maybe he didn’t have as many friends as he thought he did, because the only two people he could really talk to about The Ballister Situation were Valerianella…and Ballister himself.

And Valerianella was being less than helpful about the whole thing.

“Okay, break it down for me here. When you say ‘I think maybe I might like him that way’…are we meaning, like – sexually? Or romantically? Or have you found your platonic soulmate sparring partner?”

“Obviously the last one.” Ambrosius rolled his eyes. There was now a ‘Super Advanced’ group at training, consisting of solely him and Ballister. Coupled with their evening practices, they were energy streaks ahead of the rest of the class. Ambrosius’ body existed as one constant solid throb of hard-worked muscles and he found himself practising his footwork in his sleep – and he loved it. “And, um, maybe…the other two…”

“What level are we talking here? Like, there’s a whole intersection between ‘he’s hot and I wanna bang him to get it out of my system’ and ‘rings and wedding bells and a puppy’.”

Ambrosius had to curl into a ball and stuff his fist into his mouth to stop from making some unholy noise at the words ‘bang him’. Did he want to – with Ballister??

“Cuz, don’t ever tell me what you’re thinking of to cause those whimpering noises…Okay, real Big Cousin Talk incoming: whether you wanna screw him or not…it’s the other bit that’s more important. Cos horniness comes and goes, and you can just take a lot of cold showers until it’s passed if you don’t wanna ruin the friendship. But if you want to date him…”

Did he want to date Ballister?

Ambrosius had dated before. He and Leonil had been together for six months, before he’d left the Institute to oversee his family’s estates. And he’d dated V – Sir Veronicus now – for nearly a year. They’d only broken up last summer and Ambrosius had moped for a week. He liked being in a relationship. He liked having a boyfriend. He liked…having someone to spend evenings with, and be there to comfort him when he was down, and prod him into trying new things…

Hm.

“What’s the difference between dating someone and being friends with them?” he mused out loud.

“I am the wrong person to ask,” Vari laughed at him from the screen. “I don’t have those romantic-y feelings, you know that. But as far as I can tell…kissing?”

“…how about hand-holding?”

“You’re holding his hand before you’ve even kissed him? You might as well skip straight to the puppy. Or kids. Do you want kids? You’d be a good dad.”

“Ballister would be a great dad.” Ambrosius said without thinking, and then flushed hot and cold all over at the thought. He could just imagine Ballister with a kid, a little girl, who'd be sweet and shy and polite like her daddy…

“Oh cuz…you’ve got it bad…”

Ambrosius took a trembling breath in, staring up at his bare, white ceiling. His room was so…bleak. The only bright thing in it was the Sweet Blooming Mornshade, its leaves now a beautiful violet shading into lilac, which he’d pushed back into the corner so it only got light half the day, and carefully sprinkled with the coffee grounds Ballister saved for it once a week, as apparently his own green tea wasn’t any good. He still liked his neat and tidy room, he’d just grown to enjoy a few more pops of colour, that was all. Maybe he could put up some pictures? Some photos at least – the one of him and Vari last year at Yuletide, the formal ones he took with his parents at his eighteenth year celebrations, he needed some of him and Ballister too –

“Yeah,” he said softly, into the phone. “I’ve got it bad.”

“Okay, well, I’m glad we’ve established that much. And so I’ve got to ask – not that I want to impugn the Goldenloin pride or anything – but do you think he likes you back?”

Liked him…back?

“Vari!” he wailed at the screen. “What if he doesn’t like me back?!”

“Oh Gloreth, I give up.” His cousin’s exasperated voice said, at the same moment there was a rapid drumming on Ambrosius’ door.

“Hey, Goldenloin, you in there?”

“Vari I’ve got to go. But what the heck do I do?” he asked, rolling himself off the bed and doing his best puppy eyes at the screen. He’d used to think they were pretty good, before he’d seen Ballister’s puppy eyes.

“You’ve already asked him to the dance, how much harder can asking him out on date be??”

“That’s totally different!”

“How?!”

“Vari I’m going.”

“Ugh, you romance people exhaust me. Good luck cuz, I love you.”

“Love you too,” Ambrosius said, just as he opened his door to see – eugh. Todd.

Todd gave him a weird look.

“Ew, Goldenloin, I told you, I don't care that you like sucking dick, but don’t go flirting with me, got it?”

“I was talking to my cousin.” Ambrosius got out with gritted teeth. Todeus was from a family second only in influence to his own and unlike him, Todeus was happy to wield it as often as possible. The guy’s ego make Ambrosius want to puke most days.

“Okay, sure, whateverrrrr…with your hair before you at least looked kind of like a girl, maybe I would have let you suck it one day if you were really desperate, but now? Dude, no way.”

“I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man in the realm and everyone else had been eaten by monsters. What the heck do you want Todd?” he snapped. The urge to find Ballister was a steady thrum under his skin, even if he had no idea what he was going to do when he found him. The thought of Ballister maybe liking him back, of getting to kiss Ballister, of getting to be the most important person in his life…

Shit. He really needed to find him.

“What do I want? Dude, I want to congratulate you, on the whole Ballister thing!”

Ambrosius stared at him. Was he hallucinating? What was…Todd had burst into loud obnoxious applause and then the echoes made Ambrosius realise that he wasn't alone – Capsicus was there, and Pastina, and…Blanche. All of them clapping. Ambrosius couldn’t shift his eyes off Blanche as he spoke, remembering the look on Ballister’s face when he said she’d asked him. Did Ballister like Blanche? Like-like her? Did she like him back? They’d look good together…

“What do you mean?”

“Bro! The whole – getting him to go to the dance with you! Baby Blanche here tried but she couldn’t stick the landing –”

“I couldn’t keep it up when I found out the loser didn’t know how to dance,” Blanche said, rolling her eyes, a horrible twist to the smile on her pretty mouth. “And just, ugh, I couldn't bare the thought of pretending to care about him for a whole month.”

“So what’s the plan Goldenloin? You gonna dump him in the middle of the dancefloor? Turn up with someone else on your arm so he’s standing there like the pathetic reject he is –”

“I’m still free if you want a date.” Blanche said, smiling at him, bright-eyed and sweet. “I know I’m not your usual type but I promise to show you a good time.”

“Oh! I know, I know! Let’s dump a cauldron of pig’s blood on him! Like in that one manuscript, shit, what’s it called?”

“You asked Ballister to the dance because you were planning to humiliate him?” Ambrosius asked Blanche, very softly. She rolled her eyes.

“Well the Director still won’t let us push him off the top of the Institute, so this is the next best thing.”

“We didn’t know you were in on it Ambrosius.” Capsicus chimed in. “Pastina thought maybe you guys were auditioning for The Gale – you’d be a great Miranda and he’d be a perfect beast!”

Everyone burst out laughing. Ambrosius looked at them all and felt something hardening in his chest, going tight and cold. This – he could remember it all, suddenly, every sideways look and mistrusting glance Ballister had ever given him, like he couldn’t believe someone was being nice to him, couldn’t believe someone was being real with him…

“Well, Goldenloin? You’ve certainly had a rough time of it, pretending to care about that disgusting commoner for nearly the whole month. But next week you get your revenge – so what’ll it be? I’m a big fan of the pig’s blood idea myself." Todd boomed, his voice echoing up and down the corridor, just as the crowds around him shifted slightly and Ambrosius saw –

Saw Ballister, standing at the back of them, wearing training gear with his sword in his hand. This was the first time he’d ever come to Ambrosius’ rooms. Normally he avoided this end of the corridor like the plague…because Ambrosius’ rooms were next to Todd’s, and Blanche’s, and Pastina’s, and all the rest of the horrible group who believed that Ballister – good, perfect, noble Ballister – was somehow worth less than them just because of a title.

And then he saw the expression on Ballister’s face and realised what he must have overheard, and the coldness in his entire chest burst out across his entire body.

“Ballister…” he began, and Todd whipped round and let out a braying laugh.

“Darn it, the sneaky little street rat spoilt all our plans, as usual! Haha suck on it Ballister, guess no one here gives a shit about you, again!”

Ambrosius wanted to kill him. He wanted to hurt him, he wanted to put on his mail gauntlets and smash Todd’s face in, over and over again, until there was nothing left but a bloody mess, battered and unrecognisable, and then he wanted to do the same to his body until he was nothing but pulpy bones and flesh and then dump the whole thing in front of his parents, in front of the entire High Council, and tell them that this was what would happen to anyone who hurt Ballister ever again –

And Todd was stepping back, all the others doing the same with smiles falling off their stupid faces, because his was the righteous noble anger of Gloreth and they could fucking sense that he was going to kill them –

And then he saw Ballister’s face, still at the back of the group, staring straight at him, and then Ballister –

Turned and ran.

Ambrosius’ hand had been groping at his waist for a sword that wasn’t there but instantly he sprang into motion, sprinting after the dark-haired man. Todd, Blanche, the rest, they could all wait – he could come back and kill them later – first he had to make Ballister understand…

Ballister was fast, of course he was, the man could complete the obstacle course in under three minutes flat, and Ambrosius had to run so hard he was panting just to keep him in sight. They sprinted down the hallways and up stairs, startled knights and squires flattening themselves against the wall to stay out of their way, until Ambrosius burst through a pair of doors and realised they were in the training hall. He staggered to a confused halt, the breath coming out of him in ragged gulps, and then strong fists were grabbing at his hoody and hauling him into the corner of the room.

“Ballister,” he gasped. Every instinct he had was going crazy, to defend, to retaliate, to disarm the threat, but he shoved it down and let his body go limp. You couldn’t take chances with monsters; they were taught to go for the kill. But he couldn’t. Not Ballister.

The face he’d spent a month learning better than his own appeared in front of his eyes. Ballister looked pinched and drawn around the edges, his skin ashy and his mouth a tight, unhappy line that made Ambrosius’ heart want to spill out of his chest and go bounding into Ballister’s to keep his company. He wrapped his own hands around the tight clench of Ballister’s fists.

“Ballister…don’t believe anything they said, that’s not why I…”

“I know it’s not.” Ballister said, and leant forward till their foreheads pressed together, the whole line of his body close and firm against Ambrosius’. His breath came puffing out softly against Ambrosius’ mouth as he sighed, so, so wearily. “I know.”

“You…know? I wasn’t trying to trick you, or…Gloreth’s tits, humiliate you –”

“I know, I know,” the other man said again, almost like he was the one reassuring Ambrosius, pressing their foreheads even harder together. Ambrosius wanted it, wanted to feel their bones mesh, wanted the imprint of Ballister against his skin. His mouth was right there. “I know you. At the beginning I…but I know you now. I know you would never do something like that.”

Ambrosius nodded furiously, relief flooding like a hot wave through his veins. And then the tactical half of his brain came back on line and he squinted at Ballister’s face, less than two inches away from his own.

“But…then why did you run?”

Ballister gave him an extremely unimpressed look. His eyebrows were a lot more frown-y this close

“Because you were about to punch Todd and I didn’t want you to get in trouble?”

“I wasn’t going to punch him.” Ambrosius said, because this seemed like an important distinction to make, whilst they were pressed so close Ballister’s heat was leeching into him in this deserted, shadow-dappled hall. “I was going to kill him. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone as much as I wanted to hurt him.” Ballister was pulling away, his hands loosening on Ambrosius’ hoody, and Ambrosius tightened his own grip to keep him close. “I will never, ever, let them do something like that to you again.”

And then he kissed him.

Ballister made a startled noise against his mouth but he didn’t pull away and so Ambrosius let them stay pressed tight and left the ball in his court…

…and a moment later Ballister’s mouth moved tentatively against his and the wave of lust that rolled through him made him pull away himself, dizzy and gasping.

“Oh thank Gloreth you do like me.”

“Is that a joke?” Ballister asked, staring at him dazedly. He looked like he’d taken a solid thunk to the head. Ambrosius was trapped between him and the wall and thought Ballister’s muscles were probably harder and couldn’t help letting himself go a little limp, so that Ballister’s full weight pressed down on him a little more.

“I would never joke about this,” he scolded gently, more of a tease, pressing little kisses against Ballister’s mouth. Ballister was still so shocked that each return kiss came a heartbeat too late and made Ambrosius smile helplessly at how adorable it was. “I wasn’t sure if you like-liked me, as much as I like-liked you. Or even if you did at all.”

“I have a picture of you above my bed,” came the half-bemused, half-exasperated reply, and now it was Ambrosius’ turn to pull away and stare at his blushing face, because that meant –

“Ballister? How long have you like-liked me?”

“Can we please stop calling it that?” Ballister was still blushing and ducking his head but Ambrosius wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, grinning so hard it was hurting his cheeks. Ballister finally managed to get his head tucked under Ambrosius’ chin and made a helpless noise against his neck. “I’ve always thought you were…you know, beautiful –” Ambrosius jerked a little, shocked out of his teasing mode by the sheer reverence in Ballister’s voice. “And you were always nice to me, not like…but now I know you and…”

His head lifted back up to meet Ambrosius’ eyes, because Ballister was always so star-struck brave.

“Now that I know you, I like you more. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. I like you so much…” he smiled, a little helplessly. “I’m the one that can’t believe how you could possibly like me.”

“I’ll give you the list later.” Ambrosius said, hearing how his voice came out as a low rasp, filled up with so much emotion he could barely breathe. “Right now I really need to kiss you again.”

They met in the middle this time. Ambrosius could tell Ballister hadn’t kissed many people before but he made up for it by learning fast, moving his lips against Ambrosius’ and running his hands down his sides. Ambrosius tipped his head back and opened his mouth a little in invitation and shivered all over when Ballister’s tongue slid inside, those strong hands clamping down on his waist. He wrapped his own arms around Ballister’s shoulders, one hand coming up to fist in that gorgeous soft hair, thinking how glad he was to still have an excuse to touch it, when Ballister shuddered all over and make a little gasping noise.

“Oh, really, your hair?” Ambrosius said, not even bothering to hide the delighted tease in his voice, and Ballister gave him a helpless, extremely-horny look, his eyelashes fluttering a little when Ambrosius gave another experimental little tug. “So all those times I…?”

“Almost as bad as all the times you were lazing about on my bed.” Ballister said huskily, and wow, shit, his voice had gone really deep. They were pressed so tight together they were nearly swaying and Ambrosius could feel a warm bulge against his thigh. He verrrry carefully began to nudge them together with a little more intent, a slow rock, giving Ballister his best innocent face at the same time.

“Look, your bed smells good, that’s all. And it’s warm, and soft, and – Ballister why in Gloreth’s name did you run to the training hall instead of your room? We could be on your bed right now!”

“I thought some physical exertion might calm you down.” Ballister said. His innocent face was much better than Ambrosius’ – probably because it was genuine. Ambrosius rocked his hips more deliberately and mock-glared at him.

“Fine. Physical exertion it is.”

“Wait, Ambrosius, we’re in the –”

Ambrosius kissed him again, teasing at his mouth and savouring the prick of stubble against his face, until Ballister’s muffled objections vanished and he was pressing closer himself, his hands going back to running all over Ambrosius’ body as though he could barely believe it was there. But even as his grip was firm his touch was soft, almost reverent, and Ambrosius wanted to melt and also burst into flames at the same time.

So instead he did the next best thing, which was shift his hips so that Ballister’s thigh was suddenly pressing in between his legs, those hard strong muscles rubbing up so good he moaned, Ballister’s own stiff length grinding against his hip.

Ballister was panting almost frantically, driving their bodies together with each slow roll of his hips and Ambrosius was being squashed flat between the hard press of his body and the steel wall behind him and it was driving him mad, the best feeling in the world. He didn’t give a shit if anyone else walked in on them; if they did he’d just laugh and tug Ballister closer and smile at the jealousy in their eyes, because Ballister was strong and handsome and his.

“We should – we should go –” Ballister said, and Ambrosius just kissed him with every bit of filthy intent he had and swallowed the moan Ballister made into his mouth. This felt weirdly dirty and wholesome at the same time – dirty because he had Ballister rubbing up against him through his sweatpants, too horny and desperate to do anything else except rock against him harder, feeling precome soaking through his briefs – and wholesome because Ballister was kissing him like he was the most precious thing in the world, till his mouth felt sore and tingly from the constant assault.

“Ambrosius…” groaned Ballister, and Ambrosius grabbed another fistful of his hair and tugged, wanting it, wanting Ballister to come in his pants because of how desperate Ambrosius made him, and a few moments later he got exactly that, Ballister making a soft gasping noise, his arms clenching around Ambrosius painfully hard as he shuddered against him, hips stuttering. Ambrosius flopped back against the wall, his own cock harder than his sword, and basked in the absolute perfect joy of knowing Ballister wanted him.

“Oh darn it, I’m sorry, you haven’t –” Ballister’s head jerked up, looking panicked, and Ambrosius gave him an absolutely wicked smile and dropped his hand down to where he was obviously still swollen and hard – brushing his fingers over Ballister’s softening bulge on the way and enjoying the little gasp he got – and then he gripped himself and rolled his hips against the thigh Ballister still had wedged up under his balls.

When he peeked his eyes open Ballister was looking almost totally lost, staring at him helplessly, and Ambrosius had to bite his lip to hide his grin.

“Is – is it always going to be like this?” he heard Ballister ask, as he gave himself a little squeeze at the base, enough to make him arch up and hiss, feeling Ballister’s eyes on him like a brand.

“Like – like what?”

“With you being a tease.”

The strength in Ballister’s voice made his eyes fly open and when he did he couldn’t see any of the lost, helpless look anymore. Ballister was looking at him hungrily, like Ambrosius was a meal on display all ready for him to feast on, and it made Ambrosius whimper and buck his hips again. Now Ballister smiled at him and that big hand was dropping down to cup him and – oh, shit, that felt good, Ballister rubbing firmly over him, feeling the shape of him, rubbing two fingers over the head where Ambrosius’ briefs were wet and sticky and the scratch of the fabric made him groan desperately. Ballister didn’t stop even when he started whimpering, just rubbed him and played with him and made him ride his thigh still trapped against the wall, until Ambrosius was coming in a breathless rush, soaking his briefs even more until he sagged in Ballister’s hold.

“Beautiful.” Ballister murmured into his hair, and Ambrosius turned his head blindly until he got a kiss.

They leant against each other for a while, panting. Or rather, Ambrosius leant against the wall and Ballister leant against him, a heavy warm lump smushing him. It felt amazing. Ambrosius couldn’t wait to replicate this experience in a bed.

“I can’t believe we did this in the training hall.” Ballister moaned. Ambrosius bit him on the ear lobe.

“You’re the one who ran here. I just followed.” And then, when Ballister shifted to get Ambrosius’ teeth off his ear, murmured against his mouth. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“I'll always wait for you.” Ballister replied, and kissed him again.

They got back to Ballister’s room thanks to luck, skill, and Ambrosius taking shameless advantage of his family name and literally ordering two of the junior squires loitering in the hallway back to their quarters. They didn’t dare risk the communal showers – especially as Ambrosius still had a coil of murderous energy in the pit of his stomach that Ballister hadn't quite managed to fuck out of him - in case they bumped into anyone, but fortunately Ballister had a pitcher of water and cloths in his room anyway. They both suddenly came over shy cleaning themselves, turning away as they stripped down before Ballister handed Ambrosius some spare clothes with his face carefully turned away. But Ambrosius got himself dressed first and then deliberately sprawled himself out over Ballister’s bed again, indulgently watching Ballister put his top back on, all the muscles in his back shifting under warm brown skin, the dark curls that littered his chest – Gloreth that was sexy – and the thick treasure trail leading down beneath his leggings.

Ambrosius wanted to eat him.

And then Ballister turned around and saw Ambrosius lying there, the too-broad top slouching off one shoulder and showing his chest, and his face did that complicated thing that Ambrosius had seen before…except this time Ambrosius knew what it meant and was able to reach out a hand and coax Ballister down onto the bed with him.

They were assigned their rooms as twelve-year old pages, with appropriately sized furniture. When they became squires at eighteen they were allowed to request larger furniture: beds, desks, chairs. But it was still always a single bed; sized for the lanky constantly-eating squires they’d all been back then. Fitting two tall, broad, fully-grown near-knights on it was…a challenge.

Ambrosius wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

They got themselves sorted eventually. Ballister tucked closest to the edge and Ambrosius curled around his back, nuzzling into his soft hair. Their hands were entwined against Ballister’s stomach and Ambrosius sighed out happily.

“I still can’t believe you like-like me.”

“Excuse me, isn’t it my turn to get a list?” Ballister’s voice was light but there was a little plea in it somewhere underneath. Ambrosius rubbed his cheek against the bumps at the top of Ballister’s spine and smiled against his skin.

“How could I not like you? You’re a master swordsman and breath-takingly handsome and ridiculously chivalrous, you’re noble and brave and honest and you make me laugh and make me be a better person and you’re going to be the greatest knight of us all…” the lingering anger was creeping its way back up his chest. “And if any of those arseholes try anything ever again –”

“Ambrosius.” Now his voice was firm as steel. “You can’t fight this battle for me. Promise me you won’t try.”

“But –”

“No. If we’re – if this is something serious…?”

“Yes.”

“Oh o-okay. So, um, if this is something serious, then…then people are going to say even worse things. They’ll say I only amounted to anything because I was…with you.”

“The Queen’s not going to knight someone for sucking Goldenloin dick.”

“You’re a real romantic you know that?”

“You’re the romantic. My romance is punching people for being mean to you.”

“Ambrosius.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I understand.” He snuffled back grumpily, shoving his nose against the back of Ballister’s neck. Ballister’s hand squeezed where it was holding his own against the firm planes of Ballister’s stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Ambrosius felt a tiny prick of tears in his eyes.

“Ballister…are you sure that I…I never…joined in, or –?”

“What? No, you never did.”

“But I never noticed. I never…made them stop.”

Ballister made a humming noise as though he’d never even thought about someone else helping him, which made the heat rise back up in Ambrosius’ chest. He didn’t understand how someone who had gone through as much nasty bullshit as Ballister had, had come out the other side so decent. He hesitated a moment before lifting up on one shoulder, Ballister twisting round slightly to look back at him. He looked…soft. Trusting. Ambrosius frowned at him sternly.

“I’m not joking for once Ballister. I won’t go and beat the shit out of them the way they deserve, for everything they’ve done to you. But I will beat the shit out of them if they do anything else, from here on out. I’m allowed to defend my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend…?” asked Ballister, all big eyes and soft face, and Ambrosius dug his pointy chin into the other man’s shoulder until he yelped. “What – yes, okay, I agree. You can punch Todd just a little bit the next time he’s…well, Todd.”

“Great.” Ambrosius said, already looking forward to punching Todd the very next morning. Ballister kicked back at him a little.

“Not tomorrow though. I don’t want you on punishment duty for fighting. Then I won’t have a date for the Ball.”

That was an excellent point, and the only good argument for not punching Todd that Ambrosius could think of. He nodded against Ballister’s spine and heard his relieved sigh in response. But despite all his protests there was something different about him now, like a tension had gone out of the muscles of his back, like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Like he was relieved he wasn’t alone anymore. Ambrosius hugged him a little tighter and let himself yawn and begin to drift off to sleep.

His last thought was that if he had his way Ballister would never be alone again.

~

"So where's your beau?" Vari asked, looking stunning in a red chima with delicately-patterned plum blossoms along the hem. The material rustled daintily as she clung on to Ambrosius' arm peering around at the crowd, trying to spot Ambrosius' beau.

"We're going by boyfriend for the moment." Ambrosius said, leaning against the wall and trying to look like he wasn't also scanning the crowd. He hadn't seen Ballister since that morning, waking up curled around him like they had for the past week, before the man had left to take midsummer gifts to the children’s charities in the Lower Serfs Quarter, promising he'd meet Ambrosius that evening, giving him a kiss goodbye as he'd left that had made him both delighted and extremely horny. Ambrosius was simultaneously the happiest he'd ever been and also going slightly out of his mind. It was just that Ballister smelt so good, and looked so handsome, and was so warm and strong next to him in bed…

They hadn't done anything since that first time. Which was fine, Ambrosius would never pressure a partner and he was so deliriously happy with just the kisses and touching and watching Ballister blossom brighter than their Mornshades now that he was getting his correct daily levels of love and care…but he probably needed to find some private time to release some frustration before the top of his head exploded. Either of them.

But right now all his attention was on having the most perfect magical night he could muster. Ballister had made an off-hand comment a few days ago that he hadn't attended the celebrations when he'd been a page, both because he'd been avoiding Todd and his crew and because he'd felt he wouldn't fit in, but it had further fanned the irritated flames in Ambrosius' chest. Fortunately for Todd and his crew they'd been on a break from their lessons for the holidays, because otherwise Ambrosius would have found some way to take some vengeance despite his promise not to. A sound drubbing in their swordsmanship classes would have been fine. Or maybe jousting. He would have quite enjoyed knocking Todd off a hoverbike.

"Have you spoken to your father?" Valerianella asked. Their parents were attending a dinner and jongleurs performance hosted by the Swanfold family before coming to the palace later for the dance and the fireworks. Ambrosius had been invited along too, but an invite for his 1 hadn't materialised.

"Yes," he said briefly, and would have left it at that except Vari dug an elbow into his ribs.

"Is he being a dick?"

"Yes."

"Are you feeling okay about it?"

Ambrosius opened his mouth to reply and then stopped with it still hanging open, the breath for the words stolen from his lungs. He and Vari were positioned to the right of the main doors at the head of the staircase, watching the newcomers stream past, and coming through the doors before them was…

"Oh - wow." Vari said, and Ambrosius nodded, helpless, as Ballister walked towards them. He'd shaved, carefully for once, his moustache neatly trimmed but the dark stubble along his jawline giving him a handsome, rakish look, and his hair was swept back off his face in the way that suited him perfectly. And the suit. Ambrosius had almost managed to convince himself that he’d half-dreamt how good Ballister had looked in it, and now it was clear he’d had to suppress the memory or perish. The black-on-black ensemble was perfectly tailored to the breadth of Ballister’s shoulders and the length of his legs, and he looked handsome and chivalrous and staggeringly sexy all at the same time.

“Yeah. I’m feeling okay about it,” he managed to get out, and then Ballister was bounding up to him, his normal shyness overcome with nervous excitement.

"There’s so many people here?!”

“It’s the Midsummer Ball,” Ambrosius teased, straightening his tie for him. “What did you expect? It’s going to be a complete crush inside, but that’s half the fun. How was the Lower Serfs Quarter?”

“Great, the kids were so happy to see me again.” Ballister replied, his eyes sparkling. He’d been a little vague on the details and Ambrosius hadn’t pushed, but he suspected that one of the orphanages Ballister regularly visited had been where he grew up himself. He hoped that one day Ballister would take him there. “I told them the presents were from Ambrosius Goldenloin too and they were so overwhelmed they nearly cried. Thank you for sending all those extra things.”

“Of course babe,” Ambrosius said, ignoring the way Vari’s eyes were boring into the side of his head in favour of watching Ballister flush at the pet name. Ambrosius wanted to lick him. He coughed quickly and turned to the side. “Might I introduce my cousin, Lady Valerianella Yi?”

“I’ve been told everything about you.” Vari butted in instantly, holding out her hand for Ballister to press to his lips, managing to go an even darker shade of gold across his entire face as he did so. “But you make Amby happier than I’ve ever seen him before, so currently you’re in my good books. Stay there.”

“Yes my lady,” his slightly-terrified boyfriend said. Vari looked from one to the other and then whacked Ambrosius on the arm with her reticule.

“I’m going in. I’ll leave you two to make an entrance together. Congratulations on being my cousin’s date to the Midsummer Ball Ballister, let me know when you're thinking of ringing those bells.”

She sauntered off, catching the eye of every female knight in a twenty foot radius. Ambrosius stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ballister and resisted the urge to make a formal parade salute. Vari sort of had that effect sometimes; she’d been very nice to let them off so lightly.

Ballister’s shoulder bumped against his. “Amby?”

“Shut up.”

“Sure, cool, no problem…Amby.”

“Yes, honeybun sweetcheeks?”

“….okay truce?”

“Truce.”

Ballister bumped him again, warm and comforting. “What was that about bells?”

“Er…” Ambrosius’ mouth opened and then closed again when he chickened out completely. Ballister apparently wasn't aware of the silly superstitions surrounding Ball partners and futures and his family in particular, and Ambrosius wasn't in any hurry to tell him. Instead he swung round till they were facing and then tugged Ballister towards him. “You look so damn sexy right now.”

“You look…” Ballister heaved in a deep breath, his eyes shining with wholesome sincerity. “Like the most perfect knight ever.”

“Oh god.” Ambrosius rested their foreheads together. His own suit was cream and gold, open at the collar in way that was dashingly informal, his hair teased and styled just right. “Now I feel like a perv for calling you sexy. You look incredibly handsome too. I just –”

“You just…?” There was a teasing sound in Ballister’s voice that made him glance up and nearly swoon again at the hungry look in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“I just want to drag you back to bed and do filthy things to you,” he offered, hopefully, and breathed out a sigh of relief when Ballister’s smile grew. He pecked a kiss against Ambrosius’ lips.

“Later.”

Together, they turned to descend the stairs.

Heads turned as they entered the ballroom hand-in-hand, eyes widening and whispers fanning out around them like the wave of an energy bolt. Ballister’s hand was too-warm in his, sweating slightly, but that was the only sign his boyfriend had noticed at all; otherwise his face had that abstract, distant expression that Ambrosius had learnt meant he was rising above it all. It made him look very handsome, but whilst Ambrosius supported whatever coping mechanisms Ballister had learnt to survive, he also didn’t want tonight to be something Ballister just endured.

“Hey,” he murmured, tugging him closer and smiling into his eyes. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

Ballister melted like candlewax, his entire expression going soft and warm, like for a second he'd completely forgotten that the crowd watching them even existed, nestled in against Ambrosius’ side.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he confided. The crowd was parting around them as they walked across the floor, giving them space to speak without being overheard. It was a temporary courtesy, Ambrosius knew; soon the sharks would descend. “Being here with you. That we’re…”

“Together. A couple. Dating. Boyfriends.” Ambrosius supplied helpfully, and Ballister shot him a look that was both amused and stern.

“That we care about each other,” he said, as always taking the most direct route to lance Ambrosius through the heart. There was a slower ballad starting up, one that they could both manage, and Ambrosius tugged Ballister into his arms as they reached the dancefloor.

“I do. So much.”

“I know. So do I.”

Ballister, it turned out, was an decent dancer, once he'd watched Ambrosius enough times to copy what he saw. He had to focus to remember the steps but he was a trained fighter after all; it wasn’t that different from drill, and his body was light and moved well. He’d laughingly told Ambrosius that he didn’t mind if he wanted to find a new partner for the waltzes whilst Ballister had a rest, and Ambrosius had been surprised to find that he had no interest in that at all – normally he loved waltzing. But now when Ballister wanted to dance, they would dance, and when he didn’t, Ambrosius would still be right there next to him.

For now though they swayed to the music together, ignoring the prickle of a thousand eyes across their backs. Almost the entire nobility would be here at some point this evening, with the Queen herself making a brief appearance. The ballroom was a swirl of colour and silk and glittering jewels, people dancing and laughing and ducking behind the plant pots on the balconies to kiss, celebrating the high point of summer with all the exuberance they could manage. Which naturally also included as much gossip as possible.

“I almost didn’t recognise him; shows what a Goldenloin make-over can do –”

“– rebelling against his father, do you think? Why else would he want to –”

“– probably asking him for all sorts of presents, once a street –”

Ambrosius whirled Ballister a little further away from the chattering crowds. Fortunately the other man was mostly paying attention to staying on the beat and didn’t seem to have heard anything. Ambrosius slid a hand down to the small of his back and put his face into Ballister’s hair, breathing in its vanilla scent and forcing himself not to care about anything but this. It was hard, but slowly the urge to challenge every one of those gossiping harpies to a duel subsided.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against Ballister’s skin, because his boyfriend wasn’t an idiot. “We should have talked more about what this would mean. I’ve exposed you to all the worst gossips –”

“I was already exposed to them.” Ballister said calmly. “Tomorrow’s headlines were always going to be about us: the main news story gushing about how handsome you looked with whoever your date was, and then a follow-up story about how I hadn’t managed to get a date at all, or had brought down the whole evening by being moody in a corner, or was being ungrateful for the opportunity the Queen had given me by not attending at all.” There was bleak resignation in his voice, and Ambrosius nudged him with a hip.

“You know that the last year of our training always gets more attention than all of the rest; people want to know that the knights who are going to protect them are the strongest and bravest they can be. When the focus shifts on to our training, then they won’t be able to say anything but wonderful things about you. You’re the top-ranked squire in our entire class! Plus I intend to gush about you in every interview I give.”

That made Ballister snort out a laugh. He leaned in to give Ambrosius another peck, both of them ignoring the immediate twittering and muttering that rose around them. Ambrosius would have loved to turn it into more of a peck, just to really give them something to talk about, but he was fairly sure Ballister would dump him on his arse if he tried.

Later.

They danced. They got drinks. They marvelled at the decorations, the palace columns garlanded with flowers and the ceiling shining with nano-fireflies. Leonil stopped by, to congratulate them in such warm tones that Ambrosius didn’t even feel awkward introducing them – although he did feel nervous when Leonil leant in to murmur something in Ballister’s ear that made his boyfriend go heavy-lidded and thoughtful. They danced some more. They took turns dancing with Vari. They went out onto the balcony and watched the lanterns rising from the city, filling the night sky with a thousand shining orbs. Ambrosius stood behind Ballister and wrapped him in his arms, keeping himself between Ballister and all the eyes upon them, and rested his chin on his shoulder. Every moment he was near Ballister filled him with a quiet, deep contentment that he didn’t have a word for.

“This is perfect,” he murmured, and felt Ballister’s breath hitch.

“This is the best night I’ve ever had,” he replied, and Ambrosius had to put his face in Ballister’s neck again, because if he didn’t then he was going to do something stupid like –

“Ambrosius,” his father said.

He felt Ballister tense in his arms, all his battle instincts rising up with whatever he was sensing from Ambrosius, wanting to defend, to retaliate, to disarm the threat. They were taught to go for the kill, after all.

It was nice to know Ballister would do that for him, too.

Ambrosius calmed him with a touch, already turning to face his parents.

He looked like his father, he knew, even with his mother’s eyes and his darker roots on display. They had the same strong nose and cleft chin, the same way of standing and holding their heads, and the same shock of golden hair. His father’s was clipped short though, and going silvery-grey at the temples: they’d had Ambrosius late, and only him, the sole heir of Gloreth, the most noble line in the realm. He knew his father was looking at him and his boyfriend with his cold grey eyes and imagining that line being polluted.

And then his mother stepped forward and held out both hands to Ballister.

“Ballister, wasn’t it? How wonderful to see you again. I’m sure you don’t remember me, but –”

“Oh I do, I do!” Ballister said, with a frantic glance at Ambrosius – am I allowed to gush over your mum? Will that be rude? “Lady Astella and, um, Lord Herculaneus, it’s an honour to meet you both. Again.”

“As it is to meet you.” Astella said warmly, whilst his father glowered behind her back. Ambrosius spotted Vari hovering behind him with his uncle and aunt, and behind them, a whole crowd. Todd was there, and Blanche, and Alamzapam Davis, one of the reporters for KTV. Layers and layers of people just waiting to bring them down: a pack of howling wolves, a ring of circling sharks. His grip tightened on Ballister’s waist without even realising, all his own instincts rising up.

And then Ballister took a step forward, to take his mother’s hands.

“Lady Astella,” he said formally, sounding every bit as cultured and noble as though he’d been born in the inner realm too. “I once promised you to repay the chance you gave me, by embodying the ideals of chivalry and knighthood as best I possibly could. Now you have…you have given me something I treasure even greater, and I have an even more important promise to make, to cherish and uphold it above all else.”

He stepped back and his hand slipped into Ambrosius’, no longer sweating but warm and strong. He smiled at him, dark eyes solemn, and then turned them back to Astella.

“I know you must have reservations about – about whether I’m worthy for your son. Honestly, I don’t know if I am. But I promise I’ll try to be, I…I promise that one day I will be –”

“Bal –”

“And he’ll promise the same to me.” Ballister said firmly, with a nod at Ambrosius, who could only return it helplessly. Yes, yes, of course he would, he’d strive every day to be worthy of this brave, perfect man. “And we will both uphold Gloreth's legacy the best we possibly can. So…on that basis, I ask for you blessing. For both your blessings.” He looked over Astella’s head, to where Ambrosius’ father was watching him with a narrowed gaze.

And then Astella stepped back and dimpled up at her husband.

“Your father hated me at first as well, don’t you remember darling? He was convinced I’d ruin the glorious line of Gloreth. Gosh, he was so terribly angry I was your date to the Ball, even though you told him the whole ‘destined marriage’ thing was just a cute little tradition, a fun coincidence at best.”

Ambrosius’ father grunted, or maybe he said something, Ambrosius wasn’t paying attention, because Ballister had turned to look at him with huge eyes and mouthed ‘destined marriage’ at him in a slightly panicked way. Ambrosius squeezed his hand very tight and silently conveyed as loud as he could that he’d explain later.

The sound of his father clearing his throat made them both turn back.

“Be the best knight in the realm,” Herculaneus Goldenloin ordered, staring straight at Ballister. “And treat him like the most precious thing in it.”

“Yes my lord,” said Ballister, and bowed, and Ambrosius was the one left staring, shocked beyond belief, as his father gathered up his mother on one arm, nodded at them both, and disappeared off through the crowd. He heard the whispers spreading out beyond that, murmuring about how the street boy had received Lord Goldenloin’s approval to date his son.

“Oh Gloreth, I think I’m going to faint.” Ballister muttered into the shoulder of Ambrosius’ suit. Ambrosius looked around a little frantically, met Vari’s amused raised eyebrow, and then let out all his breath in one go.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Absolutely.”

Ambrosius gathered up him up in his own arms and looked back at his cousin. She gave him a wicked grin, and then threw her drink in Lady Noelle’s face.

“I can’t believe you cheated on me with Sir Tristania!”

“What the – shouldn’t we help Vari?” Ballister asked confusedly as Ambrosius hustled him away from the delighted crowd, already gathering round their new scandal.

“Sure, we can help by paying for her next spa week.” Ambrosius said, and dragged him even harder.

They made it back to Ballister’s rooms without anyone spotting them and Ambrosius tumbled them through the door with giddy helplessness, still unsure about what had actually happened. Had his father – his mother - ?

“Oh, we missed the fireworks.” Ballister said, peering out through his window at where the distant pop and crackles could be heard. Ambrosius looked at him, looked at the bed, and set his shoulders.

“We can go back and catch the last of them…?”

The look Ballister gave him over his shoulder was equally full of amusement and love. “No, we’re good here I think. We can make some of our own.”

“That was corny as hell.” Ambrosius told him, and then they were kissing.

Ballister was all muscle under his hands, the strength of him making Ambrosius feel dizzy as they struggled to get his suit off, jacket and shirt and then trousers falling to the floor, and then he was gloriously, gorgeously uncovered in front of him, the thick bulge of him already visible under his black briefs, and Ambrosius felt his mouth water and his knees go weak as the lust surged through him.

“Now you,” Ballister insisted, tugging at his shirt buttons, and Ambrosius had never gotten naked so fast. Ballister made a little noise when he skimmed his briefs off and then his hands were on Ambrosius’ hips, holding him so tight the pale skin went pink. Ballister was staring at every inch of him, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

“I’m not going to vanish,” Ambrosius teased, shifting closer. He couldn’t help make a noise himself when all of him pressed up against all of Ballister. And there was a lot of Ballister, both in terms of the sheer breadth of his shoulders and…down there. “Hey, here, come here. Whatever you want to do is good. We can just go to sleep, we could…we could do what we did last time, we could –”

“I want to fuck you.” Ballister said, and Ambrosius’ brain fell out of his skull and landed on the floor with a splat.

“Um. Yes.” He managed to say, and Ballister nodded, with his determined face on except he was determined to be inside Ambrosius, and at that point Ambrosius turned his brain off and just tugged Ballister down onto the bed.

“Have you…” he managed to ask. Ballister shrugged one shoulder, nudging himself closer till their legs were half tangled together and he was propped up on an arm above him, his free hand stroking all over Ambrosius’ body like he couldn’t bear not to be touching him. Ambrosius was already half out of his mind with lust, feeling static-y and seen and known, every firm stroke sending him into a shivering hyper-aware state that made it hard to form or understand words.

“A couple of times, with a woman. I’ve never…never wanted someone as much as I want you.”

“Ballister,” Ambrosius groaned, and flung his arms around Ballister’s neck to tug him down and kiss him again and again. Ballister’s mouth against his, the scrape of his beard, the feel of his hard cock brushing against Ambrosius’ thigh – fuck. This was insane. He needed to calm down or this would be over before it began.

“Okay, okay, do you have – oil, or lube? I don’t need much, just enough to get you inside,” he could hear himself babbling, although the way Ballister shuddered at his words made him want to keep talking forever. A frantic scramble in Ballister’s bedside drawer got them a tube of lube and Ambrosius snagged it out of his boyfriend’s hands.

“Let me do it.”

“Don’t tease,” Ballister begged. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

“We can go slow instead,” Ambrosius suggested, smiling up at him. He was out-of-his-mind horny and still felt like the joy was shining out of him, gazing up at Ballister with sweat along his hairline and his lovely face scrunched up with happiness and also the desire to fuck Ambrosius into the bed, which was a goal Ambrosius wholeheartedly supported. “In fact, maybe we should talk about this more, discuss our feelings? I wouldn’t want to push you into anything before you were ready.”

“I’m the one who’s been pining over you for – ages.” Ballister said, quickly biting off whatever actual timeframe he was embarrassed to admit. Ambrosius kissed him, helpless with it, and Ballister’s face softened as he kissed back. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamt about…about getting to touch you like this? So stop teasing.”

“Such a romantic,” Ambrosius murmured against his mouth, but the conversation had helped distract them both, from the way Ambrosius was stroking a lube-wet hand up and down Ballister’s cock, shifting himself about on the bed to prop up his shoulders on the pillows and spread his legs wide, his hips up. “Come on sweetheart, I want you inside me.”

“Oh.” Ballister said, and pressed into him.

It was – fuck it was good. Ballister was a solid thick length all the way down and Ambrosius had to tip his head back and groan low in his throat. He knew what he was doing, knew how to soften and take it, how to breathe out through the push, but this was unlike any time before – because this was Ballister, his breath warm on Ambrosius’ neck, his own deep groan making his stomach flip. Ballister, who he –

“I love you,” Ambrosius said, the words welling up from some shining place inside him, and Ballister made a sobbing noise in return before his hands were cupping Ambrosius’ face and dropping kisses all over his mouth.

“I love you too, I love you…”

“Stay in me,” Ambrosius said, half out of his mind, not even sure what he was begging for as he flung a leg round Ballister’s hips and dug a heel into his arse, pressing him even deeper inside. He felt aching and hollow inside, wanting Ballister to fill up every inch of him. “Never leave me, stay in me.”

“Forever,” Ballister promised, rocking his hips deeper, the motion making them both groan. They were both sweating, bodies slipping against each other, the midsummer heat making everything feel syrupy and warm. Ambrosius tugged a little at the dark hair on Ballister’s chest and got a bite on the neck for his trouble. He liked it. He wanted more. He squeezed down and felt Ballister’s hips shove hard into him, and the teeth bite deeper.

“Fuck you feel so good,” moaned Ballister, the first time Ambrosius had ever heard him swear. “Ambrosius, fuck, you have no idea…”

“Come on, come on,” he begged, trying to tilt his hips up for more. Ballister was still moving deep and slow and Ambrosius was desperate to come, his own hand on his cock tugging as best he could when they were pressed so close together. “Please, Ballister.”

“What do you want?” Ballister managed to push himself up a little more and Ambrosius whined unhappiness even as he was finally able to touch himself properly, Ballister watching with hungry eyes. “You’re gorgeous, you’re so beautiful, go on, get yourself off whilst I’m fucking you.”

“Bal! Fuck, don’t say that…”

“What, you don’t want me watching you touch yourself?” Ballister grinned down at him. His hair was a mess, strands falling across his face, his abs slick with sweat as they slowly flexed, grinding himself into Ambrosius’ arse. How had he got the spot just right? Bastard had to be a prodigy at everything. Ambrosius would have been more irritated except his toes were curling with how good it felt, Ballister pressed up hard and unrelenting inside him. He saw Ballister’s eyes move downwards from Ambrosius’ cock to the place where they were joined and go wide and wondering. “Look at you…look at you taking me…”

“Ballister, please, move, come on, harder…”

“You’re all opened up for me.” Ballister breathed out as though he’d barely heard him. Ambrosius could feel the cock inside him jerk and whined at the sensation. “Ambrosius? We can do this again right? Soon?”

“Every goddamn day, as long as you let me come.” Ambrosius groaned. His hand wasn’t enough, he needed that aching perfect pressure inside him to move. He whined again, shocked and needy, when he felt Ballister’s thumb brush gently over where he was stretched tight around the other man’s cock. “Bal!”

“Beautiful…” Ballister murmured, and then he was stretching himself down on top of him, a warm, sweaty man-smelling weight that made Ambrosius’ brain fuzz out with white noise, and then again when Ballister began snapping his hips, getting them both there.

“Oh fuck, oh, oh Gloreth’s tits…” Ballister was moaning with each hard thrust now, coming faster and meaner, and Ambrosius closed his eyes and let himself go loose through his neck and shoulders, concentrating on nothing except the aching pressure building and building and –

“Bal…” he breathed out, and then he was coming, warm spurts going across his stomach and Ballister’s abs. His whole body jerked with it, pleasure like a starburst in his gut, and then he collapsed again, going even more boneless against the bed. When he managed to flutter his eyes open it was to Ballister looking at him anxiously, the muscles in his neck tight with the strain. Ambrosius managed his best lazy smile, managed to drag up one of his own legs to drape over his elbow, and waved an indulgent hand, go ahead, enjoy.

The pleasure rippled through him in steady waves as Ballister put his head down and fucked deeper, groaning with every thrust. Watching him take his pleasure in Ambrosius’ body was a delight all of its own and Ambrosius fisted a hand in the soft hair at the base of his skull and pressed his lips against whatever parts of Ballister’s face weren’t smushed into his shoulder, feeling indulgent and wicked and fucked-out and wanting Ballister to feel the same.

“Come on baby…don’t I feel good for you? You can come inside me now, make a mess of me so everyone knows I’m yours…”

The hand on his waist tightened so hard Ambrosius knew there’d be bruises and he arched in mirrored pleasure as Ballister shoved himself so deep he could practically feel it in his throat and then jerk, hard, the cock inside him swelling as it spilled. Oh sweet Gloreth that felt good.

And fuck, Ballister was heavy.

“Bal…Bal? Bal I can’t breathe.”

“Too bad.” The answer came from somewhere near his shoulder. “I’m broken. You broke me.”

“Really? And I was hoping to go at least one other round tonight?” Ambrosius told the ceiling airily, and after a long second Ballister rolled off him with a groan. Ambrosius’ fingers went straight to the place between his legs where he was throbbing and sore and sticky with Ballister’s come and his boyfriend made an even more helpless noise when he saw what he was doing. “What?” Ambrosius demanded, kissing his nose. “It’s sexy.”

“I know it is.” Ballister said, squeezing his eyes shut. “But I can’t do another round for at least an hour, and watching you is making me want to go again immediately.”

Ambrosius grinned as he lifted his fingers away from the mess leaking out of him and snuggled up against Ballister’s side. This was the terrible thing about squire’s quarters – no en-suites. Cloth and water weren't going to cut it this time, they were going to have to sneak out to the showers, and then probably go to Ambrosius’ room where the bed wasn’t as disgusting.

"A year and a half until we’re knights,” he said thoughtfully. “And then we can get a place of our own.”

When he glanced over Ballister was watching him, half his face smushed into the pillow but the one visible eye gone dark and liquid again, the way it did when the emotions inside were too much for him to hide. After a second Ballister cleared his throat.

“A…a year and a half’s a long time away. We…we don’t need to think about any big commitment stuff right now.”

Ambrosius squinted at him. “By that do you mean you don’t want to…or you think that I won’t want you anymore in a year and a half? Because if it’s the second one, then trust me, you’re wrong, and you should have more faith in me. In us.”

“I…” Ballister briefly put his entire face into the pillow, made a wordless sound, and then pulled it back out to give Ambrosius a kiss and snuggle closer, tangling their legs together. They were rapidly growing truly disgusting, but Ambrosius didn’t want to move an inch. “I have faith in us.”

“Good.” Ambrosius said cheerfully. “Because my parents already think we’re getting married.”

“What?! Why would they think that?” Ballister yelled, eyes huge, and Ambrosius doubled over with laughter in the bed, trying his best to gasp out it’s just a tradition in between lungfuls of air, whilst his perfect, brave, wonderful boyfriend had a mild crisis next to him, mostly about I can’t marry you until I’m the best knight in the realm your father said so that’ll take me years!

“You don’t have to pay any attention to his expectations.” Ambrosius finally managed to tell him, his cheeks and his sides hurting from laughter, Ballister nestled into him like an angry baby bird. “Recently I’ve found my life goes fairly well when I don’t.” He sobered slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of Ballister’s head. “And really, it is just a stupid tradition, we can ignore it entirely…”

Ballister lifted his face to return the kiss, the love in it reverberating through Ambrosius’ bones, and he let the words die out on the air. He’d asked Ballister to be his date for the Midsummer Ball, knowing what it meant. He thought maybe he’d known all along.

“Getting a place of our own would be nice.” Ballister said finally, in a quiet voice, entwining their fingers together. “And…and maybe a dog.”

“Oh, I’m way past that, I was thinking about kids weeks ago.” Ambrosius told him, enjoying his beloved’s irritated groan.

“Oh really. How many have you decided we’re having? Two, three, four? Two of each perhaps.”

“Well,” said Ambrosius. “Let’s start with a daughter and see where we go from there.”