[A little piece of a larger work—which is in the works. Another thing to be considered is that these two men are in love. If you’re recoiling, click the little back button at the top of the page. There you go.]

[Ragi and Sam are my characters. And ANY and ALL flames will be used to keep me warm on cold nights. You don’t like this kind of thing, don’t read it. Pure and simple. And the opinions expressed by the characters are not necessarily mine. Have a nice day.]

“Don’t even look at them, Ragi. Just don’t. They all think backwards anyway. You just wait. Hundred years from now they’ll actually give women some of the rights men have.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Eh, well… not much, really, I suppose. But it does give one a lighter outlook on the next hundred years, doesn’t it?”

“Sam…”

The other young man had his hands on a railing lining the river walkway. Light from the gas lamps behind him, and the moonlight glittering off the river before him gave his strong facial features a frosted look, as if snow had fallen and left its traces across his cheeks. There was a thoughtful look in his green eyes. “Hmm?” he muttered, eyes still focused on something far across the river.

Ragi didn’t ask his question, the words had died on his lips. Cautiously, he leaned on the railing beside Sam, resting lightly on his elbows, his long, light hands angled down towards the black water. Both of them knew the other could send a spark of brilliance into the depths to illuminate the fish that slept there. Yet, neither made a move to do so. Silence enveloped them until the chimes of a loud clock broke through the stillness.

“You have a callus,” Sam said, his accented voice soft as he took one of Ragi’s hands in his. He looked it over curiously, mentally comparing it to his own. “Playing that harp all the time. I’m surprised you don’t have more.”

“I like my harp.” Fire flickered briefly in the back of Ragi’s pale eyes. It died when it saw only mirth in the eyes of Sam. “Like you like your pistol.”

This earned a chuckle. “I don’t spend five hours a day shooting it, or cleaning it. Unlike some people.” His words were softened as he pulled the other close, one arm encircling slim shoulders. Ragi leaned against him, sighing inaudibly. “Cold?” asked Sam. “You forgot your coat…”

“I’ll be fine…” the smaller man lied, his gaze riveted to the freezing water below. It was nothing like the ocean’s gentle chill. The ocean protected and cradled you, while this river merely bogged you down, pulling you deeper, ripping the breath from your lungs. He shuddered. For two hundred years, he had longed to return to the warmth of the seas that sheltered the island of his people. But it was never to be. Sam’s fingers ran down the length of his arm, offering the Faslami their heat. He leaned his head against the taller, stronger man’s shoulder, letting the longing come, then pass. It hurt. Sam’s presence only eased the pain marginally.

After a time, Sam straightened, adjusting his long coat to better conceal the weapon he wore at his hip. Authorities were more watchful in this country than in most. “Come along then, Ragi. You’re so pale I can nearly see through you.” He sounded gruff now. “You don’t eat nearly enough. You’re rail-thin. I’m a half afraid I’ll hold you a tad too tight and shatter you right to bits.”

Ragi followed, tearing burning eyes away from the water. “I’m fine,” was all he could say.

In front of him, Sam stiffened, then turned to face him. “If it’s those bloody idiots in the bars, Ragi Dei’a… dear God, I’ll slay you,” he snapped, grabbing the startled Faslami’s hands. “Damned fools can—and will—drink themselves to Hell. Who cares what they think? I’ll show those asses who cares.” Roughly, he pressed his mouth against Ragi’s. A moment of surprise passed before the gesture was returned with the same amount of emotion, and another moment before the jeers from afar returned. Sam broke the contact reluctantly. “I don’t. I don’t care in the slightest.”

“That’s all right for you to say, gunslinger. You can back up your threats.”

“That’s right, luv. I can. And so can you, what with that red devil you conned me into boarding up for you. I’m surprised it hasn’t chewed anyone’s hands off yet.”

They started walking down the river path, hunching their shoulders against the frigid air coming off the river. Fog had begun to roll in. It was shaping up to be a typical winter night in London. From somewhere in the distance came the clatter of hooves on cobblestones and the rattle of carriage wheels. Ragi winced as he swore he could hear the flick of the whip against shivering horseflesh, stinging, biting deep into tired muscles.

“You can’t save ‘em all, luv,” Sam murmured, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “If you did, my father’s stables would be overflowing with the handsome nags.” He smirked. “You always do have a knack for picking up the best-looking ones, though… Got one of your feelings again, eh?”

Ragi shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. At the back of his mind, a sleepy presence surfaced, shook its head, and promptly went back to sleep. Carriage horses were not on his familiar’s mind tonight. At length, he shook his head. “No…” he admitted. “Soloi’s dead asleep… He won’t be commenting on anything tonight.”

On the water, a late-night barge blew its horn, startling the two. Watching it pass, Sam’s eyes rolled back, his lids closing slightly. “Reegan’s the same. Curled up in the parlor with that bean toy you gave him.” Another smirk crossed his face. “That means… we’ll have no disturbances tonight, luv…” Slyly, he looped his arms around Ragi’s waist, resting his chin on the slight shoulder of the other man. “None, save the maids… and they’re paid handsomely to keep their bloody noses out of my private life.”

“Will you make a fire? Yours has more red in it than mine.”

“Mm… red eh? Color of romance.”

“You can find innuendo in an apple, Samuel.”

“If I didn’t love you so bloody much, I’d make a crack about women and the size of their ‘apples’.”

“I’m grateful then…”

“So’m I, luv. Now, come on home. You’re shivering worse than a wet cat out here.”

~ ~ ~

Morning dawned just as raw and wet as the previous day. A fair drizzle fell from the sky, slowly turning to snowflakes on its way down. The river looked like cold, liquid steel, small waves lapping at the banks, infusing the mud with more chill. What few people about in the weather moved with their heads down, their coats wrapped tightly around bodies that were either too thin or too heavy.

Inside the master bedroom of one of the more average-sized manors, however, the chill failed to permeate. A red fire blazed in a large hearth, spreading its warmth throughout the whole room. To help it along, both candles and oil lamps burned brightly. The curtains were still drawn, although one of the occupants was already up. He was seated in a well-padded armchair, dressed only in a warm robe that fell to his knees, exposing his chest. Absently, he rose, and began to collect various articles of scattered clothing from their resting places around the room. His bare feet scuffed against a rich, crimson carpet.

Eventually, one of the doors swung open, revealing a slight young woman, dressed in the plain garb of a maid. She carried a tray that was almost too large for her. Upon seeing her employer awake, and holding an armload of male clothing, her eyes widened slightly. However, she didn’t say a word, just smiled warmly at Sam before setting the tray down on a table and moving to open the curtains. She never said a word, never had, and never would. Sam only employed people who were either blind, or mute. There was a smaller chance of them blabbing all they had seen during working hours that way. He took a seat, lifting the covers on the plates to inspect what his cooks had prepared on this morning. Finding it to his liking, he headed over to the large, four-poster bed, grinning down at the mass of tangled, dark hair buried in the pillows. An earring glinted in the candlelight.

The moment the curtains opened, however, the mass of hair shot up from its comfortable position, its owner blinking gray eyes blearily in the sudden light. The motion was so sudden, it made Sam burst out laughing.

“Wha…?” Ragi rubbed at his eyes, trying in vain to smooth out what was probably a horrible case of bed-hair. “What’s so funny?” He yawned, sitting up all the way. The thick blankets rolled off him, exposing tanned flesh. Blushing, he hastily straightened them around himself.

“Who taught you to do THAT?” Sam laughed, folding his arms.

More blushing. “My older brother, Owen…”

“Hm? Brother? Are you all such handsome bastards then? Or did I stumble onto the diamond in the… what’s it called? Lava rock?”

“You’re horrible.” Ragi made a face, chucking the nearest pillow at him.

“But damned pretty,” answered the other man, seating himself back in the armchair. “Up with you, slug-a-bed. Sooner or later, the Red Devil’ll be calling.” He took a teacup from the tray and sipped at the contents, pausing a moment to add cream from a cooled pitcher. “Reegan’s already up and about.”

As if on cue, a tan and cream-colored blur zipped into the room, barking and wagging its stump of a tail. The maid, disoriented by the sudden arrival, spun, trying to locate the source of the sound. Unfortunately, the maneuver caused her to be entangled in the thick skirts she wore, and she teetered dangerously on the edge of falling over. Sam shouted at Reegan to quiet down, while Ragi impulsively scrambled to the poor girl’s aid. He caught her, but this only resulted in more hysterics. It took some time for both men to recover their senses. Sam tossed Ragi his pants, and the pitiable, mentally scarred maid ran from the room in silent fits.

“Well… I’ll be damned if I’m not awake now…” Sam muttered, mopping up the mess his tea had made. Ragi came to sit opposite him, carefully selecting another steaming cup. His fingertips faintly glowed. A few bubbles rose to the surface of the liquid, indicating its temperature. He sipped it then.

“I’m amazed you don’t burn your whole mouth off, luv.”

“It’s not THAT hot…”

“Yes… if you’re a bloody ball of molten rock.” He selected a motley amount of eggs and pieces of bacon, placed them on a plate, and set the whole thing on the floor. After a moment, there was a sound of contented slurping. Sam smirked. “There’s a good boy, then, Reegan. Had a good sleep, pup?” There was a great deal of warmth in his voice as he leaned down to scratch the dog’s ears.

Ragi fidgeted. His mind was occupied on the chaos just now past. Neither he, nor Sam needed the bad publicity the escapade had given them. Already, the owners of the surrounding manors shunned their very existence, threatened their livelihoods, their animals, and, at times, the two men themselves. To have a servant babbling this new gossip all about the city could be more trouble than they honestly needed.

“It’s not good for you not to eat.”

He looked up. Sam was eyeing him, slightly annoyed, his familiar now in his lap. Ragi smiled halfheartedly. “I’m just worried…”

“She’s mute, you know.”

This was surprising. “Really?”

“Yes, luv. Like all the rest.”

He considered this, briefly. Before continuing, he resignedly picked up a small bowl of oatmeal and decided to eat it. “Why are they all mute? Or blind… or whatever?” he asked, after a few bites. It wasn’t too bad; not a mango by any means, but not too bad.

“So they won’t blab everything they see here,” Sam explained. “My father found most of them, see? So, I just make sure their salaries stay high enough to keep the little flighties around.”

“Your father?”

Sam nodded. “I come from a long line of man-lovers. It started, I think, when my mother had an affair. She had a gentleman caller, and so, my father decided to get one too. Just to see what all the bloody fuss was about.” He grinned. “Everyone was happy then.”

Something stirred at the back of Ragi’s mind, a slowly waking presence demanding to know where he was. He stood up. Sam rolled his eyes and gestured in the vague direction of his lover’s clothing. “Can’t argue with the Red Devil!” he muttered, pouring himself another cup of his precious tea. He drank it straight, not bothering to add any other flavoring. “Hurry up and get dressed, Ragi-luv. I don’t need hoof prints on the carpet.”

Ragi pulled his shirt on, heading quickly for the door, stumbling over his boots. He could see Sam in his mind’s eye, shaking his head and massaging his temples. “Remind me again why I keep you around…?”

For some reason, the comment didn’t roll off as easy as Sam’s usual teasing. He stopped in the doorway. No retort would come to him. Nothing would stop the sudden beating of his heart. He just froze where he was. Sam didn’t speak either; he was probably trying to decipher the exact reason why the other man was still standing where he was, looking suddenly pale. It finally clicked.

“Damn it all… you know I was joking!” But he was speaking to empty air. Growling, Sam thwacked his head backwards, letting the padded chair save him from any irritating pain. He damned everything he could think of, from horses, to the word “damn” itself. Times like these, he’d do anything to alleviate his annoyance. “And damn the bishop!” he concluded, sauntering over to the window. Outside, a church loomed in the distance, mocking to him, comforting to everyone else in the world. “Damn your ringing that blasted bell at ungodly hours.”

He sipped his tea.