[personal profile] foreverphoenix
Hi, okay, it's Nova. I wrote this fic for [personal profile] athousandfaces_suz. It has another part. They are very badly named and very much not safe for work, so read at your own risk. These are set in a post-war Volstov, but with references to roleplay done in [insanejournal.com profile] strangergamesrp. Enjoy!

Balfour woke from a strange dream, a dream of gladiators, magic, a strange world. He had dreamed that his best friend—a man he could no longer put a name to, a detail lost in the night—was also his non-exclusive lover, that he didn’t have to pretend to be Amery, that he was accepted as he was.

Over all, it was a nice—but very strange—dream. It had ended with his friend kissing him and telling him that he liked him as himself, that he made a better Balfour than he did an Amery.

Strange dream. Lies. He had to be as much like his brother as possible, or he would never be accepted.

He rose, dreading the day, knowing it would be just like every other: full of hazing, torment, and fragile masks. There was nothing for it, though—this was his life now, his price for being alive instead of his brother. So, he dressed, carefully inspecting his boots before sticking his feet in them—and possibly a puddle of piss—and walked out into the common room.

Surprisingly, it was empty. It was early, he justified, so of course no one would be awake. He headed to the kitchen and began to cook breakfast. Absorbed in the task, he didn’t realize that he had company until he ran right into him.

Adamo had been moving to get a cup of coffee and ended up with a chest full of Balfour. Balfour looked up, blue eyes wide in surprise and apology as he took in the square jaw, the sandy hair, the grey eyes, even as he felt large, warm hands closing over his shoulders.
“Coffee?” the younger male asked.

Adamo grunted and nodded, slinking over to the table as Balfour filled a cup and brought it to him, hands still shaking and skin still burning from the contact.

And then, as if nothing had happened, he went back to making enough breakfast for two.

It wasn’t until later that evening that Balfour’s mind went back to the dream, to the way his friend’s hands had felt on his body, to the kind things he had whispered in his ear. It wasn’t until later, as these things were drifting through his mind, that he gained the courage to slip down the hall to Adamo’s office and knock on the door.

“Enter,” the gruff man called, and Balfour opened the door to see him buried in paperwork. He took a step back, seeing that the man was busy, reluctant to interrupt him.

Adamo would have none of that.

“Well, come in,” he said, getting up and closing the door, then heading back to his desk and his paperwork. “What do you need?”

Balfour stared silently for a few moments, biting his lip as he walked beside the desk. He could feel the courage fading away and wished that he’d at least had a sip of alcohol so that he could have a scapegoat for this insanity.

Adamo looked up again when Balfour was standing beside him.

“Well?” he asked impatiently. He had paperwork to get back to—not that he was looking forward to it, but it had to be done.

As an answer, Balfour took advantage of the fact that Adamo was now looking up at him and leaned down to seal their lips together.

Adamo froze in surprise, but when Balfour started to pull back, he reached up and put a hand on the back of his neck, holding him in place as he finally responded, teasing at his lips with the tip of his tongue and earning a quiet moan in response.

It was only when Balfour had sank down into Adamo’s lap that the older man broke the kiss. Balfour wrapped his arms around Adamo’s neck and pressed his face into his shoulder, smiling as he rested there, Adamo’s arms around his waist.

That had gone be—

“You do realize we can’t do this.”

Well shit.

Balfour popped his head up, looking at Adamo, a heartbroken expression all over his face. “Why?”

“For one, the door isn’t locked, and two, we can’t get caught.”

Well, it wasn’t an outright rejection, but…” Why can’t we get caught?”

“The Esar would have both our asses, not to mention the boys would never let you live it down. You think you have enough trouble right now, it’d be near impossible to get them to stop if they found out.”

“Well…we should lock the door?” Balfour offered hopefully; he utterly beamed when Adamo nodded, jumping up to go lock the door.

They couldn’t get caught, but that was okay with Balfour. He’d rather it not get all over Volstov that he was gay for his chief sergeant, anyway.

That he loved him.

They couldn’t know that Adamo loved him back.

August 2013

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