FIC - Purity of Intention (8/?)

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

Title: Purity of Intention (8/?)
Author: namarie120and arieltachna
Type: RPS / FPS crossover
Pairing: Diego / Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: none
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, created for entertainment and enjoyment only. With all due respect, we do not own these characters, either the actors or those created by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. We just think it’s a fascinating world.
Feedback: would be wonderful
Beta: sileya
Summary: A cynical swordsman is hired to return a runaway – or so it appears
A/N: thanks to akashaelfwitch for help with translation
A/N2: thanks to tularia for the beautiful banner





~~~~~~~

If anyone had told him two days ago that he would come to not merely accept, but actually like, the interfering Englishman, Íñigo would have told them they were crazy. The intervening days had done much to soften his attitude toward the foreigner. Señor Bloom had not merely cared for the Capitán, following Roux's instructions to the letter and protesting any attempt by the irascible invalid to rise from his bed. During the hours when his guardian slept, overcome by his own weakness and the potion the gypsy had insisted he drink in place of the wine the Capitán would have preferred, the Englishman had used the time he left the sickroom to talk with Íñigo, asking about his past and telling him some of his own history.

The boy found that rather than being the selfish aristocrat he had at first deemed, the Englishman had a dry sense of humor and an uncomplaining acceptance of the plain food and limited space that were all the Capitán could afford. Rather than demanding Íñigo give up his cot to him, the noblemen spent each night in a chair at the Capitán's bedside, dozing fitfully, ready to respond to anything his patient might need.

It was time.

Roux hoped his potion had done its work and that Diego was recovered enough to go with him, because he did not relish the argument that would ensue if the swordsman was not. He had deliberately stayed away since the night he had delivered the news of McKellen's location to his friend. That news had been accompanied by information that the old man would spend this evening dining in state with the King. Roux had no idea how the conniving bastard had arranged that invitation, but he had no qualms about taking advantage of it to search the man's quarters.

He was curious to see as well what had developed between the inhabitants of the little apartment above the Tavern of the Turk in his absence. He knew with a prescience that struck him far too rarely and vaguely that the Inglés could make his friend happy, but he had no sense of how that would happen. He had learned the hard way that such visions were best kept to himself, lest the revealing of them change the outcome in less desirable ways.

Lifting his hand, he knocked and waited for Íñigo to admit him.

The young Spaniard welcomed the gypsy's arrival, ushering him into the common room with a sigh of relief. "They're arguing again," he told Roux, though the sound of raised voices was evident through the closed door of the bedchamber. "The Capitán insisted on dressing, and Señor Bloom does not believe he is recovered enough to accompany you." He grinned, knowing the Englishman had no hope of dissuading his guardian from anything he had made his mind up to do.

Roux gave the youth a conspiratorial grin. He knew how stubborn Diego could be and if Bloom was daring enough to argue, then he was probably equally stubborn. While their argument would probably be quite entertaining to watch, he and Diego had other business to attend to this night. Thoughts of his vision still fresh in his mind, though, he did not want to dismiss the Inglés out of hand. He wanted Diego to take the young man's concerns seriously, to see him as an equal rather than merely someone in need of protection. “Do you suppose they will accept me as the arbiter of their dispute?” he asked softly. “Surely I know more than either of them how well the Capitán’s wound has healed.”

"You are welcome to try," the youth answered dubiously, knowing how ineffective his efforts had always been at swaying the Capitán. If the gypsy were able to manage it, Íñigo would believe he indeed had mystical powers.

Roux winked at the lad and walked into the bedroom. “Take your shirt off, Diego,” he ordered when he saw his friend lacing it up. “I want to look at your shoulder.”

Both men looked up in surprise at the barked order. “Roux!” Orlando exclaimed. “Am I glad to see you! Make him listen to reason. He refuses to accept that he is not healed enough to go with you tonight. He can barely lift his sword. What is he supposed to do if it comes to a fight?” He turned and glared at his recalcitrant patient.

"You needn't worry on that account," Roux assured Orlando. "Diego is deadly with either hand."

Alatriste winked at his partner and directed a smug grin at the overprotective Englishman before unlacing his shirt and pulling it over his shoulder. The wound still ached, but far less than it had, and nothing was going to keep him confined to that bed for another hour.

"Do not be so sure of yourself," Roux warned his friend. Certainly, his preference would be to have Diego by his side that evening, but he would rather go alone than have the other man become a liability. "Let me look at your injury first."

Hearing Roux's words, Orlando smirked back at Diego, sure the gypsy would take his side once he had a chance to examine Diego's shoulder.

Ignoring them both - they could glare daggers at each other for all he cared as long as they continued to interact - he focused on Diego's shoulder, pulling aside the bandage. The wound was still more inflamed than he would have liked, but he could see it beginning to heal on either end, even knitting together in the center despite the redness that remained. He looked over at Orlando. "When was the last time there was blood on the bandages?"

"Last night," Orlando replied.

Roux nodded and probed the wound, watching Diego's face closely for a reaction.

Steeling himself against Roux's probing, Diego kept his face impassive as the gypsy examined the wound. "Do not think you can stop me from accompanying you," he warned. "You may be able to slip in and out like a ghost, but if it turns out to be a trap you will need assistance. And two of us can search faster than one."

Satisfied with Diego’s lack of reaction, Roux laughed up at his friend. “I am not stupid. I would not have gone alone even if you were not in any shape to accompany me. As it is, I see no reason why you can’t. Get dressed and we’ll go.”

Orlando frowned and reached for his own sword belt. “I’m coming, too,” he declared firmly.

"Like hell you are," Diego growled. "You're staying here with Íñigo."

Orlando's temper flared and he stepped forward until he stood nose to nose with his protector. "I have more invested in this than anybody," he ground out. "I also have a better chance of knowing if something is truly important since it's my father who is involved in these negotiations. Can either of you even read English, if McKellen's correspondence is not in Spanish? I can, in case you've forgotten where I'm from."

"And you're also exactly what McKellen has been trying to get his hands on for months," Diego retorted, clenching his fists to keep from grabbing his infuriating charge and shaking him until his teeth rattled. "His latest hired sword has undoubtedly reported back to him by now - he knows you are here in Madrid, with me." He did not add that Orlando's return to the scene of the ambush had been the distraction that caused him to let the second attacker escape. "Do you think we're stupid enough to deliver you to him? This could be a trap, and I will not put you at risk," he insisted. "Though you obviously think we're illiterate fools, both Roux and I can read enough English to serve our purposes tonight."

Robbed of his most convincing argument, Orlando’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He had not meant to insult either man, but he had never spoken anything but Spanish with either of them, never seen anything to suggest they knew any more of his language than any other Spaniard. The idea that they could be walking into a trap rattled him. Watching his protector with Íñigo the past two days, he had seen a different side of the man, a softer side, and it had touched him in unexpected ways. The thought now that he might never see Diego again scared him. They had spent so little time together. He was not ready for it to be over! He had things he still wanted to learn, to say, to do. Roux was ready to leave, though, and Diego lacked only his sword. Gathering his courage, he grabbed Diego’s hand, reaching up to press a hurried kiss to the Spaniard’s lips. He wanted more, to linger and taste and explore, but he knew better than to insist. At least, if something happened, he would have this to remember. “Come back to me safely,” he whispered, turning away to hide his flush and the tears of frustration and fear that shimmered on his lashes.

Surprised at Orlando’s actions, Roux stepped quietly out of the room, leaving the two men alone to say the rest of their farewells in private.

Stunned by the kiss, Diego reached instinctively for Orlando, only to draw his hand back when the younger man broke away and turned his back to him. The past two days had only deepened his feelings for the Englishman, as well as his determination to free him from the danger McKellen threatened. Giving in to his impulses now would only make it harder to endure when the threat was vanquished and there was nothing left to tie the nobleman to him.

Orlando's words gave him pause, and kept alive the spark of hope that his best efforts had not been able to smother completely. "We will return," he answered gruffly, "and we will bring back something that we can use against McKellen." His voice softened, and against his will his hand settled on Orlando's shoulder, drawing strength and purpose from the innocent touch. "I give you my word on it."

Orlando turned, eyes still downcast. “Come back safely,” he repeated. “I do not care about the rest.”

"I will," Diego vowed, his hand moving to Orlando's chin to gently lift the Englishman's head. A thrill ran through him as he met and held the younger man's glittering gaze. His thumb caressed the smooth, honey-coloured skin of Orlando's cheek, and then he turned and strode out of the bedroom.

Roux looked up when Diego came into the sitting room. “Are we ready?” he asked, wondering what had passed between the two men, but unwilling to ask with Íñigo sitting right there.

"We're ready," Alatriste said shortly, buckling on his sword and reaching to the hook beside the door for his cloak. "Vamos."

Orlando stepped to the door, standing silently as the two men made ready to leave. He still believed he should be going with them, but he would not argue any more. He murmured a prayer for their safety - for Diego's safety - under his breath as the swordsman settled his cloak around his shoulders. He hoped silently for one last look, one last glance to show that Diego was thinking of him, but he did not expect it. They had said what they dared already in the bedroom.

Settling his hat over his head, Diego nodded to Íñigo. "Lock the door behind us, and should there be any trouble before we return, go to Señor Saldaña,” he instructed his ward. The high constable was not above taking coin for questionable actions, but the same could be said of Alatriste himself, and if their errand at McKellen's turned out to be a trap, Saldaña had the authority of his position to protect both his charges. Íñigo nodded his understanding, and Diego could not prevent himself from turning to meet Orlando's gaze one last time. His pale eyes locked with Orlando's worried brown ones, and with a curt nod, he turned to Roux and started out the door.

Orlando took a step forward, pulled toward his protector, but Diego was already leaving. Schooling himself not to run after the man like a lovesick school girl, Orlando turned instead to the gypsy. "Keep him safe," he said softly, his heart in his eyes.

"Always, mijo," Roux promised. "I'll bring him back to you, but you have to decide what to do then."

Before Orlando could react to that, the older man had followed Alatriste out the door, leaving Orlando alone with Íñigo. He turned to face the youth with an uneasy smile. "So what do we do now?"

"We wait," said Íñigo glumly, slumping into one of the hard chairs around the small table. "It will probably be hours before they return."

Orlando frowned, joining Íñigo at the table. Hours. Hours to sit and worry. To imagine everything that could happen. To see in his mind's eye Diego lying in the street bleeding to death, or captured by the city guards, under arrest for breaking and entering. He shook his head to chase away the morbid thoughts. "Perhaps we could persuade Caridad to part with a bottle of wine to help us pass the time," he suggested.

Íñigo grinned; he was liking Señor Bloom more and more. The Capitán did not normally let him drink wine, but he could see that the Englishman was as worried about his guardian as Íñigo was himself, and it would be a gesture of friendship to share a bottle with him, would it not? "Let me see what I can acquire," the younger man said as he rose to slip downstairs.

~~~~~

Roux led the way through the narrow, winding streets of Madrid, purposefully avoiding the wider avenues where they might be seen by those who would interfere with their plans. His strength was stealth, not steel, and he had every intention of delivering his friend safely back into the arms of the Inglés. Judging from the look on the young man's face just before they left, he had begun to realize how much Diego meant to him. That was good. Now if Diego could just be persuaded to listen. Reminding himself that he had other concerns right now, he stopped at the end of a dark alley and pointed to the building across the street. "McKellen has rented the second floor," he told Diego in a whisper. "He has bodyguards who travel with him, a coachman, and two maidservants. I've seen no sign of a butler. The maids generally go home in the evenings, but they may have lingered because he has gone out and will need their services when he returns."

"What do you suggest, then?" Alatriste asked. He might be the more skilled swordsman, but this was Roux's province, and he would follow the gypsy's lead to find a way into McKellen's rooms.

"A simple knock at the door will reveal if the maids are there," Roux replied, pulling out a small packet of herbs. "We can use delivering these as a pretext to get past the concierge in the front. If the maids answer, then we will have to convince them to let us in. If they are not, then we pick the lock and search unhindered."

"Let us hope they are not there," Diego said wryly. He wanted to get into the English dog's apartments, find something they could use against him, and get out, not waste time playing the gallant to some giggling housemaids.

"Indeed," Roux chuckled. "Arrange your cloak so your sword is as inconspicuous as possible. After all, we are delivery boys, not swordsmen."

Wrapping his cloak around himself and pulling his hat lower on his head, Diego thought privately that no one would mistake either of them for delivery boys, but he followed his friend's lead as they crossed the quiet street.

Roux tapped at the door and waited patiently for the concierge to answer. When the man did, he showed the package and explained their ruse, making a point of meeting the other man's eyes, deploying all his powers of persuasion. The man made a show of inspecting the package but then let them pass. When they were out of his hearing, Roux grinned at Diego. "See, I told you it would work."

"Let us see if you are as successful in cozening the ladies as you are one gullible old man," the swordsman murmured. In truth, he suspected Roux would be able to get them past any obstruction if it became needful to do so.

Roux smirked at his friend. "You're just jealous because the ladies prefer me to you." He tapped at the door and waited to see if anyone answered.

"That's hardly surprising, so pretty as you are," Diego retorted with a twinkle in his eye. "'Tis what attracted me to you in the first place."

"You do know how to pick the pretty ones," Roux agreed. "Just look at the one waiting for you to return tonight. A prettier young man I haven't seen in years."

The reminder of the young man awaiting their return in his quarters made the swordsman grimace. "There is no one inside," Alatriste growled, ignoring the gypsy's observation. Yes, the Englishman was beautiful. He was also beyond the reach of a mere hired sword. "Open the door and let's find what we came here for."

Shaking his head at his friend's stubbornness, Roux withdrew a long, thin file from his pocket and knelt to work the lock free. If Diego had replied any other way, Roux would probably have made a joke about it and left well enough alone. This refusal to even consider the topic, though, worried him. Alatriste's happiness was on the line, yet he did nothing to realize his dream. With a sigh, he finished with the lock and pushed the door open, gesturing for Diego to precede him into the apartment.

McKellen's rooms were luxurious, the opulent furnishings a vivid contrast to the shabbiness of Alatriste's modest lodging. Reminding himself that these were the type of surroundings to which Orlando was accustomed, the swordsman glanced about with a critical eye, wondering where to begin their search. An ornately-carved writing-table caught his eye. "There," he nodded quietly to Roux. "Let us see if McKellen is fool enough to leave his correspondence in plain sight."

Keeping his ears open for the sound of the maids returning or McKellen arriving home, Roux nodded and padded on silent feet to the desk, beginning to rifle through the loose papers. Nothing caught his eye right away in the letters, but he handed them to Diego nonetheless in case his friend saw something he did not. He turned his attention instead to the desk itself, opening the drawers carefully. "Look at this," he said, calling the swordsman's attention to the writing table’s proportions. "The drawers are not as deep as the desk."

Pulling the drawer free from its channel, Diego knelt to probe at the interior wall of the desk, his roughened fingertips sliding over the smooth wood. "I feel something," he exclaimed, following a tiny groove until he encountered a small catch. Flipping it upward with his thumbnail, he released the concealing veneer to reveal a thin compartment filled with papers. "It seems our friend has something worth hiding after all," he drawled, extracting the documents and spreading them over the desk.

"Let us hope it's something we can use against him," Roux agreed, skimming the first of the letters and setting it aside when he saw nothing of interest to them. A name in the second one caught his eye. "Bloom," he murmured. "Your young man's name is Bloom, no?"

"Orlando Bloom," Diego confirmed, leaning over Roux's shoulder to scan the document. "What have you found?"

"Plans or orders, I cannot say for sure," Roux replied, "but 'tis proof that the old man was behind the attempts at kidnapping your young man. Half the Spanish court is guilty of such plots, though."

"It confirms he was telling the truth, but that in itself means nothing," Diego replied, no longer needing the proof of Orlando's word. "No one will care what two Inglés do to each other. Give me some of the papers - I would not wish for McKellen to return and find us reading his correspondence."

Roux handed him a stack of letters, beginning to peruse the rest. There had to be something else, some crime they could pin on McKellen that would rid them of his meddling. They just had to find it.

Diego scanned the first few documents in growing frustration. His English was adequate to recognize that these were the type of carefully worded letters that hinted much but proved nothing - certainly nothing substantial enough to use as a weapon against McKellen.

Roux skimmed the letter in his hand, dismissing it as the sort of billet-doux any wealthy gentleman might keep from his lady love. He was about to toss it in the growing pile of worthless papers when the signature caught his eye. He blinked a couple of times and looked at the letter again. "This will land him in front of the Inquisition for sure," he observed, showing the letter to Diego. "If we choose to use it, that is."

Diego frowned as he recognized the title of an influential Spanish conde. "We will take it, but that is not how I would choose to disarm him," he countered, knowing the gypsy would agree. There were many epithets that could be leveled against the swordsman, but hypocrite had never been one of them.

Roux nodded, slipping the letter in his pocket. It would be a last resort. "Blackmail is always an option," he commented as he continued to read. "The threat of the Inquisition could well be enough to keep him away."

"Perhaps," Diego agreed, "he would be a fool not to fear it, but I - " he broke off, whistling soundlessly as he read the letter in his hand a second time to be sure he was not mistaken in what he saw. "Take a look at this - it is more than enough to put his neck in a noose."

Roux took the letter and skimmed it. "Why would he keep this?" he asked. "Why would he not burn it the minute he read it? This is treason!"

"Perhaps he thought to use it against the author?" Diego shrugged, though the letter was unsigned. "He will find it a blade that cuts both ways." Even a hint of threat against the King would be enough to lead to the Englishman's arrest, and this was no less than the outline of a plot to murder Phillip should the negotiations go awry. "I would say this is more than sufficient to put an end to his menace."

"Whatever the reason he kept it, you are right about the rest." A noise on the stairs caught his attention. "'Tis time for us to go," he declared, heading toward the window rather than the door through which they had entered. "We dare not let anyone see us until this is turned over to the proper authorities lest it be turned against us rather than him."

Gathering up the handful of incriminating letters, Diego shoved them inside his shirt. Returning the rest to the hidden compartment, he quickly replaced the drawer, hoping McKellen might not immediately notice they were missing. Roux had already disappeared through the open window. Alatriste threw his legs over the sill, twisting to pull the casement closed behind him before dropping silently to the ground.

Resisting the urge to hurry, Roux looked back at Diego, handing him the last letter. "Home first, to reassure Orlando you are safe? Or would you rather take these to the authorities now so you do not have to leave him again?"

Diego raised an eyebrow at his friend's needling. "I doubt the high constable would appreciate being roused from his bed at this hour, no matter how serious the provocation," he answered dryly. "The letters will keep until tomorrow, I think."

Roux smiled. "He will be glad to see you safe," he declared as they began threading their way back through the maze of alleys and lanes. "He was worried about you."

"He is worried about his safety," Diego rejoined dourly, his shoulder beginning to ache at the strain of clinging to the window ledge. "Now we have found a way to assure it, you will see how quickly his concern will fade."

Roux frowned. "You do him a disservice," he said mildly. "His actions before we left were not those of a man worried only for his own well-being." He did not mention the kiss directly, knowing it was not safe to discuss such things in public, even if no one appeared to be around. Diego would know, though, and remember. And hopefully, that would be enough.

"You saw McKellen's rooms," Diego protested. "That is the life Orlando is used to. If there was - interest - " his voice lowered, cautious even thought there were none but the two of them to hear, "it would burn itself out soon enough. Better never to let it begin," he concluded grimly.

"You don't know that," Roux insisted as they neared the tavern. "You have never even asked him. Has he complained of your life these last few days? Has he said anything to suggest he is in a hurry to leave?"

"He is alone in a strange land - because I nearly killed his protector," Diego protested. "He thinks he is the cause of my being wounded. If he feels anything, it is gratitude, infatuation - would you have me take advantage of that? When it would only put him in more danger should his - tastes - become known?" Alatriste shook his head. "Once the threat McKellen represents is gone, there will be nothing to prevent his return to England. It is better for both of us to leave it at that."

Roux shook his head. He had seen Orlando's face before they left the apartment. He was quite sure Diego was misreading the situation, but his comments did not seem to be helping. It appeared Orlando would have to fight his own battles. "I think you will find differently," he said finally, "but I will speak no more of it unless you ask. Go see how much trouble your ward got into while we were gone. I will find you in the morning so we can deliver our find into the hands of the appropriate authorities."

Diego clasped the gypsy on the shoulder. "Gracias, mi amigo," he said simply, knowing that Roux would understand his thanks were not only for the assistance against McKellen. He watched as the gypsy disappeared into the night before climbing the stairs to his chambers.

The sound of a key turning in the lock drew Orlando's attention from the cup of wine he was contemplating. "Diego!" he exclaimed, rising from his feet even before the door opened. "He's back!" he said to Íñigo. He started toward the door, intending to open it and make sure his protector was safe, but it swung open to admit Alatriste before he could get there. As soon as Orlando reached the other man's side, his hands flew over the swordsman's body, checking for injuries. "Are you all right?"

The heavy fumes of wine reached Diego's nostrils even before Orlando's hands explored his body. "I see you found the means to keep yourself entertained during my absence," he muttered, glancing about to glare at Íñigo, nodding sleepily on the far side of the table.

Finding no sign of any injury, Orlando breathed a sigh of relief. "Did you find anything at McKellen's?" he asked, ignoring Diego's comment. As long as that hung unresolved between them, the older man would never believe any declaration he might make. He had come to that conclusion - and several others - as he and Íñigo finished off the bottle of wine. Reminding himself of that, he waited patiently for an answer.

"Enough to hang him twice over," Alatriste answered, capturing Orlando's hands and holding them still.

"Thank you," Orlando replied softly. "I owe you a debt I will never be able to repay. I will finally have a choice in my life again instead of having to make every decision out of fear of his machinations."

Diego glanced back to Íñigo, who blinked at him apprehensively. "Get to bed before you pass out," he growled, frowning. He had no intention of conducting this conversation with his ward as audience. Stripping off his hat, cloak and sword, he hung them beside the door and strode into the bedroom, certain the Englishman would follow.

Surprised, Orlando trailed behind Diego into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "May I see what you found?" Orlando asked hesitantly, not sure yet of Alatriste's mood.

Diego reached into his tunic and pulled out the sheaf of letters, dropping them onto the bed. "Roux and I will deliver these to the authorities in the morning," he muttered. "I expect Saldaña will have McKellen in irons by mid-day."

Orlando picked up the letters, taking the gesture as permission. He scanned the first one, seeing the plans for his own kidnapping. The second one was far more damning. "A plot to kill the King?" he asked in a shocked whisper. "This will send him to the gallows for sure!" Picking up the third letter, he read it, the paper dropping from his hand in dismay when he reached the signature at the end. "No... you can't!"

Glancing over the younger man's shoulder at the third letter, Diego caught it as it fluttered toward the floor. "We found that before we discovered his plot against the King," the swordsman admitted. He glanced away, uncomfortable with the thought that Orlando believed he would use such knowledge to expose McKellen. Holding the damning letter to his bedside candle, he watched it flare and crumple into ash. "I would not turn any man over to the Inquisitors for such a cause," he averred, rubbing his soiled hand clean against the leg of his breeches.

"Lo siento," Orlando said softly. "I should have known that." He went to the swordsman's side, his arms encircling the other man's waist. "You are a good man, Diego Alatriste y Tenorio."

For an instant, Diego stood unmoving, letting himself absorb the warmth of Orlando's arms around him before grasping the younger man's hands and stepping free of the embrace. "And you are an inebriated one," he said lightly, trying to diffuse the suddenly heated atmosphere in the close room. "Was the wine your idea, or my not-so-innocent ward's?"

Orlando shook his head, ignoring the comment about Íñigo. "No," he insisted, approaching Diego again. "I did not have enough to intoxicate me, only to help me endure the waiting for your return. I am free now, you know. I could go wherever I wanted, do whatever I pleased. Do you know what would please me, Diego? Do you know what I want?"

Cursing himself for twelve kinds of a fool, Diego could not resist the low, seductive tone of Orlando's voice, nor release the younger man's hands from his clasp. "Tell me what you want," he answered, his own voice sounding harsh in his ears.

"You," Orlando replied simply, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed over Diego's lips. "Your mouth, your hands, your body. On mine, against mine, in mine. You want it, too. I know you do. Take what I'm offering, Diego. There's no harm in it."

A surge of pure lust flooded Diego at the younger man's words. His body responded to the invitation as he imagined himself claiming Orlando's lips, touching him, tasting him, taking him. Their mouths were so close that he could feel the Englishman's warm breath as he exhaled, could almost taste the wine he had been drinking. All he would need to do was lean forward a fraction, swipe his tongue over those alluring, intoxicating lips...

And in the morning, his passion satisfied and his freedom secured, there will be nothing to stop him from returning to England, Diego reminded himself. Releasing his grip on Orlando's hands, he drew a deep breath and stepped back, away from the temptation to clasp the Englishman's body to his.

"Why do you back away?" Orlando demanded, following the Spaniard, crowding him. "You cannot pretend I am repulsive to you. I can smell your desire. Why will you not take what I am offering? All I ask is for one night." He tilted his head and nuzzled the swordsman's neck enticingly. "Just one night, Diego. Then I will leave you in peace if that is what you wish."

"I do not want one night," Alatriste growled, grasping Orlando's shoulders and thrusting him away. "You are drunk, Excellency, and I am not of the mind to serve for your amusement. Put yourself to bed and sleep it off - you will doubtless wish to make an early start in the morning."

"First of all, I am not drunk," Orlando declared, catching his balance and advancing on Diego again. "Yes, I had a few glasses of wine, but hardly enough to impair my judgment if that is what you're suggesting. Secondly, I am not looking for amusement. I want to make love with you. And what makes you think I am leaving in the morning? Are you planning to kick me out? You can try, but you will not get rid of me that easily."

"Do not expect me to believe that you plan to remain in Spain once McKellen's threat is ended," the swordsman retorted. "I expect you will collect your former - bodyguard -" he was less certain than ever that the man he had wounded had not been Orlando's lover - "and return to your home as soon as you can arrange passage."

"Eric has already left for England if he is well enough," Orlando replied. "His contract with my father ended the moment he was too injured to protect me. I was supposed to hire someone else, but that seemed unnecessary since you stepped in. And I cannot force you to believe anything, but I have unfinished business here, and I do not plan on leaving until it is settled." He hoped his business with Diego would never be settled. The last few days had opened his eyes to the kind of man his protector truly was. Watching Alatriste leave that evening, not knowing if he would return, had cemented those feelings. Orlando had fallen irrevocably in love. Now he just had to convince the other man to return his feelings. And if he could not have that, he would have one night to remember, one night to warm his thoughts for the rest of his empty life.

Despite his resolution to withstand the Englishman's temptation, Alatriste could not deny his relief at Orlando's insistence that unfinished business would keep him in Spain. He had learned long ago in the trenches of Flanders how fleeting life could be. Determined not to make the inevitable parting any more difficult, he would nonetheless savour each remaining day with the younger man, storing the memories to recall when he was once again alone.

Deciding he was taking the wrong tack, Orlando took a step backward out of Diego's space. "If you truly do not want me, then I will retire for the night," he said softly, determined not to make this easier for the Spaniard. Keeping his eyes locked with the older man's, he shed the loose shirt he wore, his hands going to his breeches and removing those as well so that he stood before his protector in only his flimsy linen undergarment. He stepped back again until he could lie down on the bed. Folding the covers back, he made himself comfortable and patted the empty space beside him. "Come to bed, Diego," he urged. "You are still recovering. You need your rest."

Not want him? Diego managed not to snort at Orlando's response, keeping his expression impassive as the nobleman disrobed before him. He briefly considered trying to sleep in the bedside chair again, but though he would not allow his companion to discern it, the night's activities had left his wound throbbing. Snuffing the candle between his thumb and finger, he quickly removed his own outer garments and reclined on the mattress, keeping a distance between himself and his bedmate and trying to relax his aching shoulder.

Immediately, Orlando shifted on the bed so that his arm brushed Diego's side, his leg bumping against the other man's thigh. He wanted to scoot even closer, to rest his head on Alatriste's shoulder, but he held back. He did not want to come on so hard that the Spaniard pushed him away. He just wanted to make sure Diego understood that even now, the offer to intimacy was still open. Inspiration struck, and he draped his arm across the swordsman's chest, hand gently working the muscles of the injured arm, trying to help them relax.

His conscience insisted that he ought to pull away from the intimate touch, but Diego was too weary to fight both Orlando and himself any longer. Letting his eyes drift closed, he allowed the tender massage to continue, imagining what it might lead to if he were free to indulge his own desire.

This was hardly the first time Orlando had touched Diego in the past days. This felt different, though. First, he was in bed next to the Spaniard instead of sitting on a chair nearby. This time as well, he knew the other man was awake and fully aware of his touch instead of unconscious or caught in a fever-induced dream. Most important of all, though, this time, Orlando had offered himself to the swordsman, an offer that still stood and would continue to stand until he accepted it. The thought had him tensing with desire. He ignored it as best he could, focusing on Diego, on getting as close as the other man would allow. He shifted, as if to get a better angle for the massage, and pressed up against the side of Diego's body. With a sigh, he relaxed, his hand never faltering in its work.

Orlando's touch and the warmth of his body seeping into Diego's side incited him even as it soothed him. Shifting slightly on his hip to hide the stir of his arousal, he bit his lip to hold back the groan of pleasure the contact elicited.

Sleep came slowly, his unsated desire making him restless, but Orlando pushed it aside in favor of stoking Diego's desire instead. Eventually, he fell into slumber, curling against the swordsman.


tbc…

Comments

[elfin-saltwater.livejournal.com]

Great chapter - I like the way Orlando is standing up for what he wants with himself and Alatriste, and just hope that A soon realizes how serious O is about this.

Well done.

[schizojuc.livejournal.com]

Good for Orlando for going after Diego! The man cannot possibly hold out much longer from Orlando's allure! =)

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

That's the key - Diego needs to believe that this is more than just casual lust for Orlando... but Orlando has to figure out exactly what it is he wants, too.

[oceansecrets2.livejournal.com]

I suspect you're right about that! :-)