Freed

"But Lord Darion--"

"I will brook no dissent. Away with you."

The taller of the two men-- Darion --stands rigid and proud, clad in black leather contrasted by shocks of fair hair, his complexion perhaps the fairer. The man his lesser flees at his words, quick to the black Bentley Mulsanne from whence he came. His chauffeur is no slower to seek his egress.

Perhaps no mensch, but damn is he beautiful. Mav can't help himself. He steps out from behind the dumpster at the back of the club and-- "Excuse me, Darion?" His mouth opens of its own accord. Darion freezes, every muscle stiffening. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just…"

"Just what?" Darion hisses, still not turning around, "Fell into your spycraft by accident, I suppose?"

"Don't be that way," he says, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone, "just, look at me?"

He does, slow and reluctant. Raw fury burns behind his pretty blue eyes. His mouth is puffed down into a sneer so terribly sincere it's almost endearing.

A mouth like that, Mav thinks, is suited to better things.

"And?" Darion drawls, not breaking eye contact, "I'm looking."

"Guess I was hoping you'd like what you see." Mav deflates. "But I guess… it's fine, you're not into it. I get it."

For a moment, Darion looks about as perplexed as anyone could. Then he appears introspective. "Come home with me," he says, quick and to the point. He does not hesitate.

Mav blinks. "I-- what?" He feels discomfited-- like he'd be taking advantage --though his body strangely rebels with the will to run from this man. He doesn't. "You know what that means, right?"

"Yes," he says, utterly lacking intonation, "I'm not an infant. I want you to make love to me."

Between the entirely flat affect and the drawl smooth as sex, Mav isn't sure what to think. But with words like those, who could resist?

"Damn, sweetheart, okay. I mean. Yeah, yes. Sure." Darion's sneer lets up some, and Mav feels emboldened. "If it's all the same, though, I'm a bottom? And I'd like to think I'm a twunk, too," he laughs, trying to inject some kind of levity into the conversation, "But, you know, you should come to my place."

The sneer returns full force, his eyes scrunch and narrow. "Of course."

Mav feels the same urge to run, but he ignores it. He's never felt more drawn to someone, and it's certainly never felt more meaningful, circumstances aside. Even with the constant frowning. He nods his head in the direction of his car. "Follow me."

He does.

"Well, m'lord, your chariot awaits." Mav holds open the door to his beat up Volvo, trying like hell not to be ashamed.

Darion scowls at the whole affair, but gets into the car all the same.

The ride home is silent. Mav questions his entire existence, but he's not backing out now. "We're here," he says, finally, switching off the ignition and bumbling out of the car as fast as possible. Within, the discomfort was palpable and stifling.

Darion follows at a faint distance.

Inside the apartment, Mav tosses his keys onto the tray and his coat onto the couch. He turns to face Darion, who's standing at the doorway, looking like a sodden cat. Mav furrows his brows. "Come in; I won't bite," he says sheepishly.

Darion huffs, but obeys. "But I will," he says glibly, slamming the door behind him.

Mav is taken aback, but he keeps his shock down and manages a grin. He creeps up to Darion. Despite all devious intent, he merely presses the man's hair behind his ear, gentle as may. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

Darion says nothing, but his eyes track Mav's every motion with a strained curiosity.

"Kiss me, please," Mav begs.

He lunges at Mav, strangely impassioned, crushing him into a rough embrace by the back of his head. His kiss is all teeth and rage, his hand scratching and grasping at scalp and hair. His eyes never leave Mav's, and something about it is entirely wrong. No sooner has it begun than end, and Darion edges back into the same position he inhabited before.

"Uh. Don't get me wrong, that was amazing, but…"

"Am I not to your taste?" Darion asks, enunciating terribly slowly. Coming from him even that sounds like an insult.

"No, no, of course you are! You're perfect, it's just, uh, I don't feel like you're really… into it?"

Darion looks perplexed. "Does it matter?"

"Oh my God, yes! I… what am I doing? I feel beyond awful." His eyes widen, fist over his mouth in shock and disgust. His eyes glaze then close a beat or two. "I'll…" He checks his watch, and it's far later than he expects. "Oh. Nevermind. Just sleep in my bed tonight. I'll take the couch."

He scrunches his nose, but nods. "As you wish."

"I'll take you home tomorrow," Mav says, "if you want me to, that is."

"Very well."

"No. Not 'very well': do you want me to or not?"

Darion nods slowly. "I would very much appreciate it if you did, yes."

"Where do you live, anyway?"

Darion hesitates. "I abide near a deep, verdant garden, wintery, dark but evergreen. The pool there reflects much," he says, nostalgia playing across his face, lighting his eyes with a glimpse of childlike wonder. "It is not far from this place."

"That sounds amazing. I'll need an actual address tomorrow, though," he says, chuckling under his breath.

"I will instruct you," is Darion's curt reply.

"Alright." It's not unusual for a queer person to desire privacy. Mav can respect that. "I'll follow your lead, then. Help yourself to the towels and whatever you need. I'm going to bed, try to sleep off the horror, yknow."

"Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," Darion says, bowing his head, "and will be returned in kind."

"Yeah, no problem. Good night, Darion. Sleep well."

Darion offers a toothy grin. "And to you as well. But as you've said it, it will be so."

"Mmk."

The next morning sees Mav awakening early, yet not early enough to catch Darion up, whom he discovers peering out the window at the empty street below.

"Good morning, Darion."

"Good morning." Darion looks a bit sus, to be honest, but Mav shrugs it off as sleepiness. "And may I have your name?"

"Oh, damn, my b. You can call me Mav," he says with a smile, "everyone does."

Darion just scowls.

"Hey. Have breakfast with me."

Now he looks terrified. "I have nothing to offer in return," he mumbles.

"That's fine. If you want, you can help me cook."

"Very well, it is a deal." He nods gravely.

"You don't have to take everything so seriously, you know." Mav frowns. "It's not like it's set in stone."

Darion raises a brow. "Is it not?"

He laughs. "Not with me. Not that I'm frivolous or anything. I just, I won't hold you to it if you don't wanna. I'm not that kinda guy."

"Duly noted."

"Okay, I'm ready for the eggs," Mav says, having prepped the rest of the ingredients for their frittatas.

Darion frowns-- a common sight. "I…"

"What's wrong?"

"I've…" he pinches the bridge of his nose. "There's bits of broken shell in the egg whites."

"Huh? Oh," Mav says, suppressing a chuckle as he peeks at Darion's handiwork. He takes the steel bowl and slowly fishes out the shells with a spoon. "Have you cooked a meal before?" he asks earnestly, keeping his eyes down, but in his peripheral he spots reddening cheeks.

"I… no. I never have."

"That's cool." He's got the last of the shell out, now, and passes the bowl back to Darion. "I'll help you." He sneaks behind, his arms coming 'round to ghost above Darion's, "See, you hold the whisk like so."

By the time breakfast is served they're nearly drunk on mimosas and laughter, having bonded over a shared love of nature and her bounties. The frittatas are simple but delicious; eagerly devoured, and far too quickly. It's not long before it's time to go.

He follows Darion's instructions-- surprisingly accurate and swift --only to find himself parked outside a garden, with Darion bidding him farewell. He still doesn't trust him, evidently; giving a location like this can't be close to home.

Oh well. There's nothing to be done about it. Mav sighs, slots his hands on the wheel, and makes his way back home.

Only, the next day Darion appears at daybreak, standing quizzical and forlorn at the complex's doorstep. To keep his promise, he informs, to aid with breakfast. It's strange, of course, but Mav's not about to complain.

Every day he comes, rain or shine. He learns quickly, outpacing Mav with skill and dexterity. He seems pretty old-school, so Mav buys him a cookbook. In return, he receives a bouquet of wild roses. For a leather bracelet, a silver necklace that shines like a star. Each day progresses much the same, which is to say not at all, yet dizzyingly fast. He can never decide which is the truer.

One day he gifts Darion a cast iron skillet, and he's never seen him more conflicted or confused.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, tilting his head.

"It's lovely. I adore the gesture, but…" He shifts from foot to foot. "I am very appreciative. Thank you for your courtesy." He hands him a bracelet twined of sturdy fiber, but still will not take the pan.

Mav forces a smile. "I'll keep it here for you, yeah? We can use it together."

"I'd like that very much, Mav."

That evening, Mav buys a book on ancient mythos and studies through the night.

They're on the couch, Darion leaning slightly towards Mav's shoulder. "Come home with me," he whispers, "but not like that."

"Yes," he whispers back.

He brings a Dutch Apple Pie they made together, but at the grand table in the center of the majestic room is a well-presented feast. Darion seems unfazed.

He hands the pie to an attendant, and idles by the various foods; a dark chocolate cake, in particular, catches his attention.

Darion eyes him cautiously.

He cuts himself a slice.

"What are you doing?"

"I know the rules, yeah? And what's one of the biggest? Well," he smiles, grabbing a forkful of the chocolate cake, "I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Darion edges closer. "You knew, before?"

"Dude. Look at you. You can't lie. You have to do everything I say-- which incidentally has its perks --and you've got ears and honestly, just everything."

Darion flinches, hands going to the pointed tips of his ears. "I... cannot conceive of how I would neglect a glamour so facile yet so painfully important."

Mav grins, winks. "Maybe something else was on your mind."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, anyway, I'm eating some cake."

Darion shrugs. "Do so at your own peril."

Mav pauses, the decadent chocolate ganache inches from his mouth. He makes up his mind-- perilous or otherwise, Darion is worth any sacrifice --and pulls the fork closer.

"Stop!" Darion commands, countenance contorting into angered fear.

"No," Mav replies, "I'm finding my freedom by binding myself to you, in whatever capacity entailed or required."

"Then give me your name, you fool," Darion says, entirely exasperated, "as you have taken mine. Eating that will bind you to the Unseelie Queen in every capacity, and I will have no claim on you but by her caprice."

"Oh. Shit." Mav nearly drops the utensil. "Yeah, I may have overestimated my knowledge."

Darion huffs. "Clearly. Now, if you will?"

"Yeah, okay. Lord Darion of the Unseelie Court, you may have my name: Maverick Andrew Brown. May I be bound to your whim from this day forth." He huffs and preens, feeling a little proud.

He smiles. "Oh, you will. Now come with me," Darion says, and winks smoothly.

Mav can't help but obey.