May Q&A

• How would all the ROs fall on the sinful/pious meter and their opinions on the Church?

Hadrian, to no one's surprise, would fall at around 85% Pious — it used to be higher, very close to 100, but his opinions on the Church and, especially, the Templar Order changed in the months leading to his escape. He believes in God unwaveringly, but Hadrian is no longer blind to the sins of so-called holy men.

Alessa is as close to 0 as you can go. She does not believe in God, and she holds no faith in the Church. She finds those who do to be fools, but she does not generally blame them. Sheep cannot be faulted for falling in line when dogs bite at their heels.

Alain would be around 55% Pious. Truth is, he does not care much. In his day-to-day life, Alain doesn't think of God or divinity or even the threats of eternal damnation in Hell. He's half-asleep during mass and doesn't remember most of the verses in the Bible, but Alain does believe in something.

That something can be God for all he knows. He knows how to play the game, however. If needed, and there have been times when it was needed, Alain plays the part of the pious nobleman.

Ysabella is a bit higher, but not by much. Maybe a 60% on the scale? She believes in God, just like her brother, but she's a bit more conscious than he is about it. Ysabella used to pray every night as her mother told her to, but with time, she stopped. When she's feeling down, nervous, vulnerable, or simply melancholic, Ysabella will visit the cathedral alone and kneel before the blood-red candles.

She's involved with the Church to some extent, reaching out to the poor. Ysabella knows Father Brown well. She's quite fond of him.

The Pirate King does not have a measure because he's not part of it. He grew up with another religion, and for all his life, the sea was his Goddess. But he has dealt with the Church and sees it as a governing power like no other he has ever encountered. He's... amused by it. Right now, he wants to speak to it — not truly knowing how it works.

Neia has been helping him get a better idea of what he's up against.

As for God, he thinks He's real. He thinks they're all real. All the myths and legends, all superstitions, and fables. "When a storm can make a grave of your boat, it's not a good idea to go 'round making enemies."

Neia is 100% Pious about God. She used to be all-in for the Church as well, but no longer.

Lance is 10% Pious — unlike Alessa, he believes the Church’s God exists; he simply does not believe it is a benevolent one. He's also the only RO who believes in the Old Gods (what we know to be the Roman Gods).

Rafael is 70% Pious. Apart from Hadrian and Neia, Rafael is the RO who prays the most. He thinks of himself as a bad Christian, so he feels uncomfortable in houses of prayer. It’s like God's judging eyes are watching him, weighing his dark soul. But he does believe humans were His invention, and He loves us despite all our flaws.

The Church, however, isn't perfect. Rafael's been thrown out into the muddy street far too many times to believe all priests are holy.

Vallen falls exactly in the middle of the scale. Neither Pious nor Sinful, one could almost believe she has no beliefs.

• I'm wondering how Romanus stores their Latin knowledge? As in, do they have surviving documents, did they make their own dictionary (I know there's already a journal that can be written in Latin 😁), and had they ever kept a piece of ancient history like they did the coin?

This could be something left for headcanon. Me, though, I imagine Romanus got rid of all evidence they've collected throughout their life when they ran from the Inquisition — after they last saw their mother on the barn's doors.

Especially when Neia almost caught them.

Before, I imagined Mother encouraged to keep and treasure any last bit of knowledge and connection to the Old World that they could find. Always secret, always paranoid, but she'd instill in you the importance of hanging on to it.

She taught you Latin. Your Romanus could have saved those scattered papers, maybe made a journal out of them. Before the White Company, however, you didn't come across any artifacts like the coin or the gauntlet — that's why they're so significant.

Never before had you had such clear, portable proof that the Church lies and oppresses.

That's also why the journal can be so significant as well. A sign that you're no longer letting fear rule. You're starting to document, collect, and research again.

• What do the ROs would dream about if they were having a restless night?

A red cross fills up the entire sky. It has no eyes, but Hadrian knows it is looking for him.

He can't move because he doesn't deserve to. His body is bent and broken, and Hadrian cannot stop coughing. His throat is so raw, each caught spits out blood, and his chest caves in when his lungs give out.

Lord. Please.

But the Lord has no mercy. Hadrian does not deserve it.

The red cross falls, and the land ignites. At the center, strapped to a cross, is you.

No.

-

Hadrian shoots up from bed.

His chest feels tight, his brow is drenched in a cold sweat, and his hands shake as they grab onto his cross. His heart hammers against his ribcage, the blood pulsing making it too real.

It was a dream, he tells himself.

But why did it feel like a punishment?

"Hadrian?"

Your voice. Hadrian opens his eyes and sees nothing. Darkness fills the bedroom, but a darker shape than the rest reaches out to him, and now he feels your fingers on his leg. "Are you alright?"

He's still breathing heavily, he notes. "I— I'm fine," Hadrian lies, throat raw like in the nightmare. "Go back to sleep, love."

But you aren't fooled. You never are. The sheets move when you sit up, and now, your hands are on his shoulder and his arm, inquiring. " What's wrong?" you whisper, your voice closer, and Hadrian's heart breaks at the sweetness in it.

He doesn't deserve comfort.

"You can't sleep again?"

His eyes adapt to the darkness until he can finally see you. You're frowning in worry, knelled before him. This is what he does to you. "Something like that," he says. He wants to reach out, to reassure you, and tell you it's simply one of his sleepless nights. But he can't let go of his cross.

It matters not, for you reach for him. "Do you want to tell me about it?" you ask, sweeping back his sweaty hair. You cup his cheek and kiss the other, and Hadrian lets his head fall on your shoulder. "I'm here if you need me."

The nightmare’s image flashes in his mind. You'll end up like Eda.

Hadrian jerks and crawls away from you, almost falling down the bed. "I, uh, I need to pray," he croaks, turning his face to the side. He can't see the hurt in your eyes. It would break him. "Just— just sleep, angel. I'll be outside."

"Hadrian!"

He shuts the door and hurries away, ashamed, half-hating himself. He doesn't see where he's going, but eventually, Hadrian finds a cold, dark corner and kneels before the wall. With his cross between his clasped palms, Hadrian repents.

Prayers spill in an endless stream from his lips, but no matter how many passages he recites, Hadrian finds no peace. It is always there, on the back of his mind, the soul-crushing fear of his brothers finding you and having you pay for his sins.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," he whispers fervently, "for they shall be called children—"

A rustling to his right.

Hadrian snaps his eyes open to see you lowering yourself beside him. "Lov—"

But you place a gentle hand on his lips. "Shhh," you shush him. Then, you turn to his corner, place your hands together, and bow your head. "I want to pray too," you say. "I was told you need silence."

Hadrian's too stunned to speak.

He stares at you, his chest swelling with emotion, but when you stay motionless, Hadrian can do no more than follow your lead. He bows his head, closes his eyes, and opens his heart, and slowly, peace returns. His heartbeat slows, and his head clears.

And when you reach a timid hand to him, Hadrian takes it, grabbing yours tightly.

He doesn't deserve you. By God, does he love you.

“Thank you,” Hadrian says when his knees are sore, and his legs get numb. He looks down at your knees and curses himself for not getting a pillow for you.

You lift your head, and two beautiful eyes look at him. “For what, handsome?”

“For putting up with me,” Hadrian murmurs, his thumb caressing your knuckles.

But your hand leaves his. “You silly man,” you say, the tone reproachful but sad too, and before he can apologize, you kiss him sweetly on the mouth. “You silly, silly man.”

Hadrian doesn’t know what he’s done that’s so silly, but he’s not about to ask, because you keep kissing him, deeper and deeper, and Lord in Heaven, you may call him anything you’d like as long as you keep touching him.

 Most days, Hadrian believes that God has forgiven him, but then night comes and so goes his certainties. With you sleeping by his side…

It makes the nights easier.

It makes his life better.

Hadrian gets up, taking you in his arms, lips seeking yours fervently now. He has been silly. More than that. He’s done fearing harm will come to you.

Hadrian will just have to make sure to protect you. Come Heaven or Hell, he’ll keep you safe.

- - -

Alessa stands before a faceless trial. "You betrayed us."

"I did not," she refutes, but her voice is feeble. She is horrified to find that it has the timbre of a child.

"You betrayed me, and now I am dead."

"I did not! You betrayed yourself!" child-Alessa screams, but it sounds like a shriek of desperation. The faceless trial is not moved by the weak, disgusting tears that spill from her younger self's eyes. They stand like immotile giants before her, growing taller and taller.

"You betrayed me, and now I am exiled."

"You wanted to!"

"You betrayed me, and now, I am ruined. A prisoner, a ghost of who I was."

"You deserve no less," she yells, but her voice comes only as a whisper.

They close in on her. Alessa sees the glint of sharp blades on each of their hands. "You betrayed us, Alexandra, and now, you pay."

They strike.

-

Alessa opens her eyes.

Her chest does not heave, her lips do not move, and she does not cry.

But there is a hole where her heart once was, and Alessa finds herself cold. She is so, so cold. She cannot feel her toes, or the tips of her fingers. Her cheeks are hard and stiffened, as are her eyelids. Alessa wonders if this is how corpses feel, and the thought shills her to her very core.

'Twas only just a silly dream. A hallucination of her imagination. It matters not. They matter not.

But why, then, does she feel so sad?

She rises without a sound, and her feet make no noise when she tiptoes to the window. She's stiff still, but the day Alessa cannot climb a pipe is the day she should lay on the snow-covered ground and close her eyes, for she had become useless.

Her blue eyes shimmer and there's a ridiculous knot in her throat, and as Alessa jumps to the rooftop, she lets out an exhale that could almost sound like a sob.

Weak.

Alessa sits on a ledge and looks up at a full moon. Its light is cold, turning the world into a shade of death. Usually, Alessa finds comfort in the cover of darkness, but tonight, Alessa hates it. She hates it with all her heart.

She hates them all, but most of all, she hates herself.

"God's nails, Alessa."

She twirls, hand reaching for the knives on her belt when she realizes she hasn't taken them. But she does not need them, for, climbing up the same pipe she did, Alessa sees you.

"Why didn't you take a coat?" you ask, jumping to the tilted red tiles. You scowl down at her. "It's bloody freezing."

Alessa turns her head away. "I do not need it."

"Bullshit," you say, and she's enveloped by a thick, warm blanket. It is relieving. It is wrong. "You're going to freeze to death."

Alessa slides it down her shoulders. "I shall not," she says, putting it aside. "The sun is soon to come," she explains, her voice sounding empty even to herself. She lifts a stiff finger and points at the horizon. "Can you not see? 'Tis dawning."

You follow her gaze, but if anything, your frown deepens. You look back down at her, but Alessa finds that she cannot stand your gaze. She looks down at the darkness of the ground and wishes you to go. She would say it too, were she not so weak.

She hears a sigh, and you sit at her side.

Silence falls.

Her fingers play with each other.

"What's going on?" you ask.

Alessa tightens her jaw. "Naught."

"Don't lie to me, Alessa," you say. "You can insult, mock, or curse the ground I walk on, but I ask that you never lie to me."

"I am not—" She cannot say it. She is lying. "I desire to be alone."

There’s a terrible pause.

"I don't think you do," you say, your voice so gentle, like a caring caress, that it breaks the ice wall raised high around her.

Alessa folds. She puts her elbows on her knees, and her nails wrack down her face, leaving red lines behind. "I do not," she says and hates how her voice breaks. She hates it, and the more she does, the harder the knot around her throat tightens. "But I am doomed to."

A pair of arms loops around her. For once, Alessa lets herself fall into you. You hug her, hard, and she grabs hold of your forearms and holds you too. "What are you talking about?" you ask, whispering near her ear. "I'm here, Alessa."

"I hurt all that come near me," she says, hiding her face in your chest. She cannot look at you. She cannot believe she said those words.

You laugh humourlessly. "You're being a bit dramatic, aren't you?"

Alessa snaps her head up and glowers at you. Anger. Anger she can do. "I am not jesting."

"Neither am I," you say, smiling still. You put your palm against her face, your hand so warm that Alessa closes her eyes at the sensation. "I'm here for you. I'll always be, as long as you let me." You lean in, and she feels your sweet lips on her forehead. "So, please, don't push me away."

Alessa seeks your lips before she says something that she will regret. She kisses you and prays to an impostor God that you do not mention the tears wetting both your lips. You kiss her back, gently, fondly, full of warmth and acceptance, and that word she is too much of a coward to say.

But she does feel it. And it scares her.

For how many have Alessa of the White Company truly loved? She does not know the answer.

"Stay with me," she asks, whispering against your lips.

You pull the blanket over her shoulders anew, enveloping you both. "Been a while since I've seen a sunrise," you say.

As the sun rises, Alessa’s dream melts like icebergs drifting across boiling waters. She feels like a corpse no longer.

She feels alone no more.

• 'Fake out, make out' scenario.

The moon is conveniently hidden behind a castle of clouds.

You and the Pirate walk the narrow, damp street, careful not to slip on the cobblestones driven flat by the hundreds of feet and horse hooves that stomp it every day.

You're also trying not to breathe, lest the stink of rotten fish makes you too nauseous to walk. "Are we almost there?" you ask for the hundredth time.

The Pirate walks a little bit ahead. "It's in this dock," he tells you, pausing to squint at a little fishing boat strapped to a moss-ridden pole. The small canal passes through the sewage of Tarragona, and now, the smell is even worse.

You take a few steps back. "Why in God's flighty toenails are you searching a fishing boat?" you hiss, hand over your nose. "Isn't it supposed to be from a pirate?"

"Former pirate," the insufferable man corrects.

You roll your eyes. "That's not what's important!"

The Pirate straightens up. "It's not this one," he announces the obvious. "Come," he says, not waiting for you before he starts walking. "Two Toes could have hidden it anywhere. We need to check them all."

You begrudgingly follow. Why did you agree to come? It's not like you need the stolen treasure... you just really, really want to see it. Damned your love for gold. You blame your mother.

She never let you carry any.

"Fine, but try to—"

"Shit."

Oftentimes, you forget that the King of Pirates is a dangerous man. In a moment, he was steps ahead of you, the very next, he's grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you against the wall.

"Ugh." Air leaves your lungs at the impact, but before you can kneel him in the groin, the Pirate boxes you in. He was there, but now he's right here.

"Three scurvy guards," he whispers, his mouth above your own. His chest presses on your breast while his arms are against the wall, right next to your head.

He smells of salt and smoke, and your already weakened head starts spinning.

"Follow my lead, will you?" the Pirate is speaking. "Don't want to turn this into a bloodbath."

You realize, belatedly, that he is waiting for an answer. "Y—yes," you whisper, but then thought returns. "Wait, why are you hiding me? How's that going to stop them!?"

He gets a strange look in his eyes. "Oh," he says, his lips slowly stretching into a smirk. "Aren't you innocent?"

You're about to show him how innocent you are when he turns his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. His face falls, eyes turning stony, and you grab the wet walls behind you. [i]Turn away,[/i] you pray.

[/i]Go the other way.[/i]

"They're coming," the Pirate growls. "Look at me," he says. You do, frowning at the bossy tone, but then, he was right there, and now, he's here.

The Pirate King kisses you.

You suck in a shocked breath, but then, his lips move over yours, insistent, and your knees buckle, so you have to hold onto his shoulders. "Spirits, just pretend you're enjoying it," he says between kisses, or rather, smooches, for your lips are completely still.

The guards round the corner, the threat giving you clarity of mind. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you tilt your head and kiss him back. The Pirate grunts in approval, and it makes you shut your eyes because you feel the vibrations on your tongue. You exhale, parting your lips, and like the dog he is, the Pirate immediately sneaks his tongue inside your mouth.

God, you're falling, and he's the only thing keeping you upright.

One of his hands cups your face, his beard tickles your jaw as your tongues roll together. You hold onto him, trying to swallow your moans, trying to—

"Oi! What's this?"

The bloody guards.

The Pirate parts from you, the movement causal, and calmly looks at the guards. "D'ya mind?" he asks, his accent completely different. You're struggling to breathe, but you note, with resentment, that he seems just fine. "I’m taking the missus on a nature walk."

The guards laugh, leering disgustedly at the two of you. You instinctually make yourself smaller, and the Pirate plays the role of the possessive partner well, hiding you with his body. "Your nature smells like shit!"

The Pirate shrugs. "Aye, best nature I can afford."

The guards laugh again and start to walk onward. "Just take care of nature’s call quick, you hear? You're not supposed to be here after hours."

You nod, but you don't think they see you. The Pirate winks at them, before turning back to you. "You did well," he says, lowering his head to kiss your neck, his black eyes following the guards. "Just a little more..."

You stay still as he kisses your neck, which, from their angle, seems like he's kissing your mouth. A second, then another... and the Pirate stops. He lifts his head and stares at you.

Your chest feels tight, your heart beats wild, and you don't know what to say. Part of you wants to duck under him and run home... the other part wants to grab his face and bring him in again.

You stare back.

He eyes you differently. It makes your stomach coil. Then, just as you don't think you can take his stare much longer, the Pirate looks to the other side. "See there?" he asks, pointing a ring finger to a mound on the ground.

You squint and realize the mount is breathing. It's a passed-out drunk. "Yes?"

"That's a bounty hunter. He's been on my trail for years," The Pirate says, his thumb lightly tracing your jaw. "I don't want to get caught, peach."

This bastard.

"Shut up," you say, laughing, and push him away. He falls back a few feet, smirking wide.

"Come now, just a small distraction? One little kiss and the purist will go running."

You shake your head, walking away to hide your heated cheeks. "Let's find your stolen gold and go."

You hear his good-humored chuckle. "I think... I just found a better booty," he says, catching up to you.

You don't return his gaze, lest you stop you stop breathing altogether.

- - -

Lieutenant Vallen's feet make no sound.

You admire her for it. "How far away is he?" you murmur, prowling right behind her.

She cocks her head. The sun shines upon the golden strands, making them seem even brighter than they are. "Hmm, I'd say about 20 feet?"

You look over Vallen's head and see the nobleman. He's heavy and bald as a newborn, but the ostentatious vest and the golden watch chain hanging from the front pocket mark him as one of noble birth.

He's also the one who raised suspicions about you to the Theers.

Vallen puts her back against the corner and turns towards you. "So, what's the plan?" she asks gleefully. She smiles brightly at a woman and child who pass by, her hazel eyes as round as the babe. "Break his knees? Cut off his tongue? Oh!" She gasps. "You want to do both?"

You look at her, pondering. She's not wearing her Red Guard uniform, only a simple blue blouse and grey pants that stop at the knee. "I haven't decided yet," you say. "I have to make sure he doesn't attend the ball."

Vallen purses her lips. "Both work," she points out.

Your lips quirk darkly. "Not the legs. If he can still talk, he can tell that it was me... and you."

"So, the tongue?"

Your palm starts tingling. Yes, you almost say. "No," you force yourself to speak. "Sabotaging his coach is enough. He's one of the lesser families, they have no more than one carriage here in Tarragona."

Vallen's owlish eyes blink at you. "You've done your research."

"Had to."

She touches your wrist. Your muscles clench, but you hold still, looking curiously at her. Vallen rises on her tiptoes to whisper in your ear. "Then why am I here?" she asks, voice like a glacier.

You like this Vallen. It makes your hand itch, but not out of violence. Of something else. "Because," you say, turning your head to lock your eyes with her. Vallen doesn't lean back. "If something goes wrong, I'll go with plan B."

She giggles. "Fun," she says, and ducks under your arm to watch the noble. "He's going to the tailor."

You follow her gaze. Emeth Santos lingers outside a splendorous tailor shop, his second favorite place in the world after ballrooms. You know that, once he's inside, it'll take hours before he's back on his estate. You and Vallen will have more than enough time to find his coach and break a wheel or two.

You wait together, anticipating the hunt, but Lord Emeth has other plans. The bloody man turns away and wobbles up the street, right in your direction.

"Oh, no," Vallen signs, rising and falling on the ball of her feet. She giggles at your panicked look as you look around frantically. “Whatever shall you do?"

He can't see you.

Emeth is rounding the corner...

You push Vallen into the wall, grab a fistful of her braid, and kiss her.

It's not her that's surprised. It's you.

She seems to have expected it. You feel her hands grabbing back, one on your coat, the other holding tight onto your forearm. Vallen kisses you back immediately, tilting her head to grant you access. Her lips are round and feathery, and she smells of vanilla extract.

It'd be easy to lose yourself in her, but you're here for a reason. Pulling slightly away, your eyes dart to the side to track Emeth. The noble halts when he sees you, makes a face of disgust, and rushes right through. "I say, in public!" he exclaims to his guard. “Filthy, lust-ridden animals!”

He didn’t recognize you. You smirk within the kiss, but Vallen doesn't seem to like it. With a deft move of her mouth, she captures your bottom lip, and just as you're about to pull away, the woman bites down.

Pain explodes in your mouth, as well as a tiny string of blood.

Vallen laps at it, sucking it with a soft moan. You get the message.

You pull her in roughly, crushing her with your body against the wall. She parts her legs, and when you step into her, Vallen loops an ankle around your knee. You deepen the kiss, hungry, your marked arm spasming. Your fingers tighten on her braid, pulling it, and her nails scratch red lines along your nape and shoulders.

Vallen bites you again, and you growl when she rolls her hips. Hell Fire. You let go of her mouth to kiss down her throat. When you get to the crease between her collarbones, you lick the spot slowly, almost tenderly.

And then, you sink your teeth in her flesh.

Vallen grabs your hair and pulls. "Ah!"

You lift your head and lock eyes with her. Hers are half-lidded, but you can see the pupils blown wide with lust. "How long have you wanted to do that?" you ask in a coarse voice.

Vallen's chest heaves. "You know since when.”

You straighten up, not answering. Do you?

Vallen bats her eyelashes a couple of times, her bright, innocent mask falling into place. "I think you should know," she says, hands lightly roaming up your arms. "That was my first kiss."

You stare down at her. "It wasn’t."

Vallen giggles.

You smile and pull away. "Come on," you say, leading her by the arm. "We have a prey to catch."

Vallen skips alongside you. "I have two now," she sing-songs, golden braid swaying from side to side.

Your smile widens.

- - -

The bastard sneers. "That 'spussed to be her?"

You dart your eyes to your target and quickly look away. "Fuck, Raf, can you be more obvious?" you whisper.

Rafael scoffs. "She's on her fifth cup. She ain't seeing much besides blurry lights."

"You don't know her," you say between gritted teeth. That hooligan cheated you. You're sure of it. You played ten times, and every time her cards beat yours. She had to be cheating, and you want to get your money back.

You just need to know where the scammer lives, that's all. "She's probably not drinking, just pretending that she is. That's how she gets you."

Rafael turns an arched eyebrow your way. "You?" he repeats, and now the bastard grins. You can see the tooth gap between his teeth. "I thought you were doin' this as a favor to someone else. She got ya?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "I said ‘you’ in the general term," you counter, scowling at him. "You, them, humans, who cares?"

"No, no, I care," Rafael says, leaning over the table. He puts his elbow between you, and his stupid face gets closer as his grin widens. "She swindled you?"

You square your jaw.

Rafael laughs. "Ha!"

"Shh!" You elbow him, looking at Amabel, but thankfully, she's drinking still... or pretending to. "Shut the hell up."

Rafael laughs against your palm. "Why didn't you take me? You're not gettin' tricked when I'm around. You know that."

You narrow your eyes, fingers tightening around his mouth. "I don't need your help."

Rafael stops laughing. "Yeah?" he says, his voice lower now. He looks at you over your palm, his stare too direct all of a sudden. "Why'd ya ask me here today, then?"

You snatch your hand away, heat crawling up your neck. There it is again, this... oddness between you. You pretend to watch Amabel as you get yourself together. You are not attracted to the bastard. "Because," you say, at last, giving him a sneering look. "You're the best thief I know."

Rafael leans back, chest puffed up. "Now, ya just flirting."

You snap your head away. Your heart leaps in your chest and you don't like it. So, you focus on Amabel. That's why you're here, anyway. She empties her mug and stands up. She sways as she does because she's good, but you saw it. Her feet stood firm; only her knees and hips seemed off-balance.

She's not drunk.

And her eyes aren't blurry when she scans the room for her next victim.

"Okay, listen," you say, getting Rafael's attention. He was busy watching the ceiling. "She knows me, so, you'll be the one to follow her closely."

"No shit."

You ignore that helpful interruption. "When she—"

Amabel turns her head, and her eyes glide from the left... towards you.

You have no time to think.

You just act.

You grab Rafael's face, pull it, and slam your lips over his. "Argh!" You hear his stutter, but you quickly cover his mouth, your nails digging into his jaw, and press a hard, if completely prudish, kiss against him.

Rafael freezes. You can feel his muscles locking in, and when you peek at his face, you see his brown eyes blown wide. Lord, you'd think you're torturing him.

"Raf, damn you," you mouth against him, kissing the side of his mouth, willing him to move. "Kiss me back, you bastard. You can throw up after."

You try him again, find him stiff as a corpse still, and go to scowl at him, when Rafael Borja snaps to life.

You weren't ready for it. Rafael doesn't just respond; he overwhelms you. His mouth closes on yours, pressing until you're forced to lean back, but a hand on your spine keeps you close. You arch your back as his lips dance with yours, fervent and demanding, and your head gets light when you can no longer breathe. "Raf," you gasp, putting a hand on his chest, but it was a mistake because the moment you open your mouth, Rafael dives in.

His tongue meets yours, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the wave of lightning that hits every nerve of your body. Rafael grabs your waist, pulling you onto his lap, holding you close as he drinks you in. 

You stop thinking about Amabel. You no longer care about your coin. You find yourself wielding to Rafael. You dart your tongue, meeting his, and your lower belly ignites at his pleased groan. He's moaning, you realize, and you get addicted to the sound.

His hands are firm on your waist, and he is the best thief you know because he's stealing every bit of air from your lungs. And all you can do is kiss him back, trying to keep up with his frantic, frenzied, desperate pace.

"Raf," you say again when you come up for air.

Rafael latches onto your jaw, sucking the skin, and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You hear a snicker.

Your eyes snap open. The whole bar is staring at you both.

Mortification washes over you. You pull on his hair, but it only makes him moan harder. "Raf!" You shake him, pulling his lips away from your throat. "Rafael!"

"Uh?" Rafael asks, dazed, lifting his head to stare at you.

"Don't stop the show!" someone yells.

You resist the urge to hide your face in the crook of his neck. "She's gone," you mumble. "Amabel. She’s gone now.”

Rafael blinks and looks dazed still. "Oh," he says. He blinks again and looks around. But instead of seeing shame on his face, you see him curling his lips in anger. Rafael sneers at the whole bar. "Whatcha lookin' at?!"

Some look away, but most only holler louder. Rafael bares his teeth at them all before he looks at you again. His hands don't move from your waist. "You alright?"

You don't know. "Sure," you say, and then tug on his wrists. "Raf..."

Rafael lets you go, and you crawl out of his lap. You sit in silence for a moment, not looking at each other. "Do you... want to go?" you propose, at last, your voice squeaky.

Rafael grimaces. "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

"You're not coming?" you ask, surprised. Everyone's still looking at you.

Rafael's cheeks redden. "I can't just now," he says, adjusting his pants under the table.

Oh.

Oh!

"Oh my God,” you say.

"Shut up!" Rafael hisses, his voice strangled. "You're the one who fuckin' grabbed me."

You put a hand over your mouth and stagger towards the door, trying your hardest to hold in your laughter.

"I'm never helping ya again!" Rafael yells at your back, and you let out a roar of laughter as you step into the cooling air of the night.