Laž’ar smiles, trying to hide the chaos within. He didn’t expect these sudden advances, but he can still see the General is respectful of him. Then he feels his smile fade, even as he tries to force the corners up.
The eyes of the General do not include the hunger of men wishing for what they cannot afford, men trying to play a game with him, hoping to receive what they want with less.
Laž’ar have many reservations, not unaware what would be eventually be his fate as long as he remained. And with years, he has perfected his game of advancing and retreating, yet that only applied if the fellow player followed the same rules.
This young man does not.
The advancement had been sudden, yet he stepped back immediately, without Laž’ar having to stop him. This young master looks upon him with softness in his eyes. There is worry, unconcealed from Laž’ar.
If Laž’ar does not read this man’s eyes wrong, so deep one may drown, they share sincere adoration.
The smile can’t be maintained in front of such sincerity. It can’t be maintained after a night not spent trying to get out this man’s arms while being alluring, not alluding to promises of things forbidden.
Laž’ar does not know what to do.
This man offers to buy him for a night, but it does not seem to be out of lust.
He’s about to raise his hand to remove the veil, a show of trust he knows that the man may never deserve. Perhaps he’s falling into a trap, but perhaps he’s willing to take his chances.
But hands take his upper arms. There’s a pause before the man gently rubbed his arms.
“You feel so cold.”
Laž’ar can only stare as the cloak he put on the young master’s shoulders comes off and falls on his. General Züčan ties the cloak carefully, adjusting the collar.
“If you’re willing, I will return in the evening.”
His features softens, and the cold handsomeness is just handsomeness now. Eyes full of sincerity that Laž’ar has not seen in several years. Was the last one his good big brother, or was it his mother? He can no longer remember.
Even their faces seem blurry now.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Speechless, he sets to busy himself with the young general’s clothing, adjusting the lapels, arranging the belts, petting his arms to ensure the fabric isn’t too crinkled.
“My lord has to look decent,” he explaines himself. “A good man cannot look as if he has visited a pleasure house even early in the morning.”
He doesn’t dare to look up, knowing the general must be smiling indulgingly.
The young master takes hold of his wrist as he pats the man’s chest.
“I’ll leave now, adorable little butterfly. Take the money found in the hems and lapels of that cloak — the cloak itself, too — as my payment tonight.”
“My lord paid the Madame already, did he not?”
The general hums in confirmation. “But I had paid to see you dance, not to get to speak to you. Please bear with this general as he returns at night.”
The general steps away, letting go. Laž’ar puts a smile on his face, but does not look at the young man. Not until he trails after him to the door, leaning at the door frame as the general left, showing off that he has received a young master’s favour, although no one’s there to see it.
It’s early evening when Laž’ar sees a familiar handsome face. It looks cold, while those black eyes held many secrets, such as the deep adoration they could show.
Laž’ar takes in the sight. It’s still light enough that he can see the robes are a teal shade, this time with wine patterns all over it. The brocade is matched with a white sash and silver waist ornament. His hair is again in a half-up, half-down hair style, but he wears a headband.
Laž’ar can’t recognise the band’s pattern as it sits around the young general’s forehead, but he can guess it’s either for the Kharanlar clan or the Atnaš clan.
It’s clear this young man is trying to impress, but who is there to impress at such a lousy establishment?
Laž’ar turns away and quietly goes to his room. He lets his robes fall to the floor before he sits down in front of the bronze mirror and begins preparations for the evening.
Çetžak feels his heart quiver when he sits at the table. He already placed his request, making his intentions clear.
He isn’t so naïve that he thinks the Madame would think he has money because of one night when they requested a performer. What he asks is different, of course, and he can understand what price will be needed to pay.
He hasn’t lied. He would give up his estate for a beauty like the butterfly. And not just for a night in their company, but for a lifetime with them.
As the tremors in his heart make him stare at the performers in front of him, he sees nothing. He nearly doesn’t notice the person sliding down to be next to him at the table.
He startles when he feels the brush of hands down his arm, and a weight leaning against it.
A person, their face fully veiled, this time with loose dark blue robes with a subtle water lily pattern, is next to him.
If it wasn’t for the stutter of his heart, he would had told them to get lost.
He doesn’t. Instead, he puts the cup down as he stares at the mysterious person. When he hooks a finger beneath their chin, they obediently look up at him. The light has become far too dim for him to truly see the person, but there’s nonetheless a mischievous look in those eyes. Like they are smiling as they teases him.
A smile spreads across his face. “Did I pay enough to see your face?” he mumbles. They don’t nod, but the chin gets heavy on his finger and he quickly opens his palm, letting the obedient spirit rest their head in his hand as their response.
He can no longer look at anyone else. He neither wants to nor knows how.
His mischievous little spirit orders him some food, feeding him with their hands. He lets them. He will indulge them in anything they want.
He vaguely thinks that even if they’re trying to hoodwink him out of all his money, he’d allow it.
When Laž’ar notes that the performances of the evening are about to reach their precipice, he tugs the general’s sleeve. The gaze had not once strayed to anyone but him, and it makes him very embarrassed, unused to being treated so well. The general leans closer at the tug, giving him a hum.
“Let’s…” he begins, but looks away.
He has spent many nights being coy and suggestive, but it’s the first time he tries to actually get someone to come along with him.
That he choose to dress in robes covering up his skin is none of anyone else’s business.
He doesn’t really need to say more. The general is an intelligent man, obviously, and kind at that.
He stands up, pulling Laž’ar with him. They leave the table while the general has his arm around Laž’ar’s shoulders. It must look like Laž’ar is steered, but it’s in fact he who led the man to a secluded room. Its purpose was clear.
Laž’ar is uncertain what to expect of this man. He can’t tell what that adoring look meant. Part of him didn’t want to dwell on it.
He just needs to pay for his leave.
He closes the wooden door behind them and looks at the general through the haze of his veil.
The young general turns to look at him, still no hunger visible.
Laž’ar can truly not understand. He delayed the inevitable as long as he could, and he chose this man who seems kind and gentle. But this is a place of pleasures, in the end.
The general gently takes his wrist and guides him. Not to the bed, but to the couch. He lets go, takes a couple of steps away and then moves a stool to sit away from him.
Respectful of Laž’ar’s space. Still not making any advances.