#pollux is so cool ahhh

[roguelioness]

a touch of crimson and cerulean

A @wayfarer-exchange gift for @impossible-rat-babies featuring the wonderful Pollux Sero ♥

Pairing: Pollux Sero & Aeran Kellis

1564 words, G

Summary: No matter what Pollux gets into, Aeran's there to clean him up.

The trouble with village taverns, Pollux grumbles to himself as he makes his way back to the table tucked away in a dark, grumpy corner where Aeran's waiting for him, is they're all the fucking same.

There's the group of regulars, laughing raucously at a ribald joke as the oldest among them deals out cards. He'd tried joining in, only to be met with sneers and blank stares. A wise decision on their part, really. He'd have soon parted them from their crowns, and the last thing he and Aeran need is to be run out of yet another village.

Shame, though. He could’ve used a bit more coin in his purse.

The drunken lump of a bard by the fireplace croons about something or the other, his words so slurred they're a mishmash of unintelligible sounds. The air is thick with the scent of stale ale, moldy wood, and the faintest traces of vomit and piss.

Charming, it is not.

Deftly stepping aside to avoid two folks belligerently shoving at each other, his progress comes to an abrupt halt as someone rams into his back. Pollux snarls as ale sloshes out of the tankards he's holding and lands all over him. For fucks sake, he'd just laundered his tunic two nights ago!

"Watch where you're going, shrimp," a surly voice spits at him, the syllables so thick he can feel them on his back. 

He stiffens. Carefully and meticulously turning on a heel, he raises his head to glare at the leering lout. "The fuck you just say?" His lips curl up into a snarl.

The drunkard gives him a dismissive once over, scoffing as he does so. "You heard me, shrimp." Grinning, he leans in close to Pollux's face. "What're ya gonna do about it?" He lifts a broad hand and pokes a thick finger into Pollux's shoulder for emphasis. “Shrimp.”

Fuck it. There’s probably going to be no work in this shithole of a place anyway. He folds his fingers into a fist, one at a time – thumb out, just as Sero taught him –and plants his form solidly on the ground, winds his fist up, and–

THWACK!

The lout screams and staggers back, clutching his face. When his hand falls away, Pollux is pleased to find the man’s eye swollen and ringed in black. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, you fucking asshole,” he snarls.

“Yeah?” he taunts. From behind him, he can hear Aeran’s voice calling his name, but adrenaline’s coursing through his veins, and he’s been itching for a fight for days now. He can’t stop now.

The drunk charges at him, all ungainly, flailing limbs, and it’s laughably easy for Pollux to step out of the way and watch as his momentum sends him crashing into the card-players table, tipping it over and sending the cards scattering about the room. 

A chorus of indignant voices rises to a crescendo before the nameless lout is sent sprawling to the ground. The attention of the table’s occupants now turns to him, each face wearing narrowed eyes and snarling mouths. “It was his fault,” the drunk wheezes as he climbs inelegantly to his feet. “He’s the one who pushed me!”

“Can’t all be as graceful as me,” Pollux smirks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “no reason to blame me for those logs-for-legs.”

The drunk roars with the kind of anger inebriation fuels, and rushes towards him once more. 

He gets ready to duck out of the way again, only this time someone shoves him, and instead of turning away he’s sent straight into the path of the lout’s raised fist–

Crunch.

There’s a raging pain in his nose, his sinuses fill with the scent of iron, and blood drips into his mouth. Pollux takes careful stock of his teeth with his tongue, mildly relieved to find them all where they should be. Swiping at the stream of blood trailing from his nose, he growls at the sight of crimson on the back of his hand before wiping it off on his now-ruined tunic. Cracking his neck from side to side, he offers the wary-looking drunk a too-wide, blood-tinged smile. The lout holds his hands up and takes a step back. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see the other occupants of the tavern start to close in on him, and he starts to bounce on the balls of his feet, readying himself for a brawl. It's been a while since he had a good ol' tavern fight, and his smile grows wider, lending him an unhinged, deranged look that has everyone moving away from him.

A warm, steady grip on his shoulder stops him from his planned attack. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Fuck no–”

“Pollux.” Aeran’s sigh has him glancing at the other man. “It’ll get messier if we stay. Come on.”

“He fucking broke my nose!”

Aeran sighs again, more exasperated this time. “And you gave him a black eye. So let’s go.” To the rest of the room, he says in a louder, more placating tone, “We’re leaving.” His hand is a manacle around his wrist, and he starts to drag Pollux away. The drunkard relaxes, leers, and makes the mistake of opening his mouth. “That’s right, run away like a rat, that’s what you folks are good at ain’t it?”

Big fucking mistake.

Pollux doesn’t roar, or snarl, or make any other sound. He simply breaks free of Aeran’s hold, sprints across the limited space, and rams a white-knuckled fist into the lout’s solar plexus. The drunk man groans a loud, wheezing noise, doubles over, and proceeds to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

The tavern falls silent.

Distinctly aware of everyone’s eyes on him, he stretches his jaw, smoothens out his tunic, gives the tavern owner a quick, jerky head nod, and walks out the door. The night sky is so thick with clouds he can make out neither star nor moon.

And he’s left his pack with his tinderbox inside.

Fuck.

A moment later, however, Aeran stumbles out holding both their packs, a very put-upon expression creasing his brow. “Did you really have to do that,” he complains. “Now we don’t have a place to sleep.”

“No big deal,” Pollux shrugs. “Bound to be a stray barn ‘round here. Besides, he started it.”

There’s a brief silence as they walk side-by-side down the dirt path. “I guess he did,” Aeran concedes. “How’s your nose?”

“Broken.”

They make their way to a ramshackle hut - an abandoned shepherd's cottage from the looks of it. The thatched roof is sagging, and missing in places, but the walls look sturdy enough to keep out the worst of the elements. It smells of sheep, and dung, but it’s dry and surprisingly cleaner than he’d expected. Even though the door’s hanging off one hinge, it’s still functional, and soon they’ve spread out their bedrolls onto the dusty floor, a small fire in the tiny hearth supplying the space with a warm orange glow. 

“Alright, sit,” Aeran’s face is fondly exasperated as he guides Pollux to sit by the fire. He wets a piece of cotton with water from his waterskin, and carefully, slowly starts to clean away the blood. 

Pollux is distinctly aware of each of Aeran’s fingers on his chin, of the way his index finger presses into his skin a fraction harder than the others. The warmth of Aeran’s skin seeps into his own, and fuels that glow within his chest, making him struggle to keep his breathing even. This close, he can see the flames from the hearth reflected in those azure blue eyes, and he can see the way the scar across Aeran’s eye is ever-so-slightly puckered around the edge. A stray curl falls across Aeran’s forehead, and without thinking, Pollux reaches up and tucks it behind his ear.

“Thanks,” Aeran gives him a lopsided smile. It knocks the air out of his lungs.

It takes a moment before he can reply. “Uh-huh.”

Aeran continues to dab away at his face. For someone with such strong hands (and Pollux knows well how strong they are) he’s so gentle, so cautious, treating his face as though it – as though he – were priceless. It sets something fluttering within his ribs, like a bird spreading out wings, testing them before attempting to soar. Pollux finds himself staring at the planes of Aeran’s face, at the way his nose is scrunched up in concentration, at the furrowed intensity on his brow. 

It’s a face he knows well, yet he discovers something new each time they’re this close.

“Well,” at last Aeran sets aside the cloth and settles onto his haunches. “Good news – that nose isn’t broken after all.”

“You sure?”

“It’s swollen, you have a black eye, and it’s going to hurt like hell the next few days, but no, it’s not broken.” 

Pollux touches his nose, hissing in pain when he encounters the tender flesh there. He can’t tell if there’s been any displacement or not – but he’ll take Aeran’s word for it. “That’s a relief.”

Aeran gives him smaller, more crooked smile. It makes him look all the more roguish. “I’m glad. I like your nose.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react. Dropping his gaze to his lap, he clears his throat. “Yeah, me too.”