to Bloodberry, who got me into all this mess. i don't know whether to thank you or curse you.

He found the tongue that slipped into his mouth warm and velvety, moist. It was the stuff true drugs were made of; it made him high, made him want it again and again, as if he could not get enough. The arms that wrapped around his waist he found the truest gift. It was the most beautiful home he'd ever had, and he wanted more, more, more than he could even hope to fill for himself.

But when the mouth that kissed him shifted, his mind designated to function once more, and the moment rushed in, coming back.

And with one painful wrench that ripped everything he ever believed in, he pushed the person away and fought down his regrets as the person stared at him, mouth parted slightly, eyes wide, panting at the sudden rush of air in their lungs.

Now I know, he thought dazedly, staring at the person, why girls always want to kiss him.

~ * ~

The walls, Viktor decided to himself, are altogether too boring.

They had moved in rather recently, not even earning themselves a year. The new fort for the mercenaries was becoming a little livable, earning the small reputation of home. Viktor knew that many of the men had families they could go home to, but there were also some group of men who had nowhere else to go.

People like Viktor. Who had too much time staring at walls.

He remembered when he was still a child, staring at the walls of their old house in Northwind. It was made of brick, wood and straw. He remembered taking a brush for his mother's ceramic painting and dipping it to the ink he used for scroll writing and drawing on the walls.

He remembered, too, how angry his mother had been. It had earned him a slap on the buttocks that night.

Still, he could not help thinking that the walls were too bare. He held up a hand, picturing a window there, or a painting, perhaps. Or maybe he could make a tapestry...an image of a great white stallion, front hooves raised to the air in the pose of a mock flight. He could picture its nostrils flaring proudly, eyes wild but wise, hair whipping against the smooth curve of its creamy neck--

"We haven't been here a year and you're already thinking about paintings?" a voice asked from behind.

Viktor dropped his arms to his side, almost ashamedly, before turning around and laughing guiltily. "You know me too well."

Flik only smiled at his partner and long-time friend, coming up to stand beside him. "I guess I do." He stared at the wall, long and hard, before deciding, as usual, "It looks fine, Viktor."

"No it does not," Viktor retorted, scowling and crossing his arms. "It's too bare. It's too bland. Too painted. Too--"

"--white?" Flik finished.

Viktor stopped, thought for a moment, before nodding, not turning to his friend. "Yes. Too white." He sighed. "We should've built this in accordance to the old one."

"That old fort," Flik replied easily, "did not hold out as long against Luca Blight and you know it. For a fort to be useful, it has to have good defenses." He shrugged. "And I like this office. It's still right next to yours and my bedrooms."

"That's another trouble," Viktor grumbled, slumping back against the table. "I won't be able to sleep at night, hearing you work."

Flik momentarily glanced his way before frowning at the white wall. "Do I...do that a lot?"

"Yeah," Viktor replied without thinking. He blinked as he saw his partner's hand clench unconsciously and quickly added: "But it doesn't bother me much. I'm used to it. And...to tell you the truth, I like hearing it."

"Do you, I wonder?" Flik asked, half under his breath. They stood there for a while, staring at the blank wall, before he turned to Viktor once more. "So," he said, as if nothing had transpired between them, "what brings you here at the office during the day? And at such an early hour, too?"

"I don't know," Viktor replied truthfully. He wrinkled his nose and stretched his muscled arms. "To tell you the truth, I feel like I HAD to do something about this wall."

"It's bothering you that much?" Flik asked, smiling.

Viktor felt like hitting him. Or something. "Yeah. Losing sleep about it."

"I thought it's because of me," Flik asked softly. "Of me staying up late here."

Viktor blinked and turned to him. But Flik was not looking his way. Instead, he stammered on, not knowing his real answer, "Well--y-yeah...I guess...no! I mean...that's not--"

A gentle hand on his arm stopped his stuttered flow of words. Flik smiled again. "Viktor, go back to sleep."

~ * ~

The candles, he whispered to the darkness. The candles must be found.

Where was Pohl? Oh...wait. Pohl's dead. There's a new one...new one...Zaida? Isn't it? Zaida, who has no home and is willing to work for them, sometimes for free, just to have a roof over his head and food to feed his grumbling stomach.

"Candles," he said aloud.

But there was no one to hear him.

~ * ~

The door opened and he forced an eye to open, watching the silhouette glide softly across the floor of his bedroom, towards the shelves of tactical battles on the other corner across the bed. The moonlight outlined the familiar shape, making him blink again and wonder aloud: "Do you need them now?"

The figure was startled but quickly composed himself and turned to him. Immediate smile on his face. "It's alright, go to sleep," he whispered back.

"I could get 'em if you want," he muttered, pushing back his blanket and making a move to swing his legs out of the bed. But the figure was too fast. Immediately, he was beside him, pushing him down on the bed again.

"I'll get this," the figure told him more firmly, palms firmly flat over the chest and pushing him down the bed. "Don't worry."

"Flik--"

"Good night, Viktor." The hand hesitated, then the figure quickly straightened and pulled away. With a light swish, he was already gone from the room.

Viktor closed his eyes and wondered what the hell just happened.

~ * ~

"What exactly are you working on?"

Flik looked up from the pile of paper on his desk. "Un..." He blinked down at his parchment. "Tactical reports from Apple and Shu. I wanted to have a copy, maybe make a compilation for reference. For the history of mercenary work."

"Want me to draw the lion?" Viktor joked.

Flik gave a laugh. "I always thought that was a bear."

"That was a LION, asshole."

"No need to get pissed immediately." Flik returned to his parchment, writing neatly. There was a moment of silence as Viktor finished writing off his personal report on each of the mercenaries who joined. Then, he looked up again and asked the large man, "Viktor, sorry for waking you last night."

"No..." Viktor looked up and grinned. "I was already awake."

"What for?" Flik cocked his head.

Viktor was about to make an answer but his words died in his throat. The sunlight pouring through the newly-installed windows, falling over Flik's golden hair, his smile, his pale face. It was truly beautiful. And he wondered what it would be like to see Flik, with his whole guard down, laughing at the silent, or wordlessly accepting its grace with open arms--

"Viktor?" Flik was waiting for an answer. "What for?"

The large man blinked. The room dimmed as clouds covered the sun. The moment had passed all too soon. "What for what?"

"Why were you awake?"

"I thought," Viktor replied, a little confused, "we already settled that issue."

Flik looked mildly surprised before giving him a smile and returning to his work. And Viktor glanced back at his report, mentally running the discussion in his mind once more, wondering if he had done or said anything to make Flik's hand clench again like that.

~ * ~

I thought it was because of me--

The mouth hovered over his again, and his heart skipped a beat, almost afraid. The hand ran over his chest, down his hips, towards his thighs--slowly, sensual movements over the clothing that protected his skin. He could not move as long as those hands touched him, because those were the exact same hands that had saved him. This is the exact same man who stood by his side for so many years.

Fingers draped over his trousers, tugging them off. His breath caught in his throat and he let it out in a deep, ragged breath, barely suppressing his moan as the hand reached down to capture his growing erection. He arched against the touch, biting his lip, letting out a small whimper.

A deep chuckle, followed by another kiss. It seemed to last forever before the other pulled away once more.

"I want you to stay awake because of me...but for a different reason."

~ * ~

"Need something else?"

Flik turned sharply to the owner of the voice and found Viktor sitting up on his bed, rubbing his eyes. He smiled. "No, no. Just returning these. Didn't think I should wait till tomorrow."

"Eh." Viktor stood and went beside him, taking the record from his hands and messily throwing it to his desk. "You're always the neat one. Now, get some sleep, Flik. You're making me lose mine." He turned away.

"Do I?"

Viktor paused beside his bed before turning to Flik. The man was dressed in his cotton shirt and trousers, boots, bandanna already discarded somewhere in his room. His blond hair fell over his face, and he seemed to be frowning.

"Huh?"

"Do I make you lose sleep?" Flik too a step towards him, then another. "I've been wondering...because...you're making me...lose mine, too."

"Flik--"

The name was the only syllable he was able to utter before Flik's mouth descended over his. Quickly, the feeling of rightness fell upon him as a blanket falls over the clothesline: without creases and folds, so that it may dry faster. The hand pushed him down the bed, the tongue plunging between his lips as he gave a startled gasp. He was bigger than Flik, but he would never hurt Flik. Never...the thought had never crossed his mind...

~ * ~

"What are you doing to me?" he gasped out once he wrenched away.

Flik took in a sharp breath, panting slightly. One hand was still clenched at Viktor's cotton shirt. "What am I doing to you?" he rasped out, eyes flashing. "Me?"

"It's not supposed--supposed to be..." Viktor attempted to push at him but Flik quickly brushed it off and pressed himself between Viktor's thighs, arms at either side of the other man's shoulder and looking down at him, pressed against the sheets. Not this, his mind shouted. This is Flik...the man who made himself to stone when Odessa died!

But the same man was leaning forward and capturing his mouth into another searing kiss, nibbling his way over his neck and--GODS--licking the slight wound inflicted on his skin. Viktor had had his share of women, but no one had quickly asserted the right to make him hers--not so fast.

And Flik...Flik was already winning. He was already pushing past through Viktor's shirt, his trousers. His fingers pressed insistently over his side, to cup his buttocks and pull him closer to feel his own groin; the friction of both emitted a low gasp from each. Viktor groaned and pressed his arms against the bed, trying to push himself up, to feel the delicious rhythm more.

Quickly, Flik fended it off and stood, undressing himself. He was immediately over Viktor, initiating him once more into the ancient dance of lovemaking, naked body over naked body, tongue sliding to meet not only another tongue but also neck, nipples, hard ridges of the stomach, to the abdomen, lower, lower--to the aching shaft that needed so much attention.

And when it felt like everything would explode, Flik pushed at Viktor, urging him to turn around to face the sheets. Viktor complied, too heavy with need to think twice, whimpering slightly when his partner disappeared momentarily and returned with a small bottle of oil that he coated on his fingers and member.

Wet, slick fingers entered Viktor's entrance. It made him feel uncomfortable, knowing somebody was handling him this close...but this person was Flik. So it was alright to be close...Flik...Flik was entering more fingers, rubbing it around and stretching until he moaned against the pillow, clenching the sheets.

"Flik," he moaned, and continued to say nonsense as the full weight of his partner fell over him, entering him. Flik gritted his teeth, feeling the tight entrance enclose around his sex, and he drew back slightly only to slam inside once more.

"This is," he gasped out, "what you do to me."

"What?" Viktor sobbed, tears squeezing out of his eyes, falling over the pillow. "Tell me...!"

"This--" Flik thrust again inside. "This--this constant ache--this needing--this want--YOU do this--Viktor! VIKTOR!" Harder.

"Unh!" Viktor bit his lip and came into his sheets, the white blanket rubbing against him as he fell over it once more, with Flik still inside. He squeezed his eyes shut and cried out as he came, flood after flood; a dam releasing its full strength from a shattered wall.

He arched his back, expression that of pure ecstasy, and Flik felt himself crumble. He gave one final moan and cried his lover's name once more before he came inside Viktor, hips convulsing as he poured himself over and over again, as if he had never experienced a climax his entire life.

"Gods..." He fell over Viktor's broad body, embracing the other man, closing his eyes.

Only then did Flik truly thought he could be able to sleep.

~ * ~

They cleaned up quickly, and Flik dragged the exhausted man towards his own room for them to sleep on his bed. They fell over it quickly and fell asleep, arms around each other, legs intertwined, back against chest. Flik against Viktor.

It was the first peaceful sleep they had in months.

~ * ~

The white stallion raised its legs in triumph, hair whipping against wind of the moonlight. His eyes were wild but wise, knowing. His muscles rippled gracefully, elegantly, and he fell back to the earth, snorting, neighing at the moon.

It had been met. The white stallion had succeeded.

~ * ~

Viktor opened his eyes slowly, saw Flik smiling at him, and blinked back. "Is it morning yet?" he mumbled.

"Not yet," Flik assured him in a whisper.

So Viktor closed his eyes and huddled closer to the warmth of the arms that embraced him, to the smile that gave him a sense of belonging. He wondered if he should tell Flik about the stallion he had dreamed. Or perhaps not. Maybe he could work on the tapestry without Flik knowing it, and hang it on the bare part of the wall of their office. It would be nice. Really.

Soft lips touched his forehead, raining over his face, turning hungry.

And he forgot all about it.