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The delegation from the Cod Empire has been here for a whole week and Fwhip still hasn’t had a single moment alone with Jimmy. Sure, he’s been able to go out on a few semi-informal excursions and tours of various places around the Grimlands, but every single time, the two of them have to be accompanied by guards and advisors and chiefs of staff and aides and even poets of all things. Every. Single. Time.
It’s terrible. The universe is clearly plotting against Fwhip and it’s so unfair— all he wants is an hour or maybe four to seven hours alone with Jimmy so he can look at him without worrying how it looks to other people and tell him he looks handsome and maybe work up the courage to say just how much he’s wanted to be near him again—
What is he even thinking? The universe isn’t out to get him. Fwhip is just impatient and frustrated.
He’s also making the waiting into a much bigger problem than it actually is. Get it together, Fwhip, some people have actual problems.
But no matter how much he says that— or Gem says it to him— he still wants to throw himself a pity party. Hence why he’s sulking up in his room instead of taking a nice evening walk around Eastvale.
Fwhip huffs and buries his face in his pillow, unwilling to look at the snow falling outside. It’s beautiful, but it’s just reminding him of how nice the first day was, when the snow started falling while he and Jimmy and maybe a whole third of Jimmy’s entourage were out in the city and Jimmy lifted his head up and made an unguarded expression of awe that made a mildly distracted Fwhip walk straight into the stone wall of a house.
He wanted to do so many things with Jimmy. Hold his hand while they were walking. Kiss him. Just be alone with him, so they could talk about something besides foreign policy or commerce or whatever boring, trivial topics were appropriate for informal settings.
He really wants to sit down and apologize, again.
Even though, deep down, he knows that Jimmy has already forgiven him.
There’s a knock at Fwhip’s door. Probably his senior advisor again. Or Gem. Void bless the two of them— they’ve both been patient this week dealing with Fwhip whenever he needs reassurance or a shoulder to cry on. Even though they both make fun of him in their own ways as they do so.
He needs to get a grip. He’s practically mourning the departure of Jimmy already despite the fact that the delegation is still here for another week. The winter solstice celebrations will continue on for a while longer, and Fwhip might still have a chance to…
“Fwhip?”
Fwhip lifts his head, his breath catching in his throat.
That’s not Gem. Or anyone on his staff. It’s—
“Jimmy?” he breathes.
“Huh? Fwhip? You in here?”
Fwhip falls off the bed in his haste to get up.
“Jimmy?” he says, nearly tripping over himself as he scurries towards the door.
Jimmy is standing in the open doorway. He’s dressed in black breeches, a loose white tunic and a beautifully embroidered wide green sash wrapped around his middle. He’s also wearing the colorful woven cloak that he’d been given on the first day by one of Eastvale’s citizens. His eyes blink a few times when he sees Fwhip, but then a smile eases over his face. Carefully, he shuts the door behind him.
“I snuck out of my room,” he whispers. “Is that okay? I didn’t want to bother you if you’re about to sleep, or if—”
“You’re not bothering me!” Fwhip says quickly. “I was just— uh.” No, no, he can’t admit that he was moping about wanting to spend time with Jimmy. Not to his face. But for some reason, it’s hard to come up with a believable lie when faced with the literal person of his daydreams. And maybe his actual dreams as well.
“I said I was going to lie down and sleep early, then I snuck out the window,” Jimmy says, a conspiratorial smirk spreading across his face. “My chief of security won’t be happy if he checks in and finds me missing, but I think he might finally be convinced I’m not going to be assassinated here. So long as I’m back by morning, he probably won’t notice I left.”
Fwhip winces. Jimmy had mentioned earlier that most of the people who accompanied him on the trip were open-minded and amiable to the prospect of mending relations between the two empires. He supposes that it’s fair that a few of them aren’t quite so magnanimous. Probably best that his chief of security is one of them, all things considered. It’s good that someone is taking Jimmy’s safety seriously, even though Fwhip has done everything in his power to ensure that as well.
“I promise you won’t be assassinated in my room,” Fwhip says. “My staff and guards have been working around the clock to make sure you can just enjoy the holiday without any worries.”
“I know,” Jimmy says. And he says it so easily, as if he never once worried. Fwhip’s heart melts a little. “I trust you.”
Fwhip presses his lips together firmly. He feels very warm, and it has nothing to do with the fire crackling away in the fireplace.
“Wow, you have a good view from up here,” Jimmy says, walking past Fwhip to look out the window. Fwhip forces himself out of his stunned state and walks after him.
“Yeah,” Fwhip manages to say. He looks at Jimmy looking at the window— wide enough to show off a complete view of Eastvale and the distant hills of the Grimlands beyond. At night, it’s hard to see the dark rocky spires that split out of the earth, but the glittering lanterns and lights of the city underneath a brilliant canopy of stars provides a scenic display that Fwhip doesn’t often tire of seeing.
Of course, right now, he’d rather look at Jimmy, and how the faint glow of the moon illuminates him in the otherwise dark room.
“And I thought the view from my room was good,” Jimmy says with a small laugh, moving closer to lean against the window seat. “This is almost as crazy as the view from Joel’s palace.”
Fwhip manages a genuine laugh at that. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s hard to compete with Mezalean architecture and the natural beauty there. The Matral Palace is one of the wonders of the world, and I imagine the views from those towers are amazing.”
Jimmy tilts his head at Fwhip. “Hang on. You’ve never been there?”
Fwhip shrugs, shuffling slightly in place. “I’ve been a, uh, a guest of Joel’s but I’ve never been inside the palace, no. We’ve got a trade agreement, but, uh. I guess Mezalea and the Grimlands have never really been allies. Not officially. Politically, it wouldn’t be right for me to visit his palace, much less to spend the night there.”
“I guess,” Jimmy says. He rubs a hand against his neck, where his hair pokes out from under the ceremonial headdress that he wears everywhere. The Codfather’s Head— made of ancient petrified bone and decorated with gold and prismarine and mother of pearl. Fwhip thinks he’s gotten used to seeing it without feeling so guilty now.
“But it’s really beautiful,” Jimmy says, sounding wistful. “You should see if Joel will invite you for the. Um. The High Festival of Red Sands? Ah… that translation is a bit misleading— it’s not really about sand, it’s all about celebrating colors in arts and crafts. People make art and paint themselves with dye powders and there are parades and balloons and— and so much. It’s a lot of fun.”
“It sounds amazing,” Fwhip says. “When is it?”
“During—” Jimmy says a word in his language that Fwhip doesn’t think he’s heard before. He pauses. “Hm. I guess… It’s in the spring. About two months from now.”
“Oh, that’s plenty of time to mend the relationship between our two peoples and get myself invited, huh?” Fwhip jokes. But when Jimmy nods eagerly, he relaxes a little.
“You can sit down if you want,” he says, gesturing towards the window seat. “Come on, enjoy the view. That’s what I was doing when you knocked on the door.” It wasn’t, actually, but it’s a good enough lie.
Jimmy promptly sits down and leans towards the window, entranced again. Fwhip notices how he also draws the cloak tighter around his shoulders and shivers.
“Here, let me get a blanket,” he says quickly.
“Oh, you don’t need—”
But Fwhip is already pulling the big blanket off his bed. And then he grabs another two blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed and carries all three in an uncoordinated bundle to the window seat. He hands the biggest blanket to Jimmy, and then uses another of them to lay against the cushion of the window seat that borders the window, blocking out some of the cold. The last one he’s prepared to give to Jimmy as well, but Jimmy has already taken the blanket and laid it partly over his lap. He then reaches up and takes Fwhip’s hand.
Fwhip goes still.
Jimmy also goes still.
Their eyes meet.
Jimmy is backlit by the moonlight. His exposed fins and scales catch the light and refract it almost hypnotically. He looks otherworldly, and Fwhip’s breath catches in his throat again. He wants Jimmy so badly that it actually hurts. His hand is still held in Jimmy’s, and he should pull away— should put the distance between the two of them again because that’s what is right— he’s hurt Jimmy so badly and he doesn’t think he deserves this chance to try to mend it… but he wants. He wants Jimmy. He wants to hold his hand and ask to visit the Cod Empire and he wants to go to Mezalea for the High Festival of Red Sands just to see Jimmy there. He wants to kiss Jimmy.
He doesn’t pull away.
“You can sit down too,” Jimmy says, his voice soft. “‘Cause… it’s your room. Your seat.”
Fwhip swallows. He breathes in carefully. And then, slowly, gingerly, he moves to sit down next to Jimmy. They’re so close that if Fwhip was brave— selfish— enough to move closer, their legs would be touching. Fwhip doesn’t know if he’s ready for that. He knows he doesn’t deserve it. He wants it anyway.
Jimmy is still holding his hand.
“This is okay?” he whispers.
Fwhip nods. “Yeah.”
Finally, Jimmy lets go. The warmth from the contact lingers on Fwhip’s skin.
Jimmy adjusts the blanket so that half of it lies on top of Fwhip’s lower body.
“That’s better, right?” Jimmy says.
Fwhip nods again. He makes an attempt to brace himself before lifting his gaze up to look at Jimmy again. And, really, even if he had a whole year to ready himself for the sight he sees, he knows it would not be enough. Not for the sight of the gentle smile on Jimmy’s face. Fwhip’s heart aches.
“Hi,” he breathes out.
It’s a stupid thing to say, but Jimmy just tilts his head to the side for a moment and says, “Hi,” in return. His smile hasn’t left his face.
Fwhip’s heart is aching with want. If he thinks about it much more, he might start shaking. Or crying, or— But there shouldn’t be any need for that, should there? Because Jimmy is here.
Jimmy came here— this was his own decision.
Jimmy came to the Grimlands, but right here, right now, he came here. And now he’s here, sitting in front of the window with Fwhip, so close that Fwhip could reach out and touch him again. Maybe now, he’s finally allowed to do so. Maybe he’s done enough to deserve this.
He wants to reach out. Jimmy’s hand is right there, resting comfortably on top of the blanket that usually lies on Fwhip’s bed. He’s still looking at Fwhip, maybe waiting for him to do something.
Is this permission?
Is this trust?
Fwhip turns towards the window instead. Coward, coward, coward.
“S-still a good view though, huh?” he says, belatedly.
Jimmy turns as well, and if Fwhip thought he was beautiful in the faint glow deeper in the room, or backlit by the moonlight, then he’s incomparably more stunning now that he’s fully illuminated. The moonlight filtered through the glass is a blue-ish light, and against Jimmy’s green and gold fins and scales, it transforms his visage into an array of shades of blue and blue-green. It’s like something out of a dream. Fwhip briefly wonders if this is what Jimmy looks like when he’s deep in the water, in his sister’s domain.
“I’ve got something for you,” he blurts out, trying to focus on the little secret so that he doesn’t slip and say something extremely forward.
Jimmy looks back at him. “What is it?”
“A gift.”
“Oh?” Jimmy perks up at that. Then he seems to force himself down again. “I thought we’re supposed to wait until the actual solstice for that.”
“Well, yeah,” Fwhip says. “But that’s going to be a whole fancy ceremony and I—” he nearly chokes on his words, but he forces himself to keep talking, “I told myself that if I had the chance, I’d give this to you personally. This is from me; this wasn’t chosen by my head of foreign policy to be a diplomatic gesture from the Count of the Grimlands. Nobody but me picked this out.”
“What is it?” Jimmy says, looking intrigued.
Fwhip hesitates. Oh, he’s really going to do this. He can’t back out of this now, and it’s not like he can pretend it’s something else. Jimmy is expecting something personal, and, perhaps most importantly, if Fwhip doesn’t give this to him now, he’s going to regret it.
With slightly shaky hands, Fwhip pushes the blanket back and goes over to his desk. The box in the bottom drawer is tiny enough to hold in one hand, and he almost feels like he’s going to drop it and it’ll somehow bounce into the fireplace and be gone forever. But he makes it all the way back to the seat. And as he’s pulling the blanket back over him, Jimmy scoots forwards.
Fwhip’s heart is in his throat. Jimmy’s eyes are on the tiny box.
“What is it?” Jimmy whispers.
Fwhip opens the box and holds it out to Jimmy.
It’s a set of earrings. Jimmy obviously wears jewelry all the time— Fwhip has seen him in diamonds, pearls, gold, copper, prismarine, glazed terracotta beads, and countless other things. It’s a typical look for him, no matter where he is, and it still makes Fwhip a bit breathless when he thinks about it.
And Fwhip has often entertained the idea of seeing Jimmy wearing this instead.
It’s not redstone. That would be a little too dangerous to make into jewelry. But the rubies are the same color as the redstone ores that Fwhip’s people find in their deepest mines. The gems are fitted into dark silver ornaments, imitating the traditional colors of the Grimlands. It’s… it’s so very transparent, what Fwhip is saying with this gift. It’s almost embarrassing how he wants Jimmy to wear Fwhip’s colors. As jewelry, no less. All the while he was having these made, he tried very hard not to think about what might happen if Jimmy wore them at any sort of political meeting.
“Oh,” Jimmy gasps. “They’re so pretty. Is it redstone?”
“No, they’re rubies,” Fwhip says.
“Oh, wow,” Jimmy says. He takes one of them out of the box and immediately takes off one of the sets of earrings he’s wearing so he can put the new ones on. Fwhip feels incredibly lightheaded at the sight, and it’s exacerbated even further when Jimmy touches them carefully with his fingertips and then leans forwards.
“How do I look?”
Fwhip makes a strangled sound. “Nice,” he says. “Really nice.”
The red stands out sharply against the green and gold of Jimmy’s fins. It’s a bright, bold color, even in the muted blue light of the moon. It’s absolutely eye-catching. Fwhip really hopes that Jimmy will put those back into the box once he’s gone back to his room and also that he’ll hide the box somewhere and not take it out again until he’s back in the Cod Empire. Void curse him. What was he thinking?
But Fwhip also really likes the sight of Jimmy wearing them.
“Thank you,” Jimmy says, smiling. “I… well, I don’t have a gift with me to give to you. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Fwhip says quickly. “There’s the gift giving on the solstice—”
“But those are all political statements,” Jimmy protests. “Like you said. Everything we brought had to be approved by a whole council of people, and they didn’t approve any of my suggestions. I want to at least give you something in return for this.”
“Really, it’s fine,” Fwhip assures him. “You gave that conduit the first day. You can’t tell me that you didn’t have some input in the decorations on that.” Or the fact that gifting it was the first thing Jimmy did in the Grimlands, right after saying hello.
“Let me at least give you a proper thanks,” Jimmy says. Suddenly he’s leaning closer, and any further protests instantly dry up in Fwhip’s throat.
“Uh. What are—”
Jimmy’s hand lifts up and— and he’s touching Fwhip’s shoulder. There’s several layers of fabric between Jimmy’s hand and Fwhip’s skin, but Fwhip is nevertheless frozen in place, memorizing the weight and feel of Jimmy’s hand.
“If you don’t want this…” Jimmy whispers.
Fwhip breathes in. He breathes out. He can’t look at anything but Jimmy’s face, framed on either side by those glinting red earrings. He moves closer. There’s barely any space between them now. Fwhip can feel Jimmy’s soft breaths on the skin of his face.
“I want to do this,” Jimmy whispers. “I’ve wanted this… for a while.” There’s a moment of silence, and Fwhip wonders if Jimmy’s heart could possibly be beating as loud as his own.
“Tell me to stop,” Jimmy says.
“I won’t,” Fwhip whispers in return. “I want it too.”
Jimmy leans closer, closes his eyes, and kisses him.
Fwhip kisses back.
Jimmy’s lips are far softer than Fwhip imagined. Yes, of course he’s imagined this. Kissing Jimmy, having him close enough to even think about telling him how he feels. And all of those dreamed-up fantasies are rapidly crumbling away with the real thing. With Jimmy’s lips pressing along Fwhip’s, a gentle warmth and a measured pressure that Fwhip wants to consume him. He kisses back, trying to capture Jimmy’s lips with his own. Jimmy’s fingers put slightly more pressure against the skin of Fwhip’s face, and Fwhip longs for the boldness to catch Jimmy’s wrist in his own hand, because he wants this, he’s wanted this for so long, and it’s everything he could never have dreamed of.
It’s better than anything he’s dreamed of.
It’s real.
This is really happening.
But it’s not enough, especially not when Jimmy starts to pull back to take a breath. Fwhip leans into the space that’s opened between them to chase after Jimmy’s lips, desperate to commit this to memory because he wants this, he wants Jimmy, he wants so much and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be given this again.
A soft, pleased hum. Jimmy pulls away again, and he’s smiling and Fwhip wants to kiss him again because he’s just so beautiful.
“Stop that,” Jimmy laughs. “That’s my gift, if you keep that up then it defeats the purpose of me thanking you for your gift.”
“I don’t care,” Fwhip says. He catches Jimmy’s face in his hands— he’s touching him, he’s touching Jimmy— and holds him close so he can kiss him again.
Jimmy’s own hands lower to rest on Fwhip’s waist. And he holds him just as close, their legs pressing together as they twist on the window seat to curl closer together, their lips unable to stray far from one another.
Fwhip never wants this to end. This wasn’t what he was expecting— it’s like his dreams and his fantasies came together to give him a solstice gift he thought he’d never deserve. And oh, he doesn’t want this to end.
It will end, he knows that. Jimmy will have to leave and go back to his rooms and Fwhip will have to adhere to the rules and there will always be a dozen delegates and guards from both the Grimlands and the Cod Empire to serve as chaperones wherever they go or whatever they do. And in another week, Jimmy will leave the Grimlands and return home. And Jimmy’s actual allies will be able to visit whenever they want and all Fwhip will have is his memories. And life will continue on as it always does.
But for tonight, they’ve stolen away a moment of peaceful solitude. For tonight, they’re together, and nobody is here to observe them or break them apart.
“Let’s say you owe me another kiss,” Fwhip whispers against Jimmy’s skin. “I’ll ask for it someday.”
“That sounds fine by me,” Jimmy says.
They’ve ended up reclining on the window seat, partially tangled in the blankets. Jimmy is on his back and Fwhip is half lying on top of him. It would be a terribly improper sight for anyone to see.
But Jimmy looks happy. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. And the way that he’s looking at Fwhip, maybe he sees something special too.
Fwhip decides that he’ll believe it’s true.