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“What exactly is the point,” Reynard’s fingernails dig into his palms, his patience near breaking, “of endless bloody strategy meetings if you’re going to throw everything out the second the wind so much as shifts?”
“Precisely,” Roche tilts his head back as Reynard steps closer, “I told you your preparations were worthless but you never listen.”
“I am a general, Commander, and if you refuse to-”
“-You may technically outrank me, Odo, but I still have a functioning country to serve-”
The blow is delivered before Reynard can even think, a quick strike to Roche’s sharp jaw. The commander needs no more than half a second to react before he’s launching himself across the room. Both men crash to the floor, scattering maps and scout’s reports on the way down.
Reynard is taller, broader - has an outright strength advantage despite his age and prior injuries - but Roche fights like a feral cat. Dirty fingernails reach for his eyes.
“Fight fair, damn you-”
“-No such thing as a fair fight,” Roche growls, “that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you-”
Reynard flips Roche onto his back and pins him, leaving one hand free to yank the chaperon off and smash that thick fucking skull against the stone floor.
He’s as angry as he’s ever been, rage blurring his vision as he grasps Roche by the throat. But he doesn’t choke him, just tightens his grip in warning until he can feel a thundering pulse racing against his fingers. Roche’s body has gone limp beneath him, dazed.
Panic floods his stomach. If he’s seriously injured a high-ranking Temerian military commander- well, he could kiss the tiny shred of autonomy that is all that remains of Lyria and Rivia’s armies goodbye.
But when he loosens his grip Roche clutches his hand, the dazed look in his dark eyes replaced by something else.
“Don’t stop,” Roche pants, “not when we’re finally getting along.”
Reynard freezes, taking stock of the situation with his typical battlefield acuity. Roche’s breathing has turned fast and shallow, his pulse a rapid flutter. He slots a knee between Roche’s thighs and the man groans, grinding his erection against his leg. Interesting.
Their mouths meet clumsily, a crash of lips and teeth. Reynard gets a hand on Roche first and strokes him mercilessly. If he can’t get the infuriating bastard to listen to him, he can at least make him beg.