He closed the dossier.
“I’m being punished, aren’t I?”
Dwarf ex-sailor, human thief, both from families with suspected Harlequin ties; human nobleman with questionable family history as well; halfling just out of uni-
-oh gods , no. He’d be babysitting a Tahan ? Oscar closed his eyes and wondered who he’d offended.
Families, he decided, were the problem. The agents were probably lovely individuals. Their families were going to make Oscar’s life hell.
Still. If nothing else, he could likely get an article out of that MacGuffingham chap.
Always a silver lining, he hummed, and prepared to meet his agents.
He tasted blood; his head throbbed; he couldn’t move. Voices - the dw- Zolf , and further, Hamid. Ah. Still with fr- with allies, at least.
“Wilde. Wilde , we have to move. ”
Time was moving oddly. He stood (he thought); stumbled forward (perhaps); tried. Desperately. To. Think .
It hurt. Oscar moaned, but it was music enough, and a rumble on the road growled his success.
He blinked. Different place. Same people. Moving. Chased.
Do something. Yes. Do...
A second’s clarity, enough to breathe, enough to hum, enough to shove . Above, his dragon roared, people scattered. Oscar smiled, and they ran.
He never expected they’d end up here. Zolf had been a suspect , an agent employed not for his usefulness, but to keep him close. Then Zolf had been gone , vanished into the wind after the disaster that was Paris, before the disaster that was Prague.
Now, Zolf was between his legs, Oscar’s cock hard in the wet heat of his mouth and throat, and as Oscar’s orgasm dragged through him like a riptide, he wondered how he could ever have thought of Zolf as anything but beloved.
Trust came hard these days, but then... so did Oscar.