"Did I?" Keeler gasps on the tone, hitting precisely the chord to present apathy over shock. "I didn't notice."
Damn Encke's hands. Damn his teeth. He really hadn't noticed. Keeler tends to be entirely single-minded when there's a question of tactics on hand, and the whole of this exchange has been something of a feast for Keeler. Information, tech releases, strategem; he can subsist on it, just as readily as Encke on his precious peaches. And for all the world, he's found them to be far more satisfying.
As such, he hadn't touched the champagne, scarcely took notice of the food until Encke plied him with wine and a bit of cheese. And despite the veritable feast, Keeler limited himself to a single plate, plain food, and only as much alcohol as Encke saw fit to shove down his throat. Enough to set the room pleasantly swimming, without the impaired judgement that came with outright inebriation.
"Had to keep an eye on your decorations." Because there certainly are enough of them on Encke's jacket, and Keeler could swear he'd gotten food stuck on every single one before dinner was through; like he was making a sport of it. "Keep my man looking presentable for the brass. Why are you--"
Keeler purses his lips, realization dawning a beat too late. Bruises -- hickies -- on his throat. Encke's hair is too short to yank him away by, but Keeler makes due with nails at the back of his neck, biting in crescents, dragging welts into his skin.
"Encke," he snaps. "Where I can hide them. We've talked about this."
Not that it ever makes an impression, but hope springs eternal.
no subject
Damn Encke's hands. Damn his teeth. He really hadn't noticed. Keeler tends to be entirely single-minded when there's a question of tactics on hand, and the whole of this exchange has been something of a feast for Keeler. Information, tech releases, strategem; he can subsist on it, just as readily as Encke on his precious peaches. And for all the world, he's found them to be far more satisfying.
As such, he hadn't touched the champagne, scarcely took notice of the food until Encke plied him with wine and a bit of cheese. And despite the veritable feast, Keeler limited himself to a single plate, plain food, and only as much alcohol as Encke saw fit to shove down his throat. Enough to set the room pleasantly swimming, without the impaired judgement that came with outright inebriation.
"Had to keep an eye on your decorations." Because there certainly are enough of them on Encke's jacket, and Keeler could swear he'd gotten food stuck on every single one before dinner was through; like he was making a sport of it. "Keep my man looking presentable for the brass. Why are you--"
Keeler purses his lips, realization dawning a beat too late. Bruises -- hickies -- on his throat. Encke's hair is too short to yank him away by, but Keeler makes due with nails at the back of his neck, biting in crescents, dragging welts into his skin.
"Encke," he snaps. "Where I can hide them. We've talked about this."
Not that it ever makes an impression, but hope springs eternal.