Fair and Square

"You," Fairwind said, voice raised accusatorily over the clamour of the tavern, watching gimlet-eyed as Shaw placed his trump card. It initiated a cascade of moves that cleared his entire setup from the board. "Are cheating."

"So are you."

Shaw collected the pot and swept his cards up, shuffled them and placed them square on the game board, nudging with his fingertips until they were aligned precisely in their stack. Once satisfied, he looked up at Fairwind with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't think I didn't notice the extra card in your hand last round, Captain."

"That's rich coming from you, Mr. Legendary Forgery. The back pattern gave it away, just so you know. Wrong shade of blue. Who palmed that doozy off onto you?"

Fairwind was spread out in his chair, one arm slung over the back of it. He appeared to be enjoying their argument as much as, if not more than, their game, though his drink had sat empty through most of last round, so he was taking things seriously enough that he wouldn't trust Shaw alone with the board even to get a fresh one. It was endearing, in a way, that it had taken him this long to realise that it didn't make a spit of difference.

"Actually, I made it myself," Shaw informed him.

"Of course." Fairwind lifted his empty glass, stared to the bottom of it and put it back down again, then threw a wistful glance in the direction of the bar. "Should've known. You are a man of many illicit talents."

"We aren't so different in that regard."

"Careful, that could almost be taken as a compliment. Or a come-on, for that matter."

Shaw paused in the process of divvying up the seaglass that Kul Tirans used for mana markers. Trust Fairwind to see it that way. "Slip of the tongue," he said, selecting a coin from his winnings. "Call for first play."

"Tails." Fairwind leant over the table. "Say, how about we make things a bit more interesting."

"What do you have in mind?" Shaw said, and flipped the coin.

Fairwind plucked it from mid-air. "If I win this round, you have to say something genuinely nice to me. On purpose."

"Hmm. And if you lose?"

"I won't make fun of you for a whole week."

"Two weeks."

"Ten days."

"Deal."

Fairwind slapped his hand onto the table, then lifted it to look at the coin. Heads. "Damn," he said. "Hey, lend me this, would you? You've cleaned me out."

It was always in Shaw's interest to know every game piece both on the board and off, and each move likely to be made at least two turns before it happened. For most of his life he'd strived to manipulate and orchestrate and guide events to their most optimal outcome with sleight of hand and knife in shadow, and so, naturally, he lost the next round.

Which Fairwind was currently pointing out to him, in detail and at length, while they made their way along the promenade and towards the docks. Shaw had endured less exhaustive reviews of more critical failures.

"Okay then," Fairwind said, finally winding down. His longcoat luffed in the sea wind as they walked, occasionally slapping the back of Shaw's legs. "As agreed. Let me have it with the flattery. Both barrels."

"If you insist," Shaw said. "You're very good at filling perfectly serviceable silences."

"There's no need to be like that. I won fair and square. Be nice."

"No, you didn't. You cheated again."

"You did too, so it evens out."

Shaw shook his head. There were a number of things he could say to Fairwind here, though the more likely they were to satisfy him, the more likely they were to tip Shaw's hand further than he cared. In retrospect, this may have been a more expensive wager than he'd anticipated.

He prepared to dissemble as necessary. "You've a soft heart," he said, and left it at that.

"Look, I know that you know that I know that you—" Fairwind paused a moment to regain control of that particular sentence. "I know you don't really think that's commendable."

He was beginning to sound affronted. While that wasn't entirely unlike him, it did usually take something more than a perceived slight to get him heated. Then again, it had been apparent from the start that Fairwind had more invested in this beyond trying to vex him. Shaw drew him to a halt.

"I do," he said. "For what it's worth. But I can see how it wouldn't mean much, coming from someone who could stand to be kinder than he is." Then, in a fit of ill judgement, since Fairwind was inclined to lay his cards on the table at the slightest provocation, he said, "Truth is, I don't know what it is you want from me."

"You're such a liar," Fairwind said ruefully.

"Show me a man who claims that he isn't, and I'll show you one more." Shaw inclined his head. "Good night, Captain."

"Shaw, hey." Fairwind caught him with a hand on his arm. He seemed to be mustering all the drunk sincerity he could. "Since we're dishing out the compliments like there's no tomorrow, I—er. Just want you to know that I think you're a good man. When it comes down to it, I mean. Even if you aren't a fair one."

It felt strange, and somewhat absurd, to be touched by that. "That's a matter of some debate," Shaw said. "And your baseline may be skewed, besides."

"Oh, definitely." The harbour lanterns laid warm light in Fairwind's hair and over the battered leather of his longcoat, and caught his grin. "But here's something less debatable." He leant in to speak into Shaw's ear, his voice low, satisfaction curling through it. "You threw that game, and you threw it hard."

"And what does that tell you?" Shaw murmured back.

"Plenty." Fairwind rocked back onto his heels, hands in the pockets of his longcoat, then turned and continued on at an idle pace. "For instance, you must like it when I take the piss out of you since you didn't want to go a week without it."

"Ten days," Shaw immediately corrected, then caught his tongue as that was a detail entirely beside the point. "A shrewd assessment, but unfortunately for you, a wrong one."

"Shrewd, eh? That's a bit more like it." Fairwind rolled his shoulders back and tipped his chin up. The wind, or perhaps the drink, had pinked his nose and cheeks. "What else have you got—any thoughts on my prowess in combat? Adaptability and resourcefulness? My considerable good looks?"

"All adequate," Shaw said, which made Fairwind laugh. He was quick to laugh at a lot of things Shaw said. That was novel, though veered wildly between irritating and pleasing depending on Shaw's mood and intent.

"And my discretion?" Fairwind said. "What about that."

"Non-existent."

"Perfect. That means I can just come right out and say it." Fairwind held up a finger. "The real reason you threw the game is because you want to say something nice to me."

"A generous interpretation."

"But not a wrong one, I think."

The best way for Shaw to handle this would be to lapse into an impenetrable silence. The problem with that was, as Shaw had taken pains to point out, Fairwind had never met a silence he couldn't make beg for mercy.

"I won't lie, Captain. My first impressions of you were poor, and only partly because your reputation preceded you."

"Can't say I'd heard of you at all."

"As intended," Shaw said without missing a beat and to an explosive 'ha!' from Fairwind. "But first impressions aren't immutable. I could stand by my initial thoughts, but it would only be to reassure myself I hadn't been wrong. And that would make me doubly wrong."

Fairwind's forehead creased in bemused frown. "Well, that's certainly a thing to say to a fellow after he's taken a jab."

"If you doubt something," Shaw said, "then you're more likely to take a closer look. And when you look more closely, more often than not you discover what people say is the truth is anything but."

"What's that, an old spy proverb?"

"You're a capable man, Captain," Shaw said, continuing to ignore his interjections. "Good form, fast reflexes. You think on your feet."

"Oh. Thanks." Fairwind became subdued of a sudden, a small, pleased smile on his face. Curious. Shaw had anticipated outrageous preening.

"You're inventive in the field," he continued, just to see how Fairwind would react. "You make good use of any and all opportunities that present themselves."

"Thanks," Fairwind said again, and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I try. Mostly."

"Sometimes you make decisions that I'd call less than prudent, if I'm being generous—"

"Oh, you were doing so well."

"But on the whole, I'm somewhat impressed." Shaw raised his eyebrows. "Am I embarrassing you?"

"Nah," Fairwind said. Then, after a few scuffed paces: "Me? Embarrassed? Never!"

"I thought this was what you wanted to hear."

"It is. I just—" Fairwind's grin turned genuinely sheepish. "I didn't expect you'd actually say any of it."

"Well, none of it is untrue."

Shaw paused. He could stop here, bid Fairwind goodnight and consider it a pleasant evening spent. He should stop here. Instead, he stole a glance at Fairwind's profile; his rough-shaven jaw and altogether too generous mouth, his bold nose, the pleasing solidity to his features. Shaw wouldn't go so far as to say he had a type, but it'd never been a chore to keep an eye on him.

"And, objectively speaking," Shaw said, already weighing up the consequences, finding them unthinkable and yet unwilling, or unable, to stop himself. "You are a handsome man."

Fairwind all but tripped over his own feet. "... come again?"

Shaw felt the tips of his ears burn. This was utter foolishness. He shook his head. "You wanted my thoughts. And, objectively—"

"Objectively."

"Objectively speaking—"

Fairwind snorted. "Objectively. All right, all right, fine." The wind caught the lapel of his longcoat and he laid it down again with one hand, his fingers curling a moment into the matted fleece lining. His expression turned a little coy, a little wicked. "So, hey. How about another wager?"

A simply terrible idea. It would be inexcusable for Shaw to encourage this any further. Unprofessional, at the very best. He couldn't afford to have his head full of Fairwind and his nonsense.

"If I can set the terms," he said.

"Run 'em by me, then."

"If I lose, you can ask me whatever question you like," Shaw said, watching incredulity slowly spread across Fairwind's face with every word. "And I promise to answer truthfully. I can ask the same of you, if you lose."

He knew Fairwind well enough to know the kind of thing he'd ask. This was not a risk he was taking with any hope of coming out unscathed.

Fairwind stared at him levelly, searching his face to see if it was a joke, and when Shaw remained meticulously serious, wet his lips. "You're on," he said. "Hearthstone again? When are you next free?"

"Not certain. It may be a while."

"Oh. Er, all right, okay, how about—"

"So," Shaw quietly interrupted. "I forfeit."

Again, Fairwind's disbelief, though this time it quickly turned to amusement. "Well, that wasn't very subtle."

"What's your question, Fairwind?" Shaw said with a brusqueness that wasn't completely feigned.

"Hmm." Fairwind rubbed at his beard. "Can I get back to you on that?"

"Ideally, no."

"I mean, I'd like a day or two to think about it. Mull it over. Weigh up my options."

"I don't think you've ever kept your mind on anything for more than ten minutes, never mind a day or two."

"Oh! That's out of order, Master Shaw," Fairwind said. He gave Shaw a merry shove with his shoulder, not nearly enough to set him off balance but Shaw took a steadying grip of his big damn arm anyway.

Fairwind's eyes flicked from Shaw's hand on his biceps, to his face, his eyes. He raked his lower lip between his teeth.

"Okay, I thought of a question," he said. "Are you ready? I just want to make sure you're prepared for—"

"Ask it."

Fairwind turned as apprehensive as Shaw had ever seen him, but he met Shaw's eyes steadily enough. He took a breath, and with all the casualness one might comment on the weather, said, "Do you want to kiss me?"

Not 'can I kiss you', which was what Shaw had anticipated. That would have been an easier one to field. Such a simple shift of framing, and yet it threatened to unearth a more significant truth. Despite his own manoeuvering Shaw had the distinct feeling he'd been hustled from the moment he'd played his first card.

But for all his irritation, the answer was the same. Shaw searched for a reply that was truthful but not direct, that would afford him some measure of safety without being too much of a discouragement. All were transparent at best, desperate at worst.

Nothing left to do but fold his hand.

"Yes," he said.

His voice was mercifully steady even if the rest of him was not, and he couldn't regret his answer when it meant the return of Flynn's easy smile, the one that made his cheeks dimple and his eyes shine. He leant in and Shaw's heart thumped to think he was about to be kissed, heat rising in his face, a shiver prickling up his spine—

But Flynn only whispered to him in playful, conspiratorial tones. "Have you been flirting with me all this time, Spymaster?"

"I said one question, and one question only." Shaw let the corner of his mouth turn up. "But nice of you to finally notice."

They'd halted a while at the end of the promenade. From here it was a short walk to the Redemption, and the end of the evening. Surely if they weren't going to kiss now, they never would. Shaw felt frustration rise in him at the thought, and something akin to panic—Flynn's face was inclined close to his, his expression searching and his breath warm on Shaw's cheek, but he made no further move.

"I say we call your forfeit a draw," he said lightly. "So. Is there anything you want to ask me before you say goodnight?"

"As a matter of fact there is. Are you going carry on being a wretched tease, or are you going to kiss me?"

"Ah!" said Flynn, and there was Shaw's answer. Teasing it was. "That's up to you. You're the one who wants to do the kissing, remember."

Shaw managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, but not at all from muttering, "Light, you're maddening." He decided to take things into his own hands. Flynn was always so thrilled when he was willing to tease him back that they'd be here all night otherwise.

He grabbed the lapels of Flynn's coat and tugged him in.

Flynn met him halfway. His hands went around Shaw's waist, pulling him against his chest just as their lips touched. Shaw made a hungry sound in his throat despite himself; Flynn made a questioning noise in return and then laughed against his mouth. It seemed he meant to keep the kiss light, for whatever reason—more teasing, no doubt—so Shaw tightened his fists and yanked until Flynn's shoulders stopped hitching and he found his manners enough to devote himself in earnest.

And devote he did. For a moment there was nothing in Shaw's world but the warm firm press of Flynn's body, the drift of his fingertips over his waist, the rough scrape of his stubble and the yielding softness of his mouth, finally. Blood crashed in his ears like the waves against a sea wall. Slowly, his hands gave up their grip on Flynn's coat and made their way to his shoulders, his neck, his face.

Light, he should have taken off his gloves.

Flynn was the first to pull back. Shaw dragged the curve of his lower lip through his teeth as he did.

"Well." Flynn's face was flushed, his breath coming quickly. He discarded whatever he was going to say next in favour of kissing Shaw again, as though he couldn't help himself. He certainly didn't seem able to help himself from squeezing Shaw's rear while he did so.

"Keep doing that..." Shaw trailed off as Flynn hustled him up against the balustrade and pressed in close, closer, enveloping him in his warmth so that the leather and liquor and salt-scent of him chased every last word from Shaw's mind.

"Don't mind if I do." Flynn dove in for another kiss, his hand stroking through Shaw's hair to cradle the back of his head.

"Keep doing that," Shaw tried again. He found he was clinging to Flynn's shoulders, but he was far beyond being embarrassed about that. "And I'll have to take you home with me."

Flynn laughed. "To Stormwind?"

Shaw gave him a shake, for his playful obtuseness and because that was something to talk about later. "To my cabin. In fact—let's make that an order, shall we?"

Flynn pulled back just far enough to grin brilliantly. "Aye, aye, sir!"

"By the way," Flynn said later, splayed out in Shaw's bunk, sheened with sweat and breathless. "Pretty sure there's no such thing."

"No such thing as what?" Shaw's cheek was mashed against Flynn's shoulder but he didn't much mind. Flynn's fingers were stroking along his back, down his spine, taking diversions whenever they met a scar. He let his eyes drift closed, relaxing until his breathing became slow and deep and his sensory world was the winding travels of Flynn's fingers, the thump of his heart, the scent of warmed soap and salt on his skin, the slap of waves against the Redemption's timbers.

"Objective handsomeness. You know what that means, don't you?"

Shaw was rudely jerked from the encroaching promise of sleep. He breathed out a groan, to Flynn's obvious amusement. "All right, out with it."

"You," Flynn said, fingers tapping, "find me so devastatingly handsome that you can't imagine anyone could possibly think otherwise."

"I think," Shaw said, slowly, "objectively—"

"Objectively—"

Shaw let himself laugh, reminding himself that a concession wasn't necessarily a failure, that solitude was the worst of all companions. "Oh, you know exactly how handsome you are."

"Maybe, but I could stand to hear you flattering me some more."

Shaw could hear him smiling. For all the mileage he got out of his larking, gin pennant always flying high, he was whip-smart, good natured, and had an appreciation for a beautifully backhanded compliment.

"Of course," Shaw said, smiling too. "You cheat well enough to win another game eventually."

Flynn snorted, shifting to nudge his nose against Shaw's. "You bet."