Sea Change

"Oof. That was invigorating," Fairwind said, hopping on one foot while he emptied golem rubble out of his boot—and a few gold coins, Shaw didn't fail to notice. "I don't know about you, but it's made me very thirsty. What do you say?"

Fairwind had been useful in the treasury vault, if not tolerable, and that was behaviour Shaw was inclined to encourage through positive reinforcement. Curbing his incessant prattling might yet prove to be an insurmountable task, but one thing at a time.

"All right then," he said. "I'll meet you back in Boralus."

"Wait, what?" Fairwind put his stockinged foot down in the sloppy Zuldazar mud. Shaw watched as his expression travelled through disbelief that his invitation had been accepted, trepidation over what kind of evening might be in store for him, a sudden realisation that Shaw might substantially cramp his style, and then settled on vaguely distraught at the mud oozing between his toes.

"You're buying, I trust."

"After the day I've had?" Fairwind took off his sock and forlornly wrung it out. "You are pitiless, Master Shaw. Pitiless."

"You don't know the half of it, Captain. But maybe I'll tell you after an ale or two."

"Well, that sounds like a threat if I ever heard one," Fairwind said. He appeared to give his sock up as a lost cause, abandoning it on a munitions crate.

"No. A threat would be if I asked what your poison was."

"Oh! I knew it." Fairwind's face lit up. "You do have a sense of humour in there somewhere. Still, maybe you should leave the anecdotes to me."

It was lucky for Fairwind that Shaw could, in fact, see the funny side to some situations, because he would otherwise have little tolerance for hauling a three-sheets-to-the-wind ruffian around the harbour and having to repeatedly stop so he could hitch his trousers up.

Despite a fairly respectable start that would have lulled a less circumspect man into a false sense of security, Fairwind had downed five tripels to Shaw's one and a half, and had then been summarily ejected from the premises after attempting to show off a scar on his backside that was, quote, 'as twirly as a spymaster's moustache'. Following that, he'd led them in a big, pointless loop around the Ashvane docks insisting it was his way home, while repeatedly failing to either arrive at said dwelling nor buckle up his belt.

"We're going in circles," Shaw said to him as they exited from the exact same alleyway they'd entered.

"Are we?" Fairwind listed to one side. "Probably. Sorry, it's something I do when I'm drunk." He lowered his voice into an earnest but still not very quiet whisper. "I am a tad drunk."

"I hadn't noticed. Where do you hole up, Fairwind?"

"Uh, the place, by the… you know. Along the way and around—" He paused to hiccup. "Swing a left and there you have it." He gestured widely, encompassing Dampwick, the docks and most of the market, stumbled, and steadied himself by clinging to Shaw's shoulder. "Oops. It's an all right gaff, could do with a sprucing up though, so maybe it would be better if—" he paused with his eyebrows raised expectantly, and when Shaw steadfastly ignored the hint, ever-so-slyly said, "Where do you live?"

"Stormwind."

Fairwind seemed to mull that over. "That's a bit of a hike, mate. Not sure I'm up for that."

Shaw sighed and let Fairwind balance on him while he shimmied his trousers back into position. He'd proven to be a valuable asset to their campaign and only a partial liability, so Shaw was hesitant to just abandon him on a crate somewhere. He considered the logistics of getting Fairwind to his berth on the Wind's Redemption without anybody passing comment, and more importantly, off the ship come morning. Eluding the foot guards, the constant stream of adventurers, and Jes-Tereth's shrewd eye posed no problem for him, but with Fairwind in tow it seemed an unlikely prospect.

"Your place it is, then," Shaw said, laced with enough promise that he hoped Fairwind would beeline there, and he could leave him to pass out in safety. He was starting to wonder if he had a home at all, or if he just drifted in and out with the tide.

"Hmm. Hold that thought," Fairwind said, then lunged to the harbour wall. He hopped up onto the bottom rung of the railing and leaned over. "Be a pal and keep my hair out of my face, would you?"

Light help him, Shaw almost did, but managed to catch himself. Fairwind would have to make do with a consoling pat on the back instead.

"Man overboard," Fairwind groaned, and heaved his guts over the side and onto the spice vendor's canopy below. "Oh no. I thought it was the sea down there."

"I didn't take you for a man who couldn't handle his liquor." Shaw let his hand rest in the middle of Fairwind's back until he staggered away from the railing and any danger of him tumbling after the contents of his stomach had passed.

Fairwind sniffed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can and will drink you under the table, Master Shaw," he said with slurred indignation, "but it's been a stressful day and it's thrown me off my game. Rematch. Right now. Let's go."

"Perhaps another night," Shaw said, taking the opportunity to fasten his belt for him. "Not used to the high stakes, hm?"

Fairwind hesitated a moment, his brows furrowing as he watched Shaw's fingers at his waist. "Let's just say it wasn't the vault full of deadly traps that had me sweating."

"I'm not going to slip a blade between your ribs, if that's what you're concerned about. At least, not for the time being."

"Well, thank you for that very reassuring… reassurance," Fairwind said. "Anyway. It's been a night, of sorts. Thanks for the company, Shaw. You're an all right guy. Death threats aside."

Shaw smoothed his fingers over his moustache, sighed, and took Fairwind by the arm. It had been a night indeed, and an unexpectedly entertaining one despite—well. Everything about it. Shaw had a limited desire to socialise, as a rule. He was more accustomed to eavesdropping on other peoples' smalltalk than generating any of his own, and Fairwind was inclined to carry both sides of any given conversation, so Shaw'd let him. While most of his anecdotes were prosaic at best and disgusting at worst, he could tell a tale. Against his better judgement, Shaw found himself halfway endeared.

While he hadn't a lick on Fairwind, Shaw suspected he wasn't what he'd describe as clear-headed. He was foolish only under very specific circumstances, and this might well be one of them.

"Captain," he said.

"… also, how did you manage to make being stabbed sound terrifying and yet strangely—huh?"

"Would you join me on the Redemption? For a nightcap."

Fairwind looked at Shaw's hand on his arm, back at Shaw's face, and then broke into a wide grin. "Blimey. Haven't you had enough?"

The ocean was a soft hush against the Redemption's hull, its salt mingling with a sweet tobacco that lingered in the air. Jes-Tereth was on deck despite the hour, poring over the next day's mission plans and charting the necessary course. It was unlikely he'd escape her notice. Where one's allies were concerned, when there was no possibility for disguising a situation, it was better to give the impression of transparency.

"Grand Admiral," Shaw said.

"Spymaster," Jes-Tereth replied smartly, without looking up. Shaw didn't believe in luck, but it seemed fortune still favoured him now and again regardless.

"Ma'am." And so much for that. Fairwind dipped into a bow that threatened to topple him over. Not for the first time, Shaw wondered if he was genuinely so inebriated or if he was clowning. Either way, grabbing Fairwind by the collar of his duster and shoving him towards below deck seemed the best course of action.

This time Jes-Tereth did glance up, eyebrows arched. "Captain Fairwind," she said, somewhat amused.

"Just unwinding from the mission," Fairwind said, wriggling out of Shaw's grip and immediately propping himself up in the doorway. "You know, a few drinks."

"So I see. I hope you're prepared for the 0-five-hundred wakeup."

"He'll be out long before that," Shaw said, the same time as Fairwind cheerfully said, "Aye, aye, Admiral!" and sketched a sloppy salute.

Shaw marched him below decks before he could earn himself a flogging for disrespectful behaviour, and into his cabin. His position afforded him a stateroom that was well-appointed as far as ship living went: a small desk and chair, a porthole, and a narrow berth that he poured Fairwind into. He landed face-down and let loose a sigh of what Shaw presumed was contentment, and following that, a loud, open-mouthed snore and a working demonstration that his wind was anything but fair. While Shaw might not have fully examined his reasons for bringing him here, he was moderately sure it wasn't for this.

He put his hands on his hips and sighed in resignation, then set about sparing his mattress from Fairwind's boots—he was still wearing only one sock—and wrestling him out of his coat. Fairwind flailed unconsciously and smacked Shaw in the face twice or thrice, which he'd make sure to repay in kind at a later date.

Finally, Shaw got him covered with a 7th Legion standard-issue wool blanket (itchy), rifled through his pockets for anything of informational value (negatory), dimmed the lantern and settled into his chair for the night.

Shaw was a light sleeper by necessity, if it could be said he slept at all. He was already fully awake when Fairwind stirred, but he kept his eyes closed, listening. He heard a small groan, the charming noise that was Fairwind working saliva into his dry mouth, and the rustle of the blanket as he sat up. The thump of his feet hitting the floor, and then another groan as he realised where he was.

The man was as light-footed as he was light-fingered, but he was no SI:7 operative. Shaw easily tracked the sound of him pulling on his duster and tiptoeing over to the door. He cracked one eye open. Fairwind had one hand on the door handle and was clutching his boots with the other.

"Leaving so soon?" Shaw said.

Fairwind squawked and dropped his boots. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were awake. I'll just be—" He made a pistol of each hand and pointed to the door with a click of his tongue.

Shaw unfolded himself from his chair and crouched to gather his boots for him. He glanced up to see that Fairwind had his eyes closed and was pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Ugh," he said. "Thanks. I wasn't looking forward to the blood rushing to my head. Gods, I haven't been this hungover since… last Thursday?"

The last he said with a faint incredulousness, such that Shaw found the corner of his mouth turning up of its own accord. Fairwind's hair looked like a gull had nested in it, and discovering himself here had clearly caught him flat-footed—though evidently not enough to dampen his flippancy, never mind inspire any kind of sheepishness in him.

"Why are you smiling?" Fairwind asked cautiously. "It makes me nervous when you smile and this is already the most awkward morning-after I've ever had without actually sleeping with—oh. Hang on a minute." He scrunched up his face in thought.

"We did not," Shaw said, firmly but not unkindly.

Fairwind put on an air of disappointment. "You're telling me I was spread wantonly on your bed, lax and insensible and, might I add, temptingly handsome, and you didn't get me out of more than my coat?"

"Hmph." Shaw shoved Fairwind's boots into his chest with a little less kindness. "I don't know what kind of man you take me for, but I prefer my bedmates to be active participants, Captain."

"Oh, give over. I was just hoping," Fairwind said—and there was a hint of abashment finally, which turned out to do unconscionable things to Shaw's composure, "I was hoping you were the kind of man who'd eventually pick up what I was putting down. My mistake. I thought we had a bit of—"

"Captain Fairwind."

"—zing, you know?" He wobbled on one leg, pulling a boot on and then the other. "But if that's not the way your rope's spliced, then what's a guy to do? I guess I'll just have to weather this unbearable sexual—"

"Fairwind."

"—tension with the panache expected of me. It's funny, I'm usually the one letting somebody down gently. I have to say, from this side of things, it's—"

Shaw rolled his eyes. "Flynn."

"—pretty rubbish. What?"

"Shut up a minute, if you're capable."

Fairwind paused a beat. With a glint to his eye and a wild grin, he said, "Make me."

It was an immensely predictable response that Shaw welcomed wholly. He took the lapels of Fairwind's ratty coat in both hands, hefted him the pace and a half to the cabin door and slammed him against it. Fairwind immediately wedged his thigh between Shaw's and made a grab for his belt to pull him in flush. Shaw leaned into it; their noses brushed.

"Wait," Fairwind said. "Are you sure?"

"Does it seem like I'm not sure?"

"Oh, you feel very sure indeed. It's just that my mouth tastes like a hozen ooked its dook in it. Fair warning."

"Worse things happen at sea," Shaw said, and kissed him and his laughter and his egregious morning breath—kissed him until he wasn't as quiet as Shaw would like, but at least closer to it.

For his part, Fairwind wasn't shy about getting his fist in Shaw's hair and tugging his head around to an angle that let him press the kiss recklessly deep. His other hand gripped the back of Shaw's thigh. He was strong in the shoulders from years of hauling yards, and Shaw slid his hands under his coat to dig his fingers into the muscle there. Fairwind made a pleased noise and Shaw found himself hustled back and hoisted onto his berth with vigour, his legs hanging halfway off and Fairwind settling to his knees between them.

"Why, Master Shaw," Fairwind said, "is that a dagger in your pocket, or are you—"

"It's a dagger."

Fairwind laughed, his fingers roaming up the inside of Shaw's thigh and working at the straps of his uniform. The back of his hand brushed the thoroughly unprofessional erection Shaw was developing, and heat crept through him like a flame set to a slow fuse. He let himself arch into it and at the same time pulled Fairwind up and into another kiss, where he promptly gave up on the thigh buckles and opted to palm Shaw to full hardness through his breeches instead.

He'd just unfastened Shaw's belt and started in on the laces of his chestguard when the clang of the ship's bell came from above boards, followed by Wyrmbane bellowing for the crew to shake a leg. Shaw groaned into Fairwind's mouth and took a moment to weigh up his options, quickly arriving at the inevitable. "That's enough. Off."

"Five minutes. I'll make it worth your while."

"You either have a high opinion of yourself or a low opinion of me."

"All right then, three," Fairwind said breezily. He pulled off his glove and licked his palm, then slipped a warm hand into Shaw's underclothes and took a confident hold.

With the first firm stroke Shaw bucked involuntarily and grabbed for Fairwind's shoulder. Light, it had been a while. One war on the heels of the next had left him with neither time nor inclination for anything but his own hand, and when Fairwind circled his thumb over the slickness gathering at the head of his cock and turned his wrist just so, it rapidly became apparent how much he'd neglected himself.

He could prolong things had he a mind to, but not a single aspect of this situation was on his side. Frustrating. Shaw flung a forearm over his face and grimaced, coming with the full knowledge that Fairwind was going to be unbearable about it.

Fairwind wasted no time. "Oh, that is beautiful," he said with obvious delight, wiping his hand on Shaw's blankets. "You really are as uptight as you look. How was that. Passable?"

Shaw caught his breath and let his pounding blood subside, by which point his voice had also steadied. He cleared his throat. "Passable."

He was spared any further commentary by two hearty thumps on his cabin door. "Look alive, Shaw," Wyrmbane called out, an edge of impatience plain. "Mission briefing's in ten."

"Right. I'd say it's about time for me to sling my hook," Fairwind said, getting himself upright and offering Shaw a hand. "Last thing I need is to get roped into testing whatever bonkers new ordnance your gnomes have cooked up."

"Wise decision. Leave it to the professionals," Shaw said, letting Fairwind heft him onto his feet. He glanced at the significant jut of Fairwind's trousers and then at the flush in his cheeks. "Hm. I'm going to have to owe you."

"Eh, I'll take it. You strike me as the kind of man who honours his debts. Hey, maybe we can discuss it over drinks. It's definitely your round."

Shaw fought down a smile. "I need to clean up. Get out of here, Fairwind."

Fairwind licked his finger and thumb and put the curl back into Shaw's moustache. "Need a hand?" he said with satisfaction in his voice. "You look… oh, what's the word—"

Shaw caught his wrist. Instinct wanted him to twist Fairwind's arm behind his back and press him against the wall face-first, but he couldn't separate how much of that was reflex and how much was desire. It concerned him, but not enough to let go.

"Annoyed," he said. "Fairwind. Out."

"Yep, yep, I'm practically gone." Only instead of actually leaving as promised, Fairwind brought his free hand up as though there were any chance Shaw would let him put his hair to order.

Shaw caught that hand, too. "I don't have time for this right now."

"More's the pity. What is on the docket for today?"

"That's need-to-know."

Fairwind grinned; his hands relaxed to his side, Shaw's still encircling his wrists. His pulse tripped steadily under Shaw's fingers. "Everything is with you. When are you back?"

"Again, need-to-know."

"I promise I won't tell anyone." Fairwind leaned in; Shaw felt him conspicuously against his thigh. "I know what loose lips can do."

Shaw huffed a laugh despite himself. "You're lucky I'm a patient man," he said, and let Fairwind go. "Tomorrow. I'll be back in time to keep my word."

"See? That wasn't so hard. Unlike me right now."

Shaw sighed. "You really don't want to be here if Wyrmbane has to come fetch me."

Fairwind pulled a face at that prospect. "Fair point," he said, tugging on his glove. He brushed a kiss to Shaw's cheek, and followed it up with a gentle pat that somehow left Shaw more twitterpated than anything else that had transpired this morning. "Do you think I can fit through that porthole?"

The answer was a definite no. Transparency, Shaw thought in defeat, or the impression of such. It was in every commanding officer's interests to know of their fellows' leverage points, to better protect and contain should the situation become necessary. Frankly, if he could make this one clear without actually having to say so out loud, then all the better for it.

He ran both hands back through his hair. "Tomorrow night," he said, opening the door and gesturing Fairwind through. "You'll get your rematch."

"Looking forward to it," Fairwind said, heading up onto deck; Shaw kept him on course with a light hand on his back. "Say—did I ever show you my scar?"