Chapter Seven – Second Times Are Sweeter
Education was taken seriously at Veridien. Throughout his first day of learning, Lawrence found it impossible to escape the many obligations for the average student attending the academy's lessons until it was too late to explore the grounds without drawing unwanted attention. His methods of investigation – not exactly tried and tested – required getting the lay of the land first, but he was forced to reevaluate his priorities.
It looked like he had to focus on the complex relationships between the students instead. Last-year students enjoyed a wide latitude regarding their schedule, unless, apparently, you were the new transfer. Lawrence endured through a two-hour long lecture on the history of the Roman Empire, which he would've normally enjoyed, and then had to work on a paper regarding various archeological methods of investigation – the irony wasn't lost on him given his hidden purpose at Veridien.
Under supervision. Unlike Ali, he hadn't committed the sin of truancy, but Herr Becker himself oversaw the study session which lengthened well into the afternoon. Lawrence couldn't help but notice that the only other students sharing his predicament were first-years, which meant that he was far from enjoying the same treatment as the other students in his year.
That screamed lack of trust, but he couldn't go against it. If he proved himself to be obedient, their supervision would most likely loosen. Lawrence had no doubt that the Rector himself was behind it. The man had seemed interested in the new arrival in the way that you take in a curiosity, a deviation from the norm.
He was being watched, and most likely until he became an integral part of the student body he'd be subjected to an increased level of scrutiny.
After ten hours of being awake and forced into assiduous study, he felt wrung out and ready to be hung to dry. His narrow bed seemed as fluffy as a cloud as he met it nose-first for a well-deserved rest. In only an hour, he'd have to attend dinner, and he intended to make it clear to Esperanza, in case he saw her again, that he didn't require special treatment.
It seemed so absurd that he was upset with Bastien. His prime suspect had ignored him for most of the time, and while the rational part of Lawrence's brain reminded him that Bastien hadn't been once let out of sight by the members of his royal court, the rest insisted that the beautiful young man simply enjoyed playing with his victims.
Lawrence groaned and buried his face in his hands. What an odd way to start an investigation! He'd insisted so much on being involved with the Veridien case, and now he was doing the unthinkable by letting himself get caught in a spell cast by Bastien Hawthorne. Why now of all moments had he abandoned himself to this kind of foolishness?
He shook his head and began undressing. He couldn't stand wearing the Veridian uniform for another moment. According to Ali, he shouldn't be surprised when someone came to take the worn uniform, along with any laundry he might have, and return it all the following morning in pristine condition.
He'd have to take a shower, too. For now, the sink would do, like before. The room was starting to feel a little chilly with the fall of evening, but Lawrence wasn't yet bothered. However, he'd have to pester Herr Becker about that heater.
A knock on the door made him wince. "Who is it?" he asked, annoyed that the staff would barely let him undress before appearing to snatch his clothes and whisk them away.
"It's Bastien," came a muffled voice from behind the heavy door.
Lawrence stopped for a moment. Then he didn't think at all. He simply went to get the door.
Bastien was there, indeed, in flesh and blood. He wore a cashmere sweater that looked as if it'd been knitted by angels on a rainy day. He was wearing the same mysterious smile that was making Lawrence lose his head.
Angels on a rainy day. He truly was bad at poetry.
"You're in your underwear," Bastien remarked, letting his eyes roam over Lawrence's body.
"Well, it's my room," Lawrence replied promptly. It looked like his snappiness was another thing he couldn't control well in Bastien's presence.
"May I come in?" Bastien said cordially, but he didn't wait for a reply.
He brushed by Lawrence, making him aware, once more, of how different they were. Surreptitiously, Lawrence sniffed himself. He'd just washed, but he surely looked – and smelled – like a brute compared to Bastien, who, despite studying all day long just like him, looked as fresh as a spring garden.
"Suit yourself," he murmured and closed the door. The rules of basic courtesy said that he needed to dress, but he didn't want Bastien there. It was difficult enough to endure being ignored during the day; this sudden attention felt, by comparison, more dangerous.
Bastien rubbed his arms briefly. "It's cold in here."
A lesser man would've commented on how some people had no fewer than five heaters, which left others with none, but Lawrence had no intention of alienating Bastien by commenting on the obvious class disparity – and the difference in advantages – between them.
"I like it cold," Lawrence said, despising how petulant he sounded for a man his size.
"Oh, really?" Bastien teased him with an all-knowing smile. "I'll have someone bring a heater up here for you, anyway."
"You should stop," Lawrence said. "Helping me, I mean. First the food, and now--"
"Has Alistair poured poison in your ear about me?" Bastien asked, his eyes thinning. Even when upset or irritated, he was more beautiful than Lawrence could bear. Especially while he was standing there in his underwear and exposed to direct scrutiny.
"No. Ali's a great guy," Lawrence said. It wouldn't be helpful one bit to mention Ali's nickname for the Sun King and the respective allusions to his asshole.
He shouldn't think of Bastien's asshole with the guy standing right there.
"Of course he is," Bastien said, pursing his lips. "So, Lawrence, you don't want my help."
"Exactly. I would've told you that today, but your ivory tower is pretty much impenetrable."
"My--" Bastien burst into laughter, throwing his head back and exposing his throat, a simple thing that made Lawrence feel hot everywhere. "You are adorable," Bastien added, once his laughter subsided. "And a very bad liar."
"Not as much as you," Lawrence shot back.
"How so?" Bastien walked in front of him, stopping so close that it would take only a small movement and an unknown amount of courage for them to kiss again.
"You say that you want to help me, but you do nothing but lord your superiority over me," Lawrence said, clenching his fists by his sides. What a stupid idea to remain naked with Bastien in the room and so close to him.
Bastien, to his surprise, lost his smile. He seemed pensive, sad even. "I didn't mean to insult you."
Lawrence had to curse his bad behavior and manners. "Forgive me," he said right away. "I didn't mean to put you in a bad mood."
Bastien let out a soft snort. "You're the only one who's managed to put me out of a bad mood in a long time."
It struck Lawrence then. Bastien, for all his courage and putting on a brave face, was grieving. Not that he hadn't thought of it before – the standing on the ledge above the ravine, the nervousness, the fever that seemed to consume the Hawthorne heir – but now he felt it from up close, like a punch to the gut.
"Why are you helping me?" Lawrence asked, aware of how impulsive he had to seem to his guest.
Bastien put a hand to his forehead without saying a word. He appeared completely lost in himself while thinking. His beautiful eyes peeked at Lawrence from underneath the canopy of his palm. "Will you feel insulted if I told you that you stir in me the need to protect?"
"Maybe," Lawrence replied. "A little. I am taller and heavier than you. How can you feel protective toward me?"
"Yet I do," Bastien insisted. "In this merciless realm, inhabitants tend to mold themselves after the same rules. It's not fair to a newcomer."
"So you think I cannot take care of myself?" Lawrence asked. He did so without sounding angry or annoyed. He was simply curious. He'd never elicited such feelings of protectiveness in anyone. His uncle, who cared about him the most in this world, treated him like a capable young man, and he'd done so since Lawrence had been only a child. Such an attitude was destabilizing for lack of a better word.
Bastien looked around slowly. "Well, since you asked. You're like candy, Lawrence. Hard on the outside," he said, letting his hand hover close to Lawrence's chest briefly, without touching him, "but soft and creamy on the inside."
"Creamy?" He snorted. He was bad at poetry, but Bastien was no better. While he had the excuse of being a commoner, the Sun King was supposed to excel at everything.
Bastien gave him a smile that could only be qualified as playful, even naughty. Ah, no wonder Lawrence was feeling all kinds of things while in this young man's proximity.
Especially when Bastien was letting his eyes roam slowly all over him, making his skin break into goosebumps.
"Yes, why not?" Bastien said breezily. "Since you're obviously displaying such an un-academic level of enthusiasm right now."
It took Lawrence only a moment to realize, in utter terror, what Bastien meant by that. He turned quickly and grabbed his uniform pants. Anything was better than sporting a semi-erection in the presence of his illustrious guest.
Bastien's laugh wasn't ill-intended. "You shouldn't dress for my sake. I'm rather enjoying myself watching you."
Lawrence grunted and shook his head while he fastened his belt. He could feel Bastien behind him, a solid presence. And warm. He wasn't so surprised when gentle hands came round him, caressing his belly slowly.
"Stop me if I'm being too forward," Bastien whispered. "I believe it's better if you do."
"For who?" Lawrence asked. He wanted that caress. It felt nice… no, a lot more than that.
"Yourself," Bastien replied.
"Because of your guard dogs?"
"Anton, you mean?"
"And his acolyte. And Norris. Maybe the others, too. They isolate you so no one can touch you."
He hadn't meant to say so much.
Bastien rested his chin between his shoulder blades. Lawrence didn't mind it, either. "They're protective," came the answer to his direct accusation. "But they're wrong. I don't need protection."
"Are you sure? They're your friends. If they think that you do--"
"What I need is a good fuck."
Lawrence worried he might have to collect his jaw from the floor. He must have imagined Bastien saying such a crude word.
"I'm afraid I can't help you," he said, his throat dry, and his voice strained.
"Ah, so you only like kissing?" Bastien asked.
Lawrence was at a loss for words.
"What about touching?" Bastien continued. His hands moved slowly over Lawrence's chest now. "You're so furry. I like it," he added with a chuckle.
"You're playing with me."
"I am playing with you," Bastien confirmed. "That doesn't mean, however, my dear knight-errant, that I'm not serious about it."
He moved away, this time managing to take Lawrence by surprise. Lawrence turned so they could face each other. Bastien Hawthorne looked nothing like someone who loved to play. His face was slightly flushed, and his lips were a shade darker than before.
"What would you like, Lawrence? Name it."
"A kiss," he replied.
"Then why don't you come closer?" Bastien challenged him, licking his lips slowly.
Lawrence did. He cupped Bastien's cheek gently and closed his eyes while their lips touched.
He was positively, absolutely a boor for involving Bastien in his investigation in such a way. But he wouldn't stop, because kissing the prime suspect felt like nothing he'd ever felt before coming to Veridien.
Bastien, for all his bold talk, was a shy kisser. He didn't open his mouth a lot, and his tongue dared little. Lawrence had never pictured himself in the role of an instructor of intimate things, but he found himself coaxing Bastien into opening his mouth wider, and using his tongue in a bolder fashion.
He was beginning to lose himself in the moment. He cradled Bastien's head in his hand while deepening their kiss. They weren't touching each other anywhere else, but it was enough. Lawrence was developing an unusual fear of combustion if they went further than this.
They moved away slowly, looking into each other's eyes, mesmerized by their own actions and reactions. Lawrence hoped he wasn't the only one feeling it.
"So," Bastien said playfully, "a kiss is better than having a heater in your room?"
Lawrence grinned. "Go away, Bastien. I'll talk to Herr Becker about the heater. I'd hate to hear people say I am your pet."
Bastien laughed as if someone had tickled him. "I'd love to have you as my pet."
"That will not happen," Lawrence said, smiling, too.
"Too bad. But I can live with whatever scraps you're willing to spare, Sir Galahad."
Now that was cause for him to laugh out loud. "I think you've got it wrong."
"No, I don't," Bastien said, his face all a smile. "Anyway, even if you don't like receiving my help, I'll give it. I presume you're not aware, but tomorrow is instruction day. Prepare to get bruised. Hopefully not bloodied, as well, but I cannot guarantee the behavior of my, how did you call them? Oh, yes, my guard dogs."
"Wait, what kind of instruction are we talking about?" Professor Moreau had warned him about the same thing, but in a different manner.
"At seven sharp, we've all been scheduled for arms. Terrible, I know."
"What the hell is arms?"
Bastien looked at him with undisguised pity. "And you insist that you don't need help. Let me educate you, my dear knight. Arms is what Veridien pretentiously uses as a replacement for what in the world you come from, normal individuals refer to as sports. Expect fencing, drills, and the odd lesson in restraint regarding when to advance and when not to. And don't let yourself become dazzled by the veneer of respectability such a discipline imposes on the newcomer. My darling jailers are not above improvisation."
"Ah, so you're warning me about Anton and his pet dog playing dirty?" Lawrence had to admit that he appreciated being given the heads-up.
"So. Anton can have a pet, but I can't?" Bastien teased him. "Yes, they're most likely to improvise. But they're not the only ones. Have you ever practiced fencing, Lawrence?"
"Not for one second in my entire life."
Bastien sighed. "I pity you, then. But you look like a sturdy lad. I'm certain you'll live. And now, please excuse me. I am forced to jump through hoops of fire to enjoy just a moment of freedom."
He was about to walk out, but Lawrence couldn't let him leave like that. He wrapped one arm around Bastien's shoulders and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. There was honor in restraint, and worry that he might not be able to help himself if he did more than that.
"Thank you," he said.
Bastien's eyes softened. "You're more than welcome, my dear knight."
***
Lawrence wasn't the kind to linger in bed in the morning past his waking time, but the early hours at Veridien were, indeed, brutal. The cold didn't help, and he realized that maybe he'd been too proud when refusing Bastien's help regarding the heater. The schedule for the day had been pushed under the door, but at least he was prepared to face Anton's and Abelard's machinations.
But fencing! Officially, he was at Veridien to study ancient languages, not to learn how to handle a sword. Were they using blunt points? Hopefully, yes. It would be quite the disappointment to become the victim of a fencing accident before he'd even had the chance to investigate Lukas von Keller's death properly.
Not knowing what else to choose as his official dress for fencing lessons, he opted for his uniform, which, exactly as predicted by Ali, had been delivered to his room as soon as he was up, ironed and in perfect condition.
An energetic knock on the door warned him that his self-appointed best friend was ready for the day. To Lawrence's relief, Ali was also in his uniform.
"Have you ever played with swords, Larry?" Ali asked. With his headphones around his neck, as usual, he looked his usual self. However, Lawrence couldn't help wondering if he'd be able to tell Ali apart from his brother. After all, he'd barely met both.
"Swords? I suppose fencing isn't performed with heavy blades." For the little he knew about the sport, he still had a vague idea about the equipment involved.
"Ah, you're so serious all the time. You're new to this, right?"
"How do you know?" Lawrence kept his tone neutral, but he was more than interested in learning how the flow of information happened at Veridien. As far as he knew, he'd only told Bastien he hadn't practiced the aristocratic sport for a day in his life.
"Just a hunch," Ali said with a shrug, sounding perfectly natural.
"Doesn't it bother you that your brother hangs out with the popular boys?" Lawrence asked, veering the conversation away from his lack of experience in fencing.
Ali guffawed like a schoolkid. "Not at all. You'll get to know me, Sleeper. I'm not that shallow."
"While your brother is?"
"Eh, he's more of a stickler for following the rules. And someone in the family needs to do all the right things. I prefer to be in charge of the wrong ones. Let's get going. Maestro is not keen on tardiness."
"Maestro?"
"Yes. Maestro Alvarez. The best blade in Europe, they say; also, a great teacher. In other words, he's tough, but fair. Don't hesitate to let him know that you're a complete beginner. But do it so that the golden schmucks don't overhear it."
"I'm not sure I'll be able to do that. That Abelard--"
"Gives you the creeps, right?" Ali shuddered and gestured for Lawrence to move.
He was still not used to leaving his door unlocked, but this was Veridien, and they did things their own way. At least, he had Ali with him. Whether he was a spy for Bastien's royal court or not was still a matter up for debate. For now, Lawrence was satisfied with having him as his native guide.
TBC