February 2018 Sketchbook Pt. #2 (Patreon)

Here are the sketches for part 2 of the sketchbook tier, and the story to go with.

Loathing

When first they'd met, Zack and Killian had only been teenagers. Even then, there had been something between them, but the both of them mistook it for loathing. 

The 'loathing' grew, and so did the animosity between their families. Killian's family were new money and planning on throwing a gala in celebration of the war's end. Really, it was an excuse to show off how much money they had, and everyone knew it. Zack's family included, whose slowly dwindling wealth was becoming harder and harder to disguise. 

In order to avoid destitution, Zack and his siblings were encouraged to find work - and who of course should be the first to offer a job, but Killian. 

Zack hated it. Building a chalet to host the gala was work better suited to commoners. Unaccustomed to manual labour, his muscles ached and he made so many mistakes that he often felt he slowed work down rather than sped it up. He deserved better than to work under the thumb of someone so pompous and spoiled. It seemed to him that Killian gave him more work and was harder on him than anyone else. 

The gala approached and work on the chalet was behind when Zack sprained an ankle on the job. Furious with him, Kilian reluctantly ordered him to go soak the ankle in the cold river and take the remainder of the day off. If he wasn't on his feet tomorrow, he was out of a job. Zack wanted nothing more than to quit then and there. Instead, he said, 'we aren't all machines like you,' and limped to the river to do as told. His body ached everywhere and he decided to make the best of a bad day and soak in the river in full. The numbing cold could wash away today's aches and pains. 

He didn't know it, but Killian had come to check on him, and halted dead. The sight of Zack naked and stepping into the river had frozen him on the spot. Lust, it turns out, can easily be mistaken for loathing when you find it in the curves and long legs of a man you ought never think of in such a way.

Killian left without speaking to Zack that day, and avoided him the remainder of the week - except in the mornings when he would casually, coldly ask how Zack's ankle was. Zack found this show of concern uncharacteristic and thought he was being mocked, so he never answered. He did, however, play it up by limping in hopes it would make Killian feel bad. If he had a heart at all to feel things with. 

On the day construction completed, Killian sought him out and apologized. "I was harder on you than I should have been," he admitted. "I should show more concern for my people. You were right."

"I know," said Zack, and turned to go without another word.

The gala drew close - only two days away - and Killian found his thoughts rolling over and over, consumed by the man in the river. It was a dangerous path for his thoughts to take - engaged to an heiress and the sole heir to his own family's fortune, it wouldn't do to dally with a man whose own fortunes were lost to the irresponsible habits of his forebears. 

He did not know that Zack's own mind had been turning similar thoughts over and over. That when he lay awake at night and touched himself, it was often Killian's face that came, unbidden, to mind. 

Neither dreamt that those forbidden feelings were reciprocated until the gala itself. Zack's family arrived at invitation, in last year's fashions, attempting best they could to ingratiate themselves with those better off. Zack hated every moment. He wouldn't admit it, but by the end, he'd come to like the work he'd done with Killian. Back breaking as it was, they now stood in a gorgeous chalet, and he had a part in its grandeur. He couldn't imagine returning to the pampered life from before.

Killian, for his part, couldn't take his eyes off Zack. The urge to ask him to dance inflated in his chest and left room for nothing else. One slow song came and passed. And another. Zack danced with a girl Killian didn't know. Killian was asked - by single women, married women, men and his betrothed all. Near the night's end, he swallowed his fears and made towards Zack, but was intercepted by an elderly friend of his parents whose conversation he couldn't politely refuse. 

And before he knew it, the last dance had come. He should have saved it for his betrothed, but determination and frustration boiled hot in his veins now. He pretended not to hear his name called as he made for the rusty red figure of Zack across the crowded room.  Killian was a few paces away when Zack noticed him. Too close now to turn away, too direct in his approach to pretend that he intended to see anyone else. The words came out and he heard them as if underwater. 

"Might I have this dance?"

Zack looked incredulous. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Killian said, annoyed. 

Zack's brow pinched, but he took a hesitant step into the circle of Killian's arms and placed his hands gingerly against his shoulders. Light as birds, so Killian couldn't even feel the warmth through his fur. 

"Shouldn't you have asked your fiancé?" Zack said boldly. He avoided Killian's eyes.

"Yes," Killian admitted. "But I asked you."

Zack's gaze flickered up then down again. He wanted to ask why. Instead he said, "tch." 

Killian's heart hammered in his chest. Nothing Zack said implied that he had any affection for Killian... But he was stepping closer. Close enough their bodies touched. His hands, light before, were now hot branding irons against Killian's shoulders. He couldn't hear Zack's heart or his breath over the music, but he felt the shudder in it as it fanned against his chest. 

"I wanted to ask you," Killian said. It felt bold but it was only a hundredth of the things he wanted to say. Why him? Of all the people his heart should beat like this for, why a man he'd hated. Or pretended to. 

Zack's eyes finally met his. They were leaning very close now. "People are staring," Zack said. 

Killian answered by tugging him closer and Zack's hands, in surprise, slid down to his chest. If it was to push him back, they didn't follow through. His fingers clenched a little in Killian's fur. It made Killian shiver and a flash of Zack's long legs in the river played in his imagination.

Then the song ended. And they should have split apart, but Zack just froze and Killian didn't move. They looked at each other with a question on the tip of both their tongues, but instead Zack said, "we shouldn't do this."

Killian nodded. Brusque. Shook himself from the fog of everything he felt. "You're right. Of course." 

Then he stepped away. Spell broken. He took a slight bow and said, "have a good rest of the evening, Zack."

The party ended, and Killian got an earful from his parents, his fiancee, and every relative present to see the display. He hardly heard them. His mind roared with thoughts that, now loose, refused to go back to the cage he'd kept them in before. It was gone 1am by the time his family retired to bed with promises of reprisals come morning. 

Killian didn't plan on facing those reprisals. He left out the window and went straight for the inn across the road from the estate upon which the chalet was built. The inn he knew where Zack kept a room while he'd been on the job. It was possible Zack had gotten in a carriage and was already on his way home. But he had to hope. 

The innkeeper confirmed his hopes. Room 12, he said. Killian scaled the steps three at a time and stopped at the door. He went to knock and the bravery went out of him. What the hell was he doing? This was mad. He turned to leave again, then thought better of it and turned back. He meant to knock, but he reached the door and found it open and filled with Zack. Holding a bucket of hot water and headed for the communal shower room. 

And naked.

The bucket dropped. Water lapped over Killian's feet and he stepped through it, forward, pressing Zack back into the room, kicking the door shut behind. Zack stumbled but kept his footing, skittering back with the inevitable momentum until his back hit a wall and there was nowhere else to go except to let Killian kiss him. And kiss him back. Hungry and consumed. 

But not by loathing.