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Logue doesn't trust a lot of his own instincts anymore. Not a lot of his instincts are his own anymore, and it gets worse the longer they stay in Besek. Keeping the dragon's wants from affecting what he does is wearing him down, and it doesn't leave a lot of time for what he wants. Being a knight always meant giving up some of that, making some trades, but not to this extreme.

So when he's at the Libertine that night and he sees the old mercenary -- Rondemion, like the hero; and he's about the right age to be the hero, isn't he? Logue wonders if anyone ever found the body, after the battle with Morpheus -- when Logue sees Rondemion in the pub, and he remembers how confident, how dangerous Rondemion seemed on the battlefield...well, his first thought is that he wants to go over there, and it's his own thought. His own want.

Probably he shouldn't; probably if Rondemion wanted company he'd have it already, when instead he's drinking alone. But Logue's sick of having only the dragon in his head for company, and when Rondemion glances across the room and happens to notice him, Logue holds his gaze, making his expression an invitation, a challenge, whatever it needs to be. Rondemion's mouth twists in a crooked smile. He tips back his pint, draining the rest of it in one long drink, his throat working visibly. The sight makes Logue think things he's pretty sure nobody's supposed to think about heroes. But when Rondemion sets his empty pint down, he looks from Logue to the Libertine's back door, slow and deliberate.

Rondemion gets up to leave, and Logue doesn't even care how obvious it is when he doesn't wait to follow.

The alley behind the Libertine is barely lit, filthy, like the rest of Isapolis only more so, and Rondemion is a solid shape in the darkness. He reaches for Logue, grabs him by the shirt front and shoves him into the wall. "You need something to keep you grounded," he says. "Something to make you feel human."

"Something like that," Logue says, and he's mostly prepared for it when Rondemion pins him with a kiss.

Logue groans, bites when Rondemion's tongue pushes into his mouth, pushes harder into the kiss when the scrape of stubble rubs his lips raw. His cock thickens, stiffens in his trousers, and he can feel Rondemion's grinding against him. Yes. More.

He lunges for the pulse under Rondemion's jaw, biting, sucking at the taste of sweat. Rondemion curses, his fingers raking through Logue's hair like he's trying to get a grip despite how short it is.

"Where are your limits?" he growls in Logue's ear.

Logue takes a shuddering breath and tries to think clearly. "I don't want to fuck out here," he says, "but I'll suck you."

Rondemion hums, low, and shoves his thigh between Logue's, so Logue grinds against him hard. "You up for getting messy?" he asks.

"Probably, yeah," Logue says.

"Your pretty boy captain ever piss on you?"

Logue shudders. "Fuck," he says. "No." The idea makes him harder. He's not sure if that's more the thought of being pissed on or the thought of Olifen doing something that raw, that aggressive. "Do it."

Rondemion steps back enough to be able to push him down, and Logue goes to his knees. He fumbles with his belt, getting his own cock out as he watches Rondemion unlace. His own heartbeat hammers in his ears, and he curls a hand around his cock.

"Yeah," Rondemion says, "there you go." He's holding his cock in one hand, and cards the fingers of his other hand through Logue's hair, holding him still. He pauses there, just slightly -- like either he's giving Logue one more chance to back out, or he's too hard to have an easy time pissing -- and then he lets his breath out and his piss splashes Logue's face. It's hot from his body, running down Logue's skin, soaking into his shirt, and the raw bitter stink of it is overwhelming. Logue groans, stroking his cock, feeling piss splatter his face, drip from his chin -- if he licks his lips, he can taste it, pungent bitter salt.

"Holy Atona, look at you," Rondemion says. He steps closer, rubs his cock against Logue's face, still half hard. Logue turns his head, licks at it, opens his mouth wider to take it in. He swallows the last few drops, and Rondemion hardens in his mouth, starting to thrust. He's rough and sloppy, fucking Logue's face; Logue jerks off hard, his free hand curled around one of Rondemion's boots just to hold him there. The sharp tang of piss blends with the darker scents of worn leather and oiled steel, dizzying. Logue imagines Olifen seeing him like this -- thinks about how he's going to have to go back to the inn like this, drenched and stinking of piss -- and that puts him over, makes him jerk and shudder and come.

Rondemion growls, and speeds up. Logue tries to keep his mouth and throat relaxed, tries not to fight it. Even after he's come himself, there's something he craves in the raw sensory now of it -- being here, feeling this. It's human and real and his.

When he feels Rondemion stiffen, passing the point of no return, Logue pulls back. Rondemion lets him go and Logue grabs his cock, gives him the last few strokes to make his come bathe Logue's face, too.

Rondemion cups Logue's chin in one hand, uses his thumb to smear the mess across Logue's cheek. "Better?" he says.

Logue swallows hard. "Yeah," he says. His throat feels raw, his voice hoarse. He sits back on his heels, looks down at himself. "Not looking forward to going back to Twilight's Rest like this, though." The idea is considerably less appealing now than it was before he got off.

Rondemion laughs wryly, offering him a hand to help him up. "No, I imagine not," he says. "Still, if you come around to the back entrance, you should run into Basil before anyone else, and he'll clean you up. This is far from the worst he's seen."

"Speaking from experience?" Logue asks.

"Maybe," Rondemion says, and his tone of voice makes it a yes. He pauses for a minute, takes a breath. "Take care of yourself. And good luck finding that Majin."

"Thanks," Logue says. He hesitates. "Goddess go with you." It feels strange to say it -- to a man who maybe should be dead, in a place like Besek -- but he means it all the same.