In which Jarlaxle and Artemis hit the beach.
Boots on the sand, a familiar tread; a thud and a huff next to him. A smile crooked the corner of Jarlaxle’s mouth, hidden by the hat set over his face to block the sun. “I take it you are finished being cross with me?”
Artemis plucked his hat away and he squinted in the sunlight. Entreri didn’t quite glower at him, just wore his usual faint exasperation at the world, and Jarlaxle in particular.
“No ridiculous disguise today? Are you feeling quite well?”
“Being myself is a disguise.”
Artemis dumped a handful of sand onto his bare stomach. “Do you ever think about what comes out of your mouth before you open it?”
“Frequently, when I am not talking to you.”
Jarlaxle sat up, brushing the sand off—then cleaned off his palm by ruffling Artemis’ hair. Entreri scowled delightfully and batted him away.
“Bothered by a little sand? What a terrible Calishite you are.”
“Says the drow so addicted to sunlight he is half naked on a beach on the surface.”
“It could be worse, abbil.”
“Could it now.”
Jarlaxle bared his teeth obnoxiously. “I could be entirely naked on a beach on the surface.”
Artemis rolled his eyes and made such a show of getting up to leave it could not have more obviously been a front. Jarlaxle grabbed his ankle and dragged him to the ground, the move precipitating a brief wrestling match that ended with him face down, spitting sand, Entreri’s knee in the small of his back.
“You could at least have taken your shirt off first,” he said. Who had put quite so many grains in beach sand? It was wretched. “Maybe put on some oils. It’s like you do not even care about my needs.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Jarlaxle relaxed for a moment, long enough to try to lull Entreri into a false sense of security, then surged up, twisting, trying to throw Artemis off. It half worked—now at least he was on his back with a hand free. Artemis had the other wrist pinned above his head, and a pleasant little shiver darted up his spine. He reached up, slowing when Entreri flinched away, and brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Are you still cross with me about the dragon thing?”
Artemis sighed, and Jarlaxle made a happy noise when the human dipped his head and kissed him. Warm lips, warm skin beneath his palms, warm sand, warm sun. What better way to waste an afternoon? His hands started wandering of their own accord, and Artemis sat up.
“Public beach,” he pointed out. Jarlaxle ignored him and ran his hands up Artemis’ thighs, thoroughly enjoying having the human straddling him. He lazily rolled his thumbs back and forth at the highest point he could reach; Entreri’s breath hitched. Jarlaxle let his gaze trail up Artemis’ body, slow and hungry.
“I killed a dragon,” he said.
“You helped kill a dragon,” Entreri corrected. He very studiously ignored Jarlaxle’s attentions, as if doing so would make him stop. “I’ve heard them tell it—you did very little.”
“They would have done far worse without my considerable moral support. And financial assistance.”
“So you are buying your victories now, are you? Get your hands off.” Artemis finally slapped his hands away from where Jarlaxle had gotten his belt halfway unbuckled. He started to get up—Jarlaxle dragged him back down into another kiss. Soft lips, stubble scraping his chin, that familiar, welcome annoyance. Entreri sighed into his mouth, all fond frustration.
Jarlaxle behaved himself, and let him go after not nearly long enough; Entreri rolled off of him and flopped down in the sand. The late spring sun threw lovely pools of shadow in the curve of his neck, gilded the hair on his arms. Calling him beautiful was a quick way to a black eye—or worse—but Jarlaxle thought it anyway.
“Will you stay until the carnival is over?” he asked. He retrieved his hat from where it had fallen and set it back on his head. “I’ve so little to do now that the Grand Game has rather neatly wrapped up.”
“You have enough bed warmers.”
“I am bored of acrobats and actresses.” Jarlaxle knelt forwards. He traced along Entreri’s jaw with light fingers. “I’m in the mood for an assassin.”
His fingers brushed over Artemis’ mouth and Entreri bit him. Jarlaxle flicked his nose, getting a palmful of sand in his face for his trouble.
“I’ll stay,” Artemis said, whilst he was cursing and scrubbing sand from his eyes. “If you can promise me, definitively, that there will be no more dragons.”
Jarlaxle put a hand on his heart. “I swear on my life.”
“Not much of an oath.”
“Very much of an oath, you know how highly I value my continued existence.” He sprawled out next to Artemis and set his hat over his face again. “And if there is another dragon, I promise you can have first chance at feeding me to it.”
“I will hold you to that.”
Artemis slid a hand into his. Jarlaxle squeezed it, glad to have it back where he liked it. “Does this mean you will come and stay on the Eyecatcher with me instead of sulking in that awful tavern?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Jarlaxle grinned. He’d take that as a yes.