Chapter 278 - 276: Interest.

Chapter 278: Chapter 276: Interest.

He’s not sure.

​He leaves it there. It feels kind of nice, having a body tucked up against him.

Really nice, even.

​The fact that it’s Loac’s? Well.

​He doesn’t think about that.

Can’t. If he does when he’s like this, with ale feeding the ever more voracious fire in his blood with one hand and whittling away at his closely guarded resolve with the other, there’s no telling what might happen.

What he might do.

​(What he might want Loac to do.)

​His arm tightens on his waist, infinitesimally.

Loac doesn’t seem to notice.

​"Whatever you’re having is fine," he shrugs, and Loac throws up a hand to lure a barmaid over to order two more.

And then, after a moment of consideration, he shoves a hand into his pocket, pulls out a fistful of gold and orders for the entire tavern.

​The barmaid’s eyes almost fall out of her head. But she counts out the gold and gets to work, and a drunken cheer goes up as free drinks start sliding every which way along the bar.

​"What was that for?" Khobi asks, throwing him a baffled look.

​"S’just gold," Loac points out, as he hooks one of the mugs off the bar and offers it to him, "I don’t need it."

​Khobi rolls his eyes so hard it hurts . He still takes the drink, though.

​"You’re the worst," he complains, because who says shit like that?

​(He’s been saying that a lot. And it’s funny, but he means it just a little less each time.)

​"Bet you say that to all the guys who buy you drinks," Loac snickers as he brushes in to grab a mug for himself, tone lighter than it usually is and eyes creased and glittering.

Maybe it’s the lighting but the lines of his face seem softer than normal.

​"Just you," Khobi shoots back easily, meaning no real offense.

​"That so?" Loac hums just as easily, taking none. " Lucky me ."

​The sudden, almost provocative way his voice drops catches Khobi wildly off guard.

​And makes his gut clench .

​Shit , he thinks, heart racing as Loac jerks his head back towards the table and starts moving off like he hasn’t just short circuited Khobi’s brain.

​What the fuck was that ?

​Blankly, Khobi can do nothing but raise his mug to his lips and watch him go; heart hammering in his chest and a sudden, low throb of arousal pulsing through his veins.

​And, as it turns out, Loac’s drink of choice is decidedly not fine.

It’s that thick, sweet stuff Khobi had been drinking that night down on the plains; the stuff that had made his body warm and thoughts loose and had made his head swim in the best of ways.

​He’s already feeling a little lightheaded though, and so sees no reason not to drink it anyways.

​One drink, Montrel had offered Loac.

​Six drinks in and counting, and he’s still there.

​And it’s never even once crossed his mind to tell him to go.

...

The night wears on. Loac must not care about being called names because he still winds up buying Khobi another a drink.

Not he really needed to; for being flat broke Khobi is eating and drinking awfully well.

Their new friends from the table over are as generous with their gold after a few ales as the soldiers, and when an impromptu arm wrestling competition strikes up on one side of the tavern drinks and gold exchange hands left and right.

And it’s testimony to how high Khobi’s spirits are running tonight that he doesn’t even sulk when Jaga takes a decisive victory over him.

​It helps that the smith he had been loosely flirting with over their dumb coin game finally asks Khobi if he’ll let him buy him a drink if he wins a round.

​"Sure," Khobi tells him, easily. With his sleeves rolled up all the way to his shoulders, it’s clear that the guy’s got some serious arms on him but this is Jaga they’re talking about, so Khobi doesn’t much like his chances.

​He loses, as well he should, but Khobi very generously lets him buy him a drink anyway.

​"You knew I’d lose, didn’t you?" he comments, as he shuffles back to the spot on the wall Khobi’s been watching from.

Khobi doesn’t miss the way his hand travels to his lower back with purpose as he shifts around to settle in beside him, and he doesn’t mind it at all. If anything, he’d like it a bit lower.

​"Yeah," Khobi admits with a chuckle, and if he crosses his arms across his chest to draw attention to his arms and the collar of his shirt, well . "Jaga’s kinda somethin’ else."

​"Hmm, you’re not so bad yourself." The words are innocent enough, but when Khobi raises an eyebrow at the guy, he gets an entirely unapologetic and entirely not-so-innocent once-over in return.

Which he supposes is fair; he’s been doing much the same thing.

​It’s been a while since Khobi’s been hit on. By anyone other than Loac, that is, and that hardly counts because every second thing the guy says seems to be a come on.

It’s nice, and Khobi quickly loses track of how many opponents Jaga takes down in a row.

Sure, he’s never really had a thing for blondes, but Khobi can forgive that when he’s this easy on the eyes, and most importantly, definitely up for whatever Khobi’s up for, if the way he sidles up into his space if anything to go by.

He’s got a nice face and body that cuts in all the right places, and as they trade quips and coy looks, Khobi can’t help but wonder how he likes it; if he wants to pin Khobi to a bed, or be pinned himself.

​It’s no deal breaker either way, but Khobi knows which way he’d prefer.

​There’s an itch that he’d like scratched, so to speak.

​But as pleasant of a distraction his new companion is, he’s hard pressed to stop his gaze from wandering to the next challenge with interest as Loac throws himself down into the seat Jaga with a determined look on his face.

​He, like all the rest of them, loses in about two seconds flat.