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[weaponwithoutpurpose]

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[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Yeah?

[He calls out to him in the kitchen.]

Think you can warden on your knees?

[He intends it as a joke, but it just brings Astarion to mind, something he had wanted to try and forget. ]

[pharadyne]

You bet I can. I'm amazing on my knees. [He finds the tonic and carries it back to his glass, filling it with equal parts tonic and gin. Proper cocktail acquired, he sits on the arm of Jacob's chair.]

Everyone says so. ["Everyone" = Norton]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[Sweeney had said that wardens don't fuck their inmates. But here's Norton, sitting in the arm of the chair, looking like he belongs. There are a thousand reasons he shouldn't do any of this. But he slides an arm around his waist, holding his drink in his other hand, leaning his head back against the chair.

He had a thing with John. He's his warden. Jacob doesn't want anything from him except the oblivion he might give him.

None of those reasons are good enough to stop him from curling his arm around him.]

No one fucking says that. You're full of shit.

[pharadyne]

[Norton thinks he ought to be surprised by Jacob's arm around his waist, but he isn't really. He's been flirting, and he's gorgeous (in his humble opinion), and sex is a way to feel good when things are otherwise bad. He takes another sip of his drink and then leans over to set the glass on the table.]

I say that, and I'm not no one.

[Norton slides down onto Jacob's lap. Doctor Sheehan would be appalled, but Norton's not sure that isn't a plus. Anyway, this is rapport building.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He doesn't know about feel good. It feels like something, if oblivion is something. Which is better than the apathy that plagues him normally.

He leans back with his drink in hand.]

Then prove it. Guess I'll be the judge.

[pharadyne]

Challenge accepted.

[He slithers down to the floor, dragging his hands along Jacob's chest until he's on his knees in front of chair with his palms resting on Jacob's thighs.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[Jacob drinks from the glass, looking over Norton's shoulder as he adjusts himself in the chair. He places his hand on Norton's, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to his fingers. A moment of gentleness when the rest of it means nothing. Just a way to keep surviving as the Barge continues on in its ceaseless path.]

You gonna get demoted for this?

[pharadyne]

I shouldn't think so. I'm not hurting you, quite the opposite. And I slept with a few of my temporary wardens when I was an inmate. No demotions there.

[His fingers drift over Jacob's trousers.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

No skin off my ass if you do.

[He reaches down, unbuttoning his pants, glad he left the gun on the table.]

I've noticed that everyone just loves to fuck on this ship anyway.

[pharadyne]

It's that or talk about feelings and who wants to do that?

[He leans in, then pauses, glances over at Mae.]

I can't do this with the dog watching, could you tell her to...I don't know...go lie on the bed or something like that?

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He laughs, snapping his fingers and gesturing towards to ther room. Mae happily trots off to find a less imposing corner to sit in.]

Better?

You need a blanket to sit your delicate fucking knees on, too?

[pharadyne]

So kind of you to consider my comfort, darling, but no, my knees are fine. I used to be an altar boy so I have lots of practice kneeling. Because of all the praying, I mean.

[And now that Mae isn't around to judge him, Norton eagerly sets himself to the task, starting with a long, slow swipe of his tongue.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He sits back in the chair, tapping his finger on the glass.]

Fucking Catholic. Dad used to call them heathens.

No offense.

[He slides his other hand through Norton's hair as his eyes close, imagining long brown waves or silver curls. If he lets his mind wander, he can finally fucking feel something.]

[pharadyne]

Church of England. [Norton pauses to correct Jacob and then gets back to his work, gliding his lips over the head and bobbing up and down with enthusiasm. It's one of the few things that will keep Norton quiet for any length of time.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[Jacob tightens his grip in his hair when Norton pulls away. But he can feel himself responding, warmth spreading from his core.]

Don't talk. Ruins the fucking mood.

[Because he can't imagine Norton as anyone else if he talks.]

[pharadyne]

[It's not remotely the strangest or most unreasonable request someone has made to him during sex. It's not even the first time someone has made that specific request. (Even though, in his opinion, there's nothing wrong with his voice and people who claim that it's squeaky are clearly incorrect.)

So he remains silent as he swirls his tongue around Jacob's crown, then slides his lips all the way down until the tip of his nose brushes the hairs at his groin, then returns back up to repeat the maneuver a few times.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He's quiet, but clearly pleased, digging fingers into his hair. Jacob lets oblivion take him again, lets the world fade around him so he doesn't have to think or move or dream. He can exist in this moment of pleasure until, with a shudder and a groan, he pulls his hair as a warning, giving him that much courtesy, before he finishes.

And then it's over and he's back to himself, fucking hating it.]

[pharadyne]

[Norton sits back on his heels and daintily wipes his mouth.]

Good?

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He waves a hand, then tucks himself back into his pants.]

Yeah. Good.

[He does take a long drink to finish the glass, trying to get himself out of his own head.]

How come I didn't get this treatment as a temp, huh?

[pharadyne]

[Norton shrugs.] I suppose because you didn't dare me to when you were a temp.

[He stands up, knees a bit more creaky than he'd like, and settles himself back on the settee. His trousers are feeling uncomfortably tight, but he can ignore than for now.]

I expect the chances of any further serious conversation tonight is well and truly blown...no pun intended.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[Unintended or not, it gets a laugh.]

Yeah, I think that chance is fucked.

[Pun certainly intended.]

Not that I am real keen on talking shit out with you.

[But at least he's not - angry. Not at Norton, at least. His posture reflects that now. Even his tone stays a little teasing.]

[pharadyne]

To be honest, most of the time I'd rather stick my head in an oven than talk about feelings. But I need the Admiral deal.

[Norton doesn't see the need to pretend that there's no self-interest motivating him as a warden. And he suspects Jacob would respect honest self-interest more than a pretense of altruism.]

Right now, though, I'm more inclined to just get sozzled and watch a film if you're keen.

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

Fuck. Yes. That one. Let's do that one.

[The port can wait. Everything can wait. He just wants to sit here, get exceptionally drunk, and pretend like he's not here on the Barge. Pretend that the outside world doesn't exist."

[pharadyne]

Bring a few more bottles over from the liquor cabinet. I'll choose a film.

[Nothing about war, nothing about trauma, nothing too deep since they'll be drunk. He decides on The Seven Year Itch.]

[weaponwithoutpurpose]

[He pushes himself up and finds a few bottles, bringing them over and placing them on the table, refilling glasses for both of them.]

What'd you pick?

Marilyn? [He raises his glass.]

Sinful.