Upstaging — Lance & Rafael (Patreon)

Someone told him, long before, that if you have nothing positive to say, then perhaps you should say nothing at all.

Lance likes that rule. He likes not saying anything at all, for it's rare for those who talk to listen, and Lance enjoys listening. There's no better grave than the one you dig for yourself, so why should he ever stop anyone from talking their way into their own hole?

Lance prefers to listen, but as of now, he's finding it hard to stay quiet.

There are very few positive things to say. The man's grip is wrong, his rhythm inconsistent, most of his notes are off-key, and Lance would bet his golden tooth that he hasn't bothered to tune his viola in at least a fortnight. The song filling the unfortunate walls of the common room is one full of mistakes and blunders, but worst yet, they are not missteps made out of boldness and passion. They are not creative, they are simply... terribly executed. An amateur, that man is, and yet, he introduced himself as an expert minstrel.

Lance's lips press on each other as another note makes him cringe. If one cannot find a single positive, one should remain silent. And he would. He will. Lance simply wonders why everyone else seems to miss the fact that the man on stage is a horrid player.

The tavern isn't full, but a good number of patrons pepper the tables. The big hearth burns, its crackling flames drowned by the shrill melody, and the barkeep is a voluptuous woman with red hair, a brown dress, and a cleavage that attracts the eyes. Not your eyes, however. Your eyes, to Lance's complete puzzlement, are set on the would-be-bard playing on top of a makeshift stage. Your table is the closest to it, and you sit with your chair dragged to the side so that you can fully face the stage.

You rest your chin on your palm, your lips are stuck in a smile that's so light, it radiates peace and softens your gaze, and your foot sways with the rhythm of the song.

The terrible, awful, song. And yet... you are enjoying it. They all seem to be. A man in the corner has his eyes closed and a blissful look on his face, while another group sways their heads as they speak with each other. For the old gods' sake, there are even a few coins on the hat placed at the man's feet, and not just copper ones. Are they all deaf? He wouldn't care, really, Lance does not care...

But as the amateur— Lance refuses to think him a bard — makes a flourish, spinning on stage while the music gets to its grand terrible crescendo, your smile widens, and you clap your hands when, dramatically, the man stops, and bows.

"Thank you!" he shouts, and perhaps Lance is biased, but even his voice sounds wrong. He puts a hand to his chest while the other holds his viola high, waving it at the crowd. "Thank you so very much."

You clap a few more times, laughing with the others. Lance picks up his drink and drowns whatever it's inside, hoping to erase the sudden bitterness at the back of his tongue. His grey eyes are glued to you. It is over now, so, as painful as that was, he will finally have a respite. Perhaps Lance will venture to sit at your table, he'll only wait for—

The fake minstrel steps out of the stage, but instead of moving toward the bar, as he should, the man approaches your table. Lance puts the glass down as, immediately, he strains his earring, leaning forward on his chair.

But he shouldn't have bothered, for the man's baritone voice rings obnoxiously loud. "Good evening," he says, and then he bows. He keeps eye contact with you the whole time with a curling smile on his lips. "My name is Lucien, the Gifted, and I have to commend you."

That you didn't laugh at the pathetic name is bad enough. "Commend me?" you say instead. "What for? I should be the one commending you, Lucien, the Gifted."

Lucien shakes his head and reaches forward... to take hold of your hand. "No," he stage whispers. "You deserve all the credit. For all the years I've performed, never have I had a better audience."

You laugh, but it's not mocking. It is... amused. This cannot be. Surely, you have better taste. "I see you possess a silver tongue," you say coyly.

Lucien bends down and kisses your knuckles. "And you have immeasurably charm. I could write a song about you. I will!"

You laugh again.

Lance prefers to stay silent. He likes to observe. But he's pulled out of his chair by a force he cannot explain, and he's striding towards your table with a purpose he seldom felt before. You look up as he approaches, and your gazes lock.

You look surprised, and then, something happens to your smile. It was joyful before, but now it... turns quieter. More reserved. Lance thinks he prefers this one. Your eyes change too, and Lance would like to have the time to think about what it means, but he does not. "Excuse me," he mutters, making sure to bump into Lucien as he walks past.

"Oh, there's no trouble! I—"

Lance steps onto the stage and reaches for the lyre at his back. Its weight is as familiar as the weight of his arms — it's almost an extension of himself. He brings it to the front and lifts his head to face the tavern. Some patrons are eyeing him curiously, a little girl clutching her father's hand pulls him closer, and Lucien is gaping up at him with a dumb expression.

But Lance lowers his eyes to your table and sets them on you. "Apologies for my intrusion, but I was inspired by our friend." Lance opens a palm toward Lucien, who shakes his head in pretend demureness. "And I am moved by the desire to share a song of my own."

He smiles, then, wide and practiced, but never takes his eyes off you. You give him a disapproving little frown, and Lance knows you caught wind of his sarcasm. You may have been the only one. Lucien certainly didn't.

"Oh, how ingenuity inspires ingenuity! I am honored," Lucien declares loudly to the whole room before smiling condescendingly at Lance. "Go on, don't be shy. They're a nice crowd."

"I'm sure they are," Lance answers and sees your flush. He waggles his fingers, takes a deep breath... and strikes the first cord.

The song his lyrics materialize is melancholic. It rises slowly in a sort of wave that never seems to find a crash. Lance plays expertly, hands moving on their own accord, while his mind slips into the half-trance-like state it does whenever he plays. He's present, he can see how Lucien's bold smile drops and he begins to look nervously around. He can see the little girl dancing in the bobbing way that toddlers do. The man at the back has closed his eyes again and now puts a hand over his heart.

But, most of all, Lance sees you. Because he never stops looking at you.

"E só com uma voz e uma guitarra eu fiz."

He begins to sing along, his voice as much a part of the wave as the notes. It's an original song, one he wrote not long ago. One he was saving for...

"Parar a rua inteira, parar a rua inteira."

You lean forward in your chair, your lips parted, and your eyes glinting, and Lance thought your previous smiles were captivating, but they pale when compared with this. You have a look of wonder as if you're lost in his song and the world fades at the corners. Lucien takes a step to the side, clearing his throat, but you don't even seem to notice.

"Vim tocar pra ti uma canção que te escrevi."

The chords swirl in the air, and he starts the process of bringing the song down. The wave builds and builds, but it never crashes. It slowly drops, seeping into the atmosphere. Lance speaks the last words slowly, inclines his head, and makes it known these are meant for you only.

"Quando alguém me diz: O teu amor não mora aqui."

The song stops.

You blink as if let out of a trance, and after a beat, the other patrons begin to cheer. Lance smiles at them before hopping off, quickly noting that Lucien is nowhere to be seen. "I am called Lance," he says as he approaches you.

You bite your lip, trying very hard not to smile. "No title?"

"Ala, no title."

"Well, maybe I can give you one," you say, gesturing for him to sit beside you. Lance does. You lean forward until your lips are near his ear, and he doesn't notice how he stopped breathing. "Lance, the Cruel."

Lance laughs, looking around the room. No, no, Lucien. "He'll live," he says.

But you turn serious. You're close enough that Lance is hyper-aware of you, of how easy it would be to rest his arm behind your chair. But he stays still, a practiced smile in place, and waits. "The song was beautiful," you tell him in a whisper.

He is used to being silent, never revealing what he shouldn't. To keep his cards close to his chest. But now, at this moment, Lance throws all advice and caution to the wind. "I wrote it for you," he admits.

There. It is out.

You look down, then, your teeth sink into your bottom lip. "I finally have my admission," you say, and you are so beautiful. He comes closer, and you do not shy away. "I didn't know all it would take was you being jealous, Lance."

The words hit him like a slap, but he takes it in stride. His pride hurts, but you're not wrong. "Not my best moment," he says and brushes his knuckles on your cheek. You tilt your face at the touch. "But no less sincere."

You part your lips, and Lance would have liked to hear what you have to say, but alas, they are too tempting. So, he closes the distance and steals your breath with a first shared kiss.

- - -

You eye the cards intensely.

Music plays in the air, and voices mingle with the big firepit burning in the center. The scent of cooking meat brings water to your mouth, and the light buzz of alcohol makes your head sway pleasantly. There's a warmth in your stomach, a silly smile on your lips, and you cannot, for the life of you, keep up with his fingers.

"There!" you yell and point at the back of one of the cards. "That's the one, I'm sure of it."

Vali, the rogue, smirks. "Are you sure?" he asks, his long blond hair catching the glow of the flames. He keeps it tied loosely to the back of his head. "I can do it again."

You narrow your eyes playfully at him. "I'm sure," you say, putting as much confidence in the tone as you can. You hit your palm on the table. "It's that one!"

Vali tuts. "I like my coin, but not like this. This is turning pitiful, you've already lost three silver." He lifts his eyebrows, giving you a charming smile to take the offense from the words. This is all for fun, of course. "Watch it one more time and then make your choice."

You laugh because you feel like it. "I know you're trying to get me to pick another because that's the right one.”

"That's a lie."

You laugh again. It feels so good to simply let go. "I've made my choice."

Vali sighs. "I really—"

"Just show the fuckin' card." His voice cuts through the air like a knife. It's flat, despite the heat of the words, and when you look at Rafael, he's glaring at Vali. Not that you're surprised, he has been scowling and frowning and glowering ever since your new friend approached your table. "Before I get a damn headache."

Vali, as the easy-going person he is, takes it in stride. He smiles at Rafael, who only scowls harder. "Very well, but I was just trying to protect your friend's interests."

Rafael scoffs. "Ya watchin' over someone's interests, alright."

"Raf!" you hiss, taken aback by his blatant hostility. You don't understand why he's behaving this way. He was in relatively high spirits when you came to the lodge, but now, he's ruing the game.

You wonder why he even bothers to sit here any longer, it's clear he's not having any sort of fun, but Rafael seems determined to not leave your table. He's just... this gloomy, sullen presence trying to bring the mood down. Well, you won't let him. "Just stop that."

Rafael's brown eyes shift to you. He seems to want to say something, but then he exhales and looks to the side. "Bloody idiot," you hear him mumble.

You roll your eyes. "So? Is it the right one?" you ask Vali, purposely shutting Rafael off the conversation.

Vali waggles his eyebrows and then starts to turn the card. You lean forward, eyes narrowed on it. It has to be the queen of hearts he showed you at the beginning. You tracked his impossibly fast fingers the whole time, it's the queen. You're sure. You are—

Vali turns it, and you stare at a black spade.

"No!" you cry out, hitting your hand on the table again. "No, that's impossible!"

"I told you." Vali chuckles, deftly shuffling the cards together in a flurry of movement. You could stare at his quick hands for an eternity. "I tried to warn you. This hurts me as much as you."

You ignore the scoff expelled from your right and fish another silver coin from your pocket. "Yes, you seem very hurt," you drawl sarcastically. Vali chuckles, and you join him as you hand him the coin. "But fair's fair. You're bleeding me dry."

The silver disappears inside his jacket. "How about we up the stakes?" Vali asks then with a shine in his eyes.

You pause, giving him a sidelong glance. "I may be a bit tipsy, but I'm not drunk enough to start betting gold, Vali," you say.

But he just shakes his head. "No, no, nothing like that," he says, grabbing the bottom of his chair to drag it closer. Rafael stiffens, and the bastard puts an elbow on top of the table, looming closer to you too. You frown, but you're too interested to hear what Vali has to say to care about Rafael's arm resting on the back of your chair.

"How about we play one more time, and if you lose—"

"Again."

"Again." Vali smiles. His eyes shift to the side for a moment, to Rafael, and you think his smile sours, but it bounces right back when Vali looks back at you. "If you lose, you let me buy you a drink. Over on that table, just the two of us."

He points his chin at the table in the corner, the furthest away from everyone. Your lips part in surprise, and your cheeks suddenly blaze like the sun at the way Vali stares at you. “Oh," you say, suddenly wishing your thoughts weren't so dizzy. "I—"

"I accept it," Rafael cuts in, pushing his elbow further ahead of the table. He gets between you and Vali, lip curled in a snarl.

"What?" Vali asks.

"What?" you echo, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Raf—"

Rafael hits his knuckles on the wood. "Ya heard me. I'll play your little game. If I lose, you'll buy the idiot a drink." Rafael lowers his voice, then, the tone coming out venomous. "But if I win, you'll crawl back to whatever hole ya came from."

You can't believe this. "Are you out of your mind?" you hiss.

"Done," Vali accepts.

"Hey!" you protest, but the two men aren't even looking at you. They're glowering at each other, like a pair of fools.

"Go on, then," Rafael spits, his hand on the back of your chair tightening its grip. He leans so far out that he's practically on top of you, and from the other side, Vali pushes his chair right against your own.

And as Vali starts to shuffle the cards, you realize that they're not going to listen to what you have to say. Fine. You cross your arms and let the two peacocks have their little pissing contest.

"King of Diamonds," Vali says, flashing it to Rafael. The bastards nod, and Vali begins the game. He holds seven other cards in his hands, their backs to you and Rafael. The king sits between his middle and ring finger.

There's a pause. Rafael watches the other man intensely. His face is closed off, serious, and the thought is so fleeting, you blame it on the alcohol, but... Rafael looks handsome, then. Intense and masculine as he boxes you in. You lick your lips and force yourself to pay attention.

Vali starts shuffling. It is incredibly fast, faster than all the other times he's done before. You realize now how he was taking it easy on you. His fingers move with the speed of a crossbow bolt, and the cards become a blurry of colors and shifting paper. It's not long before you lose track of the king. You lose track of everything. Vali's fingers dance a mad, stunning dance, and you give up.

But not Rafael. He's watching like a predator, eyes so narrowed, the brown disappears.

"And... now." Vali stops, breathing a bit harder. He's smiling, however, and you can't blame him. Rafael couldn't have kept up, it's impossible. "Which is it?" he asks, holding each card on each finger again.

Eight backs to pick from.

Rafael lets out a dry chuckle. "I got your little king," he says, his smirk showing the gap in his teeth.

"There's no way you do," you say.

Rafael throws you a piercing glare but doesn't bother to answer. He brings a hand closer to the cards. "It's right..." And then, quick like lightning, Rafael reaches his hand past Vali's hands and plunges it deep inside the rogue’s left sleeve.

"Hey!" Vali shouts, jerking back. You pull on Rafael's arm—

But halt when your eyes land on the card Rafael lifts in the air. "Here's your card," he says, showing the red king of diamonds. "Now fuck off, cheater."

Vali's face goes from shock, to dry amusement. "Takes one to know one.”

Rafael just smiles.

You swing your head from one to the other. "Wait, the whole time?" you shout then, finally able to find words again. You round on Vali, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You were cheating the whole time?"

"Actually, I didn't cheat the last time," he admits with a shrug. "Figured I didn't need it."

"And ya didn't," Rafael adds.

Your face flushes. "You... bastards."

Vali smiles and lowers his head at you. "I did genuinely have fun. I hope you did too." He looks at Rafael, then. "But fair's fair. Have a good evening, you two."

And with that, the rogue, Vali gets up and saunters away from your table. You watch his retreating back with spinning thoughts. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Just say you're an idiot."

You scowl at Rafael. "Can you stop kicking me while I'm down?"

He shrugs, smirking, and half of you wants to tear it off his face. But the other half has suffered enough humiliation for one night. "Fat chance of that," you say bitterly, getting up from your chair. The floor sways a bit. "You can—"

Rafael grabs your elbow, fingers strong but not harsh. "Where do ya think you're going?"

You blink. "To bed. I need to sleep this off."

"I won the bet," Rafael says and tugs you down. He does it gently enough that you could resist, but... something has you going along. You sit back on the chair.

"I'm buying ya a drink," Rafael declares and leans forward. His face comes near your own, and his breath washes over your eyelashes, and you're tipsy, but now the walls sway for a different reason. "And you havin' it with me. Alone."

He stays peering into you for a moment, eyes searching your face. You realize he waits for any sign that you don't want to. You don't give him one. You just look back, seeing him in a different light.

A rugged light that makes his smile spark something in your lower stomach. "Be right back," Raf murmurs before he springs up and walks to the bar.

You shouldn't drink more, but you'll have one more. As long as you share it with him.

- - - 

Here's a rough translation of Lance's song. It's a very literal translation, so it honestly doesn't sound very good in English, but trust me, it's beautiful in Portuguese!!! 😊

– And only with a voice and a guitar I did

– Stop the whole street, stop the whole street

– I came to play for you a song I wrote You

– When someone tells me: your love does not live here

Link to the song.