` ` Ruh Roh ` `

The excursion had gone... poorer than desired.

That was putting it a bit lightly, but Gabriel was currently trying to not dwell too much on the specifics of it. A mixture of the usual types of men found in larger cities and Achilles' temper had, to no one's surprise, not gone exceedingly well: now, here they were, a few miles out from the city, not quite damaged but decently scuffed.

All in all, though, it was not too awful. Bullet points rest in his head right now, itching to be scribbled down, so Gabriel takes the small moment of respite to tug the worn notebook from his pocket- the second- and flips to a few specific pages, already shaking his pen in preparation to jot down what he can from that. Who would have thought outlaws would have access to such weapons? Or would be so offended by a soft insult to a monument? Or, rather, it might just be those ones in particular... Regardless, into his notes with that one.

Ever connected, Achilles has also stopped. He is stretching nearby, grumbling to himself as he irons out whatever kinks were left from getting knocked around a town. He's a skilled fighter, Gabriel knows, but no one can escape getting surprised like they had.

A few minutes into their silence, Gabriel feels Achilles ease over to his shoulder, peaking over. He shifts, letting Achilles get a view- he doesn't mind this journal being glanced at- and he can already envision that lovely little scowl Achilles is making, not needing to look up.

"What are you writing?" Achilles says, curious. Or maybe he just wants an excuse to chat, Gabriel cannot tell sometimes. "Those guys weren't that interesting."

"It is still valuable information." Gabriel replies, not glancing up.

Achilles just makes a soft "hm" sound, before leaving it at that.

He hears shuffling, as Achilles steps away and goes back to his stretches. A moment later, the grumbling starts up again, but it's no bother- Gabriel is used to it by now.

"Can't believe this shit," He says. "What kind of cowards attack people in their own motel room, anyways?"

"It was pretty effective."

"Still cowardly," Achilles makes a sound of disgust, before kicking at the sand beneath them, still pissed. "It was our first nice place in forever! I don't know where we're gonna find a place with a decent shower again."

Ah, right, that was unfortunate. Nearly as unfortunate as the fact they had been attacked while Achilles had been in there: he had not even gotten to properly enjoy it before having to run out in their panic.

Saying that the sight had been amusing probably would not be appreciated though, so Gabriel keeps that thought to himself. For now, anyway.

"I am sure we will find another," He simply says instead, before finally glancing up from his scrawling. "There are other cities nearby. Most people have those sort of accommodations-"

Oh.

He stops.

Achilles is looking at him, still frowning but at least considering the counterpoint; however, Gabriel is entirely unfocused on that right now.

Achilles stands before him, in the same state they had fled from the motel in. In their panic, he had not exactly considered the fact Achilles had darted out of the restroom at the first sounds of gunfire, instead focused entirely on the threat at hand. Had not questioned the wild, half dressed state they had both found themselves in. Then, after they had very tactfully fled- how were they to fight so many men under that sort of surprise attack?- they had run for miles, focused on getting as far out as they could on foot.

Now, however, is the first real moment of processing Gabriel has had of this situation, and...

His eyes flicker over Achilles' state.

He is met with tan, scarred skin, completely bare to his searching eyes now. Damp, raven hair hangs loosely, un-tied strands pooling over the scarred tissue of Achilles' shoulders, then farther down his arms, his chest, down to the very hastily tied fabric around his hips. Not tied enough: it hangs down enough Gabriel can see the smooth slant of Achilles' hips, waist tantalizingly on display, and the wisps of soft, black hair beneath his navel that make a line all the way back up to his chest.

And Gabriel knows what is under that fabric, too. Can practically envision it with how much of Achilles he can see.

Ah.

Achilles is staring at him too, brows furrowed in the way Gabriel has memorized time and time again, his mouth tilted into a familiar half-frown half-pout, eyes narrowed. Waiting.

"You okay?" Falls from his lips, and Gabriel holds back a jolt.

"I am," It takes a moment for him to speak. Another for him to look down and realize he's made a long line of ink across his page, ruining whatever he had just written. A soft noise escapes him, before he's tucking the pen away, something in his chest fluttering. "I- I am fine. I apologize, what did you say?"

Achilles' frown deepens, this time with light concern. "Most places have that kind of stuff, but they're never really worth anything, they're not as nice. But Gabe- you sure you're okay?"

Gabriel's eyes remain very carefully on Achilles' face the next time he glances up, which isn't really all that better: the wisps of stubble along his jaw look akin to the patches along his chest, enough that it has him wanting to check again, only stopped by the way he has to press the tipped end of the pen very, very, hard into his hand to distract himself.

"I am," He doesn't know how else to reassure him.

Achilles' care is both a blessing and a curse, sometimes.

"You don't look ‘fine'."

In a brisk step, Achilles is stepping closer, crowding into Gabriel's space- and oh, oh, now Gabriel can finally feel the heat that has long since spread across his face. Can see the way the sprint had dried Achilles save for his hair, which now lets off occasional drops of water that run down his torso.

"You're all red- the run didn't give you heatstroke or something, did it?" Achilles looks more concerned now, his face in Gabriel's.

His own mind is fighting to either flee or do something horrendous, leaving simple sparks of useless neurological work left that cannot force him to move anything but his vocals.

"It did not-" Ah, wait, that would be a better excuse than whatever is occurring within him... "Or- no, it did, I... I believe I just need some fresh air, that is all."

There's a pause between them.

"...We're outside." Achilles simply murmurs a moment later.

...Mm. He forgot about that.

"Right. I knew that." Real smooth.

"Yeah, okay, well you don't seem fine- You didn't get hurt, did you? I swear to the gods, if they nicked you-" There's more concern in that question, a tone that Gabriel recognizes: Achilles is getting all worked up again. It would be sweet, if Gabriel didn't feel like he was burning from the inside when Achilles suddenly starts patting over his coat-

"No!" It's louder than he intends, but gets Achilles' searching hands off of him. Nevermind the way he has to sit ramrod straight now, thighs pressing together, face burning. "No, I did not get hurt. Um-"

An excuse. That would be helpful. "I just need a moment, that is all."

It's too late for Achilles now, though. He's in one of those headspaces where he can't be reasoned with: he thinks something is wrong, and, ever one to need to help, he's determined.

So, Gabriel finds the man fluttering around him- kind of doing the opposite of ‘helping' Gabriel...

"I'll get the tent set up-" He's saying, Gabriel is half-listening, just focused on the way Achilles looks this close. He needs to get his head on straight, cobble it back together, but... "We'll get you set down, okay? You probably need water, you still look hot-"

Gabriel can only mutter that he's fine so much, but the babble is ceased when he feels a gentle hand on his forehead, feeling over the flush there. Achilles' palm is just as warm, a bit sweaty, cupping over Gabriel's head sweetly. Gabriel recognizes it as a human means of checking for fever.

"I am not sick," He mutters out, before abruptly having to slam his mouth shut.

A ticklish, sensitive feeling spreads over his head like a blanket, before nearly sending a whole shudder through his body. He cannot help the way he jolts then, especially when the contact remains, even intensifies. His shoulder jolts, his face growing ever hotter.

"Achilles-" It slips out of him, ignored, as calloused fingers run along his skin, creating a ripple of shivers.

Achilles just runs his thumb back over Gabriel's ear a second time, oblivious.

"Even these are red," He remarks. It's awed.

Unfinished from here.