Chapter Text
Samuel was not easily distracted. There was too much to do, too much to consider, to fixate on something, or someone, without reason. And yet, a few days after he had begun working with John II of Liechtenstein, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of curiosity.
It wasn’t just the way John carried himself, with a quiet, self-assured dignity, though that was certainly part of it. Nor was it the way he seemed untouched by the weight of his enormous task, as if it were just another duty on his long list of responsibilities. No, what intrigued Samuel lay deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. And he was simply curious.
Perhaps it was the way John listened. Not just nodding absentmindedly but truly listening, as if every word Samuel spoke held meaning. Or perhaps it was the way he rarely revealed his thoughts, his calm exterior never cracking. And yet, Samuel had seen it. Fleeting moments where John's mask slipped, where something sharp, something alert flickered in his gaze. A look that lingered on him for just a moment too long. A smile so faint it made Samuel feel like a bathmaid being courted by a nobleman. And that hand on his shoulder, the one that sometimes rested there just a little too long.
Now they sat across from each other, papers spread out between them, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls. It was late and Samuel felt the exhaustion in his shoulders but John remained unchanged: composed, deliberate, unreadable.
Samuel leaned back, watching him under the pretense of stretching. “You don’t look tired.”
John glanced up, his quill pausing mid-word. “I’m used to long hours.”
Samuel huffed softly. “And yet, you always look impeccable. What’s your secret?”
John didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Discipline.”
Samuel exhaled, barely audible. Of course. Exactly the kind of answer John would give: pragmatic, to the point, revealing nothing. And yet, Samuel felt the urge to ask more, to dig deeper.
He had heard whispers. Low voices in dark corners, rumors that were never spoken aloud. Love was a powerful thing and some claimed it was unconquerable. But Samuel wasn’t sure. Some things could be imagined. Some things were just shadows in candlelight.
And yet
His thoughts lingered on John longer than they should have. John noticed the way he was staring. How he was studying him too intently, too curiously. Their gazes locked, neither of them looking away. Samuel realized again that, in the candlelight, John’s eyes looked almost black. His gaze drifted lower, tracing the lines of John’s face before settling on his lips. A thought was forming in his mind, just on the edge of clarity….
A door creaked open.
A yawning man stepped inside, rubbing his face before shutting the door behind him. “I’m going to sleep. Good night to you both.”
Samuel turned toward the man, his short trance broken. John, who had been watching him, smiled before lowering his eyes back to the papers on the table. After wishing the man a good night, he returned to writing as if nothing had happened.
Silence settled back into the room.
Samuel followed the movement of John’s quill, then cleared his throat. He should go to bed. It was late, after all. “We should stop for tonight,” he said, rising to his feet, though not as smoothly as he would have liked.
His sudden movement sent the small ink bottle on the table toppling over. The black liquid spilled across the papers, creeping over carefully written words.
“Ah- damn it. I’m sorry….”
“Ah, no. It’s nothing. The letter wasn’t important,” John said quickly, standing as well to save the remaining documents.
Samuel grabbed a cloth without thinking, rushing to help. But somehow, they only made it worse, the ink smearing over the parchment and onto their hands.
“Ah, maybe…” John began, a small laugh escaping him. He wasn’t panicked. Neither of them were, really. The situation wasn’t serious. If anything, it was ridiculous. And the absurdity of it made them both chuckle.
“This has never happened to me before,” Samuel murmured, looking down at his ink stained hands.
They both turned their gazes to the table, which now looked like a battlefield of ink and crumpled parchment.
“I suppose I’ll have to rewrite them,” John said, glancing up at Samuel, only to freeze when he realized Samuel was now watching him again.
They were standing close. Too close.
Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.
John’s eyes flickered downward, noticing the ink on Samuel’s hands before he reached for the cloth to clean them. But before he could, Samuel’s hands found his face, tilting it back up.
And then their lips met.
Samuel’s eyes were shut, brows furrowed slightly as if caught between hesitation and certainty. John stilled for a moment, then smiled against his lips before kissing him back.
It didn’t last long. Samuel pulled away, slowly opening his eyes. Searching for answers in John’s expression. What he thought, what this meant, what would happen next.
“I…” he started, voice barely above a whisper, as he lowered his hands. The ink had left smudges on John’s skin.
Suddenly, John’s hands caught his own. The cloth had long since fallen to the floor.
Words weren’t needed. The quiet smile on John’s lips said more than any of them could. So Samuel kissed him again.
So much work ahead of them. So much to do. And yet he had let himself be distracted. Perhaps he really was too curious for his own good.