Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Regnitz,” Rainer doesn’t even need to look up from his desk to know that it is indeed Machias who walks into his office. Who else would be duty-bound or diligent enough to add yet another responsibility to their plate? Machias frowns, pausing in the doorway. What even is his work ethic at this point?! A point of pride, or a pain in the ass?

A mystery better left unraveled over a twenty minute lunch. Shaved down to ten. At his desk. If a cup of room temp black coffee and a half eaten granola bar from this morning count as lunch. Mysteries best left to ponder after he hears whatever comes next.

“...Yeah?” Machias exhales. It’s not like there’s any point in pretending like it’s not him. Like he’s not here. Then again, it’s not too late to awkwardly insist that, actually, the files in his arms could use another hour or two of work.

Rainer uses almost his entire body to draw breath. Shit. This is gonna be a big one.

“We’ve got some, uh…very important people slated to pay the Inspectorate a visit this week, and one of them I think you may know.”

“Okay…” Machias raises an eyebrow. A foreign head of state? Some megacorp conglomerate? Board of executives?

“Duke Jusis Albarea, to be exact.”

"WHAT?!” Machias barely manages to clench onto the files before they fall to the floor, though they may well be ruined by the sweat that begins to pool almost immediately on his hands. “HIM?!”

“I assume the name rings a bell,” Rainer chuckles, but they both know it's not a joke. Now the air between them is more stiff than if Rainer hadn't tried to diffuse it.

“Yeah, uh…yeah,” Machias sets the folders down for good measure and massages his face with the heels of his palms. ”Why?”

“Well,” Rainer crosses one leg over the other. “I’m in the process of setting up some meetings with a fair amount of Nobles over the next few weeks, and I figured if anyone could tackle one of them on their own, it’d be you. And I further figured if it’d be any one of them, it’d be Duke Albarea…unless I’m wrong?” Rainer clenches his teeth, giving Machias a look up and down. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“A ghost that just dropped one hell of a case in my lap,” Machias groans, and he sounds tired, but the buzzing in his head and gurgling in his stomach signal a burst of energy no cup of coffee could provide. Fight or flight, to put it lightly.

“I’m sorry?” Rainer studies him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. “Just…I got the impression he’d be the easiest case for you to manage. You’d be in your element with him.”

“And where, may I ask, did you get that, exactly?!” Machias scoffs, hands on his hips.

“Uh…” Rainer grits his teeth, giving his chair a little spin and surveying the room before looking back up at Machias. “...You.”

Just like that, whatever little fight was left in Machias — a man quite infamous for his ability to put up one, even in more delicate situations — disappears. Gone. Right out the window. It abandons him without hesitation, leaving him to stand there, wide-eyed and red cheeked, rigid and stiff as if shocked by a live wire. Seems as if there won’t be much room for flight, either.

“Where else would I get it; you talk about him all the time.”

I do not! Machias swears he shouts, but the words don’t come out — only deafen a rush of cascading, panicked retorts all threatening to explode at once. Except they all get garbled up. Tangled in proverbial barbed wire, behind which he’d sworn he’d smashed thoughts of a certain blond and associated drama.

“...I haven't seen or spoken to him in almost a year,” even Machias is surprised by how evenly he states it, how calmly he stands there. Still, the question stands: does he really talk about him that much?!

“I’m sorry,” Rainer physically, visibly winces. “Ah, I — didn’t know you had something personal come up with Duke Albarea — rather, I figured the personal stuff was positive, not negative.”

“It’s not positive or negative,” Machias cuts in, his tone a little more curt, his brow a little more furrowed than he means them to be. “It’s —”

“Look, you don't have to explain it,” Rainer raises a hand. “Forget I mentioned it, even. I can also set you up with one of the other Nobles —”

“It’s fine,” Machias exhales, rubbing his forehead in his hand.

“Just, you know, if you handled even one of these cases — and I know you can — it’d be a lot less on our subordinates — I can move some documents around, maybe set you up with someone else —”

“Okay, yeah, fine, whatever,” Machias sighs up at the ceiling, unable to fight or take flight from what he knows he’s about to say next. “Gimmie Jusis.”

“Ju — Duke Albarea?!”

“Yeah, him. Gimmie Jusis.”

“I mean, you don’t have to take his case, Machias,” Rainer stresses, doing his best to make eye contact. Unfortunately for him, Machias is quite the master of dodging it. “Goddess knows there are plenty more Nobles in this country for you to imperially inspect instead. There’s a Baronness from —”

“Really, Rainer, I said it’s fine,” Machias interrupts. “Just give me Jusis. I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Rainer watches him for a few silent moments, as if Machias might explode on the spot. It’s not an entirely unwarranted fear, truth be told. “Listen; this is going to free up all of our schedules at the end of the day, but I know that taking a case on your own isn’t easy street. Still, though, Machias. I just don’t want to put you in an awkward situation.”

Machias utters a single, bitter laugh. “Pretty sure I stumble into them with or without anyone’s help, if I’m honest.”

“I know I just said I don’t want to pry — and really, now, I don’t,” Rainer adds for emphasis. “...but this will mean you’ll spend at least a week with the Duke here in the capital. Are you okay with that?"

Machias shoots him a look. He’s shared and spent a hell of a lot more with Jusis than that. “...We were classmates for years,” this version of events will suffice. “I think I can handle a week.”

“If you say so,” Rainer nods. “Would it help if I told you this includes a week of lunch and dinner on the Inspectorate card?”

Fucking NO. NO IT FUCKING WOULDN’T.

“...Sure.”

“Thanks, Machias,” Rainer deflates with relief. “Seriously. I don’t think you know how lucky I am that I can count on you.”

Aidios and Rainer have a really unfunny definition of luck.

“I’ll give you the Duke’s itinerary by this afternoon.”

“Okay, thanks,” Machias mumbles, halfway out the door before he stops and turns around. “Hey Rainer?”

“Hmm?”

“Did I really talk about him — you know — that much…?” Machias pauses, whispering the end of his question, as if the whole world stands ready to hear it.

“Are you kidding me?!” Rainer balks, raising his eyebrows. “Duke Albarea was the only thing you talked about for almost two months after you got here.”

“Oh, okay, neat,” Machias strains to respond through clenched teeth. “Great. Guess I’ll get cracking then.”

“Alright, Machias,” Rainer says, a hint of uncertainty on the tail end of his tone.

Chapter Text

Machias shivers, clutching his leather satchel to his chest as he darts across the street. Rain water flows rapidly along the asphalt. A single step drenches his leather shoes, his fine, tailored — and rather expensive — suit. The one time he’d forgotten to account for the weather, the entire sky seems poised to punish him for it.

“Goddess damn it,” Machias mutters, more or less wading his way along the crosswalk to the other side. Definitely on the more end of the spectrum, judging by the pitying look a passerby shoots him from beneath a very spacious umbrella. “Ugh, why now…” he more or less curses, a luxury car gliding down the road, its waxed exterior and shimmering chrome as unbothered by the rain as the passengers within. He tries to avoid being splashed — sort of. He’s already soaked down to his dress shirt; it’d be for the paperworks’ sake, really.

The car slows down, thankfully, its driver seemingly uninterested in humiliating him. Machias’ relief turns into bewilderment as it rolls to a stop; tinted windows descend just enough to reveal a pair of frosty blue eyes.

“Get in,” a voice now accompanies the glare, as cool and invigorating as the fat raindrop that lands right between Machias’ eyes.

“M-me?” Machias stammers, lifting a cold-stiffened hand to point with a meek sort of surprise at himself.

“Obviously you,” those blue eyes roll. “You look downright pathetic.”

“Are you sure?” Machias frowns. “I’m already as wet as it gets. I don’t wanna ruin your sheepskin floors, or leather interior —”

“Just get in the damned car already,” the backseat door swings open, a white-gloved hand extending an invitation.

“I mean, you insisted,” Machias grumbles, shrugging as he scrambles with absolutely zero grace whatsoever into the finest vehicle he has ever encountered in his entire life.

“I did,” Jusis seems unbothered by the rain cloud’s worth of water Machias tracks in. The cabin is more than spacious.

“You didn’t have to.”

“And leave you out there looking like some lost stray?” Jusis raises an eyebrow, casting him what’s meant to be a snide, aloof side eye; the length with which he allows it to linger, however…the Albarea limousine may be hydrodynamic, but the Duke himself gets submerged in the sight of Machias like an ant encased in amber. He just barely manages to free himself with a couth clear of his throat “...We’re well past the days I would have been petty enough to allow it.”

“Still,” Machias exhales, stripping his waterlogged suit jacket and revealing a now-sheer dress shirt that clings to him with almost lurid obscenity. “Even back then I’d feel bad about fucking up your car —” the sentiment is cut short by one soft, leather-clad hand against his cheek, another flush against his chest. Jusis damn near flings himself across the entire back seat to pull him into this kiss. Neither rainwater nor half-frozen clothes are a deal breaker for any direction Jusis seems eager to take their chance meeting like this. 

“Goddess…”Jusis exhales, cheeks flushed and lips parted. “To think you would have otherwise kept me waiting until lunch. Tomorrow,” his glove makes a sleek sound as it slips down Machias’ stomach. The fist Machias clenches around his suit jacket slackens the moment their lips meet again, and it plops onto the floor with a heavy squelch.

“Fuck, Jusis,” Machias barely manages to shudder, his own hands smoothing down the length of his overcoat, leaving a damp shadow on the dip of his waist. “Harold is right there —“ he spares a look at the tinted, and thankfully soundproof, partition. “I’ll ruin your coat —”

“Clothes can be laundered,” Jusis snatches Machias’ hands and settles them on his waist once again. “Cars can be detailed. Paperwork reprinted,” Jusis drops Machias’ satchel next to his jacket. “Shoes buffed. Suits dry cleaned. My composure, however, is a lot more fickle,” he swipes the glasses from Machias’ face, kissing a raindrop trailing along the bridge of his nose. “You are testing me in ways — with an intensity — I did not imagine. You will be spending the night with me at my suite, as I have failed.”

“Heh — you really expect me to believe this is a chance meeting, then?”

“It’s not as if I control the weather,” Jusis rolls his eyes. “But I certainly won’t begrudge it.”

“How do you know I can even…spend the night with you?” Machias flushes. “You’re talking about booking up the busiest man in the Inspectorate, you know.”

“I’m confident I have ways entirely unrelated to my title that would encourage you to clear your schedule,” Jusis’ eyes narrow while Machias’ widen, as he partially straddles his lap without concern.

Machias can barely manage a single nod as a gloved hand rakes through his hair, followed by another hungry press of soft lips against his own.

Chapter Text

“You,” Jusis huffs, slamming his school bag down beside the table Machias occupies. Its concussive thud is way too loud for an Aidios damned library. And Jusis calls him belligerent and dramatic.

“...Yes?” Machias chances, setting a hand over his heart where Jusis’ unexpected and very sudden appearance startles him. “May I help you?”

“You can, actually,” Jusis pauses, closing his eyes and crossing his arms as if he chooses his next words very carefully. No doubt he does. "You can assist me with our statistics homework.”

“I can?” Machias’s eyes widen. The air around him prickles with near visible static; a sense of shock he’s neither stoic or subtle enough to hide. Intellectually, sure. Clearly neither of them would call that particular capability into question. But that Jusis would allow him to, want him to, would place enough faith in either of them to see the session come to a peaceful, productive end — 

“You can, indeed,” Jusis nods. “And you will. I presume whatever it is that leaves zero space for anyone else’s belongings is an assignment listed at least three weeks further in the syllabus?”

Machias flushes, muttering to himself. His fingers skate along the rounded edges of the notebook he sets aside. It’s a surprise the motion doesn’t set fire to the stifling, thick tension between them. It’s as close to a confirmation, an invitation, that Jusis is going to get. 

He takes it, too. With blunt resignation, considering the way he just drops into the chair. With a complete and utter lack of grace, swept away with the very same gesture he rakes the bangs from his eyes. But without regret, or any intent of taking it back.

He can't say he doesn't admire the confidence, and he'll be damned if he doesn't match it. 

Jusis sets down a small notebook with a deep red leather cover, its pages glistening along their sleek, gold-leaf trim. Are they so fine that they’re resistant to constant use, or does Jusis simply use it so little, that there’s no wear or tear to show? Neither possibility bodes well for Machias’ mood, the arches of his hand and creased looseleaf streaked with smudges of graphite, rogue strokes of ink from blue and black pens.

“So what exactly do you need help with?” Machias chances, quiet, even. Delicate. Careful. Any more heavy handed than this, and Jusis will undoubtedly go running. Aidios knows he’ll be blamed by the others for scaring him off.

He sees the way Jusis darts his eyes from each highlighted notation in Machias’ own notebook; every uniform, color-coded stroke another star within the aesthetically pleasing constellation of Machias’ pursuit of natural, scholarly perfection. Or the brutal exposure of a borderline obsessive-compulsive organization, laid undeniably bare along the entire visible spectrum. 

Either way, Jusis doesn’t call him out for it, so Machias doesn’t call him out in return.

“What, exactly, would you say, if I were to answer your question with ‘everything’?” Jusis shudders. “Scratch that, actually. I’d rather not hear what it is you have to say there.”

“I’d say that there’s a reason why you’d sit down and ask me for help, and a reason you’d ever admit that to me with a straight face altogether,” Machias answers with a nod, a level of focus creasing his brow into a peak of solemnity. “Both are serious. So where should we start?”

Jusis blinks a couple times from surprise. His shoulders slacken with a surge of relief, but stiffen where he also locks in. “I suppose, pretenses aside, I should ask whether you have the time.” Jusis says it with a frank objectivity that says he's not requesting any of this personally, but rationalizing it as some sort of far-fetched, impossible hypothetical. 

“Three weeks’ worth, apparently,” Machias can't help but roll his eyes. The smile and snort he actually solicits from Jusis do take the edge off a bit.

“You’ll say nothing to the others,” Jusis adds.

“...Is that a threat?” Machias turns in his seat to look him head on.

“A plea.”

Neither look away. It’s by far the most intense five seconds of Machias’ life.

“You pay good enough attention and your grades can do the talking so I won’t have to,” there’s enough of a quip there to save face, but plenty more sincerity. Jusis can’t hide his smile this time, and Machias can’t look away from it.

“Alright,” he exhales after a moment. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

“So…it seems like things with Duke Albarea are going well,” Rainer attempts to lean as casually as possible against the doorframe. The particularly keen interest he tries — and fails —  to hide beneath the gesture is as obvious the very same in his tone. “Looks like all that worrying was for nothing, huh?”

Machias pauses, his expression calm and neutral, the mug in his hand suspended in midair between the table and his lips. He’s anything but boastful. Nor has he ever been one to enjoy excessive fawning or attention. But he is a man who values giving credit where it is due. Gifting flowers to the deserving. Awarding praise to the worthy.

The fact the last four days of Jusis’ trip to the capital have gone so smoothly is anything but nothing. Rather, he’s put a lot of personal fucking labor into it. Labor he can feel in his lower back if he shifts too quickly in his chair. Or with a jolt down his spine if his mind meanders too carelessly toward memories of the night before. Or with a thunderous crack straight down the middle of his heart at the thought of those gloved hands in his. The way those blue eyes widen, flash, then soften — in that order — in moments where Machias is bold enough to strip them bare, a chaste kiss upon each knuckle to follow.

Whatever formal and well-documented business he and Jusis conduct within Imperial Chambers is more than enough excitement for the public to speculate over. The pillow talk of their bedrooms, however? Just shoot him. Now. Right here. On the spot. Dead men tell no tales. And like fuck if these tales will ever be told. 

…So no. It hasn't been for nothing. It's been for everything, in fact. An everything he'd sooner lick every Nobles’ boots before divulging to his boss in broad daylight. During work hours. To anyone. An everything only Machias could ever give. Not that Rainer will ever know why.

He smacks the taste of coffee off his tongue against his teeth.

“Yeah,” Machias finally replies, a good fifteen seconds past any socially acceptable response window. “I guess so.”

“Well, I’m just glad to see things running smoothly,” Rainer chuckles. “It would’ve been awful if my insistence sparked some kind of Continent-wide, political upheaval. Goodness knows that’s the last thing this country needs…”

I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out, Machias thinks to himself. It’s only a matter of time before he finally ends up on the front page of The Chronicle, half-dressed and mid-walk-of-shame as he leaves Jusis’ suite at some unholy hour. He wishes he could say he has enough shame not like the look of such a messy reveal of their...connection in his head.

“Yeah, I guess…” Machias sighs, wholly noncommittal and clearly distracted; his Arcus lights up, and he’s quick to take it in hand.

His heart thuds with…well, it’s not anticipation; who the hell else would text Machias at 1pm on a Tuesday? Rainer — the only other soul bestowed with the privilege of bypassing Machias’ Do Not Disturb filter during business hours — is standing right here, after all.

And who else but Jusis Albarea would text him ?

No. Literally.

? is it.

“? ” is the entire text message.

“Seriously...” Machias mumbles under his breath, that lone little bit of punctuation enough to make him sit all the way up in his chair, shoulders hunched, the soles of his leather shoes flat on the floor. The worst part is, ? is more than enough.

Which means of course Machias takes the bait.

“What do you mean ‘?’ ??????” Machias texts back one-handed with rapid speed, eyes planted on his Arcus even as he takes a sip of coffee from his mug. His stomach rumbles in almost perfect sync with the three dots indicating Jusis’ pending response.

“What I mean is, where the hell are you?!”

Those three little dots appear, then disappear, then reappear again. Oh yeah, Machias rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jusis is pressed.

“You were the one who said we should clear our calendars of any plans beyond noon today, so that we could, and I quote, ‘see to delicate, urgent matters instead’.”

“Ahh yeah…” Machias mumbles to himself, followed by a weak, sheepish chuckle. Granted it was a proposal made sixteen hours ago and a bottle and a half of wine deep. The only answer that can suffice for now is that nervous little emoticon with the giant sweat bead and laughing face. Ten of them even. Maybe twelve. Machias doesn’t count them before he hits send.

“There was once a time in my life where I would’ve found the idea the height of indignity. There are even more times where the thought of actually indulging you would have been even more unthinkable. But alas, here we are. It’s 1pm, I’m shirking the entirety of my ducal responsibility, and I’m being stood up by Machias Regnitz because he forgot he scheduled a dick appointment.”

“Aidios fuck, Jusis,” Machias outright chokes on his coffee, cheeks blazing as he sputters against the back of his hand. It doesn’t take long for every cell in his body to go onto high alert. His heart races, his stomach clenches, and his feet twitch against fine leather dress shoes with the urgent need to tear off for that hotel now. And only partly from embarrassment.

“?”

“Yeah, yeah, right; I’m coming, I’m coming…” Machias mutters and types the same. He slams his thumb on the send button, as if the text would somehow carry the intensity of the gesture along with it.

“Everything okay?” Rainer asks as Machias grabs his overcoat and satchel.

“Oh — uh — yeah — it’s fine, you know, uh…Jusis,” Machias nearly chokes on his own spit again. He looks everywhere around the room except at Rainer. “Just, uh — you know — how it is — persnickety Dukes and their demands…”

The look on Rainer’s face says, “No, Machias, I don’t know, and I’m starting to wonder if that isn’t for the best.”

“I’m um…probably gonna need to take the rest of the day…evening too,” Machias sighs with all the tranquility of a sparking livewire. “Look, I tried to tell you that me and Jusis have an odd way of…doing things. E-even back at the Academy,” he manages to diffuse the look of lurid curiosity on Rainer’s face with that add on at the end. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“...You did,” Rainer agrees after a seconds’ pause. “Anything the Inspectorate or I can help with?”

“Goddess no —” Machias cringes, his cheeks flaring up again. “Just. Jusis and I have a…something. I dunno how else to explain it,” he sighs. “But it’s our system, and it works. I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to trust me, and let me leave it at that.”

“Alright, Machias,” Rainer sighs, but it’s no use, Machias is nearly halfway down the hall when he says it.