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Artemy Burakh wasn’t quite dead on his feet, but he was close. The walk across the steppe from the cemetery to the factory shouldn’t have been an arduous one, yet he had to stop every few paces to gather his strength. At this rate the night would never end, the moon never stop soaking the plains outside Town-on-Gorkhon in its hazy white glow.
He’d been running on almost no sleep for days, but that wasn’t the only thing slowing him down. He hadn’t eaten in recent memory. Every time he’d managed to get his hands on a morsel through bargaining or searching abandoned houses, he inevitably saw a gaunt herb bride wandering the streets or a ragged orphan sitting on the stoop of a recently infected house. And he’d have to say goodbye to that grilled fish or quarter of moldy apple he’d spent his limited time and resources acquiring.
Ever since the food situation turned desperate, Artemy had convinced himself he could do without. He was young, strong—he could give what he had to the weaker inhabitants of the town. It was what his father would have done, and though he hated to admit it, he wanted to continue Isidor’s legacy. He wanted to find his own way to care for the people of both the steppe and the town. Because, for better or for worse, they were part of him, and he a part of them.
Yet despite his high ideals, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the painful effects of starvation. The hunger pangs came and went, often numbing to an ignorable ache before roaring back as a desperate emptiness. His thoughts were foggy and sluggish, his limbs like jelly as he trudged along.
His path was made even longer by his refusal to leave herbs unpicked. Whenever he saw a distinctive streaked stem or colored petal among the grass, he went out of his way to gather what he could. It made for a winding sojourn around the steppe that only drained him of more precious energy, but it couldn’t be helped. It was his entire purpose for being out here tonight. One of the only tasks he knew he could accomplish despite the fog of hunger clouding his mind, weakening his body.
“Picking a bouquet, Burakh?”
Artemy looked up from where he knelt by a sprig of swevery. Daniil Dankovsky stood a few paces up the hill by the Crowstone, a circular outcropping of rocks shaped like a perching bird. Dankovsky had never looked more out of place; his shining shoes and pressed cravat didn’t belong among the bull droppings and muddy streams. Artemy had grown used to seeing him in the Stillwater or the hospital, lit always by electric bulbs. Out here his black hair looked almost blue in the moonlight as he smirked down at him. Artemy forced his brain to sharpen. Dankovsky already doubtless thought he was a hick grubbing around in the dirt. He couldn’t let his quips go by as if he was too stupid to perceive them.
“Yes, a bouquet,” he said, continuing to cut the herb as if he had all the time in the world. “I thought it might brighten up the hospital a bit.”
Dankovsky looked momentarily confused, then his brow cleared. “Ah. You’re joking.”
“Well spotted.” Artemy finished cutting and stood, brushing his kneecaps and walking up the hill as casually as he could manage. “What are you doing out here, onyon?”
Dankovsky sighed and rubbed his neck, looking around the empty fields. “You know how we discussed the possibility of bulls having immunity to the plague? And I said I might like to perform some tests?”
Artemy nodded.
“Well…I thought there was a man who’d be willing to sell me one. I was told he’d be out here after twilight. But it seems I may have been pranked again.”
Artemy snorted. “I know the man you’re talking about. He’s probably moved his herd back to Shekhen by now. Either that or he’s passed out from twyrine somewhere. Feel free to search the steppe, though.”
Daniil made a frustrated sound and twisted the leather of his gloves. “Those damn kids,” he muttered. “So what are you doing out here, then?”
Artemy lifted up his bundle of twyre.
“You can’t be serious. It’s three in the morning.”
“This is the only free moment I’ve gotten. Ashen swish tends to grow best in the cemetery, so I had to make the trek.”
“That’s ridiculous, Burakh. Why not get some rest?”
Artemy barely held back a scoff.
“What?” Dankovsky said.
“I could collapse in my bed easily enough, bachelor. But I have many errands to run before sunup. And I can’t waste valuable harvesting time.”
“Why on earth do you need so many of those weeds anyway?”
Through his exhaustion Artemy felt the pricks of anger at this ignorant needling.
“What does it matter to you?”
“Well, since you’re one of the only marginally sensible people in this town, I kind of hoped you’d take care of yourself enough to be of some help. Really, Burakh, you look terrible.”
Something in Artemy snapped. He took one long stride forward, bringing his face inches from Dankovsky’s. The bachelor’s eyes widened at the sudden nearness, Artemy assumed because he worried the ripper might attack. Good. Let the big-city doctor feel some of the physical discomfort the rest of them did sprinting through plague districts, running from muggers, fighting off looters. He took another step forward, forcing Dankovsky to stumble against the back of the Crowstone.
“You want to know about these weeds, bachelor?” he said, holding up the bundle he’d been collecting. “This one, blood twyre? It makes a tincture that helps me know what antibiotic to give a patient. And swevery, you see this? When you mix this with extracts from an organ, it can bring down infection. When I say I have errands to run tonight, do you imagine I’m staying up late to drink cocktails, see a play? Three of my bound across town are infected with plague. You may think them a lost cause and sleep soundly in your bed for eight hours a night, but I will not abandon them. I may have no vaccine, I may have no panacea. But, whether or not you believe it, these weeds can help people until I do. So apologies if my weatherworn appearance offends you, but to be honest? I couldn’t give a fuck.”
Dankovsky was staring at Artemy, his hands clenched at his sides, leaning backward as Artemy leaned forward to drive his point home.
Dankovsky swallowed. “Burakh, I—I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle your work, I wasn’t—I spoke without thinking. It’s a…flaw of mine. Made worse by stress. But that’s hardly an excuse.”
Artemy watched the bachelor’s face, red with shame as he stammered out his apologies. Here in the moon’s white glow he noticed how pronounced the dark circles around Dankovsky’s eyes were, how jittery his limbs and gaunt his cheeks. This man may not have been starving to death, but perhaps Artemy was wrong to assume these past days had been any easier for him. He sighed and let his taut body sag, stepping back to give the other man room to collect himself. Artemy rubbed his eyes.
“I’m sorry, too. That reaction was…out of proportion. I’m not at my best at the moment.”
Dankovsky seemed to relax a little. “Well, I’m not known for bringing out the best in people.”
“No, it’s not you. It’s just hard to think properly when I…” Artemy would not let on to Dankovsky how hungry he was. He would not admit such base weakness to this man, who may have also been miserable but never seemed to want for a meal. “...when I have so much to do.”
Daniil’s expression softened. “You know, there’s a fire built here, on the other side of this big rock. It was like that when I walked up. I know you’ve got a lot to do, but surely you’d do it better after some rest? Sit for a minute.”
Artemy was about to protest, but his body chose that moment to sway where it stood. His feet did ache from his constant treks across town, from the pressure of his weight never letting up for more than a moment. “Fine. For one minute. Then I have tinctures to brew.”
The pair walked around the Crowstone to where a small campfire was already blazing. They sat across from each other, Artemy perching on a rock and Daniil brushing at the ground with his hand, trying to find the cleanest spot to sit. Artemy watched him fussing with his clothes in the firelight, suddenly amused.
“Not quite like home, huh?” he said. “Used to those velvet cushions in the capital, aren’t you?”
Daniil’s expression darkened. “You can have all the velvet cushions in the world and still feel like you’re sitting on nails.”
Artemy was taken aback. “I thought you loved the city. You’ve done nothing but complain about our backwater ways since you got here.”
Dankovsky pulled his knees under his snakeskin coat and clutched them to his chest, staring into the flames. “The city is just noise and people. Thanatica is all I really care about.”
“You’ve mentioned it before. That’s where you do your research.”
Dankovsky nodded. “There’s no other place in the world where such research can be done. It’s the culmination of everything I’ve worked for my whole life. And while I’m stuck here, it’s all going to go away.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed. “They’re trying to shut it down. It’ll be the end of everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t been given enough time to prove the veracity of my studies, and—”
“No, not why are they shutting it down. Why does that have to be the end of everything?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“What are they taking away from you?”
“My staff, my equipment, my funding…”
“Your brain?”
Daniil stared at him. “Of course not.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“What’s the—it’s not enough to have these ideas, Burakh. You have to be able to produce them on a mass scale. You have to get evidence, it has to be peer reviewed, it has to be approved by the people in charge. Otherwise no one will know, no one will listen. I won’t let all my work be for nothing.”
“So your work only matters if someone tells you it matters.”
“Well, I mean…”
“So this—” Artemy reached in his pocket for a sprig of twyre. “—this doesn’t matter, right? I haven’t published a paper on it or gotten a pretty document stamped for it. So later when I bring a tincture of it to Katerina Saburov, the next 24 hours of life she’ll have to live doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Burakh. It’s just…that’s thinking small, you know? If you tested your medicines in a lab, they could help thousands. They could change the world. That’s why I’m devoting my time here to the vaccine—something tested and proven that can be used beyond this place.”
“You mean used on more important people, at more important times? Like if the plague ever comes to your precious city, and the people who actually matter are watching?”
“Burakh, that’s not fair—”
“Your work has value, onyon. I understand sometimes we have to think big. But for the people I care about right here, right now, big doesn’t help. I could go with you to the Stillwater and spend all night working on your vaccine, and maybe between the two of us we could have one ready soon. But in the meantime Katerina will be dead. Lara will be dead. My children could get infected. And maybe in a month everyone in your precious city will know my name because I helped create the famous vaccine. But I would rather live a thousand lives in the warehouses, unknown and unheralded, than live one life knowing I could have saved a single person in this town and didn’t.”
He was staring straight ahead at the fire as he spoke, watching the orange fingers twist around each other. It took a moment to realize the bachelor was silent. He looked up. Dankovsky was watching his face with an intensity that startled him, his eyelids low, lips parted. When he realized Artemy was staring back, he turned away, looking down at his shoes to hide the sudden flush in his cheeks.
“I’ve never…” Dankovsky’s voice sounded oddly husky. He cleared his throat. “I’ve never heard you talk this much. Or this…passionately."
“Sorry.” Artemy’s own voice sounded a little strained in his ears, lower and quieter. “I suppose the exhaustion and hunger have made me delirious. Loosened my tongue.”
“Well, I don’t mind that your tongue is loose.” Dankovsky’s face immediately turned even redder. “I mean, I don’t mind engaging in this kind of intercourse—in this kind of discussion. I—I just mean, I like debating, and it’s nice to find a willing partner, I mean a—I mean someone who can speak intelligently on these matters, even if we disagree, I mean I like…” He looked at Artemy desperately. “I like talking to you.”
“Oh.” Artemy felt himself going slightly pink, too. He shifted his weight on the rock. “I—I like talking to you, too.”
He was surprised to realize this was true. Daniil could irritate him to no end, but one thing he could always count on from him was honesty. In this town, that was a rarity. They disagreed on almost everything, and yet Daniil never yielded to his opinion just to keep him happy or shut him up, even when he thought Artemy was a murderer who could rip his delicate body limb from limb. Daniil stuck to his ideals and didn’t aqueous to the authorities in town simply because they were authorities. He needled, he rankled, he poked fun, but he clearly respected intelligence even if it came from the steppe. Daniil’s only real flaw was trusting his precious systems too much. And being occasionally insufferable.
They sat together in an uneasy silence after their dual declarations, both looking at the ground. Then Daniil lifted his head, his brow furrowed as though he suddenly realized something.
“Hunger?”
Artemy’s head also shot up. “What?”
“Just now, you said…you said the exhaustion and hunger made you delirious. I thought you just weren’t getting any sleep. When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
Artemy turned away.
“Burkah,” Daniil said.
Artemy refused to look at him, refused to witness the pity that must be evident on his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daniil rise from the ground and walk around the fire. He sat on the rock next to him, their bodies now only a foot away.
“Artemy,” he said.
Artemy closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his face.
“I ate yesterday,” he said quietly.
“What did you eat?” The volume of Daniil’s voice remained the same, but his tone suddenly had a harder edge, as though he was trying not to sound angry.
Artemy inhaled slowly. “I had an egg.”
“And this was how many hours ago?”
Artemy swallowed, feeling the emptiness in his stomach more sharply than he had all evening. “I don’t remember. Yesterday morning, I suppose.”
“So it’s been almost 24 hours.” Daniil’s leg was shaking up and down against the rock, his voice taut as a wire. He swore something in Latin, and only then did Artemy glance over to see him rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a bundle of wax paper, which he unwrapped to reveal half a loaf of bread. He held it out to him. “You should have asked me earlier. For god’s sake, man, eat.”
Artemy’s mouth was immediately filled with saliva, but he fought his every bodily instinct to reach out and devour the food. Instead he shook his head.
“I don’t need your charity, onyon. I have some things I can sell at the Broken Heart come morning, and that will get me enough to get by for—”
“Damn your pride, I have enough to share. Eat it.”
“There are children in the warehouses who will give me a dozen antibiotics for bread that fine. I won’t waste it on me when I can make do for a little longer—”
Without warning, Daniil pulled a piece of bread from the loaf and shoved it into Artemy’s open mouth. The forced entry made Artemy automatically want to fight, to spit it out, but Daniil clamped a gloved hand over his mouth.
“You stubborn bull, you are going to chew this bread and swallow it. Now.”
Artemy glared daggers at the bachelor, but his body betrayed him. He started chewing, his tongue rolling the fresh bread around, luxuriating in the taste—buttery and salty, an explosion of flavor that could only be appreciated after going so long without food. He let out an involuntary noise of pleasure against Daniil’s hand, chewing faster and swallowing eagerly. When Daniil released him, Artemy saw that his pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly open as he watched Artemy lick any remaining crumbs from his teeth. Daniil shifted on the rock and crossed one leg over the other.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the bachelor muttered, looking flushed again.
Artemy couldn’t speak. His body had responded so hungrily that at this point it would be foolish to claim he didn’t want or need the bread. Instead he just shook his head.
“You’re going to eat the rest of it now, aren’t you?”
He reached for the loaf, but Daniil pulled his hand away.
“Do you want me to eat it or not, bachelor?” he growled.
“In this state, you’re liable to swallow the entire thing whole and choke to death,” Daniil said. “Here, keep taking it piece by piece.”
He pulled off another piece and handed it to him, and Artemy took it because what other choice did he have. He could feel his entire body turning hot at the humiliation of it. Here he was, a grown man unable to feed himself, consenting to be treated like a dog out of sheer desperation. Yet when the next piece of bread touched his tongue he couldn’t help the soft whine that came from the back of his throat.
On the fourth piece his hunger was finally abating, and he realized Daniil’s eyes weren’t leaving his face. There was something intriguing about the way he stared at him in the firelight, the way his hair fell across his forehead and over his ears. Artemy was suddenly aware of the line of the bachelor’s jaw, the curve of his narrow neck down to that silken shirt. It was amazing the clarity that could be achieved when the mind had just a few calories to fuel it. It was amazing what suddenly clicked into place when you could think of something other than the hollowness in your belly.
When Artemy took the next piece of bread, he let his hand brush against Daniil’s. The other man visibly tensed. He clutched his crossed leg a little tighter, and Artemy realized why he was keeping it like that. He felt himself blush. Boddho, was this all it took? A little bread and some moonlight, and he was ready to jump a man who only twenty minutes ago he’d been certain hated him? Daniil’s hands were shaking slightly as he handed him the last of the bread, this time the entire end of the loaf.
“You’re not going to tear this one up for me?” Artemy said quietly.
Daniil swallowed. “I think—I think you’ve got the hang of it now.”
Artemy tore the remaining bread in two and put one half in his mouth. As he chewed, he leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees, his face only inches from Daniil’s. His right foot roamed slowly forward, his leg almost touching the one Daniil still had planted on the ground. He held up the remaining bread between them.
“Last piece is yours.”
Daniil shook his head rapidly, as though trying to shake away a stubborn thought. “Don’t—don’t be ridiculous. I have food at the Stillwater. I don’t need it like you do.”
Artemy cocked his head. “Are you going to make me feed it to you?”
Daniil’s breaths were growing shallow, his eyes half-closed, locked onto Artemy’s still-chewing mouth.
“I don’t—”
Artemy raised the last piece and pushed it between Daniil’s lips. Daniil made a sound of surprise that quickly turned to indignation, but before he could spit it out, Artemy covered his mouth just as Daniil had done. Something between a whine and muffled swear tried to escape against Artemy’s large, dirt-crusted hand.
“I’d like to know what you’re trying to say, Daniil,” Artemy said. “But first you have to chew and swallow.”
Daniil obeyed, his mouth working fast. While he chewed, Artemy reached with his other hand to the leg Daniil still had tightly crossed. He pulled it down so both Daniil’s feet were on the ground. Then he inched his own leg farther forward, pushing his knee between both of Daniil’s. When he finally felt the bachelor swallow, he removed his hand from his mouth.
“Now,” Artemy said. “What is it you were saying?”
Daniil only stared at him, watching as Artemy kept moving his foot closer, so their knees were almost locked together. Artemy started stroking his hand up and down Daniil’s thigh. Daniil released a low moan and leaned forward into the touch, bringing their faces close enough to feel each other’s heated breath.
“Artemy…” he whispered.
Artemy tilted his head to bring their noses against each other, inhaling the scent of Daniil’s cologne, for once unselfconscious about his own odor of sweat and herbs. For some reason, based on the way Daniil sighed when he breathed him in, he suspected the bachelor didn’t mind the smell. Artemy’s hand kept stroking Daniil’s thigh, inching toward the erection straining through his pants.
“Daniil…” he whispered.
With that, Daniil closed the half inch of space still separating them and pulled Artemy forward in a kiss. As Artemy’s tongue explored the bachelor’s mouth, he could taste remnants of the bread still lodged in his teeth. Daniil’s legs parted even more to allow his hands better access. When Daniil finally broke their kiss to gasp at the pressure Artemy was applying, Artemy grinned. He didn’t know where this rush of energy was coming from. Was it delirium from days of exhaustion finally catching up to him? Did eating substantial food for the first time in days give his system a shock? Or maybe it was just the intoxicating need he saw in Daniil’s firelit eyes, a need he was hungry to stoke.
With one hand Artemy kept touching the bachelor through his pants, and with the other he started opening the red vest he wore tight to his heaving chest. After he’d worked it open and undid three of the buttons of the white shirt underneath, he pushed his hand through to Daniil’s bare torso. He felt Daniil’s back arch to meet the touch. He kissed him again, lapping his tongue along Daniil’s until the other man was tangling his hands through his hair. When he broke the kiss, Daniil was panting, his forehead pressed against Artemy’s.
“I’d love to keep this up, Daniil,” he said. “But I have a problem.”
Daniil closed his eyes as Artemy kept running his hand along his chest, his thumb reaching up to brush against his nipple.
“What—what problem?” Daniil panted.
“Well, you see…” Artemy slid off the rock and knelt on the ground between Daniil’s parted legs. “I’m still hungry.”
Daniil’s eyes shot open wide when he realized what Artemy was doing. “Wait, Artemy, I—you don't have to—I—”
He kept sputtering as Artemy unfastened his pants and reached under his undergarments to expose him to the cool steppe air. The bachelor was already throbbing and dripping from the minimal stimulation Artemy had been applying. Artemy pushed Daniil’s trembling knees open wider and was met with no resistance, just more halfhearted protests from the esteemed bachelor’s suddenly clumsy tongue. He ran his fingers along both of Daniil’s inner thighs, back and forth, stopping only inches from his crotch before retreating again back to his knees. Daniil squirmed atop the rock, his hips involuntarily canting forward. He’d fallen silent sometime in the last few moments, unable to keep up his stammering objections. Artemy leaned down till he knew Daniil could feel his hot breath on his cock. He paused and looked up through tawny lashes, one side of his mouth pulled into a half-grin.
“What is it you want, Daniil?”
Daniil’s mouth opened and closed silently, his whole body apparently frozen by the sight of Artemy kneeling between his legs in the moonlight. His face was red, his pupils blown so wide his irises were lost to the night, his breaths shallow as if he was the one who'd been running across the steppe for days. Artemy wanted nothing more than to keep him speechless, unable to make a sound unless it was a whine like the one Artemy had made tasting that bread. Yet at the same time he also wanted to keep him struggling to speak, wanted him to be an inarticulate pleading mess.
“I—I want—”
Daniil’s sentence was cut off with a gasp as Artemy leaned down and ran his tongue along the length of him. The bread taste still lingering in Artemy’s mouth was joined by something else now, something salty and warm that he longed to taste more of, that he wished would fill him completely so he never felt the emptiness of hunger. He pulled away and started stroking Daniil’s thighs again.
“Say what you want, Daniil.”
Daniil ran his gloved hand along the side of his face as though trying to cool himself with the leather. He panted, his cock dripping even more, either in response to the touch of Artemy’s fingers or perhaps to Artemy’s insistence that he debase himself by asking out loud.
“I want—I want you to—”
Artemy raised himself up on the balls of his feet and brought his face level with Daniil’s again. Daniil bit his lip, lidded eyes locked on Artemy’s mouth. But Artemy didn't close the distance between them in another kiss. Instead, he brushed his nose along Daniil’s jawline and stopped at his burning ear.
“Do you want to feed me again?” he whispered. “Do you want me to have my fill?”
Daniil inhaled sharply and swallowed. He bit his lip harder and finally nodded, head bobbing vigorously against Artemy’s chin. Artemy pressed his body closer, again providing pressure against Daniil’s desperate erection.
“Didn't quite catch that.”
Daniil leaned his head back, his hips canting forward again.
“Fuck yes, Artemy, that's what I want, okay?”
“Say please.”
“I—”
Artemy leaned back down between his legs and licked all the way down his length again. When Daniil opened his mouth again his words came out in a soft, desperate moan.
“Artemy…please…”
Artemy grinned up at him.
“Okay, oynon,” he said. “If you insist.”
He felt a surge of affection as he watched Daniil’s expression, the dueling fury and lust that battled in his moonlit eyes. The bachelor looked like he was going to speak again, doubtless to protest this merciless teasing, but Artemy silenced him easily by finally taking him into his hungry mouth. For the first time in days—as Daniil rocked against him and clutched his hair and made a beautiful concert of noises into the still steppe air, as the burdens of the plague and the town receded into the background, at least for a little while—Artemy, at last, felt full.