Chapter Text
The snow is crisp with frost and squeaks under his heels as Paxton steps out of the inn, squinting his eyes at the onslaught of brightness and biting cold. The sky is the color of muted cerulean now, not a speck of snowflakes in sight; sun suspended high like a giant headlight, pale but sharp. It does nothing to raise the temperature of his surroundings, a full body shudder shaking his frame and for a moment all he wants to do is to step back into the warmth and sit himself as close to the hearth as possible.
A muffled thump somewhere to his left reminds Paxton exactly why he's decided to venture outside.
He trudges through the yard with some difficulty courtesy of the thick blanket of snow now covering it; past the run-down barn where their horses neigh and snort and slowly nears the tree line. There he comes upon a small construction adjoined to the building: logs stacked against the worn wall, various shapes and sizes; a makeshift roof sprawled over the area along with a low fence surrounding it half-way, leaving it vastly untouched by the snowdrifts and a tree stump serving as a chopping block in the middle.
And that's exactly where Thorn has installed himself for the better part of the afternoon, seemingly unperturbed by the rough weather conditions.
His back turned and the noise of splintering wood in his ears, he's not made aware of the lord's presence right away - giving Paxton a moment to admire him busying himself with his task. Had the season been different, the clothes obscuring the view would likely be removed, at least partially - muscular arms and back on display, tendons shifting and rippling, sweat glistening on sun-kissed skin.
It's still a treat to watch Sawyer even in these conditions, the straightening of his back and alignment of his shoulders through practiced movement of raising the ax and hacking away. Paxton's already made his peace with his little obsession of watching the man engage in any manner of manual labor by now: it is a self-indulgence that he hasn't been able to curb in any way and one that sets sparks of arousal dancing in his lower belly every time.
Unfortunately those little embers are nothing against the biting wind that does its best to slip through layers of his clothing.
"That's quite the pile you already have there." he chooses to say aloud, startling the other man out of his task momentarily, ax halted mid-air "More than sufficient for our needs I believe."
"Yeah? And how would you know?" the berserker follows through on the movement, then instantly reaches for another log as Paxton ventures closer.
"I'm not as ignorant as you think me to be, Mister Sawyer." he replies, largely shrugging off the jab "And even an untrained eye would be able to tell. Not to mention you've been gone for quite a while."
Thorn grins up at the lord then, unabashed, his tool set comfortably against his shoulder; the pose making him look almost unfairly enticing. "Worried about me?"
"That you turned into an icicle you mean?" but an answering smile curls the corner of the lord's lips nonetheless "Given your track record, are you really surprised?"
The other man mutters under his breath, something that sounds dangerously like worrywart. Actually addressing Paxton, he says: "I'm almost done. Go back inside."
Sweeping his gaze over the still growing pile, the nobleman merely hums as a reply. In a poor attempt at nonchalance he chooses to lean his weight against the nearest log pile - and immediately jumps away, feeling them shifting against his side. He steadies the nearest one with a silent curse and studies their surroundings more closely then: the wood haphazardly covered with a dirtied material, some of it tightened by rope; the barn wall with it's flaking, chipped paint and wooden boards splintered and rotten, rusty nails peeking out; finally the perfunctory roof with holes in more than one spot. It's a mystery how any of it is still standing. "You truly do take me to the nicest of places…"
"No one asked you to come out here!" another log comes apart with a loud whoop "I'm fine to do this on my own!"
"You do realize with the amount of money I paid them for our stay it's entirely unnecessary for you to do this?" he states, words heavy with sarcasm and raises an eyebrow for further emphasis "There is no need for added manual labor."
"I don't mind helpin' out." Sawyer puts another chunk of wood on the chopping block "They're good folk, the innkeeper and his wife. They're giving us shelter anyways, won't hurt to lend them a hand."
"We should be investing this energy of yours to make our way through to Mercy now that it stopped snowing. We can't exactly wait for the spring to come clear our way now can we?"
Truth be told they were meant to be on their way to Amity when first snow of the season decided to strike - and as their luck would have it, it instantly turned into a bloody snow storm. They happened upon this little oasis by a miracle alone - the world but flashes of white and gray, deafening roar of wind in their ears - and have been here for well over a day at this point, waiting for the weather to clear up enough to turn back home.
If it will clear up enough.
Admittedly, it was Paxton who insisted on going most of all: they were meant to be surveying the mayor's properties in the surrounding area - searching for possible traces of the cave system he suspects connects the towns in Mercy's vicinity - before winter settled over Temperance for good.
They've already been delayed a few times on their little excursion - the railroads closed due to mysterious technical difficulties as per the public announcement; then chasing after the overseer of the estate in Liberty who decided it was a wise idea to play hide and seek with them - which generally pertained to visiting several hovels where whisky flew freely, followed by waiting ages for the man to sober up; and again by needing to switch carriages mid-way when a wheel in the one they've been riding broke beyond repair.
What is that saying? Man makes plans and God laughs? Paxton supposes in their case it applies to a different sort of god altogether and one who might not be very keen on them returning home anytime soon.
Adding the new pieces to the pile, Thorn straightens up and stretches before turning to face him. "And we won't but I reckon what the lady said is true, it ain't over yet. Those over there?" he points behind Paxton to a gathering of clouds looming over treetops in the distance "Definitely snow clouds. I'd rather not be caught by a snow storm while we're out there on the road." the again goes unsaid. Something in his face shifts then as he takes in Paxton's frown, voice almost appeasing when he speaks up next. "We'll make it home alright? We will. I'll go see how the road looks like once I'm done here—"
"Absolutely not." the protest spills out so abruptly it surprises even himself "Out of the question."
"Just to the crossroads, I ain't gonna go no further."
But the vision of the man disappearing behind a veil of snow already has the protective beast inside Paxton twisting with worry. "With your sense of direction, Mister Sawyer, you definitely need supervision. I truly have no intention of trudging through all this snow looking for you when you inevitably get lost."
"Despite what you think, I can cope on my own. And drop the mister whatever, won't ya? We're alone." Thorn gives him a searching look, face signaling moreso confusion than any offense "Yer leg botherin' you?"
"It's fine." the reply comes out largely reflexively and judging by the unimpressed look the other man gives him, he is very well aware of the fact.
"Uh-huh."
"It is." the lord repeats with emphasis "We'd hardly done any walking yesterday or today for that matter, and although the cold is a hindrance, the wrapping helps. And learning from our fairly recent excursion to the depths of hell, I did come sufficiently prepared this time." he pats the component pouch securely tightened to his waist "You really needn't ask all the time, Wayne. I've been coping with this for far longer than we've known each other."
"I wouldn't need ta ask if you weren't lying 'bout it half the time."
Oh, he is really starting to miss those days when Thorn remained - or pretended to be - blind to his ways. "I most certainly do not."
"You do and you know it. And not only 'bout that." the other man declares with confidence "If yer cold you should head on inside."
"I'm perfectly fine as I am."
"That why yer shakin' like a leaf in the wind?"
Like a dog with a bone, this one. "I haven't the faintest what you mean. I am surprised however that you have yet to turn into an ice sculpture. That jacket of yours looks like it could fall apart if you breathe too hard."
The other man's sweeps his gaze over Paxton's form, top to bottom. "And you should've put more layers on with that flimsy coat of yers."
"Flimsy? This coat is made of angora. Lined with mink fur. It's perfect for these conditions." with a smirk, he lets his hands brush the length of the coat from his middle down to his hips "And it does accent my waist pretty well, don't you think?"
"Right." Sawyer deadpans impassively but his eyes follow the movement of Paxton's hands with rapt attention; a particularly hard gush of wind makes him shudder, shaking him out of this momentary stupor "W-Well some folk need sturdy clothes for the season, not fancy furs to strut about in like damn peacocks!"
Pleased by the reaction, the nobleman lets a razor sharp smile to split his lips. "Clearly."
"It's why yer so damn pale too. Looks tight enough to stop a man's blood from goin' where it's oughta."
"Oh, do tell." Paxton purrs out, drawing closer still "Which places would those be I wonder?"
That earns him a muffled grunt. "Yer damn head for one, all the nonsense yer spouting."
"Is that what happened to you then?" he fires back without missing a beat "A lifetime of clothes too tight perhaps?"
"Careful there, you squeeze those arms around yerself any harder you might just keel over."
"My my… You would like that, wouldn't you? All ready to swoop me up into your waiting arms? To play the hero for once, not the damsel in distress?"
"I'd let ya fall face first into the snow and leave you here in the cold to freeze."
Paxton raises his hand to his chest in mock offense. "How very dramatic… Is that a roundabout way to be able to nurse me back to health afterwards? An excuse to use your own body heat to make me better perhaps?" oh yes, that flush certainly has nothing to do with the prolonged exposure "You needn't go such lengths to do it, Wayne. You could simply ask."
The other man doesn't look impressed to say the least. "Can't ya go and be a menace somewhere else?"
"Why would I? You make for such a wonderful object of mockery." his eyes sweep over the other man slowly, mirroring the other's previous action "Not to mention this fascinating lumberjack routine you're amusing yourself with. Will we wake up tomorrow to see the woods around us gone, I wonder…"
"Maybe some honest work would do you good too." Sawyer grumbles, then stretches, eyeing the log stack critically "At least stop yer tongue from waggin'…"
Fighting off an impulse to make yet another salacious remark, he masks his initial reaction with a cough. "Whatever happened to I'm fine to do this on my own? Lacking stamina in your old age?"
"Yer the one who got all wheezy walkin' up the stairs last night, not me."
That smirk he's sporting looks way too smug for Paxton's liking. "I was helping Miss Sassoon with her bag - which you have failed to offer to do. Naturally I felt compelled to step in." And who could have predicted she'd accumulate this many books on such a short trip?
As if reading his mind, the smugness of the smile gains a more taunting edge. "Yer the one always pesterin' me about not goin' easy on ya 'n letting you do things on your own. I thought some exercise after sittin' around all day would do you good! Way I see it, I was doing you a favor!"
"A favor, you say."
"Sure was. And it worked, didn't it? Got your blood goin' alright. Warmed you up real quick too!"
"Oh, is that what it was for?"
"That's right. It'd keep ya warm now too, if yer hell bent on stayin' here and botherin' me."
Truth be told Paxton can think of at least a few dozen ways to similar effect, all of them a lot more pleasurable than the man's suggestion. "Your concern for my well-being is so very touching." he replies, words dripping with sarcasm "How ever will I repay you for such… generosity."
Clearly enjoying their little repartee, Thorn gestures broadly around himself. "Well the wood's not gonna stack itself…"
"Weren't you worried about the state of my leg mere moments ago?"
"Yer arms work just fine, don't they?"
He offers the man a sickly sweet smile in return. "We can test it by me wrangling you for your insolence if you'd like?" but he's already moving, cane left leaning against the side of the barn, leaning down to pick up the pieces of wood around the chopping block.
"H-hold on, I was just teasin'! You ain't gotta—"
"I'm assuming you want those put away somewhere?" as Thorn continues his sputtering, he sighs, foot tapping impatiently against the frozen ground "I'm fine to do this, Wayne. There isn't much to occupy myself with anyhow." receiving no reaction, he pushes on "Well? Where do you want these?"
"I don't want you to… It's not… I didn't mean… You don't really have to…"
"Daylight's wasting, Mister Sawyer." he sing-songs dispassionately, already holding an armful "Not that I don't enjoy watching you squirm, I do, but I am most certain we'd prefer to be done with this before the snow comes. Now be a good sport and tell me where to place these."
Looking conflicted for a moment longer, eyes flicking back and forth between Paxton and the scattered wood Thorn finally decides against arguing his case, shoulders sagging in defeat, a large puff of breath leaving his mouth. "Uhh… You can put those pieces in the basket over there." he reluctantly inclines his head to the right, where indeed a big wicker basket is reclining against the low fence "There's a shed closer to the house, missus told me they put their wood there to dry since 's close to the chimney. I already made a few rounds there."
"Very well then." and he gets to work.
Turns out the other's predictions about laboring to keep warm were only partially correct. The cold does ebb away some as he leans down and straightens back time and time again - but only for a time. The continued effort in low temperature ends up reawakening old aches: if not his leg, then his lower back or his shoulder. The coat might keep him warm overall, especially his middle, but his extremities are a different story altogether: toes and fingers going numb quick, almost to a painful degree. His own unexpected frailty only serves to annoy him more and Paxton grits his teeth at the various twinges, pushing through his task with determination.
If Sawyer notices something is amiss, he doesn't comment. His thirst for chopping satisfied for the moment, he confidently stops Paxton from attempting to drag the wood basket towards the shed on his own, picking it up with infuriating ease; ushering the lord inside before giving out instructions on how to best stack the wood to dry. Be it the confidence with which his Thorn takes command of this little endeavor or being on receiving end of such for once, Paxton becomes a bit warmer about the collar for a reason completely unrelated to their circumstances.
(And files it away to be explored for a later date.)
All in all, it's simple, repetitive work: a bit like puzzles really, fitting each piece to rest securely in its spot and against the rest. Unfortunately for him it's also more stationary and although the shed is in fact a little warmer than the outside, the cold makes itself known pretty quickly, attacking with doubled effort. More than once he's forced to stop in his task, wiggling his toes inside his shoes; bending and unbending his gloved fingers a few times in an attempt of returning some circulation into them, before reaching back for more wood.
And promptly having it falling back out of his hands.
"Give 'em here." Thorn says from his side, putting a few more pieces to the pile.
Startled in his silent fuming, Paxton gives him a hiss in response. "I got it, I just grabbed onto the piece wrong…"
"Not the wood. Your hands." Sawyer responds simply, reaching out on of his own and the nobleman blinks at him in surprise "You've been standing there rubbing them together every few minutes. Lemme warm them up for ya."
"Ah." he replies rather dumbly, then clears his throat "T-that's not necessary, really…"
Deaf to his protests the other man sighs heavily and moves closer still, invading the lord's personal space. His hands, clad in worn leather gloves catch and wind themselves around Paxton's own and give a firm squeeze; even with the material in the way, the warmth emanating from them is staggering and for a moment he wishes them and his own to be completely bare. Memories of different times surface: a half-forgotten fever dream, the sole moment of comfort in the shadow of the vestibule; Miss Sassoon's palms held in the good doctor's grip, almost reverently, and the pang of longing he dismissed immediately, cursing at his own childish need to experience it himself.
Catching onto his train of thought by some miracle, Thorn withdraws before he takes to freeing Paxton's palms out of their confinement, making the nobleman's breath hitch in surprise and anticipation both. "Wayne…"
"Quiet." he divests himself out of his own next and the skin on skin contact is divine "There. Better?"
"Hm." is all he manages in response.
If someone had ever told Paxton how such a simple fact of holding hands can bring about this much pleasure, he would have certainly called them mad and laughed until his breath run out. Yet here he stands, shivers of different kinds traveling up his arms as the other's thumb scrapes over his pulse point; rough warm skin rubbing pleasantly against his own. With almost methodical precision Sawyer takes to massaging the circulation back into the lord's numb fingers, one after another, from knuckle to the fingertip and back. Gooseflesh spills over Paxton's skin; he's most certain if he could, he'd end up purring like a cat, lulled into supplication by this soft caress.
Thorn, for his part, looks both pleased and amused at the lord's reaction; he keeps on kneading the numb muscles and joints before he leans down and puffs onto them, hot and moist. At Paxton's raised eyebrow he grins, eyes lighting up. "My ma used to do that for me." he explains and repeats the action "To warm 'em up faster."
"Can't say I'm familiar with that technique." he states breathlessly, helplessly enchanted.
An odd pensiveness graces Sawyer's features before he chooses to continue his train of thought. "When we were kids, me 'n Will would play in the snow for hours. Ma would usually watch us from the kitchen window, only crack it open to call us for dinner or scold us if we got too into it." he laughs, a soft sound laden with nostalgia so sudden the lord feels an irrational weight of it settle heavily in his own chest "She'd come out to usher us back inside sometimes but always ended up letting us stay just a few minutes longer. Take my hands into hers…" he trails off, leaning down to send another puff of hot air into the cradle of Paxton's palms "…and do this."
"It sounds…" he pauses, swallows, a million words crowding on his tongue "…lovely." he finishes lamely, throat unexpectedly dry "I… I can't even imagine my mother doing something of the sort."
No… Once winter fell over Brichester she would be too deep into her melancholy to even acknowledge his existence, let alone allow any touch to occur.
(And the marquis, well… He suffered a similar affliction, one could say, fueled by vapors of various spirits and triggered by the slightest inconvenience - most often his own sons.
He never had any qualms about using his hands to demonstrate his displeasure at them though.)
"Hey, I'm sorry." Wayne says gently, fingers tightening over Paxton's palms ever so slightly - certainly a response to whatever must be currently showing on the nobleman's face "I didn't mean to…"
"You didn't." he interrupts, voice even despite the swarm of intrusive thoughts clouding his mind. It is neither time nor place for a trip down this particular memory lane.
Still largely reveling in the touch, grounding himself with it and in an effort to distract them both from the uneasiness of the topic, he starts with his own exploration, rolling calloused fingers between his own. "Gods, how can you possibly be this warm?" he wonders out loud, unable to keep awe from his voice "You've spent more than an hour out here and you're still as hot as a furnace. It's preposterous."
Wordlessly thankful for the shift in the conversation Wayne snorts, then flashes him a crooked grin. "It's cause yer all muscle. No fat on your bones."
"Oh?"
"Gotta have some to keep you warm."
"Hm. You've never complained about my slim physique before."
"I ain't complainin'. Makes it easier to carry you 'round if need be."
Now that bit makes Paxton break into a sly smile. "Promises, promises…"
"And I always keep mine." Sawyer teases back and moves closer still, face hovering mere inches from the nobleman's own "You should head back in, mister slim physic or whatever. Your lips are turning blue."
Almost on instinct, Paxton parts and wets said lips. "How about you warm them up for me then?"
Corny as it might be, the prompt serves its purpose well.
Surging up, Thorn slots his mouth against the lord's own with little hesitation, quick and firm; seemingly startled by the punched out sound that escapes Paxton at the contact, he pushes a mere breath away only to move in again, more tender this time. For one glorious moment everything else ceases to exist: all that remains is the feeling of calloused hands in his own and Thorn's lips, already chapped from the cold but so, so warm moving against his own, gently coaxing them open. Unhurried, like they have all the time in the world; carefully reinspecting their very shape and taste.
Looking at it from an outsider's perspective they must look ridiculous: two grown men stealing sweet kisses like a pair of young village boys, hidden away from prying eyes; drunk on closeness, overly eager and almost childishly giddy.
Perhaps if it didn't feel as rejuvenating, Paxton would find it in him to give a damn.
Just as quickly as he started it, Wayne pulls away, nose nuzzling against Paxton's for a moment; he stays close so they're still sharing the same air when he decides to break the pleasant silence. "You gonna tell me what's been bothering you?" he asks, dark eyes boring into the lord's "And don't tell me it's nothin', you been acting like you got ants in your pants ever since we set out."
Ah. So the kiss was simply a distraction meant to make him more pliant. How unexpectedly devious of his Thorn. "Really, those colorful comparisons you conjure…" he mutters, widening the gap between them.
Realizing his misstep, Thorn tightens his grip on his hands. "Don't try and change the subject, you know what I mean. Answer me proper." then, softer still "Are you in pain? You always get more pissy when yer hurtin'."
"Excuse me, pissy? What sort of language is—"
"This is exactly what I mean. You keep on goin' off like that, all the time, spittin' the words out like bullets all around. Hittin' me with 'em for sure."
"I…"
"You can just tell me, you know? I won't think worse of you if you do."
Oh, it's impossible to resist him when he's being reasonable and gentle like this. "I am well. As well as I could possibly be, anyhow. Nothing physical ails me, I promise you." he wears his lip for a few moments before continuing "I… I simply don't like being waylaid like this, that's all."
"You've been like this even before we set out on our way back." the other states with confidence.
"Wayne…"
The man frowns at him further. "It's that tiff you had with Daisy, ain't it?"
Of course he'd figure it out. Damn him and this inconvenient perceptiveness of his. "It was not a tiff, it was a discussion. Perhaps… Perhaps a bit of a heated one, yes, but a discussion nonetheless."
"Uh-huh. You had heads turning all over the place and almost got us kicked out of that records office."
The reminder of that unpleasantness instantly has Paxton gritting his teeth and temper flaring. "Oh, can you really blame me? She's simply impossible!"
"No argument there." Wayne agrees placatingly, eyes sparkling with mirth.
"I fail to see what you find amusing about this." the lord notices testily "It is no laughing matter."
"I know, I know. But there ain't nothing we can do about it, alright?" he follows the words with a few soothing swipes over the jutting bones of Paxton's wrists "We agreed we ain't gonna push her to tell us."
"You agreed. I did no such thing."
"Fine, I did. It don't change nothin'." he shrugs, a deep sigh following "Daisy's got her secrets. It's up to her if she wants to share 'em with us."
"And that doesn't concern you?" he asks, incredulous, freeing himself of the other's now lax grip and stepping back "Doctor Gray poses a fountain of knowledge on the topic of the one being that could very well be the key to all our problems! And chooses to remain as tight-lipped about it as ever! You'd think after all we've told her about the vestibule it would serve as enough of a reason to share but no! She feels no obligation to it whatsoever!"
For a moment, Sawyer looks like he wants to reach out again, arms twitching at his sides. He doesn't. "I get that, but you can't exactly force her to spill her beans, can you?"
He huffs out an unhappy snort, folding his arms across his chest. "I can bloody well try. She certainly doesn't mind poking and prodding at everyone else, now does she? You first and foremost."
"Yeah, and I don't like it! And that's exactly why I don't wanna do it to her!" Thorn looks up at Paxton then, a mute plea in his gaze "We just need to give her time—"
"And how long is that?"
"As long as she needs! She'll tell us when she's ready!"
"And what if she doesn't?" the nobleman probes further, undeterred, letting his own frustration carry him forward "What if the moment she's ready doesn't come? Or is too late? What then?"
"I don't know!" the other's handsome features twist and fall, his agitation clear "Wh— Why are you suddenly so hell bent on learnin' more about Them anyway, huh? Strauss is the one who's after us!"
Incredible how for all his cluelessness and ignorance the man can pick up on just the right thread; get so very close to the truth of the matter without ever realizing it. Obviously Paxton cannot freely advertise the cause of his renewed interest - no, he's been keeping his little tet-a-tet with the entity a secret for a reason, doing his best to learn more about Them and their origins - and possible plans for them - on his own accord. Predictably, he failed in this venture, unable to find anything useful or at least new to what was already known to him - or what the Herald let slip themselves.
Frankly he's abandoned and come back to the topic a few times already; in a flash of desperation even considering using his connections to locate and befriend one of Their minions…
That is if he didn't have one right in his reach already.
It's what spiked the fight in the first place - and yes, it was definitely a fight, regardless of what he's told his Thorn - his frustration over fruitlessness of his efforts spilling over, aimed at the thing's (ex?) worshiper parading right in front of him. Bound to happen or not, he regrets starting the confrontation, especially since it's spun out of his control very quickly: he did underestimate Doctor Gray's adamancy to keep her past to herself greatly and largely overestimated his own cunning.
(Again.)
A recurring pattern if he can say so himself.
Being directly confronted by Sawyer now reopens the barely closed wound he's been nursing ever since then, the burn of guilt and anger spilling over his skin. So naturally, he diverts the man's attention in a sure-fire way he knows - he attacks. "Good God, can you be any slower on the uptake? Who do you think that infernal man serves?"
"Paxton…"
"Don't you 'Paxton' me now. Do you really think Strauss would simply figure out how to create a horror such as the one we witnessed in those caves all on his own? Or be able to conjure and control that creature to do his bidding without someone or something with knowledge telling him how?"
The vein on Sawyer's forehead pulses in warning. "I ain't sayin' we don't need to learn more about Them, I'm sayin' not like this!"
"Oh, I knew you'd take her side." Paxton spits out bitterly, turning away; the pleasant confines of the shed suddenly too oppressive "Why do I even bother?"
Thorn's answering growl can probably be heard all the way on the other end of the yard. "I ain't takin' anyone's side! I don't want there to be any sides!"
"Well that's not how this works!" he snaps back, pushing past the other man and outside, immediately choking on a lungful of frosty air. The sky over their heads has grown even paler shade of blue now, sun veiled by feathery clouds - making the temperature drop even further it seems. It looks vaguely ominous like this, a promise of things to come - maybe in more than one way.
"Cross!" Sawyer bellows after him; back to last names, they're really in it now "Damn it, would you just listen to me for once?"
"Well you hardly ever listen to me, so why should I?" he cedes out, facing the other man again "I will not wait around for something that might never come, Wayne. I've had enough of it in that accursed shitpit."
For his part, Thorn has been doing an uncharacteristically good job of keeping his temper at bay. "Does everything need to be a fight with you?" he questions tiredly, then reaches out, tugging at Paxton's sleeve "If you keep pushing, Daisy's only gonna clam up even more! Whatever it was, it must have been bad if she doesn't wanna talk about it." his expression turns pained before he adds, voice low "She already cries herself to sleep most nights, I don't want to… to…"
"To hurt her feelings?" the lord sneers, brushing the touch away "As sweet as it might be that you're trying to protect your friend, I have no such qualms about it."
"And here it is again." the other grunts out, jaw clenched "You keep sayin' shit like that. My friends, my partners. Like you ain't part of it all."
"Perhaps that's because I am not." at Thorn's shocked expression he continues, measured and cool "Come now, Wayne. Surely you understand by now. I'm your benefactor, remember? A means to an end. There is nothing more to it."
Dumbfounded is not enough to describe the other's expression, his eyes wide as saucers. "What are you even talking about? We ain't takin' no money from—"
"No, but rare books? My notes, knowledge? Simple fancies from time to time?" he chuckles without humor "Don't you think these things benefit them in one way or another?"
Or, by proxy - you? he doesn't add aloud.
"Hold on." Sawyer holds up his hand as if it could stop the onslaught of words from reaching him "That's not… It ain't like that. They like you, of course they like you, why would you think… Why would you be…?"
"Why would I act like it doesn't concern me? That's because it doesn't." Paxton finishes, watching a myriad of emotions pass the berserker's face "This surprises you."
"Yeah, kinda!" an incredulous laughter bubbles up and dies in Thorn's throat "You've been all chummy with each other all this time, talkin' about this and that, I don't…"
"I did say we were allies, did I not? I see no reason why I wouldn't remain cordial, regardless of our interpersonal relationships. Or lack thereof." that is, until approximately two days ago "I sincerely thought you'd know better than to make these sort of… childish assumptions."
"And I thought maybe after all we've been through you'll drop that doily cloth act of yers!"
He can't help it, he barks out a laugh at that. "You are more of a fool than I thought then. That is who I am, Wayne. To them, to you. Nothing beneath the frills, you said so yourself, remember?"
"But I—"
"Did you really think just because we spent some time together something would change for me? In me? Or that if I let you kiss me and feel me up a few times I would magically become whoever it is you seem to see? I regret to inform you, you are sorely mistaken then."
Too far. Decidedly too far judging by the quickly covered up, shattered look on the other man's face. Shame, thick and cloying splashes the back of Paxton's throat, making him instantly nauseous; breath freezes in his lungs.
His own bare hand twitches with the need to touch, to soothe, to reassure.
(To apologize.)
He's not given a chance to.
"Yeah. Right fool I was." Sawyers says without heat, eyes cold, expression carefully blank.
"Wayne, I—"
"Go back inside."
"Don't dismiss me—"
"Go. We're done here." the other says with finality, brushing past him in a huff and starting into the direction of the barn without as much as a look back.
Chest tight, the remnants of anger dissipating, Paxton finally decides to comply with the command after standing in the same spot like a fool for few longer moments ; reaching out for his previously discarded cane, hissing as the cold metal of the handle bites at his skin - his gloves, Wayne has his damn gloves - and readying himself for the trek back to the inn.
(The trembling currently wrecking his frame decidedly not from the cold alone.)
He's barely a few steps away from the shed when the softest echo of his name being called reaches him - though when he looks towards the tree line, heart fluttering, the other man is nowhere in sight.
Above him clouds sag and darken further, heavy with the promise of snow.