The church bells are still ringing, deep and hollow and old like the church itself when the two slip out of the main chapel and into one of the cold, stone hallways of Lims-Kragma's temple.

Dash has got a clever plan. At least, that's what Jimmy had hoped when his brother grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and pulled him out from under the noses of a weeping noble matron dressed in billowing purple velvet.

"Dash, wha--" Jimmy begins, while his brother eases the heavy wooden doors, now fire-scarred and blackened to charcoal in places, closed with a thief's stealth. Jimmy doesn't get a chance to finish because as soon as the catch clicks, Dash presses in and covers Jimmy's mouth with a moist palm. And even if he wanted to continue talking around Dash's fingers, Jimmy's train of thought momentarily derails as the faint taste of sweaty skin breathes across his lips.

Now, Dash is grinning brightly at him, mischief flashing dark in his eyes. "Hush. I'm rescuing you."

"Oh," says Jimmy when Dash removes his hand and wipes it against his pant-leg with little care for the sanctity of his mourning garb. "Is that what you're doing?"

"Mmhmm."

Jimmy folds his arms across his chest and quirks an eyebrow. "I wouldn't need rescuing if you hadn't abandoned me over two hours ago."

Dash sighs, dramatic and completely unapologetic. "I couldn't stand being cornered by another little noble puff and her silly condolences." He scowls briefly, but soon he's grinning again in that sidelong way that makes Jimmy's stomach bubble. "Besides, I came back for you, didn't I?"

"You did," Jimmy concedes, backing up against the wall and letting hours of tension evaporate. He certainly sympathizes with Dash's escape and probably would have made one of his before long. He tugs at the high collar of his shirt, opening the clasp and for the first time in hours, breathing deeply.

Thoughtfully, Dash chews on the inside of his lip, making a faint crease in the skin just below. "I always do."

Jimmy laughs and lets his eyes slip closed. "You do most of the time. Except when there's a chance grandfather or father will scold you. You've been pretty happy to run for the hills on those occasions."

There's a soft sound like an exhalation as Dash laughs. Jimmy doesn't open his eyes, but he hears Dash shift a little bit closer.

"Doesn't count," his brother says, quietly because they're close enough that he doesn't need to speak above a whisper. "You always got caught on purpose to try and get me in trouble."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Fine," Dash says roughly, and Jimmy can almost imagine Dash pouting now, although his brother rarely pouts for real anymore. "It's not like it'll happen again, anyway. Moot point."

That hurts, Dash's voice and the anger in the words. Something deep in Jimmy's chest twinges, and he opens his eyes. Red light is pouring into the hallway through battered stained glass windows. The wall against Jimmy's back is coming apart, but really, what isn't? A warm hand comes to rest on hiss shoulder, and he looks away from the bloody light to Dash.

"Sorry," Dash murmurs. "I shouldn't have said that."

Jimmy shrugs, not enough to dislodge Dash's hand, just enough to get his meaning across. "It's true. We've no one left to get scolded by, do we?"

Dash smiles a little. "Oh, I don't know. I'll still scold you when you're an idiot."

"Gee, thanks," Jimmy replies.

They are quiet for a little while after that, Jimmy still aware of Dash's hand lying heavily on his shoulder and of the pale ash floating like snow in the hall, Dash...possibly aware of nothing, possibly aware of everything. His whole face is a study in impassiveness, like one of the cold stone angels in the cemetery behind the temple.

"Hey, Jimmy?" Dash says eventually, and before Jimmy even opens his mouth to answer, Dash leans in and pulls their mouths together.

The first time was when they were fifteen, lazy and horny, on a hillside back home, listening to the ocean and trying to think of ways to entertain themselves until grandfather returned from his trip to Krondor.

"It's easier than trying to find a girl who'll let you," Dash had said in a way that made it seem very logical at the time. "You don't mind, do you?"

And Jimmy might have said yes, or he might have said nothing at all, but either way, he'd let Dash crawl on top of him and unbutton his tunic and slide messy kisses down his chest and belly.

When Dash kisses him now, it's not messy at all. It's hot and wet and deep in his mouth, and Dash's fingers curl tightly in the loosened collar of Jimmy's tunic, pulling them together in a mess of friction and irresistible heat.

"At his funeral, Dash?" Jimmy manages to get out when Dash moves away from his mouth to tongue wet marks down Jimmy's throat, along the raised line of muscles to the curved indent of collarbone. Jimmy feels his whole body lurch forward, and he sucks in a silent breath and holds it like he's never going to be able to taste oxygen again. And maybe he won't. It's getting awfully hard to breath, and his chest feels tight, tight, tight.

Dash's answering laugh is a cold whisper against wet flesh and then he murmurs, very close to Jimmy's skin, "Seems appropriate."

"Irreverent," Jimmy counters, digging his fingers into the long curls at the nape of Dash's neck.

"Whatever."

Dash's hands, rough-skinned, tanned, and graceful, trace his ribs inward and then down along his belly to wrap tightly around his belt. This time, however, it is Jimmy who pulls them together, open-mouthed, tongue sliding against Dash's.

The second time had been in Jimmy's room, in a curl of peace above the war their parents waged below. Dash's voice had been low, an intimate purr against Jimmy's shoulder, "D'you think they'll work it out?"

Jimmy had slid his hands through the dark curls on Dash's forehead and then, later, through the dark curls that were warm and hidden between his thighs. "Nothing ever works out the way it's meant to," was all he'd found to say.

Now, Jimmy breathes in what reassurance his brother can offer, swallows it, drowns in it. The church bells have stopped ringing, and the faints chords of the requiem mass come floating into the corridor through the double doors. Only Dash's irregular gasping breaths and the occasional throaty moan seem to drown out the noise.

This, thinks Jimmy as Dash's hands undo his belt and then his breeches, is not going to make anything better. Still, he tips his head back as Dash's fingers wind around his cock and stroke up and down, slow and then fast and then slow and then rough. And Jimmy no longer particularly cares if this is good or bad, if it's the fifth time they've done this or the fortieth, because Dash's erection grinds against his thigh, and Jimmy presses back into the heat and the solidity of another person.
When Dash comes, and Jimmy can feel the warm wetness soaking through, his brother buries his face in Jimmy's shirt to silence the noise. Jimmy comes soon after in a silent shiver that courses through his whole body like a scream or a prayer.

Dash takes a step back, and without him to lean on, Jimmy's legs collapse, and he sits heavily on the ground, panting. Dash's chest is rising and falling as well in heady gasps for air, and his lips are bruised, eyes are dark.

"Well," he mutters, smirking, and carelessly wipes his hand off on his pant-leg.

Jimmy watches this, and laughter bubbles in his chest. He pulls his knees up to his face and begins to laugh, fingers splayed across his face, not caring if the mourners in the main hall can hear him. Maybe this is hysteria or maybe it's just release. When he looks up, Dash is looking quizzical.

"What's so funny?"

Jimmy smiles. "You're never going to be able to wear those pants again."

Dash looks down and frowns at his hand as if had moved there of its own accord. "Hm. You neither. Hopefully, we won't have to."

Jimmy hums an agreement and looks at his hands. "Hey, Dash?"

"What?"

"Do you think," Jimmy squints at his hands because he doesn't want to meet Dash's eyes, "do you think I should start calling myself James?"

Dash is quiet for so long that Jimmy finally looks up. When their eyes catch, Dash smiles and then he shakes his head and rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Idiot." Dash holds out his hand, and Jimmy takes it without a word. "You better get your pants done up, and we better get back in there before people wonder where we are."

This time is at their father's funeral, and Jimmy decides that as long as Dash is there to come to his rescue, the world can crumble, and they will still be standing.