Badri bit his tongue on the comment that Aimé did almost everything sensually. That would indeed be too eager. He reached for his wine instead.
"I like your jacket." Aimé seemed suddenly unsure again, not meeting Badri's eyes. "That color looks good on you."
Badri glanced down at the rust-colored jacket with gold embroidery he was wearing. "Thank you, and you look beautiful as well."
Aimé's eyes drew wide for a moment and Badri wanted to smack himself in the face.
"I'm sorry. I overstepped."
"No." Aimé shook his head. He didn't seem upset. If anything, he seemed pleased, if still a little shy. "I'm glad… I'm glad you like the way I look today."
Time to take the bull by the horns, then. "Aimé De Verley." Badri turned to face him fully now, watching for his reaction. "I always like the way you look."
Aimé was staring at him, expression stunned. "Thank you." Badri watched the muscles in Aimé's throat work as he swallowed. "I've always found you a very attractive man."
Badri leaned forward as Aimé tipped his face up. He had no real, fully-formed plan, aside from admiring how soft and full his lips were. Aimé pressed close as well, hands rising to grasp at Badri's coat.
"Badri?"
They both started, and turned to see Sushil standing by the glass doors. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting." Sushil glanced between the two of them. "I was just leaving, and I thought Badri might like to share the carriage with me… but he doesn't have to." He looked over at Badri now. "If you don't want to, or have other plans."
"It's fine." Aimé reached for his glass of wine, a small smile playing across his lips. "I need to say my farewells as well and make my excuses. I have an early morning tomorrow."
Sushil gave Badri a final questioning look and headed back inside.
"Wait," Badri called as Aimé moved to follow Sushil back to the party
Aimé turned back to face him, one hand on the handle of the glass doors.
"I …" Badri rubbed one hand across the back of his head. He was good at the hot press of bodies in a carriage, alley, his dressing room, or bed, but not this. He'd never done this. "I would like it if you joined me for dinner, if you would allow it."
Aimé cocked his head to the side. "People will talk."
"Let them." Badri grinned, picking up his own wine glass in a toast, and after a moment, Aimé smiled back.
"All right. Sunday evening. I'll be free then."
*~*~*
"You're nervous."
Collette watched Aimé fuss with his cravat in the mirror from where she stood in the doorway to his bedroom.
"Of course I'm nervous." Aimé pulled off his plain white cravat and reached for one of the colored silk ones instead. "It's Badri Mukherjee."
"And he asked you out," Collette said as Aimé went to change his jacket to one of a different color. "Which is a good sign. What are you hoping for from all this, anyway? Some bed fun, an affair, something more?"
Aimé could feel his pulse speed up at the thought of having Badri in his bed, but he shook his head. "Right now, I'm happy to have dinner with another artist." He settled on the dark blue jacket and pulled it on. "I don't need anything more."
"Don't need or don't want?" Collette asked. "Because if you want it, then I say take it. Maybe he wants that, too."
"Don't you have a poker game?" Aimé settled on his onyx earrings.
Leaning against the doorframe, Collette grinned. "Oh yes, although Miriam will win. She always does. Don't wait up for me."
"I never do. Especially when you go out drinking and gambling with the crown's best prosecutor."
Collette just chuckled, low and deep, and headed for her own room. "Enjoy your dinner," she called over her shoulder.
Adding color to his lips, Aimé regarded himself critically in the mirror for a moment. The papers routinely ran article criticizing him for wearing makeup both on and off the stage, and Aimé knew most people saw it as just another way that he was more of a woman than a man, but he'd always liked himself best with a little color on his lips or around his eyes. Hesitating for a moment, he wondered if Badri would find it strange or off-putting. Perhaps he should not wear it and leave his face bare tonight. One hand reached out to pick up the small cloth that he used to remove his makeup, then he curled it into a fist. Raising his chin, he gave himself one last look in the mirror. He liked himself with the dark red across his lips, that was what had always mattered most, and he wasn't going to change now. Without giving himself time to second guess that decision, he headed out of his apartment to the waiting carriage.
Badri and Sushil Mukherjee lived in a tall, stone city house. Badri opened the door himself when Aimé tugged on the chain to ring the bell.
"Come in." He held open the door and Aimé moved into the hall.
"Our chef tells me dinner is nearly ready." Badri led the way into a small sitting room with walls done up in a soft yellow cream. "Drink?"
"I would love one." If nothing else, it would help steady his nerves. He could feel his palms sweating a little bit and risked a glance at Badri, who looked both relaxed and elegant in eveningwear, his hair pulled back from his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. Badri turned towards the sideboard where a decanter of wine and two glasses sat and Aimé watched that long plait of hair move against his back. His fingers itched to reach out and touch, to find out if Badri's hair felt as soft and silken as it looked.
Badri poured them both small glasses of wine, and turned to hand one to Aimé. Swallowing dryly, Aimé accepted, trying to shake such thoughts from his mind. They were there to have dinner, and not necessarily anything beyond that. Although if the evening continued the way it had been, Aimé feared he was going to have a hard time keeping his intentions pure. He took a sip of wine to steady himself, eyebrows rising as he did. The wine was good. Very good, in fact.
"Do you like it?" Aimé looked up to see Badri watching him, his expression caught between strangely anxious and resigned.
"Yes." He took another sip. "It is extremely good."
"It is." Badri took a small sip from his own glass, seeming almost unwilling to agree, although he must have known the wine’s quality before he offered it. "It is from my father's vineyard. My father's fortune is in wine, and he has hundreds of acres of vineyard. This is one of his fall wines; very expensive if you buy it."
"Will the vineyards be yours one day?" Aimé took another sip, trying to imagine it. His own mother had been a seamstress, and his father a soldier-turned-schoolmaster.
"Sushil might inherit them, since he is technically the eldest." Badri's expression was one of distaste. "But who knows? My father is very strange when it comes to the two of us. Paternal about some things, cold and distant about others."
"I'm sorry." There was obviously very little love lost between Badri and his father, and perhaps those complicated feelings had spilled over to color Badri's own feeling about the wine his father's family made. At least Aimé had always been on good terms with his own parents, even if he was not terribly close with them these days.
Badri shrugged. "My father never quite reconciled himself to the fact that the only children to carry his blood have dark skin. But I've grown used to that."
"My father is from the southernmost reaches of the empire," Aimé said. He rarely spoke about his parents and his life before coming to the capital. The fact that Badri had confided in him about his own past, though, made Aimé more willing to share such details as well. "He joined the army young and served for many years before he was injured and had to retire. Once that happened, he moved north, hoping that if he settled close to the capital, he would find work. Then he met my mother, who was born and bred in a little farming town several hours' ride from here. They fell in love, got married, and had me." He trailed one finger around the edge of the glass. "I never thought it was odd that his skin was darker then hers or that mine was, until I began performing professionally and people began to comment on it, on how 'exotic' I was." He made a face of his own and took another sip of wine.
"Oh, yes, people tell me that as well." Badri's expression was sympathetic, but in the way of someone who understood well what Aimé was speaking of, and not merely pretending to do so.
Someone cleared their throat behind them, and they both turned to see a servant standing in the doorway. "Gentlemen, dinner is served." The serving man bowed and then left again, and Badri reached for Aimé's arm.
"Come. It's going to be exquisite, I promise."
Aimé enjoyed the warmth of Badri so close to his side; the weight of Badri's arm entwined with his as Badri led the way down the hall the dining room.
The long mahogany table seemed almost ridiculously big for just the two of them, even though Badri sat at one end and settled Aimé right by his side.
"Will your brother be joining us?" Aimé asked, hoping it would just be the two of them, but not necessarily expecting it. This was Sushil's house as well, after all.
Badri shook his head. "He's dining with the Marquis de la Marche this evening. Besides, I thought it might be nice to have some time to speak together, just the two of us."
"I'm sure it will." Aimé smiled at him warmly.
The soup was brought in, and Aimé found when he picked up his spoon and took a tentative sip that Badri had not been exaggerating about the skill of his chef.
"This is delicious." Aimé polished off his bowl faster than what was probably polite. "If I had your chef, I would weigh considerably more than I do."
Badri laughed. "It is a struggle sometimes not to overindulge. Most of the time, though, I stick to a very strict diet."
Aimé's mind flashed to a memory of Badri dancing, his costume clinging to every line, curve, and swell. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, luckily for me, I have no such restrictions." Since there was no more soup in his bowl, he set aside his spoon. "So what do you enjoy doing when you are not dancing? For pleasure, I mean." Aimé just managed not to wince at his poor choice of word and then thought his heart might stop at the momentary flash of heat in Badri's eyes.
"I enjoy horseback riding." Badri set aside his spoon as well, and a servant came to take their empty bowls. "I do not hunt for sport, since I find that cruel, but I have always enjoyed riding."
Aimé wasn't sure if he imagined the meaningful look Badri gave him at that, and reached for his wine before he said something he shouldn't.
"I enjoy fencing as well," Badri continued. "I am by no means a duelist, but many of the ways that you train your body for work with the sword is the same as for dance. And then, of course, dance itself. As much as I adore ballet, there are some many other wonderful dances from all across the empire and the world. I never pass up a chance to learn something new."
The servants were back, setting more dishes in front of them and across the table.
"What about you?"
"I enjoy reading," Aimé said, deciding to start simply. "I always have, since I was a boy, and I box."
"What!" Badri burst out with a small laugh before trying to sober. "I mean, you just hardly seem the type."
Aimé grinned at that, hardly taking offense. He knew he did not have the body of an athlete, but that had never stopped him from loving the sport. "I went through a rebellious phase back when I still sang choir music. I am not allowed to actually fight against anyone now. Count de Fézensac has always been afraid I would damage myself in some way and be unable to sing. I am trying to keep up with my practice, though, and enjoy going to see fights."
"I've never seen a boxing match," Badri admitted, sounding slightly dubious, as if he could not imagine finding such a thing entertaining.
"Oh, but you must." Aimé felt himself leaning forward in his enthusiasm. "I will take you to see a fight. It will be fun. You'll enjoy it, or at least appreciate the form and physicality of it. Or, if you really don't want to…" Aimé trailed off, some of his enthusiasm waning, as Badri still seemed doubtful. He didn't want to pressure Badri into anything, after all. None of his lovers had ever been interested in boxing, though a few had even laughed in his face when he'd told them he used to box. To share this other passion with Badri would be amazing.
"Maybe," Badri said carefully, as if weighing his words, and in some ways Aimé preferred that over carelessly-given agreement. "I could come with you to one fight to see how it is done."
Aimé felt warmth bloom in his chest at that.
The rest of the meal was just as good as the soup had been. Badri kept the conversation light, mostly about music and the art scene here in the capital. After they were done eating, they retired to the sitting room again.
"Would you like wine or brandy?" Badri asked, moving over to the small table with decanters on it.
"Wine, please. I just tend not to drink spirits during the season." Aimé settled himself on the settee.
"Hmm." Badri took a sip of his own wine, walking over to hand Aimé a glass. "What shall we do now?"
Aimé's pulse quickened as he looked at Badri. His mind flashed to a hundred different things they could do, a hundred things he wanted to do to Badri. He took a large mouthful of the wine to steady himself, but also to keep from blurting some of it out.
"I know." Badri set aside his own glass. "I will teach you to dance."
"Oh, no, I don't think—"
"Just a few steps." Badri held out his hand. "It will be easy. I promise."
"I—" Aimé took another large gulp of wine before he let Badri pull him to his feet.
"Take off your shoes, stockings, and jacket," Badri ordered, stripping off his own jacket and nudging off his shoes. Once again, Aimé was glad Badri could not tell he was blushing. He fumbled off his jacket, letting it fall on the settee, and then stripped off his shoes and stockings as well.
That left them both in only breeches, shirtsleeves, and waistcoats. Aimé could not help but notice that Badri's legs were even more muscular without stockings. His calves especially seemed like they had been crafted from stone, with a dusting of dark hair.