“I hate cigars,” said Magnus. 

“Smoke your pipe, then,” said Klaus. “I don’t care.”

“Last time we talked you threatened to stop feeding me,” said Magnus. “Excuse me if I’m paranoid about upsetting you.”

“This is my personality,” said Klaus.

“Your personality sucks,” said Magnus.

Klaus groaned, “Why are you so confrontational?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus smiled. “I’m American! You know what it’s like.”

Klaus smiled, kind of, “Are you referring to my adopted nationality?”

“I’m literally just trying to start a conversation with you and you‘re making it impossible.”

“My family is from Saxony. You said you don’t know where that is. Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah!” Magnus faded in and out of attention while Klaus rattled on about his upbringing. Magnus had little interest in entertaining the mundane details of other people’s lives and an outright aversion to well-traveled, educated people. Nothing made him feel smaller than adventures he would never get to have.

“…I did well in the military,” said Klaus. “Then I freelanced for a while. I thought I could make a living using my skillset from Europe.”

Magnus hit his pipe, “What skillset?” 

“Oh, all kinds of things,” Klaus vaguely waved his glass.

“What kinds of things?”

“Military…skillset,” said Klaus.

“Like a teacher?”

“No!” Klaus shouted.

“A General? That’s the only military position I know,” said Magnus.

“I was a mercenary during the war and a freelance assassin afterwards.”

“That explains the big house and the exclusive property,” Magnus packed another bowl. “Business must be good.”

Jesse interrupted when he opened the salon doors. Klaus and Magnus froze like they’d been caught. Jesse looked between them, “So, the kitchen said ‘no’ to chocolate cake. They made chocolate crepes and I told them you wouldn’t notice the difference.”

Klaus’ mouth watered, “Well done, Jesse!”

The butler set the tray on the table in the middle of the room and then scooted out of the salon.

“You can have mine if you want,” said Magnus.

“You sure?” Klaus smiled.

Magnus kept smoking while Klaus finished the crepes by himself. The conversation went late. Klaus had drank too much and Magnus was faded. In the middle of a half-slurred conversation about sailboats, Magnus found it pertinent to ask Klaus, “What do you like about boys?”

“Why do you think I’m into dudes?” asked Klaus. 

Magnus shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s either the thigh-high leather boots or the eyepatch.”

Klaus looked at his boots, “These are standard issue cavalry boots. Knee injuries are common, so the boots have to be at least thigh-high.”

“Sure,” Magnus nodded skeptically.

“It’s a common injury,” said Klaus. “The famous French Field Marshal, Villars, took a bullet to the knee during the battle of Malplaquet. It’s a famous story!”

“He should have been wearing higher boots,” Magnus joked. “I was just curious, you don’t have to tell me about your personal life if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind,” Klaus was drunk enough to handle the query. Maybe he assumed this was something they discussed before, like a thread from a previous conversation. He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back in the cigar smoke to muse on boys. He mused so hard that he almost fell off his chair, and righted himself at the cost of spilling half a glass of rum on his waistcoat.  

Magnus was stoned, “You good?”

“I’m great,” Klaus looked sober, or maybe about to vomit. There was a beat of silence, “Do you really want to know what I like about men?”

“Sure,” said Magnus.

Klaus flicked his eye over Magnus' body, “I like their deep voices and the way they taste. I like tying them up in my bedroom in Paris. Or my flat in Vienna, or the Polish castle I rented. I thought it would be fun, but castles are a nightmare to heat.”

Magnus smiled, “Tying them up? Like, is that, like the…a sex thing?”

“They come harder than ever in their life,” said Klaus.

Magnus thought about it, like, a lot. He returned to his room and thought about it with his spit-slick fists until his thighs started to shake, and ecstasy filled his hands in long sticky ropes. He heard Klaus' words in his mind: ‘harder than ever.’ Magnus decided to keep it to himself, which lasted about a day.