All day long, Bas was batted between mounts of missives with official royal seals and small meetings to work out fine details for the upcoming Feast. It was a high visibility event and to be invited by name, along with other troupes of course, was a grand honor. The troupe had been alight with rumors, planning, and such, with high aspirations of new spectacles to perform. Bas knew the best way to allow these artists to express themselves without driving the troupe into bankruptcy was to go ahead and build the borders of the sandbox before they begin to play. He knew that in the coming days, Phin and a load of other performers would be knocking on his door, asking whether or not they could get this or that with money that they must have assumed mysteriously and magically appeared in the budget. So as not to seem a fool, he did the math ahead of time to use a shield of figures against their swords of passion.

The lamplight flickered as the tip of his stylus scratched at the wax tablet he used to doublecheck his figures before using a second stylus to write it permanently on a roll of parchment for their records. It was a method that saved their use of ink - a hot commodity among the literate members of the troupe, particularly writers who either used too much of it on mysterious scripts he had yet to see, or got misplaced every time they went from town to town. Just part of the whole gig, he supposed, so he kept his under a nearly literal lock and key.

A half eaten pomegranate leaked droplets of ruby red on the corner of the table, serving as a decent enough excuse for when anyone should ask if he had eaten later on. In truth, he did need to eat a bit more, but the urgency of getting these figures written down clearly as a line in the sand to be used against the creative minds was ever present, particularly with the business dealings that would take up much of his time.

Just thinking about such things made his stylus stop mid-stroke and he took a breath. Just thinking of his own personal schedule for the days leading up to the Feast, he made a quiet groan. So many meetings....and meetings. While Bas would love to say that the troupe was financially supported exclusively by the patrons and ticket sales, there was an unspoken source of income that he and a select few members of the troupe were privy to - a very delicate source that needed frequent nurturing and attention. Many patrons were generous for the sake of being spectators to the art, but many also asked for something in return. With the consent of several willing participants - himself included - there were those willing to throw a few extra coins in the purse for special 'behind the scenes' and 'under the sheet' meetings by way of the oldest profession known to man.

It was not exactly a secret, but there was a nice small circle of those who knew and kept the troupe's reputation above reproach. It was something he had established a long time before incorporating other troupe members, and as such, several patrons began to expect it....despite his many attempts to gently steer away from it. He was getting older and didn't have quite the stamina or patience to keep such a heavy load in his little black book. That being said, large events like the Festival and the Feast filled his book significantly.

The door seemed to echo his groan after a moment, and midway through rubbing his face with the palm of his hand, he peeked over his shoulder to see a mop of russet hair entering. Oh, Zeph. It was as if his thoughts of upcoming meetings were taunting him in the back of his mind as his eyes lighted on the young man's face. A wave of relief and guilt seemed to wash back and forth inside him, but both seemed to melt almost instantly as Zephyrus began to massage shoulders that he didn't realize he had been tensing. "Yes, as always. Someone has to make sure we all get paid, right?"

For a brief moment, he let himself enjoy the touches. He was not usually much of an affectionate type, at least not outwardly. He tended to show affection through other actions and time spent together, but with Zephyrus, things like that just came naturally. He could stop being the Producer for a moment and just be a man with him. Someone human. Just as he felt himself relaxing into the ministrations, he heard the young man mention Phin's words, and he could not escape the deep sigh that pushed itself out of him.

"Let's not talk about it, not right now," Bas groaned, knowing that it was a tightrope walk every time the subject came up. These things were set in place long before Zephyrus came into his life, or so he had been telling himself for over two years now. Every time it happened, for these two years, Basilides felt worse and worse seeing the hurt in those green eyes. Leaning his head back so that he could look up at his lover, he noted the young man's pout and scrunched his own face in apology for being the cause of it. For a moment, he tried desperately to think of something to change the subject, and reached his hand out onto the desk, feeling around for a moment until he felt the raised feeling of dried wax, and then whipped the folded parchment up to Zephyrus' face.

"Ever wanted to see a royal letter? Here, look at this." For a moment he hoped this would stave off the usual uncomfortable conversation that would rear its ugly head.

Bas' pout almost intensified as Zephyrus stopped massaging his shoulders to slip into his lap, but instinctively, his arms enclosed delicately around the younger man. It was a natural movement, one they had done a hundred times before, like a dance. Usually it was because Zephyrus' youth and impatience got the best of him and he had perfectly weaponized it as a foolproof distraction to pull the producer away from the desk. More often than not, it ended with one or both of them pressed against the edge of the desk in a tangle of limbs and lips.

At the thought, Bas nestled his face in the curve of the young man's neck - a perfect fit - as Zephyrus read the correspondence. He breathed in deeply, having his lover's smell fill his lungs like smoke, almost holding it there for a moment before exhaling, pressing a few soft kisses on the curve of Zephyrus' neck. His hands instinctively began to wander across the man's taut, strong figure. Basilides had almost memorized every indention in every muscle. On the occasions they ended up in the same bed through morning, Basilides would usually wake first as a habit, but put aside his usual working habits to study something other than figures for once. Even with his eyes closed now, he could almost perfectly picture the way Zephyrus' curls clung to his forehead and the back of his neck on warm summer nights, and how his light, tawny eyelashes would brush his lightly freckled cheeks. If Bas were a writer, he could write songs about it and have them sung before the world. At least, that was how it felt during the good times.

As Zephyrus pulled away to meet his eyes, Bas met them with a look of sad, unspoken apology. Beneath it, burned a frustration that had been building for years. This operation had been going smoothly - if exhaustingly - for years before Zephyrus joined the troupe. Then, Bas had to go and develop feelings for the young acrobat, and those feelings and desires would not go away. Like fire to oil, they would light so quickly and burn brightly until the oil ran dry. This was one of those moments, he knew, and he hated it.

His frustration manifested as a heavy sigh and a hand anxiously running through his own dark curls. By the gods, he hated these conversations. Zephyrus never let the subject go, especially in the time shortly before he would leave. Bas had escaped the worst of it for a while, keeping quiet and slipping away without much notice and dealing with the repercussions - and the making up - as soon as he returned. That worked out well, but it seemed like it was not the case this time.

"Why does it have to be like this, Zeph?" he groaned, almost wincing at the discomfort of the situation, "It won't make you feel any better knowing, so why ask?" He realized the bitter sound in his voice and could feel his lover shift and moved instinctively to hold him closer, reaching a hand up to cup the young man's face, his own face pleading. "Please...it won't be like this forever. Once the troupe has enough to build a permanent theatre, things will change. I know they will. Just a little longer."

That had always been the plan - to bring in enough revenue to support the troupe's players, cover the costs of travel, and then keep enough saving on top to eventually establish a permanent home for the troupe. That was the dream. And then, if Phineus wanted to keep traveling, he could, and Basilides could handle the stationary theatre and finally build a home somewhere and set down roots. But...that was a long time and a lot of gold away.

In an attempt at distraction, Bas took his lover's hand and pressed it to his own cheek, kissing near the heel of the hand. He wondered how long he could keep this up before losing it entirely, and the thought of losing Zephyrus clawed at his chest like a knife.

That brief moment of calm affection, of gentle touches and soft breaths, would be over so soon. Bas tried to soak up every moment he could like this, mentally trying to erase the tension in the air around these moments. He wondered what it might be like to live like this and never worry about the root causes of the fights, the anger and hurt. Bas knew it was his fault, he knew the way to stop all of this was within his grasp. But, the funds were already tight within the budget, and if they had to tighten the belt for the troupe any further there would be some unhappy people, including Phineus and possibly a performer or two. Bas just hated that Zeph was caught in the middle of all of this. But for those few brief moments, Bas could enjoy the feel of his lover in his arms.

Just like that, the moment was over. Zephyrus' words went through him just enough to cause him to loosen his hold for a brief moment as they cut deep. But as the light left his lover's voice, something deep within him drew him to stand, even as Zeph moved towards the door, barely whispering, "Zeph..."

His arms repositioned and wrapped around the young man from behind, clinging on for dear life. Even though Bas had all the justifications he ever needed for what he was doing, it still did not stop the deep-seeded fear that one day, his young lover would walk out the door and never come back. His hands seemed to have minds of their own, splaying his fingers across Zeph's chest and lower torso, creating a fragile cage around him just barely enough to keep him from walking away.

Between the two of them, Zeph was much stronger, despite his lithe size and appearance. Bas knew it, but it did not stop him in this moment of desperation to use what advantage he had in height to move around him and stand between him and the door. Almost breathless with emotion, standing in front of the man he loved, he had no words left to say for himself, so simply plunged forward into a kiss that straddled the line between desperation and forcefulness. His hands started on either side of Zephyrus' face, fingers splaying behind his neck. It was not right by any means, but Bas was grasping at straws at this point. It was a sorry attempt to fill the silence between them, to stop this sour moment from spreading.

Even as Bas allowed their lips to part for a brief moment, his hands lingered there. Their curls intermingled as he kept their foreheads pressed together with a touch too much pressure. Breathless and aching deep on the inside, Bas managed to murmur quietly into the tiny space between them, "Three days. Only three."

He almost didn't dare to open his eyes to face his lover's, but he steeled himself to do it. Brown eyes met green, holding fast as he added, "I cannot make promises, you know that...but if I can avoid certain instances, by the gods I'll try. I swear it. I will try." Bas kept the space between them very tight, anxiously shifting his weight trying to keep Zephyrus close as if the young man would bolt away. With the silence that was held in that moment, Basilides felt the need to fill the dead air with words, and shook his head slightly as he said, "None of them mean anything to me. None of them. You...you matter to me."

Basilides felt fire at each point where their skin touched, and he craved it more and more. Deep within his core he felt a tightening and swell of desire, one that would not be hidden for much longer with only the sheer fabric of their chitons separating them. With their foreheads still close, he tried to keep his breath measured and even, but his hands continued to have a minds of their own, traveling down his lover's neck and shoulders, one arm snaking around Zephyrus' waist and pulling him closer.

As Zeph lunged and pulled him closer, Bas responded in kind, his kiss furious and clumsy. All he wanted was for as much of their bodies to touch as possible, and it was clear that Zeph felt the same. The two of them were alway better at communicating in tangles and sighs than they ever were with words. Words always held the risk of anger and misunderstanding, or in their case, simply being too truthful. Bas never once hid what he did from Zeph, and Zeph always spoke his feelings on it, but never pulled away. They always found each other again, even though it wounded their hearts repeatedly. With each kiss, they always tried to stitch those wounds back together. Whether or not it would last long enough to heal, neither of them wanted to think about or consider it failing.

Bas felt the shift as Zeph lifted himself up onto the table, and Bas opened his eyes briefly and let one hand drift over to move aside the ink and clumsily shove several important documents out of the way. Several found their way into the air and floated down to the ground in a soft rustle. As the younger man used his legs to draw Bas until their hips were flush with each others, their desire present and pressed between them. Bas released a soft groan into his lover's mouth as the fabric teased his sensitive and aching erection. Aimlessly seeking some relief, he rocked his hip against Zeph's, an unspoken plea.

Their lips parted with a soft gasp escaping Bas as his eyes caught his lover's, catching each word and hanging on each syllable. His mind heard each word, but quite frankly, that was not what he was using to think in that moment. Zeph surged forward again and their lips crashed together like waves against the shore. Bas wanted to promise him the world, to give him everything, to say he was sorry a thousand times over, sealing each with a kiss on Zeph's skin, but his mouth was far too preoccupied to form words in that moment.

Pressing his weight forward and looped one arm under Zeph's arm and locking him in close. His lips were frantically and messily finding their way from Zeph's lips to his ear, to his neck. All the while, his free hand slid down the young man's thigh until it found the hem and returned north, forming a crescent on his hip before finding the solid column of Zeph's erection, already wet at the tip, and wrapped around. He found the soft, sensitive place along the underside and began to roll ginger circles with the pad of his thumb, instantly feeling his lover react beneath his touch. That reaction alone sent the blood rushing through Bas' body, the sound almost thunderous in his ears, and he echoed his lover's moan with those of his own desire, muffling them as he bared his teeth against the curve of his lover's neck.

There was no music as beautiful to his ears as the sounds Zeph made in the throes of passion. He could write a symphony soley composed of his lover's voice.

Bas knew this would not last long, at least...not if he had anything to do about it.

Bas' breath came heavier now, their bodies rolling like the tide against the shore. It was quick, it was clumsy and wet, their kisses missing their intended target more often than landing. His hand worked rhythmically, but something was missing. That something was an a small flask in the drawer just a touch out of reach. Panting, he broke their war of lips to lean towards the drawer, fingers fumbling for the handle. In that same moment, Zephyrus made quick work of the clasp holding Bas' chiton up, revealing his chest in part. Bas softly swore as his lover's tongue smothered his nipple, distracting him from reaching for the oil, instead causing him to catch his balance on the edge of the drawer and glance down to see his impassioned lover practically wild.

'Take me, baby,' he had said, and Bas could not help but release a half-breathless huff of a laugh.

"I'm certainly trying," he replied, a smartass smile breaking across his face, as he wove his fingers through his lover's curls to arch Zephyrus' head back, revealing the long column of his neck. For half a moment, the wiry, wild young man was still a moment in his hands and Bas all but devoured him in a kiss, in control for a moment. Once breaking from it, he murmured against his lips, "The oil."

With the moment just a touch more controlled and with them far less likely to collapse on the ground - not the first time - Bas leaned again to flick the drawer open and pull out the flask of oil. Once it was in his hand, he use his free hand to lay his lover flat on his back on the desk. For half a moment, his eyes washed over the young man before his hand grappled with the cord holding the remnants of his chiton around his waist, letting it all fall to the floor with a gentle rustle.

Completely bare, he poured oil into his hands, some spilling over onto his lover's thigh and stiff erection. After a quick moment to touch his own need, he quickly folded himself over his lover, one elbow supporting his upper body on the desk, leaving his lips to kiss just above his lover's navel as his other arm lifted the acrobat's leg over his shoulder to better slick the oil between his firm cheeks. After a moment he lifted his eyes to watch his lover's face as he slipped one finger ever so gingerly inside.

Basilides could not help but reply with a soft 'ow!' as his lover nipped at his skin, and retaliated with and extra tug on his curls, grinning hungrily. Out in the world, Bas was a rather calm individual, stoic even for someone of his class, but there was something about this wiry young man in front of him that chipped away at his usual control. Zephyrus knew how to tug at a simple thread and make him come undone, sometimes even with just a word.

All thought of the argument that had brought them to this point had been pushed aside in his mind. All he wanted was this moment, endlessly.

He knew his lover all too well. He knew Zeph's impatience and his burning desire to be pushed to the edge. Athletes were like that. Basilides, though, was a calculated, patient man. Sex wasn't always about lovemaking, sometimes it was about making a deal. Whenever they came together like this, caused by one of their frequent arguments, he always feared it would become just another way to soothe and satiate the issue. He wondered sometimes if that passion, that fire between them would ever go out. Then, as his lover asked for him - begged for him - all thought left his mind and his body moved completely on impulse.

Withdrawing his fingers, he took a moment to touch his own neglected member, a gasp escaping him at his own touch and in anticipation as he took a moment to align himself, and ease in.

It took all the control he could manage to allow his lover to relax. Only with Zephyrus did he feel like losing complete control. The feel of his lover around him took his breath away. His eyes closed as she felt the ring of muscle tighten and loosen until he could inch further inside.

One long arm reached out, gripping his lover's shoulder to keep him in place and the other lifting one of Zephryus' thighs so he could have better access, he bumped his hips forward, a groan of pleasure escaping him as he did so. He tried his best to stay measured with each thrust until his lover adjusted, but with each passing thrust without a protest, he threw a little more force behind it, the tightness almost deliciously unbearable as he built his pace.

Normally a man of infinite composure and patience, the producer found it difficult to stave off his primal instincts when it came to Zephyrus. Any other woman he bedded for business, it was pleasurable but never caused the fire to burn deep within him as it always did in moments like this. He had to be careful, but by the gods, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Every thread of muscle that he had was clenched and waiting to throw more force behind each thrust, and burned with anticipation.

As his lover began to give way, letting him press deeper inside with each breath, Basilides had to bite his lower lip to keep cursing at the feel of it all. When the young lover pulled his hips in closer, it gave him all the permission he needed to forcefully rock himself in deeper. With each rolling buck, the items within the wooden desk began to rattle, but he didn't care. Each stroke was more forceful as the last. Basilides couldn't get enough and just wanted more.

His young lover started to stroke his own length, wet with oil and his own desire, eliciting the most beautiful moans he had ever heard. They echoed off the walls, battling with the sound of the desk for dominance. Every so often, it would fill Bas to the point he thought he would burst, but some small adjustment here or there prevented it. Each moment caused him to become more desperate, more erratic and careless.

When Zephyrus arched up to kiss him, as glorious and desperate as it was, it shifted things, and Basilides tried to readjust for it, but nearly lost his balance. All it did was spur him to curl his fingers through his lover's hair and use his other hand to grab his lover's wrist, pinning it to the desk. At a nearly perfect angle, he slammed his hips forward, reveling in the sounds it made Zephyrus create.

"No, you're mine..." he rasped out, grinning as he had full control of the moment, driving steadily and aiming for the sweet spot deep inside his lover. Feeling the young man's taut muscles strain beneath him just made him press forward stronger and deeper, driving himself nearly as crazy as he hoped to drive his lover. Uncurling his fingers from his lover's hair, he moved Zephyrus' hand and began to pump his member in rhythm, taking full control of the young acrobat's pleasure.