PAIRING: Horst/Tyki (platonic? debatable.)
NOTES: What happens when they pull of a drunken heist, get caught, and Horst is stuck but Tyki isn't.
It ends abruptly because A) this is me writing, and B) I don't know enough about Tyki yet.
“Well.” Horst clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back on the straw mattress. The wall behind him was rough-cut stone, cold and slick to the touch. “That was really stupid.”
Tyki Mikk eyed him, and even taking a drag off a fresh cigarette didn’t quite hide his smirk.
Horst looked at the window, which was little more than a large hole in the wall with heavy iron bars in the way. They were magically warded, and he didn’t really want to find out how. The suspicious burn marks all around the edges were warning enough. “If they’re just going to leave us in here, you have permission to use my dust as an ash tray.”
“In that case,” Tyki held out his hand, “You should give it to me.”
“What! So soon? I barely got to hold it.”
“And if the sun comes up, the guard is going to see it sitting there in the center of a big pile of ashes.” Tyki moved his fingers, a ‘give it here’ gesture.
Horst eyed his hand, then sighed and looked away. It didn’t quite hide his smirk. “Come get it yourself.”
If Tyki had been about to answer, he fell silent when a deputy in a short-sleeved tan uniform strode up. Tyki stood in one unnervingly graceful motion, and Horst watched as he phased through the sticky iron bars.
“I’m sure he has mouths to feed at home,” Horst said idly, “Even if one is his and the others belong to the mice in his walls. Don’t knock him around too badly.”