Things were going well, Hakon thought. The kiss was fantastic. He hadn't really had much chance to practice since Ajax, but he'd thought about it a lot, and thought about it like fighting: positioning, forms, tactics. He could find a man's weakness in combat. Presumably, there were weaknesses in the bedroom, too. Soft spots to exploit, favored sides, ways to capitalize on success with surprising follow-ups. It wasn't that different really, loving someone and killing them. He was feeling quite pleased with himself until Ajax turned him down.
"Not tonight."
Did that really mean not tonight, or did it mean not ever? Hakon, always a literalist, would have figured it for the former, but he knew that words were at their twistiest when it came to matters of the heart, and he genuinely wasn't sure how to take it.
Still, he knew what to do.
He broke the kiss and moved back. He didn't hide his disappointment, but he tried not to be overcome by it. It was a loss, and an unexpected one, at that. Things had been going well. But that didn't change that Ajax had said no, and there could be only one proper response to that.
Then, Ajax continued, and Hakon blushed. He wanted to protest that he wasn't too drunk, that he knew what he wanted. He was pretty sure he knew what he wanted, anyway. He knew he wanted Ajax -- the exact ins and outs of what the two of them would do together they could figure out. Hakon nodded dutifully, and left the room to grab the ewer in the hallway, pouring himself a belt of water as he'd been bid.
When he re-entered the room, he felt sad for a moment until Ajax made his request. He means it, Hakon thought. They'd talk about what had happened in the morning, which sounded fraught and frustrating, and then maybe, if he was able to navigate the blind maze of that conversation, there would be more kissing. It was annoying that they couldn't skip over that part, and daunting. He wasn't good at words, or feelings, so using words to describe feelings sounded torturous.
But he found Ajax in the bed that would have been uncomfortable had the other man not let him be so close, and he held him tight to his body like he'd done when they had first met and had shared a small bed in the cottage where the lad's life had almost ended, and it felt right, just like it had then. Which was weird, because many things had changed. It was weird that it felt almost the same now as it had then but he was not an expert on such things.
He was sobering up a bit, but his feelings were reeling and it made his attempts at conversation die before they reached his lips. He tried, a few times, to think of something to say to make Ajax understand his position, but all he could do was hold on to him, to put his head on the plane of Ajax's shoulder, to trace the path of the scar the man had gotten saving his life reverentially.
"In the morning," he confirmed. It was a promise.
Then he let the fog of alcohol that remained in his head to take him off to sleep.