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“About me?” Fal’ran raised his eyebrows. Smith nodded. “What people? And what have you been saying?”
“General Mal’ik first—no, don’t make that face.” Smith pointed a finger at him and Fal’ran struggled to rearrange his features out of whatever pissed off expression they’d transformed into at the mention of that particular klah’eel. “You’d like him if you stopped trying to pick a fight with him.”
“Why?” Fal’ran crossed his arms. “Because you like him?”
“Because everyone likes him.” Smith rolled his eyes. “And watching you out on the battlefield reminds me of him.”
“I don’t want to remind you of him.” That was the last thing Fal’ran wanted.
Smith sighed. “Fal’ran…”
“What?” Fal’ran glared at him. He knew how Fal’ran felt about him. Fal’ran wouldn’t pretend he didn’t.
Smith shook his head and moved on. “I talked to Mal’ik about you, and he’s talked to other Tavan generals and the Klah’Eel leadership he’s still friendly with. I also mentioned you to a few of the commanders I’m still friendly with.”
“And what did you say?” Fal’ran shifted his weight.
“That you’re good,” Smith chuckled as Fal’ran froze. He propped the sole of his right boot on the wall behind him. “That you’re really fucking good and that they should all keep their eye on you tomorrow.”
Fal’ran licked his lips. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you are.” Smith tilted his head, his gaze soft but shrewd. “Because I want you to succeed and because I think you have a shot at going somewhere.”
Fal’ran dropped his eyes to the mud under Smith’s boot. This was what he wanted. This was why he’d signed up when the army had deigned to come to the Moon Projects. To get out. To fucking make something of himself.
He swallowed and returned his gaze to Smith and the unmistakable fondness in his eyes. He inhaled but smelled only a hint of Smith’s sweat, an easygoing contentedness, and a dash of melancholy. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Smith shrugged and pushed himself off the wall. He bumped the heel of his fist against Fal’ran’s shoulder. “You still have to not blow it.”
Fal’ran caught Smith’s wrist. “So, no pressure.”
“Oh no, lots of pressure.” Smith grinned that boyish grin that turned his weathered face young.
Fal’ran tugged him closer. “Give me a good luck kiss?”
A flush swept up Smith’s neck and stained his ears red. Fal’ran smirked. There it was: rain and leather cut with Smith’s sweet amusement. Smith tried to scowl, but his smile fought through. “Get the fuck to bed, soldier.”
Fal’ran's smirk spread. “Yours?”
Smith burst out laughing. “That was terrible. No, absolutely not.” Smith shook his wrist free and Fal’ran let him go without a struggle, too pleased by Smith’s laughter. “There are no rewards for that.”
“Fair.” Fal’ran raised his hands in surrender. “That was weak. I’ve just never had to work so hard for it before.”
A blush still staining his cheeks, Smith ran eyes over Fal’ran’s frame. “No, I bet you haven’t.”
Fal’ran preened under Smith’s appreciative once over and unabashedly returned the favor. “I’ve never set my sights so high.”
Smith chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck as he shook his head. “Yeah, a lack of ambition is really one of your weaknesses.”
“Ambition has nothing to do with it.” Fal’ran wanted to lose himself in the sweet, earthy scent rolling off his captain. Wet leaves and used leather. Fuck, Fal’ran’s dick twitched in his pants. He’d be hard as rock during the next rainstorm, thinking of Smith’s scent.
Smith stepped back with a laugh. “To be young and cocky again.”
“Were you ever?” Fal’ran followed him a step before stopping himself.
“Young?” Smith raised an eyebrow.
“Cocky.”
