LMS: Perfect Machine 8

There was barely enough room for all three of them on the dragon's back.
Einar sat haunched over the horns and skull, while Soren had insisted on being in the middle with his arms locked around Einar's chest and his head dangerously close to resting on his shoulder, which left Kara clinging on at the back between the huge wings. Einar had expected the weight to throw the machine off in some way but it held steadfast and hauled them through the smog like a loyal carthorse.
They glided toward the abandoned warehouses in the chaotic industrial Nordfjord. It was a part of town made solely of factories and workers' flats, filthy and covered in a layer of coal-ash. Soren pointed to a warehouse with the roof half-caved in. In the warehouse beside it - a building equally as damaged - a strange glow lit up the morning twilight.
"There!"
"Are you sure?" Einar shouted back, frowning.
"Yes! Land the dragon there!"
The landing was rough but controlled. The dragon's paws slipped slightly on the wet cobbles, and the sheen of water on its bronze skin made it especially easy to slip off and begin to look around. Kara stayed by the Einar's side as he led the dragon along.
"So, where is she? And what's so complicated about her?" Einar asked, peering around. The glow from the other warehouse seemed to have moved toward them, gathering at the edge like a strange orb.
"In here..." Soren trailed off, distracted and damp for once. The lack of his usual dry sharpness set doubts off in Einar's mind.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes... She's just in here." Soren pointed to the warehouse and jogged up to a gaping hole in the side. "C'mon!"
They followed him in. The warehouse was a shell of a factory with loose wooden floorboards and a bad case of damp.
"Soren, there's no-one here. What's going on?"
"I --" Soren was cut off by a gruff shout and the clattering of spiked horseshoes on cobbles.
"Give yourself up! By order of her Royal Highness, the Queen...!"
The orange glow cantered out of the gloom. Einar spun and stood like he'd been struck by lightning as he recognised the shapes of draft stallions cantering toward the warehouse.
"Soren, what --"
"Run! Einar, hide! Princess, hide!"
Soren grabbed Einar by the cuff of his trenchcoat and dragged him to the dampest corner of the warehouse. He kicked a floorboard up and shoved Einar into the grave-sized hole with a single word.
"Quiet!"
Einar crouched under the floorboards, listening to the leader of the Guard rant just inches above his head. He could feel Soren's breathing on his neck, warm and frantic and scared like the ragtag pants of a trapped animal. This was something he'd never thought he'd see - Soren Antonopoulos, scared. His flamboyance and nonchalant confidence had been stripped away by the military march of the Royal Guard. Einar could almost smell the scared underneath all of that hideous perfume and the mintiness of his fearful breaths.
"Where are they?" A stern voice with a slurred accent demanded, stamping his foot. Dust fell and settled in Soren's hair.
"I-I don't know. They ain't 'ere, tha's all I'm sayin' --"
"Where did the broker say they would be?"
"'Ere!" The lower-ranking Guard squeaked.
Broker. A mix of burning emotions swirled in his mind, anger, sadness, frustration, because perhaps he'd hoped that Soren liked him. Einar's shoulders tensed without his permission as he ran things over in his frantic brain. There was only one information broker in Fjordheim, Soren had made sure of that. He'd given their freedom away for money? That --
"That brown bastard lied." The Guard leader kicked the floorboards and trampled away to the other side of the warehouse, muttering. "Damn southener - I knew he couldn't be trusted."
Soren made a noise of indignation and Einar stared up at him.
"You fu--"
"Einar!" He hissed, "Be quiet!"
"No!" Einar spat back, quietly, though, because something far worse than branding awaited him, should he be caught, "you sold us out! You sold me! So that's why you were always so nice to me, huh? You bastard, I hate --"
"Einar, please," Soren whispered, motioning for him to be silent.
"No, Soren, you -"
"Einar, if I had sold you out, why did I tell you where to hide?" Soren asked, eyebrows soft and gently arched.
"I --"
"Einar, I'm sorry. I thought I could do it, but I can't. They made me promise I'd hand you and the dragon over, and give back the Princess. I can't. I'm sorry for even entertaining the idea."
"You were going to hand me in? You're a sick bastard, you know." Einar shook his head, stomach twisting as Soren spoke. There was the beginnings of a lump in the back of his throat, though he'd convinced himself it was the damp rather than his outraged emotions that were beginning to rip at his rationality like a carnival bear set free.
"No! Well, yes. They tortured me for a while. You know how they branded you? They did that to me, too. They threatened my life, offered me money. I didn't want to become a criminal and have to hide for the rest of my life. But that's what I've chosen to do because I can't hand you in, and don't say I sold you out. They're not going to find you."
"How come? You suddenly decided you can get more money for me?"
"That's not it. I can't do it, even if I wanted to. I like you. You're rather extraordinary. I remember you were one of the only ones who didn't judge me for my skin or my accent."
Einar didn't know what to do. Soren was a good liar - everyone knew that - but he wanted to believe this. He wanted his words to be true. Eventually, he spoke.
"Don't be weird about it. Apology accepted, okay?"
"Good." Soren paused as if searching for the right words, "okay, so... I'm going to do something and you have to promise not to be alarmed."
"You're being weird about this."
"Promise?"
"What are you going to --"
"Promise?"
"Fine."
Einar watched Soren begin to move forwards. He cupped Einar's chin in one hand and tipped his head up as he leaned in, closer than Einar had ever been to him. Up this close, his skin wasn't flawless and his eyelashes clumped together in places as his eyes began to shut. There was a stray hair on his eyebrows.
Soren pressed his lips against Einar's. Einar tensed and froze and didn't dare to breathe. Soren's lips were as soft, as was to be expected from such a man, and seemed to know exactly what to do. He decided to shut his eyes - Soren had, so it wasn't such a bad idea? - and sat stuck between sheepishness and shellshock.
Soren broke the kiss and sat back a little. Einar stared at him. He was, finally, silent. His heartbeat had sped up, and he was sure his cheeks has reddened. He was lightheaded, but in a way different to his usual hunger-dizziness - this was something far more pleasant, like beer or tobacco.
"So?"
He'd forgotten about the Guard assembled just above him, he'd forgotten about Kara and the dragon, and he'd forgotten about how angry he'd been with Soren. None of it was important. Einar took Soren's hand in his, earning a happy smile from Soren, and kissed him gingerly, thrown off by his own bold actions.
He shuffled closer so that he was almost sat on Soren, and Soren put a hand on the back of his head, fingers winding into the unkempt hair. Einar's heart was beating impossibly fast, his hands were trembling - perhaps he  was going to faint - though it didnt' concern him enough to stop. A shrill scream and a metallic clang rung out, followed by the shouts of the Royal Guard. Einar pulled away to listen.
"Princess, come down!"
There were more screams, but this time they were the screams of men and their horses in terror.
Oh, no.