contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

Comments

[bouchonne]

[ This embarrasses him. He laughs, and says - ]

Stop that.

[ And then bites Bastien's ear. Not too hard, but not totally gentle, either. Once he extricates his teeth, he says - ]

Well, I want to always be there to take advantage of when you had an erotic dream and are ready to go in the morning.

[cozen]

[ Bastien gurgles a laugh when Byerly bites his ear, and again at what he says, accompanied by a gentle pinch to his side. ]

I had seven, while you were gone. About you.

[ An estimate, off the cuff. He wasn’t really keeping count. But seven sounds better than five or ten. ]

In two you were coming back from Granitefell. You took me by surprise. It was a little like that dream we had where you broke into my shop, remember? You were all silky and dark and there to convince me that this plan that involved faking your death was worthwhile. But in the others you had never gone, and you were singing in the bath, or—in one you were only eating dinner, but you had your sleeves rolled up, you know— [ hot ] and your shirt unbuttoned down to here, and dinner was duck. So.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ He laughs. But at the same time, he understands extremely deeply. ]

One time I had a dream where you were just sorting diamonds. Just selecting which ones would go into which jewelry settings. I woke up so horny.

[cozen]

[ Bastien lifts his head again so he can consider By’s face. His own is still tear-streaked and puffy, his voice still thick, but he looks well on the road to being cheered up. ]

Do you want a diamond? I could buy you a diamond.

[bouchonne]

[ Another laugh, and he kisses Bastien's phlegmy lips. ]

No. I want to watch you while you're touching diamonds.

[cozen]

Noted.

[ Promised. Satinalia and Byerly’s birthday are both in the horizon. He’ll work something out.

He sniffs, wipes his face with one hand, and leans back down into the comforting (if damp, now) cave of his neck. ]

I need you so much, Byerly.

[ Like By’s hand beneath his shirt, it isn’t sexual. It isn’t embarrassed, either, but it’s something similar. Maybe a little afraid. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly hums, and strokes Bastien's hair, and holds him. He could stay silent, holding him, forever. But instead, something makes him speak. ]

You would have found another love someday, I think. [ His voice is soft. He thinks of Alexandrie. ] Different from me. But you are too generous to not love again.

[ He presses his hand over Bastien's heart, feeling the pulse. ]

As long as I'm here, I want to fill every vein in your body. But - even without me, mon coeur, you would be so much. You would be someone who deserved everything, and I wouldn't be the only one with the good sense to love who you are.

[cozen]

[ Bastien shakes his head, and shakes his head again, but as Byerly goes on he settles into stillness. ]

Maybe.

[ Maybe not. But for the sake of not burdening Byerly with an argument— ]

If I found a widower who was never going to get over his wife, maybe, and we had an understanding about it. But I would still need you.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly shouldn't find that warming. But he does. He shouldn't like the idea of someone being ruined over him. He shouldn't like the fact that the man he loves is afraid to lose him, that he can see no future without him. But he does. It is an exquisite thing, to be first in someone's heart. ]

All the more reason for me to cling to you, then. Like a limpet.

[cozen]

[ A nod, now, instead of those little head shakes against Byerly’s neck. All he’s asking is that Byerly stay close forever (never mind duty; never mind the fact that, being human, they will both need a little more space than that) and also never die. It’s extremely reasonable.

After a stretch of comforted quiet, he volunteers: ]

I went to Kaiten.

[bouchonne]

[ That gets Byerly's attention at once. He draws back enough to look at Bastien. ]

Did you find them?

[cozen]

[ Bastien's head dips to one side before it nods, sort of. An ambiguous sort of swaying gesture that means yes, with caveats and reservations. ]

I think. I found a man with my brother's name. He looked like—

[ Like a plausible adult interpretation of a face Bastien hadn't seen since that face was twelve years old, without painting or photographs to keep the memory fresh. ]

I don't know. A lot of people there look that way. But he was the right age, right name.

[bouchonne]

We should find him again. If you're -

[ All right with that. Byerly's voice had been eager; upon realizing it, he feels a bit bashful, realizing his hypocrisy. How long had it taken him to write to Nadine? ]

I have a potential donor to talk to in Kaiten.

[cozen]

[ The impulse to squirm out of it is still there. The urge to say, well I have a potential donor in Gwaren.

But Bastien’s the one who brought it up, and it must have been because he does want to go at least a little bit more than he doesn’t. ]

Maybe.

[ He takes a breath. He is pulling himself back together. Aside from the physical signs he can’t undo through sheer will, the signs he was recently weepy begin to evaporate. ]

If you promise we can stop at the inn I stayed in on the way. It was charming. There was a hot spring. But I couldn’t enjoy it at all.

[bouchonne]

You drive a hard bargain. A hot spring inn? I suppose I'll endure it somehow.

[ Byerly will miss weeping Bastien. Not because he wants Bastien to cry - of course not - but simply because it feels so lovely to soothe him. It feels so lovely to be so trusted. He hopes that Bastien will never have reason to cry again, but also, that he will do so. It's quite perverse, really. ]

But only if you let me rub your feet after you've soaked in the water.

[cozen]

You can rub anything you like,

[ accompanied by a wink that is winked intentionally like someone who is bad at winking, half is him face scrunching up and mouth contorting with the pretend effort of shutting only that one eye—

which then stays shut for a moment, very attractively, as his wet clumpy eyelashes stick together. ]

We shouldn’t wait.

[ Still smiling. Not a return to morosité, despite the subject. ]

Everything we talk about doing after the war. [ Like living together. Like reunions. Like scheming—outside of work, with their own resources—and like writing. ] We might not have after the war.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly runs his thumb over those lashes, de-clumping them, like a preening bird. He stays silent as he does, and only once the task is completed: ]

I agree.

[ It's a little reluctant, that agreement. After all, if it is not done after the war, it is done during the war. And if it is done during the war, then it will necessitate the sacrifice of duty. Time spent on papers and letters, on cosseting allies and mollifying enemies. ]

The war matters, of course. But I find I love the war rather less these days. And much less than I love you.

[cozen]

[ In answer, Bastien acquires a faint (non-literal) glow, hooks his finger against By’s neck as if through a collar, and mimes tugging at it to bring him closer for a kiss.

He knows he’s still sharing with duty and honor and la cruelle bonne chose à faire, and to some extent always will be. But it’s nice to be in the race. ]

The war does matter,

[ is an odd thing for a man who bolted from it immediately upon By’s death, maybe—but By isn’t why he’s here so much as how he’s here, how he stands the day to day misery of it, and his departure was less the smooth exit of someone who no longer saw the benefit than it was the Bard-disguised frantic exit of a wounded animal who only wants to get away from what hurts. ]

There’s no better life for anyone— [ except mages, maybe ] —if they win. You could help people be a little less oppressed, maybe, but they would still be worse off than when we started. And I don’t want to write the kind of things that Corypheus’s cult would enjoy reading.

[bouchonne]

Mm. I bet there's not a single pervert among them. You could write things that are outre, and they'd sigh and ask for things where people act more normal.

[ Bastien will not, of course, be writing pornography. His darling will be writing political tracts, and they will change the world. But it's funnier to talk about smut.

And he needs a bit of levity. Because the next thing is hard to say. He doesn't meet Bastien's eyes when he says it, and his voice is so casual that it comes full circle to sounding heavy again. ]

I am thinking that...Well. Death does make a fellow re-evaluate his priorities. And I wonder if I might compromise a bit. Still fight, but - Return to the life of a normal diplomat. No longer be m'sieur l'Ambassadeur.

[ It's tentative, hesitant. Guilty. Ashamed. Even suggesting it feels like cowardice. Which is absurd, because Bastien will not think him a coward for this, will not judge him, will not condemn him. But...But, well. When one of your few worthy qualities is your willingness to stand up and take responsibility, it's not hard to imagine that losing that quality will involve losing some of your worthiness, no? ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien watches him. His averted eyes. The reluctance in his mouth. It’s been four years—the entirety of the time they’ve been together and then some—and, ]

I don’t want to talk you into it.

[ He takes By’s chin in his hand and rubs his thumb against the hair there. He doesn’t try to make him look. ]

You can’t let me talk you into it. I want you to be free of it, [ he’s already said, and explained his selfish reasons. A place in Lowtown, among people who like them. No ridiculous midnight curfews. Missions abroad. ] I’d love it if you were free of it. We could—

[ Be selfish. But also not be selfish. Much less of a scandal if Riftwatch Diplomats Numbers 4 and 5 are caught interfering in things that are not generally considered Riftwatch’s business.

But he only smiles. A little interested, and more reserved. Left to his own devices, without begging, he doesn’t really think By will do it. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A sentiment that Byerly can see clearly in that smile, caught in his peripheral vision. ]

We could, but you don't think we will.

[ Bastien doesn't want to talk him into it. So Byerly ought to let that wish stand. But: ]

Who else might take it?

[ A question he's used before to justify his reluctance to leave the post. Because the answer is clear enough: there is no one. But he asks it this time like it's a question that might have an answer. Non-rhetorically, trying to will someone into existence. ]

[cozen]

I don’t know.

[ He could guess. Julius—that was his best idea, when Byerly was gone. But there’s no telling, really. ]

Half the Division is Tevinter, [ which seems like a poor idea for the job, especially with Flint already a public relations problem for that and other reasons, ] and none of us were ever diplomats before now.

[ Empress doesn’t count. ]

But neither were you. And you didn’t even have a predecessor around offering to help you.

[bouchonne]

[ He nods. He did figure it out, over time. At least partly. Certainly painfully. But perhaps he could ease that pain for someone else - someone else who could, like him, figure it out. No way to learn to swim but to dive into water, right? ]

And we could go places. No need to turn it into a mission because the Ambassador's time is oh-so valuable. Just travel.

[ Then, smile going a little crooked: ]

I'd miss throwing my title in their faces. [ They being, of course, all the haters, though Thedas does not of course have a term as convenient as "the haters." ] They'll all decide I was fired.

[cozen]

[ They don't matter might come easily. Who cares. But the answer is that Byerly cares—that Byerly has always cared, his entire life, and has only recently made strides toward admitting that, only in the last couple of years begun trying to be man he really wants to be instead of forfeiting the possibility up front out of the belief that there is something inherent to his face or voice or soul that marks him to the world as wrong and unworthy. ]

They'll,

[ he begins, intending to argue, but the tense stops him. Not they would. They will. ]

Are we daydreaming together, [ like they have every time Bastien's opined about the potential benefits (to him personally) of Byerly leaving the job, ] or are we really talking about this?

[bouchonne]

[ A lift of his shoulders, and he repeats: ]

Dying makes a man re-assess his priorities.

[ He realizes how true it is as he says it. Maybe he'd started this conversation daydreaming as usual, but it's become more real with every word. He knows it from the feeling in his heart. Every time in the past when he's even considered this, he's felt a twist of remorse for entertaining the thoughts. But now, today, that's gone. Perhaps it was Bastien's tears did it. A magic tincture that dissipated the curse of duty. (Or at least weakened it.) ]

And you're more precious than pride. Or even than honor.