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]

[ Come on, Bastien. Byerly's a pervert. There is no difference. He grins and wriggles just a little. ]

A specific something, or any something?

[cozen]

Mmm.

[ Bastien touches a finger to the corner of his grin, first, before it wanders up to trace the contours of his nose. ]

One thing you worry about and one thing you don’t.

[bouchonne]

I worry...

[ He moves his head so that the tip of his nose pokes back at Bastien's finger. The grin is still there, but it's a little more contemplative. Maker, what doesn't he worry about? The list is bloody long. ]

That all our mortal efforts are in vain, and that the Maker has truly forsaken us, and that the world is so corrupt that no matter what efforts we take there won't be any changing the rottenness at its core. That we're already down so deep that there's no reaching the surface before our lungs give out.

[ - Which is maybe a darker fucking sentiment than what Bastien was looking for. But this is, to be fair, how By gets when he's actually properly drunk: analytical, clinical, his speech precise and grimly thoughtful. But he brings that same analytical honesty to this second sentiment: ]

I don't worry that you're faking it.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles for the last bit, pleased, and lowers his voice to a whisper as if it’s scandalous: ]

I haven’t lied to you in a long time. Not on purpose.

[ Then he kisses Byerly’s forehead, where his worries probably live. ]

What happens if that’s true? If this is the world and there’s no changing it.

[bouchonne]

Then there was never any point to any of it at all. Then it would have been just as effective to lay down and do nothing, or to be wicked and cruel, as to fight. It means that all this agony was in vain.

[ A crooked smile, and a flutter of eyelashes that are long enough to brush Bastien's cheek. ]

I suppose that's romantic, at least, no? That's why they invented romance, I think.

[ But also - ]

Thank you for not lying to me.

[cozen]

[ Bastien nudges his cheek forward for more eyelash fluttering please. ]

You’re welcome. But you can never have a surprise party, you know. I know you. If I am sneaking around, by the time the party arrives you’ll be half convinced I’m working for Corypheus. [ His tone turns drifty, following thoughts unchecked. ] Maybe if I tell you there will be a surprise party but not when and where. That could work. Or I could make someone else do it, so I don’t know anything. Or…

[bouchonne]

[ He laughs and nuzzles Bastien's cheek. ]

I don't even like surprise parties.

[cozen]

What?

[ He shifts back and returns to his prior demanding, ungentlemanly advantage-taking tone. ]

Tell me why.

[bouchonne]

Because if I don't know what other people are wearing, I can't outclass them in my dress.

[ He laces his hands behind his head, grinning up at Bastien. ]

If the party is for me, I must be the handsomest.

[cozen]

You always are. [ He cups a hand against Byerly’s pretty face, for a moment, before it skates down to his chest. ] Anyway, I would never let you be underdressed at your own party. Or overdressed.

Tell me… [ The figure eight he’s drawing around By’s nipples doesn’t pair well with a serious question, but too bad. ] Did I hurt you, when I said I would hold some of my heart back?

[bouchonne]

[ He frowns a bit at that - trying to remember his feelings back then through the pleasant numbness alcohol affords. ]

No.

[ Right? No. ]

It was a relief, I think. I certainly can't be trusted with someone's whole heart.

[cozen]

Yes, you can.

[ A thought he isn't done with. But he's on a roll and not ready to get off it, so first he leans forward and lowers down to lie on top of Byerly, face in his neck. ]

Tell me if I hurt you when I talked about your father. About why he might be like that.

[bouchonne]

[ Oh. ]

Has that been bothering you?

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods into his neck, then lifts his head again to be able to look Byerly in the eye. He smiles a little. It’s a survivable sort of bothered, see? ]

[bouchonne]

[ Oh. That's -

Well, really sweet. ]

Why would it bother me that you care enough to ask?

[cozen]

[ Bastien settles back down into his shoulder. ]

You don’t have to be bothered by that part. But you—

[ He shrugs. ]

I don’t know. Maybe he used to say things like that to you. That he had reasons or it was for your own good. Did he?

[bouchonne]

No.

[ A dry little laugh at the mere thought. ]

He didn't care about my good. I was irredeemable, remember?

[ He smooths Bastien's hair down. ]

And you're lacking a few key qualities, if you're worried about reminding me of him.

[cozen]

Mmm.

[ He’ll accept that. But— ]

You were upset. We don’t have to talk about it. But I am sorry.

[bouchonne]

No. I -

[ His brows draw down. ]

I meant it. No one else cares enough to ask.

[cozen]

[ The impulse to be pleased with any no one else he can get is pretty evenly balanced against firsthand knowledge of how lonely it can be. So Bastien lifts his head to smile again, comforted, but in a subdued sort of way. ]

All right.

[ He shifts his weight, slipping off to be half- instead of fully-atop Byerly, with one leg still sprawled across him to keep him imprisoned. It gives him space to plant his elbow to hold his head up.

That rearrangement takes enough time for the touch of melancholy to fade, most of the way, and be replaced with a touch of humor. ]

Maybe we could use a safe word.

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ He reaches out and traces a finger along Bastien's collarbone. ]

A stop prying, this is making me feel too itchy, Byerly-or-Bastien code?

[cozen]

Itchy, [ Bastien echoes, with a little laugh, because it’s funny.

And accurate. ]

Yes. That.

[bouchonne]

I like it.

[ He reaches out for the bottle - it's been too long since they drank any - and takes a swig. ]

How about - what was that name? [ The one they'd giggled over? ]

[cozen]

[ He grins. ]

Walpurgk.

[ He watches Byerly drink. He can feel it—heaviness seeping into the places that felt floppy and silly before, probably with grogginess to follow behind. Drinking more is a good call.

But first, while he still feels grounded enough to to speak in complex sentences, ]

I trust you. [ Okay, that one's not complex. But here's one: ] I decided a while ago, after those dreams, I don't want to hold something back from you. I'm sorry for going back on my word, and I'm sorry if it makes you nervous, but—it's too late. It's done. So we will just have to deal with it. All right?

[bouchonne]

Mm -

[ He licks a little bit of liquor that's escaped from the corner of his mouth and passes the bottle over. ]

All right.

[ But... ]

When did you go back on your word?