[ Byerly's still sleep-muddled and dozy. So his first act is to lift his hand and caress Bastien's cheek, seeking out proof that he's truly there and solid and not, himself, a dream. His thumb runs over his cheekbone, his mustache, the corner of his lip. All there. All real. If the Maker is good and true, never to be away from him again.
(The Maker, Byerly knows, is not good or true. This won't be the last time he suffers this fear. He knows that.) ]
What was I doing?
[ He uses his fingertips to tug very lightly on one of the longer hairs on Bastien's chin. ]
[ The petting makes Bastien's eyes close again, but they open again at the stubble-tug. ]
Swimming.
[ Why Bastien would be having dreams about the water right now is a mystery, surely. ]
I was in a boat, and you were swimming. You kept going so deep down I couldn't see you anymore, and I would start to worry, but then you would come shooting up like a dolphin and give me something from below. Rocks and seaweed, I think? But I was very pleased to have them.
Was this dream before you were rescued, or was it after?
[ Perhaps Byerly's eternally cold feet are actually a blessing in a situation like this. When he nestles them against Bastien's calves, they might actually have a bit of a cooling effect. ]
[ It is a blessing. It will delay the amount of time it takes Bastien to decide to shove the blanket down to their middles by at least a whole minute. ]
[ Bastien says, because it would be embarrassing to admit that he had a dream about Byerly naked, wet, glistening, performing acrobatic feats, and giving him things and that it wasn't really all that sexy. Only sweet. Comforting.
He's not nearly ready to be an old man who just wants to sit next to his lover and give him toothless kisses on the back of his loose-skinned hand. ]
[ Byerly's smile softens as he brushes his fingertips again over Bastien's lips. ]
Why do you suppose it is that we talk so rarely of the spirits of Love? They hardly ever seem mentioned in folklore, or in dogma. It's odd, considering how powerfully they move us.
Because it's dull, [ is not arch; he's smiling warmly at the idea that that might have been the responsible spirit. ] If you're not in it. We even thought we would be bored with ourselves by now. Unless you have it go wrong, it's all quiet dreams and gentle stories.
[ Flatterer. But Bastien only grins, tired and pleased, and burrows his face in to push between Byerly's cheek and the pillow, to insist on talking into his hidden ear for no particular reason. ]
I'm happy.
[ Byerly asked him to tell him when he was, years ago now. Bastien does it less often now—it seems less necessary now to reassure By quite so frequently that he's not fucking anything up. But sometimes it's particularly true and needs saying. ]
But I never want to see a beach again unless you are also there, either half or fully naked, your choice, and there is a blanket and something to eat that I did not have to catch myself.
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84 at least
[ Byerly's still sleep-muddled and dozy. So his first act is to lift his hand and caress Bastien's cheek, seeking out proof that he's truly there and solid and not, himself, a dream. His thumb runs over his cheekbone, his mustache, the corner of his lip. All there. All real. If the Maker is good and true, never to be away from him again.
(The Maker, Byerly knows, is not good or true. This won't be the last time he suffers this fear. He knows that.) ]
What was I doing?
[ He uses his fingertips to tug very lightly on one of the longer hairs on Bastien's chin. ]
In the dream.
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Swimming.
[ Why Bastien would be having dreams about the water right now is a mystery, surely. ]
I was in a boat, and you were swimming. You kept going so deep down I couldn't see you anymore, and I would start to worry, but then you would come shooting up like a dolphin and give me something from below. Rocks and seaweed, I think? But I was very pleased to have them.
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I hope I was buff. Like a merman.
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You were you. You were perfect.
[ This time of year it’s awfully warm to be cuddling too close to someone else under blankets, but he does it anyway. ]
What sort of Fade spirit do you think would make a dream like that? Faith?
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[ Perhaps Byerly's eternally cold feet are actually a blessing in a situation like this. When he nestles them against Bastien's calves, they might actually have a bit of a cooling effect. ]
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Before. The last one before.
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I see, I see. Faith certainly seems possible. And yet faith is a chaste spirit, by all accounts, and your dream sounds thoroughly erotic.
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[ Bastien says, because it would be embarrassing to admit that he had a dream about Byerly naked, wet, glistening, performing acrobatic feats, and giving him things and that it wasn't really all that sexy. Only sweet. Comforting.
He's not nearly ready to be an old man who just wants to sit next to his lover and give him toothless kisses on the back of his loose-skinned hand. ]
So I suppose desire strikes again.
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[ Byerly's smile softens as he brushes his fingertips again over Bastien's lips. ]
Why do you suppose it is that we talk so rarely of the spirits of Love? They hardly ever seem mentioned in folklore, or in dogma. It's odd, considering how powerfully they move us.
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Who would have thought that that would be better than dramatic anguish?
hi sorry
[ He squirms his way over to kiss Byerly on the tip of his nose. ]
And if we try to tell everyone else, they will never believe us.
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Of course, maybe it is boring for them. It's only fun for the lucky man who gets to be with you.
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I'm happy.
[ Byerly asked him to tell him when he was, years ago now. Bastien does it less often now—it seems less necessary now to reassure By quite so frequently that he's not fucking anything up. But sometimes it's particularly true and needs saying. ]
But I never want to see a beach again unless you are also there, either half or fully naked, your choice, and there is a blanket and something to eat that I did not have to catch myself.
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Did you actually fish successfully?