[ Byerly immediately squints, trying most mightily to remember. He's halfway through unbuttoning his waistcoat when he finally comes up with - ]
I don't think I have anything till I was probably six or seven. Getting caught by a wave and tumbling around in it.
[ His hand comes down to grab Rat Red around her tiny ribcage, and he places her on his shoulder as he continues undressing. Her balance is astonishing as she perches there like a parrot, stiletto-thin tail beating against the side of his neck. ]
Not two. But younger than seven. My father told me when I turned seven, and it was a long time before that. Maybe five?
[ Bastien abandons any pretense that he'll be reading his book in the next few minutes, rather than watching Byerly's combination circus dog act and striptease. He lets the book fall back flat on his knees and tips his chin back, head against the headboard, to watch at a tilt. ]
There was a baby. It could have been Lyes or it could have been one of the ones who didn't make it, [ with no melancholy. ] I don't know. But not two.
Of course. Chained to the wall. And chained next to her: her sworn enemy, scion of the house that destroyed her family. They have both been captured by the same villain. Sometimes one is torture, sometimes they other. Sometimes they are forced to help. She always imagined she would enjoy making her rival bleed, and she does—but something like pity stirs, too.
[ His tone changes as he ends this salacious recapping. ]
This is as far as I got before this memory nonsense.
[ Rat Red, on Byerly's shoulder, is trying to sniff inside his ear. Whiskey shifts into a position that causes her to snore. ]
[ He says this fondly to Rat Red, and then removes her from his shoulder to tuck her into the crook of his elbow. The striptease becomes something a bit more urgent as clothes come off and the cold hits him, and he shimmies out of his last few garments more quickly. ]
Anyway, that's all very kinky, isn't it? I'm actually rather impressed. Maybe impressed enough to forgive the memory nonsense. Did the rival murder her family? Perhaps as a particularly deadly baby himself?
[ Bastien lolls his head to the side and grins. From one side of that grin the tip of his tongue briefly appears to rest thoughtfully against the corner of his mouth.
He's not thinking about the book. But there are too many dogs in the room for him to do more than think about not-the-book—and briefly—so he says, ]
His father did. Or did he? It all depends on the memory formed by a two-year-old.
[ He deposits Rat Red back on the bed, then slips in under the wonderfully pre-warmed blankets. He thinks about the fight they'd had, over animals in the bedroom, and feels such gratitude that Bastien let him have his way on this, and he kisses his neck in unspoken gratitude.
Then, back to the smut - ]
He better have. It's cowardice to make the evil love interest actually simply misunderstood. Make him evil, make her evil. No noble suffering, only ignoble suffering.
[ Byerly, it should be noted, always finds some reason to complain about stories where evil prevails. He never complains about that directly - of course not - but there's always some other flaw in the story that keeps him from enjoying it. And by some odd little coincidence, he doesn't tend to find those faults in stories where good wins (though he does heartily complain about the cheesy ending). ]
[ Bastien accepts the neck kiss with a hum, pleasantly oblivious to its motivation. ]
Let's find out.
[ He slides an arm around to keep Byerly against his side, holding the book open with one hand while he starts reading the relevant part aloud, interspersed with paraphrases of some of the unnecessarily long parts.
He's not the only one in the room who wants a cuddle. Here comes Rat Red in search of a lap (and fingers to bite) (and perhaps also the cover of the book? please?) (or sleeves!). A moment later, Whiskey sighs from her place nearer the fire place, heaves her big bones and sea of skin off the floor, and clambers onto the foot of the bed to snuggle into the valley between their legs with her head on By's thigh and her great sad eyes fixed on her attention-hog of a little sister.
Bastien rubs her shoulder with his knee, pausing to huff— ]
She's not going to tell us here. Tease.
[ —and flip ahead in unrepentant search of the answer. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
floating in time and space
I don't think I have anything till I was probably six or seven. Getting caught by a wave and tumbling around in it.
[ His hand comes down to grab Rat Red around her tiny ribcage, and he places her on his shoulder as he continues undressing. Her balance is astonishing as she perches there like a parrot, stiletto-thin tail beating against the side of his neck. ]
What about you?
no subject
[ Bastien abandons any pretense that he'll be reading his book in the next few minutes, rather than watching Byerly's combination circus dog act and striptease. He lets the book fall back flat on his knees and tips his chin back, head against the headboard, to watch at a tilt. ]
There was a baby. It could have been Lyes or it could have been one of the ones who didn't make it, [ with no melancholy. ] I don't know. But not two.
I am going to write the author a letter.
no subject
Dear Madame - Who is the author?
no subject
Prudencia Gauthier.
[ He raises the book again to display the title: Trouver l'amour dans un donjon, with an image of manacles stamped onto the cover.
The contents are in fact even trashier than these two things imply. ]
no subject
Dear Madame Gauthier: First, thank you for your utter and salacious lack of taste. - Is our heroine in the dungeon?
no subject
[ His tone changes as he ends this salacious recapping. ]
This is as far as I got before this memory nonsense.
[ Rat Red, on Byerly's shoulder, is trying to sniff inside his ear. Whiskey shifts into a position that causes her to snore. ]
no subject
[ He says this fondly to Rat Red, and then removes her from his shoulder to tuck her into the crook of his elbow. The striptease becomes something a bit more urgent as clothes come off and the cold hits him, and he shimmies out of his last few garments more quickly. ]
Anyway, that's all very kinky, isn't it? I'm actually rather impressed. Maybe impressed enough to forgive the memory nonsense. Did the rival murder her family? Perhaps as a particularly deadly baby himself?
no subject
He's not thinking about the book. But there are too many dogs in the room for him to do more than think about not-the-book—and briefly—so he says, ]
His father did. Or did he? It all depends on the memory formed by a two-year-old.
no subject
[ He deposits Rat Red back on the bed, then slips in under the wonderfully pre-warmed blankets. He thinks about the fight they'd had, over animals in the bedroom, and feels such gratitude that Bastien let him have his way on this, and he kisses his neck in unspoken gratitude.
Then, back to the smut - ]
He better have. It's cowardice to make the evil love interest actually simply misunderstood. Make him evil, make her evil. No noble suffering, only ignoble suffering.
[ Byerly, it should be noted, always finds some reason to complain about stories where evil prevails. He never complains about that directly - of course not - but there's always some other flaw in the story that keeps him from enjoying it. And by some odd little coincidence, he doesn't tend to find those faults in stories where good wins (though he does heartily complain about the cheesy ending). ]
no subject
Let's find out.
[ He slides an arm around to keep Byerly against his side, holding the book open with one hand while he starts reading the relevant part aloud, interspersed with paraphrases of some of the unnecessarily long parts.
He's not the only one in the room who wants a cuddle. Here comes Rat Red in search of a lap (and fingers to bite) (and perhaps also the cover of the book? please?) (or sleeves!). A moment later, Whiskey sighs from her place nearer the fire place, heaves her big bones and sea of skin off the floor, and clambers onto the foot of the bed to snuggle into the valley between their legs with her head on By's thigh and her great sad eyes fixed on her attention-hog of a little sister.
Bastien rubs her shoulder with his knee, pausing to huff— ]
She's not going to tell us here. Tease.
[ —and flip ahead in unrepentant search of the answer. ]