[ He settles back in, still grinning, though a little more subdued now. ]
Probably. I like the man. Though I would have been very curious about why you had decided to torment him. Probably would have made me sniff around you a bit more.
[ Bastien takes the slap in good humor, doing his best to nudge Byerly with his knee in equally gentle retaliation. ]
I drugged myself at your invitation. I thought it might make you believe me,
[ said lightly, but there's something serious underneath it: he'd rather humiliated himself believing in the childish solution, and he cares a great deal about his dignity — enough so to count their year of pretty mutual flirtation as throwing himself at Byerly — so of course he withdrew to the Gallows and refused to act like he cared about anything at all afterwards. ]
[ Byerly's turned head means Bastien can kiss his forehead. ]
Coming here — that was forgivable. Trying to charm you, drinking your horrible concoction knowing I was no one to you, flopping around and holding your hand, being jealous of Benedict. I could have done better.
[ There's a brief pause, serious in character, because he does see it. The hypocrisy of it. Of what he considers beneath him not being beneath Byerly — when all the love stories about nobles and commoners promised it would be the other way around.
The mirth lingers even as he grows more serious, ducking his head and pressing the remnants of his smile into Byerly's neck, just below his ear, so he's talking against his skin. ]
I'm sorry, mon cher. If I knew it was happening — if a spirit stood here and told me I could keep you or I could keep my pride — I would choose you. But I don't always see it so clearly.
[ Though their pride is of very different sorts, isn't it? Part of what makes this all so complicated. Byerly is cursed by his perverse spirit of rebellion - his refusal to bow to propriety, his need to show that he's better than the standards of decency and morality that govern others' lives. Bastien, though...He wants to win the game. If, under pain of death, they were commanded to dance, Bastien would likely try to perform a jig that would put everyone else to shame; Byerly would look for a rock he could use to smash his own foot.
Funny, isn't it? How the Marcher became so ludicrously Orlesian, and the Orlesian became so very Fereldan? ]
I suppose all I can ask for would be that you would see it. Even if it took some time. But that eventually, you'd realize that perhaps it's worth it to be pathetic.
[ Bastien's nod is pressed into Byerly's neck, too. His arms tighten around him. He's never wanted Byerly to settle for all he can ask. He's wanted to be everything — or if he couldn't, to be cool about Byerly getting anything he wasn't elsewhere —
It is what it is. He is what he is. He can only try. ]
Maybe I should tattoo it on my hand.
[ He does not sound especially amused by his own joke. ]
You're a puzzle box, [ Bastien counters, ] and a prince.
[ Neither literal. Obviously. ]
You are the misunderstood artist of half of my dreams and you are the kind, gentle love from the other half, too. And you forgot me, [ does hurt, his voice quieter, bravado set aside to be a little pathetic, ] but you've made a place in your heart for me so big your head couldn't paper it over. So I'm lucky.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Proudly. He's not sorry; if people didn't want him to ruin their days, maybe they shouldn't have forgotten about him. ]
If I had told you that, when you didn't have any real loyalty to me — would you have gone to tell him?
no subject
[ He settles back in, still grinning, though a little more subdued now. ]
Probably. I like the man. Though I would have been very curious about why you had decided to torment him. Probably would have made me sniff around you a bit more.
no subject
If I knew I had your attention, I might be a little more coy. You love a mystery.
no subject
[ Rueful; it’s a weakness. ]
And I’m surprised you think you didn’t already have my attention. Why do you think I didn’t want to let you leave here?
no subject
[ Teasing, though he does think that was more than half of it. ]
Being intrigued by the situation is not the same as being intrigued by me.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I drugged you. Stop saying you were pathetic like it was some choice of yours.
no subject
I drugged myself at your invitation. I thought it might make you believe me,
[ said lightly, but there's something serious underneath it: he'd rather humiliated himself believing in the childish solution, and he cares a great deal about his dignity — enough so to count their year of pretty mutual flirtation as throwing himself at Byerly — so of course he withdrew to the Gallows and refused to act like he cared about anything at all afterwards. ]
no subject
When you say I was pathetic - what part are you talking about, exactly?
no subject
[ Byerly's turned head means Bastien can kiss his forehead. ]
Coming here — that was forgivable. Trying to charm you, drinking your horrible concoction knowing I was no one to you, flopping around and holding your hand, being jealous of Benedict. I could have done better.
no subject
[ He leans into the kiss, but his tone is dry when he says: ]
If our positions had been reversed, what sorts of things do you think I would have done?
[ Things far less dignified than anything Bastien had just listed off. ]
no subject
[ Dryness heard, dryness acknowledged. He knocks his nose against Byerly's. ]
But you'd have looked like a painting while you did it.
no subject
no subject
But he comes out of the pause with some cheek: ]
Yes.
no subject
I would devour you from nose to toes.
[ His wriggle against Bastien is a little less snuggly and a little more lascivious. ]
And if we weren't in front of our children, I'd say more about what it does to me when I see you on your knees.
no subject
[ is a promise, half-laughed.
The mirth lingers even as he grows more serious, ducking his head and pressing the remnants of his smile into Byerly's neck, just below his ear, so he's talking against his skin. ]
I'm sorry, mon cher. If I knew it was happening — if a spirit stood here and told me I could keep you or I could keep my pride — I would choose you. But I don't always see it so clearly.
no subject
[ Though their pride is of very different sorts, isn't it? Part of what makes this all so complicated. Byerly is cursed by his perverse spirit of rebellion - his refusal to bow to propriety, his need to show that he's better than the standards of decency and morality that govern others' lives. Bastien, though...He wants to win the game. If, under pain of death, they were commanded to dance, Bastien would likely try to perform a jig that would put everyone else to shame; Byerly would look for a rock he could use to smash his own foot.
Funny, isn't it? How the Marcher became so ludicrously Orlesian, and the Orlesian became so very Fereldan? ]
I suppose all I can ask for would be that you would see it. Even if it took some time. But that eventually, you'd realize that perhaps it's worth it to be pathetic.
no subject
It is what it is. He is what he is. He can only try. ]
Maybe I should tattoo it on my hand.
[ He does not sound especially amused by his own joke. ]
no subject
[ Byerly laces his fingers through Bastien's, as though to protect those hands. ]
These are far too comely to be marred in that way. And I trust that it's not needed.
[ He hopes that it's not needed. ]
no subject
He smiles anyway. ]
You are too good for me sometimes.
no subject
[ He squeezes Bastien's hand. ]
I'm lucky you give me the time of day. A maudlin, penniless wreck like me, and you such a talented and sensible and lovable man.
no subject
[ Neither literal. Obviously. ]
You are the misunderstood artist of half of my dreams and you are the kind, gentle love from the other half, too. And you forgot me, [ does hurt, his voice quieter, bravado set aside to be a little pathetic, ] but you've made a place in your heart for me so big your head couldn't paper it over. So I'm lucky.