[ Byerly stays in it for a moment, lingers in that bliss. Thinks only about Bastien, and his smile, and his fingers, and his ass. Wraps himself up in it like a blanket.
Then he lets out a breath. ]
My family. A bit of playing through what would have happened had I stayed. Of course.
[ His eyes lower just a bit. Even though Bastien knows much about that time, the whole story, there's still pain in it. ]
[ Bastien hums an agreement with that of course. It’s not surprising; it’s not new. It still breaks his heart a little. Always will.
He lifts and leans over and kiss By between his averted eyes, and when he lies down again he’s closer, at a distance worse for gazing in adoration but better for murmuring about secrets and wounds. ]
Where do you think you would be now, if you stayed?
[ That this is a terrible outcome that Bastien is very glad did not come to pass goes, he thinks, without saying. Though the way his fingers curl half into a grip against By's back might say it pretty clearly anyway. ]
Do you, [ is the beginning of a slight detour. He pauses to consider whether he really wants to take it. ] Do you think you drink too much? Now, I mean.
[ He nudges his cheek further into By’s hand, insistent he not stop again. Thinks a moment, and provides: ]
My father grew to where he drank too much. He wasn’t violent or anything. He would just drink and sleep and let everything go—his work and his debts. And us.
[ A sliver of explanation for the freewheeling, unsupervised childhood Bastien used to attribute to being orphaned, back when he was a liar, and for the way he still squirrels away money, always looking for more. ]
You aren’t anything like that. So I don't know. I only worry a little sometimes because I don’t want you to make me outlive you. Not by very long. I’d be so bored.
[ Byerly's quiet. How could he not be quiet, learning that? Of all the lies Bastien has told, so many of them have been to cover for his pain. Or - no. To make his ordinary pain extraordinary. It comes from the same desire Byerly has to make everything a joke, to laugh, to speak lightly of miserable things. Trying to preserve their pride.
So. It's that honesty that makes him speak honestly. He says - ]
I've tried to stop a few times. When I first became head of diplomacy. And then again a few months ago. And then someone offers a drink, and I remember how much I like it, and...Well.
[ Bastien lifts his hand to cover By's on his face, holding it in place as he turns his head to pepper his wrist and palm with pecky little kisses. Gratitude for the admittance. Apology for being the one offering a drink, often enough. He doesn't want to regret that night they got smashed together, with everything it gave him the courage and loose tongue to say out loud, but he hopes that wasn't the end of a dry spell. He's sorry if it was.
But most of all the kissing is a silly little bit of love-you-no-matter-what adoration, for balance. ]
We'll help you, [ he says, confident offering Alexandrie's services as well, ] if you ever want to try again. And you and me, we could drink less even if you don't want to stop altogether. If you want.
[ He's soothed by those little pecks. He feels so foolish even saying this. It's sotted fools lying in gutters who need to fear liquor, isn't it? Not men like him - spies who need perfect control over themselves and their impulses...
He traces his fingertips over Bastien's lovely nose. He says - ]
I started getting drunk when I was - I don't even know what age. But it's been a relief for as long as I remember.
Maybe if I stayed sober I'd find that I need to relax by doing something daring and exciting. Maybe I'd become one of those people spending all their time on the training ground.
[ Bastien’s expression softens as he experiences the now-familiar urge to find a way to swing back through time and rescue the gap-toothed, tattered, sweet little boy Byerly used to be, or the gangly, wily teen Bastien can imagine so well as a bridge between that boy and this man. Kids drink; none of them should be drinking for relief.
But the next bit brings his smile back. ]
Not all of your time.
[ He purrs it, hooking his foot against By’s leg to pull it a tad closer, though it’s only so sexy when he’s also looking cross-eyed at the finger on his nose. ]
But that could be good. Right? You’re good at it. And you seemed to have fun with the Commander, that time.
[ By laughs, a bit of the tension going out of him. He'd suggested that hobby mostly because of how patently absurd it surely sounded, but...Perhaps it does not sound so absurd after all. Bastien isn't wrong - he did get some enjoyment out of being able to go toe-to-toe with burly, ferocious Flint. He liked showing off. ]
And would you come with me? Let people see how deadly you can be?
[ Not something he'd have liked the idea of, this time last year. Of course he sees the sex appeal of a sword fight—and what imaginative romantic hasn't dreamed of swords held to throats, participants breathing hard, blades themselves vibrating with restrained tension, etc. etc. etc. But with By, the gentleness has mattered. The safety. It's only now, when he's had time to grow so entirely certain they'd never hurt one another on purpose, that the idea of pretending has any appeal.
He draws his fingers up and down By's back. ]
And everyone who sees will think we are preparing for the war— [ which they will be, of course, in part ] —but we'll know we are two rival pirates clashing on a ship in the middle of a storm, or a Fereldan rebel and a misguided but not irredeemable Orlesian invader.
[ That's a noise of very genuine appreciation for this very fine idea. ]
Or duelists, compelled by honor and the demands of our feuding families to cross blades, in spite of the fact that we're actually secret lovers. Which will win? Duty...or passion?
[ He squirms closer to kiss him, with passion, of his kind. The quiet and steady kind. Lord Guillaume Robillard, sworn enemy and secret lover of whatever name Byerly comes up with—he might be the wild and grasping kind of passionate. They'll find out.
When he settles back down, he pulls By in, onto his chest. ]
We can do that. And we can play more music. Play more cards. If you don't want to drink and someone gives you a hard time about it, tell them you have a finicky, demanding lover who doesn't like the way it makes you taste.
[ Bastien’s mouth twists at drunken idiot. Silently, because he’d hate to be derisive about By’s work—but still. It’s impossible to be pleased by so many people looking down on him, even if it was only a game he was playing, no matter what it might have accomplished. ]
Mine was—it’s different, you know? I imagine, you are protecting a whole country, you have to be listening all the time, for all sorts of things from all sorts of people. You are not always going in for one thing and getting back out. And you are Byerly Rutyer. There is no taking that off and trading it for something else next week, especially without masks or paint. Me, I‘m no one in particular.
[ Not an answer. He knows he’s talking around it. He tries not to do that, with Byerly, but how is he supposed to say I was whatever people wanted me to be to someone he’s wanted so badly to want him? ]
Whenever there was someone who had lost a son before—I was my bardmaster’s favorite for those. Or you know how sometimes girls want to be infatuated with someone who they can tell would never actually touch them, because it’s safe that way? I was good for that. And young girls know everything about what is happening in their houses.
[ By's expression softens. He knows that Bastien doesn't like or want pity, but...It's a horrible thought. Fatherless Bastien preying on those missing their a lost child. Lovelorn Bastien stringing along lonely hearts. Pretending to be a person who receives exactly what Bastien himself wanted, hardening his heart against his own desires. No wonder it's so damned hard for him to admit what he wants. No wonder he'll smile so cheerfully, no wonder he gives no voice to his own loneliness - he was trained to stay silent.
He kisses Bastien softly on the collarbone. My dearest love. ]
[ The kiss makes Bastien smile, unaware of the cause but still pleased. Relieved, too, that By doesn’t seem bothered. ]
I pulled it off longer than I should have been able to. [ He curls his neck up to rub his slightly chubby, stubbly, dimpled cheek against By’s forehead, to emphasize: ] Baby face.
Not forever, though, no. But there was always sex. People not realizing you can play an instrument and read their lips at the same time. Learning the layout of a place during a party and coming back in the middle of the night. And I didn’t work alone—that opens a lot of possibilities.
[ He pulls on Byerly’s earlobe, gently. ]
You know. You can’t have spent all your time drinking in corners.
[ He decries that rubbing of stubble on skin, laughing all the while. He pinches Bastien's pleasingly soft abdomen in revenge.
Then - ]
And no. Not all my time. I dropped in unannounced on quite a few distant relatives - it's the charming thing about Fereldan nobility, the only thing they hate more than obnoxious cousins is being seen as inhospitable. I was only turned down twice, if I'm not mistaken. [ With a bit less amusement - ] Sex, too. Of course.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Then he lets out a breath. ]
My family. A bit of playing through what would have happened had I stayed. Of course.
[ His eyes lower just a bit. Even though Bastien knows much about that time, the whole story, there's still pain in it. ]
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He lifts and leans over and kiss By between his averted eyes, and when he lies down again he’s closer, at a distance worse for gazing in adoration but better for murmuring about secrets and wounds. ]
Where do you think you would be now, if you stayed?
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[ It's only half a joke. Maybe less. ]
Likely as a punishment for parricide. Maybe just by drinking myself into the grave.
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Do you, [ is the beginning of a slight detour. He pauses to consider whether he really wants to take it. ] Do you think you drink too much? Now, I mean.
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Do you think I drink too much?
[ It's said lightly. ]
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[ He nudges his cheek further into By’s hand, insistent he not stop again. Thinks a moment, and provides: ]
My father grew to where he drank too much. He wasn’t violent or anything. He would just drink and sleep and let everything go—his work and his debts. And us.
[ A sliver of explanation for the freewheeling, unsupervised childhood Bastien used to attribute to being orphaned, back when he was a liar, and for the way he still squirrels away money, always looking for more. ]
You aren’t anything like that. So I don't know. I only worry a little sometimes because I don’t want you to make me outlive you. Not by very long. I’d be so bored.
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So. It's that honesty that makes him speak honestly. He says - ]
I've tried to stop a few times. When I first became head of diplomacy. And then again a few months ago. And then someone offers a drink, and I remember how much I like it, and...Well.
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But most of all the kissing is a silly little bit of love-you-no-matter-what adoration, for balance. ]
We'll help you, [ he says, confident offering Alexandrie's services as well, ] if you ever want to try again. And you and me, we could drink less even if you don't want to stop altogether. If you want.
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He traces his fingertips over Bastien's lovely nose. He says - ]
I started getting drunk when I was - I don't even know what age. But it's been a relief for as long as I remember.
Maybe if I stayed sober I'd find that I need to relax by doing something daring and exciting. Maybe I'd become one of those people spending all their time on the training ground.
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But the next bit brings his smile back. ]
Not all of your time.
[ He purrs it, hooking his foot against By’s leg to pull it a tad closer, though it’s only so sexy when he’s also looking cross-eyed at the finger on his nose. ]
But that could be good. Right? You’re good at it. And you seemed to have fun with the Commander, that time.
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And would you come with me? Let people see how deadly you can be?
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[ Not something he'd have liked the idea of, this time last year. Of course he sees the sex appeal of a sword fight—and what imaginative romantic hasn't dreamed of swords held to throats, participants breathing hard, blades themselves vibrating with restrained tension, etc. etc. etc. But with By, the gentleness has mattered. The safety. It's only now, when he's had time to grow so entirely certain they'd never hurt one another on purpose, that the idea of pretending has any appeal.
He draws his fingers up and down By's back. ]
And everyone who sees will think we are preparing for the war— [ which they will be, of course, in part ] —but we'll know we are two rival pirates clashing on a ship in the middle of a storm, or a Fereldan rebel and a misguided but not irredeemable Orlesian invader.
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[ That's a noise of very genuine appreciation for this very fine idea. ]
Or duelists, compelled by honor and the demands of our feuding families to cross blades, in spite of the fact that we're actually secret lovers. Which will win? Duty...or passion?
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[ He squirms closer to kiss him, with passion, of his kind. The quiet and steady kind. Lord Guillaume Robillard, sworn enemy and secret lover of whatever name Byerly comes up with—he might be the wild and grasping kind of passionate. They'll find out.
When he settles back down, he pulls By in, onto his chest. ]
We can do that. And we can play more music. Play more cards. If you don't want to drink and someone gives you a hard time about it, tell them you have a finicky, demanding lover who doesn't like the way it makes you taste.
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My spymaster will be displeased by this development, I suspect.
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Because that is how you gathered so much of your information?
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No one suspects the drunken idiot. No one guards their tongue around him.
[ Then, out of curiosity - ]
What was your usual strategy?
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Mine was—it’s different, you know? I imagine, you are protecting a whole country, you have to be listening all the time, for all sorts of things from all sorts of people. You are not always going in for one thing and getting back out. And you are Byerly Rutyer. There is no taking that off and trading it for something else next week, especially without masks or paint. Me, I‘m no one in particular.
[ Not an answer. He knows he’s talking around it. He tries not to do that, with Byerly, but how is he supposed to say I was whatever people wanted me to be to someone he’s wanted so badly to want him? ]
Whenever there was someone who had lost a son before—I was my bardmaster’s favorite for those. Or you know how sometimes girls want to be infatuated with someone who they can tell would never actually touch them, because it’s safe that way? I was good for that. And young girls know everything about what is happening in their houses.
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He kisses Bastien softly on the collarbone. My dearest love. ]
All that when you were a younger man, I assume.
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I pulled it off longer than I should have been able to. [ He curls his neck up to rub his slightly chubby, stubbly, dimpled cheek against By’s forehead, to emphasize: ] Baby face.
Not forever, though, no. But there was always sex. People not realizing you can play an instrument and read their lips at the same time. Learning the layout of a place during a party and coming back in the middle of the night. And I didn’t work alone—that opens a lot of possibilities.
[ He pulls on Byerly’s earlobe, gently. ]
You know. You can’t have spent all your time drinking in corners.
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[ He decries that rubbing of stubble on skin, laughing all the while. He pinches Bastien's pleasingly soft abdomen in revenge.
Then - ]
And no. Not all my time. I dropped in unannounced on quite a few distant relatives - it's the charming thing about Fereldan nobility, the only thing they hate more than obnoxious cousins is being seen as inhospitable. I was only turned down twice, if I'm not mistaken. [ With a bit less amusement - ] Sex, too. Of course.
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Did any of them ever fall in love with you?
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[ His smile is a little grim. He looks up to Bastien, and the expression is clear: you know that's what they do. ]
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Then they were much cleverer than anyone who believed you were an idiot.
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I just fooled them. That's all.
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