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

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[cozen]

Mmmmmaybe. If you promise we can spar.

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

Oooooh.

[ 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?

[cozen]

Mm, I wonder.

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

[ He hums and curls on Bastien's chest, ear pressed against him to feel the thump of his heart. It's so steady. ]

My spymaster will be displeased by this development, I suspect.

[cozen]

[ Bastien plays with his hair and the shell of his ear in turn. ]

Because that is how you gathered so much of your information?

[bouchonne]

[ He hums in agreement. ]

No one suspects the drunken idiot. No one guards their tongue around him.

[ Then, out of curiosity - ]

What was your usual strategy?

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

[ 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. ]

All that when you were a younger man, I assume.

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

Sandpaper!

[ 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.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s snickering about the pinching turns into snickering about By’s relatives, trapped by their own hospitality, but then it tapers off. ]

Did any of them ever fall in love with you?

[bouchonne]

Of course.

[ His smile is a little grim. He looks up to Bastien, and the expression is clear: you know that's what they do. ]

[cozen]

[ That’s what they do. And Bastien should probably feel sorrier about it. But instead he smooths one of By’s eyebrows with his thumb. ]

Then they were much cleverer than anyone who believed you were an idiot.

[bouchonne]

[ That's a way of looking at it that startles him a bit. He gives a little shake of his head - ]

I just fooled them. That's all.

[cozen]

You fooled them, [ is half a concession, because it takes work. Skill. ] But not as much as you fooled the others.

[bouchonne]

[ He gives a little groan, half agony and half pleasure, pressing his face against Bastien. ]

You're a damned torturer.

[cozen]

Mmhm. And you are sharp, and sweet—

[ He stretches out, head to toe, and settles his arms down around By’s shoulders with an air of self-satisfaction. ]

—and funny, and thoughtful, and—solid. I don’t know how else to say it. The opposite of insubstantiality. There is so much to you.

I’ll stop. [ Generously. ] But if your spymaster tries to say there is no better use for you than being drunk, I’ll find him, and I’ll insult him within an inch of his life.

[bouchonne]

[ He's laughing by the time Bastien is done. When he does finally finish, By looks up and says - ]

I wonder if - perhaps - there's another path for us. A way to help people that doesn't involve spymasters or bardmasters.

[cozen]

[ Bastien would never ask By to give it up. Not now, not in Denerim. Not unless he wanted to first. There’s interest in his eyes, but it’s cautious, and it doesn’t cross the line into hope. ]

You think so? I suppose that’s what we’re doing now, almost. You still have your—

[ A little gesture, hand against By’s spine. He knows what he has. ]

[bouchonne]

[ A small nod. ]

Though we wouldn't have anyone to guide us. If we did that. We'd have to figure it out ourselves.

[ The way Byerly looks at Bastien is almost shy. ]

And we'd be utterly broke. We'd probably starve to death in the first year.

[cozen]

[ For a moment, a flicker, the interest recedes, replaced by a little bit of fear. Old childhood worries. Bastien’s put a lot of time and effort into ensuring he’d never wonder whether he could afford to eat.

But the way Byerly is looking at him—he can’t douse that. He doesn’t want to. For By’s sake and for his, for the life he used to want and still does when he isn’t feeling small and trying to be realistic.

He shifts into his side and squirms down to be face to face again. ]

I have money. From selling my shop in Val Royeaux, and I’ve saved nearly all of what Riftwatch pays me. It’s not enough for forever, but it would give us time to figure things out.

[bouchonne]

We might have pensions, as well. From this. If things go well.

[ And, a bit hesitantly, because he did see that faint flicker of distress - ]

And if Sidony were willing - or Alexandrie - Perhaps we might have some income from their estates.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles, but he says, ]

I couldn’t do that.

[ Simple. Light. No explanation—it’s not By’s fault he’s a nobleman with a noble wife and a noble mistress, or that Bastien feels obliged to be deferential to their wishes and tentatively semi-formal at the least in their presences, and that living on their charity would make that ten or twenty times worse. There’s nothing By could do about it. They all are who they are. So there’s no need to get into it.

He nestles his forehead in close enough to rest against Byerly’s. ]

You could, though, of course. That might be enough to keep you in brocade.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ By plays with Bastien's fingers. After a moment, he says: ]

My father was a dreadful miser. Kept us in rags. I don't care for the idea of scraping.

[ But. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien remembers Byerly’s little ghost in the Crossroads, as tattered as many of Bastien’s unkempt friends in the streets of Val Royeaux. More tattered than Bastien, whose father occasionally had fits of guilty paternal instinct and mended and tailored every article of clothing in their cramped little room.

He bumps their noses together, in place of a kiss. ]

No scraping. Not like that. If we can’t come by your clothes honestly, we’ll come by them dishonestly and do some extra good deeds to make up for it.

[ His fingers wriggle, playing back. ]

Enough about the money. [ He’ll put numbers together later. ] Say we can do anything. What do you want to do?