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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[bouchonne]

With your words, my beloved.

[ He rubs his nose affectionately against Bastien's collarbone. ]

You're already turning into quite the pamphleteer - but your style is charming instead of self-righteous, and so people want to read what you've written. That's a start. And through your clear vision, as well - I have many of the blinkers of my caste, and overlook the common folk. You've cured me of some of that, but not nearly all. Shall I go on?

[cozen]

[ He shakes his head, eyes shut. ]

No.

[ It's simultaneously a lovely thing to hear and exactly what he was afraid of. Which isn't fair. If that had been the choice, if the spirit had asked him to give up either his facility with thievery or his—well, his dream of facility with a pen, at least—he'd have given up the thieving. The spying. He already tried to trade in the daggers for books on his own, before the war pulled him back in, and it's still want he wants, in some other form, something that means more and bores him less than printing vanity projects for the wealthy, but—

But it's an awful thing, admitting he can't do everything. That maybe he can't write by day and climb through upstairs windows at night. And the awfulness of that seeps into the future, when he pictures it, turning his very own most cherished dream into an endless series of desks.

He might not be able to stomach it. He might be back in the training yard tomorrow, throwing knives, scheming up ways to minimize the risk enough to tell By there's nothing to worry about. He hasn't made any promises.

For now he says, ]

Thank you.

[ He means it. It really is a lovely thing to hear. In any other context he'd be glowing and bolstered instead of feeling small and cut off—and it's hardly sporting to ask Byerly to overcome the context.

So. ]

You are curing yourself, I think. Maybe it helps that you think of me, and it reminds you to think of the rest of them, but I haven't done anything except stand about being common while you loved me. Your sweet heart is doing all the work.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly, though, isn't about to let that go so easily. He can tell that those words didn't hit right. And so he raises his head so that he can look at Bastien, eyes on his. ]

What is it?

[cozen]

[ The look Bastien aims back up at him is, first, one of unhidden melancholy; then his mouth twists with a sheepish little smile, to be caught that way. And from there a wider smile, brightening in spite of himself, because he can't look Byerly in his beautiful eyes without feeling lucky and pleased and like nothing is really that dire. It can't be, if he has this. ]

Sulking, [ he admits, ] because I love it. The excitement, I mean, not sulking. I hate sulking. All of this week's evidence to the contrary.

[bouchonne]

[ And By's eyebrows draw down just a little in confusion. He doesn't match Bastien's smile; he's still too intent, too curious. ]

I thought that you were excited by the idea of writing.

[cozen]

I am.

[ True, in an overly simple way. His own uncharacteristic unhappiness and the intensity of Byerly's focus on him would both make him squirm if he allowed them. ]

I'm excited about writing. It's what I want, it is. And I'm excited to travel and pick up more dogs and see the world change and watch your hair turn grey and read everything and spend whole evenings playing music without worrying the world will end in the meantime. And a lot of things.

But I'll miss it. And waiting at the window for you to come back from something daring—I'm not excited about that.

[bouchonne]

[ A little ripple of confusion - ]

Bastien, I'm not going to be doing anything daring.

[ The rest of it is relevant, too, of course. But that's a misunderstanding so fundamental that he does need to clear it up. ]

[cozen]

[ A flicker of relief. Some of it is fairly selfless—relief that maybe By won’t be in danger, especially without Bastien there to guard his flank. The rest is an easing of jealousy. Partway. On the heels of the relief comes a little skepticism and a silent frown that’s asking for elaboration. ]

[bouchonne]

I've -

[ He huffs out a breath, mingled embarrassment and uncertainty. ]

First, I've never done much that's daring. I know I've - told a few stories - but the majority of my spying career has always been just sitting around in taverns eavesdropping unsuccessfully on people while the Crown covers my bill. And I won't even be able to do that once I'm back in Fereldan - you know - Much of my cover depended upon being perceived as a useless lout. Even if my career isn't known, my cover is still blown.

[cozen]

Good.

[ Emphatic. He has no affection for Byerly’s old way of doing things—not because it wasn’t effective, but for how poorly it let so many people treat him.

As for the rest of it.

He slides a hand to the scar Byerly took away from the Battle of Ghislain, before Bastien had ever arrived. And he says, ]

Baiting those Crows was daring.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ Byerly reaches down to caress Bastien's wrist. And he confesses: ]

It was.

[ And, even though he wants to claim that it's not, that he regrets that daring, he can't be dishonest. Not when Bastien is being so open. ]

And it was exciting. Being that daring.

[cozen]

[ A nod. It would have been horrible if anything had gone wrong, of course. But it didn't. And here they are. ]

You are a better fighter than you like people to think. And much braver. In those dreams, you were—stealing airships. Darting off to Tevinter. Breaking into my shop though you knew what I was and trying to bait me. [ There's affection in that now. He's far enough away from the unsettling feeling of knowing Byerly and not liking him to think back on it all a little fondly. The cheek. ] I know they were only dreams, but I suppose I thought it was what you wanted. Parts of it.

[bouchonne]

I want it -

[ He thinks about it a moment, and then hits upon a tidy little analogy. He meets Bastien's eyes, and shrugs, and smiles wryly. ]

Like I want a drink.

[ He reaches up, then, to caress Bastien's cheek. ]

Is it something you want? That you need? I know I asked you to step back...Was that unfair of me?

[cozen]

[ That tidy analogy is perfect. Not only because it clarifies things so well, but also because it reminds Bastien that he's asked Byerly to give up something, too, and By did it without complaint or fuss, if not without struggle.

They're different, of course. But not that different. Two things they'd both been doing most of their lives, frequently fun, sometimes useful, likely deadly in the end. ]

No.

[ He means it. The look in his eyes has shifted into something more at ease, if not quite happy, as he's tilting to press his cheek into By's hand. Stay safe with me has a much different flavor than stay behind. ]

No. Not at all. I'd have asked it, too, in your shoes. I'd have tied you to a chair the next time you tried to go do something scary.

[ Not really. (Unless?) ]

[bouchonne]

Oh, promises.

[ Teasing. Sexily teasing. They have slightly higher priorities than getting lost to flirting right now, though, so: ]

It is selfish. I want as much of you as I can get, for as long as I can get it. So you earn the right to ask selfish things of me in return.

[ Okay, a bit of flirting: ]

And there are other ways to get your pulse racing.

[cozen]

[ It is selfish, Byerly says, and Bastien registers his protest by opening his mouth and biting his hand, in a smushed and ineffectual way. But he doesn't argue, this time, because he's busy smiling and nodding (also in a smushed way). ]

Duets.

[ Like it's a filthy proposition.

It kind of is.

But any risk of his comfortable warmth turning back into heat is promptly stamped out by Whiskey heaving a heavy sigh. It cannot actually be the long-suffering sigh of a teenaged daughter tired of listening to her parents flirt and praying to the Maker they don't start making out while she's in the room, because she can't understand them and is also asleep. But it's close enough.

The look Bastien tries to shoot down her way is affectionate, not annoyed. ]

Your dreams must be getting bigger, [ he says, less flirty, ] if you need a pamphleteer now.

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ By snakes his feet out from under the blankets to poke his toes into Whiskey's side. She snuffles but doesn't wake. (There is not much that she wakes up for. She might be the laziest creature alive.) ]

Political action. I used to think that sort of thing was for idiots. That the only thing that ever changed was what you changed yourself.

[cozen]

[ If before Bastien's face went from rainstorm to calmly overcast, here's the sun breaking through: his smile a little wider, his eyes brighter with pride and curiosity even in the dim light. ]

You've changed your mind?

[bouchonne]

Not precisely. Others have changed my mind.

[ His glance at Bastien is pointed. ]

[cozen]

[ Bastien catches his meaning, of course. He winds in closer again, pleased with himself now as well as with Byerly. But while he nods, he says, dry and coy, ]

The mages.

[bouchonne]

[ That startles a snort out of him. You imp. ]

Yes, with their diplomacy and measured approach to understanding others' points of view.

[cozen]

Those things, yes.

[ He worms close enough to pepper the side of By's head with a few chicken peck kisses. ]

And, [ more sincerely, ] their belief that the world might change for them if they insist. They might be right.

[bouchonne]

Hm.

[ Byerly considers that a moment. He can't not offer a rather scathing - ]

It's utter arrogance, of course.

[cozen]

[ He stays close, smiling. By's charming when he's spiky. ]

Which part?

[bouchonne]

The way they go about things. Make no mistake, I don't mind their determination. But I do mind their arrogance. Acting like you're unreasonable - mad, even - because you don't see things their way.