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]

Sure.

[ His voice is warm. Friendly. There's a little laugh in it. But there's something about that question that is...It twists in him. He is filled with dread. ]

Arse in my chair, as ever. I'm going to get fat like this.

[cozen]

Eh, you could use a little more padding anyway. I worry about you in the winter.

[ The creak of a chain being vacated, the thunk of a drawer and jangle of keys. ]

Or if you are ever too sick to eat. You might vanish completely. One day here, the next day a pile of long thin bones.

[bouchonne]

You think so? I think I'm getting soft around the middle.

[cozen]

I think, [ with the gravity of proclamation, ] if you are going soft anywhere, it will be very handsome and charming on you. But if you would prefer not to, you are welcome to wake up earlier and come running with me. That is something I do now. It’s terrible. I have to eat a whole baguette and butter afterwards, to recover.

[ The only good thing about the stupid desk and stupid office is that they’re located only one floor beneath the Division Heads’ offices. One flight of stairs. ]

[bouchonne]

Come running? [ Actually rather genuinely baffled: ] What are you running from?

[cozen]

My age. I used to be fast, you know.

[ That might be overstating things. But he used to be less slow.

And he’s here now, shouldering through Byerly’s door, but he keeps talking into the crystal for the moment. ]

Remember that night the city guard saw us climbing out of Lord Cormier‘s window?

[bouchonne]

[ It's silly and adorable. So Byerly responds in kind, speaking to the crystal. ]

I remember when the city guard saw me climbing out of Lord Cormier's window, after you had slipped very gracefully out of it.

[cozen]

[ What more can a man ask for, than to be played along with? He grins while he leans back against the door to close it. ]

I might have been graceful, but I was also jingling.

[ Bastien keeps talking into the crystal while he crosses the floor, and while he pauses midway to say hello to the dog and ask how her day has been, and then sits on the edge of Byerly’s desk. On his side of it, beside his chair.

He’s going to feel very stupid, after all this flirting, if Byerly’s changed his mind. ]

That was a good night, since we didn’t die.

—all right. Where was I.

[bouchonne]

[ The dog has had a very good day, judging by how she leans her head into Bastien's hand and sighs blissfully and thumps her tail against the ground. Bastien is not a very reliable source of treats, but Whiskey loves him immensely in spite of it. Some memory of who delivered her here, perhaps. ]

Innuendo.

[ By takes the crystal and idly holds it up to his ear, as though proposing a new piece of jewelry. ]

[cozen]

[ Very fetching, says Bastien’s ooh face, but his mouth says, ]

Right, right.

[ Since By’s crystal is near his ear, Bastien can whisper very quietly—nearly inaudible—into his crystal-cupping hand, and still hope to be heard: ]

Would you like to me to butter your baguette, monsieur?

[bouchonne]

[ Which makes Byerly laugh. It's the monsieur that does it, so polite and deferential, like a waiter in a restaurant genuinely offering baguette-buttering services. And the silliness of it emanating breathily up from the crystal.

By whispers back (though loudly enough to be heard even without the crystal): ]

That depends on how slowly you'll do it.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s answering laugh is not breathy, but he tries to return to a whisper afterwards, and nearly succeeds. ]

We offer both quick, efficient spreads and slow slathers. For a fee you can have the butter brought out in the— [ this is where the whispering fails outright, because he’s about to laugh again ] —shape of your choice—

[ He drops the crystal. ]

I have a speech, you know.

[bouchonne]

[ By, still grinning, avoidant: ]

About butter?

[cozen]

No. [ Fondly. ] About, uh, how if you have changed your mind, it is all right. Now that you’ve had some time for things to settle, if you’ve found your hands are full and your Fereldan parts are better cared for than you expected. If what you really want is a friend who doesn’t try to feel you up. It would be fine. Because I want you to be happy first, and I want to keep you in my life second, and third, I want to maintain my access to your dog.

[ Half joking. Maybe a quarter joking. He twists his head around to glance at Whiskey, who he loves immensely back.

An eighth joking. ]

So the kissing and the... baguette buttering... I don’t want to understate how much I have enjoyed it, but it’s a solid fourth priority.

[ Still an understatement. All of it is. And here’s another, delivered with a little smile and a wholly unnecessary reach over to fix a bit of Byerly’s hair that doesn’t really need fixing: ]

If you haven’t changed your mind, though, I have finished thinking, and I think it would be pretty great.

—that is more or less how it would go, anyway. For the real thing, if you give me an evening, I would add some metaphors and wear a nicer shirt.

[bouchonne]

[ He thinks that he's misunderstanding. He's certain he's misunderstanding. Because it sounds like acceptance. He doesn't want to breathe. He's afraid of speaking. But he speaks, voice quiet, face very still: ]

Just to be clear. You're saying...?

[cozen]

[ He’s saying, ]

Yes.

[ A little rushed and a little hushed, but with finality. He moves his hair-fixing hand to Byerly’s face, fingers on his cheekbone, and taps yes there too for emphasis. He knows fear when he sees it. He doesn’t want to be the cause.

And he doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying yes to. Continuing as they were, but as they were was a few sessions of necking scattered across months and one morning of lazy, mostly-clothed sex. This is already different.

Still: yes. ]

[bouchonne]

Ah.

[ He feels, for a moment, the oddest sensation, like he might cry. There's a strangely damp feeling behind his eyes, and a tightness in his throat, and he thinks that it might be tears surging upwards. So odd. He swallows hard to force it away, and takes a shaky breath, and says: ]

Yes. Good.

[ And a little breathily, a little rushed: ]

I haven't changed my mind.

[cozen]

[ For ah and yes and good, Bastien watches his face. Tries to decide what to make of it. To resist the impulse toward optimism that’s gotten him into so much trouble before. To keep hold of the caveats he’s already silently agreed to be fine with—a smaller share, a lesser place, a different word.

Maybe it isn’t even a good look. Maybe Byerly has changed his mind. Maybe—

Nope.

Bastien’s smile is wide and relieved, for a flash, then smaller and happier. And he could stand to sit there and smile and be happy for quite some time, but Byerly looks a bit like he’s suffering, down there in his chair, so after a moment Bastien flicks his free hand across his brow, clearing away imaginary sweat. ]

Whew. This could have been very awkward.

[ The hand on Byerly’s face, in particular. Bastien returns it there now with a bit more confidence, palm against his jaw instead of only fingertips on his cheek. ]

[bouchonne]

I'm never awkward.

[ He's awkward now, breath a little quick, hands uncertain, the tips of his ears pink. He meets Bastien's eyes, and Maker, he feels like a knock-kneed youth again, all gangly and shy. What does he do now? What do they do now? Write each other poetry? He hadn't planned this far. Alexandrie had had the decency to sail away so he could regain some confidence and take some time to plan.

His awkward, sensitive hand comes up and covers Bastien's. His fingers curl around it. ]

We could fuck on my desk.

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs, half startled and half pleased. ]

I will not say I’ve never thought about that.

[ Now he’s thinking about it again. If his eyes weren’t already so dark they’d be darker. But he’s thinking about other things, too, like Byerly’s pink ears and quick breaths. He turns his hand to catch the one Byerly had placed over it and keep hold. ]

And if you give me an evening, we can fuck anywhere you want. We can do a whole fuck tour. Your desk. My desk. [ Now, though, he’s sliding off the desk. The immediate future will be desk-fuck free. ] There are some rocks outside the walls where I go smoke sometimes. We’ll have a few weeks before it is too cold to get your cock out.

[ He should probably make sure the work can wait, but surely if it could wait for a fuck it can wait for this, too, so he gives Byerly’s hand a coaxing tug. All the talking is a form of coaxing, too. Relax, smile. ]

But do you know—this whole month, do you know what I have wanted to do with you the most? You can’t laugh.

[ He can laugh if he wants to. Bastien’s already grimacing at himself in preparation. An adult man! Who’s been offered a fuck! And yet. ]

Cuddle.

[bouchonne]

Maker's stinky breath.

[ He does laugh. Not cruelly, but more as a release of tension. Because that, well - that sounds appealing indeed, but By is saved from having to express any desires like that because Bastien has already expressed them. And that helps. This whole thing is so undefined that any definition at all makes him feel on steadier ground. So this is a cuddly sort of thing. Good. That helps.

So he's a little less tense when he says: ]

How utterly domestic. Bastien, help - this thought fills me with utter panic - but - have we grown up?

[cozen]

[ Bastien tightens his hold on Byerly’s hand, in a bracing way, a here for you while I deliver terrible news way, and somberly says, ]

My friend, we are—I’m sorry—we are closer to forty than thirty.

[bouchonne]

Augh.

[ He throws his head back dramatically. But then - ]

That doesn't mean that we have to be grown up, though, does it, now? But here we are. Openly discussing emotions. Making choices. Preferring cuddling to fucking in semi-public.

[cozen]

You started it.

[ He sounds fond. And he lets go of Byerly’s hand, finally, to back away from the desk and head for the couch. ]

If you hadn’t asked me and just... grabbed me sometime, I would have gone along with it.

[ And felt—some sort of way about it. Not miserable. Or at least not miserable for very long before he did something about it. But this is better.

He drops himself to sit and arranges his hand on his knee the same way he did that time in the mountains. Come over here. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Whoever can resist an invitation such as that? Especially when Bastien looks so comely, all dark eyes and large features and genuine smiles. He's not sure what his favorite part of Bastien is - whether it's that heavy nose, or those dark brows that give him the air of serious thought even when he's grinning, or maybe it's the ridiculous teeth. Maybe the teeth. Regardless, Bastien is a fucking bounty, a peasanty cornucopia that's so utterly unlike Alexandrie's refined delicacy and if there is proof that the Maker is unjust it's that a scoundrel like him could wind up getting this.

He winds himself around Bastien on that couch, sliding in and tugging at him to slot himself against the man's back, wrapping him into an embrace. He leans his cheek against Bastien's, and rests his chin on his shoulder, and just tries to experience as much of him as he possibly can. ]

I actually rather like it this way. Knowing where we stand. 'Ah,' I used to say, 'no need for labels. We all understand what we're about.'