bouchonne | contact part deux

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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From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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?

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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. ]

From:

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.'

From:

cozen

Oh, you are labelling me now?

[ His tone aspires to sound like a skeptical dare. But Bastien was cooperative during Byerly's tugging and arranging—if a touch bemused, more used to holding than being held—and now he's boneless. Quieter than normal. Content. He holds loosely onto one of Byerly's wrapped arms, and he looks at him just as much as he can without disrupting the cheek-leaning. Odd peripheral slivers of nose and mouth and chin. It's very hard to hold onto that remaining knot of uncertainty, like this. Or at least very hard to feel like it matters even a little.

He recovers his neck bones long enough to turn his head. Not very much. Only one side of his mouth actually makes it onto Byerly's cheek, for a dab of a kiss. ]

I like it, too. And I'm sorry. I think I should have said yes when you first asked.

From:

bouchonne

What, and left me wondering if I'd pressured you into it? If you were too afraid of injuring my feelings to refuse?

[ By reaches up to rearrange Bastien's charmingly floppy hair. ]

It would have been a disaster, agreeing straightaway. You did just right.

From:

cozen

[ Bastien's face scrunches and his mouth opens with the beginning of a protest, but then he decides against it. He's feeling too comfortable and petted to say it was all very selfishly motivated actually, or to do an inventory of the times he asked Byerly to please just have sex with him already. Instead his face smooths out and he sighs, cheerfully resigned: ]

You're right. I'm perfect.

[ And he wiggles, as if getting more comfortable on a mattress, except the mattress is Byerly's thin chest and Bastien is poking his shoulder blades into it quite on purpose. At least they aren't the overly pointy kind. ]

I've never made a mistake in my life.

From:

bouchonne

Augh.

[ By laughs as those shoulderblades poke at him, and he slaps Bastien's chest playfully. ]

Demon. Stop that.

From:

cozen

[ Two more prods for the sake of rebellion and By's laugh, but then he stops and takes hold of his hand. ]

This might be more scandalous than fucking on your desk. I should have locked the door.

[ He could now, but the door is over there, and he's over here. So. ]

Whiskey, lock the door.

From:

bouchonne

Oh, that's the sort of nonsense that only mabaris can do.

[ He looks very fondly at his non-mabari. ]

And I don't feel like getting up. So if someone walks in, start moaning like we're screwing with our clothes on.

From:

cozen

Finally a worthwhile use for our collective acting skills.

[ He turns Byerly's hand in his, considers his elegant fingers, verges close to feeling overwhelmed by the whole of it, and then digs his thumb into Byerly's palm to massage in systematic circles, hunting for tension. ]

How was your day? Before I interrupted, I mean. It better be a good day now.

From:

bouchonne

Who can remember?

[ His fingers curl up to caress the back of Bastien's hand - long enough and agile enough that they can do that, even as Bastien massages him. ]

I think I was annoyed.

From:

cozen

Annoyed! [ Bastien twists his head to look at him, as well as he's able without dislodging him. ] What could possibly be annoying about living in this beautiful, friendly city and overseeing this group of well-behaved and agreeable people?

Are you sure you were not just hungry?

From:

bouchonne

Hmm.

[ He pouts pensively. ]

Why? Did you bring snacks along with you for this grand romantic gesture?

From:

cozen

Alas, no.

[ He twists a little further, pausing the hand massage, because he can't not kiss a pout. That's what pouts are for. Quickly, though. It's not quite a peck—warm and a little lingering—but content to stay short and simple and not segue into face-sucking. ]

And don't call this a grand romantic gesture. That is an insult to grand gestures. It is a humble romantic fidget.

From:

bouchonne

[ A laugh ruins the kiss a bit, since it's dreadfully hard to kiss back when you're grinning. ]

Sorry, sorry. Well, I'd suggest getting food, but I also don't want to move. Why are we both so bloody destitute? This is the precise moment a servant would be useful.