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]

[ A little twitch at the corners of his eyes meets that name. As Byerly has come to love Bastien more and more, so too has his dislike of Vincent grown. It's close, now, to a full-bore hatred. But one does not speak ill of a dead love. So, instead: ]

They didn't condemn you for it, I hope.

[cozen]

[ He grins. ]

Only for not getting away with it.

[ Those were the days. The simple, amoral days. ]

You know how you want me to tell you when I’m unhappy or if I need something? [ He floats a hand on top of the water. A little boat. ] You have to tell me if I hurt you, too. Or if I don’t take something seriously enough.

[bouchonne]

[ His response is immediate, bordering on thoughtless. ]

You don't need to worry about that.

[cozen]

[ Instead of skipping straight to yes I do—though he could, it isn’t as if he’ll change his mind—he inclined his head. ]

No?

[bouchonne]

No.

[ Now he hesitates, searching for the right words. ]

I appreciate your lightness. It's probably better to laugh at everything.

[cozen]

[ For a moment his old worries—that Byerly likes him because he's breezy and easy, that the day Alexandrie stops being frightening and complicated is the day he's no longer necessary—slide their fingers around his ankles and give a little tug, to see if he can be pulled back under.

But above them, he's lounging on a raft built out of months of feeling cherished, the quiet nights By has let him examine his old wounds even when it hurt, the way he took time and pains on that fraught morning after the dreams to say how I feel about each of you, it doesn't interfere—and that morning a year ago, when Bastien was miserable and ornery (for him) and By was there anyway, even before he was getting laid out of the bargain. The raft has gotten pretty sturdy. Bastien kicks the grasping little worries away with hardly a pause. ]

Maybe. Sometimes. But it would not have to be a big deal. You could say, [ with air sucked through his teeth in pain, and his awful Fereldan accent, ] You sound like my relatives when you talk like that, and I could say, [ with his free hand rising aghast to his forehead, ] Ah, shit! I'm sorry, and then we could have more or less the same conversation we have just had.

[bouchonne]

Impossible. My relatives would never - [ in an imitation of that dreadful accent - ] sound like this. [ A beat. ] Plus they're humorless.

[ But then By reaches out and taps on Bastien's knee. Bastien might have kicked his worries away with hardly a pause, but there was a pause. So. ]

What were you thinking about, just then?

[cozen]

[ Bastien begins to shake his head, an automatic nothing forming in his throat, but he catches himself before he actually lies, like a hypocrite. A hypocrite liar. ]

It was just, ah. One second of—

[ Stumbling, uncharacteristically, because I'm only worth it when it's effortless is a simple-sounding sentence with deep, sprawling, unexcavated roots. He shifts toward a smaller piece. ]

I wanted to wait until Alexandrie came back, before, because I was afraid you were holding onto me because I was safe and easy, and once you saw she would not stab you in the back and roast you over a fire, you would let go. Or if I were ever not safe and easy, then you would... So one second of that. And then a second second [ ha ] of knowing the first second was ridiculous, because you— [ he pushes his forearm just under the top of the water, sending a little wave toward By ] —are so into me.

[bouchonne]

[ By listens to that. His head is cocked very slightly to the side, and he watches Bastien, his face for once quite serious. A quick smile at that joke; it drops away a moment after, as Byerly carefully considers what to say.

What he goes with is: the truth. The truth, said carefully, said gently, trying to avoid sounding cruel, because it is quite easy to sound cruel when you say this: ]

Bastien, my good little cabbage, what gave you the idea that you're easy? That couldn't be further from the truth. You're impossibly tricky.

[cozen]

What?

[ The gentle tone has done its job. He only sounds perplexed, not remotely hurt. ]

I am not.

[bouchonne]

[ Good. Byerly is a little freer as he goes on. ]

Yes, you are.

[ He reaches down into the water to demand Bastien's foot to rub. ]

I'll agree that you're easy to be selfish with. If a fellow were inclined to take from you, and take, and take, you'd permit that to happen. I expect you'd be miserable, but you'd permit it. [ A cocked eyebrow. ] But giving to you is a difficult thing indeed.

[cozen]

[ Bastien thinks about that. He's thinking hard enough about it that it takes him a second to understand what Byerly's hands are after—but once he does get it, he obliges, pruny toes and all. ]

You do a very good job of it— [ more contemplative than argumentative ] —I think. That hot chocolate alone.

[ Probably not what he means. And not even the best example of the purely material giving he's done. But—lightness. ]

[bouchonne]

It was damned fine. And the coffee. Don't forget that.

[ Light in return. But, a little less so, as he starts to rub: ]

But it's not just about...things. You'll take things.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles. The coffee, too. The book, which put a lump in his throat that could only be removed by crying or by dragging Byerly to bed. The song living in his sending crystal, which he's listened to so many times he could sing it nearly perfectly, despite not understanding a bit of it. ]

But not—support?

[ A guess. He'll certainly take this foot rub, at least, shoulders going limp against the wall of the bathing pool. ]

[bouchonne]

[ By shakes his head. No, that's not it. He presses his thumb into one of the points of tension, and says: ]

Not attention. You pull back from being seen. A fine quality in a Bard - [ A lift of his eyebrows. ] But. I think that much of love depends on being able to make oneself seen. You, though, were taught to be as invisible as Serault glass.

[ A pinch on his big toe. ] So you're quite difficult. But once a fellow can discern those little crystalline etchings on that glass, they're magnificently beautiful.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s quiet for a moment, turning boneless over the massage and warm over the beautiful and thoughtful over the rest. He doesn’t know (because he’s wrong) if he would concede that he was taught to be invisible, rather than his bardmaster harnessing some innate insubstantiality that’s always made it easy for him to slide out of people’s sight and lives and hearts like he was never there at all.

But it doesn’t really matter. The end is the same: ]

I suppose I am very lucky you enjoy a little challenge, then.

[ He smiles and wiggles his erstwhile-pinched toe. ]

Thank you for looking.

[bouchonne]

Thank you for letting me see.

[ He goes down the line and pinches every toe in turn. He lingers for a moment over the pinky toe, gently working it back and forth, as he says: ]

And I don't want you because you're easy, or because you're hard. I just want you.

[cozen]

[ It’s one thing to give himself a pep talk. Another to hear it from the source. Bastien says, ]

Yeah,

[ but it’s not knowing or smug. It’s hushed and wondering. Yeah; how amazing.

A moment, quiet and still, to wrap the thought in paper and tuck it into his heart. Then he smiles and folds his arms against the wall behind his head, stretches his legs longer, and settles into a pantomime of cockiness to repeat, ]

So into me. I could shave off my hair. I could wear head to toe beige. You would still kiss me.

[bouchonne]

You could eat anchovy every day and wash as rarely as that Edgard fellow. You could be followed around by a children's choir that's constantly singing.

[ He returns to massaging that foot as they move away from sincerity and into something far more comfortable. ]

You could let your toenails grow out five inches.

[cozen]

[ Snickering: ] Eww.

[ He wiggles his toes again—nails neatly trimmed, thank you—and the feigned cockiness bleeds out of him, even though he doesn’t move much. What’s left behind is settled and happy, relaxed from the foot up, watching Byerly’s eyelashes move. ]

Well, you could grow your hair long and begin braiding it into your beard. Just one long uninterrupted— [ a hand is freed from behind him to illustrate the sweep of hair from head down to chest. ] Or you could become that fellow who is always laughing loudly at the wrong moment at the theatre. You could insist on calling your dick Little Byerly. You could even make me do it.

[bouchonne]

Don't be ridiculous.

[ A cheery scoff - ]

You know quite well my dick is named the Bann of Dragonmount.

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs and kicks his unrubbed foot to splash him. ]

The only Bann in history to successfully penetrate Orlesian territory.

[bouchonne]

[ A cackle: ]

Dirty!

[cozen]

[ Penetrated on two separate fronts, Bastien thinks to add but does not. Alexandrie is too much Madame d’Asgard, to him, for him to include her in a dirty joke she hasn’t started herself.

But he’s pleased to have earned a cackle, so in lieu of it, he piles on, ]

The only nobleman to sow all of his own oats. The only lord I’ll ever kneel before and mean it.

[bouchonne]

Lord is a bit of a stretch. But I'll take it.

[ By grins at Bastien and tickles his knee. ]

Now we better stop flirting before I act on it. I can hold my breath a long time, you know.