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]

[ Bastien grins, but his familiarity with that anxiety makes him pause, searching By's silly expression for the seams of a mask.

Seems genuine. Still: ]

Dangerous and safe. Ma chère contradiction.

[ He can't resist his pinch of bread anymore, so he puts it in his mouth, over to one side, and talks around it. ]

Someone who will burgle and blackmail the wicked and save imperiled innocents, and then come home and snuggle— [ no avoiding that absurd word, might as well lean into it with relish ] —with me and our forty-seven dogs. What a rare gem.

[bouchonne]

Forty-seven!

[ The number does go up every time. By bumps Bastien's shoulder fondly, delighted at that little idyll.

Then, thoughtfully: ]

I think it's not dissimilar. Why I love you so - intensely. [ A little smile at the inadequacy of language. ] That marriage of kindness and care with the wisdom of a life lived.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's smile stretches out slowly, while the pleasure of that seeps in. Things he is not always sure he is, but that he hopes to be. He's trying. He's learning to trust Byerly's good opinion of him, too.

He leans his head over against By's shoulder. He's still too hyped on coffee for it to be a rest; it's pure affection, permitted by some of that borrowed boldness and the safety of their crate fort. ]

Are you calling me old?

[bouchonne]

Ancient.

[ By grins. ]

It's so odd, dating a man so much older than I am.

[cozen]

You only love me for my grey hair—do I have any?

[ He nudges his head forward, without removing it from By's shoulder, for inspection. ]

Grey hair and wrinkles. It is good it was not love, with Comtesse de Bayard, or we would be fighting over you with our canes by now.

[bouchonne]

Let's see -

[ By twists, then picks through Bastien's hair like a monkey searching for lice. After a moment, a delighted gasp - ]

I found one!

[ And a little pinch as By pulls it out and brings it around to Bastien for his inspection. ]

[cozen]

Wh—oh no.

[ He's not distressed enough to move from Byerly's shoulder. ]

That was half your attraction to me. You have to put it back.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly laughs, and then mashes the hair against Bastien's scalp. In mock-distress: ]

It won't go in!

[cozen]

Well, shit.

[ A smile tries to surface with his exhale. He's relaxed enough that it almost escapes. Makes it halfway over the fence before it's pulled back. ]

Until I manage to grow another, you will have to just close your eyes and think of grandparents.

[bouchonne]

[ He laughs. ]

Don't torment me. You promised not to laugh about my aged paramour.

[cozen]

Sorry, [ with light but genuine contrition. He picks breaks off the tip of a croissant and holds it up in offering. ] I think it's sweet.

And it's sort of comforting. I've always thought—I know I'm not really your type. I'm not a cold woman, [ to quote Byerly back at himself, ] or unusual or... what would say it is you like, aggressive? Alarming?

[bouchonne]

Aggressive and alarming. Yes.

[ He strokes his thumb across Bastien's wrist, an easy acceptance of the apology. ]

But you're wrong about that. You are unusual.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles, pleased even though it's unnecessary, and clarifies, ]

Not in the face. No silver hair, no violet eyes. No horns.

[ Things Alexandrie lacks, too, but she's striking and—Bastien assumes—dangerous, in her way. Like a storm, By had said, and it's so clear that he loves them. ]

I've supposed you wanted me because you loved me. That's not a bad thing. But it can feel— [ He gestures, a little helplessly. The caffeine keeping him awake (and talking fairly quickly) unfortunately does nothing to help articulate complicated feelings. ] —precarious, to be an exception. You know.

So if your third best was not a Qunari who threw you around like a rag doll, if it was someone who made you laugh and told you stories, I am glad to know it. That's all.

[bouchonne]

Yes.

[ He caresses his wrist again, this time tenderly. ]

I know. One wants to be both beloved, rationally, and also intoxicatingly desired, animalistically. Two paths to intertwined results.

[ A beat, and then a little rueful smile. ]

I'd have jumped into bed with you much sooner if I hadn't been falling for you so hard, you know.

[cozen]

[ A nod, with some relief, at having what he was struggling to describe laid out and understood, and then Bastien raises his eyebrows and looks away from By’s fingers on his wrist to smile at him. ]

Really?

[ He didn’t know. But his tone isn’t coy or smug; he’s not fishing for flirtation. Just frank interest in what By thinks, why he does what he does. ]

[bouchonne]

[ His nod is a little awkward. The way he glances at Bastien, then away again, the way he starts shredding one of the buns - there's something nearly shy about it. ]

Mm. For a number of years, it's been a tool for manipulation. For working a target. I didn't want that to be what it was between us.

[ A hesitation - another glance over - and then a careful: ]

Alexandrie, too. I avoided anything physical for quite some time. Though I made quite a muddle of explaining that to her.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s smile goes soft. ]

Mon bon coeur.

[ He takes Byerly’s hand and holds on, obscured but not fully hidden from the street by their elevation and crate table. He’s read more than one story about hulking warriors so used to violence that they were afraid they wouldn’t know how to be gentle—but they were always wrong. That they were afraid in the first place was the proof they were wrong. ]

It would never have been like that with us. The worst it could ever have been was friendly and fun and over quickly.

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh - merry enough on the surface, but with an element of - something else. Anxiety? Sorrow? ]

Precisely my fear.

[cozen]

[ Bastien answers his laugh with a grin and collects one of the croissants to begin eating in its entirety, one pinched bite at a time. He's dextrous enough to do it one-handed. ]

You were afraid it would be meaningless? Or you would afraid you would become Spyerly, maître de la séduction— [ ridiculous, but that's his instinctive way of reaching a hand into the shadowy undercurrents of By's laugh: swirling it around, silly, it's not so bad ] —to make us linger?

[bouchonne]

Spyerly.

[ Terrible! He leans his head against Bastien's, and says more ruefully. ]

That I'd be unable to hold onto it. That it'd become meaningless because - Because it always has to. So that I do not ruin myself when I ruin others.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums, grin receding into content thoughtfulness. A moment silence for the people who fell for Byerly, after (between?) Alexandrie, before Bastien, but didn't get this. ]

Is that why no one was an almost, for you?

[bouchonne]

No one save Lady Ferelden.

[ Though...Ah, he would struggle to say it aloud. He has not left his loyalty behind. Maker, no. But he has found - it must be said - that love of country, which previously he'd taken as the grandest of all sustenance, is rather weak gruel compared to love of Bastien. And again, he knows he's in the first flush of infatuation, that it will all turn less floaty and perfect later...But. ]

My love for her, after all, was chaste.

[cozen]

[ Bastien isn't finished being serious, but a brief interlude: ]

That could be our first threesome. I am sure I could find a map big enough. You could bury your face in her mountains—

[bouchonne]

[ A laugh. ]

Alas - she's frigid down south.

[cozen]

[ Bastien choke-cough-laughs with an absence of dignity that can only mean he is genuinely started (and delighted) by the punchline.

Good interlude. ]

Do you still worry? That it will stop meaning something.