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

Comments

[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.

[bouchonne]

[ He's quiet for a moment. Pensively: ]

No. I don't think I do.

[cozen]

Mmm.

[ In self-doubting-Byerly-speak, that’s practically confidence. ]

Good. I don’t think you should. And if it ever does start to slip away, tell me— [ it will sting; he’ll live ] —and I will seduce you all over again, from the beginning. Like a stranger.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly smiles over at Bastien, and shakes his head. ]

Don't mistake me. I'll never stop loving you. It's just the worry that sometimes unsettles me.

[cozen]

[ There’s a twitch and startled blink from Bastien—both rare—because he had not even realized they might be talking about losing love, rather the particular piece of it that makes the sex so great. He might have panicked, otherwise. Briefly. Quietly. Unfairly, with everything he knows and trusts about By, but abandonment issues die hard.

Instead he realizes and is reassured in the same breath. He finds steady ground without needing any time to flail around for it. He smiles. ]

Then tell me when you worry, and I will tell you, ils mélangeront nos cendres.

[ An old cliche. Silly, but sincere. ]

Did you ever try? With others, I mean, before. Did you want to hold onto them?

[bouchonne]

[ He catches onto that miscommunication and winces in apology for it. But no harm done, it seems - or the harm is concealed. (Maker, it's the danger of being in love a Bard; By could break Bastien's heart and Bastien could choose never to make it known. But - But. But Bastien wouldn't conceal it from him, not now. He hopes.) ]

Ah.

[ He gathers his wits, and says - ]

No. I'd always thought that - Well. [ With the air of something practiced: ] That, as the Maker did not shape nugs to fly, he did not shape me to love.