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[cozen]

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[cozen]

[ It’s a particularly comforting metaphor to give to a fellow who struggles to see the appeal of storms, except on a distant theoretical level that allows for other people to go out and love them if they want to, that’s fine, write him a poem to read about it afterwards, but in the meantime he’ll be as indoors as possible, maybe with his head under a pillow, thanks.

Between that and Byerly’s tone, he smiles, and the fear shrinks, and he’s quiet for a moment just to feel it.

Then: ]

Is it when I drool in my sleep? Because, actually, that is on purpose. [ It’s not. ] It’s meant to be endearing. I don’t even do it naturally. I have to work up a big mouthful of spit before I fall asleep so it can leak out overnight.

[bouchonne]

Ha.

[ He smiles slightly to himself. ]

You must take me for a rank amateur, to think I'd be fooled by fake drooling. I saw through you the moment you started to dribble.

[cozen]

Augh. Foiled again.

[ He puts his arms on his desk in front of the crystal, puts his head on his arms, and closes his eyes. ]

Are you sure you’re alright? Not just with Alexandrie. Those were some shitty dreams.

[bouchonne]

[ A moment, and then a breath out. ]

Is there any choice, but to be all right?

[cozen]

Sure. There’s, uh... being angry at the world for being so fucking relentless you can’t even be left alone when you are asleep. You could throw things, if you choose that one.

You could shut down emotionally for the foreseeable future. That option is not my favorite, though.

You could lose your mind with fear for the future and run away to Gwaren with me after all. That one I like a little more.

Or you could pretend for everyone who needs it, since you are important, and then come over here and let me rub your back and talk to me about it.

[bouchonne]

[ Well. That's all - extremely sensible. Actually. ]

I do like having my back rubbed.

[cozen]

You see, that is very convenient for me, because I like rubbing it.

Whenever you have some time. Even if it’s late. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.

[bouchonne]

Will you promise that you'll let me rub your back, too?

[cozen]

[ He sighs a sigh of great hardship. ]

If you must. And if you promise not to tell me how you know when I’m not performing. I don’t want to know how to fake it.

[bouchonne]

[ That is - unexpectedly charming. And strangely moving. ]

My lips will stay sealed.

[ And later that night - quite late, really - there will be a knock on Bastien's door. ]

[cozen]

[ After a short delay the door cracks open enough to confirm who’s knocking, then wider. On the other side, the room is dimly fire-lit and Bastien is wearing a blanket like a cloak against the cold. ]

After-hours entry fee, [ he whispers, tapping his own cheek and angling it up to be kissed. ]

[bouchonne]

[ And Byerly leans down and licks Bastien's cheek. It's very wet. ]

[cozen]

[ He laughs first, fake swoons second, with a backwards stumble that leaves room for Byerly to come in. ]

Unparalleled kissers, you Fereldans, I have always said.

[ Quiet, since the door is open, but he closes and locks it once Byerly is past the threshold and stops whispering while he herds him toward the bed. ]

You are banished from our office, by the way. I forgot to tell you.

[bouchonne]

[ Ah. His step slows just a touch so that he can eye Bastien, trying to determine the tenor of this exile. ]

Is the peace that fragile?

[cozen]

[ A little shrug. He’s not overly concerned about it, himself. ]

She offered to move out of it, so you could come by without it upsetting her, but I don’t want her to go. I’ve been trying to... She was always your lover first, to me, and my friend second. When she was anything to me at all. It might be easier for all of us if it is less like that, don’t you think? At least a little.

And I like her.

[bouchonne]

[ A nod. He hooks his hand in his pocket, and says, with a quiet sincerity: ]

I'd like her to have more friends. [ Then - ] I'd like you to have more friends, too.

[cozen]

Then I will go ashore tomorrow and pick some out. How many—five, do you think? I could do five by lunch.

[ He sits on the edge of the mattress, twisted to rearrange pillows to facilitate a future of back rubs, and adds, ]

No shoes in my bed. But if you can’t stay the night you have to leave your shirt on so I don’t feel teased.

[bouchonne]

[ He starts to unbutton his shirt with a wink. He's here to stay. ]

I hope your hands are nice and stretched. My back is a rock.

[cozen]

[ For a moment he lets himself be distracted by Byerly’s fingers on his buttons—hot—but then he scoots and settles and demonstratively stretches out his fingers. ]

Don’t worry. I have trained for this my whole life.

[bouchonne]

[ The shoes are kicked off carelessly, and then he catapults himself onto the bed. Full belly-flop. ]

Good. Destroy me.

[cozen]

[ Charming.

Bastien ruffles his hair first, rearranges some of the blankets to cover what can reasonably be covered, and shifts onto his knees to get to slow and steady work. ]

Maker. You were not lying.

[ He’s also not only here for a back rub. But another are you alright would be almost as broad and useless as tell me things now, so— ]

It is probably very selfish to be glad the Herald didn’t end the war all by herself that way, but I think I am.

[bouchonne]

[ The touch is good. The methodical, rhythmic pattern of it is good. He lets a breath out, and tries to force his back to unclench so that Bastien doesn't break a damn finger. ]

A bit shocking, how easily we could have been bastards. Just a few years of piece, and then -

[cozen]

Rotten.

[ He has strong hands, but Byerly’s back really is like a cliff face. When he’s finished a preliminary survey of the landscape he leans over to the bed stand to dig around and retrieve the oil kept there for other mostly-Byerly-related reasons. ]

—maybe. I am not sure how much of it to believe could really happen that way. I hope if a smarmy bastard showed up like that and told me there was a massive conspiracy of elves trying to end the world, I would ask some more questions before I believed it.

[bouchonne]

Smarmy bastard? How dare you. My parentage is very well-attested and well-proved; I am a smarmy cad, but never a bastard.

[ He does give a slight shiver when Bastien's fingers touch his skin. It's cold - or, well, he's cold.

Less facetiously: ]

And I hope that I'd never treat an old friend like that. I can't quite remember why we were at odds, but it seemed all out of proportion to - well, even to our friendship as younger men.

[cozen]

[ The joke prompts a laugh, and the shiver prompts Bastien to move his knee to straddle his thighs—above them, no spine-misaligning pressure—to apply a little more pressure and speed up and down the length of his spine while he spreads the oil, trying to generate warmth. ]

Mm. And I am not usually so rude, even to people I don’t like. Maybe it was like that because you are so important to me now. My mind couldn’t imagine being indifferent to you. It had to pick something stronger.

[ A pause to rub his thumbs on either side of the base of his neck. ]

And you know—when you went all keen-eyed and started writing in your shorthand? I was so mad, in the dream, but thinking about it now, that was very sexy of you.