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[cozen]

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[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.

[bouchonne]

Ooh.

[ Flattery and that lovely little touch on his neck? At the same time? This time the shiver isn't from the cold. ]

I didn't notice I went keen-eyed. Bad spywork, though worth it if it got you hot and bothered. [ And then, grinning lazily up at Bastien - ] Honestly, if I'd stayed behind too much longer, I probably would have jumped you. Haughty and dangerous is a good look on you.

[cozen]

[ Bastien smiles in answer, a little catlike, storing that information for the future. For the present, he plants his hands on the mattress and bends down to kiss the back of Byerly’s neck, then the side, and to whisper sweetly in his ear: ]

I would have thrown you out.

[ Which is punctuated by a vengeful lick on his cheek, before Bastien sits up straight again and sets about attempting to demolish the knots in Byerly’s back in earnest. ]

[bouchonne]

[ The lick gets a laugh. ]

You would have thrown me onto the bed and hurled yourself after me. No version of you can resist me.

[ Then, a contented sigh as Bastien kneads him. That's good. ]

Any nostalgia for the printer's life?

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums thoughtfully, perhaps willing to concede that there might have been several intermediary steps between being jumped and tossing Byerly out of the door.

There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]

Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.

[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]

Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.

[bouchonne]

[ He practically purrs: ]

No, that's good.

[ Enough that his brain is lagging a little bit. Which leads him to a rather loose tongue: ]

Fitcher was looking for proper people to kill, I suppose. No, I got rather more of those people in the dream of the future.

[cozen]

[ He smiles at the purr, but it fades into perplexity at the comment about Fitcher. Not too much perplexity. They’ve talked around things enough for him to have some idea of the shape of the undiscussed space at the center. But some.

He’ll save it for later. ]

At least everyone was together and miserable in a swamp. [ He moves to another knot. ] Is that what you would want, if the war really went on forever? To spend your life that way, I mean. Of course the details could improve.

[bouchonne]

In a swamp? Maker, no. You know how I feel about nature. My ass itched, and I'm fairly certain I didn't shit once in the whole dream. And it lasted, what, a month?

[cozen]

[ That startled him right out of his own somberness, and he snickers and adopts a tone that would be a parody of a psychiatrist if he knew what a psychiatrist was or was supposed to sound like. ]

And do you often shit in your dreams, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur?

[bouchonne]

I dream of nothing else.

[cozen]

[ With authority: ] Recurring dreams of shitting mean you are carrying something inside yourself and want to be unburdened.

[bouchonne]

Ooh.

[ Listen to you. By turns his head to look at Bastien out of the corner of his eye. ]

How about dreams of my teeth falling out?

[cozen]

[ With just as much authority: ] Those mean that you are carrying a lot of bony little thoughts in your mouth and want to be unburdened.

[bouchonne]

Ahh, ahh.

[ A sage nod. ]

And when I dream about walking around naked?

[cozen]

That you have been hiding your true self under layers of falsehood and you want to be unburdened.

[ He pauses kneading knots to cheerfully pinch By’s bum. ]

Or that I am dreaming about you walking around naked and you can sense it.

[bouchonne]

[ heart eyes emoji, motherfucker. By gives a theatrical little squeal and a wiggle of his butt. ]

Ah, so these shared dreams have been occurring for some time. We should take this evidence at once to the whole of Riftwatch.

[cozen]

No, no, absolutely not.

[ He pats the pinched cheek soothingly, as if to settle a wiggling animal, before refocusing on his back. ]

The Research Division first, so the mages can verify our findings.

[bouchonne]

[ Grinning: ]

Perfect. I shall relish forcing Miss Poppell to listen to stories of me naked.