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[cozen]

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[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.

[cozen]

If she ever blacks your eye, I won’t be—no, I will be sorry for you. But I won’t be surprised.

[ And that’s as long as he’s going to pretend they haven’t derailed from what was meant to be a serious question. ]

Swamp aside, though. Would you do it? Another five years of this, while it only got worse?

[bouchonne]

I would be. She's the sort to stomp her foot and go red in the face instead of taking any action worth note.

[ Still a little angry over her actions in the dream? Maybe. Though he certainly won't admit as much. How foolish that would be.

A pause, then, and he lapses into momentary silence. Then he answers. ]

No. Not another five years of this. If it got that bad, I'd certainly withdraw from leadership. Find someone better than me. [ But - ] I suppose I'd stick with it, though. The fight, in general.

[cozen]

[ Better than me earns an admonishing finger-flick against his spine. ]

That is what I would have put money on.

[ And while his hand has paused kneading to flick, anyway, he reaches up to curl his finger against Byerly’s neck and mime tugging his invisible collar. ]

It fit you. I mean, you seemed sad and tired, and I know it was a dream. But I was awake, sort of, and you being there and leading and running off into danger—those parts were not confusing at all.

[bouchonne]

It was dreadful.

[ Byerly's voice is wry, but there's some truth to this, as well. Because - ]

I turned into the sort of man my family hoped I would be.

[ He twists his arm around to tug gently on Bastien's finger. ]

[cozen]

[ The tugged finger hooks into a one-fingered hold. He isn’t done with Byerly’s back, but for the moment he slides down to lie next to him, leaving one leg curled over his thighs, to lie next to him and have a better view of his face. ]

Bearded?

[ The warm and prompting sort of joke that really means explain. His free hand busies itself with more neck-kneading. ]

[bouchonne]

Bearded. [ The agreement is easy, the tone warm and casual. ] Manly. Decisive. Essentially chaste. A proper warrior. And the Bann of Dragonmount.

[ His lips twist, then, revealing a bit of the unhappy self-doubt. ]

I certainly never thought that that was my dream.

[cozen]

It doesn't have to be your dream, just because you dreamed it.

[ The neck-kneading moves up and segues into scalp-skritching. ]

Or are you worried because it might be? Some of it.