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[cozen]

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[cozen]

I am.

[ He’s not. ]

So ashamed.

[ Not even a little. ]

I’ll singe my hands later in penance.

[bouchonne]

[ By laughs - though he also reaches out to clasp his own hands rather protectively over those precious fingers. ]

No, no. As the offended party, I should have the right to punish you. You can't do it to yourself.

[cozen]

You are too soft, King By the Gentle. [ He wiggles his fingers. ] You will reward me and call it a punishment.

[bouchonne]

[ He grins. ]

It's not softness. It's hedonism. When you're pleased, I'm pleased.

[cozen]

[ Bastien’s smile turns gentler, though no less pleased. ]

Then everyone is a hedonist. Not because everyone loves the way you do—some people are more pleased by other things. But a man who suffers to satisfy some hunger for meaning or glory is still choosing the route that makes his heart gladder. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.

And you are sweet and kind and soft because what makes you happy is for the people you love to be happy, and to keep the innocent from suffering, and to roll your dog’s ears up like cigarettes.

[bouchonne]

[ A little fussy toss of his head answers those kind words. But for all that they make him uncomfortable, he doesn't deny them, nor push back. ]

They're just so rollable. So soft and floppy.

[cozen]

That is what she was really bred for. Not hunting.

[ Bastien kisses his cheek, a thank you for enduring that little speech, and whispers in his ear: ]

And you aren’t all soft. I love your sharp claws, too.

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles at Bastien, and gives a little pinch to his thigh. ]

To be used only on other people.

[cozen]

[ He squirms his leg. He could choose not to squirm, of course, and with nearly anyone else he would be choosing to squirm, to seem to be the sort of person who’s ticklish. But at the moment, with Byerly—an organic response, slipping through an opened door. ]

Obviously.

[ The pinching hand is caught and raised, for Bastien to examine By’s fine joints and long fingers and lovely nails. They’re the sort of hands wealthy Orlesians pay a lot of money for people with pumice stones and oils and tiny scissors to try to reproduce. And who could blame them? Gorgeous. ]

But if you ever do scratch me, I will know it is an accident, and it will be alright.