Sad Song, Warm Occasion [Closed]

[hearthebell]

Who: L and Myr
When: Before quests
Where: L's cottage
What: Soft talks after they got matching magical tattoos
Warnings: Soft stuff, maybe sad stuff



[There's something bittersweet about two people mutually deciding that pursuing any sort of romance would be ill-advised and unhealthy, and then opting to get matching tattoos. They serve a practical purpose, of course, as well as a symbolic one; prior to a dangerous mission, a spell to address one of L's particular blind spots isn't exactly unwise, and if it's a way to amplify the boons L receives by merit of being Bonded to a faun, all the better.

With limited options on a sparse and bony frame, L had chosen for the design to cap his shoulder: two bees and a honeycomb nestled against a bunch of plum blossoms. It'll take some time before he's used to seeing himself with it; he's certainly never worn anything so ornate or colorful. Any warmer and his skin would look grey against the hues, but the design's palette was well-chosen, soft, and harmonious.

Even if they weren't, he reasons, it's rare for him to expose much skin at all even when the weather is warm. Only a hypothetical lover would be in a position to see it, and such occasions aren't exactly routine for the withdrawn detective.

As they approach the cottage, L glances over his tattooed (and currently covered) right shoulder, back at his companion, who is still clad in mourning black since Everett's departure.

Typically, Myr jingles softly even when he's standing still. L's accustomed to the ambient sound of charms clinking against each other, but Myr's removed his antlers, as well.]

I hope you'll stay for tea.

[The words are more frequent in L's vocabulary since the dream with the True Fae. He knows that there's a line between a demand (stay so we can be together) and silent pining (go, so I can imagine that we are), and "I hope" seems to strike the gentlest balance. It's permission and reassurance, laying the decision in the lap of one who can be trusted with it.]

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

Aha! Exactly as I thought.

[The exuberance behind the exclamation isn't all Myr playing at the over-invested scholar--or even mostly. It is good to hear L say that in so many words, however backhand they may be.]

Your dedication to divination must be rubbing off on me, amatus. Next I'll be predicting tomorrow's breakfast.

[Also an easy one, when he intends to make it for both of them. Enough of the gloom's dispersed that little tasks like that feel possible again; he can resume this much participation in the web of care knitting them together.

A little reluctantly, he unfolds himself from draping over his Witch, lingering long enough to press a chaste kiss to the detective's temple.]

Shall we?

[hearthebell]

[It's a playful and light game on the surface, a veneer over the deeper heart of the matter. Those who spend a lot of time around L find that he's actually and oddly a deeply honest man, so long as one can read the intentions behind these exercises, understand what his prism does to scatter that pure light into something he can accept others perceiving.]

In matters of breakfast I have firsthand knowledge that you do have a gift... I'd say there's a 99% chance that prophecy holds water.

[Prophecy, plan, prayer. They're all not so different, really, when no one's using magic at this precise moment.

He nods, standing to follow the faun to bed. Pausing for a second thought, he links an arm through Myr's to remain close every step of the way, there.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[That aspect of L's relationship to the truth was both frustrating and thrilling by turns. In this moment there is a quiet delight in Myr to know he's earned that trust.]

Mm--so long as that's where it begins and ends for me and prophecy. [Said laughingly, but for an Andrastian, the notion of a prophet carries with her the idea of an early pyre.

(Though hadn't Myr already chosen one for himself in this, if it came to that?)

He links arms gladly with his Witch for the short walk to the bedroom, always and ever a glutton for contact. Now that he has private spaces to share with his loved ones, now that they're at no risk should anyone see, he's no reason not to indulge if they will indulge him in turn.

Though as they reach the door of the bedroom he stops, and pulls just enough away that he can turn toward his Witch like he'd meet L's eyes.]

Linden? [L?]

[hearthebell]

L can be shy and trepidatious about physical indulgence; so much red tape from attitudes imposed over years stand in the way of easy, gentle, flowing affection that is not carefully planned and choreographed before it's executed beat-for-beat. Even in spaces where he has every assurance that reaching out won't be rejected and rebuffed, a part of him considers it, foremost and automatically.

There's just a small pause before he reaches for Myr's blindfold, fingertips brushing it as an indication that his attention is on the faun's face.]

Yes?

[faithlikeaseed]

[The intimacy of the gesture--from the first person in Aefenglom he'd trusted with the history of his blindness--makes Myr's breath catch briefly in his throat. (A year ago it would have startled him, made him cringe away; how much difference time and trust make.)]

Thank you. For today--and all you've done. I needed this.

[It is hard for him still to lay his burdens down in someone else's care.

How blessed he's been to have a Witch who's learned to help him with it.]

[hearthebell]

[There's a beat of silence and stillness as L freezes in his gentle caressing motion, fingertips coming to rest lightly against Myr's cheekbone.]

It makes me glad, when you have a problem that I can help solve. I don't know that anything actually makes me more glad.

[A pause, because L doesn't feel as though he was strictly the benefactor, and Myr strictly the beneficiary. Had they simply gone to sleep without a word after rising from the table, in fact, L would have interpreted the very opposite.]

...Thank you, as well. For...

[Staying, without judgment or the kind of overt, disgusted pity that would kill him, from one he wants to hold.]

Thank you for carrying something heavy, for me. For long enough to matter.

[faithlikeaseed]

[It's always wondrous strange for Myr to hear something he knew with his head--but not his heart--put so clearly into words.

He reaches to reciprocate his Witch's gesture, palm to line of L's jaw by simple physical memory. There aren't words in him--yet--for the notion that L's eagerness to help invokes; it is something like then I should bring you more, and I've been remiss in not letting you help and I'm glad to see you grow, an idea that he should shake off his own shameful pride more often.

There aren't words yet, but let touch and the warm swell of their Bond suffice for now.]

It has been a joy for me too, amatus, [he says softly, to his Witch's thanks. And it is, for all that it has been won through suffering.] You are always welcome.