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[He hums softly. Headache indeed; he can't imagine . . . what would he do if it was Anders? A younger Anders, like Isabela, not yet guilty of the crimes he'd commit. What could Fenris do? Perhaps killing him would be the responsible thing to do, but at the same time, could he?

It's a problem without a solution, and he frowns faintly.]

How many years until she does whatever it is that begins the war?

A number of weeks, as far as I'm aware. She's heard enough about her own future to be tired of hearing about it, which I can't say I don't understand.

[These Kingdom people are so whiny, it's the worst. He sympathizes with that much.]

Personally, I have about as little interest in giving any of them a second chance as I do in turning back time to stop what has already transpired. What's done is done. Going out of my way to begrudge her for whatever she does here would be... exhausting.

[He shrugs; perhaps completely avoiding the issue of facing prior classmates-slash-enemies is leaving it unresolved, but he's heard just enough "precious second chances" from his own ally to have it already soured. He would rather... take care of his dog, or literally anything else. And yet.]

Is that callous of me?

Mm. Perhaps. Certainly there are some who would say so.

[But there's nothing inherently wrong with callousness. He traces his fingers lightly against Lorenz's palm, studying the scar there, before glancing up at him.]

But not, I think, cruel. Nor selfish. There's no guarantee that any action you take in this world will carry to the next, and so to spend your time and effort on something that may ultimately not make a difference would be . . . foolish, at the very least. Exhausting, as you said. And ultimately a poor way to spend your time.

[Lightly, he tugs their joined hands together, brushing a kiss against the back of Lorenz's.]

Isabela is here, as I have said. And she is from years earlier. Perhaps I would do well to warn her in detail of what is to come. I could give her all the things she needs to change the future, but to what end? Perhaps she will succeed, and perhaps not. Perhaps by meddling, I would lead Kirkwall to greater ruin, because there are thousands of factors I cannot control, nor wish to.

I think you intelligent, Lorenz. And not callous, but practical-- and there is a difference. A boon, when blind optimism would have you constantly at this woman's doorstep, throwing hours of your days away for nothing.

[Ah, vindication... or yet again, Fenris understands this all but impossible issue, and Lorenz is glad for the honesty. He knows there are those who would consider his indifference towards mending broken bridges with old classmates callous— the difference is the lack of bias, he thinks. Specifically the lack of Fodlan bias, because Fenris' situation is similar enough to his own...

Well, it isn't as if Lorenz was going to change his mind and run after the Empire or the Kingdom people here and try to change them, or fall to his knees begging to turn back time to their halcyon school days. But it is validating to hear it called practical instead of selfish.]

Hmm. Thank you. [Earnestly, and he tilts his head down to kiss the top of Fenris' head again.] For your honesty, and for not patronizing me.

[Imagine dishing out condescending platitudes at a time like this... he'd roll straight out of this bed.]

It must be different with Isabela, [you know, because she is not a war enemy!] I have yet to meet her, but... How has she been doing with this kind of thing? These... "timelines."

[He hums softly in acknowledgement, his eyes closing.]

I suspect she tries her best not to think about it. We discussed it once, but Isabela is . . . she prefers not to linger on topics that bring her grief. I suspect because she's had too much grief in her past, though she's never told me.

She knows generally what's to come. She betrayed our companion once; I informed her that she came back, making up for it. And she knows that the city is destroyed in a few years. But she has not asked for specifics, and I have not offered them.

[It's too recent, too raw, and he tries not to think about it too much either. There's no point to it, not here and now.]

So we live in the moment, and pretend as though this is simply another city in the Free Marches. Our last discussion involved finding a new regular bar to haunt; the only thing that distinguished it from a conversation at home was the agreement we would skip over the leather bars.

[Automatically, because he has lived in Lunatia for months but has still never been to a place more adventurous than the dive bar Fenris once took him to:]

There are "leather bars"?

[It can only be... indecent to the core... Ahem. Well, anyway.]

If— if living in the moment is what suits you both, then it seems like the correct thing to do.

[Lorenz can't relate; the closest he gets to living in the moment is living with an itinerary for only the next week instead of a 5-year plan. Still: if it works, more power to them... He's very much in support of not dwelling on things that cannot- or should not- be changed.]

[His mouth twitches, but mercifully, he doesn't look up.]

They tie people up. It's a performance. As I understand it, participation is optional, but encouraged. Isabela is . . . enthusiastic, when it comes to sex and kinks.

I'll take you one evening, if you would like to see.

[He really will. Not because leather bars are, like, his Thing, but because sometimes it's amusing to gently poke at Lorenz's prim-and-proper upbringing. Love you, babe.]

To watch people be tied up?

[Chase your bliss, kinky strangers, but even without the candy coating of prim and proper, Lorenz doesn't see the appeal in watching a bunch of strangers do their thing. It's a whole new world and he is but a tourist. Sort of.]

I had a fine time when we went to your tavern, but I don't believe leather suits me.

As you'd like.

[He's still smiling faintly, though it's less out of amusement and more out of simple pleasure.]

What does suit you, if anything?

[It's not that their bedroom activities have been lacking, but he's also interested. And there's nothing wrong with discussing such things on occasion.]

Well, I've always enjoyed the weeks when you have fangs. And when you don't, incidentally.

[Bite him literally any time, he's all for it. He shifts to lean up on his elbow, thinking; he has no mental list on hand, but let's see...]

I suppose these must sound tame, in comparison... Perhaps not leather, but certain fine clothing is rather irresistible. I have been wondering as of late, as well, if I could lift you up-- and for how long.

[So great job getting stabbed in the stomach, like, today, but maybe in a week!]

You could try now, [Fenris offers, showing a worrying lack of self-preservation. But honestly, it's not as though picking him up entails a whole lot of acrobatics on his part.

And they'll come back to that in a moment, but:]

Tame doesn't equate dull. I've seen several things; that doesn't necessarily mean they're automatically better.

[It's not as if Lorenz sounds as though he's worried, but still. It's good to say so, just in case.]

[Fenris, darling... Lorenz raises an eyebrow.]

First of all, you are injured. I shouldn't encourage your pursuit of strenuous activity while you're recovering. How irresponsible of me.

[So there, stay in this bed and rest. And there is no second of all, actually, because Fenris immediately offering to get manhandled around the room is a clear enough demonstration of interest in Lorenz's Tame Ideas (tm). He's got it, message received.]

Perhaps later, if you're feeling especially exhausted before dinner. I'll help you to the table.

[This is rude as hell? He frowns up at him, more petulant than truly put out.]

I have been injured in far worse capacity and continued to do whatever I pleased. And given you are familiar with injuries, you have little excuse to deny me this.

[JUST! SAYING! but he's settling back down, it's such a hardship to snuggle back in . . . hm, and he buries his face in the crook of his neck for a moment, brushing his lips lightly against his skin.]

When you say certain kinds of clothing . . . do you mean the suit and the like?

That is not what my basic first aid is for, Fenris.

[Babe! Please! Lorenz tsks at him as he curls back in again, so very scolding at the same time he reaches around to run his fingers through Fenris' hair. So scolding. This is punishment.]

But yes, like that. You're quite lovely in anything, but the suit in particular... [Hell Yes. Also,] You can borrow one of my shirts while you're injured.

[And pretty much forever, but who's counting.]

Oh, I can, can I?

[How generous, but he also adores the thought. They've been together long enough he knows precisely which shirts he's going to steal, too. He has an itemized list.

But ah, softer:]

I would like that a great deal.

[It seems important to say, somehow. Like Lorenz might not know, or-- no, it's not that. It's that he wants him to know. Fenris has never once had a relationship like this, and if the week of mind-melding has taught him anything, it's that there's an importance to declaring what he truly feels.]

Mm. Am I allowed to rise and pick out one, or will you forbid that as well?

[Hmm, see, letting him get up does mean Lorenz gets to watch him traipse around in his shirt, which is delightful, but it also means letting him get up. It takes him another moment to enjoy Fenris pressed close, his fingers in his hair, before he hums and pulls back enough for him to get up. Yes, yes, alright.]

Do try not to pull the stitches too much. And hurry back.

[He's full of tender feelings and he wants to cuddle, so please, indulge them both with a good choice of shirt and come back here ASAP.]

Mm, yes, all right . . .

[Lorenz is slow to release him, and so too is Fenris slow to rise, sitting up languidly, taking his time standing. It really is in part for his stitches, but it's also because he just plain enjoys being pressed up against him.

Anyway. He's equally languid in how he shimmies off his trousers (jeans, an incredibly comfortable invention that he enjoys, never let it be said Fenris hated all of Prisma). He still doesn't wear underwear, but it's not as if Lorenz hasn't seen every inch of him by now. But ah, shirts . . . he goes for the plainest one available, a silk button-up that's a size too big for him.

It hangs off him in the best way, collar sliding to one side, the hem hitting mid-thigh. He might fuss about Lorenz's height on other days, but he's particularly grateful for it tonight. He stands there for just a moment, offering Lorenz a view, before coming back to bed.]

[Lorenz sits up only halfway, leaning on his elbows again to watch Fenris go pick out a shirt. Honestly, thank the Goddess that wearing Lorenz's shirt comes hand in hand with not wearing any pants, that's definitely the ideal look. Lorenz hums his approval, nodding as his gaze drifts from bare shoulder to just-barely-exposed thighs down the rest of his legs, hmm, yes—]

Breathtaking as always, just as I suspected. Come here—

[He reaches for him as soon as he's close enough, mindful of the stitches but eager to pull Fenris back down and halfway on top of himself, fingers trailing down immediately to fiddle with the hem of the shirt. This lovely silk is going to be so very wrinkled, but it's worth it for this.]

I'm not sure anything of yours would fit me, [and it wouldn't not-fit in a fun and sexy way, either. Buuut.] What would you have me wear, if you could choose?

[Oh, that's a lovely question to contemplate, and one Fenris thinks on as he gets comfortable. He ends up straddling Lorenz's hips, settling atop him with a little sigh, pleased to arch his back and feel the way Lorenz's fingers brush gently against his thighs.]

A good question.

[he kisses his cheek, his jawline, over his pulse . . . hm.]

My leather trousers, to begin with. You would fill them out particularly well. And I would see you in my armor, but also yours: you are magnificent when we spar, and I would enjoy seeing that taken further.

[Delightful as it is to have Fenris all but crawl over him, Lorenz still murmurs vaguely for him to be careful, please, mind the injury, even as he rests his hands against the backs of Fenris' thighs. Shirt wrinkling begins right about now, fingers idly slipping beneath the silk.

That said, the leather trousers--]

I'm doubly not sure those would fit. [He's tall? He's mostly leg by composition? Where would he put the stirrups.] And you're quite bold to request sparring in armor the same day of your mishap in the park.

[babe....]

Once your leather is cleaned I will try, but I cannot promise it will be as enticing as you imagine.

My leggings, then, if you are going to insist on reality in this daydream.

[They still won't fit his long legs, but frankly, nothing of Fenris' will. And there are worse things than Lorenz walking around in a garment that leaves nothing to the imagination.]

Would you prefer I requested sparring without armor?

I would prefer you requested staying in bed and recuperating from your injury, my dear. Not that I am opposed to motivating you to stay in bed, of course, but...

[Like he's doing right now, specifically. His fear that Fenris' life is in danger from said injury has faded, yes, he knows an injury like this will heal just fine— but he's heard one too many "I've brushed off worse"-type comments to ignore. Just... rest, for once.

But all that aside,] Even a daydream has a right to be comfortable, for the record. You're proving that as we speak.

[His very own daydream-turned-real... remind him to write that down later.]

I-- ah.

[Someday he'll get used to the casual way Lorenz reveals things like that, but for now, he takes it in stride. Settles down a little more, resting his weight more fully atop Lorenz, one hand reaching for his so he can lace their fingers together.]

You call me that more and more these days. Darling or my dear.

[It's not an objection. Just a statement, really, an observation that he's pleased by.]

I enjoy it. But it's new to me, to hear such things.

[Hm— very sweet, Lorenz thinks, and tilts his head to kiss him on the cheek. He knows full well how much more difficult it is, comparatively, for Fenris to be open with his affection, and so each little I-enjoy-it and yes-I-would-like-that is good to hear.

Also, it's cute.]

I'm glad you enjoy it. I rather enjoy making you happy, so— how fortuitous!

[Hmm! Very good, very excellent, but his thoughts circle back to something said earlier that is not quite domestic bliss, and so he asks more softly:] Has it- hmm. Does it ever worsen considerably? The effects of the moon?

[They've spent more than a few moon cycles together and even griped about them plenty, but Lorenz is aware that his own "blessing" is, ah, the simple one? The easy one? And as this is the first time Fenris has come home hurt with Sanguis as explanation, maybe it's time to talk about it again.]

[There's a little pause, because he has to order his thoughts, but:]

It's difficult, sometimes, to distinguish what it is that Sanguis brings and what my own inclinations are. For example: I do enjoy sparring, especially when I am challenged. And it's rare I am challenged.

[That's not even braggy, he's just that good at fighting. You kind of have to be in order to be a bodyguard.]

Similarly, I find mages dangerous, and have a--

[Natural wariness, he was going to say, and that isn't wrong, but it's not the whole truth. He shakes his head, dismissing that thought.]

All my emotions are amplified. What is normally competitiveness deepened tonight to fury. It's a miracle neither of us injured the other more seriously; we fought as though we meant it. Or at least: I did. Because, when she revealed she was a mage, what might normally be surprise and wariness became terror.

[Which is mildly embarrassing to admit. Certainly not something he's proud of. Then again: it's rare he'll look Lorenz in the eye when they talk like this-- not out of shame, but adherence to years of training under Danarius-- so perhaps he won't notice.]

It doesn't amplify all my emotions. But the worst ones, perhaps. Even when it comes to you, I . . . my possessiveness of you increases exponentially. Not my-- my affection, but my need to keep you close, lest someone else come too near.

[And he hates that, he really does. He hasn't acted on it yet, but the fact he has the urge at all is stomach-churning.]

If you are near, it ought to be because it is what you wish. Not because I scared off others, or kept you in a cage to be mine.

Edited 2020-07-19 21:00 (UTC)

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