['i knew that you would need me to go first,' he says, smiling, and rynlan makes a face as he lightly nudges at him, a silent little oh, shut up. he doesn't want to interrupt what thancred has to say-- but as he speaks, rynlan shifts, resting his head on thancred's shoulder rather than looking at him.
if he lets thancred see his expression, he's never going to let him forget it.]
Comparing someone you love to your daughter isn't the most romantic of moves, [he murmurs, soft amusement in his tone,] but the rest of it-- sometimes I forget that you're a songwriter, and then you go and remind me you're as good with your words as your hands.
It's one of the things I like best about you, I think.
[he stays right where he is, still not letting thancred look at his face.]
...I must, too, or I wouldn't be so angry at the thought of you throwing your life away. I wouldn't want you to want to live so badly, or be so fond of hearing you say you'd rather hold me than bed me, though I certainly prefer to have both-- I wouldn't prefer the thinner coat you've been wearing over the warmer one you can summon, because only one of them has your warmth and scent to it.
If I didn't, I wouldn't need you to go first. It wouldn't matter so much what your answer was-- I wouldn't be surprised if you knew before I even answered you.
I left out "because you'll always find something to take me to task for because you're an irrepressible bastard", but that certainly comes into consideration, as well.
[But — what a great deal to unpack here, and not just to unpack but to take and turn over and consider and treasure. How far they've come from that day in the ball pit bar, when he'd been wary even of making contact at all, when falling into a kiss had seemed scandalous and unprecedented. Now look at them: Ryn, with all his fears of vulnerability, all his hangups of being exposed, bare as his nameday and cuddled up against him and welcoming every touch, of seeking it out of his own volition.
He can't help but smile, either, as the mystery of the coat is laid bare, as well. He'd wondered, but it's so much more rewarding and sentimental to hear it.]
I suspected, I confess. About the coat and your answer both. So let that be what I am to you, after all: whatever word you choose, whatever best fits the moment — anything, so long as you promise to append 'dalah to it.
honestly, though, overall-- dying has done him some favors. thrown into stark relief how easily things end, how he could very well have ceased existing and never had this again at all. how time can toy with them all too easily, and how little of it is guaranteed.
in a place like this, too, it's easy to leave things unsaid and then only be able to say them through staticky messages.]
But I'll have to amend what I gave you before, in that case. ...surfal'dalah.
-Nevermind! I take it all back, I can't stand you!
[it's not difficult at all to see how flustered that makes him, even with his face pressed against thancred's neck to hide it-- his ears flick, flushed purple at the tips, and those are visible even when his cheeks are not.]
Such lies your mouth tells while your body speaks volumes. I thought you wanted me to be more romantic?
[And he reaches up fondly, settling one hand at the back of Ryn's head as if to protect it, showing his approval for the way he hides his face in the crook of his shoulder. It's fitting, after all, and right, and warm. It feels like you need me to go first all over again — giving voice to the words and reaping the benefits of both Ryn's fluster and his tacit confirmation both.]
I've not even begun to torment you with all the ways I know to be romantic, pretty thing.
[it feels the same to him, too. fitting, right, warm-- protected, in a way, something he rarely admits he wants as much as he does.]
Don't go starting a fight you can't finish, I'm only warning you of that once.
[he mutters that against his neck, teeth finding purchase in his choker and pulling at it. he primarily writes romances, after all, he'd like to think he can keep up just fine.]
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if he lets thancred see his expression, he's never going to let him forget it.]
Comparing someone you love to your daughter isn't the most romantic of moves, [he murmurs, soft amusement in his tone,] but the rest of it-- sometimes I forget that you're a songwriter, and then you go and remind me you're as good with your words as your hands.
It's one of the things I like best about you, I think.
[he stays right where he is, still not letting thancred look at his face.]
...I must, too, or I wouldn't be so angry at the thought of you throwing your life away. I wouldn't want you to want to live so badly, or be so fond of hearing you say you'd rather hold me than bed me, though I certainly prefer to have both-- I wouldn't prefer the thinner coat you've been wearing over the warmer one you can summon, because only one of them has your warmth and scent to it.
If I didn't, I wouldn't need you to go first. It wouldn't matter so much what your answer was-- I wouldn't be surprised if you knew before I even answered you.
no subject
[But — what a great deal to unpack here, and not just to unpack but to take and turn over and consider and treasure. How far they've come from that day in the ball pit bar, when he'd been wary even of making contact at all, when falling into a kiss had seemed scandalous and unprecedented. Now look at them: Ryn, with all his fears of vulnerability, all his hangups of being exposed, bare as his nameday and cuddled up against him and welcoming every touch, of seeking it out of his own volition.
He can't help but smile, either, as the mystery of the coat is laid bare, as well. He'd wondered, but it's so much more rewarding and sentimental to hear it.]
I suspected, I confess. About the coat and your answer both. So let that be what I am to you, after all: whatever word you choose, whatever best fits the moment — anything, so long as you promise to append 'dalah to it.
no subject
[hehe. he sounds a little smug, about that one.
honestly, though, overall-- dying has done him some favors. thrown into stark relief how easily things end, how he could very well have ceased existing and never had this again at all. how time can toy with them all too easily, and how little of it is guaranteed.
in a place like this, too, it's easy to leave things unsaid and then only be able to say them through staticky messages.]
But I'll have to amend what I gave you before, in that case. ...surfal'dalah.
no subject
[His tone turns teasing, in that way that suggests barely-repressed laughter, as he very nearly singsongs: ]
O'surfal'a. O'surfal'a. You've nowhere to hide, now that I know your secret: o'surfal'a.
no subject
[it's not difficult at all to see how flustered that makes him, even with his face pressed against thancred's neck to hide it-- his ears flick, flushed purple at the tips, and those are visible even when his cheeks are not.]
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[And he reaches up fondly, settling one hand at the back of Ryn's head as if to protect it, showing his approval for the way he hides his face in the crook of his shoulder. It's fitting, after all, and right, and warm. It feels like you need me to go first all over again — giving voice to the words and reaping the benefits of both Ryn's fluster and his tacit confirmation both.]
I've not even begun to torment you with all the ways I know to be romantic, pretty thing.
no subject
Don't go starting a fight you can't finish, I'm only warning you of that once.
[he mutters that against his neck, teeth finding purchase in his choker and pulling at it. he primarily writes romances, after all, he'd like to think he can keep up just fine.]