[ things a person should not be doing while surrounded by mountains of flammability: lighting his third cigarette in an hour, especially when all smoking is ostensibly done on the balcony.
and yet, that is exactly what sebastian tantalo is engaged in this blustery, rainy fall morning - making the open window kind of a dicey prospect, but it's that or fishbowl the room - along with his second cup of coffee, charlie parker, and a sheaf of documents thicker than his wrist. on zetes' side of the office, a place he rarely visits unless they're making out in the very desk chair he's sitting in, because it is a barren wasteland devoid entirely of any organization. sebastian is still trying to put things back down where he found them; who knows, there might be a system at work here! a system that will eventually reveal the third in triplicate copies of his conceal and carry permit! ha. ha ha. eventually: ]
Zetes! [ bellowed in the general direction of the open door ] Your stuff is in serious danger of being alphabetized; leaving me alone in this condition is like throwing rice at a vampire wedding.
[ because in some mythos vampires have that compulsive need to count things...never mind, zetes can be nothing but used to sebastian's special brand of sebastianness by now. ]
[ there are very few things that can drag zetes mae away from freshly procured donut holes—especially the maple glazed kind, which is the designation attached to all twelve doughy delights he's just ceremoniously dumped out on the office's front desk—but the threat of organization appears to make the list. because maybe there is a system to the particular configuration of his side! or, at least, there is the vague impression of one, something zetes has grown accustomed to and possibly proud of.
he appears at the door with one donut hole safely tucked inside his cheek, his purple windbreaker and one of his more well-loved baseball caps still dripping from his quick jaunt to the cornerstone cafe. he blinks at the state of things, at the state of sebastian with his coffee and cigarette and his incorrigibly old-fashioned taste in music, and his look of concern morphs slightly into one of fondness. he chews thoughtfully as he reaches for one of his impressive stacks of papers, almost displacing a tube of paint that he had previously believed to have gone missing. ]
What did my stuff ever do to deserve threats? [ he asks, as though he's hurt on his stuff's behalf. then: ] I guess a vampire wedding would have to happen at night, right? Do you think they'd kiss at the end or bite each other?
[ he turns to sebastian, eyebrows raised quizzically, and then pretends to remember something else is clearly going on here. he smiles. ] Are you looking for something in particular, or... ?
[ or is this all just an elaborate plan to get him to make out with you, sebastian? to be fair, from the general air of the room, zetes is banking on the former. ]
[ despite his most valiant attempts not to give in, sebastian's document-induced ire visibly deflates a degree or two at just zetes all... damp and clearly in need of a towel dry, followed by restorative cuddling, which is not helped by anything else he then does or says. zetes possesses this unique ability to somehow make silly speculation challenging and fun, whereas anyone else inviting him to ponder the particulars of a vampire wedding would have been promptly withered to death. ]
I'm looking for my certificate as a Doctor of vampir...ology. Obviously. My expert opinion concludes two vampires biting each other would be like trying to tickle yourself.
[ he quickly rescues the paint tube, in the meanwhile, sticking his cigarette in the corner of his mouth for safekeeping, drawing in a long pull of delicious carcinogens and letting the smoke out of his nostrils like a dragon. because he can. ]
Okay no, it's time for us to renew our licenses in carrying instruments of murder and or shooting random holes in perfectly good walls, so I'm trying to find a copy of my fucking last one. It's been stolen by fairies. Apparently.
[ zetes accepts this answer with a slow nod, more seriously pondering the imagery of that, the priest—could they even have a priest?—inviting the groom to bite the bride and blood going everywhere and maybe sebastian is the expert here. but suddenly more pressing is the topic of tickling oneself. he brightens, thoughts daringly leaping from one speeding train of speculation to another. ]
I think I could probably tickle myself. [ he says as he locates a new spot for the pile of papers in his arms, finding the document on top to be anything but interesting. hopefully nothing too vital exists within the stack; there are definitely rogue raindrops making some unlucky files wrinkle. ] There's that sensitive spot on my hip—you know the one—that always makes me laugh.
[ hands suddenly free, he waves one through the smoke in front of sebastian's face and grins. as far as he knows, there are rules about smoking in the apartment, but the dragon thing gets him every time. ]
I told the fairies they could nest in here. Maybe they don't like random holes in perfectly good walls. [ it's not really a sentiment he himself agrees with, but he's not about to judge. still, he rounds the desk with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where fairies are likely to hide permits. he hauls a cardboard box up from the floor and sets it down precariously on sebastian's lap before starting to riffle through the mess of contents. give him a second here, babe. ]
[ as per previous mention, it is fighting dirty to start
talking about ... hips and ... sensitive spots while sebastian is trying to
be annoyed about paper! never mind that they aren't actually fighting at
all. his line of sight drops to the general vicinity of zetes' hips, like
his brain has been whacked with a sexy reflex hammer, and he makes a face,
stubbing his cigarette out in the ( ceramic, cactus shaped ) ashtray as if
it has personally offended him. ]
You can't tickle yourself, it's a psychological and physiological
impossibility --don't start trying, we're on a mission here.
[ in case zetes was considering doing anything to make his hips all.
visible and irresistible and goddamn it why is sebastian's life such a
trial!! a zetes-flavored trial. who is currently digging through
his...lap... ]
Zetes. This box is labeled "expired coupons."
[ the aggravated noise he attempts to make completely ignores his
intentions and comes out dangerously close to adoring, and he sighs
a resigned sigh and bats zetes' hands away from the box so he can put it on
the desk instead, meaning his own hands ( and perhaps more importantly lap
) are also free, making it awful convenient to reach up to knock damp
baseball cap off his head and coax him down by the back of the neck for a
hello kiss. since they've been separated for a probable hour and
all. ]
I truly, madly, deeply hate your filing system. Just reiterating that.
[ yes, that's sure to have its most chastising effect all low and
gravelly and one millimeter away from zetes' mouth. ]
[ is it really fighting dirty if he's just stating the cold, hard facts? he has sensitive hips and sebastian knows it and if this observation happens to create a string of thoughts connecting the two, well. that's coincidence, for you. he may have been considering hauling up the hem of his t-shirt just now, because it's no secret that zetes' quite enjoys a challenge, but he holds off, less because he feels the pressure of this so-called mission and more because he's too busy smirking over sebastian's oh so obvious weaknesses, i.e. every inch of zetes' bare skin. ]
A mission. [ he echoes, weighting the word much more than is necessary as he unearths an unsealed manilla envelope filled to the brim with coupons proclaiming 2 butter chicken dishes for the price of 1!!! and then returns it to the chaos within the box.
he glances up at that mockery of a disgruntled sound, continuing to be endlessly amused by this state of affairs. ]
You say that like it's a bad thing.
[ but he relents as sebastian halts the search and rids himself of the box. zetes' breathes a laugh when his hat tumbles backwards and lets himself be pulled down in a kiss, hands instinctively framing sebastian's face while his knee finds purchase on the desk chair between seb's thighs.
he then proceeds to squeeze sebastian's cheeks while their noses bump togetHer, making his lips pucker like a cartoon character. he is clearly chastised. ]
I hate to tell you this but my filing system feels the same way about you.
[ he'll soften this blow with another kiss, sloppy and smiley. ]
[ imagine, if you will, the look a freshly bathed cat gives a person after it is released from its indignity of water torture and races across the room to sulk while drying itself. got that pictured vividly? good, because the noise sebastian makes in response to zetes like, fish-mouthing him, is the aural equivalent of that. his fiance is a total nightmare and sebastian has no possible recourse but to stuff him in one of these nonsensically sorted boxes. one labeled do not open, troll inside.
...but box-stuffing would deprive sebastian himself of kissing, so he substitutes lifting his own hands up to cover zetes' just so he can't do anything else hilarious - and also because the fact that he could engulf both in one of his own giant paws never ceases to be charming - managing somehow to kiss back while scowling. unfortunately that's really difficult to maintain while someone else is smiling, and as such before all that long ( certainly before the kiss ends ) their mouths match in curvature if not precision. sebastian kisses like he does everything else, which is to say 'as if he has a scalpel.' even the soft ones are like that. ]
That's too bad, because the odds that I'm better at hating things - [ than zetes' filing system, yes ] can be seen from space. So your Jenga tower brigade can blow me.
[ um. he's just going to take his hands back now, but only to curve them around any hip-related sensitive spots, those being one of those things he exceptionally doesn't hate. like, at all. ]
[ if zetes was not immediately presented with the wonderful distraction of kissing, he would have made time to guffaw at that ridiculous and yet comfortingly familiar sound. it's possible zetes teases him too much. but also probably not. especially not if gently driving sebastian crazy earns him kisses like this, decisive and determined, as if sebastian has never done anything more important in his life.
that and the smooth skin of sebastian's palms against his hands make him tremble a little with what is either pure joy or actual electricity tingling up his spine. ]
No, it can't. [ zetes corrects him, thumb escaping enough to rub back and forth over sebastian's cheekbone. ] Someone else could, but it can't.
[ that someone else will remain unnamed for the time being.
he hums what might be the beginning of a laugh when fingers find his hips, but he's not about to submit to what could become a tickle fight when they've got a mission. he decides to trust sebastian not to let him topple to the floor and leans over the side of the chair to swipe at a piece of paper sticking out of a precarious pile of books, the spines of which read things like 101 ways to open a letter and painting cats: advanced techniques. he straightens then, giving the document he's just snatched a once over—his smile widens suspiciously—before turning it for sebastian to see. ]
Okay, this is a test. Do you hate this?
[ ... yes, sebastian is looking at his permit in zetes' hands. huh. ]
[ in terms of sheer accuracy that is exactly how sebastian feels about kissing zetes, along with ...... every other possible thing to do with zetes. their work is equally important to both of them, and that's what brings sebastian purpose, but making zetes happy is where he feels like he fits. a different emotion altogether, softer yet incongruously more solid. heavier. probably there's a serve and protect joke to be made in there somewhere, even if said joke would be in incredibly poor taste due to their mutual former occupation, since we all know how that ended! fortunately sebastian is generally in poor taste anyway, and as such doesn't care.
possibly less than usual, since nothing makes it easier to ignore the vast majority of the annoying material world than zetes and sauciness, dark brows hiking interestedly as he hooks both forefingers in conveniently placed belt loops. which just goes to show he probably didn't acquire the sharp twin bones under his hands for purposes of a tickle fight ( or did he ), but now that he is using them to actually prevent zetes from tipping over he opts to hold on a little more sensibly, as in with all four miles his fingers can span. ]
You're dripping all over the place--Zetes, seriously, my conceal and carry permit is not in a book of naughty knitting patterns--
[ that smile cannot bode anything good. ]
--what in the fuck. [ just. what! these things don't happen to anyone else!! sebastian would fully suspect anyone else of orchestrating them, but he has been around zetes long enough to know that no, this is just...the aura he radiates. sebastian tips his head back to scrutinize what sure as shit is the card in question, peering into the depths of its soul to find something he can hate about this. ]
You're goddamn right I do, that picture is terrible. Look, there's a ketchup stain on my shirt.
[ what are the odds he's wearing black oh they're ten hundred million to one, right. meanwhile, he's still not going to let zetes topple to the floor, but he definitely is going to yank forward on his hips so he has basically no choice but to topple onto sebastian, who is now being attacked by damp windbreaker. oh, well. half of his mouth finally breaks into a smile, and he pushes zetes' hair off his forehead and runs light nails over his scalp just to touch. ]
You know your ability to pull things from hammerspace is really creepy, right?
[ yes, creepiness is definitely what is inspiring the soppy, adoring look and carefully securing his lapful of fiance around the waist. ]
[ zetes is prepared to tell sebastian that a) yes, he is dripping everywhere but most things will dry and it'll be fine, and b) that while he may not have had much positive to say about that knitted pair of underwear, sebastian cannot deny that the amount of work zetes committed to that thing was nothing short of impressive, but in the end he doesn't want to take away from the moment when sebastian realizes that his permit was in a book of naughty knitting patterns, thank you very much.
he beams even more brightly as sebastian stares in resigned shock. it's a look that he's learned to find immensely endearing, though that makes it sound like he's not immensely endeared to all the looks sebastian is capable of and that's just not true. still, he lets this one run its course, engaging in a tiny ritual of memorizing the ridiculous hitch to sebastian's mouth and the intensity in his eyes. ]
Oh, come on, that's weak. It'd take a lot more than ketchup to ruin a picture of you.
[ and that has the potential to be mocking, but it's obvious from the emphasis in zetes' voice that he firmly believes there's some truth to that statement. he doesn't have much time to discuss the topic further as in the next second, sebastian is tugging him down, zetes' hand flying to grip one of sebastian's wrists for balance. there's a soft exclamation of geez okay as he more or less tumbles into sebastian's lap, haphazardly arranging his knees on either side of sebastian's hips so he can sit in a fashion close to comfortable, but the cry more than anything else has to do with his gleeful realization that sebastian is probably never going to stop being handsy ever.
he wraps an arm around sebastian's neck, the permit dangling between his fingers. ]
Creepy? There must be better words than creepy. [ he makes a face like he's actually offended, but we all know that he's almost incapable of such a thing. besides, he knows creepy is only coming out now because sebastian's a moody thundercloud that zetes unfortunately finds painfully cute. it's against the personal creed zetes' has developed to discuss the supposed in's and out's of his particular brand of luck or serendipity or whatever it is directly—for quiet fear that he might lose it—but that doesn't mean he isn't against the sweeter nicknames that the whole happy coincidence thing has earned him. ] What ever happened to lucky?
[ he leans closer—well aware that he's probably soaking sebastian but again, everything dries!!!—bumping their foreheads together a little crookedly, smile wide. ]
[ the only time sebastian gets any less handsy is when he has something contagious, because even after several years of cohabitation he remains one of those naive fools who thinks they can prevent germ sharing if they're just careful. then zetes catches whatever it is anyway and they're obliged to cuddle diseasedly after all, but the point is that now, at this moment where no one is suffering any malady except lovesickness, there's no reason not to cup the side of zetes' face, thumb skimming sharp jaw as he continues to fail not to smile. ]
Listen, buddy. We can't all surf the serendipity highway around here, so--lucky, creepy, potato-tomato.
[ because those are obviously the same thing?? especially since sebastian says all of them in the same tonality, namely one that implies "i am so full of love i might just up and die."
he considers the possibility that the documentation that allows him to have a weapon on his person without declaring its existence might have been in with a pattern for knitted underwear because zete was trying to figure out how sebastian might keep said weapon in said underwear, and then promptly decides he's done considering that, oh god. instead he drops the hand from zetes' face to tug the chain around his neck, just to underscore the "lucky" point, then plucks his permit away to be stored safely on the desk, ashtray serving as a paperweight. he'll file it properly in some time that is like, later to this one. apparently he's given up on not being festooned in errant water drops, especially since it means probably a warm shower or warm curling up in bed later. ]
Okay, enough. I'm rescuing this before it ends up with a betamax tape about how to make your own chainmail or something. Did they have biscotti?
[ breakfast! not even sebastian can be grumpy about breakfast. ]
[ sometimes sebastian does this remarkable thing and makes zetes forget everything that he might have been about to say, and zetes just kind of... revels in that, lip caught between his teeth and eyes a little starry over that ridiculously lovestruck tone. eventually, he manages to make a hmph sound that seems to communicate sebastian is free to make his own decisions about potatoes and tomatoes. zetes is content to stare at him while he discusses word choice or pronunciation or whatever this is.
content to a point, at least, because he can't really sit there doing nothing when sebastian hooks his fingers around zetes' necklace. he takes it as an invitation to kiss him again, soft and just left of center, while the four leaf clover pendant dangles between them. he sighs against sebastian's mouth and draws back as the permit is swiped. it's probably best to let sebastian cart it off to his immaculate side of the office for safe keeping. ]
I have no idea what a betamax tape is but you shouldn't talk smack about chainmail. I for one would be appreciative of a handmade tunic of chainmail. Great for knife fights.
[ is that a hint of some kind? maybe. ]
Also, yes, they had biscotti. A whole box of 'em. [ to go with zetes' whole box of donut holes because they are an adorable couple. also let it be noted that even if they didn't have biscotti at the usual spot, zetes would have walked to the next closest joint as he has in the past. and then the next closest joint to that one and so on and so forth until he found the goods. not that zetes has let sebastian in on that little secret. he'd probably find something about it to fuss over.
zetes rubs idly at the soft skin behind sebastian's ear with his thumb and then smiles conspiratorially. ] I feel like you should carry me. [ you were thinking the same thing, weren't you, seb. ]
[ sebastian, who has developed his own brand of trolling in their time together, responds to this by slinging an arm under zetes' thighs and then just .....standing up, all in one motion. is this a slightly risky move for as hulk-smash-sexy as it is? possibly! except no, because sebastian would break his own legs before trying this without being three hundred percent positive zetes was safe and secure and in zero danger of ending up on the floor.
so, okay, he is just going to carry zetes to where the breakfast food lives, still smiling grossly. he doesn't actually understand what made his dearest darling get all soft-eyed, but he's not going to look a gift love in the mouth!! ]
If you're planning to make knife fights a thing, I want them scheduled so I can be there.
[ of course sebastian has been in knife fights. why wouldn't he have, that's totally an experience normal people have multiples of!! despite the sternness in his voice, however, he's m...ostly kidding, and has other priorities regardless. namely grab those as they sweep by the boxes, because his end destination is carrying them upstairs. where he deposits zetes carefully on his feet in their kitchen, so plates and such can be had; he's definitely going to let them eat in bed, but he's not a barbarian, thank you.
in conclusion: no, never tell him about far-reaching biscotti hunts; he would immediately get fussy about zetes making extra effort to track down his particulars. ]
[ zetes seems completely unperturbed by sebastian's methods, doing little more than chuckling and better securing the arm he has slung around sebastian's neck when he's lifted into the air. they've done this enough times before that zetes has every confidence he'll only be set down when he wants to be. he's half-tempted to ask sebastian to retrieve the hat he so rudely relegated to the floor, but for the sake of remaining safely in sebastian's arms and breakfast, he decides he'll just have to return for his fallen brother later.
they make it to the front desk and zetes sweeps his mess of spilled donuts into the biscotti box in what might be a final screw you to organization. ]
Knife fights aren't usually scheduled. [ he will say thoughtfully on the stairs, cradling their box of breakfast with great care. ] You're thinking of like, rumbles or something. Though, those could also include knives, so. Point.
[ he takes to the task of retrieving plates as soon as his feet are on the ground again, arranging their breakfast on chipped ceramic before reaching for two matching mugs covered in turtles with umbrellas. if you guessed zetes is generally in charge of buying dishware, you'd be right. the turtle mugs are filled with what is probably lukewarm coffee at this point and then zetes hands over sebastian's version of the most important meal of the day. ]
No crumbs in the sheets. [ he says before sebastian can say it to him!!! here he takes a meaningful sip. ]
[ sebastian gives him a look that would mean thanks, smartass shot at anyone else, and technically ........ does still mean that at the moment, but it's simultaneously so fond the former is pretty much meaningless. ]
That's how you get ants.
[ deadpan. definitely serious, definitely also quoting archer, but serious!!!!! no one wants ants. he takes a much larger, though equally meaningful not-sip, because sebastian is one of those people who really doesn't care what his coffee tastes like as long as it contains caffeine, and therefore just slugs most of it down at a draught before taking his plate into their bedroom. which narrative assumes must be the loveliest, most soothing cave in the entire world. especially the funshine lamp sebastian can't help but eye bemusedly every time he enters the room, despite how long it's been there, and the fact that he bought it.
he was already more or less dressed for the day in black jeans and somehow even blacker sweater, so for the moment he sprawls out on top of the covers rather than burrow into the bed, though he suspects that will change once he has a zetes to tuck in with. ]
Reasonable people schedule their knife fights - [ he calls out, somewhat belatedly, to wherever zetes is ] - though. Reasonable people probably don't have those, so now we're tied.
[ zetes tamps down a smile so he can nod solemnly. ]
That's how you get ants. [ he echoes, just as serious. ants are terrible and have no place in their cave of joy and relaxation and loveliness. which is why zetes elects to search their cupboards for a neat stack of coffee bean printed napkins while sebastian sets off in the direction of their bedroom with half his coffee gone already. ]
Tell you what. [ zetes says when he wanders into the bedroom a few seconds later, moving around to his side of the bed to set down his breakfast on his nightstand next to said funshine lamp. ] I promise not to cut anyone unless you're close by, whether my knife fight was scheduled or came about organically.
[ he moves to the closet as he strips off his still damp windbreaker, hanging it on the doorknob rather than shoving it in amongst their dry clothes. he kicks off leather boots and deposits pizza-patterned socks onto the floor, then returns to the bed in just black jeans and grey t-shirt, prepared to leave the task of keeping him warm to the elaborate combination of blankets they've amassed. and sebastian. always sebastian.
once he's situated himself—legs under the covers, shoulder brushing sebastian's—he'll take a bite of maple glazed goodness and offer: ] You don't have to worry. I'm sure I could handle myself anyway.
[ sebastian has his doubts zetes could stab another human being to save his own life, but that's not the correct response, so instead he just shifts around to shuck out of his own socks, along with sweater and jeans, and shimmies down under the covers in boxer-briefs and t-shirt. both of which are ....also black, so nothing of value has been lost. he slings one arm over zetes' shoulders and stretches out with the other to dip a piece of biscotti in his coffee - which narrative has decided is more interesting if it's mostly milk, so disregard that previous thing about drinking it black, dum dee doo early character formation lala - letting it suck up all the liquid possible before chewing thoughtfully, both literally and then figuratively chewing over this hypothetically knife-themed rumble. ]
Sure, but what else do you keep the Jolly Green Glower around for?
[ he is. obviously referring to himself; he knows what he is. in fact he takes no small amount of pride in his complete lack of personability, which is uh, great, i guess????? meanwhile apparently he has recanted the idea that he should keep his thoughts about zetes' capability in a knife fight to himself, speaking of knowing what he is: ]
If you had to cut a bitch [ said with a completely straight face, somehow ] you'd just get sad, and then I'd be sad, and the Cat would be sad, we'd all have to share a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and you know dairy gives her the worst kind of shits.
Not that there's a less worst kind.
[ crunch crunch crunch. thoughtfully. ]
's better for everyone if I do any stabbing that needs doing, right?
[ perhaps no one but zetes could pick out in all of that sebastian's actual meaning, which is that he is pure and lovely and sebastian would stab like, eighty people if it meant he got to stay that way. now shut up, he's just going to eat another biscotti with his head mushed in zetes' shoulder. cronch, cronch. ]
A lot of things, actually. His shoulder is the perfect headrest, for one. [ zetes says as he instinctively melts into sebastian's side once that arm settles around him, doing his very best to provide proof for this testimony when he leans back and makes himself comfortable. sebastian may appear to be made of angles and legs and sharp-edged exasperation, but thankfully zetes has known him long enough to discover all his softer spots, one such spot being his thigh, which zetes rests a hand on and pats affectionately. when he breathes in, all he can smell is sugary maple and smoke. ]
And okay, I see your point. But to be fair, I think Ben and Jerry's is worth the worst kind of shits. Lady Catherine would agree. [ or at least zetes assumes she would agree. why would she turn down food, really?
zetes reaches for another donut hole, also taking a moment to chew thoughtfully, tongue making quick work of any glaze left on his lips. it's true zetes doesn't have much affection for fighting, knives or no. he can do it with an agile efficiency, has been trained to do it for the sake of all those lives they were looking out for on the police force (and are still looking out for now, let's be fair), but it's never left anything but a bad ache in his chest. to make light of it all is easier, but it doesn't change the facts.
the thought of sebastian fighting isn't much better, but there's an undeniable comfort in the implicit message here. ]
Right. [ he traces a finger over the bare skin under his hand, drawing a smiley face that sebastian may or may not recognize as such. ] But let's avoid stabbing if at all possible.
[ he tilts his head to smile up at sebastian, the curve of his mouth subtle but warm. it's one of those you have to stay safe out there because i can't live without you kind of smiles. after a moment of meaningful gazing, he pops the other half of his donut hole in his mouth and then holds up one of his sugar-coated fingers. ]
[ this is the problem with letting men date each other, by the way; they are first in line to consider "the worst kind of shits" appropriate breakfast conversation. fortunately for the sake of this thread retaining like, a single iota of class, sebastian loses interest in any such repartee while zetes muses, mostly because look, he is only human, and furthermore a human very fond of that tongue.
mostly.
the rest of what occupies him is that in quiet like this, when it's just them, sebastian knows zetes well enough to pick up even the smallest emotional nuances like notes in the complexity of really good wine, so while of course doing something dramatically sardonic with his sardonically dramatic eyebrows, he kisses the pads of sugar-coated fingers before actually, you know, sucking them between his lips up to the first knuckle. you see, zetes: he's not going anywhere! allow him to demonstrate with more suggestivity, as well as a level of doe-eyed softness absolutely no one else would believe sebastian actually possesses.
another little fingerprint kiss, for good measure, then sebastian considers giving zetes his hand back and decides against it, knotting their fingers together instead and resting them loosely on his own thigh, since zetes seems so interested in them. ( them being sebastian's thighs, naturally; being interested in them is only sensible. ) ]
What's "if at all possible"? What if they shortchange me at Yankee Candle, is that a stabbing offense?
[ the odds that sebastian has ever been in a yankee candle shop are zero. ]
You're delicious, by the way. [ which is to say nothing about the donut holes, ha ha. they were also delicious, but sebastian has priorities, and they are thoroughly banishing from zetes' chest even the tiniest ache. ]
Edited (wow i don't know what the hell happened to that last sentence??????) 2017-11-20 01:40 (UTC)
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no subject
and yet, that is exactly what sebastian tantalo is engaged in this blustery, rainy fall morning - making the open window kind of a dicey prospect, but it's that or fishbowl the room - along with his second cup of coffee, charlie parker, and a sheaf of documents thicker than his wrist. on zetes' side of the office, a place he rarely visits unless they're making out in the very desk chair he's sitting in, because it is a barren wasteland devoid entirely of any organization. sebastian is still trying to put things back down where he found them; who knows, there might be a system at work here! a system that will eventually reveal the third in triplicate copies of his conceal and carry permit! ha. ha ha. eventually: ]
Zetes! [ bellowed in the general direction of the open door ] Your stuff is in serious danger of being alphabetized; leaving me alone in this condition is like throwing rice at a vampire wedding.
[ because in some mythos vampires have that compulsive need to count things...never mind, zetes can be nothing but used to sebastian's special brand of sebastianness by now. ]
no subject
he appears at the door with one donut hole safely tucked inside his cheek, his purple windbreaker and one of his more well-loved baseball caps still dripping from his quick jaunt to the cornerstone cafe. he blinks at the state of things, at the state of sebastian with his coffee and cigarette and his incorrigibly old-fashioned taste in music, and his look of concern morphs slightly into one of fondness. he chews thoughtfully as he reaches for one of his impressive stacks of papers, almost displacing a tube of paint that he had previously believed to have gone missing. ]
What did my stuff ever do to deserve threats? [ he asks, as though he's hurt on his stuff's behalf. then: ] I guess a vampire wedding would have to happen at night, right? Do you think they'd kiss at the end or bite each other?
[ he turns to sebastian, eyebrows raised quizzically, and then pretends to remember something else is clearly going on here. he smiles. ] Are you looking for something in particular, or... ?
[ or is this all just an elaborate plan to get him to make out with you, sebastian? to be fair, from the general air of the room, zetes is banking on the former. ]
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I'm looking for my certificate as a Doctor of vampir...ology. Obviously. My expert opinion concludes two vampires biting each other would be like trying to tickle yourself.
[ he quickly rescues the paint tube, in the meanwhile, sticking his cigarette in the corner of his mouth for safekeeping, drawing in a long pull of delicious carcinogens and letting the smoke out of his nostrils like a dragon. because he can. ]
Okay no, it's time for us to renew our licenses in carrying instruments of murder and or shooting random holes in perfectly good walls, so I'm trying to find a copy of my fucking last one. It's been stolen by fairies. Apparently.
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I think I could probably tickle myself. [ he says as he locates a new spot for the pile of papers in his arms, finding the document on top to be anything but interesting. hopefully nothing too vital exists within the stack; there are definitely rogue raindrops making some unlucky files wrinkle. ] There's that sensitive spot on my hip—you know the one—that always makes me laugh.
[ hands suddenly free, he waves one through the smoke in front of sebastian's face and grins. as far as he knows, there are rules about smoking in the apartment, but the dragon thing gets him every time. ]
I told the fairies they could nest in here. Maybe they don't like random holes in perfectly good walls. [ it's not really a sentiment he himself agrees with, but he's not about to judge. still, he rounds the desk with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where fairies are likely to hide permits. he hauls a cardboard box up from the floor and sets it down precariously on sebastian's lap before starting to riffle through the mess of contents. give him a second here, babe. ]
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[ as per previous mention, it is fighting dirty to start talking about ... hips and ... sensitive spots while sebastian is trying to be annoyed about paper! never mind that they aren't actually fighting at all. his line of sight drops to the general vicinity of zetes' hips, like his brain has been whacked with a sexy reflex hammer, and he makes a face, stubbing his cigarette out in the ( ceramic, cactus shaped ) ashtray as if it has personally offended him. ]
You can't tickle yourself, it's a psychological and physiological impossibility --don't start trying, we're on a mission here.
[ in case zetes was considering doing anything to make his hips all. visible and irresistible and goddamn it why is sebastian's life such a trial!! a zetes-flavored trial. who is currently digging through his...lap... ]
Zetes. This box is labeled "expired coupons."
[ the aggravated noise he attempts to make completely ignores his intentions and comes out dangerously close to adoring, and he sighs a resigned sigh and bats zetes' hands away from the box so he can put it on the desk instead, meaning his own hands ( and perhaps more importantly lap ) are also free, making it awful convenient to reach up to knock damp baseball cap off his head and coax him down by the back of the neck for a hello kiss. since they've been separated for a probable hour and all. ]
I truly, madly, deeply hate your filing system. Just reiterating that.
[ yes, that's sure to have its most chastising effect all low and gravelly and one millimeter away from zetes' mouth. ]
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A mission. [ he echoes, weighting the word much more than is necessary as he unearths an unsealed manilla envelope filled to the brim with coupons proclaiming 2 butter chicken dishes for the price of 1!!! and then returns it to the chaos within the box.
he glances up at that mockery of a disgruntled sound, continuing to be endlessly amused by this state of affairs. ]
You say that like it's a bad thing.
[ but he relents as sebastian halts the search and rids himself of the box. zetes' breathes a laugh when his hat tumbles backwards and lets himself be pulled down in a kiss, hands instinctively framing sebastian's face while his knee finds purchase on the desk chair between seb's thighs.
he then proceeds to squeeze sebastian's cheeks while their noses bump togetHer, making his lips pucker like a cartoon character. he is clearly chastised. ]
I hate to tell you this but my filing system feels the same way about you.
[ he'll soften this blow with another kiss, sloppy and smiley. ]
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...but box-stuffing would deprive sebastian himself of kissing, so he substitutes lifting his own hands up to cover zetes' just so he can't do anything else hilarious - and also because the fact that he could engulf both in one of his own giant paws never ceases to be charming - managing somehow to kiss back while scowling. unfortunately that's really difficult to maintain while someone else is smiling, and as such before all that long ( certainly before the kiss ends ) their mouths match in curvature if not precision. sebastian kisses like he does everything else, which is to say 'as if he has a scalpel.' even the soft ones are like that. ]
That's too bad, because the odds that I'm better at hating things - [ than zetes' filing system, yes ] can be seen from space. So your Jenga tower brigade can blow me.
[ um. he's just going to take his hands back now, but only to curve them around any hip-related sensitive spots, those being one of those things he exceptionally doesn't hate. like, at all. ]
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that and the smooth skin of sebastian's palms against his hands make him tremble a little with what is either pure joy or actual electricity tingling up his spine. ]
No, it can't. [ zetes corrects him, thumb escaping enough to rub back and forth over sebastian's cheekbone. ] Someone else could, but it can't.
[ that someone else will remain unnamed for the time being.
he hums what might be the beginning of a laugh when fingers find his hips, but he's not about to submit to what could become a tickle fight when they've got a mission. he decides to trust sebastian not to let him topple to the floor and leans over the side of the chair to swipe at a piece of paper sticking out of a precarious pile of books, the spines of which read things like 101 ways to open a letter and painting cats: advanced techniques. he straightens then, giving the document he's just snatched a once over—his smile widens suspiciously—before turning it for sebastian to see. ]
Okay, this is a test. Do you hate this?
[ ... yes, sebastian is looking at his permit in zetes' hands. huh. ]
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possibly less than usual, since nothing makes it easier to ignore the vast majority of the annoying material world than zetes and sauciness, dark brows hiking interestedly as he hooks both forefingers in conveniently placed belt loops. which just goes to show he probably didn't acquire the sharp twin bones under his hands for purposes of a tickle fight ( or did he ), but now that he is using them to actually prevent zetes from tipping over he opts to hold on a little more sensibly, as in with all four miles his fingers can span. ]
You're dripping all over the place--Zetes, seriously, my conceal and carry permit is not in a book of naughty knitting patterns--
[ that smile cannot bode anything good. ]
--what in the fuck. [ just. what! these things don't happen to anyone else!! sebastian would fully suspect anyone else of orchestrating them, but he has been around zetes long enough to know that no, this is just...the aura he radiates. sebastian tips his head back to scrutinize what sure as shit is the card in question, peering into the depths of its soul to find something he can hate about this. ]
You're goddamn right I do, that picture is terrible. Look, there's a ketchup stain on my shirt.
[ what are the odds he's wearing black oh they're ten hundred million to one, right. meanwhile, he's still not going to let zetes topple to the floor, but he definitely is going to yank forward on his hips so he has basically no choice but to topple onto sebastian, who is now being attacked by damp windbreaker. oh, well. half of his mouth finally breaks into a smile, and he pushes zetes' hair off his forehead and runs light nails over his scalp just to touch. ]
You know your ability to pull things from hammerspace is really creepy, right?
[ yes, creepiness is definitely what is inspiring the soppy, adoring look and carefully securing his lapful of fiance around the waist. ]
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he beams even more brightly as sebastian stares in resigned shock. it's a look that he's learned to find immensely endearing, though that makes it sound like he's not immensely endeared to all the looks sebastian is capable of and that's just not true. still, he lets this one run its course, engaging in a tiny ritual of memorizing the ridiculous hitch to sebastian's mouth and the intensity in his eyes. ]
Oh, come on, that's weak. It'd take a lot more than ketchup to ruin a picture of you.
[ and that has the potential to be mocking, but it's obvious from the emphasis in zetes' voice that he firmly believes there's some truth to that statement. he doesn't have much time to discuss the topic further as in the next second, sebastian is tugging him down, zetes' hand flying to grip one of sebastian's wrists for balance. there's a soft exclamation of geez okay as he more or less tumbles into sebastian's lap, haphazardly arranging his knees on either side of sebastian's hips so he can sit in a fashion close to comfortable, but the cry more than anything else has to do with his gleeful realization that sebastian is probably never going to stop being handsy ever.
he wraps an arm around sebastian's neck, the permit dangling between his fingers. ]
Creepy? There must be better words than creepy. [ he makes a face like he's actually offended, but we all know that he's almost incapable of such a thing. besides, he knows creepy is only coming out now because sebastian's a moody thundercloud that zetes unfortunately finds painfully cute. it's against the personal creed zetes' has developed to discuss the supposed in's and out's of his particular brand of luck or serendipity or whatever it is directly—for quiet fear that he might lose it—but that doesn't mean he isn't against the sweeter nicknames that the whole happy coincidence thing has earned him. ] What ever happened to lucky?
[ he leans closer—well aware that he's probably soaking sebastian but again, everything dries!!!—bumping their foreheads together a little crookedly, smile wide. ]
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Listen, buddy. We can't all surf the serendipity highway around here, so--lucky, creepy, potato-tomato.
[ because those are obviously the same thing?? especially since sebastian says all of them in the same tonality, namely one that implies "i am so full of love i might just up and die."
he considers the possibility that the documentation that allows him to have a weapon on his person without declaring its existence might have been in with a pattern for knitted underwear because zete was trying to figure out how sebastian might keep said weapon in said underwear, and then promptly decides he's done considering that, oh god. instead he drops the hand from zetes' face to tug the chain around his neck, just to underscore the "lucky" point, then plucks his permit away to be stored safely on the desk, ashtray serving as a paperweight. he'll file it properly in some time that is like, later to this one. apparently he's given up on not being festooned in errant water drops, especially since it means probably a warm shower or warm curling up in bed later. ]
Okay, enough. I'm rescuing this before it ends up with a betamax tape about how to make your own chainmail or something. Did they have biscotti?
[ breakfast! not even sebastian can be grumpy about breakfast. ]
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content to a point, at least, because he can't really sit there doing nothing when sebastian hooks his fingers around zetes' necklace. he takes it as an invitation to kiss him again, soft and just left of center, while the four leaf clover pendant dangles between them. he sighs against sebastian's mouth and draws back as the permit is swiped. it's probably best to let sebastian cart it off to his immaculate side of the office for safe keeping. ]
I have no idea what a betamax tape is but you shouldn't talk smack about chainmail. I for one would be appreciative of a handmade tunic of chainmail. Great for knife fights.
[ is that a hint of some kind? maybe. ]
Also, yes, they had biscotti. A whole box of 'em. [ to go with zetes' whole box of donut holes because they are an adorable couple. also let it be noted that even if they didn't have biscotti at the usual spot, zetes would have walked to the next closest joint as he has in the past. and then the next closest joint to that one and so on and so forth until he found the goods. not that zetes has let sebastian in on that little secret. he'd probably find something about it to fuss over.
zetes rubs idly at the soft skin behind sebastian's ear with his thumb and then smiles conspiratorially. ] I feel like you should carry me. [ you were thinking the same thing, weren't you, seb. ]
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so, okay, he is just going to carry zetes to where the breakfast food lives, still smiling grossly. he doesn't actually understand what made his dearest darling get all soft-eyed, but he's not going to look a gift love in the mouth!! ]
If you're planning to make knife fights a thing, I want them scheduled so I can be there.
[ of course sebastian has been in knife fights. why wouldn't he have, that's totally an experience normal people have multiples of!! despite the sternness in his voice, however, he's m...ostly kidding, and has other priorities regardless. namely grab those as they sweep by the boxes, because his end destination is carrying them upstairs. where he deposits zetes carefully on his feet in their kitchen, so plates and such can be had; he's definitely going to let them eat in bed, but he's not a barbarian, thank you.
in conclusion: no, never tell him about far-reaching biscotti hunts; he would immediately get fussy about zetes making extra effort to track down his particulars. ]
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they make it to the front desk and zetes sweeps his mess of spilled donuts into the biscotti box in what might be a final screw you to organization. ]
Knife fights aren't usually scheduled. [ he will say thoughtfully on the stairs, cradling their box of breakfast with great care. ] You're thinking of like, rumbles or something. Though, those could also include knives, so. Point.
[ he takes to the task of retrieving plates as soon as his feet are on the ground again, arranging their breakfast on chipped ceramic before reaching for two matching mugs covered in turtles with umbrellas. if you guessed zetes is generally in charge of buying dishware, you'd be right. the turtle mugs are filled with what is probably lukewarm coffee at this point and then zetes hands over sebastian's version of the most important meal of the day. ]
No crumbs in the sheets. [ he says before sebastian can say it to him!!! here he takes a meaningful sip. ]
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That's how you get ants.
[ deadpan. definitely serious, definitely also quoting archer, but serious!!!!! no one wants ants. he takes a much larger, though equally meaningful not-sip, because sebastian is one of those people who really doesn't care what his coffee tastes like as long as it contains caffeine, and therefore just slugs most of it down at a draught before taking his plate into their bedroom. which narrative assumes must be the loveliest, most soothing cave in the entire world. especially the funshine lamp sebastian can't help but eye bemusedly every time he enters the room, despite how long it's been there, and the fact that he bought it.
he was already more or less dressed for the day in black jeans and somehow even blacker sweater, so for the moment he sprawls out on top of the covers rather than burrow into the bed, though he suspects that will change once he has a zetes to tuck in with. ]
Reasonable people schedule their knife fights - [ he calls out, somewhat belatedly, to wherever zetes is ] - though. Reasonable people probably don't have those, so now we're tied.
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That's how you get ants. [ he echoes, just as serious. ants are terrible and have no place in their cave of joy and relaxation and loveliness. which is why zetes elects to search their cupboards for a neat stack of coffee bean printed napkins while sebastian sets off in the direction of their bedroom with half his coffee gone already. ]
Tell you what. [ zetes says when he wanders into the bedroom a few seconds later, moving around to his side of the bed to set down his breakfast on his nightstand next to said funshine lamp. ] I promise not to cut anyone unless you're close by, whether my knife fight was scheduled or came about organically.
[ he moves to the closet as he strips off his still damp windbreaker, hanging it on the doorknob rather than shoving it in amongst their dry clothes. he kicks off leather boots and deposits pizza-patterned socks onto the floor, then returns to the bed in just black jeans and grey t-shirt, prepared to leave the task of keeping him warm to the elaborate combination of blankets they've amassed. and sebastian. always sebastian.
once he's situated himself—legs under the covers, shoulder brushing sebastian's—he'll take a bite of maple glazed goodness and offer: ] You don't have to worry. I'm sure I could handle myself anyway.
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Sure, but what else do you keep the Jolly Green Glower around for?
[ he is. obviously referring to himself; he knows what he is. in fact he takes no small amount of pride in his complete lack of personability, which is uh, great, i guess????? meanwhile apparently he has recanted the idea that he should keep his thoughts about zetes' capability in a knife fight to himself, speaking of knowing what he is: ]
If you had to cut a bitch [ said with a completely straight face, somehow ] you'd just get sad, and then I'd be sad, and the Cat would be sad, we'd all have to share a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and you know dairy gives her the worst kind of shits.
Not that there's a less worst kind.
[ crunch crunch crunch. thoughtfully. ]
's better for everyone if I do any stabbing that needs doing, right?
[ perhaps no one but zetes could pick out in all of that sebastian's actual meaning, which is that he is pure and lovely and sebastian would stab like, eighty people if it meant he got to stay that way. now shut up, he's just going to eat another biscotti with his head mushed in zetes' shoulder. cronch, cronch. ]
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And okay, I see your point. But to be fair, I think Ben and Jerry's is worth the worst kind of shits. Lady Catherine would agree. [ or at least zetes assumes she would agree. why would she turn down food, really?
zetes reaches for another donut hole, also taking a moment to chew thoughtfully, tongue making quick work of any glaze left on his lips. it's true zetes doesn't have much affection for fighting, knives or no. he can do it with an agile efficiency, has been trained to do it for the sake of all those lives they were looking out for on the police force (and are still looking out for now, let's be fair), but it's never left anything but a bad ache in his chest. to make light of it all is easier, but it doesn't change the facts.
the thought of sebastian fighting isn't much better, but there's an undeniable comfort in the implicit message here. ]
Right. [ he traces a finger over the bare skin under his hand, drawing a smiley face that sebastian may or may not recognize as such. ] But let's avoid stabbing if at all possible.
[ he tilts his head to smile up at sebastian, the curve of his mouth subtle but warm. it's one of those you have to stay safe out there because i can't live without you kind of smiles. after a moment of meaningful gazing, he pops the other half of his donut hole in his mouth and then holds up one of his sugar-coated fingers. ]
Did you wanna try?
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mostly.
the rest of what occupies him is that in quiet like this, when it's just them, sebastian knows zetes well enough to pick up even the smallest emotional nuances like notes in the complexity of really good wine, so while of course doing something dramatically sardonic with his sardonically dramatic eyebrows, he kisses the pads of sugar-coated fingers before actually, you know, sucking them between his lips up to the first knuckle. you see, zetes: he's not going anywhere! allow him to demonstrate with more suggestivity, as well as a level of doe-eyed softness absolutely no one else would believe sebastian actually possesses.
another little fingerprint kiss, for good measure, then sebastian considers giving zetes his hand back and decides against it, knotting their fingers together instead and resting them loosely on his own thigh, since zetes seems so interested in them. ( them being sebastian's thighs, naturally; being interested in them is only sensible. ) ]
What's "if at all possible"? What if they shortchange me at Yankee Candle, is that a stabbing offense?
[ the odds that sebastian has ever been in a yankee candle shop are zero. ]
You're delicious, by the way. [ which is to say nothing about the donut holes, ha ha. they were also delicious, but sebastian has priorities, and they are thoroughly banishing from zetes' chest even the tiniest ache. ]