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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | The Aspenwood twins turn 27 with an unexpected guest coming to visit, and Colson receives a very special present from Mordecai in a closet. It's not a metaphor; it's a literal closet. Very fluffy romance RP. 11,500-ish words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Morson
In the Aspenwood Stormwind Townhouse, upstairs in the piano room.
Colson sits on the bench of the piano, close enough to make it easy for him to play a two person duet if they wanted to, but far enough away at the moment to ensure that Cress' elbows are free and clear to move easily while she plays. He waits for his cues to sing with a gentle smile on his face, watching Cress as though she's doing something remarkable and he's very proud of it.
With her hair down, Cressidha would look almost casual, but her posture as she sits at the piano is flawless. She is dressed in winter colors today, greys and whites and muted blue tones, with a finely made cardigan and a long, ruffled skirt. She sings her parts and plays with only the occasional glance at the sheet music.
Mordecai is not actually asleep on the couch, but he is stretched out on it in such a way that it looks like he might be, eyes shut and a faint smile on his face. A clipboard sits face-down on the side table by the couch, abandoned.
Colson occasionally looks over his shoulder at Mordecai, the smile going softer every time. As he gets to his part, he sings — his voice as unimpressive and ordinary as always, even if he's perfectly on key, with expert phrasing even for a simple folk song.
As the song concludes, Cressidha does a little piano flourish and takes her hands off the keys, smiling at her brother.
Mordecai applauds quietly without sitting up.
Colson chuckles, low and deep, a slight hint of color in his cheeks at the clapping. "Very well done," he says to Cress.
"Thank you," Cressidha says, graciously. She begins to look through her collection of sheet music.
There is a light but rhythmic tap on the door - tap-tap-tap-tap.
Colson's brows raise, but he doesn't seem startled by the sound, as though he was aware of someone outside the door.
Mordecai does not fall off the couch, but he does sit bolt-upright, smoothing out his vest and fixing the collar of his shirt, eyes wide. He looks at the twins for help.
Cressidha looks surprised, but not startled. "Bertrand?" she calls, sounding pleased. "Do come in."
Mordecai immediately tries to make his hair a little neater and makes it worse.
Colson turns around on the bench, to face towards the door, glancing at Mordecai and smiling gently at the attempts of hair fixing, before looking back to the door.
Entering on cue is Bertrand Aspenwood, his blonde hair pulled up into a messy but somehow stylish man-bun, dressed in nice clothes that skirt the border between formal and casual, with the top button undone on his shirt and his sleeves rolled up in a slapdash, messy manner. His hair is somehow being restrained by two pins that look like he could probably kill a man with them if he was so inclined. "Cress! Cole! Happy birthday!" he says, cheerful, and moves over to the bench to give them both a hug. Not two hugs. One hug for both twins.
Colson smiles faintly, reaching up to return the hug with one hand, patting Bertrand's back gently twice. Next to Bertrand, Colson's button up blue and gold long sleeved shirt, with the sleeves very meticulously rolled to a precise point just below his elbow (each side exactly the same, down to a millimeter of difference) that looked casual a moment ago, suddenly looks much more formal, especially with the way Colson carries himself in it.
"Thank you, Bertrand," Colson says politely, possibly at the exact same time Cressidha does.
Cressidha returns her half of the hug. "Thank you, Bertrand," she says, simultaneously.
Bertrand lets go on cue, stepping backwards like he's going to sit down on the coffee table. His head whips around as he registers Mordecai's presence, hands moving down towards the hilts of daggers that he isn't wearing. It's a very fast movement, a split second where his posture telegraphs danger.
The second there is a Threat in his brother's posture, Colson reacts without, it seems, full thought. It's automatic as a Hand of Protection encircles Mordecai, and Colson's aura crackles in a bright flash of holy red lightning, simultaneously. There is, very suddenly, a Holy Paladin standing where Bertrand's little brother was.
"Whoa." Bertrand angles his back to the wall and takes a step back, empty hands raised.
Mordecai blinks slowly.
Colson clears his throat, the Righteous Fury dissipating instantly. "My apologies," Colson says, as he sits back down a little stiffly. "Ah. Reflex. We had an…incident recently, and I have been…" He trails off, waving a hand elegantly in suggestion of the protective response, as he looks over at Mordecai, to assess his expression. He also, very obviously, takes his eyes off the rogue, in a clear sign of trust in his brother.
Cressidha pats Colson's shoulder, sympathetically.
Bertrand whistles, impressed, and waves a hand. "No harm done, Cole. Sorry, Chaplain. Didn't mean to spook you. You spooked me a bit, but I'm twitchy these days. Really ought to have seen you when I came in. You alright?"
Mordecai nods slowly. He looks very calm and content, because he is in the safety bubble.
Colson appears to be attempting to force the tension in his shoulders to relax slightly, with limited success. At Cress' touch, he relaxes slightly more, and at Mordecai's nod there's a faint smile. He turns back to Bertrand. "It is understandable. There has been quite a lot of upheaval recently, and what news I have had of the potential front moving into Northrend is…tense, to say the least."
"That's for sure," Bertrand agrees.
Cressidha mouths the word 'incident?' and looks at Mordecai, who doesn't seem to notice.
As the Hand of Protection fades, Mordecai sits up a little straighter. "I'm fine, thank you." He looks at Colson and adds, "Thank you," very warmly.
Bertrand sticks his hands in his pockets. "You're real quiet, Har— no. Hmm. Mordy?"
Mordecai makes a face.
"Nope, that sounds wrong," Bertrand says out loud. "Sorry. Mordecai."
At the attempted nickname, Colson's face twitches, and he brushes a hand by his lips for some reason. Given that he's still looking at Mordecai with a soft expression in his eyes, the amusement of the absurdity of the nickname might not be as readily apparent. "How is Lady Priscilla?" Colson asks Bertrand, in a pleasant, polite sort of tone.
Bertrand smiles this very fond, dreamy sort of Aspenwood smile and says, "She's wonderful," with a happy sigh.
Cressidha does not roll her eyes or laugh. She deserves a medal for this.
Mordecai stares at Bertrand. He looks at Colson. He looks at Bertrand.
"I am glad to hear it," Colson says, sincerely. "Please do give her my regards, the next time you see her."
"Will do." Bertrand is still smiling. "Are you two still living here?" He gestures between Colson and Mordecai.
"Half the time, sir," Mordecai answers politely. "We also have a room in Telaar."
There's a flicker over Colson's face at the 'sir,' one that shows his immediate discomfort with the word. "In Nagrand," Colson adds. "Cobalt Company is working predominantly in Netherstorm at the moment. The portals to and from Outland are convenient, but it is easier to remain closer for work."
"Sheesh, I'm not at work," Bertrand says, light-hearted and friendly. "You can call me Bertrand, if you want. Or something else, if you've got a nickname you like better. Light forbid I start taking myself too seriously on my days off." He grins at Mordecai.
Mordecai rubs the back of his neck and nods. "Yes, um. Right. Bertrand."
"We have been looking for a house to buy here," Colson says. "Although so far without much success."
Cressidha begins looking through her sheet music again. She selects a soft instrumental piece and starts to play.
"Twenty-seven…" Bertrand says to himself, shaking his head. "Wow. You two are growing up fast. Mordecai, how old are you?"
Mordecai tilts his head. "Oh, um. Twenty-five. Twenty-six on the 11th, this month."
Colson smiles faintly as Cress starts playing, remaining where he is for the moment, still facing away from the piano.
Bertrand pushes off the wall and walks to the door, clapping each of the twins on the shoulder on his way. "I'm going to go say hello to Mother and Father. I miiiiight have skipped greeting them to come find the birthday twins first."
"Of course," Cressidha says, faintly amused.
Colson sets his hand briefly over Bertrand's, a Blessing of Might in the gesture. "Of course," Colson says only the barest quarter-second after Cress, so that it sounds nearly simultaneous.
Bertrand grins. "I'll see you all at dinner," he says, and slips out of the room, closing the door without letting it make a sound.
Mordecai slumps a little the moment that Bertrand leaves, running a hand through his hair. It's even messier now.
Colson brushes a hand by his eyes for a moment, a hint of embarrassment in the gesture. He glances over at Mordecai, smiling faintly at the state of his hair. "I did not think he could make it," Colson remarks. "Did you tell you he was coming?" He sounds as though he already knows the answer, but he's checking anyway.
"He did not." Cressidha shrugs, still playing that same instrumental.
Mordecai draws his legs up to sit comfortably cross-legged on the couch and holds a hand out hopefully in Colson's direction, tilting his head a little.
"What incident were you referring to, earlier?" Cressidha asks.
Colson rises to a graceful stand, making his way to Mordecai with a gentle smile. "Mordecai was critically wounded in an attempted robbery that was nearly an attempted murder in Lower City three weeks ago," Colson says, in an even voice. You could almost believe he has processed and accepted it now. Except for everything about how carefully he says it, as though he's got a deliberately implacable grip on his tone, of course.
Perhaps because she was expecting something along those lines, or perhaps due to the calm delivery, Cressidha doesn't miss a single note. "What sort of despicable person tries to kill a priest?"
Mordecai pats the spot to his right on the couch. Sit please.
Colson sits down in the indicated spot as he sets his hand in Mordecai's. There is a dangerous edge to his voice, despite his best attempts otherwise as he says, "Desperate people make very, very foolish choices. He was apprehended by the authorities of Shattrath. I was there, but." Colson looks down at their linked hands. "I was further away from Mordecai at the time. Since, I have been a little…" He trails off with a shrug, implying the rest of the over-protectiveness.
Mordecai pulls their linked hands a little closer to him and looks at Colson with a warm smile. "I wasn't critically — no, I was. Just not for long." To Cressidha, Mordecai adds, "Colson healed me from fifty or sixty yards away. It was amazing."
Cressidha makes an inquisitive noise.
"Ah, well." Colson makes a non-committal sort of sound. "I was able to utilize an advanced Holy technique that I had been studying that allows for a longer range. I did not have the time to wait to get within my usual casting range." He certainly makes it sound like it's no big deal, really in that mild delivery of his.
Cressidha stops playing. "Oh?" She turns around on the bench to face her brother and Mordecai, folding her hands in her lap. "Another one? Not your Holy Shock?"
"No, this one is called 'Beacon of Light.' It creates a bond between the caster, and a target, that allows a focusing of the Light onto that target, so that any wound healed around them by that caster will heal the target. So, if I were to cast it upon you, for example, and you and Mordecai both took a wound, when I healed him, I would heal you as well. It is a sympathetic bond, however. It can only extend the healing. If you were wounded, and he was not, even if I cast upon him, it would not heal you," Colson explains. He sounds like he might be repeating something someone else said, as a description. "I cast the Beacon on him, and healed myself." The implication of how that worked is likely obvious.
Cressidha nods slowly, following along. "So you could use it to heal two people at once, in combat? That's very useful."
Mordecai looks down.
"Yes," Colson says. "Although I still need to work on casting it. I have only successfully done so a handful of times, and failed to do so at least a dozen more since. So far, the only person I have successfully cast it on has been Mordecai, and not yet in combat." Colson brushes his thumb gently across Mordecai's hand.
"That doesn't count as combat?" Cressidha raises a brow, gesturing vaguely. Mordecai getting stabbed sure sounds like some variety of combat.
"It was quick, but I was not actively being attacked, and I was not in armor. Similar, but not quite the same as being in the field, where I may have already been mid-cast of something else, or engaged in a physical attack and needing to use it," Colson says, shrugging his right shoulder. "Even out of combat though, I have struggled with it since." Colson sets a hand against his chest. "I cannot get it to work on the Anchorite who I have been learning from at all." He doesn't sound either surprised or disappointed, like he expects this level of failure.
"Maybe you don't know them well enough?" Cressidha guesses. "You know Mordecai quite well by now."
Mordecai blushes for some reason.
Colson's eyes dart to the blush for a moment, and he squeezes Mordecai's hand very gently, once, as he speaks. "It is very likely that intensity of emotion plays a part. The strength of the Light we can channel comes from the caster, and our emotions for those we cast upon play a part in how effective it is. I may not be able to cast it upon the Anchorite, but I could possibly cast it upon you, or Ben, or Dane, perhaps."
Mordecai squeezes back once. He is staring at his lap and not looking at Cressidha at all.
Cressidha stands, pushing the piano bench back in, and rises up to her tiptoes, clasping her hands in front of her in a brief stretch. "Do you want to try it and see?"
"Hm," Colson says, and considers it. He nods once. "Yes. It would be good to know." He gently pulls his hand from Mordecai, and moves to a stand. "It will be easier with," Colson says, gesturing towards Cress' hands. Hold hand, receive beacon.
Cressidha crosses the room, skirting around the coffee table to stand in front of Colson and take his hands. "All right?"
Mordecai scoots a little bit to the left on the couch so that he can get a better view of the two of them and tilts his head a little.
Colson pauses, concentrating, as he makes eye contact with Cress. It doesn't take long at all before a bright Light pulses once in Colson's chest, and a fraction of a second later — in fact, almost so close together that it seems nearly simultaneously, the 'jump' of it almost imperceptible — there is the same Light in Cressidha. "Oh," Colson says, faint surprise in his voice. "Well." It was clearly easier than expected.
Cressidha looks down and goes, "Hm. Is that it?" in a vaguely curious way. "Did it work correctly?"
Mordecai stares at her.
"Hm." A pause as Colson seems to consider it, his eyes unfocusing slightly. He nods. "Yes." He demonstrates with a Holy Shock that he turns inwards, the echo of it so close to the original that it appears as though Colson cast it on the both of them at the exact same time. There is nothing to heal, but the Light still manifests in both.
"Hm." Cressidha tilts her head. "I'm certain this will be useful in the future. Well done." She releases Colson's hands, smiling.
Mordecai tilts his head slowly the other direction. He looks almost puzzled.
Colson smiles back. "I expect so, yes. I will continue to attempt to master it, of course, but it is good to know that I have at least one other in the squad that I know it shall work on for certain," Colson says as he sits back down, hand moving automatically for Mordecai's again.
Mordecai scoots closer on the couch and squeezes Colson's hand once. "What does it feel like?" he asks Cressidha.
"What? Ah, the Beacon of Light?" Cressidha takes a moment, considering. "Maybe a little warm?"
"Oh." Mordecai looks between the twins, surprised and maybe a little relieved.
"I confess, I could not feel much of a difference at all, " Colson says, setting his other hand on top of Mordecai's. "I was expecting to become more aware of you with the tether, but in truth, there was very little change."
Cressidha nods. "Well, we're twins," she says, like that explains something.
Colson nods in agreement as though that might explain things.
Cressidha looks between the two of them. "Well, now. I suppose that's enough of a break for me. I'll see you two at dinner."
Mordecai nods. He still looks oddly relieved. Maybe his face is stuck that way.
Colson smiles gently. "Of course."
Cressidha gives her brother a hug, gives Mordecai a nod, and exits the room, shutting the door behind her. She doesn't slam it, but it still makes a slight noise that somehow Bertrand managed to avoid making earlier.
Colson looks over at Mordecai, moving in a little closer. "Would you prefer to remain here, or go downstairs?"
Mordecai brings Colson's hand up and kisses his knuckles, very polite. "I, um. It's your birthday, if you want to go spend time with your family…" Mordecai does not sound like he wants to go downstairs.
"It is nice seeing them all," Colson says. "I would like to spend more time with Bertrand while he is still here. It has been a long time since I was able to speak with him outside of a letter." Colson sighs, looking down at their hands as he shakes his head. "As soon as this embarrassment fades, that is."
"What?" Mordecai blinks at him. "Oh, from the… earlier?" He makes a faint, amused noise and turns Colson's hand over, kissing the inside of his wrist, much less polite. "I didn't mean to surprise him. He seems like an observant sort of person in general, but for some reason… I tend to startle him."
Colson makes a soft sound. "I know my brother. I trust him. He would not have hurt you," Colson says, and he sounds sure of that. "I saw him go for where knives would be, and I acted completely without thinking. He came here to see us, only to have his little brother bristling at him for a startle." He closes his eyes, groaning slightly. "At least I did not actually cast anything on him. That would have been worse than simply mortifying."
"Well, you both have good reaction time," Mordecai says, and leans in to kiss Colson's forehead, then his hair. His voice is very affectionate. "Don't worry, love. I have to tell myself this all the time, but what seems embarrassing enough to stick in my own head is usually inconsequential enough for others to remember for long."
"I do not believe he has ever seen me…like that," Colson says, opening his eyes. "He's never even seen me cast the Light before. It may be rather memorable." Colson exhales, and sets his shoulders. "I cannot undo it, however. It happened, and the feeling will fade. Eventually."
"I don't think you upset him. Impressed him, maybe?" Mordecai smiles. "You impressed me, at least. I barely had a second to process what was happening before I was already protected."
Colson flushes slightly, a faint half-smile on his face. "Well. Reflex. Knife fighters move fast," Colson says casually.
Mordecai smiles. "Thank you, love. It really… it's silly, I know I wasn't actually in danger, but it was still so comforting."
Colson leans forward for a kiss to Mordecai's cheek, pausing before he actually makes contact. "Ah, may I?" he asks, holding himself in place.
Mordecai nods.
Colson presses a gentle, if somewhat lingering kiss to Mordecai's cheek, withdrawing with a soft smile. "Would you like to come downstairs with me?"
"Not really." Mordecai presses a hand to his own cheek, smiling. "That is… it's a lot. Do you ever just want to hide from everyone…?"
"Ah," Colson drops his eyes, his expression drifting into the classic Aspenwood neutral. "No," Colson answers, his voice soft, almost apologetic. He brushes his thumb gently across Mordecai's hand.
"I do sometimes." Mordecai shrugs. "Not from you. Never from you. But… people I don't know that well."
Colson nods slightly. "I see." He looks at Mordecai's hand for a long moment. "I would not wish you to be uncomfortable." He exhales slowly, that neutral expression still covering most of his face. "Will you remain here, or retire to our room?"
Mordecai tilts his head. "I, um… I just need a bit of time. I'll go back to the room for a little while. And then I'll come find you in… thirty minutes or so?"
Colson makes a soft 'mm' sound. "Dinner is not for another three hours. You need not force yourself, if it would be uncomfortable for you," Colson says. His eyes are still on Mordecai's hand, and Colson's thumb is moving in a slow circle across it.
Mordecai reaches into his left-side pants pocket and takes out a tiny snail-shaped kitchen timer, which he balances on the palm of his left hand. "'Uncomfortable' isn't the right word. It's more like… hm, how would I describe it… let me think a moment."
Colson waits, patiently.
"Think of social interactions as if they drain mana," Mordecai says after a full minute of consideration. "Not literally, of course, but the feeling isn't so dissimilar. Interacting with large crowds of people, or unfamiliar people, drains more mana than people I'm more familiar with, and I need time to rest. But while I actually have… mana, so to speak, it's not uncomfortable, necessarily. It just starts to feel like a lot after a while." He attempts to set the snail timer for thirty minutes one-handed, without dropping it. "You don't drain any," he adds as an afterthought, flashing a shy little smile at Colson.
Colson leans forward, posture perfect as always, his eyes lowered still. "I understand," he says gently. "I want you to be comfortable, and not…draining yourself for something unnecessary. Do not force yourself on my behalf, or out of fear of obligation or expectation. As long as you are doing as you wish, I will be happy, and as long as I am happy, the others will be content as well."
"I won't get used to anyone if I don't spend time with them," Mordecai protests. "It's gotten a lot better. With Cressidha. By now." He lets go of Colson's hand to set the snail timer for half an hour, gives it a little one-fingered pat pat pat on its tiny snail head, and pockets it again. "I wasn't expecting Ma— Bertrand today. That was a surprise. But he's your brother, Colson, and he's nice, I don't dislike him. I just need time." He sets a hand on Colson's forearm. "Is something bothering you, love?"
"I am fine, Mordecai," Colson says, which is definitely very useful and filled with information, as he sets his hand over Mordecai's on his forearm, pressing down very gently. "Is there anything that makes it easier, that I may be able to do, beyond attempting to draw more attention to myself so that it is not on you?"
"We already have a signal…" Mordecai thinks about this for a moment. "You could sit next to me and maybe hold my hand sometimes?" is what Mordecai comes up with, looking at Colson with hopeful puppy eyes despite the fact that this is already what happens all the time.
"Of course," Colson agrees, easily and without any pause for thought. He glances at the pocket with Snocoza, and straightens back up from the forward lean. He pats Mordecai's hand on his arm, and the paladin begins to move to a stand, as though intending to leave.
Mordecai stands up with him and smiles. "I'll see you soon," he says, and kisses Colson's cheek before going to fetch his clipboard that he left on one of the side tables. He looks down at it thoughtfully.
Colson nods, and makes his way to the door, pauses, and there's a sense of a Blessing of Wisdom settling on Mordecai. "I will see you soon," he says, as he steps out, shutting the door behind him with a similar quietness, but nothing like the silence Bertrand pulled off.
At the stairwell, Bertrand is on his way back upstairs. He is carrying up against one shoulder like a baby a rather puddle-shaped purring cat, having somehow managed to instantly befriend Oswald.
Colson pauses, stepping to one side to ensure there's room to pass, as he smiles faintly.
Bertrand passes by and turns to face his brother. "Cole, you mentioned an incident?"
"Ah, yes." Colson clears his throat and there is, perhaps subconsciously, an altering of his body language, something exaggerating the military bearing in his posture, as his voice gets a little clipped, as though reporting to a superior officer. "Three weeks ago Mordecai was temporarily fatally stabbed by an assailant in the Lower City of Shattrath in Outland, while we were momentarily separated by location to attend to some shopping. I addressed the situation as soon as possible, but it has left both of us more cautious and on edge." There is a strongly implied, but not vocalized, sir! at the end of the sentence.
The smile wipes clean off Bertrand's face. "While you were shopping? Light, that's terrifying. What happened to them, did they get away?" Oswald, perhaps sensing the change in mood, begins to wiggle. Bertrand goes, "Shhhh, shh, not you, kitty. You're a good kitty." There are some gentle ear scritches. The wiggling subsides.
Colson drops his gaze for a moment before inhaling and exhaling slowly. He raises up his face to Bertrand, making direct eye contact, and there's a shift in him, a sense of a Holy Paladin standing there in the hallways. There's no armor on him, no sword at his waist, but there he is, all the same. "I healed Mordecai, and I stopped the assailant. He was apprehended by the authorities of Shattrath." Sir.
Bertrand nods. The smile starts to return. "Good. So he's not still out there. Good. Three weeks ago, huh? And you're still shaken up about it? That must've been really bad. Was it his first death…?"
"No," Colson says. "He did not die. He was simply close to it. If he had, it would have been his first since he has had me with him, but not his first overall."
Bertrand looks at Colson as though he's seeing something new for the first time. "…huh." He nods towards the stairs. "You were going down?" he asks, moving like he's about to come back downstairs with Colson after all.
"I was, yes, but primarily because it was where you were," Colson replies easily and honestly, moving along with Bertrand. "How long are you intending to stay for? Amadeus was here earlier, but of course could not remain for very long."
Bertrand descends the stairs, stepping lightly as he heads towards the parlor. "I'll be here at least a week for sure, and then I'm just waiting for deployment to Northrend, and who knows when that will be at this rate." He steps through the already open door and claims a seat in the armchair, adjusting the cat in his arms.
Colson nods. "Cobalt Company expects to venture north when it is possible, but so far it seems as though the difficulties between the technology necessary for the journey and the complexities inherent to a cooperative multiple faction military assault has delayed that significantly," Colson says as he sits gracefully into a nearby seat, setting his hands politely in his lap, all traces of the paladin tucked back away, leaving a younger noble brother behind.
"Well, the army's in the same boat," Bertrand agrees, deadpan. He does not sit up straight - he lounges, although this might be mostly for the benefit of Oswald in this case. Oswald is still a purring kitty puddle on Bertrand's chest.
Colson smiles. "Indeed." Colson's brows raise. "Are you on leave, or simply assigned to Stormwind for the moment?"
"I've got a week of actual leave," Bertrand clarifies. "Wanted to be here for your birthday, at least, and tomorrow I'm going to see Scilla."
"Thank you, for doing so. It is very good to see you," Colson says, his voice sincere. "Mordecai and I intend to remain here for the rest of the week until Saturday, while we look for a house, if you would care to coordinate any dinner or luncheon this week for Lady Priscilla to join us."
"Sounds great. I'll ask about her schedule." Bertrand twists around to look behind him, at the still-open door to the parlor. Oswald makes a faint 'mrrp' of protest at the movement. Bertrand turns back to Colson, lowering his voice a little. With all the concern of a big brother who has missed out on eight months worth of the progression of his little brother's marriage, he asks, "Does Mordecai know you're in love with him? You should tell him, if you haven't."
Colson throws back his head in a delighted, brief laugh. He looks back at Bertrand, grinning wide enough to show the full extent of that one slightly crooked tooth, his eyes alight with happiness. "He knows, yes. I did tell him again merely an hour ago, but I have so far found repetition does not seem to dull the reception of the sentiment at all." Colson practically glows as he reports, in competitive understatement for the year: "He returns the feelings, himself."
"Oh, good." Bertrand grins back, relieved and pleased. "Good. That's wonderful, Colson, congratulations."
"Thank you," Colson says, his expression going softer, as the grin fades slowly. He enters in his backup understatement of the year submission with, "I believe it has been going well." He looks down to his left hand, rotating it slightly so his wedding ring catches the light. "I think he is happy, and I am most certainly so."
"You think?" Bertrand laughs. "Pretty sure the Chaplain's had a thing for you for a while now. At least since he was posted up in Nethergarde." He grins. "He's kind of adorable."
Colson doesn't seem surprised to hear of Mordecai's crush, as he looks over at Bertrand, an incredibly sappy, fond smile on his face. "He is, yes." Colson's brows raise ever so slightly. "I was not aware you two were in the Nethergarde at the same time. I assume it was not when…" A brief, barely controlled surge of rage that Colson tucks back rapidly, although it still simmers in his eyes as he continues, "When his father arrived. I was fairly certain I had accounted for everyone present in Nethergarde at that time."
"I don't think so? Definitely don't remember his father. No, he came to tell me that you and Cress were still alive, over in Outland, the first day the portals opened and the mail got through. Who's a sleepy kitty? Are you a sleepy kitty?" That particular question is directed at Oswald, not Colson. Oswald does, in fact, look like a sleepy kitty. "He had a letter from you."
Colson, perhaps unexpectedly, flushes ever so slightly. "Ah, yes. We had only just then re-established communication with the portals, and the matter of the marriage had become…critical to see to immediately. I am glad he did so. He is most thoughtful and considerate that way."
"It's good to see you happy, Cole," Bertrand says, sincere. "What's Outland like?"
Colson smiles again, looking rather young for a moment before he sobers a little. "Well, it depends on the region you are in, mostly. The important thing to understand is that it is no longer a planet — it is the fractured remains of one that has now come to rest upon the edge of the Twisting Nether and thus is unmoving, and unchanging. There are no longer seasons and in most places, nothing you could consider a circadian cycle, as the light is ever the same no matter how much time passes. You can see the Nether at all times, except perhaps in Zangarmash, which is covered in clouds that almost always rain at least in some amount."
Colson's expression goes even softer, as he looks off slightly to the right, as though remembering something. "Nagrand, where we live, is a lovely place of long grasses, set almost in perpetual summer, with a shifting sky of morning and night. It is a pleasant place, even if we must remain vigilant always against The Legion pressing in against the edges. That is, of course, the primary sense of everywhere in Outland — The Legion is always pushing in closer, unceasing in its forward momentum, only slowed, never stopped."
"That sounds like a sight to see, all right," Bertrand says. He very carefully reaches for one of Oswald's paws and gently squishes the toe beans.
Oswald has been betrayed. Tricked. Deceived. He goes, "Mrrrp," and pulls his foot away.
"It is one of the benefits of working with a civilian mercenary operation," Colson says mildly. "That and an almost unbelievable amount of free time. They send us on leave for several weeks every few months," Colson explains, almost in the tone of a confession, like he's admitted that sometimes he washes the darks with the whites in the laundry to save time.
"That sounds amazing," Bertrand says with a wistful sigh. "You're happy with it, then? Mercenary work."
Colson pauses, as though giving the question genuine thought and consideration, and when he speaks it's in that slower, careful way of his when he's choosing his words very deliberately. "I believe that I am doing as I am meant to do, as a servant of the Light, and I have derived both satisfaction and sense of purpose in the work. My path with the Company has brought me to those whose friendship and partnership have brought me remarkable joy, and for that alone I could very easily say that I am, indeed, happy with it."
"You look out for Cress out there, alright?" Bertrand shakes his head, smiling. "Light, you've really grown up."
"I do," Colson says. "Although in truth, she does not need it. Often she is the one looking out for her little brother." He smiles faintly in return. "I am apparently a rather large, easily spotted target for demonic boars to charge at," Colson says, his voice dry and vaguely amused. Ha ha, demonic boars. Fun times.
"What… do I want to know this? Hmm. What's the difference between a demonic boar and a regular boar?"
Colson nods, very serious, his eyes giving away the amusement. "Well, one of them is a boar. And the other is a demon roughly the size of a cow, in the shape of a boar. I attract the latter, rather than the former. I have been told however, that I am, admittedly, sort of 'shiny.'"
Bertrand laughs. "That would be the armor, Cole. And the Light. Wow, though. Several weeks every few months. I wish I had that kind of free time."
There are very quiet footsteps on the stairs.
Colson looks over to the stairs, his face lighting up in expectation, either from the sound or some other sense. "I confess, I often find myself not entirely sure what to do with myself, but I believe I have come into some sense of balance with it."
"With the free time? I mean, if I had weeks? I'd take Scilla on vacation somewhere nice. Darnassus, maybe?" Bertrand squishes more of Oswald's toe beans. Oswald bats at his face, and Bertrand leans out of the way.
Mordecai comes into view through the doorway. His hair has been combed back into relative neatness, and his expression brightens as he sees Colson. He raises a hand in a tiny little wave and makes his way into the room, around the coffee table, to sit down on the couch next to Colson.
"Well, I did take Mordecai to a dragon graveyard and we fought a twenty foot monster at the behest of the naaru, the direct children of the Light, on our last leave, so it's almost the same thing, surely," Colson says, and it's not entirely clear if he's joking or not.
As soon as Mordecai is in view, Colson looks like something wonderful has happened, as he offers out a hand to Mordecai. "Hi," he says, so casually, affection ringing clear in his voice.
Bertrand grins at the two of them. "You went to a dragon graveyard?"
Mordecai takes Colson's hand and smiles at him. "Hi," he says quietly back, and he nods to Bertrand. "Mmhm. Well, they weren't buried, they were sort of… speared?" Mordecai looks at Colson to explain better.
"Yes," Colson confirms, settling in next to Mordecai. "There was an unfortunate situation in Blade's Edge Mountains, as it is called, where the Black Dragonflight there was killed by a gronn, one of the species that inhabits Outland, who impaled them on the rocks. The ogres there have sought to be freed from servitude of that gronn's sons, one of whom we removed from power." That might be Colson for 'killed.' He seems mild as ever as he adds, "We have also been to Darnassus, and the Temples of the Moon there."
Bertrand nods along like these are very normal couple activities and a trip to the Temple of the Moon is equivalent to fighting a giant gronn. "I'm really happy to hear things have been working out for you two," he says, sincere.
"Thank you, sir." Mordecai catches it the moment the word comes out of his mouth. "I'm sorry. Bertrand. It's a habit it might take me a little while to break."
There's that faint flicker across Colson's face at the 'sir,' rapidly tucked back and away.
"Don't worry. I've accidentally done that to Amadeus at the dinner table, myself." Bertrand grins. "No big deal."
"Do you see much of Amadeus these days?" Colson asks.
Bertrand makes a so-so hand wiggle sort of gesture. Immediately, Oswald grabs his hand with his front paws and puts it on his head. Pets please.
Bertrand obeys and pets the cat. "He's so busy," Bertrand complains. "You know his daughter was born? Little Beatrice. You should go visit Lady Gardenia, if you haven't."
"I hope to, yes," Colson says, and there's a warm, pleased sound. "I sent along congratulations when Beatrice was born, but it would be nice to see Lady Gardenia again. I have not seen her since," Colson pauses, as though rapidly changing out a word, "May."
Mordecai smiles. "Their son was the little boy at our wedding, right?"
"Arnold, yes," Colson says, affection in his voice. "He certainly has grown quite quickly. I missed all of his earliest years, so to me it seems as though he has sprung almost fully formed into a young boy from nothing more than a few mentions in a letter."
Bertrand nods. "Me too. I know what you mean. You two ever planning on kids?"
"No," Mordecai says quietly, shaking his head.
Colson hesitates in a beat of a pause, and there's something in his eyes briefly as he looks over at Mordecai, but it's brief and unclear before it's replaced by a soft smile, as he pulls Mordecai's hand a little closer to him. "No," he confirms. "No plans for children. You and Lady Priscilla?"
"Sure hope so. One day." Bertrand gets that dreamy sort of staring off into space smiling again. "I just… if I'm going to bring kids into this world, I don't want them to worry about people turning into zombies, you know?"
Mordecai's grip on Colson's hand tightens a little.
"Of course," Colson says, his voice calm and understanding. "It is an act of true hope and faith to have a child, and part of what we all work for is attempting to give them a world they can grow up in."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Bertrand scritches under Oswald's chin.
"Did the zombie plague reach you, where you were?" Mordecai asks.
"Thankfully, no." Bertrand shakes his head. "But the Scourge's ziggurats sure did. Had a time with those."
Colson nods. "I was with one of the teams Cobalt Company sent to aid with those. We cleared out the one in Azshara, for a time," he says, casually, like that's not an absolutely stunning feat. "It was fairly difficult."
Bertrand whistles, impressed.
"I wasn't," Mordecai adds quickly. "I've never been to Azshara."
"Ah, no, it was Sir Dane Atley, Sentinel Velrin Silverbloom, Cambrin Cooper, Cressidha and I," Colson clarifies. That sure is a number of people. "One of Cobalt Company's forward squads."
"How many people were you leading?" Bertrand asks.
Colson's brows raise slightly. "Ah, that was the team," Colson says. "Dane and I were in charge of the operation."
"You took out a mobile ziggurat's worth of Scourge with a team of five?" Bertrand stares.
"He did," Mordecai says, a little defensively, as if he's going to need to convince Bertrand that this actually happened.
"No, no, I believe it. Cole doesn't brag." Bertrand holds his hands up placatingly. Once again, Oswald snatches a hand with his front paws and brings it back down on his head. How dare you stop the petting.
"Cressidha was our primary source of offensive magic," Colson says. "We simply ensured she had what she needed to do what she has trained for as a battlemage. She is remarkably powerful. It was tiring, though," he admits.
Bertrand says directly to Mordecai, "Well, he doesn't brag about himself. His sister, though…" He grins at Colson.
Mordecai nods a little. He knows.
"She has earned the praise, and more," Colson says, sincerely, with pride in his voice. "At the moment, we have been asked to aid in a hostage situation with an Archmage of the Kirin Tor specifically because they required an extraordinarily powerful mage who is not part of their organization. Cressidha used the Archmage's own scrying orb successfully with no training at all, while operating under a localized curse," Colson brags.
"Cress is wild," Bertrand tells Mordecai. "Have you ever seen her sew something with magic?"
Mordecai nods. "Um, a-a couple times."
"She designed and made a wedding gown and an entire set of robes for Mordecai to officiate the wedding in with only two weeks notice," Colson says, and there's a dreamy sort of sound in his voice, as a soft smile curls his lips. "It was very impressive."
"No kidding," Bertrand agrees. "I bet."
Mordecai is smiling because Colson is smiling. He is doing very little to contribute to the conversation, but he seems at ease just listening and speaking when spoken to.
Colson catches sight of the smile, and his own widens a little more, as he stares for a brief moment. He looks back at Bertrand. "You know, if you did wish to take Priscilla to Darnassus and back for an evening, you could ask Cressidha. She has clearance for such across the entirety of Azeroth's mage towers and anchor points. You could visit the Exodar, even, if you wish."
"Oh? Really?" Bertrand looks very interested at that. "I think I'll have to take her up on that."
Mordecai blinks. He leans over to Colson and says quietly, "We could go to the Exodar too, maybe? One of these days?"
"Of course, if you would like," Colson says easily. "They know me fairly well, and Cobalt Company in particular. We could take the tour of The Legion, and I could secure a visit with O'ros, if you would like to meet him. There is also a wonderful area of the Vault of Lights in the western wing where their vindicators are. The Light is very bright there, amplified by the crystals." Colson sounds genuinely excited, even with his calm, even voice.
"I'd like that," Mordecai says quietly, smiling.
Bertrand gets up, taking Oswald with him. "I'm – "
Oswald decides, as cats tend to, that he has had enough of being a snuggly comfy kitty puddle out of nowhere and just jumps down and walks off.
Colson pulls Mordecai's hand to his heart, and then looks as Bertrand stands. "Yes?" He prompts.
"Ah. I'm going to see if Cressidha would mind portaling me around a bit before dinner." Bertrand grins. "I've only got a week of leave, no time to waste. Don't worry, I won't be late."
Mordecai blinks. "Um, if you go to Darnassus, um, there's some nice outdoor areas on the, the northeast side of the city? Cressidha can show you."
"Oh, and if you did wish to have a place to do dinner with Lady Priscilla, the inn and tavern on the Craftsman Terrace has exceptionally good food, and the innkeeper there, Saelienne, should recognize our name if you give it. If she has trouble placing it, you can say you are the elder brother of 'the paladin,'" Colson says, his voice going a little dry and self-deprecating.
"Craftsman Terrace. Saelienne." Bertrand snaps his fingers. "I'll check it out. Thanks, Cole."
As Bertrand heads upstairs, Mordecai leans over to Colson and mutters, "What kind of food?"
Colson moves closer, inhaling deeply like he's savoring something. "Well, I personally would recommend their bean soup with the cabbage kimchi and steamed mandu, but I have heard quite positive statements about their kimchi pie and wild rice cakes, though I have never personally tried them. I confess I had the recommendation of the innkeeper on the first day I spent there and then did not vary the menu at all, quite content in the repetition. It was delicious."
Mordecai nods. He glances quickly at the open door of the parlor, then back at Colson. "Ah… I was wondering."
"Would you like to go there sometime?" Colson asks. "They do allow one to sit outside. I know from experience."
"Oh." Mordecai nods. "That would be nice, I think. One of these days."
"Well, we will have a break from Company work again, I am certain. In possibly a mere month from now," Colson says, smiling faintly.
"Colson, which room in this house would you say is the most soundproof?" Mordecai asks, out of nowhere, without providing any context to the question whatsoever.
"The piano room is intended to be so," Colson answers, after a moment's pause for thought. "After that, any of the bedrooms."
Mordecai nods. He looks at the open door, then back at Colson. "Would you like your birthday present now, or later?" he asks, quieter than the previous question.
"Well, given that I expect Cressidha and Bertrand will be potentially globally hopping about for the next while, if you would like any privacy at all to present it, now would be likely optimal," Colson says, lowering his voice a little to match Mordecai's.
Mordecai smiles, shy. "Bedroom, then. The piano room's too public." He gets up, pulling at Colson's hand, and walks immediately directly into the coffee table.
Colson allows himself to be pulled up like a paladin balloon, and as Mordecai collides with the coffee table, an arm goes out automatically and quickly to catch Mordecai's waist to try to prevent a worse full stumble, a Holy Shock in the gesture.
Mordecai curses under his breath, flushing faintly pink. "Thank you," he says quietly to Colson, and steers the two of them upstairs.
Colson's eyes linger on the blush for a moment as he follows Mordecai upstairs. As they get closer to their bedroom door, he does move slightly in front to open it first, and there is that quick, brief scan as usual as he checks the shadows. The curtains are still drawn from earlier. With nothing unusual in the shadows, Colson turns around to face Mordecai, a faint smile on his face.
Mordecai shuts the door behind him and inspects the walk-in closet, turning the little light on inside. "Hmm."
Colson makes an answering 'hm?' sound.
Mordecai steps inside and waves Colson in after him. "Might be more soundproof with more walls?" he suggests hopefully.
Colson's brows go up a little, and there's a very intrigued air about the paladin. "Ah, possibly," he agrees, stepping into the closet, only literally.
Mordecai shuts the door behind Colson. The walk-in closet is spacious enough that the two of them could easily stand without touching at all, and possibly fit a third or a fourth person in there if they were so inclined.
Mordecai crowds Colson back against the door as if there is a very limited amount of space in the closet, says, "Hi," and leans in for a kiss.
Colson sinks into it like it's been days, possibly weeks, since the last time he's kissed Mordecai instead of at most a few hours, pulling him against Colson with both arms as Colson leans back against the door.
There are footsteps in the hall - faint, barely audible, which says a little bit about the level of soundproofing in this room - and then faint footsteps on the stairs, and then silence.
Mordecai braces his right hand on the door for balance, touches Colson's cheek with his left, and says, barely louder than a whisper, "I've been writing you a song again."
Colson takes a moment, just breathing as he turns automatically into Mordecai's touch, aiming for a kiss to Mordecai inner wrist. "Oh?" Colson says, the pleased note audible in the single syllable.
Mordecai nods. "So it's, um," he blinks a few times, eyes already gone dark, watching Colson's expression like he's looking for something. "I thought maybe. I could sing it? Is that allowed, a song as a birthday present?" Are there secret birthday present rules?
Colson's smile blooms slowly, as he pulls Mordecai even closer. "Of course," Colson says. "You are giving me a song." There is a wealth of feeling in his voice, soft happiness in his expression. "I love that. It is a wonderful present."
Mordecai clears his throat. "I, ah. You haven't even heard it yet." He's definitely blushing. "Should I just… hm. In a moment." Mordecai leans in for another kiss, this one slower.
Colson makes a soft encouraging sound, returning the kiss as a hand skims the edge of the vest Mordecai wears over the long sleeved shirt. Colson does not seem to be in any rush as he matches the speed of the kiss, as though he could spend hours in it.
Mordecai, who does need to breathe, does eventually pull back a little. "Water?" he requests, because Colson always has water.
"Hm?" Colson says, and then, "Oh, yes." He reaches for the little canteen at his waist to offer it up. It's not much water, but it is a good cupful of recently refilled conjured Cressidha water. He's still breathing harder, his gaze locked onto Mordecai's face.
Mordecai takes the canteen with both hands, stepping an entire step back to put some distance between them. He drinks about half the water in the canteen, clears his throat, and offers it back at arm's length. "Distracting," he mutters, flashing a smile at Colson. This seems to be both a compliment and an explanation for how much Mordecai's struggling to get his composure back together.
Colson grins briefly, and then in a gesture that seems to be genuinely meant to be helpful, reaches up, laces his fingers together, and puts his hands behind his head, leaning more fully back against the door.
Given that it's still Colson standing there, the dark blue of his shirt bringing out the darker, warmer blue of his eyes, as he openly stares at Mordecai, his personal restraint on full display, it's hard to say how effectively he's achieved any noticeable drop in Distraction.
Mordecai licks his lips. He spends ten whole seconds just staring at Colson, mouth slightly parted, before he snaps out of it. "Right," he mutters to himself, and takes a deep breath.
On the exhale, he begins to sing, initially a long sentence:
"Six in the morning, you wake up, you say that you're
Sorry you woke me, I don't have to wake up, it's
Early, I know that, it's going to be a long
Day today, darling,"
The word 'darling' and the next few lines are sung much slower, Mordecai drawing out the words:
"I know that
I'd choose you
Every day
For always."
Colson's expression goes softer and a little dreamy as he listens with a gentle smile. He keeps his hands where they are, because he's helping.
Mordecai sings the next verse with a simple sort of joy, holding eye contact:
"And the best day of my life will be tomorrow,
And yesterday, and yesterday,
And tomorrow,
And tomorrow,
And today."
He hums what seems to be intended to be an instrumental bit, his eyes flickering shut, and then opens his eyes again to sing,
"And I said,
'Take me away,'
There is no dream without your face
There is no day without your name
In my heart."
"And I said,
'Show me a place,'
Where we can spend the day today
Because I know that I'll be safe
By your side."
And again, what seems to be the chorus:
"And the best day of my life will be tomorrow,
And yesterday, and yesterday,
And tomorrow,
And tomorrow,
And today."
Colson's eyes go a little brighter with unshed happy tears as he listens, blinking a little.
"And I'll say,
'Colson, my darling,'
You're the best part of my day
And all the days and nights you stay
With me now."
"And the best day of my life is today."
That seems to be the end of the song, and immediately Mordecai looks down at the floor, pressing his hands to his cheeks, flustered. He peeks cautiously up at Colson through his lashes after a moment.
Presumably free to be as fully distracting as possible now, Colson moves his hands from behind his head to reach to cover Mordecai's on his face, surging forward for a kiss.
Should Mordecai have expected that reaction? Probably. Did he? Absolutely not. Mordecai adapts quickly, however, kissing Colson back at whatever pace Colson wants to set.
Colson kisses Mordecai as slow and sweet as honey in winter, a great deal of feeling behind the action, as much as he can possibly say without saying anything at all.
"Happy birthday," Mordecai says at his next available opportunity to speak words.
"I love it," Colson says, his voice catching slightly as he presses another kiss to Mordecai's jaw. "I love you."
"Love you too," Mordecai says, and he sounds a little relieved. "I, um. I'm glad you like it."
"Love it," Colson stresses, pressing slow, soft kisses along Mordecai's cheek as Colson moves in as close as he possibly can.
Mordecai makes a pleased noise and wraps both arms around Colson's back. "I'm glad you love it," Mordecai corrects obediently, smiling. "Do you remember when I told you… I think I reached the maximum amount of happiness possible? Every day keeps being like that."
"I do not have the words to describe how happy I am," Colson says, moving back to place more kisses to Mordecai's lips and cheeks.
Mordecai hums happily and reaches up to brush Colson's hair back behind his ears. "We could go sit down," he suggests. "We're still in a closet." Literally.
"Yes," Colson says and it's entirely unclear if he's agreeing they're in a closet or that they could sit down or that he wants to do anything about this information, as he pulls Mordecai in for another kiss.
Mordecai kisses back, but he also starts to attempt to maneuver Colson towards the door, and then to the side of the door a little, because the closet door opens inward. "Bed," Mordecai says helpfully. Is that a reminder that beds exist or a request to relocate to one? Probably both.
"Yes," Colson agrees, as he reaches back with one hand, fumbling more than a little with the handle as he puts more of his focus on Mordecai, opens the door, and steps backwards out of the closet, literally.
==Time Passes==
Colson, who no longer believes in shirts even as the weather has changed, the air growing significantly cooler as the night settles around Stormwind, climbs into bed in just the dark blue silk pajama pants, sliding in closer to the middle, left arm already stretched out across the pillow to create The Mordecai Spot.
Mordecai definitely believes in shirts, and his pajamas are a dark grey tonight. He makes sure there's water on both nightstands before turning the lights out and crawling into bed in his spot. "Hi."
Colson smiles, as he pulls Mordecai in closer, his voice going a little lower as he returns it with, "Hello, Beautiful."
Mordecai blushes, which is not that obvious in the dark. He makes a happy, embarrassed sort of noise. "Did you have a good day?"
"You were in it," Colson says, with heartfelt sincerity. "It was the best day." He brushes his hand along Mordecai's cheek, almost as though checking the temperature there. "May I ask you something?"
Mordecai snuggles up close. "Mmhm?"
"My present, is it only intended to be the once, or once a year on my birthday? Might I ask for it again next year?" Colson asks, very gently brushing his knuckles along Mordecai's cheek.
Mordecai goes, "Hm?" He squints at Colson in the dark for a moment before going, "Oh! Um, it's just a song. It exists now. I'm happy to sing it whenever you'd like. In private. I would prefer it if you only sang it in private, too, because, well. It's just for you."
Colson makes a happy sort of chuckle sound at this news, and moves forward to press a kiss to Mordecai's forehead. "That is very good to hear." He withdraws, as his hand goes to wrap a curl around his finger. "You need not worry that I will sing it in public; I will not sing it at all, unless you wish it of me for any reason. I would not want to ruin it," Colson says, his voice light and unconcerned, as though he hasn't said anything odd, already continuing on as he adds, "I may be able to figure out how to accompany you on the piano, if you could sing the notes slowly, one at a time."
"Wait, ruin it?" Mordecai drapes himself over Colson like a comfortable priest blanket. "What do you mean, ruin it?"
"I could never sing it as you do, or do it justice as it was meant to sound," Colson says easily. "It's beautiful in your voice. Wonderful. There is no need for an inferior version, dulling it the way I would do." Colson runs a hand through the curls very carefully. "There is already the best possible, exactly as it was meant to be. Will you sing it again?"
Mordecai makes a faint, dismayed noise. "An 'inferior version'? 'Dulling' it? Colson, sweetheart, that's not true. I-I'll sing it again, but… you do know that I love hearing you sing, right?"
Colson makes a soft sound, twisting another curl around a finger. "Yes, I know," he says gently. "I will always sing whenever you ask, darling, for you, as you wish, regardless of how well I might be able to do so. I could never deny you anything so easily within my power to give you if you ask it of me."
"But… you don't want to any more? Just… for yourself, just because you feel like singing?" Mordecai is starting to sound worried.
"Ah, well. No more than I would bake something alone, wasting the ingredients," Colson says gently, very slowly brushing his hand through the curls again. "And, of course, there is no call for me to rehearse anything, as you could take anything I might find and do it justice that I shall never be capable of no matter how I try. If you ever desire to learn another song other than your own, we could have you listen to the bard it comes from, to learn it from the best possible, rather than any unremarkable version I could produce. Do you wish to learn any more? There are several bards that compose music intended for such."
"Colson," Mordecai says softly, curling around him a little tighter and pressing his face against Colson's shoulder. "I remember you being so excited when you found that song for the piano. You were learning something new, and it was lovely, and then I went and sang it too and suddenly you didn't want to sing it any more, because you thought I was better."
Mordecai sighs. "How would you feel if I told you that I didn't want to do something I liked anymore, because you did it better, and there was no need for my inferior version?"
Colson leans his face slightly against Mordecai's hair, inhaling deeply. "I was pleased that I might have found something I could give you. I did not realize that you could learn it so quickly, with such perfection, so that there was never any need for me at all. I understand that your interest is less in what I could do, and far more in sharing it, so I shall always do as you wish when you ask, and sing with you, regardless of how it sounds to add my voice to yours." He exhales slowly, his voice low and quiet in the dark. "What sort of thing do you like that I do any better than you and that we do not do together, love?"
"I don't have a specific example in mind, because that's not how I think," Mordecai mumbles. "You know me. I like things because they come from you, not because they're the best versions of those things they could be."
"I know, darling. Always you may ask it of me," Colson stresses. "Always. I care far more for your happiness than anything else. If that is what you wish of me, I do not care how well I may do it, as long as you are pleased by it. But I cannot think of a single thing that you and I both do, that I do better than you that you enjoy apart from me. I do not have many skills at all, love. That is not a long list," Colson says gently, with no rancor or distress in his voice, just simple acceptance.
Mordecai says quietly, "Will you sing me something?"
"Of course," Colson agrees readily. "What would you like me to sing?"
"Anything?"
Colson pauses as though considering from several options, examining and discarding them in his mind until he adjusts his position somewhat, to be able to get enough space to breathe properly. He sings, and although he's not loud, he is not particularly quiet either, just around a regular speaking voice level.
His voice is, as it truly always is, unimpressive. It is not unpleasant, but there is something almost painfully ordinary about it, and although Colson seems to feel the lyrics keenly, there is little in his voice that would inspire a listener to feel it along with him.
"Here, is the place
Where the Light is made
Come, make a wish
As the night fades.
Is there snow
On the beach
Where we used to swim
Rocks just out of reach
As the tide rolled in.
It's so much better with you here
I want you close my dear
When my worlds are down
You turn me around
It's never easier alone
Finding my way home
When I'm nowhere near
I want you here."
Mordecai stops being a priest blanket so that Colson can sit up and sing, and he rests his head in Colson's lap instead, smiling and curling up comfortably.
Colson continues singing, his hand moving gently, if slightly out of sync with the beat of the music, through Mordecai's hair.
"It's so much better with him here,
It's all so perfectly clear
We know there's love
In every one of us
I don't ever wanna be alone
The thought chills me to the bone
I'll persevere,
But I want him here."
There's a vague sense of the Light around Colson, gentle and warm, shifting around in his aura as he sings.
"All that's left of your Light
Love you more than Light and dark
And distant stars
If all the streams dried up
I'd just drink you up.
Here, is the place
Where the love is made."
Colson repeats the chorus again, letting the lyrics drift off on the last repetition of "I want you," looking down at Mordecai with his heart in his eyes.
Mordecai makes a happy sort of noise. "That was lovely, Colson," he says with complete sincerity. After a moment, he sits up, leaning in for a kiss.
Colson closes the distance with a soft sound, returning the kiss with a slow, gentle pressure. "I am glad it pleased you," he says softly, not pulling back very far at all.
"Mmhm." Mordecai rests a hand over Colson's heart, fingers automatically moving to touch the scar. "Did you still want me to sing again?"
"Yes," Colson says immediately, although he doesn't make that easier by leaning in closer for another kiss, his eyes closed and contentment evident in body language.
Mordecai makes a noise of agreement and sinks into the kiss, fingers tracing along the scar. It takes him a good minute to remember he said he was going to sing the song from earlier again. "Mm, right. Can I turn a light on?"
"Of course." Colson leans back onto the bed as he shifts his hands back up behind his head. It seemed to have worked earlier, at least. The fact that he's now doing it without a shirt on, his wheat-blonde hair looking like a dark gold in the lower light spread out on the pillow, as he stares at Mordecai with a warm, inviting expression, might be more Distracting than Colson seems to think it is.
Mordecai reaches over to the lamp on his bedside table and turns it on. He drinks from the bottle of water he left there earlier, then glances back at Colson. "What are you doing?" he asks, smiling.
"Trying not to distract you," Colson says, sincerely. He tilts his head slightly closer to his right bicep, his arms flexing a little with the motion. "Is it working?"
Mordecai sets the water bottle down and looks Colson over, one of those long appreciative looks. "Not remotely," he says, and promptly relocates into Colson's lap, knees on either side, hands on his shoulders. His tone changes a little. "Stay."
Colson's attention sharpens as he inhales, even as something goes almost languid in his body language. "As you wish," he murmurs, voice low and filled with promise. He doesn't move at all, staying exactly as he is.
Mordecai tilts Colson's chin up towards him with two fingers. "Are you comfortable? Yes or no."
"Yes," Colson says, his eyes heavy lidded and dark, head lifting easily with the motion, his jawline more pronounced in the angle.
"Very good," Mordecai says, as if Colson has done something worth praising. He brushes his thumb across Colson's lips briefly and then pulls that hand back, resting both hands on Colson's shoulders. He leans in and says in a low voice, close to Colson's ear, "If I get the lyrics wrong, I'm blaming you."
Staying where he is, Mordecai begins to sing again - the same song as he sang earlier. He seems to be making an effort to keep his voice quieter, this time, which has the added side effect of making the song sound even sweeter and more sentimental.
The reaction in the paladin is obvious, as holds himself very steady through nothing but sheer willpower, love and desire hot in his eyes fixed onto Mordecai's as though quite possibly the rest of the world has ceased to exist.
Mordecai does not mess up the lyrics. When he finishes the song, there's a brief silence, and then Mordecai says, "You can move now."
"I think," Colson says, very slowly, as he moves his arms from behind his head to stroke a warm line from Mordecai's hands to his arms and chest. "I am going to sleep in late tomorrow morning."
Songs used:
1. Original song lyrics by Luridel
2. "Here" by Vertical Horizon, some liberty taken with lyrics from an imperfect memory recall.