mhari
in
df_loggage
Love Among the Hedgehogs
Justitia/Mordred. Aww.
Mordred is leaning on the side of the pen where the hedgehogs live, regarding them a little ruefully. He's back to the old-fashioned shirts again, and somewhat grubby at that.
Niko's approach is from the back of the house, and the back of Mordred as well. He stops a good distance away- watching. (voyeur.)
Mordred ignores the footsteps in the grass, but straightens a bit when they pause. "Clar's out," he says before he turns. "I don't know where."
"Seems a bit dangerous not to know her whereabouts at all times," he remarks lightly.
He does turn then, sharply, and barely bites back a grin. "You son of a bitch, where have you been?"
"Marianstat, and - around Marianstat," he answers, not biting back his grin.
Mordred gives it up, then, crosses the garden in a few strides and hugs him tightly. "Dammit. Next time warn me. Or at least send a postcard."
"I don't know if Westmark's mail service could find you if I put 'wherever the hell this place is' on the envelope."
"Excuses," Mordred says, muffled against his hair. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," somewhere just before a kiss pressed against the side of Mordred's neck.
His fingers knot in the back of Niko's shirt. "Missed you."
"I'll bet you say that to all the -- everyone."
"Strangely enough, no."
He pulls back (as far as he can, with Mordred attached) to grin. "How are the hedgehogs?"
Mordred laughs a little. "Pretty pissed off, I imagine. It turns out a lot of them aren't exactly hedgehogs."
"Mislabelled porcupines?" asks Justitia, who Doesn't Get It.
A pause. "Incautious neighbors."
"...oh."
"She assures us they'll turn back on their own. Like that's supposed to make us stop worrying."
"They're people?" He looks again at the hedgehogs (in an all-new light...) -- "...she's that -- powerful?"
"Oh, yeah." Mordred seems not to think much of this aspect of the matter. "And it's a bitch trying to get her to cut it out. She just gives you this blank look..."
"The familial resemblance is uncanny," dryly, and still directed ostensibly to the hedgies.
"And that's supposed to mean what, exactly?"
"...tenacity runs in the family?"
"Gallops," wryly.
"And blank looks."
Mordred settles both arms around his waist. "Thanks."
"And a fondness for prickliness..."
Laughter. "And for beady eyes..."
"Is that a slur?" mock-offended.
"Not if you're a hedgehog. --God--" his breath catches of a sudden. "God, it's good to see you."
"I'm sorry," and his tone is more subdued suddenly. "I should have said something..."
Mordred combs fingers through his hair, as though to soothe him. "Kiss me?"
"You ask, now?" and he kisses him.
He leans back against the rail of the pen, tugging Niko with him. After a long, intent minute, "Figured it couldn't hurt."
"I just wouldn't have expected you to bother with permission, that's all."
"Next time I won't, then." And he doesn't.
And there's no evidence that Niko's going to complain.
There's a longer, even more preoccupied pause before Mordred observes, somewhat breathlessly, "We have beds now."
"Subtle," Niko laughs. "Along with the asking, you've taken up discretion, I see!"
Mordred grins at him. "Also cupboards. Real ones, instead of boxes."
"A little less suggestive, but progress, I suppose."
"Oh, if we're making suggestions..."
"Or offers," and he dips into a quick kiss.
"Mmh-- Stay awhile."
"I'd like to," softer.
Mordred traces a fingertip along his spine, not quite meeting his eyes. "Would you?"
"I wouldn't want to impose on the others--"
He laughs suddenly. "Gawain likes you."
"He's not the one who turns people into hedgehogs," he observes, but a shy half-smile emerges nonetheless. "--he does?"
"Seems to." Mordred smooths his hair again. "And Clar doesn't like anybody, but she's not allowed to hedgehog family. House rules."
"...and - am I family, then?"
For a moment he goes utterly still. Then, carefully, "I don't know. Are you?"
"You tell me," his tone as carefully (breathlessly) neutral as Mordred's. "Does family -- disappear without sending word? Do I still --"
"Oh, frequently." Mordred's arms tighten around him. "I just--"
"--just--" (his head tilted down, face hidden - half in Mordred's shoulder)
"It has to be up to you, that's all," in a rush, "because -- God help me, I can't ask, I want you too badly, and I don't know. I don't know if in six weeks or six months or whenever you're going to want to let it go -- Niko." He gets a breath, pulls away a little. "This you have to understand. If you don't want to be stuck with me--"
"Don't you think it's a little late for that?" He frowns - barely - "You don't think-- if I didn't want to be stuck with you, I'd've left long ago--"
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure, and you're exasperating-- I love you, remember? Oh, for--" --would a kiss prove it better?
It certainly couldn't hurt. It's some time before Mordred finds his voice again, rough with something that might pass for simple desire. "All right," he murmurs. "All right, lad."
"You said - you have beds now --"
"Got to build another one in any case. For Gaheris. But yeah."
"--it's not really Gaheris' bed I was - asking about--" ... oh, the blushing.
Mordred laughs at that, and buries a kiss in his neck. "It had better not be."
"--it was Gawain's," irrepressible mischief.
He laughs again. "Then you get to explain the state of his sheets when he gets home."
"Oh, I meant to wait for him..."
"You don't know Gawain," nipping at his ear. "He can outblush you."
"Light a fire off of his cheeks, then."
"Damn near."
"Your family's -- varied."
"You've got that right."
... and then Niko dragged him off to one of those beds.
Mordred is leaning on the side of the pen where the hedgehogs live, regarding them a little ruefully. He's back to the old-fashioned shirts again, and somewhat grubby at that.
Niko's approach is from the back of the house, and the back of Mordred as well. He stops a good distance away- watching. (voyeur.)
Mordred ignores the footsteps in the grass, but straightens a bit when they pause. "Clar's out," he says before he turns. "I don't know where."
"Seems a bit dangerous not to know her whereabouts at all times," he remarks lightly.
He does turn then, sharply, and barely bites back a grin. "You son of a bitch, where have you been?"
"Marianstat, and - around Marianstat," he answers, not biting back his grin.
Mordred gives it up, then, crosses the garden in a few strides and hugs him tightly. "Dammit. Next time warn me. Or at least send a postcard."
"I don't know if Westmark's mail service could find you if I put 'wherever the hell this place is' on the envelope."
"Excuses," Mordred says, muffled against his hair. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," somewhere just before a kiss pressed against the side of Mordred's neck.
His fingers knot in the back of Niko's shirt. "Missed you."
"I'll bet you say that to all the -- everyone."
"Strangely enough, no."
He pulls back (as far as he can, with Mordred attached) to grin. "How are the hedgehogs?"
Mordred laughs a little. "Pretty pissed off, I imagine. It turns out a lot of them aren't exactly hedgehogs."
"Mislabelled porcupines?" asks Justitia, who Doesn't Get It.
A pause. "Incautious neighbors."
"...oh."
"She assures us they'll turn back on their own. Like that's supposed to make us stop worrying."
"They're people?" He looks again at the hedgehogs (in an all-new light...) -- "...she's that -- powerful?"
"Oh, yeah." Mordred seems not to think much of this aspect of the matter. "And it's a bitch trying to get her to cut it out. She just gives you this blank look..."
"The familial resemblance is uncanny," dryly, and still directed ostensibly to the hedgies.
"And that's supposed to mean what, exactly?"
"...tenacity runs in the family?"
"Gallops," wryly.
"And blank looks."
Mordred settles both arms around his waist. "Thanks."
"And a fondness for prickliness..."
Laughter. "And for beady eyes..."
"Is that a slur?" mock-offended.
"Not if you're a hedgehog. --God--" his breath catches of a sudden. "God, it's good to see you."
"I'm sorry," and his tone is more subdued suddenly. "I should have said something..."
Mordred combs fingers through his hair, as though to soothe him. "Kiss me?"
"You ask, now?" and he kisses him.
He leans back against the rail of the pen, tugging Niko with him. After a long, intent minute, "Figured it couldn't hurt."
"I just wouldn't have expected you to bother with permission, that's all."
"Next time I won't, then." And he doesn't.
And there's no evidence that Niko's going to complain.
There's a longer, even more preoccupied pause before Mordred observes, somewhat breathlessly, "We have beds now."
"Subtle," Niko laughs. "Along with the asking, you've taken up discretion, I see!"
Mordred grins at him. "Also cupboards. Real ones, instead of boxes."
"A little less suggestive, but progress, I suppose."
"Oh, if we're making suggestions..."
"Or offers," and he dips into a quick kiss.
"Mmh-- Stay awhile."
"I'd like to," softer.
Mordred traces a fingertip along his spine, not quite meeting his eyes. "Would you?"
"I wouldn't want to impose on the others--"
He laughs suddenly. "Gawain likes you."
"He's not the one who turns people into hedgehogs," he observes, but a shy half-smile emerges nonetheless. "--he does?"
"Seems to." Mordred smooths his hair again. "And Clar doesn't like anybody, but she's not allowed to hedgehog family. House rules."
"...and - am I family, then?"
For a moment he goes utterly still. Then, carefully, "I don't know. Are you?"
"You tell me," his tone as carefully (breathlessly) neutral as Mordred's. "Does family -- disappear without sending word? Do I still --"
"Oh, frequently." Mordred's arms tighten around him. "I just--"
"--just--" (his head tilted down, face hidden - half in Mordred's shoulder)
"It has to be up to you, that's all," in a rush, "because -- God help me, I can't ask, I want you too badly, and I don't know. I don't know if in six weeks or six months or whenever you're going to want to let it go -- Niko." He gets a breath, pulls away a little. "This you have to understand. If you don't want to be stuck with me--"
"Don't you think it's a little late for that?" He frowns - barely - "You don't think-- if I didn't want to be stuck with you, I'd've left long ago--"
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure, and you're exasperating-- I love you, remember? Oh, for--" --would a kiss prove it better?
It certainly couldn't hurt. It's some time before Mordred finds his voice again, rough with something that might pass for simple desire. "All right," he murmurs. "All right, lad."
"You said - you have beds now --"
"Got to build another one in any case. For Gaheris. But yeah."
"--it's not really Gaheris' bed I was - asking about--" ... oh, the blushing.
Mordred laughs at that, and buries a kiss in his neck. "It had better not be."
"--it was Gawain's," irrepressible mischief.
He laughs again. "Then you get to explain the state of his sheets when he gets home."
"Oh, I meant to wait for him..."
"You don't know Gawain," nipping at his ear. "He can outblush you."
"Light a fire off of his cheeks, then."
"Damn near."
"Your family's -- varied."
"You've got that right."
... and then Niko dragged him off to one of those beds.