Quick, like a bandaide, ow, ow, ow-
And, morning.
Somedays, Moist wonders if there’s any going back to criminality for him. He’s a tendency to wake up covered in the deceptively long and heavy limbs of his husband, occasionally with The Hair effectively nesting him in place. There’s little to hear besides the gently snoring dogs and the not so gently snoring spouse and the ocean. And the birds. Maybe it’s because of this that he tends to wake slowly, lazily, stumbles over nothing until someone (Duo) boils water and shoves tea into his hands.
Once upon a time, Moist woke in the middle of the night each time Commander Vimes so much as said his name half way across the city. He’s gone soft, he figures, prodding his own stomach thoughtfully, staring at the bare beams of Home. He’s grey hair, now, a little, and a bit of softness around the middle and, and, oh, he has Duo. He’s had Duo for so long now he can’t really remember Before.
He closed his eyes. Adora. Ponder. Duo. It was early and perhaps the lack of caffeine made him sentimental. He leaned over, kissing one of Duo’s eyelids and thought, This is a forever kind of thing, because Anoia liked him well enough, for as much good as that did them, and the cosmos really couldn’t give a damn one way or another, which wasn’t a bad place to be, and Moist was a slippery bastard and this, this, this was a weighted die, a stacked deck. They couldn’t lose.
He carded his hand through Duo’s bangs, grinning when he barely stirred, hair everywhere, perfect, and caught his breath. Still, this made him catch his breath, Duo hair down and sheet marked, murmuring in his sleep. Moist stood, stretched, and padded out to the deck, whistling for the dogs to follow.
Just another glorious da-
*There is no footnote. Only TBC...
Somedays, Moist wonders if there’s any going back to criminality for him. He’s a tendency to wake up covered in the deceptively long and heavy limbs of his husband, occasionally with The Hair effectively nesting him in place. There’s little to hear besides the gently snoring dogs and the not so gently snoring spouse and the ocean. And the birds. Maybe it’s because of this that he tends to wake slowly, lazily, stumbles over nothing until someone (Duo) boils water and shoves tea into his hands.
Once upon a time, Moist woke in the middle of the night each time Commander Vimes so much as said his name half way across the city. He’s gone soft, he figures, prodding his own stomach thoughtfully, staring at the bare beams of Home. He’s grey hair, now, a little, and a bit of softness around the middle and, and, oh, he has Duo. He’s had Duo for so long now he can’t really remember Before.
He closed his eyes. Adora. Ponder. Duo. It was early and perhaps the lack of caffeine made him sentimental. He leaned over, kissing one of Duo’s eyelids and thought, This is a forever kind of thing, because Anoia liked him well enough, for as much good as that did them, and the cosmos really couldn’t give a damn one way or another, which wasn’t a bad place to be, and Moist was a slippery bastard and this, this, this was a weighted die, a stacked deck. They couldn’t lose.
He carded his hand through Duo’s bangs, grinning when he barely stirred, hair everywhere, perfect, and caught his breath. Still, this made him catch his breath, Duo hair down and sheet marked, murmuring in his sleep. Moist stood, stretched, and padded out to the deck, whistling for the dogs to follow.
Just another glorious da-
*There is no footnote. Only TBC...