[It startles laughter from L; the fact that it sounds so strange and unpracticed is the surest sign that it's real. He knows that Myr has no shortage of partners who are to his taste and able to keep up with the rigorous carnal demands of a faun. He knows that Myr cares deeply for him, even loves him, but... the role of beloved and lover don't always go hand-in-hand, and L, as a rule, doesn't permit himself to desire what he doesn't feel is a realistic goal.]
I'll... keep it in mind for the future, when wakefulness is a resource we can both afford.
[Who knows when that could be? It's still a fond notion, something to consider at least a distant, pleasant possibility instead of one absolutely ruled out by Myr simply not viewing him that way.
He reaches a hand down, keeping the clockwork fingers open and at ease in case the wormipede wants to nuzzle into a palm that is still flesh after it's claimed the prize of bread from Myr's.]
I won't go anywhere, as long as you do sleep. You don't seem to really need things very often but... when you do, it's very obvious.
[Myr meets his Bonded laugh for laugh, though his own's a quieter thing and more wistful. When wakefulness is a resource we can both afford embeds a painful truth about their Bond and how far they'd come to their own limits. Easier to feel optimistic about that now, after a relative triumph; but how they will inhabit it upon waking when so many problems yet remain...
Leave it for tomorrow. Likewise the comment on his own needs--expressed in L's utterly direct manner, it cuts right to the bone of Myr's cultivated and half-believed illusions about himself. The faun's tired enough, though, that it merely twinges sinking in, lodging near his heart for later rumination.
He lifts a hand to acknowledge the hit and concedes the field:] True enough, and I'd best get to it or I'll end up asleep Maker-knows-where again.
[That's his call to make his way to the bedroom, now that he's stowed the jam and butter. He starts that way, trailing a feeling behind them through their Bond like the fond touch of a hand through hair.
Crookytail, meanwhile, drops the slice of bread it's enthusiastically masticating to press its crummy face into L's hand. Antennae wreathe and wave around the detective's arm; you are still here, still the same size, still herd. All's well.
How nearly it might not have been is nothing a wormipede need concern itself with.]
[They're things, at least, that they won't need to deal with upon waking. L will spend more time recuperating once his body, tethered and soothed by the Bond, recognizes its own need, and he's likely to sleep long after Myr rises and departs to confront difficult conversations with other people.
For now, though, a velvet-soft worm is nuzzling into his palm, and then he's standing to follow something equally welcoming in spite of the distance of lingering dishonesty. The idea that Myr still thinks he can do better is inspiring, more nourishing to the soul than anything he's done by himself in the last months to feel that he and Niles might this time pull even.
He's inclined to feel it, even believe it, in terms as simple and trusting as the wormipede. He takes that spirit with him to bed, curling onto his side and resting a cheek against Myr's shoulder after he's removed and set aside his prosthetics.]
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I'll... keep it in mind for the future, when wakefulness is a resource we can both afford.
[Who knows when that could be? It's still a fond notion, something to consider at least a distant, pleasant possibility instead of one absolutely ruled out by Myr simply not viewing him that way.
He reaches a hand down, keeping the clockwork fingers open and at ease in case the wormipede wants to nuzzle into a palm that is still flesh after it's claimed the prize of bread from Myr's.]
I won't go anywhere, as long as you do sleep. You don't seem to really need things very often but... when you do, it's very obvious.
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Leave it for tomorrow. Likewise the comment on his own needs--expressed in L's utterly direct manner, it cuts right to the bone of Myr's cultivated and half-believed illusions about himself. The faun's tired enough, though, that it merely twinges sinking in, lodging near his heart for later rumination.
He lifts a hand to acknowledge the hit and concedes the field:] True enough, and I'd best get to it or I'll end up asleep Maker-knows-where again.
[That's his call to make his way to the bedroom, now that he's stowed the jam and butter. He starts that way, trailing a feeling behind them through their Bond like the fond touch of a hand through hair.
Crookytail, meanwhile, drops the slice of bread it's enthusiastically masticating to press its crummy face into L's hand. Antennae wreathe and wave around the detective's arm; you are still here, still the same size, still herd. All's well.
How nearly it might not have been is nothing a wormipede need concern itself with.]
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For now, though, a velvet-soft worm is nuzzling into his palm, and then he's standing to follow something equally welcoming in spite of the distance of lingering dishonesty. The idea that Myr still thinks he can do better is inspiring, more nourishing to the soul than anything he's done by himself in the last months to feel that he and Niles might this time pull even.
He's inclined to feel it, even believe it, in terms as simple and trusting as the wormipede. He takes that spirit with him to bed, curling onto his side and resting a cheek against Myr's shoulder after he's removed and set aside his prosthetics.]