ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-04-19 13:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Richie & Max
WHAT: After living at Skyhold together for a bit due to Uranus fumes at the penthouse, they talk about - making it a thing
WHERE: ~Inquisitor's Quarters~
WHEN: Tonight
WARNINGS: It's pretty sweet, check for cavities
STATUS: Complete
Even if he lived to be one-hundred and ten, Richie knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would never forget the smell of his and Enola’s penthouse after she had a science malfunction in her lab - because in a word, fuck. It was like that one fruit, durian, that either gave off the aroma of something good (caramel) or a potential gas leakage - clearly, in the penthouse, they’d gotten the gas end of the deal. Along with some fish and sweaty socks for good measure - a lot of that science shit wasn’t supposed to burn but it had and ugh. He wasn’t eager to repeat the experience anytime soon. Luckily it was looking like he wouldn’t have to - because he grounded Enola from her lab, planning to ward off access to it for the duration of her punishment, and had shortened said punishment from a month to two weeks as long as she finished a lab safety class. He’d looked into it and there was class she could take at the community college that offered instruction in person and then various webinars, so it was the best of both worlds. Either way, his adopted teenager was getting certified in lab safety come hell or high water because no. Not that it had been bad having to live with Max at Skyhold for the time being, while the air was purified back at the penthouse and the smoke damage was cleaned. Richie actually really liked it - there was a waypoint in the courtyard so he was able to travel to the city for work as necessary, and he got a chance to still pack Enola’s lunch for school and also bring Max a mean grilled cheese, making sure he took an afternoon break. Goddamn, it was just so domestic and while he hadn’t brought it up out loud yet, he thought the domesticity said good things about their relationship - that they seemed to be compatible living together (even if this was just a taste of it) and didn’t need to go on Dr. Phil to bitch about their stupid quirks or how the other just wasn’t liiiiiiiistening. While Max was tending to whatever odds and ends he had to do (not like Richie kept an exact copy of his boyfriend’s schedule, they didn’t need to live up each other’s asses) the fire was going in his quarters, Richie watching the confident gold flames - for awhile he sort of messed around with them, seeing what shapes he could create while he had the totem on, but then he was getting sleepier and fire practice didn’t seem wise while drowsy. So he continued to listen to the snap, crackle, pop with the balcony doors open, and the night air felt good - a little crisp, but not so cold that it was like coke up his nose. Spring was here. Instead of playing with fire he was now flopped on his back in bed, playing on the Switch - Animal Crossing, actually, since he was desperate to catch something besides a sea bass. It was the last night they were staying at Skyhold - tomorrow he and Enola would return to the penthouse, and he was trying not to be too disappointed about that. It was beyond time to call it quits with work, and as Max stood up from the little home office he’d made for when needed to do coven work at Skyhold, all manner of things cracked in his spine. He’d been tucked away in the little alcove above the library for two hours now - time had gotten away from him, as it tended to do, and he was a little chilled and entirely pretzeled from cramming himself under a desk that had been built for Leiliana, and not himself. He walked briskly down the steps once he remembered that Richie was here - it was the sort of memory jog that inspired an extra bounce in the step, a slight smile on his face. Max was typically fairly easy to live with, having been tossed into communal living in the Circle from an early age, and after that, sharing tents with half the Inquisition. He’d gotten used to it, truth be told, and in addition to his own ooey-gooey love for the glasses-wearing sardonic man he was currently thinking of, it felt nice to just have someone waiting up for him, again. He heard the little mechanical music coming from Richie’s Switch before he saw him. The night air felt cool against the tight muscles of his neck, and without further ado he flopped onto the bed, smushing his boyfriend quite effectively but being conscientious enough not to accidentally force Richie to beat one of his villagers or commoners or whatever they were with the butterfly net. “Good evening,” he said, muffled, his mouth against the back of Richie’s collar. “Are the raccoons destroying your economy once again?” Oh, hi there. Richie heard Max come into the room, of course, but he was still toiling about on the Bermuda Triangle (that was the name of his island, because he thought it was hilarious) when his better half suddenly flopped. It was really damn welcomed though, since being close to Max was always nice and his weight atop Richie was also a comfort. “Yeah, but I cheated the system and paid off my basement loan with ill-gotten gains,” he explained, with a grin that dug into the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes - crinkly and so blue, practically magnified behind the thickness of the lenses. “So I’m basically a criminal now.” Alas, shit happened. He tossed the Switch to the other side of the bed, and it was a pretty big bed - at least a king size if Thedas went by modern bed description standards, and he liked that it was big since that seemed to be one of the keys to a successful relationship: room to starfish at night. Long arms went around Max, Richie’s fingers stroking up the back of his neck and into his hair. “You’re tense,” he murmured, words laced with smoke (he’d cut down a lot once he started running with Adora but after Enola’s fumes mishap he definitely sneaked more than he should have while here). “Want me to rub your back?” He had the bonus of Literally Hot Hands, if he had the totem on - so that was nice. Max didn’t verbally agree so much as roll over slightly to allow Richie access to his shoulders and back, shoving his various work concerns into a box and kicking it under a sofa in his mind. He wasn’t great about not mulling - letting go was something he was working on - but it helped to have someone he desperately wanted to be present for paying attention to him. “How goes reconstruction?” he asked, thinking of the smoking ruins that remained of Enola’s lab. Truly, the mess had been impressive. Max had seen a lot of messes in his time, mostly remnants of battles past, and Enola’s lab had been among the best of them. Which he supposed also meant that it was among the worst of them. He was glad that neither had been injured in the chaos - much better to laugh about the event than anything else. Richie adjusted on the mattress a little, getting in a comfy position to use those large hands for Max’s benefit - fingers kneaded into tight muscles, thumbs pushing against the knots and sliding along until those knots were gone, until the muscles relaxed. Knuckles pressed into either side of his best boyfriend’s back, working upward with solid, rolling pressure - like wheels skipping over stones on a road. His hands were extra warm too - he had enough control now to be a space heater, without setting loved ones on fire; that hopefully helped, in getting Max to melt into a puddle of hot butter after working too hard hunched over a desk. “It’s almost done,” he replied, trying not to grumble about having to leave Skyhold. He was glad things would be cleaned up, really, and while magic could have probably fixed it in three seconds Richie just didn’t want to go that route - Enola needed to learn to be more careful with her experiments, and an instantaneous solution wasn’t going to help with that. “Then she’s grounded from the lab for the next couple of weeks. I felt bad about it, but...that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Punish your kid when they fuck up?” Or else they’d turn into Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka, and demand a goose that laid golden eggs. Shit. Max attempted to say something useful about raising children with discipline yet enough freedom for them to make their own mistakes, but what actually came out of his mouth was an articulate grumble when Richie hit a delicious spot just under his shoulder blade. It really wasn’t fair that he had this whole situation as a boyfriend and some people had famine and/or fuckboys. “I think the-- class at school was a good idea,” he said finally, scooting in closer so he could turn and face his boyfriend, his own hand ghosting up Richie’s neck and resting at the base of his skull, fingers flexing a little there. “Everyone blows something up sometime - metaphorically or otherwise - it’s part of testing boundaries. But she’s such a clever person; she’ll learn how to test things safely without putting you and her out of a place to live.” Max would, after all, voice his concern if he felt as if Richie was being too strict. It was largely none of his business, but he liked Enola and he knew Richie wanted to do his best… and he’d been a victim of a corrupt institution that sought to control mages back home. Discipline with a side order of freedom was something he was passionate about. “You know though, there’s no reason you and she need to hurry back,” he offered, his voice lazy, the little needle of hope nearly covered up completely. Winter Palace trick; never sound too desperate. “You’re welcome at Skyhold for as long as you’d like to be here. And,” he added, kissing Richie’s ear where his glasses were tucked, “I rather like having you about, selfishly.” Well, now it was Richie’s turn to get all shivery and dissolve into a microwaved bowl of runny Jello - it happened when Max kissed him in that particular delicious spot, and also said sweet things in a tone of voice that was like aural velvet. He did some flopping of his own, relaxed in his pajamas (a t-shirt that had the existential question hedgehogs: why don’t they just share the hedge? printed on it and flannel pants) and tugging Max to lie in a heap of limbs with him. “Yeah, I did a lot of stupid shit at her age - she’s a really good kid in comparison,” he said. “I know she didn’t mean to cause any damage.” He was glad to hear that he wasn’t being too terrible with making Enola take a lab safety class though - honestly, Richie was way lax as a parent (or...adoptive parent, guardian, whatever the term was) and he likely wouldn’t ever tip over the edge into I HATE YOU, YOU’RE NOT MY REAL FATHER door-slamming levels of angst and rage. He hoped, anyway. Because he wanted the best for her and wanted to be present, in a way her own mother wasn’t. And he also appreciated that Max would share his opinions and thoughts about it too; they were always welcomed since Richie had never tried to parent anyone before - his friends would shit themselves if they saw this setup. Out of all the Losers, surely Trashmouth Tozier wasn’t the one they’d have picked to be taking care of a kid. “Really?” he asked, also a bit hopeful - and with a bat of lashes, rarely innocent (though there was quite a bit of heart eyes going on). “‘Cause, you know, yeah. I like being here. I think it’s - good? For us.” They also wouldn’t know how they’d do in the long-term, living together, if they didn’t try - but Richie doubted much would change. “Do you think we should move in?” he asked, bluntly. “I mean - not tomorrow or anything, but. Me and Enola and the cat.” Right, couldn’t forget Crumpet - she was currently hiding someplace, since she wasn’t used to Skyhold and wanted to pout about it. Max had relaxed in the meanwhile into a nest of combined limbs that looked quite as if they were playing a heated game of Twister. Leaning back on something (one of their legs, he decided), he gave a single, decisive nod: “I think there’s no real reason you shouldn’t, honestly. Skyhold is massive, and not all of it is used. Enola can keep her lab separate, or move it here as she wishes, or even have two labs for… different science things.” Max was only sure of about 15% of what Enola was experimenting with on a good day, and didn’t pretend otherwise. He remembered when he was a teenager. Teenagers liked options and space, didn’t they? At least, he had. He turned back to look at Richie, a small, peaceful little smile on his face. “But as to you and I - we’ve done well with this unexpected domesticity. And if we were going to maim one another, the stress of the unexpected would have done it. I think living together full-time is the next obvious step, if we’re willing to take it. And I am,” he added, curling an arm around what he had positively identified as Richie’s torso. “You’re home as much as anything, anyone. Why wouldn’t I want you here?” But, his streak of practicality reared itself again - it existed!! It did!! Particularly when situations involved not only himself, but others: “Speak with Enola about it. See what she thinks. But as far as I’m concerned… you can come home anytime.” Jesus, here he was - Richie was such a sap, truly. Like you’d never know that bombastic humor and dick jokes were a (probably poor) mask which hid his squishy innards. He was sensitive and caring and when his boyfriend said things like you’re home as much as anything, anyone he had the ability to get all choked up about it. He did get choked up about it. Mostly because he didn’t think he’d have anything like this, to be with someone who he was pretty sure hung the moon - or at least, he looked at Max that way and Richie believed he was correct in that assessment (he was the sun, the moon, the stars, everything in between). “I’ll talk to her,” he promised, and he definitely wouldn’t make a big decision like that without consulting Enola. They’d been in the penthouse for a few months - but as long as she got to keep her lab, Richie was pretty sure she was alright with being most anywhere. And they could figure out what to do with the penthouse. “Finger guns right at you, Maximum Hotness.” That was code for I love you, clearly, and he rolled over a little to press himself closer and kiss Max - mouth to mouth, sharing air; maybe they could just swim underwater forever and share each other’s air. Not possible, but he swooned about it romantically anyway. “Are you, like - ever worried you’ll disappear from here?” Because Richie was. He didn’t know how to make that go away. It probably never did, not in a world like this. Max returned the finger guns with the flare of someone who still only halfway understood what gesture to make, but the intent was there, and he hoped that was all that mattered (he also filed away the nickname ‘Maximum Hotness’ for later to brag about within Dorian’s earshot). At Richie’s question, though, he pulled away from the kiss and sobered up a little, screwing the side of his face up. “All the time,” he admitted, because while he could lie, there was no point to it. “My work in Thedas doesn’t feel… let me rephrase, Thedas doesn’t feel done with me.” Having drunk from the Well of Sorrows had been a sloppy decision made under stress with one stink-eye aimed in Morgan’s direction, and now he worried it had been a fatal miscalculation, something that might come back to bite him in the butt later. But there was nothing to do about it here, whether or not he now owed fealty to some elvish god or no, and although the monster was still firmly waiting under the bed, the bed itself was comforting, warm. “But I try not to think about it,” he said after a beat, having collected himself with the efficiency of someone used to doing it all the time. “Nothing I do here will effect what’s happening in Thedas. And if I start worrying about you disappearing one day into the universe that contains the possibility of space clowns bent on revenge, well, I’ll never stop.” He looked back at his boyfriend, lacing his fingers through his. “I hope that doesn’t sound flippant.” Richie chuckled a little, keeping that hand hold on Max while he shifted to lie on his back - he watched the ceiling and listened to the pop of the flames in the fireplace, the way it was its own little sun with shadows cast on the floor. “It doesn’t sound flippant,” he assured. “Though if it helps, I think IT was one-of-a-kind.” And that one-of-a-kind space demon was dead - not coming back. They were all finally free from Pennywise’s hold - even when the Losers left Derry, they’d been tied to that darkness, that evil, the trauma IT caused; all of that seeped into them, infecting them, and to not have to worry about it anymore was unbelievably freeing. Now it was just the after effects that they were left with. The messes inside of them to clean up. He thought he was doing a decent job of that in Vallo, however. Therapy and living his best life - he considered it giving the finger to that sloppy bitch. “Maybe Thedas isn’t done with you but you’re here now so that’s what we gotta focus on. And if I disappear, I want you to be happy. I mean - “ A grin crossed his face, half-mooning his eyes. “Maybe mourn me and our love first, but after that. Find someone with almost as big of a dick as me.” Or boobs - boobs were fine. He knew Max went both ways. Then he kissed his best boyfriend again, scooting over to give him more space to move. “Go put on something comfy and come back - though if you wanted to make it a sleep naked night, I’m good with that.” “I don’t think I really have it in me to converse seriously about my hypothetical future big-dicked-but-not-too-big-dicked boyfriend,” Max decided then, because the thought was as hilarious as it was sad, and he wasn’t one for dabbling in mixed emotions unless a magister’s staff was to his temple. “So I suggest that when I return - in whatever sleeping clothes I decide would best befit this moment - that we instead have life-affirming sex that ends this evening on a positive note so I stand a chance of doing more than staring out the balcony looking tousled-yet-filled-with-ennui.” He smiled, showed off that follow-me-follow-the-Inquisition grin: “Deal?” Aw. Richie understood the reluctance to converse about that topic - he really didn’t want to dwell on it either, just wanted Max to know that he wouldn’t be mad (from wherever he was) if he was gone and Max chose not to immerse himself in Vallo’s fuckery and weirdness alone. Granted, these shoes would be hard to fill since it’d be difficult to find someone with as big of a dick as he had anyway - there were very few things Richie would gloat over, when it came to his own self. That was one of them. Those rumors in high school were legit - nevermind that he’d started a few of them (stating the truth?) but whatever. It was difficult to resist Max when he was so impossibly handsome, a face that launched an entire Inquisition. Or had him being in charge of one, either way. “Life-affirming sex,” Richie concurred, already beginning to wiggle out of his clothes (no sexy striptease here, though he did accidentally kick the Switch off the bed - he’d get that later). “You’ve got yourself a deal, Maxwell.” And because he was Trashmouth Tozier, and Max had signed up for this relationship willingly, he added a quaint, “I’ll fill you with something better than ennui anyway.” Max watched the Switch crash to the floor and pondered whether Morgan or Dr. McCoy or Brigitte would be the one to fix it, and returned Richie’s stripping with attempted fingerguns. The sex puns didn’t bother him in the slightest - he’d sign up for it again dammit - but he was glad that the subject of going home had been dropped. No point in dwelling on something so massively out of his control that the mere thought of it loomed like the shadow of a dragon. “Be back in a moment, love,” he said, and exited with as much pep in his step as he could commit to. He was after all, very good at the exit. |