ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2022-02-16 10:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
Richie had sort of a love-hate relationship with snow. As he recently remembered (because he hadn’t always known - it was fuzzy, like trying to watch a movie through a static storm), he’d grown up in Maine. The winters were frigid, with a shit ton of snowfall and very short days - if you saw the sun, you were lucky for those few precious hours. It really hit hard with the seasonal depression, sure, but it also didn’t help that Derry had been a literal pit of evil. He definitely hated when snow turned slushy, however - when it turned gray or brown and resembled toothbrush foam, when the remnants of salt from the sidewalks outside found their way inside; rings on the floor, dried into a weird consistency, or circling up the bottom of your jeans - yeah, it sucked. Not his thing. The storm that recently blanketed Vallo was actually pretty nice, however. Even Richie had to admit that. He didn’t have a ton of grandiose plans for Valentine’s Day - but he did want to celebrate, since he and Max had gone through the fun of it all last year. Which was also amazing to him, to be honest - that he was actually with someone who loved him, and Richie liked it so much he put a ring on it. Heart-shaped cinnamon rolls were tradition, so he’d baked up a batch of those for Max and El while the snow in all of its billion-of-breadcrumbs glory fell outside. He wasn’t sure when or if it would stop but it made for pleasant scenery and he knew Max would check on the Skyhold animals - so it’d help to have hot coffee ready for when he came back inside. That, plus fresh cinnamon rolls, and a present. Maybe. Max was - okay with snow. He liked it, particularly when it was beautiful and falling prettily and he had nowhere particularly compelling to go and he could gaze at it through a window from a cozy bed. He’d griped about it in Emprise du Leon, of course, but fuck Emprise du Leon, honestly; the whole place was crawling with Templars and it didn’t get a degree warmer the entire time they were there. But as he added some hay to a trough and gently rubbed the nose of one of Skyhold’s many furry friends, he was happy enough to trudge through the snow. He had Richie waiting for him inside the castle, and a roaring fire, and that really all made this worth it. Satisfied that everyone was warm and safe, he headed back toward the main castle, coming in through one of the side doors so he wouldn’t track slush all over the Great Hall. “El?” he called, moving his boots to the side of the door, then when he didn’t get a reply: “Richie?” It was Valentines Day, after all, and while they had agreed to go fairly casual together this holiday, neither of them were particularly good at being anything but extra, so of course Max had a few surprises for his husband. “In here being domestic!” Richie called back from where the hearths were strong and nice and warm - warm hearth, a burning stove; it was all ecstasy when you were fucking freezing or having just come from traipsing around in the snow. “I’ve got the cinnamon rolls all done, and I’m just icing them now.” They were homemade, of course, because he wasn’t so terrible at this shit that he’d pop dough from a blue tube and slather on some fake sugary junk and call it a day. No, this was cream cheese and butter and all sorts of deliciousness and who cared that it wasn’t healthy at all? Valentine’s Day was all about celebrating love, every kind of love, and not necessarily about rabbit food. So he had no regrets. “Come in here so I can grab your ass.” Yeah, it was about doing that too - you couldn’t convince Richie otherwise. Max wasn’t about to complain - not when the warmth of the hearth drew him closer, and the even-more-potent warmth that came from his husband sexually harassing him (he loved it, it was consensual, he hoped that harassment never stopped). Shedding layers as he went, Max followed the smell of butter and pastry and found Richie by one of Skyhold’s coziest hearths. It was a welcome sight. “Hello, my love; this weather is recalcitrant,” he said, and attached himself to Richie’s side. “It’s an indicator of my love that I’m not putting my cold hands all over your body right now, because no one needs that.” He pressed a cold-nosed kiss to Richie’s cheek and added: “I’ll ravish you in a bit once I’m warm and make up for lost time. Ooh! Cinnamon rolls!” And he could tell they hadn’t come from a can, either - because he’d acclimated enough to have eaten the canned ones, too. (He was beginning to feel very up-to-date indeed.) Richie huffed a laugh. “Recalcitrant, that’s an amazing college entrance exam word,” he said, turning to slide an arm around Max’s waist and nose at his cheek - his spouse’s face was still a little cold, he was still a little cold (the chill emanated from him) but Richie didn’t mind. Max could be covered in poison ivy and Richie would still wanna comfort him with touch and would think he was the handsomest, itchiest, pus-oooziest man around (though he hoped that never happened because it sounded extremely painful). “Yeah, have a cinnamon roll,” he added, picking one up from the plate where he’d iced them and biting into it to test it out. They were very ooey and gooey; Richie was proud of his work of baking art. “I made ‘em for you and El. I also have a gift for you - because it’s our second Valentine’s Day together, isn’t that wild?” It was to him. Also wild that Max hadn’t gotten sick of him and wasn’t over here like ‘we need to rethink our relationship.’ That tended to happen to Richie - the couple of times he actually did alright for himself, romantically, and summoned up the courage to do more than a Grindr hookup date with a guy back home, they always ran for the hills. He was a lot to handle, he guessed. “Happy Valentines Day to you, my looks-like-a-cinnamon-roll, is-a-cinnamon-roll husband,” Max said, grabbing a hot pastry and trying not to burn his fingers on icing. Oh cripes, he was making a mess. Taking a bite, he made an appreciative noise. “Delicious. Although I suppose you could also be a cinnamon-roll-that-kills-people, but I don’t think it’s your whole vibe, you know? I got you a present too, by the by.” Neither he nor Richie were ever going to win an award for being intimidating, and that was just fine by him. Wolfing down his (first, there would be more) roll, he went rummaging through the cabinet until he found the present he’d expertly hidden behind the healthy food they had stored but mostly pretended didn’t exist. It was wrapped in a large, jaunty red box and a pink polka dotted bow, and he passed it to Richie with a grin, taking care not to get sticky frosting on it. “Our second holiday together,” he said with a sigh. “And honestly, we’re not too far from the anniversary of when you asked me to marry you. Closer to than farther away.” How long had it been since Thedas? It felt like ages. Max and Richie may have moved fast but he’d lived lifetimes in his head, and didn’t regret a bit of it. “Murder’s not my jam, no,” Richie agreed, pushing his glasses up on his nose - he was a total, actual cinnamon roll and wasn’t cut out for the assassin life; he’d only killed one person (IT didn’t count, that thing wasn’t a person), ever, but embedding a hatchet into the skull of one Henry Bowers had caused him to puke his fucking guts out right there in the dusty library - even if the asshole had, arguably, deserved it and letting Mike die by the hand of his tormenter wasn’t an option. Still. Gross. “Also, holy shit, Maximus - hiding gifts behind the healthy food? That’s diabolical. I appreciate you so much.” Richie hadn’t even guessed. Huh, go figure. Then again, he supposed that made sense - the only time he was acknowledging the presence of healthy shit was when he was packing lunches for El, so she didn’t live off of sugary shit like her guardians. He wore a crooked grin as Max procured the gift, that smile like a shot of sunshine in the darkness - but Richie couldn’t help it, he loved the wrapping job and he loved Max. So, so much. Was he terrified Vallo would take his husband away? Yeah. Did he regret anything they shared? Hell no. You had to grab time by the balls here, so he didn’t plan to waste any of it. “Aw - “ Opening the box, he saw what was inside and got all excited. “Honey! These are perfect. This is for my drawings, right?” The pen was beautiful, and he ran his fingers over it - one of the things Prigany talked about, and used, was crystals. They boosted visions too, and you could use see the future with them as well if you knew how - so needless to say, this was perfect for Richie (who preferred automatic writing to any other fortune-telling avenue). There was also a giant bag of dehydrated cereal marshmallows (no actual cereal to muck up the beauty of it) and, boy, his husband knew him well. “You’re the best, honey,” he purred, leaning over and kissing Max. “Here - “ He scurried out of the room (his gift was hidden in the broom closet, because reasons) and brought back a gift bag because he was far too chaotic with wrapping paper to actually sit still enough and wrap something. Inside was something Max and his nerd tendencies could take with him wherever he wanted to do work (at home, at the office, in a tree) and then for the next part, he added, “I put something else on your phone already, when you were outside.” Because he was sneaky. Max was looking rather smug as Richie claimed impress at where the gifts had been hidden - “diabolical” was not a word used often to describe him and he was going to savor it when it happened. “For your drawings,” he confirmed, thrilled to see his husband recognize the intention behind the gift. “Citrite - that goldish crystal in the pen? It’s a crystal that promotes prognostication. So it’s a natural fit, I think, for your talents.” He wondered briefly why Richie was ducking into the broom closet but then realized that he, too had hidden presents, and he couldn’t help but laugh. After all their talk of a chill, lazy Valentines Day, they had both managed to produce something. Seeing the desk set, he straightened. “Oh this is nice!” It had always been a bit of a disappointment seeing that wax seals and fancy embossments had gone out of fashion; this leather set was lovely and made him feel less like covering everything in his office with neon post-its. “Thank you, darling.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the curve of Richie’s cheekbone while his thumb worked overtime unlocking his phone (his password, of course, was the date he’d met Richie. Shameless.) It didn’t take him long to find the playlist, and he scanned the list of song titles. Max liked modern music, even if he didn’t know much about it. “Aw, Richie. I’m never going to give you up either,” he said, already liking the bard Rick Astley, having no idea he’d been rick-rolled. Maybe he’d learn about that later. With a happy noise, he tugged his husband’s collar and gave him a big kiss. Thankfully he was already warming up from the outside so it wasn’t too torturous. “Happy Valentines Day, love. We should play these songs and see if El knows any of them.” Wait. “They… are appropriate for young and tender ears, right?” If you couldn’t Rick Roll your husband (on Valentine’s Day, no less) then who could you Rick Roll? Richie was proud of his accomplishment here. “Most of them are appropriate,” he said, returning the kiss - though his words were sort of spoken in between a lot of kisses. He looped long muppet arms around Max and squeezed him, also shamelessly sliding a hand down to grope his ass. Because Richie had promised. “Maybe not the Lizzo one though,” he allowed. “She drops a few f-bombs in that one.” Not that El hadn’t ever heard the word ‘fuck’ before (or used it) but still. He would try to preserve her innocent ears as much as possible. “Happy Valentine's Day to you too, honey. I hope we have many more together.” And with Alfie too, whenever he came into the picture - Richie brought him up frequently, because he just loved that little half-orc so much. But was fine with waiting until the time was right, and the pieces all fell into place for him and Max to adopt - it was the one thing he could manage to be patient about. “Do you think El would wanna go out and take advantage of the snow? Or should we just stay inside and get buzzed off hot chocolate?” The second was sounding like a good plan to him, honestly. Max looked out the window, and thought of all the lovely memories he’d made in the snow: Sera on Bull’s shoulders, using the advantage to rain icy chunks down on Cassandra, who had howled, and Solas, who had gathered himself up and fled like an irritated cat. There was a lot of fun to be had in bad weather, for sure, but for now… He turned back to Richie, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist with a content sigh. “Let’s stay in,” he said simply with a grin, because while he was fond of adventures, there was nothing so lovely as curling up with his husband and his found-daughter drinking cocoa. “Maybe I’ll shove ice down the back of your shirt later. Keep my options open.” “Oh, that’s so naughty,” Richie replied, doing his best British guy accent (which really wasn’t all that good at all, despite how his own husband sounded like he came from Earth-Britain even though it was Thedas). And speaking of naughty, he still hadn’t ceased his spousal grope yet but whatever. He’d get to it eventually. “I might have to wrestle you into submission and return the favor.” Promises, promises. Then he finally gave Max complete control of his fine, fine ass by letting go of it - until next time (and there would be a ‘next time’). “Alright, I’ll go upstairs and get her - bring her some cinnamon rolls and see what the deal with school is,” he offered. Unless it was canceled because of the snow but he doubted it. Locals sent their kids to school when killer turkeys were gobbling on the loose so a little powdery white stuff wasn’t going to stall the learning process. “Then I’ll come back and make out with you some more.” Max snickered at Richie’s attempt at an accent - his husband was talented at many things, yes, but the accent wouldn’t have secured him a position as a court bard, at any rate. Not that Max minded having it all to himself. With a sad pat on Richie’s wrist, Max let his husband disband from their hug (and the groping). “With any luck she won’t have to go out in this,” he said, shrugging a shoulder toward the mess outside. Even if El was powerful and strong, Max hated the idea of her being cold and slugging through ankle-deep snow. “We’ll power her with cinnamon rolls. And then… I quite like that making out notion you had. We’ll have to give it a go. A real proper Valentines Day kerfluffle.” Kerfluffle. Like, what even. “You and your weird words,” Richie snorted - but it was just one of Max’s more lovable qualities. He could list even more (and he had) - that was what Valentine’s Day was for though, right? So he’d get on that. And the making out. For reasons. |