ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ, ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ (trashing) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-02-14 12:32:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: max trevelyan, ₴ inactive: richie tozier (2) |
WHO: Max & Richie
WHAT: Celebrating Valentine's Day, with love letters and heart-shaped cinnamon rolls (and cake)
WHERE: Skyhold
WHEN: Today
WARNINGS: Fluff, canoodling, FTB
STATUS: Complete
So basically, Richie was never going to let Max live down the fact that he’d gotten his ass kicked by pissed off turkeys a few days before their first Valentine’s Day together. It was kind of hilarious and also kind of what the fuck, but above all else, he wasn’t going to allow it to ruin what he had planned. For once, he got up before sunrise - before that party of colors caught fire in the sky (it was necessary, to get done what he aimed to get done), and he baked Enola a batch of heart-shaped cinnamon rolls, delicious breakfast with plenty of frosting. He baked enough for both her and Max, and he brought a pan of them to Skyhold - along with the rest of what he had planned for Max, killer poultry be damned. It was important he get there before Max woke up, and important Richie not be a loud-ass sneaking into his Inquisitor’s quarters - but he assumed his manfriend was maybe doped up on painkillers a little, still, since there was only so far magic healing could go and sometimes you had to let things take care of themselves the old-fashioned way. But he just let Max snore as he hung up part of his Valentine’s surprise, love letter garland, and he’d already stuffed the envelopes with notes, a variety that would make for fun morning reading material. The words on each ranged from downright stupid, such as 'Sup? XOXOXOXO to glorious romantic pickup lines like Can you call me the garbageman? Because I wanna handle your junk but there were some sweet ones in there as well, as Max would see. But right, super romantic garland hung up, the scent of cinnamon wafting from the pan (thanks, waypoints, for being really quick ways to travel without letting food get cold) - he climbed in bed next to Max, after kicking off his shoes, and played the role of the Big Spoon in this production. “Hey, hot stuff - got a special delivery for you.” It was maybe in his pants, but he also meant - the actual gifts too. “Mmmf,” Max said, and to his credit it sounded more stoned-yet-delighted than irritated at being woken up. He cracked open an eye and cuddled into Richie automatically, frowning in confusion at the letters flapping along the shelving. Waking up more fully, he turned to face his lover, a grin dawning on his face. “It’s the love holiday, isn’t it,” he asked sleepily, and he was glad he’d asked Atreus for help moving Richie’s presents to the storage under the bed where he could actually reach them then hobble about the castle sadly. Skyhold may have been beautiful, but it wasn’t terribly kind to people with injuries. “Yep, it is,” Richie confirmed, greeting Max’s open eyes (such pretty eyes, sleep crust and all) with a grin that sizzled with excitement and dug into laugh lines. “We’re celebrating. ‘Cause I love you.” He really, really did - it was soothing to know that the two of them were so good for each other. There were no cold sweats to wake up in in fear of what he was doing with his life. No nightmares about being trapped or overwhelmed. No fear at all, which was new for Richie - and even if that newness faded he would always be happy, and always be grateful. And still so, so in love. One of the letters tucked into one of those envelopes said exactly that, in fact. He nuzzled at Max’s face with his nose, giving him kisses on the cheek. “I made you cinnamon rolls but if you want something else for breakfast, I can do that too.” Max sat up gingerly, nearly stretched - thought better of it; his sore ribs were still unhappy - and grinned. “Cinnamon rolls sound perfect. And some of that reckless coffee you like.” Richie was still better at making it than he was, although Max had purchased a machine on Richie’s recommendation. He got up gingerly and threw on his robe (a deep royal blue). He was still beat to hell, but none of his injuries were anything more than delicate and easily irritated. Max could pitter-patter around by now, although he tried to take it easy as much as he could. The elfroot growing in one of Skyhold’s gardens helped. With an ungraceful effort Max pulled out a larger box (that thankfully wasn’t heavy) and a much smaller one wrapped in lilac and pink. “There’s a replacement red velvet cake downstairs,” he said. “Bitty was kind enough to agree to a do-over since the turkeys got the last one.” Oh. Those were presents - for him, Richie presumed? Well, yeah, clearly - unless Max had another Valentine that he didn’t know about. But Max didn’t seem like the multiple partners type which was good, because Richie wasn’t the sharing type. It was just surreal, to have someone on a more long term basis - he’d done mostly fine for himself, in the hooking up department back home. Just, you know, casual sex and then watching Star Wars in the afterglow of it all. This was different though. Max was willing to cuddle with him in the afterglow, and he was the biggest fucking sucker for that. Plus the emotions - those were different too, in a the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything in between sort of way. He had that written as a random thought on a note too. “I’ll make us some coffee and bring back cake,” he promised. “Then - presents? These are for you,” Richie added, indicating the garland. “Most are original thoughts by yours truly.” Except the ones with Lizzo lyrics, those were obviously not his. A moment later he was up too, swinging long legs around to stand and head back down those stone steps, to the medieval kitchen with the modern French press. Bless. Coffee, cake, cinnamon rolls and romantic gifts. Max was still bewildered by Christmas and its stalking Santa Clauses but so far, Valentines Day seemed more his pace: you could stay in your pajamas and hope to look rumpled-but-attractive, and everyone seemed fine with this notion. While he was up, he carefully unclipped the letters from the garland and set them down on the comforter next to Richie’s presents. He pulled out a fancy-looking dagger he’d picked up in Val Royeaux to use as a letter opener, because he was extra and unashamed of being so, but he waited for Richie to return before he reached for the first letter. “Coffee smells so good,” he remarked as he took a cup and carefully set it on a side table with his good hand. “I can never go home, because it’s all but impossible to find in the Free Marches. You’ve ruined me, Richie Tozier.” And lest things get too glum, he gave him a wink. “With any luck you’ll ruin me again after we eat.” He was great at balancing things, and carrying them up castle staircases - which was how Richie got the bakery box of cake (and forks, because they weren’t savages even if the idea was probably to eat cake and cinnamon rolls in bed) back up to Max’s bedroom, along with two cups of hot coffee. Robust coffee, since that was what the French press was for - he believed it was well worth the expense, because Trashmouth Tozier did not have the time for shitty bean juice. “Of course I will,” he wink-winked right back. No need to twist his arm - getting their dicks out was like, one of his favorite things to do. “Might have to be a gentle ruining though, Maxwell, because your ribs are still purple.” This was pointed out as he leaned in and planted a kiss on the edge of best boyfriend’s jaw. Eagerly, he sipped his morning life fuel, eyebrows poking upward. “Which one should I open first?” “The large one, of course,” Max answered, and it may or may not have been an intentional innuendo; Max would never tell. He drank the coffee with a more gusto than he’d shown previously this morning; apparently a coffee addiction was a hazard of hanging out with his boyfriend too long. Max plucked an envelope from the pile and carefully weaseled it open, pulling the paper to him to read Richie’s (somewhat chaotic) writing more closely. It was-- hilarious. Touching and funny with plenty of references to his ass, which Max appreciated, frankly. And he had so many more of these to read! “I love you,” he sighed, and leaned forward (gingerly) to place a kiss on Richie’s temple. The present Richie was currently pawing had been purchased a solid month ago when the spectre of the upcoming holiday first started to be whispered on the network. Max had looked at the various options of ‘cute stuffed things’ and settled for something that spoke to him. The molerat was cute, cuddly, and it reminded him of Richie without his glasses. It was a silly present, but the smaller package was more sentimental and meaningful, so Max figured that a molerat was a good answer to sentimental. Richie really was blind as fucking molerat without his glasses, and he felt a surge of affection when he saw the thing - he really hadn’t been lying when he told Max no one had ever gifted him with a stuffed animal before. Not even when he was younger, really, and definitely not when he was older and fumbling his way from shamed encounter to shamed encounter, giving him new reasons to plunge his self-esteem into the toilet. This was so much better, and he’d treasure naked mole rat always. “I love you,” he chuckled a little, fingers stroking along the plane of Max’s cheekbone - and Richie still thought he was the hottest guy he’d ever seen. There were plenty of references to that fact in those letters, along with sonnets dedicated to Max’s ass, but feelings were probably most important - he had plenty of them, something finally good for his storm-battered heart. The second smaller box he picked up, opening it carefully. “Well, I know it’s not your dick in a box.” It was far too tiny for that, oh ho ho. Max flopped down onto the bed on his back, rolling his eyes as he did so because ow, his fingers already in another of Richie’s letters. “The healers managed to salvage all my bits from the attack, don’t worry,” he answered, and peeked out of the corner of his eye as Richie opened it. Because he knew it wasn’t immediately obvious, he said: “That’s a rune that was especially fitted to my staff ages ago; it was what I used to defeat Coerypheus.” He’d had it removed shortly thereafter, having found a better upgrade, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the small, smooth green-blue stone that smelled of a strange mix of spearmint, dirt, and the whisper of cold wind. Spirit magic. “I had it threaded on a strand to wear, but after we met and went together so well, I realized I wanted you to have it.” He smiled, a little shy. “You’ve been ravaged by your own foes, over the years, and… it was such a protection and a comfort for me…” His face felt a little hot, so he did what he did whenever he was a little overwhelmed: cracked a joke. “You may want to throw it out, though; it was shite against the murder turkeys.” “Oh - “ Richie was choked up a bit, that oh coming out in a whoosh, tight but laced with a bit of wonder too. This was like, legit magic - good magic, protective magic, not the kind of magic that took away all of his childhood memories, positive and negative, leaving him with a black hole bubble that he kept poking with a stick over the years because he’d been desperate for something. He’d been reaching for answers and didn’t find them until he was called back to Derry and even then, those answers dragged him down into quicksand. He immediately put it on, around his neck, and the aroma was unlike anything he’d ever encountered before but he knew he wasn’t ever going to take this off. Not very often, anyway. Sniffling a little, because he was a fucking sap and not embarrassed about it, he crawled up next to Max on the bed and snuggled into his side. Not too hard - because, again, ribs. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Those murder turkeys were weird anyway. If this helped you defeat a wannabe god, it must be pretty powerful.” Max automatically rolled over close to him, their limbs a tangle on the comforter, his breath mingling with Richie’s. “You’re welcome, love. I know you’ll keep it safe, and vice-versa. I am,” he huffed, “really glad that the neverending turkey spigot was turned off.” He was rather pleased that he knew what a spigot was, at this rate. He opened up another letter to read; this one was one of the more serious, candy-shelled ones that used sweet words and references. He smiled, face crinkling as he moved his eyes from left to right, absorbing every last stray thought, and when he was done, he silently tilted his head to press a kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth (it tasted like coffee and red velvet cake). The stone tucked away at the front of Richie’s shirt (it was especially loud today, printed with hearts, flowers, cacti, pomegranates and basically the kitchen sink), he snuggled closer and kissed Max thoroughly, leg draped over his hip. He enjoyed being all tangled up in this way, and as far as first Valentines experiences went (besides everyone giving each other cards and shitty, chalky candy in lopsided homemade mailboxes back in the elementary school day) this one was pretty damn good. It may even become his favorite holiday - a holiday to celebrate romance and all of that shit. “Turkey spigot,” he repeated, around another kiss. “I love when you say dirty things to me.” Nuzzling at Max’s throat, Richie gripped at the front of his manfriend’s robe, fingers curling around the cotton. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, I planned to just suggest we stay in anyway, but...you know.” He’d been worried, was all. Mostly about internal bleeding and concussions - he saw how bad Cullen had been, when he was laid up in bed and Richie read him the first couple books in the Vampirates series, doing the voices for each character and everything. “I’m fine,” Max said, because that’s what he said when people asked how he was, and then he took a breath and lent some honesty to it, because Richie was past his bullshit and deserved the truth: “I am. A little sore, here and there, and I’m not up for fighting more turkeys quite yet, but I think a day in bed hoping the castle acoustics don’t echo us sounds like just what the healer ordered.” He waggled his brows at his lover, because they, thankfully, weren’t sore at all, and grabbed another letter from the pile. “But,” he added, turning away with a teasing tone of voice, “if you’re worried about me, and you rather I just read these lovely gifts all day and ignore you entirely… I admit to some disappointment and I do understand----” Richie laughed, prickly five o’clock shadowed cheeks a little flushed - he immediately pulled Max back to him and it was official, they were drowning in a sea of blankets, cake, and love letters. Not a bad way to be. He liked Max’s bedroom, how open and expansive it was, with the balcony overlooking the gardens - it was too cold to have the doors open, but right, those castle acoustics. Those were always the issue. An issue for everyone else, maybe. Not for Richie, personally. He was sure during Max’s time of running this place during the Corypenis situation, lots of people were doing it in lots of places all around the castle anyway. “Not so fast, partner,” he drawled, with all the cowboy dramatics he could muster. “The only turkey you’ll be fighting is the one in my pants.” That didn’t make sense, but Richie was already unbuttoning his loud-ass shirt. There had been times in the past where he wasn’t so eager to take his clothes off, low self-esteem at play but he’d never really had time to bother with being self-conscious around Max. “I mean, you could read the letters but words can’t espresso how much I love you - “ Get it, ‘cause they were drinking coffee, “...so I gotta show you.” “Andraste’s knickers,” Max muttered, “I can’t wait to occupy your mouth so you can’t keep talking.” And to take the sting away, he murmured: “Happy Valentines Day,” into Richie’s ear before he bit it. |