oom: post-atlantean adventures

[puckishly]

Puck, who has woken rather early having frankly not slept all that much, prepares to greet the inevitable day.

Is this enough water?

He'd thought it was.

He does hope Havelock isn't cross.




... But if he is, it will likely be at least a little bit hilarious.

"And I wish to hear not a word from you," he notes to the portrait.

The painting sits balefully on the wall, keeping a sulky silence.

Comments

[puckishly]

Puck sighs.

And pokes him.

(At this juncture, loud or hissing speech would probably be more painful.)

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock makes a faint and only half-awake sound of protest.

Also, his nails dig in.

[puckishly]

"Ah," Puck laughs, breathy.

A soft snicker follows.

"Again?"

[oneman_onevote]

"...Hm?""

Atlantean.

Never again.



...Havelock will swear, once he's fully cogent.

[puckishly]

"Your nails," he murmurs in a soft sing-song, tipping his head closer to Havelock's ear.

[oneman_onevote]

Pillow-muffled, "...Oh."

His grip loosens.

A bit.

Enough, hopefully.

[puckishly]

Puck blinks, then giggles.

Oh, Havelock.

Who do you take him for?

"Again, rather," he protests, amused.

"Is what I said."

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock pauses, still facedown in the pillow.

Then he lets go of Puck's arm in favour of curling a swift hand over the back of his neck.

Nails and all, if Puck insists.

[puckishly]

"Mmmm," he says ticklishly, neck craning slightly.

This seems to be a sign of approval.

[oneman_onevote]

Oh good.

Havelock isn't losing his touch completely, then.

He settles his fingers comfortably in the soft tangles of hair at the nape of Puck's neck, and tries to will his headache away.

It could work.

[puckishly]

Puck, meanwhile, stretches pleasantly; his fingertips graze down along Havelock's side.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock hand tightens a little in his hair.

That's code for 'tickle me right now, and die'.

Well, 'die' or possibly 'be thrown up upon' which is less dire but also less dignified.

[puckishly]

Puck was just trying to get to his hipbone!

Where is he keeping that thing ...


(The tightening-in-his-hair sensation, meanwhile, is not exactly discouraging to him.)

[oneman_onevote]

Therefore he may live.



Havelock Vetinari is not, at this stage of his life, a morning person.

He's also only debatably conscious.

[puckishly]

Puck is happy to continue that debate!

Especially since if he comes to be undebatably unconscious, Puck will be failing in the one task he was assigned.

He gives Havelock's hipbone a squeeze, fingers trailing towards his waistband.

[oneman_onevote]

Puck's dedication to duty is an inspiration.

And Havelock does appreciate it.


It looks like he's burrowing as far into the pillow as he possibly can without actually moving, sure, but there's appreciation in there somewhere.

[puckishly]

All hangovers considered, Puck is not too terribly insulted.

Slight problem, however:

Havelock's face-down.


Hrrrrm.

[oneman_onevote]

It's a dilemma.



Havelock's contribution mostly consists of rubbing gently at the back of Puck's head in a mildly uncoordinated fashion.

But it proves he isn't asleep!

[puckishly]

It is strong evidence in favor of wakefulness at the very least.

Puck snuggles a little closer and nuzzles at Havelock's shoulder.

[oneman_onevote]

With supreme effort, Havelock turns his head to one side, so he's mostly facing Puck, and his eyes blink open once more.

...Oh, light.

Painful but necessary.

[puckishly]

Puck peers at his face.

He's mostly checking for paleness, bloodshot eyes, and any indication that he's about to be ill.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock is very pale, but only a little more than usual.

(Sunlight has never been his friend.)

"I should get up," he says, in a small voice that lacks conviction of any kind.

[puckishly]

Puck kisses his shoulder.

"Do you wish it? I shall help, if you do."

[oneman_onevote]

"No," he says.

"...But I must at some time, so yes."

[puckishly]

"Ah," Puck laughs.

"You are terribly preposterous."