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All things considered, he could have accidentally swapped bodies with worse than Trowa Barton.

Havelock will admit, however, that having the process reversed is a definite relief. All the nagging wrongness of height and weight and movement is washing away swiftly, and the lingering peculiarity is a small price to pay for that. He does, however, have a feeling that Puck may have been somewhat put out by the situation, and does not want that to continue any longer than necessary.

Although fixing that would be easier if he could find him.

The Bar and their room are both ominously empty, and he heads out into the mid-afternoon light with a slight frown.

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"... Living vines?"

Now the limpeting has taken on a decidedly shifty quality.

"How, er. Peculiar."

"Yes, I've never run into that kind of thing before," Havelock says, very dryly.

"Still. Having an out-of-body experience induced by a young lady in a feathery ensemble while several yards off the floor is one of those learning moments in life."

All told, he doesn't seem too bothered.

Puck's apologetic snicker is cut short by some profound blinking.

"... A feathery young lady?"

"Indeed. Trowa appeared to know her well enough to think it worth a try."

He pauses, eyeing Puck.

"She did seem vaguely familiar. Acquaintance of yours?"

Puck has pulled away far enough to eye him right back.

"Did you get a name of her?"

Havelock sighs lightly, as if it is much to be regretted.

"Princess Tutu, apparently."

Puck goes :O!

And smiles, incandescently.

(He'd thought so. Though the vines are rather a surprising development.)

"Oh, she is lovely." This is only mildly reproachful.

"I have no doubt," Havelock says, with a reassuring pat to Puck's shoulder.

"Her assistance was very kind indeed."

Her honour is unquestioned!

~~Just her title.~~

Puck's hands have come up to Havelock's face again, fingers light against his cheeks and temples.

He has to look a little ways up.

"'Twas she who put me first into a dancing humor," he admits with a secretive smile.

"I see I am doubly in her debt."

"I see," Havelock says, amused.

"Well, her dress was indeed of a balletic nature. I regret that is not my particular area of expertise."

He has been to the ballet many a time - but never really to perform himself.

"Nor mine," Puck admits with a faint snort.

His smile turns a little sweeter.

"Skilled though she is in her art, I must confess ... I had rather a dance with you."

Havelock smiles sideways in reponse-- not as sweet, but small and secretive.

"And I with you."

(This is, of course, a huge secret, unknown to all.)

Puck laughs.

And rises up on his toes, using the fortuitous positioning of his hands on Havelock's face to maneuver him into a kiss.

It seemed opportune.

Havelock catches him around the waist as easily as ever before, centering and reassuring after days of being the wrong height, with a different reach and centre of gravity, and-

And yes, it feels good to touch Puck again, holding him against his chest after deliberately staying away for a few days.

(What do you want from him?)

There are some people who might have taken this week as an opportunity to reflect that to sink into the sort of despondency Puck did at Havelock's absence might be a sign that he's getting ever so slightly over-attached.

They might additionally ponder what Puck will do when Havelock has to leave again, for longer, and eventually, possibly forever. They might come to doubt the prudence of becoming so entangled with a mortal altogether.

But the fae are not creatures renowned for their foresight, and Puck is surely no exception.

He is preoccupied instead with Havelock's arm about his waist, and his mouth against his; being held, so close.

He finds there is not much room to think on anything else.

Havelock... Havelock has a tendancy to think everything through constantly. Maybe a little too much, in some cases.

He's catalogued the many ways this could end over and again.

None of them appeal.

So for now, he'll just hold on.

Because reading narration has never been an ability of Puck's, when he breaks off their kiss it is with a bright grin, and he reaches up to ruffle Havelock's hair primarily to see if he will be stopped.

Havelock glances up with a mild expression that could conceal any amount of outrage, then drops it back down again to level with Puck's.

He tilts his head, lashes fluttering.

Even he's not sure whether he's after an expression or a telling lack thereof.

Without changing expression, Havelock reaches out and returns the favour.

It's a little more difficult, as his own hair could never hope to reach the tangled heights of Puck's -- but then he's also being a little gentler about it.

Puck lets out a startled laugh rather closer to a giggle, and grins sniggeringly in the direction of the ground.

When he looks up again, the blue of his eyes is very bright.

This time when he pulls Havelock into a kiss, he draws him forward until Puck's back is against the trunk of the tree, and the kiss this time is one of deep concentration and impeccable passion.

Havelock follows him, and rests one hand above Puck's shoulder against the rough grain of the wood to balance himself when he leans in closer.

It isn't necessary now he's in his familiar body, practised at this. That isn't the point.

Puck mumbles something against his lips, though it seems to be of little consequence, because at a particular articulation of Havelock's tongue it trails off into a pleased mmm.

Havelock smiles a little, soft against his mouth, and leans back.

"Hmm?"

Puck gusts out a soft laugh, head tilting back against the tree, and regards Havelock through half-lidded eyes.

"Oh," he says, breathy.

"Why have you stopped?"