oneman_onevote | (no subject)

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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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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?"

Havelock takes the opportunity to duck his head and touch a lingering kiss just under Puck's jawline.

"I thought you were trying to say something," he says quietly, lips brushing still-damp skin there. "My mistake."

"Oh--"

Puck's head falls obligingly to one side at the touch of Havelock's mouth, and his hands slide up Havelock's back in what is either a proprietary or an imploring manner, depending upon one's perspective.

"You are a terrible gentleman," he murmurs wryly.

"Or-- perhaps a perfect one."

"Let me know when you decide," Havelock requests dryly, and doesn't move either of his hands, but presses his mouth briefly against Puck's throat again.

"I'd hate to present an inaccurate representation of myself."

He snorts.

"You shouldn't at all-- but as for myself ... mmm." Havelock is really quite good at what he does. "I doubt I could draw any sort of conclusion ... with such paltry evidence as this."

Havelock smirks.

Puck is incorrigible.

But then, he knew that.

"You'll not get much further out here," he says, with apparent deep thought on the matter. "And I would very much like to know."

Puck sighs, mournfully.

"I know I shan't, my love. And yet hope springs eternal."

He nudges Havelock with one hip, angled slightly sideways for this specific purpose, and smiles faintly.

"Upstairs?"

"Yes, I think so," Havelock agrees solemnly, pushing himself back from the trunk one-handed.

"Although your continued optimism is noted."

Dream on, Puckling.

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