oneman_onevote | (no subject)

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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Puck laughs a little against his chest, his grip not slackening in any noticeable way but the tension going, going--

He draws back, with an effort, and looks up at him, fingertips brushing along one cheekbone.

He's smiling.

"Well," he murmurs.

"Hullo."

"Hello," Havelock echoes, amused -- but pleased, too. He releases his hold as Puck moves back, but leaves a hand resting lightly on one slim shoulder.

"Have you been doing all right?"

He snorts.

"Oh, perfectly."

He's still near enough to be leaning lightly against him, but in the interests of not going cross-eyed he has pulled back a bit from the waist up.

Then he seems to change his mind and hugs him again.

"What did you say about methods, darling?" he says, half-muffled against his chest.

That's perfectly all right - not many people have hugging privileges, but Puck has earned his.

"Oh," he says. "Just that I have no idea how it was achieved. It was peculiar, but I cannot fault the results."

He does feel a little odd still, but that can pretty safely put down to a week out of his own skin.

Puck has now gone rather still, and Havelock will likely recognize the posture of curiosity, even transposed so near as it is now.

He laughs. "I know you and I have rather long familiarity with this place, Havelock-- but was not this entire affair peculiar and preposterous both?"

"Very," Havelock has to agree.

"The cure was stranger than the cause, but far more welcome."

"What manner of cure was it?" asks the limpet-fairy.

Not because he cares, really, as Havelock is quite evidently wholly himself again and that's more or less all that matters.

But if Havelock's so hung up about it, it's probably interesting!

"Red and and glowing," Havelock sums up succinctly.

"There were living vines involved."

Hmm, Puck's limpet impression is really quite uncanny.

"... 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.