bloodyrockgod | Stargazing

Bartleby smiles back. "Shall we go find a place to sit? There's a little hill over there."

"Sounds good." He leaves his hand in Bartleby's, letting him lead the way.

When they reach the top of the little hill, Bartleby casts around for a suitable rock, and then swaps with Charlie the thermos for the blankets.

He lays one blanket on the ground in front of the rock and then sits down with the other draped around his shoulders, leaning against the rock. He pats the blanket between his legs. "Sit?"

Charlie takes off the guitar and puts it aside, and sits between Bartleby's legs, leaning back against him. "Mmm . . . nice." He unscrews the thermos and pours a cup. "Drink?"

Bartleby arranges the blanket so that both he and Charlie are cocooned in it, and then extracts a hand to accept the cup. "Thank you."

"Mm," Charlie sighs again, wrapped in Bartleby-warmth. The night is clear, the stars are brilliant in the deep blue sky, and he has only one complaint. "The only problem with this is that I can't kiss you."

"I can kiss you, though." He demonstrates by licking the back of Charlie's neck.

Charlie laughs and tilts his head forward. "No fair," he murmurs and snuggles himself back against Bartleby. He turns his head back and thrusts his hand into Bartleby's hair, to pull their mouths together.

It's a bit sloppy, but it still works.

"Mmmm." Bartleby sighs happily into the kiss. He's warm and comfortable and happy.

"I feel like I've hardly gotten to touch you lately," Charlie pauses long enough to say, and then his tongue is soft and questioning against Bartleby's lips.

"Been busy," Bartleby murmurs into the kiss. "And bruised."

"I shall put a stop to that," Charlie vows. "I'll tell the next person who threatens my friends they can't hit me in the face.

"B . . . I don't want you to fight Loki."

"Yeah." Bartleby sighs. "I don't want to fight him. Just beat him up."

"I was talking to Moiraine about it--she wanted to know how I got the bruises--and it occured to me it might be some kind of madness in him. So I don't think violence will do him any good. Might make him worse."

And I don't want him hurting you goes unsaid but he kisses Bartleby again fiercely.

"But... Loki. Violence always does him good."

He sighs, and then smiles a little. "I'll talk to him. I'm not making any promises, but I'll talk." He settles back against the rock.

"Moiraine's a healer. If there's something really wrong with him, she might be able to help." He runs his hands down Bartleby's arms and interlaces their fingers. He rubs Bartleby's palms with his thumbs.

"Do you need more coffee? Are you cold?"

"No, I'm good. You have some coffee, though. It's really warming." Bartleby tips his head back onto the rock to look at the stars.

"God, they're amazing."

He sips from the cup and leans his head back against Bartleby's shoulder. "They are." He turns his head and closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of Bartleby. The quiet of the night is astounding, almost profound.

"Wish I could see some constellations, though."

"Mm." He looks up at the stars again, ostensibly their purpose for being out here, and smiles. "It's not real anyway, yeah? That's the story I've heard. It's someone's memory of somewhere . . ."

And all I need to see is you.

"This whole lake and everything, yeah. Sirius' place. Peter made it. But there's always been the stars. There was always something out here, even if it was just grass." He kisses the top of Charlie's head.

He strokes Bartleby's fingers. "Why did you teach Naomi astrology?" he asks quietly.

"It was a forbidden sience, like the science of herbs, that stuff. God had told us not to teach it to them. But they were so... illogical. So chaotic. They needed learning.

"We began to teach select individuals in secret. Naomi wanted to learn. So I taught her." He sighs. "Shouldn't have."

Charlie continues stroking Bartleby's fingers. "Always seems to be seeking wisdom that gets us into trouble.

You taught her, and when it was discovered they killed her . . . what happened to the boy?"

Jeremiah. He experiments with the name. Jeremiah.

"it was her own fault," Bartleby mutters. "Correcting the High Priest. In public." He shakes his head, and looks at Charlie.

"Jeremiah... he trained as a smith, a metalworker. The Nephilim - our children - were bigger than normal humans. He didn't stand out as much in that profession."

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