psl; the broken hearts book club

[revmeup]

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[revmeup]

She prods her lip with her tongue to check the damage. Meh, she's had worse on a night out.

"Saved the flowers, though!"

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

"You're more important than flowers," he gently scolds. "I can buy you more flowers, but you are irreplaceable." Gently brushing her lip with his thumb, he beams at her. "Though I'm making a mental note to give you flowers at home from now on, when you're not walking anywhere."

[revmeup]

She clutches the flowers and little tighter and angles her body away like she's worried he might take them back now that she can't be trusted. It would be nice to simply let him fuss over her, but her lips turn town in a tight little frown.

"You... know I get hurt a lot, right? That's the line of work I'm in."

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

Oh, he messed up again. It's not unexpected, but it's disappointing all the same.

"I'm... aware, yes. I remember how you looked when you came back from the Underdark once the ring was divested of its magic. But surely you don't fault me for not particularly enjoying the idea of seeing you hurt?"

[revmeup]

"I know, but I just-- It matters to me, to keep working. I don't--"

She looks down and reaches for his hand. Squeezes his fingers and steps close enough to rest her forehead on his shoulder.

"I can't be just a pretty thing that lives in your house."

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

Gale rests his free hand on her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and just for a moment the fact that they're surrounded by people doesn't matter.

"You are a pretty thing and I'm thrilled that you live in my house, but," he kisses the top of her head, "I want you to be healthy and happy, but I wouldn't sacrifice the latter for the former. I would ask you to exercise a bit more caution than you're accustomed to, I would be pleased if the jobs you take are near enough to Waterdeep that you're not gone overlong. But I would never tell you that you can't work. It isn't my place to tell you what to do."

It seems that no matter what they do, she will always be looking for the trap ready to spring and cage her in, and he will always be dreading the moment she leaves for good.

[revmeup]

She cringes, but he won't know what actually bothers her unless she says it. She's still learning that she can say anything about herself at all.

"I have a history. Of ... losing pieces of myself, to fit into someone else's life. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to do this right with you. I want to be a good partner, not a prop. I'll be more careful, I'll stay close, and I'll still get to stay myself too. Does that... do you get it?"

She's not trying to keep a door open so she can have a way out. She's trying to build something more real than she's had before.

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

That's so familiar it hurts, like they've both stuck their hand into the same fire and have the same scars to prove it. "I understand. I'm... similarly inexperienced at maintaining an individual identity in relationships," he says, as if this is news to her, as if he doesn't have his ex's symbol still pierced through his ear. "But I want to do this right, too."

[revmeup]

"I'm going to keep you," she promises.

All the mess and broken edges and uncertain futures. She'll hold every piece of himself that he doesn't love and tuck him next to her heart.

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

He positively beams at her, leaning in to (carefully, so as not to crush the flowers) kiss her deeply, right there in the street.

"Then perhaps we should get home? So you can keep me in private." This time, he waggles his eyebrows at her.

[revmeup]

He makes her laugh and she slips her hand in the crook of his elbow to drag him home.

"I'm going to get my mouth on you tonight." Another promise, just as heartfelt as before.

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

He might doubt her assertion, or assume it would be true in only the most technical sense (kissing would meet the qualifications as stated), he knows her well enough to know that she is brilliant enough to look impossibility in the face and laugh.

"Before or after you get to open your box?"

[revmeup]

"After, so I die without regrets if half a blowjob makes you explode."

That certainly makes her intentions clear.

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

He barks a laugh and begins to turn very red, very quickly.

"We can't blow up the city, Harley, Tara lives here," he points out.

[revmeup]

Harley hums and skips ahead a little.

"Then you'd better not come in my mouth!" she sing-songs over her shoulder. Out loud.

In. Public.

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

Gale rushes to meet her, taking her arm again and hurrying home, whether to keep her from saying things like that in public anymore or because he's eager to begin the evening's festivities isn't clear. 

(It's definitely both.) 

When they get back to the tower, he opens the door for her, gentlemanly as always, and sweeps into the kitchen to look for a vase to put the flowers in. 

"Did you really want to make dinner, or would you prefer that I do it? I don't mind," says Gale Acts-of-Service Dekarios into the cabinet he's searching.

[revmeup]

Harley giggles and sneaks flirty touches all the way home.

She grabs his hips and moves him away from the cabinet to take over. "Sounds like somebody still has no faith in my cooking! You said I was getting better!" She gives him a pout over her shoulder, with no real feeling behind it. She's better in the kitchen than she used to be, but still definitely bad. They both know it. But she'll never learn without constant, repeated failure.

"You can pick the recipe and I promise, I swear, I'll stick to it. Leveled spoons and all."

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

"You are getting better!" he replies, his voice just a touch too high. He's not lying, she is getting better. Her latest attempts didn't even taste toxic.

But then again, if she asked him to light himself on fire for her, he would probably do it, so what's a meal that's five times as spicy as it ought to be?

"Let me find a recipe." While she searches for a vase, he gets out his cookbook. It's not unlike his spell book, full of recipes in Gale's careful handwriting, some of them annotated with later discoveries. He chooses a simple chicken dish, and lays the book on the counter open to the proper page. "How's this?"

[revmeup]

Harley sets the vase on the table and steps up beside Gale to glance at the recipe. She barely looks at the page, instead focusing on trailing her hand up his back and nosing against his neck.

"Sure, I can give that a try." She takes the box from where it was safely tucked in her cleavage and presses it back into his hand. "Now go work on your sonnet, so you can give this back to me."

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

"You don't want me to remain nearby?" he asks, eyebrows raising, not exactly disappointed, more like slightly concerned.

The thing about Gale is that, in some ways, he is a very good teacher. His explanations are detailed, and he is encouraging. When mistakes happen, he doesn't get angry. His explanations are always detailed (sometimes overly so). On the other hand, he wants to be involved, to help, to make corrections --- and when things go sideways, he tries to take over completely. It's not malicious, he just can't seem to help himself when the topic is something he's good at.

[revmeup]

"Gale my love, one room over still counts as nearby." She rolls her eyes with affection and starts pushing him out of the kitchen. "And if you keep finding new ways to make me wait to get that not-yet-confirmed-to-be-a-ring then I will throw you over the balcony."

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

That succeeds in making him laugh a little, easing his concern about kitchen fires. "Ah, but what good would it do you? I'm a strong swimmer, so I'd only come back."

It's fine. If there's a fire, he can come running to make sure it's put out quickly.

So he turns, gives her one more kiss, and vacates the room as asked. He doesn't make as much progress on his poem as he'd like, pausing occasionally to wonder whether he smells smoke or too much spice or whether he's imagining it.

[revmeup]

Harley accidentally adds the salt twice, then doubles up the rest of the seasoning for the sake of ratios. Gale has talked about ratios before, so she knows that's the right thing to do at least in some contexts. Maybe this is one of those times. The chicken doesn't burn, but it does end up overcooked and dry.

Overall, disappointing but not offensive. One of her top efforts so far.

Once dinner is ready, she comes to find him. She slips her arms around his shoulders and bends to kiss the back of his neck.

"You look stuck. Need some inspiration?"

[stoplickingthedamnthing]

To his credit, Gale manages not to get up and check on dinner even once. It's almost as impressive as her unburnt chicken. 

"From my muse? Always." 

He twists in his chair and tips his head upwards like a sunflower chasing the sun, then gives her a kiss. 

"Dinner smells delicious," he remarks when they separate, and it's true! Nothing smells burned or strange, which makes pride swell in his chest.

[revmeup]

Harley pulls his chair back so there's room for her to move between him and the desk. She settles on his lap, her fingers moving to stroke his nape as she moves in for another kiss.

She sighs happily and her lips brush softly along his jaw when they part. Inspiration.

"Hey," she noses at the tender skin under his ear. "Cast detect thoughts."