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teamflareTitle: And With Your Hands Your Hearts
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: Augustine proposes.
Notes: Exacly what it says on the tin: a fluffy marriage proposal fic. How the mighty have fallen. Title is from Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part 3.
AO3 Link: Here.
Living with Augustine was surprisingly easy. He should have expected it, really; the man was plain and simply the sort to go with the flow at all times. He'd seen it many times before, in all sorts of circumstances, including their relationship, now and then. The only thing he wouldn't relent on, these days, was the need to be constantly at his side, always here to reaffirm his willingness to guide him toward a better appreciation of the world and the people living in it. Other than that, he'd go along with nearly anything Lysandre suggested, whether it involved which food to have for dinner, or who should use the shower first.
They had developed a routine, throughout the months, that Lysandre imagined could be defined as "domestic." They slept together in the cramped bed – they'd gotten used to it, somehow, and truthfully, sleeping was far from the most difficult thing they had to do there – and ate together in the small kitchen in the morning. Then they'd go to the lab, usually, to meet up with the children, when they didn't have scheduled appointments with people who were interested in the ideas they'd been brewing together. It was a quiet sort of life, the kind that Lysandre would have thought himself above not so long ago. Now he cherished every minute of it, every moment he could spend holding Augustine against him at night, or touching him casually during the day.
The children knew. He thought perhaps Serena had figured it out first, but it was Shauna who'd gathered the courage to bring it up, one afternoon when they were alone in the lab together. She looked oddly serious as she asked him if he and Augustine were dating.
He didn't like the word – dating. It sounded childish, casual in a way that bothered him. There were other words he didn't like, except when Augustine was whispering them into his ear as they lay together in bed, words like "boyfriend" or even "lover." So he'd turned toward Shauna and said, mimicking her gravitas, that he and Augustine were partners.
She'd grimaced a little, with the bravado that only a teen her age could have in his presence, and asked what he meant by that. Her exact words – "do you mean you love him?" – still resonated within his skull whenever he thought back on it.
Her smug look when he'd succinctly replied, "Yes." had been amusing, at least, if nothing else.
He hadn't told Augustine about that conversation, shamefully, but she'd immediately informed her friends that they were, in fact, dating. The news had seemed to take a toll on Trevor especially, who he often caught staring at him with an unusual amount of intensity for a boy who used to do anything possible to avoid him.
When Serena and Calem had congratulated him on his relationship, Augustine had laughed, the sound so full of happiness that Lysandre hadn't been able to quell his urge to touch him. They'd held hands in the garden, beaming even under the weight of the summer sun, and for once Lysandre hadn't cared at all that the assistant scientists were looking at them.
He loved him.
He loved him even when they fought, when Augustine crumbled under the pressure, when Lysandre couldn't deal with the intensity of his own feelings; even when they couldn't agree about something, when Augustine pushed back and didn't let go. Sometimes he thought he loved him all the more in those moments. It was Augustine who knew what he needed, it was Augustine who knew who he was. On the flip side, it was Lysandre who knew when Augustine was at his limit, when he was finally reaching the point of being overwhelmed.
They'd perfected the art of give and take, entirely attuned to each other.
Hence why Lysandre found himself so puzzled, one innocuous evening, by the tense, erratic way Augustine was behaving. He'd spent the whole dinner – an otherwise very pleasant affair at a prestigious establishment in the capital that Malva had suggested they try when he'd seen her the week before – fidgeting with everything he could get his hands on. He'd played with his fork against the plate, rolled his wine glass between his fingers, kept adjusting his napkin on his lap.
When Lysandre had asked, Augustine had mentioned some papers at the lab that he'd forgotten to fill, but it was obviously an excuse made up on the spot. He hadn't pushed, for fear of ruining the mood.
Now they were back at home – and it still did something to him to think of this place he shared with Augustine as home. Home was where the heart was, he supposed, and there was more heart here than in the lonely corridors of his abandoned family property, the last remnant of his former glory. He had only gone there once or twice to gather some files and drop some of his excess belongings. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it.
Augustine was sitting on the bed, tapping his fingers against his lips, caught up in the contemplation of a pile of clothes he'd left on the bedroom's floor at some point. Lysandre had given up on disturbing his mess a long time ago. He followed the quick movements of his fingertips, his eyes lingering on the professor's mouth for several seconds, feeling himself grow restless as well.
"Are you alright? You seem preoccupied," he finally said, moving to sit beside him.
Rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, Augustine sighed and pressed his thigh against his. In response, Lysandre let his hand fall on the other man's knee, squeezing it slightly. Augustine shot him a look, his eyes dark, and laid his face against his shoulder.
"Dinner was nice," he said, softly. He hummed when Lysandre slowly ran the tips of his fingers against his inner thigh. "You'll have to thank Malva the next time you see her."
Lysandre laughed, feeling Augustine shudder against him when his hand gripped the full width of his leg. "I will."
Even though his body was reacting positively to Lysandre's touch, Augustine broke away from him when he tried for a kiss. They looked at each other. Lysandre crooked one eyebrow, perplexed.
"Stay here," Augustine said as he stood, their shoulders brushing. His face was flushed, but his voice was firm. "Oh, and get up from the bed. You need to be standing up for this." He licked his lips, playing with the strand of hair falling in his face, and turned away. "I'll be right back."
Then he walked out, leaving a dumbfounded Lysandre behind. He stood up, as he'd been ordered to, trying to ignore the unsteady rhythm of his heart beating so hard and fast in his chest. He could think of many pleasant things that would require him to be standing up, though none of them would have justified Augustine acting so strangely. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, over and over, to keep himself steady, and allowed himself to simply wait and see. Whatever it was, it could only be a good thing; even if Augustine had been on edge all evening, he'd also been obviously happy, and he'd responded to his advances with his usual eagerness before he'd cut them short.
Yet, for every minute he spent standing in front of the bed, Lysandre grew more and more worried. He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to call out for the other man.
After what felt like an eternity, Augustine reappeared in the doorframe, the expression on his face unreadable, though his eyes were gleaming with what Lysandre thought was determination. He was holding something in his hand. Something small.
Upon noticing it, Lysandre felt both very hot and very cold. He stood straight and stiff, his mouth dry, as Augustine walked toward him, his gaze burning a hole through his heart.
"Augustine," he said, low and pleading.
"I wanted to do this during dinner, at first, but I thought you'd hate it," Augustine started, his voice unsure, gradually getting more confident as he let the words flow out. "It took a while for Gurkinn to get back to me, you know, what with... everything that's happened. But this felt like the most obvious way to ask you this, so I waited." He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sharp, quiet laugh that made Lysandre's heart ache. "Feels like I've done nothing but wait for you, these last few months."
He took a deep breath through his nose and, stopping right in front of Lysandre, bent down on one knee.
"Augustine," Lysandre repeated, and this time it came out almost like a chuckle, a wild little sound that made the other man smile up at him.
"I had a whole thing rehearsed, just so you know, I was going to blow your mind," Augustine rambled, his fingers shaking around the little box as he took out something that Lysandre hadn't seen in months. He carefully set the box on the floor next to him and held out the ring in the dim light of the ceiling lamp, the brand new key-stone glistening. "But I think I'll just cut to the chase if that's okay with you."
Lysandre ran his hand on his face, letting it rest against his forehead. He couldn't stop himself from smiling, yet already his vision was getting a little blurry around the edges.
"I'm all ears."
"Lysandre," Augustine said, and when their gazes met, his eyes were as bright and shiny as the stone-set ring in his hand. He licked his lips once, and then again a second time, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed. "Will you marry me?"
Inhaling sharply, Lysandre lowered his hand to cover his eyes. His ears were ringing, his body tensing from the sheer magnitude of the feelings that were seizing him. He could hear Augustine go on as if he were very far away,
"O–of course, we don't have to rush this, and I know this is a bit– unconventional, I suppose, but I thought you'd like to be there with me to pick rings to wear, not to mention, I trust your taste in jewelry better than mine–"
Lysandre made a choked noise, interrupting him. The fingers he had pressed against his eyelids were wet.
"Lysandre," he heard Augustine say, and the tenderness in his voice extracted another strangled sound from him, "are you crying?"
"No," Lysandre replied right away, his breath hitching. Then, realizing what he'd just said, he added, lifting his fingers just enough to look Augustine in the eyes, "Yes."
Augustine was grinning openly at him now, radiating so much joy that Lysandre felt blinded by it. "Yes?"
"Yes, of course," Lysandre said, dropping his tear-streaked hand away from his face. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, for lack of habit.
With a sigh, Augustine let his head fall forward, clutching the ring in his hand tightly. "Okay," he said, and to Lysandre's relief, there were tears in his voice as well. "Okay. Good, that's– That's good."
He sniffled loudly, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand. Lysandre took a step toward him.
"Oh, yeah, huh, could you help me get up?" Augustine laughed, the sound coming out a little wet. "This isn't great for my knees."
Lysandre held him by the elbows, gently, to guide him back up to a standing position, and then, as Augustine tried to get his legs to stop wobbling, dragged him into a full-body hug, burying his face in his hair. Augustine relaxed immediately in his embrace, wrapping his arms around him, the ring still in his hand. He closed his eyes, and they both basked in the physicality of the other, the high-speed staccato of their heartbeats.
"I love you," Augustine mumbled, his lips pressed against Lysandre's clavicle. Then he said it again, "I love you," just a bit louder, one hand grasping the fabric of his shirt roughly. "I love you so much."
They held on to each other with a desperate sort of urgency, and Lysandre found that he couldn't stop the tears that were spilling out of his eyes. He couldn't remember ever crying this way, his whole body trembling with it. The sweet scent of Augustine's hair – his shampoo, or perhaps his conditioner if he'd remembered to use it – was mixing in with the salty and humid smell, tickling Lysandre's nose.
Time stretched around them, stuck in the intensity of this moment, until he felt Augustine shift against him, resting his chin against the top of his chest.
"I think I'd like to kiss the bride now," he said, his voice a little steadier.
Lysandre looked down at him, meeting his sparkling eyes half-hidden behind his hair, and chuckled. "So I'm the bride, then."
"Well, you're the princess who was stuck in a deep slumber, and I'm the knight who waited dutifully at your bedside until you woke up," Augustine explained slowly. His palms were now pressed flat against Lysandre's back, and he could feel the shape of the ring there, through the fabric of his shirt. "So it stands to reason that you'd be the bride."
"Mhm. I suppose I can't argue with that."
Augustine let go of him almost reluctantly, taking half a step backward. "Give me your hand."
Neither of them shook as he cautiously slid the ring back on Lysandre's finger. He hadn't worn it in so long he'd almost forgotten how heavy it felt; a constant presence that faded away once you'd gotten used to it, like a thought at the back of his mind. Like the love he felt for Augustine as he watched him compare the size of their hands, brushing his palm against Lysandre's. He laced their fingers together and hummed contentedly when Lysandre brought his other hand to his face, to hold his chin up gently so they could finally kiss.
Augustine swiftly maneuvered himself into a better position, taking hold of Lysandre's shoulder and gesturing for him to bend down further. Still holding hands in between their bodies, they kissed slowly, savoring the exhilarating rush of this moment. Augustine's thumb was brushing against Lysandre's collar, its nail scraping the sensitive flesh of his neck and sending shivers up and down his spine. When he moved to grasp Augustine's waist, he felt his lips curl into a smile against his. The next thing Lysandre knew, the professor was lifting his leg to wrap it around his hips as if they were executing some kind of elaborate dance movement.
They both laughed when they broke away from each other, narrowly avoiding sending Augustine stumbling to the ground.
"I love you," Lysandre said, the words falling out of his mouth before he'd even registered it was happening. He froze, then, their fingers still tightly clasped together.
Augustine closed his eyes slowly, as if he could barely comprehend what he'd heard, before nudging himself close again, pressing his forehead against Lysandre's chest hard, bringing him back to life.
"Saying it like this," he breathed out, and Lysandre wrapped himself around him once more, awed as always at how easily they fit together, "like it's easy."
"It is easy," Lysandre said, and it was true. It had been easy, to say it, to say these words he'd never thought himself capable of saying. He tried to say them one more time, just to see, "I love you."
"I love you too," Augustine replied, trembling against him. "I think I'm going to pass out."
Lysandre thought he understood how he felt; though he was still feeling the buzz of what they'd just gone through, now he felt exhausted, the burst of emotions too much for his body and mind. He guided him gently toward the bed, still holding on to him even once they'd both lain down, still fully clothed – they could take care of that later.
He didn't want to stop touching him. Keeping his hands on Augustine's body seemed suddenly imperative to his survival. They lay facing each other, their faces very close. Lysandre brushed his thumb softly against Augustine's cheek, still a little wet.
"Can you say it again?" Augustine asked. His own hand was resting on Lysandre's hip, rubbing his waistband absentmindedly.
"I love you," Lysandre said with a playful smile, his eyebrows raised slightly. The words felt good against his tongue, like they belonged there, had always belonged there. "Mhm. I do have to make up for lost time."
"You'll have to say it every morning and every night, at least."
Lysandre closed his eyes, his hand now nested in the crook of Augustine's neck. "That sounds reasonable."
Now that he felt somewhat calmer – although his heart was still hammering away in his chest, encouraged by Augustine's light touches – he allowed himself a minute to think about what all of this meant for their future.
Bryony would be elated, of course, and Malva would tease him endlessly. The children would likely rejoice, except maybe Trevor, who'd have to be convinced by Shauna or Tierno. He couldn't even begin to guess what AZ would think, though he knew the giant would be supportive. Augustine really liked him, too, so there was absolutely no way they weren't inviting him and Floette to whatever ceremony they would no doubt hold to celebrate.
Despite himself, his thoughts quickly strayed to less pleasant considerations. He was all too aware that Augustine's association with him, in the aftermath of his defeat, had done a number on his reputation. Though the initial kickback had dwindled somewhat over the passing months, whether from his own efforts to appear remorseful and make amends or from Augustine's continuing willingness to advocate for him, they still ran into people who looked at them with wary eyes often enough. Lysandre didn't care much for it, as far as he was concerned; he deserved it, first of all, but above all, it wasn't like he had much more to lose at this point. He'd already been disgraced: his café liquidated, the ownership and long-term support of the holo-caster mostly out of his hands.
Augustine, on the contrary, had everything to lose.
He weathered through it with his usual good-naturedness, keeping a front of being unaffected in front of the children, enduring the way his scientists and assistants sometimes looked at them in a manner that made it clear that they didn't approve – but Lysandre had to hold him up, some evenings, when he crumbled as soon as they stepped in his apartment, talking about how he was afraid to hit up his old mentor for fear of being judged, about the way people seemed to be constantly waiting for him to slip up and admit that he was wrong, that he was still under Lysandre's influence, that he was a lovesick fool besotted with a would-be murderer. Surely this would only get worse if they officialized their bond. He could hear them already, proclaiming that they were flaunting their relationship, mocking those who'd been traumatized by Lysandre's crimes, trying to act like nothing was wrong.
Of course, Lysandre had never been one to give much weight to the opinions of his contemporaries – unless they could prove themselves to him. However, this wasn't about him; this was about Augustine. He opened his eyes only to find the other man looking at him with such an adoring expression that he felt a sharp pang of affection pierce through his heart.
"Augustine," he said quietly, brushing his thumb lightly against the stubble on his jaw, "aren't you worried?"
"Worried?" Augustine frowned, just a little, his eyes full of incomprehension. "About what?"
Lysandre felt gentle fingers slide under his shirt, to caress the skin of his hip. "People are already harsh on you for associating with me..."
"Don't you dare," Augustine interrupted him, fierce and outraged. His nails dug into the flesh, though the sensation wasn't unwelcome. "You already said yes. You can't walk this back now."
"I would never walk this back," Lysandre said firmly. He still carried that happiness within his chest, and he knew he would for a very long time. "But– I worry about how it could damage your reputation further..."
Augustine sighed. "You don't know that. Maybe it'll have the opposite effect. Maybe people will think, if he's willing to marry him then surely he can't actually be that bad!" He chuckled, leaning into Lysandre's touch as he continued to run his thumb on his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't that be nice, to let them see that we really love each other?"
"Or maybe they'll think you've fallen further into my grasp."
"I'm sure that given enough time, they'll come to see that it's actually the other way around." Augustine's smile was tantalizingly sly against his finger.
Lysandre couldn't help but smile back, even if he still felt a little unsure. "I envy your ability to believe in others like this."
It sounded perhaps sourer than he'd intended, but Augustine didn't seem put off by it.
"That's why you need me around," he said, looking even more smug. His hand left Lysandre's hip, to his regret. "Come on. Lie on your back, I want to get on top of you."
Lysandre frowned slightly but did as he was told, sliding himself even closer to Augustine so he could lie in the middle of the bed, his head propped up on several pillows. Slowly, deliberately, as if he was a predator circling his prey, Augustine moved to first straddle him, sending ripples of heat to the other man's nether region, and then simply lie down as he'd said, draping himself over Lysandre like a blanket, his cheek resting on his chest. He hummed sweetly, content, and once he'd settled, Lysandre began to run his fingers through his hair, making him sigh.
There was something so blissfully comforting about feeling Augustine's weight on top of him like this, as if he were a shield keeping Lysandre safe from the rest of the world. As long as they could lie together this way, they could survive anything. He could feel him smile against his chest, shifting a little so he could lean into the hand lovingly stroking his scalp.
"I like being like this," Augustine said, half-muffled in the fabric of Lysandre's shirt. "Being able to feel all of you. Make sure you're not going anywhere."
Lysandre chuckled, willing himself not to be overcome with emotion once again. "Where would I go?"
"I don't know." Augustine closed his eyes, letting his arms lay uselessly against Lysandre's sides. "I talked with AZ about this, this fear of losing you, and he said he felt the same."
The ancient king did spend most of his time keeping track of his companion, obsessively checking that she hadn't left him again, never letting her leave his sight. Lysandre had never disappeared as she had, but he'd been gone in a different way, sleeping away days that Augustine had spent alone, awaiting his return. He felt his heart ache painfully at the thought.
"I love you," he said. The words were almost magical, making his whole self tingle with how much he meant them. He would have laughed at himself, at what a fool he was to be so enamored, had it not made him this deliriously happy.
Augustine breathed in and out, the rise and fall of his chest against Lysandre's causing warm flutters to bloom in the pit of his stomach.
"I love you too, my wonderful husband."
He grinned impishly, teeth gleaming in the dim light, when Lysandre's heartbeat picked up at that.
"I'm not your husband yet," Lysandre let out, his voice hoarse. He was not going to shed any more tears if he could help it.
"You're right. You're my wonderful fiancé."
"I'm not– I'm not wonderful." The childishness of the comeback made him wince at himself, though not without some humor.
Augustine laughed, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Maybe not. You sure are my fiancé though."
He kissed his throat, nipping at the skin lightly, making Lysandre shudder.
"I want to wear a ring with your name on it," he said against his pulse, before kissing that spot again. Lysandre wrapped both of his arms around him with a deep, heaving sigh. "Want to feel it all the time around my finger, knowing everyone can see I'm yours and you're mine..."
"Augustine," Lysandre sighed, stirring under him, electrified by the feeling of their bodies rubbing together and Augustine's mouth trailing on his skin. "Perhaps we should get undressed, before..."
"Before?" Augustine teased, but he settled down, pressing his cheek against the other man's chest once more. "Sorry. Give me a minute."
They lay together for a while longer, Augustine's hands resting on Lysandre's shoulders, focusing only on the other's breathing and the warmth shared between them. His eyes half-closed, Lysandre thought about everything he'd left behind to end up here, so full of love he could barely contain it. He played with his ring idly, sliding it around his middle finger with his thumb, caught up on the mental image of Augustine and him wearing matching rings, standing before all those who knew them to celebrate their union, showing off their unbreakable bond to the whole world.
He'd never thought himself the sort, and he knew Augustine similarly didn't have any strong attachment toward marriage. Yet somehow it felt like the natural progression of their relationship, the most evident way of expressing their feelings for one another. Not so much the act of marriage in itself, though the prospect of wearing Augustine's name made his chest feel tight – finally shedding the worst parts of himself to become fully his. It was the meaning of it: a testimony to the fact that they were forever tied to each other, with the whole world as their witness.
They could get married in Couriway Town, maybe, surrounded by the sounds of rushing water, erasing once and for all the last remnants of the memories he had of that place, back in the previous world. No longer a gravesite, but instead the venue for a new beginning, for a life of hope and trust instead of death and despair.
He felt Augustine shift again, yawning softly, and watched him sit up, back to straddling him, his eyes narrowed, content. When their gazes met, Lysandre found that he couldn't let go, couldn't stop himself from soaking in that shared longing, the warmth of a passion dedicated to him and him alone, and returned in kind.
"You love me," Augustine said, pleased with what he'd seen. He took Lysandre's left hand in his and brushed his lips on the ring, smiling at the way it made the other man stir under him.
"I love you," Lysandre replied, even though it wasn't a question. Impulsively, and maybe because Augustine had begun gently sucking on his knuckle, barely teasing the flesh with his teeth, he added, his voice tight, "Forever."
Augustine laughed silently, his mouth vibrating against the ring, before he let it rest against his bottom lip so he could reply, "I'll hold you to that, you know."
He knew – and of course, Augustine knew that as well. Still, Lysandre thought, gripping Augustine's waist tightly with his free hand, drinking in the way his skin felt, hot and taut under his fingers, they had the whole night before them to meticulously prove it to each other.
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: Augustine proposes.
Notes: Exacly what it says on the tin: a fluffy marriage proposal fic. How the mighty have fallen. Title is from Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part 3.
AO3 Link: Here.
SERIES NAVIGATION
So Long as We Can Say (starting point)
The Pangs of Disprized Love / And With Your Hands Your Hearts / Wisely and Slow (main story)
That Give Delight and Hurt (Not) / Daggers in Men's Smiles (explicit spin-offs)
Living with Augustine was surprisingly easy. He should have expected it, really; the man was plain and simply the sort to go with the flow at all times. He'd seen it many times before, in all sorts of circumstances, including their relationship, now and then. The only thing he wouldn't relent on, these days, was the need to be constantly at his side, always here to reaffirm his willingness to guide him toward a better appreciation of the world and the people living in it. Other than that, he'd go along with nearly anything Lysandre suggested, whether it involved which food to have for dinner, or who should use the shower first.
They had developed a routine, throughout the months, that Lysandre imagined could be defined as "domestic." They slept together in the cramped bed – they'd gotten used to it, somehow, and truthfully, sleeping was far from the most difficult thing they had to do there – and ate together in the small kitchen in the morning. Then they'd go to the lab, usually, to meet up with the children, when they didn't have scheduled appointments with people who were interested in the ideas they'd been brewing together. It was a quiet sort of life, the kind that Lysandre would have thought himself above not so long ago. Now he cherished every minute of it, every moment he could spend holding Augustine against him at night, or touching him casually during the day.
The children knew. He thought perhaps Serena had figured it out first, but it was Shauna who'd gathered the courage to bring it up, one afternoon when they were alone in the lab together. She looked oddly serious as she asked him if he and Augustine were dating.
He didn't like the word – dating. It sounded childish, casual in a way that bothered him. There were other words he didn't like, except when Augustine was whispering them into his ear as they lay together in bed, words like "boyfriend" or even "lover." So he'd turned toward Shauna and said, mimicking her gravitas, that he and Augustine were partners.
She'd grimaced a little, with the bravado that only a teen her age could have in his presence, and asked what he meant by that. Her exact words – "do you mean you love him?" – still resonated within his skull whenever he thought back on it.
Her smug look when he'd succinctly replied, "Yes." had been amusing, at least, if nothing else.
He hadn't told Augustine about that conversation, shamefully, but she'd immediately informed her friends that they were, in fact, dating. The news had seemed to take a toll on Trevor especially, who he often caught staring at him with an unusual amount of intensity for a boy who used to do anything possible to avoid him.
When Serena and Calem had congratulated him on his relationship, Augustine had laughed, the sound so full of happiness that Lysandre hadn't been able to quell his urge to touch him. They'd held hands in the garden, beaming even under the weight of the summer sun, and for once Lysandre hadn't cared at all that the assistant scientists were looking at them.
He loved him.
He loved him even when they fought, when Augustine crumbled under the pressure, when Lysandre couldn't deal with the intensity of his own feelings; even when they couldn't agree about something, when Augustine pushed back and didn't let go. Sometimes he thought he loved him all the more in those moments. It was Augustine who knew what he needed, it was Augustine who knew who he was. On the flip side, it was Lysandre who knew when Augustine was at his limit, when he was finally reaching the point of being overwhelmed.
They'd perfected the art of give and take, entirely attuned to each other.
Hence why Lysandre found himself so puzzled, one innocuous evening, by the tense, erratic way Augustine was behaving. He'd spent the whole dinner – an otherwise very pleasant affair at a prestigious establishment in the capital that Malva had suggested they try when he'd seen her the week before – fidgeting with everything he could get his hands on. He'd played with his fork against the plate, rolled his wine glass between his fingers, kept adjusting his napkin on his lap.
When Lysandre had asked, Augustine had mentioned some papers at the lab that he'd forgotten to fill, but it was obviously an excuse made up on the spot. He hadn't pushed, for fear of ruining the mood.
Now they were back at home – and it still did something to him to think of this place he shared with Augustine as home. Home was where the heart was, he supposed, and there was more heart here than in the lonely corridors of his abandoned family property, the last remnant of his former glory. He had only gone there once or twice to gather some files and drop some of his excess belongings. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it.
Augustine was sitting on the bed, tapping his fingers against his lips, caught up in the contemplation of a pile of clothes he'd left on the bedroom's floor at some point. Lysandre had given up on disturbing his mess a long time ago. He followed the quick movements of his fingertips, his eyes lingering on the professor's mouth for several seconds, feeling himself grow restless as well.
"Are you alright? You seem preoccupied," he finally said, moving to sit beside him.
Rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, Augustine sighed and pressed his thigh against his. In response, Lysandre let his hand fall on the other man's knee, squeezing it slightly. Augustine shot him a look, his eyes dark, and laid his face against his shoulder.
"Dinner was nice," he said, softly. He hummed when Lysandre slowly ran the tips of his fingers against his inner thigh. "You'll have to thank Malva the next time you see her."
Lysandre laughed, feeling Augustine shudder against him when his hand gripped the full width of his leg. "I will."
Even though his body was reacting positively to Lysandre's touch, Augustine broke away from him when he tried for a kiss. They looked at each other. Lysandre crooked one eyebrow, perplexed.
"Stay here," Augustine said as he stood, their shoulders brushing. His face was flushed, but his voice was firm. "Oh, and get up from the bed. You need to be standing up for this." He licked his lips, playing with the strand of hair falling in his face, and turned away. "I'll be right back."
Then he walked out, leaving a dumbfounded Lysandre behind. He stood up, as he'd been ordered to, trying to ignore the unsteady rhythm of his heart beating so hard and fast in his chest. He could think of many pleasant things that would require him to be standing up, though none of them would have justified Augustine acting so strangely. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, over and over, to keep himself steady, and allowed himself to simply wait and see. Whatever it was, it could only be a good thing; even if Augustine had been on edge all evening, he'd also been obviously happy, and he'd responded to his advances with his usual eagerness before he'd cut them short.
Yet, for every minute he spent standing in front of the bed, Lysandre grew more and more worried. He pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to call out for the other man.
After what felt like an eternity, Augustine reappeared in the doorframe, the expression on his face unreadable, though his eyes were gleaming with what Lysandre thought was determination. He was holding something in his hand. Something small.
Upon noticing it, Lysandre felt both very hot and very cold. He stood straight and stiff, his mouth dry, as Augustine walked toward him, his gaze burning a hole through his heart.
"Augustine," he said, low and pleading.
"I wanted to do this during dinner, at first, but I thought you'd hate it," Augustine started, his voice unsure, gradually getting more confident as he let the words flow out. "It took a while for Gurkinn to get back to me, you know, what with... everything that's happened. But this felt like the most obvious way to ask you this, so I waited." He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sharp, quiet laugh that made Lysandre's heart ache. "Feels like I've done nothing but wait for you, these last few months."
He took a deep breath through his nose and, stopping right in front of Lysandre, bent down on one knee.
"Augustine," Lysandre repeated, and this time it came out almost like a chuckle, a wild little sound that made the other man smile up at him.
"I had a whole thing rehearsed, just so you know, I was going to blow your mind," Augustine rambled, his fingers shaking around the little box as he took out something that Lysandre hadn't seen in months. He carefully set the box on the floor next to him and held out the ring in the dim light of the ceiling lamp, the brand new key-stone glistening. "But I think I'll just cut to the chase if that's okay with you."
Lysandre ran his hand on his face, letting it rest against his forehead. He couldn't stop himself from smiling, yet already his vision was getting a little blurry around the edges.
"I'm all ears."
"Lysandre," Augustine said, and when their gazes met, his eyes were as bright and shiny as the stone-set ring in his hand. He licked his lips once, and then again a second time, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed. "Will you marry me?"
Inhaling sharply, Lysandre lowered his hand to cover his eyes. His ears were ringing, his body tensing from the sheer magnitude of the feelings that were seizing him. He could hear Augustine go on as if he were very far away,
"O–of course, we don't have to rush this, and I know this is a bit– unconventional, I suppose, but I thought you'd like to be there with me to pick rings to wear, not to mention, I trust your taste in jewelry better than mine–"
Lysandre made a choked noise, interrupting him. The fingers he had pressed against his eyelids were wet.
"Lysandre," he heard Augustine say, and the tenderness in his voice extracted another strangled sound from him, "are you crying?"
"No," Lysandre replied right away, his breath hitching. Then, realizing what he'd just said, he added, lifting his fingers just enough to look Augustine in the eyes, "Yes."
Augustine was grinning openly at him now, radiating so much joy that Lysandre felt blinded by it. "Yes?"
"Yes, of course," Lysandre said, dropping his tear-streaked hand away from his face. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, for lack of habit.
With a sigh, Augustine let his head fall forward, clutching the ring in his hand tightly. "Okay," he said, and to Lysandre's relief, there were tears in his voice as well. "Okay. Good, that's– That's good."
He sniffled loudly, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand. Lysandre took a step toward him.
"Oh, yeah, huh, could you help me get up?" Augustine laughed, the sound coming out a little wet. "This isn't great for my knees."
Lysandre held him by the elbows, gently, to guide him back up to a standing position, and then, as Augustine tried to get his legs to stop wobbling, dragged him into a full-body hug, burying his face in his hair. Augustine relaxed immediately in his embrace, wrapping his arms around him, the ring still in his hand. He closed his eyes, and they both basked in the physicality of the other, the high-speed staccato of their heartbeats.
"I love you," Augustine mumbled, his lips pressed against Lysandre's clavicle. Then he said it again, "I love you," just a bit louder, one hand grasping the fabric of his shirt roughly. "I love you so much."
They held on to each other with a desperate sort of urgency, and Lysandre found that he couldn't stop the tears that were spilling out of his eyes. He couldn't remember ever crying this way, his whole body trembling with it. The sweet scent of Augustine's hair – his shampoo, or perhaps his conditioner if he'd remembered to use it – was mixing in with the salty and humid smell, tickling Lysandre's nose.
Time stretched around them, stuck in the intensity of this moment, until he felt Augustine shift against him, resting his chin against the top of his chest.
"I think I'd like to kiss the bride now," he said, his voice a little steadier.
Lysandre looked down at him, meeting his sparkling eyes half-hidden behind his hair, and chuckled. "So I'm the bride, then."
"Well, you're the princess who was stuck in a deep slumber, and I'm the knight who waited dutifully at your bedside until you woke up," Augustine explained slowly. His palms were now pressed flat against Lysandre's back, and he could feel the shape of the ring there, through the fabric of his shirt. "So it stands to reason that you'd be the bride."
"Mhm. I suppose I can't argue with that."
Augustine let go of him almost reluctantly, taking half a step backward. "Give me your hand."
Neither of them shook as he cautiously slid the ring back on Lysandre's finger. He hadn't worn it in so long he'd almost forgotten how heavy it felt; a constant presence that faded away once you'd gotten used to it, like a thought at the back of his mind. Like the love he felt for Augustine as he watched him compare the size of their hands, brushing his palm against Lysandre's. He laced their fingers together and hummed contentedly when Lysandre brought his other hand to his face, to hold his chin up gently so they could finally kiss.
Augustine swiftly maneuvered himself into a better position, taking hold of Lysandre's shoulder and gesturing for him to bend down further. Still holding hands in between their bodies, they kissed slowly, savoring the exhilarating rush of this moment. Augustine's thumb was brushing against Lysandre's collar, its nail scraping the sensitive flesh of his neck and sending shivers up and down his spine. When he moved to grasp Augustine's waist, he felt his lips curl into a smile against his. The next thing Lysandre knew, the professor was lifting his leg to wrap it around his hips as if they were executing some kind of elaborate dance movement.
They both laughed when they broke away from each other, narrowly avoiding sending Augustine stumbling to the ground.
"I love you," Lysandre said, the words falling out of his mouth before he'd even registered it was happening. He froze, then, their fingers still tightly clasped together.
Augustine closed his eyes slowly, as if he could barely comprehend what he'd heard, before nudging himself close again, pressing his forehead against Lysandre's chest hard, bringing him back to life.
"Saying it like this," he breathed out, and Lysandre wrapped himself around him once more, awed as always at how easily they fit together, "like it's easy."
"It is easy," Lysandre said, and it was true. It had been easy, to say it, to say these words he'd never thought himself capable of saying. He tried to say them one more time, just to see, "I love you."
"I love you too," Augustine replied, trembling against him. "I think I'm going to pass out."
Lysandre thought he understood how he felt; though he was still feeling the buzz of what they'd just gone through, now he felt exhausted, the burst of emotions too much for his body and mind. He guided him gently toward the bed, still holding on to him even once they'd both lain down, still fully clothed – they could take care of that later.
He didn't want to stop touching him. Keeping his hands on Augustine's body seemed suddenly imperative to his survival. They lay facing each other, their faces very close. Lysandre brushed his thumb softly against Augustine's cheek, still a little wet.
"Can you say it again?" Augustine asked. His own hand was resting on Lysandre's hip, rubbing his waistband absentmindedly.
"I love you," Lysandre said with a playful smile, his eyebrows raised slightly. The words felt good against his tongue, like they belonged there, had always belonged there. "Mhm. I do have to make up for lost time."
"You'll have to say it every morning and every night, at least."
Lysandre closed his eyes, his hand now nested in the crook of Augustine's neck. "That sounds reasonable."
Now that he felt somewhat calmer – although his heart was still hammering away in his chest, encouraged by Augustine's light touches – he allowed himself a minute to think about what all of this meant for their future.
Bryony would be elated, of course, and Malva would tease him endlessly. The children would likely rejoice, except maybe Trevor, who'd have to be convinced by Shauna or Tierno. He couldn't even begin to guess what AZ would think, though he knew the giant would be supportive. Augustine really liked him, too, so there was absolutely no way they weren't inviting him and Floette to whatever ceremony they would no doubt hold to celebrate.
Despite himself, his thoughts quickly strayed to less pleasant considerations. He was all too aware that Augustine's association with him, in the aftermath of his defeat, had done a number on his reputation. Though the initial kickback had dwindled somewhat over the passing months, whether from his own efforts to appear remorseful and make amends or from Augustine's continuing willingness to advocate for him, they still ran into people who looked at them with wary eyes often enough. Lysandre didn't care much for it, as far as he was concerned; he deserved it, first of all, but above all, it wasn't like he had much more to lose at this point. He'd already been disgraced: his café liquidated, the ownership and long-term support of the holo-caster mostly out of his hands.
Augustine, on the contrary, had everything to lose.
He weathered through it with his usual good-naturedness, keeping a front of being unaffected in front of the children, enduring the way his scientists and assistants sometimes looked at them in a manner that made it clear that they didn't approve – but Lysandre had to hold him up, some evenings, when he crumbled as soon as they stepped in his apartment, talking about how he was afraid to hit up his old mentor for fear of being judged, about the way people seemed to be constantly waiting for him to slip up and admit that he was wrong, that he was still under Lysandre's influence, that he was a lovesick fool besotted with a would-be murderer. Surely this would only get worse if they officialized their bond. He could hear them already, proclaiming that they were flaunting their relationship, mocking those who'd been traumatized by Lysandre's crimes, trying to act like nothing was wrong.
Of course, Lysandre had never been one to give much weight to the opinions of his contemporaries – unless they could prove themselves to him. However, this wasn't about him; this was about Augustine. He opened his eyes only to find the other man looking at him with such an adoring expression that he felt a sharp pang of affection pierce through his heart.
"Augustine," he said quietly, brushing his thumb lightly against the stubble on his jaw, "aren't you worried?"
"Worried?" Augustine frowned, just a little, his eyes full of incomprehension. "About what?"
Lysandre felt gentle fingers slide under his shirt, to caress the skin of his hip. "People are already harsh on you for associating with me..."
"Don't you dare," Augustine interrupted him, fierce and outraged. His nails dug into the flesh, though the sensation wasn't unwelcome. "You already said yes. You can't walk this back now."
"I would never walk this back," Lysandre said firmly. He still carried that happiness within his chest, and he knew he would for a very long time. "But– I worry about how it could damage your reputation further..."
Augustine sighed. "You don't know that. Maybe it'll have the opposite effect. Maybe people will think, if he's willing to marry him then surely he can't actually be that bad!" He chuckled, leaning into Lysandre's touch as he continued to run his thumb on his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't that be nice, to let them see that we really love each other?"
"Or maybe they'll think you've fallen further into my grasp."
"I'm sure that given enough time, they'll come to see that it's actually the other way around." Augustine's smile was tantalizingly sly against his finger.
Lysandre couldn't help but smile back, even if he still felt a little unsure. "I envy your ability to believe in others like this."
It sounded perhaps sourer than he'd intended, but Augustine didn't seem put off by it.
"That's why you need me around," he said, looking even more smug. His hand left Lysandre's hip, to his regret. "Come on. Lie on your back, I want to get on top of you."
Lysandre frowned slightly but did as he was told, sliding himself even closer to Augustine so he could lie in the middle of the bed, his head propped up on several pillows. Slowly, deliberately, as if he was a predator circling his prey, Augustine moved to first straddle him, sending ripples of heat to the other man's nether region, and then simply lie down as he'd said, draping himself over Lysandre like a blanket, his cheek resting on his chest. He hummed sweetly, content, and once he'd settled, Lysandre began to run his fingers through his hair, making him sigh.
There was something so blissfully comforting about feeling Augustine's weight on top of him like this, as if he were a shield keeping Lysandre safe from the rest of the world. As long as they could lie together this way, they could survive anything. He could feel him smile against his chest, shifting a little so he could lean into the hand lovingly stroking his scalp.
"I like being like this," Augustine said, half-muffled in the fabric of Lysandre's shirt. "Being able to feel all of you. Make sure you're not going anywhere."
Lysandre chuckled, willing himself not to be overcome with emotion once again. "Where would I go?"
"I don't know." Augustine closed his eyes, letting his arms lay uselessly against Lysandre's sides. "I talked with AZ about this, this fear of losing you, and he said he felt the same."
The ancient king did spend most of his time keeping track of his companion, obsessively checking that she hadn't left him again, never letting her leave his sight. Lysandre had never disappeared as she had, but he'd been gone in a different way, sleeping away days that Augustine had spent alone, awaiting his return. He felt his heart ache painfully at the thought.
"I love you," he said. The words were almost magical, making his whole self tingle with how much he meant them. He would have laughed at himself, at what a fool he was to be so enamored, had it not made him this deliriously happy.
Augustine breathed in and out, the rise and fall of his chest against Lysandre's causing warm flutters to bloom in the pit of his stomach.
"I love you too, my wonderful husband."
He grinned impishly, teeth gleaming in the dim light, when Lysandre's heartbeat picked up at that.
"I'm not your husband yet," Lysandre let out, his voice hoarse. He was not going to shed any more tears if he could help it.
"You're right. You're my wonderful fiancé."
"I'm not– I'm not wonderful." The childishness of the comeback made him wince at himself, though not without some humor.
Augustine laughed, burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Maybe not. You sure are my fiancé though."
He kissed his throat, nipping at the skin lightly, making Lysandre shudder.
"I want to wear a ring with your name on it," he said against his pulse, before kissing that spot again. Lysandre wrapped both of his arms around him with a deep, heaving sigh. "Want to feel it all the time around my finger, knowing everyone can see I'm yours and you're mine..."
"Augustine," Lysandre sighed, stirring under him, electrified by the feeling of their bodies rubbing together and Augustine's mouth trailing on his skin. "Perhaps we should get undressed, before..."
"Before?" Augustine teased, but he settled down, pressing his cheek against the other man's chest once more. "Sorry. Give me a minute."
They lay together for a while longer, Augustine's hands resting on Lysandre's shoulders, focusing only on the other's breathing and the warmth shared between them. His eyes half-closed, Lysandre thought about everything he'd left behind to end up here, so full of love he could barely contain it. He played with his ring idly, sliding it around his middle finger with his thumb, caught up on the mental image of Augustine and him wearing matching rings, standing before all those who knew them to celebrate their union, showing off their unbreakable bond to the whole world.
He'd never thought himself the sort, and he knew Augustine similarly didn't have any strong attachment toward marriage. Yet somehow it felt like the natural progression of their relationship, the most evident way of expressing their feelings for one another. Not so much the act of marriage in itself, though the prospect of wearing Augustine's name made his chest feel tight – finally shedding the worst parts of himself to become fully his. It was the meaning of it: a testimony to the fact that they were forever tied to each other, with the whole world as their witness.
They could get married in Couriway Town, maybe, surrounded by the sounds of rushing water, erasing once and for all the last remnants of the memories he had of that place, back in the previous world. No longer a gravesite, but instead the venue for a new beginning, for a life of hope and trust instead of death and despair.
He felt Augustine shift again, yawning softly, and watched him sit up, back to straddling him, his eyes narrowed, content. When their gazes met, Lysandre found that he couldn't let go, couldn't stop himself from soaking in that shared longing, the warmth of a passion dedicated to him and him alone, and returned in kind.
"You love me," Augustine said, pleased with what he'd seen. He took Lysandre's left hand in his and brushed his lips on the ring, smiling at the way it made the other man stir under him.
"I love you," Lysandre replied, even though it wasn't a question. Impulsively, and maybe because Augustine had begun gently sucking on his knuckle, barely teasing the flesh with his teeth, he added, his voice tight, "Forever."
Augustine laughed silently, his mouth vibrating against the ring, before he let it rest against his bottom lip so he could reply, "I'll hold you to that, you know."
He knew – and of course, Augustine knew that as well. Still, Lysandre thought, gripping Augustine's waist tightly with his free hand, drinking in the way his skin felt, hot and taut under his fingers, they had the whole night before them to meticulously prove it to each other.