airbaths | 。

[ The baby Louis ( a name much to Enjolras' disdain, but he supposes that in having a child with the same name as a terrible king, he can hope to redeem it ) has not been in the Enjolras and Combeferre household for terribly long. A month a most. Give or take a week- Enjolras is unsure, because time seems to fly in his presence. It took a day for him to fall thoroughly in love with the small child- only a matter of minutes, if he's going to be perfectly honest. The plan was never to keep him. They were only going to house him until a proper home could be established- but all three of them ( really all of them, all the members of the Friends ) grew attached, and Enjolras wouldn't dare think about life without him.

Still, he's still a bit awkward with the child. He's run through the basics with Combeferre over and over again- the proper way to hold Louis, feed him, burp him, give him a bath. Dozens of times for each. Enjolras can never be too careful, obviously, especially not when it comes to his baby boy.

He's doing the later today. Enjolras arrived home earlier than Combeferre, and he saw Courfeyrac and baby Louis covered in a film of dirt and bright, shining smiles- he didn't ask for explanations, he didn't want any. He just promptly picked up the boy and shooed Courfeyrac off, taking him to the bathroom and setting the water up to the proper temperature- making things exactly as Combeferre had instructed before, and getting it one hundred percent perfect.

Once Louis takes some time to get used to it, he picks up a bar of soap. Enjolras tuts, but before he can grab it, Louis tosses it out of the tub, giggling excitedly. Enjolras sighs, picking it up and putting it back into place. It happens again. And once more. ]

I'm not playing fetch with you all night, baby L.

[ The night is beautiful and warm; the moon is even full. Merlin has never been very sure about any of the ideas that the knights encourage, especially when they're, you know, this enthusiastic about it.

But! Merlin promised. He promised that he would sit here, in this nice little spot, with a fire going and food waiting.

For a man. A nice man, they insisted. Really, Merlin would love him. This is going to end terribly. Maybe he won't end up dead, at least.

Merlin jumps at every rustle and sound behind and around him, hoping to see who his company is. Most of them are animals. The last one isn't but he can't.. quite make out who... He squints, trying to make them out. Part of him knows the rhythm of that step but where... ]

[ The biology wing had to close suddenly that morning. For once. For once!! It had nothing to do with Newt or his team. Which, y'know, it's kinda funny since they do a lot of research with kaiju. Something about smoke and waste hazards? He's not exactly sure what's up. He doesn't really care. Free day off of work, baby. Now that he thinks about it, Newt doesn't think he's ever spent a whole day alone with only him and their son Lukas. They have to have a babysitter (caregiver little internal Hermann voice corrects) by day. Any day the babysitter (caregiver!) isn't around, they're both home. They work for the same university.

Sucks for Hermann that only biology and a few physics classes have been cancelled.

No, seriously, it does suck. They have had a blast all day. Newt even got to take a nap. A fucking nap! And no one yelled at him for it!

Out of habit (thanks, better half), Newt's kept every room clean except the living room. Toys are scattered all of the place. That's because currently Newt is rolling away with the rest of the "citizens of Tokyo" from the scary Lukaszilla. ]

Oh god why! The humanity!

[ Lukas stops his roaring to whisper, ]

Dad, you have to scream louder than that.

[ Of course, Newt laughs. ]

You have to be scarier than that if that's what you want. What kind of a monster are you, huh?

[ Both roars and screams get louder, but Newt manages to save Tokyo by tickling the monster. Somehow, yeah Newt doesn't know how either, the giggling is louder than the monster yelling. ]

(deleted comment) (Show 2 comments)

combeferre comes home, enjolras has a surprise for him

Nobody's remembered her birthday since she was eight. How he knows it is anybody's guess.

When they find her, she doesn't remember a thing.

She doesn't know he's going to pop the question.
He doesn't know that she's got news of her own.

Edited 2014-01-22 22:20 (UTC)

[ Making their way through the list of kinks has been a wonderful and beautiful experience. Unfortunately, they are reaching an end to it. Saving some of the more nerve-wracking things for last. There the item on the list remains uncrossed: threesome.

One name came to mind as soon as the subject is brought up. Courfeyrac has been their best friend for years. He casually and cleanly gives his love physically to... essentially anyone. Why not to them, two men that he spends so much time with? They trust him with so much. They can trust him with this.

Here they are, on Enjolras's couch, with Courfeyrac in the center and the other two on left and right. Combeferre almost feels he should apologize to Courfeyrac. He, at least, feels incredibly awkward and it's affecting the mood. ]

Where do we begin? [ He asks hoping either Enjolras will dive in as he typically does or Courfeyrac with help them laugh through the fumbling awkwardness. ]

[ She's done well for herself.

New job as quartermaster of MI6 means a considerable upgrade to living arrangements. Of course, when she bought the place, she didn't foresee a few minor fixes and dents, as well as new paint she already planned on. Oh well. That's another bonus in those upgrades: you don't have to worry. Someone else does.

Q's yet to see the man actually working on her space. Foreign hours usually dictate working well outside of "normal" for everyone else. Today, however, is one of the first days off she's had in ages and it feels fantastic. Or, it would if not for the noise. She's not upset at the worker. It's hardly his fault. Banging doesn't make for a pleasant alarm clock either way.

Q lets out a long breath and drags herself from bead. Might as well see a morning for the first time in ages. After a few minutes, she's dressed (cardigan, collard shirt, jeans for a day off) and finishing off her usual bun as she makes her way downstairs. ]

Good morning.

[ She sort-of calls as she rounds the corner. Wouldn't want to startle the poor man. ]

[ Caught.

It's funny, Peter always thought if were to get unmasked it would be in the heat of battle, in front of hundreds of cops and thousands of people - like some sort of spectacle to be seen, like it's something that's been on the tip of everyone's tongue, the front of everyone's brain. Like it's something the people would want, if Peter were an entertainer.

He did not, however, think it would be in the men's bathroom of the Secret Intelligence Service.

He'd been asked a few weeks back to aid in some sort of stunt - secret, naturally, but it's not like he could risk showing his face, revealing his identity, even to government officials. Especially not to government officials - but these people at least understand the importance of a persona. So it's been uncomfortable, it's been weird - he's had to wear his Spider-Man outfit essentially 24/7, and while it's been made for comfort, it's also tight fitting and actually kind of hot.

So he's gone to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Always lock the door, Parker, rookie mistake. ]

Uh...

[ He has blue spandex-clad hands held up, brown eyes wide like a spooked animal. He's Peter Parker - a freelance photographer, mainly known for getting rare shots of Spider-Man himself.

Well. They're selfies, basically. ]

I can explain.

Summers are short in Camelot. There are knights from the South who complain - but Mordred has spent time enough in the North, in Ismir. Where summer is a dream you hope for as you bed down on the snow. Where frostbite is held barely at bay by a fire you build as big as you can and pray doesn't go out as you sleep. He has travelled with bandits who have not been as lucky as he has; have not had the secret magic he has relied upon more than once to keep him in possession of all his extremities.

The seasonable heat has him uncharacteristically bare in tunic and britches alone, boots lined up neatly beside him on the grass to offer his toes the freedom of the air and sunshine. It's still rare to see him out of his armour. While duty had forced a token complaint from his mouth when he was told he was relieved of duty for the day, he had been inwardly grateful to be able to allow Percival to lead him off with a laugh and a come on, little Leon, before our king finds you something to do after all. Except that now he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

Oh, he knows what the others are doing. He knows because he can see them from here. The lake is so beautiful and so rarely is it warm enough to swim in it that he can hardly blame them for taking the opportunity. And of course, he's grateful that while they seemed prepared to bodily throw him in the water to begin with, his protests once recognised as serious were taken as such.

Mordred raises an idle hand to swat at a fat bumblebee that wanders too close to his head. The peace and solitude is nice too, he supposes.

He's never wanted to learn how to swim anyway.