Chapter Text
Luthien hadn't really felt like himself for a long time.
Sure, his aching hands still had enough muscle memory in them to slam out any number of engine parts, of minor arcane baubles or useless little machines— but real inspiration? Real and new improvements? Those seemed far and few between these days.
The large gaps in his memory were equal parts annoying and distressing, and the whole thing truly did put a damper on his creative spark as it was, even long after his mind finally felt like his own again. But, as was inevitable, inspiration would always come crawling back and beg to be put to the test, to remind him of who he had been.
Usually, it happeed when it was inconvenient.
At precisely 4:37 in the morning, Luthien Newsom sat bolt upright in bed. His eyes were wide, gleaming with an unmistakable light — a dangerous glimmer that usually preceded a small fire. He gasped out “I can retune the resonant flux alignment of the— where’s my notebook?”
Unfortunately, his bedmate did not share his sudden enthusiasm. A large lump beneath the blankets stirred, grunted, and then buried itself deeper under the duvet. “It’s not even bloody light out, you maniac,” came the muffled reply from Caradoc. "The flux alignment for what?" He added, voice low and groggy.
Luthien ignored him, rummaging frantically through the clutter on the nightstand - parchment scraps, Caradoc's jewelry, a forgotten cup of tea. "Where’s my notebook? Caradoc, have you seen—”
His question was cut short when something fluttered just out of reach. Caradoc (part assistant, part saboteur of early morning genius) had the familiar, worn leather cover of his notebook held aloft in one maddeningly dexterous hand.
Luthien froze. Took a breath. So that was how it was going to be. “Caradoc.”
Caradoc cracked one eye open, smirking. “Good morning, my darling. Did you mean this notebook?” He waggled the notebook lazily, the way one might tease a cat with a feather. Annoying thing.
“Yes. Hand it over.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Mmh, no.” Caradoc rolled back over into the duvet, taking the notebook with him. “The last time you had an ‘urgent’ idea before dawn, the entire manor smelled like ozone for a week."
“That’s slander!” he half laughed, and really it hadn't even been his own fault when it had gone poorly—
“That’s documentation,” Caradoc said with a yawn, tucking the notebook under his pillow with feline grace. “Go back to sleep before the gods themselves file a noise complaint.”
Luthien was already lunging. “You petty little thief-” He laughed out, attempting to reach over Caradoc’s shoulder for the book.
Caradoc dodged effortlessly, rolling onto his side and keeping the notebook away, laughing now. “Your reflexes are pitiful you know,” Caradoc taunted, flipping the notebook from one hand to the other, just out of reach.
Luthien set his jaw and then lunged.
Sheets twisted. Pillows flew. The bed became a battlefield of tangled limbs, Caradoc slipping away from Luthien’s grasp with a laugh that was far too awake for someone who was allegedly tired. Every time Luthien lunged, Caradoc twisted aside, their movements chaotic and synchronized like a dance with poor choreography, but decent chemistry between the dancers.
“Stop wriggling!” Luthien barked, grabbing for the pillow to try and smother the automaton with it.
“Stop losing!” Caradoc countered, his laughter dissolving into delighted shouts as Luthien started to attempt to pin him.
“You’re impossible!” Luthien huffed, flopping atop him in a desperate grapple.
“And you’re adorable when you try,” Caradoc shot back, his grin wide, his breath warm against Luthien’s cheek. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling, the dim morning light gilding powder blue porcelain and pale skin. Luthien’s chest burned with a mix of frustration and affection.
One of Luthien’s hands found the small of Caradoc’s back. The other still reached for the notebook. Their noses brushed again, and Luthien suddenly found porcelain hands on his thighs.
Luthien’s fingers curled in the fabric at Caradoc’s waist, his pulse loud in his ears, and he thought — just for an instant — that perhaps he didn't mind being made a fool of if this was the reward.
The illusion of that affection shattered when he saw Caradoc smirk. Ah, it seemed he'd been played.
Caradoc seized the chance, twisting, reversing their positions with a laugh, and pinning Luthien with a flourish.
“Victory favors the sleepy!” Caradoc declared, triumphant and teasing, leaning close enough that they could feel each other breathe.
Luthien, flushed and panting from the physical exhertion, glared at Caradoc but couldn’t manage to suppress his smile entirely. “You cheated."
“I adapted.” Caradoc replied, a soft smile threatening to overtake his smirk. “I've found the skill quite necessary for survival. And for teasing you.”
Caradoc leaned in just slightly, and Luthien willingly closed the gap between them. Caradoc didn’t pull away, didn’t resist; instead, he laughed against Luthien’s mouth and tugged him closer, the notebook forgotten.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the warmth between them. the spontaneous press of lips becoming something slower, deeper. Luthien felt the way laughter softened into a sigh, and his hand settled at the curve of Caradoc’s jaw. The kiss lingered, unhurried.
Luthien took the opportunity to flip them back over and snatch his notebook back. Adapting.
“Victory favors the inspired!” he crowed.
Caradoc flopped back, his expression annoyed as he blew strands of his own hair out of his face, but his smile had a hint of pride in it. “Victory favors the insufferable, more like.”
"If that was the case, you'd have won." Luthien said, using Caradoc's chest as a table as he started scrawling frantic notes across the page. “Now—before I forget—the oscillating rune wuld have to be synchronized to—”
“Shut up,” Caradoc interrupted, dragging the blanket over as much of himself as he could with Luthien in the way. “If you're going to think up math this early in the morning, at least do it quietly." He curled closer, one arm draped lazily around Luthien’s back.
Luthien huffed, tapping his pen against the page. “Fine. But if I forget the fractional for the oscillatory constant—”
Caradoc groaned, half-laughing, half-exasperated, and dragged Luthien forwards until they both toppled into the blankets again. The notebook went flying, pages fluttering down across the room like startled birds.
“Caradoc!” Luthien protested, laughing as Caradoc pulled him close.
“Write it down later,” Caradoc murmured, kissing the edge of his jaw. “I promise I’ll help you remember.”
Luthien sighed, softening against him. "I'm going to be mad at you when I forget the entire formula.”
Caradoc smiled against his neck. “Then you'll just have to invent it all over again tomorrow morning, won't you?"