Becoming the Lastnames - ch. 4/4
(Torse/Maxwell, 10k words total)
Maxwell woke up draped unceremoniously over Torse’s legs on the upper deck of the Zephyr with a headache that made him want to jump off the ship. Torse, beneath him, whirred quietly as he stirred.
“Torse?”
“You got very, very drunk last night, my heart.” Torse said fondly, fingers carding gently through Maxwell’s hair.
“I assumed,” Maxwell groaned, allowing Torse to help prop him up until he was in Torse’s lap, Torse’s chest to his back, blinking in the early morning sun. “What-”
“You took a bet from Wealwell that you could still do a kegstand at the age of thirty after fighting cultists and already being intoxicated.”
“Of course I did. You let me?”
“You said you wouldn't kiss me goodnight if I didn't.”
“Mm. How cruel of me.” Maxwell leaned his head back onto Torse’s shoulder.
Torse chuckled. “Quite.” He hummed, pressing a steam kiss to Maxwell’s hair.
“Get a room.” Olethra groaned from about five yards away, face down and covered in a mixture of glitter and what could only be gunpowder. She rolled over onto her back to reveal her face covered in what were very clearly smeared marks from Ludmila’s lipstick.
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