Work Text:
A resigned sigh slipped his lips as he sat. His desk was strewn with all assortments of papers and a collection of quills and pens. It was early yet, but a tactician never rests. He rubbed his eyes drowsily as the lines of text came into focus.
But with the papers appeared a slender-fingered hand, fastidious as always. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know who was standing behind him. The other hand reached over his other shoulder to straighten a few sheets of parchment.
“You ought to keep your personal effects in order. A tidy desk aspires to a flourishing mind.” Her words were austere, but her voice was soft, tender even. It was the same voice that he had fallen for. He could listen to her lecture for hours on some erudite esoterica without drowsiness. His mind had certainly met its match in her.
“I know, dear. Organization isn’t my strong suit, but I was going to tidy-” He heard her robes shift with a sound like the rustling of pages. He felt her breath rim the cusp of his ear.
“But there exist a few exceptions to such a principle.” Her gentle breathing was soothing, clearing his mind like his desk. He turned his head to look at her, catching the dark eyes behind glass lenses.
Thank you. Our bond means so much to me.” His words were earnest though he knew she was not one for sentiment. “Even if it took me a long time to realize it.”
“The emotional attachment we share is significant to me as well.” She bent down to whisper in his ear once more. “A very happy birthday to you.”