Work Text:
A delicate hand lands on her shoulder as the candle lights flicker in the study room. Evening approaches as they work, sifting through the books of old for clues and tattered remnants of solutions to bygone problems that may cure their own in the present (even if each party may have their own version of this problem to solve, some motives best kept secret for now, but trust is still teeming aplenty between them regardless- they do not take this lightly). Steam from the cup of tea being offered from the man behind her, standing above her where she sits, wafts into the air she breathes, calming her already.
"Oh dear, tired already?"
She shakes her head, willing to continue the work but deeply grateful for the offered tea regardless. A break is in order, or so Qifrey says, and the two share pleasant conversation over their respective cups. Hers makes her drowsy, drowsier than the piles of books and quills and papers still in front of her (off to the side a bit now, no tea spills to worry about), and she feels as though she could nod off if she let herself. The man across the table stands calmly.
Humming to himself a bit, Qifrey watches as his helper's eyes loll up to greet him. Having noticed that she was quite clearly overworked, much like a certain someone else he knew, an intervention was in order; one overworked and never-quitting friend was quite enough, two would simply not do. Sidling over to his sleepy friend, long time friend and helper, he carefully sat on the sofa next to her. Hushing her attempts at excuses for continuing work, Qifrey cooed soft words to the darling before him.
Gently reaching to guide her to lay her head on his chest, a little tl side and in the crux of his good shoulder, leaning back to allow himself a short doze of his own (her adamant refusal to sleep until both he and Olruggio were tucked in for the night seemed to be mostly working; it was rubbing off on him, he supposed) the two drift off contentedly. Blissful silence, save for matching breaths, gentle outside wind, and perhaps a light snore, reign in the serene study of the atelier.
Interruption comes in the form of a creaking door and light tapping foot steps; the sound of a stones clacking together in pockets rings through as the onlooker admires the near-domestic view.
"Oi, what do we have here?"
Qifrey cracks open one eye to glare at him. His silence says it all, telling him to either get in or get out. Olruggio chuckles to himself with a shake of his head and takes the bait, knowingly waltzing into the plans his other half has laid.
Settling onto the opposite side of the dozing darling between them, the witch of light stretches one arm behind the two he holds most dear, letting his hand cradle the atelier master's shoulder where it lay. They both curl in closer to him, letting the three of them lay together, just comfortably, on the sofa for the remainder of the evening. A nap well deserved is a nap well taken by the three witches, and when Olruggio kicks his feet up onto the table (making certain to avoid the books and papers and tea cups), Qifrey only lightly pinches his arm in retribution, letting it slide in favor of sleep.
~~~~•~~~~•~~~~•~~~~
The young woman wakes curled into a warm shoulder that smells like a foreign warm stone, sweet wine and the promise of sunrises over snowfields yet to come cloying in her mind's eye as she rouses. There is a hand on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles, as a voice rumbles above her one ear. Another responds to her left, sweeter like powdered pastries, rainfall over soft earth and tinkling tea cups; a gentler hand plays with her hair in gentle twirls while she tries to focus on the words being said.
"-ack with us, dear?"
"Somebody had a nice nap."
She scrunches her nose at that, making Olruggio laugh harder even as he continues to hold her while she gathers her limbs about her, lazy in the way mornings tend to be. When she turns to find Qifrey, still at her side though no longer with a hand tousling her hair, too busy reaching for another sip of a fresh brewed tea (where did that come from, she wonders), she huffs.
"None of that now, you needed that rest. Consider it a gift from a dear concerned friend, won't you?"
Rolling her eyes, because it really was the best sleep that she has had in ages and she knows she was never in any danger with either of them there, let alone both of them at once, she only pretends to be a little exasperated in order to get what little faux sympathy from Olruggio she can. He only scoffs a laugh at her again, shaking his head and insisting she was no better than either of them, and offers her breakfast.
About to do the predictable thing that he always does whenever this sort of thing happens, the man who pretends he does not care stretches and allows himself to fully enjoy the moment. Having come prepared, plan long since in place, the fresh fruits now laid on the porcelain platter near the tea beckon. He will cut each treat into soft pieces, one after the other, with his hands so used to carving stone, and find this work much sweeter, pleased and in his element amongst his hearts.
They spoil her really, they spoil each other, lounging there with work half-finished (it will all be done early somehow anyway, they are all three in charge of this atelier for a reason afterall), Olruggio hand slicing her fruits and Qifrey combing through his hair as he does, scratching at his scalp in a way that makes him near purr.
They take care of each other, for this moment at the very least, and it is enough. When Olruggio's hand reaches for the last slice of fruit on the plate, and Qifrey takes it from his fingers, and the tea that is left has gone cold, they will all stand and stretch and groan like old acquaintances arising for the day. Work continues. Olruggio goes back to his workshop, the woman and the master dive back into their books. The sun rises and sets and rises and sets; they see each other soon.
~~~~•~~~~•~~~~•~~~~
Meeting in Olruggio's workshop, the three of them, did not allow for the most comfortable seating options, but they made do. She sat on his desk, papers shoved haphazardly to the side, as Qifrey claimed his stool, leaving him leaning to the side of his own furniture.
He steadied the woman perched on his desk with a hand to her lower back, a support, a reassurance (he would not let her fall), and his other hand braced himself against the wooden desk's top. Qifrey idly laid his non-dominant hand atop it, feeling each other's pulse with the proximity, a reassurance, a support (they were here, together, not alone), as he continued copying notes from one page to another.
With one hand brushing the hair back from the atelier master's good eye as he worked and the other wrapped around an arm of the man that was holding her, the young woman, still perched, could only observe their trio from where she sat. Brushing her thumb, much like Olruggio was wont to do, over his arm, she tilted her head to his for a little pecked kiss.
Obliging her, and stealing another for himself, he almost startles when he gets impatiently tapped by another hand.
"Forgetting someone?"
"Never."
And he kisses him too, and the tension in Qifrey's shoulders lets loose just a little and the weight behind his words is never known, and he kisses him and he kisses her and she kisses him and the sun sets again while they take their well earned break. What soft fondness that they carry for each other brings rest to all three, calming like delicate hands and warm tea.