I know that thematically, neither have much relevance to the Minotaur myth. I just like this pose with Magnus laying defeated and Leman sitting on him naked.
Warnings: Mild language, flirtation, and librarians.
A/N: This was a request for the 1000 Follower Mini-Bration for "Enemies to Lovers Ezra" and I was allowed to play. I enjoyed playing.
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He was lost in the stacks.
He hadn’t seen a space like this since he was a boy. He had gone chasing his brother for work and glory and being big and found a lot of empty space and open shelves with nothing but dust on them.
He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the tactile feel of books. The smell of Kevva Alive paper-- it was intoxicating. He hated the acidic stench of batteries and the sterile cold feel of screens. Worse. The vapid re-imaginings of them broadcast on holos by plastic doll-people who had never touched the spines of the things they talked about. It was obvious to him they hadn’t. They said the words as though the words had no souls.
A word is dead, when it is said, some say. He mused. It was mostly lawless wandering but he felt he would have to discipline himself into something in a moment.
He had a few spins of work coming and he had a feeling it would be long and dry, boring. He didn’t have his brother with him and now he lacked a true partner and needed something to be there, echoing in his mind. The books would do.
He had an itch for certain things.
He wanted intrigue.
He wanted romance.
He wanted small petty problems.
He hated heroes, and had no interest in them.
His fingers picked more than his eyes did: the weight of the spine, the texture of the cover, the feathery brush of the pages. His hands knew what they wanted to hold.
It was a physical urge.
Also though it was a...noisy thing.
Not to him, he thought he was quiet as a mouse.
But he would talk to them.
The books.
There were almost no people in here. Just one librarian up front sitting like she’d been born with a stick up her ass.
He didn’t think she could hear him.
But then again.
His mother always said his mouth ran like a boarding house toilet.
“Oh darling, you are thick as molasses, how do you expect a man to focus?”
The librarian’s ear twitched.
“Oh no, no, no, no, who treated you so rough?” He purred at a tiny volume so weathered and worn its cover was damn near off, “I wouldn’t be so mean.”
She cleared her throat.
He ignored it.
She was on the other side of the room, surely it was just a tickle and nothing more.
“The siren song of sweet Bernadette Laveine again?” He chuckled, “I would say it was beneath me but I cannot lie to a lady.”
She dropped a large book on the desk in front of her and he looked up on instinct to see her shooting daggers at him and pointing to a sign that said Quiet Please This Is A Library.
He’d be lying if he didn’t say that a little spirit in a filly appealed to his nature.
“Pardon?” He half-shouted across the distance, “Are you alright? Can I offer some assistance?”
Her face turned thunderous.
He raised a few books in his hand to show her he was successful, “You have a lovely establishment! I find myself positively drowning in possibilities.”
“Shh!” She finally snapped and shushed him outright and it made him smile.
Smile.
She wanted to slap it off of his face.
He feigned bashfulness and mimicked her gesture, bringing a finger to his lips and stage-nodding.
For a moment, just a moment, she thought he understood.
Then…
A soft gentle whistle of a truly annoying song began.
He did realize he was doing that.
But books gave him a naked joy, one he found bubbling up his throat and out of his mouth. He couldn’t help it. He was loud by nature.
And a younger brother will wheedle. By nature. If given half a chance.
He turned when someone tapped on his shoulder and his lips were still puckered when he saw the livid librarian, “Well pleasure to see you again.”
“Sir,” She seemed to resent using the polite title in her harried whispered tone, “Excessive noise is not permitted in the building.”
“Excessive noise! What a concept! I always thought just saying noise would suffice, but who am I to deny anyone a little adjectival flavor?” Then he looked over each of his shoulder’s exaggeratedly, “But...oh my wonder, me? The noisy one? I do ever so apologize, I hadn’t intended offense. Please do let me know what I can do to rectify the situation as I would hate to---”
“Ahem!” Her eyes were tiny enraged pinpricks and he tried to restrain his mirth but knew he wasn’t doing a good job.
He once more mimed the quiet signal with his lips and then bowed his head, an exaggerated mea culpa and tapped the books in his hands.
“Check out at the counter when you are done.” She said softly in a plea for him to do this right now but he nodded, even gave a thumb’s up.
She turned to leave when he sucked in a breath, “I am so sorry to intrude but I was wondering if you had the extended poetics of Dymis? I do love a book of verse. And I--”
She pulled the book from the shelves without needing to look and slapped it against his chest, stalking back to her desk before she could really berate him and break her own rules.
He dropped the stack of books on her table and she glared at the noise.
“Shh!” She practically screamed.
He enjoyed the wheedling of such a...stark individual. He could admit it. He liked to see her squirm.
"You require a card." Each word was punctuated through gritted teeth.
He smiled, "Then I must appeal for your assistance in obtaining one...I'm afraid I cannot walk away from this but we have a job to do and I cannot delay."
She seethed and held a stern finger to her lips, whispering, “I will help you apply for one and then promptly and quietly leave.”
“If only to make you watch me go.” He winked.
She growled at him to his absolute delight.
_______________________________
"You're late returning it."
He sputtered indignantly, “I must protest-- my transport was late, I was perfectly punctual in every manner I had control over and I returned to you at my earliest opportunity.”
“Which is late.” You deadpanned.
“There are worse crimes in the wide expanse of the universe.” He was regretting how badly he had annoyed you the last time because your eyes showed no sympathy.
“There’s a penalty. You have to pay it to take more out.”
He clicked his jaw slightly, “And what is my penance?”
“Fifty points.”
"Fifty points?!"
"It’s a per book fine and the cycle ratio clearly stated in polic--"
"A man must work for points, is there another system you might offer to me in order that I might not be deprived and food and shelter for this grievous crime?" His previous playfulness had temporarily abandoned him in his agitation. You wondered….prospectors tended to run hot or cold with their cash hauls. You wondered if his luck hadn’t turned out this time.
Honesty was part of your job.
Transparency.
But you didn’t want it to be.
You should have said Credits or nothing.
But instead it came out, “We accept work for payment.”
His eyebrows sprang to the top of his head and he immediately said, “That’s more my preference.”
He was there for three, excruciating days before the very HOUR of his debt was cleared and you saw him march up with a shit eating grin and a stack of books he wanted and a "Sweet darling I do believe we have reached the conclusion of our little arrang--"
"Oh great Kevva's tits will you shut up?!" You snarled.
Then you realized what you had said and wanted to bury your head in the next immediate pile of appropriate material.
And he smiled when you said it and held up a neatly folded piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
“Everything I noted was misplaced.”
You saw red, “Excuse me?”
The smile twitched in amusement, “Surely nothing to do with you, you are the very picture of fastidiousness, but other less gentle and knowing creatures have rather destroyed the order of the ecosystem in here and it should be rectified.”
You were clenching a fist, “And what, exactly, have you been doing?”
“Noting all the inconsistencies.” He pointed to the clock, “And my time is up. So lovely to have gotten better acquainted with you. I’ll just be taking these…”
He reached over and swiped his new stack of books, “...and I will be setting off. A very pleasant evening to you.”
After he pranced out, after you made sure the library was empty, after you locked the door, went back to your desk, and covered your face with your scarf.
After that.
You SCREAMED.
___________________________
You held in the actual groan of frustration when you saw a familiar figure waltz through your doors.
He held up the stack of books, “I come bearing gifts.”
“You mean work. You come bearing work.” You held out your hands, your voice a whisper compared to his booming vibrato, “I suppose you survived whatever peril you were registered to work for. What a shame.”
“I couldn’t bear to break your heart and leave you pining after me.” He was unmoved by your seeming venom and drummed his now empty hands rhythmically on your desk and loudly asked, “Have you moved the Lamarius Thomas series? It was in two different places last time and I--”
“Shh.”
“Of course, yes, I wouldn’t want to violate the serenity you’ve managed to culture here but I rather would like to know if the Thomas’ are--”
“Four rows back to your left third shelf.” You flicked your wrist in a dismissive scram motion.
He did scram.
And you heard him exclaim, “Oh sweet darling there you are. Now...wherever has that other delightful minx gotten?”
I’ll call the authorities, I swear on Kevva’s left breast and right eye for the love of all that is good and holy.
He was going to cause you to commit a murder.
You’d never contemplated one before.
You’d been mildly annoyed at people.
But he was able to get under your skin. The fact that he now popped in whenever he was in the Pug was a drain on your soul. You expected he would get bored. Most people came in sporadically, he came in religiously.
And he tried to fucking help.
He had suggested several organizational changes for you and even provided a diagram to increase the walking fluidity in the space and you swore that he knew how very much it all annoyed you.
You were going to strangle him.
There was always the hope that as a prospector he would meet his statistically likely end but so far he appeared to be quite a good prospector and that was a crying shame.
He had a knack for finding times when he was the only one in the building and simply talked your ear off.
Not your ear.
“The books! They’re rather like plants, they do better when praised like the gentle ladies that they are.” He would give you something like a wink or a sly lick of a lower lip to imply a flirtation you took as a personal offense meant only to humiliate you.
“The books are objects without ears but you have eyes and there is a sign there. Sir!”
He seemed to like prompting a Sir out of you.
You were going to slap him.
That’s it.
Today was the day.
You were going to---
He tapped on your desk and you looked up, shocked out of your murderous reverie, "Yes?"
"Beg pardon," he started "I'm looking for a particular novel and I cannot find it. I was curious if you could help."
Your face was unamused, “Yes?”
“Gardenia Collins. She has a lovely series. I heard a tale of a new addition and yet, alas, I go to investigate your shelves and it appears to be missing.”
You fidgeted in your seat.
He noticed but said nothing.
Well this was awkward.
"I….have it." You admitted, pulling it from its spot behind your desk.
Technically you hadn’t checked it out, you were just reading while the day was slow so...technically since it wasn’t taken out by anyone else...he would have fair rights to it.
He gave a half of a smile, a lazy uptick of a mouth that looked the way his drawl sounded, "Are you finished?"
You indicated the bookmark, "Nearly."
He rapped his knuckles on the counter, "Well it is a shame that you are not prepared to part with it. I read the earlier work, did you?"
You forgot to be mad at the chattiness because you’d been mentally preparing to part with the book when he demanded it but...he didn’t appear to be demanding it.
You gave a nod and he continued, "You enjoyed it too? May I ask...was it a romance or a tragedy?"
"Can't it be both?"
The smile fully fleshed out on his face and he chuckled, "I suppose it can indeed….fair weather and easy points for you.”
You tapped in the sign that said Quiet is appreciated, Silence is preferred.
He playfully pouted at you, “Are you so cruel? Can you not see I’m starved for conversation from someone with an intelligence quotient slightly above primordial man?”
But he turned to leave.
“Are you….not taking anything?”
He paused and looked at you with a twinkle in his eye, “I would hardly take the book from your hands anymore than I would take bread from your mouth.”
You refused to smile.
He didn’t deserve that.
But you sighed and held the book up, punching in his codes, and saying, “Return it on time please.”
_______________________________
You eyed the register.
It was nearly the end of another cycle.
Another one.
It wasn't that you missed him.
He had the book.
The book.
The one…
No.
You had checked interlibrary loan again this morning.
It wasn't anywhere.
Which meant he hadn't returned it anywhere.
Logic suggested this was really all you could really prove and thus all you should concern yourself with.
But…
You….
Were worried.
He'd been gone….a long time.
And clearly the book was with him.
And…
Prospectors tended, statistically speaking, to have….
Bad odds.
You checked one more time.
Just in case.
Because maybe he returned it somewhere else.
And if he did.
You were going to find his holocode and write a sternly worded letter about the location return policy listed on the back of his library card.
Sure.
That’s what you would write.
_________________________
He walked in with a generally quieter demeanor, wearing a poncho, a bag slung across his chest, with a blonde bubble-gum popping teenager plodding next to him.
There was a flair of jealousy in your belly and then anger.
You hadn’t taken him for a cradle robber.
Loveable rogue, maybe, but not a cradle robber.
Loveable? Kevva.
But there was something to his eyes.
Not just quieter but….embarrassed. Defeated.
“I know I’m late.” He said by way of greeting. The kid next to him was looking around in awe and she smiled widely, “This the place?”
“Yes, Cee-- manners, girl.” He nodded towards her, "My ward."
"I hate when you call me that." She glared at him a little.
"The lifeform I have taken under pseudo-parental advisement given the absence of those biologically or legally responsible for her otherwise." He rolled his eyes but there was a modicum of levity to them.
She snorted and then turned her face to you, eager and open, "Do you guys have The Streamer Girl?"
You blinked then nodded, "Fifth row on your left, second shelf from the bottom, about the middle the series starts."
Cee's jaw dropped a little, "Series?"
She took off at a clip.
You and Ezra watched one another.
“You’re late.”
“I am indeed.” He nodded slowly, “And I am afraid empty-handed.”
You licked a suddenly very dry lip, “I...I’m not surprised.”
“You seem less angry than I feared, I rather expected to enter a den of wrath.” He struggled to smirk, “You were so close to the end.”
You both turned your head as a squeal of teenaged delight broke through the silence and on impulse you quickly Shhed it.
“Sorry!” Cee squeaked from her nest, a neat circle of books forming around her.
“There’s my girl.” Ezra almost chuckled, “Good to see you still have your claws.”
My girl.
You looked over at him and maybe your face wasn’t so plain that you tricked him. You could feel your cheeks and your forehead screwed up in question and you couldn’t help yourself, “What happened?”
He sighed.
But he was quiet.
“A lot.”
Someone else came into the library, a rarity but you were expecting this particular person coming for a collection to be delivered to the nearby medwing. You picked up the stack and walked it over to them but on the way back to your desk you tripped over the rug and nearly knocked Ezra over. He had one arm wrapped around you, pulling you against him with a, “Steady there girl!”
It was then that you noticed.
And he noticed you noticed.
Almost as if he would have to steal it or lose the chance he picked his hand up and ran it down your cheek and then cleared his throat, took a step back, and whistled sharply, “Kevva waits ward!”
“I hate when you call me that!”
You gave a very half-hearted, “Shh…”
He looked at his feet and then up at you, “I expected you would be upset about the book.”
You didn’t want to banter or avoid it.
“What happened?”
“I lived.” He shrugged, “Others didn’t. We don’t get neatly orchestrated endings like they have in books.”
He sounded bitter and you stepped forward and reached out to touch his face. For a moment he was shocked and then he leaned into your hand and you felt him sigh.
His good hand reached out to rest on your waist, gently pulling you close until he let his head drop on top of yours and just let an exhausted breath out, “I thought about you. I read the the book a hundred times. I hit your bookmark and the pages smelled like your hands and I lost the bookmark so I dog-eared it and then thought about how you’d tongue-lash me for doing so and I...I tried to save your ending. But I lost it.”
“But you came back.” You gripped the front of the poncho hard and realized belatedly that your hand was shaking.
How long you both stood there like that you couldn’t say.
But Cee popped a bubble loudly and then cleared her throat, “Excuse me, how do I check these out?”
You straightened up, wiping an errant tear from your eye, and said, “You require a card...let me help.”
As you were going through the process of getting Cee a card Ezra leaned over the desk and slowly his old humor began to wash over him and you saw the easy smile, even heard a chuckle as he ran a finger up the impressive stack Cee had, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to eat dinner while reading in your room? This isn’t the type of flourishing social decorum I was hoping to inspire in you but I understand the impulse.”
“Mmhmm.” She nodded, popping another bubble, “But you’re getting something right? You won’t be bored.”
He straightened up, “Maybe I co--what’s this?”
You handed him a paper, tapping it, “Fine slip.”
“Fine slip?!” His nostrils flared playfully and he barked a laugh, “I don’t even….is that number…..does this say a thousand points?”
“Well with the accrued late fees of--”
“A man must work for points, woman, how do you expect me to rectify this?”
You tried to fight off a smile, “Well...maybe we can barter.”
He cocked an eyebrow at you, “What do you want?”
His voice was low and husky, honey flavored, a sound for sore ears that had been overwhelmed in the quiet.
“I didn’t get to read the ending….”
He caught your drift and a wide smile flushed his face, “Well….I have an excellent memory and a tongue for storytelling….and apparently nobody to eat dinner with.”
