Thermal Testing
A birthday fic for @glacial-coyote. Happy birthday, dude!
Pairings: Parvill Words: 1,399 Warnings: None
Parvis got bored easily. In some ways, it was charming, but it did have the disadvantage of making him a very bad scientist. Strife had not bothered to tell him that the vast majority of mechanical engineering was running days-long tests on individual components, and then spending a few more days processing the data, and then spending a few more days prodding the components with a stick while trying to figure out why the fuck they weren't working properly because there was nothing wrong with the damn things, god dammit.
"My brain's coming out my ears," Parvis lamented, draped theatrically on the computer desk. Strife brushed him over to one side like he would a particularly noisy pile of junk.
"Try not to get it on the machines, hey?" said Strife, sitting down at the computer and waggling the mouse. The latest data from the thermal tests popped up onscreen. They did not look good.
Parvis raised his head as though it was the heaviest thing in the world. His hair was falling into his eyes, and he was pouting.
"You're so mean to me, Strifey," he whined. "I'm dying and you're making fun of me. You're so mean to Parvy-Parv, and I've never done anything to you."
"You pushed me down a mine shaft and broke both my legs!" Strife cried.
"So?" said Parvis. "You didn't die. You're fine now, anyway, and I'm not fine. I just pushed you down a hole, and it was funny anyway. You're torturing me."
"Well, Parvis, if it's so awful, you don't have to stay," said Strife.
Parvis's pout got even bigger. His lower lip was nearly touching his chin.
"You can't just kick me out! I'm your lab assistant, you'd never get anything done without me."
"Y'know, Parvis, I don't think that's true. I think I'd get a lot more done without you here, because I wouldn't have to babysit you and take care of your—your little tantrums, which you throw, because you get bored. I'd probably already have this stupid autosmelter built, because you wouldn't be distracting me from doing—everything!"
Parvis rolled his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on Strife's leg. Strife promptly shoved them off again, and Parvis gave him a puppy-eyed look that only accentuated his pout.
"Maybe I will leave," he said. "Maybe Parvy'll set off on his own. I'll build my own autosmelter with like, magic and stuff, and it'll be a billion times better than yours and not boring at all. Stupid boring old science."
"Parvis?" said Strife.
"Yeah?" said Parvis.
Strife pointed. "There's the door."
The pout slowly transfigured into a scowl. Parvis folded his arm and glared mightily at Strife's outstretched finger.
"I can't leave," he said. "You're useless without me."
"Am I, Parvis?" Strife asked. "Because, I haven't seen any evidence. I tell you what, why don't you go ahead and leave, and you can come check back in a month to see how useless I've been without you here, hey? Empirically. And then you can rub it in my face or whatever, like you do, because you're a prick. Or, maybe, just maybe, I will be armed to the teeth, and you will be wearing rags, because your potty-mouth wizardry let you down again, and I'll have to clean up your messes, like I always do."
He paused. He considered his own outstretched finger, pointing towards the door. He took in the sly smile spreading across Parvis's face. He folded his arms and glowered.
"Get out of my lab," he snapped.
"You'll miss me!" Parvis cried, his voice absolutely dripping with glee. "You don't want me to go at all, because you'll miss me!"
"What part of any of what I just said gave you that stupid idea?" Strife demanded.
"Parvy knows," said Parvis. He was grinning now. "Aw, don't worry, Strifey, I won't leave you all alone here with your stupid boring old science. I'll keep on helping you, 'cause I'm a—what do you call it, people who die for a cause or whatever."
"Martyr? Parvis, listen to me, you are not a martyr. Don't even start calling yourself that, because you're not one."
"Yeah I am!" said Parvis. "I'm having my brain drip out my ears 'cause I'm stuck here with you and your slow old boring old science, that never works anyway, so I don't know why you even do it."
"It does work," Strife growled, gritting his teeth, "it just takes some time. Unlike magic, which stops working for no reason and is a whole bunch of mumbo-jumbo, hocus-pocus, hand-wavey crap that's not reliable at all! Science takes a long time because it's robust! Once you've fixed the problems, guess what, they're fixed!"
"Then how come you keep having to do maintenance?" Parvis asked slyly, regarding Strife through his eyelashes.
"That's—you—that doesn't—Parvis!" Strife sputtered. He could feel himself going red in the face. Parvis laughed at him and put his feet back on his leg. Strife shoved them off again. "And stop using me as a footstool!"
"But it's the only thing you're good for, Strifey," said Parvis. "And I guess entertainment. You're funny when you're upset, you get all red."
"I do not!" Strife cried, getting even redder. "And I am not a footstool!"
Parvis put his feet on Strife's leg.
"Yeah you are," he said.
Strife grabbed both of Parvis's ankles, intending to hoist them into the air and send Parvis toppling over backwards. Instead, Parvis bent his knees and rolled his chair right up to Strife's, putting the two of them suddenly very close together. He leaned in and kissed Strife's nose.
"My favoritest footstool of all time," Parvis murmured.
Red as Strife's face was, it couldn't get any redder, but a flush of heat rose up under his collar that made him want to loosen his tie for once. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, once, twice, three times.
"Now—now Parvis," said Strife. "Don't—this is a-a-a professional work environment, and you—this is not . . . professional behavior."
"You don't know," said Parvis. "I might be a professional at all sorts of things."
Strife swallowed again. Parvis's ankles were hot in his sweating hands.
"That's . . . nice," he squeaked. "But—but—but—"
Parvis snickered. "You said butt," he said.
"Oh, really?" said Strife. "Really, that's the kind of maturity you're bringing to this table?"
To Strife's distress, Parvis unfolded his arms and put his hands on Strife's shoulders.
"I can be lots more mature, if you want," he purred.
"I don't swing that way," said Strife, but it came out as a strangled wheeze.
"Yeah, no, me neither, 'course not," said Parvis, and leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.
It must, thought Strife, have just been the stress. He'd been knotted up with it for weeks now, slowly winding tighter and tighter, kinking up like a rope spun too many times in the same direction. Very suddenly, now, he was being spun in the other direction, and if he was dragging Parvis into his lap and tangling both hands in his hair and kissing like his life depended on it, well, maybe that was just how he unwound.
The rolling chair overbalanced and sent both of them crashing to the floor, knocking Strife's breath out and affording him a solid knock on the head. For a moment, he saw stars, and then he saw Parvis looking down at him, eyes huge and bright, lips red from kissing.
"We should've done this ages ago," he said, breathless. "This's way better than science."
"Get—off," Strife managed, more as a concession to his right mind than as an actual request. The weight of Parvis's body holding him against the floor was getting into his blood, making his whole body heavy and electric.
Obligingly, Parvis rolled to one side and sat on the floor, leaning back on his hands. He left one leg draped across Strife's hips. Strife struggled upright, his head spinning. He'd have a lovely goose-egg on the back of his skull in the morning.
"I could've made a really stupid joke," Parvis said. "But I didn't. Did you notice that I didn't?"
"Parvis," said Strife. "Shut up."
And before Parvis could disobey, Strife grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him again.
