Archive of Our Own ^beta

At long last, Booker can have a peaceful night's rest. No Ocelots, creepy counts, marquisate soldiers, forest fires, or perverts. Just a nice, peaceful beachside manor that Peggy inherited from her husband that the party has killed. They had deposited Beauregard at the Ratican to “find himself” or something. Booker couldn’t really believe that his dad would ever want to give up alcohol or gambling, but he’s glad to be rid of him. It was a gradual disappointment, but Booker needed a break from him. What a break he found.

The Drakesmouth manor is downright lovely. Morlock’s beach house is located on a secluded section of the shore where tourists and locals don’t venture. There’s a gorgeous leafy cliffside along the azure ocean waves. Sandy dirt beaches that aren’t as coarse and rough as wholly sand beaches and were softer on everyone’s feet. Tall sequoias house many delicious insects and medicinal herbs. Granite steps lined with wall stones lead up to the cedar manor adorned with ivory pillars. Booker felt like the Marquis herself with all luxury and peace he and his friends were granted with the beach house.

It’s almost sunset when everybody talks about going to sleep. It’d been a long day of traveling from clearing to clearing to get to Peggy’s inheritance. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day when everybody shared their plans (Jean-Claude: repealing his disbarment, Peggy: Sending a letter to Hazel about the manor, Bitsy: foraging for herbs, Grumley: hunting insects for dinner). The manor had enough rooms that everybody got their own bedroom and conjoining bathroom, so everyone prepared for sleep in private. This allowed Booker time and quiet to think. Everyone had a plan for tomorrow, except him. Maybe he’ll head out into town and get a read of the locals and maybe find a new banjo. He could help out any of the other four with their plans. Maybe Booker will just go swimming without perverts lurking. It honestly didn’t matter what he did because he would have time to do whatever he wants. Booker will have time to sort out any issues. All the time in the world because there’s finally some fucking peace. Just time to think.

Thinking about whatever.

Thinking about whomever.

Thinking about Grumle-

Grumley almost died a week ago and Booker realized he was in love with him, and he hasn’t done anything about it.

He hasn’t done anything yet. Booker told no one nor made any moves. Oh fuck, he has all the time in the world now! Booker’s little raccoon heart stops. There’s no pressing concerns, soldiers hunting them, or apocalyptic gods to deal with right now. This is the best time for a confession. A confession that Booker really doesn’t want to do. They have a good thing going on right now, and the only reason his recently realized feelings haven’t messed anything up is because Booker has been distracted by the literal apocalypse. He should probably talk to someone before telling Grumley any of this. Bitsy would be useless or have nonsensical advice and Peggy would probably just call him a coward and tell the pug herself. Jean-Claude is the safest option, but Booker doesn’t want to get all touchy-feely with the rooster. What the fuck is Booker going to do?

KNOCK KNOCK

“Booker?” The voice of the last person the raccoon wanted to talk to calls out from behind the door.

“Yes, Grumley?” Booker is already cursing Literal God before he opens the door, and he isn’t going to get nicer after he sees the pug. Grumley has half of his armor off and is staring down with watery puppy eyes.

“Do you mind helping me with my armor?” Grumley shyly asks. He’s a knight that stands in the way of harm for his friends. Grumley has taken hits and lives for Booker, yet he’s scared to ask for simple help. It’s adorable . The dog might be a crime against nature, but he’s Booker’s crime against nature. How did it take so long for the raccoon to realize that he’s in love?

Booker can feel his face embarrassingly soften, “Of course,”

“Oh thank you,” Grumley leads Booker to his room, “I know everybody is tired, but-”

“It’s no big deal,” Booker cuts him off, “Wasn’t that tired anyways,” It wasn’t a complete lie. He was tired, but Booker’s racing thoughts were promising to keep him up.

Grumley stands still as Booker’s dexterous paws undo the hard to reach straps, “Really? You were the first one to say you’re tired,”

“Just some… thoughts ,” The conman gently sets the armor down, “Nothing serious,”

Grumley looks over his shoulder, “Do you want to talk about it? That usually helps me,” That is the last thing Booker wants to talk about, and Grumley is the last person he’d want to talk to about it.

“Do you want your wrinkles cleaned out?” The raccoon tries to swiftly change the conversation.

“Oh, uh, yeah sure,” Grumley can tell that Booker is bothered by something, but he knows that pushing the raccoon will go nowhere. He wants to help, so he’ll lay and wait before asking again.

Booker heads to Grumley’s bathroom and fills the tub. The manor has indoor plumbing too! This is the fucking Ritz Carlton with it’s fancy soaps and scented oils. The water has a soothing warmth that Grumley eases into. A soft groan escapes the flat muzzle that Booker is trying really hard to ignore. This is a normal situation. They have done this before with no issues. Booker will not make this weird.

“Lean forward, I’ll clean your back first,” Booker can’t handle looking at the dog’s face right now. Grumley lets himself be easily maneuvered by leaning forward and resting his arms and chin on the front lip of the tub. A gentle washcloth cleans the knight’s back as Booker hums a simple melody. He isn’t even sure what song he’s humming, but Booker could care less when Grumley releases a content sigh. The dog tends to be so tense and high-strung that the rest of the party has to remind him to relax. Everybody, except Jean-Claude, has helped clean up Grumley’s wrinkles and folds. Tonight, Booker will make it special. He diffused some lavender oil and Epsom salt to help with Grumley’s aching muscles. Raccoon paws guide the soft washcloth between Grumley’s shoulder blades.

The pug softly chuckles, “What is this a massage?”

“If you pay me, maybe,” Booker wrings out the cloth over Grumley’s head to the latter’s amused complaints, “It just feels like the first time in a long time that we can relax, so why not enjoy it?”

“Hmm,” Grumley looks over at Booker, “I enjoy anything as long as I am with you guys. I don’t need any fancy luxuries,”

“I want to give you all the fancy luxuries I can,” is what the raccoon wants to say instead Booker takes the cowards’ way out and responds with, “They’re here, so why not use ‘em?”

Grumley fully turns towards the conman, “Then you should enjoy them! You’ve been stressed too!” The dog scooches to one side of the tub causing a bunch of water to splash out.

Booker has never been thankful for fur covering his would-be red face, “What?”

“Get in,” A large dog paw pats the warm water, “It feels really nice,” Grumley’s large eyes are filled with nothing but genuine care for Booker, who has no excuse not to agree. They have shared a bath when money gets tight and they really needed one. It’s never been a problem or weird before. Booker really wishes he had a drink of any kind for liquid courage to either confess or refuse. 

“Okay,” Booker gets undressed, unaware of Grumley’s guilty eyes watching him. The conman gingerly enters the other side of the tub having both animals facing each other in the bath. The lavender and Epsom salt do feel really nice on Booker’s muscles. He and Grumley are touching knees under the water, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels right . The raccoon sinks further under the water till his nose is just above the surface. He’s somehow taking up more space than Grumley, yet neither cares. Booker’s eyes are closed as he takes in the comfort of the bath and company, and Grumley gets to shamelessly gaze. Several minutes pass in silence as they both do nothing but soak and enjoy each other’s presence till Booker resurfaces.

“We should clean those face folds while the water is still warm,” He pauses, “Warm-ish,” Grumley doesn’t say anything as he leans forward. Booker doesn’t bother with the washcloth and just uses his hands to scratch all over Grumley’s face. Muzzles are inches apart while Booker all but cradle’s the knight’s face, who does nothing but lean into the small raccoon hands. The only sound is the soft rumbling coming from deep within Grumley’s throat. The conman is finding that despite the tiny paws, Grumley’s face fits perfectly in them. Last time Booker cradled Grumley’s face was about a week ago when-

“You almost died, twice,” The calm gets broken as the raccoon’s expression drops.

Grumley opens his eyes for the first time since Booker put his hands on him, “What?”

“In the ravine and against the Shartinstain bears,” The conman doesn’t know why he can’t stop talking, “I-We almost lost you, twice. You tried to sacrifice your life for a wolf we’d just met!”

“I’d sacrifice myself for most people” Grumley attempts to justify his actions.

“I don’t want you to!” Booker really wants to stop talking, “I don’t think I can handle another near death experience let alone your actual death,”

“But I can take more hits than everyone else,”

“I don’t care! I don’t like watching you get hurt!”

“I don’t want to watch you get hurt either!” Grumley sits up, “If only one of us has to get hurt, then I’ll make it me!”

“I want to wake up the next day with you alive, Grumley!” Booker isn’t crying yet, “Holding your barely living body in the ravine was one of the worst moments of my life! I was debating my final words to you,”

“Booker,” Grumley places one of his paws on the aforementioned raccoon’s wrist.

The conman lowers his head, “Don’t die for me, don’t make me watch you die,”

“It’s not that I want you to watch me die,” Grumley thinks on how to best explain this, “It’s just that, I’d sacrifice myself a hundred times before I let any of you die once,”

Booker pushes himself up with the rim of the tub, “Why is my life more important than yours?”

Grumley sags a little into the tub, “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll do it,”

“How is watching the love of my life die helpful?” There’s silence as Booker’s words fully sink in for everybody. Despite how much he wants to, the raccoon can’t will himself to move or speak. What would he even say? This isn’t a simple Freudian slip, this is a confession of love. Booker’s heart speeds up the longer neither of them say anything

“Did you just say “love of your life” ?” Grumley’s expression isn’t one of disgust that Booker was expecting, but the conman can’t quite tell what expression it is, “Am I the love of your life?” Booker struggles for an excuse until he notices something: there’s splashing behind Grumley.

The raccoon tries to look behind the dog, “Are you-are you wagging your tail?”

“Of course! You called me the love of your life,” Grumley excitedly crowds in Booker, “You love me,”

The conman averts his eyes and uses a gentle hand to slightly push the knight away, “How are you so calm about this?”

“When you’ve been in love with someone for years, you get a pretty good handle on yourself,” Grumley is barely containing himself. Years worth of love is being reciprocated, but Booker is stressing over it. He can’t rush in.

“What? Years? You’ve been in love for years? I figured this out a week ago!”

Grumley stifles a chuckle, “A week ago? You can’t keep your feelings a secret for over a week?”

Booker splashes water in the smug pug’s face, “I thought you said you love me,”

“I do,” Grumley leans further in, “I love you Booker, and I’ve been waiting to say that for years,”

“Ugh, you sap,” Booker tries to push Grumley’s face away, “You’re really corny, you know that,”

“But you love me,”

“Will that get you to stop almost dying?”

Grumley pauses, “Uh, well,” All the smugness left the knight’s expression, “I still need to protect you and-”

“So I just have to be okay with you dying? Even after this,” Booker doesn’t know what he’s doing. This isn’t a situation he thought he’d ever be in. Can he even remember his parents saying “I love you” to each other? Neither of them would die for the other. What he and Grumley have isn’t anything that he’s used to. Booker’s not entirely fond of venturing into new territory. “I l-love you,” Hopefully the raccoon isn’t making a fool of himself.

“I just want to keep you safe,”

“And I like having you alive,” An idea pops into Booker’s head, “Dying on me might make you a bad boy,”

“No!”

“Yes, but you can become a good boy by not letting yourself get hurt in place of any of us,”

“Booker,” Grumley wants to agree very badly. He doesn’t like anyone calling him a bad boy, but Booker calling him one? Horrible. The knight knows that Booker considers him a good boy no matter what and this is a ploy to get Grumley to agree with him, yet he finds himself wanting to comply.

The conman leaves the no-longer-warm bath, “C’mon Grumley,” He’s hoping that years of not acting on his feelings will make the pug weak, “You l-love me, right?” Booker dries himself off with a towel.

“ Booker ,” A displeased grumble makes itself known at the lack of a raccoon in the bath and for said raccoon’s words, “I’m just trying to keep you safe,”

“Can’t keep me safe if you’re dead,”

Grumley thinks for a second, “That’s a fair point,” He also exits the bath. He shakes himself dry while Booker drains the shared bath water, “Hey Booker?”

“What?” Asks a soft smile accompanied by relaxed half-lidded eyes.

Grumley steps closer to Booker, “I love you,”

The raccoon ducks his head away and starts to put his clothes back on, “How often are you going to say that?”

“A lot!” Grumley follows Booker’s lead and gets dressed as well, “I love you and I want you to know it!”

“Gods, you’re shameless,” The conman exits the bathroom.

Grumley also leaves, “I lost my ability to feel embarrassed years ago. There’s only so many times Peggy can tease me before something changes,”

“Wait. Peggy teased you about this ?” Booker is afraid of what he may learn from this.

“Oh yeah,” Grumley yawns, “She’d tease me all the time about how obvious I was and how you never seemed to notice,”

“She will never let me live this down,”

Grumley sits on his bed, “Nope! Just embrace it and it’ll be less fun for her,”

“Urgh,” Booker yawns.

“Are you tired now? No more thoughts bothering you?”

Booker looks away again, “Yeah, no more of those thoughts,” He walks towards the bed with an unsure stride, “Hey Grumley?”

“What?” The dog scoots over to let the raccoon sit next to him.

The conman buries his head into the knight’s chest, “I love you,” He mumbles.

“I love you too,”