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witticasterPerscitia and Temeraire late at night. With a baaaaaaaaby.
"You are not feeding him correctly," came Perscitia's yawning voice, from the shadows of their bed. "He likes his bottle at a fifty degree angle."
Temeraire spared only a glance in her direction before looking back down at their son, who seemed to be eating perfectly cheerfully despite the fact that Temeraire was holding the bottle at a rather lower angle. "You do not have your glasses on," he told her, a little waspshly. "I do not think you should be criticizing what you can't even see."
At that remark, Perscitia reached over for her glasses, the lenses flashing in the dim warm glow of Larkin's nightlight, and Temeraire hurriedly adjusted the bottle's inclination.
"See!" Perscitia said, now sitting up comfortably in the mess of pillows and blankets their bed inevitably became each night (particularly lately, when they were up every few hours anyway). "You weren't holding it at the right angle."
"He was eating, all the same." Temeraire nodded down at the baby, whose attentions seemed primarily on ingesting as much milk as he might be allowed, rather than exactly how it was presented to him. "You can do it, if you think you'll do such a better job."
Perscitia leaned back into the pillows, her long hair sticking up in odd places, and said, with no small gladness, "It's not my turn to. I'll just watch."
"I hope he sicks up on you, next time it's your turn," Temeraire muttered, as Larkin made clear he was full. He could not help but feel a little gratified at the thought that Perscitia was awake with him at this moment, though; for all her talk of making sure Temeraire did not drop Larkin in the night (which he would never do, he always rejoined, and probably Perscitia was projecting), he suspected that was not her true motive. And he thought he looked very well--or as well as anyone could, at two in the morning--when taking care of Larkin like this, the orange light and dark shadows accentuating his better features as he murmured in Chinese at their child.
As Temeraire climbed back into bed, Larkin having been set back into his own, he felt Perscitia slide down from where she sat, to lay close and warm next to him. "There," he mumbled, feeling sleep tugging at him. "You cannot have complaint: Larkin is fed and happy, and now perhaps we can sleep."
"You forgot to burp him."
With a sigh, Temeraire dragged himself back out of bed and over to Larkin's bassinet.
"You are not feeding him correctly," came Perscitia's yawning voice, from the shadows of their bed. "He likes his bottle at a fifty degree angle."
Temeraire spared only a glance in her direction before looking back down at their son, who seemed to be eating perfectly cheerfully despite the fact that Temeraire was holding the bottle at a rather lower angle. "You do not have your glasses on," he told her, a little waspshly. "I do not think you should be criticizing what you can't even see."
At that remark, Perscitia reached over for her glasses, the lenses flashing in the dim warm glow of Larkin's nightlight, and Temeraire hurriedly adjusted the bottle's inclination.
"See!" Perscitia said, now sitting up comfortably in the mess of pillows and blankets their bed inevitably became each night (particularly lately, when they were up every few hours anyway). "You weren't holding it at the right angle."
"He was eating, all the same." Temeraire nodded down at the baby, whose attentions seemed primarily on ingesting as much milk as he might be allowed, rather than exactly how it was presented to him. "You can do it, if you think you'll do such a better job."
Perscitia leaned back into the pillows, her long hair sticking up in odd places, and said, with no small gladness, "It's not my turn to. I'll just watch."
"I hope he sicks up on you, next time it's your turn," Temeraire muttered, as Larkin made clear he was full. He could not help but feel a little gratified at the thought that Perscitia was awake with him at this moment, though; for all her talk of making sure Temeraire did not drop Larkin in the night (which he would never do, he always rejoined, and probably Perscitia was projecting), he suspected that was not her true motive. And he thought he looked very well--or as well as anyone could, at two in the morning--when taking care of Larkin like this, the orange light and dark shadows accentuating his better features as he murmured in Chinese at their child.
As Temeraire climbed back into bed, Larkin having been set back into his own, he felt Perscitia slide down from where she sat, to lay close and warm next to him. "There," he mumbled, feeling sleep tugging at him. "You cannot have complaint: Larkin is fed and happy, and now perhaps we can sleep."
"You forgot to burp him."
With a sigh, Temeraire dragged himself back out of bed and over to Larkin's bassinet.
