Blaine/Silverlock STUPIDITY

Apostles of Varun are forbidden from doing harm to anything. This manifests in unfortunate ways for Blaine, because he works for the Assassin's Guild, and if he so much as looks at a knife too hard, he cuts himself.

Also, Blaine is somewhere around 5'10" with a fairly ordinary build. Completely unremarkable, physically, aside from some bizarre scarring on one side of his body. Silverlock is 5'4", occasionally gets cracks about being half dwarf instead of elf, and has maybe three square inches of untatooed, unscarred, or unpierced skin. Together, they look ridiculous.

And yes, Silverlock wears bitch boots all the time. Also they are such teenage girls it isn't funny ohgod why do I suck.
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Silverlock had grown accustomed to his presence inciting a number of strange responses in others; part of the reason he so delighted in Blaine's company was the sheer range of expression the other man was capable of.

He had thought they'd gotten past the violent part of their relationship five months ago, however.

"You punched me. What the hell was that for?" He cradled his aching cheek in one hand and gave the other man a bemused look.

"It's our aniversary." Blaine was cradling the hand he'd punched Silverlock with. "And don't start with me, you won't even bruise. My hand is broken."

"Aniversary of what?" Silverlock scowled. Blaine's knuckles had already begun swelling, and his fingers were bent at odd angles. "If you knew that was going to happen when you hit me, why'd you do it?"

"Aniversary of the first time we met. The only other appropriate course of action would've been to vomit all over your shoes again, and I like you in those boots." His hand made a painful crunching sound as he realigned the bones.

"Huh." He looked down at his boots. They were good boots; when he was wearing them, he was at eye level with Blaine's mouth, instead of his collarbones. "You could vomit all over one of your apprentices. You did that, too, if I recall correctly," he said thoughtfully.

Blaine glared. "I hate you, sometimes."

He liked not having to tilt his head much to kiss the other man; efficiency was a virtue. "I know it. Come on, lets go get some ice for your hand. Maybe Maddel will be willing to heal it for you."

"He won't be. He hasn't done anything but laugh ever since the cutlery incident." Blaine sighed mournfully.

"Your life is full of woe, isn't it?"

"Really hate you. All the time."

"Yes, dear."