Something To Hold On To
Dec. 16th, 2018 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redtailedhawk90Drabble #4 -- Unprompted
Something To Hold On To | The Room Where It Happened (Podcast) | Tseer/Wyatt
Tseer woke to the feeling of somebody watching him. He kept his eyes closed, and his body limp, getting his bearings. He was laying on his side in the makeshift bed he and Wyatt had created in one room of the Sands club. One arm was curled under his head, and the other was resting across Wyatt's waist. He had one leg hooked around Wyatt's hip. Wyatt was breathing steadily, but not deeply. The rest of the room was still and quiet. There weren't even the usual sounds of people coming and going out in the hallway, which meant it had to be very late.
"It's just me," said Wyatt softly. Tseer relaxed his shoulders and opened his eyes, starting a little when he found Wyatt's brown ones inches from his own. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"Is everything all right?" asked Tseer, his voice still thick with sleep. He reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb against the furrow in Wyatt's brow, smoothing away the lines there. Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his head and kissed Tseer's palm.
"Yeah. I mean..." He paused. Swallowed. Tried again. "It was just a dream. It's nothing."
Tseer made a noise of encouragement. "What was it about?"
Wyatt stroked Tseer's shoulder with his thumb, searching for the right words. "You wouldn't be here, if it weren't for what happened there. In the Feywild."
It wasn't a question, but Tseer answered anyway. "No, I wouldn't."
"Sometimes I dream that it didn't happen. That your friends are right and I've...bewitched you somehow." He trailed off.
Tseer smoothed Wyatt's hair back from his face. He snuggled closer, tucking his head under Wyatt's chin and wrapping his arm protectively around Wyatt's back, until there was no more space between them, just feathers pressed tight to flesh. What could he say? He'd caught his friends staring, too. Like he was lying. Like he only imagined the months he and Wyatt had spent in the Feywild. He hated it, hated feeling that maybe he couldn't trust his own memory. He, too, had nightmares where it was all a dream, or where the Heart had never acted up at all, and he had killed Wyatt there, in that small lab. His stomach roiled at the thought.
He cast about for something to ground himself here, in this reality. It felt like no matter how close to Wyatt her pressed, he was too far away, floating among all of the possible dark timelines. He ran his fingers over Wyatt's shoulders and neck, and came across a bumpy ridge --a jagged scar that ran parallel to Wyatt's spine, between his shoulder blades. He traced it gently.
"Remember when you got this?" he asked, his voice muffled by Wyatt's chest.
"Yeah," said Wyatt, nuzzling the top of Tseer's head.
"A kappa had surprised us," Tseer continued. "And you dove on top of me to save me." He moved his talon down, finding a puckered patch of skin just above Wyatt's hip to the left of his spine. It was a circle about an inch and a half in diameter, with a matching scar on his stomach. "And here," he said. "You got this one when you tried to talk the Baba Yaga out of eating us." Tseer felt Wyatt's chest rumble with a soft laugh. Good. He continued, trailing his fingers over each mark on Wyatt's back and citing the source of every one. This one was from the feypanther attack. That one from the pack of blink dogs that tracked them for days. When he'd found each one by touch alone, he gently pulled away from Wyatt's chest and catalogued the scars there, too. There were two across his sternum, from being captured by the centaurs. One on the back of his hand, from the ritual he used to get them back. Another on his right shoulder from a treant.
Wyatt dug his fingers into the feathers of Tseer's torso and began his own recitation. Here, a crosshatching of razor-thin ridges from a furious dryad. There, a gouge across the width of his midsection, from a fight with a hag he'd thought would kill them both. A handful of smaller bumps scattered over his pelvis, delivered by a band of pixies with poisoned thorns, and opposite them, just above his tail, a splotchy burn from a will o' the wisp.
Each one, a memory. Each one, a testament to the trials they had been through together.
"It happened," murmured Tseer. "It happened. And no one can take that from us."
By the time they finally ran out of scars to find, probing fingers had devolved to caresses, and mumbled words were replaced with kisses and bites and soft exclamations.
Something To Hold On To | The Room Where It Happened (Podcast) | Tseer/Wyatt
Tseer woke to the feeling of somebody watching him. He kept his eyes closed, and his body limp, getting his bearings. He was laying on his side in the makeshift bed he and Wyatt had created in one room of the Sands club. One arm was curled under his head, and the other was resting across Wyatt's waist. He had one leg hooked around Wyatt's hip. Wyatt was breathing steadily, but not deeply. The rest of the room was still and quiet. There weren't even the usual sounds of people coming and going out in the hallway, which meant it had to be very late.
"It's just me," said Wyatt softly. Tseer relaxed his shoulders and opened his eyes, starting a little when he found Wyatt's brown ones inches from his own. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"Is everything all right?" asked Tseer, his voice still thick with sleep. He reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb against the furrow in Wyatt's brow, smoothing away the lines there. Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment, then turned his head and kissed Tseer's palm.
"Yeah. I mean..." He paused. Swallowed. Tried again. "It was just a dream. It's nothing."
Tseer made a noise of encouragement. "What was it about?"
Wyatt stroked Tseer's shoulder with his thumb, searching for the right words. "You wouldn't be here, if it weren't for what happened there. In the Feywild."
It wasn't a question, but Tseer answered anyway. "No, I wouldn't."
"Sometimes I dream that it didn't happen. That your friends are right and I've...bewitched you somehow." He trailed off.
Tseer smoothed Wyatt's hair back from his face. He snuggled closer, tucking his head under Wyatt's chin and wrapping his arm protectively around Wyatt's back, until there was no more space between them, just feathers pressed tight to flesh. What could he say? He'd caught his friends staring, too. Like he was lying. Like he only imagined the months he and Wyatt had spent in the Feywild. He hated it, hated feeling that maybe he couldn't trust his own memory. He, too, had nightmares where it was all a dream, or where the Heart had never acted up at all, and he had killed Wyatt there, in that small lab. His stomach roiled at the thought.
He cast about for something to ground himself here, in this reality. It felt like no matter how close to Wyatt her pressed, he was too far away, floating among all of the possible dark timelines. He ran his fingers over Wyatt's shoulders and neck, and came across a bumpy ridge --a jagged scar that ran parallel to Wyatt's spine, between his shoulder blades. He traced it gently.
"Remember when you got this?" he asked, his voice muffled by Wyatt's chest.
"Yeah," said Wyatt, nuzzling the top of Tseer's head.
"A kappa had surprised us," Tseer continued. "And you dove on top of me to save me." He moved his talon down, finding a puckered patch of skin just above Wyatt's hip to the left of his spine. It was a circle about an inch and a half in diameter, with a matching scar on his stomach. "And here," he said. "You got this one when you tried to talk the Baba Yaga out of eating us." Tseer felt Wyatt's chest rumble with a soft laugh. Good. He continued, trailing his fingers over each mark on Wyatt's back and citing the source of every one. This one was from the feypanther attack. That one from the pack of blink dogs that tracked them for days. When he'd found each one by touch alone, he gently pulled away from Wyatt's chest and catalogued the scars there, too. There were two across his sternum, from being captured by the centaurs. One on the back of his hand, from the ritual he used to get them back. Another on his right shoulder from a treant.
Wyatt dug his fingers into the feathers of Tseer's torso and began his own recitation. Here, a crosshatching of razor-thin ridges from a furious dryad. There, a gouge across the width of his midsection, from a fight with a hag he'd thought would kill them both. A handful of smaller bumps scattered over his pelvis, delivered by a band of pixies with poisoned thorns, and opposite them, just above his tail, a splotchy burn from a will o' the wisp.
Each one, a memory. Each one, a testament to the trials they had been through together.
"It happened," murmured Tseer. "It happened. And no one can take that from us."
By the time they finally ran out of scars to find, probing fingers had devolved to caresses, and mumbled words were replaced with kisses and bites and soft exclamations.
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Date: 2018-12-16 07:02 pm (UTC)