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Who: Soren and Eren. Seren. a serenade.
When: See date listed on threads.
Where: Training grounds; various.
What: A semi-permanent log for breath training and other interactions between these two.
Warnings: This log is on fire. (literally, since dragons. will update warnings as they arise. some nsfw?! oops!)

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[ clarity filters back into the turbidity of what his mind had been these messy minutes. that really happened, hadn't it? escalated from the moment eren shot his legs into pumping only to come back down in the aftermath of bestial coupling... or what could be dismissed as just that if it didn't leave him with complications across his heart for the way eren regards him now with a tenderness that wasn't there before.

it's embarrassing to be seen in such vulnerable disarray after an unexpected bout of intimacy, a battle of dominance he'd lost control of, his muscles trembling, shredded clothes pooled around him, evidence of their smelly release streaked across his soiled and sooty body. his tangled bangs curtain his face as he hangs his head, unable to find words for this.

he doesn't have to. easier than that is to agree that he'd like to wash himself of this. he bobs his head like a boat rocked by a wave and shakily starts lifting himself from his elbows.]

...We... got sidetracked. [ ah, his clothes... they're not worth salvaging. he pinches a scrap between his nails and flicks it away, then starts peeling away what's left clinging to him. ] But I can't really say I didn't get practice in, either. Um...

[ thank you? sorry? he's not good at this... he's not even sure what in the world he's feeling right now. ]

[ with hands back to himself, the expression on eren’s face when he sits back onto his flank and positions his tail away to allow his arm wings to steadily prop him up into observation is clear: ❓

not about getting distracted, or the practice— eren’s chest still rises and falls with a blueberry sheen across glistening sweat and scales. a slither of his tongue pushes through the space between his teeth, and he asks, directly: ]

There’s a river nearby.

[ that’s what he’s trying to say, right? ]

[ well... whatever else he'd tried to say is gone and lost, and not really important besides. eren doesn't need to understand anything about the pulse of his emotions. verbally, anyway — he betrays his uncertainty to him via at least three other senses. the smaller dragon rises with a stumble to his protesting legs, which feel like hardened jelly. ]

...I know.

[ it's not in a snappy way that he says that, just the way anyone would point out a true statement. he keeps his bare scaled arms crossed and eyes to the ground, wings shelled to his body, and lets eren lead the way even though he doesn't need a guide. his thoughts linger on the chaos of the minutes before as they make their way across the crisp and smoking wilde. a renewed curiosity takes the helm, much easier to focus on than the disbelief of having succumbed to such a powerful urge. ]

What was that equipment you had on earlier? The tight armor; the grappling hooks and the cables; the projectile weapon...

[ there's a change in air that eren can perceive beyond whatever topic he's missed, but perhaps not the entire depth of it. stupid, he wasn't, he senses the dip and has an idea of what it was about, but too much involvement was well beyond his emotional capacity and this dance— it lasts for as long as it lasts, partners come and go. he tries, at least, to treat them all more than just a simple distraction, as they all should be (their own person), but. his way, and it may not come off like that to most.

eren had an abnormal way of thinking anyway, and while he'd probably bring it back up himself— it feels as casual as always. there was no rush to talk about it. ]

Gear from home, [ now compact into the amulet-like object he'd carried earlier on him. ] I had it modified into armor, here. There's a charm against the Cwyld in its metal.

[ in only a handful more of steps they should be near the bay's edge. there, eren kneels to cup his hands in for a simple amount, enough that the tattoos spiraling up his arm wings react with burning orange light to wherever seems best to preen himself. wetness protection. ]

Expensive, but something you can think about. [ he taps at his own scales. ] Especially if you're not above selling any scales that fall off.

[ even as the water hikes further up soren's body with each step, he keeps his attention pinned on the process by which the fire dragon makes a magical compromise between getting wet and getting clean. blazing orange scrawls up his arms. every challenge in his life, every shortcoming he circumvents around, he always seems to meet in the same way. ]

I see... You really are as adaptable as you say.

[ said like a simple remark, a reference to their first conversation about arms and wings, now applied further to encompass enchantments, armor, and gear. it's one of the best qualities anyone can have if they want to keep living. his gaze drifts away along the rippling surface, down to his own form.

he's always been adaptable himself, to adjust plans according to the ever-changing conditions of a battle, of a war, even. then there was the frequent instability of a life as a sellsword, and before then an orphaned child vying first to live, then to seek his reason to. but there's something about eren's capacity that he's sure he's been lacking. just looking at his own moon-warped body disgusts him, for example, in ways that probably never bothered eren all that much. the swollen contours of his finned arms, laced with orange markings of his own; stony plating; the extra layer of muscle supporting his ribcage; scales of three different solid hues... he runs a nail over a patchy still-healing part where water meets flesh, washing eren's dried blood into the stream along with other traces of his proximity. the idea that someone could be using these body parts he could barely accept on himself as fuel and currency, in much the same fashion as the rathmores had harvested scales and teeth and spines and blood and...

soren's focus goes glassy as he corks his thoughts right there. give them space and they'll consume.

eren has it right. reservations like that shouldn't stop him. if he really is a dragon these days, embracing his changes would serve him far better than falling back into the same patterns of scorning and resisting them. and should anyone use his scales for nefarious purposes, chances are it won't have anything to do with him, even if he can think of some spells that would.

he is in this world, and right now, nothing can change that. ten moons and no reprieve. all he has to do is survive and prepare, and having even more spending power almost always helps — as does finding more ways to defend against the agent that unmade geardagas's dragonkind.

he crouches further into the water, lets it envelop him up to his shoulders. he sounds thoughtful, if not a little more distant. ]

For Dragons like us, it's more than worth the investment.

[ sometimes eren envies those that could immerse themselves in water, and sometimes he felt the back of his mind lifting a lip in revulsion. human and dragon would always be at odds, and he’d always find the point of balance for just a while before one overcompensated for the other. ice blue eyes linger on a body that disappears beneath a surface of coolness, leaving eren to divert to what still needed quick cleansing. the folding pinna of his arms and his groin are all washed, the residue sticking to his belly and the rest of him— just a quick veer before he shakes, sprawls and rubs side-first into grass and dirt.

it’d dry himself faster, even if it could somehow defeat the purpose of being “clean” by the older human standards. eren hadn’t said a word, after that, implying agreement with a nod and grunt that could’ve all easily be missed. this is said now, laid back but abrupt: ]

You were upset about something.

[ perhaps that’s not the right word, but it’s easier to be this direct than try and search for the perfect descriptor. ]

[ soren winces with a mild flush of irritation as some minuscule droplets of the shaken water pelt him. he'd have half a mind to retort that he wasn't upset but he is now, but whatever offense crossed his features smooths over to show that the statement took him a little bit off-guard as he looks back at eren.

well, he had been, hadn't he? but why bring it up at all? he casts his head back down, flips his long hair over his shoulder and fiddles with the cord tying it back to free it using his nail. his hair has gotten so disheveled and riddled with dirt and detritus that he will need to redo it anyway, or just leave it down until the full moons pass and he returns to "normal", whatever that is these days. he huffs softly. ]

...I'm upset about a number of things. But it doesn't matter. And it has little to do with you.

[ only eren’s eyes move from where he lays, considering leaving it at that if it really was nothing to worry about. it hadn’t been his tongue that flicks to tell him, but perhaps an overwhelming sense that it was a lie to some degree. maybe it really did have little to do with him at all, but. maybe it did matter. at least it mattered to eren at the time when he had little reason to concern himself to begin with. so he lifts himself from the comfort of soil. for now, his palms finish the job, gliding off his arms stroke after stroke in what could only be described as— preening his scales. ]

You’ve never slept with anyone.

[ he doesn’t mean to sound or even be severe or, even critical. it is the thing he’s deducing is where this remotely comes from, and if it was, it did have something to do with him. in a way. he didn’t care much of what was thought of him and more what soren felt, even if it was by far difficult to fully express that like an open book. ]

[ he'd been trying to shut him out and retreat within — it doesn't matter, doesn't concern you — but eren's blunt remark cuts into him sharp, direct, and true. not at the pulse of what the matter was, the source of his frustrations and his melancholy... but it surprises him to hear him say. he lifts a part of himself back open to address it. his hands still in his hair. ]

You... could tell?

[ but then he feels silly for blurting that. such a thing was probably obvious in ways he lacked the experience to decipher. he lowers his eyes again in a demure fashion that clashes with his monstrous appearance. ]

... No, I haven't. But... that is hardly cause for the upset you have detected. That's much bigger than this. [ he shakes his head and releases his sheaf of hair, which spreads in a curtain for his face. ] The worst of it is my own embarrassment. It's nothing to concern yourself with. I'm not blaming you for my abrupt flare of... of sexual need. You satisfied it.

[ talking about it is more embarrassing than anything else. his face feels hot. ]

More than satisfied it. Are you satisfied with that response?

[ eren rolls his shoulder at the first question. honestly, if it makes soren feel any better, it was nothing of visible notice that he’d seen with his eyes or noticed in act itself. no, he was still . . . dense and inattentive in that regard. it was chemical, but even then he wouldn’t know how to explain it beyond using the worst descriptor ever: “you smelled like it”.

but maybe that’d just make things worse. ]

Why embarrassed?

[ he avoids giving the answer asked of him, already an answer itself, perhaps. or maybe he already had earlier, with the dip of his head forward as he strained his hair into a bun. eren’s expression is rather difficult to read, pulling up a knee to his chest while his other leg fell with so little humiliation involved. ]

[ soren tilts his head to soak his dark mane in water, not even once drawing his eyes up at the other dragon. if he did, his casual shift in position might only serve to inflame his flustered state further than being asked why he's embarrassed, like he's supposed to know how to explain such a personal, unspoken "fact" that unbridled and unexpected sex with someone he barely knows is innately embarrassing. he cards his fingers through his locks to untangle the twigs and the leaves from the shiny black mass and huffs. ]

... Do I really need to spell it out for you? It's only natural to be embarrassed by my first time! I've never... I lost control, and... [ he squeezes. ] I don't think I would have ever succumbed to such ravenous lust out of nowhere if it weren't for the moons, for my beastly... My being a monster. I couldn't resist your scent; I came down from the heights of our, well... erm... N-No one has ever touched me like...

[ eren knows how he touched him. what was he trying to say again? soren releases his hair and lets his arms splash the water in mild exasperation as they fall into its cool embrace. he's perched over there watching him bathe and fumble with his words and make a fool of himself. he's the loser who got dominated and pushed into the earth and can't even control his breath yet, though they've been here the same number of days. why did he go out of his way to explain any further than the first two statements? why is he letting the weight of the unmentioned greater things crush him at such an inappropriate time?

he's so... vulnerable. all at once, no armor all chinks. not even his cold demeanor can protect the softness he guards inside him, for it has cracked and melted away for a tight lip and misty eyes. by the goddess, he's spiraling down into the vaster reaches of his despair from a place barely related, all the emotions he always corks threatening to just... spill...

a droplet pats the surface of the water. it's not raining. it's not runoff from his hair, either. he feels his smallness acutely, his powerlessness to reclaim for himself the life that was stolen from him and the profound loneliness that permeates his new existence. his shoulders shrink, a clawed hand resting on top of it. he decides now might be a good time to submerge his whole head before he loses control of yet another aspect of himself, gives eren any reason to doubt that he was, in fact, telling the truth. eren did nothing to hurt him in any meaningful way. ]

[ his eyes' membrane slide, slide, and slide again in a growing blink that pieces words into something he could understand. the wyvern could pick up more in the shake of emotion in the other dragon's voice and rolling words that what they meant— eren's ear reacts to it like the sound of a pin dropping in silence. it's hard to tell, he was wet, a lot of him was— but before he could fixate his gaze harder on eyes pressing shut, soren disappears beneath a surface that harbors a sort of echoing stillness that eren could only distantly imagine.

his lips part, but he swallows a possibility of speaking in return. he hadn't hurt him directly but . . . eren still felt a tiny, growing pit in his stomach he didn't quite know how to handle; like holding a small, defenseless newborn when all you knew was blood, death, and causing it.

eren too, oddly, felt something he didn't like, just as much as he detested water and what had hardly reared its head into sex: loneliness, and it had perhaps, been that, that he's realized he's given to soren, all without quite meaning to. it's become so routine and an even successful outlet, that, emotion was virtually detached, only hanging by a single, solitary thread that could hardly do a thing on its own.

it hadn't been because it never happened to him after all. eren had always refused to look at it in such a light, is what happens, and now when he decides to turn his gaze and catch it at the corner of his eye . . . it's there. and he knows he'll never have something more than that.

the price of freedom, and all. he's still sitting where he is, regardless, and waits under the moonlit night and chirping wilde crickets to fill his head with a song less bitter. ]

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soren's a hot mess. oops. sorry, eren...

i'm so sad now