middaeg | [closed] august catch-all!

[ Waver hasn't been participating in many of the festivities. All of it is foreign to him, seems awkward and too intimate a festival in many ways. Already, he spends much of his time either at work or in his room, and nothing about what's been happening lately has changed that.

He'll look up from his book at the knock, calling out for Diarmuid to come on in when Waver recognizes his voice. For now, Waver remains stretched out on his stomach atop his bed, knees bent and feet up, gaze curiously lifting toward the doorway. ]

Diarmuid...? Are you all right?

[ With the closer proximity, Waver can feel the pent-up energy in Diarmuid's magic like the unpleasant buildup of static electricity, a distant hum of a current waiting to lash out.

Shit.

The book snaps shut. Waver twists around, moving to sit up. ]

Close the door.

[ He scoots over, lips pursed. Pats the bed beside him without quite meeting Diarmuid's eyes. ]

Sit.

[Maybe it's simply that Diarmuid's thoughts are too much of a disorganised mess for him to focus but it's actually difficult to read Waver's expression as he heads into the bedroom. He feels a fool for leaving it so late, of course, but that's his mistake to bear and he's already resolved to take whatever dressing down the young mage might subject him to on the chin.

So, he does as he's told and obediently sits on the bed beside him, at first with an almost comedic tentativeness but gradually relaxing as the proximity alone begins to calm his mind. All they need is contact, correct? Then this shouldn't be too awkward- it's not as though they haven't done as much before.]

... my apologies for not acting sooner. [He glances over, expression sober.] And for neglecting my own responsibilities to you.

[ On the one hand, it's a bit awkward, and Waver's always been a little shy about physical closeness even though he clearly finds comfort in it. But on the other hand-- it's instinct, and they both need it. It's just the two of them, and Diarmuid already looks so vulnerable and castigated all on his own.

The tension of the magic surrounding him makes Waver's room feel less cozy and more crowded all at once, like the air itself is settling with new solidity around them. He takes a deep breath.

Slowly, Waver reaches for Diarmuid's hand on the bed between them, placing his fingers over it with the same sort of almost ridiculous tentativeness. They're both terrible at this. ]

Then you understand. Apology accepted.

[ Right now, there's no point in scolding him more. It's clear that Diarmuid's berated himself over it enough, and the last thing either of them needs is an overwhelming surge of negative emotion when Diarmuid feels so close to snapping, and the Moons are waxing fuller by the day. It isn't a problem for Waver yet, but-- well, he can't say he hates the feeling of being close to his Bonded right now either, even when he's in full charge of his faculties ~~for now~~.

Waver looks up seriously, gently squeezing Diarmuid's hand. ]

How can I help?

["Whatever you're doing right now but more."

Not much of an answer when Waver is simply sitting next to him and holding his hand but it's exactly what he needs. As their hands meet, he can already feel the steady pulse of their Bond, stronger for the contact and soothing. In spite of himself, he edges closer and moves forward so that he can rest his forehead against his. Diarmuid closes his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the shiver of magic and the soft, cool feeling of Waver's hair against his skin.

A long, relieved sigh- and then he opens his eyes once more and glances down.]

... tell me if this is too much.

[By this point, it's fairly obvious that his hesitation is more out of an awareness of Waver's boundaries than his own. The sudden urge to put his arm around him goes ignored for now but he rests his free hand on the bed behind them so that he can lean closer. It's almost an embrace. Almost.]

[ Waver doesn't move back. The hesitation in his movements echoes Diarmuid's, like he isn't sure if this is what either of them really want. His partner's tentativeness leaves Waver feeling equally uncertain, worrying he's not doing the right thing. ]

I'm the one who asked what you need, [ he reminds softly, just above a whisper; it's loud enough between them with Diarmuid's face so close. ]

You didn't answer my question.

[ His skin is warm, almost as warm as Waver's -- whose basal temperature has risen by a couple degrees since his changes began. With Diarmuid's face so close, it's difficult to focus his eyes on him or know where to look. Waver lets his gaze drop to his chest, eyes not-quite shut.

His own heartbeat is already going embarrassingly fast, but when Diarmuid shifts in what seems to be an invitation to lean closer, Waver follows tentatively. ]

So, er... How did it get this bad?

[ Is talking making it less awkward? More awkward? Damn. ]

I... this is fine.

[For now. After skirting the edges of an overload, it's hard to be entirely satisfied with the level of contact they're sharing now but it's probably for the best; Diarmuid has always been a master of self-restraint, after all, and feeling it slip even a little is unsettling. If nothing else, it's a good way to reacquaint himself with Waver's unique presence.

Unconsciously, he reaches up and begins to stroke his ears.]

... I'm not sure. There's something in the air that...

[He sighs, struggling to find the words to describe it. Throughout this month, he's been overwhelmed by the desire to cast stronger spells, push himself further, and resisting it has been a trial all in itself. The consequences are self-explanatory.]

Regardless, it was my own foolishness that brought us here.

[There's a brief silence- and then, as though it were someone else using his voice, he finds himself breaking it.]

Would it be improper of me to put my arms around you?

Edited 2019-08-16 20:33 (UTC)

[ With his eyes nearly shut and his focus split between Diarmuid's words and the gentle pressure of their foreheads touching, Waver doesn't even register the new movement until Diarmuid's fingertips slide down the back of one of his newly-canine ears.

At first, when he'd begun changing, they'd been itchy and achy, and the process had left Waver uncomfortable with touching them even himself. The reaction to having Diarmuid do it is involuntary: Waver's breath catches in surprise, one hand reaching out to catch Diarmuid's knee as the closest place to brace himself or catch his attention. The fuzzy ear beneath his fingertips bends of its own accord, twitching away-- then back, flicking nervously.

He missed half of what Diarmuid was saying. ]

Ah--

[ It hadn't hurt, though. In fact--

His breath picks up, startled more than anything. Very slightly, Waver shakes his head. ]

N-no. You can.

[With every stroke, his ear pivots and twitches in exactly the same way as any dog's might- and, frankly, it's all the encouragement he needs to keep going. Fighting a smile, Diarmuid continues to scratch at the soft fur, this time alternating between his left and right ears to see if it elicits the same reaction.

Waver, though, might need a lighter touch. There's no missing that hitch in his breathing or the way his words catch as he speaks and it's only then that it occurs to him to slow down a little. This time, he can't help but laugh, the sound soft and a little sheepish.]

I'm sorry, I didn't realise they were so sensitive.

[Instead, he turns his attention to finding a more comfortable position. In the end, he settles on moving further onto the bed so that he can draw Waver closer, pressing his back up against his chest with both arms wrapped around him from behind.

Hmm. Diarmuid shakes his head.]

Excuse me-

[With that, he leans forward and nuzzles against Waver's neck. The combination of the refreshed connection between them and the quickening of his pulse- it must be rubbing off on Diarmuid too because he can feel his face colour- it's exactly the kind of contact he needs right now.

... surely this isn't just their Bond and the build-up talking. Vaguely, it occurs to him that he might have unintentionally provoked this kind of reaction. Maybe it has something to do with his studies this afternoon. Maybe-

It can wait just a little longer.]

Edited 2019-08-16 22:21 (UTC)

[ As he gets used to the touch, Waver finds himself relaxing almost involuntarily-- though, strangely, it's not exactly the sort of relaxing that makes his shoulders feel loose, but a different sensation, an eager pressure building under his skin that makes him want Diarmuid to keep doing that. It takes him a moment to recognize it as... pleasure.

Diarmuid's fingers stroke down the soft edges of either ear in turn, shifting Waver's focus between them until the sensation becomes both something he's gotten used to and more intense. His ears go from flicking ticklishly to pressing down, quivering slightly, turning instinctively to give Diarmuid more surface area to touch. They're soft, much softer than his hair, the short fur fluffier than it seems around the delicate skin. His tail -- by now in Diarmuid's lap -- twitches too.

Utterly distracted and a little overwhelmed, Waver seems to have dropped out of the conversation entirely now, his breathing soft and uneven. But he's certainly not saying no.

With Diarmuid settling in behind him, holding him close, Waver scoots forward a little on the edge of the bed to give him room. His fingers wrap around one of Diarmuid's wrists, not to pull him away but merely to hold on, for another point of skin on skin contact.

They tighten when Diarmuid presses his face against back of his neck. The skin is warm, flushed pink, the same way Waver's face and throat have also colored. ]

Oh...

[ It's a breath, the softest sound escaping Waver in muted surprise. He can feel Diarmuid's hot breath along his skin, soft lips brushing against his nape. Almost immediately, his head drops forward, hair sliding off to the side to expose more skin.

Where his legs dangle off the edge of the bed, Waver presses his heels against the bedframe for support, thighs unconsciously squeezing together. ]

[Is this enough? It should be. All logic and everything he's read about Bonds tells him that this is considerably more involved than the usual gestures used to transfer energy but he doesn't particularly want to slow down. Slightly reluctantly, Diarmuid drops his hand away from Waver's ears, first to brush the last of his hair away from his neck but then so that he can wrap an arm around his waist and finish closing the gap between them with a gentle tug.

It's the natural progression of things, really, when Diarmuid finally gives in and presses his lips to the newly exposed skin at the nape of his neck. Before now, he hadn't truly appreciated the hitch in the turnskin's base temperature but the warmth of his body against his is oddly satisfying. Without realising it, he's leaning forward to indulge in more of it. Diarmuid isn't the tallest of Servants but the difference in their builds seems more apparent than the further he winds himself around him.]

... thank you.

[Gently, he eases his wrist free of the mage's grasp- but only so that he can take hold of Waver's instead and lift it to kiss the back of his hand. It's actually kind of impressive how stubbornly he adheres to the role of the romantic, chivalrous knight even while he's struggling to keep his increasingly intimate needs in check.]

[ The thought crosses Waver's mind unbidden that this would feel even better with fewer of these pesky clothes in the way as Diarmuid curves himself around his back, pressing them flush. Too late for that now, but Waver leans back to meet him, lashes low. The tension eases from his body so that he's soft and pliant when Diarmuid snuggles close, offering no resistance to his hand being brought up to Diarmuid's lips.

The gesture is surprising less in its intimacy, but in its... sweetness. It's charming, romantic in a way Waver has very little experience in. Not that he has much experience with other intimacy, really, but still-- it sticks in his mind, draws his attention. He's blushing. ]

It's fine... [ Waver mumbles back, embarrassed but not upset. It's a kind of pleasant embarrassment, somehow, the kind that feels hot in the pit of his belly and makes his face feel like it's glowing. ]

...don't stop.

[closed] august catch-all!

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