Y-yeah. Me neither. The Coven's trying to find out, I heard people talking about it, but...
[ He trails off. He's having trouble concentrating too, and his tail lashes around his ankles agitatedly, the muscles in his back and shoulders tense. His wings quiver, very slightly. When he shuts the door behind Diarmuid and his eyes settle on his back, the cute little tail and the way he holds himself like he's already looking for another exit, Waver's heart starts to race.
He takes a deep breath. ]
It's bad out there. Rider went to help. He--
[ The scratches and bite marks visible above Diarmuid's collar catch Waver's eye the next time he turns his head. Automatically, he's already moving toward his Bonded, the excited thrum of his pulse beating harder with a sudden burst of anger.
Before Waver can think better of it or stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing Diarmuid's arm to turn him back around and crowding into his space to get a better look. ]
You're hurt.
[ It comes out a snarl, almost accusatory. Like Diarmuid should have asked him if he was allowed to be hurt or not first. ]
[Of course he did. Silently, , the knowledge that Rider is out there fighting against it puts his pride as a knight to shame; he should be doing as much himself but instead-]
What? I...
[As immediately as unconsciously, his hand goes to his neck, closing over the most obvious of the marks. Ah. Is he really asking him this? Again, an agitated, flighty look crosses Diarmuid's countenance, but he resists the urge to pull away even as the turnskin's indignance pulses through their bond. On the contrary, he quickly relocates that same hand to Waver's shoulder in reassurance.]
No, it's not... they're not from a fight. Something else.
[It's hardly the most dignified of confessions and, in spite of himself, he colours just slightly. Hopefully, Berserker's lingering scent- one that he knows Waver himself is quite familiar with- will spare him having to go into much more detail than that. It would't be gentlemanly. Regardless of courtesy, though, their new proximity gives Diarmuid more of a chance to survey Waver's new transformations, gold eyes flickering across his horns and wings before moving back to his face. Still pale and pointy-chinned and pretty in a petulant way but it's those teeth that truly set him on edge.
... how is it possible to feel so comforted and so unsettled by someone at the same time?]
[ Waver repeats with understanding this time, not a question, though the indignation is still there reduced to a quiet simmer through their Bond. Or, more aptly, it might actually be something closer to jealousy. Up close, Waver can smell Berserker all over him.
Logically, he knows why. He doesn't even mind. He knows of their Bond and their relationship beyond it, and he would never really be upset about Berserker and Diarmuid doing whatever they want to do. Logically, of course. But logic is difficult to grasp right now, with the combined effects of the moons and the mist digging their claws into Waver's inhuman instincts as hard as he suddenly wants to dig his own into Diarmuid. ]
So why did you come here?
[ It comes out a growl, lower and more menacing than intended. Waver doesn't loose his hold on Diarmuid's wrist. In fact, he steps in even closer, the urge to cover Berserker's scent with his own rising sharply with each passing moment. His grip tightening, Waver leans in, nosing against the side of Diarmuid's throat, and inhales his scent. ]
[This time, he does jerk back- but just barely. It's more the movement of his ears, flattening against his head in alarm, that gives him away when he'd much rather they wouldn't. For every part of his mind demanding he snap out of it and take control of the situation, there's a more feral one that's cowed by Waver's display of aggression and another still that's drawn to it.
And how. Diarmuid feels his skin prickle as Waver's breath brushes over his neck, hair silky against his skin in bizarre contrast with those pointed teeth, and, instinctively, he finds himself lowering his head in response. Vaguely, it occurs to him that he's seen hinds do this to their larger sisters on many a hunt but he never really understood its meaning until just now. With the softest of chirps, he nuzzles against Waver's ear.
What does he want? The answer seemed so clear when he left his apartment but now...]
... to be here. [It's the one thing he can say with absolute certainty.] Will you allow me on your turf, Waver Velvet?
[Though the last part is a light joke to break the tension, he doesn't doubt that there's some truth in it.]
[ The moment Diarmuid ducks his head, Waver's aggression seems to fade-- or rather, change, settling into something intense but not so violent. Approving.
He nuzzles back, finally releasing Diarmuid's wrist to snake an arm around his waist instead as he leans in, lips brushing Diarmuid's throat in a soft kiss. Then, because he can't help himself, a lick: his tongue drags along Diarmuid's pulse, tasting him, leaving his scent in affirmation.
Waver, normally self-conscious and reserved even when his desire is unquestionable, seems utterly unhindered by such shyness now. His heart beats fast, ears down not in submission but with amorous, excited intent. His long tail sways lazily, curling around to brush Diarmuid's calf. ]
You don't need permission. You belong here. I missed you.
[Again, the simultaneous, contradictory urges to put as much as as little space between them as possible rear their head- but, just as before, it's the latter of the two he listens to. Diarmuid shivers as he feels first Waver's lips brush his neck and then his tongue, tail twitching in uneasy anticipation. Really, he should be paying closer attention to this situation, to the changes in both of them and their strange new dynamic, but for whatever reason, he can't get his thoughts to lie still long enough to dedicate more than a moment to it.]
... you too.
[At the very least he has the presence of mind to try and wrangle back some control. While his natural submissiveness might have been exacerbated by the mist, he forces back against it. Rather than nestle into Waver like he wants to, he takes a more proactive approach and, wrapping both arms around his middle, lifts him so that he can kiss him without bending forward.
A gentle kiss, yes, but that doesn't mean it's servile. Diarmuid is quick to deepen it, parting his lips and claiming as much of his mouth as his Bonded will allow. As he draws back, eyes cloudy and senses swimming with Waver's scent and taste, he sounds a little husky.]
You've gotten stronger, haven't you? I can feel it.
[ He's a little heavier too-- though that's mostly the additions, the wings small and decorative but the tail a clearly more muscular affair. It took him a little getting used to, balance-wise. Still, it seems he's got the hang of it now. When Diarmuid lifts him, Waver's wings flutter, and his long tail wraps lightly for balance around Diarmuid's thigh while his legs hook around his waist.
He doesn't struggle, allowing Diarmuid to hold him, even to kiss him-- but though he lets him take as much as he wants, Waver kisses back hard, and not just out of eagerness. There's an edge to it. Literally, even: his teeth snag Diarmuid's lower lip as they draw apart, nipping sharply. He doesn't bite hard enough to really hurt, but enough to sting, just enough to draw the faint taste of blood if Diarmuid tries too quickly to pull away.
Waver growls back in response when they finally pull apart, lips half-parted and damp, those red eyes staring at Diarmuid without blinking nearly as often as it seems they should. ]
Yeah...?
I suppose I have. A bit.
[ His teeth flash. The observation prompts Waver's arms around Diarmuid's neck to tighten, the fingers of one hand curling around the longer hair at the nape of his neck. There, he yanks, meaning to force Diarmuid's head back and expose his throat, to clamp his mouth over it and--
The urge flashes across his mind to bite, taste blood, sink his teeth in. Waver manages to head it off only barely. He doesn't mean to hurt Diarmuid. But if he draws a little blood, a few bites to suck on, to remind him later of this and to leave his scent--
Well. That, he can't really help himself but give into. ]
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no subject
[ He trails off. He's having trouble concentrating too, and his tail lashes around his ankles agitatedly, the muscles in his back and shoulders tense. His wings quiver, very slightly. When he shuts the door behind Diarmuid and his eyes settle on his back, the cute little tail and the way he holds himself like he's already looking for another exit, Waver's heart starts to race.
He takes a deep breath. ]
It's bad out there. Rider went to help. He--
[ The scratches and bite marks visible above Diarmuid's collar catch Waver's eye the next time he turns his head. Automatically, he's already moving toward his Bonded, the excited thrum of his pulse beating harder with a sudden burst of anger.
Before Waver can think better of it or stop himself, he reaches out, grabbing Diarmuid's arm to turn him back around and crowding into his space to get a better look. ]
You're hurt.
[ It comes out a snarl, almost accusatory. Like Diarmuid should have asked him if he was allowed to be hurt or not first. ]
Who did this?
no subject
What? I...
[As immediately as unconsciously, his hand goes to his neck, closing over the most obvious of the marks. Ah. Is he really asking him this? Again, an agitated, flighty look crosses Diarmuid's countenance, but he resists the urge to pull away even as the turnskin's indignance pulses through their bond. On the contrary, he quickly relocates that same hand to Waver's shoulder in reassurance.]
No, it's not... they're not from a fight. Something else.
[It's hardly the most dignified of confessions and, in spite of himself, he colours just slightly. Hopefully, Berserker's lingering scent- one that he knows Waver himself is quite familiar with- will spare him having to go into much more detail than that. It would't be gentlemanly. Regardless of courtesy, though, their new proximity gives Diarmuid more of a chance to survey Waver's new transformations, gold eyes flickering across his horns and wings before moving back to his face. Still pale and pointy-chinned and pretty in a petulant way but it's those teeth that truly set him on edge.
... how is it possible to feel so comforted and so unsettled by someone at the same time?]
no subject
[ Waver repeats with understanding this time, not a question, though the indignation is still there reduced to a quiet simmer through their Bond. Or, more aptly, it might actually be something closer to jealousy. Up close, Waver can smell Berserker all over him.
Logically, he knows why. He doesn't even mind. He knows of their Bond and their relationship beyond it, and he would never really be upset about Berserker and Diarmuid doing whatever they want to do. Logically, of course. But logic is difficult to grasp right now, with the combined effects of the moons and the mist digging their claws into Waver's inhuman instincts as hard as he suddenly wants to dig his own into Diarmuid. ]
So why did you come here?
[ It comes out a growl, lower and more menacing than intended. Waver doesn't loose his hold on Diarmuid's wrist. In fact, he steps in even closer, the urge to cover Berserker's scent with his own rising sharply with each passing moment. His grip tightening, Waver leans in, nosing against the side of Diarmuid's throat, and inhales his scent. ]
What do you want from me?
no subject
And how. Diarmuid feels his skin prickle as Waver's breath brushes over his neck, hair silky against his skin in bizarre contrast with those pointed teeth, and, instinctively, he finds himself lowering his head in response. Vaguely, it occurs to him that he's seen hinds do this to their larger sisters on many a hunt but he never really understood its meaning until just now. With the softest of chirps, he nuzzles against Waver's ear.
What does he want? The answer seemed so clear when he left his apartment but now...]
... to be here. [It's the one thing he can say with absolute certainty.] Will you allow me on your turf, Waver Velvet?
[Though the last part is a light joke to break the tension, he doesn't doubt that there's some truth in it.]
no subject
He nuzzles back, finally releasing Diarmuid's wrist to snake an arm around his waist instead as he leans in, lips brushing Diarmuid's throat in a soft kiss. Then, because he can't help himself, a lick: his tongue drags along Diarmuid's pulse, tasting him, leaving his scent in affirmation.
Waver, normally self-conscious and reserved even when his desire is unquestionable, seems utterly unhindered by such shyness now. His heart beats fast, ears down not in submission but with amorous, excited intent. His long tail sways lazily, curling around to brush Diarmuid's calf. ]
You don't need permission. You belong here. I missed you.
no subject
... you too.
[At the very least he has the presence of mind to try and wrangle back some control. While his natural submissiveness might have been exacerbated by the mist, he forces back against it. Rather than nestle into Waver like he wants to, he takes a more proactive approach and, wrapping both arms around his middle, lifts him so that he can kiss him without bending forward.
A gentle kiss, yes, but that doesn't mean it's servile. Diarmuid is quick to deepen it, parting his lips and claiming as much of his mouth as his Bonded will allow. As he draws back, eyes cloudy and senses swimming with Waver's scent and taste, he sounds a little husky.]
You've gotten stronger, haven't you? I can feel it.
no subject
He doesn't struggle, allowing Diarmuid to hold him, even to kiss him-- but though he lets him take as much as he wants, Waver kisses back hard, and not just out of eagerness. There's an edge to it. Literally, even: his teeth snag Diarmuid's lower lip as they draw apart, nipping sharply. He doesn't bite hard enough to really hurt, but enough to sting, just enough to draw the faint taste of blood if Diarmuid tries too quickly to pull away.
Waver growls back in response when they finally pull apart, lips half-parted and damp, those red eyes staring at Diarmuid without blinking nearly as often as it seems they should. ]
Yeah...?
I suppose I have. A bit.
[ His teeth flash. The observation prompts Waver's arms around Diarmuid's neck to tighten, the fingers of one hand curling around the longer hair at the nape of his neck. There, he yanks, meaning to force Diarmuid's head back and expose his throat, to clamp his mouth over it and--
The urge flashes across his mind to bite, taste blood, sink his teeth in. Waver manages to head it off only barely. He doesn't mean to hurt Diarmuid. But if he draws a little blood, a few bites to suck on, to remind him later of this and to leave his scent--
Well. That, he can't really help himself but give into. ]
You sound like you want to... feel it more.