Chapter Text
It's a bit of a relief, honestly, climbing back up Monopoly Mountain to find Grian splayed and snoring in bed. The little guy has been a bundle of nervous energy getting more visibly haggard with each passing day, and Scar was getting close to demanding he stay in bed for a night. Or possibly pushing him into bed and keeping him there by force, but that might be too forward.
…No, scratch that, definitely too forward. And a moot point, because here is Grian now, fast asleep of his own accord.
It's a bit inconvenient, though, because their shared bedroom isn't all that large, and one of Grian's wings is stretched all the way over to Scar's bed.
See, the last time Scar put a hand on one of Grian's wings, Grian slapped him in the face with that very same wing completely by reflex. If Scar tries to move Grian's wing out of the way, Grian's probably gonna wake up, and then he's gonna mutter something about keeping watch or working on the cactus wall and, more importantly, he is not going to go back to sleep.
Briefly, Scar considers just sleeping on the floor. The cold, hard, sandstone floor, in the desert that gets cold enough at night to seep through even a thick woolen blanket. No, he really wants to sleep in a bed, actually.
Maybe he can just… nudge the wing out of the way? Just enough for Scar to crawl under the blanket, and hope he doesn't end up rolling onto the feathers in his sleep.
That plan goes out the window the second his fingers brush Grian's feathers, the wing moving beneath them. Scar freezes, breath held, as Grian shifts in his bed, wings stretching to fill the room as he takes a deep breath— and then lets it out, sighing and settling back into the mattress, wings splayed across the floor on either side.
"Well," Scar says quietly, letting out his breath in a soft, relieved laugh. "That works."
His bed no longer occupied by his roommate's wing, Scar only needs to tip-toe around the ends of the flight feathers to reach it. There he takes his boots off, shakes the sand out, and frowns as he sees the floor is already dusted with the stuff. For that matter, so are Grian's wings.
"You're a bit of a mess, huh, Grian," Scar says quietly, propping his chin up on his hands. The more he looks, eyes wandering the expanse of Grian's wings, the more unkempt they look. "You haven't been preening at all, have you?"
Grian's steady breaths are the only response he gets. Knowing him, he's just going to keep ignoring his wings, focusing on anything but his own health. It's frustrating to watch, as Grian's teammate— as his friend. As someone quietly in love with him, but too afraid to reach out and say something for fear of being rejected, or worse, that Grian will only say yes because he's decided he owes Scar something.
Scar's hands itch to reach out now, to comb Grian's feathers into place and clear the sand from between them. Grian only hit him before because he was awake, and jumpy, and he apologized right after. If Scar is careful, he bets he can tidy just a few of Grian's feathers, and in the morning he'll wake up just a little less itchy and cranky.
This of course assumes that Scar can comb through Grian's feathers without waking him up. If Grian wakes up with Scar's hands buried in his wings, a feathery whack will be the least of Scar's worries.
He'll be very careful, then. Gentle as a summer breeze. Grian won't notice a thing.
Scar kneels, eyes fixed on Grian's back as it rises and falls. He'll start with the very end of this wing, where it grazes his bedpost, so if Grian wakes up he can just play it like he dropped something. The feathers are soft, and the most Grian does is sigh slightly in his sleep as Scar cards his fingers through the very tips of his flight feathers.
Cautiously, Scar moves his hand higher up, nearly reaching the base of Grian's feathers. Sand comes loose in his wake, joining the pile on the floor. Grian remains still, unbothered, and Scar gets a little bolder, eases his fingers a little deeper in his efforts to straighten out every stray feather.
A silent routine soon settles in, put on hold with every little noise that Grian makes, every time he shifts slightly in his sleep. Each time, Scar freezes, hands hovering over the wing until Grian settles once again. Each time, Scar inches closer, until he's knelt by Grian's bed staring down at the feathers strewn across Grian's back.
They're shorter and fluffier than his flight feathers, but no less unkempt. In fact, it may be worse— he's never noticed before, since that red sweater always covers them, but they look about ten times worse than the rest of the feathers. Come to think of it, has he ever seen Grian preening his back? It seems like it would be hard to reach with just his fingers.
Well, seeing as Scar has made it this far without waking Grian up, he might as well. If Grian's going to ignore this back too, then Scar might as well pick up his slack!
For a better angle, he lifts himself onto Grian's bed, sitting next to him with as much care as he can. Grian mumbles as the mattress shifts, buries his face deeper into his pillow, and Scar doesn't breathe until the next soft snore leaves Grian's mouth.
Then, gently, he lays a hand on Grian's back. And oh, it's so soft. The wings were soft too, but this is a bed of downy fluff that Scar can sink his hands into. He does just that, working his fingers down to the skin and ruffling it up, dislodging sand and dirt and old feathers and gently combing it out. He works his way up from the small of Grian's back, the feathers only getting denser as he approaches his neck, and every little noise Grian makes only spurs him on.
Even once the back is cleared, Scar lingers, gently scratching just below Grian's neck. Tension Scar hadn't even noticed seems to melt out of Grian, a soft chirrup escaping him as he sinks bonelessly into the mattress— Scar didn't even know he could make that noise! But it's cute, so he digs his fingers in deeper, hoping to hear it again.
He's rewarded with another tiny chirp. He lets out a breathy laugh, wishing he could record this to make fun of Grian later. He tries so hard not to be bird-brained, and here he is peeping in his sleep like a little baby bird! It's adorable!
Grian mumbles then, stirring and turning his head, and Scar freezes. Oh, right, he thinks. I'm trying not to wake him up. His hand retracts like it's burned, and he desperately prays for Grian to settle back down like he has every other time, but he doesn't. Instead he rises, wobbling and rubbing at his eyes while his wings fold back against his back, and then he turns to stare sleepily at Scar.
"W-Well hello there, Grian," Scar says, trying not to sound too much like he's been caught in an act. "I was just, uh— keeping you company! It gets awfully cold at night, and I noticed you didn't have a blanket so I worried you might, uh, get sick…?"
Normally at this point, if Grian were upset with him, he'd have already tried to interrupt at least twice. All he's done is stare, though, eyes glazed over.
"Are you… actually awake?" Scar wonders aloud. He waves a hand in front of Grian's face, and he doesn't so much as blink. "Huh. I knew you talked in your sleep, but I don't think I've ever seen you sleepwalk. Is this normal?"
Grian mumbles something under his breath, eyes sliding shut. His body begins to tilt forward and Scar catches him by the shoulders.
"M'kay, it's time for you to lie back down," Scar says, trying to coax Grian back into a prone position. Despite being probably unconscious, Grian resists, trying very hard to lean into Scar instead. "Just relax and let good old Scar finish cleaning up your wings, so you can wake up all nice and refreshed in the morning— aaand we're hugging now. Okay."
It is perhaps a bit embarrassing to lose this argument to a sleeping Grian. On the other hand, Scar now has Grian's face tucked into the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around his back, and the soft breaths that tickle the back of his neck are sending his heart racing a mile a minute.
It wouldn't be too hard to wriggle his way out of Grian's grip. He probably should do that, lest Grian wake up in this position and get mad. Instead, Scar shuffles around, repositioning his back against the headboard and letting Grian sink his weight fully into him.
Call it selfish, but he'd really like to pretend that there's something between them. That Grian isn't just clinging to the first warm body he found. It'll be gone by morning, but right now, he has him.
Scar's hands find their way to Grian's back again, ruffling up the soft feathers. His fingertips dig into the ruff on the back of Grian's neck, and the noise Grian makes sends Scar's heart aflutter. He digs his fingers in deeper, and in response Grian holds him tighter, opens his mouth, and— Oh.
Well.
"That's a little forward, don't you think?" Scar asks weakly, feeling heat rush to his face as Grian nibbles gently on his neck. "You— you are asleep, right? If you've been awake this whole time, now's the time to make that clear."
Grian just hums into Scar's neck, turning his head slightly to nibble a little lower. Definitely asleep.
Their bodies pressed together, only a thin undershirt separating Grian from Scar's bare chest, Scar worries that the pounding of his heart is what will wake him up. But pushing him away will wake him too, so Scar just stares at the ceiling.
If he doesn't do anything, it won't go any further than this. It'll just be a funny thing to tease Grian about in the morning, haha you're so into me you gave me hickies in your sleep, (now that you're awake could you give me a few more—) Yes, that's exactly what Scar is gonna do. Absolutely nothing. All he has to do is wait for Grian to settle back into proper sleep.
Unfortunately, certain parts of his anatomy don't get the memo. Heat pools between his legs just as much as his face, his member slowly stiffening in his pants, and Grian practically sitting in his lap isn't any help at all.
Scar tries to shuffle his hips back a little, give himself a bit more room to breathe. Grian grumbles and clings tighter, wriggling deeper into Scar's lap. "C'mon, G," Scar whispers, his continued efforts to squirm away only amounting to rubbing against Grian's crotch. "You're killing me here."
Grian huffs, burying his face in Scar's neck again. Scar teases Grian's feathers some more, and blunt nails rake down Scar's back. This is the part where he needs to shove Grian away, whether or not it wakes him— no, he should wake him up. That would be the right thing to do, because if things keep going the way they are, Scar is going to do something regrettable.
But would this be his only chance? Would Grian be interested when he's awake and aware of his actions? Would Grian ever know, as long as Scar was careful, as long as he didn't say anything?
Is there anything stopping him?
Heart pounding in his throat, Scar already knows the answer.
He makes a gesture at propriety. Nudges Grian's shoulder, says "Hey, you can stop now." Grian doesn't move an inch. Scar buries one hand in Grian's feathers, wringing a chirp out of him, while the other wanders lower, trailing over his thin waist and finding his waistband.
He hesitates only briefly before easing his hand down the front of Grian's pants. The space between his legs is warm and wet, and when Scar pushes a finger between those folds he finds them practically dripping. Grian lets out a small moan as he does, hips rocking against Scar's, and the friction against his cock sends a jolt through him, tears a sharp gasp from his throat.
"Okay, settle down," Scar murmurs, pressing his palm over Grian's mound and trying to put more space between them. It helps, though the feeling of Grian's thighs clenching around his hand makes his cock jump regardless, dizzyingly hard and hot.
Grian whines wordlessly, bucks into Scar's hand, rubs his clit against his fingers. Scar feels a little further down, fingertips catching on Grian's hole, and with how wet he is Grian's squirming alone is nearly enough to get them inside.
Scar provides the intent needed to actually get them in, presses his fingers inside— just two, just up to the first knuckle— and Grian moans openly into his neck. "Please," he mumbles, still slurred by sleep, rocking his hips into Scar's hand. "Please, need…"
"What do you need?" Scar asks quietly, as if he'll answer. He presses deeper, pistons and scissors to open him up, and Grian arches his spine with a noise halfway between a chirp and a cry, every feather along his back standing straight up.
"Please," Grian begs, nails digging into Scar's back. "Please, please, Scar—"
Scar's heart nearly stops in his chest. His hand certainly does, ministrations stilling, though Grian doesn't seem to notice as he keeps on rocking his hips. "What's that?" Scar eventually chokes out. "What was that, G?"
"Please," Grian mumbles again. He manages to sink a little deeper onto Scar's fingers, clenches a little, and lets out a small peep. "Need you, Scar…"
"I—" Scar's throat catches again. His head spins. His heart and stomach perform an entire gymnastics routine together. Grian, oblivious, fucks himself deeper onto Scar's fingers, and begins to nibble his neck again.
It's the feeling of teeth digging into his skin that snaps Scar out of it. He takes a deep breath, puts his free hand on the back of Grian's head, and very carefully curls his fingers inside of him.
"I got you," he murmurs, angling his thumb to press against Grian's clit. Grian mumbles something, sucking gently on the bite mark he just left. Scar rubs circles into him, to which Grian responds with another rock of his hips. "Anything you want, G."
Grian moans, rubbing harder against him, and Scar curls deeper, finds that spongy spot and rubs both it and his clit until Grian writhes and keens against him. Scar lowers his head to the side of Grian's neck. He doesn't dare to leave a mark, so all he does is press his lips to the spot where skin turns to feathers, but it must be enough because Grian leans into the contact. His free hand trails down, digs into the base of Grian's wing, and with one last moan and rock of his hips Grian and spasms around Scar's fingers, thighs clamping around his hand.
Scar doesn't pull out immediately, lets Grian ride it out against him while he runs his free hand down his back. When he finally retracts his hand, after the spasms have stopped, Grian whimpers, Scar's fingers jostling his over-sensitive clit. Scar lets him sink against him once more, ragged breaths and crested feathers both smoothing out under Scar's hand, and with assurance that Grian is finished Scar finally touches himself.
It's immediately too much. His hand, slick and warm from Grian, runs smoothly down his length. He rolls a thumb over the head and his hips jerk, imagining that he is buried in Grian. Once, twice, he pumps, and then with a cry caught in gritted teeth he spills into his hand.
Fatigue sets in soon after. Scar rests against the headboard, eyes closed, still gently running his hand down Grian's back. Grian's breathing slows, and after a minute or two a soft snore informs Scar that he's fallen fully asleep.
Extracting himself from Grian's bed is a delicate affair. Even now, he grumbles and clings, and Scar almost— almost— stays. But then he pries Grian's arms off of him, eases himself out of bed, leaves a pillow in his place. Grian sniffs in his sleep, hugs it tight, buries his face in the wool, and with a tight throat Scar tip-toes out of the room.
There's not very much water in the desert. They need to carry it all the way from the river. Scar spares less than a bucketful to wash with, running it over his hand and watching it spill onto the sand outside. His heart is still beating at a fevered pace, mind replaying every little sound that Grian made. His name on Grian's lips, begging for him personally.
It doesn't mean anything. He tries to tell himself that. It doesn't quite work. For just a moment, he thinks of Grian soft and pliant beneath him, unable to stop him from taking what he wants— begging for it if he wakes— and then a cold wind blows through him, stealing heat through his bare skin. Shivering, Scar thanks the desert night, even as it drives him back inside.
Grian is right where he left him, arms wrapped around a pillow, wings half-folded against his back. His blanket lies crumpled on the floor, and as Scar bends down to pick it up, Grian catches him by the wrist. "Scar…"
Scar's heart only does a backflip this time. Grian's eyes are still closed, and his grip is loose. "Yeah?"
"Mm…" Grian's face scrunches slightly, grip shifting, hand feeling his way up Scar's arm before letting go and dangling off the side of the bed. His eyes do not open at any point. "...Some clothes on…"
Scar huffs a little. "Alright, alright," he says, spreading the blanket over Grian. The wings make it a bit awkward, there's no way he's tucking him in, but at least Grian won't be too cold. "Good night, Grian."
"...Night…"
At long last, Scar climbs into his own bed. Back turned to Grian, blanket pulled over his shoulders, he stares at the wall and hopes that he falls asleep soon.
In the morning, he wakes up groggy, sunlight filling the room shockingly early. Or maybe he just slept in.
A crick in his neck makes itself known when he moves. Across the room, Grian sits on the edge of his bed, running his hand through one of his wings. The one that Scar didn't get to. He doesn't notice Scar immediately, so for nearly a minute Scar just lies there, propped up on his elbows, and watches Grian finish the job.
Eventually, Grian looks up, meeting Scar's eyes. He pauses briefly, shakes his wing out, and folds it neatly against his back with the other one. Not once does he break eye contact, and his face is hard to read on the best of days but now he's like a wall of bedrock. Fear, anger, disgust— any one of those feelings could be lurking behind those dark eyes, and Scar could never know which of them it was.
Scar, on the other hand, just hopes he doesn't look too much like a dog waiting to be hit.
"Did we—" Grian starts, and Scar flinches just from the sound of his voice. There's the tiniest flicker of Grian's eyes, a darting glance at Scar's neck. "Did I…"
Scar waits patiently for him to finish. He can't answer until he hears the question, even if he knows what it is. Can't make excuses, can't apologize, can't tell Grian he's allowed to leave if he wants. That this debt is self-imposed, that Scar won't do a thing to keep him here— that he doesn't have to stick around with someone who'd take advantage of him like that.
Grian doesn't finish his sentence, though. He turns away, picks his sweater up from the floor. "Keep your hands to yourself next time."
Scar is slow to respond, staring blankly at Grian's back as he pulls the sweater over his wings. "Okay," he eventually says, voice small, and that's all that either of them says about the matter.