Meadow

fearghas

He needs the pain to feel the pleasure, to balance the good against the bad and keep his world from spinning into a maelstrom of chaos. To appreciate the soft sweetness of Varanduil's figure touching every inch of his broad back, Fearghas needs the pinch of his own skin between the grip of V's teeth. He cannot indulge in the heady musk of his golden man without appreciating the sting of sweat seeping into the fresh scrape on his chest. Nor can he memorize the cadence of the soft pants of V's hot breath against his cheek without weathering the cramp in his neck as he cranes it ever more tightly back, still hungry for his brother's caress.

He wants to touch every part of his golden brother. To claim him in some primal way, as if carving his name into the surface of V's skin will somehow proclaim to the rest of the world that they belong to one another. He wants to take V's goodness as his own and protect it from the horrors of the world around them. He wants to be the astronaut landing for the first time on the moon rock surface of Varanduil's heart and to stake his flag into the unclaimed soil therein, to demand that his brother to accept that there was something bigger and greater than either one of them alone to be found in this moment.

I like it when you beg, his brother says, and Fearghas stifles a moan against the velvet of his halcyon fetlock, his eyes squeezing shut against the onslaught of sensation. I like your voice, and your accent-, he says and Feargha's eyes reopen and fixate on him. They refuse to sharpen, remaining wide and black and dilated as he meets his brother's gaze. He feels as though he would lose all of this - the moment, the feeling, his brother - if he looks away from him. Wordless and enraptured he listens as Varanduil offers words to explain the same fascination that Fearghas feels, giving substance to the magnetic pull he'd been unable to avoid.

You don't need to be afraid of me, he says and Fearghas frowns, ascending through the daze only enough to mouth his answer soundlessly. "I'm not." And he wasn't. He would walk through fire blindly if only he knew that Varanduil would be on the other end to soothe his burnt feet. I won't do anything that you don't want. Fearghas shook his head, still soundless. There was nothing that Varanduil could take from him in this moment that he would not willingly give. They reach for each other then, and some small part of the puzzle falls into place, sliding snugly into the place it was always meant to be.

But if you tell me what you want, he says and the dark stallion groans, frustrated at his inability to find the words that will lead Varanduil to abandon this overzealous caution. I'll unmake you, he says and Fearghas shudders, swallowing hard to clear the blockage in his vocal cords. "Damnit, V. You. I want you." The words slip out in that same fervent husk, his voice thick with hunger. Again he twists and contorts until he can once again press the mottled charcoal of his muzzle against Varanduil's lips to whisper hungrily against his mouth the only conscious request he's still able to form. "Please."

---

He dreams of being home as a young colt. Of days so drenched in laughter and happiness and the simple exertion of living that there was no room in his heart for anything other than joy. For the first time in months, he does not dream of a lurking gold-colored behemoth come to claim everything that he held dear. There is no monster to chase him through these dreams, only the hot sticky-sweet feeling of summer.

The body beneath him is warm and masculine, a combination that Fearghas has not had the pleasure of enjoying for months, and for one desperately wishful second, he thinks that he is home. That he was safe in a place that he belonged, curled up with someone that knew him, and not just the pretty soft parts, but the hard parts of himself that he still struggled to accept.

"Mmm," he offers in sleepy resistance to the figure that calls to him, still willfully delusional in that twilight span of just waking. If he opened his eyes, the illusion would dissipate and he would once more be in the Savanna, just watching and waiting to see how far they would need to run this time. Fearghas, someone says, and his brow furrows, certain that he had heard wrong. He had dreamed of this voice often enough to know who the dulcet tones belonged to, but it was impossible that Varanduil had made it to the Savanna.

He would have remembered that.

Slowly, determined not to propel himself past the point of reasonable self-delusion, Fearghas drags in a breath as the body beneath him - so pliant and soft moments ago - tenses. When his brother's soft muzzle brushes against his shoulder, he finally feels brave enough to crack one dark brown eye open, and finds exactly what he's hoping for staring back.

For a long moment he only stares, but the smile that spreads languidly across his lips gives him away eventually. "Good mornin'."

Those two words, so bold at first, taper into shyness and his gaze ducks away. Fearghas peels his head reluctantly from where it had lain against Varanduil's body for so long as to pool sweat between them beneath the warm Crossing sun, and brushes a circumspect caress against the skin there. The movement gives rise to a chorus of aches from well-used muscles all across his body and his smile deepens, even though he has not yet brought his gaze back to Varanduil. Flashes of those final moments flicker in his mind and make his cheeks flush again, and he stifles an awkward laugh as he disentangles himself.

Fearghas is careful as he rises, shifting his too-large feet out from beneath Varanduil before propping himself upright. Hungry for further distraction and eager to put of the inevitable let's never do this again that he can feel emanating from his brother, Fearghas stretches downward like a cat waking from a particularly luxurious nap. The stiffness and the marks that cover his coat are delicious reminders of what they had shared, and as much as he was shocked at where and how quickly things had gone, he cannot find one single bone of regret in his entire body. With a final shake of his white-drizzled coat, he turned his attention back to his brother with unfettered hope in his eyes.

"V, I-" He trailed off, his brow furrowing. He what? He wasn't sorry. And he didn't regret what had happened, even if Varanduil did. Softly, Fearghas shakes his head and smiles - a genuine one this time. Despite the hammering of apprehension in his chest, he stretches forward to press the plush of his muzzle against Varanduil's gently, before trailing to place another gentle caress on his cheek. "I needed that." But that wasn't entirely true. Or, rather, it wasn't the whole truth. "I needed you. I 'ave for a while, but-" Feargha's eyes dip down for a moment as he gathers his courage to admit the real truth. "But I ken you might not feel the same."

As if torn between grief over the possibility of V's denial and hope for his affection, Feargha's mouth twists uncertainly and he flicks his gaze back up to his beautiful brother's eyes again. "It's okay if ye don't, V. But I canna pretend I dinna want ye by my side."

And over me. And under me. And in any way I can have you, his mind supplied.

stallion . 4 years . 16.1 hands . smoky black blanket . loveinspired . credit