Meadow

fearghas

Together, they are little more than glass cases of emotions, their feelings brimming at the surface and threatening to overflow. Fearghas isn't sure how he can bear to breathe as he waits for V's condemnation, for his denial of their connection. Surely he can't possibly deserve something this good; so far, life has been about beating him down, not building him up. The mere thought of being rich enough to have both Ally and Varanduil to love is astounding to him, and he knows that it's too good to be true. Surely there was a misunderstanding somewhere, a wire that had been crossed in the hot confusing tangle of their bodies through the night.

I'm not... okay, Varanduil murmurs, and Fearghas's brow crowds together in concern. Not okay? Had Cullen hurt him somehow as punishment for daring to support his claim for leadership so many months ago? Or was this some new ailment that Fearghas himself had caused? Had he hurt his brother when they had come together? Fearghas knew that he hadn't been gentle or reserved or careful. What had passed between him and his golden brother had been akin to nothing else Fearghas had ever experienced before. Before he can form the question, V is talking again; with his admission, any hope that Fearghas would have had at asking after his condition is obliterated.

I want... you, he admits and the spotted boy's breath gushes out in a warm wave across their chests. A shiver of something - glee or fear or lust or love - rattles his mottled hide and he stares more intensely at his brother, scarcely daring to believe that Varanduil meant what he had said. If what he said was true, that this was not a one-sided fantasy that Fearghas had cooked up out of desperation to have his brother back, then nothing else mattered. Not their fears, nor their doubts. As long as V wanted him, they would figure out a way to make all of this work.

Fearghas drags in a shaky breath as V continues, conjuring justifications for what had happened. Tears of joy glitter unshed in the boy's dark eyes, and a slow-burning smile begins to build across his lips. He had once considered himself an overthinker, but in the wake of V's tsunami of self-doubt, he was no longer unsure. Each word of self-flagellation and uncertainty only endears him more deeply to Fearghas. There's something wrong with me, he laments, and a silent Fearghas only shakes his head slowly, still pressed forehead to forehead. There was nothing wrong with his brother any more than there was something intrinsically wrong with himself. I don't know how to be better than this. Neither did Fearghas, but they could learn from each other. They would figure it out somehow. They didn't have to be perfect for each other, just good enough to find something to love, somehow.

Molten self-loathing continues to pour from his brother's mouth but Fearghas refuses to give audience to it any longer. As V folds in, Fearghas raises his own head and shifts to the side so that he can run his mottled lips beneath the pale waterfall of his mane. The smell of him, so strong Varanduil makes his knees weak again, but he persists, dragging a slow but steady path along his crest. Eventually, he finds the sloped swell of his withers and he worries the bony expanse with teeth and tongue, tracing the marks he'd left there the night before. Tell me what I have to do, he says, and Fear presses another smile against his brother's dappled coat. Let me stay with you, he pleads and the spotted boy chuckles low in his throat as he trails those same lips down V's ribcage.

From down by his brother's heart, the spotted boy murmurs a reply. "Ye dinna have tae do anything, V."Again he chuckles, his eyes squeezing shut against the fast flutter of V's heart in his ear. There was a satisfaction to holding him close, to knowing that soon, Varanduil would return with him to the Savanna and make his family complete. Not even Cullen's threat was enough to dampen his joy at this thought, and he brusquely shoved away any worry over what Ally would think. His voice throaty and low, he spoke again, his tone finally certain. "I already asked ye to be mine last night."

With a wicked smile that Varanduil would never see, Fearghas spoke again before V could restart his litany of doubts. "Now, if ye dinna mind," Again, his spotted lips part to nibble at the point of his elbow tauntingly. Fearghas was no expert in matters of love or lust, but he was fairly certain that this was a language they both spoke fluently. "Now that yer sure I'm not a spook, would ye mind showing me that thing ye did last night again?"

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