vatheon | 23 ♐ Rendezvous

Entry tags:

23 ♐ Rendezvous

Who: Darkleer and Summoner
When: After this
Where: The island
Style: man idk
Status: Closed

If the lighthouse still existed, then Darkleer would know where to meet up with him. It was the spot of so many of their other meetings, after all. It only felt right. Still, now there's nothing much left but rubble. He understands the reason why, he really does, it's just... He wish it hadn't had to happen.

Ah well. Things do.

Still, he goes to sit at the remnants anyway, and stares up at the night sky. There's a lot to think about. The future is getting closer all the time, and this time it doesn't bring any kind of good news.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ah the tears he didn't cry over the lighthouse. They were there in spirit anyway, but he didn't really need it to be high and see a good view. Still- it had been nice to perch upon and hide away in at least. Summoner knows enough to look in the direction of it for Darkleer too, feeling this kind of-

dread.

in his chest as he flies.

He's not sure why at first. It peels away his insides like wall paper, but after enough as ripped from within him, the under surface is revealed and he realizes why he's feeling this way.

Will his be the fifth last time he meets with him personally like this? The second to last? The last? How much further away is the end if it really does exist- not that he denies it's existence. He's already had an end to this place the first time he left...

"Hey-" He had landed quietly, though Darkleer's keen sense of hearing still probably picked up that shuffle of wings, that change in air. Summoner's greeting is accompanied by his tightly wrapped arms looping around Darkleer's neck over his shoulders as Summoner crouches behind him. That dread is still there mauling at what's pulsing within his ribcage, but he ignores it, preferring the positive feeling of the thicker troll against him. The smell of his hair. The mix of soft, cool, and smooth, all divided between skin, armour, and hair together. Lysunder closes his eyes, diving into his other senses.

"Meeting up- heh- it's- just what I wanted I think."

By this point, it's hard for Darkleer not to pick up on the soft sound of wings slipping through the air. Goodness, they've known one another for... how long, now? It's not even been a sweep, but in these past couple of years, he's learned to immediately pick up on what sounds Summoner makes. Every light footstep, the shift of his wings as wind rushes through them, when he smacks his horns against something by accident... Perhaps unfortunately, he doesn't fall in love halfheartedly. Darkleer falls completely, which makes parting all the more painful.

He tries not to think about that. He just turns his head to the side, pressing his nose and lips against the warm skin of his matesprit, the wild scent of him. He's warm and scarred and one of the most precious people in Darkleer's life. He doesn't want to ever forget him.

"I'm glad, then. I wanted to see you as well."

Not even a sweep and there was even a 22 year gap in between for Summoner. But he stuck to it- even if it's been confusing and difficult at times. He's still flighty- but less so compared to his younger self at least- and now for other reasons.

Smells like- campfire, woods, wilderness, maybe a bit of sweat, and a scent of something earthy and herbal on his breath- Lysunder's usual. He smiles, lifting his head to catch Darkleer's rough lips against his before reeling his head back enough to just press nose to nose, eyes still closed.

"Oh yeah? Feeling chilly?" A chuckle, smirking as he tightens his arms around him.

Well, if he weren't a little bit flighty... Darkleer can't help that's part of what makes him pity and feel such fondness for the orangeblood. So long as he keeps coming back to him, even if just for a little while longer with what they know, he'll be alright with it.

"Oh, not anymore," Darkleer responds, that heat still lingering on his lips from Summoner's own mouth. "I think you've taken care of that quite nicely. I can't imagine you'll want me to cuddle up to as the dim season continues, however. That would be a little too cool."

"I'll manage. I have a few friends who can join us if we need the extra heat too." A snicker. Of course he's referring to a particular hoofbeast, pokemon, and a few other familiar faces. Darkleer might be a huge thermal hull here and there, but he had the same problem with Mindfang back when. He just invited animals in for the night. Nothing like sleeping through a cold night with a bunch of wolves, all that fur did pretty amazing for warmth, no matter how cold a coldblooded troll was.

He shifts, getting comfortable on Darkleer's lap, his legs extending past Darkleer's sides and curl behind him a little as he sits, chest to the chest with the other troll. Summoner pulls a hand away, letting long hair comb through his fingers with a silence coming over him.

Ending- all this, is it now. Of course it would, technically, it did for him once already but- this type of final ending, if it is real, it's hurting more than he wants it to. He'll lose another matesprit, and for a troll of such a short lifespan that- feels a little earth shattering. What was it they say about beasts here and there? It was easier when they had shorter life spans, because if the pet died, you could handle it, you could weep for them, miss them, but live on. But if you died before your beloved beast they'd hurt too much to move on. Maybe that's how it was for Summoner to a degree. Loving and losing is-

too much for him.

But he tries his best to keep some sense of a smile, his lids low, still quiet as he watches that long black hair slide through his fingers. He's got something he wants to say on the tip of his tongue but- asking isn't going to be easy.

Edited 2013-09-29 20:15 (UTC)

"Of course." Darkleer gives a slight chuckle as Summoner starts to shift his position. How ever could he forget Summoner's multitude of friends? They'll never be in need of company so long as he can commune with other creatures... With the silence enveloping the two of them, Darkleer tries to keep himself calm. There's no denying the heaviness in the air. It's thick and miserable. It brings to mind too many dreadful memories of similar silences. As someone with the skillset he possesses, Darkleer isn't unused to the quiet. It's just this kind which makes him feel ill.

They don't have much longer, do they... Either they'll fight and fail, or they'll fight and succeed. The tides have been quietly granting them chances, but Darkleer still isn't sure if they truly have a chance. Still. He has something he was to fight for now. He won't let himself go quietly like he did so long ago. Regardless of how things end, he has to make the most of it. Before, on Alternia, he didn't realize how short a time he truly had before he was exiled. There was no time for him to say goodbye to his comrades, to his quadrants. There wasn't any time for anything. He won't make that mistake now.

So Darkleer treasures this moment with Summoner, tries to enjoy as much as he can this feeling of warmth and those fingers in his hair. Finally, however, he reaches up to brush his thumb against one of Summoner's cheeks. "What are you thinking about?"

"Mm-" Not much of a response as he noses his way closer, butting his nose against Darkleer's, against his cheeks, into his hair, his ear, down against his neck. Small huffed breathes leave his nose, and Darkleer will feel the brush of facial hair, Summoner's nose ring, an occasional kiss and swipe of the tip of his tongue.

"A lot I guess- nothing really-" Said muffled, his hands idly sliding down Darkleer's chest, lids low. A lot and nothing, right, thinking about something that is both a lot and nothing, not sure if it- should mean anything to him, if he wants it to, if he should even be mulling it over in his mind. But he's quiet about it. it's not exactly bad or good.

Though- closure is a difficult thing to assess.

"I am happy like this- with you, I mean, happy in general and right now, specifically."

For Summoner, Darkleer will be patient. The soft touches against his skin certainly help him with that. A slow sigh slips from his mouth as he feels warm skin brush against his own, breath catching at the first kiss and a shiver at the tongue. With his age, he's far from a novice when it comes to intimate acts. Yet despite that, every kiss from Lysunder never fails to make him feel like a young colt. Maybe it's because the other troll is still so much younger than him. Maybe it's because his warmth reminds Darkleer of other days, days besides being trapped in a cold empty cave in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe he's just that ridiculously in the red for him.

Probably that one.

The contradictory statement is noted, but Darkleer stays silent until that next phrase is said. At that, he raises one of his own hands to press it carefully against one of Summoner's own- right over his bloodpump. "I'm happy with you as well. I can't thank you enough for that."

"Thank me-?" Sorry that's a little odd, though he replies more in jest, chuckling under his breath as he stretches his arms out.

"Oh baby, you've thanked me enough, believe me." His tone playful, grinning mad before pulling back just enough to clasp his hand over Darkleer's on his chest. His fingers weave with his, grabbing tight, lifting his head to look at him. That grin fades a bit now though, not to a frown, but into something softer. "But yeah- thanks I guess, back from me. Though- tch," smirks again, cocking his head a bit. "Me thankin' ya is just as dumb."

"You scoundrel." But Darkleer smiles even as his face flushes at that flirtatious little tone. There's something faintly reassuring to have Summoner act as he does in moments like these. For just tonight, he's had enough misery. There will be the rest of the night, and the days after, for him to dwell on darker thoughts. Seeing such a soft smile on Summoner's face has Darkleer lean closer to brush his lips against his jawline.

"I'll thank who I want to, thank you kindly. No one said you had to do anything."

"Ain't that how it works? You just kinda do it- heh, and besides-" Leans in, making that light brush of lips a kiss that still lingers with him when he pulls away again, bracing their foreheads together.

"Since when have I ever been someone to take orders, eh?"

"I imagine you haven't been the type since the night you hatched." His own mouth still tingles from the warmth of the kiss. Darkleer nearly thinks about asking for another. "I'd be amazed if you listened to your lusus."

"Hey now-" Laughs, tugging at Darkleer's hair a little playfully. It still feels cold sliding between his fingers, and soothes him to touch it. He continues to brush through strands idly as he speaks.

"I listened- when he uh, ya know, actually said anything, er wanted me to do anything. Heh, he wasn't the most commanding of types, guess his size always did it for him, ya know?" Eyelids lower.

"Like yours tends to. Being big and beautiful just has it's merits."

Each rake of fingers could nearly put him to sleep, Darkleer's eyes fluttering a bit as he breathes in deep and slow. The fact that those fingers burn like starfire just makes the sensation all the better.

"My, I certainly hope you like me in a much different way than how you liked your lusus." He bares just a sliver of his teeth in a tentative smile.

"Ah- well- yeah I mean." Why, wouldn't he, don't imply shit, Darkleer, sheesh. Though Summoner's reply's a little awkward at such a comment. A brow raises, a nervous smile that seems to favor one side of his face more than the other.

It always feels like such a little victory when he can get Summoner all awkward and nervous instead of the other way around. Darkleer nuzzles down along Summoner's jaw, nostrils flaring in a soft chuff.

"Teasing, my love."

A quick breath huffs through him, mostly through his nostrils, only a huff a bull could make, and he butts his forehead against Darkleer's head.

"Yeah yeah- when aren't either of us?" Said with a nervous chuckle as he shoves at him a little, like either the head butt or shove had any sort of effect on the statue of troll he was currently resting his prat on.

There's another slight laugh before a sigh, and he's thinking, and he's wishing he wasn't thinking. Living by instinct and impulse was so much easier but when it came down to it- he wasn't really an impulsive person. Such a word could be given to a few unnamed higher blood trolls, but not him. So he's thinking, and feeling his gut churn again and he hates it, that sick feeling. So instead Lysunder clings to his matesprit and sighs again, something more distraught before he's shaking his head.

"You lot, you drive those around you crazy, you know that?" You lot, 'you lot', could mean plenty really.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

23 ♐ Rendezvous

Style- whatever our heart leads us to do

so prose gotcha

no subject

no subject

only this icon. deal.

i wouldn't have even noticed the icon because this tag makes me make sad noises

Aww..

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject