Chapter Text
The nighttime air washed over Cyfrin as he lay in his bedroll, watching the wispy clouds above swirl and dissipate and the winds ebbed and flowed. As his mind sifted through the events of the day and plans for the next, his gaze drifted to the wizard in the bedroll beside him. Chestnut waves streaked with silver adorned the surprisingly clean pillow, and even in the dimming campfire’s light, the purple tendrils of his tattoo seemed to pulse across his face and neck.
His memories shifted back to that night after the party, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he remembered how Gale’s face flushed as Cyfrin shared his desire for a kiss. He wondered if he'd ever get that chance, given time. Would he be able to share something just as intimate? Something more than the grazed hands as they walked side by side, or the soft shoulder squeeze as Cyfrin brought Gale back to camp to rest for the day? A dance, or a kiss, or more? The orb proved too volatile for any of that now, but perhaps with time they’d find a way around it.
The thought of a dance pulled Cyfrin in, though he wasn’t sure why. A large room, filled with shadowy onlookers, a carpet of red fabric paving the path ahead. Gale adorned his arm like a trophy as they walked to the centre of this unusually lavish yet hauntingly familiar room, surrounded by pillars of stone and an abyss of nothing. Music, an unfamiliar, broken melody, filled his head. He could not tell what instruments were being played, but the sensation of beginning his waltz felt all too real. The silk of Gale’s coattails under his fingers, velvet gloves shimmering in the dancing lights above, the elation as the unmistakable feather fall spell coursed through their bodies.
In his fantasy he led Gale around the room, twirling with carefully practiced steps that felt like second nature so long as you didn’t pry into specifics. Music swelled, onlookers swayed with the rhythm, and Cyfrin kept his Gaze on Gale, one hand on his lower back, pressing their bodies together so they might as well have been one. Gale’s face was taut with concentration, a few overthought steps scraping the floors. But it mattered not, the music growing more frantic, the other guests beginning to swirl around them like vultures, faces managing to obscure even the shadows that befell them, lit only by the swirl of magic that encapsulated the edges of their forms.
At the crescendo he dipped the wizard, faces so close their breaths dried each other's lips. Gale’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands moving to cup the back of his head. The room had gone deadly still, the last note still ringing off of the impossibly tall walls. Cyfrin closed in for the kiss, tilting Gale’s head back with the force of it. Gale gripped Cyfrin’s hair, returning the kiss with the same force, a delighted sigh escaping his nose. Cyfrin closed his eyes and slowly lowered them both to the ground, settling on his knees and straddling the wizard’s lap.
Warmth enveloped his legs where he knelt. The smell followed, unmistakable in its metallic aroma. He opened his eyes, gently parting from the kiss and looking at where the onlookers once surrounded them. Only viscera and blood remained, spreading across the floor like a gentle tide. Cyfrin was covered, hands staining the silken vest Gale wore, blood dripping from his chin and soaking Gale’s beard. Yet Gale looked unphased, loving even, one hand cupping Cyfrin’s cheek, gaze locked on his lips. Even as his face betrayed the sting of the blood and bile in his nostrils, even as it poured from his lips, there was no mistaking the love, the devotion, behind those eyes. Cyfrin dared not look down to the wizard’s chest, already watching the gentle stream of crimson that carved its way between the muscles on his neck. He leaned in anyway, lips parted, unsure whether he intended to kiss Gales neck, or bite it.
Cyfrin shook himself out of the fantasy, realizing only as the air was cut from his throat that he had been humming, and his mouth watering. He quietly cleared his throat, rubbing his face and turning his gaze back to the skies, the smell still a phantom in the back of his nostrils. He hated how the thought of Gale covered in blood tugged at some primal satisfaction, the thought of a bloodsoaked kiss making him clench his jaw. He scolded himself silently, turning over and trying to stifle and redirect his thoughts, tongue picking out phantom strings of sinew from his teeth.
