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Irony would be a weak word for the circumstance and the bond that developed between them, rather, Jaune would call it twisted, twisted and sick and it made his heart ache. It wasn't necessarily their dynamic or Cardin, it was more.. more the happenings.
It pains him, it made his chest ache with agony when he'd first seen the ruptured sort of scars along the back, stubs that were once bearers to magnificent wings, clipped feathers jarred around the stunted wings. Fast forward after a long path of arguing, tears, bruises, confrontations, and confessions, and you're onto growing together, a new set of antler's poking through a mop of blond hair and Cardin's mixed with grief and relief (and undertones of shame).
A few long, hard weeks later and here they are, bare chested, Jaune's horns tall and crowning his head in a way that Cardin's come to adore-- they fit him, wonderfully, he's realized. He's in the process of re-teaching himself who he is and who his people are, and Jaune's at the forefront of that. 'Forefront' might be a slightly bemusing term to use at the moment, though,as Cardin's uncurled himself from around the smaller boy, yawning as he slips over the edge of the bed, back slouched as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Jaune rouses quietly behind him, a groan leaving as he sits up and has to pull the pillow out from between his antlers-- and he remembers vaguely that he prefers when they're gone, or when they're soft and growing again. It's so much easier to sleep, and it makes it easier for the both of them when Cardin encases him during his sleep (and the word 'encase' is used because Cardin is significantly taller and broader then the blond is, and the prospect of moving isn't possible until Cardin wakes up). Cardin huffs, moving to get up when he feels a smaller, slender body sit behind him, and Jaune's knees are at his sides with his cheek pressed against his back.
The larger of the two stiffens, drawing a breath but not moving, because there's soft warm hands on his stomach and Jaune's lifted his head, staring at the scars and the wing buds against his back. It's a certain kind of pain he can understand, but it's another to think he went so far as to mutilate himself-- rip them from his body like this, and surely, surely they must of been beautiful. The mixture of deep red and bright vermilion color of the small feathers alludes to such a thought, and before Jaune could stop himself, he presses a kiss above the right, his antlers brushing Cardin's skin and he wants to immediately curve his body and pull away.
The auburn-haired boy doesn't, though, his shoulders shift and Jaune can see the muscles under his back move accordingly. He smiles a little to himself, still sort of groggy from having just woken up and content with the warmth Cardin's bare back emits. It's the kind to draw you in, make your body seep into a languidness known to comfort, and Jaune's a little less sleepy by now, but he doesn't make to change his position. He continues, actually, pressing a kiss similar to the one before above the other cut wing, and then he moves to the center, pressing the same gentleness and love into the skin as he had before, and he stays like that, his breath washing over Cardin's skin in a steady rush of heat.
Cardin's arms shift againt, and the smaller one can feel his chest swell and lax under his arms, and he can feel the deep rumble of Cardin's voice when he speaks. "It's too early for this--" his voice breaks for a second, a name on his lips, a name that no longer suits them or the moment of intimacy, ".. Jaune." When he utters the spoken boy's first name, it's quieter than the rough, morning-induced statement from above and it's heavy with a certain tone you don't put a word to this early in the morning. Nonetheless, it only serves to let a flutter free inside the Juniper leader's chest, a hum that vibrates against Cardin's body when he turns so that his cheek is once again against the Cardinal's back. He gives a weak laugh in response to the statement, slowly raising his body, but not pulling himself away-- not entirely.
"Don't be a baby."