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Wings of the Heart manifest in different ways; depending on a lifestyle, hardships, boons, and divine intervention, they appear in a vast array of breeds and colours. Fjord’s wings, prior to Uk’otoa, were verdant green with long primaries, the downy underside oil slick black. Once Uk’otoa grabbed a hold of him, they – shifted. The colour darkened and the wing tips came together in a point; when his magic burst forth, his wings would cover in shards of ice, jagged and vicious. Took hours for them to thaw.
Thankfully, the Wildmother’s attention nixed the worst of the frost. His wings now retain their original shine, but with an almost moving water pattern over the larger coverts. Occasionally, Fjord finds kelp or seaweed or tiny perfect shells that shimmer and shine amongst his feathers. One time he even found a piece of driftwood. It’s bizarre, but considering Caduceus’ wings are regularly overrun by mushrooms, Fjord attributes it to a quirk of the Wildmother. Jester’s Trickster touched wings often have confetti dropping out of them. Gods are weird.
Out of all of them, Fjord’s most fascinated by Caleb’s wings. Sure, Nott has tiny speckled grey wings, primaries poking out of place and constantly a mess; Beau’s are sharp and elegant, and she often uses them as a secondary weapon to her fists. Yasha’s are vast and dark, ripped apart and put back together with shadow, the faintest hint of downy white feathers brushing her shoulders whenever she spreads them wide. Caleb’s – Caleb’s make no sense.
The first time Fjord had caught sight of them, he’d been certain Caleb regularly cast some kind of illusion. Made sense why he hid them under his coat: the pock marked scapulars were lined with angry burn marks, almost like dormant embers after a log fire had been reduced to nothing. All along the marginal coverts and through to the alula, more of that same darkened ember pattern, cracked and sore and tender beneath. The intact feathers marbled like ash and smoke, with many others having lost their initial plumage, now burned echoes of what once was. The limbs were stretched longer than Caleb's frame should've dictated. Caleb tends to tuck the tips of his wings around himself like eerie skeletal hands. He loses feathers regularly, mostly the coverts and one memorable time four secondaries, but always brushes off Jester returning them.
Fjord has never heard of magic replacing feathers until he met Caleb.
During battle, Caleb’s wings light up. Flames lick into the spaces where feathers have been scarred to never return. The sparse primaries engulf in fire and burn bright; magic crawls up and covers the worst of Caleb’s scarred skin, embers flaring to life. The roar of the flames branches out farther and farther until his wings become a conduit. Magic leaps from his fingers and burns through his wings. He’s stunning, absolutely, more so with the curl of the arcane visibly bolstering his wings. Fjord considers asking if he could touch one of the flame tipped feathers, but that isn’t done, at least not amongst acquaintances or maybe friends. Doesn’t stop his longing. Doesn’t stop the quiver of his own wings to brush over those magically charged feathers, to link primaries and fall together.
Fjord is very good at lying to himself, but his wings more often than not give him away.
Thankfully, Caleb becomes – comfortable. Bares his wings more often, his magic bouncing gleefully between the feathers and snuggling into spaces that remain vacant. The magical feathers are shorter, yes, but fit Caleb much better. Nott tends to pet at them whenever she’s unsure or scared, tucking herself beneath the magical expanse, though recently Caleb has been tensing up whenever she moves to do so.
Then they go to Rexxentrum.
They’ve been travelling together for nearly a year when that particular piece of Caleb’s past catches up. For more than half of that time, Caleb’s been comfortable showing off his wings, allowing the magic to burble happily over each feather, but the moment they set down in Rexxentrum, they go dark. The skeletal edges tremble and Caleb loses more feathers in the moment they step through the portal than all their time together combined.
Fjord spends the entire horrible trip actively keeping his wings from reaching out and bundling Caleb close. Its two parts worry over his friend, and one massive part protectiveness for his mate. Not that Caleb knows that. Or Fjord wants to acknowledge that. That’s a can of worms that no one needs opened, least of all Caleb, who’s feathers keep falling out from sheer stress and terror.
The talk with the King is an exercise in patience. Fjord fluffs up his wings to hide Caleb from Trent’s burning eyes, and catches Yasha doing the same. They’re the largest out of the group and Yasha tentatively touches her primaries to Fjord’s to complete the wall. His other wing curls around Caleb, not touching but visibly straining to hide him. Caleb’s shoulders relax as he shoots Fjord a wane but thankful smile.
“We should leave,” Yasha says the moment they’re free from their escort and barricaded in their ‘state given’ rooms. Fjord waves a hand at her before checking for lurkers. When nothing crops up, Fjord shuffles his way closer to Caleb, feathers ghosting protectively over the skeletal frames. Caleb shivers, shoulders hunching up, but he doesn’t pull away. Fjord breathes out.
The conversation devolves after that, most of the group so excitable that the constant flap of feathers blocks out Caleb’s tentative voice. Fjord pushes closer. Can’t help it really. Caleb’s small and closed off and visibly terrified. Fjord’s wings arc up and over, bundling without touching. Fjord’s lost control. His heart aches, his wings respond, and Caleb is almost lost in his feathers.
“Fjord, what are you doing?” Jester asks, breaking the conversation. The entire group turns to him – to him and Caleb, who can barely see through the fluffed edges of Fjord’s primaries. Fjord swallows hard and desperately works to hide the sheer embarrassment that are his wings. “Fjord!”
“It is fine,” Caleb says softly.
Fjord glances at him. Caleb worries his bottom lip before reaching out, gentle, so gentle, to run the tip of one finger over a fluffed primary. The shock that ripples through Fjord is like a gut punch. His wings flare and shine, an iridescent blue-green that reminds Fjord of the tide pools he played in in Port Damali. Caleb startles, palm settling hard on the feathers, and Fjord automatically reaches out to steady him. Gets his fingers in the soft downy feathers peeking through the mangled coverts even as his wings snap closer, pulling Caleb further into his space.
Thankfully, the cacophony of the group responding overwhelms the faint groan of surprise from Caleb. Fjord digs in his fingers just a bit, just to hear it again, that’s all he wants – Caleb’s wings flutter suddenly with arcane feathers, small gorgeous jewels of flame licked light, fluffed up similar to Fjord’s own and bleeding warmth against Fjord’s sides.
“Caleb!” Nott shouts from outside Fjord’s interlocked wings. Immediately, the magic goes out and Caleb’s skeletal wings snap close to his body. A small rumble of discontent leaves Fjord as he pets against the tiny feathers, his own wings bundling in even closer. Caleb’s practically plastered to his front. Nott calls again, “What’s going on? Fjord! Let him out!”
“Sorry,” Fjord mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, I’m sorry, give me a moment.”
“There is no need to apologize,” Caleb whispers back. “It is – nice. Thank you.”
Goddess, Caleb’s making it damn near impossible to let him go. Wresting control back over his wayward heart, Fjord’s wings part and Nott and Jester barrel in. Fjord’s wings snap away automatically; while touching another’s wings isn’t necessarily uncommon, Fjord’s loathe to lose the sensation of Caleb’s warmth against his feathers. Against his heart.
Caleb calms Nott’s loud and pointed venom regarding Fjord’s intentions and manages to get the group back on track with planning. Something about croissants; Fjord’s not really listening. All his focus zeroes in on shutting down that part of himself that begs to reach out and comfort Caleb again. He concedes one simple brush of his feathers against Caleb’s own. Caleb ducks his head, peering at Fjord out of the corner of his eye, and Fjord flushes. A trickle of magic dances over Caleb’s wings and manifests to return the touch.
The sheer adoration that swells in Fjord’s chest distracts him from roommate decisions. Caduceus claps him on the shoulder, his own alarmingly fluffy wings housing some truly amazing fungal growth, before he exits alongside the girls. Nott fusses around the room while Fjord hesitates. He missed it; should he ask? Would it be – no, Nott obviously plans to room with Caleb. Caleb’s wings remain dark. Fjord awkwardly ruffles his feathers and steps close to ask Caleb if he needs an ear, a personal venting to such a shitty day, and Caleb hits him with a strained smile. Fjord droops.
Before Fjord can disappear with his wings tucked tight in defeat, the edge of Caleb’s wing brushes bone over feather. His smile softens into something easier, something private, and he murmurs, “Soon.”
“Caleb, come build your nest,” Nott calls. She’s yanked most of the blankets off the bed, pillows gathered at her feet.
Fjord steps back, tucking both his hands and his wings away. Caleb’s face closes off as he turns to Nott. “Not here.”
“But you need it,” Nott pushes and Caleb shakes his head. Fjord excuses himself before Nott can use Fjord’s presence against Caleb, and pauses just outside the door.
Nesting. Goddess, he hasn’t thought about nesting since Sabien. Never had a parental nest to live in nor a nest of a lover; Sabien had laughed at him the first time he’d gathered items for a potential mating nest, sneeringly pointing out that their relationship wasn’t something so emotional. Vandren always scoffed at those that needed nests for any form of comfort, and Sabien’s resulting dismissal had dissuaded Fjord from ever building his own.
The idea of Caleb nesting, though. Oh, that makes his heart flutter and his wings follow suit. He scolds them. Tugs them into place around himself. That is not his place. That will never be his place. Heading next door, he curses when he trips over one of Caduceus’ mushrooms and settles onto the bed when Caduceus offers.
He dreams of phoenix feathers and the warmth of a palm against his wings, the curve of a smile, and a nest built around two fluttering hearts.
By the time they’re ready to leave, Fjord’s itching to shove them all through the portal back to Xhorhas. Caleb’s been quiet and wrapped tight in his wings, rarely speaking up and keeping close to the group. It’s been driving Fjord slowly insane, more so after Caleb returned a few nights back pale and drawn in, with a handful of his loose feathers crumpling to ash in his fists. Still hasn’t explained what the hell happened, but Fjord’s sure it has something to do with whatever haunts Caleb here.
Darrow’s intervention prior to the final spa visit nearly pushes Fjord over the edge. Sure, the guy is nice or whatever, but Fjord can’t shake the humiliation that puffs his wings up, recalls how inadequate he was in his fight against Darrow. The lingering insecurity over Jester’s comments about him requiring a weapon, coupled with that fight, has Fjord desperate to be anywhere else.
As they separate into the different spa rooms, Yasha ducks close to Caleb. Fjord catches spiky red flames dancing over the tops of Caleb’s wings, prickly and angry and unlike anything Fjord’s ever witnessed. It’s almost like hackles raised, so very different from Caleb’s entire cadence this trip that Fjord stalls. Did he sense something sinister from Darrow? Fjord wasn’t particularly thrilled about the invite in the first place, but Darrow had seemed truly contrite over how badly he whooped Fjord.
The spiky flames dissipate as they converse quietly before she ushers Caleb into a room. She glances over her shoulder, the expanse of her wings drooping so she can catch Fjord’s gaze. She raises a brow, a secretive smile on her lips before she disappears into the room with him. Fjord’s left in the hallway, concerned and confused and a bit jealous.
Each time Darrow attempts to strike up a conversation, Caleb’s magic reacts. Fjord’s watching for it now, his concern mounting. While they’re in the mineral pool area, Jester loudly lamenting how healthy their skin is going to be, Caleb’s magic flares when Darrow shifts his full attention to Fjord to inquire about the armour he donned during the fight. The resulting steam obscures everything and Caleb apologizes quietly before dissipating the magic. The conversation neatly derails.
Again, during the massage portion of their time there, when Darrow offers to partner up with Fjord, Caleb’s wings snap out in agitation, enough that Fjord cuts off his excuse. Darrow’s clear amusement doesn’t help; Caleb’s strangely aggressive, purposefully stepping in the way with his skeletal wings on full display. He’s never actively used the unnatural sight of his burned wings to intimidate before. Fjord shoots an unsure smile Darrow’s way and splits off to be pampered alone.
After Darrow leaves, Fjord’s on edge and Caleb’s prickly. Everyone else shoves together to make room for Caleb’s smooth teleportation lines, talking loudly about their experience with the spa. Nott’s absolutely covered in mud, her little wings quivering beneath layers of muck, and she sludges her way over to Fjord simply to be a shit. Fjord whaps her with his wings, lightly, and she snickers. Light spills from the portal as it opens, shimmery purples and blues and silvers, highlighting all of them in their terrycloth robes. Caleb’s wings flare to life.
The moment they touch down in Roshana, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. Caleb’s wings remain lit, fire roaring over each feather until it settles into an easy ember shroud. He’s smiling for Melora’s sake. They trek back to the Xhorhouse, Fjord allowing for the practical joke to continue simply for the sheer joy on Caleb’s face. The rest of their day is spent in a whirlwind of holding court and somehow managing, through either sheer force of will, the reserves of their repaid debt, or some very quick talking by both Fjord and Caleb, to establish a ceasefire and potential talks.
Fjord collapses onto his bed with a drawn out groan, wings fluffed up and fluttering around him in exhaustion. Caduceus and Yasha continue to play downstairs, the wail of the flute alongside the melancholy of the harp creating a strange but comforting atmosphere in the house. Fjord’s fingers brush against the floor as he stares unseeing at the dark window across from him. They haven’t had a moment to themselves in months, and Fjord’s thoughts ping about like erratic jellyfish. There’s so much to do, so much to talk about, so much in general. Fjord’s wings arc and fall over him like a blanket. He’s tired.
He’s seconds from dozing when a bloom of ozone washes over his senses, campfire smoke on his tongue. A gentle nudge of warmth and flickering embers precedes Caleb’s voice in his mind: “Fjord, do you have a moment? I am in the library.”
“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be down shortly,” Fjord murmurs back. His wings flutter happily and he scolds them, tugging them into place as he pushes himself up with a groan. Maybe he can talk Caleb into a hot tub dip.
The house is quiet as Fjord pads his way down to the library. Yasha and Caduceus have finished their set and vacated the living space, the others likely having retired to their beds as well. Fjord stifles a yawn and shakes himself out, combing his fingers through his coverts until they’re neat and in place. He’s not primping. Honestly. His wings quiver with their eagerness and Fjord gives up.
Rapping his knuckles against the door, he waits until Caleb calls a muffled ‘Enter!’, and turns the knob. The library slash bedroom glows a soft gold, courtesy of the globules of light huddled along the ceiling. A fire banks low in the fireplace. Caleb’s scent covers every inch of this place, more centered around the desk and the bed shoved off to the side. Fjord snaps his teeth closed when he catches himself scenting more deeply than he should, lungs full of Caleb’s contentment. A flush warms his cheeks.
“Ah, Fjord, danke for coming,” Caleb calls, and Fjord glances to the edge of the library, the opposite side of the makeshift bedroom.
Oh, stars above and depths below.
Caleb’s settled himself into a proper nest: books and blankets and pillows all arranged in a haphazard but meticulous and comfortable ring around him. The bundle of Caleb’s old coat and his spell books stick out from beneath a few throw pillows from the comfier sections of the library; there’s a chair cushion acting as a base of the front of the nest and Caleb’s ratty scarf curls bruised purple against the red, red blankets. Frumpkin sprawls contentedly in Caleb’s lap, tail draped lazily over Caleb’s wrist, acting as a book rest for the thin tomb Caleb has open against Frumpkin’s back.
Caleb’s wings flicker with hidden embers, the feathers molten magic and fluffed with relaxation. The glint of his anti-scry necklace can be seen through the open collar of his tunic, untied and dipping dangerously low, the jut of his collarbones distracting. A grey, overlarge cardigan bundles over Caleb’s thin shoulders, a single button done up near the bottom. The sleeves flop over the bare brush of his knuckles, fingertips dark with ink. His sleep pants barely cover his toes. He’s delicate and welcoming and Fjord wants.
“You’re – nesting,” Fjord rasps. Caleb shirks slightly, pages crinkling as his fingers twitch. His wings pull up and away from the edges of his nest and Fjord hastens to add, “I didn’t mean anything by it, just that it’s a surprise.”
A furrow elbows Caleb’s eyebrows together, his wings relaxing and curling slightly inward. “Is it?”
Fjord flushes, wings snapping close to himself. Shit. He swallows hard and glances away. “I guess – not. Uh. You look – happy. Comfortable! Apologies, I didn’t wish to intrude on your nesting.”
The furrow increases and Caleb closes the book. Frumpkin rolls onto his back with a contented chirp and Caleb’s fingers dig into the fluff of his stomach. “You are not intruding. I would not have called you down if that was a possibility.”
Fjord settles back on his heels. Clears his throat. “Were you able to nest in Rexxentrum?”
Caleb glances down, bangs hiding his eyes. He tugs at the sleeves until they cover more of his hands. Frumpkin wraps his paws around Caleb’s wrist. “No. It was not a good place to do so.”
Wincing, Fjord chews on his tongue. He’s so close to the edge of Caleb’s nest, a visible silver thread unbroken around the edges. Strange to include that, but with nesting usually synonymous with safety, makes sense for Caleb to use it. “I’m glad you’ve found solace here then.”
Electric blue catches Fjord’s gaze. Caleb remains quiet, his fingers still against Frumpkin’s fluffy belly. His wings curl further forward, Caleb’s magic simmering over each feather and burnishing them with the faintest hint of navy. Fjord’s uncertain where to go from here, what to ask; Caleb had called him down here for some reason, surely, and it’s not to have Fjord stare awkwardly and a bit wanting at Caleb in his nest.
“Would you like to join?” Caleb asks suddenly. Fjord’s thoughts stall, his wings snap wide, and his heart sings. Caleb startles back with a soft laugh even as Fjord frantically yanks his wings back into place. Melora, save him from his own traitorous heart.
“Apologies. I haven’t – no one has ever asked – Gods,” Fjord stutters out, ending with his wings hiding his face for a single moment as he collects himself. When he’s settled down and rearranged his wings, Caleb watches him with ocean blue eyes, soft and sparkling with mirth. His wings spread back out behind him, crackling like a hearth.
“You are welcome to join me,” Caleb states again. Fjord grabs his wings before they can react in elated joy. “I will have to make a bit of room, but –”
“Truly?” Fjord says, blurts. Caleb pauses from shifting a disgruntled Frumpkin off his lap and frowns.
“Yes, of course. I would not offer otherwise.” Caleb nods to himself before plopping Frumpkin down on an errant pillow. His wings shift and drag over the outside of the nest as Caleb wiggles more of the various debris off himself to make room. Leans forward to shove a good chunk of the nest aside, books and cushions and the threadbare edge of his coat leaving the area lopsided and broken up.
Fjord’s thoughts jump. When he’d first gathered items for the mating nest with Sabien, one of the other crewmembers stated that gifting an item to an already created nest would be much easier. Not that this is an invitation to a mating nest, no. He - there’s no way he can take Caleb up on his offer without offering something in return. Something to show just how much Caleb’s proposal means.
Decided, Fjord pivots, hurrying from the room with Caleb’s confused, “Fjord?” following him back up the stairs.
There’s a small box beneath Fjord’s bed, age worn and sanded, where he keeps various objects he deems important: the ticket from their foray with the Carnival, Jester’s first lewd sketch after they met, the wraps Beau gave him when he asked to learn how to properly fight; he even has a tiny bag of ashes from a portion of the Squall Eater after Caleb’d lit it on fire. Tucked amongst everything, wrapped in tissue paper, is a tiny porcelain cat, painted orange with bright blue eyes. The craftswoman he’d purchased it from called it her luckiest one. Something about the sand she used and the mixture of orange she’d come up with? Fjord had purchased it on a whim, recalling Caleb’s throw away confession of him collecting tiny porcelain cats.
Handling it delicately, Fjord turns it over. It’s so small in his palm, fragile really; would this - no, dammit, no this won’t work, it’s not designed for a nest. It’s more a random gift to hopefully brighten Caleb’s day instead of an acceptance of Caleb’s offer. He sighs and gently rewraps it back in its tissue paper. Tucks it carefully back in its place before standing. He does a quick spin of his room. Searching. Gods, he has nothing, absolutely nothing, that would be good enough to give to Caleb.
He comes to a halt, heels thumping sharply against the wood. He’s taking this too literally. The nest had been misshapen when Caleb began shifting things about; an obvious gift would be something to better reinforce the walls again. Generic clothes won’t do. Fjord rubs a hand over his face before he spies his cloak, tossed over the back of his chair. Quilted, thick; heavy. His best shot.
Gathering the cloak, he hurries back down the stairs, wings trailing behind. Faint light fades through the windows from their sun tree, painting everything in soft shadows and twilight grey, and catching on the shimmering pattern of his wings. Fjord pauses before Caleb’s door again. Raps his knuckles, light, against the wood.
This time, Caleb answers the door himself, and Fjord’s wings lift automatically in an immediate and embarrassing bid to bundle Caleb up. Fjord’s given up on corralling them. Caleb’s just as soft away from his nest, the sleeve of his oversized cardigan falling back against a thin wrist as Caleb catches the doorframe in surprise.
“You came back,” Caleb whispers.
“Ah, yes, apologies for the sudden retreat,” Fjord says. His cloak weighs heavy in his arms. “I wanted to offer something to add to your nest, for inviting me to join you in it.”
Caleb blinks, lips parting. “There is no need -”
“I only have my cloak to offer,” Fjord cuts him off. Clears his throat and continues, “if you deem it acceptable, of course.”
Thrusting the cloak toward Caleb, Fjord waits. He’s not entirely sure what occurs if the other party denies the offer, but he’s nervous enough without that added possibility. Caleb’s eyes flick up to meet Fjord’s again as he reaches for the cloak, fingers folding into the fabric, a tiny moue of delight leaving him. He bundles the fabric closer. Holds Fjord’s gaze before a crooked smile brightens his face and his wings flare, shimmering red orange and delighted flames, and Caleb leaves the door open in invitation to Fjord.
Closing the door behind him, Fjord trails after Caleb, pausing once more at the edge of the nest as Caleb shifts and moves things about. The cloak remains clutched to his chest. Frumpkin purrs lazily from his throw pillow throne, tail flick flicking as his green gaze blinks contentedly at Fjord. More of the nest is shoved about, books and scarves and pillows rearranged to make space for two bodies instead of one. Fjord flushes at the thought. Caleb sits back on his heels, surveying his progress. Seemingly satisfied, he turns to Fjord.
“Where would you like to place it?” Caleb asks.
Swallowing hard, Fjord surveys the newly arranged nest. “I don’t want it to intrude on what you’ve already created.”
“Perhaps then,” Caleb begins, and crawls forward until he’s settled back in his original spot. His wings trickle fire out behind him. He bundles Fjord’s cape carefully over his lap, rearranging and tugging until it comfortably spreads over his thighs and bunches at his waist, pools of burgundy and red fabric disappearing back beneath the fold of Caleb’s wings. “If you are not against it, would this be alright?”
“Yes,” Fjord rasps, rumbles, disbelief warring with need until he’s dizzy with it. “Yes, it is yours to do with what you will.” He backpedals, realizing just how disgustingly smitten he sounds. “Unless I require it for travel. Or anything else having to do with wearing it away from your nest. But you are welcome to have it - ask for it, otherwise.”
Caleb smiles, pleased and small. He tugs up a corner of the cloak and his wings shift aside as he catches Fjord’s gaze. “Unfortunately, the nest is still quite small. I am afraid we may have to squish.”
“Just like the dome,” Fjord says, toeing the unbroken silver thread. “Will I set this off?”
Caleb blinks. Leans over the side of the nest. A huff of laughter escapes him as he plucks the thread up and neatly breaks it. “Not anymore. Come.”
A shiver slips down Fjord’s spine at that, and he drops to his knees to better situate himself in the nest. At first, he considers sitting across from Caleb, but the edges of the nest negate that option. Caleb fidgets with the edge of Fjord’s cloak, still flipped up, an obvious invitation. Fjord lifts his wings up high and settles down beside Caleb, thigh to thigh, Caleb’s shoulder brushing Fjord’s bicep. His wings settle back, settle over, Caleb’s own, and Fjord catches Caleb’s shaky exhale as he relaxes against Fjord’s side.
“Here, here,” Caleb says quietly, tugging the cloak up and over Fjord’s lap. His wings bump high against Fjord’s and Fjord automatically presses them back down, instinctively requesting submission, and Caleb freezes. His gaze flicks up to Fjord as a small noise leaves his throat. His wings relax back and the distinct slide of Caleb’s feathers through Fjord’s own blooms heat low in Fjord’s stomach.
Caleb clears his throat, fingers trembling as he finishes spreading the cloak over Fjord’s lap. “I was reading a fascinating tome on the history of sea shanties. Would you be interested in that?”
“Sea shanties,” Fjord says, faintly. His wings press firm against Caleb’s own. He’s hyper aware now of how Caleb arches into the touch, how his wings tremble beneath Fjord’s own before submitting, the heat from his magic coiling delicious over Fjord’s feathers. Every instinct within him begs. “Sure; maybe I can add my own two cents.”
Caleb’s smile grows. He shuffles about on his side of the nest, plucking through the numerous tomes until he selects a thick book with blue tinged pages, different from the one he’d been reading when Fjord had first arrived. Fjord doesn’t draw attention to that. Frumpkin stretches up from his perch, back arching as he yawns, and he hops back into Caleb’s lap, settling down with a contented purr.
Clearing his throat, Caleb glances at Fjord out of the corner of his eye before opening the tome to a random page, spreading his fingers reverently over the paper. Clears his throat again. Quietly, evenly, he begins to read.
Oh, that’s wonderful. Fjord relaxes, catching his hands behind him as he leans slightly back. Caleb’s voice washes over him; history’s never been Fjord’s forte, but he’d gladly listen to Caleb lecture for hours on end. His wings pet over Caleb’s own, over and over, easy, smooth slides of his primaries against the flutter of Caleb’s. Delightfully, Caleb’s voice rasps and rings deeper whenever Fjord manages to slip his feathers between Caleb’s.
Mesmerized by the peek of flame tipped feathers against the moving pattern of Fjord’s own wings, Fjord’s eyelids droop. There’s a faint shine along Caleb’s wings, near the fluffed and downy feathers Fjord had scraped his claws through back in Rexxentrum. Fjord’s lips part just slightly. Inhales through his mouth. Their mingled scent lingers on Fjord’s senses and beneath it, barely noticeable, is something spicier.
A faint rumble begins in Fjord’s chest and he does nothing to stop it. Caleb pauses for a moment, head tilting slightly to the side. Fjord tucks a smile away. “Thank you, Caleb.”
Confused, Caleb turns to him. His wings push further up into Fjord’s, seeking nearly, and Fjord presses them back down with a rumble. A flush works across Caleb’s face. “Whatever for?”
“For offering your space,” Fjord grins when Caleb ducks his head, “and for reading to me. You have a lovely voice.”
“I - well,” Caleb starts, flustered, and Fjord chuckles. Caleb fiddles with the edge of a page, back and forth, his wings brightening beneath Fjord’s. “Shall I continue?”
“Please.”
Rolling his shoulders back, Caleb begins again, each word lovingly wrapped in his accent. Fjord hums contentedly, settling back firmer on his hands. Closes his eyes. Loses himself in the quiet cadence of Caleb’s voice and the delicate and welcome warmth of his wings beneath Fjord’s.