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“It’s going to be painful, isn’t it?” Bran asked, voice warbling slightly.
“I’ve lived a long life and I’m Gheyo for a reason,” Brishen said quietly. “And one doesn’t obtain my status without a significant amount of pain.” He trilled lightly. “You don’t have to do this now, or with me at all. The last thing I want to do is cause you pain that you won’t be able to stand.”
“Because we’re part of the same Circle?” Bran asked, eyes flashing with determination and holding out a hand to the other man.
“Because you’re so young,” Brishen corrected softly, bringing forth his wings so they curled around the smaller figure without touching. “Contrary to common belief, I’m not that much of a bastard.”
Bran let out a small laugh. “I’m ready,” he insisted a moment later, still holding out his hand.
Brishen’s lips pursued but he didn’t try to rebut the declaration. Instead, he used his wings to nudge the young dragel to take a few steps closer. “So formal,” he murmured, embracing the other. A hand reached up to cup the back of Bran’s neck, guiding his head to rest against Brishen.
Almost immediately, Bran stiffened at the touch but he didn’t attempt to draw away. Instead, he clung to Brishen tighter, even as a few whimpers slipped out.
The Gheyo knew exactly when the pain was too much, Bran’s form going limp in his arms. He shifted the dragel in his arms, but he didn’t break the embrace. Maintaining the embrace and skin-to-skin contact would allow more time to process everything. Already, Brishen was glad that he had modified the ritual to take that into account. He settled on the ground in the center of the runic circle, adjusting his embrace of Bran yet again to better accommodate for both of their comfort.
It was going to be a long night.