Work Text:
Blood ripped through Grian’s skin. It caked thick into fair, smooth skin, weaving into small cracks and imperfections in the flesh. Unforgivingly, it exploded onto a thick, red wool. It split his knuckles open, grass curling around a face left battered and unrecognizable.
Scar was already dead.
Fist connected with a bloody nose, liquid stilled but nonetheless dried onto its top lip. Above the corpse sat a man panting and ran completely through with anger.
Grian did not stop.
Cracks stopped echoing as loudly through the greenery as it began to wither and fade. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the man after his respawn.
The blows quickened.
There wasn’t a reason to kill. They weren’t stuck anymore. No grudges or alliances or betrayals were meant to linger out of the games. Grian was breaking the rules, just for today.
Grian wouldn’t forgive, just for this minute.
It was a mistake on Scar’s part to let Grian approach when he was so obviously provoked. It was a mistake on his own part to indulge himself in something he swore to have separated from long ago. Grian felt immeasurable guilt the second he met eyes with the elf. The second he knew he shouldn’t have come over.
There was nobody present in his mind to tell him to stop.
Deterioration worked its way up, and his next hit was much softer. Softer, meaning instead of bashing in a broken skull, it splashed blood and wet dew from the earth below into Grian’s face.
The pool of red underneath what used to be Scar’s presence disintegrated. A small, holographic panel displaying “GoodTimeWithScar’s Items” popped up.
The trees sung laments with the disappearance of the elf. Of their loss of connection to the living man. It was as if the poppies that sprouted between bunches of grass wilted at even a moment of a broken bond.
Forcing himself to sit, fist still buried in hard dirt, Grian let the breeze flow through. He let it run its hand amidst strands of curls and waves, winding around and betwixt skin and fabric.
Much to Grian’s dismay, he heard it, after no more than a few minutes. The sound of life; the noises of a man trying to be quiet as he made his way through shrubbery and leaves. As ungraceful as ever, he let himself be immediately known to ready ears with nothing better to do.
Gentle footsteps advanced and cautiously traveled through bushes and trees, no longer with the necessary equipment to fly. It must have been a pain, coming so far from Scar’s base just for this.
When they slowed behind him, it looked as if the world came to life around them again.
Making his way down with a grunt, soft breathing ghosted the back of Grian’s neck and hands settled on shoulders; forcing him to lay back against a broad chest.
His muscles stopped constricting so much, then, less eager to move. Warmth seeped into flesh and bone, sinking deep and setting itself alight to keep something distinctly cold from freezing.
Over the years, Grian found it was the only source of heat that actually worked.
Hands trailed down forearms and rested on his thighs, Scar moving to nuzzle his face against Grian’s neck. There was no ask for what he didn’t want, there was no craving for more than holding each other. Grian knew there never was—never would or needed to be.
Absently, he latched onto the fact that no longer was the elf wearing whites and greens, a set of bamboo crutches accompanying him at all times. Instead, large, bare arms wrapped around him.
Rather, Grian was given the privilege of a lovely zookeeper getup. A tan, green tinged button-up sat loosely over Scar’s frame. Much too short cargo shorts stretched as he maneuvered to trap Grian further with his legs.
Reaching far forward to press the panel and retrieve his items, it glitched out of existence with the signature scent of sulfur and berries. Grian could hear the distinct sound of the man behind him shuffling through his inventory menu.
Warm, a steady grip took ahold of his right hand. Carefully, cold and wet cloth wiped, coming back dark red. The bandages were tight where they wrapped around the knuckles. His left hand was taken gently next.
Grian thought, then—he didn’t want to forgive.
Certainly, he didn’t want to let go so easily. Even if, truly, their decisions in the games were fueled by disgusting creatures feigning gods. Even if Scar didn’t mean to. Something in his heart ached, yelling that setting unfair expectations on others was cruel when that wasn’t who they actually were.
That was who Grian was.
A soft kiss pressed itself to sandy, blonde hair. A calloused hand sunk into feathers, the other pushing the smaller man back further against Scar. There remained no words between the two of them.
Scar wasn’t like him. He didn’t beg for forgiveness. He didn’t need it to survive and feel secure. Because Scar was normal. The elf behind him was normal, and Grian was not.
It stung, a bit. Knowing he was so tainted. Knowing he was unloveable. Knowing. A little thing Grian found himself unable to escape, it was in his nature to see.
The idea somebody like Scar, so beautiful and talented, wanted to stick around was puzzling. It didn’t make sense. There was no plausible reason to. Whether it was to keep him near or care for him, it was clear—there was no reason to love him.
Adoration-filled words were whispered in Grian’s ear.
Craning his neck, revealing just the man he’d wanted to see—head rested gently on Grian’s shoulder as he looked on with admiration—some pressure relieved itself.
God, he loved Scar. The gentle smile and cute dimples in the corners of his upturned lips. Fluffy, brown hair that reached the top of a telltale claw mark of a phantom in between shoulder blades. Gorgeous, green eyes with magic flowing through them. Grian loved Scar.
Against everything, his soul fighting against binding words and voice clawing its way out of a sturdy grip and tightening throat, Grian spoke against Scar’s cheek.
Hands interlocked, a promise let out, “I’ll stay.”
Pressed to plume and feathers, the tiniest falter in the rise and fall of Scar’s chest could be felt. It seemed, even now, the caution he held was inevitable. Lovely kisses pressed to Grian’s jaw.
A small squeeze on his fingers, and the other’s free arm tightening its grip around his waist to keep Grian still, “Forever?”
Perhaps, he shouldn’t have sounded as breathless as he did when he replied to that small word. Maybe, just maybe, Grian should have expected the closeness and warmth Scar chased after, then. The relationship he’d never had with anybody prior.
No matter what, the concept of having him, getting used to that feeling of being together and in love and close…he found he wanted nothing more.
“Forever.”