Chapter Text
“Gran.” calls the knight, and even though his tone is soft, it sends a chill down Gran’s spine, ice trickling down the veins of his arms as he lowers his sword and turns to where Siegfried was inspecting the dragon for impurities. “Come here.”
It must be the adrenaline, Gran thinks, stepping forward and going to Siegfried’s side, feet leaden and throat tightening. The ice doesn’t defrost from his veins even when Siegfried smiles at him, gesturing. They’re at the head of the beast, its head alone almost as large as Gran himself, eyes still open and clouded with death.
“Here…” the older man says, leaning down, hooking his fingers around the lower jaw of the dragon and heaving it, pushing and yanking until he’s managed to maneuver it so that the soft white underside of its neck is revealed, untouched by the blood that had sprayed from the deep wounds in its gut. “See this? Touch it.”
Gran hesitates, Siegfried notices.
The knight takes the captain’s hand into his own without regard, tugging him (yanking him) forward, bringing his fingers to the dragon’s neck. The spike of anxiety comes and goes before Gran can even process it, his fingers trailing over the soft, leathery skin of the dragon. “Why do dragons even have soft scales?” he finds himself asking, his fingers trailing down the dragon’s jaw, following the scales until they begin to shift into the harder plate that Gran knows all too well.
Siegfried laughs gently, reaching over and bringing Gran’s hand back to the softer scales, eyes narrow. “Who knows. I suppose even beasts need soft spots.” he says, his fingers lingering against Gran’s hand before reaching up to shift the dragon’s head again, his free hand tugging out a dagger from his belt. “But- it’s the best part of the dragon. Malleable. Thin. Good for gloves. I’ll make you some with this.”
Gran’s chest throbs for a moment before he steps back, swallowing. “You need this leather for yourself don’t you? You can keep-”
“You helped kill this dragon as much as I did, you know.” Siegfried interrupts, and Gran feels like he’s being scolded. “Here. I’ll show you how to skin it.”
Gran’s stomach twists.
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Gran’s hands tremble slightly as he brings the knife to the soft flesh attached to the hide, and he didn’t understand why; it wasn’t as if he didn’t kill monsters all the time, but Siegfried’s eyes on him make his ears buzz and he’s not sure what to do about it. He starts to scrape, using the edge of the blade to gently tug at the flesh and peeling it off the hide, his tongue sticking out a little as he tries to focus and ignore Siegfried’s hovering. He can’t ignore it for too long, however, when the man leans over him and brings his arms around, holding Gran’s hands in place. “Easy,” he says, his voice feeling far closer to Gran’s ear than it needed to be. “It’s a dragon skin, yes, but it’s still delicate. You’ll cut a hole through it if you keep this up. Here.”
And suddenly Gran’s hands are being guided, coarse and calloused fingers wrapping around his own and directing his knifework, scraping flesh from hide and carving out around the bone of the dragon’s jaw, much faster than Gran would have by himself.
It feels a torturous five minutes before Siegfried seems satisfied, gently releasing his grip from Gran’s fingers and bringing the knife with him, Gran not even realizing he’d let go to begin with. “See? It’s not as hard as it seems. Percival used to complain about skinning things, it’s nice to have someone who will listen to me about it, haha.” Siegfried hums, and somehow, that doesn’t make Gran feel any better. The anxiety that had been lingering ever since the kill was still buzzing through him, even as Siegfried turns his attention to the beast again.
Another stagnant few moments pass, Gran shuffling on his feet awkwardly as Siegfried handles butchering the rest of the dragon’s parts- the meat on the belly and sides were too far damaged in the battle, but the leanest parts, the legs and the neck, were still in tact. Siegfried gives Gran the duty of cleaning up one of the legs, handing him the knife that he’d used prior, now covered in more blood than Gran remembered. “Just cut around the bone and try to trim off the tendons. Don’t worry if you mess up a few times. There’s enough for both of us.”
He does his job, of course- he’s used to helping out with his crewmates during stakeouts and missions, but he didn’t appreciate Siegfried treating him like a child. Just because he wasn’t used to skinning dragons didn’t mean he had to be manhandled by the knight, and it certainly wasn’t helping him feel any more like the man’s captain rather than his ward. He lets out a small huff as he starts to grip at the revealed bone of the dragon’s leg, slicing along the grain and trying his best to clean it so they’ll be able to have a decent dinner tonight. He takes a moment to look over to Siegfried, who, of course, is already done with his leg, and possibly done with what looked like a ring of meat that he had taken from the dragon’s neck. Stupid talented Siegfried, Gran thinks, not even realizing that Siegfried had noticed him staring, giving Gran a small blood-soaked wave, causing the captain to jump slightly, heat creeping up his neck.
And, of course, that means Gran’s not paying attention when the knife slips in his hand, and the flash of pain that cuts across his finger makes him hiss. Siegfried is at his side in an instant, pulling his hand away from the meat and prying Gran’s hand open, checking. “It’s not bad,” the older man says, squeezing the cut slightly. Gran winces, his face contorting into a grimace as Siegfried wipes away the blood. “Sorry,” the man murmurs, and Gran watches as he leans in, too close, his lips wrapping around two of Gran’s fingers, tongue coming up to lick away the blood that he’d just drawn out.
The anxiety building in his skull feels like it’s begun to leak out of his ears.
Siegfried peers at Gran for a split second, fingers still in his mouth, before pulling them out, running a thumb over them and smoothing them. (Why ? Gran doesn’t. Can’t. Ask.) “Better?” Siegfried asks, and Gran can’t really give him a straight answer, murmuring a small ‘yeah’ as he brings his hand back down, averting his eyes, feeling the older man’s own still lingering on him, boring into him like a drill.
Siegfried hovers for a moment before he mumbles a small ‘alright,’ and moves back to his own pile of meat, the silence between them settling into something between ‘normal’ and ‘uncomfortable.’ Both of them work for another half an hour or so, before Siegfried makes a small noise, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. “This should be enough. We can pack the rest in salt and bring it back for Lowain after we get back.” Gran nods, his jaw still set, his hand still feeling a little numb, the anxiety that had been plaguing him beginning to secede.
Camp is something Gran is much better at setting up. Siegfried gathers up the meat while Gran gathers his flint and starter, quickly lighting a small blaze between the pair of them, Gran somehow feeling comforted with the new boundary, as superficial as it was.
Gran’s typing today was earth- synchronizing with Siegfried had been the priority, but it didn’t help keep him warm once the night came, a bitter chill surrounding them, barely staved off by the fire. “Do you want some more stew?” Siegfried asks, and Gran finds himself jerking his head up to look at him, not realizing how focused he’d been on the flames. He nods slightly, and Siegfried takes the bowl from his hands.
He doesn’t really mean to stare at Siegfried, but there’s something… eerie? Beautiful? Terrifying, maybe. About the way that the fire frames the man as he leans down to stir and scoop more of the stew from the pot, looking more like a shadow than a man. His chest throbs. He manages to avert his eyes before Siegfried turns back to him, bringing his bowl over and handing it out to Gran, who takes it before the man moves next to him, falling back ungracefully to the ground with a small groan, sitting next to him.
The silence continues.
Siegfried doesn’t eat- rather, he ate a few chunks of meat that Gran had a sneaking suspicion were on the stronger side of ‘raw,’ and instead sat down with him, watching the fire, and sometimes, watching Gran. Gran tries to pretend he isn’t, but even without looking at him, he knows Siegfried’s piercing gaze when he feels it, trying very hard not to return it, to get trapped in those eyes that felt unnatural for a human, amber making way to slit pupils, more akin to a dragon’s.
“Should I re-stoke the fire or are you going to sleep soon?” Siegfried asks, bringing Gran once more out of his thought induced stupor. The bowl in his hands is empty, and the fire in front of them was beginning to dim.
“Oh. Uh…” He thinks. He wasn’t really tired, but the air around them felt so stiff, he didn’t really want to stay up any longer to try to think of more conversation. “I’ll just… sleep in a bit, I think. You should too. Vane said you don’t sleep enough,” he chides- and he’s instantly silenced by the sound of Siegfried’s laugh, watching as the man runs a hand through his hair.
“Mmm. He’s not wrong.” Gran’s brows furrow- but he knows nothing he can say will get Siegfried to elaborate, so instead he stands, leaving his bowl next to the fire and dragging a small log atop of the flames; that’d be enough for the night, he thinks.
When he backs up, it’s into Siegfried, who of course managed to get to his feet without Gran noticing, one of his hands touching Gran’s shoulder gently. “We only have one blanket- you should take it. I’m used to the cold.” Gran’s face darkens, furrowing his brow- and before he knows he’s doing it, he’s convincing Siegfried that they can just, share, right?
Right?
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It wasn’t as if he hadn’t shared bedding with one of his crewmates before- hell, some of them were insistent on it, but.
But.
Siegfried’s turned, his back against Gran’s own, the fur blanket that Gran had packed barely covering them both, forcing Gran to scoot closer to the man, ensuring he managed to get as much blanket as possible. The fact that it was so bitingly cold just barely masked the heat that was creeping up Gran’s neck and spine every time Siegfried shifted even slightly, sending goosebumps up his arms, keeping himself curled up as much as possible. This was too much. The discomfort that he’d been feeling earlier was easily eclipsed by this, finding it impossible to doze, let alone get comfortable enough to try.
This sucked.
Gran isn’t sure how much time passes before he feels Siegfried roll over, not even noticing when his hair drapes itself over Gran’s head. “Siegfried-” Gran splutters, reaching up to brush the hair from his face-
And then he freezes, feeling Siegfried’s large, bearish hand come to rest against his hip, and Gran’s entire body feels like it’s been dunked in ice. “Mmmn. Sorry.” the man mumbles, obviously half asleep, squeezing Gran’s hip and letting his nose nestle up against the back of Gran’s head, letting out a sleepy exhale.
His breath against the back of Gran’s neck sends a full body shiver through the captain, and his mouth goes dry- just, wake him up, Gran. He doesn’t know what he’s doing- he doesn’t…
Siegfried’s fingers press against Gran’s hip again, and Gran’s body does something he doesn’t anticipate, instinctively pressing himself back against Siegfried, against his touch. Why? Why? Why. Why is this happening. His heart is throbbing, his chest is tight, and he feels small, for the first time in a long time, and Siegfried’s been nothing but kind to him but he’s terrifying, the feeling of his large hand against him, so easily able to snap him like he snapped the dragon’s bones-
It was… exciting.
Nausea creeps through him at the realization, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Siegfried-” he tries again, mumbling quietly, shifting enough that he can turn, see the man’s face, see-
See his eyes, glowing gold in the darkness, staring directly at Gran.
(His body does something he really doesn’t anticipate, now, his thighs pressing together slightly as he squirms. Not now. Why now? Astrals above.)
“Gran…” Siegfried murmurs, more of a growl than anything, and Gran feels frozen- a deer staring down its hunter, knowing there’s no escape as Siegfried’s hand slides over Gran’s hip, inching closer to the newly realized source of Gran’s discomfort.
There’s a touch- hesitation, between the both of them, Gran’s heart racing in his chest before he gives the smallest of nods, turning away, as if not looking at Siegfried would make this less real.
It doesn’t work.
Siegfried’s hand is so much larger than it felt on his hip, slipping down the front of Gran’s slacks and deftly palming up against him, the sensation of calloused fingers pressing against his erection making his mind feel like he just got slapped with paralysis. He forgets to breathe for a moment, only realizing when Siegfried gives his cock a tentative stroke- he inhales, sharp, unsure, but the man doesn’t stop. This is actually happening now, he thinks, vaguely registering Siegfried beginning to lean over him, his pace steady; he felt cramped, he felt pinned, and here he was, growing harder in Siegfried’s hand, because he felt trapped.
All his thoughts leave his head when he feels Siegfried’s thumb slip up and over the tip of his cock, pulling a small groan out of Gran, his toes curling- he doesn’t notice the small smirk that’s hidden behind Gran’s head, Siegfried’s nose still nestled up against the captain’s hair.
Siegfried was definitely better at this than Gran was- to be fair, Gran’s only experience was with himself; somehow, Siegfried knew every way to elicit a noise from Gran, squeezing and palming at his cock at intervals that Gran had never even thought of, easing up when Gran’s hips began to jerk, starved for more friction. “Siegfried-” he allows himself to groan, his hips arching up to meet Siegfried’s slow strokes, agonizingly slow, and he knows he’s doing it on purpose, letting out a small whine when his groan is met with a squeeze.
“Just relax,” Siegfried whispers into Gran’s hair, and the man is teasing him and Gran knows it, but the energy building inside of him is winning over his ego, his hips jerking and twitching with each stroke of his cock.
At some point, (Gran doesn’t know how time works anymore, he realizes,) Siegfried starts to actually work his cock. Rough strokes, in time with Gran’s instinctive hip pumps, it’s all Gran can do to not let out a wet cry when he cums, a sharp gasp working itself out of him, inhaling and exhaling in time with the pulses of orgasm that wash over him. He can feel Siegfried’s hand pressing against him still, and he’s pretty sure he got cum all over it, but his head is throbbing now, trying to bring himself back down to reality, to, to the reality that was Siegfried hovering over him with his hand wrapped around his softening dick.
After what felt like hours, Siegfried finally brings his hand up from Gran’s pants. “Better?” he asks quietly, a cruel tease of his earlier concerns over Gran, but before Gran can even get a word in edgewise, Siegfried licks a languid line up the side of his own hand, catching the cum that had been dripping down towards his arm. Something in Gran’s chest throbs again as he averts his eyes, leaning back over and stealing the majority of the blanket, wrapping himself up even though he felt less than clean now.
He doesn’t say anything when Siegfried presses himself up against Gran regardless of his lack of blanket, and he definitely doesn’t say anything when he feels Siegfried’s lips graze the back of his neck, just enough that Gran’s not sure if he dreamed it, falling asleep soon after.