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He can’t be the only person who’s thought about it.
Ever since they landed in the new world and were given their life links, their soulmate bonds, Grian has been slowly but surely discovering the joys (big air-quotes, “joys”) of being tied to none other than Mr Goodtimes by the red string of fate that must think it’s just so funny for that. It was a busy first day - unexplained sudden blunt force trauma, from what he’d later find out was the dull end of Joel’s axe; a very unfortunate realisation in the valley, while Scar, the soulmate in question, was much too busy chasing down his fairy to process Grian’s observation; following his disastrous partner across the map, and getting cuts and scrapes and bruises every step of the way; and finally letting the cat out of the bag, once Scar could bring himself to drag his eyes away from his cats for half a second and just look at him, please, Scar, this is serious.
Twin bruises blossomed across their foreheads like the smile that bloomed on Grian’s lips, and Scar’s expression still had Grian laughing an hour later, as the sun finally set over their spiky little home.
But that was yesterday, and this is now. And Grian’s starting to think about the implications of sharing their sensations.
See, he knows he can’t be the only one who’s thought about it. He’s sure that other members of their little game will have wondered how far the soulbond can take them, whether they were thinking of it purely in terms of winning the game - could you hold somebody hostage by hurting their soulmate until they cracked? - or more along the same lines that Grian’s considering it right now.
The difference, he reckons, is that nobody else on the server has bonded with someone they’ve ever actually… been with before.
Some are bonded with their friends - Impulse and Bdubs were quick to get married on the spot when they figured out their link; BigB and Ren know each other pretty well; he’s pretty sure that Scott got Pearl, and they spent the entire game together last time. But Grian and Scar are kind of a special case here, because they’ve been in and out of a relationship with each other since some time around Hermitcraft Seven, and it all seems to come to a head when they’re out here fighting for lives. That first game, out in the heat of the desert, self-made villains with no company but one another most nights…
Well, it was a good game.
And now they’re linked by feelings. The pain your soulmate is dealt will be equally inflicted on to you, or so the premise goes. That’s simple enough.
He thinks about it now, though, because they’re both getting ready for the morning on their different sides of the base, and Scar calls over the house, “Are you gonna need your wings preened?”
“If you like,” he replies absently, “I did sort them out before we left.”
“Alright. I just… I keep getting a little feeling. Wanna make sure you’re in tip-top condition. Maybe your little bird-brain’s rubbing off on me.”
And then it clicks -
pain might not be the only thing they’re linked to share.
“Oh,” he says, an order of magnitude quieter, “right.”
“What? Is that weird?”
“I just think it might be - another soulmate thing.”
“Hmm. That’d make sense. Does that mean you’re gonna get my instincts too?”
“What special instincts do you have?”
“Loving and appreciating Jellie,” Scar replies, as though it’s the most obvious solution he can think of.
“I do appreciate Jellie.”
“See? You did get something from me!”
Grian sighs and heads towards the windowsill, planting his hands and leaning out into the open morning sky. He’s processing the implications faster than Scar can even realise they exist - not an uncommon occurrence (which is no slight to Scar, it’s just how things tend to shake out), but in this situation definitely a promising one. He’s imagining the kind of things that he could do to Scar without even touching him. The kinds of things that they could do to one another.
Wait - does it double up?
Could those things be intensified by… mutual input?
“So do you mind if I give you a once-over?” Scar asks, at his shoulder now, apparently having made it across the room while Grian was lost in that particular reverie of speculation. He nods. “Wait, you do mind?”
“No - no, I meant - go ahead.”
“Maybe we should sit down,” but the only place to sit down in here is the bed, because they built this place yesterday, and -
Fuck it. “Yeah. Sure.”
That’s how Grian ends up perched on the end of his bed with Scar sitting cross-legged behind him, entirely out of view because his wings (brown this time, well-matched with his hair, something like a kestrel’s if he had to make a guess) are blocking his periphery at this angle. He always feels a little vulnerable like this, to be all spread out and nowhere to go - but there’s nobody he trusts more than Scar at this point to take care of him in this situation.
(And hey - what Scar doesn’t know about how much disarray Grian’s wings can live with before it impedes his flying ability, or how easily he could preen himself if he wanted to, will not hurt him.)
“Let me see, let me see,” murmurs Scar, an artiste surveying his blank canvas, “how can I help you today?”
“There’s -” he flicks his right wing gently and fluffs out the stretch near the base “- there’s a couple down here that are a little bit out of line. You could start there.”
So the next thing he feels is Scar’s fingers, gentle and elven-slender as ever, make contact with the spot where his feathers meet his skin and start smoothing them out. It’s a familiar pleasantness, one that he’s generally gotten used to minimising his reaction to over the years, because depending on the flock-bond these kinds of actions will carry different meanings, and even when he’s hit with the deliciously satisfying zing of the wayward feathers sliding into place, he doesn’t give any more reaction than he usually -
Scar moans.
It startles them both, Grian thinks: he feels Scar’s hand jump away from his body, but while his own pulse wants to settle, Scar’s shock is keeping it elevated for the pair of them. He turns his head and tries to make eye contact with his soulmate past the wing, which is still outstretched, because his body’s not interested in quitting now, not when they’re only just getting started. “Are you alright?”
“Oh, my god,” Scar says, instead of a response.
“What is it?”
“Grian,” and he worries for a second that he’s going to get told off, “is that - does it always feel like that?”
“I mean, I guess? I suspected you might not have realised you were going to feel it too, but I was thinking about it before, and -”
“Oh my god,” he repeats, “that’s - I had no idea.”
“That we were sharing more than just injuries?”
“No! Well, that too, but -” he leans over, plants his head on Grian’s shoulder, and drops to a whisper “- but that was crazy good.”
“Well, yeah. It’s nice getting preened. It’s like a massage.”
“It’s more than that,” Scar admonishes, “you mean you’ve been holdin’ out on me about that all this time? I’ve been doing your wings for years!”
“Yeah, and didn’t you ever wonder why every time we finished, I’d be way more in the mood for…?”
“I cannot believe,” he’s grinning, “that you didn’t tell me about this. I could’ve been turning you on whenever I wanted, and you just let me think it was a coincidence!”
“Well, we were usually in the bed already,” Grian defends. “It was more ergonomic.”
“Ergo-” Scar sighs and shakes his head, leaning further into the crook of Grian’s neck. Now this is an instinct he recognises, and it’s not one that comes from the wings. “I am shocked. This is nothing less than a betrayal.”
“You don’t sound betrayed.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m still reeling from it!”
“And do you want to feel that again or not?”
Scar pauses. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”
“All I’m saying,” he can’t help but smirk, “is that it doesn’t exactly get any worse from there.”
Scar’s hands land gently on Grian’s sides and start to wander, spiderlike, up his back until he gets to the wingblades. Grian’s not that ticklish, but he still has to hold back a shiver as fingers trace across the base of the joint - it’s kind of like tracing a line up his thigh, or somewhere else that’s generally off-limits for other people to touch, in that its sensitivity is only heightened by the fact that Scar hasn’t done this to him before. “Oh,” Scar breathes again, “I didn’t realise it was gonna start here.”
“The body’s a magical thing. Especially when it’s, y’know, actually magic.”
“And, baby, we are three magical connections deep right now!”
“Each,” he amends.
“Each.” And then, as Scar keeps moving, bringing a hand slowly up the length of the wing’s underside until he hits the point where feathers start to sprout, “How do you just walk around with these all the time?”
“They’re not, like, erogenous zones. They’re just sensitive, if you treat them in the right way. Which would be this.”
“Like, uh, like with your lips! And how you can eat food no problem all the time, but if you’re making out with someone then it’s different?”
“Sure.” Fingers begin threading through feathers again, and this time it’s accompanied with a long, shuddering breath that lands hot against the back of Grian’s neck. Scar leans in again, like he can’t get close enough, and then seems to think of a better idea, judging by the fact that he moves back, reshuffles, and then when he returns it’s with his legs wrapped around either side of Grian’s waist. “Congratulations on inventing upright spooning.”
“I’m just,” and this comes punctuated with a few open-mouthed kisses to his hairline, because apparently Scar’s libido is a lot quicker up to bat than Grian’s when it comes to wing stimulation, “being efficient with my… how I take up space.” Another kiss. “God, it’s like I can feel it everywhere.”
“I guess the soulbond’s just not sure where to put it?”
And another. “Maybe.”
He goes quiet for a little while after that, and Grian takes the time to just appreciate how nice it is to have someone playing with his feathers like they can actually tell where the good spots are (which Scar can, under this particular spell). A skill that he’s picked up over the years and over the many, many nights they’ve spent together is that Grian can actually tell the difference between Scar’s normal kisses and his aroused kisses - something shifts in the texture of his affections, makes him feel at once more malleable, more pliable, easier to please. He has no doubt that sticking his tongue down Scar’s throat now would not only be five times as engaging, but that he’d welcome it, invite it, most likely.
Grian leans his head back instead, gives his soulmate easier access to the skin that he’s exploring, and that’s apparently all the permission Scar needs to take his free hand and snake it up the front of Grian’s chest, under the sweater. “Hello,” Grian says, a little startled but mostly appreciating the sensation of Scar feeling his way around blindly. “Looking for something?”
“Well, I was kind of hoping to find, I don’t know, a nipple or something, but your abs are nice too,” Scar murmurs into his neck.
So Grian reaches under his shirt himself and guides Scar over to his pec. Scar immediately finds a spot to make into ground zero with his palm and then swipes his thumb up firmly across Grian’s nipple, which is the first thing to make him gasp all morning.
“There you go.”
“What?”
“You’re catching up!”
Grian sighs and pulls his own hand back out, leaving Scar to play with what usually ends up being his favourite fidget toy of the day. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy.”
“Hey! I am undergoing - a learning experience right now, I’ll have you know. Lotta new sensations going on here.”
“And what have you learned so far, Scar?”
Scar presses a pensive kiss to Grian’s collar. “That you’re amazing?”
“Good enough.” He puts his weight behind him, pushing until it topples Scar over and they’re lying on the bed together. From this angle he can feel with much more definition exactly how excited Scar is about this development, specifically from the way said excitement is pressing into his back, titillatingly firm. Scar’s legs kick out, attempting to keep their balance and utterly failing, and eventually land again across Grian’s knees uncoordinatedly.
“Whoa! At least shout timber first,” Scar complains.
“Sorry.” His jumper has ridden up with the movement of Scar’s arm, and now his entire stomach is on display, which feels a little inefficient, so he sits up a little, pulls his wings in, and pairs it with the smooth movement of turning himself 180 so he’s face-down on top of Scar. Then he tugs the jumper up over his head and tosses it beside the bed.
“And you just got shirt in my mouth.”
“Sorry about that too.”
This is, coincidentally, the perfect angle at which to kiss Scar’s stomach. And to take the shirt off it as well. (Which is a little more fiddly, owing to the buttons, but not entirely difficult.) He pairs the two actions where he can, leaning in close to get each button undone, offering the spot he’s just exposed a gentle kiss on the last few joins of fabric that separate him from his lover’s body. He can feel it tickling on his own chest every time, which is an odd combination with the fact that he’s still pressed into Scar all the way down to where their legs entangle off the edge of the bed, but not an unwelcome one. “You’re lucky you’re so light, with those hollow bones,” Scar mutters, “or you’d be crushing my balls something fierce right now.”
“It’s fine, though, right?”
“This is
more
than okay. It’s just pressure. Trust me, if I was in pain, you’d know.”
“Because of the soulbond,” Grian nods.
“... No, because I’d be yelling.”
“Oh. Of course.”
He gets to the bottom of Scar’s buttons and then flings each edge of the fabric aside with a flourish; Scar clearly can’t help but to grin, his greatest assets now on show. (After the original nonsense with the muscle suit, he’d apparently developed a taste for having absolutely cracking tits, and proceeded to update his workout regimen accordingly. To be more specific, his workout regimen was updated from nonexistent to… well, existent. Grian certainly wasn’t complaining, though.) He looks beautiful like this - like some kind of… sexy park ranger or something. Jellie-panda detention specialist. Look, it’s hard to come up with good similes when you’re in the middle of an endless pleasure feedback loop, okay?
“Enjoying the view?” Scar says. He looks just a little dazed - Grian can feel it, too, the heady delirium he’s slipping into, with his legs still looped around Grian’s back and the weight of his own body that he can feel on himself even now.
“Something like that.”
“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, if you’d like to -” Grian takes hold of Scar’s arms and hoists himself up the bed, dragging his body across Scar’s until they’re roughly hip-to-hip “- ehhhhh- xplore, hello.”
“Hi.”
He grinds down decisively. Scar’s reaction is immediate - his hands shoot up and grab Grian by the back of the head, pulling him in for an open-mouthed and deeply impassioned kiss. So Grian pushes his hips down again, and again, and Scar ruts erratically back up at him through every movement, making just the prettiest little noises of desire that reverberate through the kiss and around Grian’s skull until he’s smiling into the press of Scar’s lips uncontrollably. “Ah - oh - oh my god, stop, stop.”
Grian pulls up - props his nose against Scar’s, rests their foreheads together. He’s just short enough that this angle gets him off of Scar’s crotch, for the most part. “What’s up?”
“I am - so close,” Scar pants. “Are you not close?”
“I told you. You’re easy.”
“You’re not?”
“I could do this all day,” he lies breezily. While Scar is definitely a lot more heavily affected than him by the same amount of sensation, it’d be wrong to say he’s holding all the cards here. (Just most of them.)
“It’s the wings,” Scar frowns, the classic poor craftsman blaming his tools, “you’ve got one up on me. Just ‘cause you’re used to having your wings played with.”
“Nobody’s played with them before, not like that. It’s always been strictly business.”
“Well, that is -” sweat-soaked palms slide around his back again until Scar’s fingers hit his wingblades and start outlining them with pleasantly sharp, overgrown nails “- oh, a sorely missed opportunity for all the other people with good taste in your life.”
“I didn’t actually have wings last time I had a partner. That was back in high school. And we didn’t do much in the way of intimacy, anyway.” The wings in question are straining a little, attempting to pop out and present themselves to their mate, but Grian’s not particularly interested in letting them get in the way of proceedings, so he’s keeping them pulled in to the best of his abilities. Wingboners can be embarrassing things, although this isn’t exactly the worst of circumstances to have one.
“Unlucky for them. Missing out on all this.”
Grian doesn’t respond to that - just shifts his head back down to kiss Scar again. It’s calmer now, more subdued. The moment’s rest has, clearly, taken Scar back down from the edge; hopefully that means he’ll be up for a proper round, instead of spending all his energy on the mindless dry-humping that he’d almost come from before.
He feels a little bad being the only one recieving any manual attention, so he slips a hand inbetween their chests and gives Scar’s nipple a few well-directed rolls between thumb and index finger. From the way his own immediately surge with pleasure and stiffen independently, not to mention the moan that Scar lets out, it’s clearly positively received.
“You make such good noises,” he murmurs into the space between their lips, barely big enough for breath.
And Scar does breathe, something awed and shallow, hitching in both of their throats. (In retrospect - of course Scar would have a thing for praise. He’s so dependent that it only makes sense.) “You like it?”
“I do.” The brightness that twists up his spine like lightning and makes his heart do a flip can only be Scar’s. “Sound so good for me. S’nice to know you’re enjoying yourself.”
Scar hums breathily, and Grian feels floaty for a second from the sheer second-hand satisfaction of it. Apparently, getting your kinks validated is the best way to turn your brain into a useless pile of cotton balls in a matter of seconds. “So much. So much.”
Which of course begs the question of what else Grian can do to make Scar vocalise his enjoyment - and an answer comes quickly enough. He moves his head down to Scar’s collarbone, kitten-licks a demarcation into the most easily accessible strip of skin, and then revels in the gasps that his mark-making is drawing from Scar’s mouth.
He’s still in his new position that leaves Scar’s dick completely unattended, but he feels the heat of his endlessly reawakening desire shoot through both of their bodies, and he’s almost disloged from his designated hickey spot once or twice as Scar’s hips buck uselessly into the air. “Please,” Scar entreats. Grian doubts that even Scar knows what he’s asking for.
“Mmm?” He doesn’t take his mouth off his target.
“I need - something. Friction. Can I -?”
“Mm-hmm,” Grian hums, although he’s not quite certain what he’s just agreed to.
The answer becomes quickly obvious. Scar’s hands leave the base of his wings: one comes back up to thread itself into his hair and make sure he can’t leave his post on Scar’s collar any time soon; the other wraps around Scar’s dick, which Grian can only tell because of the matching pressure that suddenly throbs in his own trousers.
Scar lets out an audible shudder of relief, and Grian laughs into the hickey.
“What,” Scar draws out.
“Nothing.” I love you so much.
(It goes unspoken, in these games, more often than not. The heat of the desert and the distance between them had been too heavy, too thick in the air to ever make such statements of commitment - not when I’d kill for you was so evident in the first and I’d give my life for you in the other. They don’t tend to say it on Hermitcraft, either; that stilted separation from their actions in what is ostensibly just a game keeps them from really getting close enough to admit it. Scar opts instead for compliments - that build’s really fantastic, I’m gonna have to play this minigame like eighty more times until I see all the different outcomes, that you’re amazing? Grian usually says nothing at all.)
He gets just enough time to shift a little to the left and leave two more love-bites down Scar's clavicle, all the while discovering the unique joys of receiving an indirect handjob, before Scar twitches and then pulls him back up by the hair fast enough to be a reflex. It hurts extremely nicely. “Uh - I was getting close, again. Didn’t wanna spoil the fun.”
“Okay,” he says, and is surprised by how out-of-breath he sounds. “How do you actually want to finish?”
“Well, for one thing, I wanna get these perfectly good shorts off before they get stained. It’s only day two - I’m not gonna walk around the map with dirty pants for however long it takes us to go red.”
“Oh, yeah,” actually, that’s a good point. Grian picks himself up from on top of Scar, and Scar sits himself up on the bed, letting Grian appreciate for the first time what a mess Scar’s become under his administrations. The hands that pull his shorts and then his underwear away from sweat-clinging skin are trembling ever so slightly - Grian can feel the blood that pumps through them just the same, and it’s moving at an impressive rate, just like their heartbeat which basically hasn’t dropped since Scar’s back hit the bed.
Scar takes his shirt off the rest of the way too, and his socks, and then he’s lying naked before Grian and he looks… completely gorgeous.
“You look completely fucked.”
“Well, hey,” Scar grins lopsidedly, “I was sorta hoping that could be next.”
“Not here, not all the way. Unless you somehow managed to bring a condom with you.”
“I did not,” he laments. “I guess that’s fair. Although we are gonna have to clean up afterward anyway - I’m not going out the house with all this all over me.”
“Aw,” says Grian.
“What?”
“Clearly I’ve not tried hard enough. Next time I’m gonna need to give you so many hickeys that you can’t leave the house at all.”
“A bold intent.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” he can’t help but smirk.
“So what do - would you be comfortable -?”
“Any other way you want me.” Admittedly, having now experienced Scar edging himself twice, he’s getting to the point where he really does just want the release of coming.
Scar seems to appreciate the sentiment, from the way he lets out a measured, heavy breath - it sounds absolutely full of all the ways he could (and probably does, actually) want Grian. His green eyes glitter dark with arousal. “Well… hmm. Seems to me like you’ve put your pretty mouth to good use on a lot of things today, but you missed one crucial spot.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. And if you don’t mind me being a little demanding for a second -”
“Go ahead.”
“- perfect. Why don’t you get down on your knees so I can fuck your face, Grian.”
His thoughts flatline for a second, because hot, and in that moment he feels it. Pomf - the whip of air rushing around his wings as they flare to full capacity.
Scar’s face creases in what might be amusement or confusion. No, definitely confusion, because he can sense it under the tidal wave of his own desire. “What am I looking at here?”
“Nothing. Just… bird brain.”
And then, with a growing smile, “Is this your body trying to tell me have my babies?”
“Essentially,” Grian runs a hand through his hair sheepishly, “I was trying to hold back on it, because they’re a bit cumbersome and all, but…”
“But I’m just so incredibly sexy that you couldn’t help yourself,” Scar finishes.
“Don’t get a big head about it. I’m pretty sure a strong breeze could’ve popped these things at this point.” Which is sort of a lie, but he’s gotta save face somehow, alright?
Scar slides his fist up and down his dick a couple of times, and Grian feels the heat of it pulsing all through him. “You look embarrassed.”
“Sort of.” Grian shifts from foot to foot.
“Don’t be. It’s cute - you’re cute. And… I kinda like knowing that you can’t control yourself around me.”
His wings, if it’s even possible, manage to splay themselves out further at that. “Just shut up and let me blow you,” he hisses.
“Oh, Grian, I thought you’d never ask,” says Scar, scooting himself closer to the edge of the bed. “C’mon.”
And so he does, in fact, kneel in front of Scar, once he can get his wings to calm down enough to not bang into any of the furniture they have pressed against the walls in here. Sex with Scar on green isn’t quite as charged as it had been back in the desert - he doesn’t think anything will ever compare to those red-hot midnight escapades, usually pinned to the wall by the man who held his life and liberty in his greyscaled hands - but the soulbond is putting in a hell of a lot of work to make it just as exciting and fresh and thought consuming as it ever is. He’s definitely having all his thoughts consumed, now, by the look on Scar’s face that’s equal parts hungry and anticipatory, and by the electric shock that it sends down his spine when he gets his own fingers wrapped around the base of Scar’s cock.
He approaches carefully - more small licks, just to get a feel for what he’s been so long without, just to get used to the process again - and then, when Scar lets out a little offended whine that he’s being so slow about it, whirls his tongue in a full circle round the head. It’s just enough to make both of them melt. If Scar thought the feeling of wing-preening was good from the other side, then he’s gotta try this on for size. It’s… really something.
From there he finds a rhythm, steady, measured, bobbing his head at a slight angle so he’s not shoving anything directly down his throat, because if both of them start gagging then it’s going to ruin the mood entirely. Scar gets back to making those beautiful little noises, too, hips straining and hands digging into the bed covers to keep himself upright. “Oh, god,” he babbles, “so good to me. So good.”
Grian hums affirmatively, and the vibration of it echoes all the way up their cores. It makes sense, he supposes - the same as Scar could tell where all the best spots to touch his wings were, Grian can somehow intuit exactly where to put his mouth, where to curl his tongue and dip his chin so Scar feels as good as possible right now. A hand finds purchase on the back of his head again, pressurised, desperate, and the nerves light up in every follicle that Scar’s tugging at. (That’s happened twice now. He hadn’t really thought he was into hair-pulling. Maybe it’s another one of Scar’s kinks that they now share. Grian wonders absently if those are going to be permanent - which wouldn’t be so bad, really, if he thinks about it.)
And then Scar starts moving him, and he really is getting his face fucked, just as he’d been promised. The roughness of it, the urgency, is neither unexpected nor unwelcome. Scar is all that he can feel and taste and hear and see - and when he looks up, he finds electric-sparking eye contact, and somehow in that moment it feels like the soulbond’s strings run deeper than ever -
The hand in his hair relaxes, as Scar grits out, “I’m gonna come, do you wanna -”
He pushes himself down independently. To quit now would be a coward’s decision, and Grian is anything but. Of course, he didn’t need to be told - he can feel the climax coming too, can sense the wave cresting in his gut, ready to wash away the giddy haze of arousal that’s been dampening their thoughts for however long now, turning his train of thought into little more than Scar, Scar, Scar -
oh -
Their hearts skip beats in tandem. It’s quite romantic, honestly. Perhaps it would be a prettier picture if they weren’t both soaked in sweat and shirtless, the proof of their orgasm currently dripping down the back of Grian’s throat - but it feels nice.
(He swallows. Obviously. He’s not rude.)
And, really, they should get cleaned up before they do anything else, but Scar pets feeble hands against the top of Grian’s kneeling form, and so he cannot help but clamber into bed beside his soulmate and just lie there, sort of soaking in the aftermath of… that.
“I missed that,” says Scar, as if he’s reading Grian’s mind.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s been way too long. You’ve been holdin’ out on me since last season.”
“We didn’t have time for this last season. We were a bit busy with the lunar apocalypse, if you recall.”
“Oh, right.” There’s a dreamy quality to Scar’s tone; maybe they shouldn’t have tired themselves out this early in the morning. They’ll fall behind on early game defense if they’re not careful. “But still! Remind me to come preen your wings more often.”
“They don’t actually need to be preened more than every couple of weeks,” Grian points out, a little cheekily.
“Then remind me to, I don’t know, sneak up on you while you’re building and give ‘em the old one-two?”
“If you touch my wings without me telling you that it’s okay they are going to whap you in the face. They’ve got a mind of their own, y’know.” At least, it can feel like it, the way his bird-brain reflexes can work full seconds ahead of his Player thoughts.
Scar hums discontentedly and motions at Grian until he rolls over into more of a spooning configuration. Predictably, he’s fidgeting with Grian’s nipple within moments. “Tell them it’s just me. They can trust me.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that, Scar,” he says, finding it somewhat impossible to keep the affection out of his voice.
“Okay,” he whines. “I mean it. After this game, we’ve gotta do this more often at home.”
“Maybe.”
“Yes, Scar. I’d love to, Scar. You’re so sexy, Scar.”
“We’ll see how we feel,” Grian acquiesces. “After this game.”
But in the meantime, they’ve hopefully got a few weeks to go until things start getting serious, and a lot of free time to fill before then. And, Grian supposes, he doesn’t mind the idea of doing this more often. At least while they’re here.
(He’s kind of
really
hoping they’ll have time to try out soulmate sex on red. He’s got a feeling it’ll be mindblowing.)