crescentview | 🌲 winter catchall 🌲

[ Trahearne began to fret a little as he watched the days tick by and winter approach, knowing his window to repay the favor quickly closes. He wonders if Syrlya will think him ungrateful, or think he forgot. Even though it's out of his hands--he's not the one making it, after all, it's far out of his skill range--he knows he has no choice but to swallow his impatience and wait. Maybe it's not something he should fret over, but at the end of the day, he is a worrier. It will be done when it is done. And it happens to be ready when winter rolls around.

So it's a lovely, almost perfect coincidence when the feather procedures come to light at the same time.

Well, he thinks. Better late than never at all. And what better way to accomplish both--at the same time?

Trahearne arrives at Syrlya's farm with no prior warning. He has an opaque bag slung over his shoulder, and a small container in one hand. There's a flutter of nerves in the brief moment he stands frozen at the door. But he does knock. Eventually. ]

Edited 2023-03-03 15:01 (UTC)

[Of course Syrlya noticed when two of the squares on his card mysteriously changed. Was that the goddess' way of saying his intimate life wasn't satisfactory? Or was it meant to make things easier since he clearly failed to fill them after the first time?

He decides not to contemplate that too much. Instead, next time he and Trahearne are comparing bingos he notes that (as the one with far less done) Trahearne's room had a mirror that seemed like it would be appropriate for the task. Surely he wouldn't mind.

And that's how they're back here, Syrlya looking at the mirror as he removes his clothes.] I suppose we simply... need to have sex in front of it? I can't imagine how else a mirror would be involved.

Edited 2023-03-03 07:43 (UTC)

[ Syrlya thinks right. Trahearne doesn't mind at all!

When the other speaks, Trahearne looks up from tearing away his own leaves and into the mirror, catching Syrlya's eyes in the reflection. ]

No, neither can I. [ Off come the vines on his waist, the bark. If he doesn't have a compost bin specifically for his clothes at this point, he does now. ] I can't say I understand why it needs to be its own square, but...

[ Now bare, he glances over his shoulder at Syrlya to look at him in real life. ]

...I think we'll find out soon enough.

[With winter rolling in, they couldn't have acquired a greenhouse at a better time. Syrlya is just returning from planting seeds in there and uprooting the plants from fall that have been picked bare and won't survive the winter. So he's a bit messy as he rounds the house to see... Trahearne, standing at his doorstep.]

Oh, Trahearne! I hope you haven't been waiting long. [He flashes him a smile.] Let me let you in.

[ Trahearne hears the footsteps, readily recognizes them. But he doesn't look up until Syrlya calls his name, to which he offers a smile. ]

There you are. [ He steps aside, giving Syrlya space to do as he pleases with the door. ] Not at all. I hope I didn't come at a bad time.

No, I was just finishing some planting in our greenhouse. [He figures Trahearne won't care about the dirt on him, anyway. He holds the door open for Trahearne first, before following with wiping his soles on the mat.] Are you hungry? Thirsty? I know it's a long walk.

I suppose we will. [He rolls his tights off, depositing them on the bed with the rest of his clothes, and then stands to face the mirror. Idly, he can't help but look over himself in it... and peeking glances at Trahearne as his form flickers in and out of view.]

Well, we don't want to break it so on top isn't a good idea either.

[ Trahearne lights up a bit at the mention of a greenhouse. Oh! Syrlya and Otegine have been working hard. He's happy for them.

He enters the house first, briefly wiping his feet on the mat before turning to look at Syrlya. ]

I brought something to eat, so tea or the like will be fine. [ He holds up the container in his hand. It is opaque. ] You don't mind if we sit on the couch, do you?

[ With all his clothes deposited, Trahearne briefly stretches. His eyes quickly take in Syrlya's naked form before he goes to him. ]

No, we don't.

[ For a moment, he stands at his side, but quickly decides otherwise. He takes a step back, putting himself behind the other, and he wraps his arms around his waist, cradling him. He looks at both of them in the reflection, eyes unabashedly settling on parts of Syrlya normally covered. ]

But I think this will be just fine.

[ He tilts his head, planting a kiss on his ear. ]

You're beautiful.

Not at all. [He dusts himself off before closing the door, then heads right for the kitchen to get the kettle going.] You can get settled in there, I won't be long!

[That's like 90% of Syrlya's body.

He leans back into Trahearne as his arms snake around him. Syrlya's hand rests on one, before sliding down to Trahearne's thigh.] You're too kind.

[ Trahearne only smiles in response as he watches Syrlya go. He's doing a very good job at keeping his fluttering nerves in check, but--he'll be fine. They'll be fine.

So he heads to the living room, taking a spot to the side. He sets down the bag gently by his feet, and the container on the coffee table. After a moment of waiting, he begins to open the container--inside, there are three slices of apple pie, still warm. ]

[ A low chuckle rumbles in Trahearne's throat. As Syrlya's hand slides down his thigh, he shifts that forward, rubbing the inside of his leg against the outside of Syrlya's.

His head lowers further, placing a feather-light trail of kisses down his jaw and to his neck, taking in the texture of his skin on his lips as he does.

His eyes never leave Syrlya's reflection in the mirror. ]

[Syrlya circles around after about five miutes, carefully stacking plates and cups of tea in his hands.]

Oh, that smells good. Did Kaspar make it? [He carefully sets each cup down, then the plates.]

I did.

[ Trahearne beams proudly as he lifts the first slice onto a plate and slides it to Syrlya. ]

I learned from him, though. This one is for you. And I'll eat with you, of course.

[ And after he puts a second on a plate, he closes the container again and pushes the third away so he is not tempted. ]

The last is for Otegine.

Oh, thank you, he'll appreciate that. [Syrlya takes the first plate, holding it under his chin to catch crumbs as he carefully lifts the pie slice from the back to take a bite. Maybe he should have brought forks. Oh well.]

Mm--this is very good.

[ It's fine! They never needed forks.

Trahearne follows suit, lifting the plate to gingerly take bites of the pie... It's going to crumble everywhere, but. It's fine. ]

Thank you.

[ He tried hard! And that Syrlya thinks it's good, all is fine in his book.

After a moment, after debating as to whether or not he should take another bite, he places the plate down and looks at Syrlya. ]

I have something else for you, too.

[Syrlya tilts his head back to give Trahearne room, watching him out the side of his eye as he rubs an encouraging hand along his thigh.

His other hand wraps around to squeeze Trahearne's rear, and bracing himself as he pushes his weight back and slightly rubs back to front.]

Mmph? [Syrlya is in the middle of taking another large bite, but he looks at Trahearne with interest as he continues to eat. Well, go on.]

[ Trahearne returns the gaze, unable to help the little smile of amusement that crosses his face. That look, his cheeks stuffed with pie... He's adorable. It's hard to keep his hands to himself--

But no. Staying on task. He leans over to pick up the bag by his feet and place it on his lap. ]

I meant to give this to you in exchange for the ring, but...it was not finished in time. Though it's no longer a part of the task board, I thought I should still give it to you nonetheless.

[ He pulls the sides of the bag down to reveal a medium-sized wooden box, one that fits nicely on Trahearne's lap. The wood is clearly newly finished, and beneath the handsome silver latch--a key sits in the hole--inlaid with a slightly darker wood, is a familiar symbol. ]

Edited 2023-03-04 11:10 (UTC)

[ Trahearne hums as Syrlya rubs him, shifting his own weight forward to return the favor. His skin tingles in the contact, and he holds just a little tighter. With one last glance into the mirror--sometimes, he still can't believe he gets to see Syrlya like this--his eyes slip shut. His lips part as he breathes into Syrlya's neck, rolling his tongue over the waxy texture, teeth scraping at his skin.

One hand unhooks itself from the other to drift downward, fingers just barely skimming over Syrlya's stomach, his hip, his inner thigh. They dance ever so close to the base of his stem, but pull back; they move closer again, but pull back again. His fingers drop, hovering over the stem again, but they find homes on his inner thigh, where he traces patterns up, and down. ]

[Syrlya sets the plate with the rest of his pie aside as Trahearne fills his lap with the bag, and then pulls it open before Syrlya can even start to.]

Oh. [His expression lights up a little. That sure is the Pact symbol.] A keepsake box? It's very nice.

[Of course, he immediately starts to open the box and inspect it's interior.]

It is.

[ Trahearne lets Syrlya take the box, and there's a little flutter of nerves as he hears the latch come undone.

The inside of the lid is fitted with a mirror, constructed so that there is no risk of it ever falling off of its attachments. Right below it is a tray, of velvet. It is much too shallow to constitute the whole of the inside, and it is clearly removeable to reveal the rest of the box, but that isn't important right now.

What is, is that there is an envelope resting on the center partition of the tray, Syrlya written on the front in familiar handwriting.

Inside the envelope is a neatly-written note:

Long have I spent
watching blossoms fall,
the leaves and trees wither,
people come and go;
an endless haze of time
without you.
Far have I journeyed
into the depths of rot
across dazzling seas
through bramble and meadows
over forsaken ground
alone.
But through it all
I have always felt your light
seen your beacon
heard your call;
a constant in everything
that is everchanging;
and though seasons may pass
the sights may change,
I will always chase it back to you.

I love you.

Trahearne is a little embarrassed, so his eyes drift elsewhere, gold coloring his cheeks. ]

[Of course Syrlya notices the note with his name immediately, and of course the first thing he does is pick it up and unfold it. Initially he assumes Trahearne had initially meant to have it delivered for the task, as Syrlya did with most of his.

That assumption is quickly dashed as he gets through the second line. And he keeps reading, focused solely on the poem so much that even Trahearne next to him melts away. A blush gradually grows on his cheeks along the same swell of affection inside him.

He covers his mouth with one hand.] Oh, Trahearne, this is--it's lovely. You wrote this?

[Maybe he shouldn't be surprised the guy with a favorite poem also writes poetry. What more romantic pursuit is there for a scholar?]

[ It was meant to be a part of the task, but he wanted to save it, since he wanted it to come with the present. That doesn't really matter now, though, since that is, arguably, now the least important part of the present.

Trahearne's eyes find Syrlya again, the swell of affection only strengthening the gold on his own cheeks. A smile widens across his face; his shoulders raise, as though trying to keep the light fluttering in his chest in control. ]

I did. For you. [ ...That's silly. Of course it's for him. ]

I'm--I'm glad you like it.

🌲 winter catchall 🌲

💍 for syrlya

Mirror, Mirror (NSFW)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject