The Horror and the Wild

XVIII. Ravens Land

January 23, Saturday

Owen woke up to the sun hot on his face— streaming in through the windows. He dimly thought that he must've forgotten to close the curtains before he fell asleep. Fumbling around awkwardly, he slowly became aware of the fact that he was decidedly not in his own bed. This one was all black and red instead of soft blues, and far more plush.

Further inspection led him to the discovery that he was not alone. Cillian was curled up with his back pressed to Owen's ribs and his head resting on Owen's bicep. Soft breaths tickled his arm, and the limb was very quickly going numb from the pressure on it. Carefully, he extricated himself gently enough that he wouldn't wake the smaller man. As he sat up, he noticed something about Cillian that he hadn't, the night before.

There was a birthmark on his left shoulder in the shape of a crescent moon. It was subtle, and he understood how he'd overlooked it in the combination of dim lighting and stress.

Once again forgetting the concepts of boundaries or personal space, as he often did where Cillian was concerned, Owen reached out and traced the shape of it with his finger. Cillian stirred as if Owen had just woken him from a spell. He whined at the sunlight on his face and rolled over, nuzzling into Owen's chest. Owen felt his face get very hot, even though there was thankfully a thin shirt between his skin and Cillian's.

"What do you want for breakfast, Cillian?"

Cillian huffed, his breath hot on Owen's torso. "Order waffles. My wallet is on the table. Over by the cigarette case."

"I can't get up to do that with you half on top of me," Owen muttered.

With a snap of Cillian's fingers, the leather wallet manifested in Owen's hand. It was cool to the touch and the surface was smooth from years of use. His brain short-circuited for a moment— trying to fill in the blanks between the instant that the wallet hadn't been there and the instant that it appeared.

"That's insane. That doesn't make any sense, no matter what physics you try to apply."

"Wormhole," Cillian murmured, nestling closer to him. "Fuckin' nerd."

Any response that Owen might've had was lost as he tried as hard as he could not to physically react to the feeling of the druid shuffling against him. The slide of Cillian's bare thigh against his was very nearly enough to undo all of his composure.

"Stop moving."

It came out like much more of a whine than Owen had intended it to, and Cillian giggled. But, mercifully, he stilled.

Owen ran tentative fingers through the smaller man's thick black curls, and Cillian responded with a pleased hum. "Do I have to wait until after breakfast for you to talk to me?"

"Depends on what you want me tae talk about."

"Shall I list my questions chronologically or alphabetically?"