eats my own timeline & frantically snatches this
Why was Alarian so far from Bracken Sanctuary again? Wasn't he supposed to be apprehending a dog & talking about bears today? Apparently not. The Governor had no real reason to be this far out, but he was, and realistic timelines be damned.
Regrets regarding his life decisions hung heavy around him; particularly the one to leave his warm, safe home for this. The land was best describe as swampy. Dimly lit, wet and slimy with mud— gross! Vaguely he recalled being here before, briefly. It had been during the journey with Lennon— with their small group of friends. He tried not to think about that, now.
The task proved easier than he had realized when the breeze brought with it a familiar scent. Alarian would never be caught forgetting the scent and sight of a beautiful stranger; heart skipping a little, he trailed it. The dark figure came into view shortly, lying prone as he had been for most of their last meeting. He stilled, then chuffed, tail swishing a little nervously. Was he hurt again? Maybe this time he'd come home with him; a little weirdly, Ali thought he'd take much better care of the beautiful man than whatever pack he was in now. If he was even in it still— this was quite far from where they had last met, now that he thought about it.
The male's gaze found him quickly; his heart fluttered rapidly against the cage of his chest and his stomach tightened. He shifted, taking some weight off his bad leg, and tried to ignore the hot flush spreading through his ears. Finely crafted as the stranger's features were, they revealed nothing. Alarian was more nervous for it. He remained rooted nonetheless, hopeful and waiting.
Surprise flitted across his face at the dark-furred male's gesture. The expression morphed quickly into something softer, though the undertone of nervousness remained. Alarian moved slowly, hesitantly, to lay as near to the male as he thought he would be allowed. He laid his head on his paws and simply studied him. Some part of him wanted to say something— but a larger part of him rejected the idea entirely. To speak would be to highlight his own inadequacy— he knew he was not interesting. He knew there was no part of him worth knowing; he didn't want this perfect stranger to know that.
If he could not be special to anyone, he would not try. He would be nothing to those around him of his own accord, thank you very much; at least that way, he could sometimes pretend the disinterest was misplaced. So he watched the male, and he admired him, but he could not bring himself to speak. It seemed pointless.
He swallowed hard as the other studied him, but could hardly lower his own gaze. The boy's tail swished rapidly, shallowly; his nerves were getting the better of him, and he knew he would say something stupid any moment. It was in his nature to destroy any hope of the interaction passing without awkwardness. Truth be told, he had been impressed with himself the first time. But the male had been wounded, delirious then— now he stared with a clarity that made Alarian want to sink into the ground.
The words spoken startled him, though he masked it well. With the barest hints of a wry smile, he answered softly: I never told you,
and was silent for several beats longer. The male's accent had sent another few skips through his chest— why was everything about him so... ugh! Alarian,
He offered when he could speak without his voice trembling, pausing another moment. Yours?
Another stretch of his own silence followed; whether the male offered his own name or not, Alarian found himself unable to quell the flare of agitation. It was a strange feeling— rooted in attraction, taking on the form of a deep anxiety he could not suppress. The emotion simply refused to abate on its own. He needed to do something about it—
And before he had a single further thought, words slipped from him, breathy and barely audible: You're... very pretty,
Oh god, did he really just say that? He really just said that. Ears slicking to his head, he continued with no small amount of mortification (though his voice raised only barely), I— I mean, um... that was weird, I'm sorry.
Alarian felt almost suffocated in the silence that followed, but he waited. The motion of his tail had slowed, but slowly his ears rose from where they had been pinned to his skull. He suffered no immediate wrath, and was grateful for it. The Governor had never been able to think clearly in the presence of a gorgeous male. It had gotten him into too many sticky situations.
When the dark-furred male finally spoke, relief shot through him. Mahler,
He repeated softly, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His gaze drifted over the leg he had treated, and he flushed, remembering the proximity that had required. How had he survived that? Surely he wouldn't be able to again. I'm glad to hear it.
This is far from where we last met— you smelled of pack, then.
Alarian did not try to hide the curious gaze he cast over Mahler, now. Something dawned on him— the male Lily had brought had smelled faintly of pack, too; oddly familiar, he had thought. The pieces clicked in the next moment.
You were driven out by the bear,
It wasn't a question. He paused, gaze drifting the direction of the coast. One of your former packmates is staying with my pack, now. He was found by one of my own.
He glanced back to Mahler. Were there other survivors?
He could take a hint well enough. Though he wondered if Mahler's indifference towards his former pack had anything to do with his wounds, he would not pry further. In the absence of any real information, his gaze wandered for a moment; realizing he was staring far too boldly again, he averted his gaze a beat later. Then, a question— he paused, heart skipping. Did he need a new home? And what was that Mahler had called him— was it derogatory, or was it an endearment? He could not know.
Alarian took a moment to gather his wits again before he answered. His mind was scrambled; addled as he was by recent events, he was surprised he hadn't worked himself into a panic yet. Okay, okay— tell him of his... land? The pack, or the territory— or? Hell. Northeast of here; a place called Broken Boulder. We're the Bracken Sanctuary— a um... well, a sanctuary. We take in anyone who needs us,
He decided not to mention his own rank, for now, continuing to speak mostly out of anxiety. We're right next to the Bracken Woods, so— Bracken, y'know. Broken Sanctuary doesn't sound great.
Ah, shit, he was rambling. Worse than that, he was rambling like an idiot.
Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere other than right there. His chest tightened, eyes trained on the ground between his paws. He wanted to say something— 'sorry I'm an idiot, please don't hate me', maybe— but his throat felt constricted. This was by far the most stressful interaction of his week, he thought.
When Mahler rose, his heart dropped; was he tired of him now? Not that he could blame him— Alarian knew it was kind of a real turn off when he stammered and rambled. But he was quick to note that the dark male paused, lingered, and took it as his cue to do the same. Wherever the beautiful man led, Alarian was content to follow.
The question gave him some pause. Sometimes it's obvious, and sometimes they come to us,
He expected it wasn't a very satisfying answer, but he had little better to offer. I don't turn anyone away unless they disrespect the rules.
Alarian realized the slip a second too late; he wasn't sure why the idea of being known as a leader gave him anxiety, but it did, and he hoped Mahler had not noticed.
Again he wondered if Mahler needed such a place. We are— not full, yet.
That was possibly the most awkward way to word it, ever. He glanced at the lilac-eyed man, hoping for some clue but expecting none.
wrapping up here; thank you for the thread <3 I'd love another sometime
He couldn't stop the swell of disappointment in his chest, but he nodded. I understand,
Alarian murmured quietly, gaze trailing after the dark male's. When their eyes met, his cheeks flushed hot, but he managed not to look away. Another nod; a hunt sounded good right now.
And hunting was one of the few things he was good at, even with his leg as it was. Slowly the hunt quieted his nerves, and he parted from Mahler feeling only a little disappointed. He knew nothing would ever be there— between them— but he could not help but wish it so anyway. Not love— not love, no; Alarian only wanted him— wanted to possess Mahler in some way, whatever way he might allow (none, Alarian knew).
It was a disturbing thought; more so with the realization that he could not control it.