The Bracken Woods it's better to burn than to fade away

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Just when he thinks he's starting to get over his shame, he spots @Delight and finds himself fleeing with fur fluffed, hopefully before the other can see him. He retreats to the woods, further from Broken Boulder than he might normally dare. His heart is racing.
At some point he stops running and realizes he has no idea where he is— and that's terrifying. He doesn't get lost. He sucks in a breath and holds it, focusing on calming his pulse and thoughts before anything else. It's more necessity than a rational decision on his part— if he doesn't calm down, he'll definitely have a break-down and do something stupid. The thought makes him laugh. Hysterically. Oh, fuck, he's really lost it now.

How odd for him to bump into the gold-kissed male both times on his excursions outside of the coastal lands. Laughter feels the air in an almost ominous way and his bulky form pushes through the foliage, not concerned with the way twigs snag at his fur. Alarian? He called out softly despite his deep voice. Outlander knew he had to be close but he felt so far. A familiar form just up ahead gave him hope though.

He thinks the last thing he wants is company right now, but Outlander's voice coming through the trees proves him wrong. Relief washes over him; he's too emotional to feel embarrassed at what he'd been caught doing. As soon as his gaze finds the other, he moves to close the distance between them. His pulse is still too fast.
Outlander, He breathes, pushing his nose into his neck fur without hesitation. If the touch is allowed, he's quick to press even closer, not letting himself think about why he wants this so bad— why he needs it. If he lets himself think about it, he'll realize it's a bad decision— and maybe what he needs right now is a bad decision.

He could never shy away from contact when it came to the scarred male. Outlander embraced him like an old friend - an old lover - might. His nose against the smaller male's neck easily spotted the racing pulse. The stocky male could have sworn that the governor's heart was beating fast enough to pop out of his chest.

Let me help. He coos softly as he preens at the rough fur between Alarian's shoulders. Outlande has never been so willing to offer help but there is something about the golden male that captivated him enough to always be ready to assist. However that may be.

Outlander says exactly what he wants to hear, and at this point he's too far gone to feel guilty. He needs this. He's made to destroy, it seems, and he'll always fall into this role not happily but eagerly all the same. This time he's not sure what he's ruining— his relationships with Delight, Outlander? Himself? That's long ruined.
Please, He murmurs, shivering with anticipation. This is the moment he reclaims his confidence, what little he'd possessed before— he swallows hard. Don't think about that. He reaches to preen gently at Outlander's throat, making no effort to hide his intentions.

Truth be told, Outlander did not expect Alarian to want him to help in this way but he does not shy away. His preening continued as he tried to soothe the rapid beating heart that was below the surface. His ears pressed back against his crown at the soft plea.

If his advances were allowed, Outlander would aim to drape a foreleg over the golden male's back. Not to pull him into the act just yet but to provide him comfort and safety. To assure him that he was not leaving him here alone.

He isn't thinking about Delight as he presses closer— he isn't thinking about anything but warm fur mingling with his own and teeth through his fur. A shiver races down his spine. This isn't awkward. He opens his mouth to ask for reassurance of exactly that, then pauses. Oh no. Maybe he is thinking about Delight.
Wait, He chokes out, frozen to the spot. Now he can hear his heartbeat, can feel it in his throat. The contact between them is suddenly suffocating. He swallows back a wave of nausea, instantly disgusted with himself all over again. I— I'm sorry, I can't— I shouldn't.
"Us is— us is good, I think." floats back to him, taunting, and he swallows again. He's slow to detach himself, eyes shining with rapidly-gathering tears; they do not spill. Fuck, I'm— I'm so sorry. It's all he can say; the rest of the words stick in his throat and fester there, and all he can think about now is Delight.

their knack for summoning each other by thought is growing to be a little alarming. not that delight knows alarian is thinking about him. in fact, it seems that alarian is doing the opposite of thinking about him.

he's slipped behind his governor as the other left the territory, feeling a vague prickle of irritation despite his current "avoiding the situation" thing. hadn't they just fought about this? and like he's on the same page vis-a-vis not talking at the moment, but to take off running as though he's poisonous is just. well. it hurts his feelings a little. it'd be easy to intercept him and scold him, but delight's too highly strung and ends up waffling, trailing behind him at a distance instead. he'll just.. keep an eye on things, make sure there's no other evil murderous brothers he doesn't know about. and later on yell at him. yeah, that seems fair.

(in retrospect, he'd almost prefer the spectre of another murderous sibling.)

delight doesn't know the strange man that approaches alarian, but it's clear he does. oh.

oh.

he's too far away to hear what's being said but does he really need to? the scene is clear enough from where he's standing. he should go, he needs to go before he's seen but his feet are rooted to the earth, frozen as he watches alarian pull away. any time now, delight, make yourself move before one of them sees you.

fuck.

His leg was barely on Alarian's back when the word broke the comfortable silence. His brows knitted tightly together with a mix of frustration and confusion. Only more confusion filled him at the male's words. They had enjoyed their first time together - both of them from what Outlander recalls - so what was wrong this time?

Yeah... He awkwardly says, almost feeling guilty himself. Had he pressured Alarian? It's fine. The stocky male shrugs as his peach gaze looks anywhere but the golden male. Do you, um, want me to walk you home or something? The words rolled off his tongue in an unusually bashful way.

He had never felt so confused and humiliated in his life. Little did he know that maybe his feelings were mutual with a stranger in the distance...

He swallows hard, guilt intensifying by the moment. Th-that's probably not... a good idea, He admits, sucking in a breath with ears pinned to his skull. His own shame and self-loathing are crushing in this moment; it's his fuck-up, he knows, but it hurts all the same. It hurts to hurt Outlander, to know in a way he has already betrayed Delight, but mostly it hurts to realize he's— this, now.
It's— I'm sorry, it's not you, The words won't stop coming. Outlander deserves to know, and he doesn't think he can stop himself anyway. I'm— I'm a fucking idiot. I'm supposed to be— well, I don't know, there's— someone, but I don't know what we are, but— we're something. He sucks in another shaking breath.
But it was a mess— it is a mess and I thought— I don't know, I thought maybe this would help— but that's not fair. To either of you. I'm— I'm so sorry, Now he wants to stop talking— now he really wants to stop talking, but he still can't, instead taking another step back as his rambling intensifies. I'm sorry. I'm a fuck-up. You would be better off just— just staying away from me. All I do is hurt people.

they do not see him and so he is made a witness, pulled closer as if by some unseen force, the tides maybe, the moon itself drawing him step by step until he can make out snatches of their words. sorry and someone and fuckup. a snort leaves him involuntarily, the quiet, scornful sound echoing oddly loud against his eardrums. there is still a way for him to leave before they notice him. he can go back to bracken sanctuary and rest easy in the knowledge that hey, alarian isn't a cheater (if there's even anything between them to "cheat" on). he's just... got a lot of men in his life. and who's delight to judge? he's still half hung up on the idealized vision of mato he carries on him like a locket from a long lost lover. and he's got queenie and the kids. 

still he can't help  but look at the other boy and think: have you seen him drenched in the blood of his brother, have you seen what he is capable of, did you look him in his ruined eyes and think even this is not enough to keep me from you?

there won't be a "go home and pretend he didn't see this." it's just not delight's style. with an apologetic cough, the epicene announces his presence -- no words, just a slow, uncertain look between the two of them, as if to say, well, what now?

The words didn't make him feel any better and if Alarian was looking for confirmation that his words fixed everything, he wasn't gonna find that here.

Stop talking.

His peach gaze seemed to harden as he finally looked at the golden male. Outander's next words came out as a firm whisper to the small governor. You don't fuckin' owe me an apology but I suggest - strongly suggest - that maybe you get your shit together with whoever-it-is instead of almost fucking others. Especially if you know it isn't fair to either of us. It was then he learned he was grateful they were only ever physical instead of emotional, even more so if this was a typical stunt for Alarian.

The burly male grits his teeth together, the sound of a cough bringing his attention to the background. A dark figure who seemed indistinguishable as male or female (hell he had had the same issue with Alarian before) appeared. Outlander could only pray this wasn't the one who was someone. I'm leaving. He announces firmly to the both of them. If this one is yours, His gaze looking over Alarian to the swarthy creature. I'm sorry.

With that he offered only a snort as a goodbye and turned away to head back to the coast.

He shuts up. Each word strips away a new layer of tender flesh; he feels exposed and ugly. Before he can react, the cough startles him— Delight is on his blind side, but he's not really used to having a blind side, so for a beat he freezes. Several thoughts run through his mind— did I imagine that, am I imagining Delight's scent, am I seriously that cra—
"If this one is yours," He realizes Outlander isn't addressing him; he's looking somewhere past him. He sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry."
The words are unexpectedly cutting. He still can't move, even as Outlander walks away; he doesn't watch. Instead he stares at the ground, because looking at the ground, he can't see Outlander or Delight or the forest he once loved that he's turned, bit by bit, into the setting of his most painful nightmares.
It feels like forever before he can turn to look at Delight, and even then, he can't meet his gaze. He stares at his... chest, sort of. No eyes there. Very easy. I'm sorry, He looks at the ground between Delight's paws now, and crumbles again, half-hoping and fully expecting he will be met with anger and barbed words a second time because he knows he deserves it, and maybe it will fix him, maybe if everyone hates him and he hates himself enough he'll finally stop being a fuck-up. I-I'm tired of fucking everything up, and I don't know why I can't just— He swallows hard. You deserve better.
It's the simple truth— and part of why he's been avoiding Delight. He's known this conversation was inevitable, or something like it; if there's a way to ruin something, Alarian will find it, and maybe it's best the silver-eyed boy realizes now that he will only find heartbreak here. Maybe next time he won't change his mind at the last minute. Maybe one day he'll finally fail to evade death.
Or maybe it will be less dramatic than that; maybe he will slowly chip away at Delight as he does with all the things he loves, maybe he will burrow under his skin and make his lover as hollow inside as he is, and he'll hate himself for it but he won't stop because that's what he does. He just hopes Delight won't let him.

whoever alarian's strange boy is, delight decides that, somehow, he likes him. or at least he is grateful for him in this moment, and it's not hard to confuse the two feelings. awkwardly as outlander starts to move away delight starts to say "it's," then stops, letting the sentence drop unfinished along with his face. he doesn't need to apologise to delight (alarian does) but the other man is already on his way out of the scene and delight's life.

leaving him with alarian alone. alarian who still won't look at him properly.

the umber-pitch boy takes his words quietly, considering them. this is strange new land for delight, who has had his share of complicated romances -- only usually he's the self destructive one. unfortunately for alarian, maybe, he's not angry right now. rather it's a strange sort of peace settling over him. he's already signed the terms of conditions, pal.

sighing, he picks himself up and moves closer, searching to hold alarian's good eye in his gaze. "you should be sorry," delight agrees, "and i should probably be angrier than i am. but, look. we need to talk about -- this. all of it. including your apparent need to self destruct, which, somehow, is way worse than mine."

he sits, settling with his tail curled around his toes, and gives him an expectant look. they aren't going anywhere just yet.

He's selfish enough to feel relieved when Delight doesn't immediately put an end to— whatever they are. Reluctantly he meets his gaze, confused and maybe a little scared— no, absolutely terrified by the words "we need to talk." He almost opens his mouth to say something like no, no we don't, not talking is fine, but it's not fine and as much as the idea of talking scares him, he's more willing to try that than just— lose Delight.
Okay, He says, sitting down a few beats after Delight does and trying his best to look— not like he's panicking. He's totally not panicking. It seems like maybe Delight expects him to say something— unfortunately for both of them, he's totally blanking. I— um... okay.

that alarian does not run away in a panic (or try to), delight will take as a good sign. baby steps. it's not as if he has any idea what to say either now that the dust has settled -- but alarian clearly wants him to take the lead, and words are supposed to be his skill. 

"so," the chancellor says, clearing his throat. "since we -- that night, have you been with.. anyone else? because i thought maybe we were going to... try having an us, but, since we've both obviously been avoiding each other, maybe that was the wrong assumption?" his expression turns slightly anxious as the question ends. what if he has misread the whole situation terribly? he doesn't think that's the case (you deserve better) and yet and yet his brain won't let the notion drop.

The question makes his ears pin to his skull again, but he can't really blame him. No, There's a lump in his throat, and he can't swallow it back. I— I know it seems... otherwise, but— I don't want anyone else. Not any more. I just thought— I wanted to feel— not-awkward. He regrets the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, but he can't take them back; it's true.
It was stupid. It is stupid, He shifts uncomfortably, watching the anxiety in Delight's expression and wishing he could undo the last half hour. Especially since— I do want, you know, us, if— if that's what you want. More than I've wanted anything in a long time. I just— He lets out a sharp, restless breath. I'm— a little scared, I guess.

the more the governor talks the more clear delight's fatal flaw becomes. sheepishly the corners of his mouth pull down into a grimace. it's sympathetic and a little ashamed. "ah, see, i thought i was the one who made it awkward. i shouldn't have told you that -- i mean i didn't want to tell you because i was afraid of hurting your feelings, but i thought.. it doesn't matter, that was stupid of me." gathering his nerves he takes a step closer, reaching out to touch alarian's honeyed cheek. "i haven't -- hadn't -- had sex since... for a long time. i didn't know what i wanted -- that's what was awkward. not you. but i'm glad we.. did that. and i do want us, although we should probably say what us is," he adds, almost jokingly, the nerves in his voice keeping it just shy of teasing.

giving him a quick lick delight steps back and offers a smile. "i can work with scared," he tells him, "because i'm scared too. it's.. a complicated situation for us, right?" with the, yknow. queenie. and runion's murder. and alarian's past like ghosts ready to leap out around every corner and delight's threatening melancholy and fast growing children. but people in stranger circumstances have made it work. he's sure they can too.

This— isn't the way it's supposed to go, he thinks, frowning slightly as he watches Delight's expression change. Delight isn't supposed to feel bad; that he misunderstood is his fault anyway. He wants to be difficult and argue— he wants to provoke the response he'd been expecting— but the touch to his cheek settles him some, whether he likes it or not.
He leans into it despite himself, flushing a little at the lick and ignoring the prickle of disappointment as Delight steps back. Yeah, it is, He agrees quietly, pausing a beat. I really don't deserve you, but— A soft sigh punctuates the word; he has to be a little difficult or it feels like cheating, but he's probably done for now. Probably. What, um— what do you want us to be?
Did anyone really expect anything else? It doesn't cross his mind that he could get more than he bargained for here— he's pretty sure they're on the same page about this, at least. Delight really doesn't strike him as the rush into marriage type, and Alarian is fairly content with anything short of that. All this to say, he's fine with whatever Delight wants, and it's easier to make him say all the important things.

delight rolls his eyes. maybe the governor's weird insistence on delight being some sort of prize is supposed to boost his confidence, but mostly, the chancellor thinks he's full of shit. delight? alarian probably deserves better than this broken, traumatized husk of a boy, all his fucked up neurotics and slightly-terrifying baby-mommas. 

he doesn't argue the point though. "something.. concrete," he answers, thinking of how untouchable mato had been, how what was between them had remained forever floating in the air as implication. "just... together? partners?" he pauses. "romantic partners, not, uh, you know. you know what i'm trying to say." god. delight tries again.

"i want to be your partner," he says, voice soft, "and i want to -- take time to get to know you better. and for you to get to know me, too. does that sound.. good?"