Bearclaw Valley they served you venison and morphine

dated for the 10th

He stretched his legs just outside the territory. A neighboring place with stone walls that beckoned him forth in a threatening motion. When he arrived there seemed to be little inviting him in besides stale scents that foretold he'd be safe here where he might not have been weeks ago. It was a ghost town.

Except for one scent. Of course it would be here. He didn't think such out of anger though. It just seemed comical they would keep bumping into each other even when they both left the confines of Easthollow.

He followed it without regret, even when the feeling in his stomach told him to stop. Outlander was a reckless fool though who had stronger feelings than he did brains. So he let out a soft boof this time instead of simply standing around. Sense that hadn't gone too well the last time in the end.

The valley reminds him of Broken Boulder, in a twisted way. He can tell the place had been inhabited once, not very long ago, and it stirs up a familiar ache in his chest. Maybe it's masochism that makes him linger within the snow-dusted valley, shivering fiercely as he trails along the outskirts of the territory — or maybe he just needs to feel like he's not the only fuck-up in the world who can't keep a pack together. This place holds no sign of death — but it reeks of abandonment, of had-beens and could-have-beens. It makes him miss home.
A soft bark draws him from his thoughts. He recognizes it immediately, but it takes him a moment to react; truth be told, he hasn't put much thought into his next meeting with Outlander. There's still chaos swirling within him, a confusing writhing mass of feeling that he can't seem to break through. Put plainly, he's still a mess, and he doesn't know how to handle this. But he turns to greet him with a soft chuff anyway, unwilling to close the distance between them just yet. There's a weariness to his features, but his expression is soft; he doesn't blame Outlander for their current mess. He blames himself.

He didn't get close and remained mindful of the space between them. Even if the cold taunted him, even if the weariness of Alarian's features haunted his brain. Support him, his brain cooed even if Outlander didn't want to. The large Lambda was not sure if the small male had heard his words before he departed last time but Outlander was not going to put himself in a position where he might get warm feelings again. It was too much for him at the moment.

Do you know this place? He asked softly as he glanced around at the snow dusted walls of the valley. It was beautiful even if everything was so empty and cold.

He studies Outlander carefully, gaze tracing the male's features as if trying to solve an intricate puzzle. Their dance is such a strange one — at least, to Alarian. His relationships have always been built on words, even the awkward stumbling kind he always finds himself with, and this one is not. They've hardly spoken, instead building on some inexplicable draw to one another — he can't help but wonder if such a thing can last. But nothing he's tried before has lasted, has it?
You wouldn't have been forcing yourself on me, He tells him, just barely loud enough to hear. He doesn't even bother to answer his question — he doesn't know the answer, and right now he doesn't care. I just — He breaks off and sucks in a breath, glancing away for a moment to calm himself. When his gaze returns to Outlander, there's a new rawness to it; a vulnerability he couldn't hide even if he tried. I don't want to hurt you. And I will. I will.

Oh.

That was not the answer he had been expecting but it was a good one. A soft look melted over his face as he met Alarian's gaze. It was as if some veil had been lifted. A rawness that seemed to consume his companion. His heart strings were thoroughly tugged at by the words that reached his ears.

"I don't want to hurt you."

And if I want you to? You've given me a warning. What if I want to ignore it? He asked softly, a tenderness to his voice as he softly moved a few steps closer. Outlander was a clean slate and any previous hurt had been forgiven and forgotten. He could learn again if there was really any hurt to be had.

He can feel his heart beating through his skull, can hear the steady pounding in his ears, and he can hardly hear his own racing thoughts over the sound but somehow he hears Outlander's words anyway. What if I want you to? echoes through his mind, and he can't make sense of it. He's heard so many arguments before — assurances that they can't be hurt, that they're sure he'd never do it, that they can work through anything together. But no one has ever asked him to hurt them. He sucks in a sharp, cold breath and it catches in his throat. His heart seems to stop, just for a moment, and in that moment he feels suffocated under his own silence.
But then his heart is stuttering out some faltering rhythm, and he's taking in a ragged, halting breath, and his thoughts are swirling too fast to track just one. Are you — His voice breaks and dies in his throat and he suddenly feels so fragile, so exposed. He tries again, and this time it comes more quietly, voice wavering: Are you sure? He wants nothing more than to close the remaining distance between them, to rush forward and crumble into Outlander and let his pieces scatter to the winds, but something keeps him rooted to the spot. The same thing that's always holding him back, maybe — fear.

He let the silence settle between them, not wanting to ruin anything further. Outlander would wait forever if it was for Alarian. Was that foolhardy? Most likely but he cared little. He could not stop himself from moving a bit closer when the broken words first came out. His heart ached in a way he could not fully explain or understand. It simply did.

I'm positive. I want to ignore the warning, Alarian. It's a soft plea as his peach gaze examined the face of his companion, looking for some sort of reaction. Outlander cared little for what might come from the end of any sort of relationship they might have. He simply wanted to have him for some space in time to himself, even if it wasn't forever. The look in Outlander's eyes said it all.

Hurt me because he wanted it more than he could admit it.

Every muscle in his body tenses as Outlander draws nearer, but he doesn't move — and when the man halts again, the tension melts from his body and a sigh slips from him, and he realizes he can't fight this. Just don't think about Delight, a cruel voice chimes over all his other thoughts, but he swallows back the nausea and takes a step closer. The other's words urge him even closer, and when he's close enough he buries his face in Outlander's fur if he's allowed, pressing as close to him as he can. A shudder runs down his spine, prompting him to suck in a breath, but he can't find any words for this moment. As wrong as it is, as awful as he knows he's being, he can't help but listen to that cruel little voice in his head. Nothing else exists right now, and he needs it that way.

He was okay with the lack of words because he was rewarded with contact. Outlander did not shield himself or pull away this time. It was okay because he knew now he was allowed this, that it was not unwanted for him to be close to Alarian. He aimed to drape a front leg over the other male. Outlander wanted him close, to shield him from the world and protect him. If not forever then at the very least for right now.

The large male aimed to preen delicately at any fur he could reach, a soothing action for himself and hopefully for his companion as well.

He leans closer, sucking in a sharp breath as he feels Outlander's leg across his back. The embrace is consuming in a way he'd almost forgotten he's familiar with, and it reminds him that this is just another feeble bridge waiting to burn. He doesn't care anymore, though. Outlander's preening starts a fire under his skin, and it spreads quickly through him, burning away all rational thought as it rages bright and fierce. He starts to comb his own teeth through the other's fur, oddly calm for the flame flickering across his skin; they both know where this is going, and this time he won't let himself regret a damn thing.

There was a brief small smile on his features when Alarian got closer. Outlander couldn’t help him but hold him a bit tighter. The warning of being hurt had been all but forgotten, lost in a whirlwind of other emotions. They were away from Easthollow with no creeping eyes lurking about. He wanted them to have a nice time away from home and enjoy each other’s company.

Stay with me here for the night? He asked softly as he nipped at Alarian’s ear. There was no denying the playful undertone in his hushed words.

1000 ❤

Heat pulses through him at Outlander's words, overwhelming him with the desire to touch and be touched in every way imaginable. The nip draws a soft, needy whine from his lips and he trembles. Only if you promise to keep me warm, He murmurs just as playfully, breath hitching slightly. His muzzle traces through the fur of his lover's neck, nipping and licking delicately at the skin as he trails over sensitive places.
He needs this more than he can admit — but it is not love. Lust, certainly — and perhaps friendship, too, and trust and maybe the barest hints of something else blossoming. Something he's not ready for. He doesn't love Outlander, because he can't. Not with the pieces of his heart so scattered, one buried under the cold dirt at Broken Boulder and one roaming the world just to be away from him and one in a willow forest at the base of a mountain somewhere he'll never see. No, he doesn't love Outlander; he just needs him.