[say]”Slim meisie.”[/say] Nate praises Haai, a spark of warmth in his voice. He should stop Sunjata, should say something about the chances of him vomiting up whatever he drinks when he resets the wing, but it’s not something he can guarantee, and who is he to pry that tiny bit of relief from the other man? It does mark a shift though, from talking about it to actually doing it, Nate’s hands running through feathers to get ready to move the wing.
Everything is ready, and there’s no more moments to steal. He has to do this. Sunjata has to do this. Nate is incredibly grateful for the countdown in his head, steadying himself to it, his fingers twitching just before three, anticipating the moment. It’s slow, painfully, horribly slow, but they get there in the end, the wing folded in against Sunjata’s back.
Therein lies the flaw though. Nate hadn’t thought ahead to this part, not really, and doesn’t have anything to actually wrap it in place. A silent plea is sent out to Pemota, wherever it is she lurks in the house, but he has to stay put while he waits for her. Almost as slowly as he’d moved the wing, Nate sinks to his knees, one hand resting firmly in feathers while the other rubs soothing circles lightly over bruising. It’s the least he can do. At least until he remembers the bottle, and reaches out to lift it to his husbands lips, slopping a splash onto the floor.
[say]”That could have been worse, right?”[/say] Nate is perfectly content to be silent, to be close, right up until Pemota drifts into the room, a roll of gauze impaled on her spiralling horn. There’s more than one stab mark in it from failed attempts, but that’s honestly the last thing on Nate’s mind as he accepts it. The little whale hovers close, circling Sunjata’s head like a halo, her calming light raining down on him as of it could help ease the pain.
Everything is ready, and there’s no more moments to steal. He has to do this. Sunjata has to do this. Nate is incredibly grateful for the countdown in his head, steadying himself to it, his fingers twitching just before three, anticipating the moment. It’s slow, painfully, horribly slow, but they get there in the end, the wing folded in against Sunjata’s back.
Therein lies the flaw though. Nate hadn’t thought ahead to this part, not really, and doesn’t have anything to actually wrap it in place. A silent plea is sent out to Pemota, wherever it is she lurks in the house, but he has to stay put while he waits for her. Almost as slowly as he’d moved the wing, Nate sinks to his knees, one hand resting firmly in feathers while the other rubs soothing circles lightly over bruising. It’s the least he can do. At least until he remembers the bottle, and reaches out to lift it to his husbands lips, slopping a splash onto the floor.
[say]”That could have been worse, right?”[/say] Nate is perfectly content to be silent, to be close, right up until Pemota drifts into the room, a roll of gauze impaled on her spiralling horn. There’s more than one stab mark in it from failed attempts, but that’s honestly the last thing on Nate’s mind as he accepts it. The little whale hovers close, circling Sunjata’s head like a halo, her calming light raining down on him as of it could help ease the pain.
