The bard blinks. He seems… rather stunned by Alexander’s response. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“W-well—” Alexander crosses his arms before he looks away, out into the distance, where—if he tries hard enough to squint and observe the scenery for a moment—he can make out the faraway stream’s current shape.
A flush of heat rises to the enchanter’s cheeks. “No, I don’t…” The young enchanter cannot say, why it is that he feels the need to lower his voice, as his tone goes quiet once more. “But,” he squeezes his elbow. “Make it quick, will you?”
Under the tree, David takes a deep breath and stares at Alexander as if he were some strange creature from a foreign land. As much as Alexander is nervous, it seems the bard likely fears for his life. Or, his loins.
“Uh…” David lets out an awkward chuckle. He clears his throat, then scratches at the back of his head. “H-here I go, then.”
Beneath the ancient tree, amid the cool winds of autumn, the bard places both his hands against Alexander’s shoulders. The weight is an odd, but welcome one; it serves to ground Alexander, and the young enchanter cannot help but let out a content sigh, as he finally shuts his eyes.
David mumbles something Alexander does not quite catch. Though, before the enchanter can ask him about this matter, the bard leans in. He wraps his arms around Alexander’s back.
Alexander’s eyes widen. His heart beats loud rhythms of joy into his rib cage—ones he is entirely persuaded David is able to hear, too, with how close their chests are pressed together, now.
Although the young enchanter merely accepted doing this out of a slight sense of duty and obligation, he finds himself wondering, in this moment, how in the world he had lived for so long without feeling another’s touch. The feel of David against him is like magic—yet, not the kind Alexander is used to.
As tingles rise across the young enchanter’s neck—and as he leans forward to indulge in the blissful heat, which emanates from David’s embrace—Alexander thinks to himself, that he could very well stay like this forever.
But then, David pulls away. He apologizes. “S-sorry, uh, I hope that wasn’t too long?” And Gods be damned, Alexander is regretting it now, very much so, that he had blurted the orders at David, for this to be an ephemeral event.
Alexander wants to tug on David’s sleeve. Rest his head against David’s shoulder. Tell him to Come back. We are not finished yet. However, for the sake of keeping his pride, the young enchanter remains silent. “No,” he shakes his head, casually, as if nothing is bothering him. “It was… decent.”
It was more than decent. This man has arms that are twice the size of Alexander’s. He is also much taller, broader at the chest, and the young enchanter would be a liar to claim David’s hugs are of the subpar type.
“I was thinking—” David blurted.
The bard doesn’t finish his phrase. He appears flustered; this confuses Alexander. All they've been doing for the past minute is remaining in the same place, standing still in silence, and looking at their shoes. “I sure hope you think,” the young enchanter finally decides to say; it is an attempt to break the mute lull that has instilled itself between them—and, apparently, it works.
David rolls his eyes. With a short, exasperated laugh, he shrugs, then sighs again. “You’re a little offensive, Alexander, not going to lie.”
Alexander doesn’t expect it, when David clasps a hand over his shoulder once more, then gives it a curt, and friendly rub.
And he doesn’t like it, that when David smiles, there are a few odd bugs, which flutter in his stomach and make him want to will them away with a spell—though, which one would be appropriate to cast, Alexander isn’t certain.
Alexander hates it—for as their gazes meet, the young enchanter finds himself unable to look away. What is wrong with him today?
“I was thinking,” David repeats, with a little more confidence this time. “Maybe we could find you some good healing balms for your injuries, instead?”
Alexander narrows his eyes, until his attention is fixated on the ground again. He bites his lip. “That would require me venturing into the nearest village, David. I’m”—Alexander’s hands find his elbows once more; the grip he keeps on it is a tight one, as always—“not entirely sure, if I am ready for that.” Yes, seeing people again—fearing that he may hurt them without meaning to—isn’t an experience the young enchanter can say he will enjoy with a straight face.
“No problem.” The bard tilts his head, as if there truly is, not a problem in sight. “I’ll do it for you.”
And now, Alexander is the one who is baffled, by what he is hearing. “Pardon?”
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