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To Fly Together
Moon stumbles into his bower, exhausted, his heart oscillating wildly between sick grief for what has transpired and painful burning hope for the future.
The seed took. Their mountain tree home will live.
They’ve interred Flower, laying her to rest alongside the queens of old—queens that Moon will have to learn about in the weeks to come, if he’s to have any hope of being a Raksuran consort that the rest of the Reaches will approve of.
Not that Moon cares about their approval.
All he cares about is Jade’s approval, and Jade has made it clear that she doesn’t think less of Moon for being a wild solitary who only recently learned he’s Raksuran.
Well… Jade’s approval, and Chime’s approval, and the approval of some of the arbora…
We’re well and truly a part of this community now, aren’t we? Moon thinks, remembering the way Flower had asked him to keep trying.
Stretching his wings, Moon collapses face-down on the floor of his bower. He should probably crawl up into his hanging bed at some point, or go see if Jade wants him in her bower, but for now… for now just stretching out all his limbs, stretching out his tail, allowing his wings to settle gently over his scaled form… this feels like paradise.
There’s a gentle knock on the entrance, and Moon groans.
“I can come back later, if you’d like,” Chime’s voice says hesitantly.
Moon smiles, and is surprised to find that the action happened automatically. Is this who he is now? Someone who has people that make him smile?
“You can come in,” Moon calls, not bothering to move himself off the floor. “Just don’t step on me, please.”
Chime enters the bower, his claws making soft clicks on the wood of the floor. He settles next to Moon’s head, resting on his knees. There’s a clay bowl of something with a light scent cradled in his hands, and one of his wings stretches out, draping across Moon’s. “How are you doing?” Chime asks.
“Glad to be back,” Moon answers honestly. “Glad to be through the funeral. Glad we could have the funeral. Glad we’ve got a home to have a funeral in.” Moon draws in a deep breath, and releases it in a sigh, seeing the grief still etched deep in Chime’s features. “Still wishing we didn’t need to have a funeral. Wishing I’d known how sick she was.”
“She didn’t want you to know,” Chime says with a shrug, looking away. The death of his mentor is clearly still a heavy weight on him.
Moon shifts his wing, reaching out to tentatively drape it across Chime’s. “Did you want to talk about…” What should he ask? If Chime wants to talk about Flower? If Chime wants to talk about his strange new skills, the ones that proved invaluable in the groundling city of mages? Moon regrets again that he isn’t terribly good at talking to anyone, Raksuran or groundling.
“I could,” Chime says with a soft, sad smile, the scales on his face catching the soft light from the glowing shells that the mentors decorated Moon’s bower with. “I probably will, at some point. There’s a lot I want to share; a lot I don’t want to be forgotten. But for now…” Chime shifts hesitantly, holding the bowl out. “I was wondering if you’d let me take care of your wings.”
Moon sits up, pulling one of his leathery wings around to caress the beautiful folds. “My wings are fine now. Ask the mentors if you don’t believe me. Barely a scar, and that’s fading.”
“No, I didn’t mean…” Chime huffs out a breath. “I figured you wouldn’t have had this done before. Or if you did, it was when you were little, and you wouldn’t remember. Plus, well… it’s different when an adult Raksura cares for an adult Raksura’s wings, rather than an adult caring for a child.”
“Different… how?” Moon asks quietly.
“It can just be a friendly thing. A nice thing. But it can also be a prelude to sex thing,” Chime answers quietly, watching Moon, not embarrassed to be talking of these matters like many groundlings would be.
Moon considers. “And Jade would be all right with this?” Perhaps it’s silly that he keeps wanting confirmation of this. Apparently Raksuran queens aren’t only all right with their consorts having other lovers, they expect them to father children with chosen arbora. Moon’s mind still shies away from that duty every time he thinks of it.
“We can ask her, if you like,” Chime says with his usual direct gentleness. “But it would be strange for a queen to object to you taking a warrior lover, unless the two of you are fighting and you’re doing it to intentionally irritate her.”
“I prefer to have my confrontations more…” Moon searches for the proper word. “Directly. If I’m going to fight with Jade, I’m going to fight with Jade; no bringing other people into the mix.”
“If only all consorts and queens were so reasonable,” Chime says with a soft laugh.
“I’m just at a disadvantage playing political games,” Moon says with a shrug. “Jade has turns and turns of being Raksuran; I don’t.”
“True,” Chime agrees. “Did you want to go talk to her, or…”
“I don’t really want to move,” Moon says, reaching out to tip the bowl so he can see inside. “And I trust you.”
Chime straightens just a bit, his tail twitching in delight. He tips the bowl so it’s easier for Moon to see inside. “Then would you mind if I…? It doesn’t have to be a prelude to anything. Or if you feel like it, we could just sleep together afterward.”
It takes Moon a moment to realize that Chime means actually sleep; that the Raksura don’t see the need to use as many euphemisms, not having as many issues with sex as many groundling races do.
“Sure,” Moon says. “So… what do I do?”
“Lay down just like you were,” Chime commands.
Moon does so, resuming his face-down position on the ground. “And then…?”
“Spread your wings out, and try to relax them.” Chime dips the fingers of his right hand into the bowl.
It’s a type of oil inside, lightly scented by a variety of herbs. Moon cranes his neck to watch as Chime applies some of it to the outer edge of Moon’s wing.
It’s cool at first, but as Chime massages the oil around and around, it starts to heat. Not unpleasantly, just a stronger sensation.
Moon shivers, and instinctively pulls his wings tight in to his back, out of Chime’s gentle grasp.
Chime blinks, his hands suddenly empty, and looks at Moon in concern. “I’m sorry; did I hurt you?”
“No,” Moon says, feeling blood rush to his head. He’s glad to have black scales that prevent him from blushing in this form, though he feels his spines twitching, giving away his agitation. “No, it was nice. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Chime smiles, and settles down cross-legged. “It’s all right. Like I said, I doubted anyone had done this for you before.”
“No,” Moon admits softly. “And it feels nice, but it’s also…”
Chime nods, spines flicking in an I know gesture. “It can be overwhelming. For all that wings are powerful and open up new worlds… for all that flying is the best thing about being a warrior now and not a mentor…” Chime swallows, clearly still struggling with his new place in the Court. “It’s a lot. The first time someone groomed my wings, I was a fidgety mess. But it felt nice, so I wanted to offer that to you.”
Moon blinks, surprised that his eyes are wet. He looks away, trying to will the tears away. Foolish. It’s probably just the fact that he’s fresh from a funeral. It shouldn’t hurt so much, surely, that someone wants to care for him.
That Chime is so kind.
That there is a place for Moon here, in the Raksuran court that has survived so much.
“I’m sorry,” Chime says, alarm in his voice. He reaches to touch Moon’s shoulder, avoiding his wings. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” Moon says, hating how thick his voice sounds. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
“Plenty of reasons,” Chime answers softly. “Starting with the Fell attack, moving through desperately trying to save our seed, taking a little detour through the whole mess with Emerald Twilight, and ending with we just had a funeral for one of the kindest, smartest, wisest Raksuran who ever—”
Chime stops talking, and Moon turns to find that Chime has started quietly crying, his hands over his face, his beautiful bowl forgotten at his side.
Good job, Moon thinks to himself.
“Sorry,” Chime gasps. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m so foolish sometimes. Right after Flower’s funeral wasn’t when I should have come here.” He stands.
Moon wraps his fingers around Chime’s wrist, and finds that his tail has wrapped around Chime’s ankle without his consciously willing it to. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”
It won’t be good for either of them if Chime slinks off. Moon knows how hard Chime still finds fitting in with the other warriors, and suspects that the reason Chime came here was as much loneliness and grief as a desire to help Moon.
Chime slowly kneels back down. “All right.”
“Could you…” Moon clears his throat. “Would you mind working on my wings again? And then maybe I can work on yours?” He meant it to be a statement, not a question. What is he, a child, thrown off by people showing an interest in him?
“I would love to,” Chime says, and dips both his hands into the oil.
Moon settles down again, closing his eyes, pillowing his head on his arms.
It feels amazing; like nothing else he’s ever felt. Chime’s fingers start at the edge of his wings where the thick bone anchors them to Moon’s back, and works his slow and careful way down to the smooth edge of skin. It seems that his fingers caress every scrap of skin; that his gentle massage finds every small bone and pocket and gives it individual attention.
Moon sighs in relief and release, and tries to memorize the paths that Chime’s fingers take. He can do this for Chime later, and hopefully it will feel just as nice for Chime, and… and…
Moon wakes some time later, the soft glow of his shells unchanged. Chime has curled up against him, draping his wing across Moon’s back.
Moon carefully shifts them both so that he’s holding Chime against his chest, his wings furled around the other Raksura, holding him tight and safe.
Moon might not be a proper consort, or a proper Raksura, but he’s starting to think that maybe he’s a good friend, and even—perhaps—a worthy lover for these wonderful people.