[… Glancing to the side, folding in on himself by another inch, as if in an effort to shield his face from the blunder of cursing a family that doesn’t even exist. It fails — he is well aware — and realizing the human still has a good look at him causes his right eyelid to twitch]
“Drive-by”… some archaic weapon your lot uses?
[Sounding both put-out and flabbergasted. First off — how’s he to know the exact name of whatever was powerful enough to screw up his mystics? That would require admittance, and that’s the last thing Oberon feels like fessing up to.
— Damn, but if even the civilians can put a name to such acts, the humans have certainly leveled up since the last time he came to this realm. Just all manner of destruction. It makes the current one carrying him that much more of an oddity. A surprise.
He hates goddamn surprises.
Irritation still barely restrained, Oberon peers at the other from the cover of his lashes, on the hunt for slip-up]
Enough with your inquiries. If you’ve feel like interrogating me, call your a’cursed ambulance instead.
[Mignon cants his head to the side; finding himself chasing after Oberon's gaze. Seems he really doesn't want to talk about whatever it was that happened to him. Poor guy must have seriously had it rough.]
Sorry... guess it's none of my business.
I'm just worried about you, is all. [He speaks honestly; brow slightly furrowed in concern.] But I won't ask any more questions if you don't want me to.
[As stated, he's a bit more silent for the rest of their trip to his place. As they draw nearer to Mignon's small apartment, the man carefully ascends the bit of steps in front of his door, and moves to balance Oberon's weight onto one arm as he fishes his keys out of the pocket of his now-bloodstained sweatpants with his free hand. The door is swiftly unlocked, and Mignon doesn't stop to remove his shoes at the entrance before immediately carrying Oberon over to the living room couch, where he moves to gingerly set Oberon down.
Mignon has very few personal items- an old but functional TV, some CD's piled up near a cheap stereo, workout gear and boxing gloves up on a foldable table... and other than that, just the bare essentials for living as the single bachelor he is. The apartment itself is tiny and mostly bare; even the couch that's probably about to get a little bloody right now is brand new. Mignon isn't really worried about that right now; more concerned with making sure the winged man is as comfortable as possible.]
Uh, my bad- I just moved here, and I don't really have a lot of stuff yet, but I've got a decent amount of bandages and some disinfectant, at least...
[A pause, and then he asks-] Do you want help taking off your clothes?
[The silence is welcomed; a perfect excuse to sink further into his thoughts, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. For whatever reason, Mignon doesn’t seem interested in using a fae as leverage for some greater plot — or maybe, perhaps, the human just doesn’t understand the good fortune in his arms. Strangely, they haven’t yet been followed — and that must mean the teleportation spell he weaved took him far from his summoners’ eyes.
… He can work with this, he decides, breathing slow and jaded their entire walk, not even fussing when Mignon needs to rummage for his keys, or when his back finds a cushioned surface. A bit more listless than he would have hoped, his head lulls to the side, murmuring a tired response:]
Of course not, I can just—
[Ah, wait… no he can’t. A simple snap of his fingers won’t remove his clothes. He can feel the spell hum underneath his skin, but it is as if locked behind a door, banging on the panels to be let out and erupting into his nerves when denied.
So with the same stubborn bullishness as in the alleyway, he grits his teeth, pushes up — swears in some language Mignon won’t understand before he just collides backwards on the couch again. With more venom than necessary, he starts pawing at the bloodied cloth tied over his abdomen, willing his fingers to do their jobs and somehow not tangle him further.
… Yes, he could just. ask for help. But fat shit that’s gonna happe—]
Oh, just get down here, already.
[— Whelp. Wonder of wonders, suddenly shooting a pointed glare at Mignon.]
[Before Oberon could even finish barking the order at him, Mignon is already on the move; furrowing his brow in disapproval of the unnecessary struggle and lowering down to his knees in a huff, reaching out with a large hand to take hold of Oberon by the wrist.]
Don't push yourself. [Speaking a little more sternly than before. His grasp on Oberon is firm but gentle- pulling that hand away from the affected area while he looms in more closely.]
If something's too hard for you, just relax and let me take over.
Otherwise, you'll just take longer to heal... [Looking downward, Mignon goes to gingerly undo the tie of his own sweatshirt around Oberon's waist. He's not sure what other wounds Oberon may have, but that bleeding wound needs to be looked at first. He'll quickly but carefully peel away any top that Oberon happens to be wearing and strip it off completely to get a good look at his bare torso- careful about feeling around behind Oberon so that he doesn't bend those delicate-looking wings up in the process.]
[He doesn’t appreciate being touched in such a way without permission, and the disapproval turns steely with the promise of violence. Adrenaline is a beautiful thing; dulls the pain, sharpens the spirit, opens up many possibilities that would end the night with a corpse.
… He also isn’t so stupid as to challenge a human with his magic locked away and nursing a wound, especially not a human that looms a bit more like a boulder overhead. Oberon hadn’t noticed before in his previous agony, but — well, it makes sense why Mignon barely seemed winded by the prospect of carrying a full grown body to his home.
That’s a sheet of muscle he’s glaring at, and so the fae’s dissent ends as it usually does: with a faint snarl but little else, allowing Mignon to lead his hand away so the human can get a better look of him.
Dressed in a few layers of well-crafted fabric, impossibly light and breathing of cotton, it all takes a bit of undoing before Mignon can look at his wound: a bloody mess, is what it is, with the supposed bullet’s point of entry having torn at the surrounding pale skin. Thankfully, underneath all of that congealing blood, it’s the only part of him injured, though peeling the cloth back is its own agony, too. Oberon hisses, digs his heels into the couch and twists his head away with a pained snap, cursing again. The urge to shove Mignon away is only barely held in check.]
For your information, I’ll be healed in a day.
[Two days.
— Alright, maybe a week. It’s the tenacity that counts.]
[Mignon winces in sympathy as the fae man hisses and writhes in pain. Somehow, even with all the blood that he saw previously- much of which now stains his own clothes- the actual wound that he sees in front of him now is even worse than Mignon imagined. Maybe part of that just has to do with how petite the other male manages to look in front of him right now; pale, helpless- and somehow... beautiful, even despite all of his rage. -Not that that has anything to do with why Mignon decided to take on the responsibility of helping him, probably...
...But anyway-] A day?
Really? [Mignon raises his brows in surprise. He has no reason to not believe what Oberon is telling him. But given how prideful the guy has shown himself to be already, there's definitely room to take that information with a tiny grain of salt.]
Well, however long it takes... You can stay here while you heal up.
Stay put for a sec, I'll be right back. [The larger male moves to stand and head off to his bathroom before proceeding any further. He's definitely gotta wash his hands and grab his makeshift first aid kit (AKA- a plastic bag of supplies he haphazardly bought to treat his own wounds) before he goes touching on such a deep wound. He'll return quickly enough; setting the bag he brought down on the couch beside Oberon as he searches for what he needs.]
Uh, so, I should start with cleaning the area I guess. [A cleaning pad and various other wipes are unpackaged for the job. Mignon tries his best to be extra careful while clearing away all of the blood- both dried and wet- in order to get a better look at the wound.] I hope the bullet went straight through. Otherwise it'd really suck to get that out...
[Frankly-] I don't think my sausage-fingers are delicate enough for that kind of operation.
[Glancing up at Oberon once again, he checks-] This next part ain't fun. Wanna... hold my hand, or something?
It's gonna sting a lot when I pour the disinfectant here...
It’s not still in there, no — the damage is already done.
[Spoken cryptic, head lulling back into a more upright position once the human returns, fixing Mignon with a flat, vacant look as the man begins to mop away the blood from his torso with a gentle, attentive touch. Oh, if only life were so simple that removing a foreign object would fix his true ailment, but alas. Throw it on the ever-growing pile of grievances he’s forced to endure.
Though the image of the fool attempting to cox any bullet out of him with those lion-paws he calls hands warrants a faint snort, the closest to amusement that’s shown on Oberon’s expression so far. The corner of his lips twitch, unsure of which direction they should pull.
—Sure, the human ruins it not two seconds later with that quip about holding hands, but—]
— Hold your— give me that.
[Where is that bottle. Hand it over. And if denied, Oberon’s hand will dart out like a serpent on a cursed crusade, throwing all manner of propriety out the window again. Rage has taken the wheel. He will be uncapping and dousing his own wound in disinfectant unless Mignon is faster.]
Concern yourself with what manner of creature you’ve taken to your home instead of if I can handle another 30 seconds of discomfort!
Hey--! [Distracted by what almost seemed to maybe be the twitch of something akin to a smile, Mignon doesn't react in time to prevent the bottle of disinfectant from being snatched away.
Although he raises his hand in anxious anticipation, Mignon doesn't do anything but gawk dumbly as the other being pours a generous amount into his open wound; expression barely changing at all. It's... amazing, really. More and more, Mignon finds himself in awe of Oberon's strength.
He's so cool!]
Woah... [It's a weird thing- to feel his heart skip a beat from such an act. Mignon isn't quite sure of what to make of whatever intense emotion swells up inside of him with every passing moment of their interaction. All he knows is that he's never been so fascinated by another person before.]
...Well, whatever "manner of creature" you are, you're definitely a beast.
-Er, in the good way! [Quickly remembering their slight language barrier earlier, Mignon fumbles through an explanation as he starts to pat around the wound again with a dry cotton pad.] You know, I'm saying it's like, you're unexpectedly... pretty 'manly', I guess?
I wish I was that tough. [Chatting away, Mignon goes to cover the wounded area with a pad, and then securely wrap Oberon's (slender...) waist in fresh bandages. He nudges Oberon's knees apart slightly and looms in closer for the process; speaking just beside the other's ear since he has to loop the medical fabric from Oberon's front to behind his back several times.]
Even though I get hurt a lot, I can't say I ever really get used to it... If I were you, I'd probably be super scared right now.
[He adds, smiling:] -Especially if I had to put up with getting taken to some random guy's house.
Oberon expects — something. Perhaps disapproval, some bid to take away the bottle before he can accidentally harm himself. Chastisement. Any of which he would have met with an equal amount of spit and fire, his wound be damned.
Instead, Mignon stares at his petty show of stubbornness in full on wonderment, not a lie hiding behind those appreciative eyes. It eats at Oberon’s irritation like an acid, corroding it into an easily broken gate, and by the time the human makes to wrap the bandages ‘round Oberon’s torso, wings still carefully folded down by the man’s efforts, the fae has settled into a cautious silence, allowing the intrusion into his personal space.]
… What an odd fellow you are.
[Murmured at the corner of Mignon’s cheek when their faces are close. Just confusion remains — openly staring the human down like he’s the one with wings.]
Is this some ploy to gain my favor and have a wish granted?
[— It isn’t. The question is rhetorical. No human can easily lie to the fae, and Oberon would sooner eat his robe than assume this human has it in him to be secretly conniving… Which means that Mignon really might be a well-meaning giant who just happened to come across a fae in the night, took him into his home, and is content enough to bandage the wounded creature without payment.]
— Well, you’re mistaken. Pain causes me plenty of irritation. [Huffing, bending his back to give Mignon a bit of added space to finish off the last round of bandaging. Once he relaxes, his eyes return to their bright, pointed interest in staring the human down.] But I don’t have time to have you treat me of glass.
[Being called 'odd' comes as no surprise. On some level, Mignon is aware of it; the unexplainable gap between himself and most other people. Whether that inability to connect with others past a certain point is the result of coach's efforts to isolate him, or just his own natural weirdness- Mignon isn't so sure.
What is immediately clear at the moment is that being called odd has never felt so... stimulating, before.
Breath catching, Mignon's fingers twitch, and all at once he becomes acutely aware of their proximity when Oberon's words fall ever-so-gently upon his cheek. He pauses in his bandaging on Oberon's middle; skin growing mysteriously warm, as if his own body has belatedly realized that they're damn-near embracing each other in this position.]
A wish...?
[He repeats the words dumbly; distracted from his task. That... sticks out as being particularly weird phrasing, though Mignon isn't sure what to make of it. He isn't exactly in the best position to be particularly analytical at the moment- especially as Oberon arches closer to him. From that moment forward, Oberon's words are a bit of a blur.
It's back again. The shameful fluttering of his heartbeat... An odd excitement, with no real source to be seen. He's never felt like this with anyone else. Not even when a drunk woman once got extremely friendly with Mignon as he strolled through the club attached to the gambling den where he used to fight- and certainly not during any of his boxing matches, which only ended in pain. This sensation is completely new... and it damn-near makes him shiver.]
How... would you like me to treat you, then? [He asks the question after a slow exhale, averting his gaze.
...Why is it that Mignon has only now realized that Oberon has such a pleasant scent to his skin?
Somehow, it feels a little dangerous to think about it any longer. But he doesn't quite feel like moving away yet, either- even after he finishes wrapping Oberon up. In any case, he's not quite done helping Oberon just yet. His hands slide down to Oberon's hips.]
It’s the last reaction he expects — Mignon hastily retreating his stare elsewhere like the fae finally struck a cord — and at first Oberon watches on in narrowed assessment… At least until the warm heat mingled between their bodies picks up a familiar scent that reminds him of a thunderstorm, and there is a certain weight in how the human stalls those much larger hands on his hips.
Attraction really is such a funny thing. Easily ignored on his end, truth be told, it’s been eons since anyone could collar him, force him to bend the knee and sample some honey — yet it makes it all the more amusing watching his savior shift and adjust overtop, nearly brushing their chests together, distracted, either purposefully holding himself rigid or that hopelessly dense as to where his body’s demands are headed.
Does the man have a lover? The way he short-circuits suggests otherwise. And normally, Oberon would never bother with antics that won’t put him ahead of the game in some way. It’s only that… well, Mignon is not a blight upon his eyesight, he’ll admit it. Hard work and a benevolent god must have sculpted those biceps. Cruelly ignoring the question, Oberon allows his gaze to meander its way down that cut jaw, that thick neck, that barely-covered collarbone that could use a few well-placed bruises.
If it further convinced the man to give him a place to stay while he healed… Oberon cannot say he’d hate the idea of all that muscle bearing down on him.]
I’m not really in a position to resist, am I?
[Relaxing into the cushions, all of his foulness having disappeared for a flash of a smile, eyes narrowed into crescents. One of his hands strays close to Mignon’s face and taps at his chin]
[Ah. The moment Oberon smiles that pretty smile up at him for the first time, Mignon's fate is sealed in an instant. If the previous tension between them was like a warm blanket, Oberon's current allure is like a burning hot fire. He goes rigid as it consumes him; even gasping out loud.
Yeah.... Things are.... becoming all too clear now. That indescribable feeling from a moment ago is a lot more tangible now that Mignon felt a distinct twitch down below from nothing but an 'innocent' tap of his chin, and the realization fills him with a mixture of both wonder and shame. This is an incredibly inconvenient time for Mignon to be experiencing a second shot at a proper 'puberty' of sorts, but unfortunately it's far too late to not realize... that Oberon is indeed quite sexy.
Under different circumstances, "do as you please" would be fantastic words for a virgin like him to hear from the person triggering his 'awakening' of sorts, but right now, for some reason it just doesn't feel right to be lusting after the poor guy like this. After all, he's supposed to be taking care of Oberon, and instead Mignon is over here having thoughts about a severely injured man who had been on the brink of death not too long ago!]
You-- You are.
[He elaborates, after a hard swallow from his incredibly tight throat.] -In a position to resist.
[With a furrowed brow and a reddened complexion, Mignon forcefully regains his focus despite the rapid pounding of his heart against his ribcage. Large, rugged hands do their best to be gentle as they tug down past the hem of Oberon's pants and slide them down past a pair of noticeably creamy, pale thighs. Muttering through a slightly clenched jaw, Mignon's eyes are helplessly glued to the now-exposed legs once they've been completely stripped bare.]
I just wanted to patch you up... [He drops the pants and moves one hand to grab beneath one knee, raising it slightly to get a better look. -For purely medical reasons, of course.] If you wanna tell me not to touch you anymore, you can. But I... appreciate you letting me help. [His voice is a quieter mutter as his other hand slides up from Oberon's shin to his mid-thigh.]
...Mh.
Looks good... [A pause, and then he tears his hungry gaze away from Oberon's legs to make eye-contact again.] I- I mean, I'm not seeing any more injuries.
[There's only one place left to 'check'. Doing so is probably unnecessary, yes- but even so, Oberon should probably remove his undergarments, considering how they too are partially dirtied with the blood of that wound. As much as Mignon is almost afraid to ask-]
Wanna... get your underwear on your own, or... do you need help?
[Mignon had been kind enough to give a mythical creature refuge; it’s not all that much of a surprise to see the human straining to remain a gentleman, pretending his hands are professional instead of trembling. Silent, save for a slight flute of a noise through his nose that might be laughter, Oberon reclines into the cushions with his gaze at half-mast, half-bandaged chest rising and falling with casual evenness, watching the struggle play out in front of him.
He keeps to his word - lies there pliant with Mignon’s hands turning his legs into their workshop — a pull here, a lift there, cocking one leg gently to the side so that Mignon has more room to examine him. In another timeline, positioning the fae for a much greedier purpose that would leave them both straining. It’s the great equalizer of all creatures, the need to build their pleasure and drag someone else down into the abyss with them.
Then Mignon poses the question, and Oberon nearly barks out laughing. His shoulders jump.]
My, you are thorough, aren’t you? Such a gentleman.
[There’s no wound there; a revelation Mignon himself must already know. But Oberon won’t ruin the surprise, and the fingers of his left hand track down to Mignon’s own hovered at the border between skin and fabric, drumming on the human’s knuckles.]
Forgive me, I’m feeling a little tired… help me a little more, would you?
[Liar, liar. He poured a whole bottle of disinfectant on a bullet wound and merely hissed his displeasure. But granting Mignon mercy is no fun, and Oberon’s had a long night. Let him have this. Whether the human tumbles into his base desires or keeps playing the gallant knight will leave the fae smirking either way.
His leg moves at the knee, the side of his thigh brushing idly into the bone of Mignon’s hip as if on accident, while his drumming fingers cuff at the human’s wrist. Pulling the hand to the edge of his undergarments, right above his groin, where he isn’t yet hard… but he might be, if Mignon is bold.
If he decides he’d much rather discard this game they’re playing for a much more satisfying one.]
[If Oberon knew the kinds of thoughts flashing through Mignon's mind right now, he'd never accuse him of being something like a "gentleman".
But, well, it's not like Mignon is doing a great job of hiding his thoughts regardless. As Oberon asks for his help, Mignon makes an affirming noise within his throat- though it comes out as something closer to tortured. A painful ache throbs within his own groin when Oberon's inner thighs brush against him; a surge of blood flowing south all at once. The hand at Oberon's underwear twitches in reflex as it's touched, and Mignon's fingers immediately curl beneath the hem to tug the fabric lower, as if possessed.]
Y-yeah...
[At this point he isn't giving any thought as to whether Oberon's actions are purposefully teasing him or not- Mignon is simply following his own instinct. Like an untrained dog trying his very best to behave, the larger man breathes heavily as he peels the underwear down to completely expose the man laying bare beneath him, and the sight has Mignon reflexively licking his lips; mouth watering. As an athlete, Mignon has never really thought much about another man's nudity before- but the body before him now is unlike any he's ever personally seen.
He wonders what it tastes like.
At this point Mignon is sporting an erection so fierce and prominent that it looks about ready to burst through the fabric of his tented gray sweatpants. It's too much... he can't take it anymore. One hand tightens it's grip on Oberon's thigh while the other takes hold of the hand that touches his own. Staring with eyes full of desire, Mignon raises Oberon's hand to his mouth and goes to gently kiss against the palm.]
...Sorry.
I've just... never met anybody so beautiful before.
[Feeling bashful after that confession, Mignon averts his gaze and decides to move on. Releasing Oberon's thigh, Mignon reaches out his hand to the top of Oberon's head, so that he can give a light stroke to the man's hair.] Anyway, um, you did good.
I'll get you some clothes... [For the sake of keeping his morals from crumbling, Mignon goes to make a hasty exit so that he can do his best to take a moment and will his erection away.]
The retreat is an abrupt one and sends the human skittering down the short hall into his bedroom before he disappears from Oberon’s sight, leaving all that previous warmth to quickly dissipate into the air, snuffed out, and turning the fae’s skin chilly.
He’s. not sure what has him most flabbergasted: the earnest kiss to his hand, or that Mignon stroked his head like some wayward pup.]
Bastard, the hell was that.
[Murmured carefully under the cover of his breath as he slouches, boneless, wings bent at an uncomfortable angle while his mouth twists into a thoughtful frown. Having just sidestepped arousal, he reclines into the couch without shame — beautiful, as Mignon had put it. And the human is correct. The fae come in all variety of containers, should they choose to be perceived at all, and somehow Oberon had lucked into a porcelain figure drawn by the most delicate of pens. Thin-limbed, fair-skinned, washed in pale colors, save for the lightning in his blue eyes.
— A form that’s only marred when too much of his true nature bleeds through, but…
It’s not his appearance he’s struggling with right now, but that the human’s response was to prioritize whatever boundaries he thinks the fairy covets. Which is quite the pity; that cock had looked ready to cut through the man’s sweatpants, and Oberon had been in a strangely benevolent mood. Such a miracle won’t be happening twice. He’s almost disappointed.
Drawing a hand down his bandaged chest, allowing the fingers to float at the edge, then sighing. Quick as the profanities had come, he fixes his tone back into honey while pushing off the couch cushions, ignoring how his body screams in protest:]
I fear you’re not going to find much that will fit me.
[Let’s be real; their differing sizes is to the point of hilarity.]
[Having narrowly escaped his fate of succumbing to his own impulse to fold the injured man in half and plow him into the couch, Mignon is quick to refocus once Oberon is out of sight. He's gone for a few minutes to change out of his own bloodied clothes into a fresh set, before returning to the living room with a chipper smile and a bundle of various fabrics on his arm.]
Don't count me out yet!
Look what I found~! [As if that whole awkward exchange from minutes prior never happened, Mignon happily approaches the couch and sets a few articles of clothing beside Oberon.]
Mm, it's true that these pants will probably fall right off of ya, even with the tie.... [Mignon takes a set of sweatpants with a drawstring at the front and holds them up to Oberon's thin waist, as if to judge the size. As expected- it's probably more trouble than it's worth; their length alone would probably just cause him to trip if he moved around on his own too much. Maybe he could cut them?
Disregarding the pants for now, Mignon tosses them aside and grabs his second option.]
But hey, at least you could wear this! It was a gift from one of the gyms I fought at before.
[Mignon lifts a flashy, bright red hooded shawl of sorts for Oberon to see. It's a lot like the standard boxing robe that many fighters choose to wear for the sake of their dramatic entrances into the ring, except it's more of a long cape than anything. It's even got Mignon's name on the back of it.]
If you wore a cape while you're outside, maybe it could help hide your wings! It's kinda cool, don't you think???
[— By the gods, these clothes are absolutely hideous.
It’s almost enough to distract from the fact that Mignon has completely recovered once he returns to the living room and now seems to ignore Oberon’s nakedness as if it were an afterthought. What a switch-up; the fae is almost impressed.
But god. The shawl. That robe. His expression pinches from the psychological damage that’s been inflicted upon him, freed wings fluttering their dissatisfaction while he slowly reaches out to test the flimsy fabric between his fingertips. It’s lacking, that’s for sure, nothing compared to the skill of the fae when they feel inclined to one-up humanity with their efforts. More certain than ever that he’ll be insisting on just a simple sheet, please, his dignity has suffered enough—
Oberon sees that strangely energetic expression aimed at him and double downs on a frown]
Never mind my wings; this alone would draw attention to me if I went out dressed like this. [… Eventually grabbing at the boxing robe, his efforts slow and labored as he begins to wind his arms through the sleeves]
Well, it’ll work — maybe — while I’m in your home.
[Just give him a length of cloth to tie around the middle and — yes, it’ll do. He’ll just avoid all mirrors for fear his soul will get trapped away from shame.]
[Eyes sparkling with barely-concealed delight, Mignon crouches down in front of Oberon and watches him slip into the "Mignon cape" like a proud cat-dad who somehow managed to get their fussy kitty into a handmade sweater.
Something to consider:
Does Oberon really have to wear pants? This is quite the look, after all...]
"Warrior"? [A light chuckle.] Nah, it's just me fighting other dudes for... entertainment? Or like, sports, I guess. -If they even have that sorta thing wherever you're from...
[-Which is probably a good segue into asking the winged man where exactly he is from and what he's doing here. Instead, Mignon beams; his mind following the trail to a completely different question.] ...Why?
[Spoken airly, his arms cresting through the sleeves to fiddle with the robe’s middle portion until it closes shut in some vague semblance of modesty. Given that his wings are currently bunched up underneath, the result is that of a fair-faced hunchback whose swimming in his oversized clothing, but after some sighing, glancing idly behind his shoulder—]
Come now, I should at least be able to— oh, here we are.
[A shimmer of light unfolds along his back before his wings, strangely enough, phase through the fabric as if slits had been cut into the cloth. Once more freed, they flap and unfurl while he tightens the robe closer by his waist, a snugger fit, though grimacing at how his abdomen throbs from all of this unnecessary movement.
But their thoughts seem to be similar - at no point does he demand Mignon fetch him another set of pants to try, when the robe already covers past his knees. This will do. Legs carefully crossed as he sits and settles against the couch, attempting not to jar his body further:]
Oh? For sport? [… Glancing at him, once again taking stock of the other man] Huh, you don’t seem the type into that sort of lifestyle.
[Dislikes pain and enjoys brushing elbows with strange creatures on his late night jogs. Oberon would have anticipated a much more boring life. For as large as he is, the fae can’t imagine this man as much of a beast in a fight, but, well… no one expects him to be anything but a beautiful fairy. Maybe there’s a piece of Mignon that lies as well as he does.]
Well! That aside! Seeing as you’ve housed me, clothed me.
Maybe Mignon shouldn't be surprised, considering what he's seen already. The guy does have wings, after all. But seeing something like that in real life, outside of a movie, is still pretty surreal...
-And almost just as surreal is what Oberon nonchalantly comments about him next. Mignon blinks and his brows raise; surprised by the other's observation of him. That's... the first time that anyone he's spoken to has ever implied that a big oaf like him might be suited for anything but fighting. Mignon isn't quite sure what to think about that at the moment, but for some reason... it strikes a chord.]
Payment? [Mignon cants his head to the side, confused.] Why? I don't need any.
I mean, it seems to me like you're pretty broke right now. How would you even pay me to begin with..?
[But either it’s a bluff or he just can’t be bothered with violence in his savior’s house — the ear is just as easily freed as the fairy returns to his lounging, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. Eyes dancing to the bright amusement of a feline who has a mouse in its sight.]
I’m a little disappointed by this lack of imagination. You’ve a fairy in your house, you know - and you can’t think of anything to ask of me after you’ve taken me off the roads?
[Shrugging a little, a finger reached up to lazily twist into one of his blond locks]
Listen, I know my kind can be a bit… exhausting to deal with, but I like to play nice when I can.
[Which is never.
He hates humanity as easily as he draws breath. Other fairies, at least, can’t help that they’re monstrous; their fates are sealed the moment the world births them, doomed to scripts that cannot be altered. But a human? Their greed and pompous sense of self, the casual way in which they dominate, like it was their given right - it turns the stomach and shoots bile up his throat. Mignon will be no exception.
The only difference here is that Oberon just so happened to come across a human who can be easily fooled, manipulated, and discarded if necessary. So why not offer up a little miracle to keep a pawn in his grip?
Fair’s fair. Summon a demon, and someone will be sacrificed at the altar]
Tell me — do you wish for fortune? Love? Respect? Power? I can give you anything you wish.
Huh-!? [Suddenly yanked forward by the ear, Mignon's heart gives an odd stutter within his chest once again. A similar feeling to what he felt the last time they were close- only this time, he's not quite sure whether to be more shocked or intimidated or turned on?? But the end result is a healthy mixture of all three.
Okay, so, maybe "broke" wasn't the right word for someone in Oberon's... predicament.]
Er, well, sorta.
[He answers the question dumbly; still a bit flustered even after his ear is released. Mignon remains in place; still leaning forward, finding himself in a sort of bow before the man perched up on the couch.]
So you're... a fairy? I thought that those were like, the tiny people with magic wands, that live in grass and wear little tutus and stuff... [Again, he pretty much speaks without thinking; blurting what's on his mind as he imagines a tiny Oberon fluttering around, wearing a frilly dress.
Cute...]
You can grant wishes?
[Mignon blinks; more impressed than anything. But as he thinks the question over, the athlete finds himself drawing a blank. He scratches the back of his head.] Um, sorry but... I don't really know how to answer that.
Until recently, I've never had to think about what I want. [Averting his gaze.] -Or rather... I guess I wasn't really allowed to think it.
[The fairy clucks his tongue at this man half-bowed before him like a pauper, cheshire smile alive and well on his expression despite being turned down. It doesn’t sting at his pride; at best, he’ll consider it a minor setback, proof that Mignon might not be worth the effort, but—
No, it’s not even that. Oberon just can’t be bothered to hiss and growl when the human can’t even strum up a wish in the first place. The questions such as statement brings up — I wasn't really allowed to think — are bleak enough to paint their own conclusions. Partly why the fae does not ask them. Besides, if he wanted a sob story, he’d go on the hunt for a 3-penny play. They’re all a dime a dozen.
… Still:]
Then you just need time, yes? [Reaching forward, his index finger pushing at Mignon’s forehead until there’s a bit more space to breathe between them, then dips to trace a faint line along his jaw] To figure out what your soul craves — and lucky for you, I am very patient. Why, I’ll even help you figure out the answer!
[All humans have wishes; Mignon best not insult him by implying otherwise. It’s a matter of twisted principle, now, to insist and push until the human bends to his benevolence.]
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But being apologized to afterwards? ...Now that's something new.
Mignon blinks in surprise; turning his head a bit to peek over at the injured fae's face. What a surprisingly polite guy!]
...Don't worry about it.
[Frankly-] I mean, I don't got any family left to curse anyway, so knock yourself out I guess.
["Oberon"... That's a cool name. Maybe it's a little weird that he took so long to say it, but Mignon doesn't think much about that.]
How'd you end up getting hurt so bad, Oberon? [He asks the obvious question; direct.]
Did you get in the middle of a drive-by or something?
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“Drive-by”… some archaic weapon your lot uses?
[Sounding both put-out and flabbergasted. First off — how’s he to know the exact name of whatever was powerful enough to screw up his mystics? That would require admittance, and that’s the last thing Oberon feels like fessing up to.
— Damn, but if even the civilians can put a name to such acts, the humans have certainly leveled up since the last time he came to this realm. Just all manner of destruction. It makes the current one carrying him that much more of an oddity. A surprise.
He hates goddamn surprises.
Irritation still barely restrained, Oberon peers at the other from the cover of his lashes, on the hunt for slip-up]
Enough with your inquiries. If you’ve feel like interrogating me, call your a’cursed ambulance instead.
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[Mignon cants his head to the side; finding himself chasing after Oberon's gaze. Seems he really doesn't want to talk about whatever it was that happened to him. Poor guy must have seriously had it rough.]
Sorry... guess it's none of my business.
I'm just worried about you, is all. [He speaks honestly; brow slightly furrowed in concern.] But I won't ask any more questions if you don't want me to.
[As stated, he's a bit more silent for the rest of their trip to his place. As they draw nearer to Mignon's small apartment, the man carefully ascends the bit of steps in front of his door, and moves to balance Oberon's weight onto one arm as he fishes his keys out of the pocket of his now-bloodstained sweatpants with his free hand. The door is swiftly unlocked, and Mignon doesn't stop to remove his shoes at the entrance before immediately carrying Oberon over to the living room couch, where he moves to gingerly set Oberon down.
Mignon has very few personal items- an old but functional TV, some CD's piled up near a cheap stereo, workout gear and boxing gloves up on a foldable table... and other than that, just the bare essentials for living as the single bachelor he is. The apartment itself is tiny and mostly bare; even the couch that's probably about to get a little bloody right now is brand new. Mignon isn't really worried about that right now; more concerned with making sure the winged man is as comfortable as possible.]
Uh, my bad- I just moved here, and I don't really have a lot of stuff yet, but I've got a decent amount of bandages and some disinfectant, at least...
[A pause, and then he asks-] Do you want help taking off your clothes?
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… He can work with this, he decides, breathing slow and jaded their entire walk, not even fussing when Mignon needs to rummage for his keys, or when his back finds a cushioned surface. A bit more listless than he would have hoped, his head lulls to the side, murmuring a tired response:]
Of course not, I can just—
[Ah, wait… no he can’t. A simple snap of his fingers won’t remove his clothes. He can feel the spell hum underneath his skin, but it is as if locked behind a door, banging on the panels to be let out and erupting into his nerves when denied.
So with the same stubborn bullishness as in the alleyway, he grits his teeth, pushes up — swears in some language Mignon won’t understand before he just collides backwards on the couch again. With more venom than necessary, he starts pawing at the bloodied cloth tied over his abdomen, willing his fingers to do their jobs and somehow not tangle him further.
… Yes, he could just. ask for help. But fat shit that’s gonna happe—]
Oh, just get down here, already.
[— Whelp. Wonder of wonders, suddenly shooting a pointed glare at Mignon.]
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[Before Oberon could even finish barking the order at him, Mignon is already on the move; furrowing his brow in disapproval of the unnecessary struggle and lowering down to his knees in a huff, reaching out with a large hand to take hold of Oberon by the wrist.]
Don't push yourself. [Speaking a little more sternly than before. His grasp on Oberon is firm but gentle- pulling that hand away from the affected area while he looms in more closely.]
If something's too hard for you, just relax and let me take over.
Otherwise, you'll just take longer to heal... [Looking downward, Mignon goes to gingerly undo the tie of his own sweatshirt around Oberon's waist. He's not sure what other wounds Oberon may have, but that bleeding wound needs to be looked at first. He'll quickly but carefully peel away any top that Oberon happens to be wearing and strip it off completely to get a good look at his bare torso- careful about feeling around behind Oberon so that he doesn't bend those delicate-looking wings up in the process.]
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… He also isn’t so stupid as to challenge a human with his magic locked away and nursing a wound, especially not a human that looms a bit more like a boulder overhead. Oberon hadn’t noticed before in his previous agony, but — well, it makes sense why Mignon barely seemed winded by the prospect of carrying a full grown body to his home.
That’s a sheet of muscle he’s glaring at, and so the fae’s dissent ends as it usually does: with a faint snarl but little else, allowing Mignon to lead his hand away so the human can get a better look of him.
Dressed in a few layers of well-crafted fabric, impossibly light and breathing of cotton, it all takes a bit of undoing before Mignon can look at his wound: a bloody mess, is what it is, with the supposed bullet’s point of entry having torn at the surrounding pale skin. Thankfully, underneath all of that congealing blood, it’s the only part of him injured, though peeling the cloth back is its own agony, too. Oberon hisses, digs his heels into the couch and twists his head away with a pained snap, cursing again. The urge to shove Mignon away is only barely held in check.]
For your information, I’ll be healed in a day.
[Two days.
— Alright, maybe a week. It’s the tenacity that counts.]
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...But anyway-] A day?
Really? [Mignon raises his brows in surprise. He has no reason to not believe what Oberon is telling him. But given how prideful the guy has shown himself to be already, there's definitely room to take that information with a tiny grain of salt.]
Well, however long it takes... You can stay here while you heal up.
Stay put for a sec, I'll be right back. [The larger male moves to stand and head off to his bathroom before proceeding any further. He's definitely gotta wash his hands and grab his makeshift first aid kit (AKA- a plastic bag of supplies he haphazardly bought to treat his own wounds) before he goes touching on such a deep wound. He'll return quickly enough; setting the bag he brought down on the couch beside Oberon as he searches for what he needs.]
Uh, so, I should start with cleaning the area I guess. [A cleaning pad and various other wipes are unpackaged for the job. Mignon tries his best to be extra careful while clearing away all of the blood- both dried and wet- in order to get a better look at the wound.] I hope the bullet went straight through. Otherwise it'd really suck to get that out...
[Frankly-] I don't think my sausage-fingers are delicate enough for that kind of operation.
[Glancing up at Oberon once again, he checks-] This next part ain't fun. Wanna... hold my hand, or something?
It's gonna sting a lot when I pour the disinfectant here...
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[Spoken cryptic, head lulling back into a more upright position once the human returns, fixing Mignon with a flat, vacant look as the man begins to mop away the blood from his torso with a gentle, attentive touch. Oh, if only life were so simple that removing a foreign object would fix his true ailment, but alas. Throw it on the ever-growing pile of grievances he’s forced to endure.
Though the image of the fool attempting to cox any bullet out of him with those lion-paws he calls hands warrants a faint snort, the closest to amusement that’s shown on Oberon’s expression so far. The corner of his lips twitch, unsure of which direction they should pull.
—Sure, the human ruins it not two seconds later with that quip about holding hands, but—]
— Hold your— give me that.
[Where is that bottle. Hand it over. And if denied, Oberon’s hand will dart out like a serpent on a cursed crusade, throwing all manner of propriety out the window again. Rage has taken the wheel. He will be uncapping and dousing his own wound in disinfectant unless Mignon is faster.]
Concern yourself with what manner of creature you’ve taken to your home instead of if I can handle another 30 seconds of discomfort!
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Although he raises his hand in anxious anticipation, Mignon doesn't do anything but gawk dumbly as the other being pours a generous amount into his open wound; expression barely changing at all. It's... amazing, really. More and more, Mignon finds himself in awe of Oberon's strength.
He's so cool!]
Woah... [It's a weird thing- to feel his heart skip a beat from such an act. Mignon isn't quite sure of what to make of whatever intense emotion swells up inside of him with every passing moment of their interaction. All he knows is that he's never been so fascinated by another person before.]
...Well, whatever "manner of creature" you are, you're definitely a beast.
-Er, in the good way! [Quickly remembering their slight language barrier earlier, Mignon fumbles through an explanation as he starts to pat around the wound again with a dry cotton pad.] You know, I'm saying it's like, you're unexpectedly... pretty 'manly', I guess?
I wish I was that tough. [Chatting away, Mignon goes to cover the wounded area with a pad, and then securely wrap Oberon's (slender...) waist in fresh bandages. He nudges Oberon's knees apart slightly and looms in closer for the process; speaking just beside the other's ear since he has to loop the medical fabric from Oberon's front to behind his back several times.]
Even though I get hurt a lot, I can't say I ever really get used to it... If I were you, I'd probably be super scared right now.
[He adds, smiling:] -Especially if I had to put up with getting taken to some random guy's house.
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Oberon expects — something. Perhaps disapproval, some bid to take away the bottle before he can accidentally harm himself. Chastisement. Any of which he would have met with an equal amount of spit and fire, his wound be damned.
Instead, Mignon stares at his petty show of stubbornness in full on wonderment, not a lie hiding behind those appreciative eyes. It eats at Oberon’s irritation like an acid, corroding it into an easily broken gate, and by the time the human makes to wrap the bandages ‘round Oberon’s torso, wings still carefully folded down by the man’s efforts, the fae has settled into a cautious silence, allowing the intrusion into his personal space.]
… What an odd fellow you are.
[Murmured at the corner of Mignon’s cheek when their faces are close. Just confusion remains — openly staring the human down like he’s the one with wings.]
Is this some ploy to gain my favor and have a wish granted?
[— It isn’t. The question is rhetorical. No human can easily lie to the fae, and Oberon would sooner eat his robe than assume this human has it in him to be secretly conniving… Which means that Mignon really might be a well-meaning giant who just happened to come across a fae in the night, took him into his home, and is content enough to bandage the wounded creature without payment.]
— Well, you’re mistaken. Pain causes me plenty of irritation. [Huffing, bending his back to give Mignon a bit of added space to finish off the last round of bandaging. Once he relaxes, his eyes return to their bright, pointed interest in staring the human down.] But I don’t have time to have you treat me of glass.
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What is immediately clear at the moment is that being called odd has never felt so... stimulating, before.
Breath catching, Mignon's fingers twitch, and all at once he becomes acutely aware of their proximity when Oberon's words fall ever-so-gently upon his cheek. He pauses in his bandaging on Oberon's middle; skin growing mysteriously warm, as if his own body has belatedly realized that they're damn-near embracing each other in this position.]
A wish...?
[He repeats the words dumbly; distracted from his task. That... sticks out as being particularly weird phrasing, though Mignon isn't sure what to make of it. He isn't exactly in the best position to be particularly analytical at the moment- especially as Oberon arches closer to him. From that moment forward, Oberon's words are a bit of a blur.
It's back again. The shameful fluttering of his heartbeat... An odd excitement, with no real source to be seen. He's never felt like this with anyone else. Not even when a drunk woman once got extremely friendly with Mignon as he strolled through the club attached to the gambling den where he used to fight- and certainly not during any of his boxing matches, which only ended in pain. This sensation is completely new... and it damn-near makes him shiver.]
How... would you like me to treat you, then? [He asks the question after a slow exhale, averting his gaze.
...Why is it that Mignon has only now realized that Oberon has such a pleasant scent to his skin?
Somehow, it feels a little dangerous to think about it any longer. But he doesn't quite feel like moving away yet, either- even after he finishes wrapping Oberon up. In any case, he's not quite done helping Oberon just yet. His hands slide down to Oberon's hips.]
I'm gonna take off your pants, if that's okay...
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Has the lamb turned shy?
It’s the last reaction he expects — Mignon hastily retreating his stare elsewhere like the fae finally struck a cord — and at first Oberon watches on in narrowed assessment… At least until the warm heat mingled between their bodies picks up a familiar scent that reminds him of a thunderstorm, and there is a certain weight in how the human stalls those much larger hands on his hips.
Attraction really is such a funny thing. Easily ignored on his end, truth be told, it’s been eons since anyone could collar him, force him to bend the knee and sample some honey — yet it makes it all the more amusing watching his savior shift and adjust overtop, nearly brushing their chests together, distracted, either purposefully holding himself rigid or that hopelessly dense as to where his body’s demands are headed.
Does the man have a lover? The way he short-circuits suggests otherwise. And normally, Oberon would never bother with antics that won’t put him ahead of the game in some way. It’s only that… well, Mignon is not a blight upon his eyesight, he’ll admit it. Hard work and a benevolent god must have sculpted those biceps. Cruelly ignoring the question, Oberon allows his gaze to meander its way down that cut jaw, that thick neck, that barely-covered collarbone that could use a few well-placed bruises.
If it further convinced the man to give him a place to stay while he healed… Oberon cannot say he’d hate the idea of all that muscle bearing down on him.]
I’m not really in a position to resist, am I?
[Relaxing into the cushions, all of his foulness having disappeared for a flash of a smile, eyes narrowed into crescents. One of his hands strays close to Mignon’s face and taps at his chin]
Do as you please.
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[Ah. The moment Oberon smiles that pretty smile up at him for the first time, Mignon's fate is sealed in an instant. If the previous tension between them was like a warm blanket, Oberon's current allure is like a burning hot fire. He goes rigid as it consumes him; even gasping out loud.
Yeah.... Things are.... becoming all too clear now. That indescribable feeling from a moment ago is a lot more tangible now that Mignon felt a distinct twitch down below from nothing but an 'innocent' tap of his chin, and the realization fills him with a mixture of both wonder and shame. This is an incredibly inconvenient time for Mignon to be experiencing a second shot at a proper 'puberty' of sorts, but unfortunately it's far too late to not realize... that Oberon is indeed quite sexy.
Under different circumstances, "do as you please" would be fantastic words for a virgin like him to hear from the person triggering his 'awakening' of sorts, but right now, for some reason it just doesn't feel right to be lusting after the poor guy like this. After all, he's supposed to be taking care of Oberon, and instead Mignon is over here having thoughts about a severely injured man who had been on the brink of death not too long ago!]
You-- You are.
[He elaborates, after a hard swallow from his incredibly tight throat.] -In a position to resist.
[With a furrowed brow and a reddened complexion, Mignon forcefully regains his focus despite the rapid pounding of his heart against his ribcage. Large, rugged hands do their best to be gentle as they tug down past the hem of Oberon's pants and slide them down past a pair of noticeably creamy, pale thighs. Muttering through a slightly clenched jaw, Mignon's eyes are helplessly glued to the now-exposed legs once they've been completely stripped bare.]
I just wanted to patch you up... [He drops the pants and moves one hand to grab beneath one knee, raising it slightly to get a better look. -For purely medical reasons, of course.] If you wanna tell me not to touch you anymore, you can. But I... appreciate you letting me help. [His voice is a quieter mutter as his other hand slides up from Oberon's shin to his mid-thigh.]
...Mh.
Looks good... [A pause, and then he tears his hungry gaze away from Oberon's legs to make eye-contact again.] I- I mean, I'm not seeing any more injuries.
[There's only one place left to 'check'. Doing so is probably unnecessary, yes- but even so, Oberon should probably remove his undergarments, considering how they too are partially dirtied with the blood of that wound. As much as Mignon is almost afraid to ask-]
Wanna... get your underwear on your own, or... do you need help?
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He keeps to his word - lies there pliant with Mignon’s hands turning his legs into their workshop — a pull here, a lift there, cocking one leg gently to the side so that Mignon has more room to examine him. In another timeline, positioning the fae for a much greedier purpose that would leave them both straining. It’s the great equalizer of all creatures, the need to build their pleasure and drag someone else down into the abyss with them.
Then Mignon poses the question, and Oberon nearly barks out laughing. His shoulders jump.]
My, you are thorough, aren’t you? Such a gentleman.
[There’s no wound there; a revelation Mignon himself must already know. But Oberon won’t ruin the surprise, and the fingers of his left hand track down to Mignon’s own hovered at the border between skin and fabric, drumming on the human’s knuckles.]
Forgive me, I’m feeling a little tired… help me a little more, would you?
[Liar, liar. He poured a whole bottle of disinfectant on a bullet wound and merely hissed his displeasure. But granting Mignon mercy is no fun, and Oberon’s had a long night. Let him have this. Whether the human tumbles into his base desires or keeps playing the gallant knight will leave the fae smirking either way.
His leg moves at the knee, the side of his thigh brushing idly into the bone of Mignon’s hip as if on accident, while his drumming fingers cuff at the human’s wrist. Pulling the hand to the edge of his undergarments, right above his groin, where he isn’t yet hard… but he might be, if Mignon is bold.
If he decides he’d much rather discard this game they’re playing for a much more satisfying one.]
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But, well, it's not like Mignon is doing a great job of hiding his thoughts regardless. As Oberon asks for his help, Mignon makes an affirming noise within his throat- though it comes out as something closer to tortured. A painful ache throbs within his own groin when Oberon's inner thighs brush against him; a surge of blood flowing south all at once. The hand at Oberon's underwear twitches in reflex as it's touched, and Mignon's fingers immediately curl beneath the hem to tug the fabric lower, as if possessed.]
Y-yeah...
[At this point he isn't giving any thought as to whether Oberon's actions are purposefully teasing him or not- Mignon is simply following his own instinct. Like an untrained dog trying his very best to behave, the larger man breathes heavily as he peels the underwear down to completely expose the man laying bare beneath him, and the sight has Mignon reflexively licking his lips; mouth watering. As an athlete, Mignon has never really thought much about another man's nudity before- but the body before him now is unlike any he's ever personally seen.
He wonders what it tastes like.
At this point Mignon is sporting an erection so fierce and prominent that it looks about ready to burst through the fabric of his tented gray sweatpants. It's too much... he can't take it anymore. One hand tightens it's grip on Oberon's thigh while the other takes hold of the hand that touches his own. Staring with eyes full of desire, Mignon raises Oberon's hand to his mouth and goes to gently kiss against the palm.]
...Sorry.
I've just... never met anybody so beautiful before.
[Feeling bashful after that confession, Mignon averts his gaze and decides to move on. Releasing Oberon's thigh, Mignon reaches out his hand to the top of Oberon's head, so that he can give a light stroke to the man's hair.] Anyway, um, you did good.
I'll get you some clothes... [For the sake of keeping his morals from crumbling, Mignon goes to make a hasty exit so that he can do his best to take a moment and will his erection away.]
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The retreat is an abrupt one and sends the human skittering down the short hall into his bedroom before he disappears from Oberon’s sight, leaving all that previous warmth to quickly dissipate into the air, snuffed out, and turning the fae’s skin chilly.
He’s. not sure what has him most flabbergasted: the earnest kiss to his hand, or that Mignon stroked his head like some wayward pup.]
Bastard, the hell was that.
[Murmured carefully under the cover of his breath as he slouches, boneless, wings bent at an uncomfortable angle while his mouth twists into a thoughtful frown. Having just sidestepped arousal, he reclines into the couch without shame — beautiful, as Mignon had put it. And the human is correct. The fae come in all variety of containers, should they choose to be perceived at all, and somehow Oberon had lucked into a porcelain figure drawn by the most delicate of pens. Thin-limbed, fair-skinned, washed in pale colors, save for the lightning in his blue eyes.
— A form that’s only marred when too much of his true nature bleeds through, but…
It’s not his appearance he’s struggling with right now, but that the human’s response was to prioritize whatever boundaries he thinks the fairy covets. Which is quite the pity; that cock had looked ready to cut through the man’s sweatpants, and Oberon had been in a strangely benevolent mood. Such a miracle won’t be happening twice. He’s almost disappointed.
Drawing a hand down his bandaged chest, allowing the fingers to float at the edge, then sighing. Quick as the profanities had come, he fixes his tone back into honey while pushing off the couch cushions, ignoring how his body screams in protest:]
I fear you’re not going to find much that will fit me.
[Let’s be real; their differing sizes is to the point of hilarity.]
A linen sheet with suffice, if you have one.
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Don't count me out yet!
Look what I found~! [As if that whole awkward exchange from minutes prior never happened, Mignon happily approaches the couch and sets a few articles of clothing beside Oberon.]
Mm, it's true that these pants will probably fall right off of ya, even with the tie.... [Mignon takes a set of sweatpants with a drawstring at the front and holds them up to Oberon's thin waist, as if to judge the size. As expected- it's probably more trouble than it's worth; their length alone would probably just cause him to trip if he moved around on his own too much. Maybe he could cut them?
Disregarding the pants for now, Mignon tosses them aside and grabs his second option.]
But hey, at least you could wear this! It was a gift from one of the gyms I fought at before.
[Mignon lifts a flashy, bright red hooded shawl of sorts for Oberon to see. It's a lot like the standard boxing robe that many fighters choose to wear for the sake of their dramatic entrances into the ring, except it's more of a long cape than anything. It's even got Mignon's name on the back of it.]
If you wore a cape while you're outside, maybe it could help hide your wings! It's kinda cool, don't you think???
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It’s almost enough to distract from the fact that Mignon has completely recovered once he returns to the living room and now seems to ignore Oberon’s nakedness as if it were an afterthought. What a switch-up; the fae is almost impressed.
But god. The shawl. That robe. His expression pinches from the psychological damage that’s been inflicted upon him, freed wings fluttering their dissatisfaction while he slowly reaches out to test the flimsy fabric between his fingertips. It’s lacking, that’s for sure, nothing compared to the skill of the fae when they feel inclined to one-up humanity with their efforts. More certain than ever that he’ll be insisting on just a simple sheet, please, his dignity has suffered enough—
Oberon sees that strangely energetic expression aimed at him and double downs on a frown]
Never mind my wings; this alone would draw attention to me if I went out dressed like this. [… Eventually grabbing at the boxing robe, his efforts slow and labored as he begins to wind his arms through the sleeves]
Well, it’ll work — maybe — while I’m in your home.
[Just give him a length of cloth to tie around the middle and — yes, it’ll do. He’ll just avoid all mirrors for fear his soul will get trapped away from shame.]
And you — fight? Are you some sort of warrior?
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[Eyes sparkling with barely-concealed delight, Mignon crouches down in front of Oberon and watches him slip into the "Mignon cape" like a proud cat-dad who somehow managed to get their fussy kitty into a handmade sweater.
Something to consider:
Does Oberon really have to wear pants? This is quite the look, after all...]
"Warrior"? [A light chuckle.] Nah, it's just me fighting other dudes for... entertainment? Or like, sports, I guess. -If they even have that sorta thing wherever you're from...
[-Which is probably a good segue into asking the winged man where exactly he is from and what he's doing here. Instead, Mignon beams; his mind following the trail to a completely different question.] ...Why?
Are you gettin' curious about me~?
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[Spoken airly, his arms cresting through the sleeves to fiddle with the robe’s middle portion until it closes shut in some vague semblance of modesty. Given that his wings are currently bunched up underneath, the result is that of a fair-faced hunchback whose swimming in his oversized clothing, but after some sighing, glancing idly behind his shoulder—]
Come now, I should at least be able to— oh, here we are.
[A shimmer of light unfolds along his back before his wings, strangely enough, phase through the fabric as if slits had been cut into the cloth. Once more freed, they flap and unfurl while he tightens the robe closer by his waist, a snugger fit, though grimacing at how his abdomen throbs from all of this unnecessary movement.
But their thoughts seem to be similar - at no point does he demand Mignon fetch him another set of pants to try, when the robe already covers past his knees. This will do. Legs carefully crossed as he sits and settles against the couch, attempting not to jar his body further:]
Oh? For sport? [… Glancing at him, once again taking stock of the other man] Huh, you don’t seem the type into that sort of lifestyle.
[Dislikes pain and enjoys brushing elbows with strange creatures on his late night jogs. Oberon would have anticipated a much more boring life. For as large as he is, the fae can’t imagine this man as much of a beast in a fight, but, well… no one expects him to be anything but a beautiful fairy. Maybe there’s a piece of Mignon that lies as well as he does.]
Well! That aside! Seeing as you’ve housed me, clothed me.
— Shall we discuss payment, then?
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Maybe Mignon shouldn't be surprised, considering what he's seen already. The guy does have wings, after all. But seeing something like that in real life, outside of a movie, is still pretty surreal...
-And almost just as surreal is what Oberon nonchalantly comments about him next. Mignon blinks and his brows raise; surprised by the other's observation of him. That's... the first time that anyone he's spoken to has ever implied that a big oaf like him might be suited for anything but fighting. Mignon isn't quite sure what to think about that at the moment, but for some reason... it strikes a chord.]
Payment? [Mignon cants his head to the side, confused.] Why? I don't need any.
I mean, it seems to me like you're pretty broke right now. How would you even pay me to begin with..?
1/2
Smiling.
Wings humming on his back like they’re going to stir up invisible storm clouds brewing overhead.]
Ah, just look at you, speaking without thinking! Is this is habit of yours?
[— The fae, is perhaps, a little sensitive about his lack of income]
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I’m a little disappointed by this lack of imagination. You’ve a fairy in your house, you know - and you can’t think of anything to ask of me after you’ve taken me off the roads?
[Shrugging a little, a finger reached up to lazily twist into one of his blond locks]
Listen, I know my kind can be a bit… exhausting to deal with, but I like to play nice when I can.
[Which is never.
He hates humanity as easily as he draws breath. Other fairies, at least, can’t help that they’re monstrous; their fates are sealed the moment the world births them, doomed to scripts that cannot be altered. But a human? Their greed and pompous sense of self, the casual way in which they dominate, like it was their given right - it turns the stomach and shoots bile up his throat. Mignon will be no exception.
The only difference here is that Oberon just so happened to come across a human who can be easily fooled, manipulated, and discarded if necessary. So why not offer up a little miracle to keep a pawn in his grip?
Fair’s fair. Summon a demon, and someone will be sacrificed at the altar]
Tell me — do you wish for fortune? Love? Respect? Power? I can give you anything you wish.
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Okay, so, maybe "broke" wasn't the right word for someone in Oberon's... predicament.]
Er, well, sorta.
[He answers the question dumbly; still a bit flustered even after his ear is released. Mignon remains in place; still leaning forward, finding himself in a sort of bow before the man perched up on the couch.]
So you're... a fairy? I thought that those were like, the tiny people with magic wands, that live in grass and wear little tutus and stuff... [Again, he pretty much speaks without thinking; blurting what's on his mind as he imagines a tiny Oberon fluttering around, wearing a frilly dress.
Cute...]
You can grant wishes?
[Mignon blinks; more impressed than anything. But as he thinks the question over, the athlete finds himself drawing a blank. He scratches the back of his head.] Um, sorry but... I don't really know how to answer that.
Until recently, I've never had to think about what I want. [Averting his gaze.] -Or rather... I guess I wasn't really allowed to think it.
So I appreciate it, but I'll pass.
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How sad. You really don’t know what you want?
[The fairy clucks his tongue at this man half-bowed before him like a pauper, cheshire smile alive and well on his expression despite being turned down. It doesn’t sting at his pride; at best, he’ll consider it a minor setback, proof that Mignon might not be worth the effort, but—
No, it’s not even that. Oberon just can’t be bothered to hiss and growl when the human can’t even strum up a wish in the first place. The questions such as statement brings up — I wasn't really allowed to think — are bleak enough to paint their own conclusions. Partly why the fae does not ask them. Besides, if he wanted a sob story, he’d go on the hunt for a 3-penny play. They’re all a dime a dozen.
… Still:]
Then you just need time, yes? [Reaching forward, his index finger pushing at Mignon’s forehead until there’s a bit more space to breathe between them, then dips to trace a faint line along his jaw] To figure out what your soul craves — and lucky for you, I am very patient. Why, I’ll even help you figure out the answer!
[All humans have wishes; Mignon best not insult him by implying otherwise. It’s a matter of twisted principle, now, to insist and push until the human bends to his benevolence.]
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bless Mignon for his horny math
It's like 'girl math' but worse
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