[It's been about a month since Mignon has been living on his own. For the first time in his life, he's completely free.
But of course, the question now is...
Free to do what?
Until now, Mignon has never had to think about himself or his future seriously. Every aspect of his schedule- and even the people he was allowed to interact with- was once dictated by his former coach. -His former guardian, really.
And it's not like he misses being under the old man's oppressive thumb or anything, but to say that he's largely directionless in life at the moment would be an understatement. Without any connections, and barely any money to his name, it was difficult to even know where to start becoming an independent adult. But somehow... after a little fumbling along the way, Mignon managed to turn the life of an athlete that had been forced upon him into a legitimate career path.
Well. "Career" might be too generous, but at the very least he's getting paid. And this time, the money he earns from every fight is actually going into his pocket. Objectively speaking, his life is simple- but good. Mignon can finally call himself a "real" adult; one who takes care of himself and doesn't have to be kicked around by anyone who isn't an opponent in the ring.
So why does he feel so listless lately?
Heaving a sigh, Mignon looks up at the ceiling of the small apartment he managed to buy for himself, and finds himself feeling... well. Bored. Even despite no longer having to stick to coach's strict workout schedule, it seems like Mignon still can't quite get used to sitting around doing nothing for too long. Whether that's a direct result of all of Coach's "conditioning", or something like his own free will... is hard to say.
Regardless, Mignon puts on his running gear and sneakers; stretching as he prepares to go on a run around the block. Maybe some fresh air will help him to focus on something other than the odd emptiness of his new, coach-less apartment...]
[If boredom is what ails him, give it thirty minutes or more into his jog.
Though it’s a story Mignon will have never heard of, nor the general populous; of strange entities that exist within and outside the world, on the other side of the veil. Things that usually have no business mingling with the drivel of humanity. Calling them “monsters” is an insult to both sides of the coin — humans have done much, much worse to themselves, and for less than pennies on the dollar — but in those moments where a cursed miracle steps from out the other side of the fog, gains a conscience, realizes it’s accidentally materialized in the mortal realm—
But of course there are organizations that are quick to take notice.
Of course the most sensible thing to do is to run.
If there’s any justice, is that the armed scientists fast on his heels learn that a cornered fae is far more unpleasant than any werewolf, vampire, or goblin combined. He doesn’t need raw strength — just rage and curses thrown with impunity. A finger snap, a promise of retribution, and their human minds bleed straight from their orifices, bodies collapsed on the sterile, tile flooring as he flees.
By all accounts, it’s a perfect escape… with his only mistake being unaware that humans are as petty as him. Weaving a spell that will materialize him out of the facility, a shock of metal lodges into his abdomen before the incantation is completed.
He disappears from his captors’ sights, voice a howl of pain and rage as he snaps out of existence—
— And then is unceremoniously dumped into a lone alleyway as Mignon takes a sharp corner on his afternoon jog.]
[It had been a nice run. The night air was crisp and clear; nothing but the distant noise of life in and his own footsteps in his ears as he ran in long strides down the empty block-
-Up until Mignon hears a loud noise to his left, and suddenly catches sight of a body collapsing to the ground in a nearby alleyway.]
Woah-!
[Startled, Mignon skids to an abrupt and undignified halt. His eyes did not decieve him- there is indeed a body crumpled up on the floor nearby, and it's sudden appearance nearly made Mignon's heart leap out of his throat. Without thinking, he immediately rushes over; anxiety building up inside of him as he moves closer towards the... corpse(???)]
H-hey, miss, are you alright!?
[In his panic, all Mignon initially sees is a slender figure, flowing hair... and blood. Kneeling down in front of the body, Mignon reaches out with a trembling hand to brush the person's pale strands aside and get a better look at their face.]
Ma'am...!
[...Oh. Maybe not a ma'am?
Anyway, forget about that- is this person even breathing? Should Mignon be searching their body for some kind of I.D?? No- before that, he should check for a pulse, right??? Moving his hand lower, Mignon goes to place his fingers to their throat in search of a pulse.]
[The person is breathing — barely. Shallow, wheezing breaths of pain that inefficiently pull air into his lungs and keep the blood flowing. So disoriented, it takes a moment for the world to phase back into his fractured vision, and even then he feels the breeze on his clammy skin before he can bother comprehending where he is.
— Outside. He’s outside. Fine, alright; he can deal with that.
— But not alone, comes the next ugly realization, when he hones in on a presence by his side: a voice warm and low with concern knelt above him, blotting out the moonlight. Didn’t last but five seconds before some human discovered his body.
The fingers on his neck? Clawed aside like Mignon is forced to corral a mountain lion rather than an injured civilian. And the sharp flutter of large moth wings snapped open wide probably won’t help with the matter. His battered breath squeezes into a hiss, gathering up a curse to his lips, not so weak as to remain pliant while someone gets a good look at his face. The poor bastard chose the wrong time to take a run.
… And nothing happens.
The human doesn’t roll over dead on command.
— No, worse, he fears, when the recoil hits and there’s a pitiful wheeze of agony as he doubles over, clutching weakly at his abdomen and the wound still oozing copper. Those bastards at the facility did not strike him with a bullet; just insurance to make sure their quarry wouldn’t get too far with another spell, or leave a mountain of corpses in his wake.
… Well played, actually.]
Damn… it…
[The fight drains from him, body and wings sinking into the alleyway ground, face thoroughly exposed and pinched with pain - the only reason he isn’t glaring at Mignon like he committed some grave sin.]
[Mignon isn't sure what surprises him more. The sudden clawing of his hand, the pure, masculine rage suddenly radiating from the man's otherwise delicate-looking face, or the fact that there are very real wings now fluttering from the stranger's back.
...No, scratch that. It's definitely the fucking wings.]
Gh-!?!
[Mignon gasps and remains frozen in shock for several seconds after the... moth-man(???) falls again; his brain needing an extra moment to compute what he's seeing. But once he's able to see the pool of blood slowly forming beneath the stranger's body, Mignon is suddenly snapped out of his state of confusion and he rushes forward again.]
Hey- you can't keep moving around, or you'll hurt yourself!!
[Now that he knows that he's dealing with a 'fighter' here, Mignon is more careful as he approaches again; removing his cloth sweatshirt and going to gingerly lift the winged man up just enough to tie the sweatshirt around the other's waist. Mignon is careful, but he's also ready to forcefully pin the other man still if need be.]
...Okay, that... should slow the bleeding a little, I think. Just wait while I call someone to come and get you taken care of.
[His hands now stained with a bit of blood, Mignon reaches down into the pocket of his sweatpants to try and fish out his phone. -A much more difficult process than usual, now that his hands are extra slippery.] Shit...
[He tries to wipe his hand off on the cloth of his sweatpants; nervous as he glances from his phone to the injured man again.]
Uh, I guess I should just ask for an ambulance...?
[That's... definitely what he should do in this situation, right?
So why is he hesitating?
Mignon's eyes flick back to the unknown entities wings once more. For some reason, he's got a bad feeling about this...]
[From a botched summoning in a strange facility to being shot in the abdomen, and now manhandled by human hands; the injustices continue to pile on top of one another, and that he doesn’t kick at the man in defiance when touched is just a technicality. His lower half has shut down completely, and with his violent mystics locked inside his own body, so too goes any hope of escape.
Trapped again, at another’s mercy. Being sent back to the other side of the veil would probably be a kinder fate.]
— D-don’t—
[Seizing up as the word drags itself from his throat, expression pinched, and the glare he sends could freeze the earth twice over. Call who? Call what? And the fuck is an ambulance? Some pretty box to ship him in once his summoners find him, he bets. The fairy isn’t so stupid as to extend a moment of trust to this stranger. Already, he can imagine a price on his head, eagerly exchanged once his capture is arranged.
The sharp taste of bile and blood stings at his tongue as he grinds out another heaving breath, ignoring the call to remain still — shoving his arms underneath him in a bid to push, sit up, and crawl, if he must. But halfway up and the last of his strength gives.
Gravity slams him back into place. He doesn’t move again. Just gasps tightly and closes his eyes, and tries to plan for the inevitable.]
[Mignon isn't the brightest bulb in the box. But as the injured man speaks that single word- "Don't" -somehow, a sense of understanding washes over his previously-confused and conflicted brain.
It seems like, for some reason, this guy thinks it would be bad if Mignon were to call a bunch of doctors to come and examine him.
...And Mignon agrees.
As he watches the moth-man struggle, fighting for his life with every ounce of strength he has left, Mignon feels a dull aching sensation tugging at his heart. The mysterious sensation isn't a sense fear, but a sense of... sympathy? Empathy? Admiration? Whatever it is, it has Mignon quickly changing his plans.]
.....
Okay.
[His phone is placed back into his pocket. Mignon steps forward again and bends down to take hold of the other male by the arm. Quickly, Mignon goes to lift the stranger up into his arms; cradling his body closely. Part of him wanted to carry the man on his back- but it'd be easier to keep the winged man restrained if Mignon holds the other to his chest instead. The last thing he wants is to see the poor thing drop to the ground again if he were to start lashing out again.]
[Rudely, the world lurches when he’s again moved, and his eyes fly open to lock with the human’s. The sharp color of lightning before it strikes the earth.
… And just like lightning it dulls quickly with the moment passed, color receding back into a normal hue once the pain resumes and he accepts his fate to dangle helpless in the other’s grip. He’s stopped counting the injustices at this point. Carry him directly into the sea and drown him, he doesn’t care. He’s too busy distracted by the strange weightlessness that floods his senses, wings uselessly bunched between his back and the human’s arms, but still.
Almost like flying. It isn’t unpleasant.
His head rocks back and forth, purposefully suspended away from the other’s shoulder in open defiance, until he tires with his own stubbornness and finally cedes - drops his temple against the human’s chest and sighs, irritable, forced to admit this is a fair bit more comfortable than concrete.]
As if I’d ever.
[— He’ll raze this earth before letting the mortal realm think they’ve bested him, make no mistake. All of this is a setback at worst. Give it time. Take him to this “home” so he can recuperate, and then he’ll be showing everyone why they would have been better off summoning the devil than an angry fae.
Eyes closing once more, the next breath he takes is not nearly as pained. More soft and exhausted, and carrying a casual warning in a honeyed tenor.]
[Seems like this guy doesn't have the energy left to fight anymore. Mignon isn't so sure that's a good sign, but at the very least, it should make carrying him easier. It's a good thing that the athlete wasn't terribly far into his jog before he stumbled upon the injured being; shouldn't take too long for Mignon to make it back to his apartment at this pace. Hopefully there aren't a lot of other people wandering the streets at this hour, but if there are, maybe they'll just think that Mignon is carrying a drunk friend home after a costume party or something?
In any case, Mignon shifts the other male's weight in his arms, trying to allow him as much comfort as possible. Even so, it seems like the guy is doing his best to avoid leaning on Mignon. This guy's got a lot of pride... Or rather, perhaps it's more accurate to say that he's surprisingly strong, for someone who initially looked so delicate...]
Heh.
[Despite the circumstances, Mignon finds himself exhaling a small puff of laughter at the other's response to his simple "request". He might not be physically lashing out, but the guy's personality is still pretty lively. -Which makes it even more amusing when the winged man finally succumbs to exhaustion and leans against Mignon's shoulder.
Cute...
...But on second thought, maybe that's also not a good thing.
Mignon is honestly a little worried that the stranger might not open his eyes again if he were to fall asleep now. The threat exhaled against Mignon's shoulder is oddly reassuring, in a way; a clear indication that the guy really hasn't given up yet.
Maybe it's better to keep him talking for a bit longer.]
"Mignon". That's my name.
What should I call you, huh? You've got wings, and you came out of nowhere, so...
[Killing a fae is tricky. There are tales of pure iron to wound them, but in reality, it’s more akin to a terrible allergy than any real death. And for all his agony after having been shot, death is not what he fears — it’s the eventual capture, the subjugation, the threat of humans pawing at his clothes and skin, dissecting him to get a handle on his inner mystics. No matter how he might scream and spit, it’s unlikely he’d die.
But a fae who gives out their True Name is indeed a dead one; entirely too much power to be handing over to a human, even one who has been strangely amiable to the idea of sheltering him for the night.
— That nickname, though.
Absolutely the fuck not.
Eyes opening up for what feels like the fiftieth time, the fairy nails his savior with a look of utter disapproval.]
Call me that even once, and I will curse your entire family line, thank you.
[— Mm. Perhaps a little on the nose with his threat, he realizes, once his irritation is spent. They’ve yet to reach the human’s abode, and he isn’t sure if the man will abandon him if angered. Play it cool, then. At least attempt to seem frail. Disregard how acting like a weak insect makes him want to set fire to the city; the important part is to survive.
Chewing on his tongue, the fairy swallows down his pride and settles again, bundled neatly in the other’s arms — hears a heartbeat next to his ear and lets the rhythm keep his own voice steady.]
No, that was… uncalled for… I’m a bit… tired.
[Forgive me, is the unspoken demand. Only one of them is bleeding from the gut. Offer a little more grace, he asks.]
— Mignon, is it? I’m, ah… [Stalling, holding back a wince as his thoughts cartwheel. What throwaway name to give him? What passes as a fae’s name? It’s been eons since he was called to the human realm, and he can barely remember their twisted history.
[… 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.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
PSL For: morninglark
But of course, the question now is...
Free to do what?
Until now, Mignon has never had to think about himself or his future seriously. Every aspect of his schedule- and even the people he was allowed to interact with- was once dictated by his former coach. -His former guardian, really.
And it's not like he misses being under the old man's oppressive thumb or anything, but to say that he's largely directionless in life at the moment would be an understatement. Without any connections, and barely any money to his name, it was difficult to even know where to start becoming an independent adult. But somehow... after a little fumbling along the way, Mignon managed to turn the life of an athlete that had been forced upon him into a legitimate career path.
Well. "Career" might be too generous, but at the very least he's getting paid. And this time, the money he earns from every fight is actually going into his pocket. Objectively speaking, his life is simple- but good. Mignon can finally call himself a "real" adult; one who takes care of himself and doesn't have to be kicked around by anyone who isn't an opponent in the ring.
So why does he feel so listless lately?
Heaving a sigh, Mignon looks up at the ceiling of the small apartment he managed to buy for himself, and finds himself feeling... well. Bored. Even despite no longer having to stick to coach's strict workout schedule, it seems like Mignon still can't quite get used to sitting around doing nothing for too long. Whether that's a direct result of all of Coach's "conditioning", or something like his own free will... is hard to say.
Regardless, Mignon puts on his running gear and sneakers; stretching as he prepares to go on a run around the block. Maybe some fresh air will help him to focus on something other than the odd emptiness of his new, coach-less apartment...]
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Though it’s a story Mignon will have never heard of, nor the general populous; of strange entities that exist within and outside the world, on the other side of the veil. Things that usually have no business mingling with the drivel of humanity. Calling them “monsters” is an insult to both sides of the coin — humans have done much, much worse to themselves, and for less than pennies on the dollar — but in those moments where a cursed miracle steps from out the other side of the fog, gains a conscience, realizes it’s accidentally materialized in the mortal realm—
But of course there are organizations that are quick to take notice.
Of course the most sensible thing to do is to run.
If there’s any justice, is that the armed scientists fast on his heels learn that a cornered fae is far more unpleasant than any werewolf, vampire, or goblin combined. He doesn’t need raw strength — just rage and curses thrown with impunity. A finger snap, a promise of retribution, and their human minds bleed straight from their orifices, bodies collapsed on the sterile, tile flooring as he flees.
By all accounts, it’s a perfect escape… with his only mistake being unaware that humans are as petty as him. Weaving a spell that will materialize him out of the facility, a shock of metal lodges into his abdomen before the incantation is completed.
He disappears from his captors’ sights, voice a howl of pain and rage as he snaps out of existence—
— And then is unceremoniously dumped into a lone alleyway as Mignon takes a sharp corner on his afternoon jog.]
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-Up until Mignon hears a loud noise to his left, and suddenly catches sight of a body collapsing to the ground in a nearby alleyway.]
Woah-!
[Startled, Mignon skids to an abrupt and undignified halt. His eyes did not decieve him- there is indeed a body crumpled up on the floor nearby, and it's sudden appearance nearly made Mignon's heart leap out of his throat. Without thinking, he immediately rushes over; anxiety building up inside of him as he moves closer towards the... corpse(???)]
H-hey, miss, are you alright!?
[In his panic, all Mignon initially sees is a slender figure, flowing hair... and blood. Kneeling down in front of the body, Mignon reaches out with a trembling hand to brush the person's pale strands aside and get a better look at their face.]
Ma'am...!
[...Oh. Maybe not a ma'am?
Anyway, forget about that- is this person even breathing? Should Mignon be searching their body for some kind of I.D?? No- before that, he should check for a pulse, right??? Moving his hand lower, Mignon goes to place his fingers to their throat in search of a pulse.]
HE DID NOT JUST CALL HIM MA’AM ROFL 😂💀
— Outside. He’s outside. Fine, alright; he can deal with that.
— But not alone, comes the next ugly realization, when he hones in on a presence by his side: a voice warm and low with concern knelt above him, blotting out the moonlight. Didn’t last but five seconds before some human discovered his body.
The fingers on his neck? Clawed aside like Mignon is forced to corral a mountain lion rather than an injured civilian. And the sharp flutter of large moth wings snapped open wide probably won’t help with the matter. His battered breath squeezes into a hiss, gathering up a curse to his lips, not so weak as to remain pliant while someone gets a good look at his face. The poor bastard chose the wrong time to take a run.
… And nothing happens.
The human doesn’t roll over dead on command.
— No, worse, he fears, when the recoil hits and there’s a pitiful wheeze of agony as he doubles over, clutching weakly at his abdomen and the wound still oozing copper. Those bastards at the facility did not strike him with a bullet; just insurance to make sure their quarry wouldn’t get too far with another spell, or leave a mountain of corpses in his wake.
… Well played, actually.]
Damn… it…
[The fight drains from him, body and wings sinking into the alleyway ground, face thoroughly exposed and pinched with pain - the only reason he isn’t glaring at Mignon like he committed some grave sin.]
Maybe Oberon shouldn't be so badbitch-coded 🤷
...No, scratch that. It's definitely the fucking wings.]
Gh-!?!
[Mignon gasps and remains frozen in shock for several seconds after the... moth-man(???) falls again; his brain needing an extra moment to compute what he's seeing. But once he's able to see the pool of blood slowly forming beneath the stranger's body, Mignon is suddenly snapped out of his state of confusion and he rushes forward again.]
Hey- you can't keep moving around, or you'll hurt yourself!!
[Now that he knows that he's dealing with a 'fighter' here, Mignon is more careful as he approaches again; removing his cloth sweatshirt and going to gingerly lift the winged man up just enough to tie the sweatshirt around the other's waist. Mignon is careful, but he's also ready to forcefully pin the other man still if need be.]
...Okay, that... should slow the bleeding a little, I think. Just wait while I call someone to come and get you taken care of.
[His hands now stained with a bit of blood, Mignon reaches down into the pocket of his sweatpants to try and fish out his phone. -A much more difficult process than usual, now that his hands are extra slippery.] Shit...
[He tries to wipe his hand off on the cloth of his sweatpants; nervous as he glances from his phone to the injured man again.]
Uh, I guess I should just ask for an ambulance...?
[That's... definitely what he should do in this situation, right?
So why is he hesitating?
Mignon's eyes flick back to the unknown entities wings once more. For some reason, he's got a bad feeling about this...]
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Trapped again, at another’s mercy. Being sent back to the other side of the veil would probably be a kinder fate.]
— D-don’t—
[Seizing up as the word drags itself from his throat, expression pinched, and the glare he sends could freeze the earth twice over. Call who? Call what? And the fuck is an ambulance? Some pretty box to ship him in once his summoners find him, he bets. The fairy isn’t so stupid as to extend a moment of trust to this stranger. Already, he can imagine a price on his head, eagerly exchanged once his capture is arranged.
The sharp taste of bile and blood stings at his tongue as he grinds out another heaving breath, ignoring the call to remain still — shoving his arms underneath him in a bid to push, sit up, and crawl, if he must. But halfway up and the last of his strength gives.
Gravity slams him back into place. He doesn’t move again. Just gasps tightly and closes his eyes, and tries to plan for the inevitable.]
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It seems like, for some reason, this guy thinks it would be bad if Mignon were to call a bunch of doctors to come and examine him.
...And Mignon agrees.
As he watches the moth-man struggle, fighting for his life with every ounce of strength he has left, Mignon feels a dull aching sensation tugging at his heart. The mysterious sensation isn't a sense fear, but a sense of... sympathy? Empathy? Admiration? Whatever it is, it has Mignon quickly changing his plans.]
.....
Okay.
[His phone is placed back into his pocket. Mignon steps forward again and bends down to take hold of the other male by the arm. Quickly, Mignon goes to lift the stranger up into his arms; cradling his body closely. Part of him wanted to carry the man on his back- but it'd be easier to keep the winged man restrained if Mignon holds the other to his chest instead. The last thing he wants is to see the poor thing drop to the ground again if he were to start lashing out again.]
In that case... I'm taking you home for now.
Don't die, okay?
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… And just like lightning it dulls quickly with the moment passed, color receding back into a normal hue once the pain resumes and he accepts his fate to dangle helpless in the other’s grip. He’s stopped counting the injustices at this point. Carry him directly into the sea and drown him, he doesn’t care. He’s too busy distracted by the strange weightlessness that floods his senses, wings uselessly bunched between his back and the human’s arms, but still.
Almost like flying. It isn’t unpleasant.
His head rocks back and forth, purposefully suspended away from the other’s shoulder in open defiance, until he tires with his own stubbornness and finally cedes - drops his temple against the human’s chest and sighs, irritable, forced to admit this is a fair bit more comfortable than concrete.]
As if I’d ever.
[— He’ll raze this earth before letting the mortal realm think they’ve bested him, make no mistake. All of this is a setback at worst. Give it time. Take him to this “home” so he can recuperate, and then he’ll be showing everyone why they would have been better off summoning the devil than an angry fae.
Eyes closing once more, the next breath he takes is not nearly as pained. More soft and exhausted, and carrying a casual warning in a honeyed tenor.]
You’ll be regretting this, human.
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In any case, Mignon shifts the other male's weight in his arms, trying to allow him as much comfort as possible. Even so, it seems like the guy is doing his best to avoid leaning on Mignon. This guy's got a lot of pride... Or rather, perhaps it's more accurate to say that he's surprisingly strong, for someone who initially looked so delicate...]
Heh.
[Despite the circumstances, Mignon finds himself exhaling a small puff of laughter at the other's response to his simple "request". He might not be physically lashing out, but the guy's personality is still pretty lively. -Which makes it even more amusing when the winged man finally succumbs to exhaustion and leans against Mignon's shoulder.
Cute...
...But on second thought, maybe that's also not a good thing.
Mignon is honestly a little worried that the stranger might not open his eyes again if he were to fall asleep now. The threat exhaled against Mignon's shoulder is oddly reassuring, in a way; a clear indication that the guy really hasn't given up yet.
Maybe it's better to keep him talking for a bit longer.]
"Mignon". That's my name.
What should I call you, huh? You've got wings, and you came out of nowhere, so...
Maybe "Angel"?
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But a fae who gives out their True Name is indeed a dead one; entirely too much power to be handing over to a human, even one who has been strangely amiable to the idea of sheltering him for the night.
— That nickname, though.
Absolutely the fuck not.
Eyes opening up for what feels like the fiftieth time, the fairy nails his savior with a look of utter disapproval.]
Call me that even once, and I will curse your entire family line, thank you.
[— Mm. Perhaps a little on the nose with his threat, he realizes, once his irritation is spent. They’ve yet to reach the human’s abode, and he isn’t sure if the man will abandon him if angered. Play it cool, then. At least attempt to seem frail. Disregard how acting like a weak insect makes him want to set fire to the city; the important part is to survive.
Chewing on his tongue, the fairy swallows down his pride and settles again, bundled neatly in the other’s arms — hears a heartbeat next to his ear and lets the rhythm keep his own voice steady.]
No, that was… uncalled for… I’m a bit… tired.
[Forgive me, is the unspoken demand. Only one of them is bleeding from the gut. Offer a little more grace, he asks.]
— Mignon, is it? I’m, ah… [Stalling, holding back a wince as his thoughts cartwheel. What throwaway name to give him? What passes as a fae’s name? It’s been eons since he was called to the human realm, and he can barely remember their twisted history.
…]
“Oberon.”
[Yes. He supposes that will do, for now.]
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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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bless Mignon for his horny math
It's like 'girl math' but worse
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