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Scar had been away from Boatem for ages. Grian wasn’t counting, really, but it must have been a few hours. He’d run entirely out of things to do (and was skillfully ignoring all the actual things he should be doing) and was now sitting bored out of his head on top of one of Scar’s wagons. His wings droop behind him, one of his feet beating against the copper of Scar’s roof, his face held up in his palm while he leaned over his knees.
This was ridiculous. Scar was just meant to head over to Tango’s to advertise something new at one of his shops. And with his smooth-talking salesman ways, even Scar’s longest pitches didn’t take this long.
Grian’s foot beat harder against the roof, the feathers on the side of his face fluffing in frustration and mild embarrassment. He finally stops his foot by digging his talons into one of the logs that texture the roof. Its a great effort not to scratch at it relentlessly.
Normally he’d be completely fine with Scar going off doing who the hell knows what for hours. It’d probably even be very funny when he came back with some uproarious tale of a completely unnecessary adventure he stumbled on. But today Grian was…well the word clingy made him want to gag a bit and lonely made him frustrated but…they were perhaps apt. Everyone else in Boatem was away today too, likely in other worlds, testing builds or playing terrifying games. There wasn’t even a Mumbo around for him to bother.
Grian scans over Boatem again, looking fruitlessly for something small to do, a task he could drop quickly when Scar did eventually reappear. He glances at Mumbo’s van, contemplating setting some kind of trap just to give himself something to clean up, when finally in the distance he hears Scar’s voice followed by short wheezy laughter, talking to himself like always.
Grian shoots up, holding himself in the air with the occasional beat of his wings and searches the horizon. His tail feathers fan out to keep him balanced as he scans the horizon. There! Approaching from…The Octagon? Grian's sure he probably doesn't want to know.
Bundled in Scar’s arms were far too many rockets to be considered safe, the kind he used to fly like everyone else, besides Grian. His elytra fanned out behind him as he glided slowly down to Boatem, seemingly missing Grian in the air. Which…was honestly not the worst thing Scar had ever failed to take notice of, Grian thought with a quiet snort. He swoops down to meet Scar, silent as a breeze. He can never pass up the opportunity to spook someone.
Scar carefully set the rockets in a shulker box, and then turns downwards to adjust his braces. With practiced efficiency, Scar uses one of the keys on his belt loop to unlock them around the knees, assisting him in movement rather than holding his legs straight for flying. Grian had asked about how they worked years ago, but he feels like maybe he should be more familiar. He’ll ask again soon.
For now, he sneaks around Scar, carefully keeping his noticeably red wings out of Scar's periphery. Probably an unnecessary precaution considering the tree incident. As Scar mills about, eventually picking up the shulker box and heading into his main wagon, Grian slinks behind, impressively holding in an onslaught of giggling.
Once Scar finds a place for the shulker of rockets, he turns around, satisfied and dusting off his hands—only to shriek and stumble as he comes face to face with Grian, just about a breath away from him and staring intently. Grian falls back, laughing loudly, his wings shaking with it.
“Oh my gosh, Grian! How long have you been there? Oh, I didn’t hear you at all,” Scar, so earnestly dramatic at his core, places a hand over his heart with flourish, and fixes his hat as if Grian had scared it off him.
Grian giggles a bit more, “Since you landed. I had been waiting for you on top of one of your wagons and saw you fly over.”
Scar’s eyes go wide but his familiar smile was back, “Since I landed? Sometimes I swear you’ve got some secret spy training G.”
Grian smiles, admittedly a bit proud of his stealth. He's only ever actually good at it on Hermitcraft. In just about any other world, it was laughable for some reason.
Scar smiles back at him, probably a bit too smug that he managed to find a compliment Grian accepted without remark, “Well you said you were waiting for me, what’s up?”
As he says it, he shrugs off his big brown coat and hangs it on some random shelf corner, his hat following suit. He folds up his shirtsleeves while he waits, natural as ever, and unusually attentive, eyes sliding back over to Grian after each movement.
Grian watches, suddenly deeply conflicted. What he had planned while waiting up there for hours was to, bordering on violently, tackle Scar and kiss him stupid. Now, with the (mostly) gentle giant actually in front of him, he falters.
“Well, I had just…” Oh Christ he hadn’t even come up with a cover story. This was not in true Grian fashion, and he knew somehow Scar would be able to tell.
“Everything okay G?” Scar steps closer, comfortingly passing a hand through Grian’s hair and over the feathers that cover his ears.
Grian leans into it, a small trill at the back of his throat. Scar smiles again, deeply fond and warmer than his usual playfulness.
Grian clears his throat, righting himself but not pushing Scar’s hand away, “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just a bit boring around here. You’re the only uh…” Well, that’s not quite it is it? It wasn’t just that Scar was the only person in Boatem right now, it was that he had missed Scar, his partner. He's so awful at saying stuff like that.
Scar watches him carefully, a small tilt to his head. He always knows so much more than he lets on, and he always knows exactly how to use it.
He suddenly smiles with more flair, his voice taking on an air of performance, almost like when he was trying to sell something, “Aw Gri, did you miss me?”
He’s giving Grian an out, a chance to agree, saying what Grian can’t. He’s saying it lightly, so no one’s hurt if he’s wrong. He’s saying it lightly so Grian doesn’t feel so vulnerable if he’s right. God Grian loves him so much.
Grian sighs, grateful and begrudgingly awed, “Yeah, s’pose I did.”
Scar’s smile is genuine again, his green eyes warm and sweet in the low lighting of the wagon. He takes back his hand only to hold open his arms. Grian wavers, and then steps into it, wrapping his arms and wings tightly around the man. With their height difference, he’s at the perfect place to tuck his face into Scar’s neck. Scar wastes no time hugging him back, one hand petting his hair again, and the other circling his shoulders to pull him closer.
Scar’s soft shirt is barely buttoned up, as usual, and the heat of his chest through Grian’s sweater and t-shirt calms something deep and antsy in him. His dark brown hair, just long enough to tickle Grian’s face, smells like wood and some flower Grian doesn’t know well enough to name. It’s sweet, and familiar. He pushes his face a bit closer, pecking soft kisses on Scar’s neck.
When Scar speaks its low and soft, gentle to the point of almost being overwhelming when accompanied by the slow scratch over Grian’s scalp and his proximity to Grian’s ear, “I’ve got my leg armor on if you wan—“
Grian already knows what he’s offering before he can finish. He reaches around Scar’s shoulders to pull himself up and uses his talons to climb, extra careful to only grip onto Scar’s armor and avoid his braces. In a flash he has all his limbs wrapped around Scar’s abdomen, clinging tightly, and Scar smiles into his neck with a quiet, ‘there you go’. He adjusts Grian’s weight over his arms easily and casually. Something about birds and their hollow bones, Scar had said once, dismissing his own unnatural strength.
Using Scar’s hold around his waist, and his own grip with his legs, Grian leans back enough to look down at Scar.
The look he’s met with is cat-like, deeply content and a bit scheming, as if he’d metaphorically caught the bird he’d been chasing around the yard. Taking note of the possible literal implications, Grian’s face goes hot and his hands fidget together on the back of Scar’s neck. Scar notices (as always) and gives a small, genuine smile that just so happens to let his sharper teeth slip into view.
Grian’s face feathers fluff again. It was sort of unfair how handsome Scar is, the jagged, healed skin across his nose and down his cheek always highlighting his dimples when he smiled. Which was often around Grian. His heart squeezes.
“Everything ok my fine feathered koala?” Scar joked. Well, mostly joked. He knows Grian is very ok, he just wants to make him say it. He takes some sort of disproportionate pleasure in meeting Grian’s needs and wants. Like this possibly excessive standing cuddle that Grian apparently needed direly.
“Scar…” Grian glares down at him, and Scar can't even stop from laughing, jostling both of them.
“Sorry, sorry, can’t help myself sometimes,” In a flash the mischievous look leaves him, the sweetness coming back to his expression as he makes firm, slow circles on Grian’s back, not quite between his wings but reaching for it.
Grian sighs deeply, melting forward onto Scar again, this time pushing their foreheads together. Scar loves to pick him up and carry him around and show he's strong without ever saying it, but what he loves more is to use that strength to do nice things for Grian. Like now, with this very wonderful back massage, pulling small, pleased noises out of him when Scar digs into a tense muscle Grian hadn’t noticed before.
Grian nuzzles against Scar’s forehead, that small trill coming back to his throat, as he stretches and curls his wings to follow the pressure along his back. Hardly without a second thought, he adjusts his neck a little and kisses Scar deeply. He had been meaning to do it for a few minutes now really. Although maybe he put more heat into it than originally planned, more open mouthed and breathy than nice and chaste.
Scar doesn’t move away from it though, doesn’t even flinch, but makes a questioning noise. Did you mean that?
Grian moves back, just a hair, and thinks. He takes note of his tail feathers, fanned out over Scar’s thighs, and his wings, curled entirely around both of them. The way he melts when Scar presses into the right muscle and the way he wants to be closer despite clinging to the man. He nods, a single movement, and Scar all but preens.
Without missing a beat, eyes attentive but wanting, Scar presses his face up a bit, asking, and Grian nearly trips over himself to answer. If he comes off a bit eager…Scar’s never had a problem with it before. He threads his hands into the longer parts of Scar’s hair, thumbs pressing into his jaw just below his vaguely pointed ears and flushes all over when Scar breathes a pleased noise, his arm under Grian’s thighs tensing. That was almost certainly Grian’s favorite trick. With Scar’s mouth barely parted and his eyes closed, Grian swoops forwards, relentless.
At first, his kisses are deep with a tint of need, hands clinging to Scar’s face and hair, touching all over his ears and neck. He hones in on the way Scar tastes like honey and some other sweet herb, savoring it as he licks across Scar's lips. Then, Scar’s hand on his back slides down to get under both of Grian’s layers, his hands hot like the sun, and Grian’s composure crumbles. The kisses turn messy, Grian curling further over Scar until the man is almost looking straight up to kiss him. He presses his tongue into Scar's mouth, met with little resistance and a throaty groan. Scar is hardly falling behind, trusting Grian to hold himself up and letting his hands roam beneath Grian’s shirt, pressing into every line of muscle on his back until he reaches his tailbone. He nips lightly on Grian's lower lip, perfectly gentle.
With a noise he’d rather not dwell on Grian leans into every touch, licking desperately into Scar’s mouth and over his teeth, making a deep appreciative noise when he passes over Scar’s fangs. Scar moans as well, and Grian can feel the noise reverberate through his legs where they wrap around Scar’s chest. He pulls back to breathe, keening when Scar’s hands circle around to his chest, clever fingers passing over his nipples and then down to circle his hip bones.
“I can’t even…” Scar starts, breathless, looking up at Grian like he was some looming, carefully detailed piece of art, “Gri, you are so pretty.”
Grian thinks he nearly whines, the beginning of the noise escaping him before being caught in his throat. His legs wrap tighter around Scar’s waist, and Scar, only observant at the most mortifying of times, presses Grian’s hips forward with a grip just above his ass. He grins shamelessly when Grian moans and grips his shoulders. Ah, Grian thinks lamely, so he did notice.
Grian had been feeling the inklings of arousal since Scar had reached under his shirt, and he honestly hadn’t been thinking of it much until now. Until he was deliberately pressed into Scar’s toned stomach and the pressure reminded him keenly. His hips twitch forward again, as if to repeat the movement, and he stops himself with a small whimper, embarrassment keeping him in check…if it even matters at this point. They’re still standing in Scar’s storage room for God’s sake.
“Oh no, no Grian, come on,” Scar urges, voice deep and tinged in similar desperation, laying open mouthed kisses over Grian’s throat and slipping his thumbs just below Grian’s waistband, “I love seeing you like this. C’mon, what do you want? What can I do?”
Grian makes a strangled noise at the questions, the implications of them, feeling breathless and hot. Its like he has a fever, getting worse under Scar’s careful attention and eager hands. Scar really did love taking care of him, possibly to a different degree than Grian had previously understood.
“We should—” Grian croaks, and then clears his throat, face feathers so ruffled he was starting to feel the urge to manually straighten them, “we should at least go upstairs.”
Scar looks deeply reluctant to let go but releases his grip when Grian starts to retract his legs. He sets Grian down carefully, hands under his arms, and waves a hand towards the ladder, bowing dramatically, “Lead the way.”
Grian huffs and Scar grins. It was a point of satisfaction for Scar that Grian was so familiar with every part of his base, that they were together often enough for him to know it. Grian leaps up the ladder with one push of his wings, just to be petty, and pads around Scar’s bedroom while he waits.
Not that this room ever really changes, but sometimes he likes to read Scar’s notes, left to sit on whichever surface he happened to be standing near.
Sticky notes litter the nightstand, and a notebook sits open on his desk. Bundles of rolled up blueprints sit in a nearby basket on the floor, but the floor itself is clean. Grian feels a pleasant buzz in his chest. It’s clean because he swept in here last week, after cleaning up a prank. He didn’t need to.
Scar finally makes it to the top of the ladder, his braces clicking all the way. Once up, Grain waits to approach him just in case his legs are starting to hurt. He had just been standing for…however long that had been.
Scar beats him to his suggestion, “Mind if I sit? I know I’m very tall and that’s definitely part of my appeal but…” He gestures vaguely downwards. Grian nods quickly, despite knowing it was largely rhetorical. Besides, he’d never pass up a chance to climb all over Scar without the limitations of gravity and strength.
Scar sits on the edge of his bed heavily, sighing with obvious relief now that Grian’s looking for it. After a breath, he looks back over at Grian, tilting his head.
“Wanna join me over here?” It’s a double-sided question; you ok?
Grian does come closer, but gestures to Scar’s legs, “Shouldn’t you take those off? And your leg armor too.”
Scar smiles something evil, untucking the end of his shirt and fiddling with the buttons, “Oh yeah? Wanna watch?” And he’s clearly just teasing but…
Grian flushes quickly, the desperate heat from before punching a strangled, “Yes,” out of him before he can control it. Even Scar seems surprised, his face still pink from before now flushing a deep red, and his eyes snap wide for a moment.
Then he seems to process that Grian had just agreed to wanting something from him and his expression becomes almost giddy. Grian realizes it at the same time, and it’s like a switch flips in their shared headspace.
“Well then,” Scar says, low, smooth, and sultry, back to smiling wickedly, which barely conceals his newly refreshed eagerness. He gestures to the floor in front of him and Grian swallows. The fact that Scar doesn’t even have to say it makes Grian dizzy with the desire to follow through.
He comes over, sweeping to the ground and kneeling, legs tucked neatly under his tail feathers, his wings left to splay out on the floor behind him. He looks up at Scar, who’s looking down at him with dark, focused eyes, and realizes with some low level of surprise that this is enough to keep him aroused, sharply aware of every shift of fabric over his crotch as he adjusts a bit on the floor. And Scar can see exactly what kind of effect this is having. There’s no way to hide the way he’s feeling, and he doesn’t want to. He struggles not to release a breathy noise at the thought.
Scar starts with detaching the tops of the braces from his belt, holding the bottom of his shirt in his mouth as he looks down. From this angle, Grian can see his stomach, the musculature Scar so often flaunted on full display. His skin was warm and tan, the scar tissue tracing up from his hip paler and visibly textured. He could just barely catch sight of the much neater, more intentional twin scars on his chest. When Grian looks back down, Scar is undoing his belt, and his mouth suddenly goes very dry.
He pulls it off in one easy movement and curls it up, setting it on the table at the end of his bed. The muscles in hands shift, and his hands…Jesus Scar’s hands. They were wide and lightly calloused, and, Grian knew from experience, very strong. Next, Scar takes off his braces in parts, setting the delicate gold machinery on the floor out of the way. His fingers work quickly with practiced skill, and the muscles in his forearms stand out when he moves the heavier parts. With the braces went the ring of keys and minuscule wrenches he uses to adjust them.
Lastly, he undoes the buckles on the inside of his thighs that keeps his leather leg armor in place. It serves both to project his clothes from the sharper parts of his braces and give Grian free reign to climb on Scar as much as he likes. Normally he wears some on his shoulders as well, so Grian can perch without hurting him.
Once the armor is set on the table by the belt, Scar leans back and drops his shirt from his mouth, catching Grian’s eyes. He tilts his head with a questioning smile.
Grian’s hands fidget in his lap, and he realizes that for some insane reason he’s waiting. He’s waiting for Scar to say it.
When Scar realizes this, his eyebrows raise but he smiles kindly, “Come here Gri.” He pats his thigh.
Grian nearly leaps up, straddling Scar while being careful with his talons, his first order of business being Scar’s stupid shirt. He can hardly believe it’s stayed on this long, normally the man is itching to take it off. He starts undoing the buttons while Scar’s hands find their way back to his hips, once again stroking just under his waistband. Once the damn shirt is open, Grian basically shoves it off Scar’s shoulders, and Scar laughs quietly.
He shrugs it off the rest of the way and then tugs up at the bottom of Grian’s sweater, “Now you?”
Grian nods, pulling his sweater and shirt off his body and then over his wings in a practiced movement that only takes a few feathers with it. With at least those out of the way he grasps at Scar’s shoulders, pulling himself further onto Scar’s lap and gasping at the friction. Scar’s hands tighten, slipping further under his waistband to knead where his hips meet thigh.
“Oh Gri,” Scar coos, like he’s in awe.
“Scar,” Grian breathes, kissing him between each word, “Scar.”