AHEM

[emerald_embers]

PEOPLES OF THE INTERNETS

Supernatural this week made me ;_; and then ;___; and then ;______; some more, and this is NOT ON. In accordance with this being NOT ON I have decided to UP THE HAPPY FEELINGS and also get some writing practise before Springkink by writing some WARM AND FUZZY FEELING snippets

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[emerald_embers]

I nearly went "Oh GOD, this turned out so fluffy and sappy!" and then I remembered OH WAIT THAT WAS THE POINT. XD

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"Tea, sire?"

Janos blinks, puzzled by the peculiar angle through which he is viewing Vorador, before reality clicks into place in a sleep-addled brain and he straightens, wipes at the corner of his mouth to rid himself of imaginary drool. "I - ah, I'm sorry. How long was I asleep?"

"Not long," Vorador assures him, though Janos suspects that's a lie given the stiffness of his limbs. His fledgling sets down the cup, then removes his gloves, danger of spillage now past. "I thought you might appreciate a drink before retiring. What were you reading?"

Janos looks at the crumpled parchment, willing himself to recognise the swirling lines and symbols, but fatigue has stolen the knowledge from him. "I don't recall," he replies before picking up the cup and sipping, wishing his hands hadn't forgotten their strength while sleeping; they near shake at so small a task, and it is a frustration his already tired mind could do without; every little annoyance seems disproportionately exaggerated like this.

Barely a few minutes pass before Vorador's arms link beneath his, unasked, easing him out of the chair. "Lets get you to bed," Vorador states, and Janos should feel embarrassed to be helped around like a rag doll but he is exhausted in a way his fledgling will never be, not anymore, and the help is appreciated.

The bedsheets feel cool and crisp, Uschtenheim's cold compensating for the fact they should have been changed a week ago, and it's perfect against his skin, already overheated from the rest he'd had before. "Don't, you don't have to clean up," he mumbles, any eloquence stolen by the aching need to close his eyes. "The mess, I'll - I'll put the papers away, later," he finishes, but Vorador smirks, raises an eyebrow, and leaves anyway.

Janos does not wake when Vorador returns, but in the morning he feels an arm that had been strong even before the change wrapped firm around his chest, and for a moment, there's nothing else to do in the face of the world but smile.