A Feather, A Flame, and Far Too Much Eye Contact
Kellen’s tavern was alive with the low hum of early evening: the creak of stools, the clink of mugs, the soft buzz of magical wards warming the hearth. Somewhere in the corner, Brinna was pretending not to watch the door like a hawk in a knitted shawl.
DP leaned casually against the bar, cleaned up (mostly), his coat slung off his shoulder with just enough exposed collarbone to legally qualify as a trap. He held a drink in one hand, twirling it lazily. He wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t waiting. He was absolutely not checking the door every twenty seconds.
“Stop preening,” Kellen said, wiping a glass that didn’t need it. “You look like a wolf who got into the cologne aisle at an alchemy fair.”
DP smirked. “You think he’ll show?”
“Oh, he’ll show,” Brinna muttered, eyes narrowing. “The pigeon came back smug.”
Right on cue, the door creaked.In stepped Onorfin, cloaked in twilight, hair freshly tousled by the wind, cheekbones on point, and emotional repression wound so tight it practically glowed.
The tavern didn’t fall silent, but it leaned in.
Onorfin paused, scanning the room with practiced calm until his gaze landed on DP… who was already mid-grin.
"Evening, Sparklebutt,” DP said, lifting his glass. “Miss me?”
Onorfin approached with maddening grace, each step measured, controlled, as if walking any faster would acknowledge the fact that he had missed him. Terribly.
“Your pigeon is arrogant,” he said by way of greeting, sliding into the seat beside DP.
Percy, now perched overhead, fluffed himself in pride and began grooming a wing like the smug little legend he was.
“And yet effective,” DP murmured, eyes fixed on Onorfin. “Much like me.”
Onorfin rolled his eyes, beautifully. “I assume you didn’t summon me just to admire your own ego?”
“Tempting,” DP purred. “But no. We have a banshee problem.”
Onorfin raised an elegant eyebrow. “The one with the…”
“Bad dye job and aggressively asymmetrical nipples, yes,” Brinna called from across the tavern, not even trying to be subtle.
Onorfin blinked. “You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate,” DP said, tilting his head. “I just narrate dramatically.”
Kellen dropped a map between them and two shots of something glowing faintly pink. “Right, lovebirds. You can flirt later. For now, screaming banshees and likely doom.”
Onorfin’s fingers brushed the map. DP’s brushed his. Accidentally. Naturally.
Neither moved.
The air between them buzzed like the pause before a kiss. Or a duel. Or both.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Onorfin asked, voice low.
DP leaned in, gaze smoldering, smirk absolutely devastating.
“Oh, I’m up for anything, Elf. Especially if you’re watching.”
Onorfin didn’t reply. But he didn’t pull his hand away either.
DP leaned casually against the bar, cleaned up (mostly), his coat slung off his shoulder with just enough exposed collarbone to legally qualify as a trap. He held a drink in one hand, twirling it lazily. He wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t waiting. He was absolutely not checking the door every twenty seconds.
“Stop preening,” Kellen said, wiping a glass that didn’t need it. “You look like a wolf who got into the cologne aisle at an alchemy fair.”
DP smirked. “You think he’ll show?”
“Oh, he’ll show,” Brinna muttered, eyes narrowing. “The pigeon came back smug.”
Right on cue, the door creaked.In stepped Onorfin, cloaked in twilight, hair freshly tousled by the wind, cheekbones on point, and emotional repression wound so tight it practically glowed.
The tavern didn’t fall silent, but it leaned in.
Onorfin paused, scanning the room with practiced calm until his gaze landed on DP… who was already mid-grin.
"Evening, Sparklebutt,” DP said, lifting his glass. “Miss me?”
Onorfin approached with maddening grace, each step measured, controlled, as if walking any faster would acknowledge the fact that he had missed him. Terribly.
“Your pigeon is arrogant,” he said by way of greeting, sliding into the seat beside DP.
Percy, now perched overhead, fluffed himself in pride and began grooming a wing like the smug little legend he was.
“And yet effective,” DP murmured, eyes fixed on Onorfin. “Much like me.”
Onorfin rolled his eyes, beautifully. “I assume you didn’t summon me just to admire your own ego?”
“Tempting,” DP purred. “But no. We have a banshee problem.”
Onorfin raised an elegant eyebrow. “The one with the…”
“Bad dye job and aggressively asymmetrical nipples, yes,” Brinna called from across the tavern, not even trying to be subtle.
Onorfin blinked. “You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate,” DP said, tilting his head. “I just narrate dramatically.”
Kellen dropped a map between them and two shots of something glowing faintly pink. “Right, lovebirds. You can flirt later. For now, screaming banshees and likely doom.”
Onorfin’s fingers brushed the map. DP’s brushed his. Accidentally. Naturally.
Neither moved.
The air between them buzzed like the pause before a kiss. Or a duel. Or both.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Onorfin asked, voice low.
DP leaned in, gaze smoldering, smirk absolutely devastating.
“Oh, I’m up for anything, Elf. Especially if you’re watching.”
Onorfin didn’t reply. But he didn’t pull his hand away either.
