The Trail of Thorns and Thirst
Chapter: The Trail of Thorns and Thirst
They had been travelling together for three days now, through fern-choked gullies, beneath tangled canopies, over mossy ridges. And every moment of it, DP had made a sport out of walking just close enough to Onorfin to ruin his balance, his peace, and his composure. The bastard even whistled provocatively sometimes. It should have been maddening.
And yet… Onorfin found himself watching for it...
They had been travelling together for three days now, through fern-choked gullies, beneath tangled canopies, over mossy ridges. And every moment of it, DP had made a sport out of walking just close enough to Onorfin to ruin his balance, his peace, and his composure. The bastard even whistled provocatively sometimes. It should have been maddening.
And yet… Onorfin found himself watching for it...
1. Morning Banter Over Mushrooms
Morning mist clung low to the forest floor, curling around their ankles like sleepy ghosts. Percy dive-bombed the cooking pot with all the grace of a drunk cannonball, squawking as mushrooms scattered.
“You absolute menace,” Onorfin snapped, snatching the pot before it tipped.
Percy blinked. “Breakfast. Served.”
DP emerged from the stream, shirtless, dripping, and stretching like a smug jungle cat.
“It's not my fault you're staring,” he said casually, rolling his shoulders as if sculpted sinew and smouldering confidence weren’t weapons of mass destruction.
“I am not—” Onorfin choked, turning sharply. “You’re indecent.”
“Pretty sure it’s more indecent to fantasize about someone’s lats while pretending to inspect a squirrel.”
“I was not inspecting squirrels,” Onorfin muttered, ears a violent pink.
“Sure,” Percy crooned. “And I’m a modest dove.”
Morning mist clung low to the forest floor, curling around their ankles like sleepy ghosts. Percy dive-bombed the cooking pot with all the grace of a drunk cannonball, squawking as mushrooms scattered.
“You absolute menace,” Onorfin snapped, snatching the pot before it tipped.
Percy blinked. “Breakfast. Served.”
DP emerged from the stream, shirtless, dripping, and stretching like a smug jungle cat.
“It's not my fault you're staring,” he said casually, rolling his shoulders as if sculpted sinew and smouldering confidence weren’t weapons of mass destruction.
“I am not—” Onorfin choked, turning sharply. “You’re indecent.”
“Pretty sure it’s more indecent to fantasize about someone’s lats while pretending to inspect a squirrel.”
“I was not inspecting squirrels,” Onorfin muttered, ears a violent pink.
“Sure,” Percy crooned. “And I’m a modest dove.”
2. Midday Ambush — Fighting Back-to-Back
By midday, the sun dappled down through ancient trees. The peace shattered with a sudden screech, corrupted forest spirits surged from the underbrush, banshee-thralls clad in bark and bone.
Blades and magic answered.
Back-to-back, the two moved like storm and flame. DP’s twin daggers slashed in wide arcs, silver flashing between throat and rib. Onorfin spun with deadly grace, casting arcs of blinding light that carved through darkness like poetry.
The rhythm was instinctual, a duet of steel and sorcery. When Onorfin stumbled, caught by a branch twisted with spiteful magic, DP was already there. One strong arm curled around him, the other deflecting an incoming blow with perfect timing.
“I had it,” Onorfin breathed, flushed.
“I know,” DP murmured, hand splayed against his chest. “But I rather like touching you.”
A banshee shrieked, and Percy dive-bombed it with all the weight of avian fury, pooping on its hood mid-screech.
By midday, the sun dappled down through ancient trees. The peace shattered with a sudden screech, corrupted forest spirits surged from the underbrush, banshee-thralls clad in bark and bone.
Blades and magic answered.
Back-to-back, the two moved like storm and flame. DP’s twin daggers slashed in wide arcs, silver flashing between throat and rib. Onorfin spun with deadly grace, casting arcs of blinding light that carved through darkness like poetry.
The rhythm was instinctual, a duet of steel and sorcery. When Onorfin stumbled, caught by a branch twisted with spiteful magic, DP was already there. One strong arm curled around him, the other deflecting an incoming blow with perfect timing.
“I had it,” Onorfin breathed, flushed.
“I know,” DP murmured, hand splayed against his chest. “But I rather like touching you.”
A banshee shrieked, and Percy dive-bombed it with all the weight of avian fury, pooping on its hood mid-screech.
3. The Kiss Under Firelight
By the time the moon rose on the third night, their campfire flickered soft gold and shadows danced like ghosts among the trees. Onorfin was smoothing his cloak, avoiding eye contact, while Percy sat on a branch above them cleaning his feathers and muttering “Ugh, just bone already, you melodramatic peacocks.”
DP, leaning on a rock like he was modelling for a smutty sculpture, tilted his head. “So. You going to glare at me all night, or finally admit you like my company?”
“I tolerate it,” Onorfin replied coolly, not looking up.
“Tolerate it, huh?” DP drawled, reaching to grab his pack. “Is that what you were doing this morning when you let me braid your hair?”
“That was to shut you up.”
“Oh? And when you smiled afterward?”
“I had wind in my eyes.”
“Right.” DP smirked. “From my breathless charm, no doubt.”
There was a pause, soft as a heartbeat.
“You know,” DP said, voice low, “you can just say you enjoy this. Being here. With me.”
Before Onorfin could retort, he stepped closer, brushing a lock of silver hair behind Onorfin’s ear. “You got a cut,” he murmured.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Then you won’t mind me doing this,” DP whispered, and placed a kiss just beside the wound, a soft, maddening brush of lips against skin.
Onorfin’s breath hitched. “Don’t..”
“Oh come on,” Percy muttered from the treetop. “We all know where this is going. There’s enough sexual tension here to drown a centaur.”
“Ignore him,” DP said, gaze steady. “Unless you'd rather I stop.”
And for once, Onorfin didn’t.
He stepped in.
He grabbed the front of DP’s coat.
And with a growl more than a breath, he pulled him in and kissed him like the world had gone quiet.
It was not gentle. It was not tame. But it was them, a battle of mouths, of bruised desire, of relief and want crashing like storm-tide.
When they finally pulled apart, Onorfin was flushed, wide-eyed, stunned by his own boldness.
DP stared at him like he’d just been punched and kissed by a star at the same time. “Well,” he rasped. “That was unexpected.”
“I would climb you like a fucking tree,” Onorfin whispered, scandalised by himself.
Percy cackled so hard he nearly fell off his branch.
And DP?
He just grinned. “We’ll pack a rope next time, sweetheart.”
By the time the moon rose on the third night, their campfire flickered soft gold and shadows danced like ghosts among the trees. Onorfin was smoothing his cloak, avoiding eye contact, while Percy sat on a branch above them cleaning his feathers and muttering “Ugh, just bone already, you melodramatic peacocks.”
DP, leaning on a rock like he was modelling for a smutty sculpture, tilted his head. “So. You going to glare at me all night, or finally admit you like my company?”
“I tolerate it,” Onorfin replied coolly, not looking up.
“Tolerate it, huh?” DP drawled, reaching to grab his pack. “Is that what you were doing this morning when you let me braid your hair?”
“That was to shut you up.”
“Oh? And when you smiled afterward?”
“I had wind in my eyes.”
“Right.” DP smirked. “From my breathless charm, no doubt.”
There was a pause, soft as a heartbeat.
“You know,” DP said, voice low, “you can just say you enjoy this. Being here. With me.”
Before Onorfin could retort, he stepped closer, brushing a lock of silver hair behind Onorfin’s ear. “You got a cut,” he murmured.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Then you won’t mind me doing this,” DP whispered, and placed a kiss just beside the wound, a soft, maddening brush of lips against skin.
Onorfin’s breath hitched. “Don’t..”
“Oh come on,” Percy muttered from the treetop. “We all know where this is going. There’s enough sexual tension here to drown a centaur.”
“Ignore him,” DP said, gaze steady. “Unless you'd rather I stop.”
And for once, Onorfin didn’t.
He stepped in.
He grabbed the front of DP’s coat.
And with a growl more than a breath, he pulled him in and kissed him like the world had gone quiet.
It was not gentle. It was not tame. But it was them, a battle of mouths, of bruised desire, of relief and want crashing like storm-tide.
When they finally pulled apart, Onorfin was flushed, wide-eyed, stunned by his own boldness.
DP stared at him like he’d just been punched and kissed by a star at the same time. “Well,” he rasped. “That was unexpected.”
“I would climb you like a fucking tree,” Onorfin whispered, scandalised by himself.
Percy cackled so hard he nearly fell off his branch.
And DP?
He just grinned. “We’ll pack a rope next time, sweetheart.”
