Change Is Scary
PASTE


Xanadu Weyr - Silent Stone Sanctum
It's a room. There's probably room-stuff in it. Like a bed. And a dresser. And maybe a rug? Sure. There can be a rug. It's probably cozy. It definitely has a small, private bathroom for REASONS (like that middle of the night 'gotta go now' bathroom break).


It's late, the sun already set on the summer night by the time they get back to the room. Shiloh is tired, but not too tired to strip Avi bare and ravage him senseless. In the aftermath, curled up on the thoroughly-destroyed bed with the sheets tangled at their feet, he plays his fingers over his lover's neck, tracing the faint bite marks that now litter his skin. A few candles cast a warm glow to the room, ensuring they're not in total darkness, though Shiloh has no need or want for anything more.

There is something to be said for being completely and utterly exhausted. It is a condition that has Avi drawing in a slow breath as he stretches, his toes curling as he twists on the bed and does his level best to burrow into the heat of Shiloh's body. It is the fingers playing over the length of his neck that his breath hitching, a shallow inhale drawn in as he blinks back tears and tucks his face into the curve of Shiloh's throat. It's the scent of the beastcrafter's flesh that has his arms tightening and inspires a little squirm that has him pressing in closer.

Maybe it's something in the tension; maybe it's a flash of light on the near-tears. Whatever it is, something has Shiloh pausing in his pursuit of connecting those dots — the little bruises on his lover's neck — and glancing down at him again. "Alright?" comes in a quiet, hoarse voice; not quite worried but definitely inquiring. A moment more and his hand picks up the task once again, though this time his fingers follow the line of his body; throat and shoulder and arm; side and hip and leg. A tender touch that revels and reveres the warm skin beneath it.

"I.." Closing his eyes, Avi presses closer, a little shiver trailing down the length of his spine at the trail of fingers. Falling silent, he shakes his head, exhaling a breath as he presses in closer. "Just nervous," he finally murmurs. "I don't.. what's going to happen if this doesn't end with the hatching?" He is pretty sure that the very last thing that Shiloh will have time for is a overly clingy, overly emotional artist. "Never mind," he adds quickly, his back arching into the brush of warm fingers on bare flesh.

"If what doesn't…" The words trail off because Shiloh makes the connection himself. He's quiet for a moment, his hand going still at the small of Avi's back. "No," comes in quiet counter to that ‘never mind', and he shifts so he can drag his fingers through the artist's hair instead. He doesn't quite pull him up to meet his eyes, but his hand is definitely there, definitely holding. "Let's talk about it. What're you afraid of?" The question is quiet; the words gentle but probing, even as his fingers tighten briefly in blond hair.

"Everything." The word is whispered just barely loud enough to be heard. Rather then flinch at the hand in his hair, he leans in to it, welcoming the pressure and the the little sting of roots that has his breath catching in his throat. And, while he makes an effort to calm himself down, he fails, the tears spilling from his eyes as he presses his face more tightly into Shiloh's throat. "You'll be away from me for a /turn/ or more.. Is it more? I think it's more." The more he speaks, the more frantic he gets, his head giving a tiny shake as he tries to push the thoughts away.

"Avi…" The name comes in a breath, plaintive and surprised in one, as the tears start to flow. Shiloh tightens his hold, winding an arm around him to crush the artist against him; to press them together until there is no space left. "Hush," is breathed into his hair, face pressed into golden locks as Shiloh nuzzles at his crown. "I'm not going anywhere. Nowhere," he promises. "Never." But he knows what he's talking about, even if he can't yet address it. A breath. Two. At least enough to have Shiloh wrangle his own thoughts, even if Avi is still fighting those tears. "It'll be okay. No matter what happens, it'll be okay. Whether I— whether I Impress or don't. Whether you do or don't. Nothing's gonna change." Except everything could change. Isn't that what dragons do? Change everything? A grounding breath, and Shiloh speaks again. "What can I do? To fix it. To make it better?"

There is no stopping those tears. They spill onto Avi's cheeks and in turn onto Shiloh's neck as he does his level best to press himself in closer. To his credit, while he does not believe, that everything will be okay? He does nod his head in an attempt to make it look like he believes those words. "You.." His words, though, are interrupted with hiccough, a quiet stammer following before he sighs and tries again. "You don't.. I know.. I do." He doesn't, but he is not about to do anything that might make Shiloh withdraw. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." It's the last that has him closing his eyes, a shallow breath exhaled as he glances up before quickly tucking his face back into Shiloh's throat. "I don't know what to do," he whispers. "I just need to pull myself together."

"Avi." This time, the name is spoken far more firmly, warm but grounded. The hand in his hair tightens again, a meaningful hold even if he won't force his head up; won't force him to meet his gaze. "Hush." It isn't the tears he means to halt, but rather the words that Shiloh doesn't even have to see Avi's face to know are false. "Stop. You're not fine, but that's okay. You don't need to do anything right now but this." Cry. Cuddle. Let Shiloh hold him. And he will, for as long as the artist lets him. One hand tangled in his hair, the other arm wrapped around his waist, both holding him close against him. "We're gonna be fine," he promises, another breath against golden hair.

The promise is met with a shiver, the kind of shiver that is completely impossible to stop and coupled with a tightening of his arms. "I'm sorry, I know it isn't fair of me to unload this on you. It's me. I just.." He's terrified he's about to lose his whole world and.. "Everything just feels so out of control, right now." The words are breathed with an accompanying shudder, his arms tightening around Shiloh's shoulders. Shaking his head, he sighs, sucking in a sharp breath as he struggles to get the tears under control. "I am happy you are a candidate," he assures. "I am. If anyone should be a dragonrider, it's you. Don't.. don't forget me, though. I can't handle that thought."

"Avi." A third time, and this one is chastising; a mild reprimand. "There's nothing to be sorry for." His fingers tighten again. Pulls. This time, he means to bring the artist's head back so he can look at him properly. "Look at me," comes with a measure of tenderness, a softening of words that are meant to be headed. "Breathe. Slow. Steady." Shiloh will mimic it for him, taking deep breaths, holding and releasing, urging him to follow suit. "No one's gonna be forgotten. Not you. Not me. Listen to me." He pauses. Waits. Until he's sure the artist is listening. "It's gonna be alright. We're gonna be alright. I know… I know things feel… different. But it's gonna be okay. Trust me?" It's a question, one that comes with a search of misty-grey eyes, Shiloh's expression torn between love and determination. "Breathe."

It is shocking, how effective that tone of reprimand is with Avi. It has him settling far more quickly then all the reassurances in the world. Settling enough that he is actually able to copy Shiloh's breathing, slow, deep inhales held and then released just as slowly. Eventually, /eventually/, he's calm enough that he is not sobbing, and no longer looks like he is about to spiral out of control into a pit or morose sorrow. Trust me? He nods firmly to that, forcing himself to continue breathing, to not focus on the fact that their world and routine has been so dramatically thrown out of order. "I trust you." The words are whispered once he's found a measure of calm, although he does not release his grip on the beastcrafter, not even a little bit. Change? Change is not something Avi handles well, at all.

"Then trust me when I say it'll be okay." Shiloh's words are gentle once again, his expression softer. "We're gonna be okay." With Avi calming down, Shiloh's hold of his hair gentles as well. He presses a kiss to his forehead, lips lingering against his skin, before tugging him in tight against him once more. "Relax," is encouraged in both word and touch, his fingers drifting up and down the artist's back once again. "Nothing's happening right now. We'll figure it out." And in a little bit, when Avi has calmed some, Shiloh will be happy to offer some ways he thinks they can do that. Figure it out. Make it okay.


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