Author's Notes: This fic was spawned from Janaff's suggestion in support cons that he and Lucia have a "wild night on the town". And Beanclam's comment that, if Janaff got drunk, he would fly into trees. -grin- And as a disclaimer, I own no birdpeople. That'd be dangerous.
Warnings: Possible OOC. Weirdness.
Wild Night
It was not, Ulki decided, a wyvern.
The wings of the great creatures were leathery, after all; they struck the air with a force that feathers tended to muffle, and the sound most decidedly had the softened edge that bespoke a laguz of one of the bird tribes.
It was also not Prince Reyson.
He had seen the young ruler personally to their general's tent not five minutes previous, after all, for what had promised to be a lengthy discussion of the upcoming battle. From what he had overheard of their conversation, the prince had seized upon one particular idea with that peculiar intensity of his, and Ulki had little doubt that the ensuing interest would keep him engrossed for upwards of half an hour.
Logically, that left only one option.
But logic also dictated that the pattern of the wingfalls sounded nothing at all like Janaff. They were too slow, too clumsy, to belong to a hawk with so much understated vanity- because Janaff was graceful in the air, and he knew it, and he took care to show it.
Ulki's private debate, however, never got much farther than that.
He'd only just begun to consider the option that perhaps another bird-clan laguz was approaching- and that he ought to take precautions in case it turned out to be a crow, flying a bit too close in hopes of catching information that would prove useful in the impending battle- when another sound answered the question for him.
It was a dull sort of thud, followed by an immediate pause in the wingbeats. And then a voice, soft but unmistakably Janaff: "Ow."
A second later, quieter still: "Fuck."
Ulki was rising up off the ground in the next instant, three flaps of massive, dark wings enough to lift him from the earth below his feet. A heartbeat more and he was above the tents, wheeling sharp to one side and toward the dim silhouettes of the trees made indistinct by night.
The action didn't take any consideration; it was some mix of instinct and habit, a response born of the years he'd spent covering his partner, in battle and out. Janaff was unsteady and in pain, and Ulki knew where to find him.
It took less than a minute to get there.
The younger hawk was airborne, still- but that was about all that could be said for him. The flap of his wings was growing ever more erratic, and one arm, a pale smear against the dark of the forest, had extended unsteadily to clutch at a tree branch, providing extra balance that was evidently much needed.
"Ulki," the younger hawk said, part greeting and part surprise. There was something off about his voice, something uneven and wavering.
Ulki didn't bother to respond- just reached out to steady his partner, worried by the dangerous way Janaff had begun to tip to one side.
The younger hawk closed first one hand and then the other hand in the fabric of his companion's shirt; there was palpable shift as the support was accepted, the warm weight of him leaning in heavily. "Wh-when'd you…?"
"Just now." Careful arms wound around Janaff's waist, in the event that the already unsteady wingbeats gave out entirely. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
When the shake of his head came, a wobbly, uncertain thing, Ulki could feel the movement against his chest. "Had to- had to be friendly. S'good for morale. Cause the war, n'all."
In the dim half-light from the camp, those eyes, usually so sharp, wavered their way up to his face and attempted to focus. With Janaff so close, it was impossible not to smell the alcohol.
In an instant, everything clicked into place.
"You went out drinking," Ulki said. To his credit, the statement betrayed neither the irritation nor the relief that lay beneath.
The nod was almost comically adamant. "Witha beorcs."
A tempting thought occurred: it would be terribly easy just to drop the younger hawk. Now that Janaff was relying upon his companion for support, his wings had given up on trying to coordinate a motion that alcohol made entirely too complicated.
Instead, Ulki took in a long, slow breath, tightened his hold, and began flying the both of them back toward camp. "And where are these beorcs now?"
"Dunno," Janaff said, and took the opportunity to rest his head, as well. The only place available happened to be Ulki's chest, and he took it readily, apparently unconcerned by this. With the new position, the younger hawk's breath gusted startlingly warm over his partner's collar bone. "Maybe- maybe 'sleep."
And that sparked a flash of indignant anger, one sharp enough to leave any embarrassment quickly forgotten. Before he could check himself, Ulki was speaking, words hard with resentment. "They let you find your way back alone?"
"Nn-n," came the mumbled protest. "Tents're there." A hand let go of the shirt just long enough to flap vaguely toward the other end of the camp. "'fter they got in, thought a shortcut'd be good."
Whatever offense he'd felt for the nameless beorcs ebbed away, replaced with an exasperation that was much more familiar.
"A shortcut through the woods. While you can barely fly." Deftly, the older hawk angled them downward, making sure that his grip on the figure in his arms was tight enough- careful enough.
It was a gentle landing, one much softer than either of the laguz were accustomed to. Janaff's legs held him for all of about two seconds after they'd touched down.
"Think-" he managed distantly, words muffled by his partner's chest. "-think I drank too much."
"That," Ulki informed him, "is no longer even in question."
And he may have added more. Opened his mouth to add more, in fact- but whatever words he'd been intending died, forgotten, before they could be put to voice.
Because Janaff had begun, for no discernable reason at all, to rub the side of his face against the small open patch in his companion's shirt.
"'f you don't look," the younger hawk confided, the alcohol making his sentence all but indiscernible, "feels a bit like feathers."
Calmly ignoring the unaccustomed sensation of heat that rose in his face, Ulki placed both hands on the other laguz's shoulders and pressed gently, compelling him to take a step back. It was a bit unnerving to realize that the disappointment in Janaff's eyes bore more than a passing resemblance to what he was currently feeling.
"You're very drunk," Ulki told him firmly.
"So?" There was a challenge in that expression now- if not, given the circumstances, a particularly competent one. "S'not like I don' know."
The older hawk leveled him with a dark, penetrating stare. "That you're drunk? Or what you're doing?"
Janaff worked that over for a moment, not deterred in the slightest from watching the stern face with great interest. Alcohol had dampened his own gaze, left it soft and slightly bewildered, but there was still a strange intensity that not even near-incoherence could dispel.
"Both," he said at last.
When those hands darted out to clench fists into the fabric of Ulki's shirt, it came as such a surprise that the subsequent tug sent him staggering forward into Janaff as though he'd been the one drinking.
Very nearly, they both went down. Would have, had not quick reflexes got an arm around the younger laguz and a leg out to brace.
And perhaps that had been the plan all along.
Because no alarm registered on Janaff's face- just a mischievous, drunken grin. And then Ulki had no more time to worry about what expression his companion was wearing, because that unbroken grip on his shirt was pulling him down, and the younger hawk's lips were pressing against his, and there was wet heat and the taste of alcohol.
No fewer than five considerations vied for his attention under the distant, surprised realization that it felt good. Not the least of them was the fact that they were still standing in the middle of the camp and that, late though it may be, it was entirely possible for anyone to come upon them at any time.
And then Janaff made a small noise, a sound mostly muffled by the kiss, and the considerations were set firmly aside.
Almost of its own accord, the arm around the younger hawk's waist tightened its hold, and he was struck, as their bodies pulled flush against one another, by how warm Janaff was. It was as though, in defiance of the chill of the night, he was producing an absurd amount of heat- a tantalizing amount. The eager, messy direction that the kiss was taking did nothing at all to curb it.
Ulki was the one that broke them apart, a gentle easing away that had less to do with a desire to stop and more with the simple need to breathe.
Those eyes, perhaps the most remarkable eyes that had ever been, were mere inches from his, murky green depths bright with something unnamable. The younger hawk's breathing was jagged, quicker than usual. 'Stunning' had never been a word that Ulki would have thought appropriate to describe his partner, but it occurred to him now, and he acknowledged, unthinkingly, that it was true.
There was a hand at the sash on his belt, then, and his first impression was that Janaff must have been more sober than he'd given the other hawk credit for- that he'd realized how compromising their position must be and was attempting to tug him someplace less visible.
But no: a second hand joined the first, both scrabbling senselessly, and it was only then that Ulki understood the gesture for what it was. The younger laguz was attempting to untie the offending piece of clothing, but the alcohol had so addled his motor skills that even this was proving too difficult a task.
It was enough to draw a laugh from him, a low chuckle that earned a distracted, irritated glare in reply.
"S'not funny," Janaff insisted, and failed again to undo the knot. "You tied it too ti-"
A long, pale finger pressed itself to the hawk's lips, cutting short the rest of the protest. "Inside," Ulki said simply, voice low.
It was a testament to how drunk the younger laguz was that he very nearly complained about this, as well. But at the last moment, the hawk must have caught the glimmer of intent below the words, because whatever he'd planned went unsaid.
Instead, he cast about briefly, eyes scanning the rows of tents before he stopped at one some ten feet away. He pointed with a grin that neared triumphant, waving the arm up and down as though for emphasis. "It's mine," Janaff insisted, and lurched away toward it.
The tent was not, in fact, his.
It was much larger than the standard shelter provided for troops, for one thing- and for another, Ulki had serious doubts as to what purpose his partner would have for hoarding beorc weapons and large, bulky crates.
Almost, he had time to point this inconsistency out.
But Janaff had chosen that precise moment to hook one arm around the back of the older hawk's neck and yank downward, an action that resulted in a kiss with more than passing resemblance to a collision.
It wasn't terribly hard, Ulki discovered, to convince himself that no one would be in the storage tent at this time of night, anyway.
-owari-