The flat was quiet.
It was usually in a state of quiet, considering Stephen's personality, but right now, it was an empty, hollow sort of silence, one unwelcome and unwanted. He focused as best he could on the menial task of making tea, trying to think of a way to break the terrible awful silence in a way that wouldn't completely shatter them. Even Caranimia was quiet, the other half of himself shifting her weight from one long, thin leg to the other, anxiously preening her feathers.
In the living room, just where he could see, Connor was laid across his sofa, one arm across his face, fedora tipped down over his eyes. Brincallón had burrowed down into the crook of his free arm, large ears pressed flat back against his back, just a ball of fluffy, cream-coloured fur. One of Connor's legs was propped on the arm of the sofa, the other foot flat on the floor. Neither of them were saying anything either, which was just about the worst thing.
Taking up the mugs, Stephen walked back into the living room, Caranimia hopping along behind him, coming around to her usual place beside the armchair. "Conn?" he said as quietly as he might manage. He fumbled for the words to say, something, anything.
The arm shifted a little, tipping the fedora back to reveal a pale face and dark, watery eyes. His hand lifted to take the warm mug of tea, but he shook his head, apparently seeing something in Stephen's face. "Don't," he murmured. "Please just don't."
He returned to his armchair, knowing enough to let sleeping beasts lie and not poke them in the eye with a pointy stick…but unfortunately for him, Caranimia wasn't to be deterred. She ambled forward and arched her long neck forward. "What happened today, to you and Vitrial, was atrocious," she said quietly, and Brincallón winced, burrowing deeper into Connor's elbow as the young man's arm curled snugly around his dæmon. "I am sorry for what happened, to the both of you, and I would do anything for it to have not happened at all, but it is done and past. However, there is a study available that says that mutual contact after an unsolicited touch can be beneficial – "
"I know," said Connor softly. It was highly unusual for any person to address a dæmon other than their own, but Caranimia wasn't ruffled. "I know that, just…leave us alone." Brincallón snuggled down deeper into the bend of Connor's elbow, pointedly burying his muzzle into his elbow and hiding his face from Caranimina. He stroked a gloved hand down his dæmon's back, gently rubbing his big ears.
"I will not. Brincallón, please do look at me," she murmured as Stephen briefly considered the ramifications of throttling his own dæmon, mentally going over the zeppelin schedules to the Pole.
There was a long pause, but then the fennec fox dæmon rolled over and turned so he might look up at the heron, ears flattened back so as to give him the most pitiful look. "What is it that you want from us, Mia?"
Stephen looked to Connor in surprise and mouthed, 'Mia?' Connor only shrugged.
"I want for you to not do...this. To not close yourself off to us, and to allow us to help you," she replied, ruffling her feathers. "I am sorry about Tom and Vitrial – " Stephen and Connor both winced at the mention of the deceased redhead and his red squirrel dæmon, driven so mad by the parasite eating away at him that he'd dared to break the ancient taboo. " – but it does no good to brew in your own misery when others are waiting to help you. Please, Brin."
Brin? Brin? Now Stephen was really going to have to kill her. At some point in the conversation, he'd unconsciously gravitated from the armchair to sit on the end of the sofa near Connor's feet, so her stupid, skinny neck was right in reach.
Connor sat up, Brincallón perched in his lap, and stared hard at the heron, ignoring the custom of not looking at a dæmon other than your own. Stephen looked down at Brincallón to see the fox gazing at him fixedly, dark eyes solemn; silently, he held out one hand in mute invitation, not demanding but rather asking for permission. The small canine rose to his paws, taking small, delicate steps across the cushions towards his outstretched hand. Inclining his head, Brincallón gently laid his head against Stephen's palm.
Nothing could've prepared him for what it felt like to take Connor's soul in his hands.
The younger man's entire body twitched, a low noise escaping his throat. It was all Stephen could do not to close his eyes, and only by force of will did he keep them open. His entire body felt as though it was afire, summer lightning and wildfire licking through his veins, threatening to burst at any given second if he didn't let go of Brincallón. But he didn't want to let go. The burning was too good, too sweet, too beautiful, to simply let go. Caranimia had taken the form of a fox a few times when they were younger, but her fur had never been quite so soft as Brin's. His skin tingled and prickled with anbaric pressure, all the fine hairs on his arms standing up. He smoothed his hand down the fox's back, feeling Brin arch up into his touch like a cat. Fire sparked along his nerves at the friction. Brincallón let out a low whine that was more felt than heard, a noise he'd never heard the dæmon make before.
"Stephen." Connor's voice sounded hoarse, half-strangled. "Oh, God, please, I want…" He had one hand extended palm-up, fingers loosely curled, towards Caranimia.
Stephen had never allowed anyone to touch his dæmon, not even Allison, and Caranimia had never once suggested it, either. He was afraid, though he would never say it aloud and neither would she, to have someone that close, to have someone quite literally take his soul in their hands. It was an intimacy that neither of them had never felt comfortable with...until now, it seemed.
She carefully unfolded one wing, stepping closer. "Permission is more than implied, Connor," she murmured quietly.
When the younger man's fingers brushed along the arch of her wing, smoothing over her feathers, Stephen gasped aloud, feeling as though an invisible hand had stroked his nerves from within, shivering and tingling all over the place. He had to grip the back of the sofa with his free hand to keep from falling off. Now he was burning everywhere, humming so pleasantly in his veins. Brincallón sighed and twisted under his hand, rolling over and over as if to get every bit of his fur in contact with Stephen. Connor reached for Caranimia with his other hand, burying his fingers in feathers, and this time he does close his eyes, a moaning sigh escaping his lungs.
"I've wanted to do this a long time," Connor murmured, his arms halfway around Caranimia as he gently combed his fingers back through her feathers, smoothing them down where they bristled with anbaric energy. "I was afraid..."
"You already have our heart," Caranimia replied, extending her neck to rest her head on Connor's shoulder, the silken feathers of her neck brushing his cheek. "You needn't be afraid of us."
The burning leached so deep into him that Stephen was certain he'd never feel cold again. He has Brincallón snuggled into the crook of his elbow now, against his chest the way Connor carried him. "I can't believe you beat us," he murmured quietly.
Brincallón gave a soft, breathy laugh. "You're not as sharp as you think you are, Mighty Hunter."
Suddenly one of Connor's hands was on the back of his neck, drawing him in for a kiss, and he'd be damned if that didn't make him burn all the brighter.
Stephen woke up twined with Connor on his bed, a knot of limbs entangled to the point where he wasn't quite sure where he ended and Connor began. At the foot of the bed, Caranimia carefully lifted one wing to show Brincallón snuggled up into her side, all of his claws pressed into feathers, answering the question as whether or not dæmons could snore. It was hard to see a bird smile, but he knew that she was, covering the small fox with her wing once more and laying her head down. Smiling, he pressed his face into Connor's dark hair and noted that it was even softer than Brin's fur.