[Flights of Fancy] Finding Home 06
Jun. 25th, 2018 06:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Finding Home
Characters: Drift, Perceptor, Original Character(s)
Universe: Flights of Fancy, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Enticements: Sexual Content, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Love at First Sight
Description: Perceptor’s spent so long among the humans, he’s almost forgotten how much he misses other harpies, until Drift wanders into Kaon, a pretty package of everything Perceptor never knew he wanted.
Chapter Six
Winter melted into spring, quicker than any melt Drift had ever experienced. There was only a month of snow and ice and then came the fresh breath of spring. All too soon, Drift’s winter coat became stifling, and it was a relief when he finally started to molt, even if it did make for a mess.
Double the mess, truth be told, because as winter petered away, Perceptor and Drift chose to share Perceptor’s room, and turn Drift’s into a private lab for Perceptor, complete with greenhouse ambiance. It worked out better for the both of them, though some of Drift’s collection had started to migrate into their shared room.
Perceptor was gracious enough not to complain about it.
They left the windows open both for the fresh air, and because their room was thick with molt fluff. Some of it they gathered for Ms. Jessica, who was thrilled to have another harpy’s molt to study. And apparently, pillows stuffed with their feathers sold for a premium? Drift didn’t know why humans were so weird, but given the rise in their shared bank account, he didn’t mind.
Some of their molt they kept for themselves, for stuffing their own pillows, discarding what Perceptor had gathered last year.
Mid-afternoon and they both refused to leave their room. They were a patchy mess of new feathers and old feathers, thick tufts of winter growth mingling with shiny new growth. Drift hadn’t known Perceptor capable of such grumbling until he caught his partner digging persistently at an ingrown feather, one just out of reach behind his left shoulderblade.
“You could have asked me for help, you know,” Drift said as he plucked out the offensive leaving and flicked it into the basket for Ms. Jessica.
Perceptor sighed with relief. “Having spent the last ten years dealing with molt on my own, would you believe me if I told you I forgot there was someone here I could ask for help?” A small chuckle escaped them. “Though human hands are quite adept at helping as well.”
“You actually let a human groom you?” Drift asked, eyes wide with surprise. Perhaps Ms. Jessica he’d trust. But that was the limit of his reach. Not even Artemis, who had proven very nice, would Drift trust with that much vulnerability.
Perceptor swept some belongings off a long, low bench and moved them to the hammock they shared. He dragged the bench to the center of the room and straddled it. He patted the empty space in front of him.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said. “Come. Sit. I’ll groom your back.”
Drift couldn’t sit fast enough. His back itched something fierce, and he wanted his molt to be over already. He was bland in appearance already without the mid-molt look to make it worse.
He sat in front of Perceptor and reached back, pulling his partner’s right leg up and draping it over his own. He started plucking at the old feathers in Perceptor’s calves, amused as Perceptor’s taloned toes wriggled.
“Well, you don’t need the humans anymore,” Drift said as he worked free a stubborn leaving and flicked it toward the basket. “So I better not catch any human hands buried in your feathers.”
Perceptor’s talons carded through his back, and Drift shivered, a low sound of pleasure echoing in his throat. “Oh. Possessive, are we? I think I quite like that tone.”
Drift rolled his eyes. “I prefer to think of it as protective.”
“Mm. Semantics.” Perceptor chuckled and dug a talon at Drift’s scapulae, prising free a leaving that had been bothering Drift all morning.
He sighed with relief.
A warm breeze flooded through the window, carrying the scent of flowers in bloom, and the noise of the lawn mower slicing through the grass’ first growth of the season. Windchimes sang in the wind – Perceptor had several of them now, dancing and swaying where they hung.
It warmed Drift’s core every time he saw them, to know such simple things were treasured by his partner. It was proof, without words, that Perceptor treasured him as well.
He ran his fingers over Perceptor’s right leg and found it free and clear. So he set it back upon the ground and pulled Perceptor’s left leg into his lap. There was quite the tangle of mottled feathers here.
“Drift?”
“Hm?” He bent closer to Perceptor’s leg, glaring at the stubborn tangle.
Skilled talons carded through the feathers of his back, searching for old growth. “You do realize that in a few more weeks it will be mating season.”
Drift straightened. “Oh, you’re right.” He flicked more feathers toward the basket, though a few caught on the breeze and missed. “Don’t tell me Ms. Jessica wants to watch. Because I think that’s where I’ll draw the line.”
There was a moment of silence before Perceptor barked a laugh, his hands resting on Drift’s shoulders as he pressed his forehead between them.
“By Adaptus, no,” he said through several chuckles. “And I find it even more amusing that it’s where your mind went first.”
Drift wrinkled his nose. “She’s eager. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Nor I.” Perceptor hummed another laugh and pushed himself back upright. “We’ve already had the discussion about examination of our reproductive genitalia. I think she’s hoping she can find the right bribe to convince me to say yes. All in the name of science, of course.”
Drift snorted. “Right. But you don’t see us asking her to strip and show us human bits.” He rolled his shoulders with a shudder. “Not that I want to.”
“From what I understand, there are many similarities.” Perceptor’s tone was rich with amusement. “I have a medical anatomy textbook if you want to read it.”
“No, thanks.”
“I thought you might say that.” Perceptor scooted a bit forward and rested his chin on Drift’s shoulder, his arms loosely wrapping around Drift’s waist. “However, I mentioned mating season because I wanted to be sure you wished to spend it with me.”
Drift half-turned, startled. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked as he caught Perceptor’s eyes. “We’re together, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. But I didn’t want to presume.” Perceptor nuzzled him, the warmth of him welcome, though not for too long.
It was too hot, with their winter coat not fully molted, and the warm breeze flooding in from the window. Couple that with the bright sun gleaming through the glass, and Drift was about to ask that they turn on the air conditioning.
Barely a year in Kaon and he’d already gotten far too used to human comforts.
“I appreciate that.” Drift rested his hand on Perceptor’s leg. He gnawed on his bottom lip, knowing he needed to be honest. “And I do want to spend my heat with you. But...”
He trailed off. He hadn’t realized he would have to put this into words. He’d never been with someone he’d wanted to be honest with. He worried this would be the one thing Perceptor could not abide. That it might spell the end of their relationship.
“But?” Perceptor prompted. His hands rested on Drift’s abdomen. “You know you can be honest with me, Drift. Are you afraid? Have you had a bad experience?”
Drift shook his head. “No, that’s not it.” He breathed in and out, closing his eyes to center himself. “It’s, you know, called mating season for a reason, is all. We go into heat purely for one purpose and I...” He trailed off again, hands tangling together, anxiety nestling into a quivering ball inside his belly.
“Ah,” Perceptor murmured. “And you don’t wish to carry.”
“Yeah.” Drift chewed hard on the inside of his cheek before he decided honesty truly was for the best. Even if it meant the end. “But I don’t mean only this time. I meant...” He paused and inhaled deeply. “What if I told you I don’t want to carry? Ever.”
“I would tell you that you’re allowed to make that decision,” Perceptor replied, and his hands shifted to holding Drift’s hips. “Though if I may ask, is it because you don’t want to carry specifically, or because you don’t want to raise a child?”
“Both,” Drift admitted and sagged further onto the bench, drawing inward. “It’s just… I don’t have it in me to be a parent. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The idea of it terrifies me, but not in a good way.” He paused and shifted so he could look at Perceptor and see the truth in his eyes. “That’s probably a deal-breaker for you.”
“On the contrary.” Perceptor drew back and plucked at Drift’s right arm, pulling free a twisted feather leaving. “What if I were to tell you that raising a child has always been unappealing to me?”
Drift blinked, relief warring with suspicion in his core. “You’re just saying that.”
Perceptor arched an eyebrow. “When have I ever stated something merely for the sake of it?” he asked, his tone calm and even, not at all angry as Drift would have suspected.
He was right.
Drift turned back around. “I’m not used to that,” he admitted. He directed his focus on Perceptor’s ankle, talons carding through the feathers to remove the dead fluff. “I’m not used to people saying what they mean. I still think you’re going to wake up and realize that it’s been fun, but I’m not mate material at all.”
He flicked leavings to the floor. He’d sweep them up later. His core throbbed a worried beat in his chest. He replayed his own words, and startled.
“But it’s not your fault,” Drift was quick to add. He didn’t want Perceptor to think Drift felt unwanted or unloved. That was far from the truth. “It’s mine. My own failing. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, buttercup. It’s okay. I understand.” Perceptor pressed warmth to Drift’s back again, a squeezing embrace of reassurance.
The silly nickname made Drift’s core flutter. They always did. They were ridiculous and half the time didn’t make sense, but he loved when Perceptor used them anyway. They always sounded fond and affectionate, rather than masked mockery.
“Scars of the core are never quickly healed,” Perceptor said, his breath a warm puff over the back of Drift’s ear. “But I assure you, Drift, hatchlings have never been in my plan. I’ve always been indifferent to the idea of them, and I’ve always believed that one should never commit to something so important unless you are ready to commit with your entire being.”
Relief sank into Drift’s limbs. He settled back into Perceptor’s hold. “You’re right,” he said. Perceptor sounded so certain, so decided.
Drift believed him.
“Good.” Perceptor kissed the side of his neck. “And luckily for both of us, the greenhouse grows the herbs I need to make the appropriate medicine to ensure we have no accidental carries.”
Drift’s lips pulled into a wolfish grin, a shiver dancing down his spine. “Mmm.” He turned, pressing a kiss to the curve of Perceptor’s jaw. “Lucky indeed.”
Perceptor’s hands patted over his belly before shifting to his hips. “You sound like you have something pleasant in mind.” He laughed.
Heat flushed into Drift’s cheeks. “Well, being with you is a guarantee of a good time is all.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, sunshine,” Perceptor nipped at his ear. He patted Drift’s hips. “Come now. My back itches, too. Let’s switch.”
“You only want me for my talons,” Drift playfully sighed, but he swiveled around on the bench as Perceptor rose to turn around. He was now faced with Perceptor’s back, beautiful though it was, despite the snarls of winter molt. “So we’re in agreement. We’re not letting Ms. Jessica watch or film us.”
“Absolutely not,” Perceptor said firmly as he pulled Drift’s right leg into his lap and tickled behind Drift’s knee. He twitched his leg, and Perceptor stopped. “You can answer her questions if you like, but don’t let her push your boundaries.”
Because she would. Drift was very familiar with Ms. Jessica’s interviewing techniques.
Drift chuckled and sifted through the feathers on Perceptor’s back, pulling free the loosest ones first. “Noted. Do you give her warning?”
“Every year,” Perceptor said, and he went silent, his hand curling around Drift’s thigh. “You know, I am quite lucky this year to actually have a partner. I’m sure my pillows will be grateful.”
It took a moment for Drift to realize the joke, and he barked a laugh. “I’m sure.” Though a mental image of Perceptor pleasuring himself at the peak of his heat made a ripple of want surge through Drift’s veins.
He made a mental note to ask Perceptor for a demonstration.
“Anyhow,” Perceptor continued as he worked on Drift’s right ankle, “Ms. Jessica will arrange for someone to look after your plants and my experiments. I’ll make sure we have enough food and refreshments to sustain us. Then we can spend however long it takes in here.”
Drift nodded, though Perceptor couldn’t see it, and was glad Perceptor couldn’t also see the color stealing into his cheeks. “Sounds good to me. And after?”
“After?” Perceptor sounded puzzled. His hand paused on Drift’s knee.
“You know, after mating season. The Festival of Adaptus?” Drift flicked away the last of the easy leavings and started peering more carefully at Perceptor’s back. “Wasn’t it celebrated in Tyger Pax?”
“Indeed it was.” Perceptor set Drift’s right leg back on the floor and lifted Drift’s left into his lap, tickling the back of his knee first and making Drift twitch. “We celebrated it as a week-long exhibition.”
“Exhibition?”
Perceptor hummed an affirmative. “Yes. We all present our research, our findings, our progress, our success, even our failures, because there is always something to be learned from failure.” He scratched at the underside of Drift’s thigh, pulling loose a thick tangle of old feathers. “And those who wished could announce their candidacy for Director, and present their hypothesis. We would then vote on the best candidate.”
“Director? Is that like a leader?”
“Indeed. Though it is not a position that is inherited, but earned. What about Tesaurus?”
It was a lot easier to talk about flock customs in general than speak of his own experiences in Tesaurus. Drift didn’t like being reminded of all the troubles he’d left behind.
“Oh, we had a Dai, but it was earned, too. Our leader had to be the most skilled of the aerie. We held tournaments every year, after the Festival of Adaptus, and anyone could challenge the Dai who wanted to. Not that many did.”
Perceptor moved on to Drift’s ankle. “Why not?”
“Because Dai Atlas was a legend!” Drift flicked feather leavings toward the gathering basket. “He challenged Dai Grandus before he even mated, and he won! It’s been four decades now, and he hasn’t been so much as scratched by the few who did dare challenge him.”
“You sound like you admire him.”
“I do.” Drift worked his jaw and calmed his tone. He didn’t want to come across as an overeager fan. “Dai Atlas is a good harpy. He’s a bara, but he’s never treated anyone as lesser. He believes a harpy should be judged on their merit and nothing else. Sometimes, to the irritation of the council of elders, who think tradition is more important than anything else.”
Perceptor hummed. “Tradition is important,” he agreed. “But not at the expense of those it is meant to honor.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
“What about the festival itself? How did Tesaurus celebrate?”
Drift rolled his shoulders. “Same as everyone else, I guess. Dancing. Food. It was the only time of the year we were excused from our studies and our non-emergency duties as a flock. So we could mingle with everyone, if we wanted. It was pretty common for people to meet their mates during the festival.”
“You lived in Iacon for a while, too. Yes?”
“Yeah. Iacon had a huge celebration. It was a week of parties. There were entertainers and music, the main streets were decorated, there was a parade.”
Drift laughed at the memory. He hadn’t spent long in Iacon, but he had been there for at least one mating season and festival. It was probably the only time he remembered having fun in the rule-choked city.
Come to think of it, the rules were likely the reason Carrier wanted him there in the first place. Carrier hoped the rules would keep Drift in line, help him find the right kind of happiness. Iacon would make Drift more appealing.
He’d been wrong about that.
Drift wondered what Carrier would think of Perceptor. Not a warrior, but a scientist, brilliant and talented and beautiful, but not a soldier. Would Carrier approve? Would Drift’s happiness even matter?
Drift bit back a sigh and focused on the conversation instead. It was easier. “Iacon during the Festival of Adaptus was the most chaotic I’d ever seen for a city usually so rigid. It was like… for a few days, most of the rules didn’t apply.”
“Sounds like it was fun.”
“It was. For a moment, I forgot how much I hated the rest of it.” His voice turned solemn before he could catch himself, and he knew Perceptor would have caught it.
That was confirmed when Perceptor’s hand landed on his thigh with a loving stroke. “So,” he said. “We have an exhibition, a party, and a parade. I don’t think we can do any of those during the festival, do you?”
Drift laughed. “Not with just the two of us.” He paused and tilted his head as an idea occurred to him. “Though we could probably convince Ms. Jessica to arrange something. We don’t have enough time this year, but next year? Yeah. I think she’d be thrilled to have a harpy culture week here.”
He could just see her now, eyes sparkling big and bright, her pen scratching fast across the paper as she took copious notes. The cap of the pen would be a gnawed mess. Her heeled feet would tap-tap-thunk on the floor. Her enthusiasm could be infectious.
“Next year?” Perceptor echoed.
Drift wrapped his arms around Perceptor’s waist and rested his head against the bara’s back. “Yeah. Next year.” He nuzzled into the back of Perceptor’s neck. “I’m sticking around, Perceptor. I’m not leaving. I want to be here next year. And the year after that. And--”
Perceptor’s hands rested over his. “I have a suggestion then,” Perceptor murmured, cutting off his babbling. “Since we’ll have to save the parade for next year.”
“I’m listening.”
Perceptor leaned back into his embrace, the vibrations of his voice gentle against Drift’s chest. “I can show you the Glass Falls, we take a picnic, a portable hammock, spend the night up there. It should be warm enough, and the view is spectacular.”
“Yes.” Drift rose and pressed a kiss to the side of Perceptor’s neck. “It sounds perfect.”
“Then I’ll make the arrangements.” Perceptor turned his head, quickly capturing Drift’s lips for a brief kiss. “But first we have work to do,” he said against Drift’s mouth and deftly plucked a feather from Drift’s shoulder.
Drift laughed as Perceptor twirled the molted leaving before flicking it toward the basket. “Yes, we do.” He sat back down and returned to grooming as Perceptor lifted Drift’s leg back into his lap.
Next year.
Drift liked the sound of that.
***
Characters: Drift, Perceptor, Original Character(s)
Universe: Flights of Fancy, Harpyformers
Rating: M
Enticements: Sexual Content, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Love at First Sight
Description: Perceptor’s spent so long among the humans, he’s almost forgotten how much he misses other harpies, until Drift wanders into Kaon, a pretty package of everything Perceptor never knew he wanted.
Winter melted into spring, quicker than any melt Drift had ever experienced. There was only a month of snow and ice and then came the fresh breath of spring. All too soon, Drift’s winter coat became stifling, and it was a relief when he finally started to molt, even if it did make for a mess.
Double the mess, truth be told, because as winter petered away, Perceptor and Drift chose to share Perceptor’s room, and turn Drift’s into a private lab for Perceptor, complete with greenhouse ambiance. It worked out better for the both of them, though some of Drift’s collection had started to migrate into their shared room.
Perceptor was gracious enough not to complain about it.
They left the windows open both for the fresh air, and because their room was thick with molt fluff. Some of it they gathered for Ms. Jessica, who was thrilled to have another harpy’s molt to study. And apparently, pillows stuffed with their feathers sold for a premium? Drift didn’t know why humans were so weird, but given the rise in their shared bank account, he didn’t mind.
Some of their molt they kept for themselves, for stuffing their own pillows, discarding what Perceptor had gathered last year.
Mid-afternoon and they both refused to leave their room. They were a patchy mess of new feathers and old feathers, thick tufts of winter growth mingling with shiny new growth. Drift hadn’t known Perceptor capable of such grumbling until he caught his partner digging persistently at an ingrown feather, one just out of reach behind his left shoulderblade.
“You could have asked me for help, you know,” Drift said as he plucked out the offensive leaving and flicked it into the basket for Ms. Jessica.
Perceptor sighed with relief. “Having spent the last ten years dealing with molt on my own, would you believe me if I told you I forgot there was someone here I could ask for help?” A small chuckle escaped them. “Though human hands are quite adept at helping as well.”
“You actually let a human groom you?” Drift asked, eyes wide with surprise. Perhaps Ms. Jessica he’d trust. But that was the limit of his reach. Not even Artemis, who had proven very nice, would Drift trust with that much vulnerability.
Perceptor swept some belongings off a long, low bench and moved them to the hammock they shared. He dragged the bench to the center of the room and straddled it. He patted the empty space in front of him.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said. “Come. Sit. I’ll groom your back.”
Drift couldn’t sit fast enough. His back itched something fierce, and he wanted his molt to be over already. He was bland in appearance already without the mid-molt look to make it worse.
He sat in front of Perceptor and reached back, pulling his partner’s right leg up and draping it over his own. He started plucking at the old feathers in Perceptor’s calves, amused as Perceptor’s taloned toes wriggled.
“Well, you don’t need the humans anymore,” Drift said as he worked free a stubborn leaving and flicked it toward the basket. “So I better not catch any human hands buried in your feathers.”
Perceptor’s talons carded through his back, and Drift shivered, a low sound of pleasure echoing in his throat. “Oh. Possessive, are we? I think I quite like that tone.”
Drift rolled his eyes. “I prefer to think of it as protective.”
“Mm. Semantics.” Perceptor chuckled and dug a talon at Drift’s scapulae, prising free a leaving that had been bothering Drift all morning.
He sighed with relief.
A warm breeze flooded through the window, carrying the scent of flowers in bloom, and the noise of the lawn mower slicing through the grass’ first growth of the season. Windchimes sang in the wind – Perceptor had several of them now, dancing and swaying where they hung.
It warmed Drift’s core every time he saw them, to know such simple things were treasured by his partner. It was proof, without words, that Perceptor treasured him as well.
He ran his fingers over Perceptor’s right leg and found it free and clear. So he set it back upon the ground and pulled Perceptor’s left leg into his lap. There was quite the tangle of mottled feathers here.
“Drift?”
“Hm?” He bent closer to Perceptor’s leg, glaring at the stubborn tangle.
Skilled talons carded through the feathers of his back, searching for old growth. “You do realize that in a few more weeks it will be mating season.”
Drift straightened. “Oh, you’re right.” He flicked more feathers toward the basket, though a few caught on the breeze and missed. “Don’t tell me Ms. Jessica wants to watch. Because I think that’s where I’ll draw the line.”
There was a moment of silence before Perceptor barked a laugh, his hands resting on Drift’s shoulders as he pressed his forehead between them.
“By Adaptus, no,” he said through several chuckles. “And I find it even more amusing that it’s where your mind went first.”
Drift wrinkled his nose. “She’s eager. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Nor I.” Perceptor hummed another laugh and pushed himself back upright. “We’ve already had the discussion about examination of our reproductive genitalia. I think she’s hoping she can find the right bribe to convince me to say yes. All in the name of science, of course.”
Drift snorted. “Right. But you don’t see us asking her to strip and show us human bits.” He rolled his shoulders with a shudder. “Not that I want to.”
“From what I understand, there are many similarities.” Perceptor’s tone was rich with amusement. “I have a medical anatomy textbook if you want to read it.”
“No, thanks.”
“I thought you might say that.” Perceptor scooted a bit forward and rested his chin on Drift’s shoulder, his arms loosely wrapping around Drift’s waist. “However, I mentioned mating season because I wanted to be sure you wished to spend it with me.”
Drift half-turned, startled. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked as he caught Perceptor’s eyes. “We’re together, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes. But I didn’t want to presume.” Perceptor nuzzled him, the warmth of him welcome, though not for too long.
It was too hot, with their winter coat not fully molted, and the warm breeze flooding in from the window. Couple that with the bright sun gleaming through the glass, and Drift was about to ask that they turn on the air conditioning.
Barely a year in Kaon and he’d already gotten far too used to human comforts.
“I appreciate that.” Drift rested his hand on Perceptor’s leg. He gnawed on his bottom lip, knowing he needed to be honest. “And I do want to spend my heat with you. But...”
He trailed off. He hadn’t realized he would have to put this into words. He’d never been with someone he’d wanted to be honest with. He worried this would be the one thing Perceptor could not abide. That it might spell the end of their relationship.
“But?” Perceptor prompted. His hands rested on Drift’s abdomen. “You know you can be honest with me, Drift. Are you afraid? Have you had a bad experience?”
Drift shook his head. “No, that’s not it.” He breathed in and out, closing his eyes to center himself. “It’s, you know, called mating season for a reason, is all. We go into heat purely for one purpose and I...” He trailed off again, hands tangling together, anxiety nestling into a quivering ball inside his belly.
“Ah,” Perceptor murmured. “And you don’t wish to carry.”
“Yeah.” Drift chewed hard on the inside of his cheek before he decided honesty truly was for the best. Even if it meant the end. “But I don’t mean only this time. I meant...” He paused and inhaled deeply. “What if I told you I don’t want to carry? Ever.”
“I would tell you that you’re allowed to make that decision,” Perceptor replied, and his hands shifted to holding Drift’s hips. “Though if I may ask, is it because you don’t want to carry specifically, or because you don’t want to raise a child?”
“Both,” Drift admitted and sagged further onto the bench, drawing inward. “It’s just… I don’t have it in me to be a parent. I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The idea of it terrifies me, but not in a good way.” He paused and shifted so he could look at Perceptor and see the truth in his eyes. “That’s probably a deal-breaker for you.”
“On the contrary.” Perceptor drew back and plucked at Drift’s right arm, pulling free a twisted feather leaving. “What if I were to tell you that raising a child has always been unappealing to me?”
Drift blinked, relief warring with suspicion in his core. “You’re just saying that.”
Perceptor arched an eyebrow. “When have I ever stated something merely for the sake of it?” he asked, his tone calm and even, not at all angry as Drift would have suspected.
He was right.
Drift turned back around. “I’m not used to that,” he admitted. He directed his focus on Perceptor’s ankle, talons carding through the feathers to remove the dead fluff. “I’m not used to people saying what they mean. I still think you’re going to wake up and realize that it’s been fun, but I’m not mate material at all.”
He flicked leavings to the floor. He’d sweep them up later. His core throbbed a worried beat in his chest. He replayed his own words, and startled.
“But it’s not your fault,” Drift was quick to add. He didn’t want Perceptor to think Drift felt unwanted or unloved. That was far from the truth. “It’s mine. My own failing. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, buttercup. It’s okay. I understand.” Perceptor pressed warmth to Drift’s back again, a squeezing embrace of reassurance.
The silly nickname made Drift’s core flutter. They always did. They were ridiculous and half the time didn’t make sense, but he loved when Perceptor used them anyway. They always sounded fond and affectionate, rather than masked mockery.
“Scars of the core are never quickly healed,” Perceptor said, his breath a warm puff over the back of Drift’s ear. “But I assure you, Drift, hatchlings have never been in my plan. I’ve always been indifferent to the idea of them, and I’ve always believed that one should never commit to something so important unless you are ready to commit with your entire being.”
Relief sank into Drift’s limbs. He settled back into Perceptor’s hold. “You’re right,” he said. Perceptor sounded so certain, so decided.
Drift believed him.
“Good.” Perceptor kissed the side of his neck. “And luckily for both of us, the greenhouse grows the herbs I need to make the appropriate medicine to ensure we have no accidental carries.”
Drift’s lips pulled into a wolfish grin, a shiver dancing down his spine. “Mmm.” He turned, pressing a kiss to the curve of Perceptor’s jaw. “Lucky indeed.”
Perceptor’s hands patted over his belly before shifting to his hips. “You sound like you have something pleasant in mind.” He laughed.
Heat flushed into Drift’s cheeks. “Well, being with you is a guarantee of a good time is all.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, sunshine,” Perceptor nipped at his ear. He patted Drift’s hips. “Come now. My back itches, too. Let’s switch.”
“You only want me for my talons,” Drift playfully sighed, but he swiveled around on the bench as Perceptor rose to turn around. He was now faced with Perceptor’s back, beautiful though it was, despite the snarls of winter molt. “So we’re in agreement. We’re not letting Ms. Jessica watch or film us.”
“Absolutely not,” Perceptor said firmly as he pulled Drift’s right leg into his lap and tickled behind Drift’s knee. He twitched his leg, and Perceptor stopped. “You can answer her questions if you like, but don’t let her push your boundaries.”
Because she would. Drift was very familiar with Ms. Jessica’s interviewing techniques.
Drift chuckled and sifted through the feathers on Perceptor’s back, pulling free the loosest ones first. “Noted. Do you give her warning?”
“Every year,” Perceptor said, and he went silent, his hand curling around Drift’s thigh. “You know, I am quite lucky this year to actually have a partner. I’m sure my pillows will be grateful.”
It took a moment for Drift to realize the joke, and he barked a laugh. “I’m sure.” Though a mental image of Perceptor pleasuring himself at the peak of his heat made a ripple of want surge through Drift’s veins.
He made a mental note to ask Perceptor for a demonstration.
“Anyhow,” Perceptor continued as he worked on Drift’s right ankle, “Ms. Jessica will arrange for someone to look after your plants and my experiments. I’ll make sure we have enough food and refreshments to sustain us. Then we can spend however long it takes in here.”
Drift nodded, though Perceptor couldn’t see it, and was glad Perceptor couldn’t also see the color stealing into his cheeks. “Sounds good to me. And after?”
“After?” Perceptor sounded puzzled. His hand paused on Drift’s knee.
“You know, after mating season. The Festival of Adaptus?” Drift flicked away the last of the easy leavings and started peering more carefully at Perceptor’s back. “Wasn’t it celebrated in Tyger Pax?”
“Indeed it was.” Perceptor set Drift’s right leg back on the floor and lifted Drift’s left into his lap, tickling the back of his knee first and making Drift twitch. “We celebrated it as a week-long exhibition.”
“Exhibition?”
Perceptor hummed an affirmative. “Yes. We all present our research, our findings, our progress, our success, even our failures, because there is always something to be learned from failure.” He scratched at the underside of Drift’s thigh, pulling loose a thick tangle of old feathers. “And those who wished could announce their candidacy for Director, and present their hypothesis. We would then vote on the best candidate.”
“Director? Is that like a leader?”
“Indeed. Though it is not a position that is inherited, but earned. What about Tesaurus?”
It was a lot easier to talk about flock customs in general than speak of his own experiences in Tesaurus. Drift didn’t like being reminded of all the troubles he’d left behind.
“Oh, we had a Dai, but it was earned, too. Our leader had to be the most skilled of the aerie. We held tournaments every year, after the Festival of Adaptus, and anyone could challenge the Dai who wanted to. Not that many did.”
Perceptor moved on to Drift’s ankle. “Why not?”
“Because Dai Atlas was a legend!” Drift flicked feather leavings toward the gathering basket. “He challenged Dai Grandus before he even mated, and he won! It’s been four decades now, and he hasn’t been so much as scratched by the few who did dare challenge him.”
“You sound like you admire him.”
“I do.” Drift worked his jaw and calmed his tone. He didn’t want to come across as an overeager fan. “Dai Atlas is a good harpy. He’s a bara, but he’s never treated anyone as lesser. He believes a harpy should be judged on their merit and nothing else. Sometimes, to the irritation of the council of elders, who think tradition is more important than anything else.”
Perceptor hummed. “Tradition is important,” he agreed. “But not at the expense of those it is meant to honor.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
“What about the festival itself? How did Tesaurus celebrate?”
Drift rolled his shoulders. “Same as everyone else, I guess. Dancing. Food. It was the only time of the year we were excused from our studies and our non-emergency duties as a flock. So we could mingle with everyone, if we wanted. It was pretty common for people to meet their mates during the festival.”
“You lived in Iacon for a while, too. Yes?”
“Yeah. Iacon had a huge celebration. It was a week of parties. There were entertainers and music, the main streets were decorated, there was a parade.”
Drift laughed at the memory. He hadn’t spent long in Iacon, but he had been there for at least one mating season and festival. It was probably the only time he remembered having fun in the rule-choked city.
Come to think of it, the rules were likely the reason Carrier wanted him there in the first place. Carrier hoped the rules would keep Drift in line, help him find the right kind of happiness. Iacon would make Drift more appealing.
He’d been wrong about that.
Drift wondered what Carrier would think of Perceptor. Not a warrior, but a scientist, brilliant and talented and beautiful, but not a soldier. Would Carrier approve? Would Drift’s happiness even matter?
Drift bit back a sigh and focused on the conversation instead. It was easier. “Iacon during the Festival of Adaptus was the most chaotic I’d ever seen for a city usually so rigid. It was like… for a few days, most of the rules didn’t apply.”
“Sounds like it was fun.”
“It was. For a moment, I forgot how much I hated the rest of it.” His voice turned solemn before he could catch himself, and he knew Perceptor would have caught it.
That was confirmed when Perceptor’s hand landed on his thigh with a loving stroke. “So,” he said. “We have an exhibition, a party, and a parade. I don’t think we can do any of those during the festival, do you?”
Drift laughed. “Not with just the two of us.” He paused and tilted his head as an idea occurred to him. “Though we could probably convince Ms. Jessica to arrange something. We don’t have enough time this year, but next year? Yeah. I think she’d be thrilled to have a harpy culture week here.”
He could just see her now, eyes sparkling big and bright, her pen scratching fast across the paper as she took copious notes. The cap of the pen would be a gnawed mess. Her heeled feet would tap-tap-thunk on the floor. Her enthusiasm could be infectious.
“Next year?” Perceptor echoed.
Drift wrapped his arms around Perceptor’s waist and rested his head against the bara’s back. “Yeah. Next year.” He nuzzled into the back of Perceptor’s neck. “I’m sticking around, Perceptor. I’m not leaving. I want to be here next year. And the year after that. And--”
Perceptor’s hands rested over his. “I have a suggestion then,” Perceptor murmured, cutting off his babbling. “Since we’ll have to save the parade for next year.”
“I’m listening.”
Perceptor leaned back into his embrace, the vibrations of his voice gentle against Drift’s chest. “I can show you the Glass Falls, we take a picnic, a portable hammock, spend the night up there. It should be warm enough, and the view is spectacular.”
“Yes.” Drift rose and pressed a kiss to the side of Perceptor’s neck. “It sounds perfect.”
“Then I’ll make the arrangements.” Perceptor turned his head, quickly capturing Drift’s lips for a brief kiss. “But first we have work to do,” he said against Drift’s mouth and deftly plucked a feather from Drift’s shoulder.
Drift laughed as Perceptor twirled the molted leaving before flicking it toward the basket. “Yes, we do.” He sat back down and returned to grooming as Perceptor lifted Drift’s leg back into his lap.
Next year.
Drift liked the sound of that.
