â i threw up. â for Behail uwu
illness and injury starters - accepting
The sound of clicking claws exit from the restroomâs dim light, wrapped feet heavy in their walk, and sluggish with movement. Skinny arms are wrapped tightly around the arachnidâs midsection still roiling with discomfort, his features considerably paled, and fel-fire eyes leaking thin streams of flame. Oh, his attempt to be silent was foolproofâthat is, if that trembling wing would silence its clicks, and his raw throat would properly swallow rough coughs.Â
Stopped in his tracks is the Illidari when a voice laden with sleep calls, causing large ears to pivot out, and those dripping eyes to focus onto the body shifted across the large mattress sat in the shared bedroom. In the darkness he could see the flickering of colors; grays and greens that normally would light up his life, but now, only aided in the migraine pounding his skull.Â
âAra, love, whatâs wrong?â
He couldnât hide a thing from Saeâtash; not when his own aura was lacking in his fellow Demon Hunterâs vision, and that he was no longer pressed up against the largerâs side underneath the warmth of the duvet.
Behailâs voice trails barely above a whisper, heavy with embarrassment and still choked back with the raw sensation from heaving. He can hear Saeâtashâs voice drop, a coo in that tone, and his larger body is shifting to sit up and swing legs over the side of the mattress. The Moâarg bound on his best of days held intimidationâhis frame ever towering and features rough, even his voice low with dominance; but when it came to Behail, never had the Aranasi been treated with such care and kindness. Saeâtashâs arms had opened, coaxing Behail forward to which he slowly complied, dragging heavy feet across the flooring and practically falling against the elderâs chest in search of warmth and comfort.
It wasnât abnormal for the arachnid to wake in the middle of the night, head pounding to the point of his vision obscuring; the pain severe enough for his stomach to toss and turn. Luckily, Saeâtash had become accustomed to the rude awakenings, knowing when Behail wanted to be held, or when he needed a moment alone, to which medication would be found and water handed over, or just when the elder needed to talk the opposite demon down enough to quiet.Â
Eventually, Behail relaxes, sighing out against his partnerâs collar, arms reluctantly unwinding from his middle when shifting; crawling properly onto the bed and against the chest of his fellow Illidari. Still did that unsettled feeling linger, the fowl taste of acid in the back of his throat, but now he could breathe easy, lay still, and relish in shared warmth that would lull him back to sleep.Â
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