The siblings within the sand

Windchill snorted.

“I think you may be overestimating my abilities.” His pride wasn’t damaged in the slightest to admit that Riot was, potentially, the more dangerous of the pair.

“I…” his mouth opened and closed again, shoulders sagged and wings dragged to the sand as his hand dropped to his side. “Yes. She doesn’t want me there.”

“Even now?” Riot asked. It was silent for a bit. 

There they sat. In the sand. Grit getting into every joint and hidden compartment, but they laid their sparks bare for each other. Riot chirred, his engine clicked and his lips parted with his mandibles clicking, feeling over his lovers face as he lowered his massive torso to Windchill. “Then... What should we do? I want Bluebottle to be safe. You to be safe. You do not wish to leave but... What future can we have here?” The long digits once more caressed Windchills, taking them into a tight grip as he asked his worried question.

Windchill’s mouth opened, with no shortage of outrage primed to spew from it like a fountain in an English garden, but he closed it. He’d felt…guilt, in a word, for giving the protoform back the first time despite his reasoning.

The weight of it in his palm quelled that somewhat. He would figure out how to break it to Riot after.

It’s next week.