#stagthorne

I am always taking prompts

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It was nearly midnight by the time they stumbled into the inn. They were soaked from the heavy rain, and mud stained their legs up to their knees. Wren wasn’t sure, but there was probably some mud in his hair, too. He had a light scratch on his shoulder that was sluggishly oozing blood, and Stagthorne was all but bodily leaned against him.

The innkeeper eyed them warily, and Wren couldn’t really blame the woman. The pair of them looked like bedraggled bad news. Wren pinned on his most winning smile and pulled Stag with him to the inn’s counter. “Any rooms available for the night?”

The innkeeper flicked her gaze between him and Stagthorne for a moment. Finally, she uncrossed her arms. “One room, s’all I got. Attic bunk.”

“That’ll do.” Wren reassured her. With one hand, he fished out his coin purse. “How much?”

Another glance at them, a little more relaxed then before. “For your sorry pair? Only twenty silver.”

Wren gave her a grateful smile and handed her the silver coins. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the innkeeper said dryly, “Just don’t track mud all over the place. Up the stairs, only door on the top landing.”

Wren waved to her and nudged Stagthorne, who he was pretty sure was half asleep standing. The sylvari jerked into action and gave him a tired glare. Wren ignored the grumbles following him as he picked his way up the stairs. The mud on his legs was growing cold and thick, and his damp shirt made him feel every draft wafting through the inn.

He finally reached the room door and opened it with a sigh of relief. His sigh evaporated quickly, however. Stagthorne sidled up beside him, a brow raised. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh,” Wren said eloquently, “there’s only... one bed.”

Stag stared at him for a moment before pushing past him into the room. “I’ll take the floor.”

Wren followed him in. “What? No,” he protested, “You’re the one who just got tossed through the air like a ragdoll. You need it more than I do.”

Stagthorne paused from where he was stripping off his sodden jacket. “And you’re the one actively bleeding.”

Wren sputtered. “It’s a cut! I’m not going to bleed out.”

“So you say. You humans are odd.” Stagthorne continued his stripping, pulling his shirt over his head.

Whatever protests Wren had died in his throat, and he snapped his mouth shut. He swallowed and averted his gaze from the now-nearly-nude sylvari. Their species didn’t share the same taboo ideas about nudity, he told himself, it wasn’t anything special.

He cleared his throat and began to pull off his own rain-soaked coat and muddy boots. “Okay, a compromise. The bed looks big enough. You take one side, I take the other.”

There was a beat of silence, and Wren looked up at Stagthorne. The sylvari was watching him, his jaw working. When he caught Stag’s gaze, the stare dropped away.

“Fine,” Stagthorne ground out. He turned his back to Wren and hung his clothes on a bar beside the window. Wren watched as he padded stiffly to one side of the bed and curled himself under the covers.

Wren sighed under his breath and finished pulling himself free of his rain-soaked and muddied clothes. He draped them beside Stag’s before sliding into the bed opposite of Stagthorne. There was a cold space between them.

Wren closed his eyes and let his breathes deepen as he verged on the edge of sleep. Before the blessed darkness could take him, he heard the shifting of sheets as Stag rolled to face his back. A warm hand snaked beneath Wren’s shoulders, hesitating as he breathed a little too hard. Wren stilled, and he felt Stagthorne pull himself flush against him. The sylvari’s other hand looped over his waist, the warm bark-like hand finding Wren’s own mechanical one.

>:0 you have found my weakness, Wren and Stag, fucking awkward gay idiots

set at some point in the future? established knowing each other and familiar with one another at least

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Wren scuffed his boot against the ground and crossed his arms over his chest. He glanced around the corner for the fifth time, his eye searching the market crowd.

It had been a relatively calm morning in Lion’s Arch. He had dragged Rook and Stagthorne with him to the central market at dawn; both sylvari had griped about the early hour. Rook’s mood had brightened when she spotted the exotic fruit vendors, and her short stature was quickly swallowed by the hustle and bustle. Wren spotted her on the occasion when the crowd cleared.

She wasn’t who he was looking for, though. Stagthorne had been loitering in his shadow for most of the morning as he had leisurely walked between the vending stalls. Then, the sylvari had perked up and disappeared with a muttered request to wait for him. Two hours had passed since then, and Wren hadn’t seen hide nor leaf of Stag.

He shifted again against the wall, trying to get comfortable against the rough brick and wood. His attention was dragged away from a beetle scuttling across the cobblestone by a distant shout of outrage. Another shout followed it, gradually growing louder. He looked around the corner again and nearly leapt away from the wall as a mob of angry people bore down towards him. At the head was Stagthorne, something wrapped in cloth tucked in the crook of his arm.

Wren gaped at the crowd, and the breath was torn out of his lung as Stagthorne yanked him along as he hurtled past. “Fucking run,” Stagthorne said as he snared Wren by the hand.

“What did you do?” Wren wheezed as he finally got his feet beneath him and Stag stopped dragging him.

“Might have pissed off some pretentious assholes.” Stagthorne gave his hand another tug and pulled him sharply around a street corner.

Wren looked to the cloth-wrapped item secured under Stag’s arm. He rolled his eyes, too out of breath to offer any chastising words.

Stagthorne rounded another sharp corner into a quiet alleyway and slowed his pace. “Here, do your little engineering magic here.” For once, even the sylvari sounded a little winded.

“S’not magic,” Wren muttered, but he complied nonetheless. He drew out an amalgamation of metal and energy as the angry mob drew closer to their hiding place. Stagthorne pulled him down to the alley ground and Wren pulled the shield of energy over them. The blue flickering cloak wavered before gaining the texture of the ground beneath them.

Wren let out a soft breath as the mob thundered past their hiding place. Once the last few stragglers were passed, he turned to where Stag was huddled behind him. “Why’d you drag me into this?” He hissed.

Wordlessly, Stag prised his hand free of where it was still clasping Wren’s tightly and gestured to the camouflaging energy cloak covering them.

Wren paid little mind to the gesture, instead instantly missing the warmth of Stag’s hand. He curled his fingers tight and pursed his lips. Usually, the sylvari was obstinant to touching, even as they drew friendlier. His gaze flicked to where Stag’s hand rested on his knee. He longed to grab it again, just for the hell of it, but Stagthorne would probably stab him.

Wren sighed under his breath and pulled the energy cloak off of them. He straightened and sheathed the shield, returning the device to his belt pouch. He chewed at his lip before slowly offering a hand to Stagthorne.

Stag looked up at him. He clasped Wren’s offered hand after a moment’s hesitation and allowed Wren to pull him upright. Wren might have used a little more force than necessary, and Stagthorne lurched forward. Their faces inches apart, they stared at each other with wide eyes. Wren swallowed and opened his mouth, but Stagthorne beat him to the punch. The sylvari averted his gaze. “Let’s get moving, they might circle back.”