An Archon mark in flaming knife-juggling. Wouldn't that be a sight.
[Hmmm. His gaze drags down just a fraction, then flicks to Ryn's glass (his former glass? do either of them even remember at this point), then finally back to his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls up into a more mischievous smile.]
I've thought of a means of resolving our startling coincidence. Give me your glass.
And thus Thancred proceeds to take the glass, knock back a nice healthy mouthful, and abandon it haphazardly on the counter (hopefully) as the hand in Ryn's hair shifts to press against the back of his head.
And guide it forward.
And, like shotgunning a mouthful of smoke, presses half the same mouthful of Number Nine past Ryn's lips with a deft sweep of his tongue and a firm seal of a kiss to match.]
[as if he'd care if the glass missed the counter, it's not their problem.
and anyway, he's more focused on thancred's little plan, leaning easily into that kiss; he'd had a slight suspicion, but being proven right like this is always nice, he thinks. it's an enjoyable way to experiment, and he definitely proves not to be shy about it, tasting the liquor from him with a satisfied little hum.
he leans back enough to pull away, but not so far that his hair tendrils unwind from thancred's wrist.]
...still tastes the same to me. We're going to have to test the other glass.
[Rationally, it should occur to him that the way he's behaving isn't — well, it is the sort of thing he'd do, just in a wildly different set of circumstances. The sort where there weren't more pressing questions of security and safety to demand his attention. The sort where he wasn't alone, bereft of the comrades he'd entrust his life to on a moment's notice.
It should occur to him that prioritizing pleasure over just about every other possible concern in the book isn't like him. And yet here he is, with the taste of Sharlayan memories on his tongue and a blue void Elezen's hair tendrils tying lovers' knots around his wrist.]
And yet I'm not altogether tempted to let you go far enough to reach it.
You prefer me over it? High praise- but I don't really expect anything less.
[be a little more smug, why don't you, ryn.
there's nothing out of the ordinary for him, though; he's well-practiced in escapism, in duality. in leaning into this sort of thing to avoid dealing with the rest, taking what he's able to wherever he can get it, and indulging his pride and vanity while he's at it. rynlan might well do this without the drink's encouragement.
he doesn't move to lean away so he can reach for the glass, seemingly just as content here.]
[And there's really no academic purpose to excuse the second kiss that follows after the first, but probably they can think of one later if they really try. Maybe.
As his hand shifts minutely again from head and tendril-hair to settle at the back of Ryn's neck, his fingers happen across that thin gold chain from earlier, and after a moment's hesitation he rolls it against the pads of his fingertips, seemingly in idle thought.]
I wonder who gave this to you. Someone lucky, to be sure.
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no subject
[Hmmm. His gaze drags down just a fraction, then flicks to Ryn's glass (his former glass? do either of them even remember at this point), then finally back to his eyes as the corner of his mouth curls up into a more mischievous smile.]
I've thought of a means of resolving our startling coincidence. Give me your glass.
no subject
You do? Let's see it, then.
no subject
And thus Thancred proceeds to take the glass, knock back a nice healthy mouthful, and abandon it haphazardly on the counter (hopefully) as the hand in Ryn's hair shifts to press against the back of his head.
And guide it forward.
And, like shotgunning a mouthful of smoke, presses half the same mouthful of Number Nine past Ryn's lips with a deft sweep of his tongue and a firm seal of a kiss to match.]
no subject
and anyway, he's more focused on thancred's little plan, leaning easily into that kiss; he'd had a slight suspicion, but being proven right like this is always nice, he thinks. it's an enjoyable way to experiment, and he definitely proves not to be shy about it, tasting the liquor from him with a satisfied little hum.
he leans back enough to pull away, but not so far that his hair tendrils unwind from thancred's wrist.]
...still tastes the same to me. We're going to have to test the other glass.
no subject
[Rationally, it should occur to him that the way he's behaving isn't — well, it is the sort of thing he'd do, just in a wildly different set of circumstances. The sort where there weren't more pressing questions of security and safety to demand his attention. The sort where he wasn't alone, bereft of the comrades he'd entrust his life to on a moment's notice.
It should occur to him that prioritizing pleasure over just about every other possible concern in the book isn't like him. And yet here he is, with the taste of Sharlayan memories on his tongue and a blue void Elezen's hair tendrils tying lovers' knots around his wrist.]
And yet I'm not altogether tempted to let you go far enough to reach it.
no subject
[be a little more smug, why don't you, ryn.
there's nothing out of the ordinary for him, though; he's well-practiced in escapism, in duality. in leaning into this sort of thing to avoid dealing with the rest, taking what he's able to wherever he can get it, and indulging his pride and vanity while he's at it. rynlan might well do this without the drink's encouragement.
he doesn't move to lean away so he can reach for the glass, seemingly just as content here.]
no subject
[And there's really no academic purpose to excuse the second kiss that follows after the first, but probably they can think of one later if they really try. Maybe.
As his hand shifts minutely again from head and tendril-hair to settle at the back of Ryn's neck, his fingers happen across that thin gold chain from earlier, and after a moment's hesitation he rolls it against the pads of his fingertips, seemingly in idle thought.]
I wonder who gave this to you. Someone lucky, to be sure.