ratherbelocky | .002 Δ [Voice]

Okay. Okay.

[York's voice is the soft but urgent hiss of someone who's freaking out but doesn't want to alarm the people around him. The sound quality, for those sensitive to that sort of thing, indicates that he may have, you know. Locked himself in the bathroom. As one does.]

Can I lodge a complaint? I dunno who to, exactly, but I'da hoped this would be the kind of thing that got covered in the rookie's field manual as early as possible.

[He pauses.]

Turning into a werewolf, I mean.

[The pause is practically italicized. Whatever's happening to York, he is strenuously unhappy about it, and the tension rides his voice hard.]

Like, the fact that that's apparently a real possibility in this universe.

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From:

usedlightscreen

[North has been somewhat hidden away these past few days, spending longer in bed with the covers pulled up and scratching at his neck like he had something to itch there. But today, sometime after Carolina has gotten York out of the bathroom and when the sun was just beginning to sink lower in the sky, North finally comes out of his room, completely shirtless and with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The reason why the normally borderline-prude is so bared should be obvious; night-black leathery skin stretches from North's wrists to his hips, melting against the still-pale skin of his arms.

Not to mention the giant purple satellite ears on top of his head, or the ruff of thick, white fur trailing around his neck and down his chest.

Suffice it to say, York's not the only one feeling a little... altered.]

From:

ratherbelocky

--Ah.

[York is sitting on the floor. That'd be odd enough in itself, but he's also, uh. Chewing up the back of the baseball cap that came with his burglar outfit. He pauses, tail still, eyes on North, and then just puts the cap back on his head like he totally meant to be doing that. His fuzzy puppy ears stick out to either side. He is undaunted.]

Man. Can you believe this crap?

[He sits up against the wall and crosses his arms. Immediately ducks his head again to scratch the back of his neck. Scritchscritchscritchscritchscritch. God, but he's starting to hate fur.]

Making us play werewolves versus vampires. Unbelievable. Dude, do you think I have fleas?

From:

usedlightscreen

[North tries his best to stifle a snicker when he sees York chewing on the back of the cap.]

No, but if you wanted to try collars there are better ways to ask.

[He says even as he automatically crosses the room and sits down next to York, wrapping his arms around his knees and cloaking his legs with his wings.

He has sharper teeth than usual, when he smiles. He reaches over to gently pull York's hand from his fur, ready to hold his hand if he has to to get him to stop itching it.]

Don't scratch.

[As he unconsciously scrapes his claws over his own chest, along the itchy edge of the white ruff of fur around his neck.]

From:

ratherbelocky

[He snorts--or, well, sneezes, almost: that scoffy little sound dogs make when they are unimpressed with your bullshit--and bumps North's arm with his shoulder. Doesn't pull his hand away, though.]

You don't scratch, Batty. Also, no thanks, not what I'm into these days.

[He reaches across himself with his other hand to poke carefully at North's wing, to try to trace the edge where North's arm muscle ends and flight membrane begins.]

Huh. Think you could fly with these?

From:

usedlightscreen

[When York doesn't take his hand away, North carefully weaves his fingers in between York's, palms brushing together, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes all over again that he's allowed to do this, just touch York affectionately without being ready to laugh it off.

He's still so new to being...happy like this, that he jumps a little when York's fingers trace along his arm.]

Probably not. I'm heavier than I look.

From:

ratherbelocky

[It settles York in an invisible way, North holding his hand. Like he doesn't have to prepare himself to jump at a moment's notice, like he doesn't have to watch his own back. His tail wags once, thumping against the wall.]

Look, some things fly here that got no business getting off the ground. Has anyone in this world ever read a physics textbook? Seriously, man.

[The second he looks away to shake his head, though, he's got his free hand back to scratching, this time under the back of his shirt. His fur rubs every which way against the cotton and it's t e r r i b l e. So distracting. No wonder little dogs hate sweaters, he wants to chew an entire sofa.]

From:

usedlightscreen

Entirely true. But I'm not going to jump off of something to test that theory.

[North settles as well, leaning back a little against the wall (though he keeps his legs still folded as close as he can to his chest, covering his half-nakedness), comfortably holding York's hand.]

Quit scratching, it'll itch more.

From:

ratherbelocky

Uggghh. It's like wearing the worst itchy grandma sweater. Ever. Of all time. On my entire body.

[But he takes the advice this time and sits on his hand, still visibly uncomfortable.]

It's so bad I thought about trying to shave it. My entire body, North.

[Whiiiine. His ears sink, too.]

From:

usedlightscreen

...Not that I'm saying this out of any personal bias, but... Why did you even bother with the shirt?

[God. He can admit that personal bias now. He can admit his selfish admiration of York's shamelessness and his appreciation of the artwork that is bis best friend's totally rockin bod.

He still can't believe how loose and free he feels.]

I mean- why I didn't bother with a shirt is pretty obvious; ponchos are far from flattering and they don't make shirts with armholes that go down past the hip.

From:

ratherbelocky

[York opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it. Actually considers what North's saying. Looks at his shirt, then over at North. Pauses.

And then he's letting go of North's hand, but only so he can yank his shirt off up over his head. His hat goes, too, tangled up in the shirt, and then there are two shirtless furries on the floor. Praise. York drops the bundle to one side and shakes out all that mussed fur, smooths some of it down his front.

Mmm. Abs.]

You know, if you wanted a shirtless party, you coulda just asked.

From:

usedlightscreen

[Now they just need to wait for Carolina to walk in and find her shirtless losers. North's pale complexion flushes brightly for a second as his eyes widen when York actually takes his "advice". But it's short-lived, before North is fussing and helping York smooth down the fur that might be harder to reach.

He's.

So soft.]

You know, this is a pretty good look for you.

[He's mostly teasing. Mostly. But he's absolutely going to gently scritch his claws where York's fur is thickest right around those precious puppy ears.]

From:

ratherbelocky

[Hands in his fur. York's eyes close partway and a pleased noise gets caught near the bottom of his throat. It comes out in his voice as he starts to lean North's way.]

Oh, you are a liar.

[North better be lying, anyway. York's not sure how much more of this insinuation his poor, embattled pride can take, that so many people can see him as some huge puppy dog.

Thump, thump, thump, goes his tail against the floor.]

If this's your aesthetic, maybe I won't shave as much on the road.

From:

usedlightscreen

Mmm. It's very au naturel. Not many people can pull off this much hair.

[His tone is that level kind of passive where you're not sure if he's fucking with you or not, but he has a shitty little smirk at the corner of his lips even as he trails his fingers through York's fur. The tail wagging only encourages him, really.

His tone drops to a soft, almost shy level, as his hand lingers in a tender touch to York's good cheek.]

You're my aesthetic.

From:

ratherbelocky

[York's tail stops for a moment, and his expression as he looks at North is open-eyed. It pulls immediately into a smile, though, and his tail whisks the air as he shifts up towards North, chuckling.]

Oh my god. Y'know, I thought I was bad.

[There's only so many responses he can make to such a whopping serving of cheese. Slowly, to respect that shyness and the tenderness of the moment, York presses his nose against North's face. Nuzzles gently. Shameless.]

You coulda always told me you were a furry, man.

From:

usedlightscreen

[North's eyes go wide as York leans toward him, the motion of his hand stilling a little and a flush rising to his pale cheeks.

But then York presses his nose gently against North's face, and North relaxes, closes his eyes and tilts his head so he can nuzzle back, just as gently. This close he can smell York's stupid fancy shampoo, and it's still amazing to him that this is real and not just some kind of fever dream. That he's not going to go back to the raw, physical pain, the burning, paralyzing pain shooting through his body like lightning struck the back of his neck.

He snorts quietly at the last remark, and York can probably better feel his smile than see it.]

More like you're lucky that I care about you no matter how furry you are.

From:

ratherbelocky

Mm. Lucky.

[North's breath tickles against his fur, and York's voice is grateful. Warm. For all his steady teasing, the things North says are like knots tied safely around his heart, keeping him tethered and secure. He loves it. Doesn't want to let on how badly he's needed it. Needed him.

He's needed a little luck for a long time, now.]

Guess I am.

[He fits himself gently into the line of North's side, cheek to fluffy cheek. Sighs contentedly as he gets comfortable.]

Not to be a demanding son of a bitch, but if you could keep petting me? Yeah. Down the back, it's not as easy to reach around as it used to be.

From:

usedlightscreen

[North doesn't have much more hair on his face than normal, and when York presses up cheek to cheek it tickles and makes a deep, rumbling chuckle bubble up from his chest.]

I guess you don't get the extended warranty on your joints, hm?

[Even as his hand obligingly slides down York's spine, ever-careful of his new claws as he scritches through the thick fur all over York's body.]

This fur is so soft, what did you do, wash your body with conditioner this morning?

[The question is teasing, though he's careful to say "this fur" and not "your fur."]

From:

ratherbelocky

[Snort.]

You kidding? It already took an hour in there and half a bottle of shampoo just to not smell like wet dog. My silky softness is all natural. ...Well, you know. "Natural."

[THERE IS NOTHING NATURAL ABOUT THIS but y'know what, whatever. York has more important things to focus on right now, like the nice-funny feel of North's bat claws down to the small of his back, and--]

Oh--shit. Yeah, dude, right--right there.

[His far knee twitches up automatically.]

From:

usedlightscreen

[Whatever North was about to say dies in his throat when he sees York's knee twitch. He can't help but laugh a little, even as he scrapes his claws a little harder against that one spot - careful to keep the touch still light enough not to hurt.]

Right there?

[North don't be a piece of shit.]

From:

ratherbelocky

["Don't be an asshole," is what York wants to say, but what comes out instead is a wordless whine. He moves back slightly, leaning into North's hand, and--

Yup, there goes his leg, bouncing as long as North keeps up the scratching.]

Oh my god.

[But he's not saying stop, either.]