(NOOO I CAN SEE IT TOO -jots down for meme ideas....-)
As strange as it is for Flamebringer to use the other’s name, it’s even stranger for Federico to hear it.
How does he know? How does he know? The question swirls in his head, frantic, relentless—but then it slows. It is his name. That truth anchors him, helps him stay present, his weary blue eyes locked onto the Sarkaz before him. Wary, but no longer fully suspicious.
(Federico Prime will, indeed, be haunted by the plant incident for weeks. Possibly months. Meanwhile, Aventurine took the story in stride—then proceeded to casually sprinkle water on Flamebringer’s shoulder every time they met, a cheeky grin on his face. Teasing—his own form of affection.)
Federico expects pain. He expects pulling, expects the shifting of bonds that have pressed too tightly for too long, for it to sting. He does not expect—
Warmth.
Gentle, calloused fingers brush his hair aside with careful deliberation. His ear twitches at the touch, as hair gets pushed behind it—Flamebringer can see there’s a notch missing, a long-healed wound—but otherwise, the gargoyle remains frozen. Inside, though, his mind scrambles, struggling to process the strange duality of it. How that touch makes him want to flinch away and lean in at the same time. His shoulders waver for a moment before finding a compromise, relaxing just slightly.
Then Flamebringer moves to the gag, and instinct locks his muscles up tight.
His breath stutters as warmth gathers near his face, warmth that grows into heat. Then—fire.
The tiniest noise slips out of him, a sharp, startled exhale of distress. Fire. Light. Not daylight. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not burning him, it’s—
His eyes flick to the flame, then away, then back again. It’s getting brighter. It’s getting hotter. His vision strains under the glow, too sensitive in the darkness to ignore the growing intensity. He wants to pull away, to recoil, to brace for the pain that his instincts insist will follow—but he doesn’t. He can’t. He knows if he moves at the wrong moment, if he startles, the risk of injury only grows.
So he stays still. Rigid. Breath shallow, heart hammering.
The fire flashes white. Federico squeezes his eyes shut against the searing brightness, overwhelmed by both the light and the sheer closeness of it, but he still does not move. The Sarkaz’s expression had been so focused, so certain. He knows what he’s doing. Hopefully.
The metal creaks. Then— a snap.
The moment the bit breaks free, Federico pries his jaw open with effort, letting the jagged metal clatter away. His whole face aches from being locked in place for so long, but—
He can breathe.
He gasps, dragging in lungfuls of air, unrestrained for the first time in too long. It’s dry. Too dry. The heat in the air catches at the back of his throat, and he coughs, head lolling slightly with the effort. For a moment, stars dance at the edges of his vision. How much blood am I losing…?
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the blur clouding his sight. The Sarkaz is still in front of him—still watching. He's...grinning. It's a bit unsettling, but- but… there’s something else, too. Satisfaction...? Federico doesn’t know what to make of that.
Slowly, he works his jaw, wincing at the pain, but relishing the freedom. He swallows, throat raw, then manages a rasped, “Than…ks.”
His gaze flickers over the other man, noticing for the first time how he’s panting slightly, how the fire seems to have taken something out of him. Federico exhales, breath still shaky but steadier than before. “…You… alright…?”
it's ok speaking function restored YIPPEE
As strange as it is for Flamebringer to use the other’s name, it’s even stranger for Federico to hear it.
How does he know? How does he know? The question swirls in his head, frantic, relentless—but then it slows. It is his name. That truth anchors him, helps him stay present, his weary blue eyes locked onto the Sarkaz before him. Wary, but no longer fully suspicious.
(Federico Prime will, indeed, be haunted by the plant incident for weeks. Possibly months. Meanwhile, Aventurine took the story in stride—then proceeded to casually sprinkle water on Flamebringer’s shoulder every time they met, a cheeky grin on his face. Teasing—his own form of affection.)
Federico expects pain. He expects pulling, expects the shifting of bonds that have pressed too tightly for too long, for it to sting. He does not expect—
Warmth.
Gentle, calloused fingers brush his hair aside with careful deliberation. His ear twitches at the touch, as hair gets pushed behind it—Flamebringer can see there’s a notch missing, a long-healed wound—but otherwise, the gargoyle remains frozen. Inside, though, his mind scrambles, struggling to process the strange duality of it. How that touch makes him want to flinch away and lean in at the same time. His shoulders waver for a moment before finding a compromise, relaxing just slightly.
Then Flamebringer moves to the gag, and instinct locks his muscles up tight.
His breath stutters as warmth gathers near his face, warmth that grows into heat. Then—fire.
The tiniest noise slips out of him, a sharp, startled exhale of distress. Fire. Light. Not daylight. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s not burning him, it’s—
His eyes flick to the flame, then away, then back again. It’s getting brighter. It’s getting hotter. His vision strains under the glow, too sensitive in the darkness to ignore the growing intensity. He wants to pull away, to recoil, to brace for the pain that his instincts insist will follow—but he doesn’t. He can’t. He knows if he moves at the wrong moment, if he startles, the risk of injury only grows.
So he stays still. Rigid. Breath shallow, heart hammering.
The fire flashes white. Federico squeezes his eyes shut against the searing brightness, overwhelmed by both the light and the sheer closeness of it, but he still does not move. The Sarkaz’s expression had been so focused, so certain. He knows what he’s doing. Hopefully.
The metal creaks. Then— a snap.
The moment the bit breaks free, Federico pries his jaw open with effort, letting the jagged metal clatter away. His whole face aches from being locked in place for so long, but—
He can breathe.
He gasps, dragging in lungfuls of air, unrestrained for the first time in too long. It’s dry. Too dry. The heat in the air catches at the back of his throat, and he coughs, head lolling slightly with the effort. For a moment, stars dance at the edges of his vision. How much blood am I losing…?
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the blur clouding his sight. The Sarkaz is still in front of him—still watching. He's...grinning. It's a bit unsettling, but- but… there’s something else, too. Satisfaction...? Federico doesn’t know what to make of that.
Slowly, he works his jaw, wincing at the pain, but relishing the freedom. He swallows, throat raw, then manages a rasped, “Than…ks.”
His gaze flickers over the other man, noticing for the first time how he’s panting slightly, how the fire seems to have taken something out of him. Federico exhales, breath still shaky but steadier than before. “…You… alright…?”