Fics like pretty boy, please, let me die

“So, can I finally know the reason for this impromptu marathon?” There’s nervous anticipation buzzing inside him now, and Grian has to swallow before he speaks, mouth dry all of a sudden. “Feed on me,” he says, and everything gets very quiet. His throat clicks as he opens his mouth again, but he finds he has nothing else to say, so he just sits back, arms braced on the bed, and looks at Scar. Scar blinks at him. “Sorry?” Scar sounds so baffled that Grian can’t help laughing. “Grian, you’re not—” “Now I know you’re not about to tell me what I can and can’t do, Mr. Goodtimes,” Grian says. “And if you’re about to rattle off some bullshit about me getting hurt, we both know I can beat you in a fair fight, don’t we?” Scar’s eyes glint in the dark. “Come on,” Grian coaxes. His wings spread out behind him without his saying, and he can feel himself flush, embarrassed. Not that Scar seems to notice the blatant presentation, but still. “I wanna help you out. You’ll have a more clear mind, and then we can find a solution together, hm?” Scar hesitates, arms crossed, but his resolve is clearly thinning. Grian smiles, wicked. “You always get your way, don’t you,” Scar mutters.

Fics like pretty boy, please, let me die

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