THEY KISS IN THE RING, I CARRY THE CROWN
“Sure you are. Quite the scholar.”
He’s looking at the books, and not at Septimus, and he can hardly blame him – when he first stepped into Delumine’s library, he spent many hours spellbound by the vast quantity of books, and, better yet, the way that they seamlessly integrated with the natural structure, the curls of roots and branches. For the naturalist, it was a haven. He was not so dumbfounded by the unknown, for it was his job to seek it. All of the knowledge on the shelves just made it harder to find what was really unknown, particularly in lands that were not so strange or magical as his own; however, even a place like Novus must have some unknown expanses and bizarre things, and those are what he hopes to find.
When Septimus lunges for his jaw, he knows that Elchanan will react, and there is a part of him that expects him to flinch away; he doesn’t, though. He doesn’t, and it pleases Septimus, though what pleases him more is his reaction. The way that his jaw tilts upward, allows him to brush the curve of it more easily – the look of dazed shock in those deep brown eyes, that smooth confidence shed in favor of something else - the way that he shudders, down to the very tips of his wing, that makes something warm pool inside of Septimus’s chest. He pretends to ignore the sudden, fiery want in those slanted eyes of his, the way that they seem to beg him, beguile him for something more; the way it almost feels like need to him. The way that there is no distance between them, the way that he can feel the heat as it rolls off of his skin, and the way that the corridor suddenly seems so much smaller (and warmer) than before.
He smiles, and Elchanan looks at his teeth, in the hazy way of a prey animal. “What you know,” he repeats, then, with a twisting smile, adds, “Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” Septimus, in his feral way, is still smiling.
“Knowledge, Elchanan,” he says, with a deliberate pause, “is something that must be sought-“ Another pause. He glances at the stretch of scrolls in the aisle they’ve stepped into, a faint, unreadable smile still lingering on his lips. “-and we’ve found our way to the international scrolls.” For a moment, he considers. He could stay. He sees the raw want in Elchanan’s eyes, and he knows that he could – he could stay with him, and help, or follow him from the library. But Septimus is not so easy to unravel himself – and the part of him that his mother wants to linger, in a way that is not-quite but almost possessive. He wants more? Septimus will give it to him. “But we’ll meet again soon…” Quick as a wolf might bite, he closes what little space is left between them, impressing upon him a fleeting ghost of a kiss – the afterthought of teeth. “I’m sure of it.”
And then he is gone among the shelves – his long strides more like a wild thing than the scholar he claims to be.
@Elchanan || <3
"Speech!"
“Sure you are. Quite the scholar.”
He’s looking at the books, and not at Septimus, and he can hardly blame him – when he first stepped into Delumine’s library, he spent many hours spellbound by the vast quantity of books, and, better yet, the way that they seamlessly integrated with the natural structure, the curls of roots and branches. For the naturalist, it was a haven. He was not so dumbfounded by the unknown, for it was his job to seek it. All of the knowledge on the shelves just made it harder to find what was really unknown, particularly in lands that were not so strange or magical as his own; however, even a place like Novus must have some unknown expanses and bizarre things, and those are what he hopes to find.
When Septimus lunges for his jaw, he knows that Elchanan will react, and there is a part of him that expects him to flinch away; he doesn’t, though. He doesn’t, and it pleases Septimus, though what pleases him more is his reaction. The way that his jaw tilts upward, allows him to brush the curve of it more easily – the look of dazed shock in those deep brown eyes, that smooth confidence shed in favor of something else - the way that he shudders, down to the very tips of his wing, that makes something warm pool inside of Septimus’s chest. He pretends to ignore the sudden, fiery want in those slanted eyes of his, the way that they seem to beg him, beguile him for something more; the way it almost feels like need to him. The way that there is no distance between them, the way that he can feel the heat as it rolls off of his skin, and the way that the corridor suddenly seems so much smaller (and warmer) than before.
He smiles, and Elchanan looks at his teeth, in the hazy way of a prey animal. “What you know,” he repeats, then, with a twisting smile, adds, “Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” Septimus, in his feral way, is still smiling.
“Knowledge, Elchanan,” he says, with a deliberate pause, “is something that must be sought-“ Another pause. He glances at the stretch of scrolls in the aisle they’ve stepped into, a faint, unreadable smile still lingering on his lips. “-and we’ve found our way to the international scrolls.” For a moment, he considers. He could stay. He sees the raw want in Elchanan’s eyes, and he knows that he could – he could stay with him, and help, or follow him from the library. But Septimus is not so easy to unravel himself – and the part of him that his mother wants to linger, in a way that is not-quite but almost possessive. He wants more? Septimus will give it to him. “But we’ll meet again soon…” Quick as a wolf might bite, he closes what little space is left between them, impressing upon him a fleeting ghost of a kiss – the afterthought of teeth. “I’m sure of it.”
And then he is gone among the shelves – his long strides more like a wild thing than the scholar he claims to be.
@Elchanan || <3
"Speech!"
AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONSthe two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow❃please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence
