Chapter Text
Grian can't remember anything as satisfying as opening the window to Scar's apartment, boosting Scar through it, tumbling in himself.
All of the familiar steps of precautions before they entered and the undressing after blur together in a haze of a thousand other times they've done the exact same motions before, save one moment. One singular clear moment standing out, once they're safe safe safe inside these walls-
Grian's hands fumbling into Scar's hair, grasping, scrabbling, undoing latches and clasps. Tearing away that masked barrier between them, that bright empty persona. Scar's startled expression underneath, blinking at him.
Grian takes it in. Scar's face. Unobscured by any masks or personas. Entirely Grian's best friend.
The next natural step is for Grian to kiss Scar, then to tackle him into bed. Scar's bed. The bed Scar keeps piled high with blankets and pillows, so they can nest. So Grian can nest. Like he is now. Precise cheeps and peeps as he tucks Scar into his nest, building it up high around them. To better hide them from the world.
Scar giggles and twists and wriggles, but never comes even close to making a proper escape attempt. Mostly just interrupting and slowing Grian's very serious nest building to press kisses all over Grian's shoulders, his arms, his face. But how can Grian begrudge him that? Sweet temptation that he is, Grian soldiers on, until they're well and truly buried in a sea of obscuring softerie.
Until he can shift his attention to Scar's hair, how wearing the masks too long always leaves it laying odd. Begging Grian’s fingers to bury deep into the stands to preen it.
Scar returns the favor, the preening. Of course he does. When has he not? Scar settles so he can reach a wing Grian spreads for him, while still giving Grian unobstructed access to his hair. Softly cooing and chirping flock at Grian when Grian's frantic peeps don't let up.
Grian despairs of Scar ever getting the sound of the chirp quite right. But, really, it is right, because it's the way Scar does it, his own unique sound that's more home to Grian than a perfectly trilled replica ever could be now. Almost like their own specific-
Nothing changes until Grian finally finally gets Scar's hair laying right, gets at least that much of him looking right, ignoring all the hickeys and bandages and every other sign of difference. Just this, just Scar's face, his hair, exactly as it should be.
The sharpest edge of the fear Grian's been carrying close ever since Scar disappeared falls away. Without that constant edge of adrenaline, Grian melts into Scar's preening, hard. No more Grian times. Only bird, the comfort of letting himself fall into his instincts.
Easy to let Scar rearrange them, so Scar can get his hands into both wings. Good. Good preening. Good flock. Whatever Scar's saying floats in one ear and right out the other, but the tone is sweet, lilting, Scar so that's fine. Babbling trills escape under clever fingers.
Everything is out of focus in that fuzzy-soft way that only comes from safe-home-nest and flock-preen. Like flying without spreading his wings. Well. Without using his wings. Because they're spread wide, letting Scar rake his fingers through the rainbow of color. Showing off Grian's bright plumage in all its glory.
Suspiciously close to a mating display. Not that Grian cares much right now, all loopy-relaxed on flock-preen-good. Scar probably doesn't even know what a mating display looks like. What it is. That's fine. Scar's not an avian. He doesn't need to know.
Grian rumbles low coos from the tender way Scar works his fingers through the feathers on Grian's back, between Grian's wings. An intimate trust to give Scar, paying off in crashing cascades of delight overwhelming Grian's senses. Time melts together, until he feels like Scar is touching all along his wings and back, all at once, a dozen hands, all working in concert to sink Grian into the soft embrace of the bed.
Calling. He can't- But rolling over is so hard. He's slipping down toward- Just one hand clenching into an almost-grabbing motion, and Scar knows what he needs. Almost like Scar had been waiting for it.
Grian barely feels himself be manhandled onto his side, but he does feel every bit of Scar slotting himself into place in front of Grian, warm arms tucking Grian close. Safe. He's safe here, in his flock's embrace, they're safe here, in their nest, he can finally rest. Finally let go, let the steady thump of that beloved heart sing him to sleep.
Cub's been tossing and turning for hours. Sleep continues to elude him. He's in his upstairs apartment, his civilian home. Sleeping in the ConCave hadn't felt right.
His bed feels empty. Not that outlandish of a thought, being one of the comically oversized ones. He'd wanted it to comfortably fit Doc. Which is a feat, with Doc standing at almost eleven feet tall. Not to mention his lower creepertaur torso, which reaches Cub's hips when Cub is standing and Doc is laying down.
Cub had expected to be out the instant he hit his charger. That's how he’s been, the past several days. That's how he usually is, after he spends several hours working, repairing, organizing.
And briefly, it had been like that, a near brush with the blissful touch of unconsciousness. But he'd rolled over, and- And nothing. Nothing had happened. Nothing had been there.
That shouldn't feel wrong, that nothing is there. He's plenty warm. He has the best blankets and pillows money can buy. This is his bed, a place he feels comfortable.
At some point, Cub has to give up denying reality. He's not able to sleep, right here, right now. Those are the facts.
...Doc will be upset with him, if he skips a whole night of sleep. Especially so soon after a malfunction.
Alright. That makes the only logical conclusion, that he should go make his sleeplessness Doc's problem. Doc will either fix it, or give him a pass to stay up working on something. Cub wins either way.
Having decided on a course of action soothes Cub.
Phasing in through the door, not bothering with the keycode, Cub gives a tired wave at the camera he knows just alerted Doc of his presence. If Doc is awake, that is.
Doc turns out to be very much awake, Cub discovers once he enters the nestroom. Ren's awake too. The married couple are in their nest, fucking. Doc's rolled on his back, contorted in ways that look uncomfortable but according to him aren't, and Ren is riding him. Really going to town, impaling himself hard on Doc's prehensile tentacle of a dick. Even that doesn't get close to how hard Doc can go when he's upright and thrusting, though. He'll leave you wrecked and shivering.
Not that Cub is, per se, interested in fucking right now. He wants to curl up next to one of them, or both, he's not picky, and try to sleep.
Step one of that is for Cub to just full-body flop himself down beside Doc, given that the amount of movement Ren is doing precludes him from viable sleep cuddleability.
The chargers here may not be Cub's own, but they're still damn good. The chill of phasing is chased out of Cub's bones with remarkable efficiency.
Now, with any luck, step two, fall asleep, will be accomplished with similar ease.
"Hello, little horror." Doc ruffles Cub's hair. He's too far away for a kiss, and Cub's too tired to make the effort to speak, so an affirming hum it is. That and snuggling up closer to Doc's soft mossy coat.
"Ren, where are your manners? Say hello to Cubby." Doc chides his husband.
"H- Hey there, dude." Ren barely manages to pull himself together enough to speak, especially since he doesn't pause even slightly to do so. He doesn't get close to focusing on Cub.
Not that Cub really minded not being greeted, but he'd said that once and had it explained that somehow this demand makes it better for them. It's not really any bother to Cub either way, so it's fine.
The smell of Doc's fur is nice.
Grassy, almost. It smells safe. Like home. A familiar, comfortable version of home Cub can slip on like a well worn jacket. Safe and inviting. A warm metal hand cups the back of Cub's neck, reaching all the way from his head to his upper back. Pulling him close, keeping him safe and warm. Letting him fall into a relaxed doze that's not quite sleep, but close.
An untouchable relaxation, where Cub can just drift in the feeling of his body being moved without having to care about it. His outfit is stripped from him, leaving nothing but the feel of good blankets and soft fur against his skin. In the background, Ren gets briefly loud, before Doc shushes him. Cub's heard the way Ren can howl when he really gets going, so Cub appreciates the consideration, nuzzling into the nearest bit of Doc extra for it.
Doc just pats him, and tucks Cub securely against his fluffy lower shoulder.
Cub drifts. Some unknown time later, another warm body curls up on his other side. Ren.
Large, warm hands pet and caress all of Cub's body as Doc shifts and turns next to him.
"Want some eggs as well, little horror? Fill you up to get you nice and cozy?" The deep rumble of Doc's voice addressing him directly cuts through the fog of Cub's brain.
Sure, he'll take some eggs. Always nice to fall asleep all stuffed full. But how to best communicate that? Doc always wants his questions answered, or he won't do the thing he asked about. Or much else, really.
A nod feels like way, way too much effort, so Cub does the next best thing, a thumbs up that he hopes Doc notices.
The thought congeals that he could try fucking himself to sleep, if the insomnia persists when he's back at home, and Cub notes it down before it drifts off again into the ether.
The large hands roaming his body are joined by two more, even larger ones that go straight for his ass. Where they find him still plugged.
"You came prepared as I see, little horror." Warm amusement shines through Doc's tone. The plug is pulled from Cub, and two large, smooth fingers slide in. Doc's metal appendages. He must be wearing an every day arm with a lube dispenser.
Cub hums warmly right back, relaxing into their hold. He doesn't feel any need to correct the intent of the plug, since the effect is the same. He is prepared, making everything a smooth glide of easy pleasure, without any effort or pain on Cub's part.
There wouldn't be any point in telling Doc to hurry his work, regardless, so Cub isn't going to waste effort on trying. Doc takes as long as Doc takes to feel it's done to his standards, as with all things Doc does.
Ren's hands briefly dip down to play with Cub's piercing, before moving on again. Soft, sliding touches and murmurs of what a handsome man he is, easy listening background noise to balance Doc's clear words, and firm, steady fingers.
The stretching of his hole drags on what feels like forever as Doc slowly works him up to three, four of his unreasonably thick fingers. They feel thicker than taking Neit's whole hand, but that may be the lack of distraction.
Eventually, Cub feels himself be lifted and draped onto Ren, ass up. Hips propped up against Ren's braced legs. Cub's eyes have long since fallen shut, and he sees no point in opening them again.
A warm, fluffy weight settles across Cub, half folding back his splayed wide legs. Being filled by Doc's prehensile dick is always an experience. It snakes in with no other movement, no thrusting hips. Sometimes, it will drive unerringly into every sensitive spot, forcing them into overdrive. Other days, it avoids them like too-clever fingers out to tease.
Today, it does neither. Simply sliding in smoothly, filling Cub up until he feels it in his lungs.
"Ah, yeah. That's the stuff." Doc sighs above him, before starting to rock into him.
Each thrust shakes through Cub's body like a high magnitude earthquake, despite Ren's grip on him.
A firm pressure hinting at something thick makes itself known just outside Cub's entrance. An egg. Fucked into Cub with a hard thrust and absolutely no ceremony at all. The sudden influx of pressure squashing his prostate has Cub keening as a small drizzle of ejaculate is forced from his dick, despite not having made any sounds so far and having no plans to make any more.
When the next egg enters him, it pulls the same reaction from him, a messy keening noise and an equally messy dribble of cum. As does the egg following it, and every one after.
Cub loses count all too easily, only knowing it’s something less than the most he’s taken before. Just a comfortable weight, pulling him down toward sleep.
A hand on his stomach, and for a single fleeting, irrational moment Cub’s brain tries to convince him it’s Neit’s curious touch, Neit wanting to feel the eggs inside him. It’s not. Of course it’s not. Ren’s hand is very little like Neit’s, other than the warmth of it.
Another egg, after a pause long enough that Cub thought Doc was finished, knocks all those complex thoughts out of Cub’s head. Only sensation, too much in just the right ways.
That ends up being the last egg. At least Cub thinks so. Thinking is a bit of a blurry thing right now, between the softness of sleep and the haze of being filled. One of the last things Cub registers before sleep fully claims him is what feels like a plug sliding into him, something rough and warm swiping along his belly, and the press of soft fur as Doc curls around him and Ren. Then Cub knows no more.
“Lizzie! Why, may I say, you are looking simply radiantly umbral today. I just happened to be in the neighborhood and was blinded by your magnificence!” Scar grins up at his apartment-neighbor.
“Come on in, Scar. Where does it hurt?” Lizzie steps aside, allowing Scar to wheel into her apartment. Her and Joel’s place takes up the rest of the space on Scar’s floor of the building, a luxury paid for by the couple’s lucrative careers.
“Can’t a guy just want to visit his dear friend and gossip buddy?” Scar asks, charming to the maximum.
“And medic. Can’t forget that.” Lizzy rolls her eyes fondly.
“Why I would never!” Scar swears. “You’re the best medic a guy could ask for, after all. So skilled and so kind. So, so kind. Just the kindest, really. Probably wouldn’t even be mad at all if someone, purely hypothetically, did some parkouring on a sliced up foot. Not even the teeny tiniest smudge mad, even if someone also took a nap before getting treatment. Because you’re the best. Have I mentioned you’re the best? Because you are.” A bit of extra fluttering to Scar’s eyelashes, to sell his squeaky clean innocence.
"Let's see the damage, then." Lizzie leads him deeper into the apartment, to a spacious living room. Light floods through from windows with billowing curtains, framed by plants Lizzie somehow never forgets to water. Knickknacks line shelves and decorate the coffee table, around which a large modular L shaped couch and several floor cushions are placed. One of the end tables houses an extensive first aid kit, Scar knows.
Lizzie plops down on the pillow next to said end table, pulling out a smaller pillow to put on the table, covering it in crinkly doctor paper before patting it to indicate Scar should put his foot there.
"If you insist, of course, of course, I'd be happy to oblige." Scar rolls his way on over, already knowing from experience the exact spot to lock his wheels so he'll be able to pull up his leg and set his foot precisely on the center of the pillow. "It's been cleaned and gooped a couple times. Oh, right!"
A bit of twisty turning to rummage in the bag hanging off his chair.
"Brought my own goop!" Scar holds the bottle Vex gave him aloft.
"Oh? Where'd you get that?" Accepting the goop, Lizzie flips over the bottle to read the label, both eyebrows rising as she does.
"I definitely for sure one hundred percent did not steal it." Scar grins. "I would never do a thing like that." He claps his hands together. "So! What's the prognosty, I'm on death's door, aren't I?" Scar asks, despite his socks, his own socks, socks from his own sock drawer, not even being removed.
"I can't tell you yet. Let me have a look." Careful hands pull off his sock, revealing the last bandage Vex had put on him. A stain of red is visible, that Scar saw when changing his socks.
"How does it feel? And what did you do?" Lizzie asks, carefully pulling off the bandage as well. Inspecting his foot from every angle, turning it this way and that.
"It's a little bit stingy if I push it on stuff or stretch." Scar shrugs. "Oh, well there were these orphans you see! A whole bus-"
Lizzie's groan cuts him off, and she levels him with an amusedly indulgent look.
"Okay, okay, long story short, stepping on those mug shards for sure saved like, a whole oodle-ton of orphans and was all very cool and epic and great." Scar condenses his usual long-winded ramble for injuries of indignity. Purely out of the goodness of his heart and the hope to not wear too strongly on Lizzie's patience. He does that enough as is, even if she doesn't say he does.
"Mug-shard related orphan rescue? I see. When did you say this went down? And where?" She's pulling out a familiar spray bottle and some gauze. Whatever cleany-sprays she uses don't sting. Unlike what Vex used on him. Vex should get better sprays, Scar thinks. How much Scar enjoyed the sting doesn't matter.
"Oh, like, a few days ago. Like, a real few days ago not just like." Scar waves his hand. " A few days ago."
Scar does not answer the other question. Whoops! Totally slipped his mind. Yep.
"It's looking really good for only being a few days old. The salve did a wonderful job." Lizzie's stripping off her gloves and cleaning her hands so she can touch the cut for healing him. "Looks like somebody did a good job keeping you off you feet. At least until you went jumping around over rooftops."
"Maybe I did a good job of keeping me off my feet, did you ever think of that, huh?" Scar bluffs.
Instead of answering, Lizzie presses her fingertips to the wounds. Scar lets his eyes close, because he won't be using them much soon anyway. An odd side effect, but he doesn't mind. Only takes a couple of minutes to pass after the healing anyway.
Really, he thinks people who complain about the feeling of Lizzie's healing are complete silly gooses. The chill wrap of darkness and the sensation of each muscle aligning to knit back into place are soothing. It's not pain, but simply an acute awareness of each fiber and strand writhing under his skin. Even if he can't see the wound, he knows with perfect clarity that it's all being put back in good working order. What more could a guy want out of a healing?
"Mmh, I find that harder to believe." Lizzie hums, once the healing is done. "Alright. I'll go grab you a drink and a snack. Should be back by the time you can see again." Soft pitters of bare feet on their wooden floor let Scar track her movements to the kitchen and back.
"I'm wounded, my dear, that you have so little faith in me. Absolutely devastated. May not be able to go on." Scar presses the back of his hand to his forehead, swooning as much as he can.
"Then I guess I got all that pink lemonade and the cookies for myself then." Chuckling, Lizzie sets down her bounty on the table with soft clinks and thunks. "Now, before I pack this here up, anything else you need looked at, oh great hero?"
"No!" Scar jolts upright "You have to share with me, I'm all injured and sad and stuff."
When he goes feeling around for the things on the table, Lizzie taps the back of his hand. So he changes course and holds that instead!
"Nope, nah, there's nothin-" Scar's back gives a sharp twinge. Oh. Right. That. He was so busy thinking about not wanting his thigh healed, that he nearly forgot about that. "Okay. So uh. There might be like. One more teeny teeny tiny thing. On my back. No big deal, you don't gotta if you're tired!"
"Then let's wait until you can see so you can safely turn around." The angle of the arm connected to the hand he's holding changes as Lizzie sits down next to him. "In the meantime, you can tell me what happened to your back. Did more orphans need saving?"
"Nope, uh. No, I saved all the orphans forever the other time, none left. This one- Mm. I guess- You could maybe say, I'm too good in the bedroom." Scar stumbles through the words, not really having any idea where he was going with it until he got there.
"Oh? Well this sounds like a story I gotta hear." A weight on his knee. Looking down, Scar can just about make out the pink circle of her head.
"Oh, no, no, same story you've heard a hundred times before, of my prowess and skills, surely. Makes people go a bit wild." Scar laughs, only barely managing not to cringe at the plastic sound of it. He doesn't- Scar blinks and blinks and blinks his eyes until more colors and shapes come into focus, anything to replace the image of Grian's expression in that moment.
"Who was it?" Lizzie asks quietly.
"He didn't mean it!" Scar blurts out, suddenly terrified that Lizzie will get the wrong idea, get the idea that Grian wanted to harm-hurt him real bad on purpose. "He didn't mean to, he was just scared. I scared him, I- It was my fault." Senseless babble.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. Deep breaths. Breathe with me." Lizzie's up and hugging Scar from the side before he's fully finished speaking. She leads him through one of his preferred breathing exercises.
Scar has to gulp gasps of breath before he can manage to follow Lizzie's lead in breathing. Calm. Focus. He leans into her, a gentle sag.
"Good. Good boy." Soft fingers ruffle through his hair. "Now. From the top. Who caused the injury and how. I don't need the why right now. That can be for later." Lizzie keeps him tucked close to her chest. So close, he can hear the steady beat of her heart.
She smells sweet and floral. Cherry blossoms in her lotion, in her hair. Don't think, just answer. "Grian, he panicked. Scratched up my back." Simple words.
"See? Nothing bad there. I have no reason to be upset with either of you." Lizzie pets his head and neck with one hand, holding him close with the other. "Do you feel up to a transfer to the couch so I can look at your back? Or would you like a break and a snack first? I've got pink lemonade!"
"Yeah, okay, yeah." Scar nods. "Transfer first." He'd rather get the healing over with so he can relax. "Your pink lemonade is the pinkest." Scar flashes a smile as he extricates himself, moving to re-park himself close enough to the couch that he can move himself over to it.
"Take off your shirt and either lay down or sit with your back to me, whatever feels more stable." Lizzie directs, putting on new gloves.
"Don't have to tell me twice!" Yes, Scar's shirt is already off before he's even fully settled on the couch. He turns and drapes himself forward into the back cushions of the couch, to be mostly-upright and also stable.
He wonders how bad the scratches look. They felt deep. In that he really felt them at all, digging and snagging and slicing into his back. Cutting through the usual noise of his body. They have to be a bit healed at least, but even Vex's goop can't work miracles. Especially with it being more recent.
"'Course I don't." He can hear Lizzie's smile in her voice as she goes to remove the bandages. "Oh dear. He got you good." The smile turns to soft concern once she sees the scratches though. "Are you both okay? Aside from these."
"I hope so." Scar muffles the words into the cushions. Speaking up, he carries on. "He's uninjured. Probably napping again." Scar had woken Grian before leaving the nest, just so Grian didn't wake up alone and worry, but only gotten a wing-buffet for his troubles. With Grian's only wound already healed, Scar hadn't felt any need to push the issue. More sleep will probably help with that crankiness. Scar hopes.
"Good. Good. Careful, cold." Lizzie's kind enough to give him a warning before she sprays him liberally with the clean spray. While that dries, he hears her snap off the gloves again and more spray-sounds. "You ready? This one will take longer."
"Good as gold, my gal. Go for." Scar shuffles up an amount of agreeable words until he feels like she gets the message, allowing himself to melt into the support of the back of the couch. The cold of her spray, of her power, it's comforting. A comforting touch.
This time, he can feel her sticking new protective bandages over the cuts, before she cuddles up on the couch next to him.
Of course he abandons the back of the couch, to instead sprawl on her, snuggling up as much as he can. "Thanks. I really did mean it when I said you're the bestest. M'preciate you."
"I am the best, aren't I?" She laughs, kissing his forehead and cheeks. "I appreciate you too."
"Yep-yep." Scar peppers her right back with his own little kisses, giggling. It's good, it's okay, it's Lizzie of course she gets it. She gets enough of it. "You should appreciate me with those cookies you mentioned. I need to pick up some flour later. Gonna have to shop."
"Oooh, you're baking again? Yum!" Lizzie leans away for a moment, before there's a soft tap on Scar's lower lip. "Open up, baker boy! Cookie incoming!"
"I think I might. I mean, if I have time, you kno-" Words less important than cookie, Scar opens his mouth.
"I look forward to it." Lizzie's almost mumbling, through a mouthful of her own cookie. She leans her head against Scar's shoulder. He can feel the muscles in her face work as she chews.
"Of course, taster's rights to you, as per tradition, my lady." Scar speaks with his cookie under his tongue, before getting into chewing it properly. Pleased hums.
"As is my right, my good sir." Lizzie agrees. "Vision coming back yet? Or do you need another moment more?"
"Spotty, gettin' there." Scar only requires a bit of squinting to find and boop Lizzie's nose.
"Good. That means you can have your lemonade." She hands him his plastic cup, presses it right into his grabby hand.
Scar cradles the lemonade close, covetous. Good cool-chill sips, all pretty and pink. Two excellent things Scar like very much, together as one thing.
He doesn't think about it.
"Mmm, tasty. You can really taste the pink."
"Thanks, I made it with my best pink.' Lizzie giggles.
"Only the finest of quality pinkments, as I'd expect from your discerning eye, madame." Scar nuzzles her hair, wiggling into a comfy position. Now she's stuck with him. No escape from snuggles.
Lizzie settles in, content to stay where she is. Only once threatening escape, but returning with the cookie plate, so Scar supposes he can forgive her. After she feeds him more cookies, of course.
Cookies to calm his body, soothe everything going all speedy from the healing. Very thoughtful of Lizzie.
A very successful morning, Scar would say. Very much deserving of a reward nap.