[ Maybe it is unfair, getting Onni to laugh in this way. Reynir knows he shouldn’t be tormenting Onni like this, but it’s too fun, the way he can barely get the words out, how breathless he is, the bright pink of his face and the sound of his giggles. The exertion of their little tickle fight has certainly warmed Reynir up nicely. He wants to keep going. There is some unrecognized tiny thought in the back of his mind saying to keep going, that it’s not enough, that it’s not quite right, yet.
But Reynir isn’t in a thinking mood, so he ignores the thought and relents when Onni’s gasps seem to really grow desperate. He doesn’t want his friend not to be able to breathe entirely, after all. Reynir drops his hands from the attack, lets his whole body go limp, in fact. And if he just so happens to be lying on top of Onni, well, that’s just how it’s going to be. Because Onni makes a really great surface to lie on top of. He’s warm and Reynir likes the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath, likes their legs tangled together, likes being sprawled all over him.
So he heaves a big sigh and just drops his head against Onni’s chest, pressing his cheek against Onni’s breastbone. ]
[When Reynir finally gives up on his attack, Onni collapses bonelessly into the couch, his chest rising and falling heavily as he catches his breath, eyes half-shut. Abruptly, he's thirsty and warm and a little sleepy and Reynir is heavy and warm on his chest and legs, and he feels happy.
It's strange to realize that, because Onni doesn't generally consider himself unhappy. Unless he's actively worried or upset about something, he exists in a sort of neutral state that he would call 'content.' It's only now that the weight and stress of his worries isn't present that he realizes how heavy it was. This feels nice and he's happy.
So for a long while, he's quiet, just enjoying the situation he's found himself in. Realizes that he's doing what Reynir had asked him to do just a short time ago, before the tickling. Lifting his arm, he drapes it over Reynir's waist, the fingertips brushing his braid, and settles.]
Are you happy now? I'm doing it.
[Does that make sense? Probably not outside his head.]
[ It's surprising and wonderful that Onni doesn't dump him off onto the floor or wriggle away, but goes boneless himself and accepts Reynir lying on top of him. Reynir can't miss the fact that Onni feels very good to lie on. He's broader than Reynir, just a little soft here and there but Reynir can feel how strong he is underneath, the solid build of him and the muscles that are there. His breathing steadies and Reynir's does as well and he shuts his eyes, rubbing his cheek against Onni's chest with contentment, more like a happy cat than a human being with a sense of dignity.
He makes a little mmm of happiness when Onni rests an arm across him, and again when he starts touching his hair. Yes, perfect. How had Reynir not realized before that that was just what was missing to make this perfect? ]
'm happy. You feel really good. Don't wanna move.
[ It takes a few minutes more for Reynir to even connect what it is Onni's doing - it had just flown out of his mind, chased away by all this warm contentment he is feeling. For Reynir, there is not as sharp a difference, between this drugged state and his regular state. Not in terms of psychology, at least. The main difference he feels is a physical one. His limbs are all floaty and heavy at the same time and it just feels good existing, lying here having arms and legs, having a chest, having bones and weight and whatever it is in his body that makes him able to feel the heat coming off Onni. ]
Sorry I tickled you. I just like hearing you laugh.
[ Reynir's arms worm their way around Onni, hugging him, a loose and comfortable embrace. He's not thinking about what he's saying, not guarding himself or imagining implications. ]
[This is a strange experience for Onni, almost completely - he doesn't usually touch other people so easily, he doesn't laugh openly, he doesn't feel happy. But all of those things have been true in the past...how long have they been like this? He isn't sure, he just knows that it feels like forever and no time at all, and it feels good to lie down with Reynir on top of him and rest. To not worry about Lalli. To not worry about being so far from the gods. To stop feeling sad and hurt, just for a while.]
This feels good.
[He says it with a sort of definitive tone, it's a decision he's made, to admit that this feels good, and to experience that.]
It's okay. I'm not used to being childish like that, but I feel good now. And I thought I would try it, just enjoying it.
[His eyes are closed, and his other arm comes up around Reynir's back when he registers that Reynir had made those little noises of happiness about the first one. Without thinking, he digs his fingers into the thick base of Reynir's braid, where the strands first start to twist together, and lets his nails scratch lightly against the scalp underneath, smoothing down little flyaways.]
[ Reynir smiles, bright but with his eyes still happily closed, when Onni says, too, that it feels good. Reynir had thought so, from the way Onni feels under him, that arm across him and the hand playing with his braid. But it's good hearing it, too. Onni feels good. He had helped Onni to feel good. ]
Yayyy.
[ It feels like an accomplishment, after all. That warm feeling filling up his chest is definitely pride over helping Onni to relax and feel happy for the first time in, it seems, a long time. He deserves those things and Reynir had helped. And so his stomach is all twisty and he feels like he might float away with joy and all of those feelings are pride for sure, nothing else.
Onni's question confuses him for a moment, until he realizes. ]
Hm? Oh. No. I meant... this.
[ And Reynir squeezes his arms around Onni, rubs his cheek against his chest once again, shifts his weight to fit on top of him even more comfortably. The high is nice enough, but mainly important in that it has led to this closeness, this cuddling. That was what Reynir had been referring to. ]
The brownies are nice but this is the nicest.
[ Without really thinking about it, Reynir pulls one hand free, just enough to yank the ribbon securing his braid off, start it unravelling. Onni's hands in his hair feel so nice and he wants to make it easier for him. If that weren't obvious enough, he murmurs, voice a bit muffled from how his cheek is pressed against Onni's chest. ]
That's really really nice. When you play with my hair.
[ He is going to be so very, very embarrassed at this once he comes down from this high. ]
[Fondly, Onni makes a huff in his throat and closes his eyes just a little at Reynir's lazy 'yay' expression, enjoying the heavy, warm feeling in his body, and the heavy, warm feeling of Reynir's body draped on top of him.
When Reynir corrects him, that he means the way they're lying, the way Reynir's arms drape around him, the way they're pressed against each other and not the brownies or the drug in them, he feels a sort of complicated happiness. It's nice, to have someone enjoy his company and touch like this. Reynir rubs his cheek against his chest, shifts to let their bodies settle more comfortably together, and Onni can't help the soft hum of contentment that escapes him. It feels like the whole room is slowly, slowly spinning around him, and it's a somehow pleasant sensation.]
It is nice. This.
[He gestures at their bodies to indicate that he doesn't mean the brownies either.]
I would like to do it again.
[And then Reynir is shifting, just enough to get one hand free and pull the ribbon out of his hair, and start to get the braid undone, unraveling it and saying quietly that he likes it when Onni plays with his hair. After considering it for a few moments, he finds that he enjoys playing with Reynir's hair too, and so he starts gently finger-combing the rest of the braid out.]
There's a lot of it. Your hair. And it's very soft. Is that because of conditioner? You gave me some early on, when we went to the sauna?
[ Onni wants to do this again. How wonderful! That solves any and all problems, as far as Reynir is concerned. There's no way they will change their minds, later, when they have nothing to aid them overcoming their inhibitions. He looks forward to times like this in the future, but only briefly. Mostly his mind is a pleasant, sunny blank.
Especially once Onni starts running his fingers through his braid, unwinding it, sifting the red strands of it in his lovely hands. ]
I know. It took a really long time to grow it this long. When I was really little I didn't like it. My brothers and sisters all had black hair and I wished I did, too. But as I got older I was more okay with it, and so I let it get long, and learned to take care of it really well. With good conditioner and other stuff.
[ He lies bonelessly on top of Onni, exhaling contentedly through his nose as Onni carefully works out the few little tangles with his fingers. ]
And I really like when people comb it and touch it and play with it. Feels really good. Like how Kisa loves getting brushed.
[Once he's started touching it, Onni finds himself unwilling to stop. It's true that the mass of Reynir's hair is soft and smooth and it feels good between his fingers, but there's also something nice about watching the way Reynir reacts to it. His whole body relaxes against Onni's and he makes little noises of contentment, his breathing evens out. Onni is vividly aware of the responses in Reynir's body and breathing as he touches his hair, and the rest of the room seems to fade out of his immediate notice. It's rare that that happens to Onni, that he isn't hyperaware, hypervigilant about the space around him.
But right now, it's more interesting to run his fingers through Reynir's hair, finding all the little tangles and working them out gently. It's nothing like Onni's own hair, which is rough like dry straw; it has waves and curls and little kinks from being tied up in the braid all day, it sits heavy and smooth on his fingers.]
Mm. I suppose I can see why you would want to look like your brothers and sisters, but I think your hair is prettier. The colour is nice. Like the sun when it's setting, and when it catches the light it's like it glows.
[Usually, Onni doesn't speak like this. He tries to keep the way he speaks brusque and efficient, but he's been studying and thinking in poetry and song since he was very young, through his mage training. Sometimes, when he isn't thinking, his words can come out that way, like he's singing to his gods. This is one of those moments.]
[ Reynir smiles at that, turning so his face is pressed into Onni's chest, hiding a little. Onni thinks his hair is pretty? Or, at least, prettier than his siblings' - and Onni had met several of them, after all. That makes Reynir happy, in a bright and hazy way. Of course he's always flattered when people like his looks, but it seems different getting a compliment from Onni? Probably because Reynir respects him so much. Or because he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would really notice other people's hair.
He thinks about what Onni said and replies, quiet and thoughtful: ]
You sound like a poem.
[ Does Onni really think his hair is like that kind of golden evening light, glowing and warm? Does Onni really think that suits him as a person? Reynir knows Onni likes him, is coming to trust him. But all that... he had no idea. And he can't seem to stop smiling. ]
Well, your voice is really pretty. I don't know - fancy things to say about it like you just did but it's deep and beautiful and it suits you, too.
[Things like that, like how people's hair looks, or the things he likes or dislikes about the way they look, are definitely things he notices. It's just that they're so often irrelevant, it doesn't really matter if he likes the way a person looks, does it? So there's no real purpose in saying if he does or doesn't. And so, he almost never does.
When he says that Reynir's hair is pretty, the younger man rolls over and pushes his face against Onni, hiding his face. But Onni is pretty sure Reynir had been smiling when he did it, and there's something nice about that. Making a soft 'hm' in his throat, Onni gathers up the bulk of Reynir's hair, testing the thickness and softness of it, how it presses into his fingers and palms. It seems much easier to have that sort of sensory experience, with these drugs in his system, or at least easier to enjoy it.]
Sometimes I sound that way, if I'm not thinking.
[A little shrug.]
Only in Finnish, or here, though. I can't talk like that in Icelandic.
[It's too complicated, to try to work out how to say things in that poetic way in a second language he doesn't use too often. Then Reynir says his voice is pretty, that it's deep and beautiful and it suits him. Onni makes a little snort at that.]
[ Not just because it is poetic - although that is, of course, lovely - but because it indicates that Onni is relaxed. That he's speaking form the heart without reservation, and it is making his words come out like poetry. ]
Or in dreams. That was my first thought when I realized everyone could communicate, here. That it was like the dreamspace. Just, a separate one. But I like hearing what you have to say without you needing to translate yourself.
[ Onni moves Reynir's hair just so, pulling slightly - not enough to hurt at all, but a faint and steady pressure that has an extremely contented sigh billowing out from Reynir's nose as he melts a little more into Onni. ]
Well, I do. I know all about it. So - admire my expertise. Your voice is nice to listen to, signed, sincerely, an uber expert in this stuff.
Mm. I suppose I sound like that sometimes in dreams.
[Shifting against the couch, he settles again after a moment. Realizes idly that his legs are a bit cold, where they're not touching Reynir, thinks that maybe Reynir is still cold, even if he's not really covered up anymore, just lying against Onni. So he reaches down, pulls his cloak up over the both of them, and then settles back into the couch.]
Usually, I only mean to sound that way when I'm singing the runo, when it's important. Otherwise it gives away too much of what I'm thinking and how I think it.
[Unintentionally, he's doing the same thing now, admitting that the way he'd spoken just now is partly how he thinks on a regular basis. But he's distracted from that by Reynir saying he's an expert in this kind of thing.]
[ Reynir sighs his contentment as Onni covers them both in his cloak. This is so good. It's nearly, nearly perfect. The only thing that is missing is...
He uses one of those very long limbs of his, reaching over to the little low table and grabbing that basket of cinnamon buns, setting it on the floor by the couch and sitting up only enough to propping his weight on one elbow on the couch, so he can take a huge bite from one and contentedly chew it. Oh, Klaus was so right. This stuff does make you hungry. Without seeming to think it is weird at all, Reynir offers Onni the other half of the still-warm bun he'd just bitten into. He's all about sharing. He'll even feed it to Onni so he doesn't have to move, if he wants. You know, like friends do! ]
Well, it turns out what you're thinking and how you think it is really beautiful if you ask me.
[ It wasn't just that Onni was complimenting his hair but the way he'd done it. Those beautiful images that live in his mind, apparently. Reynir wishes there were something he could do to make Onni feel like it wouldn't be giving away too much, to just let him see that side. ]
Mmm. Voices. Anybody's. I like them in general and I pay attention to them and yours is a really good one. You just gotta trust me. Why would I lie about this?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But Reynir isn’t in a thinking mood, so he ignores the thought and relents when Onni’s gasps seem to really grow desperate. He doesn’t want his friend not to be able to breathe entirely, after all. Reynir drops his hands from the attack, lets his whole body go limp, in fact. And if he just so happens to be lying on top of Onni, well, that’s just how it’s going to be. Because Onni makes a really great surface to lie on top of. He’s warm and Reynir likes the feeling of his chest rising and falling with each breath, likes their legs tangled together, likes being sprawled all over him.
So he heaves a big sigh and just drops his head against Onni’s chest, pressing his cheek against Onni’s breastbone. ]
Fiiiiine, I’ll stop.
[ But is he going to move? Hell no. ]
no subject
It's strange to realize that, because Onni doesn't generally consider himself unhappy. Unless he's actively worried or upset about something, he exists in a sort of neutral state that he would call 'content.' It's only now that the weight and stress of his worries isn't present that he realizes how heavy it was. This feels nice and he's happy.
So for a long while, he's quiet, just enjoying the situation he's found himself in. Realizes that he's doing what Reynir had asked him to do just a short time ago, before the tickling. Lifting his arm, he drapes it over Reynir's waist, the fingertips brushing his braid, and settles.]
Are you happy now? I'm doing it.
[Does that make sense? Probably not outside his head.]
no subject
He makes a little mmm of happiness when Onni rests an arm across him, and again when he starts touching his hair. Yes, perfect. How had Reynir not realized before that that was just what was missing to make this perfect? ]
'm happy. You feel really good. Don't wanna move.
[ It takes a few minutes more for Reynir to even connect what it is Onni's doing - it had just flown out of his mind, chased away by all this warm contentment he is feeling. For Reynir, there is not as sharp a difference, between this drugged state and his regular state. Not in terms of psychology, at least. The main difference he feels is a physical one. His limbs are all floaty and heavy at the same time and it just feels good existing, lying here having arms and legs, having a chest, having bones and weight and whatever it is in his body that makes him able to feel the heat coming off Onni. ]
Sorry I tickled you. I just like hearing you laugh.
[ Reynir's arms worm their way around Onni, hugging him, a loose and comfortable embrace. He's not thinking about what he's saying, not guarding himself or imagining implications. ]
We should do this all the time.
no subject
This feels good.
[He says it with a sort of definitive tone, it's a decision he's made, to admit that this feels good, and to experience that.]
It's okay. I'm not used to being childish like that, but I feel good now. And I thought I would try it, just enjoying it.
[His eyes are closed, and his other arm comes up around Reynir's back when he registers that Reynir had made those little noises of happiness about the first one. Without thinking, he digs his fingers into the thick base of Reynir's braid, where the strands first start to twist together, and lets his nails scratch lightly against the scalp underneath, smoothing down little flyaways.]
Eat those brownies, you mean?
no subject
Yayyy.
[ It feels like an accomplishment, after all. That warm feeling filling up his chest is definitely pride over helping Onni to relax and feel happy for the first time in, it seems, a long time. He deserves those things and Reynir had helped. And so his stomach is all twisty and he feels like he might float away with joy and all of those feelings are pride for sure, nothing else.
Onni's question confuses him for a moment, until he realizes. ]
Hm? Oh. No. I meant... this.
[ And Reynir squeezes his arms around Onni, rubs his cheek against his chest once again, shifts his weight to fit on top of him even more comfortably. The high is nice enough, but mainly important in that it has led to this closeness, this cuddling. That was what Reynir had been referring to. ]
The brownies are nice but this is the nicest.
[ Without really thinking about it, Reynir pulls one hand free, just enough to yank the ribbon securing his braid off, start it unravelling. Onni's hands in his hair feel so nice and he wants to make it easier for him. If that weren't obvious enough, he murmurs, voice a bit muffled from how his cheek is pressed against Onni's chest. ]
That's really really nice. When you play with my hair.
[ He is going to be so very, very embarrassed at this once he comes down from this high. ]
no subject
When Reynir corrects him, that he means the way they're lying, the way Reynir's arms drape around him, the way they're pressed against each other and not the brownies or the drug in them, he feels a sort of complicated happiness. It's nice, to have someone enjoy his company and touch like this. Reynir rubs his cheek against his chest, shifts to let their bodies settle more comfortably together, and Onni can't help the soft hum of contentment that escapes him. It feels like the whole room is slowly, slowly spinning around him, and it's a somehow pleasant sensation.]
It is nice. This.
[He gestures at their bodies to indicate that he doesn't mean the brownies either.]
I would like to do it again.
[And then Reynir is shifting, just enough to get one hand free and pull the ribbon out of his hair, and start to get the braid undone, unraveling it and saying quietly that he likes it when Onni plays with his hair. After considering it for a few moments, he finds that he enjoys playing with Reynir's hair too, and so he starts gently finger-combing the rest of the braid out.]
There's a lot of it. Your hair. And it's very soft. Is that because of conditioner? You gave me some early on, when we went to the sauna?
no subject
Especially once Onni starts running his fingers through his braid, unwinding it, sifting the red strands of it in his lovely hands. ]
I know. It took a really long time to grow it this long. When I was really little I didn't like it. My brothers and sisters all had black hair and I wished I did, too. But as I got older I was more okay with it, and so I let it get long, and learned to take care of it really well. With good conditioner and other stuff.
[ He lies bonelessly on top of Onni, exhaling contentedly through his nose as Onni carefully works out the few little tangles with his fingers. ]
And I really like when people comb it and touch it and play with it. Feels really good. Like how Kisa loves getting brushed.
no subject
But right now, it's more interesting to run his fingers through Reynir's hair, finding all the little tangles and working them out gently. It's nothing like Onni's own hair, which is rough like dry straw; it has waves and curls and little kinks from being tied up in the braid all day, it sits heavy and smooth on his fingers.]
Mm. I suppose I can see why you would want to look like your brothers and sisters, but I think your hair is prettier. The colour is nice. Like the sun when it's setting, and when it catches the light it's like it glows.
[Usually, Onni doesn't speak like this. He tries to keep the way he speaks brusque and efficient, but he's been studying and thinking in poetry and song since he was very young, through his mage training. Sometimes, when he isn't thinking, his words can come out that way, like he's singing to his gods. This is one of those moments.]
It suits you.
no subject
He thinks about what Onni said and replies, quiet and thoughtful: ]
You sound like a poem.
[ Does Onni really think his hair is like that kind of golden evening light, glowing and warm? Does Onni really think that suits him as a person? Reynir knows Onni likes him, is coming to trust him. But all that... he had no idea. And he can't seem to stop smiling. ]
Well, your voice is really pretty. I don't know - fancy things to say about it like you just did but it's deep and beautiful and it suits you, too.
no subject
When he says that Reynir's hair is pretty, the younger man rolls over and pushes his face against Onni, hiding his face. But Onni is pretty sure Reynir had been smiling when he did it, and there's something nice about that. Making a soft 'hm' in his throat, Onni gathers up the bulk of Reynir's hair, testing the thickness and softness of it, how it presses into his fingers and palms. It seems much easier to have that sort of sensory experience, with these drugs in his system, or at least easier to enjoy it.]
Sometimes I sound that way, if I'm not thinking.
[A little shrug.]
Only in Finnish, or here, though. I can't talk like that in Icelandic.
[It's too complicated, to try to work out how to say things in that poetic way in a second language he doesn't use too often. Then Reynir says his voice is pretty, that it's deep and beautiful and it suits him. Onni makes a little snort at that.]
I don't know about that.
no subject
[ Not just because it is poetic - although that is, of course, lovely - but because it indicates that Onni is relaxed. That he's speaking form the heart without reservation, and it is making his words come out like poetry. ]
Or in dreams. That was my first thought when I realized everyone could communicate, here. That it was like the dreamspace. Just, a separate one. But I like hearing what you have to say without you needing to translate yourself.
[ Onni moves Reynir's hair just so, pulling slightly - not enough to hurt at all, but a faint and steady pressure that has an extremely contented sigh billowing out from Reynir's nose as he melts a little more into Onni. ]
Well, I do. I know all about it. So - admire my expertise. Your voice is nice to listen to, signed, sincerely, an uber expert in this stuff.
no subject
[Shifting against the couch, he settles again after a moment. Realizes idly that his legs are a bit cold, where they're not touching Reynir, thinks that maybe Reynir is still cold, even if he's not really covered up anymore, just lying against Onni. So he reaches down, pulls his cloak up over the both of them, and then settles back into the couch.]
Usually, I only mean to sound that way when I'm singing the runo, when it's important. Otherwise it gives away too much of what I'm thinking and how I think it.
[Unintentionally, he's doing the same thing now, admitting that the way he'd spoken just now is partly how he thinks on a regular basis. But he's distracted from that by Reynir saying he's an expert in this kind of thing.]
An expert at what? Mens' voices?
no subject
He uses one of those very long limbs of his, reaching over to the little low table and grabbing that basket of cinnamon buns, setting it on the floor by the couch and sitting up only enough to propping his weight on one elbow on the couch, so he can take a huge bite from one and contentedly chew it. Oh, Klaus was so right. This stuff does make you hungry. Without seeming to think it is weird at all, Reynir offers Onni the other half of the still-warm bun he'd just bitten into. He's all about sharing. He'll even feed it to Onni so he doesn't have to move, if he wants. You know, like friends do! ]
Well, it turns out what you're thinking and how you think it is really beautiful if you ask me.
[ It wasn't just that Onni was complimenting his hair but the way he'd done it. Those beautiful images that live in his mind, apparently. Reynir wishes there were something he could do to make Onni feel like it wouldn't be giving away too much, to just let him see that side. ]
Mmm. Voices. Anybody's. I like them in general and I pay attention to them and yours is a really good one. You just gotta trust me. Why would I lie about this?