Like the lazy lion head, Ferrum let the energetic little cub crawl and nip and touch all over him. Content to have these teasing touches, these jovial attempts to get him to react. They were pleasant and this was bliss as he lay, letting the shorter explore his body as he pleased, content until the kit's hands trailed into unchartered territory. Rather than shiver and laugh as one might want to do feeling another's hands trace across the sensitivities in their anatomy, the thick skinned dragon growled; the sound rumbling deep in his chest, but was truly playful in nature before he turned over and rolled the playful kit back under him. Crawling over him in a mock play fight, as if challenging him for daring to touch and tickle with his mouth and hands. He loved his little Char's playfulness, loved the innocence that he still found in those acts and shows, but he sought to give the man a little bit of his own medicine back. Still, he could not resist the purse of his lips, addicted to the softness, the way it curved to smile against his own. Not far into a sweet soft compliance of lips, Ferrum pulled back and proceeded to match the smaller's earlier teasing, pressing his lips against the side of his neck and feeling the laughter and sweetness bubble in his throat as he purred another deep growl against his throat. Playing their little game by taking his turn to run his hands over the man's torso and flesh.
There weren't many scars to trace, not on Charon's skin, but Ferrum made do, battle scarred fingers running down the smooth skin in his best attempt to find some new sensation or texture to touch and tease. And of course, there were the fresher wounds, like the one cut into his side, only just stitched and healing over. Those men, those people he didn't know. He didn't like them cutting into his Char, didn't like them hurting him, but.. well, he did his best to soothe the wounds, but he dare not let his fingers trace that area now. He didn't want to hurt his little kit.
Sleipnir wanted this all to be a dream, even a nightmare was better if he knew he was going to wake up from it. Now more than ever, he wanted his Daddy and his Father. He wanted them like they were when he first managed to crack the top of his shell, when he took his first nap with Daddy reading them stories. He wanted to wake up crying into their arms, not here holding onto Skylark for dear life as he buried his face against his shoulder and refused to look. Shaking his head, trembling really as the sounds colored his imagination. That was enough, it was all enough, he didn't want to see these things anymore. Around him arose puffs of black smoke, curling and weaving through the air like a protective shield. Susceptible even to the slightest breeze, it wafted behind them when Skylark yanked him backwards, running nowhere. Maybe deeper into this nightmare.
There was darkness, then his brother screaming right next to his ear and the feeling of his body pressed up tightly to his in a hug that he tried to return before he felt his arms being nearly yanked out from his socket and the ground pulled out from under him. He still didn't dare open his eyes as he felt the wind whistle past him and his brother yell louder.
Like flies in a bottle, they had nowhere to really go.
----
Dirty tricks, pulling out this unplanned scene. Crediting his failure, they made it looked like he had deviated from the script whilst they pulled their hidden aces and spades and left their fellow actor floundering like a fool. In front of the audience, was it his shock or his character's remorse as the two soared into the audience's hearts? Faulty, faulty gadgetry they'd given him, useless tools he could not follow up with. But as an actor, he knew not to push it, not to further this scene lest he face further embarrassment by the callous rapturous crowd. With grace, he had to exit, but not without a scowl in his heart as poisonous fumes tried to contaminate his lungs. Perhaps a chest cold, but that wouldn't stop him from at least making a grand exit. Pulling back, he paused, turned and found himself nailed to the stage by weight of his prop. A fit of anger, a loss of composure, his claws gnashed against the rope and severed the line. Allowing himself free at last to exit, leaving the stage to those who must it seemed hog it.
Outside the curtains, beyond the eyes, he shut the door and heaved as the wretched old crew member came flouncing to disturb his rest,
"My King, there was a problem with subject #784, we-" A pause, eyes wide, the boy must be awed, taken aback by the performance, too stunned to speak. Such wonder, stupid outside the curtain call, there was no applause out here, he clicked his tongue, not following his eyes.
"I do not care, proceed with the harvest of the corneas and leave me be." He spluttered out his lines, so to appease the taken aback boy. Maybe it would be enough to sate him as the dragon turned away, arm thrown across his stomach to hide away his spilling make up. He had to rehearse, to practice, to pretend or else he would never take the stage away again.
CloseEnough