Char was still very bad at handling a lot of things: touching was weird and unfamiliar and there was something kind of embarrassing about someone fussing over you when you were hurt and he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever be able to express affection as easily and openly as all these pack animals around him. Even if a hug was more confusing than comforting to him, though, the simple fact that it was a step in the right direction for Bulba was enough to make it worthwhile.
With an unspoken agreement reached, Char saw no reason to drag it out; he opened the door, stepped inside, and sank gratefully onto his bed. It was a heavy, graceless arrival, tail dangling limply off the edge and wings splayed haphazardly over the covers, but elegant and noble draconic repose could save itself for an occasion where he felt much less drained and achy. The Blaze-heat had cooled, body temperature dipping lower than normal in response to the sheer fatigue he felt, and without the panicked tension of the earlier nervous attempts at being brotherly, he was thoroughly burned out. One wing managed a half-assed little lift, indication that he was ready and willing to make room for one more if that was what suited Bulba.
(Better make it quick, though. Rasputin is pretty prone to swiping that cozy under-wing real estate.)
no subject
Char was still very bad at handling a lot of things: touching was weird and unfamiliar and there was something kind of embarrassing about someone fussing over you when you were hurt and he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever be able to express affection as easily and openly as all these pack animals around him. Even if a hug was more confusing than comforting to him, though, the simple fact that it was a step in the right direction for Bulba was enough to make it worthwhile.
With an unspoken agreement reached, Char saw no reason to drag it out; he opened the door, stepped inside, and sank gratefully onto his bed. It was a heavy, graceless arrival, tail dangling limply off the edge and wings splayed haphazardly over the covers, but elegant and noble draconic repose could save itself for an occasion where he felt much less drained and achy. The Blaze-heat had cooled, body temperature dipping lower than normal in response to the sheer fatigue he felt, and without the panicked tension of the earlier nervous attempts at being brotherly, he was thoroughly burned out. One wing managed a half-assed little lift, indication that he was ready and willing to make room for one more if that was what suited Bulba.
(Better make it quick, though. Rasputin is pretty prone to swiping that cozy under-wing real estate.)