The Crows are Restless
The crows were restless that morning. Their raucous cries echoed across the desolate snow-covered beach, the sound sharp and grating against the stillness of the icy air.
Quaraun, wrapped in layers of frilled pink silk, paced along the frozen shoreline, his cane crunching into the frost-bitten sand. His long silver hair, a glistening cascade of prehensile jellyfish tendrils, swayed behind him, catching faint glimmers of the fractured moonlight filtering through the thick comet-dust clouds.
The Elf’s gloved hand tightened on the polished cane as he glanced skyward, narrowing his sapphire eyes.
"Blasted birds," he muttered, his words crisp and biting. "Their incessant squawking grates my nerves."
From behind him, BoomFuzzy's boisterous laughter broke through the cawing.
"Och, me wee JellyElf, ye dinnae like the music o’ nature today, aye?"
The Phooka ambled toward him, his stocky frame swathed in black hakama and a purple tartan shawl. He clutched a steaming clay mug, the rich aroma of gingerbread and mulled wine wafting toward Quaraun on the brisk wind.
"It is not music. It is chaos," Quaraun replied sharply, his tone petulant. "They are conspiring, I am certain of it. They watch me. They watch us."
BoomFuzzy chuckled again, the deep rumble resonating in the frozen air. He stepped closer, his warm breath brushing against Quaraun’s chilled cheek as he leaned down to kiss the Elf’s temple.
"Ye worry too much, Love."
Quaraun stiffened at the sudden touch, but only for a moment. Despite his irritation, he found himself leaning into BoomFuzzy's sturdy frame, craving the warmth radiating from his Faerie husband.
"Sit wi’ me," BoomFuzzy urged, guiding Quaraun toward a patch of snow-cleared rock. "Rest yer legs. Yer walkin’ yerself tae exhaustion again."
Reluctantly, Quaraun complied, perching daintily on the edge of the rock. BoomFuzzy settled beside him, draping an arm around the Elf’s slender shoulders and pulling him close. The smell of salt and kelp clung to BoomFuzzy’s woolly dreadlocks, mingling with the spiced sweetness of his drink.
"Drink," BoomFuzzy said, pressing the mug into Quaraun's hands.
Quaraun wrinkled his nose, hesitant.
"You know I dislike sharing—"
"Aye. Cannae share a mug. Yet ya can passionately kiss me lips in bed? Same germs, Love."
Quaraun stared at BoomFuzzy horrified.
"It’ll warm ye up, Pinkie. Dinnae be so fussy."
With a haughty sigh, Quaraun raised the mug to his lips. The flavors burst on his tongue—a symphony of ginger, cloves, cinnamon, and honey, blending into the smooth burn of aged wine, in what he could only assume was gingerbread flavoued coffee heavily doused in whiskey. He allowed himself a small, satisfied hum, though he refused to meet BoomFuzzy’s smug grin.
"See?" BoomFuzzy teased, his calloused hand trailing down Quaraun's silk-clad arm. "Yer face says it all. Ye love it."
"I tolerate it," Quaraun corrected, but the faint blush blooming across his pale cheeks betrayed him. "What even is it that I am drinking?"
"I call it leftovers tea surprise."
"Isn't this coffee?"
"That’s the surprise part."
The crows cawed louder, their shadowy forms circling above like harbingers of some unseen doom.
Quaraun shivered, his paranoia flaring.
"They are too loud. Too many of them. Something is wrong."
BoomFuzzy followed his gaze but saw only the dark silhouettes wheeling against the ashen sky.
"The crows ken somethin’ we don’t. Always do. But ye needn’t fret. They arenae comin’ fer us."
"How can you be so sure?" Quaraun asked, his voice tinged with unease.
"Because I’m here." BoomFuzzy grinned, baring sharp teeth. "An’ no one messes wi’ me, or my JellyElf."
Quaraun scoffed but felt a flicker of reassurance in the Faerie’s words. BoomFuzzy’s confidence, brash and unshakable, was a steady anchor against his own spiraling thoughts.
The wind picked up, carrying with it a bone-deep chill. Quaraun shivered.
BoomFuzzy shifted, pulling Quaraun onto his lap with surprising ease for someone so much shorter than the Elf. The move startled Quaraun, and he squawked indignantly.
"Unicorn! Unhand me this instant!"
"Nae chance," BoomFuzzy replied, wrapping both arms securely around Quaraun's waist. "Yer shiverin’, Love. Ye’ll catch yer death out here."
"I do not shiver," Quaraun argued, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
"Aye, ye do." BoomFuzzy pressed his face into Quaraun’s neck, kissing the soft skin, his beard rough against the Elf’s delicate skin. The sensation made Quaraun flinch, but the heat of BoomFuzzy's breath was a welcome balm against the cold.
For a moment, they sat in silence, save for the distant crash of waves and the ever-present cawing of the crows. Quaraun’s breathing slowed, his rigid posture softening as BoomFuzzy’s warmth seeped into him. The Elf closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of BoomFuzzy’s chest ground him.
"You’re insufferable," Quaraun murmured, though there was no malice in his tone.
BoomFuzzy chuckled, his arms tightening around Quaraun.
"An’ ye love me fer it."
"I suppose," Quaraun admitted, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles.
BoomFuzzy nuzzled his hair, inhaling the faint floral scent of rose oil and silk.
"Ye smell like a flower garden. Always do. Makes me hungry."
Quaraun opened one eye, arching a brow.
"Hungry? For what, exactly?"
BoomFuzzy grinned wickedly, his fanged teeth glinting.
"For ye, me Love."
"Considering I am an Elf and you are The Elf Eater, I find that concerning."
"Oh, no worries of my eating ya, Love. I'll be far too busy fucking ya for that."
"Vulgar Faerie," Quaraun said, though his cheeks flushed a deeper pink.
"Aye, but I’m yer vulgar Faerie."
As the crows continued their restless vigil overhead, Quaraun allowed himself to relax fully into BoomFuzzy’s embrace.
"Unicorn?"
"Hmmm?"
"What about the crows?"
"If the crows brought trouble, we can face it together. Later."
The cold, the noise, the unease—all of it faded under the warmth of his husband’s touch. For now, at least, the world’s harshness could wait.