"I thought my tribe was raucous, but yours is way worse. Like, way, way worse," Nyell grumped as he let himself fall head-first on the bed, plastered. His head felt dizzy from all the alcohol he drank in such a short amount of time, and everything was spinning around him. With how much the White Moon land celebrated tonight, he wouldn't be surprised if the majority of the populace stayed in bed tomorrow until way-past noon, nursing a hangover. "Do your people's stomaches have no bottoms or something?"
"You could have refused a few glasses, you know?" Allen chuckled as he pulled out the hair accessories that had been holding the white locks of hair together and neatly placed them on the nightstand. "You drank far too much."
"…Shut up! You drank even more than I did!" Nyell grimaced, not wanting to admit that he had needed that alcohol tonight. It was one thing to tell himself to accept their bond in all of its meanings, and another to do it and face his fated mate afterward. The status quo he had worked so hard to maintain was now crumbling, and he suddenly didn't know how to act in the presence of Allen. "Why do you look so unaffected, anyway? Your cheeks aren't even red."
"Ah, that…" Allen smiled but didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the bed where Nyell slouched, sitting on its edge to unfasten the drunkard's boots and remove them. "Let's just say I'm good with alcohol, and as the chief, I can't refuse any glass of celebration I receive. The elders were one thing, but most of the foreigners who offered to pour us a glass were either important business partners or held high status in their respective countries. The White Moon tribe is a strong and valuable ally to them, but that wouldn't last if I offended them. Many of these men and women represent countries I would rather not get on bad terms with."
"Then, isn't it good that I followed along, too?' Nyell grunted, allowing Allen to undress him without complaining. He felt too sluggish to do it himself. And these clothes were far too complicated to unfasten in his current state. His muddled mind couldn't comprehend the many layers of clothing. "I am now officially your destined mate, meaning I gotta act the part. Sometimes. Gosh, I don't want to. It's so much of an assle. Can we just pretend I'm from a backward part of the jungle and I'm a dumbfuck who can do anything? So, you know? I get excluded from dealing with annoying people. So many of these creepy bastards eyed me with so much greed that it made chills run down my spine. I almost threw my glass at a few of these leechers' faces. Even the elders know not to cross the lines, so why were some of these foreigners so blatantly leering at me? And even at you! Do they have no fear? I know you're probably the most beautiful person they've ever seen and will ever see in their whole darn lives, but shouldn't they know how to control themselves? They're not mutts in rut!"
Sometimes, when Nyell was dead drunk, he could ramble for hours on. He usually knew when to stop, but after one too many, he didn't give a damn anymore. Whoever was unlucky enough to be close was forced into the role of a listener and had their eardrums blasted until Nyell fell asleep. Even if they somehow managed to escape, Nyell wouldn't notice and would instead keep blabbering on his own. And today, he had many things to complain about.
"Like, I can understand if they underestimate me: they know nothing about me, and we decided to present myself as a gullible warrior from a second-rated tribe. So, fine! But why the heck are they acting so obviously rude with you? You are the leader of the White Moon tribe! Your tribe is also a werewolf tribe! Full of snobbish shamans to boot. Your hunters aren't half-bad either. And I'm not sure whether the stories about your predecessors are true or not, but shouldn't they act with a bit more precautions anyway? Is courting death a thing in foreign lands?"
"Is it me, or are you getting angry on my behalf?" Allen chuckled, his tone of voice slightly taunting. Hope springs eternal, as they say. But to his surprise, Nyell didn't deny it. No, in fact, he responded affirmatively, although with a roll of his eyes.
"Well, duh! These guys are so weak I could snap them in half with my bare hands, yet they dare to look down on you? You're my destined mate, and looking down on you is looking down on me, too! You've got no idea how much restraint I showed earlier. These idiots wouldn't survive a day in the jungle. Heck, they would be dead a second after stepping foot inside!"
As Nyell grumped a new lengthy monologue about how dangerous life was in the jungle, Allen used that time to pull out the silver accessories in his black hair, patiently undoing the many layers of tiny braids tied around a piece of jewelry. Then, his hands went lower and undid the ornamented belt fastened around his waist. Nyell was unusually cooperative, lifting his hips or shifting around to help Allen undress him. His obedience took the shaman aback, but he didn't point it out. Why would he? A grumpy Nyell was cute, but so was a complying Nyell. It was a rare sight he wanted to enjoy to the fullest for as long as it lasted.
Although their relationship was getting better by the day, it was still a far cry from what a healthy relationship between mates should be. Nyell visibly hated him less than on the first day they met, and even trusted him as an individual. However, that didn't mean he felt love toward him. Emotions were a tricky thing, even more so when they became entangled with their inner beasts' instinct. Even Allen sometimes had difficulty separating the two.
"What's with the frown?"
"Hm? What frown?"
"The one creasing your brow!" Nyell clicked his tongue as he sat upright to poke at Allen's furrowed brow. "It's ruining your pretty face. At least, when you're with me, put the worry aside and relax. Unless… Am I the one who's causing you to worry? Am I?"
Had Nyell always been this observant? Or had it always been the case, and he pretended not to notice when he was sober? It was hard to tell, considering how much effort he put into maintaining a certain distance between them. They had been physically close, but not on an emotional level.
"I'm afraid you might end up with a hangover tomorrow," Allen not-so-subtly changed the subject. "You should drink some water. Wait for a second, I'll go fetch a glass for you."
As Allen was about to stand up, Nyell grabbed his wrist and clumsily pulled him onto the mattress before climbing on top of him, confining the man to the bed. The sudden movement seemed to cast a dizzy spell over him, but Nyell shook his head to chase away the stars dancing in front of his eyes. Then, he squinted, intensely staring at the shaman.
"Don't remind me about the hangover," he grimaced after a moment of silence. Even drunk, his mind wasn't entirely a mess, and some logical thoughts remained intact, mingled with the not-so-brilliant ones. At least, for good or bad, his speech wasn't slurred, and every word could be heard loud and clear. "Don't try to run away. What's worrying you? You know, I've realized you're a pretty damn smart guy. But sometimes, you act like a moron. You often start sentences and don't finish them. It's annoying as hell. Don't you know that good communication is key to a healthy relationship? Well, that's what my father says, anyway. Not like it prevented my mom from beating the shit outta him when he did stupid stuff, though."
"Nyell," Allen gulped, his mesmerizing eyes widening slightly. He seemed to hesitate for an instant before his itchy hands slid on his thighs, then his buttocks. Nyell was currently straddling him, sitting on his lower half. "Are we in a relationship?"
"Aren't we?" Nyell tilted his head, looking at Allen as if it was obvious. His expression left no doubt in the shaman's mind. "Not like I wanted any of this relationship in the beginning. I still believe gods are pieces of shit that meddle with people's fates for fun. Like, why did they choose you to be my partner among all the people in the world, huh? What about my opinion on the matter?!"
"In the beginning?" Allen picked up the important words in Nyell's rambling and put the conversation back on track. "What about now?"
"Now? I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Yeah, I don't! The more time we spend together, the more I realize you're not all that bad and that, perhaps, my hatred for you was unwarranted. I mean, you're not the one who beat young teenagers half to death and left them to rot in the jungle. Up to now, you've been nothing but–"
"Sorry, Nyell, but what did you just say?" Allen's face seemed to freeze, which drew a snort out of Nyell's mouth. What a funny face. "Don't laugh! It's important. Can you tell me more, please?"
"Nah," Nyell tucked out his tongue, a heavy weight finally off his chest. Considering his reaction, Allen truly hadn't known. Now, he wondered if the jerks and incurable bastards from the hunter party weren't some corrupt elders' cronies. If he thought about it, a few had been trying to add fuel to the fire every time they crossed paths, always provocative and bitchy for no reason. It was as if they were itching for a fight, yearning for a territorial war. However, they weren't all like this. Otherwise, Nyell wouldn't have bothered keeping up the minimum of diplomacy required between tribes and certainly wouldn't have risked his life to save one of their parties from a manticore's wrath.
"Nyell, please, tell me."
"And I said nah! It's my vendetta, so no meddling!"
"Does it have anything to do with the people you have a bone to pick with? I could help you."
"I'm a grown, independent man, sir!" Nyell bent over to bite Allen's nose, giggling mischievously, "Payback for earlier!"
That said, Nyell suddenly seemed to grow limp and sprawled atop Allen's chest. Then, he snuggled his face in the crook of Allen's neck, rubbing his cheeks against him as if to scent him. In an instant and for no apparent reason, he became increasingly clingy, and just as Allen was about to push him aside so that they could have a serious conversation, soft snoring resounded. It cut short the discussion.
"…"
Thus, Allen could only give up for tonight. He hadn't had the time to change clothing yet, but it was now impossible with Nyell half-lying on top of him. Once his fated mate lashed onto him in his sleep, it was impossible to escape. His embrace became an iron cage, and his arms and legs refused to bulge. He could have tried to pry his limbs open, but he feared he would hurt Nyell in the process. Hence, he didn't and accepted his fate as a mattress for the night.