TDIR: Priorities
Fandom: The Dark is Rising
Main characters: Will, Bran
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Will/Bran
Contains: Sap
Rating: G
Summary: A late night for Bran.
Notes: For![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
feywood, something to cheer her up. And because I'm homesick and wanted to write about Bran.
"Your feet are cold," Will mumbles, but Bran doesn't think it's really too much of a complaint. He slides into bed behind Will, gets comfortable against his back and puts his arm around him. Will's body is warm and slack with sleep, but he shifts a little and Bran sees the glitter of his eyes, leans up enough to press a kiss to the corner of Will's mouth.
"Sorry," he whispers, and Will just grunts, settling down against him.
"You," he says, and stops for a long yawn before starting again, "you're a farm boy, of course lost sheep are more important than me."
Bran buries his face in Will's hair, smelling his shampoo, which has gotta be one of the cheapest brands around but it's Will, so it's comforting, familiar, perfect. "Not more important."
Will's hand finds his, squeezes gently. He's too exhausted to make this a conversation, but so is Bran, really. Traipsing around the Welsh mountains in the dark, in the shadow of the Brenin Llwyd, after some lost sheep... not Bran's idea of fun, on a Friday night. He's tired to the bone. They can talk in the morning.
"Night," he murmurs, but Will's already asleep.
Main characters: Will, Bran
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Will/Bran
Contains: Sap
Rating: G
Summary: A late night for Bran.
Notes: For
feywood, something to cheer her up. And because I'm homesick and wanted to write about Bran."Your feet are cold," Will mumbles, but Bran doesn't think it's really too much of a complaint. He slides into bed behind Will, gets comfortable against his back and puts his arm around him. Will's body is warm and slack with sleep, but he shifts a little and Bran sees the glitter of his eyes, leans up enough to press a kiss to the corner of Will's mouth.
"Sorry," he whispers, and Will just grunts, settling down against him.
"You," he says, and stops for a long yawn before starting again, "you're a farm boy, of course lost sheep are more important than me."
Bran buries his face in Will's hair, smelling his shampoo, which has gotta be one of the cheapest brands around but it's Will, so it's comforting, familiar, perfect. "Not more important."
Will's hand finds his, squeezes gently. He's too exhausted to make this a conversation, but so is Bran, really. Traipsing around the Welsh mountains in the dark, in the shadow of the Brenin Llwyd, after some lost sheep... not Bran's idea of fun, on a Friday night. He's tired to the bone. They can talk in the morning.
"Night," he murmurs, but Will's already asleep.
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