Tavs and Babs

Prompt 2-Drunken Confessions

This chapter contains the following themes: small act 1 spoilers (Volvo quest references), alcohol consumption, intoxicated hand kisses, confessions, fluff, altered act 1 Wyll romance scenario

Special thanks to Jogey on Discord for being my beta reader!!

Background: (act 1) Cyra asks Wyll for a drink after a successful adventure. After the many fights and close encounters they've had, the thought of warm ale rekindles the soul. The group shares a hearty meal of meats and potatoes, warm Fire Ale passed between them. One by one the group retires for bed, leaving two individuals awake and fairly impaired.

Cyra adds another log to the flame, disturbing the free embers and launching them into the air. The swirling spiral of glowing orange dissipates against the midnight sky. "So you're telling me, that somehwhere within your heritage, there's a fire dragon?" Wyll's curiosity could be contained; he lost his filter not long after the second bottle of Fire Ale was opened. Cyra smiles, "Yes, it was hard for me to come to terms with my scales. I eventually started to love them and even go out of my way to make them shine." Cyra's fingers lightly feel the grooves of her scales speckled against her cheek. Being a Seldarine Drow and having Draconic ancestry, it was hard growing up. Her being able to love something that caused so much pain brought pride to her. She takes another swig of her Ale, a sigh escapes her lungs as the alcohol hits their stomach. "I see we have something in common then. Given my new appearance." He gestures to his newly sprouted horns, feeling the grooves. "I think you look devilishly charming." Cyra says as they fill his mug up. A soft blush appears across Wyll's cheeks, looking down at the flame before his gaze shifts to the moon above. "Although it may not look it, your appearance is from a noble cause indeed. Sparing Karlach was the right choice." Cyra smiles at him, placing her hand atop of his.
She gently feels his horns, looking at him to see if he felt any discomfort from her touch. "It took guts to let Volo search around in your head. 'Suppose that's two things in common." He comments, looking into their eyes. One soft Drow red eye, one hazel. One stone eye, one blood red eye.
Cyra's soft lilac cheeks burn with heat as Wyll inspects her features. Cyra's voice is the only thing that brings him back from his trance. "Wyll?" They stutter, taking a swig of her drink to hide her face. "Hells, my apologies. I didn't mean to stare so obliviously." He laughs nervously, instinctively feeling the ends of his braids. When he's drunk, he has so many tells on what he's feeling. He's shy. The realization turns Cyra's cheeks a deep crimson. "No, no it's... it's alright. I don't mind." Her hand slowly falls from his horn. Just as their hand becomes level with his cheek, she hesitates for a moment. Her heart tells her to hold him. To show him it's okay, that deep down all they wants to wake up to are those eyes. Her mind, although inebriated, finishes the motion and falls to their side. The hesitation not unnoticed.
"Cyra..." Wyll's voice is low, a near whisper. He places his mug down, his eyes soften. Cyra's heart jumps suddenly; the rush of dopamine turns to anxiety. "Is this too much? Is it because we're drunk? If this is my only sober thought: BE SMART Cyra!" Their thoughts pound against her skull. If it was her own words, or perhaps her dream guardian reaching to her, she had to act. "Is the great Wyll Ravengard trying to steal my heart tonight?" She asks playfully, her eyes nervously dance between his lips and his eyes. He comes to once again, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should retire to our tents. I'm afraid of what this Ale has done to my judgement." He says, rubbing his brow with his hands. "Yes, perhaps we should." Cyra says softly, pulling her hair behind their ear. Her fingers line the shape of her ear, something they do when they're nervous.
They stand up, putting a few logs on the fire. The embers dance once more, warming the space around them. The crackling and whining of the wood fills the air. The warm scent of the fire fills their lungs, standing before one another. "Cyra, I'm sorry for my...forwardness. I am a man of chivalry and modesty; I just couldn't help but to bask in your beauty." His voice travels through Cyra and into her heart. If the fire or Ale wasn't warming them, it would be the blood rushing to their face. "I respect that. Truly. No wonder you indulge yourself into poetry, you know how to make a heart flutter." She says with a smile.
Wyll reached for her hand, to which they accept happily. Cyra brings Wyll's hand to her lips, placing a gentle kiss upon his skin. A soft hum rumbles within Wyll's throat, followed by a deep chuckle. He returns the gesture, kissing the top of their hand. His touch was gentle, soft, thoughtful. "Goodnight Wyll. Don't forget to drink water." She says with a smile. Wyll hangs his head down, before looking to them again. "I promise I won't, now that you have my word." He says, gently squeezing their hands. "Goodnight, Cyra. Have sweet dreams." The Warlock says, a smile following after.
"I will, you have my word." The Sorcerer replies, giving a nod in return.