Work Text:
Panto let himself relax into the blanket as the hot sun did its job of drying the river's water from his skin. He'd have to move out of the full sunlight before too long or he'd burn to a crisp, but for now he was content to enjoy the acres of pretty, tawny-brown skin draped up against him as Silas laid his dripping head against his shoulder. The impromptu dip in the water had cooled them down as intended, but now they had to dry off before they could put their clothes back on and go back to their outwardly respectable appearances.
It was rare that they had a chance to get away like this during the day. Their clandestine meetings usually happened at night when everyone else was sleeping. The few times they did meet during the day, Wygar was usually present, his watchful eye certainly enough to keep them from activities like today's. While Panto felt a certain amount of sympathy about the cold the man was currently suffering from, he couldn't regret the opportunity to appreciate the way the golden light looked on Silas, rather than the usual pale moonlight.
Panto clasped the hand that was gently patting at his chest, pressing it to his lips with a smile. Then he furrowed his brow as he noticed a mark that he'd never seen before on the back of his wrist. It was faint, but the sun picked out the pale curve of a scar against darker skin.
“Silas,” he asked, “how did you get this scar?”
Silas made a questioning noise, lifting his head to raise an eyebrow at Panto. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“This.” Panto lifted the hand in question, thumb rubbing gently over the mark. “Have you been in a battle you haven't told me about?”
He poked Silas teasingly in the side as he said it, and his lover recoiled with a snort of laughter.
“Oh, that,” he said, twisting his hand in Panto's grip to get a better look at it. He grinned at some distant memory. “I'd forgotten about that. That was the day a scare crow got the better of me.”
Panto's eyes widened as realization took hold of him. “Silas, my love...please tell me you didn't try to befriend a scare crow.”
Scare crows were nasty, ill-tempered creatures, prone to darting at unsuspecting people to frighten them before retreating to laugh with clacking, bony beaks. Wait, what was he thinking? Of course Silas had tried to befriend one.
Silas shrugged unrepentantly, lips still curled up. “I was so close that time, too,” he said with a sigh of nostalgia.
Panto groaned in despair while Silas shook with laughter against his side. In retaliation, Panto lifted the wrist to his lips and gave it a smacking kiss. That led to Silas kissing him back, which led to several pleasant minutes of distraction. When they parted, Silas looked down at him, the sun framing him from behind, his damp hair beginning to turn to waves as it dried.
“If you think that was bad, wait until you see the scar where Farson bit me,” he said mischievously.
Panto grinned and flipped Silas onto his back, the other going with only a minor squawk of indignation. If there was one thing Panto found hard to turn down, it was a challenge: He was going to find every one of Silas's scars and give them the kissing they deserved.