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"Yer pretty. Yer a real bonnie lad."
Ran would've told the big lug to get his eyes checked, that a Witcher like him couldn't be pretty, but it didn't help that Cormac couldn't actually see his face. He couldn't see the way Ran's cheeks had flushed in that embarrassingly splotchy way he hates, or how his pupils had blown wide the moment their heads knocked together, or how he damn near followed after his touch as soon as the Cat had moved his hands away.
No one had ever called Ran pretty before.
He wasn't a self-deprecating fool, he knew he was attractive, he knew whenever he walked the Path that he could sweep off any lass off her feet. He could be charming, when he wasn't sticking his damn foot in his mouth.
And Cormac always seemed to have that affect on him.
For days after he couldn't stop thinking about the little interaction. Cormac had hardly had his hands on his face for more than a minute, but Ran could remember the feeling of them, the way his callouses brushed across his cheek and eyebrow and tugged at his lip. He wasn't proud of how much the ghost of his touch lingered, or how he dreamed of what would've happened had he had the balls to slip that thumb between his lips and sucked. They'd been dancing this line of something more for so long now, but neither of them had tried to push too hard or go too fast. They toed the line of almost for so long now, Ran couldn't even remember when he'd fallen for the silent, awkward behemoth.
He tried, valiantly, to push the thoughts from his mind, tried to focus on the training dummy in front of him. But with every throw of his axe, he felt Cormac's caress against the back of his neck; every time he wiped sweat from his brow, he could feel the soft puffs of the Cat's breath through the mask against his face.
He was well and truly fucked.
With a growl, he hurled the axe one more time and not even the satisfying thunk of metal embedding into wood could stop his racing thoughts. Yanking it from the wood, Ran kicked the useless dummy back over.
What was so special about Cormac? Sure, they were friends, the best of friends he'd say, but none of his other friends ever made Ran's heart race like this. None of them had ever brought out such feelings in him.
"Ran-" The Wolf nearly jumped right out of his skin, spinning around with axe in hand to see the man in question standing right behind him. Fuck, for a big guy, he certainly was silent. "Others told me ye've been here for hours."
"Shit, ye tryin' to gimme a heart attack, ye big lug?" Ran smacked his arm, which only made Cormac chuckle, the fucker. "Aye. Just finishin' up now. What, d'ya miss me?"
Even his playful, joking tone couldn't hide the way a flush slowly began to creep up his neck. He hadn't realized how long he'd been here, nor did he realize Cormac would be the one to come get him.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
There goes not thinking about the big lug.
"Must've been trainin' hard." Cormac idly replied as Ran holstered his axe, the two beginning to walk back towards the makeshift campsite.
The Wolf scrunched his nose, "Eh, 's not the worst 've done. Just blowin' off some steam. "
He could almost picture the look of confusion on Cormac's face in the way his head tilted to the side just so, "Yer heart's poundin'. Maybe ya should go lie down."
It wasn't the damn training that had his heart racing. It was the way Cormac stood so close to him, their hands nearly brushing with every step. Ran's hand curled up into a fist, knuckles nearly white as he held back the urge just to grab the man's giant hand.
"Ran?" Ran hadn't even realized Cormac had stopped, not until he felt the man's hand on his arm. "Ya alright?"
"A-Aye-" he stuttered, wincing at his own foolishly, "just- tired. 'M gonna- jus gonna go lie down, yeah? I'll meet ya for dinner later!" As much as he hated it, Ran pulled himself from the man's grip, rushing off back towards his own tent. It didn't help much, since Cormac's earthy scent still lingered even here, the two of them having been back here the night before to play Gwent. Ran groaned, flopping down face-first into his bed roll, trying to block everything out.
Don't think of his stupid hands.
Don't think of how gentle he was.
Or how warm he'd been, pressed so close.
Or how badly he'd wanted to kiss that stupid fucking mask.
With a growl, he damn near tore his pillow in two, fingers digging so tightly into the fabric he could hear the stitchings begin to give way. He rolled over onto his back, glaring up at the top of his tent.
He supposed it wasn't so bad...
"Yer a bonnie lad."
Maybe one day he'd get that stupid mask off him, so he could see what he looked like underneath. But Ran knew it didn't matter. He could be the ugliest motherfucker on the Continent, and this Wolf would still trail after him like some lost little pup, desperate for scraps. Desperate for a touch that wasn't a fist, desperate for those large arms to wrap around him and keep him warm.
Ran flopped his arm over his eyes with a groan.
"'M so fuckin' screwed."