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There are a lot of oranges on the farm.

Well, no, they don't grow any. It's more accurate to say that there are a lot of orange-coloured things on the farm. The flowers, and tapestries, and the wood. The lakes in the morning. The city's not amazingly far, it's over the horizon and past the estuary, and its smokes make the sunset into a broad stripe of blood and fire lining the horizon. Fireflies occur here, and Ivan doesn't really mind if they're summoned for the occasion somehow - he wonders if it's racist to imagine that a naga probably knows magic - or if they're natural. The warm colours make Ivan feel warm.

It's very warm anyway. Roth's very warm, and the first time he placed his hand on Ivan's shoulder it almost burned him - well, no, that's not true, it was a profoundly relieving heat, but Ivan's first thought is always to complain. That's normal.

The land in front of him is mainly an apple orchard. Really, orchards are Roth's life. They're in his blood, he likes saying, because his parents were both orchardists - his mother grew chestnuts, his father grew apples on the next plot, and they joined their land together. Roth seems to have inherited much more of that tree-blood than Ruth did, hence why his sister is not here a lot of the time. There's only one chestnut tree on the whole plot, now, and its big, welcoming branches are where Roth takes his guests if they pass mustard.

Passing said mustard seems to involve putting up with the same stories over and over again. They never lose any joy or fondness at all, so the redundancy doesn't bother Ivan. Roth's stories are funny, sometimes very funny, but almost never at anyone's expense.

This need to share old stories with Ivan has happened from other people, even other students, since he started learning healing magic. Ivan thinks there could be something about himself that makes people nostalgic. Wearing his dark hair long was when people started softening up around him. Whether it's Roth's natural nostalgia making him share these things, or Ivan's magical bedside manner, it's good.

Roth keeps on talking about how he'd like to grow grapes someday, and of course, he's never looked up how. A vineyard is one of many homey, idle plans he's kept talking about since meeting Ivan, and his hand or arm always creeps around whoever's nearby when he does it. This time, of course, it's just the two of them, so that arm crept around Ivan. Roth already wrapped his tail around Ivan's waist and thighs (he can't help his thickness) to lift him up into the gargantuan chestnut tree, so he was already curled around, but it adds something.

It's nice. Ivan doesn't remember many hugs back at home. He brushes his fingers over the scars on Roth's own - from farm work, probably - and sighs.

"Do you like the place, then...?" Roth's voice is gentle, but rumbles a little. There's always a soft edge of playfulness to Roth's voice, even if the conversation is wholly serious. Ivan wonders why that's so soothing. "You had a lot to say about our cider when you asked to come."

He'd been drunk. Ivan nods, lets himself be teased, but he doesn't turn away from the view. The blood and orange line has thinned to a single line of red and many different purles. Blues are coming. He wraps his hand around Roth's wrist, and tugs it further around his chest, as though it's already gotten cold.

"Hey," Roth says, "are you okay?" His coils - so fucking huge - slither round beneath Ivan and fold round his lower legs and feet like a rope. No, like a bed. It's Summer - nearly the end, nearly time to go, stop thinking about that - and Ivan curses his shorts, curses his discarded sandals, because Roth's scales are over a lot of his skin. A lot. They're properly warm, and smooth, and almost slippery. He always imagined they'd be hard, armour-like things.

"I'm, um," the boy says - and he does feel like a boy, around such a big Roth. Ivan has been skinny his whole life, but he was at least tall. "I'm a bit in love with the place."

"Well," Roth replies, stretching the 'll' all the way to Ivan's ear, where he smiles, and whispers: "You can't have it, Ivan. It's mine. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm good," Ivan whispers, leaning back and left into Roth. Into his armpit, technically, but whatever. Ivan's eyes are right on that lovely 'x' scar on Roth's chest... It's getting hard to think so negatively all the time. "I'm just used to sharper conversation."

Roth's eyebrows raise up.

"No, no, I mean... my friends and I, we're always... criticising each other. Talking about what's acceptable. What to wear, like," Ivan babbles, quickly. He could have fallen asleep a moment ago, but now he's scared he's called his friend dumb, and he looks up into Roth's eyes, which weren't blue earlier today. It must be the light. "You don't make fun of me like they do."

There's not much light, now. The red on the horizon is fading fast, and there are yellowish fireflies... And Roth's eyes are glowing, just a little. Glowing a soft blue.

"I'm not going to. Your friends don't sound like fun," Roth murmurs. Then he grins, smug. "But then, I never worry about what I wear, do I?"

"We're not all... you know."

"What?" Roth's coils almost imperceptibly tighten. Ivan smiles, almost unwillingly.

"Not everyone is so..." Ivan squeezes down on Roth's wrist again, and kisses it. Roth laughs a small laugh, and kisses Ivan's hair.

"I think you're pretty," Roth says. His fingers stretch and brush along the fabric of Ivan's shirt, before very gingerly untying his ponytail. "I think you're beautiful, in fact."

The air changes. Ivan glances away, shy, but there's nothing else to look at. Roth's surrounding hug gets tighter.

"That's why I've been looking at you since you got here." Roth's fingers play with Ivan's dark hair, and the healer sinks further into those strong coils. Roth wouldn't let him fall. Not ever. "Did you notice?"

"Thought you might to eat me," Ivan sighs, into Roth's nipple. He twists himself around in Roth's coils to face him better, and they loosen and tighten accordingly.

"I'll gobble you up any minute now, little Ivan," Roth whispers. He opens his mouth - his huge mouth - and closes his teeth onto Ivan's shoulder, breathing heat and wetness onto him and his shirt, making him wriggle in the coils' hold. He knows what he's doing. Ivan knows what he's doing, and how he's feeling, and it's good, but it's... "Silly little city man. You're all tense. I could help..."

"You can put spells on people?"

"My eyes can," Roth coos, turning Ivan's cheek with his hand to face him. His eyes are pale blue, and a deep cobalt, in concentric rings. They slowly pulse outward. The speed seems different every moment. Muscles Ivan hasn't yet learned how to heal start loosening in his back, as though he was in a sauna, as though he was right at home. If Ivan can just focus, see more -

Roth blinks, and his normal eyes are back.

"That's a little of what it's like. Would you like me to hypnotise you, Ivan? I'll take good care of you."

And he's taken such good care of Ivan so far, too. Ivan doesn't like that that's the first thought he had - he's hardly comfortable with this kind of mush, this kind of... but it's good. It feels good. Roth is good, and kind. Kind! Ivan smiles, and nods.

"Ssssay it, Ivan," Roth whisper-hisses. "Tell me you want me to. Ssso I'm sure."

"I want you to hypnotise me," Ivan says, feeling dazed, through no power of Roth's. "I'm... I'm excited for you to do it, I. I trust you."

"Good boy," and Roth's eyes turn blue, and glow, and the rings begin, pulsing outward - Ivan peers up, and feels his lips part, feels his eyes pulled in the direction Roth's move, while he moves their noses together in a circle. It's like a kiss.

"Thank... you..." It's the pull of sleep in the mornings where he must wake up, which makes sleep more tempting. It's a safety and care that Ivan has never felt. Ivan relaxes his legs - he was holding them together, unconsciously - and the feeling of them sliding passively in Roth's coils as they straighten him out is exquisite.

So are the scars on the first joints in Roth's fingers, brushing over his lips. Whether it's to hush him or not is moot. There's just blue now.

Blue, "and sleep, little one, my little one."

Little one is right. Roth is so big, after all. So big and all around Ivan. Ivan's shirt has ridden right up to his upper back, not covering anything - only his shorts prevent Roth's beautiful scales from covering him completely.

Roth's voice is sing-song, and still deep. There's a crunching noise... he must have bitten into an apple.

"Oh, I was so afraid you might not be here in the morning..." And Ivan laughs for that, but his mouth is closed in a broad smile, so it's more of a punctured hum. "Now you're never getting away from me, ever, ever. How do you like that, my little one?"

"Thuh..." Thank you, I love you, please, thank you, yes.

"Breathe out..."

Ivan breathes out the speed at which his thoughts are coming. His anxiety from before hitches a ride on that breath, too. Ivan breathes in, slow, and pale blue, bright blue, is everything.

"How do you like being my prisoner, Ivan?"

"S'good," Ivan slurs through his happiness.

"And... do you trust me?" Something predatory is in the blue - no, it's something playful. No, it's both.

Ivan's lips part again, and he answers clearly, sleepily.

"Yeah."

"Then you won't mind telling me a secret, will you?" Roth's hands close around Ivan's shoulders and give them a languid squeeze, while the rest of him squeezes the rest of Ivan.

"No," Ivan says, just as easily.

"Good boy... My good Ivan. Tell me your secret."

"S'puh..." I need to talk. I need to.

"Breathe out."

Ivan breathes everything out but trust and blue and he's in the lake after a run, in a shower after lifting. Roth's voice is firmer, now, but warmer, too.

"Tell me your secret."

"S'pronounced ee-vann..."

Roth kisses his nose.

"I just didn't want to argue with anyone, so I just..."

"Just... complied," Roth says, though it's clear that wasn't the first word in his mind. His coils shift around Ivan to prop up his head. "Thank you. Just relax now, Ivan."

Ivan grins and mewls and squirms.

"Ivan...?"

"Name... Means more when you say it right."

"I won't tell anyone you won't," Roth murmurs, gently, "but when it's just us, I'm using your real name. How's that?"

"I..."

"That's fine, isn't it."

"Yeah." Roth making the decision is better. Roth can choose how to make Ivan feel. Roth should choose how to make Ivan feel.

"Wake up a second." Roth snaps his fingers, the bastard. Ivan slowly comes to, about as fast as he woke up this morning, shifting about in Roth's smooth coils... so much muscle. And Ivan's hard, of course, but that doesn't matter. He wouldn't mind being naked right now.

Roth's big hands close around Ivan's feet under the coils, and give them a slow squeeze, too. Ivan half-yelps, half-sighs, and submits to this.

"Did you enjoy that?"

"You mean you're done?"

"No," and Roth tickles him for one second of anguish, "I just have to know you're okay. When Asudem --"

"Don't bring him up when we're like this, Roth."

"Okay. But you're okay?"

"Yes, Roth," Ivan says, speaking more slowly than he was before. "I'm better than okay."

"Ivan. Iiiiivan." Roth's grin could eat a barrel of shit, and Ivan blushes and looks away. Roth's hands slip off of Ivan's feet - and between the next two loops, to squeeze his knees. Hearing his name said like that is like he's a child again, being scolded or praised - it's been a long time since he went back to the old country.

"Stop it, Roth...."

"Stop what...?"

"Stop teasing me."

"Nah," Roth says, his long fingers and thumbs curling around Ivan's thighs, "don't think I will."