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Hunting Ataya was a lot like hunting a hive of insects. They were systematic, routine, and always returned to the same place with alarming frequency. They made annoying, fussy sounds and collected sweet things to eat. Their homes contained more pests than Dys cared to deal with. They were small.

The difference came in that finding Ata generally yielded more reward than punishment. The most notable and important aspect being that when he found and bit Ataya, it didn't generally result in a swollen tongue. Perhaps other things, though. Better things. So regardless of how far out of his way he had to go for the Aiskala man, rather than the insects, it did prove to be immensely more satisfying.

Admittedly, 'hunting' implied some degree of stealth that Dysarrin simply did not care to execute. When he spotted a dark splodge amidst the predominantly brown landscaping, he barreled forward. Branch, bush, and shrub played absolutely no part in swaying him, and when he successfully reached leaping distance of his target, Dys dipped low, gave a flick of wings, and lunged for the smaller male. There were times he doubted Ata would hear his approach, or at least fancied that the mage wouldn't expect him.

This was not one of those times.

"Ataya," Dysarrin purred out in a garbled rumble, pressing to and roughly knocking at his smaller companion to force him down onto his side. Bracing his arms to either side of Ataya's frame, he nudged his nose up under Ata's chin, reaching up to tug at a pearly horn and tip his head back far enough that Dys could n** at the underside of his jaw. His wings flicked, and he leaned back just so to peer down at his companion's face. "Miss me, Ataya?"

Dysarrin hid his delight at the admission with a short scoff and a roll of his eyes. As much as he liked, expected, and wanted to be missed for any great number of 'breaths'- "Could've just said 'yes,' Ataya," he informed his companion pointedly, accenting the commentary with a harsh n** to the lobe of Ata's ear before he had the opportunity to squirm away.

As Ataya shifted beneath him, Dys leaned back, perching on the balls of his feet in a low crouch and hovering just outside of immediate contact, but watching all the same with complete attentiveness. He grunted stiffly at the change of topic. His wings dipped low, drooping against the ground as the familiar dismay brought on by the mentioning of Tukyere washed over him. It was apparent enough that Ataya had no idea how delirious he truly was. A hybrid city. It didn't even sound real. And even if it was, Dysarrin failed to see how it could be more interesting or better than here.

"Do remember," he grunted brusquely, scraping a claw lightly down Ata's arm in an attempt to dissuade further discussion on the matter. Dys edged his nail into the dark fabric at his shoulder, plucking hopefully at the threads in a half-hearted attempt to pull them free.

But his attention was quickly riveted back to the smaller man's face, and it pinned there in immediate annoyance. "No," he snapped tartly. "You go later. Won't like it there. Nothing good."

Dysarrin's hand dropped away from Ata's shoulder with defeated immediacy. He glanced down, gaze catching and holding on some scaled nub at the side of the smaller man's neck. Leaving. He was always going to leave, no matter what Dysarrin said or did. Begged or demanded or attempted to hold him down and force him to stay. Ataya would never listen to him. Not once. Ever. A growl built in his throat, spilling raggedly from clenched teeth.

He lurched backward, staggering awkwardly away from the crouched position he was in, and giving Ata a rough shove at his chest as he did. "Shouldn't have come back here," Dys uttered, brow pinching and lids narrowing. "Not going nowhere with you. Never." He backpedaled farther away, out of arm's length, wings snapping out sharply to steady himself. Nothing Ataya did was 'for his benefit,' of that much, Dysarrin felt certain. If he was going to leave, it did neither of them any favors to draw it out."So go. Don't bother me no more."

Dysarrin's shoulders bunched as he hunkered in on himself, lips tugging back to just barely show his teeth. His toes dragged backward, the tips of his claws skating through the packed earth. Always fighting him on everything. He hissed, wings notching down as green eyes narrowed into slits. Ataya, of course, had to get whatever Ataya wanted. Didn't matter how. Dysarrin could not ever win. Losing on its own was horrible. Worse when he knew he could win, if he'd just fight for it properly. It wouldn't have been so terrible if Dysarrin didn't fervently believe he could stop the smaller male from going anywhere. The Aiskala would probably hate him for it irrevocably, and Dys didn't really want to hurt him. Just didn't want him to leave.

He put space between them, scraping his claws into the earth in agitation.

"No!" Dysarrin spat, clutching a handful of dirt as if clinging to a stone Ataya was trying to forcefully take away from him. "It's mine. You gave it to me. Can't have it. Mine!" From there, following the natural train of Dys' thoughts, it snowballed. "You're mine! Not s'posed-" He lashed out with his handful of grit, sending a spew of sand and tiny debris in Ata's direction. "-to leave me! Nobody told you to. Stupid Ataya! Why do you think you can?"

A leash. By far this should have been one of the least offensive things he'd heard in the last span of minutes. Dysarrin was very well-aware of the Aiskala's general lack of wanting to do much of anything anyone else wanted or expected from him. If it had been in reference to any other person, it may have merited an amused rumble. Not so much in regards to him. Staying here, being at his side, near him, was apparently equivalent to being tethered like prey you weren't quite ready to eat yet. Dys hissed out a frustrated sound of rebuttal between his teeth. If Ataya had the power to make one single thing not a chore- The Firani groaned, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palm until feet scuffling away forced him to look up.

As Ataya slipped by him, Dys' arm snaked out, tangling against the fabric of his clothes and hooking around his upper arm like a vice. The first minute tug enough to coerce him to a stop, the second more adamant pull dragging Ata back, pulling them face to face. Chest to face. Ataya was not a large man. Dys glowered down at the top of his head, frowning at the long tresses of inky darkness and hating how frequently unfair Ata could be.

But he wasn't prey, and he wasn't leashed, and if he was really so inflexible with his hatred of home, there wasn't much to be done for it. There was still that mildly tempting desire to just break one of his legs and purr out apologetic sounds for it later, and maybe that would work. But it seemed unlikely, and he doubted Ataya would be particularly grateful for it.

Instead, Dysarrin dipped, hunching down to lightly press his forehead to Ataya's, tapping their noses together, dusting his lips light as a moth's wing beat to the corner of his companion's mouth before slipping lower.

Broken legs were off the table. Ataya bemoaned all the injustices of life on a regular basis, and shattered limbs would probably not be any different. Begging and pleading him to stay and any hopefully affectionate purrs had gotten him nothing. His repertoire of tactics was limited and already exhausted on the front. If he was going to go, he could at least do so under the pretense that he still belonged to Dysarrin. Surely even secluded and sheltered idiotic pureblood rats understood the very basic concept of ownership. If Dys made it clear enough, they would leave his Ataya in peace.

Dysarrin bit him, wrenching with rough carelessness back on Ata's hair to expose his throat just enough to leave a bitten, bloody mark nearly the size of the Aiskala's fist.

“Yes,” Dys spat immediately at the question. Of all the dumb things Ataya had said to him over the years- and there had to be a great many, despite Dysarrin’s inability to recall any specific instance offhand- this one struck him as particularly unwelcome. ‘Was he cross.’ Of course he was. He had every right to be, and Ataya should know without wasting his breath that yes, Dysarrin was extremely irate, cross, with the situation.

He huffed, sinking an arm beneath Ataya’s form and levering it against his backside, hauling him farther up against his chest and using his free hand to catch one of Ata’s legs and help loop it around Dysarrin’s waist. “Yes,” he repeated more evenly, dipping to brush his nose against the Aiskala’s jawline, wrapping an arm around him to hold and keep him close. “Dunn why I wouldn’t be. You were mad-” Dys uttered, leaning in to suck at his companion’s ear. “-when you thought I left you. Didn’t even go nowhere and you were mad. So mad. So cross. And you yelled a lot.” Which, arguably wasn’t that different from any other time, but it stuck all the same. Dysarrin remembered that spring better than most others.

Dys stuck his nose against Ata’s neck, licking roughly at the spot he’d bitten and using the hold he had of the smaller male to rock against him. When he exhaled, it rustled the hairs just over Ataya’s shoulder, and he glared at the fluttering strands.

Everything Ataya did was unfair. Dys grunted into his skin. “Only reason you wanna go is cause I told you ‘no.’ Wouldn’t care if somebody didn’t say no. Wouldn’t want to if someone told you to leave.” This much had to be true. He’d never once seen any evidence to the contrary that Ataya’s stupidest and least-planned actions were taken to spite someone else.

He let the fingers of the hand not supporting Ata’s weight against waist hips roam; skimming up his clothed legs, dragging up at the fabric of his top and dipping past it to skate nails across his back, fingering the lump of a scale near his shoulder blade and letting out another annoyed groan of complaint. “Don’t want you to leave. Would come see you every day. Do whatever you want. ...Won’t rip your stuff. Okay? Won’t even do that.”

Dysarrin peeled back enough to fix skeptical, narrowed eyes on Ataya’s face, for all that he knew well and good the smaller hybrid could not see him and likely wouldn’t concern himself with Dys’ doubt even if he could. The Firani did not care half a wit about wanting to travel or how ‘stifling’ the mountains were or about a past fear Ataya had imposed on himself by assuming, without reasonable evidence, that Dysarrin could ever bring himself to leave his younger, smaller, dumber charge for more than a season at a time. He did not rightly have the mental fortitude to consider and mull all these things over in the wake of ‘showing the world how his Ataya was.’

It piqued his interest. But successfully did nothing to change the circumstances outside of that. Besides making an extra surge of frustration lick through him at the fact that it didn’t.

He huffed, drew his arm out the back of Ataya’s garments, and dipped to accept (begrudgingly) the touch of Ata’s lips to his. He moved as he did, turning and shifting back to the previously vacated spot under the tree, where he could notch the bratty Aiskala’s back up against the bark and feel rather confident in his efforts to hold and keep the smaller man trapped there.

Fingers reached up, clasping over Ataya’s mouth and holding tightly. “Can’t, Ataya,” Dys growled, an edge of warning seeping into his tone as he gave the other’s jaw a firm shake. “Told you I can’t…” So do us both a kindness and stop talking about it, clearly.

He huffed, tipped the smaller man’s head back without releasing his hold on him and hoisted him up, before leaning down and in to bite possessively at his throat. “Maybe better come back real quick, though,” he grunted against his companion’s skin, pulling in at Ata’s hips and grinding into him. “Might forget about you if you don’t.”