Work Text:
Aonung sat on the northern shore. No one usually came here in mid-August, when the fish were especially active and preparing to spawn in the southern coastal areas. He was weaving a basket from dried seaweed leaves. Yesterday morning, Cirea had torn the bottom of her basket, snagging on a stake sticking out of the water. Aonung had driven the stake in to hang his fishing nets on it, as it was easier for him to untangle them in the water. So, him as the older brother had volunteered to weave Cirea a new basket. He rarely taught the younger children how to weave baskets properly, so he did everything mechanically, carefully but quickly. Long, dry leaves slid through his broad palms. He threaded them through each other, hooking his fingers under the leading mesh of the basket's bottom.
Aonung slowly swayed to the rhythm of the lazy waves. He considered the sound of the waves a kind of music, quiet and looping. He enjoyed breathing to the rhythm of the sea, feeling the water ripple around him, washing the sand between his toes. Now he sat a little way off the water, so as not to wet the dense, dry leaves, otherwise the basket might lose its shape. After he finished weaving the entire basket, he would grease it with shellfish oil to keep the seaweed leaves from getting wet. But right now, the basket was still far from finished.
Suddenly, Aonung heard a child's voice. A small Metkayina ran through the bushes, his feet rustling on the grass. Aonung straightened and peered into the darkness of the forest. The northern shore was narrow, and the plants grew close to the water; the roots of some large trees extended across the sand all the way to the water's edge. Aonung was sitting on one of them and felt how child tripped over a root and fell. The chieftain's son got a closer look at the little boy, who dropped a bowl of flowers and leaves onto the sand. Aonung quietly rose, left the basket, and walked toward him.
"What are you doing here, hm?" he asked, maintaining his usual brash tone. The boy had disturbed his peaceful solitude, and Aonung wanted to send him back to the festival.
Today, in mid-August, they celebrated the fish's passage across the reef to lay their eggs. On Ava'atlu, they celebrated the pre-autumn spawning of fish to honor the future fertile offspring of aquatic fauna. Everyone gathered near the southern coast and lit a fire, melted the roots of a strongly scented tree in bowls, and poured them onto the sand on the shore, thus inviting fish to their coastal zones. Aonung had already paid his respects to Mother Eywa and went into seclusion, warning Ronal first. Now, however, it turned out he wasn't alone.
"I, um..." the boy hesitated, his ears drooping. "I was walking across this bank back into the thicket. I was asked to collect this," young Metkayina held out his half-empty cup.
"And what do you need this for?" Aonung asked, folding his arms.
"The kids... They, um, are doing marks," the boy said sheepishly. He looked no more than eight years old.
"Interesting," the chieftain's son chuckled. "Take me. I want to see who's being marked."
The boy's ears were fully pulled to the head, and his tail began to sweep up the sand. But he couldn't refuse the chieftain's son, so with a dejected expression, he led him deeper into the coastal forest. Aonung walked slowly behind the boy. The further they went into the forest, the louder the singing and dancing became. But the boy led him not toward the southern festival, but slightly to the left, where Aonung knew there was a small glade next to an inland pond. Few knew, but this pond was deep, a veritable hole in the heart of the island, with a cavern containing an air pocket. No good place for children to play.
Closer to the spot, a multitude of children's voices became more audible, joyful and interrupting one another. Finally, Aonung saw what was happening in the glade. He stopped and grabbed the boy by the arm, ordering him to remain silent, and stood in the bushes. Aonung gazed into the depths of the clearing, assessing what was happening there.
Neteyam sat cross-legged and smiled. A little girl, young Metkayina, who had excelled in basket weaving in the previous class, stood before him, stroking his eyebrows, smearing the paint. The children crowded around them, loudly praising them both and laughing. Neteyam examined each child but remained silent, sighing a little in anguish.
Aonung couldn't look away. Neteyam's face and dark blue skin body were covered in glowing white, yellow, and green paint marks, created by children's fingers and sticks. The young Metkayina dipped a stick, fluffed at the end, into a bowl similar to the one the boy who had brought Aonung here held, and then traced intricate patterns on Neteyam's shoulders and chest. He wrinkled his nose slightly from the tickling, but answered the curious children's questions. Aonung couldn't believe Neteyam had allowed the children to leave marks on him, even with paint. These weren't yet tattoos, as adult Metkayina had done, but rather a declaration of readiness for adult life and responsibilities. And although Neteyam was an outlander and couldn't possibly know the rules of Ava'atlu, some of the adults might have considered this impudence if they had seen it. Aonung decided to come out of the bushes.
"Well, well," he said loudly, causing some of the children to jump up with a cry. Seeing him, the girl with the bowl stepped back and slowly set it down. The children fell silent, awaiting their verdict. "Run away," Aonung commanded, and the children, whispering quietly, reluctantly began to rise. "Come on, you must respect the holidays. Go."
One by one, the children left. Neteyam also began to rise hesitantly, trying to look into Aonung's eyes. Aonung stopped him with a gesture and sat down next to him. It wasn't that Aonung considered Neteyam a friend, but lately they'd been spending more and more time together without swearing or fighting, and in the water, Neteyam understood him with a wave of his hand. One could say that Aonung accepted Neteyam as a hunting companion, but he couldn't imagine them alone, deep in the forest, chatting pleasantly.
Nevertheless, Aonung grinned at Neteyam and was the first to grab the wet piece of cloth the children used when they hadn't made a particularly pretty pattern on their bodies.
"And how come you let the children mark you with hunting marks?" Aonung asked with a laugh. He was more amused than annoyed by Neteyam's awkward appearance.
"Well..." Neteyam reached for the cloth, but the chieftain's son playfully moved his hand aside. The forest Na'vi's arms were longer, but he decided not to fight for the cloth. "They were quite convincing, and I play with Tuk and them too often, so I figured nothing bad would happen."
Neteyam shrugged, and the gesture caused the remnants of wet paint to drip down his chest. Aonung leaned the cloth on one of the drops and left his hand resting on Neteyam's chest. Omaticaya swallowed and fell silent.
"Did you know that each of these marks carries meaning? And that they are similar to the tattoos worn by Metkayina who have passed the rite of maturity?" Aonung asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
"No…" Neteyam replied, watching as Aonung's hand slid higher, wiping away the unfinished marks. "And I understand that being marked might be offensive to your people?"
"Exactly, forest bird," Aonung teased. Neteyam's cheeks flushed.
"Then we need to wash it off quickly, before anyone sees," Neteyam placed his hand on Aonung's fingers.
"Well, I already saw it, so you can't get away with it," the chieftain's son said playfully. Neteyam refrained from rolling his eyes.
Aonung glanced at the markings. The children had clearly put in the effort, painting the intricate patterns with paint.
"Do you want to know what they mean?" he asked suddenly, even to himself. Neteyam exhaled and nodded, smiling timidly. He felt awkward in front of Aonung, who had caught him having fun with the children, and he felt awkward.
"This one means 'a protector' " he pointed to the one resting on his collarbone, nestling in a hollow. "Chiefs like my father wear it; they mark their leadership."
"Then, no one should see this, that's for sure," Neteyam chuckled, and Aonung wiped it away with a flick of his wrist.
"Exactly. This one," Metkayina touched Neteyam's hot neck with his cold fingers and looked him in the eye, "means ‘the one who came’. We rarely mark someone like that."
Neteyam stared at Aonung, holding his breath, his heartbeat pounding in the vein in his neck. Right where the chieftain's son held his fingers. Aonung wiped the mark away again, with an unbecoming gentleness, running his thumb over the damp skin. He silently washed the remaining marks from his neck and shoulders, deep in thought and not looking Omaticaya in the eyes. The Forest Na'vi also decided to look into the depths of the forest and shuddered when a cold cloth fell on his cheekbone.
"This means 'caring,'" Aonung said with a smile. He listened to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore and felt calm. Neteyam smiled back, his gaze lingering on his pale lips. "It suits you, doesn't it, flattering little bird?"
"Who knows, dried fish," Neteyam replied mischievously, and Aonung rolled his eyes, wiping his jaw with a rag.
Aonung snorted, wiping Neteyam's lower jaw and looking up at his forehead. The mark "meaningful" flaunted there and out of spite, Aonung wiped it away without comment. Then he lowered his gaze and froze. Neteyam also froze, his mouth slightly open, calming his breathing.
"This..." Aonung said quietly, touching the mark on his left cheek, a long, ornate stripe running across his lips into his parted mouth, "means 'loving.'"
Neteyam met Aonung's gaze. They were close, and the chieftain's son's cold hands warmed because of the Omaticaya's body. The forest Na'vi tilted his head to the side, intending to escape the intimate gaze, but Aonung held his head in place with his hand.
"And," Aonung leaned so close he could feel Neteyam's breath on his cheeks, "it means 'beloved,'" the chieftain's son whispered, looking into Neteyam's eyes. Neteyam licked his lips but didn't move. Aonung grinned. "Come on, little bird, run away," he taunted.
Neteyam couldn't resist. He kicked off the ground with his feet, grabbed Aonung's broad shoulders tightly, and literally crushed his lips to his. Aonung looked extremely pleased until Neteyam pushed him onto his back and hovered over him.
"You don't taste like dried fish at all," he grinned, asserting his dominance.
Aonung held Neteyam's wrists tightly but allowed him to mount him. He was extremely content; one might even say happy. This serious forest boy knew how to surprise. And Aonung liked his audacity and yet also his prudence, his restraint and belligerence. Well, Aonung really did like Neteyam. And apparently Neteyam liked Aonung. And that's a good start.
Aonung released the forest Na'vi's hands and propped himself up on his elbows, touching the other's nose with his own.
"And you taste like the palm leaf they used to paint you with," Aonung laughed and kissed Neteyam. It wasn't the knockout peck from the Omaticaya; it was a gentle, deep kiss. The beads in Neteyam's flowing hair slapped against Aonung's cheek. He was captivated by the sound and relaxed, allowing one hand to rest on the forest Na'vi's narrow waist. Catching the urge to push him back, Neteyam broke the kiss and stood up. He adjusted his hair and offered his hand to the chieftain's son.
"Glad to know," he said, breathing loudly. Aonung chuckled at the thought that all good things come to an end. He grabbed a cloth, re-wetted it, and swiped it across Neteyam's face, making him wince at his rudeness. Aonung noticed they had scattered the children's cups and kicked one over.
"Am I now free from the wrath of your tribesmen?" Neteyam asked, eager to break the silence.
Aonung laughed and, grabbing Neteyam's hand, led him toward the northern coast, where his unfinished basket had been left. Reaching it quickly, Aonung sat the forest Na'vi on a tree root, placed his basket on his feet, and silently began weaving. Neteyam stared at him in bewilderment and sat there in awkward silent. The son of Chief Metkayina was so impetuous and chaotic that it was impossible to follow his logic.
"Maybe I could help you?" Neteyam finally asked.
"If you're as good at weaving baskets as you are at kissing, then don't," Aonung teased.
"Then teach me," Neteyam said challengingly, without specifically specifying what, and smirked at Aonung's quick glance. He put the basket down and sat down on a root next to Omaticaya.
"You've chosen a wonderful teacher," said Aonung. Before Neteyam could smile, his lips were covered by someone else's.
The sea roared softly. Waves lazily lapped the sand, trying to reach the basket they'd set aside. The wind gently tugged at Neteyam's hair, causing the beads woven into it to flutter against each other. Aonung thought this, too, was a kind of music.