Eat the Rich™️ @birb-the-nerd - Tumblr Blog

Jul 27

paregoros

Pairing: Roathe/OC, Roathe/Nitokh (background) Rating: M Words: 5510 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Relationships (Implied), Secret Relationship, Bathing Together Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use i'm setting up an OC/Drifter/Roathe polycule don't mind me Read it on AO3!

Chapter 1: ekekheiria

Hythlodaeus's hand runs gently across the tablet, skin whispering against its face as he sketches mindlessly. He's been trying to recall her face — the curve of her smile, the arch of her nose, the sharp line of her jaw. It's been getting muddy for a very long time now, and each portrait he sketches grows a little less perfect. He doesn't know if it's even close anymore, though he still recognizes the pensive face that takes shape beneath the pen. The moonlight flooding in from the window glistens against the glass as he drags his finger against it, creating more space for another sketch.

His mind has been racing. His research has been going well — his soul sits one piece heavier in his body, whatever that means — but he cannot sleep, he cannot rest. His mind runs in circles until the sun rises and he returns to work, day in and day out.

His hand drifts across the screen as another face floats through his mind. A strong nose, a stronger jaw, striking silver eyes — so many similarities, he thinks, though truly the two of them were quite different.

Vice Regent Grand Carnus Roathe.

Such a long title, but Hythlodaeus remembers just how thrilled he'd been the day he'd been given it. How his face had lit up, pride filling his ribs with a radiance that had been visible even to Hythlodaeus, where he'd stood so very far in the back. And when Roathe's eyes sought his in the audience, that radiant smiled had softened just a little, something warmer just for the two of them.

His stomach flips as the portrait takes shape. He spends a bit longer on his eyes, and then moves to shade the lips — he bites absently at his own lower lip, remembering the last time the man himself had stumbled his way to Hythlodaeus's chambers. Bloodied, bruised, high on ophilum, but so trusting, so happy to see him. It had become such a strange ritual of theirs, but one that Hythlodaeus had no interest in stopping. At some point, he had grown to like their midnight rendezvous, had begun to crave the strength of his hands and the desperate press of his lips. Had grown to enjoy providing the man a safe haven when he emerged from Nitokh's gilded torture chambers.

Was he simply lonely? His Andromeda felt as far from reach as ever, and here and now there was a handsome man who had — for some reason — taken a particular liking to him. Perhaps he was weak, or perhaps the ephemeral nature of the lives he has lived had damaged his ability to make good decisions. What difference would it make, after all, if he made love to an Orokin if tomorrow he could wake up in the seventeenth century? Or if a week from now he woke up in the early 2000s? What difference did anything he did really make?

Nothing really matters. Why should he not find joy in the moments he has?

As he puts the finishing touches on the sketch, a knock on his chamber door draws his attention.

He starts to rise, sighing softly, but before he can cross more than a few feet, the door slides open and in strides a familiar figure.

Roathe cuts a fine silhouette even on his worst days, but today he looks especially splendid, all red and gold finery draping his sturdy frame. His leminya tonight is a longer one, luxurious and embroidered with the most intricate of golden designs. Behind him, his tail — still a fairly recent addition to his body modifications, something he has still been getting used to — flicks idly, the knife attachment he wears with his armor traded in for delicate golden jewelry. It takes him only a moment to catch sight of Hythlodaeus, standing outlined by the moonlight of the window overlooking the gardens.

The Orokin smiles, but it does not reach his eyes — as it so often doesn't, when he comes to him at night. At least at first.

"Kairos," he says, and Hythlodaeus knows then that the Dax must be guarding the still open door. The look Roathe shoots him affirms this, even as the door slides shut slowly a moment later. He glances at the door briefly before he strides toward the window, clasping his hands politely behind his back. "How are you this evening?"

Hythlodaeus chuckles, hugging his tablet to his chest as the man drifts to his side. Roathe keeps his eyes fixed on the grounds below them, a tension in the set of his jaw that speaks of ill tidings. Hythlodaeus drinks in his sharp, handsome profile, lingering on the elegant arch of his nose as it leads down to the plush curve of his lips. He knows that this is not Roathe's original body — indeed, he had actually met him briefly in a different one — but this is, by far, his favourite. It suits him, in a way the other had not.

"Have you heard the music?" Roathe asks softly. "There is quite the party happening in the ballroom past the gardens."

Hythlodaeus hums, following his gaze out the window. Indeed, he can see immaculately dressed Orokin gala-goers milling about on the lawn far below, though the closed window keeps out the sound. "I have not," he murmurs, shifting closer until he can rest his chin on Roathe's shoulder.

Ever so slightly, he feels some of the tension in Roathe's frame ease under his touch.

Roathe gives a soft sigh. "You should open the window. The music has been lovely."

Hythlodaeus scoffs, pulling away to toss his tablet on the window seat cushions before returning to Roathe's side, slipping his arms around his waist and resting his cheek against his back. "Mm," he hums, grinning when he feels Roathe's tail snaking around one of his legs. "Is that what you came here to talk about?"

"I'm making conversation, Archimedean."

Hyth grins slightly, inhaling deeply as he squeezes his arms around Roathe's waist. Beneath the cologne, he can smell something else — cloying, sickly sweet, sticky — and his stomach turns.

"You saw her tonight."

It isn't a question.

"I see her every night," Roathe hisses, but there is no real venom in it. He seems… resigned. Tired. Remarkably clear-headed. Though he had seen the Executor, Hythlodaeus gets the feeling that it was a rather short, painless meeting compared to most nights. It's curious, to see him in such a state — neither frenzied, nor manic. He seems only to be preoccupied with something.

While he seems uninjured, however, the smell of death clinging to his clothing still makes Hythlodaeus want to vomit. There is something almost worse about the lack of outward signs of horror. He cannot picture what she would have had Roathe doing that sunk her stench into him enough that it lingers like this — he cannot decide if it is better or worse than the activities that leave welts and bruises and weeping wounds.

The invisibility feels more insidious, somehow.

Like it often does, the thought of Nitokh's mismatched hands on Roathe's body makes his stomach turn, and so he wants to do something to help. Resting his chin on Roathe's shoulder once more, he murmurs, "Shall I draw a bath?"

Roathe turns his head ever so slightly toward him, but his eyes stay locked on the party below. "Don't you wish to see the gala?"

Why is he fixated on that?

Shaking his head, he runs his hands up his chest until they rest over Roathe's heart. "I prefer being alone with you when I can."

Roathe snorts, bitter. "Afraid to be seen with me?"

Hythlodaeus rolls his eyes, leaning around Roathe until he can dip his head and catch his eyes, "No. I simply like to have you all to myself — without the chance of it getting back to the Executors."

Roathe's eyes widen at that, ever so slightly. Hyth watches, fascinated, as his eyes dart back and forth across his face for a moment, shockingly open — surprised, touched — before something falls behind them, and he returns his gaze to the window. "She knows most everything, darling. If she hasn't figured us out yet, it is because she is willfully ignoring us."

Hyth's not so sure about that — more likely she doesn't think anyone is brave enough to attempt to seduce one of her most famous Consorts right out from under her nose — but rather than argue, he just hums in response.

"Nevertheless," he says, pressing up on his tiptoes to kiss Roathe on the cheek, "I shall take these moments where and when I can."

He pulls away then, moving over to the small washroom attached to his quarters. It truly is a luxury compared to most Archimedean's chambers, but he had clearly pleased Nitokh with his research over the past few months. He knew that his theories would likely mean nothing for anyone but himself, but she did not need to know that — especially when it gives him such access to supplies and freedom in a time where both were scarce for those not of noble blood. The bath is more a small pool set into the floor, and Hythlodaeus hums softly to himself as he sets about turning on the water and picking out some scented soaps.

"Where did you learn that song?"

Roathe's voice startles him slightly, and he finds the man in question leaning against the doorframe. He has a strange look on his face, though he tries to shake it off with a hesitant smile.

"The — The song you were humming," he explains, shifting a little uncomfortably. "You hum it quite often. I've never heard it."

Hythlodaeus blinks, surprised. He hadn't realized he'd — and so frequently that he recognized it? The room is beginning to fill with steam as he averts his gaze, pouring out something that smells like apples into the bath and watching bubbles begin to froth beneath the faucet. "I — It's a song I learned from someone very dear to me long ago," he explains haltingly, frowning a bit.

He has not thought of Duviri specifically in a very long time. He tries only to remember her face, her smile, her laugh, but never the horrors or the pain. He has enough to worry about from day to day, filling out reports and making himself at least seem worth the Executor's resources, to bother thinking about the thousands of deaths he experienced — or the love he had felt before that.

If he let himself think of those ethereal islands floating in a sea of mist, covered in strange plants and populated with marionettes — if he let himself remember the woman he'd fallen into the realm after, clutching her hand in his — he'd be stuck in an endless loop of memory. An endless loop of barefoot running through fields, of teaching each other the shawzin and writing songs, of the light of a million, million stars cradling them as she kissed him —

It hurts.

"Apologies," comes Roathe's voice after a long moment. Hythlodaeus looks up at him, startled a little, chest aching, and Roathe smiles softly. "I did not mean to remind you of something painful."

Hythlodaeus smiles a little. "You didn't. You — it reminded me of some of the happier times we had. It was — she was — my first love. I lost her in — a horrible accident, but — but we had many happy memories that I have… not thought of in a long time."

Roathe drifts closer as he stumbles over the half-assed explanation, eyes on his. Hythlodaeus gets the distinct feeling that he's looking for something specific as he searches his face, but he has no idea what it might be — or if he even finds it. He just looks back, and thinks distantly of how the silver hue of Roathe's eyes reminds him very much of her eyes. At length, Roathe clears his throat and looks down at the water, nearly filled to the brim now.

"You needn't do this for me, you know," Roathe murmurs, watching Hythlodaeus as he moves to shut the water off. As he shrugs the first layer of his robes off, he hears Roathe cough quietly. "I-I'm quite alright tonight."

Hyth throws him a grin over his shoulder, continuing to strip. "So you are — which means I would like even more to luxuriate in the bath with you."

Roathe blinks, and Hyth giggles a little to himself at the way Roathe's face darkens suspiciously as he lets his robe fall away fully. The tips of his pointed ears have always been a pinkish hue in this body, and they darken now to a deeper red, cheeks taking on an almost purplish tint as his entire face flushes.

Cute.

Hythlodaeus pads over to him, the warm, humid air keeping any chill he might have felt without his clothes at bay, and starts to work at Roathe's leminya. It had been a while since Hythlodaeus had gotten brave enough to let Roathe see his torso — the metallic, swirling scars he carried with him from body to body, as if they are etched into his soul were something he kept very, very secret. To see that Roathe clearly still seems flustered when Hythlodaeus's hands slip beneath the fabric to meet his skin, breath hitching at the slightest touch, is flattering. They have had sex many times now, and he has tended to Roathe's wounds many more, but he still seems… enchanted, by him.

It warms his cold, aching heart.

"Don't you Orokin get bathed by servants often?" he teases, biting his tongue to hold back a laugh when Roathe rolls his eyes. "What?"

"I do not have servants that bathe me," his Orokin grumbles, "and furthermore, you are an Archimedean. That's far from a servant."

I wasn't always, Hythlodaeus thinks, though he simply shrugs in response.

"I just thought perhaps the Executor's consorts—"

"—you should have guessed by now that she does not care how we get clean after she is done with us," Roathe seethes, and Hythlodaeus feels his stomach drop at the sound. "There are no baths — before or after."

The last of Roathe's robes collapse in a heap at their feet as his words are followed by a heavy silence. Hythlodaeus studies his face for a moment, as Roathe pointedly avoids meeting his gaze, before Hyth sighs softly. Gently, he reaches up to cup Roathe's face, pressing up on his toes a little to kiss his lips.

"Forgive me," Hythlodaeus murmurs, pulling away to nudge his nose with his own. "I did not think before I spoke."

Roathe shakes his head, leaning after him as Hythlodaeus drops back to the flats of his feet. With his forehead pressed to Hyth's, he breathes, "There is nothing to forgive. I — I am just — unused to this."

Hythlodaeus smiles, slipping his hands into the hair at his nape. "I know. Truthfully, so am I. But I am enjoying learning with you."

Roathe gives him a look that nearly melts his heart, leaving Hythlodaeus with simply no choice but to grin and press a smattering of kisses across his blue-skinned cheek and up his jaw, nipping at his earlobe and laughing when Roathe squirms a little at the tickle of his breath. He stays close as he moves to reach for Roathe's hands, idly tugging at the intricate jewelry there. Much as he himself enjoys accessorizing, Roathe was often wearing far more jewelry than Hythlodaeus ever was. The talon-like adornments on his hands come away after some fidgeting, and Hyth moves away to grab one of the basins on the marble sink to set the jewelry in. He returns to Roathe's side with it in hand, setting it down on the ground as he kneels to unclasp the delicate golden chains wrapped around his tail.

Bit by bit, Roathe's golden trinkets join one another in the little wooden bowl, until all that is left are the beads woven into his hair.

Hythlodaeus gestures to the bath as he stands once more. "Sit. I'll take your hair down."

Roathe shakes his head. "Not until I take your jewelry off first. It's only fair."

His tone leaves little room for argument, though Hyth would never dream of telling him no. Laughing lightly, he simply holds his hands out in invitation, and Roathe sets to work. One by one, he plucks Hyth's rings and bracelets off, dropping them into the basin with his own jewelry, mumbling, "We can figure out which is which later." When Hythlodaeus laughs and opens his mouth to respond, Roathe simply pulls his now bare fingers to his mouth, kissing each of his knuckles in turn.

For a man who has been crowned the Devil of Tau, he is and has always been exceedingly sweet when they are alone.

It's one of the things Hythlodaeus has come to love about him.

"Sit," Hythlodaeus says again, running his hands up Roathe's chest, feeling the strength just beneath the skin as he mouths at Roathe's jaw. He can feel Roathe's heart beating in his ribs, quick and excited. His breath hitches as Hythlodaeus nips at the thin skin just beneath his jaw.

"Your hair is longer," Roathe murmurs at length, though he tilts his head towards him, searching. Hythlodaeus smiles into the kiss he presses to his lips, meeting him in the middle. "Let me do yours first or it will get wet."

"I need to wash it anyway," is hardly more than a mumble between kisses. Hyth bites playfully at Roathe's lower lip when he pulls back a little. "I don't care if it gets wet."

Roathe chuckles. "I will care if your hair gets tangled around the beads because we let it get wet before taking them out."

"How chivalrous," he says airily, laughing when Roathe rolls his eyes. He backs away, pulling his Orokin along by his wrists as he leads him over to a small bench near the shower. "Come then, before the bath starts to get cold."

Roathe follows after him without fuss, gathering up the basin of jewelry along the way, and if Hythlodaeus didn't know any better, he might describe the look on his face as lovestruck. Hyth sits quite readily when they reach the bench, shivering a little at the chill of the stone compared to the rest of the room. He turns away when Roathe sits beside him, tossing him a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he shakes his hair and lets his braid fall down toward the center of his back.

For a moment, nothing happens, to the point Hythlodaeus feels a twinge of worry. He can feel Roathe's eyes on his back, but the man himself makes no move to touch him, no move to undo his hair or run his fingers across his skin. The silence in the room feels heavy as the humid air, and a knot begins to form in his gut as it presses against his eardrums. He nearly turns around, question poised on the tip of his tongue, when Roathe finally moves, gently brushing his braid aside so that he can press a reverent kiss to the apex of Hyth's shoulders, just below the nape of his neck. He can feel Roathe sigh ever-so-quietly, hands roaming across his back, his shoulders, and down his arms as he presses another few kisses to his skin.

"Your hair is such a pretty colour," Roathe murmurs against his skin, kissing at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. "Such a lovely choice — like moonlight."

Hythlodaeus chuckles as Roathe begins to unravel his braid. "Choice?" he repeats dryly. "This is my natural hair colour."

Roathe's hands pause. "…truly?"

"Indeed," Hyth laughs, leaning back into Roathe's hands, enjoying the loosening of tension as he continues to work on his hair. "I had it dyed a shade of lavender in my youth, though. Perhaps you would have liked that even more."

"No," comes his immediate response, making Hythlodaeus laugh a little harder. Roathe chuckles too as he reaches the top of Hythlodaeus's head and the delicate chains woven into his hair there. "You're like starlight come to life. This colour suits you."

The last of Hythlodaeus's jewelry falls away, and Roathe's arms snake around his waist, burying his face in the crook of his neck with a soft sigh. He stays there for a moment, and Hyth can feel the tension again in his body, arms tightening briefly before loosening again. He reaches up and runs a hand over the top of his hair, the other hand resting over one of Roathe's arms around his waist, attempting to soothe.

It's silly of him, he thinks, leaning back into his arms, to be trying to soothe an Orokin. What manner of soothing does the Devil of Tau need, after all?

Hythlodaeus turns in his arms a bit, just enough that he can kiss his cheek.

And yet — here I am.

Roathe says nothing in response to this, nor does he say anything when Hyth nudges him to stand, leading him over to the bath. The baths in this part of the palace were built for Orokin, far as he can tell, and so come with built-in heating systems with keep the water a perfect temperature once drawn. Roathe wades into the water without further argument, though he does shoot Hythlodaeus a curious glance when he doesn't follow him down the small set of stairs into the pool. Hyth leads him over to one of the seats on the side, gesturing for him to sit — and Hyth sits behind him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Roathe hums, the sound very reminiscent of a kavat purring, and Hythlodaeus can't really help but run his fingers along the underside of his jaw, tilting his head back so he can kiss his lips. They both laugh softly when his hair falls in makeshift silvery curtains around them, though Roathe looks particularly content when Hyth straightens up fully.

And thus, Hythlodaeus sets to work on Roathe's — frankly ridiculous — intricate hair adornments.

There are so many little beads woven into some kind of net-like pattern at the back of his head that Hythlodaeus worries that he might start having cramps in his fingers. His feet hang idly over the edge of the pool, and he kicks them as he counts, "…twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…"

Roathe laughs, bright enough that it fills the room. "Are you complaining back there?"

"Only a bit," he sighs, dramatic as he continues to pluck little golden beads from his lover's hair. "You have a rather tedious hairstyle, you know?"

Roathe hums, sounding uncertain. "Do you truly dislike it so? I — I thought it made me look quite—"

Hythlodaeus giggles, gently flicking the edge of one of his ears. "I'm teasing you, Roathe. I like your hair."

His lover grumbles, and Hythlodaeus can't help but lean in and press a kiss below his ear. How is it possible for an Orokin — one of the people responsible for the very incident that turned him into whatever he is now — to make him feel this way? The man makes his heart sing in a way it hadn't since the day he got expelled from Duviri. Hythlodaeus doesn't know what to do with himself.

Eventually, after several minutes, Hythlodaeus heaves a great sigh, all beads removed finally and placed safely in the (nearly overflowing) bowl of jewelry. Free of any impeding bits and bobs, he sinks his fingers deep into the thick hair at the back of Roathe's head, flattening his palm against the base of his skull before pulling gently — and he grins, smug, when Roathe groans softly. Desire rising in his chest like the tide, slow and steady and inevitable, he sinks his teeth into the blue skin on the side of his lover's neck, sucking at his pulse. He grins as his Orokin just sinks deeper into the water.

"Are you coming into the bath with me or not?" Roathe mumbles, turning to shoot him a pout that falls quite flat with the delicious flush on his face.

"Say please."

Hythlodaeus expects nothing from his tease — maybe a simple rolling of the eyes or a laugh — but Roathe does something he doesn't expect.

Leaning back against his chest, Roathe tilts his head so that he can mouth at the space beneath the corner of Hythlodaeus's jaw. The buzz of his voice sends electric pleasure shooting down his spine as Roathe breathes, "…please?"

"Twist my arm, why don't you?" Hythlodaeus laughs, pretending like it doesn't come out breathless and enamoured. He needs no more incentive than this — a handsome man and a warm bath — and shifts just enough to sink into the bubble filled pool beside his Roathe. The Orokin devil hums with satisfaction, arms sliding around his waist so that he can press a line of kisses to the place where Hyth's neck meets shoulder. Hythlodaeus laughs as his breath tickles his ear, squirming even as Roathe nips gently at his earlobe. "What has gotten into you tonight?"

And, almost instantly, the heaviness of earlier returns with a vengeance. Roathe sighs softly, resting his forehead against Hyth's shoulder, but says nothing.

Hythlodaeus more than understands not wanting to speak about things. How many times had he refused Roathe an explanation, after all? Even his name was a secret that he'd never explained.

"Never you mind," he says, turning in Roathe's arms and running his fingers through his hair. "Shall I help you wash?"

His lover seems more than happy to lean into the distraction, a glimmer of something like gratitude in his eyes as he chuckles. "You first." When Hythlodaeus tilts his head, curious, Roathe reaches up and tucks some of Hyth's hair behind his ear. "I — I want to touch you."

Hythlodaeus's breath hitches.

I want, he said.

Though Roathe was a beautiful man, charming and alive in a way so few of the other Orokin were, that had not been originally what drew Hythlodaeus to get so close. He had never heard the man want for anything — and while that could have been because he simply didn't, that he was so privileged that he had everything, Hythlodaeus knew better. He had come to know well the precarious position Roathe occupied in the Empire, and he knew well how very dangerous the lives of even other Orokin could be depending on who they were and what they had done.

Not to mention, if Roathe were truly a devil, as he so likes to pretend these days, he would not have just said that he wants — he would simply take. The fact that he is just sitting there, smiling a little bit nervously, waiting for permission, makes Hythlodaeus's heart flutter in his ribs.

Smiling, he leans in and rewards his lover with a long, slow kiss.

"So touch me," Hythlodaeus murmurs — and Roathe grins, breathless and a little giddy.

Some shuffling and quiet laughter later, and Hyth is sitting quite comfortably in front of his lover, eyes closed and tension melting away like butter on hot iron. Roathe's fingers are painfully gentle as they comb through his hair, working in the oils as Hythlodaeus instructs him to, delicately working out any tangles he comes across. One of the oils needs to be left in for a few minutes, and Roathe takes the time to help him wash his back and his arms, fingers lingering over the strange texture of his scarring, caresses interspersed with sweet kisses and quiet laughter.

He is even gentle when it comes to the rinse, cupping his hand against Hyth's head to keep the water from his eyes. When he finishes, he kisses his forehead before he helps Hythlodaeus twist his still wet hair up into a towel.

"Your turn," Hythlodaeus chirps, sing-song, waggling his fingers in invitation. "Come here."

And come to him he does, sinking into the water almost submissively, grinning and biting his lower lip. His ears are tinged red again, lowering himself in the water so that Hythlodaeus is taller than him for once. Beneath the water, his hands slide over Hyth's thighs to his hips, tilting his chin as if asking for a kiss.

Hythlodaeus would be sorely pressed to ever deny him that, and so he leans in and gives him another. One kiss turns into two, into three, four — until they are giggling into each other's lips. The type of joy Roathe inspires in him is something he has not felt since he was a young man, running around in a storybook land he and his best friend created by mistake. The fact that he can even compare this feeling to that is something he could never have expected, especially now that the sting of feeling as if he were cheating on his lost love has faded.

Hmm. Love, he wonders, watching Roathe twist in his grasp. Is this love?

His Orokin leans back in his arms, half floating in the water, until he can look up curiously at him. Hythlodaeus smiles, leaning down to kiss his lips one more time, nuzzling his nose against his as he pulls away again.

Perhaps.

Content, Hyth sets about lathering Roathe's hair in some of his favourite soaps, taking his time to massage his scalp. The man melts against him, eyes sliding shut, tension seeping away into the water. Hyth is just as gentle with his lover as Roathe had been with him, taking care to keep the suds from his eyes as he rinses the soap from his hair. He massages more oils in after, thoroughly chasing away the remnants of Nitokh's stench and ensuring that Roathe's hair would be wonderfully soft once it dried.

When he's done, Roathe ends up leaning against his chest, head resting on his shoulder as Hythlodaeus plays idly with one of his hands, other hand resting on Roathe's sternum. Hythlodaeus hums a tune under his breath, warm and content, lingering despite the knowledge that they'll be getting pruny any moment.

They have so few moments to themselves. He does not want it to end.

Roathe's hand presses agains the hand Hyth has on his sternum. He can feel the vibration of his voice in his chest as he says, very softly, "You could kill me."

A beat.

"You could drown me. Right here — right now."

Beneath his fingers, his lover's breath is slow and even, heartbeat steady. Hyth peeks down at his face only to find him already looking up at him. Roathe's eyes are dark, long lashes still wet from the bath. He looks… strange. There is no accusation in his voice or his eyes. If anything, his face is remarkably open, almost curious — reverent even.

Roathe looks at him as if he is looking at something divine — something holy, in this era without gods.

"No one would be able to stop you," he continues, eyes darting between Hyth's. "The body would be cold long before anyone even thought to bring Kuva anywhere near here."

Hythlodaeus watches him for a moment, before he carefuly detangles his hand from Roathe's and reaches for his face. The devil gasps almost imperceptibly, and Hythlodaeus watches with fascination as his pupils dilate — his hand grasping Hyth's wrist where it rests over his heart tightens slightly. Beneath his ribs, his heart rate picks up slightly. He takes a stuttering breath as Hythlodaeus's hand hovers over his face, tensing as if in anticipation — before making a tiny sound in the back of his throat when Hyth just smooths that hand over his forehead in a soft caress. His touch lingers, trailing down the side of his face until he settles with his hand on Roathe's cheek.

Swiping at a drop of water on his deep blue skin, Hyth's voice comes out in a soft rasp as he murmurs, "…is that what you want?"

Roathe blinks.

"…what… I want?"

Hythlodaeus shrugs the shoulder Roathe isn't laying on, smiling a little, bitter. "Are you — are you trying to ask me to do that for you?" Suddenly, the memory of the tension in his frame when he first came knocking floods his mind, and his eyes widen. He frowns as he asks, "Is that what… is that what you wanted to talk about?"

His Orokin looks confused, almost dazed, as he shakes his head. Whatever trance has fallen over him seems to lose its grip, little by little, as he watches Hythlodaeus frown. He sucks in a sharp breath as he quietly replies, "No. It — no."

Hythlodaeus laughs a little, the sound a bit broken. His heart squeezes in his chest as he says, "Well, good. I don't — I don't want —" he pauses, clearing his throat and pinching Roathe's cheek lightly. "I don't want that."

The devil's eyes widen, as if he hadn't been expecting that answer, but Hythlodaeus doesn't want to hear anymore of this. Clicking his tongue, he pats Roathe's chest and says, "Come — we should get out and dry off before our skin wrinkles."

#pretty writing #not my writing

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