the devil's own

warframe sideblog for @galpalaven | kiana | she/her | 30 | i joined for blue emet-selch and i stayed for the lore

[kalymosparadox]

⤞ Intro Post 2026

Kiana | 30 | she/her | professional editor | ffxiv enthusiast | blue emet-selch my beloved

⤞ Drifter/Operator

Andromeda

⤞ Ships

Roathe + Drifter

Drifter + OC

OC + Roathe

Roathe + Drifter + OC

⤞ Links

@galpalaven -> main blog

@hythazemet -> ffxiv blog

@illithidactivities -> baldur's gate 3 blog

@vakarian-shepard -> mass effect blog

[sluttyquarantinetheory]

More games need to let you fuck up your romance entirely. Like truly one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me in a game is Alistair dumping me because i made him king and then like an hour later i was knocking on his door like "hey by the way i need you to fuck Morrigan."

[sevastiel]

GENUINELY ITS FANTASTIC (Prev's tags)

Hold lemme find a couple of my favorites. OBVIOUSLY Spoilers for the Kim chats. (Only 4 because its like 4 am and my brain may catch fire if I keep searching.)

Eleanor's r3c2, Amir's r3c5, Lettie's r3c6, and then her r5c3.

Obviously there are more regular ways to get that boolean, but I love love LOVE it when it's "you have profoundly failed the vibe check" instead of it only being discussions that happen around the romantic side of things. Far more realistic when you get to "friendzone" yourself because they realize they cant trust themselves to be that vulnerable with you.

And yes, the blocking is real, though I cant remember the boolean for it. I know that's a Roathe/Lyon/Marie thing specifically and it is REALLY funny (unless it happened through a glitch. Which. After looking at the flowcharts... I'm genuinely not surprised that it was as messy as it was at the beginning because jeesus they put a LOT in there /genuinely impressed)

[hyythlodaeus]

i was inspired by someone on twitter to make a roathe kavat and couldnt stop thinking about this post

[photoframewf]

Drifter. 41-42-43-44-45-46-47

[sippingvoidtea]

So like this one?

[kalymosparadox]

one of the new heads was a fem face with an aquiline nose and now her noSE IS SO PERFECT PLEEEEAAAASSEEE

overall face very similar to before but shes so PRETTYY

[kalymosparadox]

"the game has sucked since rebb ford became in charge for 1999" babes she's been in charge since right after the new war

[kalymosparadox]

Roathe……..

[kalymosparadox]

paregoros

Pairing: Roathe/OC, Roathe/Nitokh (background) Rating: M Words: 5510 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Relationships (Implied), Secret Relationship Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use i'm setting up an OC/Drifter/Roathe polycule don't mind me chapter 1 here Read it on AO3!

Chapter 2: ananke

Hythlodaeus will admit that he fully uses the excuse of toweling off to hide from whatever look has sunken into his lover's eyes. He needs a moment to recenter himself and remember who he is — where and when he is — and puttering around his room looking for something to wear to bed is as good an excuse as any. Whatever had come over the man still sitting in the washroom, one towel slung around his hips and another around his shoulders, Hythlodaeus wasn't entirely convinced he was equipped to handle it.

Wearing a silky sort of nightgown with his favorite dressing gown over it, covering the worst of his scarring — of what marks him as other — Hythlodaeus feels a little more composed, letting his drying hair fall loose around his shoulders as he peers into the bathroom again.

His Orokin is still sat where he left him, staring at the now-empty bath.

Leaning against the stone doorway, Hyth sighs softly. "Is she expecting you to return tonight?"

Roathe does not look at him as he says, "No."

Fiddling with his sleeves, Hythlodaeus tilts his head. "…will you stay the night, then?"

That draws his attention. Roathe lifts his gaze at long last from the tiles, blinking with what can only be surprise, lips twitching as he asks, "Wha — Why?"

Hyth smiles, dipping his chin to fix him with a warm, inviting look. "If you've nowhere else to be, I am absolutely not done kissing you tonight. That's why."

The look that crosses Roathe's face then nearly breaks Hythlodaeus's heart clean in two, as the man's shoulders slump as he leans back against the wall, head resting against the stone. His eyebrows drawing together in an almost pained expression were it not for the smile pulling at his lips. He stays like that for a moment, dark eyes drinking him in as if seeing him for the first time — before he rises to his feet, adjusting the towel around his waist before padding over to the doorway.

He pauses when he reaches the door, eyes darting across Hythlodaeus's face, searching. He wonders distantly what his lover is looking for, what he sees, before Roathe closes the gap between them almost hesitantly. His hand, large and calloused, slides up the side of Hyth's neck as he slowly, carefully, sinks his lips into his.

Roathe kisses him deeply, leisurely, as if trying to memorize the exact shape of his lips. Hythlodaeus kisses him back readily, trying not to think of how much this reminds him of the first time Roathe ever turned up on his doorstep.

He'd been covered in blood, swaying heavily, intoxicated to the point Hythlodaeus had worried for his safety. It had taken him hours to staunch the bleeding and clean the wounds, so many she'd left on him that night. When he'd finished, he had kissed Roathe gently on the lips — he'd meant it to be comforting, as the man had only recently worked up the nerve to kiss him (hiding in the shadows of a pillar, both shaking at the thought of being caught) — but then Roathe had started to pull at his clothes. He'd stopped him immediately, of course, something about the mechanical movement of his hands setting off alarms in Hyth's mind, but Roathe had been confused. He'd been trying to thank him.

There had been something so deeply upsetting about the way he'd looked when Hythlodaeus had said, "We don't need to do more than kiss. I am perfectly content with just this. Just you."

The memory fades as Roathe breaks the kiss, though he stays close, forehead pressed to Hythlodaeus's. They breathe for a moment — before Hyth pulls away, pressing a quick, apologetic kiss to his palm as he goes to find Roathe something to sleep in.

There are too many silks in his drawers to keep track of — he has no idea when they were gifted to him, or by whom — but it doesn't take long to find something that will fit Roathe's strong frame. Despite the fact that they'd just been in the bath together, something feels like it has shifted in the atmosphere between them, and Hythlodaeus dutifully turns away as his lover starts to dress, affording him a bit of privacy for privacy's sake. The air feels heavy again, like it had earlier, and it sets Hythlodaeus on edge in a way that he hates. He'd thought, after everything, he'd reached a point that news could not be bad — he had nothing left to lose, after all.

He should have known better, he thinks, than letting himself get close.

What a stupid oversight.

Hythlodaeus throws himself quite dramatically down onto his bed, rolling until he is sprawled in the center of it, staring up at the skylight above. The shattered moon shines down on him, cold and distant, almost perfectly centered above his bed. He lifts a hand idly, sleeve falling to bare his arm as he spreads his fingers and watches the light filter through the spaces between.

"…may I…?"

Roathe's voice is soft, coming from somewhere to Hythlodaeus's left. He turns his head lazily, certain he must look a sight, sprawled as he is across the duvet. His lover looks back at him hesitantly, silver eyes glinting dimly in the low light. In front of him, he has his hands clasped together, fiddling with rings that are no longer there — and it draws Hythlodaeus's attention. He had never seen the man fidget until now.

Smiling dryly, Hythlodaeus drops his arm and gestures to the empty space beside him.

"Of course," he says, hoping his smile is reassurring. "I asked you to stay, did I not?"

Roathe lets out a breath. "You did. However, I — I would understand if you changed your mind."

Hyth hums, chuckling a little. Raising his hand, he crooks a finger at the Orokin, beckoning him closer as he playfully murmurs, "Never."

"You can," Roathe insists, still unmoving from his spot by the bed. Hythlodaeus frowns, and Roathe seems to realize what he's doing, forcing himself to sit on the edge of the bed with a tiny grimace. "I mean — I just want you to know that — that you can. Say no, that is." His eyes are very, very serious as he brings his gaze back to Hyth's. "I will listen. If you want me to leave, I will leave."

Something dark has gripped Roathe somewhere deep in his chest, Hythlodaeus realizes then. This whole night seems to be about a bit more than just the gala, or the war — or what peace even means for them, or for him. Holding out his hand, Hythlodaeus's voice comes out in a rasp as he says, "Come here."

"I—"

"Roathe."

It seems that his name is all it takes to break the fragile wall his lover had built. Roathe's shoulders droop, expression crumbling — and before he can think more of it, the man crawls into the bed with him. Something about him seems broken as he curls into a ball beside him, exhaling shakily. Hythlodaeus lifts his hand once he's settled, brushing the backs of his knuckles against his lover's cheek. Roathe keeps his eyes firmly on the luxurious bedding beneath them, rather than meet Hythlodaeus's gaze, digging his fingers into the soft fabric, brows furrowed. Hythlodaeus turns onto his side to face him, shifting closer until he can press his lips to Roathe's knuckles, squeezing his hand.

"Tell me what's happened."

If he has learned anything about this man in the past several years, it is that the only way to get anything out of him is to drop all manner of mental gymnastics and mind games and demand it outright.

Roathe's mouth twists. "I — I don't know if that's wise…"

Hythlodaeus chuckles, snorting into the covers. "Seriously?"

His Orokin glares half-heartedly at him. "Yes. It — It is dangerous. I don't want to—"

Hyth laughs at that, tossing his head back, the sound loud in the quiet room. "—Dangerous!"

Roathe kicks him gently, and his laughter quietens slightly, though Hyth still chortles softly. "I am trying to think of your wellbeing, you cur."

While his lover continues to glower petulantly, Hythlodaeus hums, settling ever closer, until he is resting his cheek on Roathe's hand. Grinning, bright and sweet, he says, "I see that. I believe I tossed my own wellbeing to the wayside the second I decided to entertain this little love affair, however."

A huff.

"Then it is my duty to look after it for you."

"Or," Hythlodaeus says, tapping his fingers against the back of Roathe's hand, "you could respect that I have long since made my choice, and am at peace with whatever it may bring."

The devil shakes his head, and somewhere near the foot of the mattress, Hyth can feel his tail thump with annoyance. "You do not understand what is at stake."

Hythlodaeus has to bite back more laughter. If anyone here does not understand, he thinks, it is you, my darling. Rather than say that, however, he just sighs patiently and says, "So explain it to me."

Silence settles over the room, broken only by their soft breathing and the sound of Roathe's tail anxiously thumping against the bed. His eyes, silver stars set in a pool of ink, dart to and fro across Hythlodaeus's features, searching. Hythlodaeus can only imagine what kind of things Nitokh could have said to him — what horrors she could have suggested to make such an unshakeable man this unsettled. He had seen the horrors of the Empire, had read of the things that had been ordered of the soldiers fighting the war. By the Void, he'd read himself some of the logs of the things Nitokh had done to innocent people, had seen what she had done to Roathe himself.

What could it be that has him so unnerved?

When he doesn't speak immediately, Hyth reaches for him, pushing his fingers gently through his slightly damp hair. Roathe sighs softly, eyes sliding shut, before seemingly coming to a decision.

"We are going to Tau."

His eyes open as he speaks, though he looks instead at his hand on the covers rather than Hyth's face. Hythlodaeus reaches for that hand again, squeezing, trying to get his attention — it doesn't work. Roathe balls his hand into fist.

"We?" Hythlodaeus repeats softly, running his thumb across the peaks and valleys of his knuckles.

Roathe sighs heavily, rolling onto his back, tossing his forearm over his eyes. "I," he corrects, "am going to Tau. She and I are going to Tau."

"…ah."

Hyth's heart feels as if it has plummeted past the bottom of his ribcage, landing somewhere in his intestines. His hand twists into the bedding as he grits his teeth.

"When?" Hythlodaeus asks after a moment. "It — It's not a surprise, I suppose, that she wishes to go there now that peace has been won."

Roathe laughs, but the sound is miserable, grating and almost a sob. He pushes himself up and out of the bed, pacing over to the window, tense. Hythlodaeus rises into a sitting position as he goes, though he stays on the bed, watching as Roathe roughly combs his fingers through his hair, gripping tightly like he wishes to pull the auburn locks out by the roots. He bares his teeth with a hiss, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Hythlodaeus can do nothing but watch, uncertain of what to do or what to say. He does not know where the pain his lover feels is coming from — is it from what he has been asked to do in Tau? From the idea of going? — and so he has no way of knowing how to soothe him. The lights have been out since before he came into his room, and they are still out now. The only light filters in from the moonlight above Hythlodaeus's bed, and some from the window across the room. Roathe is silhouetted against the night sky, rubbing roughly at his face, tail whipping back and forth angrily behind him.

At length, the Orokin lets out a heavy sigh and finally drops his hands away from his face, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze on the gardens once again.

"I… I am afraid to tell you what has been asked of me," Roathe murmurs at long last. Hythlodaeus shifts on the bed, pulling his dressing gown a little tighter around his shoulders as Roathe turns to look at him. His face is surprisingly open, and full of yearning and an aching, hollow sadness. "I do not want to put you in harm's way more than I already have."

Hythlodaeus smiles thinly. "It must be quite the burden she has laid on your shoulders this time."

His lover laughs airily. "It is," he agrees, voice tight with emotion. "It is, and I — I believe it may eventually be for the best."

Hyth hums softly, tilting his head. "But…?"

"I cannot ask you to walk this path with me," Roathe breathes, eyes catching some of the light for just a moment. He looks away as he adds, "No matter how much I may wish to."

Oh, Roathe…

Hythlodaeus sighs, slipping out of the bed to join the man by the window. The room is quiet, the only sound their quiet breathing and the whisper of his robes as he pads across the cold marble to Roathe's side. Roathe still avoids his gaze, arms still crossed tightly across his chest. Hythlodaeus mirrors this pose, hugging his robe around himself as he turns and follows his lover's gaze to the gardens below.

So much of this life has not felt real. Navigating the Empire has been messy and dangerous every step of the way. He could have taken the easy way out at any moment — swallowed a vial of poison and moved on after subsuming the piece of his soul stuck in this point in time. Sticking around was an act of selfishness, exacerbated even moreso by the fact that it was, at its core, something he had done because he wanted more time with the man beside him. Much as he has tried to dress it up in logic, he knows that he is only here because he wanted Roathe — because something about his essence, his soul, called to him in a way nothing else had in all his years.

Not since Duviri. Not since Andromeda.

After a long moment, Hythlodaeus heaves another weary sigh, sliding closer to his lover and resting his head on his shoulder.

"We both have our secrets, my darling," he says quietly. "I love that you worry for me. I do. However, I — I think that, if you knew the extent of the secrets I keep, you would know that I have already put myself in far more danger than you ever could."

Roathe doesn't move, but at his ankles, Hyth feels his tail brush against the back of his nightgown. He grins as his lover murmurs, "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I know." Hyth nuzzles his face against Roathe's shoulder with a sigh. "I know."

For a moment, standing here in the dark, he is overcome with a sense of aching loneliness. Roathe has not yet left his side, but already he can feel the distance of Tau, the yawning span of a million, million miles between them. He has an overwhelming urge to cling — to tell him everything, to beg him to stay, to run away with him even though there is nowhere they can go.

It has been so, so long since he had something he wanted to keep this badly.

He doesn't know how to begin to explain what has happened to him to bring him here — where would he even start? How do you even explain that you are some kind of Void-touched abomination that cannot die permanently, and all you know to do is to seek out the pieces of yourself and cannibalize them in a desperate attempt to put yourself back together again? That you are still in love with a woman you do not even know is still alive, hidden away in a pocket dimension somewhere beyond your reach?

And that, despite that, you are also falling in love with him, so much so that it makes it hard to remember why you must leave him behind?

It is an impossible task, and so he simply decides on a different approach.

"What she has asked of you," he begins, feeling Roathe tense the second he speaks. Tilting his head, he rests his chin on Roathe's shoulder and traces the curve of his nose with his eyes as he asks, "Is it a task that I might make myself useful for?"

Roathe looks at him sharply, eyes wide. "Why?"

"Truthfully?" Hythlodaeus smiles a little. "I rather hate the idea of being so far from you. If it meant that I could keep you close, I think there are many things I would be willing to do."

"I — Hythlodaeus…"

The sound of his true name on his lover's tongue, whispered like a prayer, sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. Shifting, he moves to stand in front of Roathe, slipping his arms around his waist and kissing at one of his arms still crossed over his chest. Roathe loosens up just enough to cup Hyth's face in his hands, gentle and sweet. His eyes are unbearably sad when Hythlodaeus looks up at him.

"If she were to find out that I told you anything…" he murmurs, stroking his thumbs over the apple of Hyth's cheeks.

"We're clever," Hythlodaeus says, grinning a bit, trying and likely failing to be reassurring. "Surely, if we put our heads together, we can come up with a way to make her want to include me without giving ourselves away."

Roathe says nothing for a long moment, eyes searching his face, lingering here and there until they finally settle on his lips. One of his thumbs traces the shape of Hyth's lower lip — and then Roathe leans in to taste it, sucking his lower lip between his as he kisses him.

The kiss is slow, hesitant, and Hythlodaeus keeps his eyes slightly open to watch the way his lover's face moves as they kiss. His angular brows are drawn low, a pained sort of reverence etched into his features that has Hythlodaeus feeling hollow somewhere in his ribs. The kiss deepens, Roathe inhaling sharply through his nose, and Hyth gives in, melting into him, humming softly. His hands tighten, one twisting into Hythlodaeus's hair, the other sliding down to claw at his lower back, pulling Hyth up against him until there is no space between them. His tail snakes around Hythlodaeus's leg, slipping beneath the slit in the side of his nightgown to slide against the skin, something that has Hyth gasping into his mouth.

There is a desperation in the way Roathe kisses him, in the way he pulls him closer — wild fear and longing, mangled and melded into one. Hythlodaeus presses up on his toes, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging his nails into his shoulders. For a long moment, they lose themselves in the wet heat of the kiss — in the whisper of lips on lips, the quiet sounds that they pull from each other's throats. Hythlodaeus pushes his fingers through Roathe's hair, pulling lightly when Roathe uses the grip he has on his hair to tug his head back, forcing him to bear his throat.

Anyone else would feel fear, Hyth thinks idly, having the Devil of Tau sink his teeth into their neck. He could so easily kill him like this — he could tear his throat out and drink deep of the blood that poured from the wound.

Hythlodaeus knows him better, though. All he feels is pleasure, prickling across his skin like static, as the Orokin in his arms sucks at his throat, leaving marks he's sure will be difficult to hide come the morrow. Roathe's breath is hot and humid on his skin as Hyth allows him to arrange him into an arch, teeth nipping at his earlobe.

"What I wouldn't give…"

Roathe's voice nearly breaks as he breathes this sentiment into the hollow of Hythlodaeus's throat, pulling him back toward the bed. He stumbles a few times as he shuffles the two of them backwards, until he collapses heavily on the edge of the bed, burying his face in Hythlodaeus's chest. Hyth's brow furrows, running his fingers through Roathe's hair as the man just pulls him closer, hands twisting into the back of his dressing gown.

"She would never let me have this," Roathe sighs into his chest. His arms tighten around Hythlodaeus's waist, nails digging into his back. "If she knew…"

"Roathe?" Hythlodaeus tries, but his Orokin still won't look at him.

"You should hate me," comes the muffled reply, voice rough with emotion. "I have taken advantage of you at every turn."

Hythlodaeus snorts softly, running his fingers through his lover's hair. "Where on Earth did you get it in your head that I have been anything other than a most active participant in this little affair?"

Roathe gives another great sigh, pulling away just enough that he can watch his own hands smooth over Hythlodaeus's hips. "I am an Orokin. Vice Regent Grand Carnus. I may not be one of the Seven, but I know that you could not say no to me even if you wanted to."

Hyth chuckles softly, winding his hand into the hair at the back of his lover's head. Gently, he pulls until he forces the man to look up at him, using his other hand to grasp him by the jaw — firmly, but still loose enough that he could break away with ease. Roathe's eyes dilate just a bit, making Hythlodaeus grin a little.

"You have severely underestimated my defiant streak, my dear," he says, leaning down until he can speak against Roathe's lips. "I am not afraid of you."

Roathe moans softly, almost a whimper, as Hythlodaeus kisses him deeply, hand still on his jaw, enjoying the feeling of the muscles moving beneath his skin as he kisses him back. "You should—mmh," Roathe tries, and fails, to speak around the kiss. Hyth laughs, diving into his neck, careful about leaving marks when he knows Nitokh could see. "You have—poor survival instincts—" Roathe manages haltingly, just as Hythlodaeus climbs into his lap, straddling his hips with a laugh.

"Perhaps," Hythlodaeus allows. He rocks his hips a bit as he gets settled, grinning smugly as Roathe hisses, fingers digging into his thighs. Resting his arms quite contently on Roathe's shoulders, he says, "Or perhaps I have simply decided to enjoy all that life has to offer me."

Roathe looks positively undone as he looks up at him — as if one more push would have him toppling into a million pieces. His thumbs make little circles over Hyth's hipbones over the top of his nightgown as he murmurs, "Even if what life has offered has a chance to put an end to it?"

"Especially then."

Roathe's jaw goes slack.

Silence follows his confession as the man beneath him seems to process his words — to process the weight and warmth of him sitting in his lap. Hythlodaeus plays with the hair at his nape as he waits, drinking in his handsome features and fighting the urge to interrupt his thoughts by kissing him some more. The topic at hand is still heavy, sitting on his chest like a boulder, suffocating in the thick layer of unease it draped over the room. He is trying, though, in many ways, to ease that burden — and he very much wants to continue to try. He only needs Roathe to agree.

He only needs Roathe to trust him to take care of himself.

"Why…?" Roathe begins after a long moment, dark brows furrowing. He shakes his head a little. "Why are you so — nonchalant about this?"

When you cannot die, my darling devil, Hythlodaeus thinks, nothing inspires fear except the loss of that which you love.

He cannot say that, however — cannot put the burdern of a true love affair on him, not when the very idea of this just being sex is enough to strike fear into his lover of what Nitokh might do should they be discovered — and so he just shrugs lightly. Leaning in close, he nuzzles his nose against Roathe's as he murmurs, "I do not know, really. I only know that I take great pride and great joy in being the one to tend to you after you've seen her." He kisses his lover sweetly as he adds, "And I take greater pride still when I get to press you against these silken sheets and remind you that pleasure should not have to come at the price of blood and pain."

"Hythlodaeus—"

"I do not want your body or your mind to forget pleasure," he breathes, dipping his head to mouth at the underside of Roathe's jaw. Beneath his lips, he can feel his lover's pulse jump with excitement. "She is so very good at wringing the happiness out of the world around her. I want to be there to breathe it back into you."

His hand slips low on Roathe's sleepclothes, slipping beneath the silk to meet warm skin, grinning when Roathe gasps sharply, muscle's twitching beneath his touch.

Roathe shakes his head. "That is not your job. You are not—" he starts, pausing to hiss when Hyth's fingers delicately brush the base of him, and Hyth trails one finger up the side an inch or two before sliding away again. "Y-you are more than that—"

Hythlodaeus laughs softly. "You say that like you think I am debasing myself for you." He kisses his way along his jaw, toward his mouth. "I do not see it that way. I am not your consort or your concubine," he says, pulling away to cup Roathe's face in his hands as he speaks. As Roathe looks up at him, something pleading in his eyes, Hythlodaeus is hit with a wave of affection so strong he cannot help but smile. "I am your lover, Roathe. Every moment we spend together — every laugh I pull from you, every moan and every gasp — they are all accomplishments I look upon with pride."

He watches Roathe open his mouth, an argument clear on his lips, but he taps a finger against his mouth to stop him.

"Besides that," he adds, "I truly, deeply, genuinely enjoy your company. You are my friend. My very best friend in this place, honestly. I want to be here. I want to help — not because of her or because of status — but because I care about you."

Beneath him, his Orokin looks very close to collapsing into a heap on the floor. His brows draw together, lips tugging deeper into a frown that makes Hyth's chest ache dully. Though his eyes are dark, they shine dangerously, as if on the brink of tears. His voice is hoarse when he finally manages to mumble, "You — You deserve better… You do not deserve to be asked to do what she will ask of me."

Hythlodaeus smiles a little.

Such a kind heart, buried in that strong chest of his.

If either of them here does not deserve what is to come, it is not him — it is Roathe himself.

"You want to protect me," Hyth says softly, running a hand through Roathe's hair, "and I appreciate that. I am not, however, a shrinking violet that needs to be coddled." He looks Roathe in the eye, tilting his head, and continues, "I am as deserving of a place in the Orokin Empire by my deeds alone as you are. You need not worry so very much about me or my virtue — my hands are already bloodier than you know."

A thousand bloody encounters flash through his mind in an instant, the memory of his hands slick with deep red ichor — his own blood, mostly, but blood all the same. Not all rejoinings were peaceful like this one. Many times, he ended up covered in blood, panting and shaking as the subsuming process began.

And that is not even to begin to factor in the people he has killed, himself or inadvertantly, over his many, many lives. They had been fewer and farther between, but their blood stained him just as much as his own.

Roathe seems to reach a decision as Hythlodaeus's mind wanders. His hands at his waist tighten incrementally, before he nudges at his hips, urging him to stand. Hyth obliges, rising back to his feet and watching his lover stand as well. Roathe leads him over to the windows, footsteps slow and methodical, putting his words in order in his mind.

"Once I tell you," his devil warns, "you cannot change your mind. The danger to us both would be too great."

"As you say," Hythlodaeus hums, adjusting his dressing gown a bit tighter around his shoulders.

For a long, tense moment, Roathe says nothing. Once they come to a stop in front of the windows, he falls silent, hand on Hythlodaeus's back playing with the tie of his robe. Hythlodaeus drinks in his handsome profile as he waits, admiring the moonlight on his midnight skin, entertaining the idea of drawing little stars on his cheeks one day just to see how it would look. His eyes are already like two stars — his skin should match.

At length, his lover takes a deep breath, and speaks one sentence.

"The Orokin Empire must fall."

Hythlodaeus's heart takes flight in his chest.

He can feel the way his eyes light up a bit, a sick sort of intrigue rising like bile in his throat. His eyes remain fixed on his lover's face, though Roathe still has not looked at him properly. "So she has decreed…?" he prods, trying his best not to sound ravenous with curiosity.

Roathe sucks in a sharp breath. "She is bored. She wishes to kill the others and rule the System herself. An Empire all her own, as it were."

Humming, Hythlodaeus turns his gaze to the garden — the gala still carrying dutifully on. The celebrations would likely last another fortnight. To all other Orokin, they had won. The Great War was over.

He is not surprised that this peace is far more tenuous than it seemed. Nor is he surprised that Nitokh — The Blood Queen — would be displeased with such an outcome. She is only pleased when her enemies have been completely eviscerated. Peace is not an option.

"She wants you to upset the peace," Hythlodaeus guesses quietly.

"It's — more than that," Roathe hedges, drawing Hyth's gaze back to his face. He only glances over when he feels his eyes on him, though he hesitates when their eyes lock. "The system is corrupted. It is failing the people. It must be changed — destroyed in order to be rebuilt from the ground up."

Hythlodaeus smiles a little. "I don't disagree."

Roathe's next sentence comes out so softly that, had Hythlodaeus not been watching his lips, he might have struggled to hear it.

"The Executors must die — all of them — and the Emperors with them."

But especially her, sits unsaid between them. Roathe's eyes search his face for any hint of how he's feeling. Hythlodaeus looks back at him just as calmly, centuries of lying and burying his emotions serving him well, but he cannot quite keep the smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth. The more he thinks of it — of a world without the Executors, without the class divide and rigid traditions — the more he wonders if this might be their ticket to freedom. Could this be what allows him to keep his devil by his side, permanently?

Perhaps.

If nothing else, he thinks, he would pay good money to watch Roathe rip Nitokh's beating heart out of her chest.

Eventually, Hythlodaeus does allow himself to smile fully, sidling up to his lover and slipping his arms around his neck. Roathe looks a bit confused, but does not pull away as Hyth presses up on his toes and delivers a long, loving kiss to his lips.

"I'm in," he breathes. "When do we start?"

Roathe lets out a slightly hysterical, relieved laugh as he brings his mouth back to his. Before Hythlodaeus can really kiss him back properly, though, he bends and sweeps his legs out from beneath him — and Hyth laughs, clutching is lover's shoulders and giggling as he walks them back over to the bed. There is more laughter, bright in the moonlit room, as Roathe drops him heavily onto the mattress, tumbling into the bed after him in such a manner that the whole bed shakes.

Roathe kisses him with reckless abandon, relief and joy clear in the way he tears at his clothes and digs his nails into his skin. The shedding of one layer of obfuscation between them has him giddy, shaking as he presses Hythlodaeus into the silken sheets. His fingers are delicate, tracing scars and moles and freckles with newfound determination. Once Roathe has learned the shape of each new blemish, he tastes them with his lips, pressing his hips harder against Hyth's until they are both mindlessly rocking against one another.

The night continues this way, with breathless laughter and kisses, skin to skin. Roathe stays close, eyes always on Hyth's, chasing a deeper connection even as they chase pleasure together.

There would be time for planning come the morrow — for the night, however, the war has been won, and they must take what moments of joy they can.

As Hythlodaeus has come to know well, any moment can be their last.

They must make the most of things — one kiss at a time.

[kalymosparadox]

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 chapter 2 here 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."

[kalymosparadox]

paregoros

Pairing: Roathe/OC, Roathe/Nitokh (background) Rating: M Words: 6000+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Abusive Relationships (Implied), Secret Relationship Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use i'm setting up an OC/Drifter/Roathe polycule don't mind me chapter 1 here Read it on AO3!

Chapter 2: ananke

Hythlodaeus will admit that he fully uses the excuse of toweling off to hide from whatever look has sunken into his lover's eyes. He needs a moment to recenter himself and remember who he is — where and when he is — and puttering around his room looking for something to wear to bed is as good an excuse as any. Whatever had come over the man still sitting in the washroom, one towel slung around his hips and another around his shoulders, Hythlodaeus wasn't entirely convinced he was equipped to handle it.

Wearing a silky sort of nightgown with his favorite dressing gown over it, covering the worst of his scarring — of what marks him as other — Hythlodaeus feels a little more composed, letting his drying hair fall loose around his shoulders as he peers into the bathroom again.

His Orokin is still sat where he left him, staring at the now-empty bath.

Leaning against the stone doorway, Hyth sighs softly. "Is she expecting you to return tonight?"

Roathe does not look at him as he says, "No."

Fiddling with his sleeves, Hythlodaeus tilts his head. "…will you stay the night, then?"

That draws his attention. Roathe lifts his gaze at long last from the tiles, blinking with what can only be surprise, lips twitching as he asks, "Wha — Why?"

Hyth smiles, dipping his chin to fix him with a warm, inviting look. "If you've nowhere else to be, I am absolutely not done kissing you tonight. That's why."

The look that crosses Roathe's face then nearly breaks Hythlodaeus's heart clean in two, as the man's shoulders slump as he leans back against the wall, head resting against the stone. His eyebrows drawing together in an almost pained expression were it not for the smile pulling at his lips. He stays like that for a moment, dark eyes drinking him in as if seeing him for the first time — before he rises to his feet, adjusting the towel around his waist before padding over to the doorway.

He pauses when he reaches the door, eyes darting across Hythlodaeus's face, searching. He wonders distantly what his lover is looking for, what he sees, before Roathe closes the gap between them almost hesitantly. His hand, large and calloused, slides up the side of Hyth's neck as he slowly, carefully, sinks his lips into his.

Roathe kisses him deeply, leisurely, as if trying to memorize the exact shape of his lips. Hythlodaeus kisses him back readily, trying not to think of how much this reminds him of the first time Roathe ever turned up on his doorstep.

He'd been covered in blood, swaying heavily, intoxicated to the point Hythlodaeus had worried for his safety. It had taken him hours to staunch the bleeding and clean the wounds, so many she'd left on him that night. When he'd finished, he had kissed Roathe gently on the lips — he'd meant it to be comforting, as the man had only recently worked up the nerve to kiss him (hiding in the shadows of a pillar, both shaking at the thought of being caught) — but then Roathe had started to pull at his clothes. He'd stopped him immediately, of course, something about the mechanical movement of his hands setting off alarms in Hyth's mind, but Roathe had been confused. He'd been trying to thank him.

There had been something so deeply upsetting about the way he'd looked when Hythlodaeus had said, "We don't need to do more than kiss. I am perfectly content with just this. Just you."

The memory fades as Roathe breaks the kiss, though he stays close, forehead pressed to Hythlodaeus's. They breathe for a moment — before Hyth pulls away, pressing a quick, apologetic kiss to his palm as he goes to find Roathe something to sleep in.

There are too many silks in his drawers to keep track of — he has no idea when they were gifted to him, or by whom — but it doesn't take long to find something that will fit Roathe's strong frame. Despite the fact that they'd just been in the bath together, something feels like it has shifted in the atmosphere between them, and Hythlodaeus dutifully turns away as his lover starts to dress, affording him a bit of privacy for privacy's sake. The air feels heavy again, like it had earlier, and it sets Hythlodaeus on edge in a way that he hates. He'd thought, after everything, he'd reached a point that news could not be bad — he had nothing left to lose, after all.

He should have known better, he thinks, than letting himself get close.

What a stupid oversight.

Hythlodaeus throws himself quite dramatically down onto his bed, rolling until he is sprawled in the center of it, staring up at the skylight above. The shattered moon shines down on him, cold and distant, almost perfectly centered above his bed. He lifts a hand idly, sleeve falling to bare his arm as he spreads his fingers and watches the light filter through the spaces between.

"…may I…?"

Roathe's voice is soft, coming from somewhere to Hythlodaeus's left. He turns his head lazily, certain he must look a sight, sprawled as he is across the duvet. His lover looks back at him hesitantly, silver eyes glinting dimly in the low light. In front of him, he has his hands clasped together, fiddling with rings that are no longer there — and it draws Hythlodaeus's attention. He had never seen the man fidget until now.

Smiling dryly, Hythlodaeus drops his arm and gestures to the empty space beside him.

"Of course," he says, hoping his smile is reassurring. "I asked you to stay, did I not?"

Roathe lets out a breath. "You did. However, I — I would understand if you changed your mind."

Hyth hums, chuckling a little. Raising his hand, he crooks a finger at the Orokin, beckoning him closer as he playfully murmurs, "Never."

"You can," Roathe insists, still unmoving from his spot by the bed. Hythlodaeus frowns, and Roathe seems to realize what he's doing, forcing himself to sit on the edge of the bed with a tiny grimace. "I mean — I just want you to know that — that you can. Say no, that is." His eyes are very, very serious as he brings his gaze back to Hyth's. "I will listen. If you want me to leave, I will leave."

Something dark has gripped Roathe somewhere deep in his chest, Hythlodaeus realizes then. This whole night seems to be about a bit more than just the gala, or the war — or what peace even means for them, or for him. Holding out his hand, Hythlodaeus's voice comes out in a rasp as he says, "Come here."

"I—"

"Roathe."

It seems that his name is all it takes to break the fragile wall his lover had built. Roathe's shoulders droop, expression crumbling — and before he can think more of it, the man crawls into the bed with him. Something about him seems broken as he curls into a ball beside him, exhaling shakily. Hythlodaeus lifts his hand once he's settled, brushing the backs of his knuckles against his lover's cheek. Roathe keeps his eyes firmly on the luxurious bedding beneath them, rather than meet Hythlodaeus's gaze, digging his fingers into the soft fabric, brows furrowed. Hythlodaeus turns onto his side to face him, shifting closer until he can press his lips to Roathe's knuckles, squeezing his hand.

"Tell me what's happened."

If he has learned anything about this man in the past several years, it is that the only way to get anything out of him is to drop all manner of mental gymnastics and mind games and demand it outright.

Roathe's mouth twists. "I — I don't know if that's wise…"

Hythlodaeus chuckles, snorting into the covers. "Seriously?"

His Orokin glares half-heartedly at him. "Yes. It — It is dangerous. I don't want to—"

Hyth laughs at that, tossing his head back, the sound loud in the quiet room. "—Dangerous!"

Roathe kicks him gently, and his laughter quietens slightly, though Hyth still chortles softly. "I am trying to think of your wellbeing, you cur."

While his lover continues to glower petulantly, Hythlodaeus hums, settling ever closer, until he is resting his cheek on Roathe's hand. Grinning, bright and sweet, he says, "I see that. I believe I tossed my own wellbeing to the wayside the second I decided to entertain this little love affair, however."

A huff.

"Then it is my duty to look after it for you."

"Or," Hythlodaeus says, tapping his fingers against the back of Roathe's hand, "you could respect that I have long since made my choice, and am at peace with whatever it may bring."

The devil shakes his head, and somewhere near the foot of the mattress, Hyth can feel his tail thump with annoyance. "You do not understand what is at stake."

Hythlodaeus has to bite back more laughter. If anyone here does not understand, he thinks, it is you, my darling. Rather than say that, however, he just sighs patiently and says, "So explain it to me."

Silence settles over the room, broken only by their soft breathing and the sound of Roathe's tail anxiously thumping against the bed. His eyes, silver stars set in a pool of ink, dart to and fro across Hythlodaeus's features, searching. Hythlodaeus can only imagine what kind of things Nitokh could have said to him — what horrors she could have suggested to make such an unshakeable man this unsettled. He had seen the horrors of the Empire, had read of the things that had been ordered of the soldiers fighting the war. By the Void, he'd read himself some of the logs of the things Nitokh had done to innocent people, had seen what she had done to Roathe himself.

What could it be that has him so unnerved?

When he doesn't speak immediately, Hyth reaches for him, pushing his fingers gently through his slightly damp hair. Roathe sighs softly, eyes sliding shut, before seemingly coming to a decision.

"We are going to Tau."

His eyes open as he speaks, though he looks instead at his hand on the covers rather than Hyth's face. Hythlodaeus reaches for that hand again, squeezing, trying to get his attention — it doesn't work. Roathe balls his hand into fist.

"We?" Hythlodaeus repeats softly, running his thumb across the peaks and valleys of his knuckles.

Roathe sighs heavily, rolling onto his back, tossing his forearm over his eyes. "I," he corrects, "am going to Tau. She and I are going to Tau."

"…ah."

Hyth's heart feels as if it has plummeted past the bottom of his ribcage, landing somewhere in his intestines. His hand twists into the bedding as he grits his teeth.

"When?" Hythlodaeus asks after a moment. "It — It's not a surprise, I suppose, that she wishes to go there now that peace has been won."

Roathe laughs, but the sound is miserable, grating and almost a sob. He pushes himself up and out of the bed, pacing over to the window, tense. Hythlodaeus rises into a sitting position as he goes, though he stays on the bed, watching as Roathe roughly combs his fingers through his hair, gripping tightly like he wishes to pull the auburn locks out by the roots. He bares his teeth with a hiss, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Hythlodaeus can do nothing but watch, uncertain of what to do or what to say. He does not know where the pain his lover feels is coming from — is it from what he has been asked to do in Tau? From the idea of going? — and so he has no way of knowing how to soothe him. The lights have been out since before he came into his room, and they are still out now. The only light filters in from the moonlight above Hythlodaeus's bed, and some from the window across the room. Roathe is silhouetted against the night sky, rubbing roughly at his face, tail whipping back and forth angrily behind him.

At length, the Orokin lets out a heavy sigh and finally drops his hands away from his face, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze on the gardens once again.

"I… I am afraid to tell you what has been asked of me," Roathe murmurs at long last. Hythlodaeus shifts on the bed, pulling his dressing gown a little tighter around his shoulders as Roathe turns to look at him. His face is surprisingly open, and full of yearning and an aching, hollow sadness. "I do not want to put you in harm's way more than I already have."

Hythlodaeus smiles thinly. "It must be quite the burden she has laid on your shoulders this time."

His lover laughs airily. "It is," he agrees, voice tight with emotion. "It is, and I — I believe it may eventually be for the best."

Hyth hums softly, tilting his head. "But…?"

"I cannot ask you to walk this path with me," Roathe breathes, eyes catching some of the light for just a moment. He looks away as he adds, "No matter how much I may wish to."

Oh, Roathe…

Hythlodaeus sighs, slipping out of the bed to join the man by the window. The room is quiet, the only sound their quiet breathing and the whisper of his robes as he pads across the cold marble to Roathe's side. Roathe still avoids his gaze, arms still crossed tightly across his chest. Hythlodaeus mirrors this pose, hugging his robe around himself as he turns and follows his lover's gaze to the gardens below.

So much of this life has not felt real. Navigating the Empire has been messy and dangerous every step of the way. He could have taken the easy way out at any moment — swallowed a vial of poison and moved on after subsuming the piece of his soul stuck in this point in time. Sticking around was an act of selfishness, exacerbated even moreso by the fact that it was, at its core, something he had done because he wanted more time with the man beside him. Much as he has tried to dress it up in logic, he knows that he is only here because he wanted Roathe — because something about his essence, his soul, called to him in a way nothing else had in all his years.

Not since Duviri. Not since Andromeda.

After a long moment, Hythlodaeus heaves another weary sigh, sliding closer to his lover and resting his head on his shoulder.

"We both have our secrets, my darling," he says quietly. "I love that you worry for me. I do. However, I — I think that, if you knew the extent of the secrets I keep, you would know that I have already put myself in far more danger than you ever could."

Roathe doesn't move, but at his ankles, Hyth feels his tail brush against the back of his nightgown. He grins as his lover murmurs, "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"I know." Hyth nuzzles his face against Roathe's shoulder with a sigh. "I know."

For a moment, standing here in the dark, he is overcome with a sense of aching loneliness. Roathe has not yet left his side, but already he can feel the distance of Tau, the yawning span of a million, million miles between them. He has an overwhelming urge to cling — to tell him everything, to beg him to stay, to run away with him even though there is nowhere they can go.

It has been so, so long since he had something he wanted to keep this badly.

He doesn't know how to begin to explain what has happened to him to bring him here — where would he even start? How do you even explain that you are some kind of Void-touched abomination that cannot die permanently, and all you know to do is to seek out the pieces of yourself and cannibalize them in a desperate attempt to put yourself back together again? That you are still in love with a woman you do not even know is still alive, hidden away in a pocket dimension somewhere beyond your reach?

And that, despite that, you are also falling in love with him, so much so that it makes it hard to remember why you must leave him behind?

It is an impossible task, and so he simply decides on a different approach.

"What she has asked of you," he begins, feeling Roathe tense the second he speaks. Tilting his head, he rests his chin on Roathe's shoulder and traces the curve of his nose with his eyes as he asks, "Is it a task that I might make myself useful for?"

Roathe looks at him sharply, eyes wide. "Why?"

"Truthfully?" Hythlodaeus smiles a little. "I rather hate the idea of being so far from you. If it meant that I could keep you close, I think there are many things I would be willing to do."

"I — Hythlodaeus…"

The sound of his true name on his lover's tongue, whispered like a prayer, sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. Shifting, he moves to stand in front of Roathe, slipping his arms around his waist and kissing at one of his arms still crossed over his chest. Roathe loosens up just enough to cup Hyth's face in his hands, gentle and sweet. His eyes are unbearably sad when Hythlodaeus looks up at him.

"If she were to find out that I told you anything…" he murmurs, stroking his thumbs over the apple of Hyth's cheeks.

"We're clever," Hythlodaeus says, grinning a bit, trying and likely failing to be reassurring. "Surely, if we put our heads together, we can come up with a way to make her want to include me without giving ourselves away."

Roathe says nothing for a long moment, eyes searching his face, lingering here and there until they finally settle on his lips. One of his thumbs traces the shape of Hyth's lower lip — and then Roathe leans in to taste it, sucking his lower lip between his as he kisses him.

The kiss is slow, hesitant, and Hythlodaeus keeps his eyes slightly open to watch the way his lover's face moves as they kiss. His angular brows are drawn low, a pained sort of reverence etched into his features that has Hythlodaeus feeling hollow somewhere in his ribs. The kiss deepens, Roathe inhaling sharply through his nose, and Hyth gives in, melting into him, humming softly. His hands tighten, one twisting into Hythlodaeus's hair, the other sliding down to claw at his lower back, pulling Hyth up against him until there is no space between them. His tail snakes around Hythlodaeus's leg, slipping beneath the slit in the side of his nightgown to slide against the skin, something that has Hyth gasping into his mouth.

There is a desperation in the way Roathe kisses him, in the way he pulls him closer — wild fear and longing, mangled and melded into one. Hythlodaeus presses up on his toes, wrapping his arms around his neck and digging his nails into his shoulders. For a long moment, they lose themselves in the wet heat of the kiss — in the whisper of lips on lips, the quiet sounds that they pull from each other's throats. Hythlodaeus pushes his fingers through Roathe's hair, pulling lightly when Roathe uses the grip he has on his hair to tug his head back, forcing him to bear his throat.

Anyone else would feel fear, Hyth thinks idly, having the Devil of Tau sink his teeth into their neck. He could so easily kill him like this — he could tear his throat out and drink deep of the blood that poured from the wound.

Hythlodaeus knows him better, though. All he feels is pleasure, prickling across his skin like static, as the Orokin in his arms sucks at his throat, leaving marks he's sure will be difficult to hide come the morrow. Roathe's breath is hot and humid on his skin as Hyth allows him to arrange him into an arch, teeth nipping at his earlobe.

"What I wouldn't give…"

Roathe's voice nearly breaks as he breathes this sentiment into the hollow of Hythlodaeus's throat, pulling him back toward the bed. He stumbles a few times as he shuffles the two of them backwards, until he collapses heavily on the edge of the bed, burying his face in Hythlodaeus's chest. Hyth's brow furrows, running his fingers through Roathe's hair as the man just pulls him closer, hands twisting into the back of his dressing gown.

"She would never let me have this," Roathe sighs into his chest. His arms tighten around Hythlodaeus's waist, nails digging into his back. "If she knew…"

"Roathe?" Hythlodaeus tries, but his Orokin still won't look at him.

"You should hate me," comes the muffled reply, voice rough with emotion. "I have taken advantage of you at every turn."

Hythlodaeus snorts softly, running his fingers through his lover's hair. "Where on Earth did you get it in your head that I have been anything other than a most active participant in this little affair?"

Roathe gives another great sigh, pulling away just enough that he can watch his own hands smooth over Hythlodaeus's hips. "I am an Orokin. Vice Regent Grand Carnus. I may not be one of the Seven, but I know that you could not say no to me even if you wanted to."

Hyth chuckles softly, winding his hand into the hair at the back of his lover's head. Gently, he pulls until he forces the man to look up at him, using his other hand to grasp him by the jaw — firmly, but still loose enough that he could break away with ease. Roathe's eyes dilate just a bit, making Hythlodaeus grin a little.

"You have severely underestimated my defiant streak, my dear," he says, leaning down until he can speak against Roathe's lips. "I am not afraid of you."

Roathe moans softly, almost a whimper, as Hythlodaeus kisses him deeply, hand still on his jaw, enjoying the feeling of the muscles moving beneath his skin as he kisses him back. "You should—mmh," Roathe tries, and fails, to speak around the kiss. Hyth laughs, diving into his neck, careful about leaving marks when he knows Nitokh could see. "You have—poor survival instincts—" Roathe manages haltingly, just as Hythlodaeus climbs into his lap, straddling his hips with a laugh.

"Perhaps," Hythlodaeus allows. He rocks his hips a bit as he gets settled, grinning smugly as Roathe hisses, fingers digging into his thighs. Resting his arms quite contently on Roathe's shoulders, he says, "Or perhaps I have simply decided to enjoy all that life has to offer me."

Roathe looks positively undone as he looks up at him — as if one more push would have him toppling into a million pieces. His thumbs make little circles over Hyth's hipbones over the top of his nightgown as he murmurs, "Even if what life has offered has a chance to put an end to it?"

"Especially then."

Roathe's jaw goes slack.

Silence follows his confession as the man beneath him seems to process his words — to process the weight and warmth of him sitting in his lap. Hythlodaeus plays with the hair at his nape as he waits, drinking in his handsome features and fighting the urge to interrupt his thoughts by kissing him some more. The topic at hand is still heavy, sitting on his chest like a boulder, suffocating in the thick layer of unease it draped over the room. He is trying, though, in many ways, to ease that burden — and he very much wants to continue to try. He only needs Roathe to agree.

He only needs Roathe to trust him to take care of himself.

"Why…?" Roathe begins after a long moment, dark brows furrowing. He shakes his head a little. "Why are you so — nonchalant about this?"

When you cannot die, my darling devil, Hythlodaeus thinks, nothing inspires fear except the loss of that which you love.

He cannot say that, however — cannot put the burdern of a true love affair on him, not when the very idea of this just being sex is enough to strike fear into his lover of what Nitokh might do should they be discovered — and so he just shrugs lightly. Leaning in close, he nuzzles his nose against Roathe's as he murmurs, "I do not know, really. I only know that I take great pride and great joy in being the one to tend to you after you've seen her." He kisses his lover sweetly as he adds, "And I take greater pride still when I get to press you against these silken sheets and remind you that pleasure should not have to come at the price of blood and pain."

"Hythlodaeus—"

"I do not want your body or your mind to forget pleasure," he breathes, dipping his head to mouth at the underside of Roathe's jaw. Beneath his lips, he can feel his lover's pulse jump with excitement. "She is so very good at wringing the happiness out of the world around her. I want to be there to breathe it back into you."

His hand slips low on Roathe's sleepclothes, slipping beneath the silk to meet warm skin, grinning when Roathe gasps sharply, muscle's twitching beneath his touch.

Roathe shakes his head. "That is not your job. You are not—" he starts, pausing to hiss when Hyth's fingers delicately brush the base of him, and Hyth trails one finger up the side an inch or two before sliding away again. "Y-you are more than that—"

Hythlodaeus laughs softly. "You say that like you think I am debasing myself for you." He kisses his way along his jaw, toward his mouth. "I do not see it that way. I am not your consort or your concubine," he says, pulling away to cup Roathe's face in his hands as he speaks. As Roathe looks up at him, something pleading in his eyes, Hythlodaeus is hit with a wave of affection so strong he cannot help but smile. "I am your lover, Roathe. Every moment we spend together — every laugh I pull from you, every moan and every gasp — they are all accomplishments I look upon with pride."

He watches Roathe open his mouth, an argument clear on his lips, but he taps a finger against his mouth to stop him.

"Besides that," he adds, "I truly, deeply, genuinely enjoy your company. You are my friend. My very best friend in this place, honestly. I want to be here. I want to help — not because of her or because of status — but because I care about you."

Beneath him, his Orokin looks very close to collapsing into a heap on the floor. His brows draw together, lips tugging deeper into a frown that makes Hyth's chest ache dully. Though his eyes are dark, they shine dangerously, as if on the brink of tears. His voice is hoarse when he finally manages to mumble, "You — You deserve better… You do not deserve to be asked to do what she will ask of me."

Hythlodaeus smiles a little.

Such a kind heart, buried in that strong chest of his.

If either of them here does not deserve what is to come, it is not him — it is Roathe himself.

"You want to protect me," Hyth says softly, running a hand through Roathe's hair, "and I appreciate that. I am not, however, a shrinking violet that needs to be coddled." He looks Roathe in the eye, tilting his head, and continues, "I am as deserving of a place in the Orokin Empire by my deeds alone as you are. You need not worry so very much about me or my virtue — my hands are already bloodier than you know."

A thousand bloody encounters flash through his mind in an instant, the memory of his hands slick with deep red ichor — his own blood, mostly, but blood all the same. Not all rejoinings were peaceful like this one. Many times, he ended up covered in blood, panting and shaking as the subsuming process began.

And that is not even to begin to factor in the people he has killed, himself or inadvertantly, over his many, many lives. They had been fewer and farther between, but their blood stained him just as much as his own.

Roathe seems to reach a decision as Hythlodaeus's mind wanders. His hands at his waist tighten incrementally, before he nudges at his hips, urging him to stand. Hyth obliges, rising back to his feet and watching his lover stand as well. Roathe leads him over to the windows, footsteps slow and methodical, putting his words in order in his mind.

"Once I tell you," his devil warns, "you cannot change your mind. The danger to us both would be too great."

"As you say," Hythlodaeus hums, adjusting his dressing gown a bit tighter around his shoulders.

For a long, tense moment, Roathe says nothing. Once they come to a stop in front of the windows, he falls silent, hand on Hythlodaeus's back playing with the tie of his robe. Hythlodaeus drinks in his handsome profile as he waits, admiring the moonlight on his midnight skin, entertaining the idea of drawing little stars on his cheeks one day just to see how it would look. His eyes are already like two stars — his skin should match.

At length, his lover takes a deep breath, and speaks one sentence.

"The Orokin Empire must fall."

Hythlodaeus's heart takes flight in his chest.

He can feel the way his eyes light up a bit, a sick sort of intrigue rising like bile in his throat. His eyes remain fixed on his lover's face, though Roathe still has not looked at him properly. "So she has decreed…?" he prods, trying his best not to sound ravenous with curiosity.

Roathe sucks in a sharp breath. "She is bored. She wishes to kill the others and rule the System herself. An Empire all her own, as it were."

Humming, Hythlodaeus turns his gaze to the garden — the gala still carrying dutifully on. The celebrations would likely last another fortnight. To all other Orokin, they had won. The Great War was over.

He is not surprised that this peace is far more tenuous than it seemed. Nor is he surprised that Nitokh — The Blood Queen — would be displeased with such an outcome. She is only pleased when her enemies have been completely eviscerated. Peace is not an option.

"She wants you to upset the peace," Hythlodaeus guesses quietly.

"It's — more than that," Roathe hedges, drawing Hyth's gaze back to his face. He only glances over when he feels his eyes on him, though he hesitates when their eyes lock. "The system is corrupted. It is failing the people. It must be changed — destroyed in order to be rebuilt from the ground up."

Hythlodaeus smiles a little. "I don't disagree."

Roathe's next sentence comes out so softly that, had Hythlodaeus not been watching his lips, he might have struggled to hear it.

"The Executors must die — all of them — and the Emperors with them."

But especially her, sits unsaid between them. Roathe's eyes search his face for any hint of how he's feeling. Hythlodaeus looks back at him just as calmly, centuries of lying and burying his emotions serving him well, but he cannot quite keep the smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth. The more he thinks of it — of a world without the Executors, without the class divide and rigid traditions — the more he wonders if this might be their ticket to freedom. Could this be what allows him to keep his devil by his side, permanently?

Perhaps.

If nothing else, he thinks, he would pay good money to watch Roathe rip Nitokh's beating heart out of her chest.

Eventually, Hythlodaeus does allow himself to smile fully, sidling up to his lover and slipping his arms around his neck. Roathe looks a bit confused, but does not pull away as Hyth presses up on his toes and delivers a long, loving kiss to his lips.

"I'm in," he breathes. "When do we start?"

Roathe lets out a slightly hysterical, relieved laugh as he brings his mouth back to his. Before Hythlodaeus can really kiss him back properly, though, he bends and sweeps his legs out from beneath him — and Hyth laughs, clutching is lover's shoulders and giggling as he walks them back over to the bed. There is more laughter, bright in the moonlit room, as Roathe drops him heavily onto the mattress, tumbling into the bed after him in such a manner that the whole bed shakes.

Roathe kisses him with reckless abandon, relief and joy clear in the way he tears at his clothes and digs his nails into his skin. The shedding of one layer of obfuscation between them has him giddy, shaking as he presses Hythlodaeus into the silken sheets. His fingers are delicate, tracing scars and moles and freckles with newfound determination. Once Roathe has learned the shape of each new blemish, he tastes them with his lips, pressing his hips harder against Hyth's until they are both mindlessly rocking against one another.

The night continues this way, with breathless laughter and kisses, skin to skin. Roathe stays close, eyes always on Hyth's, chasing a deeper connection even as they chase pleasure together.

There would be time for planning come the morrow — for the night, however, the war has been won, and they must take what moments of joy they can.

As Hythlodaeus has come to know well, any moment can be their last.

They must make the most of things — one day at a time.

[kalymosparadox]

the knowledge that we are going to get lore for uriel prime one day vs my urge to do What I Want with my roathe/oc/drifter ship. fight.

[kalymosparadox]

replayed the old peace tonight to give me an extra little boost as i finish up this fic and goddddd i have ideas

[h3xxthev3xx]

Finished up that Roathe draw- still debating making him into a sticker 👀 lmk if that's something you'd like to see! Might do a limited kofi run if the response is high enough ❤️‍🔥

Have a transparent png of his skirt pattern I did for this too! Feel free to use to!

[kalymosparadox]

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 chapter 2 here 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."

[kalymosparadox]

i stayed up until 7 am watching the ffxiv fanfest keynote but during that time i added more to my hythroathe fic and. its 8.1k words already. ive written this in a week. help.

[vigourart]

The devil inside🔥