Of course, in Asho’s humble opinion, it had all been inevitable. Everything had led up to this, from the moment they had been created and put into their prison of war and rebirth. He might even go as far as to claim Caïssa had intended for this to happen, even if he didn’t believe it.
Yet as inevitable as he deemed it to be, he had never expected it to actually happen. Occasionally, when he found himself on the steps stitching up a self-inflicted wound, he would wonder if he even wanted it to happen. What he wanted was to get under others’ skins, to twist them around his finger and to prove himself superior. What he wanted was attention, not love.
Love was reserved for someone long forgotten, once a brother and now a faceless stranger.
It was funny to see Kjell struggle as he tried to avoid doing anything that might suggest affection, it was funny to try getting him to slip up, but Asho’s sharp tongue never failed to remind him of his hatred whenever he came too close. There wouldn’t be any misunderstanding.
At first he was mostly amused, amused at how Kjell kissed and bit at his neck but never his lips, amused how he seemed to be afraid to even look him in the eye. As if he was trying to evade anything that might remind him that this was still a human being, rather than just something for him to fuck. It was amusing because it suggested Kjell was capable of thinking of him as a human being. Or a lover. Like looking away could cover up his shame.
Asho knew exactly what Kjell liked, having gathered information that made it seem like this was not the first but the hundredth time they were doing this, and he made use of it. A selfish man that likes to mark what’s his, even if it’s not. There was no one around to see the angry marks on his skin aside from the two of them, so Asho had no issue with letting the other do as he pleased, not caring much for the pain. It would all be worth it, in the end. (Maybe just not right now.)
Yes, at first he had been amused, silently laughing at the desperate need that had been suppressed for so very long. The hilarity ended when his shirt was discarded. The only reason Asho didn’t make a point to keep his body covered, was because he reckoned Kjell was too occupied with trying to fulfill his own animalistic desires to take note of the scars and their peculiar nature. It wasn't something he wanted to end up discussing.
Not now, not later.
Willingly did he expose himself, knowing that he would hardly be spared a second glance. Kjell was too rough, too hasty to even think of using the opportunity, probably wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible so he could get back to lying to himself. In this case, that was only convenient, just as it was convenient that he was made to face the wall, for his backside was clear of the thin white lines. Asho really had nothing to complain about.
Even so, it bothered him that he couldn’t see Kjell’s face, which he expected would mirror his own by now–a mix of pain and satisfaction, though for entirely different reasons. Asho clenched his teeth, lips pulling in a sneer. (He hated open mouths.) Was this what he wanted? It hurt, in a different way from when he cut himself, like Kjell was trying to tear him apart. Maybe he was. It was going to hurt more later, he knew, even though that seemed nearly impossible at the moment. Was this what he wanted? Was it? He hadn't expected affection, not in the slightest, and yet...
...all he really felt was jealousy.
“You’re–awful,” he gasped, nails digging into the palms of his hands. He meant for the words to sound mocking, but his erratic breathing made that difficult. By now he was really just taking gambles without knowing the outcome, half-heartedly hoping they might be of convenience to him. If not, he could always make them. The bishop turned his head to look at the knight, straining his neck as far as he could, his mouth in a strained grin.
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