How will GodCirus react if some other God demands the entertainment of Robert's company?
Well I'll preface this by saying no matter what, he is not entertaining that bullshit seriously. Robert is his and his alone. Period.
How he reacts though would depend on the god.
Some minor nobody god that he doesn't give a shit about? First of all, they should know better. They get 1 withering look and if they keep it up, they're not making it out of the palace alive.
A god of some renown that he has a decent relationship with? He'll give them the courtesy of treating that as a joke. At first. They keep it up and they are at serious risk of starting a war (and finally making Chad actually do his job coordinating the troops). He is not fucking around. He will burn bridges.
Another Prime god? Trickier. They have power that rivals his own and potentially even the power to take what's his, if they so chose. Or make a huge mess trying. He would politely decline and try to redirect their attention away from Robert. Failing that, he would ask them to leave. Fighting over Robert is the last resort, but he has the benefit of having Chad and Jamila as nearby allies to tip the odds in his favour.
In either of the last two cases but especially in that last case, Robert would try to desecalate and offer to do whatever he needs to in order to solve the situation amicably. He doesn't really get his own value.
Yo! For ease of tracking/blocking/interacting/engagement I've added #cirus anwar as a tag to all my threesome flamdadbert posts, posts that have anything to do with my interpretation of Flamdad and his interactions with Robert
Not my best work but what it lacks in Good, it makes up for in Four Thousand Words! Behold, the latest in the #solbound (check out that tag to see everything else this AU has to offer this is like... part 6 or something - or check it out on Ao3)
Beware, beyond the read more there lies smut.
Cirus belongs to @sunnyfrenchfries
Cw: mentions of atypical abuse by a parent, I guess. Unethical experimentation? Semi-surgical bad stuff? I'm bad at cw stuff, ok?
Robert had a very particular morning routine. He dragged himself out of bed early under the watchful eyes of the stars and dressed not in the gossamer silks, delicate chiffons, and gauzy embroidered linens of the day, but in the heavier cotton attire better suited to the chill of night. Then, he patrolled.
He had a rotation of routes through the palace halls, out onto the grounds, along the canals, and through the gardens. It was better to switch things up constantly, never falling into a predictable pattern. It was something he'd picked up young while listening to Elliot speak.
Not to him. Elliot didn't speak at length to him. More… at him. Around him. Robert had always enjoyed listening to him, no matter the topic. Elliot was clever and smart; more clever and smart than anyone Robert knew. It seemed there was nothing he didn't know and no limit to what he could learn if he just listened.
Predictability was a killer. That one had been a valuable lesson.
Robert wasn't exactly in danger here, though. He just hated when the palace guards caught up to him and started tailing him around. It was as annoying as it was a dereliction of duty. Robert should have been beneath their notice; their only duty being to keep Cirus safe. He ached to complain up the chain about it, but he knew the top of the chain for the military here, other than Cirus himself, was Chad.
Robert did not want to deal with Chad.
So instead of dealing with the problem the poor quality of Cirus's guard directly, he conducted his own patrols. Things were always quiet, always peaceful. But Robert had to be sure. His family weren't the only Godslayers in the kingdom, though they were a dying - often literally - breed. What would happen if someone more capable than Robert showed up? One who wouldn't fail. Wouldn't be captured by their enemy. He had to be ready to-
To do what…?
Stop them from fulfilling their duty and doing what Robert was too weak to accomplish on his own? He should be happy a the thought that someone might come and do what he could not. Gods did not heal from madness. This momentary peace would not last. Cirus would falter. That was the way the world worked and Robert could not hope for more.
"Sir?"
Shit. They'd found him. That was quicker than usual. Maybe the leisure was getting to him, making him lose his edge.
"Sir, please!"
Robert made a run for it before the guards could close in on him and try to usher him back to his room like a frightened and lost animal or, as a compromise, 'protecting' him on his patrol as though he were simply having a leisurely afternoon stroll through the gardens. It was an insult.
"Sir, wait! Allow me to-"
If the guard didn't want to get laid out, he shouldn't have come close. Shouldn't have reached out for Robert's shoulder. But he did and in an instant Robert had him by the wrist, yanking the guard off balance and guiding him roughly down to the dirt by his shoulder.
"Why don't you fuckers ever learn," he growled, kneeling with one knee to the man's back and reeling a fist back. A swift strike to the temple knocks him out cold and it's so pathetic how easy it is that his stomach sinks. Maybe he will have to speak to Chad.
Later. He had different plans for today.
—
Robert's attendants are used to his eccentricities by now - even the new ones. Though they didn't know when he would return, the bathwater was still steaming upon his arrival which he appreciated. They'd also seen fit to have about a million candles already lit, half burned down by the time he was stripping out of his clothing.
He sighed as he stepped into the water, the heat sending a pleasant warmth into his tired muscles and soothing the ache of a hundred different little injuries, each beaten and carved into him by divine hands which meant they never really healed all the way, not the way mundane injuries did. Whole flower heads bobbed past him, the scent of the water floral and citrus.
For once, he allowed his attendants to do their job, scrubbing him down and washing his hair for him. Then, once he was out of the water, drying him and rubbing him down with perfumes and moisturizing oils.
The next part of his morning was entirely new. Foreign, even. He wrung his hands nervously as he asked for help with the cosmetics in his vanity and sat ramrod still as an attendant excitedly lined his eyes with gold and applied a shimmering dust to his cheeks and coated his lips in a colorless wax of some sort, promising that he didn't need much help to look lovely.
Which was a lie. He knew what he looked like: dull eyes and blotches of brown speckles marring his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; a chipped ear where his father's blade had taught him an important lesson in preparedness. Most of the palace aides looked more pleasant and pretty than he did; many had been gifted to Cirus, too, albeit more willingly. It was a position people vied for yet one he had stumbled into. His only novelty was being a Godslayer.
As he selectes his clothing and was draped in fine jewelry that he didn't deserve, he wondered how many others through the years had called Cirus 'daddy' and his stomach worked itself into ugly, jealous knots.
--
It was nearly time for the sun to rise and usually, Robert sat on his balcony for this part, wrapped in his blankets and waiting with bated breath. Those were the only times he prayed. Hands clutched together, staring at the dark sky and begging for the sun to come. Dawn broke exactly on time every morning since his arrival, yet he still felt anxious that this would be the morning that Cirus faltered. Only when the sky bled gold did Robert relax.
He still prayed this morning, but he did so outside of Cirus's door under the watchful eyes of the two guards stationed at the door. When the first rays of morning light began to pour through the halls, though, Robert did not relax. He sprung into action, shoving past the guards and knocking on the door.
"Cirus? It's Robert."
There's shuffling beyond the door for a moment then, "One moment, baby," and the term of endearment makes Robert smile.
"Take your time."
Thankfully, Cirus doesn't take his time at all. it's only a handful of seconds before the door is being unlocked and pulled open. The vision that greets Robert is more breathtaking than any sunset.
The god's hair hangs loose in dark salt-and-pepper waves around his shoulders, strands of it falling forward as he bends slightly to look down at Robert, the glow of his golden eyes pinning the smaller man in place. The smile on his face is a little more tired which makes it feel more… special than normal. Intimate in a way that feels only for him. Robert pretends this only for him.
His robes are loose around his shoulders and wide open, showing off Cirus's broad, naked chest. It is a tremendous amount of restraint that keeps Robert's feet rooted to the spot and not diving face first against the god's flesh, aching to for Cirus to wrap him up in his arms and hold him close.
But no. Today is not about Robert's pleasure. He has been far too selfish for far too long and, though he's unsure if Cirus desires him, he has to at least try.
"What a lovely surprise, sweet boy," Cirus rumbled, reaching out and pressing Robert's face up a little higher. The smile on his face widens, bright as the sun, wonder in his eyes. He bent forward and dipped his head his lips only a few scant inches from Robert's and if Robert pulled himself up on his tiptoes, he knew he could close the distance and press his mouth to Cirus's mouth. It's beyond tempting. "You look stunning, Robert. Did you come to show me how beautiful you look today?"
"Just trying something new," Robert shrugged, trying to be nonchalant yet, failing when in the next moment he fishes for Cirus's approval, "Do you… like it?"
"I love it." Zero hesitation or room for doubt.
"May I come in?"
"Of course." He stepped aside just enough for Robert to slip past, his bare shoulder, decorated only with a series of draped gold chains drooping down his biceps, brushing against Cirus's skin as he entered. The door clicked closed.
Cirus's quarters were even larger than Robert's which was to be expected. Light poured in from the eastern-facing windows and from the skylights above, painting everything in a warm golden glow. Robert didn't pay the room itself much attention, though. He spun around and found himself very close to Cirus, enough for his breath to bounce from the gods chest and past his own cheeks again.
Cirus reached down and wrapped an arm around Robert's waist before he had the chance to back up. "How can I help you? You look like you need to ask me for something."
Robert cleared his throat. "I do."
The hand at his waist trailed down over the waistband of Robert's skirts, the diaphanous material only achieving some measure of modestly through careful layering, and he bit back a small noise as Cirus roughly palmed one of his cheeks, kneading it in his hand. "Well, I'm all ears. Tell me what you need."
It's unfair the way Cirus can pluck at the strings of Robert's mind with just a few words and unravel him completely. He can hardly even remember why he's here anymore. He needs Cirus's mouth on his, his hand around him, his fingers in him. He wants the cathartic release of being pushed to his breaking point and then past it because he knows he can trust Cirus to put him back together afterwards; hope that the shape of him when he's reassembled will be closer to what Cirus wants. Something he won't want to part with.
Robert was already half hard just imagining everything he wanted and distantly, he can feel the rumble of Cirus's laughter as he struggled to collect himself.
"Daddy," he said, after an eternity, "I want to do what you want."
"I always do what I want, Robert," Cirus replied without skipping a beat, his had shifting to grope and massage Robert all over.
"No, I- I want you to be in charge," Robert tried.
Cirus just chuckled, his voice low, "I am in charge, sweet boy." He tipped Robert's chin up with his free hand and pressed his mouth over Robert's without even being asked, exploring Robert's mouth with languid and deliberate strokes of his tongue.
The thoughts in Robert's head fizzle one by one, like soap bubbles and he sank against Cirus, moaning as he rolled his tongue against the god's and tastes salvation.
Robert gasped for breath the moment Cirus pulled back, then pushed himself onto his toes, chasing after the mouth. But Cirus remained just out of reach, smirking.
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need, sweet boy."
Robert's brow furrowed and he frowned up at Cirus, frustrated because he'd tried. He tried so hard and he just… he didn't have the words that would get through to Cirus. He didn't know how to do any of this. "I don't know what I need!" The admission burst out of him all at once, "Can't you just tell me, daddy? Please just tell me what I need. I don't- I don't know-! I want to make you happy and I want to feel good and I don't-"
Cirus hushed him as he grew more and more hysterical. He wrapped both hands around Robert's shoulders and drew him tight against his chest. Heat and firm pressure traveled up and down Robert's back, calming him again.
"Thank you for asking for what you need, baby."
"But I didn't-"
"Shh, I've got you. I know what you need."
Like a puppet with its strings cut, Robert went entirely slack and Cirus was there to hold him up, pecking at the side of his face and whispering praises into his ear as he dragged him to the bed. He had nothing to worry about; Cirus knew what he needed.
—
Cirus laid his boy down in bed, arranging him carefully beneath him among the multitude of pillows and blankets. Robert looked half out of his mind already, kiss-swollen lips slick with spit and what seemed to be a lightly tinted lip balm - just slightly pinker than usual - and pupils blown wide open, the effect all the more stunning for the bright gold lining his eyes.
Robert is less wearing a shirt and more an elaborate necklace. Loops of thin metal cascade down his shoulders and over his collarbone and the rest of him is bare all the way down to where his skirts sit low on his hips. The material is soft and thin and clings wetly to his weeping cock, hiding almost nothing from Cirus's hungry eyes.
Before he could reach down and tear away the fabric hiding away his prize, Robert shifted and revealed a peek of a tanned thigh. It drew the god's golden gaze immediately and he froze, soaking in the sight of that thin sliver of flesh framed in virginal white before he dove down, peppering the skin with small kisses - small claims. The fabric parted for him as he worked his way up, the slit over his thigh leading nearly all the way up to the skirt's waistband.
Cirus stops at Robert's hip then reaches over to flip the middle section of the skirt aside, laying Robert bare before his eyes. "Did you choose this yourself?"
"Y-yeah," Robert groaned, hips hitching as Cirus brushed over his inner thighs gently.
Warmth bloomed in Cirus's chest at the thought of Robert going through all this effort to make himself pretty for him. Cirus knew that this didn't come naturally to his boy. He'd been brought up to be practical. Utilitarian. Deprived of anything beyond what was strictly necessary. Judging by the simple gold bracelets and anklets Robert had chosen, he was still struggling with allowing himself to show off too much with the flashier pieces in his personal collection, but he was trying.
"What a thoughtful, considerate boy," Cirus praised, leaning down to pepper his thighs with kisses, tantalizingly close to where his cock jutted up from his hips. The man beneath him squirmed impatiently, hands fisting into the sheets, as Cirus moved closer and closer to it. Then, abruptly, he passed over it, working his way up Robert's hip bones and over his softening abs.
"Daddy…"
"Let me savour you," Cirus mumbled against the soft skin of his stomach, quieting Robert's complaints. He took his sweet time, working his way all the way up Robert's chest, cataloging each scar. Most were jagged and irregular but for the first time Cirus noticed fainter scars. Precise, smooth slices across Robert's body that formed strange patterns. The more he looked, the more he found.
They stretched all the way up to his neck where Cirus pressed a kiss against the hollow of Robert's throat. Then down and across his arms, all the way to his fingers, the tip of each Cirus anointed with his devoted lips. Back down, across his sides and his stomach, his hips his thighs, even the soles of his feet bore the faint, silvery scars. Front and - he flipped Robert over onto his stomach gently, determined to spend as much time as necessary worshipping every inch of skin - back, too.
He knew better than to ask right now, not while he had Robert trembling with anticipation and patiently awaiting his reward.
"Hips up, darling boy, knees right here," he directed, helping to shift Robert into position and pulling a pillow beneath him, "There we go. You're doing so well for me. Stay right there."
Cirus pulled himself off the bed, turning towards the table against the wall when he was halted by arms wrapping around him, a face pressed into the small of his back. "Don't leave," Robert begged, his voice muffled and even more insistent than his morning prayers, crushing his heart.
"No, baby, shh, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you," he said, twisting around to face Robert as much as he could without dislodging him.
"You were," Robert insisted, starting to pull Cirus back down onto the bed, nails biting into his skin, "Come back."
"Robert," Cirus tried, more sternly this time, "I just need to get the oil."
"No, you don't," he complained, pulling harder, "I can-"
"Robert," Cirus repeated yet again, "Let go and get back on that pillow just how I left you. I'm going to get the the oil and be right back, but if you can't behave for me, then we can't continue. Can you be good for me?"
Robert's arms tightened for a moment then, reluctantly, released as he sighed a quiet, "Okay. Fine…"
"Good boy."
Cirus watched Robert slowly crawled back into position, settling his hips back up onto the pillow. He pressed his cheek down against the mattress and stared at Cirus. No doubt following his every movement as the god turned and crossed the room to collect the oil.
"See? I'm already back," Cirus said as he sank back down onto the mattress and ran a hand over Robert's back, "I would never leave my sweet boy."
"Never's a pretty long time, Cirus."
"Trust me, I'm well aware. I've lived through more lifetimes than you can count," he snorted, pulling off his robe and setting it aside before uncorking the bottle and drizzling some of its contents into his hand and over his fingers.
"What if I'm not, you know… sweet and good?" He asked, curling to the side to stare back at Cirus, "If I don't behave?"
"Then we'll correct your behaviour, just like we did a moment ago."
"And if I'm still not good enough…?"
"Robert, it's not a matter of whether you're 'good enough'," Cirus assured him, "If you misbehave, I'll correct you. And then I'll forgive you, okay?"
Robert stared at him for a long while then nodded, his body relaxing. "Okay."
"Ready, baby?"
"I'm ready, daddy," Robert said.
Cirus smiled as he settled over Robert, pushing the fabric of his skirt to one side to reveal his bare ass. He shifted to get a better angle before tracing Robert's entrance with a slick finger.
The man gasped slightly, knees falling a fraction wider as Cirus circled the ring of muscle gently. He waited for Robert to relax before easing in slowly. Just like before, when he had worked his way across every inch of skin, every tiny scar, Cirus took his time preparing Robert.
This time he wasn't going to take his boy apart with just his fingers; he was going to fuck Robert so hard into the mattress that he wasn't going to leave it for the rest of the day. In fact, he was going to come back for seconds and thirds and keep that pretty ass so full and that clever head so empty that he might even risk keeping the Godslayer with him overnight.
Robert moaned into the blankets as Cirus pumped his finger in deep and nearly all the way back out, his finger catching on the rim and massaging him open. He drizzled the oil directly over his finger and slowly worked it in, slicking his insides for what was to come.
He didn't even touch his boy's prostate until he finally worked the second finger in. The moment he grazed the pads of his fingers across the delicate nerves, Robert arched and pushed back onto his fingers, groaning a long, low, "Fuuuuuuuck, daddy, please…," his hole fluttering and clenching around Cirus.
"Soon, baby, just be patient," Cirus replied, reaching down to massage the growing bulge in his own pants as he sawed his fingers in and out, only teasing Robert's his prostate occasionally. Just enough to keep him interested and leaking onto the pillow under his hips.
Robert whined when Cirus added the third freshly slicked finger, a shudder working its way up his spine. "You're opening up so well for me, sweet boy. You're so perfect for me. This is what you needed, isn't it, baby?"
"Y…yeees…" Robert whined, rocking back with every press in, fucking himself on Cirus's fingers and putting slowly against the pillow beneath his hips.
"Think you can take more?"
"Yes!" Robert cried, jolting as Cirus pressed firmly against his little button unexpectedly.
"Do you know what you need yet?"
Robert let out a long wordless moan which Cirus took to mean he still didn't have the words for this quite yet. Which was fine. Cirus could provide th-
"You, daddy," Robert finally ground out, "I- I need… Daddy pl…pl-ease, fuck me…!"
Cirus's hand stuttered for a moment, briefly losing the rhythm he had with Robert before they found a new one. He worked more oil into his boy before finally deciding that Robert was as ready as he was going to get.
He shucked off his pants and slicked himself with a considerable amount of oil. After a few languid pumps to coat his hard length from tip to base, he moved over Robert and lined himself up, pressing the blunt head of his cock into the cleft of his ass and against the fluttering hole.
Almost instantly, Robert tried to push his hips back but Cirus pinned him in place with one hand on his lower back. He wasn't going to let Robert's eagerness get him hurt, no matter how quickly the man healed. Instead, he pressed in almost agonizingly slowly.
The noise that Robert made in response was raw and animal, a strangled half-moan, half-scream as Cirus slowly breached him, still trying to push himself back and whining when Cirus refuses to let him.
"Look at you… taking me so well…" Cirus groaned as he pushed himself past the halfway mark. Robert didn't reply, just moaned and opened his legs wider. "Like you were made for me, baby."
"Yessss," Robert hissed, his head bobbing up and down over and over, "Mm… f-for you… daddy…"
Cirus's hips jerked forward involuntarily, forcing more of himself into Robert than intended. He heard a sharp intake of air beneath him. "Sorry, s-"
"More," Robert demanded, and Cirus obliged, snapping his hips forward again and watching with wonder as the tiny scars across Robert's body - the smooth, precise patterns - flickered softly with an internal glow, lighting up so briefly that he could have written it off as a trick of the light. Or perhaps he was going mad, after all.
But no. He pulled back slightly, just half an inch, then rolled his hips forward, drawing a gutteral cry from Robert and making the patterns flicker dimly again.
Cirus found himself utterly transfixed as he moved a hand to either of Robert's hips and slowly rocked back and snapped forward, speed steadily increasing as his boy adjusted to his size and took him deeper and deeper with each thrust. Each plunge inwards lit Robert up for just a few fractions of a second, dimly, the same strange blue as his not-blood.
The god chased those flickers, fucking into Robert faster and harder still and grinding loud, raw, broken noises out of Robert until he tensed beneath Cirus and came hard onto the pillow, shuddering and crying out loud.
Cirus didn't slow for a moment, still chasing his own pleasure, pulling nearly all the way out of Robert then slamming back in relentlessly while Robert writhe and sobbed and babbled nonsense in his hoarse, fucked out voice.
And then he began to pray and Cirus's mind latched onto his voice immediately - the only one he ever bothered to listen to.
Deeper, daddy, please, I beg you, please. More, yes, yes, yes, Robert pleaded, perhaps unaware of what he was doing. These were prayers that Cirus was, of course, more than happy to answer.
He'd wrung three more orgasms from Robert by the time he buried himself deep, moaning with his own release. He reached beneath Robert to massage the growing bulge in his boy's stomach while he was filled and was amazed to see the patterns across the Godslayer's body finally lit up fully, revealing the intricate patterns that had been carefully carved across most of Robert's exposed skin.
--
When Cirus asked Robert about the strange phenomenon hours later while sharing a meal in bed, Robert looked at him funny.
"They're just scars," he said between bites of fruit and cheese, "They don't glow."
"Scars?"
"It's just something one of my dad's used to do. To make me stronger. He was always looking for ways to keep me safe."
"He… carved these into you?" Cirus asked, tracing a set along Robert's arm.
"Yeah," Robert said, reaching over to steal a piece of spiced sausage from Cirus's plate, "The hardest part is just staying still. It took forever."
"This was to make you stronger?"
"For you."
Cirus blinked, frowning. "As a ritual to me?"
"No. To be able to kill you," the Godslayer shrugged, "I told you. I was made for you."
"Oh." Cirus wasn't sure if he'd ever felt worse in his entire immortal life.
God Consort AU part 10! More set up for the next part than expected but I needed smut (so be warned much of this is gratuitous but not egregious Cibert smut) with a side of mushy gushy stuff, I guess.
Want more? The whole thing is on Ao3 here or you can explore the story, asks, and art on Tumblr in the tag here
As always, Cirus is a @sunnyfrenchfries original everyone say thank you Sunny!
cw the usual suspects like idk bondage, daddy kink. overstim, the word balls... 🤷
It wasn't that Robert had forgotten his legs were bound together; no, he just somehow hadn't quite realized when it'd happened. Which led to him waking up in a slight panic when he'd attempted to get up and found himself incapable of moving his legs independently.
Falling had more than just knocked the wind out of him, it had knocked him right out. When he woke again later with a splitting headache, his arm numb and pinned somewhere beneath him, it was still dark outside.
Hours until sunrise, his gut told him—and he knew to trust his gut even more than he could trust the temple bells and their fancy water clocks that were never quite on time. Hours until sunrise and he was uncomfortable. And he hurt. And he was upset. And this was probably exactly the kind of thing he was supposed to tap out of with that silly little 'I want you to stop' signal Cirus made him practice and practice and practice.
But he couldn't.
He was stuck with his arm jammed beneath him and feeling like it didn't even belong to him anymore. With his legs glued together and useless. Trying to move sent a twinge of pain up his lower back and the ache in his still-plugged hole reminded him exactly why his back was so sore. On top of it all, his head was spinning and throbbing and it was really he could do was moan into his gag pitifully as the minutes trickled by.
—
"Robert?" A voice called softly from somewhere nearby.
Robert squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter and whined, still tired. He hadn't slept well at all, constantly waking up and falling back asleep. Being stuck in one position meant that his pain ebbed and flowed—the aches in his back, side, and arm healed then reappeared over and over again in an endless cycle.
It seemed he was currently on the "ache" part of that cycle and he resented having to wake up and become aware of that again.
"Baby, wake up. Are you okay?"
That sounded like Cirus. But that wasn't possible because—
Robert's eyes snapped open to find Cirus knelt before him, golden daylight haloing him all around and casting his face into shadow. He always looked grand. Larger than life. Uniquely divine, even compared to the gods Robert had fought before. A god among gods. Bright. Sturdy. Safe.
My god, his brain supplied him, this is my god.
Which is why Robert's heart sank and his stomach twisted to realize that Cirus looked… upset. His brows were furrowed as he studied Robert. His mouth set into a straight line. Jaw clenched. Those steady, molten eyes of his were unreadable and it frightened Robert.
Of course Cirus was upset with him—he'd been told to stay put and now here he was, on the floor. He'd tried to leave. He'd abandoned his god in bed alone. He'd missed his morning prayers. He'd missed the entire fucking sunrise!
Robert used his good arm—the one not completely asleep and dead to the world beneath him—and dragged himself across the floor, inching closer to Cirus before rocking himself up onto his knees and pressing his face against his leg. He nuzzled against Cirus and prayed for forgiveness, hoping that his god would hear him and understand that still wanted to be good. He could still be good for Cirus.
Please, please, please don't get rid of me yet, daddy—
His chain of thought was lost when large arms surrounded him and pulled him up and made the whole room turn into a blur as he was scooped up against Cirus and lifted into the air.
Next thing he knew, the soft sheets and the mattress were at his back. Did that mean he was forgiven? Did this mean Cirus would still keep him?
"Sweet boy," Cirus said. His voice sounded stricken and his face—he was still upset.
Robert's breath came fast through his nose, his heart pounding. Panic washed over him, icy cold and pricking his skin like nettles. He didn't know what to do to appease his god.
Cirus was saying something else. "I would never get rid of you, beloved." A strangled cry tore itself from Robert's chest and reverberated through the faux cock stuffing his throat full. Cirus leaned over him to wipe away the tears Robert hadn't even realized were streaming down his cheeks and to pat his head and stroke his hair, "Shh, calm yourself, baby. You will always be my perfect boy, even if you falter at times."
Cirus leaned down and pressed his lips to his cheeks and over his forehead and across the bridge of his nose. "You belong to me now, you know that, don't you? Every part of you is mine. Every inch of you, every freckle. Your moans. Your tears.
"You are my treasure. My prize. My favoured above all else. I would never throw you away, sweet thing. Put that worry out of your head. This is your home now. I will not put you out or make you leave. I want you by my side. Always. Do you understand?"
Robert wasn't quite sure that he did, but he tried to nod anyway, only for Cirus to catch his chin.
"I'm not asking you to lie to me, Robert. It's okay if you don't understand yet," he said, infinitely patient in a way that threatened to make tears spill from Robert's eyes again. "I'll eventually make you understand. For now…"
Cirus moved onto the bed beside Robert and hooked his arms back under his body, hoisting Robert and his useless legs up into his lap, face pressed against Cirus's shoulder. The thick gold band keeping his ankles bound together melted first. Robert watched with fascination as the divine metal split apart and reformed into two separate gold cuffs, one on each ankle.
The band joining Robert's knees came next, except these shifted higher once split apart. These bands wrapped around each of his thighs high up, just above mid thigh, like the strap of a cuisse—sans cuisse.
Robert instantly flexed and stretched his legs the moment they were free, a bit mesmerized by his new leg cuffs and the way they shone and reflected the light. He hadn't quite finished studying them when Cirus's hand shifted and the muzzle moved with it, melting down over Robert's throat.
Without that to hold the long gag invading Robert's throat in place, it was forced up slightly—perhaps a half an inch—before Robert instinctively caught it, pressing with his tongue first, then sucking and swallowing to keep it in place.
"Oh?" Cirus asked, tapping against the end of the false cock a little and chuckling, "Not ready to let that go yet, baby? Why don't you fight me for it? Try keeping it in that delicious little mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, as hard as you can."
Fingertips found the end of the golden phallus and pulled, drawing tears to Robert's eyes as he diligently sucked and swallowed even harder, tightening his lips around it. He stroked hard with his tongue, hoping to somehow draw the length back into his mouth, and bobbed forward to claw back every lost inch—and every now and then, that seemed to work. Cirus, as though the struggle was tiring him out, occasionally took breaks from pulling and allowed Robert to work the cock back into his mouth a bit. Then the pull would start again and Robert would lose ground.
It was a game they both knew Robert was destined to lose, but Robert put all of his focus and effort into his task anyway until the cock popped free from Robert's lips audibly, leaving his panting mouth still hung open in its wake.
Cirus took this as an invitation, his mouth crashing down over Robert's possessively. Claiming. The hand at the back of Robert's gold plated throat drawing him in deeper. He wrapped his arms around Cirus—the good one and the one still waking up that felt like there were stinging nettles and buzzing bees hidden inside there somewhere. An easy enough pain to ignore in exchange for holding onto his god. There was little Robert wouldn't put up with for the joy of being touched and held and claimed.
When Cirus pulled away, he had to duck to the side to avoid Robert's attempts to chase his mouth down again. "Don't stop…" Robert complained, voice hoarse as he continued to try to chase Cirus, pulling himself up by the arms wrapped around the god's throat. "Please daddy?"
Cirus smiled and dipped forward, pressing his mouth not over Robert's mouth as he was demanding, but his to the corner of Robert's mouth like a little peck.
"Tell me you're my treasure, sweet boy."
Robert frowned but obliged, "I'm your treasure, daddy…"
The reward came swiftly—Cirus's mouth and tongue returning to Robert's mouth and tongue. Only this time Cirus's other hand drifted. It ghosted down and down further, past Robert's cock and to the plug nestled between his cheeks. Slowly, it was drawn out to the widest point and Robert moaned wantonly into Cirus's mouth before the god reseated the plug and pulled his mouth away.
"This is your home," he said, "And I will not make you leave."
"Cirus, I—"
"Repeat."
Robert worried his lip with his teeth for a moment, weighing the heavy words against his desire for pleasure. Pleasure one. "This is… my home. And you won't make me leave."
"That's right, sweet boy. This is your home. You belong here with me." Cirus twisted the plug, drawing a gasp from Robert's mouth as it brushed against that strange spot inside him that felt so good to touch.
"I b-belong here with you…" Robert moaned, "This is my home…"
"You belong to me. Every inch." He twisted the plug again. Pulled it out slightly and thrust it back against that spot. Robert could have sworn it was longer now, but he didn't care.
"Belong to you, daddy," he gasped, pressing his head back and his thighs further apart as Cirus thrust against that spot again. "Every inch of m-me, belongs to you. Please, more…"
Cirus pressed his lips to Robert's forehead before grinding the golden toy against Robert harder, giving him what he wanted. Always giving him what he wanted. "What belongs to me, sweet boy?"
Robert knit his brow together for a moment, trying to think as his body was assaulted by pleasure and his brain wanted nothing more than to just soak in that pleasure and stop thinking any thoughts at all.
"My fr-freckles," he began, parroting what Cirus told him before and hoping it was the right answer, "My… moans and my tears…"
"What else?"
"My… oh, f-feels good… right there…?"
"Your pleasure?"
"Ye-yes. My pleasure. Yours…" Robert moaned, "My everything. Everything is yours… my teeth, my hands, my sword…"
"Thank you," Cirus said, as though any of that was worth having at all. But Cirus's mouth was on his again anyway and the plug was grinding into him and making his thoughts fizzle out one by one like spent candles until he didn't know what Cirus was prompting him to say anymore.
"I'm your perfect boy." "Lovely boy." "Proud of me." "Gorgeous... Perfect… Precious… Wonderful…"
The words tumbled out of him, slurred and disjointed and only half understood as Cirus teased him, bringing him just to the edge of spilling over and then stopping just to force more words out of his mouth until Robert was a shaking shuddering begging mess.
"Please daddy, I'm so good… been so good," he whined, trying to push himself back onto the toy. "Your perfec-perfect… Yours… Please make me cum, please, please, pleeease… Deserve it… I d-deserve to feel good, deserve to be with y-you… You make me f-feel good—s-so good..."
Whatever he'd said seemed to work; Cirus moved his face to Robert's neck, licking and suckling and nibbling his skin as his other hand finally, blissfully tore an orgasm from his body. Robert practically screamed from the pleasure, his vision whiting out momentarily.
As usual, Cirus kept grinding and rubbing that spot mercilessly, sending electricity up Robert's spine and across his entire body and stretching out his bliss for minutes until the sensations started to overwhelm his overstimulated body.
No matter how he squirmed, he couldn't escape it and he was distantly aware of Cirus's beard scratching pleasantly against his neck and throat and the god's searing mouth and tongue sucking blue bruises into his skin.
Then Cirus bit down. Not hard enough to draw blood but harder than he had before. And then Robert couldn't think, could barely breathe from the pleasure-pain he was feeling, whole body buzzing.
Distantly, somewhere at the back of his mind. he was aware of Cirus singing praises against his neck, calling good and sweet and loved and his while Robert sobbed and moaned and slowly stopped bucking and wiggling as his energy ran out.
—
As Cirus entered the baths, the attendants turned their faces to the floor, bowing low, before backing out of the room to leave him and the man cradled in his arms alone.
The water smelled sweet, whole flowers gently floating in the steaming water. He'd ordered it prepared the way Robert took his—with soothing scents and oils that he really didn't know enough about to identify. The flowers, at least, he knew were roses. A neat row of soaps, oils, and lotions sat on the ledge of the large pool-like tub, ready for use.
Cirus slowly stepped into the water, lowering both himself and his still-boneless concubine inside.
"You can put me down now," Robert said. Yet he curled closer, nuzzling into Cirus's chest with half-lidded eyes.
"I could." Cirus did not put him down.
Instead, he carefully washed Robert from head to toe—paying particular attention to his flaccid length and poor, thoroughly emptied balls even as Robert whined and tried to push his wrist away.
"I can't," he complained, trying to worm his fingers under Cirus's hand to protect himself and, failing that, beginning to pull at his fingers weakly, trying to pry Cirus away from the sensitive, slowly rising cock in his palm.
He only toyed with Robert for a few more moments—just until he managed to work him back up to a full erection again—before stopping. "I'm sorry, sweet boy," he said with a smile, "You just make the sweetest little noises when I play with you, I can't help it. You're irresistible."
"Right," Robert said, settling back into Cirus's arms, though a little less comfortably than before, hips twisting and thighs rubbing together. "Any tips for being a little more… resistable? For my own sanity and well-being."
"No," Cirus said, though if he were inclined to share, he probably would have advised his boy that all the wiggling and writhing he was doing in his arms right now wasn't exactly making him any less appealing. "There's nothing you could do to be less alluring to me. Remember why?"
"What do you—" he stopped short of finishing his question, face suddenly going red as he realized what Cirus was fishing for. "Again?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
"I do mind," he pouted, turning his face against Cirus's chest. Then, he mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"…Because I'm your perfect, beautiful boy..."
"And?"
He let out a deep, long-suffering sigh and dipped his head back into the water, his hair flowing around him in a halo. "And I'm your treasure and you, um… I don't know… Do I have to keep saying all this stuff?"
"It would certainly please me if you did."
"Okay, fine," he continued, "But I want you to know, I think you have very low standards."
"And that's why for hundreds of years and across thousands of offerings, only you had the power to capture my attention and sway my heart?"
"Okay. You have… strange standards," he admitted, unable to refute Cirus, "And a death wish."
"You won't kill me, sweet boy. I wouldn't let you hurt yourself that way," Cirus shrugged.
Robert blinked up at the god, surprised by his response, but nodded. "Thank you. That makes me feel…" he paused for a moment, trying to think of the proper word, "Safe. Secure."
He was quiet for a few long seconds, then continued, "No one's ever wanted me before, Cirus. Even my parents. I think I was always a disappointment to them and no matter how much I tried to fix it… Doesn't matter. I just mean, I like belonging to you. I want you to keep me. So if you start getting bored or I disappoint you, could you let me know how to fix it? And don't say I won't bore you or disappoint you, just—"
"I'll let you know, Robert."
The man smiled brightly and, for the first time without taking in any of Cirus's essence which was how the god thought this worked, the sigils across Robert's body began to faintly glow. The sigils and even some of his freckles, Cirus realized. Even his brown eyes changed, burning blue like sulfur fire.
Part 7 of the God Consort AU based on @sunnyfrenchfries character, Cirus Anwar. If you're somehow here but you missed it, check out The Anwar Arrangement on Ao3 by sunny and @jackalopc for the real deal, OG Cirus and Robert tale.
If you want to catch up on all things in this AU, check out my #solbound tag for the other parts, art, answered asks, etc or catch up with the story here on Ao3.
This chapter is about 1600 words and isn't quite smut but it is very sexual/suggestive and was partially inspired by this incredible artwork (that amazing muzzle design!!)
Robert opened his eyes to darkness. Not the soft darkness of a moonlit night or the pure dark of a windowless room. It was the darkness of something large and warm gently pressing against his eyes.
A hand.
Light bled through from above and below and in-between each finger, tinged gold through ichor filled veins where the skin was thin enough for the light to transmit through flesh. It curled up from below his head, the heel of a palm cupping his cheek and slanting up and across his face, towards his temple.
But this was not the hand that concerned him.
No, the hand that concerned him was the one massaging his lower belly, bringing his attention towards just how full he felt. For a brief moment, he thought perhaps he'd simply overindulged in those sweet little honeyed custards that he just couldn't resist. He had eaten four of them even on top of his lunch this afternoon - both of his and, at Cirus's instance, the god's portion, too. But, no… this was-
Right. He hadn't fallen asleep for a quick evening nap. He'd passed out.
And Cirus was still inside of him.
"Cirus," he complained, voice low and raspy from overuse. He tiredly swatting at the hand stroking the bulge in his stomach, but instead of moving his hand away, Cirus breathed a laugh against the top of Robert's head and twitched his hips up just a fraction more, guaranteeing that he was fully seated in Robert, pulling a soft moan from his lips.
"Back with me, Robert?" Cirus asked, his voice reverberating through his chest and against Robert's back, sending prickles of gooseflesh crawling up his arms and his stomach into little excited flips. "You can get some more rest, if you need. I'll keep the sun from your eyes until it sets."
"I have to go before then," Robert warned, turning his face up slightly, "If you fall asleep, I'll have no choice but to tear your throat out with my teeth, Cirus."
It wasn't a threat. It was a… plea. Cirus could not be vulnerable before him. Could not let his guard down and convince himself that Robert was as harmless as the rest of his servants and staff.
"I'll be fine," Cirus said, a smile in his voice, ever the foolish god. They all thought stupid things like that, so used to being untouchable. So confident. So arrogant. Cirus spoke with the undeniable surety of a man who had been born at the beginning of all things and would live to see the end of all things. He had decided that Robert would not hurt him and so, it must be true, for it was his will and his will was absolute.
He's wrong, Robert thought, his breath starting to come quicker. He reached up to tear Cirus's arm away from his eyes and felt Cirus's slick ichor under his blunt fingernails, numbing his fingertips with its buzzing heat. He got his feet under himself and pressed against Cirus's thighs, whining as he began to slide off the length of the god's cock.
Cirus didn't understand. His will meant nothing to Robert, who had been defying the will of gods since he'd taken his first life at eight years old with his father's guidance; the god a particular well which had since run dry, driving its god into despair. An easy kill. He had worked his way up: gods of moss, of carrion birds, of small groves, of the Eastern Sea. Just because Cirus was his largest game yet did not mean his flesh would yield and less easily beneath Robert's teeth.
Just because he didn't want to, didn't mean Robert would abandon his duty. He had a responsibility to uphold and at the first moment of weakness from the god, he would strike. He would sink his teeth in. Rip. Tear. Drink deep of Cirus, even as he wept for what he had to do and-
He was weeping now, wetting Cirus's hand with his panicked tears as he was allowed to pull himself almost entire free of Cirus before that hand over his abdomen gently pulled him back again, slowly dragging him back and back and back as his legs trembled and kicked at nothing and he moaned pitifully through his tears, helpless against Cirus's strength and his own pleasure.
"Sweet boy," Cirus said soothingly, pressing his hand flat against Robert's abs, pinning his ass to Cirus's hips with a strength that Robert cannot hope to overcome; a strength that would have soothed Robert if the god were able to retain it while he slept. The hand over Robert's eyes moved, leaking in sunlight as he moved to swipe away Robert's tears, "I'll be fine because I'll make it so."
Confident.
Cirus uncovered Robert's eyes, his hand sliding down below Robert's cheek, leaving him blinking against the harsh light of day.
"Cirus, you don't-" The hand covered Robert's mouth, muffling the rest of his protest with irritating ease and it was all Robert could do not to bite and show him just how dangerous he could be.
Arrogant.
Robert licked his teeth and contemplated doing just that. All of life's most important lessons were wrought in pain and Cirus was like a babe who had yet to suffer a true wound. Teeth could rectify that. Teeth buried deep into muscle. Perhaps just a finger. A finger was a small price to pay to learn that one was vulnerable… And if he grew so angry at Robert that he could not suffer him any longer, then let him strike him down.
His lips parted, tongue darting out to taste Cirus's skin as a snake tasted the air for its prey. His mouth opened wider, brow furrowing, years of training telling him to bite, bite, bite while he thinks you're weak, let him underestimate you, they will always underestimate you, Robert, if you fall then get up and if lose your sword then use your arms and if you lose your arms then use your teeth and bite, bite, bite-
A solid warmth like molten honey crept up Robert's cheeks as he readied himself to strike, startling him from his thoughts. It poured down his chin and over his lips. He jolted back, whining against Cirus's hand and nearly crossing his eyes as he tried in vain to look down and see what was happening. Even if he could have seen his own mouth, though, Cirus's hand was in the way.
Shaking his head and trying to pull back as far as he could did nothing to stop the progression of the warmth as it covered his mouth and cheeks, past his chin and over his throat until, finally, Cirus pulled his hand away.
In an instant, Robert's own hands flew up to his face, fingertips dragging across what felt like warm glass or perhaps metal - uniformly smooth everywhere it covered him. It did not yield to his fingertips as he pressed them in against the covering, nor could he pry the edges from his skin with his fingernails. At the same time, it yielded enough for him to work his jaw and puff his cheeks and open his mouth and he appreciated that.
It was much more comfortable than his last muzzle.
Safe.
Robert eased almost immediately when he realized the gift he'd been given, relaxing completely against the god's body.
"Is that better, baby?" Cirus asked, though it was obvious that he already knew the answer and simply wanted Robert to acknowledge it. He tried first to speak, but his voice was muffled by the strange mask, so he nodded instead. "Didn't I tell you I would give you what you need?"
Robert felt his face heat slightly, a little embarrassed by his own foolishness. He nodded sheepishly, lowering a hand to rest atop the one massaging his belly in a silent apology.
"You were going to bite me, weren't you?" Cirus asked this time and even though his tone was neither angry nor accusatory, Robert turned his face towards the mattress in his shame, frowning behind the mask as he nodded. "Perhaps I should give you mouth something to occupy it, then, hm?"
Robert wasn't sure at first if this was a question he was meant to answer, but as seconds ticked by and Cirus did nothing, he finally nodded.
"Good boy," Cirus hummed, then, "Open your mouth for me."
The moment he did, he felt some of the whatever was on his face - something gold, he realized as he looked down as much as he could, gold and shining - pour slowly into his mouth and form a small bulb, keeping his lips and jaw apart. He tested it with his teeth first, biting down gently and feeling a slight yield where his teeth could sink in just the tiniest bit before it was like trying to bite through a stone. He laved over it with his tongue, too, finding its surface just as smooth as the exteriour of the muzzle.
He found he did not dislike it and wrapped his lips around the strange intrusion, his tongue pressed to the underside.
Cirus moved his hand again, covering Robert's eyes and pressing his mouth to the top of head lovingly. "Get some sleep, sweet boy. It's not too much longer until the sun sets and you've had a… busy day."
Robert snorted and rolled his eyes. As if laying in bed and being fucked senseless in between breaks to eat and drink could somehow count as 'busy.' His body was tired, though, and his lids drifted shut, lashes dragging against Cirus's palm as he closed them.
He had the feeling this would only be the first 'busy' day of many to come and he looked forward to as many days of undeserved pleasure as he could get.
Part 4 of my Cibert fantasy god/consort AU (Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 here and on Ao3 here). Because ai just couldn't stop myself. This one got wicked long because I wanted to include smut by any means necessary so it just kept going and going like an avalanche.
So, cw hand jobs/smut and daddy kink (because is it really Cibert without the daddy kink???)
As always, Cirus belongs to @sunnyfrenchfries
Robert wasn't really sure what to do about Cirus. He said he wanted to kill him - it was his sole purpose in life to kill him - but his heart hadn't been in it long before he'd broken his arm and officially paused his hunt.
The thing was, Robert was bad at downtime. Usually, when he wasn't hunting, he was training. When he wasn't training, he was working. Or finding work. Manual labour, mostly. He was handy enough with an axe and good at repairs. He could help raise a barn or plant a field. For a time, he'd even served as a blacksmith's assistant which had been one of his favourite jobs.
In the palace, however, there was none of that, especially with his injury leaving him useless for any sort of labour he might've offered to perform. That left him adrift in his strange new home, restless and itching in his own skin. Being idle left him too much time to think and he hated it.
Robert sank into his bath, keeping his injured arm up and out of the water to prevent the stiffened bandages from getting soaked. The water was warm and scented with about a million different fancy oils by the maids who sought to endlessly torment him at every turn with their bath scents and perfumes and lotions and oils and flower petals.
It took a monumental effort every morning to kick them all out as they insisted on scrubbing his back and washing his hair as though he were a child who had never seen a bath before. He knew how to bathe himself. Sure, he'd never seen these soaps before. And he'd certainly never had a different one for his body than his hair. He'd never worried about softening the skin or smelling pretty, either… Nor had he ever been in a bathing basin so large he could lie end to end three times over and not reach the sides nor reach the bottom standing at its deepest part… but he knew how to bathe.
He sank down until his mouth was below the water, bitterly blowing bubbles as he "relaxed" in the water, trapped by his own thoughts.
Of Cirus.
He was embarrassed by how often he thought of Cirus. As a rule, he tried not to pay too much attention to others beyond what was necessary. He travelled too often to build bonds with anyone. And, as his father often reminded him, he wasn't out there to make friends. He had important work to do.
Past tense.
Presently, he had no work to do and all the time in the world to think about the god he was meant to kill. His handsome face. The smile that lit up his golden eyes. Those strong, warm arms.
He glared up at his broken arm where he had it resting on the lip of the tub. If it weren't for his injury, he could have continued his farce of a hunt indefinitely. Now, though, he lacked any excuse to have the god hold him and that embittered him even further. Then, shame washed over him.
Cirus was his sworn enemy. Even if he didn't seem mad now, the god's erratic behaviour had caused incredible harm by withholding the sun. The long nights were cold and harsh and colder and harsher still in the winter months. Without the light, farms floundered, people starved. People died. Killing the god was his purpose for a reason… and yet here he was, desiring to be held by the very god whose fault it wa that Robert had to be born at all; had to suffer the dark and the cold and the hunger.
He had every reason to hate Cirus and yet-
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he popped up a little.
"If you're here to bring more rose petals, I told you three bowls was more than plenty," he snapped.
The low chuckle of the sun god rumbled through the door. "You've been in the bath for an hour, I thought I might check that you haven't drowned. May I come in?"
"Oh," Robert replied dumbly, sitting up straighter again, then spinning in the tub and resting both arms on the lip so that he could face the door. This must have been another of Cirus's peculiarities. It was his palace, why not just enter as he pleased? "Yes?"
The door swung open and the golden god stepped in, his robes trailing along the ground behind him. Cirus was always huge to Robert - tall and broad and larger than life - but from his vantage point of the tub set into the floor, Robert realized for the first time what it must have felt like to be a bug. Cirus loomed large and radiant over him, gracing him with a brilliant smile and Robert didn't know what to do with himself.
He wanted to reach out and touch Cirus the only way he knew how. Perhaps hook an arm around his ankle and yank so that the god would topple. He could claw and bite and scratch, then, so that Cirus would be under his fingers and in his mouth. So he could taste his ichor on his tongue.
He wanted Cirus to fight back. Cirus might strike him - he had not struck him yet, but he could, if it meant Robert would feel his warm hands on him. He didn't mind if they were fists, he decided. It would do. Cirus might pin him down, too. Hold his arms against his sides so that Robert could only kick and writhe until the fight left him and he could just… relax. He imagined, briefly, what it might be like to be pinned beneath Cirus's entire body, crushed to the floor and incapable of moving. Robert would be able to touch all of him, then. It'd be so warm.
Robert squirmed in the water, his face suddenly hot and his mouth dry. Though there was no reason for it, he could feel himself growing hard, his erection starting to press against the side of the tub where he knelt.
He dragged his tongue across his lips and resisted his urge to reach out and touch. He'd promised to behave. That meant no more trying to hurt Cirus. No more touching. He squirmed again, pulling his hips back from the tile and willing his unwelcome arousal away.
"What are you thinking about, my little Godslayer?" Cirus asked, lowering himself to sit on the floor beside Robert. He was so much closer, now. Robert fingers twitched and his jaw tightened.
"Our deal."
"To behave?"
"Yes," Robert nodded, "I want to break it."
"You want to kill me that badly?" Cirus asked, smiling. Unoffended by the threat. It didn't phase him at all.
"Yes," Robert said instantly, then, "Well. No."
It was a sickening realization. All that his fathers had worked towards. Every sacrifice they had made… and Robert didn't want to do it anymore. Robbie was probably looking down on him from the heavens now in disappointment and Elliot… well, it was no wonder why he'd abandoned Robet the moment he could, was it?
Robert buried his face in his arms, his arousal flagging and replaced with a bottomless well of shame. He wanted now not to touch but to never be touched again. He wanted to sink down into the bath and blow bubbles into his pretty scented water until he choked on rose petals.
He heard a noise like a high, unbroken whine - a pained keeping - and it wasn't until a large warm palm atop his head drew him back to his body did he realize that he'd made that sound. He swallowed it instantly, horrified. Was he the one that was broken? He was, wasn't he? He'd not only failed at the only thing he was ever supposed to accomplish, but he had gone utterly mad.
"Does it trouble you that much that you no longer want to take my life," Cirus asked, his fingers scratching Robert's scalp soothingly.
"Yes," Robert admitted miserably, leaning into the pleasant touch. He learned he liked this - having his head touched and his hair tousled. He liked it almost as much as when he'd been sore and Cirus had massaged his shoulders. It'd been a shame that Robert couldn't find those manacles again later - he'd at one point hoped that he could coax Cirus into doing that again if he could make his arms sore again.
"Would you like me to hold you?"
Startled, Robert tore himself back from Cirus's hand, splashing in the bath and wetting the god's fine clothes. Belatedly, he realized he had dragged his damaged arm into the water, too, and the bandages were already staring to grow fat and peel away. "Are you releasing me from our agreement?"
"No. I still expect you to behave yourself, Robert," he replied, which only confused the situation worse. Unless-
Robert relaxed again, realizing that Cirus must have meant that he would be the aggressor this time. Cirus would attack him and Robert wouldn't fight back and then he could be held. That sounded perfect.
"Yeah," Robert agreed, "Okay, sure. Only fair that you get the opportunity to hunt me, this time." He licked his lips as he looked Cirus over, eager for the promised fight. The pain would be worth the prize, "Can we do it now?"
Cirus's brows knit together, his lips pursed with displeasure and Robert worried that he'd been too forward.
"Later, then," he quickly amended, pulling his arms out of the water and onto the lip of the bath. He began to untangle the bandages from his arm, picking them off in great sopping ribbons. The bruising had quickly healed, but the limb still throbbed a little when he moved it. The bone probably wasn't in any danger for now, if Robert was careful, but a fight with Cirus almost guaranteed it would be rebroken. "Will you kill me after?"
"Robert, look at me," Cirus commanded and Robert set aside the mass of wet bandages before looking up, "I'm not going to hunt you. Or kill you. Why would you think that?"
"Why else would you hold me?" Robert asked, suddenly feeling very stupid. It felt like he was missing something. Had he been wrong about the rules of their game? "Isn't that how it's supposed to work? Or- shit, no, that's only when I attack you. That's what I got wrong. What do I need to do, then?"
"You can just ask me to hold you, sweet boy," Cirus said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and the smile returned to his face. Robert knew for a fact that was not how it worked. Maybe if he were an infant again. He was sure he'd been held then, but the last time he had been carried must have been before memory. However he did remember being ill as a child and asking to be held, once. His father had only glared at him and left him alone in his room.
"Alright, fine. Don't tell me," Robert snapped back, turning away to hide his burning cheeks. He hadn't expected Cirus to be the type to play stupid pranks like that and he expected at any moment the god would start laughing at him for falling for the joke.
Instead, he heard a splash next to him, the water rippling as Cirus stepped into the bath. His fine robes swirled around him in the water, spreading out around him and tickling Robert's side. The temperature in the bath instantly began to tick back up and Robert scooted just a little closer to heat. Not touching, just near enough to-
A yelp burst past his lips as he was yanked into Cirus's lap unceremoniously. Cirus wrapped his arms around him, holding him firmly. For once, Robert didn't fight back. He melted right away.
"In the future, if you want to be held, I want you to ask me, alright?" Cirus asked, pressing his mouth against the side of Robert's face, as though he were resisting the urge to bite, too.
Robert pushed his own mouth against Cirus's throat.
"Robert?"
"Yes, okay," Robert mumbled against Cirus's skin.
"Good boy."
Robert shuddered a little at the praise, moaning softly against Cirus's throat. Cirus praised him for so little - like existing alone was reason enough to be deemed worthy of praise, as ridiculous as that was. At first, Robert had found it annoying, but now? In his arms? Surrounded by warmth and the soothing pretty scents of the bath that clashed with Cirus's own spiced scent, it felt like heaven.
Robert's mouth fell open and the temptation to misbehave was too great to resist. He had to bite. A little bite. No, just a graze of the teeth and… and a taste. He nosed closer and dragged his tongue across Cirus's throat first and just barely scraped his teeth across his skin then quickly flinched down, hiding his face against Cirus's chest and waiting to be scolded.
Instead, the man laughed and reached up to stroke the back of Robert's head. "You can do that, too," he said, then before Robert could eagerly return his tongue to Cirus's throat, he continued, "Would you like me to do that for you, too?"
Robert paused for a moment before pulling back, reeling his tongue back into his mouth. "Sure," he shrugged, "You can bite if you wa-ha!-hahnt…"
Cirus wasted no time pushing Robert's head to the side and closing his teeth onto his neck. Not the way Robert would have - biting deep, rending flesh, and pulling back with golden ichor dripping from his lips - but more like being gently nipped and gnawed on. He bit, licked, and sucked, tearing noises from Robert's throat that he'd never heard himself make before. Not like this.
Coils of pleasure pooled low in his belly and he started to squirm again as he grew hard, his hips rolling up against nothing as the god continued to maul him. Robert tried to reach down to stroke himself, but Cirus tightened his grip, keeping his arms pinned to his sides so that the most he could do was feather his fingertips over his cock. It was torture.
"C-Cirus…" He moaned pitifully, trying to buck his hips up against his fingers, seeking any kind of friction he could find. It just wasn't enough.
"Yes, baby?" Cirus replied pleasantly, pausing only long enough to speak and select a new spot to attack.
"L-let me… my arms…" Robert complained, wiggling and trying to twist around.
"Does your arm hurt?"
It did, actually - but nothing more than usual and not enough to complain about. "N-no."
"Then what is it?" He asked, adjusting Robert in his grip to pull his arms just a little further back until he couldn't touch himself at all. "Ask me for what you need and I'll give it to you."
"Let go of my arms," Robert complained, trying to wiggle free, "I want to… ah, want to touch myself…"
"You don't want me to touch you, baby?" Cirus asked, his beard tickling Robert's throat as he spoke. Robert's brain just about short circuited, then. Had that been an option?
"Please."
Cirus pulled back from Robert's neck, smiling down at him. "Sweet boy, I need you to ask properly," he said, "Tell Daddy what you need."
Robert blinked up at him for a moment, only slightly taken off guard, but he was starting to understand the rules of this new game. "Daddy," he began, watching Cirus's face light up with an even bigger smile, proof that he was playing right, "I need you to touch me, please."
Cirus moved one hand down the front of Robert's chest, running his warm palm down his body and ghosting over his erection. Just that little touch made Robert's eyes roll back in his head, back arching, chest thrusting up. Cirus seemed to take this as an offer, the god's head dipping down to roughly draw his tongue over one of Robert's nipples as he teased his dick with light, torturous touches.
It wasn't long before Robert was a babbling mess in his arms, trying to chase Cirus's touch, his hips bucking and rolling in Cirus's lap. He could feel Cirus's own erection pressing hard against his hip, hidden away beneath the wet fabric. Each of Robert's attempts to chase his own pleasure had him grinding and pressing down against the god, making him groan low against Robert's chest.
When the god finally did close his fist around Robert's dick, he could have cried. Shit, he may have been- no, he was crying. Crying and trembling like a newborn colt.
"Just like that, baby," he rumbled as Robert's hips jumped up and down, "You look so sweet, crying and fucking my fist. You're making such beautiful sounds for me."
Cirus trailed his tongue up from Robert's chest, past his collarbone and to his neck, sucking harshly against his throat and making Robert's entire body spasm and his head completely empty of all thought. All he could do was feel.
He came back into his head for a moment as Cirus pushed his mouth against his own, their lips meeting. Cirus was moving his mouth against Robert's and, when he realized Robert wasn't reciprocating, he pulled back. "Open your mouth for me - just a little. Good boy, just like that. Try to do what I do."
That was easier said than done. There was no way he could match the intensity of the god bullying his way into Robert's mouth, but he did his best to at least match the way Cirus rolled his tongue against him and moved his lips and once he found his rhythm, his was able to stop thinking again and go back to that floating place in his head where everything just felt good.
As he drew closer to his release, Robert's thrusts became more and more erratic, and more shallow, as he struggled to keep up the pace and he whined wordlessly into Cirus's mouth. Somehow, the god knew exactly what to do and he took over for Robert, pumping his cock hard and fast until his thighs clenched and his eyes rolled back and he came in Cirus's fist.
Cirus stroked him through his orgasm, pressing his mouth to Robert's cheek and temple then Robert's mouth again, but not the way he had before, with his tongue in Robert's mouth.
"You did so well, baby," he cooed, laying on praise thick and letting it soak heavily into Robert's cotton-stuffed brain. "Thank you for asking me for what you needed."
"What about you?" He mumbled, tired and boneless in Cirus's arms. The god's length was still hard and lodged against his hip and a dark spot of worry was growing at the back of Robert's mind like spilled ink. He'd been selfish, thinking only of himself and-
"Don't worry about me, sweet boy," he hummed pleasantly, pressing his mouth against Robert yet again like he just couldn't get enough of it, "You don't need to give me anything in return, watching you come undone by my hand was more than reward enough for me."
Robert nodded, too tired to argue. "When can we do this again?"
Part... uh, something... mumbles incoherently. I think 8? Not counting the mini one which I think I'll jam at the top of this one for Ao3. Catch up on the rest of the God Consort AU there orrrrr troll through the God Consort AU/Solbound tag for all the updates and asks and such!!
No smut this time... I really wanted to but it just didn't happen. Instead I got like... 2.4k words of a bit of domestic bliss, the passage of time, and quasi-lore. Next time though!!
As always, Cirus belongs to @sunnyfrenchfries
Sunlight poured generously across the drawing room through wide windows, shutters thrown open to let in the warm breeze. From the second floor, the sounds of the palace grounds were mostly silent with only the occasional voice carrying up to his window. Inside, the only noises were the rustling of papers as Cirus read and Robert's soft, even breathing as he slept atop his god's thigh.
Robert did not often choose to spend his time simply lounging with Cirus, not unless Cirus tired him out first; pinned him down and wrung orgasm after orgasm from while he writhed in pleasure beneath him. Only then did his beloved finally just… stop. Stop prowling and pacing and stalking and sneaking all around the palace, searching for non-existent threats, glancing over his shoulders, hiding food for a day that would never come to pass. Stop thinking. Stop overthinking… That Robert was by his side now—that sitting beside Cirus while he worked was where Robert chose to spend his leisure time—was not something the god took for granted.
At first, Robert had taken up a position straddling Cirus's lap, arms slung over his shoulders, his face buried in the god's neck. In turn, Cirus had wrapped one arm loosely around Robert's waist, stroking his fingers idly up and down the man's side while he read his reports. Robert went lax quickly, boneless and breathing so deeply and evenly that Cirus thought he was asleep.
The position quickly proved too much for Robert (who was not, in fact, asleep) to handle; however, when Cirus felt the sudden sharp sting of teeth sinking into the tender flesh where his throat met his shoulder—not a place that would have been fatal, even if Robert were to have gone all out, but not the most pleasant sensation the god had ever felt, either.
Cirus didn't say a word as he was chewed on, the strange patterns across Robert's body lighting up brighter than ever. He only sighed, long and slow, as he unhooked Robert's arms from his shoulders and carefully pried him from his throat. A month of sharing the same bed and he had somehow managed to forget that his boy's particular brand of oral fixation had potentially fatal consequences.
Well, he couldn't say Robert hadn't warned him. Repeatedly.
He quickly rectified the issue, directing the flow of gold Robert wore at his own throat upward over his cheeks and ichor-stained lips, locking away his sharp little mouth. He'd intended to then settle Robert back into place, but the moment the muzzle was in place, Robert let out a deep sigh of contentment and lowered himself to lie down with Cirus's lap as his pillow, his eyelids fluttering closed.
Cirus turned a page, his other hand moving through Robert's hair absently. It was growing out nicely—enough that he could wrap the locks beside Robert's ears nearly fully around his finger as he toyed with it. Unfortunately, the other side of Robert's head featured a small patch of hair which been chopped short by Robert's own hand in a botched attempt at a haircut before an attendant had wrestled the blade from his hand. Cirus knew it would grow out soon enough, but these days soon enough never quite came soon enough.
Yet he often found himself terrified that time would pass too quickly, too. That he would blink and Robert would be old and frail and sick and Cirus would find himself once again supporting his ailing lover with a gentle hand as they slowly walked the halls of the palace together… until one day, they could not longer leave the bed they once shared. Until one day, he was spreading their ashes and they were gone forever. Lost to him beyond where light could reach.
Fear was the second worst thing he'd learned to feel in his immortal life, second only to loss.
Cirus didn't even realize he'd been reading and rereading the same line—something about the replenishment of the Eastern granary stores—until he was startled by an announcement at the door.
"Your Radiance," it began, the guard's voice loud and clear even through the door, "his high-"
"Yeah, yeah, shutthefuckup," the impatient voice of his son interrupted. The body in Cirus's lap tensed and his breath hitched, but when the god glanced down, Robert's eyes remained closed. Pretending to be asleep, then. Cirus smoothed his hand through his hair as Chad burst into the room, pointing at Cirus accusingly, "Your fucking pet—"
"Volume."
Chad's voice lowered to and angry whisper. "Your fucking pet took out three palace guards last night. One's got a broken leg," Robert twitched slightly, perhaps a wince, "And another has a broken nose. Please get that thing under control, baba. They can't even fight back because I told them not to hurt the little bastard—
"I appreciate that—"
"But I'm going to start telling them not to be so careful. Broken leg guy is probably never going to walk right again," Chad complained before rolling his eyes and continuing, "Which is like, whatever, who the fuck cares. But it's a serious morale killer."
Cirus snorted. "Tell them whatever you wish, Chad. Just know if any of them injure Robert, they'll be answering to me," he replied, setting down his report and sinking back against the lounge. As he did, he gently scratched at Robert's scalp, quietly satisfied at the small shudder that elicited, "If a broken leg is a 'morale killer' then I don't know what they'll call what I'll do to the man who lays a hand on what's mine."
The temperature in the room ticked up with Chad's irritation, the air around the young god of fire and flame beginning to waver slightly. "Then I'll start patrolling myself," he snapped, voice still carefully quiet, "And if he gets hurt while I'm dragging his ass back his his room—"
"My bedchambers, preferably."
"…ok, fine. To your room—Look the point is don't blame me if I throw him back in there with a few bruises on that pretty face," he huffed, golden eyes burning with intensity. Intensity, but not conviction. Cirus knew his son well enough to recognize an empty threat when he saw one.
Cirus didn't even have to say anything before Chad wavered, eyes flicking down towards the 'sleeping' Godslayer and Cirus's hand in his hair. His brows unfurrowed slightly, jaw loosening at the sight, something softening in his eyes. With a resigned sigh, the young god grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it across the stone until it was just a few feet ahead of Cirus then dropped himself onto it.
"I know he makes you happy and I'm happy you're happy—everyone is, trust me; everyone loves the sun. But," he paused and glanced at Robert again, "he's kind of a fucking menace? And—wait what the fuck is that." Chad canted forward, his face twisting into such a mask of abject horror that Cirus immediately turned to see what manner of strange creature must have surely be stood behind him—
His neck stung with the movement as his wound reopened and that, he realized, was what Chad meant. Gingerly, Cirus reached up and touched his skin, fingertips coming away dipped in gold.
"It's no—"
"He fucking bit you!"
"Lower your—"
Robert's eyes snapped open and he shot up like the dead come alive, making Chad jump in his seat from the suddenness of his movement. His sharp eyes searched Cirus's skin and quickly settled on the teeth marks cut into the god's flesh. A low, muffled groan cut through the mask and Robert reached over, tapping Cirus's thigh twice—the signal they'd worked out for 'No.'
"No, what, baby?" Cirus asked, slowly winding an arm around Robert's waist and pulling him into his lap, ignoring Chad entirely for the moment. The muzzle melted away from Robert's mouth, shifting down his throat again.
"I didn't mean to bite you," Robert frowned, eyes flicking down to the wound again as he licked his teeth and grimaced, "I didn't even know I—"
"I know you didn't mean to, sweet boy. You weren't lucid," Cirus assured him, "It was my own fault."
"How is it your fault that he's fucking rabid," Chad grumbled, ignoring the sharp glare Cirus shot his direction, "This is exactly what I was talking about, baba. I know I like, gave him to you and it turned out to basically be the best gift ever and you're welcome again, but you're spoiling him rotten and it's bad enough he's attacking the guards, but now he's even biting you."
"It's just a love bite," Cirus snorted, "He's hardly rotte—"
"He accidentally dislocated my shoulder," Robert interjected quietly, fixing his gaze on Chad, "He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me back inside. That's why I broke his leg. The others got hurt when they pulled me off of him because I was going to break the other one, too. I went too far and I apologize."
Both Chad and Cirus froze in place and the temperature in the room ticked up a little further as the pair seethed.
"They left that part out," Chad spat, fists and jaw clenched, his every feature burning with naked rage. "If anything like that ever happens again, send for me. Immediately. Not fucking hours later when I've already spent half the day blaming you for being an insane little—"
"I went too far, it was my fault."
"You didn't go far enough," Chad frowned, "Don't worry, I'm going to fix it. Like to see him grab anyone when his arms are burnt down to the bone…"
Robert jolted then launch himself out of Cirus's lap and to his feet. "You can't—!"
"The fuck I can't," Chad snorted, "Orders are orders. If I say don't hurt the annoying little Godslayer that's been fucking and sucking my father up and down the entire damn palace under penalty of death, then you don't fucking do it. Or, you know, death. What, only like killing when it's a god beneath your blade?"
"That's diff—"
Chad stood, glaring down at Robert, "Yeah. It is different. I'm going to do it because the bitch broke a direct order. You want to murder my father because—"
"Chad, enough—"
"—he had the audacity to grieve—"
"Chad—!"
"—on a scale you stupid fucking humans don't understand," Chad finished, jabbing a finger into Robert's chest and sending him stumbling back.
Cirus surged forward in his seat to catch him, but Robert quickly yanked himself away.
"Don't, Cirus," Robert snapped, walking a few steps to the side and out of either god's reach. He turned towards Chad, brown eyes narrowing into angry slits. "You want to talk about scale? How about thousands. Thousands of people dead because the crops can't drink in sunlight and the nights bring chills and fever they couldn't fend off. Thousands more suffering and starving and robbing their neighbors so they can get their fill. We all lose people.
"Just… some of us have no choice but to get back up the next day and keep working. We don't have time to grieve and mourn. We don't get to stay in bed. Don't you think I wanted to just… just stop everything when my father—But I—" Robert turned towards Cirus, his face pained, "I'm not blaming you. I understand that our circumstances are… different. Gods and mortals are as alike as gnats and men, our whole lives lived in a mere week by comparison to you—no, less than a week. A second. A blink. So short that you don't even notice when we are born and die…"
He paused and shook his head, turning his head back to Chad, "That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole about it. Or crush us just because you can," Robert huffed, "And Godslayers only exist out of self preservation. If we didn't purify divinity of its madness, our kind would have been wiped out a long time ago at the hands of the gods. It's not like you bother to police your own."
"All I heard is 'blah blah blah I want you to feel bad for me but I still want to murder gods whenever I want so deal with it.' Hypocrite."
"You think I want to kill the only person in my life whose ever touched me gently and held me and pressed their lips to mine sweetly and seeks my pleasure instead of my pain?" Robert balked, shuffling closer to Cirus again and letting the god take his hand. Cirus stroked his knuckles with his thumb gently and watched some of the tension bleed from Robert's shoulders. "I was born solely to kill SunSpire, but I find myself thinking more and more these days that I might prefer dying as a failure…"
"Oh." Chad said, blinking, his eyes darting between the two and their clasped hands, his expression once again softening, "So what am I supposed to do about the—"
"Remove them from the guard," Cirus answered, carefully pulling Robert back down into his lap and pulling his boy's body so that his back was flush with his own chest, "But. as much as I'd like to say otherwise… nothing further. It seems that any more punishment than that would upset Robert and I wouldn't want to be accused of failing to spoil my boy rotten…"
"Gross," Chad huffed, making a face but unable to fully hide his smile. "I'm going to get out of here before you two start making out."
"Making… out?" Robert asked, turning back towards Cirus, puzzled.
"Nothing you need to worry about," Cirus quickly assured him with a kiss on the cheek.
"How the hell does he not know what—"
"Out, Chad."
"Don't you two fuck like… all the time though? Everyone's always talking about what a hot little slut your new concubine is, you know," Chad shrugged, heading to the door, "Almost wish I kept him to myself, sun be damned."
"Out."
"I'm joking by the way," he laughed, pulling open the door and pausing to say, "Mostly," before finally leaving.
The door clicked shut, leaving the room in silence for a few moments. Robert was the one to break it first, asking, "Wait am I the 'hot little slut?'"
Cirus chuckled, dipping his face down to Robert's throat, and mumbling "Only for me, sweet boy," against the tender flesh. "You're my hot little slut."
Robert shivered and nodded, "I understand…Your hot little slut, daddy."
Part 3 of my Cibert fantasy god/consort AU (Part 1 and Part 2 here and on Ao3 here). Alas still no smut here. Womp womp.
cw this time for injuries (broken limb) and blood towards the last few paragraphs
As always, Cirus belongs to @sunnyfrenchfries so check them out for the inside scoop on what this dude's deal is
"You sure you want to do that?" The Godslayer asked through still-closed teeth, lips brushing the metal cage over the lower half of his face as he spoke. His voice was deeper than Cirus had expected and only slightly muffled by his inability to open his mouth. He tilted his head slightly, doe eyes flicking down to the little golden key pinched between Cirus's fingers before returning his haze to the god's golden eyes. "I bite."
"I can leave it on if you prefer," Cirus shrugged, sinking back into his plush sofa. He palmed the key and rested his arm over the back of his seat casually, as though he had no intention of freeing him. The bindings did need to come off, though, aond Cirus would be getting them off one way or another before the night was out.
"I didn't express a preference," he replied, shrugging as much as the shackles at his arm allowed and wincing slightly from the effort.
That needed to go first, then.
He brought his hand around again, gesturing with the key. "Turn around."
The Godslayer stubbornly remained as he was, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. At least he stayed put - standing about a foot in front of Cirus, his proud chest forced out, chin forced up, a small pout forming on his locked away mouth.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Cirus tried to no avail. The Godslayer was not keen on turning his back to his prey, it seemed. But the manacles had to come off. Humans were so fragile; if he allowed the boy to keep them on, who knows what damage they would cause. "I'm sure you'd find it much easier to kill me with use of your hands, little Godslayer."
The boy huffed, adjusting his posture and sending the chains across his chest swaying, the gems sparkling in the sunlight. "It's Robert. And if you're going to kill me, you can do it looking me in the eyes the way I would you, no tricks necessary, thank you very much," he said, before taking in a horribly sarcastic, "your radiance."
Looked like his little Godslayer - Robert - needed a heavier hand, then, if he could not trust Cirus enough to simply turn and allow him to unlock the arm bindings. He could to that.
In one swift movement, before Robert had a chance to reel back, Cirus has twisted his fist into the delicate golden chains decorating the little Godslayer's body and pulled. Robert made a small noise that might have been a yelp if his mouth had been able to open wide enough to get the full sound out and he folded in half easily over into Cirus's lap. His caged cheek pressed against Cirus's thigh and he was held there with one broad hand at the back of his neck over the broad collar.
"Let go," the boy snarled, trying to yank himself loose, his feet forced onto his toes to ease the strain of his position and sliding against the stone, offering him no leverage to plant his feet against. Cirus watched him struggle for a while, ass wiggling back and forth as he twisted and stomped and pulled, spitting curses the entire time until, finally, he just went limp.
"Are you ready to be good now?" Cirus asked.
"Fuck you."
"We're going to stay like this until you can agree to behave, Robert."
A fresh wave of defiance washed over the boy, then, and he gave a few more half-hearted attempts at yanking himself free before he gave up again, letting out a low moan of frustration.
"Are you ready now?"
"…Yes," he mumbled, trying to turn his head. Cirus allowed this, easing up slightly on his neck. Robert turned his face directly downward first, but must have found that uncomfortable as he quickly continued the movement, now facing toward Cirus's inner thigh and allowing the god a better look at him
He was red-faced and panting as much as his bindings allowed, sucking in heavy breaths loudly between his teeth, lips parted. His chest heaved from the exertion.
When Cirus made no move to unlock his bindings, Robert's eyelashes fluttered and he tried to look up. "Sunsp- sir?"
"Please," the god hummed pleasantly, "Call me Cirus."
"Cirus… Come on, I'm behaving, right?" Robert complained, adjusting his sliding feet and pressing his ass back up in the air.
"You are," Cirus agreed, "Are you going to continue to behave is the question?"
He felt the boy nod against his thigh, as if he were nuzzling against him.
"Words, little Godslayer."
"Yes, yes," he whined, "I'll behave. Please."
True to his word, Cirus reached over and unlocked the shackles, allowing the boy's arms to flop to his sides. Robert hissed with pain instantly, squirming in Cirus's lap for a moment before Cirus released him.
Robert instantly pulled himself up and launched himself backwards, falling onto his ass against the stone. He let out another strangled moan of pain before choking the noise off entirely and just shaking quietly instead, his shoulders clearly giving him no small amount of trouble.
"Let me-" Cirus began, leaning forward and reaching out to Robert.
The boy scrambled backwards across the floor, shooting a scathing glare up at Cirus. "Get the fuck away from me."
"Robert," Cirus scolded, "You agreed to behave for me, didn't you?"
No response.
"Come here. Let me help," he offered, "You can either come back and lay across my lap, or I can hold you. Your choice."
"I don't want t-"
"Robert," Cirus scolded again. The boy stopped speaking immediately, but the look in his eyes told Cirus that Robert was imagining all the ways he might slaughter the god right now. Cirus continued, cutting off whatever was going through Robert's mind by presenting the two options again: over his lap or in his lap. That was it. That was all the god would allow him to think about right now.
Robert struggled to his feet slowly, relying on core strength alone rather than using his aching arms, and returned to his spot in front of Cirus. He glared at him and his lips parted to speak then closed when Cirus presented to choices again.
Over his lap or in his lap.
No other thinking needed.
Robert brought one knee up, sliding it across the cushions between the god's thighs. In his lap it was, it seemed. Cirus reached out and kept a hand to either side of the boys hips as he climbed up, steadying him when he wobbled until he was all the way up.
Cirus allowed Robert to get comfortable and was surprised that he chose to straddle one of his thighs then flop forward against his chest, his chin hooked over the god's shoulder.
"Good boy," Cirus hummed, reaching up to rub the backs of Robert's shoulder, pouring in soothing heart into his aching joints. He felt Robet's entire body stiffen under his touch, his caged face turning to press against his neck.
"What are you doing?"
"You're my guest; your comfort is my responsibility while you're staying in my palace," Cirus stated, continuing his massage, "Relax, Robert. Let me take care of you. After this, I'll have dinner brought up for you and you can rest. We can discuss your departure tomo-"
"I'm not leaving," Robert interrupted, "Not until you're dead."
Cirus laughed, jostling Robert's body. "A long term stay, then? I'll have a room set up for your use, then."
"A room?" Robert asked, "I feel like you aren't taking me seriously, Su- Cirus. I will kill you."
"I believe that you'll try."
"I'll succeed," Robert said, his body starting to finally relax under Cirus's touch.
"I'm going to take these off," Cirus said, reaching up to tap first the collar at Robert's throat then the back of his head where the straps to the muzzle lay buried in his hair. "Are you going to-"
"Behave?" Robert asked in a low drawl, pushing himself back in Cirus's lap and rolling his shoulders. He cleaned close, studying Cirus's face as if he were searching for something in his eyes, "You really have no intention of killing me? Even though I've laid out my intentions plainly?"
"None."
Robert frowned slightly but seemed to accept the words as truth. He rotated slowly until he was fully seated between Cirus's thighs, his back to his self-proclaimed enemy. A grin split Cirus's face in two and he made quick work of both the collar and muzzle, setting them and their key beside the manacles. He even earned a clipped, "Thank you," from the boy.
Before he could extricate himself from Cirus's lap, the god had his hands on him again, massaging his neck, shoulders, and back. He could feel the way Robert tensed up as he debates pulling away, rocking forward slightly. Instead of leaving, which Cirus would have happily allowed, he twisted back around and hooked his chin over Cirus's shoulder again, melting into the touch.
"Good boy," Cirus praised again, rubbing slow circles into his back and eliciting a tiny choked off moan from his boy.
It was probably a bad idea to take on another mortal. Humans were so short lived. He would blink and this one would be gone, too. But he didn't care. For the first time in over a hundred years, the dark clouds of his grief had parted and he could feel the warmth of sunlight on his face again. He had a reason to wake up again - even if it was just to have some wild little Godslayer attempt to kill him as he tried, in turn, to tame him.
He had a feeling he knew which of them would succeed.
--
Cirus found his life under threat at all hours of the day.
Robert lay in wait around corners. Launched himself from high places. Crushed himself into impossible hiding spots just to sneak up on the god.
At first, he'd armed himself with anything vaguely weapon-shaped he could find in the palace. Utensils, stone statues, even once a fist-sized diamond. But no mundane item could even scratch Cirus's skin and he often heard Robert bemoan the loss of his sword. While Cirus was sure his son had retained the Godslayer's arms and armour, he had no desire to tell his boy that.
Especially when he realized that, though it should have been impossible, Robert could harm him. He'd realized it one day after Robert had managed to surprise him by leaping up from beneath the table one morning. Cirus hadn't realized until the end of the day that one of Robert's blunt little fingernails had scratched a line across his arm. Not even deep enough to draw blood, but a wound nonetheless.
If whatever enchantments were on the boy to allow him to harm a god were also on his weapon, Cirus did not want it in the palace. It was much easier to enjoy being hunted in his own home when he didn't have to worry about seriously fighting back. He had no desire to harm Robert, after all.
Yet Robert still got hurt.
It was during one of his attempts to launch himself from a tall object. In this case, a statue he'd used for this very purpose numerous times. It was a good spot. Just out of the way enough that Cirus couldn't tell he was there until he'd fully entered the room and was already sailing through the air. Normally, Cirus would catch him and hold him up in the air while he squirmed and kicked and fought until he tired himself out and went boneless in his hands. Then he would allow himself to be carried in Cirus's arms for a while. In fact, Cirus assumed this was why Robert continued to jump from there. He simply didn't know how else to ask to be held.
Today, though, when Cirus entered the room, he heard a loud crack. He whipped his head to the side in time to watch Robert flailing in the air from his failed attempt to dive at Cirus, the head of the statue breaking as he'd tried. The heavy chunk of stone landed first, then, bdfore Cirus could catch him, Robert.
The noise Robert made as he landed was horrific, a strangled wail of agony that bounced and echoed down the hall. He curled in on himself on the floor, one arm bent the wrong way and a pool of glowing blue fluid slowly forming under his head. For a handful of seconds, Cirus didn't know what he was looking at.
Humans bled red blood. God's, golden ichor. Nothing - neither man nor beast nor god - nothing under the sun bled… this.
Robert was not just a human. He was something… different. Unknown, even to Cirus. Just what the hell was Rob‐
"Cirus," Robert gasped, "Help."
Right. Whatever else Robert was, he was Cirus's first and foremost. Nothing else mattered.
He was careful as he scooped the boy up, but it was impossible not to jostle that broken little arm. Robert tried to hide it, but every movement sent waves of agony across his body and he buried his face against Cirus's chest and muffled his groans against warm skin.
Cirus sent for a physician and brought Robert back to his own room to lay the boy gently in his silk sheeks, only minding that blood was continually soaking into his bedding because it mean that Robert was still bleeding.
While he waited for the doctor to arrive, Cirus tried to search his scalp for the source of the bleed, but Robert shook him off.
"Head wounds bleed a lot," he mumbled, using his good hand to grab at the sheets and pull one up, pressing it to his head, "Hold that there. If it soaks through, add another on top. It'll stop soon. I heal quickly."
Cirus obeyed, holding the fistful of silk against Robert's head for him, jaw tight. Once that was soaked through, he scooped up more of the blanket to press against his head until it finally stopped soaking into the cloth.
One of the servants rushed in, a very out of breath physician in tow and Cirus snapped his head towards him.
"Fix him," he growled, "Now."
Cirus didn't leave Robert's side while the doctor took a look at him, inspecting his head which, as Robert predicted, was no longer bleeding. He made Robert drink some strange liquid then waited a few long agonizing minutes before reaching down to palpitate Robert's broken arm.
Robert's warbled screech of pain nearly cost the doctor his life, flames rising across Cirus's body, but a smack to his thigh jolted him out of immolating the man.
"Calm… down, Cirus," he gritted out, "He has to… feel the bones… Reset it…"
"Reset it? What does-"
"Hey. Are you… gonna behave…?" He asked, staring up at Cirus, a tiny crooked smile on his pained face, "I will… if you will…"
Cirus settled onto the bed next to Robert, opposite to where the doctor was preparing his tools. He stroked his fingers through Robert's blood matted hair, noting that as the blood dried, it had lost it glow completely and was turning a darker and darker shade of blue. "No more of these attacks?"
"Mm," the boy hummed, looking thoughtful. "Just… one more. When I'm sure… to put you down… How… about that…?"
