An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“I didn’t try and help just for you to abuse him again,” Dreadlord spat right back. “He’s nearly in Madness. How hard have you been pushing him?”
“Just what you said,” Diabla lied. “He’s been lazy recently - because of you.”
Lies. Lies lies lies, Diabla had forced him to stop trying to wield power over their contract, forced him to take far more of her power than he could handle, she was mad and wanted him to join her in madness.
(Alternate title: When Diabla ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Including Demonio. Especially Demonio.)
Chapter three of the longfic has been posted! (If you want to be pinged for subsequent chapters, please do tell me! I’ve been working off the assumption that people have been subscribing on Ao3, but it’s come to my attention that that’s not the case~)
thank you very much for commissioning me, @mochigoma! <3!
you can find the commission info here!
The morning air is crisp, biting even, as Calais open his eyes. It’s so warm under the covers and as he flexes his toes, they dig into the soft mattress. He hums contently. It’s far too cold to get out of the bed yet.
Cal pulls the blanket over his head, but in doing so, also pulls a soft whine out of the man lying next to him. Caeleigh’s soft white hair shifts and tickles Calais’ nose when he moves, burrowing closer against Cal as if seeking his warmth to replace that of the moved blanket.
Cal can’t resist reaching a hand up, running his long fingers over his lover’s pale cheek. It feels cold to the touch, and somehow, he knows it’s not just because of the chilly temperature. As if on instinct, he twines his legs with Caeleigh’s, who hums softly in reply.
His eyes slowly flutter open, long lashes sticking together with sleep as he blinks it away and mismatched eyes still hazed and unfocused.
Calais can’t stop staring into them, into their midnight blues that always seem much, much deeper, much prettier, than his own. A soft smile graces his face, just like it always does when he sees Cael’s soft, unguarded expressions.
“Cal…” Caeleigh mutters, staring right back at him when he wakes up enough to register his surroundings.
Calais pulls back like he’d been scorched, averting his eyes and feeling his cheeks heating up — he’d been caught staring, and he didn’t even realize. Well, it makes sense that when Cael opened his (beautiful) eyes, he’d see Cal ogling…
“Good morning,” Caeleigh says softly, voice still colored heavily with the traces of sleep.
It makes Cal’s heart skip a beat. Okay, maybe a few beats.
He just loves moments like these, where it’s just the two of them and the gentle atmosphere that is so rare he can count the instances it happens on one hand.
Like when they finish cooking and Lus are enjoying their meals and they feel the sense of pride and satisfaction swelling up inside — maybe it’s the contract. It’s probably the contract; Caeleigh doesn’t experience feelings like that by himself much nowadays. It breaks Calais’ heart thinking about it.
Or after a battle, when the rush falls off and a sense of victory overcomes everything, when there’s praise of a job well done, the satisfaction of overcoming someone stronger than before, of feeling like their lives matter.
And, of course, moments like these.
It doesn’t even feel like there’s anything else but the two of them, tangled under the single giant blanket, bare legs brushing intimately and half-lidded eyes looking at each other softly.
It’s in those moments that Cael feels warm. Not physically — the air is creeping up on him, making goosebumps rise on his skin — but on the inside. The emotions that feel so far away usually, like they’re locked up in a cage somewhere deep inside of him, guarded by a barbed wire and icy traps, are crystal clear. He feels the way Calais’ stare makes his cheeks heat up, the way his heart thumps away madly within his ribcage. It’s like the other assassin can reawaken the human emotions that fade away with each day, make them as strong and as pleasant as they’d been before.
He treasures these moments, wants them to be much, much more common. But, he supposes the fact that they’re so rare makes them that much better. That much more memorable.
“Good morning, sleeping princess,” Cael chuckles. The endearment is said in his usual joking tone, but it carries an undertone of softness that Cal detects almost immediately. How could he not, when he’s heard it so many times already.
“Cal,” he whispers back. His hands ball into fists several times where they’re resting between them, and then, finally, move forward and wrap around Calais’ midsection.
Calais makes a high-pitched sound of surprise — it’s totally not a squeak, totally not — but he quickly relaxes again, letting Caeleigh pull him close, hug him to his warm chest and bury his face into the crook of his neck.
“Can we sleep in?” Caeleigh asks, almost meekly, voice barely above a whisper.
Cal feels the barest brush of lips against his neck and it makes him shiver. Another barely-there butterfly kiss, and another, and another, until Cael moves up to his cheek, pressing his lips against the blushing skin. His horn touches Cal’s skin here and there, making him tremble.
“I don’t want to move yet…”
“We gotta prepare breakfast,” Calais protests weakly, but he still cranes his head sideways so Cael has more space to pepper the tiny kisses around.
Caeleigh’s voice can’t be described as anything but whiny as he pouts, “But Lu isn’t even up yet.”
And Calais can feel it too; indeed, his Lu is still sleeping in her room, and Cael’s probably is just the same in her own room. There’s not really a reason to get up just yet, and he loves being this close to the other. But Cael’s sleepy clinginess makes him embarrassed, in all honesty. (Even though he wouldn’t admit that for the life of him.)
Cael whines in the back of his throat when Calais moves from the bed. He hugs the blanket close to himself while the other stands up. Though, Cal quickly realizes his own mistake.
It really is freezing in here, he thinks, shaking. He’s just wearing his sleeping shorts and a short-sleeved shirt — after all, it wasn’t anywhere close to this cold when they’d gone to bed!
Quick as he’d stood up, he lays back down on the bed, shaking from the leftover coldness that gets lost with the combination of the blanket’s and Cael’s warmth.
The long-haired man laughs softly, this time taking the initiative himself and wrapping his leg around one of Calais’.
“Cold?”
“Very,” Cal replies, along with a sigh when he’s finally no longer cold, but pleasantly warm and comfortable once more.
“Still don’t want to sleep in?”
“I think Lus are going to deal without us more a few more hours.” Cal’s face heats up again and he bites at his bottom lip, looking at Caeleigh as if he’s planning something. Cael is only able to blink as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips.
Again, warmth, like happiness — and it is happiness — floods Caeleigh’s being. Calais’ lips part into a smile against his, and it feels so pleasant and right.
