Either my children Twix and Tagor with 39 (because time’s run out), possibly the angsty Au Una made up where Tagors father orders him to kill his partner
Or 2. Glacia giving the baby warcriminal a little good night kiss
No pressure naturally, do what you want
Kiss prompt #39 "because time's run out" from this post -> Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss!
“I want you to kill this little annoying mice!”
Tagor hears the words of his father echoing through his head as he watches Twixandur reaching for the mug. “I want Twixandur dead!”
It was an order like any other before. Tagor was no stranger to killing people; had done so on his fathers behalf more times than he could count or remember, and yet … something seemed different. Even if he doesn't know what. Odd.
He listens to Twixandur chatter away without hearing a single thing he says; eyes and mind focused on the mug that is slowly lifted towards his lips. He's so fixated on it, he almost misses that Twixandur is directly talking to him.
“-agor?”
He only hears a fraction of his name, but that's enough to make him snap out of it. He blinks, his sight refocusing and his eyes moving upwards. “Is everything alright?”, Twixandur asks; brows furrowing and eyes narrowing with concern and … wariness.
“Yes”, Tagor nods; eyes dropping back to the cup, but this time, they're not alone. With his frown deepening, Twixandur follows his gaze; silently looking at the mug for a moment before returning them to Tagor.
“... are you sure?”, he asks; suspicion dripping from every syllable. Slowly, he pushes the mug away.
Tagor moves at an instant; arm snapping up and hand wrapping around Twixandur's tiny, fragile wrist. He yelps and flinches and promptly lets go of the mug, spilling the contents over his lap and the floor. Tagor hisses and grimaces. That poison hadn't been cheap or easy to acquire.
“Alright, let's cut this bullshit”, Twixandur says with a glare. “What is it?”
Tagor takes a moment to respond; simply staring down at his lover while his tongue feels strangely … heavy and unwilling to talk. Something inside his chest twists and turns uncomfortably.
“I got a new order from Nomog-Geaya ”, he says eventually.
Twixandur's eyes sharpen. They wander and roam over Tagor's massive body; already searching for clues to answer the question before he asks it. “What kind of order?”
Tagor stays calm and unreadable. “An order to kill someone”, he says; face unchanging and tone even.
He sees Twixandur falter for a moment; his ears giving a twitch and his eyes widening a fraction. He swallows. “... who is the target?”, he asks and sounds like he already knows.
The knot in Tagor's chest tightens; feeling like a boulder lodges tightly between his ribs. His tail twitches with annoyance. He doesn't like this new, odd feeling.
“Tagor?”, Twixandur calls out, his voice only barely not trembling. “Who are you supposed to kill?”
Tagor's wings rattle silently. For some unknown reason, it is suddenly hard to speak. His breath catches in his throat and refuses to move. Tagor forces it out with a deep, heavy sigh.
“You”, he finally says; eyes still locked onto Twixandur's and seeing them turn from suspicion to disbelief to horror.
“No”, he mutters; head shaking slightly and wrist tugging and trying to break free. “You can't be serious. This is a joke! You can't- … ”
“I have to”, Tagor says and rises to his full height; easily towering and casting a shadow over Twixandur. “It's an order.”
“ … no!”, Twixandur repeats. Over and over; eyes wide and frantically flicking around in search for an escape. “You can't kill me. We're partners! We've been through so much together. We- … you can't do this!”
“I have to”, Tagor repeats; pulling Twixandur closer and almost flush against his chest with a quick, harsh yank. He yelps, then curses and pushes his small hands against him in an attempt to get away.
“You don't!”, Twixandur argues; wriggling and flailing in Tagor's hold. Desperate to free himself. “You don't always have to do what you're told. That's so boring, isn't it? How about you say no. Just this one time? Show me you're you and not just your fathers mindless puppet.”
Twixandur's eyes find their way back to Tagor's. They're still wide and filled with panic. “For me?”, he begs; voice low and private while one of his tiny hands is places on Tagor's chest, right above his steadily beating heart. “Please?”
Tagor studies his face. It is true what he says; the two of them have been through a lot – both good and bad things and much more. They're grown close to each other. Important.
Tagor stares down at him; into his bright, burning eyes and this so familiar face. He feels his grip around Twixandur's wrist loosening and almost considers letting him slip away, but …
“I want Twixandur dead!”
His father's demand whips through his head; makes him blink and shake his head and clench his fingers around Twixandur's arm. He heard him hiss. Feels him struggling against himself again.
“No”, he says. “I have my orders.”
Twixandur's ears and shoulders fall. For a moment, he looks utterly defeated before the fire within his eyes is ignited once more and he bares his teeth. He snarls and growls and then attacks. “You're insane! I'm the only one that's ever looked at you and saw a person instead of a god's favored toy! The only person who even likes you!”
His claws lash at Tagor; uselessly scraping over his skin and raking through his fur. He barely feels any of it. “There's nobody but me who cares for you! Not even your damned father, who didn't even care enough to give you emotions or make you a real person! This is so- … this is stupid! You're stupid – your father and his damned religion is stupid!”
Twixandur starts to kick and punch and bite, but it's no use. Tagor can't be harmed. Not by him – not by anyone. But he tries anyway; attacking him with the same ferocity Tagor has seen so many times before. Only this time, it's targeting Tagor himself and not some stranger.
It makes Tagor feel … something. He doesn't know how to feel about it but has the faint awareness that it's not a good feeling. He pushes it away.
“Desist”, he says and leans down; second hand jerking forward and catching Twixandur's before it can collide with his chest once more. “You're making this harder for yourself than it needs to be.”
Twixandur's face is a mask of vicious resentment. “Fuck you!”, he spits at him and tries to kick him again. “I hope you die a slow, miserable death! Alone and forgotten.”
Tagor simply leans his torso backwards and avoids it with minimal effort. He sighs. “I did not ask for this”, he says; pulling both of Twixandur's arms into one of his palms. “But I have to follow my orders.”
“You don-”, Twixandur tries to say but his words are cut short when Tagor's now free hand curls around his neck. He makes a strangled, helpless noise. His legs kick and flail and he twists his head. His lips move but no words make it out of his throat.
He gasps and squirms; ears stiff and eyes growing damp. Tagor feels his muscles twitch and jump beneath his hand. Feels him swallow and scream without making a single sound. Sees his eyes widening and flooding and wordlessly begging him to stop.
Tagor doesn't. His finger steadily increase the pressure around Twixandur's neck. He feels skin tearing and bones creaking. Sees the fear in Twixandur's eyes. Hears his pleading voice even though he makes no sound besides the desperate wheezing for air.
“For me? Please?”
Tagor shakes his head and closes his eyes. No, he has his orders. “I want Twixandur dead!”
Yes, he reassures himself. This is right. He has his orders. He has to follow his orders. Surely, this- …
There is an ugly crunch, and Tagor feels Twixandur tense in his grasp. Then, he goes utterly limp. Tagor feels the knot inside his chest explode like one of Twixandur's beloved grenades. Shattering and spilling hot, burning sparks all over his insides.
When he opens his eyes, his vision is blurry. Frowning, Tagor touches his cheek; unconsciously pulling Twixandur's unresponsive body against his chest. Holding him close.
When he pulls his hand back for examination it, his fingers are wet. His frown deepens as he rubs his fingertips against one another. Strange, he thinks while cradling Twixandur tightly against himself. Like something dear and precious. Afraid of letting go.
Why am I crying, he wonders as he leans down and gently presses his lips against Twixandur's cold cheek without knowing why.
