Chapter Text
There was nothing else like this warmth.
In Joseph’s arms in the soft hours of the morning, Aesop felt a peace and safety that he had never felt before, that he had always believed to be out of his stars, forever out of reach. Impossible for someone like himself. And yet, here he had found it.
His lover still slept. Aesop cuddled in closer to Joseph’s shoulders, drifting a soft kiss near his neck.
It was peace, tenderness, such a wonder.
Joseph, waking up, began to pet Aesop’s back, pulling him in closer.
Yes, it was peace, for now.
For now.
——————
“Xie Bi’an”
He turned when he heard his name. That voice — if it could be called, for it was more of an abyss captured in sound, yet it did form words, names, language, so then yes, voice — had never unsettled him, as it did others.
“Lord Hastur?”
Perhaps it was because their experience with the supernatural and the divine, from living as deities for over a thousand years. Not only were the two guards unafraid of Hastur, they could also understand him, read his expressions, to a greater degree than others could.
Hastur had something on his mind. A plan, and a first step that he was preparing to take.
Bi’an was intrigued.
After a moment, Hastur spoke again.
“That survivor. the Embalmer, Aesop Carl.”
Bi’an smiled. Yes, Joseph’s lover... and his, as well, though not to the same degree. As three, and sometimes as four, or more. When the magical energies around the manor were at their fullest, and he and Wujiu were able to be side by side, there were times when they wanted to enjoy it alone together, but there were also times when they chose to spend those nights with their other favorite lovers, and have sweet experiences in arrangements they couldn’t otherwise enjoy.
And he and Aesop had been together as two, also. Physically, and emotionally, Bi’an had gotten to know Aesop rather well.
Yes. This one… he wasn’t surprised that Aesop was the one Hastur wanted.
“What would you like to know about him?”
——————————
When in doubt, Aesop went to the library.
The Survivors’ and Hunters’ sides of the manor both had them. Libraries that were not only well stocked, but with selections that seemed to change almost every week, though things did stay where you wanted, if you wanted them to.
Aesop and Joseph both delighted in books, and sharing and discussing books was one of their favorite things. Their tastes were similar, yet different in surprising ways — different, yet similar in surprising ways. They had shared many of their favorites, introducing each other to their most beloved books. They had revisited mutual favorites together, and found new depths and things to love, even in things they had both read hundreds of times, just from reading them together. And the manor always had exactly what they were looking for, as soon as they wanted it, as if it were responding to their very wishes.
They had read plays together, out loud, taking different roles. Joseph’s hand gliding to Aesop’s ear to remove his mask. “Read this scene with me.” His voice low, not quite a whisper, passionate. Aesop read, quietly at first, feeling exposed and vulnerable without his mask to muffle the sound, but as they moved through the scenes, he began to lose himself in it, in their shared pleasure and discovery.
In the clouds of first love, anything could become fuel for romance. One might expect that reading through a bloody tragedy of murder and revenge would throw a bucket of ice water onto their cuddle dates, but it never did.
And again, the puppet-masters of the manor played along. After one such session, they made their way up to Joseph’s room to find a present box at the door.
“New clothes?”
When they brought it inside and opened it, they saw that it was a red coat, with majestic golden decorations going from the collar and shoulders, finishing at the sides with two splendid lions. Joseph tried it on, and as he pulled it over his shoulders, his hair changed color, deepening to a luminescent copper. Aesop saw that Joseph’s eyes, too, had turned red. As Joseph turned to the mirror to see, Aesop looked at the card that had come in the box, and smiled. “It seems they approve of what we’ve been reading,” he said, showing Joseph the card.
He read it and smiled. “Do you like it?”
Aesop smiled, threw his arms around Joseph, and kissed him. “Hail Macbeth, Thane of Glamis,” kiss. “Hail Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor,” kiss. “Hail Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter,” and a deep, passionate kiss, as both of them fell onto the black velvet couch.
Joseph laughed, stroking Aesop’s hair. “As long as I don’t end up getting beheaded, my sweet.”
Aesop smiled at the memory. Even just browsing the shelves made Aesop feel warm. He ran a gloved finger over the decorated leather spines, reading the titles but not quite taking them in. Before coming here, he had never met anyone he could have a conversation with the way that he could with Joseph. There was no one in his old life who thought about the things he thought about, who read the same kinds of books he enjoyed, who could have those kinds of conversations with him.
Joseph understood him in ways no one else ever had, and yet...
All of these new books to explore and he couldn’t focus. He felt his heart clench as he thought about it. About that greatest of uncertainties in his life... in all of their lives here.
That someday... someday, this would end and they would have to leave, wouldn’t they?
And Joseph... Joseph was dead. He had lived a long life and died of old age. Whenever this game ends, he would, what? Pass on to the afterlife?
And Aesop would return to his old life, his old town... after seeing all of these wondrous things? Meeting such an amazing variety of people?
Even with the money that had been promised to him, even if he bought a ship and travelled the whole world for the rest of his life, he knew he would never be able to find anyone he could talk to like Joseph.
‘Stop being foolish,’ he wanted to tell himself. After all, doesn’t every youth feel these things about their first lovers?
He could go to university, he reasoned. If life in the manor were to end, he would use the money to go to university, and there he would...
He leaned forward, his head against his arm, against the border of the shelves. No. He couldn’t delude himself. There would never be... never—
“Anything interesting today?”
He turned to face the door, and smiled.
Fiona entered and made her way over to the shelves where Aesop stood, and put a hand on his shoulder. Her presence was calming. She didn’t attempt to start a conversation right away. Gently, she watched him, without putting attention onto him in a way that would be burdensome. She gave him the space to collect himself before she spoke again.
“What were you thinking about?”
Her voice was gentle, befitting a priestess. It wasn’t the first time she had helped him. It was mainly due to her that Aesop had been able to overcome his shyness and connect with Joseph. She would listen to him, meditate with him… and once, the night that he and Joseph first gave themselves to each other completely, Fiona had performed a moonlight ritual over Aesop beforehand, to prepare him. A warm sensation rose in him at the memory, but he didn’t blush.
So he spoke. He poured out his feelings like he never had before. It wasn’t like talking to Joseph. It wasn’t a conversation, she just listened. Almost as a professional more than a friend.
But… the way she responded… he knew it must be an illusion, his imagination, because how could it not be... Fiona was no closer to those who ran this game than he himself was, was she? Even Lord Hastur was just a participant... and yet somehow, her manner made Aesop feel like a path towards something. Towards an answer.
—————————————
“So?”
The cloaked figure on the cliff, silhouetted in the moonlight, did not turn as Joseph approached.
“Photographer”
That voice didn’t chill him as much as it had at first, but the effect hadn’t faded entirely. Joseph didn’t let his discomfort show.
“You called me out here,” Joseph responded.
“I did,” the monster said. Monster... or god. But what does “god” even mean?
“And you’ve been asking questions about my lover. Through your priestess as well, I know you have. What do you want with him?”
“Protective, are you?”
The words stung, and Joseph took a step back. After a breath, he responded. “And if I am?”
Hastur turned to face the photographer. “Do not worry.” Joseph blinked. His tone had changed. There was a frankness in the god’s manner. a solemnity that surprised Joseph. It wasn’t the first time that Lord Hastur had given him advice, or guidance, and yet this....
Joseph felt his pulse quicken. The soft wind and the moonlight suddenly reached him on a deeper level. He felt exposed. A feeling came over him as if the very freshness of the air were pulling him in, towards Hastur, towards a possibility that the god seemed to hold out to him, as if he held an answer on the tip of one glistening tentacle.
Joseph wouldn’t dare call it “hope”, and yet...
He repeated, more breath than voice in his words now.
“What... do you want with him?”