Work Text:
Dedicated to Olga.
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The sun, which bore down heavily in those early hours, drew golden glints from his wavy hair, making him look like a wingless cherub. Tall and slender as he was, he possessed a beauty such that no one in their right mind would have tried to face him, as the fragility his face exuded could only inspire tenderness. However, in battle, he became one of the most relentless warriors of Athena's Order. The Swan, the constellation that ruled him, gave him the strength to become an angel, a fallen one, who carried Death and Desolation as traveling companions.
The steps burned beneath his feet. Even with his cosmos ignited, Hyoga felt how the heat of those stones penetrated his footwear, the same he used in Siberia, which was part of his training attire. He was aware of how much he stood out in that outfit in a place where everyone wore Greek uniforms, especially when he dared to ask the guard for a specific location
The Mount of Souls.
The young man furrowed his brow, and the two companions raised their eyebrows but provided the information. They sighed as Hyoga set out, shaking their heads as if the Russian was utterly mad.
They were not entirely wrong.
Swallowing hard, the Swan began the ascent. In the hospital, during the time he had been convalescing, interviewing him and asking everything that had been on his mind seemed like a fantastic idea. But now, so close to Milo, it did not seem so. The Greek might not want to see him, might laugh in his face at that childish outburst, or something much more macabre.
Or might want to kill him.
He stopped for a few moments. What if he turned around and left? Nothing forced him to pay his respects. Or to offer himself at his service.
But there he was. On the wasteland where the tombs of Saints stood out among the rocks and sparse vegetation, Scorpio Milo recited phrases in Greek as he drenched Aquarius' gravestone with his blood.
The sight startled him. Milo spoke through gritted teeth, almost in whispers, while the crimson fluid flowed from his wrist, from the very wound he had inflicted on himself to let out the torrent that would give life to the Swan Cloth.
He observed him for a long while. Milo held out his arm, blood flowing copiously over the marble. And from where Hyoga, sheltered, could see the whole barren expanse, he could glimpse how the Scorpion bent down to Camus' grave to smear his fingers in his own blood, intending to draw a symbol on the slab that bore the Frenchman's name.
Aquarius no Kamyu.
The young Russian did not want to keep watching that scene and flared up his cosmos, and when Milo sensed he was not alone, he turned. His shining turquoise eyes fixed on Hyoga, and his predator's smile lit up his face.
He possessed breathtaking beauty, even with that hint of sadness clouding his eyes. His body, with its tan skin highlighted by the light tunic he wore, resembled that of Adonis—muscles sculpted, thighs taut, and torso shapely.
Hyoga felt dwarfed in his presence.
Milo closed his wound, his cosmos erupting, and approached Hyoga like a snake poised to strike.
All he lacks is a rattle, thought the Russian with some distress.
"You're healed up, I see," he spat, walking past Hyoga without stopping.
Hyoga turned, trying to catch up.
"Yes, the doctors said my recovery was almost miraculous; only my eye needs protection," he replied, pointing to the bandage. "But I suppose in a short time..."
Hyoga closed his mouth. Milo was in front of him, standing still, watching him.
"Miraculous... What an intriguing choice of adjective, Hyoga," he smiled again, showing his incisors as if he were a wolf and the Swan the prey set for dinner. "Everything here is a miracle if you just look around. Your recovery is astounding, as is the emergence of the goddess's reincarnation, who, wielding her divine staff, snatched you and your precious companions from the jaws of Death."
Milo turned, ready to leave the conversation and the place. Hyoga grabbed his arm, to which the Greek responded with a sharp move, violently freeing himself.
"I don't know what you're doing here," he snapped back. "Athena has given you permission to leave the Sanctuary. What are you looking for among these stones? Your master is gone! There's nothing left for you here!"
"Milo," Hyoga swallowed, "I know this is difficult for both of us, but I've come to find out what happened in Scorpio Temp..."
"Difficult?" he laughed after hissing the word. "What happened in Scorpio is something I'll always regret. Satisfied?"
Hyoga faced him, squinting from the sun and the wound now freshly opened in his chest. Again.
"No, I'm not satisfied. You said a lot there about Camus, and I want to know..."
Milo sighed.
"You want to know why I was willing to spare your life."
"Yes. That's why I came."
Milo looked at him again, furious.
"Don't dig up the past and leave, Hyoga. There's nothing left."
The Russian was trembling, but his voice showed no sign of it.
"You're still here. And by pouring my Cloth with your blood..."
Milo grabbed him by the collar and shook him, cutting him off.
"And I told you to leave! Which part of that order don't you understand, Hyoga? He's dead! Dead! And I won't replace him, I won't be his plaything again now that..."
His fingers were tense, so much so that Hyoga's shirt appeared wrinkled beneath them.
"I think it's best I return to my temple."
"Milo..."
The Greek took a deep breath and confronted Hyoga so directly that the Russian thought he would be pierced by the Scarlet Needle.
"He came to ask me," he growled, staring intently as if his eyes were emanating pure fire, "before I set out on the mission to Andromeda Island to protect you in combat. To stop you if you emerged from Libra's ice coffin. Do you know what he offered me?"
Hyoga shook his head, wishing Milo would tell him.
"Compensation for his favor," he spat bluntly. "His body."
Hyoga opened his mouth, stunned.
"Yes, Hyoga. Camus was about to prostitute himself for you. Now you have your answer."
How many minutes had passed? He estimated, not too accurately, about six because, by the time he regained control over himself, Milo had already covered half the distance to his temple. Watching him walk, he did not seem overly concerned about what he had said regarding Camus, and this fact deeply unsettled Hyoga. Had he truly been a friend of his master? From his bitter and confrontational words, Milo seemed more an enemy than an ally, and the resentment hidden in that last statement still echoed in the Swan's mind.
"Camus was about to prostitute himself for you."
For Him.
He rushed down the hill, trying to catch up with Milo once more, intending to demand an explanation for the thoughtless words Milo had tossed at him. Did Milo think that Hyoga was not grieving Camus’ death? What kind of disciple would the Russian appear to be if he did not seek the truth to ensure his master's soul rested in peace?
Milo came to a halt at the bottom of the slope, relaxing his shoulders, seemingly anticipating Hyoga to stand by his side.
He was not wrong.
"You won’t stop until I truly hurt you, you damn kid," Milo swept his hair away from his face, his fiery eyes gleaming like glowing embers. "You’re as stubborn as he was."
"Milo, please," Hyoga's gaze was pleading, so filled with emotion that Milo had to turn away.
"He came, with his usual confidence, asking me not to kill you," Milo began, his back turned to Hyoga, who watched from a distance. "He was determined that you achieve the Seventh Sense and had a clear idea of how to do it. Had I known that was his intention," he emphasized, facing Hyoga, "I would have beheaded you in Scorpio."
Hyoga recoiled, stepping back.
Milo cleared his throat, attempting to move on, but Hyoga stopped him again. A frustrated huff filled the air.
"Forgive me," the Russian managed without stuttering, "if this conversation seems foolish to you, but I need to know why Camus..."
"Yes, it's a very foolish conversation. Camus is dead, and I was forced to soak your Cloth in my blood because I promised that I would take his place in your training. But you know what? I am no one's puppet," he raised his voice, angered, "not his, who with his blackmail relegated me to the role of a stand-in teacher when I never wanted apprentices, nor yours because I'm not some oracle to answer your nonsense. So leave me alone, Hyoga!"
"I can't leave it like this, Milo!" exclaimed Hyoga, knowing full well that grabbing Scorpio by the arm was asking for trouble."If Camus," he lowered his eyes, releasing him, "promised you compensation, I need to know exactly what happened when he decided to ask you the favor and... to settle any debts my master might have left. I am... the heir to Aquarius, and that's how it's meant to be."
Milo raised his eyebrows, astonished.
"You're joking, right, Hyoga?"
The Swan remained silent. His eye, concealed by the bandage, gave a deceptive fragility to his face.
"I am willing to pay," was his response.
"Listen closely, fool," Milo hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the shadow of the Aries Temple. "You want to pay? Fine by me. Meet me in my temple at dusk. On my bed," he stressed the words, "you'll give me what Camus refused to."
He looked at him defiantly.
"I won’t be absent."
"Don’t be stupid, Hyoga."
The Swan stiffened.
"The Aquarius House always pays its debts, Milo. If I say I'll be there, I will."
Milo smirked disdainfully.
"Alright," he looked at him lustfully, licking his incisors and narrowing his eyes. "Dress in dark clothing, tie your hair back, and ignite your cosmos as you enter. I’ll be waiting for you in the shadows."
Hyoga felt his body tense.
"Anything... else?" he asked, his voice carefully modulated to hide his true feelings.
"Remove the bandage. He didn’t wear one."
Milo turned, starting to walk towards the Aries corridor.
"I’ll take it off," said the other, louder.
"And trim your eyebrows; he had them split," Milo's voice echoed between the pillars as he headed towards Taurus.
He did not hear as Hyoga sank down, leaning against one of them. Nor did he notice moments later when Hyoga began to sob.
Throughout the day, Milo did not dwell on his conversation with Hyoga. He did not stay secluded in his temple reflecting on it; instead, he spent most of his time in the coliseum, practicing the ancient sport of foot racing. He barely paused to rest, such was the fervor with which he trained, as the sun bronzed his sweat-soaked body, gleaming reflections only dimmed by the sand clinging to his legs and arms.
He adored the sun and the very earth he stood upon.
The same earth where Camus had died.
How could Hyoga have the audacity to want to repay Camus' debt? Milo pondered as he drank a bottle of water. Where did he get the audacity to present himself to a Gold Saint, no less his assumed mentor, with such a bizarre idea?
He would never cease to amaze him. He had done it in Scorpio, and now, he had managed it again.
Only Camus had such power over him.
He entered the temple, scattering dirty clothes on the floor as he made his way to the shower. He did not bother turning on the lights; he relished the dimness.
It was a habit, one among many that he had adopted since Camus' death. Oddly enough, since the young Bronze Saints defeated them in that tragic battle, Milo had not taken another lover. His bond with his fellow Saints had plummeted, and only Aioria, the friend he always had, dared to talk to him.
The others... they could not stand his arrogance.
Milo was adept at masking his pain with other signals that were often misunderstood.
And this was a prime example.
He was drying his hair, the quintessential Spartan symbol, when he felt something that made his blood run cold.
Hyoga was in his temple.
He sighed, trying to calm himself. Was this damned kid really going to see through this spiral of nonsense he had started that morning?
Was not Milo's message crystal clear?
He stepped out of the shower, furious, and stood naked before the Russian, unsure of what to say.
Hyoga was dressed entirely in black, his arms wrapped in training bands, his calves in gray cloth, and his hair neatly tied with a clasp at the nape.
He was not wearing the blindfold, so both his eyes shone equally in the dim light.
Milo stared at him for a moment before furiously knotting the towel and throwing it at him.
"Get out of here, boy."
Hyoga caught the projectile and let it fall to the ground as he watched Milo move deeper into the room.
"I've come to pay the tribute."
"You owe me nothing! Nothing!"
Hyoga lowered his head but stood still. There he was, in front of him, so much like Camus that Milo felt an urge to scream, to leap onto the Russian and beat him, only to then hold him in his arms and cradle him, slowly and lovingly.
But he was not Camus, no matter how much Milo wished he was.
"You're just like him. He didn't listen to me either. When he came up from Libra, his eyes were red from crying. Camus, crying!" he reminisced, shaking his head, "That was something that should've made headlines. Everyone believed he didn't have a heart but a chunk of ice in his chest."
Hyoga sighed. He was nervous, and his cosmos betrayed it.
"He cried because you had failed the test," Milo continued. "He knew he had to bury your mother deeper, which required a lot of energy he might need if he had to confront Saga for you. So he tried, by all means, to get you to reach the Seventh Sense, but he failed and blamed himself for it."
"It wasn't his fau..."
"I didn't give you permission to speak, so shut your mouth!"
He remained naked, this time sitting on his bed with his hands resting on the mattress. Hyoga watched him from the doorway in utter silence.
"When you arrived here carrying Andromeda, I was stunned. Camus's freezing wasn't something to take lightly, but you were determined to continue, despite all the challenges he and I had placed in your path. My mission was to hold you here, to stop you from proceeding. I tried to convince you to abandon the Order that your place was far from these stones. But no, you chose to challenge me as a Saint, cutting off every exit to prove that you were a worthy warrior of Athena... Athena..."
The Greek stopped speaking for a moment, then rose and stood in front of the Russian. There was a childish look on his face, and his voice suddenly changed.
Hyoga understood why when Milo began to speak again.
"Athena took everything from us. She took my childhood, although Persephone was an exceptional teacher. She took your family, your parents, your brother... yes, I remember you told me. You had an older brother. I don't forget anything that interests me, and you... were of complete interest to me."
He caressed Hyoga's cheek and lightly traced his fingers up to his eyebrows. He ignited one of his fingers, and Hyoga felt a genuine urge to flee when he deduced what Milo was doing: drawing a thin line, dividing his eyebrows in two.
Splitting them.
Milo smiled. Hyoga could only see faint reflections, and his cosmos revealed the tension and nervousness he felt.
"Lower your body temperature," the Greek commanded.
Hyoga obeyed him without uttering a word.
"You were stubborn, Frenchman. As vengeful too. How many times did you decide my hair was too long, and you froze the tips? Ten? Twenty times?" He placed his hands on the Swan's back, entwining his fingers in the other's hair. "Your hair is shorter now than before, but it's still as silky."
He moved closer to Hyoga, embracing him.
"And it smells of that blend you and your apprentice exude. Is it Edelweiss? You never told me, Frenchman, and I often inhaled it while you slept beside me."
He kissed Hyoga's forehead, then placed his hands on his shoulders.
"Come, I want to make love to you one last time. I want to say goodbye to you and try to..."
He could not go on. His eyes were filled with tears.
"Leave, Hyoga," he snapped, turning away from him.
"I don't think this is a good time to leave you alone, Milo."
The Scorpion looked up at the ceiling, then faced Hyoga again, standing fully naked, and locked onto him with his turquoise eyes.
"If you stay here, you'll end up in my bed, be sure of that. Do you think Camus would want that? For you to become my whore?"
"Camus didn't hesitate to come before you, trying to convince you to forsake your honor as a Saint to save my life, using everything in his power to get you to... that madness..." his voice cracked. "But if I wasn't worthy of being a knight, I should die in battle, and if I was... oh, Gods..."
He covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to cry. It would be humiliating to do so in front of Milo, who was showing him so much patience.
"He manipulated both of us. Me for loving him and you for being loved by him."
Hyoga was stunned.
"Didn't he confess it to you?" the other asked, relaxing his face.
"He never said or did anything to make me think such a thing!" Hyoga replied, shocked.
"So typical of him. To hold back his feelings. To wait until it's... too late."
"He loved you, Milo."
The Greek shook his head and sat down on the bed.
"Whether he did or not, it's irrelevant."
"Not to me. I've come to pay a tribute, and I won't leave until I've done so."
Milo looked at him. The night was falling, but the Swan's silhouette still stood out in the twilight.
"You're taking this tribute thing too far, Hyoga."
The Russian approached Milo and, kneeling between his legs, made him raise his hands to trace over his eyebrows, which still bore the line splitting them in two.
"Say goodbye to him through me, Milo. Don't think about me. Do it for yourself."
"This is madness!" He instinctively pulled back his hand, feeling the tips burning.
"Aquarius mustn't have debts, Milo, and I'm his successor. It's my duty to pay them."
"You talk of debts, of heirs, of things that no longer matter. Can't you see that everything, everything... has already been forgotten, Hyoga? You defeated me, you moved on, and you..."
"I killed Camus," the Russian's voice threatened to break, "But day after day," he drew out the words, heavy with pain, "I can't forget how his body fell, lifeless before me, and how Athena saved my life, while he lay there, so... still." He clenched his fists, and a soft sob was stifled before it could escape his lips. "Do you think I can forget that? Do you think I don't feel remorse every time a new day dawns before me?"
"And you're certain that by sleeping with me, you'll make up for everything that happened in Aquarius Temple, is that it? Because you're utterly wrong, Hyoga."
"If he chose to forsake his ideals of chastity and purity to save my life, it's the least I can do."
"I can't allow it. You're now my disciple."
"Then," he leaned on Milo's knees, his mouth close to the Greek's, "teach me everything. If you're my master, make me a man in every sense. If you don't want what Camus denied you, accept what I offer."
"You're... as stubborn as he was," Milo replied, horrified.
"I am Aquarius," retorted Hyoga.
"Don't you care that I...?"
Hyoga sighed. He knew what Milo meant.
"If you compare me to him and remember him while you... touch me, it's something I find quite logical. You were... his lover, and I was his apprentice. In a way, that binds us in a manner few could understand. Even I don't fully get it. But I know," he looked pleadingly at Milo, "that through each other, we'll discover the Camus that neither of us knew. You'll see the master who trained me. And I'll get to know the man who loved you because I'm sure he did, passionately, Milo."
"You have no idea how cold and distant he could be."
"But you must admit, Camus would never have involved anyone he didn't have complete faith in for the unpleasant task of violating Saintly precepts to save his student's life."
"Hyoga, Camus is dead, and this will only bring us pain."
"Let me steal a few seconds from the God of Time, Milo," he whispered, so close that Milo could feel the warmth of his words. "When you spoke to him and told him he could be proud of me, I felt that... I... could never hope that someone like you would notice me and be my partner. I know being here is wrong, but I need to do it one more time. I usurped his image by being reborn in his temple, and again when I wore his Cloth, and now..."
Milo released his hair, lost in memories.
Hyoga decided to follow his instincts.
"I'll lower my body temperature. My hair is shorter than his and a bit more wavy."
"It doesn't matter," the other muttered.
"I won't speak either. I know quite a bit of French, but..."
Milo put a finger to his lips, silencing him.
"Are you... a virgin?"
Hyoga sighed.
"Yes."
"And yet, you're determined?"
"Absolutely."
"You're not just stubborn, you're obstinate."
"I am Aquarius, Milo."
"Damn you, Hyoga. Damn, you... Frenchman."
Milo took the Russian's face between his hands and kissed him gently, trying to be as delicate as possible. He remembered at that moment the first time he made love to Camus, and a feeling of sorrow swept over him, anchoring itself in his heart. Hyoga surrendered to him in the most admirable way, seeking answers he would never find in such a macabre manner, without even thinking about all the pain such an action would bring him.
Because Milo knew all too well anything related to Camus... hurt. And a lot.
The Scorpion pulled his face away from Hyoga's and looked at him with a certain tenderness.
"I've... never been kissed by anyone before," said the Russian self-consciously.
"You should save that for some girl," Milo replied gravely.
"Women..." his cheeks flushed so intensely that the heat waves they emitted were captured by Scorpio's power, "don't... excite me."
"I'll try to be careful, then," he whispered, standing up to help Hyoga rise.
"I wish you would..." Hyoga paused and fell silent.
"Treat you the way I treated him, is that it?"
Hyoga did not answer.
"Foolish, stubborn, and morbid. The list keeps growing, Hyoga."
The words sounded like a joke. The tone, a threat.
"I'm not backing down."
"And your answer," he added, "is what one would expect from an Aquarius."
He placed him on the bed, leaning him against the pillow. Hyoga was tense, even if he tried to pretend otherwise, so Milo knew he had to handle him with great care. The Russian's hair, once let down, sprawled over his shoulders and sheets. The Greek tenderly brushed stray strands away from his face.
"You're nervous," he pointed out. "It's not a question, but a statement."
"Very," the other managed to say.
"Now would be a good time to leave, Hyoga."
"Ne vous inquiétez pas, Milo... Je suis sûr." 1
The Swan's voice, his French diction sprinkled with his exotic Russian accent that mimicked Camus's native Marseillaise tongue quite well, made the Greek freeze, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"You're not him, damn you!" he shouted, gripping him by the arms, straddling Hyoga's body, letting his weight fall onto the Russian's thighs. "You're not him!"
Hyoga felt tears start to form in his own eyes.
"But I want to have something, just a moment... even if it's his, because when I killed him, everything I had went with him, Milo," his words choked by sobs. "Don't you... understand? He was everything to me, and without him, I have nothing!"
"Are you hearing your own words?" he held him tightly, embracing him. "You have sincerity. Courage. Bravery. And you are... so beautiful, you are... so beautiful... Hyoga."
The Swan raised his arms and wrapped them around Milo, who was gasping from the shock.
"Please," he whispered softly. "I'll... beg you if you want, but... let me... repay you..."
Milo pulled away and sighed, nodding, then wiped away his tears with his thumbs.
"You never asked me to make love to you, Frenchman," he began, knowing the damage those words would inflict. "You always left the bed insulting me, screaming that I had forced you to break your vows, that your body was tainted... that only the children redeemed you from what I incited you to do... you were cynical. When I was inside you, you moaned and gasped like a whore, and then... then..."
Hyoga bit his lower lip.
"Then... you'd leave, return to them, and I'd curse them, wishing they'd die in the snow," his voice was guttural, spoken through gritted teeth. "And you'd leave me here, alone. You knew I hated solitude, so when you returned and felt my cosmos mixed with anyone else's, the war would erupt again. Do you remember, Frenchman? Do you remember your reproaches, masked in false paternalism? But no one surpassed you in bed. No one. Because in that, you were also exceptional."
He sat on the bed and, with a couple of swift moves, managed to lift Hyoga onto him. The Swan did not know how to react, so he let himself be led without daring to say a word.
"And now, through this boy, who's as bold and cynical as you, you want me to break completely, and for your blade to be the one that kills me. That was your revenge, wasn't it? That's why you forced me to become his master... because he was as twisted as you."
"Milo, it has nothing to do with..."
"Shut up! Didn't you want to repay the debt? Then spread your legs, Hyoga! Spread them wide because I'll tear you apart if you keep spouting nonsense!"
He ripped off his shirt, which flew off to land with the pile of dirty clothes still on the temple floor, and then untied the elastic bands from his arms. Hyoga's skin was prickling, not from cold, as he was an Ice Saint, and the climate held no secrets for him but from fear.
In its purest form.
"You didn't fear me in combat, but now, without your Cloth, vulnerable as I am here, beneath you, naked... you tremble," he observed, tracing his fingers over his torso, marked by his own Scarlet Needles. "What a curious image... disciple."
He grabbed him by the arms and threw him onto the mattress, positioning himself on top.
"That's how it was the first time. During a brawl. Did you think he'd come, as majestic as he was, to tell me from the doorway, 'Milo, I'm here for you,' or some similar nonsense? We ended up fighting! As always! I physically destroyed him, but one of his glances was enough to make me kneel before him... I disgusted him, he filled me with guilt and terrible hatred, but... I couldn't, I can't live without him!"
He grabbed his neck, choking him.
"I should've shattered you into a thousand pieces when you appeared with the other boy before me. I should've let you bleed out, ignoring that you had managed to freeze my fifteen vital points. What did it matter? Saga would end up taking his own life, and Camus would still be alive! Why have you come to stir up all this pain? Why?"
Hyoga broke free from the grip, punching the other in the chest, and then faced him, furious.
"Because I wanted to know what kept him in Greece away from Isaac and me! I wanted to know what was more important than his Cloth, his disciples, and the goddess herself!"
Milo felt tears streaming down his cheeks, born of rage.
"You were the most important thing to him! You! And that's why I hate you!"
He ignited his cosmos, and a flurry of stings tattooed the wall above the Swan's head.
Hyoga knew the climax was approaching, so he sat up and, ignoring his own survival instincts, took the Scorpion's face in his hands, dangerously close.
"How blind you are, Milo."
The other sighed, letting his pain flow out in the form of bright trails from his eyes, the Scarlet Needle extinguishing on his finger.
"It was you he loved the most. And I hated you when he returned with his cosmos imbued with you, serious and distant, cold, forcing me to be like him, without being... because he had you, and I... I... have... nothing."
"And you believe," he managed to say without sounding hollow, "that if you sleep with me, you'll be... a perfect Ice Saint? Is... that what you want to achieve?"
"Yes."
Milo shook his head, freeing himself from Hyoga's touch.
"Foolish, stubborn, morbid, and manipulative. I congratulate you," he acknowledged, looking at him with the saddest eyes Hyoga had ever seen, "now you truly are as Aquarius as your master."
He got up from the bed, leaving Hyoga there, half-naked. The Swan trembled, knowing it was time to confess everything, to tell him what he had been feeling since the battle in Scorpio, which he denied night after night as it grew in his chest.
The Russian desired Milo, obvious to anyone except the Scorpion himself, who was there, looking for a robe to cover that perfect body.
Hyoga could not stop looking at him, and perhaps under different circumstances, he would never have dared to do what he so desired. But the moment was now. And he should not let it slip away.
"Wait, please!"
Milo turned a look of horror on his face.
"Just as he couldn't destroy me, he left you to finish the job, right? From the moment his damned tears for you moved me so much that I agreed not to kill you, there hasn't been a day I don't regret what... Oh, Athena, why are you doing this to me, Hyoga? Forget it once and for all! Forget it!"
"Look at me," the other said. "I'm... marked by you. I have... your poison coursing through my veins." He was kneeling on the bed, eyes pleading. "Can you imagine the sensation of your own blood boiling to the point of driving you mad for someone?" He sighed, never breaking eye contact. "That's... what's happening to me, Milo. Since I left the hospital since I set out for Athens... I can only think, act, and feel... for you."
Milo stood still as he invoked his cosmos again.
And frozen when he saw how Hyoga's scars began to glow.
Synthesized in his body, the essence of the Scorpion's poison, surrounded by tiny ice particles, produced a diffuse light that penetrated the Russian's skin, drawing the constellation and its fifteen stars. Milo opened his mouth in astonishment when he looked at his own body, seeing, beneath the robe, how his own vital points resonated with Hyoga's.
They were two scorpions facing off with a bed as their personal arena.
"And... I burn when I'm near you. Ironic, isn't it? The heir of Aquarius, the master of Ice... melting from the Scorpion's poison... as if in a macabre cycle, history repeats itself over and over. The gods must hate us terribly, Milo."
The Greek approached, kneeling in front of Hyoga, looking at the scars.
"I could try to extract it."
"No. It's my... punishment. And I've accepted it."
Milo raised his hand and caressed Hyoga's face.
"I won't be able to feel anything for you other than appreciation and respect. I can't love you, Hyoga, I can't find my own heart anymore."
"With that, I'll be satisfied. You... don't have to give me anything."
"You don't deserve this, Hyoga. It's not fair to you."
The young Russian smiled sadly.
"And is it fair for you?"
He lowered his body temperature, and when he tried to tie his hair in the manner of Camus, Milo stopped him.
"No, don't do it. I don't want you to imitate him. He... would never have spoken to me about his fears or vulnerabilities. Not to the point of admitting he was vulnerable. Hyoga," he grabbed him by the shoulders with both hands, "if you still want something to happen, it will be between you and me. I want to leave him out of it."
"But..."
"Between you and me."
"Are you... sure?"
"Besides being foolish, stubborn, morbid, and manipulative, are you also deaf?"
Hyoga smiled.
"Thank you, Milo."
"Spasiva, tovarich 2," the other replied, leaving Hyoga with his mouth open for a few brief moments.
The time it took to reach the Russian's lips and seal them with his own.
It took him a while to realize what was happening in that place, with him as the protagonist. Was it a dream? The materialization of the longing that had haunted him so many nights, demanding a physical compensation that had never been satisfied, as duty always crushed desire?
He opened his eyes, and his pupils met others, surrounded by turquoise, bright and eager to discover uncharted territory, burning the skin with every touch, filled with poorly concealed sensuality.
His arched back, almost unconsciously, lifted his body towards the sublimation of his most hidden thoughts, surrendering as only he knew how, selfishly, leaving nothing behind.
Because that summed up the philosophy of being Aquarius, becoming an empty vessel where the gifts received would be guarded, risking life in the endeavor if necessary.
His mouth, open between surprise and ecstasy, had been bitten and kissed equally by the Greek, who now entertained himself in other places as hidden as they were exciting.
Hyoga gasped intermittently, letting his body capture all possible sensations to treasure them as if he were the dragon guarding the Golden Fleece and remembering them in his lonely vigils. He had dreamt of that moment too many times and discovered, to his greater pleasure, that reality surpassed fiction, as Milo was a man who could drive any lover mad with desire.
And Hyoga burned beneath him.
The scent of jasmine, which seemed to be so favored by the Greeks, permeated the sheets, his skin, and hair. He had unleashed all his amorous tactics on Hyoga, who was unable to utter a single word, allowing his virgin body, through erratic movements, to speak for him.
Milo was positioned above him, whispering phrases in Greek, kissing and touching him as if the Russian were the favorite among all the lovers who held the key to fully open the doors of the Scorpion's soul.
The sensation was indescribable. As pleasurable as it was addictive, Hyoga realized at that moment that he would be willing to kill to experience something like that again, understanding the emotional battle that his own master must have endured throughout his life.
How could one resist that soft skin, the curly hair that adorned with its wildness, framing a face of sensual and fiery beauty, with eyes gleaming like enchanted gems, and a mischievous mouth that meticulously traced the outline of his nipples, sipping from his skin in short, eager, scorching, and voraciously hungry sips?
It was impossible to stay still.
Milo took him by the wrists and, with a gentle movement, made him place them on his back, then intertwined their fingers in his hair, emphasizing that his hair, and especially his nape, was one of the most erogenous zones he had. He repeated, between gasps, that in that bed, Hyoga could do whatever he wished, that everything would be allowed.
To forget the Ice because there would be time to cloak oneself in it later.
And that he should obey him because the Law of Chivalry dictated that disciples were the responsibility of their masters.
Hyoga felt immeasurable happiness when the Scorpion told him he was his.
Milo's.
His apprentice.
He gradually spread his knees, relaxing his muscles, allowing Milo to pamper, brush, touch, and kiss without any shame. He, who had never displayed himself naked before anyone, appeared devoid of modesty, with his curly blonde hair standing out on his skin, his member defiantly erect from the pleasure the Greek had elicited with his delightful caresses.
Had he been able to choose, he could not imagine a sweeter death than in the Greek's arms. And Milo thanked him for his surrender.
"Polikalo 3, Hyoga."
The Russian opened his eyes, and a childlike whimper escaped his lips as he felt the wetness of Milo's tongue on his member, the latter's hands on his thighs, in his groin, making him lay his head back on the pillow. He could not speak; he had nothing inside him, only an impossible love, an uncontrollable desire, an urge to merge with the other, melting and leaving nothing in its wake. He understood Camus's words, his reluctance, and his fear of love. Milo's tears when he said that he was the most important thing to the Frenchman, his hatred, his visceral treatment of him.
However, as a lover, Hyoga recognized that such tenderness could softly kill him, and he would not resist.
He belonged entirely to him. He was the Scorpion's, as his master had been.
As, possibly, his apprentice would be if Milo crossed his path.
He exploded, spreading his legs and arms like a starfish amid sighs and gasps, loud and strong, making the Greek smile. He had taken him to the pinnacle of pleasure with a tenderness he would never have suspected. Watching him fight, one might say that Milo was a man of primary impulses, where his own satisfaction prevailed over others', but Hyoga discovered how wrong his perception of reality had been.
Milo had taken care of his delight, lifting him to the peak of ecstasy, disregarding his own body, and his sexual needs.
He assumed everything had ended at that moment. He had reached climax, and now Milo would invite him to leave, never to see him again, but he was wrong.
"Was I the first?"
Hyoga, trying to calm the tremors of his body, looked at him with bare eyes, displaying a calm that made Milo tremble imperceptibly.
"In everything," replied the Russian calmly.
"Are you sure about what you want to do?"
"I love you, Milo."
The Scorpion remained silent, looking down at the mattress as if he did not want to meet Hyoga's eyes.
"I ask for nothing more than one night. To remember you on the steppe when I leave far from here."
"Far... from me," Milo replied sadly.
"I'll never be far from you. I bear your mark mixed with my essence. Something that makes me unique among those who have been with you."
Milo raised a finger, the Scarlet Needle shining and was amazed to see how the poison, synthesized in Hyoga's body, glowed, igniting the points of the Scorpion constellation along with those of Cygnus. It was a union as beautiful as it was macabre, as much of Aquarius as of Scorpio.
Just the two of them.
"Camus made you something unique to me, Hyoga," he replied gravely. "By forcing us to be master and disciple, he solidified a bond that makes you special to me, above all others."
"Now... I understand," he whispered, shaking his head, his eyes distant. "Now I understand you both."
Milo brought his hand to Hyoga's chest and was surprised to find how his cosmos attracted the coagulated poison coursing through the Swan's bloodstream. The crystals, shining beneath the Russian's skin, flared up at the touch of the Scorpion's fingers, leaving a flickering trail as he moved his hand.
"We hurt each other so much. So much so that now the harm is irreparable."
"Even knowing you won't reciprocate, I want you to know that I love you, Milo. That I have for a long time, and that I wished..."
"Quiet," the other interrupted. "Quiet and come to me, Hyoga. I'll make you stop thinking. I'll make you touch the sky."
The Swan closed his eyes as he felt Milo's fingers, wet and slippery, invading his body. They simulated a wedge formation against a bastion of flesh and muscle, the Sparta that the Greek so loved trying to invade the hidden Russia, with its staunch defense, burning with desire but covered in an almost unbreakable layer of ice.
Milo made his way deeper into Hyoga slowly, aiding himself with feverish caresses, eager kisses, and masterful sexual arts thanks to his vast experience in the amorous field. Not content with drawing deeper moans from him due to his overwhelming passion, he wanted to go further and placed him by his side, as if he were a little seraph, and looked at him with voracious desire until he blushed.
He was not scarce with praise; he told him how much he was attracted to him, how much he desired him, how much he wanted to lie with him now that the barriers had fallen between them. In Greek, in the old-fashioned way, Milo recited love poems from Sappho to him while caressing and penetrating him with his fingers, then began to pleasure him with his mouth.
He prolonged the preliminaries so much that Hyoga begged him to penetrate him. To quench the fire of the Scorpion's poison with another, more pleasurable fire. To fill the Vessel of him.
To make him more his than he already was.
And Milo obeyed.
Slowly, delicately, tenderly, with infinite surrender to each other, that act was the first time for both, for Hyoga, a virgin, and for Milo, an expert. On a bed where countless lovers had passed, master and disciple made love with a tenderness unknown to both. Milo wanted to cry, knowing that this was what he had yearned for from Camus all his life, and Hyoga also wished to, realizing that this man loved a dead man and would never see him as anything other than his pupil. Even so, he felt fortunate. Even so, his luck was such that the pain that initially made him scream decreased until it led him to a state of pleasure so ecstatic that he felt intoxicated with wildly delightful sensations.
Milo knew how to play his body as if it were a violin, and he played the most vibrant melody Hyoga could ever imagine.
Amid spasms and tremors, panting and moaning while gripping the sheets tightly, enjoying the Scorpion as he never thought he would, Hyoga clearly saw why his master had violated the vow of celibacy for that man. How he must have loved and desired him, how he must have suffered for his convictions. And how, once dead, he handed Hyoga over as a tribute, as retribution.
As a disciple.
He felt overwhelmed when he understood, now that he could no longer see him, Camus's motivations in asking Milo to take charge of Hyoga's Theban training. He must have imagined that, infected with the poison, the Scorpion's spell would fall on the Swan, and he would suffer hopelessly.
That's why he planned it all. That's why he left the debt.
And that's why Hyoga paid it, surrendering to him, confessing his feelings.
Loving him, leaving nothing inside.
Giving himself to him forever.
As Cygnus.
As... Aquarius.
–
- "Ne vous inquiétez pas, Milo... Je suis sûr." is French for "Don't worry, Milo... I'm sure."
- "Spasiva, tovarich" is Russian for "Thank you, friend."
- "Polikalo" is Greek for "Thank you."