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Phainon was sick.
With what? He couldn't say. All he knew was an illness unlike anything he'd ever seen had come to wreak havoc on his life.
And just how had the people's Deliverer come down with such a sickness?
It all started with that particularly strange titankin encounter.
He could recall the incident as if it'd happened yesterday. His foe's body was bound in tight coils, each of which coloured in different shades of the night. Its only distinct feature were the ebony tusks protruding from what used to be a mouth, and the foul, crimson bile that dripped from its gaping hole of a maw.
The beast’s vicious claws aimed for any exposed flesh it could lay its hands on, only managing to nick a faint line across Phainon's thumb as he deflected its merciless strikes.
At the time he'd paid little mind to a wound so minimal, favoring instead to let the monster breathe its last upon the sword it had tried to disarm him of. But as Phainon trudged his way back to Okhema, the small scratch burned its presence into the back of his mind.
The wound had practically disappeared by the time Hyacine got a look at it.
By all accounts, there was nothing for her to treat. Not even the suggestion of poison could turn up any leads to the symptoms he was experiencing.
So while feeling somewhat embarrassed over the whole ordeal, Phainon left, thinking the tingling that ebbed at his fingertips would soon enough fade and be forgotten to time.
But Oronyx had no intention of letting him forget.
Phainon first realized something was amiss during one of his innumerable spats with Mydei.
Fists had flown amongst casual banter and teasing remarks, neither taking the duel they engaged in all too seriously.
Mydei had already landed a blow against Phainon, and a second would earn him the victory, while it would bestow upon the deliverer his defeat.
“You're getting sloppy, Deliverer,” Mydei said as a fist swiped dangerously close to Phainon's jaw, bare knuckles brushing against pale locks as he retreated just out of reach. “You're thinking about unnecessary things, I'm sure.”
Phainon's light, playful laugh filled the courtyard as he replied, “my celebratory dinner after I win is of most importance, Mydeimos! Of course it's on my mind.”
The smirk that formed across Mydei's lips, amused at the confidence, vanished from his face as soon as it appeared.
Phainon had managed to snag a point of his own.
Mydei cupped at his battered cheek, feeling the warmth radiating underneath, before gold was then spat onto the weathered ground below, staining it with its luster. He must've cut the inside of his cheek.
“Lucky shot,” Mydei grumbled as he surged forward.
Readying himself for the lion's wrath, Phainon braced himself for Mydei's next strike, but found his gaze inexplicably being drawn to the bead of gold stuck on the other's lip.
A familiar tingling shot up Phainon's spine, the sensation travelling up his nerves and settling inside his mouth, aching in a way that had him thinking he'd bit into a block of ice.
Unable to comprehend both this strange reaction and Mydei's fist barreling toward him, Phainon took the full brunt of the prince's unbridled strength straight into his unsuspecting nose.
In the end it was Mydei who chose where they would dine that day, though not without first taking a detour to patch up Phainon's bleeding nose.
The second, and arguably more definitive time the deliverer knew something was in fact horribly wrong with him, was thankfully when in the comfort of his own home.
The peculiar feeling that itched at his fingertips had somehow made its way up into his mouth, and Phainon wanted to know why.
While staring into his reflection and his mouth stretched wide, Phainon replayed the scene of his recent duel over and over again. All the while his fingertips dug into his gums, hoping to trigger a reaction with no luck.
While grumbling, Phainon tried poking at his teeth instead. At the press of his canine, the visage of a gold stained lip suddenly appeared before his eyes, and with it brought a pain in his digit.
Phainon yelped, quickly yanking his hand away and flailing it at his side, attempting to shake the pain from his limb. But when his gaze lifted, intent on checking the wound, he instead froze at the sight of himself in the mirror.
His canines were longer .
The prickling sensation had returned too, concentrating into the sharpened points protruding in Phainon's gawking mouth.
All colour had drained from his face as he couldn't help but stare at the beastly things, seemingly having appeared out of thin air to take up residence inside his mouth.
Phainon was speechless. How was he supposed to react after seeing this ?
While lost in his own reflection, the devilishly long points retracted, returning to how they once were in a faux show of normalcy. Leaving Phainon with no evidence other than the sting in his finger of what just transpired.
The smart thing to do would've been to tell someone, anyone , about this new discovery of his.
But for some inexplicable reason, Phainon told no one, unable to bring himself to share this illness with anyone other than the man staring back at him, equally as bewildered as he was.
***
As the days dragged into weeks, even more oddities started to make themselves known within Phainon.
The first change Phainon noticed, other than the fangs he'd rather forget were even there in the first place, was his sense of smell.
You'd think him a beagle with how well he could detect scents from not just across the room, but from across the entire street. It was disorientating, having phantom smells lingering in the background that he could never put a place to. But it was at least somewhat tolerable once he got used to it. Somewhat.
Meanwhile, despite how fine tuned his sniffer became, the enticing aromatic food atop his plate would fall flat against his tongue. It wasn't without taste, it was just…bland?
No matter what he ate, it always felt like a torrential rain had bucketed all its liveliness into the sea, leaving only the ghostly image of what his food should be against Phainon's tongue.
But no change was more apparent to Phainon than his ability to detect blood. Or more specifically, his ability to detect Mydei's blood. And ruefully, he had come to add that ichor to his list of things he could, but wished he couldn't, recognize by its smell alone.
Whenever Mydei bled, its scent would cling to the deliverer's nose long after it had been washed clean from both cloth and skin.
The memory of it was enough to overwhelm him, twisting his gut into a sickening and confusing feeling of hunger that followed him tirelessly throughout the day, all the way up until he passed out from exhaustion at the end of it.
Phainon tried to ignore these sick cravings at first, but with it brought some strange consequences.
He had woken to his lip bitten raw on more than one occasion by this point, unable to control the fangs that had forcibly made themselves at home in his mouth. This annoying habit had started early on, only ramping up in frequency the more Phainon's body seemed to crave that resplendent gold.
Mydei was not impressed by Phainon's newly acquired habit either.
The first time Mydei saw Phainon after a particularly rough sleep, his poor lip bitten bloody and bruising around the edges, the look the kremnoan gave him could only be described as sour .
Phainon had wondered at the time if he truly looked that awful to warrant such a scowl, though he never got the chance to ask. The prince had left in a huff before Phainon even had the chance to give his greetings.
***
“Have you ever considered sleeping with a chew toy?” Mydei offered one afternoon with an air of nonchalance, like he and Phainon weren't currently journeying through the weathered, war torn remains of a city.
A familiar challenge had been issued between them while they embarked, a race to see who could slay more foes during their excursion. Their tally was currently equal, but the kremnoan had no intention of giving up his well earned win streak.
Phainon scoffed, ignoring how his tongue had been soothing over his sore lip only moments prior as he said, “they're called mouth guards, and no, why would I need one?”
By this point, Phainon had shared the origins of his frequently bitten lip, minus the part where he had retractable fangs and apparently craved the prince’s blood.
And Mydei had, to Phainon surprise, accepted the confession easily. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders knowing that Phainon was in fact, just a dumbass.
“I'll be sure to hold a grand funeral for your lip then,” Mydei grunted, not bothering to look back at Phainon as he marched on…directly into a trap. Rocks flew as the wall all but exploded next to the two men, catching them both by the string of their boots.
A feral, black tide infected beast leapt through the shattered wall, wasting no time as it bolted for the red tipped lion before it. Mydei, quick on his feet, threw the heathen over his shoulder and into the uneven floor below.
Before Phainon had the chance to join Mydei in combat, the kremnoan had sunk a gauntlet into the beast’s twisted body. Giving off a gurgled, distorted cry, it struggled against the man's innumerable strength, until its consciousness gave in to the tempting lull of sleep that its reaper’s hand brought.
With its passing, only the huffed breaths of two surprised men filled the adrenaline thick air.
Mydei flicked the rancid black gore from his polished claws, eyeing the mess with a firm, disdainful frown. “Thirty-seven,” are the words to break the silence, “the lead’s mine.”
Phainon, having finally remembered who he was, made to quip that his win was within arm's reach, Mydei had only to wait for him to grasp it.
But that was when the smell hit him.
Gold trailed lazily down the curve of Mydei's muscles, oozing in a sluggish river that flowed past the dip of his pec. The beast’s claws had snagged the prince as it was flown high into the air, leaving one last imprint of its struggle to survive in its undertaker's flesh. Wounds that had already begun to heal marked the end of a journey, yet Mydei's body sought to remove that final trace of lost life from the scores of history.
Phainon swallowed, attempting to clear the knot that had inexplicably lodged itself in his throat. He had managed to keep his…condition under wraps, tied in a haphazard bow behind his back that no one could see. He knew how to push these nauseating cravings into the deepest pits of his mind, never to surface until he was tucked away and safe in the confines of his own room.
And yet, as if the alarms blaring away in his head were nothing more than a bird's quiet sing-song, Phainon stepped on autopilot toward Mydei and ran a transfixed finger through that alluring liquid of gold.
“Deliverer?” Mydei asked, not expecting the sudden contact, “what do you think you're doing?”
Phainon stilled, the prince's confused voice bringing him back to reason. Perplexed pools of sunlight met Phainon's own oceans of blue, trying to pick apart whatever it could be that the deliverer was up to.
An awkward chuckle was Phainon's only reply as he yanked his fingers away, the traitorous things marked with the remnants of their sinful act.
But Mydei had no intention of letting this slide.
Mydei grasped Phainon's wrist, raising the offending limb up and exposing the mess in the deliverer's hand into the shallow light. “You've been skulking around like a sick dog for weeks, and now this? Why are you looking at my blood like you haven't seen a drop of water in your life?”
Phainon frowned, his lips pinching shut into a tense line. Perhaps he hadn't been hiding his affliction as well as he thought.
“You need not worry yourself with me, it's nothing I can't handle on my own,” Phainon bit back dismissively, yanking his hand back in the process.
A scowl formed across Mydei's lips, the words pouring from Phainon's mouth feeling like a slap across the face. Though before he could properly voice his offense, Mydei's expression morphed once more. His brow furrowed, like something on the deliverer's face didn't quite make sense, before finally his eyes widened into saucers.
Without warning, a gauntlet swiftly rushed toward Phainon's face.
Cool metal dug threateningly into his cheeks as it held him in place. The act itself was alarming, but Phainon did not so much as flinch as Mydei's fiery gaze bore into him.
“Open,” Mydei demanded.
Phainon's brow twitched. Was Mydei seriously telling him to speak when the prince was the one actively sealing his mouth shut? Phainon attempted to shake himself free, but that only caused those dangerous claws to flex harder into his pale skin.
Seemingly fed up with other's refusal to comply, Mydei took matters into his own hands. Literally.
A thumb pressed to Phainon's mouth, prying his lips apart and allowing the kremnoan entry. The taste of something coppery hitting Phainon's tongue seemed to activate a switch in him, and before he could stop his body from acting, he had bitten around the invading digit.
The sound that followed was far from pleasant. Sharp canines failed to take purchase inside rigid metal and instead slid across it like nails grating on a chalkboard. The feeling alone would've been shudder-inducing if not for the fact Phainon was distracted by another, far more pressing issue.
He had been caught with his fangs out.
Mydei stared in disbelief at the mouth trying to gnaw its way through his gauntlet.
“Your teeth are longer,” a mix of awe and confusion filled Mydei's voice. A bronze nail then ran curiously along his left canine, the touch encouraging it to extend to its full length. “What happened? Why are you like this?”
Within the short span of a few minutes, the secret Phainon been keeping under lock and key had been ripped so effortlessly from his still beating chest.
Phainon deflated, no longer feeling the need to keep up pretenses, he replied. Or at least attempted to, his voice muffled around Mydei's fingers and unable to get anything tangible out when stuffed to the brim with steel.
Noticing Phainon's feeble attempts, Mydei returned the use of his mouth back to him. “I don't know, they've been like this for a while now.”
“A while?” Mydei asked, “is there no cure?”
Phainon chuckled nervously, the realization of just how stupid he's about to sound hitting him like a dromas. Lifting a hand to tussle comically through his hair, Phainon admitted, “I'm not sure, no one other than you knows about it.”
Phainon anticipated the shouting that followed, but it didn't make Mydei's booming voice any less deafening. “HKS! Are you crazy!? Why haven't you gone to the clinic?”
Plated fingers dug into Phainon arm, searing their rage through his clothes and charring into his very bones. The pain was at least preferable to seeing the concern that flickered over Mydei's otherwise angered face.
Not waiting for an answer, Mydei yanked Phainon forward, resolute in dragging the incompetent man back to Okhema himself if he had to.
“Mydei! It's okay, I can walk on my own, you don't need to–” Phainon tripped, an intense fatigue washing over him, cutting off both the sentence being spoken and any remaining feeling he had in his legs.
In the end it was that vice-like grip of Mydei's that saved Phainon the unfortunate fate of face planting into the dirty floor below.
“You were saying?” Mydei sighed as he lugged Phainon back onto his feet, “don't go turning into dead weight on me.”
Thankfully, Mydei's rough aid was grounding in itself, reminding Phainon of where he was despite the nausea his intense hunger brought.
“Sorry,” Phainon groaned through gritted teeth, deciding it better to just play along for the time being, especially given he could hardly see two feet in front of him without everything looking blurry.
Unable to hide his growing discomfort, Phainon bit into his lip. His protruding canines sank into the sensitive flesh, tearing out a modicum of clarity to Phainon's foggy mind.
Distantly he knew a mess of gold was dripping down his chin, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The feel of blood against his tongue was at least mildly distracting, and that was reason enough for him to want to bite even harder.
“Stop that. You're not going to even have a bottom lip at this rate,” Mydei said, jostling Phainon until his mouth was freed from its toothy prison.
Phainon chuckled as his gaze raised to meet Mydei's own, “now what a sight that would be. I'd have to wear a mask to keep from upsetting the children, wouldn't I?”
A huff was Mydei's only reply as he urged Phainon onward, one lethargic foot at a time.
Phainon didn't vent his frustration into his lip again after that.
A quiet lull hung in the air as Phainon limped across tattered debris.
He wasn't particularly fond of silence. It could be nice to fall asleep too, but under most circumstances he found it difficult to handle. Or more specifically, he found the thoughts that accompanied silence difficult to handle.
It was easier to fill a room with meaningless sound than to face the worries of his festering mind, so Phainon would speak. And he wouldn't stop speaking. But in this moment, where he hadn't the energy to even ramble, he was forced to tough it through the daunting silence.
That was until Mydei's heavenly voice mercifully freed him from the inescapable void. “How are you feeling?”
The sound of shuffling feet continued for a couple more paces before Phainon found the words to reply with. “Hungry.”
“Hungry?” Mydei questioned, “didn't we eat before leaving?”
Phainon nodded, but then shook his head, his gaze instinctively dipping to his dirtied fingers at the mention of food, “I guess we did? It's strange, I don't feel full after eating anymore.”
“That doesn't sound good,” Mydei said, tone neutral, like it wasn't in fact a terribly worrisome thing to have just been told. Noticing Phainon's feet start to drag, the prince slowed his own pace to match, “anything else?”
Phainon hummed like he was sifting through his thoughts for a response, but in reality his mind had since wandered off, caught in the siren's heavenly song that was the blood pooled at his fingertips.
Even as its dried flecks cracked off Phainon's flexing skin, the scent was no less captivating.
He wondered if it would taste as good as it smelled, like a brilliant ray of sunshine cast down upon a world that had never bore witness to light. Would it be a sweet liqueur that tickled across his tongue? Or would it be rich and decedent, something meant to be savored before being swallowed whole with a satisfied sigh?
Phainon feared he wouldn't be able to keep his curiosity at bay, and as soon as that fear took root in his heart, he lost himself to the ichor's beckoning call.
Blood wasn't supposed to taste divine, and yet as it hit Phainon's tongue that was the only word he could think of to describe it.
It was coppery, as he'd expected it to be, but he didn't recoil as he should've. Instead, as that golden ichor coated Phainon's taste buds, all he could think was just how much he wanted more of it.
Phainon's moment of lost lucidity is returned back to him once Mydei stole his hand, and the blood covering it, away. Concerned pools of amber journeyed over Phainon's calloused skin, noticing the smudged patches of gold barely coating the tips of his spit shined fingers.
“Were you…licking your hands clean?” The answer was obvious, but Mydei still found himself asking anyway.
Phainon didn't bother replying, he only turned his dejected stare to the floor, finding the details of their boots suddenly very interesting. But when Mydei made no further comment, Phainon raised his gaze once more.
What greeted him was Mydei's brow knit in…thought? Perhaps trying to determine just how insane the man before him was? Phainon wasn't sure.
Regardless, some elaborate scene was playing out in Mydei's head, one of which Phainon wasn't privy to the details of.
Mydei then, seemingly having come to some conclusion, nodded his head knowingly and asked, “how do you feel?”
Under any other circumstance Phainon would think Mydei the one losing his mind, repeating the same question back at him like some parrot. But to the prince's credit, Phainon did feel mildly different.
“Better?” Phainon questioned, not believing how his own body felt. His stomach was still one cramp away from him ripping the damned thing out himself, but his limbs had gained back some of their lost spunk, which was a small win in his books.
Mydei nodded once more, satisfied despite Phainon's lackluster answer, “Deliverer, are you familiar with the tales of the blood bathed soldiers?"
Phainon shook his head.
“They're fiends, to put it lightly. Beasts who'd slay foes and comrades alike, it mattered not who met their blade so long as the ground was painted a hellish red,” Mydei swept his mane aside as he spoke, exposing his now blemish free shoulder for the deliverer's watching eye to see.
Phainon swallowed, a strange sense of unease bubbling up in him as Mydei spoke his little tale to life. Though before his story had met its end, Mydei slashed across his tattooed chest, reopening the wounds that had only just knit themselves shut.
Panic rose in Phainon's throat as he surged towards the prince. “Mydei! What are you doing!?” But a firm grip to Phainon's jaw put a halt to the man's fretting, forcing his chin up to the patchy ceiling above.
Mydei continued his story with Phainon squirming in his grasp. “In reality, those men suffered from a curse. It forced them to crave bloodshed till it left them mad, unrecognizable beasts who'd slay even their own kin. But if the tales are to be believed, there is a way to qualm this curse. Fill thy belly with the ichor spilt upon one's sword, and thy will succumb to the terrors of the crimson curse no more. ”
Out of the corner of his eye Phainon could see Mydei raise a polished hand to the healthy gold stream raining from the cut, collecting the flowing life in an open palm. “So do yourself a favor and drink this, Deliverer.”
The horror of what Mydei was planning settled like lead in Phainon's gut. But before he could react, Mydei's thumb had pried open his mouth and poured the gathered liquid directly down his throat.
To say Phainon choked would be an understatement. He coughed, spluttering around the blood he couldn't help but inhale.
To keep the ichor from slipping out, Mydei covered Phainon's mouth with that wet palm.
Phainon struggled, but his efforts soon turned meek, any fury draining from him as the blood on his tongue overwhelmed his senses. Tears pricked in Phainon's eyes as he fought back the desire to drink. But the longer his tongue sat bathed in that intoxicating gold, the harder it became to keep himself restrained.
Until finally, his resolve snapped under the weight of his body's instinct, and he swallowed.
The relief that followed was immediate. Phainon's belly sang its praise as Mydei's decedent blood pooled within it, forcing a muffled groan out from his lips as it did.
Phainon would've been mortified at the sound if he weren't lost in the act of licking Mydei's palm, unable to stop himself from seeking more now that he'd finally allowed himself to indulge.
Phainon grasped at Mydei's wrist, holding it steady while he licked the gauntlet clean, barely managing to not slice his tongue in two in the process.
All the while Mydei watched, the faintest of flushes tinting his cheeks as he saw Phainon so openly debase himself.
Thinking the deliverer had embarrassed himself enough, Mydei pried his palm out from that clingy hold. A sticky string of saliva connected Phainon's lip to his gauntlet as it left.
Phainon was an absolute mess.
Splotches of gold had rained over Phainon's face as Mydei force fed him, leaving both his hair and cheeks absolutely slathered in blood. But Phainon didn't seem to notice, too blissed out of his mind to even acknowledge his abysmal appearance.
“Why…why did you do that?” Phainon's breathy voice could hardly form the words between his labored breaths.
“The curse craves blood. And given you looked about ready to keel over from hunger, I gave you some,” Mydei explained, his tone matter of fact.
Any blood still clinging to Mydei's gauntlets was leisurely shaken off as he continued.
“While I may have never seen this curse in person, the stories of it have been prevalent among my people for generations. And your symptoms are the spitting image of that curse. While I'm certain this is what has befallen you Deliverer, I'm still taking you to the clinic once we return.”
Phainon raised a brow, able to pick out the interesting choice of words despite the pleasant haze clouding over his brain. “ You will? Mydei, I am no child who needs to be babysat, I can visit the doctor on my own.”
Mydei huffed, the faint outline of a smirk returning to his lips. “That has yet to be seen. Once you stop needing to be bottle fed then you can ask me if you can graduate from a babe to the people's Deliverer.”
The pale of Phainon's cheeks filled with a healthy shade of pink as he mouthed soundless words like a fish. Suddenly very conscious of the blood covering his lip, he furiously tried to wipe it clean to no avail.
Mydei laughed while turning tail to leave, knowing full well Phainon would follow along shortly after. And as expected, what were once distant protests soon turned loud right up against Mydei's ear. Any lingering semblance of the curse's malevolence had melted out from Phainon's body, leaving behind only the playful Deliverer who was adamant he'd win the competition the two of them set earlier.
***
Mydei kept true to his word. Once they returned to Okhema he never left Phainon's side, not until he saw the man in the clinic sat like a petulant child who wished to be anywhere else.
What Phainon suffered from was indeed a curse spoken of in kremnoan folktales.
There was no real cure, so Phainon's “treatment” would consist of waiting for the affliction to pass, all the while keeping his sanity in check with the occasional sip of blood, the latter of which Phainon was still hesitant to do.
And that was how Mydei took it upon himself to make sure Phainon took his “medicine”.
It was a forceful endeavor in the beginning.
The deliverer would flee every time Mydei attempted to corner him, like a caged mutt who bit at the hand trying to free him of his chains.
But the more Phainon fed on Mydei's blood, the lower his inhibitions became. Until finally, Phainon stopped fighting it at all, drinking from Mydei's outstretched palm like a hummingbird slurping up some sweet sugar water.
***
“What purpose does the curse have for affecting my teeth?” Phainon asked casually into the air, like he hadn't just promised Mydei not to interrupt his peaceful meditation with his “loud and annoying voice”.
Mydei sighed, not acknowledging Phainon's presence and instead answering the wind as if it were its own entity. “I can't say the opportunity has ever arisen to ask a curse why it does what it does.”
Phainon hummed as he settled down next to Mydei, finally earning himself the prince's acknowledgement in the form of a raised brow. “Instead of studying kremnoan I think you should pick up a dictionary in your native tongue, because you clearly don't know what it means to be quiet .”
Phainon huffed, ignoring Mydei's comment as he continued to prattle on, “it'd be quite the hassle if they were always long, so I guess it makes sense they can retract. But why make them longer in the first place? What do you think I'm meant to use them for–”
“What do you want, Deliverer?” Mydei's tired sigh effectively ended Phainon's senseless babbling.
Phainon didn't want to annoy Mydei, but with the predicament he found himself in that seemed to be his only choice. It had been a while since he last drank, and asking another person for their blood wasn't exactly the most casual of conversation starters.
So instead Phainon rambled, all while hoping the kremnoan would put two and two together as to why he was here in the first place.
This wasn't how things usually went. Mydei always had a sixth sense for when Phainon needed his “medicine”, as the prince had taken to calling it, and thus had never had to ask to be fed like this himself.
Realizing his only options were to blurt it out and be done with it or run away with his tail tucked between his legs, Phainon chose the former. “I'm a little hungry.”
Mydei's eyes widened at the admittance, now turning his full attention to the fidgeting man before him. “Oh. Wait, you want it right now?”
Phainon choked, caught off guard by Mydei's directness. He swung his hands out frantically, already burning up at the thought of being caught drinking from Mydeimos out in the public eye. “What? No! You can just stop by my place later for that.”
Mydei nodded before shooting to his feet, not seeming to catch the fact Phainon had tacked on a very important later at the end of his sentence.
The prince knew where Phainon lived, and now that he'd been made aware of the deliverer's hunger, no amount of persuasion was going to stop him from jogging to the other's home.
And that was how Phainon found himself with a certain kremnoan's standing in the middle of his bedroom.
“This isn't exactly the cleanest thing to do,” Mydei said as his gaze scanned over all the potential furniture he could ruin. “Aren't you worried about the mess?”
Calling Phainon's treatment messy was an understatement. Mydei had little care when it came time to collect Phainon's meal, slashing at his body haphazardly and pouring whatever his hand could carry directly into the deliverer's mouth. Was it the smartest of methods to choose? No. But more often than not, Phainon had his bloodlust satiated when outside of Okhema, and there weren't exactly cups conveniently scattered about for them when wandering a battleground.
Mydei's barbaric methods had sparked into an argument on more than one occasion, but in the end the prince always got his way, even if it did mean Phainon was drenched by the end of it.
“If you dare get blood on my floor Mydeimos, I swear I'll use that mane of yours to do more than just mop it neck back up,” Phainon said, already passing a cup he didn't mind throwing out later into Mydei's hand.
Mydei accepted the offering with a grunt, before his brow furrowed at the lackluster size of it. “Is this all that you have?”
Phainon scoffed, “you don't expect me to ruin my good tupperware, do you? Yes, that's it.”
Mydei's scowl deepened as his eyes bore a hole into the object, like if he stared at the little long enough it would magically turn into a hefty chalice. “This is too small.”
Phainon sighed, already feeling a headache creep up his temple from picturing the mess Mydei was now most assuredly going to make. “How big of a wound are you planning to make that that's not big enough? Fine, if not a cup then how else do you propose we do this?”
Mydei's gaze lifted, no longer interested in trying to will a suitable vessel into existence, and instead turned his eye to Phainon's mouth. “Do you remember your earlier question? When you asked about your fangs.”
Confused at the sudden shift but intrigued by the answer, Phainon nodded, “of course. Did you actually know the reason?”
Mydei drew closer to Phainon as he spoke, though not before freeing his hands of the useless cup first. “No, but I have an idea. I'm surprised that you of all people had never considered it before. Think about it, what are teeth meant to do?”
Phainon blinked, not expecting his question to be flipped back around onto him, “they're meant to…tear into things?”
An affirmative huff came from Mydei in reply, happy that Phainon still had a brain buried somewhere inside his skull. Then out of the blue Mydei's hand shot up to Phainon cheek, testing his clawed thumb to the deliverer's lip.
Phainon's mouth parted easily at the intrusion, conditioned to the act after his numerous feedings, and even allowed Mydei to prod at his canines without question.
His teeth react immediately to the touch, extending to their full beastly length against Mydei's metallic joint. If not for the gauntlet still shielding the prince's skin, the dangerous little pin prick points would've struck gold.
“Exactly. Cursed with bloodlust or not, their purpose hasn't changed.” Thinking he got his point across, Mydei's hand retreated back to his side, leaving behind an open mouthed Phainon to gawk around nothing.
With eyes still trained on those protruding canines, Mydei added, “honestly, if you're so worried about the mess, why not just let those weapons of yours do the work for you?”
The question floated in through Phainon's ear and then promptly flew right back out the other, unable to be processed at all. Because there was absolutely no way Mydei could've possibly been insinuating Phainon do what he thought he was. “Mydei, did you hit your head on the way over? Surely you're not suggesting I bite you.”
Mydei shrugged, not seeing the issue with his reasoning, “why not? Drinking straight from the source means less mess, and you won't have to worry about soiling your precious cups either.”
Phainon wanted to protest but found the words dying in his throat before being swallowed back down. For as embarrassing of a thought as it was to gnaw into Mydei like some unruly mutt, the kremnoan had made a decent point.
“Where would I even bite you?” The words felt unnatural on Phainon's tongue, like some phantom had possessed his body to speak his darkest desires into existence.
Though Mydei didn't seem to notice Phainon's odd tone as he replied, “does it matter? Anywhere is fine.”
As if to prove his point, Mydei leisurely sat himself down on Phainon's bed and began to push his hair aside, freeing his shoulder of the crimson tipped locks atop it.
Frozen in place, Phainon watched in rapt silence as Mydei casually prepared himself to be bitten. Where Phainon would bite may not have been stated, but if the way Mydei bared his neck was anything to go by, the prince had already decided a spot on his own.
Mydei had decided to keep his gauntlets on, like tackling Phainon's fangs were a battle in and of itself and their trusty aid would be required. Though given how ravenous the sight of Mydei prepping himself to be dined on had made Phainon, the added protection was probably a good call.
“Do you plan to stand there like a headless chicken or are you actually going to do something?” Mydei asked, his deep voice jolting Phainon out of his thoughts and into action.
Walking with what felt like two left feet, Phainon tripped while trying to join Mydei on the bed. Saved by the other's strong hands, Phainon didn't completely topple into Mydeimos, but their foreheads still unfortunately knocked together with a resounding thunk.
“HKS! If you were going to fall on your face couldn't you have done it literally anywhere else?” Mydei scowled as he held his reddened forehead.
Phainon wasn't much better off himself, eyes wound shut and wincing as he rubbed at his scrambled brain. “Yes, the ground would have probably been a softer fall than you were.”
As soon as Phainon pried his lids open, what greeted him was the blinding light of Mydei's sunny eyed stare. And that was when Phainon realized he was straddling Mydei's lap.
Before he could slip away, Mydei wrapped an arm around Phainon's waist, keeping him pinned to his newly appointed royal throne.
Despite Mydei's nonchalance not giving anything away, up close Phainon could see the faintest of pinks dusting his cheeks. It may have been small, but the realization Mydei wasn't immune to the mood building between them eased the flustered panic rising within him.
“I'm not going to bite you, you don't need to be so jumpy,” Mydei sighed as he let his eyes fall shut, unable to hold Phainon's puppy eyed stare from up close.
Phainon chuckled at the irony of it, “I suppose that's my job, isn't it?”
Time settled to a crawl as Phainon worked up the courage to do literally anything .
At first he simply raised his hand to cup Mydei's jaw, tilting it left to right like he were some marionette for Phainon to play house with. And to his credit Mydei let him, allowing the deliverer to maneuver his body every which way without so much as batting an eye.
Phainon was captivated. Getting to explore Mydei's features so close and unfettered felt like a dream come true. But yanking him out of that dream was Mydei's cold gauntlet, reminding Phainon of what it was he was meant to be doing.
“Unless you're trying to rip my head off, I don't think this is going to garner any blood for you.” The flush staining Mydei's cheeks had darkened, contrasting beautifully when paired with the pools of amber now boring into Phainon's soul.
Phainon laughed awkwardly, having been caught stalling.
Now back on course, Phainon gently gripped a handful of Mydei's hair and pulled it back, exposing the smooth plane of his neck to the deliverer's hungry gaze.
Slouching down to reach, Phainon ran his lips like a prayer across Mydei's skin. Feeling the kremnoan's pulse beating away underneath, Phainon's fangs itched with an unfamiliar need to tear out this man's heart.
Guided by an instinct that was not his own, Phainon wrapped his mouth around Mydei's neck.
Mydei was a man of many feats, no man, woman, or god would ever deny him of that. And among those numerous strengths was his tolerance to pain.
In all his time of knowing the kremnoan, Phainon couldn't say he'd ever seen the man so much as blink when it came to it. Whether it be something as mundane as a papercut or as gruesome as his means of breath physically being ripped out of him, Mydei would trudge through it all without so much as batting an eye.
But as Phainon's fangs sank into the flushed plane of this war hardened man's neck, Mydeimos flinched .
Blood flooded into Phainon's mouth, setting his nerves alight in a familiar rush of euphoria that coated thickly over his tongue.
Urged on by that foreign instinct, Phainon sank his fangs in deeper, revelling in how it encouraged even more of that golden ichor to pulse directly into his throat.
The sound of Phainon's rhythmic swallowing filled the rapidly heating room.
When gold happened to slip from the seal of Phainon's lips, he released his fangs from Mydei's flesh and trailed after the stray droplet. Lapping at the ichor like it was the sweetest nectar, he licked at the stained skin until only his glistening saliva remained before journeying back up to suckle at the weeping imprint of his teeth.
All the while Mydei attempted to repress the pleased sighs threatening to leak from between his parted lips.
Phainon's gut had become comfortably warm, satisfied in a way that was from more than just a satiated hunger.
He was already full, only used to drinking a handful worth of blood at a time. But the desire to ravage his teeth along Mydei's additive skin made it difficult for the deliverer to pry himself away.
As Phainon went to trace his tongue across that delicious skin for the umpteenth time, he felt Mydei move.
The prince retreated further onto the bed, and Phainon followed, teasing his teeth against the kremnoan's neck in a silent plea to not run away.
Mydei's hand rose to ruffle through snowy locks, guiding Phainon close and easing any worries before they could take root in the deliverer's overly anxious brain.
“Settle down,” Mydei whispered, like he were trying to console a crying pup begging their master not to head out for work. Though with the way Phainon whimpered as he nuzzled against Mydei's jaw, he might as well have been an overgrown puppy.
Phainon didn't know what was wrong with himself. Every little touch and smell was overwhelming, he could barely piece his thoughts together as he nosed into Mydei's soft mane, hoping the soothingly familiar scent would calm his wound up body down.
However Phainon's self soothing was mistaken as hesitation, uncertain if he could indulge in the kremnoan's blood more than he already had. So with a reassuring pat, Mydei brought Phainon's focus back to the stained skin of his neck. “Drink, Deliverer.”
At those measly two words something in Phainon snapped. And before his mind could catch up to what his body was doing, he had pinned Mydei to the bed.
Phainon only caught a brief glimpse of Mydei's shock before he surged forward, sinking his fangs into the one home they truly belonged.
Mydei fought against his restraints with no real effort, the movements more akin to pent up fidgeting than actually trying to break free of Phainon's hold.
Goaded on by the other struggling, Phainon buried his teeth deeper. A clipped moan followed and then Mydei's body finally went lax, fully giving in to Phainon's oppressive demand for control.
A thick high consumed Phainon's mind, melting away his restraint like frost in the early morning sun.
An uncomfortable tightness had gathered in his trousers, begging to be freed from its fabric constraints. But rather than meet his body's unruly demands, Phainon lowered his hips down, pressing his arousal firmly into Mydei's abdomen.
The point of contact was scalding, burning through his clothes and coalescing into one shared pleasurable heat. And as Phainon started to rut along Mydei, another equally as prominent tent made itself known against the deliverer's hip.
Phainon shivered, the feel of Mydei digging up into him only encouraging his hips to hurry in pace, like a bitch in heat whose only thought consisted of finding release against the hot body below.
At some point during Phainon's frenzied thrusts, his lips slipped free of Mydei's neck. He was far too full to possibly swallow another mouthful of that delightful ichor, but that didn't stop Phainon from continuing to gnaw at Mydei like the prince were his own personal chew toy.
Feeling the thread of his desire bound taut and about to snap, Phainon marked his fangs one final time into Mydei's gold splattered skin before coming undone.
A full bodied shiver traversed down his spine, setting every nerve alight until he could barely breathe through the overwhelming pleasure of it all. Yet despite Phainon's desperate need for oxygen, he bit harder into Mydei's neck with every shudder that coursed through him.
As Phainon's release came and went, so too did the feeling in his limbs. And like a limp sack of potatoes that had been tossed to the ground, Phainon let the full brunt of his weight crush the unsuspecting Mydei below.
Mydei grunted, not expecting a Phainon shaped boulder to almost knock the wind out of him. He too was panting, though the sound of Mydei's breaths were thoroughly drowned out by the labored ones wheezing out of Phainon.
With pupils blown wide, Mydei glared at the messy snow-white locks still nestled against his neck, frustrated at the abrupt lack of movement.
Phainon took his sweet time recovering the use of his limbs, far too long for Mydei's liking. So before the deliverer had entirely caught his breath, Mydei pried Phainon's messy gold mouth away and forced those lax lips against his own.
If the taste of his own blood bothered Mydei at all he didn't let it show, lapping at Phainon's sticky, ichor coated tongue like he couldn't drink in enough of it.
And Phainon, who was still lost in a blissful haze, simply sighed into the embrace, letting his eyes naturally fall shut as Mydei made to dominate his mouth.
Despite his spent body's protests, Phainon pushed his sensitive hips down onto Mydei once more. The overstimulation was almost too much to bare, but the pleased hum that followed the act only fueled Phainon to keep going. To encourage him further, Mydei dug claw tipped fingers into the cleft of his rear, dragging Phainon's body flush with every roll the deliverer made of his hips.
“Mydeimos–” Phainon sighed into the other's mouth, finding the words sluggish on his tongue. His voice was thick and heady from the aftereffects of his spent lust, and it was all Mydei needed to hear to tear his own climax out from him.
Mydei's deep moans reverberated off the walls and into Phainon's ears, making him give one last final whine of his own as lips parted from their shared embrace.
Heavy pants filled the space between their kiss flushed mouths, drying the blood and spittle still covering them with every breath.
And then everything was still.
Drip by drop, awareness returned to Phainon, like a parched stream finally experiencing rain after the scorching summer heat. But at the feel of that frigid water touching his skin, the cold reality of what he'd done finally washed over him.
Phainon's heart was in his throat, snuffing out his ability to breathe until he felt about ready to pass out.
The only thing grounding him amidst his mounting panic was the slow rise and fall of Mydei's chest, the chest of which he was still laying on top of.
Not wanting to suffocate Mydei more than he already had, Phainon quickly made to remove himself. But with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, he collapsed onto the vacant sheets, his jello filled limbs unable to support his weight.
Everything felt like a blur. Phainon couldn't recall what happened after Mydei met the bed, he only knew how sweet the man tasted and that the prince had fought against his hold. And yet despite that resistance he continued to reap from Mydei what his body desired most.
The guilt was all consuming, forcing Phainon to mutter with his head hung low, “I'm sorry, Mydeimos.”
The fond smile that had come to rest over Mydei's face faltered, dropping into a thin line. He had been enjoying the show that was Phainon making a fool of himself, but now he had confusion marring his features, lost as to where the comment came from. “What for?”
Phainon hid himself away, shielded behind his hand as he said, “Mydei, I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you down like that. I didn't mean to–”
Mydei refused to listen to this, cutting Phainon off before he could finish his spew of apologies. “What are you ranting on about? Are you saying you regret it?”
Phainon froze, a mounting wall of shame bucketing over him. He had enjoyed it, every single moment of it. And that's what made admitting it all the more difficult to swallow.
Mydei sighed as he sat upright, features lax from a tiredness that was different to the pleasurable high of before. “You don't, so why are you apologizing?”
When Phainon refused to speak, Mydei drew closer.
A slight dip in the bed was Phainon's only warning before his arms were pinned down, a reenactment of what he'd done to the prince only minutes prior.
Mydei's breath ghosted over Phainon's frozen lips, like a promise to melt away the cold that bound them in place if he just leaned in a little closer. “You did nothing wrong, so why won't you look at me?”
The proximity was too much for him to handle. Phainon gulped, shyly turning to hide his face and the flush slowly building on it.
“Phainon.” The authoritative tone forced Phainon to look back at Mydei, shivering at the view of those bright amber lights burning their conviction directly into his core.
Mydei was done playing nice. And before Phainon had time to register his choker had been tugged, fangs sunk into his neck.
The suddenness of it all forced a surprised gasp from Phainon's lungs. But the sound never made it past his lips, trapped by the choker Mydei was pulling up his neck, threatening to suffocate all the air out of him.
The prince's fangs were dull by comparison to Phainon's own. Each and every point dug into the sensitive plane of his neck, eliciting in him an electrifying mix of pain and pleasure as they tried to pierce through the thin barrier of skin.
Only when blood had been drawn was Mydei satisfied, freeing Phainon's neck with a wet pop and a trail of gold to connect them.
Phainon was panting, eyes blown wide while he looked up at the kremnoan. His throat hurt with the force Mydei had put on his choker, but more importantly than that was the sting of the imprint that'd been left behind, still oozing blood pitifully down Phainon's neck.
Phainon's thoughts jumbled into one as the heat radiating from the brand consumed him, the burn was physical proof that Mydei had ingrained something akin to ownership plain for all to see into his flesh.
Whatever worries had plagued his mind before, Phainon could no longer recall them.
“There, now we're even,” Mydei wiped at his mouth as he spoke, but found his gauntlet's cleaning skills subpar at best and decided to just lick the mess away instead.
Phainon blinked, his breath labored from both from being choked and the fire Mydei had intentionally or not stoked back up in his gut. “Wait, so…you didn't mind then?”
Mydei scoffed, already making to slip off of Phainon's pliant form, “you'd think my tongue going down your throat would've been enough to answer that.”
Memories of lips entwining in a passionate fervor flashed through Phainon's mind, like recounting a dream after a deep sleep. A blush followed, highlighting his features in an unmistakable show of embarrassment.
Though before Phainon could entirely melt into a flustered puddle, chastising his own stupidity at forgetting such a thing, Mydei reached a palm out to him. “Get up, we've sat in these filthy clothes long enough. Or are you not coming to bathe?”
With pink still dusting his cheeks, Phainon met Mydei's waiting palm with a smile, and then he took the outstretched hand.
***
Time continued on at a feverish pace. And as weeks turned into months, the curse that plagued Phainon's life came and went in what felt like the blink of an eye.
Phainon could taste the marvel that was regular food once again, and the smells of the world around him returned to being able to be smelt…a normal amount.
However, the fangs that were indicative of his bloodlust never returned to how they once were, nor did his fondness for a certain prince's blood leave in its entirety.
So even if Phainon need not satisfy the demands of the curse anymore, that didn't stop him from seeking out the treatment that had wormed its way into his routine.
And Mydeimos, the attentive pharmacist that he appointed himself to be, made sure that the deliverer got all the medicine he could ever need.