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Mydei has been raised to fight with honour. Fight with teeth, yes, but with honour; fierce and primal and raw anger, but dishonour is something his kind vehemently looks down upon. That being said, Phainon might as well have committed a crime against him. He’s disgruntled, to say the least.
“Whatever, I don’t even care,” Mydei bites out. Cipher is watching him cling to the last remaining fragments of his dignity with unadulterated amusement. Really, does everyone in Okhema have to be in his business? It’s not like he owes anyone an explanation for his sudden despondent nature. Maybe he just heard a sad story and has been pondering it. Maybe he misses his home. Does everything have to be about the Deliverer?
He has not been despondent. His day is perfectly structured. There’s no place in there to miss Phainon—okay, maybe the slot he leaves out for their daily baths is now almost empty as bathing alone doesn’t take as much time as it did with him. Phainon has a lot of things he likes to talk about, to hear about. Most of the time he pesters him to talk about Castrum Kremnos. It’s a very vivid image: Phainon leaning back against marble, eyes closed, but attentively listening to stories of Kremnoan traditions and culture.
But of course, now it just means he has more time for himself. Time is of essence, and Mydei intends to make use of every moment he gets. He spends his days between his precious weapons room and the courtyard. Polishing his extensive collection is no mean feat, and he had been meaning to get to work on his daggers for some time. Phainon likes polishing his weapons, for some reason. Often he’ll come to the courtyard in time for their spar session and find he’s already let himself in and is sitting in front of his greatsword, silver polish in hand.
Not that he minds.
With the absence of Phainon, the intensity of his training sessions have dropped. Of course, he can ask one of their generals, or commanders. He knows he’ll be disappointed though. No one spars him like Phainon. No one quite understands him like Phainon does, and no one will ever match him like his Deliverer does. He’s tried, of course. Failed. Everytime he is defeated by Phainon, something runs wild in his chest. He is yet to find that same rush anywhere else; Phainon makes everyone else’s blows look weak by a long-shot.
Okay, maybe he’s a little despondent. He can’t really be blamed for it though, Phainon takes up a lot of his schedule. Of course he feels a difference when he’s not here. Speaking of…
“I’m going to kill him when he’s back,” Mydei tells the amphora in front of him, glaring. Maybe he could ask Aglaea to work some divine power with her threads and figure out his whereabouts. Anaxa would be annoyed, but he would probably try to look for traces. The triplets could be his best bet, but he doesn’t want them to strain themselves. His best bet is sitting in front of him, twisted in an odd position and examining a golden coin.
“That is, if he comes back.” Cipher slides all the way down the seat. She straightens right as she’s about to fall, gracefully getting on her feet like she’s boneless. The force of his glare increases tenfold. Forget about asking Cipher; he’d rather search the entirety of Amphoreus on foot before admitting anything to her.
What does she even mean? Okhema is Phainon’s home now. He has to come back. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go that he would have to hide from Mydei. Unless—it was matters of… well. A maiden. They don’t really talk about that stuff. His own culture has different requirements, and he has internalized it such that the Okheman culture of asking someone’s hand without a duel feels blasphemous to him. That being said, Phainon has different ideas of what courting looks like.
There’s a long pause. “Where do you think he’s gone?” Mydei asks after a while, carefully keeping his voice neutral. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work. Cipher looks delighted, springing up in place. She’s looking at him like he’s given him some very vital information. Mydei dreads the reaction. Cipher shrugs, playing it off. “I could… ask around. Aglaea knows everything. Anaxa handles her paperwork, so he probably has some idea as well.”
It’s been a long three days filled with endless teasing. The first day he spent fuming. How dare he leave unannounced? How dare he lie to him about sleeping in his own house instead of in Mydei’s like he usually does? He should’ve questioned it, should’ve prodded when Phainon said he’ll retire early to his own house for the night. It was unlike him, and Mydei—should’ve been honest. Should’ve asked him to stay.
The only reason he likes it when Phainon stays till morning is because he can then have a reason to wake up early and make him breakfast. He’s a perfect subject to test his new cooking on, because most of the things he cooks for him he’s never tasted. He gets a honest reaction. Mydei has cooked him some of his finest meals, but for some reason he really likes when he chops up fruit with simple oats and milk. Says it feels familiar.
So he’s made it a point to keep it to that at least three times a week. One of those days was today. Mydei woke up, imperceptibly hoping that Phainon would magically come back home and wake him up with a cheery good morning and that stupid idiotic smile plastered on his face.
Not that he particularly wants to see it or anything, he’s just a little… worried. It’s unlike him to suddenly up and leave without telling him. The first day he tried to look for Anaxa to ask, but he refused an audience on the basis of urgent matters. After trying to get to him though the telestate and failing, he showed up to the school itself. It was a long day of trying to find Anaxa; in the end he had to retreat to his empty home lest he make a scene out of frustration.
The second he tried to talk to the Goldweaver. Surely she’d be more worried about this. As divine as she is, she’s terrible at lying. Vague answers were all he got. It makes Cipher’s suggestions even more suspicious, almost as if she’s trying to rub salt into the wound.
(“I’m sure he’ll come back soon!” Trianne had told him, patting his head in his hunched over position. “He should’ve told you, De. Of course you’d badly miss him, you’re his best friend!”
“I’m going to rip his head off,” Mydei mutters under his breath. Wait. “What? I don’t miss him. Why would I miss him? We’re all Chrysos Heirs and I’m—we’re not even best friends. I’m sure it was something important, if he had to leave without telling me.”
He sees a flicker of pity in Trianne’s eyes. He groans. And fuck Phainon, wherever he is.)
He decides to push it. “You’re the demigod of trickery, Cifera. If there’s anyone in Amphoreus to know something, it’s you. You’re telling me you, of all people, don’t know where Phainon has disappeared to? And no one, not even Aglaea or the triplets are worried that their precious Deliverer has disappeared?”
“You flatter me, Mydeimos.” Cipher is checking her nails, the signature bored expression on her face. “But I don’t make it my job to keep up with the Deliverer’s whereabouts. He’s blessed by Kephale, he’ll be fine. If you’re that woeful, you should talk to the Styxian princess. Maybe she’ll have intel about the passings of that side.”
Mydei notes the use of his name and shrugs. She uses it with a drawl, like a throwaway. It’s nice sometimes. Nicer still is the way Phainon’s mouth shapes his name. A soft lilt to it, this tenderness when he sometimes drags it out to whine at him.
Mydei. Mydeimos. My-dei-mos. My-dei. Mydei, I won’t go easy on you. Mydei, you made this for me? Mydei, you should sleep here. Mydeimos, against his wine-stained mouth. Mydeimos. Mydei, you look so beautiful tonight.
He needs to be executed, he decides.
🍷
He decides to take up Cipher’s advice and head to Castorice’s dwellings. There’s a sea of purple flowers leading up to it; she likes to have flowers all around to brighten up the place. He picks a fallen flower to give to her.
She’s mostly sympathetic. And weirdly encouraging when he starts talking about Phainon. Mydei has expected her to be worried, and she isn’t. At all. Something is definitely up. “But how does it make you feel?” She keeps asking. “That you haven’t seen him in a week. Sad? Anxious?”
Mydei frowns minutely. “I wouldn’t… say that.”
Castorice is in a world of her own. “Do you miss him?” And it makes Mydei pause. Not even factoring in the excited glint in her eyes; he’s simply going to ignore that. He has learnt that there will be things he has to ignore to keep himself sane. No, it’s that he is dwelling on what she’s saying. Does he miss him? That’s…
Mydei flushes. Certainly, Phainon occupies a large part of his life. His absence would be felt by him; their lives are too intertwined. If Mydei woke up and discovered him gone, it’s perfectly normal to be anxious about it. Not that he is anxious. But if Phainon were to not come back, or by Kephale, if something bad were to happen to him—that’s only what he’s ruminating about. Idiot. He could’ve simply woken Mydei up and asked him to set off with him, were it that urgent.
So there must be some reason that he didn’t. It had been a perfectly normal day. If you told him Phainon would just up and leave that night, he would’ve laughed. Phainon doesn’t do that; he’s seen him deal with matters of the heart, and he’s seen how he is with him, specifically. His open honesty has been the reason of many of his turmoils, be it his unfiltered stare or absurdly embarrassing comments about his body.
Again, the only reason Phainon wouldn’t tell him is if he were seeing someone secretly, someone he felt the need to hide from Mydei. It makes something coil in his gut, suddenly irritable. It’s not jealousy; Mydei has no interest asking for someone’s hand at this point in time. It makes sense that Phainon would though; he’s perhaps the most sought bachelor in Okhema, and his charm more than makes up for his idiocy. Perhaps he met someone in the market and decided to pay her a visit. Perhaps they met on one of his solo missions, and so he decided to visit her hometown.
A week is a little too long to be classified as a visit, he thinks.
In the time of his prolonged silence, she offers him tea, and gets up to make it. Mydei decides to make it a point to bring it up when she comes back. Castorice will surely give in to the pressure; she’s hardly like Cipher.
“So,” Mydei begins, then immediately decides to backtrack. Maybe it’s too forward. Grimacing, he almost understands where the teasing comes from. However, as crown prince of Castrum Kremnos and one of the Chrysos Heirs, it is perfectly logical that he will be worried about their Deliverer going missing. He’s sworn to protect the holy city, and keeping Phainon safe is a part of it. They all have their own missions alongside the flamechase, and protecting the people he loves is also one of them.
“The tea is deliciously flavoured.” he continues lamely. Castorice looks genuinely delighted at the compliment. “I must ask, are the tea leaves from Okhema? They don’t taste like any of the tea I’ve tasted there. Cifera did mention this place having particularly interesting botanical variants. I would be interested to know how the food differs here, since it’s so—”
“Are you worrying about him?” Castorice blurts out, then slaps a hand over her mouth like she’s accidentally gone off script. Mydei stares at her. He has half a mind to ignore the outburst for her sake and just continue his tangent, but now that he’s here, he might as well entertain himself. He has a feeling though, that this kind of amusement might come at the expense of his own dignity.
“Not really. I know he’ll be fine. He has will, and strength, and he’s a sensible man,” he smirks to himself. Drily, “even if it might not seem like it most of the time.” It’s true, Phainon is a man of both strength and wit, and enough willpower to check himself. He has no worry that he’ll be fine wherever he goes; he didn’t receive the title of Okhema’s Deliverer for his face. Even if he would deserve it then, too.
“Not quite that,” Castorice sets her cup down. There are powers beyond our comprehension in this world as well. “We are quite far removed from them, in Okhema. There are things stronger than the black tide, as terrifying as that sounds.” Mydei shrugs, he knows that. He’s died fighting hundreds of times, and not all of them were just the black tide monsters.
“And here I thought no one cared about him,” Mydei mutters to himself. At least Castorice is being like herself. It makes sense; he often forgets that she’s the closest to Phainon, after him of course. Louder, “I know him. I have faith in him. He’ll come back alive. That is,” Cipher’s words must have really gotten to him. “—if he comes back.”
Castorice looks at him. “Of course he will. Okhema is his home.”
“Is it though?” Mydei asks, more to himself than to Castorice. “He misses Aedes Elysiae terribly. Whenever we’re sent on a mission to some remote farming village, he becomes different. Gets this look in his eyes.” He shoulders a great burden, he thinks, breath catching in his throat. He didn’t want to be the Deliverer, not like this. He thinks his care is a curse. He’s selfless not purely out of his own wish, but because he thinks he deserves to repent for something he doesn’t know about. There hasn’t been a single day that Phainon has thought about himself. He thinks he doesn’t know, and Mydei will forever pretend to be oblivious if it means he can be comfortable with him.
“Of course it is,” Castorice says, her voice gentle but firm. They don’t talk much, but at times like this he understands what people mean by death being a sweet end. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
🍷
Mydei figures giving it a shot couldn’t hurt. So he shows up to Anaxa’s office first thing entry hour. Anaxa walks in without paying him any mind, eyes bleary like he hasn’t seen his bed in days. He does a double take when he sees Mydei, a plainly annoyed expression overtaking his features. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks drily.
“Don’t you already know?” Mydei lets himself in. Anaxa dumps the stack of files in his hand onto the desk and collapses into his chair like an injured man. Mydei is a little surprised; he didn’t think he left his office at all. “Aren’t you supposed to know everything on Aglaea’s behalf? You’d think the leader of Okhema would be more worried. But it seems not.”
“Spare me the formalities, O crown prince Mydeimos.” Anaxa gestures towards his desk. “I have enough going on. Did you hear about the robberies on the east side? Horrible stuff, apparently they’ve been going on for about a month now, but it never reached us because they were dismissed as a one time thing. The east has been facing some civil turmoil lately; matters of the land. One plot was burnt down. Right at the peak of harvest season too.”
Mydei is rapidly trying to piece together information. Anaxa is a little bitch, is all he comes at. He pointedly raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And, what I'm saying is that I have enough things to worry about. My classes won’t get taught on their own, and these reports won’t write themselves.” He catches the signature tick of his jaw. But it looks different. His usual irritation is missing. Heaven knows the man has enough work on his hands, but he’s speaking too fast, almost like he’s trying to make up for something—
“I have no idea what everyone is up to,” Mydei interrupts, grits out. “But he better be safe. I better not have to tend to him when he comes back. And tell Cipher to stop trying to plant doubt in my mind or I’ll drown her the next time I see her.”
Anaxa looks at him strangely for a long, long moment. He’s heard a lot about his classes from Phainon, most of them thinly veiled threats of quitting it. He’s also heard enough about Phainon in the Grove, how he was Anaxa’s most famous, favourite student even before he was Deliverer. Popular enough that he had people at his every beck and call. Not everyone in Okhema knew of his status, but they were irreversibly drawn to him.
Mydei can’t blame them. After all, however immune he is to the charms of most, he’s never been able to stop himself from falling over and over for his Deliverer. It’s fitting, he supposes. Not that his extremely suppressed feelings will ever see the light of day. He’s made sure of that, well aware that this affection is only on his part.
Anaxa bursts out laughing. Everything he’d said before this wasn’t as surprising as this. Mydei stares. He places a hand on his desk to steady himself, heaving from the force of his laughter. In between, he says, “utterly stupid. Utterly useless. Aglaea is with Cipher in the Marmoreal Palace.”
Mydei, for a second, forgets himself and balks. Then he collects himself. “Of course,” he shakes his head disapprovingly. “I should’ve known.”
🍷
Cipher looks delighted when she spots him. “Look who it is! It’s the crown prince himself! Pray tell, what brings you here? Surely it’s not to seek information about a certain white haired, blue eyed man who’s been missing for two weeks? It couldn’t possibly be about that, right?”
Mydei refuses to fall for her tricks. “Leave us. I need to talk to the Goldweaver.”
“Oh, but,” she interjects cheerfully. “I’m not allowed to leave this room! Isn’t that right, Lady leader? So you’ll have to confess your love for your Deliverer right here, in front of me. Or you’ll never get to see him again!”
“What.” No, really. What. helplessly he turns to Aglaea. She promptly, gracefully, turns away. The dressmaker beside her looks almost embarrassed, if he wasn’t losing his mind just yet. “Kephale help me,” he mutters. Louder, “Cifera, have you perhaps been buying those… ah, scrolls found in the local stores? Or have you hit your head?”
Cipher looks offended. “I don’t need to buy scrolls.” She sniffs loftily. “I was the first person in Okhema to read the most popular book about the Deli—we’re getting off-track!” She slams her palms down on the cedarwood table in front of her. Aglaea doesn’t even look, so Mydei knows something is really wrong. She points a crooked finger at him. “The point is, you miss the Deliverer.”
“Stop calling him that,” Mydei says shortly. It sounds wrong, from her mouth. That name is his and his alone; hearing it said so casually makes him itch. “And no, I do not miss him. We don’t have a—”
“—word for missing someone in the Kremnoan language.” Cipher finishes for him, rolling her eyes. “Blah, blah. Phainon would be on his knees asking you to marry him and you would still not admit that you like him!” She spins on the desk. “Oh my Kephale. Lady Goldweaver, tell him he’s being stupid.”
“Mydeimos,” Aglaea’s smooth voice takes over the room. “Phainon is not in danger. I have made sure of that. He will return soon. However, it would be wise to realize your feelings before he does so. I believe it will be for the best, for both of you. Phainon would never leave you, but he deserves to know too.”
Mydei’s throat goes dry. By some trick of Zagreus, everyone somehow seems to know about his deep, suppressed feelings. How is that possible? He made sure to keep them buried, made sure to look away whenever Phainon looks at him a little too intently. Pulls away when their thighs brush, leaves their baths as soon as he can. Makes sure to look at his body as little as possible when they fight, which leads to him often missing some surprise attacks he tends to throw; it’s no matter though, he’s memorized his fighting pattern so thoroughly he could recognize him from the sound of the steps alone. “What is this about?”
Everyone likes Phainon. Why wouldn’t they? He naturally brings affection out of people; sweet, thoughtful, gentle, yet somehow fiercely protective over that which he loves. It’s his heart, so full of love, that he then translates into strength. He’s the strongest person he’s ever known, not just on the battlefield or in matters of strength. His heart is what fuels him, despite it all.
Cipher has been saying something all this time. He hasn’t heard a word. When he tunes back in, he hears words like pining and thirdwheeling and married. He promptly tunes back out, getting up abruptly. “Im going back to the library. I have… work.”
“Sure,” Cipher says. She drags it out. Sureeee. “Thanks for asking when he’ll be back, by the way.”
🍷
Mydei sheds his cloak; he only puts it on as a formality. He drags his fingers over his assortment of weapons, belatedly noting the sheet of grim over his less used weapons. They don’t use all of them when they spar, but Phainon takes turns in polishing all of them whenever he’s free. He usually uses his gauntlets against the greatsword Phainon wields; he likes to combine his strength with speed for an advantage. However, Phainon is so experienced with that brute of a sword that the weight is hardly a deterrent.
Not initially, at least, but when their fights drag on, he can feel the way his movements get slower, lagged. Sometimes Phainon will play dirty and toss aside his weapon to take him hands on. Mydei believes in sticking to his choice to the end.
He picks up his usual gauntlets, along with a longsword. Might as well practice his technique, since he hasn’t invited anyone else to spar. He’s thinking about the bath he’ll take after this, skip out on the second one in favour of visiting the Okhema market. He needs to restock on food and fruits. Distantly, he wonders if he’ll need to finish all the oranges himself. He steps out of the weapon house, the wind rushing into his hair.
Absent-mindedly, he pulls it back with one hand, making to pull the hairband off his other wrist with his teeth. Pause. Freeze.
His heart is in his throat.
“Hey.” Phainon’s smile is terrible. He’s terrible. Mydei’s hands clench into fists. His eyes are soft. He always describes Aedes Elysiae as warm, as golden, with its oceans of wheat fields and bright blue skies, the sun at its forefront. Suddenly he understands the longing he holds for such sceneries. His heart tugs. Mydei turns away.
He knows his smile has dropped. He can’t bring himself to look at him again. He wants to retreat into the weapon house, full of things he can defend himself with. He tries; he steps back, but then there’s a hand gripping his wrist. “Mydei.” He sounds resigned. “Mydeimos.”
“Let go.”
“You mad at me?” Phainon asks, tugging at his hand to try and pull him back. Mydei just stands at the door of his warehouse, not even trying to put any strength to pull away anymore. He feels him move closer, hand creeping down from his wrist to palm. His hand is warm when he slots it into his. “What did I do? Mydei, tell me, what did I do?”
Mydei wrenches his hand away from him and whirls around. He tries to look at him, he does, but Phainon’s pleading eyes are because of him, and the gut wrenching desperation on his face is because of him—Mydei feels terrible. He feels terrible, but also gets a sick kind of satisfaction at it. How does he not know? How could he not know why he’s angry?
Is that what he thinks of him? That Mydei wouldn’t care if he left?
He throws the longsword to the floor, towards Phainon. It slides all the way to his foot. Mydei tugs on his gauntlets, fire settling between his ribs. Phainon looks at the sword, and then at him, the look in his eyes growing a little more intense. Mydei crosses the steps that separate them, and for the first time in a month looks him in the eyes. He sees him open his mouth to say something but—
Mydei presses his palm flat to his chest and pushes him back. He goes willingly, almost pliant against the strength he applies, though not a lot. The wind hits them both, the sun hits Phainon and blazes him in golden light that diffuses against him like a halo. Mydei swallows, gauntlet trailing up till he’s pressing at the base of his neck.
“Fight me.” Mydei nods to the sword between them. He sees his face shift slightly, go through confusion and finally settle on a hard-set determined look. The corner of his lips pulls up slightly. Phainon lowers himself, making him remove his hand. Holding his gaze, he picks up the sword.
He stays on his knees.
“Get up.” Mydei can’t help it. He can’t help it. He burns with something like electricity, something like raw, fierce affection. Hands trembling, he brushes through his snow hair, brass gauntlet against white. Once, twice. Phainon’s mouth is shaped in a small grin; he’s still looking into his eyes. Mydei lets go, and he stands up. Stands tall.
“Mydei,” he murmurs. “Did you miss me that bad?”
Mydei lunges at him.
🍷
“Yield.” The look on Phainon’s face is enough to send a new burst of adrenaline through him. He presses his foot down against his chest, fire burning brighter when his head lolls back against the ground. Half lidded eyes, one knee pushed up, sword clattered out of reach. The rise of and fall of his chest is starkly pronounced against his boot.
The smirk on Phainon’s face colours him gold. “Try me.”
Mydei has liked to think that he’s good at compartmentalizing. Their spars have always been a dance, a push and pull that will teeter on the edge of something dangerous. Mydei has never been afraid, but the cliff that they rest on with the promise of a fall is a different kind of threat. If it were enemies, he’d have sliced through them. If it were a lack of strength, or will, or even compassion, he’d have fixed it. What they dangle over, however, is so much more terrifying.
“You’re beautiful, Mydeimos,” Phainon breathes out, voice rough from exertion. His eyes move all over his face, drinking him in like a starved man. Then, he’s grinning and there’s a burst of pain against his torso. Mydei, shocked, freezes. It’s too late to push back against him when he topples him over with all his strength. The world spins too quick. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself on his back under Phainon.
He forgot to capture his wrists, he thinks, watching Phainon pant on top of him. His knees are firmly planted on either side of his torso, a certain bruise brushing against coarse sand. There’s a few cuts on his chest. He flexes his gauntlets against the ground. He could hit back. Phainon knows that. He’s wide open, and he could land a beautiful punch square on that handsome face.
Mydei relaxes under him.
“Do you yield?” Phainon asks foolishly. It was never a question of yielding or not; they both know this. If they wanted, they could as well fight for an eternity and never tire. As they have already proved, with their infamous ten day-ten night fight. Mydei has found himself dragging out their fights. It’s the only time that terrifying fear mixes with his instincts, and he can let himself feel freely.
“You should know,” Mydei bites out. “That I would never yield to you.”
Phainon doesn’t flinch when he grabs the back of his neck with gauntlet clad fingers and drags him down into a searing kiss. The quietly simmering fire of the past month catches light against his lungs and bursts into flame. It’s not a tender, homecoming kiss. It’s full of teeth, and spit, and Mydei bites his bottom lip, savagely relishing in the pained whimper that slips from Phainon—
“Mydei,” he pants. “Mydei, Mydei—” Phainon collapses, rutting against him like a mindless dog. He breathes open mouthed and heavy against his lips. He lets him take, all prior resistance drained out of him. And as Mydei tries to pull away to give them space to breathe, Phainon is eagerly chasing him, connecting their mouths again, shoving his tongue into his mouth, full of spit and teeth and blood.
“Please,” Phainon cries. “Please let me fuck you, please—”
Mydei is a little stunned. He shoves him away with a hand tugging him back by his hair. Hears him moan, resist, and eventually slump into place. He’s looking down at him, golden flush lighting his whole face, in a line down his neck disappearing under cloth. He trembles in his hold. Hips twitch against him, grinding in short, uncontrolled jerks. His eyes are unfocused, glassy, and—
“By Kephale,” Mydei mutters, incredulously. “Are you crying?”
He watches his eyes skit away, fix somewhere on his collarbones. A burst of affection in his chest, he raises his free hand to thumb under his eyes. “Deliverer,” he says, all previous vitriol forgotten in the face of this Phainon. It’s endearing. He’s endearing. He’s not supposed to think that, but Phainon is crying on top of him, shaking so desperately, and Mydei can’t look away from his red rimmed eyes. He wipes at his face, grimacing at the gauntlets, but Phainon just shivers at every touch and doesn’t pull away.
“I know you’re mad at me,” Phainon breathes out. Kephale help him, his voice is wrecked. Mydei is doing a horrible job of pretending he doesn’t want to flip them over and ride him till he’s sobbing so prettily and begging him to stop. He thinks the past month has changed him in some intrinsic way; where are all these thoughts coming from?
“Yes.” Mydei doesn’t bother elaborating, curious to see if he’ll beg again. Phainon falls silent, chest heaving in short, stuttering breaths. His eyes are heavy, and if Mydei didn’t know him the way he does, he’d think he was looking at him like that on purpose. He decides to break the terse silence. “Deliverer. You are not crying for that, surely?”
“Let me make it up to you,” Phainon pleads. “I’ll do anything you ask.” Perhaps Mydei wasn’t the only one who missed him, he thinks, a small smile almost breaking on his lips. Maybe Phainon, wherever he was this past month, was thinking about him too. He is aware of the… special kind of affection Phainon holds for him, at least to some extent. He, however, didn’t know that it could extend this far.
“Hmm?” Mydei leans up and unceremoniously bites over his collarbone, right at the junction of his neck. Phainon lets out this strained, animal noise, and then goes limp. “Anything, you say?” Mydei slides his hand up to his neck, presses fingers around his throat and lets go immediately. Enough stimulation to keep him making those needy noises, but not all of it. Phainon’s hungry eyes are fixed to his chest. “Show me.”
Phainon’s mouth latches onto him immediately. A kiss full of tongue, and then leading up his jaw, teeth roughly clashing with bone. Mydei bares his neck for him; Phainon eagerly bites like a dog handed meat. It’s hardly kissing; Phainon is mauling him. His hands slide up the length of his body, tracing his tattoo uncharacteristically gently, before he’s gripping his pecs. Leaning down and taking nipples into his mouth, all the while throwing little, eager glances his way.
Mydei wonders what exactly it is that made him this needy.
He watches him lick down the entire length of his torso, lapping up the sweat in an obscene show of want. Mydei will pretend that it doesn’t make him unbelievably hard to see him stripped so bare of reason, reduced to simple desire and heat alone.
His hands roughly untie whatever was left of his clothes, shoving the rest out of the way and pulling his cock out of its confines. Mydei chews on his lip to stifle his surprised moan, at the warmth of his palm contrasting with cool air, and then again when he feels him press a finger to his rim over the remains of his thin chiton. “Mydei,” he pleads. “I, I—”
“You don’t deserve it,” Mydei chides, free hand tugging him towards himself by his hair. He looks at the arch of his neck and thinks it might be painful, but Phainon has endured far worse from him so he tightens the hold. To no one’s surprise, he moans. Mydei makes him meet his eyes. “You think you deserve it? That you deserve me after everything?”
Phainon’s eyes are watery like a sunlit ocean and dilated so much that he looks dazed. He’s trying to blink away his tears, but they slip past the bridge of his nose anyway. Mydei, without reason, coos and presses a kiss under his eye. It makes Phainon cry more, for some reason. It makes him feel dirty, to want to see him sob under him, preferably with pleasure. Cry harder till the only thing out of his mouth is his name.
Till he can never think about entertaining any idea of leaving him again.
“No,” Phainon breathes out, voice breaking. Kephale is set on testing him today it seems. “No, I don't deserve you, Mydei. You’re so good to me, and I’m ungrateful, and I’m sorry for always wanting more—”
Mydei frowns. That’s not what this is about at all. He supposes it’s a valid line of thought, considering Phainon’s spiralling tendencies that he’s more than once put a stop to. He’s the only one who knows even a fraction of what goes on in his head, after all. To keep him grounded, he scrapes his teeth against his jaw, holding back with every fibre in his body to not give in to the sudden weirdly animalistic urge to chew on him. “Wrong answer. But it’s okay because you won’t be getting what you want either way.”
The look in Phainon’s eyes shifts, eyes widening. He looks… afraid almost. Scared of what Mydei will demand from him, will make him do, knowing full well that Phainon will always fall to his knees without hesitation. Mydei will ask him to jump, and he’ll ask, how high? It’s an irrefutable fact of them. Often, Mydei wonders why it is so.
And today, at that moment, he realizes that this fact arouses him beyond belief. The slightly scared look in Phainon’s watery eyes, the desperation, the need for him and him alone… by Kephale, it’s the headiest kind of arousal.
And so, he digs his heel into his heel, relishing in the startled moan, and flips them over like Phainon is a weightless ragdoll. He falls under him, slotting into place, Mydei’s knees pressed to his bulge like a warning. Phainon’s chest rises and falls under him, these sweet, stuttered breaths leaving his lips. In this position, he looks up at him with barely concealed desire, and by that look alone Mydei knows that no matter how far he goes he’ll always come back to him.
Mydei grabs the base of his throat and squeezes. His shaky exhale turns into a loud moan, enough to heat up his face. He’s so shameless. They’re in an extremely compromising position, almost completely naked, in the middle of the Crown Prince’s courtyard. It spurs him on, almost. Besides, Mydei thinks with a sneer, Phainon doesn’t deserve to have him in the comfort of his house, after the stunt he’s pulled.
“Mydei,” he says breathily, eyes glazed over and voice light. Too light. Mydei looks at him sharply; he’s not even all here, he thinks, looking at the dopey expression on his face. It’s a familiar look. He presses his knee further against him, and Phainon grinds against him. His eyes never leave his face. “Kephale…” he hears him mutter. Repeats, “you’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You can do anything you want to me…”
“Hks.” Mydei looks away, just so. He doesn’t deserve his words either, he decides. Decisively, he pries Phainon’s hands away from his waist. Ignoring his cry of protest, he pins them on either side of his head. His body arches against him, hips rolling against his shin languidly. “Don’t touch me.”
“Impossible.”
“I’ll leave you here like this,” Mydei says flatly. That shuts him up, and he slumps against him. “Look at me,” Mydei says. But it’s not enough, apparently, because his eyes are fixed to his chest. He grabs his face, fingers pressing to either side of his jaw. Forces him to look up, make eye contact. Phainon moans. “Look at me.”
There’s a brief suspended moment where a pinched expression overtakes Phainon’s face. His eyes squeeze shut, his back arches up against him as his hips circle against his thighs in jerky movements. He then goes very, very still. Freezes, then collapses under him. Mydei’s gaze is fixed to his chest, the pronounced rise and fall. The spit slicked lips, the open mouthed panting. “Did you just—” Phainon won’t open his eyes. “Deliverer.”
Phainon gives him a sound between a moan and a whimper. Finally, eyes still shut tight, “sorry… hah—sorry, I’ll—”
Mydei might do something like pull his neck between his gauntlets and choke him out. Or kiss him till they’re both bleeding golden blood, till he can see bite marks on every single inch of his body so there’s no doubt about who he belongs to. Before he gives in to that kind of animalistic desire and actually bites his sun tattoo, he decides to put distance between them. Letting go of his wrists, he plants a knee into the ground and makes to get up.
“What—” Mydei jolts in place, stumbling. The culprit turns out to be Phainon, pushing himself up rather quickly and trying to tug him back down. It feels like a sin, to look down at Phainon on his knees, clutching at his thigh like a neglected dog. He feels his face heat. Past images of Phainon on his knees taking him apart with his mouth flash in front of his eyes with alarming speed. “Phainon.”
Phainon is pouting. Kephale above. “... Mydei.” His tears have dried, but they leave a line along his cheek. Mydei is many things, and his strange affection for him is something he’s never been able to deny to himself. It’s natural, he tells himself. He is beautiful, and he’s on his knees for him. He reaches out, hands only slightly shaky, brushing his knuckles against his cheek.
He watches Phainon’s eyes flutter shut. Something catches in his throat, in his chest. Energy buzzes under his skin. It is perhaps that action that emboldens Phainon, enough to make him unashamedly paw at his crotch. And Mydei—he can have only so much restraint.
There’s something like mischief in Phainon’s eyes when he cards fingers through his snowy white hair and tugs sharply. He slumps against his feet, looking way too happy to be there. Mydei thinks he knows what the blissed out expression on his face is for; he’s felt like that lots of times, notably when Phainon has him pinned to the mattress, fucking into him with a pace that can only be described as feral. For how calm and controlled Phainon usually is, he likes seeing him lose control like that, be it from desire or anger.
He hisses when Phainon teeths against thigh and swats him off like a bad dog. “We’re outside,” he hisses.
“It hasn’t stopped you before,” Phainon retorts, simply like an observation. He couldn’t go for snark even if he tried, with his position. Mydei has half a mind to leave him in the middle of the courtyard and head back to his house just for that; pissed as he anyway is at Phainon’s leaving, him coming back and begging to fuck him without an ounce of shame… but when he looks at Phainon’s pleading eyes, that resolve evaporates rapidly. Besides, he hasn’t come yet. “You know,” Phainon tilts his head. “There’s always the warehouse.”
Mydei has never felt more primal than he does at that moment. There’s almost a growl that slips out of him as he hauls Phainon up by his hair. It’s harsh, perhaps a little undeserving, and he can see the flicker of pain on his face. But then it quickly settles into a half lidded look of want, one that he often gets after he’s pinned him down in a fight.
The same look he gets when he’s taking Mydei apart with his fingers, or cock. Or tongue. It’s there now, and it infuriates him to no end. “Lead the way,” Phainon says, voice low but steady. “My prince.”
🍷
“Ah—Phainon—” Mydei goes a little cross eyed, the wood ceiling blurring in his gaze. Phainon is everywhere around him, all his senses overtaken by him; his hands smooth over his body, his smell that he has embarrassingly started to associate with their bed, his soft moans as he fucks into him like he’ll die if they’re not connected for even a second. “Phainon…”
“I’m here, baby,” Phainon murmurs, kissing his sternum. Mouthing down his chest, kissing and biting gently while his pace remains as brutal as ever. The first time they did this, Mydei had been taken by surprise. There is not much that Phainon needs, except this. As well as his inherent approval, and his attention to him all the time. The only thing he needs and always asks for is him. And this is something Mydei can give him.
Mydei has long stopped trying to hide the little choked out whimpers Phainon seems to punch out of him every time he thrusts. He reaches out blindly, his face hazy through tears. Phainon has both hands holding the curve of his waist in a vice grip, but he ducks and nuzzles against his hand. “Shh,” Phainon tilts his head and kisses the inside of his wrist. Mydei tugs him forward by the hair and they crash into a messy, open mouthed kiss.
Almost like Phainon can read his mind, he doesn’t let him hide in the roughness of the kiss. He pulls the pace down, sharply fucking in everytime Mydei tries to take over, causing him to keen and give in. Phainon knows his body too well, he laments. When he blinks his gaze clear, Phainon’s gaze is locked to his face with an expression that is horrifyingly fond.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Mydei bites out, albeit breathlessly, to get his gaze to change, to stop looking at him like that. His grip turns harsher; Phainon doesn’t even flinch. “Fucking insufferable. I don’t want to see you.”
Phainon’s smile is tender. “Really? Should I flip us? Push your head into the floor and force you to take me however I want?”
Mydei’s face burns. He throws out a punch which catches Phainon by surprise and in the face. He thrashes in his grip, but Phainon is really too strong. He simply pushes his hips down, back scraping against hardwood. Both their clothes are in a state of hurried disarray, only taking off what was absolutely necessary. Phainon grins at him, tongue swiping over the corner of his mouth. Where Mydei hit. “Feisty. What’s wrong, princess?”
This time when Mydei throws another hit, Phainon clearly sees it coming. They’ve been fighting each other for years now. He knows the extent of his reflexes. Mydei sucks in a sharp breath when his fist still connects; he makes no move to dodge, instead takes the square hit. Phainon is still smiling when he lowers his hand. Mydei swallows. “I—I’m—”
“It’s okay,” Phainon murmurs, even as golden blood starts trickling down over his lips. Mydei wants to say something—not sorry, because he’s not—but then he’s glad he didn’t because Phainon laughs. “You really missed me, huh? I’m sorry, baby, I'm sorry.” Then he’s grabbing his hand and kissing all his knuckles. Slow.
“Did not.” Mydei can’t look him in the eyes. They’re not anything, he wants to say. He isn’t supposed to miss him. And he didn’t! It’s just, it’s weird. Phainon could’ve told him something, anything before he left. He can’t shake off the feeling that he’s hiding something from him. But his chest twinges funny either way. “Why did you leave me?”
… He wasn’t supposed to say it like that. “—leave without telling me.” He corrects. “Leave without—ah—” Phainon buries his face into his chest and moves forward; Mydei jolts in place because his cock shifts inside him. He gets no warning before he’s picking up the pace again. Mydei’s head falls back, hitting the floor with a painful thunk. “Let me—Phainon—”
“You’re so cute,” Phainon mumbles, sounding pained somehow. “I missed you too, my dear Mydeimos, never leaving you—I’ll never leave you—it wasn’t, I didn’t leave you, Mydei. Never.” He suddenly looks uncharacteristically serious. Mydei can hardly register it, between the cock driving in and out of him and the bruises that litter his chest. And thighs. And waist. There’s a distinctly hand shaped bruise on either side of his waist, darkening further as Phainon adjusts his grip.
Phainon pulls him onto his thighs, one hand leaving to bend him in half. He cries out at the sudden change, cock inside him hitting an entirely new spot that makes him splutter and weakly grab whatever he can reach. That being Phainon, grabs onto his arm, while these embarrassing noises are pounded out of him.
And then Phainon’s hand reaches up, up, settles on his chest. Thumb teases over his nipple—he should’ve known. Should’ve known he’d tease, squeeze, cup, and then he’s holding Mydei’s arched body against his own. His body isn’t even on the floor anymore. The heat between them is unbearable. Mydei squirms, eyes squeezing shut, his lungs too small to hold air. Phainon holds him in place, stupidly strong arms bulging with the amount of force he’s putting on him.
Mydei lets out a noise between a yelp and a whine, his body turning to liquid as he comes. Phainon fucks him through it, roughly rolling his hips into him. He might actually break through the floor if he fucks him any harder. Mydei twitches helplessly, cum gathering on his stomach. Through a bleary haze he sees the splatters on Phainon’s chest, on his face. His vision is black, and it’s too much, too much—
It doesn’t stop Phainon. He pulls out with a surprising amount of gentleness, then immediately flips them over. Mydei hits the floor with a groan; his forehead hits Phainon’s palm. “Oh, fuck,” he breathes out, overstimulated beyond belief when Phainon pushes back in. Tears spring to his eyes. “Fuck, fuck—Phainon, wait, I can’t—”
He feels a kiss being pressed to his spine. Phainon leans over him, calves scraping the floor, presses him under his body so that he has nowhere to escape. “Phainon,” he cries. It’s good. It’s a little too good. Mind numbing in a way he will never be able to replicate by himself. He goes limp, out of energy. Small noises are thrusted out of him, and Phainon—he’s pressing one hand at his shoulder blade, pushing him into the floor, all while kissing and nipping his back. When Mydei inhales, he gulps in air saturated with the smell of Phainon, Phainon, Phainon.
It’s all he ever wants to know.
Phainon’s moans reverberate against his backbone. He comes with a loud groan, voice tapering off into weak whines as he keeps shallowly grinding into him. Mydei hisses; how desperate, really. Fucking him into overstimulation was one thing but being unable to stop even after he comes is another. He’s about to make a snarky comment, something like pathetic dog when Phainon pulls out in one smooth motion and forces him to flip by the shoulders.
Phainon doesn’t kiss him; it’s more of a harsh bite over his mouth. It takes him by surprise. He makes a noise and tries to pull away, whimpering when he realizes Phainon is still biting. Hard enough to draw blood. The corner of his mouth stings sharply. Finally, he pulls away, eyes wild, panting heavy. “What in Kephale’s—” Mydei licks over the bite. There’s teeth marks there. Teeth marks. He’s going to kill him.
He glares at Phainon and pushes him off. Phainon crumbles back on the floor, now looking like a kicked puppy that his feralness has worn off. “Hks.” Mydei takes a deep breath to examine the state of himself, belatedly realizing that he can’t stand or he’s going to drip Phainon’s cum down his thighs. He shoots another glare at Phainon, and then beckons him to himself.
It’s funny, how eager Phainon looks. He knows what this is already. Mydei directs him by his hair and settles him between his thighs; Phainon goes pliant under his grip, leaning forward to kiss the inside of his thighs with a long, reverent look at them. Mydei doesn’t tell him off when he bites, lets him mark him to his heart’s content. His puppy tends to get territorial after an orgasm. Simply hisses and blinks away tears at the ceiling.
Phainon pointedly holds his eyes as he licks over his rim, making him jolt in place. He hates to admit it, but he looks so good like this. So handsome that Mydei wants to keep him between his legs all the time, wouldn’t mind giving him everything he wants.
He holds him in place by his hair—not that he thinks he’d want to get away either way. Phainon has a skilled tongue, and he thinks about the fact that they were both virgins when they met. All the practice, all the experience Phainon could possibly boast about is with him.
It is with this thought that he lets out a shaky exhale and loses himself in the low vibrations of Phainon’s moan as he eats out his own cum. It’s like a reward, he always says. He’s never questioned it. “I’m gonna—” his thighs tremble, body jittery with the onslaught of stimulation. Phainon hums. Distantly, he realizes he never wiped the blood. He hazily watches him pull back for a second; it’s already too much. “Oh, ah—” Phainon closes his mouth around him, swallowing the cum left there, swirling tongue around the tip.
Mydei collapses, coming into his mouth with a wrecked moan. He lays on the floor, body aching with first their fight and now the number Phainon has done on him. He knows it’s not over though, if he allows Phainon in the house, he’ll beg him for please, come on, just one round, I’ll make you feel good, you’ll sleep so much better. Mydei will, as always, give in.
“So, I’m forgiven, right?” Phainon asks somewhere above him. Mydei cracks one eye open to shoot him an incredulous look. The golden blood has dried on his face. His hair is askew, eyes wide and dazed, paired with the high flush on his face. He looks drunk. His eyes are unfocused even as he looks at him eagerly.
“No? What the hell.” Mydei can’t believe he’s even asking that. He swats his hand away. “You can’t just—” he pinches between his forehead. Something catches in his throat. “You know, you can just tell me if you want us—this… arrangement to stop. I wouldn’t mind. It was born out of convenience, and if you want…” the look in Phainon’s eyes stops him. “Deliverer?”
“What does that mean?” Phainon asks, frowning slightly. The side smile on his face has dropped. He sits up, thigh touching the side of his ribs. “Mydei? What—are you? Are you breaking up with me? Did you find a better sparring partner?”
What the fuck. What in all of Kephale’s creations. What. “What.” Mydei breathes out.
“I don’t know?” Phainon gives him the saddest look ever. Mydei immediately decides that he needs to die. “I think you’re mad that I left without telling you, and I lied to you, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I thought you’d understand? It’s just, it was a bit urgent. The black tide was taking over one of the villages on the far east. I visited it last year, and it reminded me of Aedes Elysiae so… and I probably shouldn’t have been there, like you always tell me, but I had to. You understand, right? It was pretty harsh, I almost died,” Phainon laughs, but it’s hollow. “So I left, and—Cipher explained, right?”
Mydei will call upon the divine power of some titan and choke out that little bitch. Everything dawns onto him like he’s having some kind of holy revelation. “So that’s why—Aglaea… and Anaxa—and Castorice. What the fuck.”
“Mydei?”
“No, Cipher did not explain! You should know better than to trust Cipher with anything! Are you stupid? Why would you not assign Aglaea with that task? Or the triplets? Even Anaxa would carry out a duty you tell him no matter how much he bitches! That’s why they were having so much fun seeing me miserable. I should’ve known something was up. I thought—I mean, I thought it was so unlike you, so there must’ve been a reason I was kept in the dark. Everyone except me knew and I—I assumed the worst? Castorice was particularly insistent on getting me to say that I missed you—”
“Mydei.”
“—and I went to talk to Aglaea and Cipher was there and she tried to get me to confess that I was in love with you and it was weird. She was like, state your feelings or you’ll never see him again, and it was weird.” Mydei covers his face, groaning. “I’m stupid. Why didn’t I realize? Why’d you have to leave? By Nikador, I should hunt her down and—”
“Mydeimos.”
Something in his voice makes him pause and lower his arm. Phainon’s smile is back on his face, in full force. It widens now, as they lock eyes. Warning bells go off in his head. Don’t do that, he wants to say. Don’t look at me like that. And then he realizes. “Okay, no, listen—”
“Mydei,” Phainon says, while smiling in that horribly tender way of his, like he’s tasting honey pronouncing his name. Then he’s leaning over his body and kissing him unlike anything they’ve shared before. He’s breathless for completely different reasons this time. He knows what this is, he thinks, kissing back. Steal all the air from his lungs. Steal his sanity. Steal his ability to produce a coherent thought. Steals his heart, his life, everything he hasn’t already given him. Mydei kisses him, hands reaching up to brush his hair back, then root there. “You can say you missed me.”
“Hks.” Mydei breathes out. “There is no word for—”
Phainon shuts him up with his mouth. This is different. This is going to spark a whole new kind of conversation. He knows it will, because Phainon is a stubborn fucker when he sets his mind to something. Now, he feels silly. He knows it’s him. It has to be him. But, he has to know. He has to hear it from him, needs to hear him stumble over his own words and flush all over. “Phainon.”
“Mhm.” He’s occupied with kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his cheek. His temple, his nose. It tickles, and Mydei can’t help but let a soft chuckle slip. Phainon looks delighted, this smile on his face as he kisses all over his face like he’s going to disappear soon. “Yes. Yeah. I know.”
“I thought you had left for other matters. Completely other. I thought you had found someone in Okhema, and were sneaking off to stay with her. Or him. And telling me would make it complicated because of our… arrangement.”
Phainon had been listening to him attentively, but then an incredulous look takes over face. His mouth opens in shock, and well. Saying it out loud he realizes how ridiculous it sounds. “Mydeimos, do you hear yourself right now? Why would I—there would be no—there’s no one else! My heart has been yours and yours only since the beginning!”
“Are we—” Mydei swallows his words. How do people ask this? What is he supposed to ask? They know they are not friends. What are they? Phainon, like the hero he is, jumps in to save him.
“Yeah. Yes, Mydei, we are.” And then he’s tilting his face to meet his gaze. Against his lips, “there could never be anyone else. It’s you, it’s always been you. It’s been you since the moment I saw you, and it was still you when you punched me first.” Mydei is frozen. That’s a lot more than he thought to say. “And I would never leave you. I would rather die than—”
“Okay,” Mydei says before he can go on. He’s a little panicked. Phainon can probably tell because he laughs. “Okay. Yes. I get it. You don’t have to—” he breathes out. “You like me.”
“Sure.” Phainon looks at him adoringly. The way his stomach flutters make him think he’s going to be sick but no, it’s just butterflies. Castorice told him about them. He didn’t tell her that he’s only ever felt it for Phainon. Can’t imagine himself feeling them for anyone else, in any universe. “Feels like a slight understatement, but I like you, yeah.”
“Okay.” Mydei is counting breaths. “How are you so calm about this?”
Phainon laughs again, tinkling. “Trust me, I’m not. Furthest thing from calm, actually.” He reaches for his hand and gently drags it to himself. Places it on his chest, and he can feel it—feel the rushing thrum of his heart under his palm. The way it stutters, the way it beats too loud in this still. “I’ve just had a long time to think about how this will go. You punching me twice was not in my calculations, but that’s what I love about you. I love you with all that I have, Mydeimos. You have no idea.”
Mydei’s face flames so hot he considers he could possibly be dying. He looks at him, incredulous, watching him avert his gaze. His face flushes equally, eyes darting between them nervously. Oh, Phainon. His worldbearing Deliverer. So collected when he needs to be yet heart beating out of his chest at every word that leaves his mouth. He’ll never adore someone more.
“I’m not sorry I punched you,” Mydei says. “You deserved it.”
“Yeah. It was pretty hot.” Phainon half grins. “Was leaving for a month all it took?” He pauses. “I thought you knew. I also thought you knew about my affections. Thought it was obvious. Everyone knows. Half of Okhema thinks we’re a thing.”
“A thing.”
“An item. A pair. In a relationship. Exclusive. A couple. Lovers.”
“We haven’t even gone on a date,” Mydei says, impressed with himself at getting that out. His face flames at the last word. He watches the smile bloom on Phainon’s face, thinks of Kephale’s statue illuminated by the brightest Okheman sun in all their days.
“We’ll go on a date then,” Phainon says, words overlapping from the force of his grin. “And following Kremnoan traditions, we’ll spar at the end. If I win, you’re stuck with me. No escaping. Ever.”
“You say it like I’ll hate it,” Mydei murmurs, dragging him into another lingering kiss. Taste pomegranates in the undercurrent, and he forgets why he was ever angry in the first place. He has that effect, he thinks with some fondness. To make him see the better things.
Making him beg for his forgiveness doesn’t sound that bad either, now that he thinks about it.