Chapter Text
The very first time he felt cold was when he realised he had been scrubbing his hands clean despite them having been spotless before he even started washing them. It happened only once, but that moment stuck to him for inexplicable reasons, a memory that would surface at the most inopportune of times. He remembered it more than he remembered washing actual blood off his hands…
The second time he felt cold was, shamelessly so, against the body of his beloved, cold sweat dripping down his back despite her warm embrace. No kisses, no blankets, no amount of naked skin could chase the coldness away.
The third time…he could not remember it clearly, but there was a third time, and a forth, and a fifth, and so many that he lost count but he knew, felt it still, the coldness that slithered through his veins, seeped into his muscles and bones as his life unraveled like a ball of yarn somewhere down the filthy corridors of a dungeon. So the ball of yarn rolled away, smaller and smaller, until there was nothing left of it, just a trail of a crimson thread, cut off in too many pieces to be put back together.
Nod-Krai was cold, despite the sun, the sometimes warm rain drops, the sea breeze climbing up the hills and mountains.
Kuuvahki too was cold, the glimmer of the accursed moon.
The abyss, frigid cold.
Only…once, just one time, the flames rushing towards him were warm, burning hot, and Rerir almost wished to cradle them. But later, he would do so later, after he regained his heart…
He never got to do it, for he could not escape the cold, and his heart was forever lost to him.
Cold like the blood never to be washed away.
Cold like the smile of his beloved slipping away through his fingers.
Cold like blue eyes, distant in an unexpected farewell.
Cold like the vastness of the sky beyond.
Cold like the dying vestiges of his hope.
Cold, always so cold.
Until shimmering hot flames danced on top of an outstretched hand, sweet and inviting, and Rerir was a selfish man, so very selfish to the marrow of his bones.
He was so very tired, and always so very cold, he couldn’t really care anymore. Unable to reach the oblivion of death, or the warmth of his beloved, he was left adrift on a sea of iced waters, his body and mind caught between the past the present the never to be reached future the nonexistent possibilities.
But the warmth…
Rerir couldn’t care less about what they did to him, with him, but the warmth kept coming back…
Despite everything…that aristocratic fae kept returning, walking through the door as if he had done it countless times before, taking on Rerir’s ire and insanity as if he was oh so used to it. And he, out of them all, was the only one able to say that he indeed had the experience in dealing with Rerir…still…
A conscious decision, clearly, surely, and it brought him warmth so why would he stress over it, right?
The fae was warm, but so very rarely and Rerir was weak so selfish and so so…
He often wondered, deep at night when laying on the floor, his vision blurred, twisted shadows and shapes, if he were imagining it all. He couldn’t be. The fae played his games, indulged his requests — albeit spitting vitriol and wicked retorts — and … he burned hot for him, when Rerir clearly remembered that azure fire incinerating his abyssal form over and over again in a sea of glacial coldness.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
It was raining. So cold. A woman, Rerir did not care enough to look at her, to know the details of her, dropped a pile of wet wood on the floor and threw some of it into the dying fire. The piercing smell of smoke, the seeping dread of a coldness so wet it permeated your whole being, the darkness of a rainy day…until there was warmth, cerulean shadows undulating at the edge of his mind, and to hands cupping his face, his neck, the back of his head, squeezing his shoulders.
“You’re warm.”
He said that. He remembers it!
“You prefer that.”
Hah! How ludicrous, to think that the little fae cared…
Still, warmth was spilling into the room, and the fire was burning an azure brighter than the sky and Rerir crawled towards it, that he could remember, the shame and bubbling indignation and the pain, the freezing pain telling him to stop to pull himself together to…What? He couldn’t tell, didn’t know, but there was a hand on his face, cupping his cheek, and another on his waist, and his body was pressed against a length of warmth and soothing, wispy sounds were brushing by his ear and Rerir fell.
Crumbled into the warm embrace of…he did not know…what the little fae was…
“And you keep giving it to me.”
The little fae hummed, rolling Rerir on his back on the rug in front of the fireplace; that…priestess, brought it, he remembers it, but she always looked conflicted whenever giving him stuff, so Rerir decided to make the most of it just to spite her. It was warm, and fluffy, and that mechanical girl always washed it despite the little fae insisting that he could do it himself.
It smelled of flowers…
It was…warm…
“Do you want another massage?”
Yes.
No.
He just…wanted to feel warm. Needed it.
Rerir tried, or so he thought, not to show any weakness, not to ask, beg, for anything, but it was so easy to ask, beg, the little fae. It felt natural, to reach out and grab those wrists, to bring those warm hands to his neck, to push them down his chest, to let the little fae know that yes…Rerir wanted.
“Very well.”
It happened more often than not, for him to goad, tease, urge the little fae into more and more and more even if he thought that it wouldn’t work anymore, that surely, of course, this would be the last time, it couldn’t go on anymore no but oh the little fae always surprised him pushed for more took more asked for more made him crave more. So Rerir did.
Want more.
Ask for more.
Crave more.
“Why do you hide still?”
The little fae laughed, amused, surprised, eager, then unraveled.
Rerir…they called him a sinner, but why, just why, did he only then feel like he was truly sinning? For he reached out, cradled the fire in his hands, wanted it so badly it made him gasp, made him tremble as he guided the flames as he urged them as he wished hoped wanted them to never stop. And they didn’t…they told him, he could remember or so he thinks, that if he wanted if he asked for it prettily nicely and honestly enough that he would receive it and…
He wanted…
He always wanted…why did he always want…why did he reach out for the worst for what he couldn’t really have why would he grab his own heart and forfeit it to the cruelest of fates why just why couldn’t he be happy and warm and…
“Are you sure?”
Rerir knew could remember just accepting it all for what else was he supposed to do…a nobody, nothing special even when he gave himself over to something bigger greater than him it never helped it didn’t work it left him broken and despairing with no hope with nothing nothing left but the fire, the little fae the azure flames…everything that she never was…Rerir just…
“Yes.”
Flames engulfed him, or so he thought.
They were warm, so he did not care.
Still…
It made him laugh,
At least he wasn’t alone in this dance of theirs…
“Oh, little fae…”
Flames masquerading as a human hummed and Rerir smiled.
Yes…let the fire consume him let it burn to ashes until nothing else was left yes yes yes oh how unholy that little fae was…just…quite perfect…as long as it burned warm, and it bathed Rerir in its glow, he did not care. Even if he wanted, he did not think of it…it was easier…to just…
Accept.
The flames and the hands and the warmth and the fire and everything.
A sweet voice, low, velvety, gentle as the hands the hands going all over up and down and around and the warmth the hypnotic yellow and the enticing azure and yes yes of course the fae, the little thing, stole his heart and had the warmth he so craved and the gentlest of hands and wickedest of tongues and silkiest of flames and…
The hands kept roaming, and the fire grew until all Rerir could see was azure so so very blue. “Greedy creature,” he said, hoped he did, whispered from somewhere so far away inside his mind. “Greedy fae.”
The fire purred, sweet and smoky and Rerir arched under it, under five feather light burning lines dragging down his chest, down down to the pit of his stomach and he felt it burning inside of him, or was it that just a wish? But if he wished, and if he received, would he ever be able to survive the coldness anymore?
Self destruction wasn’t without reason, and he tried to cling to the dregs of what little rationality he had left so desperately it hurt.
But he was so very cold, and all he wanted was to feel alive, just once, one more time, that’s all he ever wanted.
“Aren’t we both?”
Lies, always, always so many lies.
If Rerir wanted the warmth of it, then what did the fire get in return?
“I’m not so sure myself,” the fire answered his thoughts, two hands settling on Rerir’s waist, thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. “Mostly selfish reasons, personal curiosity…”
Honesty, sincerity, vulnerability, oh so so so many of those he used to think about, his mind scattered, his body detached from himself, the winds of Nod-Krai carrying his anguish silently, spreading it all over the land with no one to hear it. If only he had been more…
Ah.
Time, forever the cruelest of mistresses, never willing to look back, to turn, once, just for a moment, so he could…
“Please.”
The fire froze.
“It’s…so cold.”
Blue spilled over his chest, soft and cool like the morning mists, blue fading into silver, the shine of the moon and the splendor of the stars and Rerir used it to ground himself, just so. He cradled the back of the fae’s head, nails scratching at the scalp, as the creature trembled, flames dancing all over him as he pressed his forehead against Rerir’s chest.
“...what I want to do to you,” he started, his breath warm, scalding, so so good against Rerir’s skin. “Are you even aware?”
He couldn’t help it.
Rerir laughed.
“If I didn’t know you,” his grip on the fae’s hair tightened just so as he chuckled. “I’d say you care, about my virtue, hah, little fae you don’t know what I’d want to do to you.”
Rage, frustration, desperation, a bone deep anguish — if you do not have bones, just how deep do those maggots eat at you — all that he had wanted to vent on the little fae. Each and every failed attempt to regain his heart left him with a wish to tear that wane creature apart until only the marrow of his being was left, then shatter it into nothingness too. Each and every fight, even after regaining his body, made his blood boil, painfully cold in his veins.
Each and every warm touch pulled him forth, lured him into a fabricated fantasy of what he could never have again. Yet he wanted…
If he did not act on it, it did not mean that he did not want it.
It was simply easier, to toe the line, to accept the scraps of what he could get.
He was just so very tired, and so so cold, and he had cried and bled dry of shame a long time ago.
“Tell me.”
“You first.”
The fire sighed, turning his head to press his cheek against Rerir’s chest, the edge of a pointy ear against his left breast, over an emptiness that would never be filled again.
“I want to make you burn from within.”
That’s more like it.
“Do your best, little fae.”
And so the fire moved, down down, dragging warm lips and spilling even warmer breath over Rerir’s stomach.
“I am no beast,” he murmured, warm hands grabbing Rerir by the hips. “Tell me to stop, and I shall do it.”
What an amusing little thing.
“Perhaps you’re not,” he sighed, moving under the guidance of the intoxicating urge nestled deep inside his belly for the first time since he tasted true warmth. “But I am, and I want it, little fae. Want it, all of it…you…”
It felt…
It was already too much, pressing his hips up into the heat spilling over his pelvis, yet not enough.
“So be it.”
The little fae did not stop, did not hide anymore, and Rerir laughed again, delighted.
What an interesting creature he had in between his legs, face pressed against the inside of his thigh as fingers, oh so so so warm, slid inside of him. He had half the mind to urge the little fae on, to make him move faster, to get serious about it, but the warmth spilling inside of him was just too good, so very good, he couldn’t care about anything else.
For the first time in…for the very first time, in a long while, Rerir did not know what to do anymore, so he just…for the very first time in his life, he did not want to do anything, for the first time…he just…
“You’re doing so well.”
Rerir looked down, his vision hazy already, to see that pair of bright yellow eyes staring at him through dark coloured lashes. Little fae was still so so very close, so very warm, pushing more of his heat inside, one of his hands pressing against Rerir’s hip, holding his waist, and his hair, midnight blue spilling into the raw light of the dawn, his hair so so very soft it too spilled over Rerir’s thighs. It almost tickled.
He was so…
The only person he has ever called beautiful was…
An aching pain bloomed inside his skull, pulsing behind where his eye used to be, and he felt like pulling away, but…
Warmth was spilling into him so very gently, slowly, a smooth glide of phantom flames and Rerir clawed at the rug under him, wishing it was the little fae’s skin, flesh, soul, no, no better make it his very own, his blood and marrow and viscera and…
The hand squeezed his waist, those eyes filled with something too similar like concern, and the warmth started pulling back, slipping away no no no it shouldn’t go he didn’t want it to go he needed it so very much he just wanted to…
“Please.”
The warmth stilled, and the flickering line of little fae’s mouth pressed into a thin one and Rerir wondered if those lips concealed by flames and shadows were soft as soft as those strands of hair sliding over his skin as the little fae moved just so and oh…
“Tell me,” whispered against his thigh, little fae’s forehead pressing into it, so so very warm. “Tell me exactly what you want from me.”
A pale face, narrow jaw and sharp cheekbones and sharper lines, hair like the sky and the beauty of fire, fingers gentle like the touch of a flower the body and the form of a creature so otherworldly it shouldn’t bestow him with the honor to witness it and the voice of sin itself, and Rerir…he wanted it all.
Forgive me…
“Take me.”
Little fae shuddered, shadows of flickering flames gliding over his body, a fleeting spark of something else of light of shapes so very fragile yet so bright sprouting from his back before he composed himself.
No…not like that.
“Don’t hold back.”
Yet another shudder.
“Can’t break me.”
Slowly, as if still expecting him to change his mind, the little fae slid up his body, hands and flesh and clothes and a so very warm tongue dragging all the way up from his thigh up to his hip up to his stomach up to his chest up and up against a nipple up until the little fae was looking into his eye, azure spilling around him through his clothes his skin his flesh, everywhere. It was so very warm.
“Very well.”
The warmth assaulting his senses made it so that he couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t care not about it not that somewhere deep inside his chest he was mourning the last of his already dead hopes and dreams that his heart, hah his heart, was long gone broken to ashes to dust already carried by the wind so very far away he could never, ever catch a speck of it again. So he burned, sweet and soft and so very good so warm so slow he wanted more needed more could take more take it all and never get enough.
Somewhere far away, so very far away…
No matter.
Rerir wanted it, craved it needed something anything for himself to make it all go away to just breathe for once on his own alone and unrestrained by anything all his life there’s always been someone and now…now there was just fire. So much fire, unfurling like the petals of a flower the warmer he felt, the more it poured into him oh why, just why was fate so cruel…
He wanted so badly that it hurt, and the fire seemed all too willing to dance on his grave, twist and twirl push and pull hide and seek until it came so very close so close he could taste it.
Please, forgive…
There was a hole in his arms where the world used to be, and the little fae fell straight into it, mouth parted, flaming hair dancing around his head, eyes brighter than moonlight as he breathed warmth into Rerir’s mouth, poured it into his body, flooded him with so so much yet not enough, it would never be enough to fill in the hole the absence of his heart. It was liquid fire filling up his senses, a mind numbing tingle up his spine, unfurling deep inside his belly and nestling inside there.
He doubted it would ever go away.
“Possesive?”
The flames creaked and hummed, the distorted shape of a nose rubbing at the underside of his jaw. “You already smell of me.”
Did he now?
“No going back, then.”
The azure creature on top of him, in him, trembled — in a laugh or from self restraint, from excitement, he could not tell — before it cradled Rerir in a sea of blue. So blue, soft, and warm, and liquid like water yet wispy like smoke, tangible between his thighs yet slipping through his fingers as he clung to it, bringing it closer to him, wishing oh just hoping that it could simply seep into him, in each and every crevice and never ever leave.
“Perfect,” it whispered into his ear, pushing so so so deep inside his body it must have incinerated everything that Rerir was, only to leave behind its flames, claim, replacing the old with a flickering, burning new. “You’re quite perfect for me, aren’t you?”
Was he?
Body undying, mind so far away, hungering for the all consuming numbness of the fire.
Was he?
“I never took someone like this,” it confessed, smoke and shadows, straight into Rerir’s mouth. He gasped, arched, drank it all in. “Not many would survive.”
It did not hurt. No, not at all, it was so good.
“Not many would be so willing.”
There was so very little left of himself, he thought, as he clawed at the fire’s back, digging his nails into the flames, finding purchase into them just because they wanted him to. Still, it did not help for he could not anchor himself in the very sea of fire that was consuming him.
But it felt nice.
“And so wanting.”
Bright eyes and sharp bones and pale skin, so hot, or was it cold, no, it must be burning hot, under all those flames, the dancing fire, the gentle fingers cupping his face, the thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth before warmth spilled past his lips, across his tongue, down his throat, silk soft and iron strong, unrelenting, not allowing him to pull away to refuse it not like he wanted to for it was still so so very warm and good and…
“Quite lovely, when you want to be.”
It almost almost felt like being spread too thin all across the land, pieces of him scattered all over for he could not tell where he ended and the flames began yet he was whole he knew that could feel it in the tightness of his skin filled up by the fire by the way his flesh was making room for flickering flames by the way he was so full of it of warmth and desire and his lungs could barely hold it all in.
“Shush, I’ve got you.”
Was he trembling, or were the flames dancing?
“Don’t hide yourself, let me hear you.”
Was he screaming, or was the fire crackling?
“Don’t hold yourself back, let go for me.”
Was he still alive, or was he…
“Yes, just like that.”
It was so warm.
“Good, you’re doing so good.”
Finally, it was warm.
“Rerir.”
His name…
It brought his awareness to the very front and suddenly, everything was clear, almost painfully so, yet he was still so lost so far far gone into the clutches of the creature on top of him, lost in those bright eyes that wicked mouth those soft lips that lithe body the burning hot flames trembling all over as his back arched off the floor as a hand slid under his spine to keep it curving so the fire the warmth could lodge itself even deeper inside of him almost almost uncomfortably so but he was so used to it already.
He welcomed it, clutched it into his embrace, wanting wishing needing it to never let go to stay inside forever and then some more to keep him warm to…
“I will.”
The curve of a sharp shoulder in which he pressed his face, broken and high sounds spilling past his lips as he inhaled flames and smoke and warmth so much of it he just needed more he just wanted it to stay…
“I will.”
If only…just for a while…
“I promise.”
With a press of soft, cold, soft but cold and it did not bother him, the coolness of those lips, with a press of cold lips to the side of his head, Rerir lost his senses to the overwhelming clash of pleasure so sweet and burning through his body adding to the flames already residing inside of him until everything started folding into itself, the blue oh so blue fire dimming into velvety darkness so warm he could bask in its heat for the rest of eternity. Then some more. Such a selfish, so so selfish, of a person he was.
“Good boy,” was the last he heard before he yielded, before the heavy exhaustion blanketed him in complete darkness.
He was warm, and the flames were still holding him, pouring into him to fill in all the cracks and burn in the missing pieces of his body, soul and mind.
“Shush, rest now. I’ll be here.”
…and he believed the fire whispering lies into his ears.
But he was so very tired already, and just so so warm.
It did not matter, what would happen later.
He was so very tired, and he wanted to rest, for once.
“Shush, sleep now.”
So he did.
Flins wondered, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, what exactly he got himself into.
On a superficial level, he knew precisely what he was doing, of course, yet he found himself questioning his motives and actions nonetheless. Lust, desire, human flaws and sins mingled with the shimmering curiosity, with the flickering traces of his teasing nature, until he ended up with a handful of a very complicated creature.
He knew from the moment he pushed into Rerir’s body, so cold around him yet so willing to host him, that the man wouldn’t be completely aware of the act they were partaking in, not with the way his eye rolled in the back of his head, with how his lips trembled, how he arched into the intrusion, how he clawed at Flins for more, trying to grasp his flames and hold onto them. Yet…he trusted the man to be honest about it, which he had probably been, allowing Flins to take and take.
Flins did not lie.
Nobody had ever yielded in such ways to him before, craving his fire so desperately, hungering for it, urging him for more and more and more.
He did not know what to do with the knowledge that he had never felt so good himself before, when sharing his body with someone else. And, he refused to think about how good it must have felt for Rerir, to be in a constant state of delirious pleasure, on the verge of letting go, only to stubbornly cling on as he craved more and more and more.
Perhaps, those were matters better left for another time and place.
It was, after all, incredibly hard to think when he was still inside Rerir’s body, his flames and warmth and all that he was coming in contact with the Sinner in one way or another. He could pull out, or rut into him until he released, but moving felt like a monumental task.
Flins had only himself to blame for the still shimmering desire lodged deep inside his very being for he had consciously held himself back for as long as he could, wanting Rerir to be the first one to reach the peak of pleasure. Then, he couldn’t bother too much about himself, not when the man was crying blood, sobbing as he still restrained himself, clinging to Flins desperately, begging him to not let go.
So Flins didn’t.
He resigned himself to it, to making sure that Rerir unraveled in a controlled way until his body and mind were exhausted enough for him to finally let go. Then, unable to focus on other matters, he simply lay there, rolling to the side so he could embrace Rerir better, burying his face in the softness of his moonshine white hair as he willed his form into something more human.
Time passed by, flowing deep into the night, as Rerir slept in between the warmth of Flins’ body and the flames dancing in the fireplace, unconsciously pressing his own face against Flins’, throwing a leg over his waist, taking him in still. It almost drove Flins insane, until the edge of his arousal turned soft, bleeding into a tingling sense of delicious pleasure and contentment.
He remained in Rerir’s embrace, in his body and soul, until the Sinner would be able to come back to him.
As always, his miscalculations were all about what he would do, were he not so easily influenced by the hulking beast slumbering in his arms.
Rerir would wake up, more lucid than before yet nowhere near sated with Flins, and he would be so weak, so laughably weak against the man’s mouth, his body, his low moans and sure touches and he would give in again, slower, more careful for he wanted, inexplicably so — oh he could explain it alright — to make it feel real, for Rerir to remember each and every moment of it as it was. And he would get it, his wishes answered, his name spilling past Rerir’s lips as Flins tightened his grip on the leg thrown over his waist, as he rocked into Rerir, as he kissed his face, his mouth, his closed eyelid and the hole on the other side of his skull.
Flins would damn himself by ordering Rerir to spill again, by praising him for being so good, by allowing the man to run his fingers through his hair, to lean over and whisper into his ear, to urge him in return, to ask for it, almost beg. And Flins, he was already past the point of no return.
He swallowed the breathless sound of his very name, a name few called him by anymore, straight from Rerir’s mouth as he spilled inside of him, his entire form unraveling for a moment under the sheer intensity of it. If it was Rerir’s embrace that reminded him of the shape he should inhabit again, they did not mention it.
If Flins nuzzled into his shoulder, basking in the warmth of Rerir’s body, they did not talk about it.
If Flins could smell himself, all of himself, on Rerir’s skin, they glossed over that, even after he bathed the man, and he should have smelt of herbs and cleanliness.
If Rerir’s body was warm to the touch, long after they detangled from each other…
It will keep on being, for Flins was well aware of just how much of himself he left shimmering into the very fabric of the man.
Well…they did not need words to address it, for it was a consensual, mutually beneficial outcome.
But he should come up with an explanation, for Miss Ineffa was sure to inquire about it, and by the way Rerir seemed to have no shame anymore, at least in matters that regarded the two of them, the Sinner’s answers to her inevitable questions should better be avoided.