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They're on Tethe'alla for something, staying at the Altamira resort until it's taken care of. Kratos would wonder why they get separate rooms if Yggdrasil is just going to call for him anyway, but he knows Yggdrasil would simply kill anyone that looked at them oddly for sleeping in the same room.
As though either of them sleeps.
He knocks twice before he enters.
He shuts the door behind him. Yggdrasil lounges on the bed half-shielded by the gauzy canopy curtains around it and lit only by the moonlight that filters in through the window. He doesn't look like himself — that is, he doesn't look like Yggdrasil; it's easier to travel when he's 'disguised' as his younger self, when he was Mithos, but that doesn't make Kratos's heart ache any less to see the boy he used to protect.
"Kratos," Yggdrasil says, high and sweet and innocent, Mithos, and Kratos comes forward.
"Yes, my lord?" he asks, but Yggdrasil shakes his head behind the pink shade of the canopy mesh.
"Not tonight," he says, and laughs. Giggles.
That is not a good sign.
"Don't you remember what we used to be like?" Yggdrasil asks, sugary-sweet.
Kratos does. He tries not to.
"I do," he confirms, trying to keep his voice firm like he's not up for Yggdrasil's bullshit today.
"Then take off your armor," Mithos — Yggdrasil — says. "Come sit with me."
The double entendre is intentional, he's sure; take off your armor, he says, and means remove your clothes and bring down your guard.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Kratos says bluntly, like it will steady his heartbeat. It's never a good idea — Yggdrasil has done this a few times, now, where he embraces his past self and makes Kratos embrace him, too, and each time leaves Kratos feeling seasick.
Mithos undoes the clasp keeping his cape on his shoulders and shrugs it off.
He looks even smaller and more fragile without it. Kratos watches the fabric fold on itself until it slides off the edge of the bed; Mithos kicks it gently aside with a bare foot, and then Kratos's eyes are sliding unwillingly up the shape of his ankle, his calf, his knee, his thigh.
Mithos stands, ducking under the canopy to come out from under it and reveal his face, and it's impossible to look away. That's him, the boy Kratos protected, trained, trusted, loved, looking up at him with a smile so soft Kratos fears glancing away would break it.
"Kratos," Mithos says again, quieter. His hands come up between them and slip fingers under the belts that criss-cross his abdomen, and Kratos measures his breathing carefully.
"This is not a good idea, my lord," Kratos says again, with the last of his self control.
"I'm not your lord," he pouts. "I'm just Mithos."
Kratos could almost believe it. He could almost, almost believe it, like Yggdrasil is just a bad dream or an aggressive alter ego that Mithos can't control, but there's no light in Mithos's eyes. There's no sparkle of joy and hope and wonder. That died with Martel, and no amount of toying with Kratos is going to bring it back.
"Kratos," he hums, sing-song, like just saying his name brings him happiness. "Please?"
Not-Mithos looks up at him with his Almost-Mithos eyes, big and round, and Kratos crumbles.
He unbuckles everything and lets it all fall where it may, sword clattering and belts piling like snakes and buttons slipping through until he stands in only the long, dark shirt beneath it all.
"Wait," Mithos says, and Kratos waits.
Mithos slides his smaller hands up Kratos's hips and brings the shirt up himself, making Kratos bend low so that Mithos can remove it for him. It's the kind of quiet, mutual intimacy they used to have.
Kratos stands naked before him, his to do with as he wishes, but Mithos only pulls him to sit at the edge of the bed before bringing him in for a kiss.
It's a mockery of the first time they kissed, when Mithos was scared and needed to be grounded by something, anything, and Kratos was there. It's a shallow, perverse shadow of it, because Kratos is sure that when this kiss really happened, Mithos had closed his eyes.
Mithos also hadn't slipped him tongue.
Yggdrasil pulls away laughing.
"Oh, Kratos," he purrs, "don't look so sour. No more playing," he promises, and then...
...And then, oh, it's just like it used to be.
Mithos kisses shy but confident, not quite sure what he's doing but knowing that Kratos will enjoy it either way. When Kratos brings a hand up to cradle his face, Mithos makes a soft, pleased noise and kisses him harder.
There's the old tinge of guilt, feeling like Kratos was taking advantage of a younger man even though they'd been at least a hundred years into their friendship before this had happened. It's soon washed away by Mithos's quiet noises, little sighs every time they come apart and reconnect, and Kratos remembers how good it had been to finally act on the tension that had built between them.
Minutes or hours later, Mithos breaks away and pants against his mouth, overwhelmed; Mithos has had four thousand years to get bored of kissing, and sometimes, he is, but now is not one of those times. The repeated slide of lips against lips is familiar and comforting, and Kratos has slowly gotten into it as they go.
"What do you want?" Kratos rumbles, barely getting it out between kisses.
"You," Mithos whines. "You, your mouth, please," he cuts in when he can. "Please?"
Kratos holds back a sound at just the suggestion. He lives to serve and he's spent plenty of time on his knees, but it still thrills him to be asked for it so desperately.
"Of course," Kratos sighs. Anything for you goes unsaid, and Kratos isn't sure if it would be made of loyalty to Yggdrasil or affection for Mithos.
Either way, he slides down to his knees.
His hands creep up Mithos's legs and under his tunic until he finds the hem of his pants. Mithos raises his hips to let Kratos slide them down and off, forgotten to the same patch of floor as his cape, and then Kratos is sliding his hands over bare skin instead.
Kratos kisses the side of one knee. He knows this is wrong. He should stand up and put his things back on and leave. But Mithos is so soft under his hands, his legs yet to be scarred from time and violence, and Kratos is... After all of it, everything, Kratos is only a man. Angel or not, he's just a man.
"You know you're beautiful, don't you?" Mithos asks, and Kratos looks up from his journey up Mithos's inner thigh. "I always thought you were so beautiful," he continues, sighing. "I still do."
Kratos doesn't know what to say to that, so he just swallows and continues on, crossing over to Mithos's other thigh to kiss.
Mithos shivers.
"Feels so nice," he breathes. His fingers pet through Kratos's hair. "You'll be sweet to me, won't you? Like I've never been touched?"
Kratos doesn't think of the uncountable number of people Yggdrasil has fucked.
"Of course," he breathes back, nipping lightly at the meat of his thigh. Mithos gasps, and instead of the slap Kratos expects, the hands in his hair just tighten and try to tug him closer.
Mithos's cock is smaller than Yggdrasil's, more suited to his younger body. Kratos doesn't have a preference for either and could take either, however it's given to him, but it will be easier not to sound so hoarse tomorrow.
Kratos doesn't bother using his hands; he plants them on the outsides of Mithos's thighs and leaves them there as he kisses up to where thigh meets hip, then turns his head to start kissing where Mithos needs it.
Mithos whimpers at the first touch to his cock. Kratos nuzzles at the base and mouths his way up to the head. He dares to look up as he does and he's pleased to see Mithos struggling to keep his eyes open but fully focused on him.
Kratos hasn't seen this face like that in a long time, half-lidded starry eyes that seem to look right into the center of him. It'd be embarrassing to feel so exposed if it wasn't dreadfully, uncomfortably arousing, for reasons Kratos has never wanted to examine too closely.
He shuts his own eyes against the feeling of being pried open by sight alone. Mithos is hard enough to take into his mouth with ease, the feeling and motion familiar enough even if it's been a while since he's faced this particular cock.
He lets himself relax and lets Mithos lead. He bobs his head when he needs to, swallows when he drools too much, sucks when it seems like the right time for it, but otherwise, it's Mithos pulling him forward and back by his hair, and it's Mithos whose noises slowly grow in volume and frequency.
"Oh," Mithos huffs, and the worst jolt of memory strikes him as he remembers every other time he's heard that sound, the same one, just before Mithos reaches the edge.
He hugs Kratos's head to his body as Kratos obediently holds his lips at the base of Mithos's cock. Even if he needed to breathe, he'd just breathe through his nose for as long as Mithos wanted. If Mithos wanted to spend the next century buried in his throat, Kratos would let him.
"Kratos," Mithos moans his name, then whimpers it. He's going to cum and Kratos is going to swallow it, like they've done a thousand times before. It's a good routine, simple and easy to follow, and Kratos basks in the familiarity of being held down amongst the strangeness of Mithos being the one to do it.
Kratos takes everything Mithos gives him like it's something holy. It feels like worship to shut his eyes against Mithos's belly and just feel him tense and jerk, holding and petting at Kratos as he cums so deeply Kratos barely notices at all besides his reflexive need to swallow.
Mithos keeps him there even as he begins to soften, and Kratos knows this game, too — he doesn't move, doesn't swallow or flex his tongue; he just kneels.
(Yuan had bitterly called him a 'cockwarmer', once, and Kratos remembers that every time.)
Eventually, Mithos makes a noise of satisfaction and carefully pulls Kratos's head away. Remnants of cum mix with saliva and drip off his lip, Kratos only daring to lick it back and swallow once the spell breaks and Mithos pushes all the hair back from his face.
"Kiss me?" Mithos sighs, like it's even a question. Kratos rises from his knees and Mithos lolls back into the plush blankets, exhausted from sitting up as long as he has after that orgasm.
Kratos climbs over him delicately, kissing up what's exposed of his stomach and then kissing his neck, his cheek, before finally getting to his mouth.
He's so hard it hurts now that his mind isn't elsewhere, and he knows there's precum sitting sticky on the floor where his cock sat heavily between his legs. It barely registers in comparison to the buzz of obeying someone he loves.
"So good," Mithos praises between kisses. "That was so good."
Kratos kisses him more.
"So beautiful," Mithos coos, one hand petting hair back out of Kratos's face and stroking his cheekbone while the other trails fingers over his stomach teasingly.
Kratos dares to nip at Mithos's lip, just barely, and Mithos laughs.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Mithos whispers like a secret, and Kratos whines in his throat.
His hand finds the head of Kratos's cock and Kratos feels fire rush through him when fingertips slide through what he's leaked.
"Ask me nicely."
"Please," Kratos shudders.
He only touches him teasingly, light strokes with the pads of his fingers, but that only works Kratos up more.
"Do you wish you were cumming inside me?" Mithos asks. "Breeding me nice and deep, feeling me squeezing around your cock?"
Mithos never talked like that, but hearing it in his voice makes it hard to resist the thought.
"Do you want to?" Mithos hums. "You can get me ready with your fingers and take me."
It's been a long time since Kratos was the one taking Mithos.
"If you want me, I'm yours," Mithos sighs, promises, and Kratos has to stop him. It's everything at once, Mithos touching him and turning him on, and pulling at his heartstrings on purpose.
He balances himself so he can grab Mithos's wrist, not trusting himself to speak eloquently enough to stop him in time.
"Is that too much?" Mithos purrs, and Kratos nods.
"Going to cum if you keep going," he mumbles, his head dropped in a twisted, aroused kind of shame.
"Not without permission, you won't," Mithos says, and slowly strokes him again.
It's not simply a threat — there's something deeper there, a trust that Kratos would never go past the point of no return without Mithos allowing it.
Kratos crumbles, dropping to his elbows and fucking his hips forward into Mithos's hand.
"Please," Kratos begs again.
"Do you want to cum?"
"Yes," he moans.
Mithos pulls his hand away.
Kratos groans in his throat and his hips move into nothing, chasing the feeling of hovering at the edge.
"Such a good boy for me, aren't you?" Mithos sighs. "You're still so close, you could cum if I just asked you to."
Oh. Could he?
The hot drop of humiliation in his gut says 'probably'.
"Do you want to cum inside me?"
"Yes," Kratos huffs like it's been punched out of him. He wants Mithos so badly, any way he can have him, but yes, yes, if Mithos wants that then so does he.
"Mm," Mithos hums, pleased. "Say it."
"I want to cum inside you," Kratos repeats immediately.
"Say 'please'."
"Please, I want to cum inside you," he moans. He can feel his cock twitch.
Mithos nuzzles his face against Kratos's chest, tracing his collarbone with his nose and kissing along the way.
"Say it with my name," Mithos adds.
"Mithos," Kratos whines. He's trembling from how badly he needs to be touched again. "Please let me cum inside you," he breathes.
"Do you need it?" Mithos pretends to pout, like he doesn't want it just as bad.
"Yes," he gasps. "Please, Mithos, I need it, need you."
Mithos shudders under him.
"Fuck," Mithos says under his breath. "Get — there's lubricant in the drawer."
It takes all of Kratos's willpower to separate from Mithos; he takes just a moment to breathe and collect himself before pushing up onto his knees. Thankfully, the Altamira hotel keeps things well-stocked, and the small bottle of lube in the nightstand is brand new.
Mithos pulls his tunic off and sets it aside as Kratos opens the bottle and pours some out onto his fingers. They're both naked, now, and all Kratos can think about is pressing flush against him and getting as much skin-to-skin contact as possible.
They rearrange themselves so Kratos can kneel between Mithos's legs on the bed, his thighs open around Kratos's lap.
Kratos brings one hand down and slips it between Mithos's legs, feeling carefully along until he finds his hole. He watches Mithos as he rubs over it, the recognition and acceptance of pleasure written all over him.
"You don't have to go slow," Mithos says, breaking character for a moment.
Kratos smiles.
He spends another second feeling at his hole before beginning to press his finger in, enjoying the way Mithos's breath catches in his throat and how his eyes struggle between staying open and closing shut. A single finger isn't that much, but if Yggdrasil is feeling this so strongly, it must be overwhelming having anything inside him.
"Another one," Mithos demands in a sigh.
"Give it a moment," Kratos says, lightly chiding.
Mithos makes a small noise of disapproval but doesn't push it otherwise, letting Kratos go at the pace he's set.
Minutes pass before he gives him a second finger with more lube added, and Mithos grinds his hips up when Kratos uses them both. It's closer to what he wants, but still not enough; even when Kratos kisses him softly and adds a third finger, it isn't enough of him.
"Kratos," Mithos finally whines, the closest to begging he'll get for now.
"Okay," Kratos concedes.
He pulls his fingers out and lets Mithos lay there for a moment like the most beautiful painting he's ever seen — legs open, splayed back, looking up defiantly at him despite his open, needy body.
You're beautiful, Kratos wants to say. But that'd lead into I miss you like this, which leads to I miss you, which leads into things Kratos does his best not to think about.
The lube is a chill over his cock when he carefully strokes it on, Mithos's eyes drifting down to watch.
It almost makes him self-conscious, but that'd require a sense of self.
Pushing into Mithos feels like heaven. His knees tremble at Kratos's sides and his hands come up to claw at his shoulders, his mouth open in a shaky breath.
"Oh," Mithos sighs, as Kratos slowly, slowly sinks into him.
Watching himself disappear into Mithos is unbelievable — he's so tight and hot, and it doesn't seem possible that his small frame can handle the way Kratos splits him open, but Mithos just pants and whines as Kratos keeps going.
Kratos kisses the corner of his mouth like a comfort, even though he knows if Mithos was truly uncomfortable, they'd stop.
He feels Mithos smile under his lips before he kisses Kratos again with renewed heat and a testing roll of his hips.
"Are you good?" Kratos asks.
"Yes," Mithos breathes. "C'mon."
Despite that, Kratos moves slowly. He's careful with how he pulls his hips back and slides his cock back in, finding an easy rhythm and sticking to it.
Mithos keeps his noises in his throat until Kratos presses down for a kiss and feels something prod at his stomach.
Mithos is getting hard again. A hot bolt of arousal shoots through him as he realizes just how turned on Yggdrasil must be if he's already worked up again.
"Do you want me to touch you?" Kratos offers, smoothing his thumbs over Mithos's hips.
"Not yet," Mithos breathes shakily, then swallows dryly before he speaks. "I'm — I — I want to see if I can cum like this."
'Like this'. Just being gently, lovingly pounded into the bed by Kratos, the only source of his pleasure being Kratos's cock inside him and Kratos's lips on his.
Kratos makes a broken noise and kisses him again.
Mithos kisses back almost desperately, more open mouth and teeth than finesse. He clings with his nails digging into Kratos's shoulders, and, distantly, it hurts, but Kratos can't focus on it when Mithos is so present and real underneath him.
"Harder," Mithos says, moving to link his fingers at the back of Kratos's neck to keep him hovering low and close. "Don't hold back, give it to me."
Kratos practically growls as he kisses Mithos again, adjusting his grip on his hips so he can fuck him harder and faster and that much more desperate. He shuts his eyes and concentrates on how it all feels, Mithos tight around him and his hands locked at the base of his skull and his legs flexing beckoningly around his hips, as if to say you belong here, between my legs, and nowhere else.
"Look at me," Mithos moans, and Kratos opens his eyes.
He can't tell if he's seeing Mithos or Yggdrasil, or both, or neither. He seems to morph and shift between his forms as he's pushed up with Kratos's thrusts. The half-elf under him is blonde and beautiful and ethereal and Kratos loves him so impossibly much, just as much as he loathes his power and control.
"Tell me you need me," Mithos whimpers.
"Need you," Kratos echoes, without hesitation.
"Promise me you won't ever leave me."
On some level, Kratos knows that should give him pause — Yggdrasil doesn't take promises lightly. Realistically, though, where would he go? He no longer has his family. Yggdrasil is all he has.
"Won't ever leave you," Kratos repeats for him. "I'm yours, I promise."
"Don't cum before I do," Mithos warns, and it's supposed to be a threat, but Kratos knows his voice well enough to hear the near-panic in it that says he's not going to last much longer.
"I won't," Kratos huffs, almost a laugh.
"T-Tell me I'm — I'm —"
Mithos tries, but he's too close — his words catch on gasps and become unintelligible besides the obvious plea threaded through every noise.
Kratos pulls at his hips to get him into a better position, and soon, Mithos is begging, begging, begging.
"Please," he gasps and whimpers, "please, please, don't stop."
Mithos pleads with him over and over as Kratos wordlessly shoves into him, pulls him closer, makes him writhe — his noises get louder, and higher, and then he's choking on how good it all is and Kratos can feel wet heat spilling between them.
Looking down, he catches the tail end of Mithos's orgasm, his stomach flexing under stripes of white as the flood becomes a dribble and a twitch, and then Mithos is dragging Kratos's up by his hair so he can be kissed.
"Hold me down when you cum," Mithos pants against his lips, and Kratos nods.
He slides his hands up, up Mithos's hips and sides and up his arms, until his hands find wrists and he can force them down onto the bed.
Mithos looks like a dream under him, the edges of him blurry and the details so sharp at the same time. The new positioning gives Kratos a good brace to fuck him into the bed, and Mithos bites back overwhelmed noises as Kratos becomes focused on nothing but getting himself off with the gift of sex that Mithos has given him.
"Tell me you love me," Mithos mumbles under him, looking away like he doesn't expect Kratos to hear it.
Kratos loves him more than he could ever love anything else. Kratos lives to serve him, as his friend, his pet, his knight, and it should be easier to admit it out loud but the words burn his throat like spitting up lava.
"I love you," Kratos promises.
"Again," Mithos shudders, a little firmer.
"I love you," Kratos pleads, voice breaking as a hundred different feelings swell and threaten to spill in unpredictable ways.
"Want it," Mithos sighs, pushing his arms up against Kratos's hold and finding no give. "Kratos."
He hasn't said it yet. Kratos keeps going, keeps seeking out the heat of him and drawing out needy noises, but without Yggdrasil's say-so, he only winds himself up tighter.
Mithos kisses him slow and deep and filthy.
"Go on, cum in me," Mithos finally breathes against his lips.
The world seems to end at that moment. With permission, he does; it's like a key turned in a lock, the tension released and suddenly, now, he finally hits his peak. He fucks Mithos through it, holding his wrists so tightly it'd bruise any other being. Mithos arches and squirms under him as it happens and he feels Kratos fill him, making quiet ah breaths with every deep thrust in.
Kratos is seeing stars by the time it becomes too much and he has to stutter to a stop inside him.
He hovers over Mithos, pressed flush and deep. His hands still pin Mithos, so he starts there, relaxing his fists and soothing over his wrists with his thumbs.
Mithos gently cradles Kratos's face in his hands to kiss him again, stealing the hurt noise from his lips when he bears down against him and squeezes his spent cock.
"Lay down with me," Mithos hums, so he does; he pulls out of him and pays no mind to the mess if Mithos doesn't mind it either, and lets himself be guided down onto the bed.
For a minute they lay on their sides together, facing each other, as they both catch their breath. Mithos is so especially beautiful with his cheeks flushed and his hair disheveled, and Kratos takes the chance to drink him in while he can.
Soon, Mithos turns Kratos onto his back so he can flop himself over his chest, one arm flung around his middle as well.
It's comfortable. Kratos stares up at the ceiling and can see the top of Mithos's head rise and fall as he breathes, moving with his lungs.
Some time passes before there's a heavy sigh, and then the body draped over his changes.
"Good boy," Yggdrasil hums where his cheek rests on Kratos's chest. "That was very good."
Kratos doesn't say anything, although he's sure Yggdrasil hears the beat his heart skips.
To his surprise, Yggdrasil doesn't remove himself. Kratos is beginning to think that he's expecting him to get up, and leave, without being told, but then there's a hand traveling over his stomach, fingertips gliding in circles around his navel.
"We should get you a new outfit," Yggdrasil thinks out loud. "Something more revealing. Something fun."
Kratos knows what that means; the last time Yggdrasil wanted him to wear something 'fun' he'd felt it for days after.
"Altamira would be the place to find something," Kratos agrees.
Yggdrasil sits up, barely visible with what moonlight reaches this far into the room. The hand on Kratos's stomach travels up, over his chest, and up, until it tightens like a bite around his throat.
It simply stays there. Is Yggdrasil contemplating violence, or intimacy? Is he waiting for Kratos to say something, do something, try to get free?
He hovers over Kratos and blocks what little moonlight there is behind him, glaring down at him in dark that's perfectly clear through angelic eyes. His hair falls around his face, long enough that it pools around Kratos's face, as well, trapping them here with the gaze shared between them.
"I would tear you apart with my teeth if you ever betrayed me," Yggdrasil says slowly. "I would make your death long and painful."
Kratos can't help the hint of a smile on his face.
"That's a lie," Kratos says, slightly amused. "You would be too angry to savor my death."
Yggdrasil's face briefly darkens, but then he laughs, too.
"You're right," he agrees. "How foolish of me."
Kratos lays there, pinned, relaxed under Yggdrasil's hand. He knows he's not in any true danger.
They stay that way for a long time, silently studying each other in the dark. The moon shifts in the sky behind them, trailing slowly over the course of maybe minutes, maybe hours — time moves differently when you're millennia old.
Eventually, Yggdrasil leans down and kisses Kratos so softly that it's hardly a touch at all.
"You'll leave your room empty tonight," he says. "I desire company."
Kratos hums in acknowledgement.
Kratos might read. Maybe they'll have sex again. If not, they'll sit in silence, most likely; Yggdrasil hardly ever wants to talk after he's shown a vulnerability, even to him, and tonight was a feast of insight into how Yggdrasil is feeling lately.
Kratos isn't sure what he'll do in the long run. The future is out of his imagination's reach. Who knows where they'll be another four thousand years from now — together? Apart? Dead? Alive?
He doesn't want to think about it. He won't.
For now, he follows Yggdrasil into more comfortable positions on the bed, sitting propped on pillows and ready to wait out the night.
Things will work out however they should.
He has to tell himself that.