Work Text:
“Mine. All mine.” Spirit’s voice is a low rumble. He seems somehow more primitive. Like most of his higher brain functions have fled in favour of this simpler, desire-driven version of him. I’m not sure what brought this on. When we separated and went home yesterday he was fine. Somewhat stressed from our heart-to-heart discussion, perhaps, and certainly horny from the less-than-innocent activities that followed it, but otherwise fine. I was hardly any better. But today… The moment we encountered each other on the walk to the Academy it was like his higher brain functions simply turned off. His pupils became vertical slits, the green irises more vibrantly coloured. His hair, already a very vivid shade of red, seemed to become less like hair than like silken strands of semi-liquid blood in appearance. He seizes me and carries me back to his house in scant minutes. I am surprised he is cogent enough to think to close and lock the door behind us.
He carries me to his bedroom and drops me on the bed. He is stripping off his clothes with no small amount of haste. My brow furrows. I’m not sure what’s going on here. I don’t know what he wants. Given our actions yesterday I suppose most would conclude that he wants sex. But I know him far better than that. I know that something is not quite right with him at the moment.
Now naked, he directs a most irate glare at my own clothing. He stalks forward like a cat towards a trapped mouse. Unlike most people, I have no concern one way or another if I’m clothed or not, so it means nothing to me now to strip out of them. I hear Spirit’s pleased noise as I shrug off my lab coat and pull off my top. As I lean over to take off my shoes, Spirit intercepts me. He crouches down, tugging my shoes and socks off himself. Then he tugs at my pants. It’s easy for me to simply brace my hands and lift my hips a little so he can pull my pants and underwear off easily.
Now that we’re both naked, he seems a little uncertain. His gaze drifts erratically over my naked form. I take the opportunity to ask him a question and see how strong the grip of this primitive mindset is. “Spirit, you are behaving very strangely. Has something happened?” I ask.
His gaze snaps up to my face as soon as the first syllable of his name emerges from my mouth. He hefts me further onto the bed, pushing me to lie down and then straddling me. He leans down until his nose is pressed against mine, then nuzzles it. “Mine.” He murmurs softly. His eyes and hair are still changed and there is a strange feeling coming from him. It is very similar to the feeling of a witch’s magic. Spirit is no witch though, so I am not quite sure what to make of the feeling. Perhaps he has been enchanted by a witch? His fingers skim down my sides, to curl loosely around my lower ribs. He moves his nose from mine, skating it across my cheek and then onto the side of my neck. He nuzzles my neck. His hair is tickling my face where it is falling across it. “Mine. Mine. All mine. My Stein. My Franken. My meister.” The last two words are growled out in an incredibly possessive tone. I feel as though I am a piece of prized territory that Spirit is staking his claim on.
Vaguely, fuzzily, I recall a story I heard about half a decade ago. From what I could remember, a weapon-meister pair (both women) who’d worked together for just over twenty years had been asked to temporarily separate in order to train some of their fellows. They had agreed without issue. For the first few weeks of the new arrangement there hadn’t been any problems. Indeed, there were no issues at all until about five weeks in, when the two held a combined class outdoors. The meister’s assistant, a weapon, had transformed in readiness for a demonstration of some sort. At the very moment the new weapon had finished transforming and was in the meister’s hands, the other weapon had gone utterly berserk. She became a near-feral thing, roaring like a maddened beast in rage. She had torn the other weapon from the meister’s hands and thrown them away as hard as she could, before pinning the meister down and snarling in the woman’s face that she was hers. Her meister. She was her meister and she refused to share. She had been aggressive and violent towards any others who approached, especially other weapons. The meister… I think that she had soothed her weapon-partner by reassuring her that she was, indeed, her meister and that the woman was her weapon, and that she had no desire for another.
At the time I heard the story, I found it quite interesting. Sadly I had not been able to find out any more than a very basic description of what had happened. There was more to the matter, but I couldn’t find out what. So I had reluctantly mentally shelved the whole thing. I did not recall any mention of physical changes though. But the territorial behaviour Spirit is displaying does seem fleetingly similar.
I run my hands over Spirit’s shoulder blades and down his sides, loosely linking my hands together over his lower back. “I certainly would not be anyone else’s.” I murmur. Though I would not have said Spirit’s body seemed particularly tense, something in him even so seems to relax after I say that. He nuzzles my neck again with his nose, before shifting to run his lips over it. He licks a short stripe up the side of my neck. “Stein.” He says in a quiet rumble. His interest has shifted to sex. I’m not sure that having any sort of sexual contact with Spirit right now would be acceptable, either in a general sense or in relation to how Spirit himself would feel about the matter when his mental state returns to normal. His higher brain function is clearly buried beneath these primitive, possessive instincts.
Do all weapons have these possessive instincts inside of them, I wonder. If they do, then what circumstances bring them out? In the example I recollected a few moments ago, it was extreme jealousy, triggered by the sight of a weapon that was not her in the hands of the meister her instincts laid claim to. Spirit, on the other hand… There wasn’t anybody else around when we ran into each other. Had the discussion about, and confirmation of, our changing relationship yesterday triggered something? That didn’t make sense though, as I couldn’t recall Spirit ever being even the slightest bit possessive or territorial over any of his lovers. Though I suppose I do not know one way or another if he has ever been that way about any other meisters he might have partnered with.
My thoughts are nudged aside by Spirit’s tongue tracing over my neck again. I move Spirit so that his head is resting on my chest, his ear right over my heart. He gives a dissatisfied grizzle but offers no resistance. I run my fingers through his hair. “If I am yours, then you are most certainly mine in turn. My Spirit. My weapon.” I say sternly. Spirit seems to melt, a happy burbling sound coming from his mouth. “Yessss.” He slurs his assent to my statement. The strange feeling he was giving off is pressing against me now, like an incorporeal blanket of warmth. With it pressing directly against my skin, however, I can now tell. It is definitely magic. Not a witch’s magic, but magic nonetheless. I tug Spirit’s hair, tilting his head a little so that I can see his eyes. They are closed, his expression is blissful. “Can I see your eyes?” I ask him. His eyes open at once, looking directly into mine. His pupils remain vertical slits, his irises still a brighter green than normal. I find myself half expecting him to start purring like a big cat at any moment. He is being very… obedient.
I consider a moment, and then decide it can’t hurt to ask. “Spirit, can you tell me how you’re feeling right now? Your eyes differ from their normal appearance.” He blinks. “Feel happy. Have my meister.” Well, I suppose I couldn’t really expect a detailed description. “Your weapon.” Spirit adds after a moment, sounding incredibly smug. I see something flicker in his eyes, something that resembles his normal self. “Eyes different?” He asks me quizzically.
“Yes. Your iris - the coloured part of your eyes - is a brighter green than normal, and your pupils are vertical slits, like a cat’s. Your hair seems much more brightly coloured too.” I tell him. He blinks. “Cat …. eyes??” He says, sounding extremely puzzled. I nod. His brow furrows as he thinks. I can see it is taking longer than usual for his thoughts to formulate.
His face clears, then his mouth tilts in a slightly lascivious grin. “Mrrow?” I stare at him. That was sort of a joke. Perhaps his higher brain functions are beginning to return. I cannot help the slight smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The response was very much typical of a horny Spirit. “Naughty kitty. Behave yourself.” I scold him. I resume petting his hair. It feels the same, despite its changed appearance. Spirit is eyeing me in consideration. I can tell he is plotting some manner of mischief. He closes his eyes and shifts his head back to where it was before I asked to see his eyes. I regard him somewhat suspiciously as I keep petting him.
Several minutes pass peacefully. It is very subtle, but I become aware of a low vibration. It’s coming from Spirit, the noise beginning deep in his chest. There’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. I narrow my eyes as I realise what’s going on - he’s making the closest sound to a purr that a human can. “Should I fit you with a pair of cat ears and attach a tail to you?” I ask him, with a wicked grin and a slightly mean tone. He tilts his head a fraction, opens an eye, and stares up at me. He hisses at me. It’s adorable.
I cannot help it. A sniggering cackle escapes me. Spirit is scowling at me now, clearly displeased with my amusement at his expense. I use both hands to massage his scalp. “There there pretty kitty. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want. You’re my pretty kitty though, aren’t you? Surely I am allowed to fantasise about what you’d look like with some feline features to go with your cute kitty noises?” I coo at him.
The expression on his face tells me he’s torn. A part of him, understandably, is still wary and mistrustful of me. My amusement fades rapidly. I sigh. “I am sorry, Spirit. You have spent a great deal of time fearing and distrusting me. It is only very recently you have had any reason to think I will not harm or betray you again. I will refrain from jokes that imply that I might experiment with or operate upon you.”
He moves until he is on all fours above me. His facial expressions indicate he is quite deep in thought. He jerks his head forwards, til his lips are brushing against mine. I can feel his mouth curving into another smirk. “Mrrowww.” He purrs, before he bites my lower lip.
I don’t think. I just react. My right arm jerks forward, my hand smoothly spanking his ass as though I have done it a thousand times before. “Naughty kitty!” I reprimand him. He snickers, eyes gleaming brightly as he wiggles his rear. He bites my lip again. My eye twitches in aggravation. Damned tempting man. I am all too often terrible at resisting temptation. “If you want a thorough spanking so much, I will give it to you and you will not enjoy it.” I threaten him. His eyes narrow at me. I can see him weighing my words; judging my seriousness. Thinking about whether he’d like the outcome.
“And how would you know how hard a spanking I like?” His tone is taunting. But it’s also - mostly - back to normal. His hair and eyes are rapidly fading back to normal too. The slit pupils seem a little reluctant to do so, but they do return to human-standard after a few more heartbeats.
He backs off a bit, giving my face some space from his. “You are back to normal.” I say, relieved. “I think so, yes. I still have a very strong urge to… erm. Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m not a dog.” His voice trails off into a mumble on the last few words, his face flushing in embarrassment.
For a brief moment, I consider that kink. “I would very strongly prefer that you not urinate on me.” Spirit’s face reddens further; his forehead thumps onto my chest as he whines in mortification. “Ssssteinnnn! I didn’t say I was going to! Or that I wanted to actually pee on you! I’m not into that either. I just… umm. I just wanted to…” He trails off, clearly struggling to verbalise his desire to mark me.
Who says I can’t be nice? I can be nice. Sometimes. I kindly offer him a solution. “I mean, I have a perfectly good neck, and you have perfectly good teeth, do you not?” I say, my tone (very falsely) innocent. The grunt he gives sounds like it was punched out of him as he goes straight for my neck. His arms, resting on the bed either side of me, slide inwards as he worms his hands under my shoulder blades and grips them tightly. With his teeth latched tightly on my neck, his tongue laving my skin, I moan. It feels fantastic.
But more than that, something in me is primitively pleased. Something in me is absolutely thrilled that Spirit’s claim on me will be so unashamedly and blatantly visible. It is incandescent with joy that he was so keen to mark me as his. This thing in me seems utterly certain that when other weapons lay eyes on this mark, they will not mistake it for a mere hickey - they will know that it is Spirit’s claim on me. They will know that they cannot have me; at the very least not unless I am both willing to be theirs and they can defeat Spirit in one-on-one combat. Which will not happen. I know that Spirit can and will turn any challengers into red smears on the ground. There is a reason that Spirit, and not any of the other Death Scythes, is Lord Death’s own blade.
My right hand is still on his rear. My left has reached up to wrap around his shoulders, to hold him close. “Spirit, if anyone is stupid or insane enough to challenge you for me, you will save me some of them to experiment on, won’t you?” I pant out, my tone pleading. His teeth’s grip on my neck loosens as a snort of what I am fairly certain is disbelief explodes from him. His body is trembling violently. “Yes. Yes, Stein. If someone challenges me for you I promise that I will leave at least a whole limb for you to have fun with.” He chokes out in a strangled tone. His mirth is loud as it escapes him, his shuddering body collapsing onto mine as he howls with laughter.
Hrmph. I do not care how amused he is. I can only feel smugly pleased that he will present to me any ‘trophies’ he acquires from challengers. “Good. Thank you.” I say. He levers himself up so he can look at my face. “I think weapons aren’t the only ones who have weird instincts related to their counterparts.” He says, gazing at me with no small amount of amusement.
I blink. Huh. He’s right. These out-of-place feelings of pleased smugness, of unassailable certainty, and of contented reassurance… They are entirely uncharacteristic of me. Especially the certainty. It is ridiculous to think that anyone looking at a hickey on my neck (at least who was not already aware of my relationship with Spirit) would know that it came from Spirit in particular.
“It would seem they are not.” I agree. I frown unhappily. “Weapons are altogether so much better equipped to protect their claim to their partner though. If I could sprout blades from my person at the speed of thought…” I trail off, pondering if there’s any way I could modify my own body to have some of a weapon’s abilities. “Stein, NO!! You, of all people, do not under any circumstances need to have the ability to sprout sharp things from your body. If nothing else, your tongue can be quite sharp enough!” Spirit exclaims, looking thoroughly alarmed. “And if you were challenged for me, it would be by another meister - who would also not be able to sprout sharp things from themselves.” He points out.
I pout at him. “But you and I could spar on much more equal footing if I could manifest blades like you can!” I say, trying to persuade him in favour of my idea. He hesitates, licking his lips. He’s clearly thinking about it. “Nghh…” He shakes his head. “No! I will resist your temptations, you mean, naughty devil! Besides, if you had blades of your own, you wouldn’t even really need me.” His tone is dispirited as he says the second sentence.
I reach up, linking my fingers around the back of his head and drawing him down. “Ridiculous. I will always need you. And even if I didn’t need you, I will always want you.” I tell him firmly, before I draw him the rest of the way down into a kiss.
As we separate, I see his eyes are shiny with tears. What?! No! I didn’t want to make him upset! What’d I do wrong?! He sniffles. As he speaks, his voice is thick with the tears he isn't managing to hold back. “You… Dammit Stein. For someone who’s never done any sort of romancing or sweet talking, you’re stupidly good at it. Why are you always so good at everything you do.” He sniffles again. Oh. These are… happy tears? I’ve heard of those, though I’ve never seen someone cry with happiness before now. (I have however seen - and made - any number of people cry with terror or misery. I’m not sorry. It was hilarious).
I huff. “I assure you I am most certainly not good at everything I do. I’m quite bad indeed at any number of them. In matters that concern you however… Well. You know I have always been a fast study, and I am highly motivated. I intend to learn how to push every button you have, and then to make some more for me to poke at whenever I please.” I do my best to give him an exaggerated leer. I’m not sure if my face makes the expression properly or not. At any rate, it does seem that my intention gets across clearly. Spirit gives a sniffling chuckle.
I reach up and wipe away some of the tears. “Would you like to blow your nose and then, perhaps, take advantage of the fact we’re both already naked?” I ask him. I cannot quite keep the hopefulness from my tone. I would very, very much like to explore naked Spirit while he’s conscious and willing.
He laughs again. “Geez Stein, you’re turning out to be as horny as I am!” He says, now giving me an exaggerated leer. “I would like to say you’re rubbing off on me, except that you decidedly haven’t yet!” I huff at him. He laughs and leans over to grab a tissue from the box that is on his bedside table. He blows his nose, and dries his eyes and cheeks. Then, his attention turns back to me.
He smirks. He moves. Instead of straddling me, he is now semi-perched on one of my thighs. One of his knees is just barely brushing up against my testicles. He moves his hips, rubbing his rapidly growing erection against my leg. “I can fix that pretty quickly if you’d like!” He teases me. “I would like! I would like a lot!” I burst out, my head nodding vigorously. He complies eagerly.
Though the heated kisses and the feeling of his body underneath my hands is distracting, it even so does not take long for me to become dissatisfied with our current position. I can tell the position and angle is a bit too awkward for him to get much stimulation. I remove my hands from the back of his head and plant them on the mattress until I have levered myself fully upright. Spirit shifts backwards to accommodate me. I grab his rear and tug him towards me. “Easier to rub off on me like this, no?” I ask mischievously. He leers at me. “Much! Don’t mind if I do.” He scoots his left side forwards a little bit, until his body is more diagonal to mine, enabling his body to be completely flush against me. He suits actions to words, rubbing himself against me as he leans forward to claim my mouth in a kiss that still has strong overtones of possessiveness. I don’t mind that at all. My kiss likely has the same overtones of possessiveness in it.
I squirm one hand in between our bodies, wrapping it around his cock and stroking in time with his thrusting hips. His mouth breaks away from mine to moan loudly. The look in his eyes is hungry. I know I will never tire of seeing Spirit like this; needy and vulnerable. The trust it takes for him to be so vulnerable to me after what I have done to him is nigh impossible for me to fathom.
He falls forward, wrapping his arms loosely around me, his elbows resting on the edge of my shoulders. His forehead is pressed against the juncture between the side of my neck and my shoulder. His panting breath is hot against my collarbone. I nudge his head a bit further along my shoulder so that his neck stretches out, and sink my own teeth into his throat, marking him as he has marked me.
The word is muffled by my currently-full mouth, but it is clear he understands what I am saying as I growl “MINE.” against his neck. The noise that emerges from his mouth is an unintelligible garble as he shoves his cock into my hand and cums over the side of my stomach and lower rib cage. I let my teeth scrape his neck as I release my grip on it. My lips brush against his neck as I speak.
“Now this manner of marking me as your territory I highly approve of.” I tell him, snickering. “Shuddup.” He half-heartedly huffs at me. I smack his rear with the hand that is not coaxing out the last of his orgasm. He squeaks, his hips reflexively jerking away from the stinging smack I’ve just given him. With my mouth so close to his skin, he cannot see my face. Perhaps he feels the movement of my lips. Whichever it is, he knows a wicked grin has just spread on my face.
“Don’t you even dare!” He exclaims. I draw backwards so that he can see my face. I know my grin has become somewhat evil. “But Spirit, I am fairly certain that ‘mean, naughty devils’ exist, at least in part, to dare precisely such things as making big, bad Death Scythes squeak like adorable little mice.” His eyes widen for a moment before they narrow at me. He opens his mouth to say something but I interrupt him. “Is it my turn now?” I ask him, gazing pointedly down at the mess on my side. He follows my gaze, and no small degree of the primitive territoriality that initiated this whole thing fills his eyes as he looks at my cum-coated side. “Yeah, it’s your turn now.” He husks out.
He shuffles backwards off of the leg he is perched on, tipping himself sideways and backwards to sit cross-legged in the space between my ankles. In addition to the height I have on him, my frame is all over broader than his. The position he had on top of me would be rather more awkward in reverse, I think. I decide I should just sit on his lap, to rub myself against his stomach. Just as I begin moving he lunges forward, one hand bracing itself in front of him and the other halting my forwards movement by colliding with my chest. He wraps his mouth around the head of my cock, and suddenly it is my turn to make unintelligible noises.
His mouth is hot and wet and he is applying suction as his tongue licks along my glans. Oh. Is this why people are so fond of sex? Does all of it feel this good? My hands tangle in his hair as a thin, reedy whine escapes my throat. “Give… give a man some warning.” I choke out. He laughs. The damned man laughs and swallows more of me down. His laughter causes his throat to vibrate. I think my brain may have turned off entirely for a moment, because the next thing I know my hands are gripping his hair tightly as I try to thrust upwards into his mouth.
The vibrations of his laughter were incidental. The humming he is doing now, on the other hand, is entirely intentional. I can tell by the way he’s looking up at me, his eyes gleaming lustfully and the pupil not completely human shaped. Sitting on my rump with my legs more or less straight out in front of me makes thrusting upwards a difficult proposition. I settle for trying to push his head downwards onto me instead. He complies, breathing out through his nose as he relaxes his throat.
I whine. This is much more stimulus than mere frotting while we’re clothed. It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s entirely new and my thoughts are somewhere between hazy lassitude and the shrieking white noise I associate with my madness encroaching upon my thoughts. I don’t know how to handle it. My body curls around his head, my torso hunching over him as my muscles spasm. My hands are trying to push him down that last little bit so all of me is in his mouth and down his throat as I have my first orgasm.
A low growl vibrates around me and I barely have time to fuzzily recognise the growl as being somehow simultaneously annoyed and pleased. He exerts weapon strength to resist my attempt to hold him where he is. His mouth pops off my cock and my cum paints his lips and cheek. Lightning is sizzling in my veins at the sight of him licking his lips, the sound of him humming with pleasure at the taste of me. He’s looking up at me with slit-pupiled eyes and luminescent irises and an expression of blissful satisfaction on his face. I’m not sure what to say. My possessive meister instincts, on the other hand, seem to have some notion. “All yours.” I rasp, gazing down at him. My gaze does not last long though. My overstimulated brain forces me to take a break. I slump backwards as my eyes close themselves and my breath heaves in and out of my lungs.
“Stein?” Spirit asks worriedly. I grunt, trying to tell him I am ok. I gesture weakly at my head. He seems to understand what I am trying to convey. I feel Spirit shift so that he is sitting beside me. He begins running a hand through my hair. I slump sideways to lean against him, taking care the end of my screw doesn’t hit him. Gradually, my breathing evens out. My brain unscrambles itself. I open my eyes. “I’m ok. It was just a bit too much stimulation all at once, of a kind I’m not used to.”
His hand stills for a moment, then resumes petting me. I can hear the gloating smugness in his voice and feel the faint tremble of amusement in his body as he says “So you’re saying I sucked your brains out your cock?” I huff. “Unlike you, I have plenty of brains to spare.” I inform him loftily. “Don’t worry. I’ll be doing my best to fix that.” He assures me, his tone darkly promising. I shiver.
In a physical sense, all weapons are dangerous. Intellectually, I know that. They are inherently physically stronger than we meisters, and meisters are themselves inherently stronger than ordinary human beings. All that lethal power is currently shimmering over my skin like a static blanket. For the first time, I find myself aware on the most primitive level that a weapon is not simply a human who can manifest blades or shift into the form of a weapon. Rather, they are an apex predator that, but for their own choice to obey society’s precepts, need fear nothing and no-one. If they really wanted to be, they could be a nearly unchallenged force of destruction, capable of committing carnage that no other human being could, at least on an individual basis. A creature of blood and violence and ravenous hunger that cannot be sated no matter how many souls disappear into its maw.
I sit bolt upright as I realise that the faint feeling of magic that was emanating from Spirit had not actually stopped until just moments ago. Even when he had seemingly returned to normal, he’d still been emanating that magic. I noticed it now only by its rapidly dwindling absence. It had tingled in the bite mark on my throat and a faint feeling of static where Spirit’s semen has marked my side. The sensation is gone entirely now; he is no longer emitting the magic.
“What’s wrong?” Spirit asks, peering at me in concern. I know I should say something about the aura of magic that had been coming off him. And I will. But not right now. I need a little bit of time to organise my thoughts.
“Just realised we’re probably a bit late for work.” I say, my tone as bland as someone making idle small talk about the weather. There is a moment of complete silence. “SHIT!” Spirit exclaims, scrambling out of the bed and lunging for his clothes. I can’t help but laugh. “You should take a quick shower, or at least wash your face, before we get dressed. Unless you intended to help advertise my claim on you by going to work with my dried ejaculate on your face?” I must admit, the thought is not entirely displeasing to me. Spirit stares blankly at me, his brain having apparently short circuited.
“Urkh. Right. Shower first.” He mutters, turning around and marching off to it. I smirk. We’re already late. What’s a bit later going to matter? I clamber out of the bed and follow after him. Spirit must have some manner of sixth sense for when I’m intending mischief of the sexual variety. “Stein. I don’t need to see your face or be resonating with you to know you’re plotting something right now. What are you plotting?” He says accusatorily, looking back over his shoulder as he keeps walking to the bathroom. “Me? Plotting? Why would I be plotting anything? I need to have a shower too, you know, and it would be more expedient for us to share.” I say innocently. He squints at me. “You’re right. It would be quicker. It would be quicker if I didn’t know you were plotting something. Probably to get me horny again for shower fun.”
“I rather think you’re doing a fine job of that all by yourself.” I say dryly, gesturing towards his crotch. I don't need to be able to see it with my eyes - I can see it in the way his soul wavelength ripples towards strong lust as we walk. His cock is beginning to stiffen, getting ready for another go round. His head whips around to stare down at himself. He curses. “I am practising not listening to my dick. It gets me into trouble a lot.” Spirit says, marching determinedly into the bathroom. It is so very, very nice to be taller than Spirit. Distant are the days when I was a little shrimp compared to him. I dart forwards, wrapping my arms around him and resting my chin on his shoulder. I glide one hand down his stomach, letting it stop short of his rising cock. “It’s not as though you haven't played hooky before Spirit. Do you really mean to tell me you won’t play hooky now with ‘shower fun’, as you called it, on the line?” I feel him tremble in my arms. I nudge my hips forward a little, to make sure he’s aware that I, too, am up for more fun.
“I mean I played hooky in school, but work’s a different thing Stein! Playing hooky from work is not good. Especially not when you’re a Death Scythe - we’re supposed to set a good example for other weapons.” His efforts are truly valiant, I will grant him that. His reasoning is logical and valid. Too bad this is me he’s talking to. He hasn’t gobbled down nearly enough of my brain cells yet to be able to outthink me.
I nod against his shoulder. “You’re absolutely right. Death Scythes should set a good example for other weapons. And you will be setting an excellent example by not irresponsibly going out and about to the Academy when you’ve manifested strange symptoms and behaviours. What would happen if we went to work as normal and one of the weapon students approached me to ask a question about schoolwork or some such, and your newly awakened instincts decided they were too close to your meister? Not even the other Death Scythes would stand a chance against you, let alone some half-educated child. Or the reverse - what would happen to a meister who my new instincts decided got too close to you? Do you think they would survive me? With a body like mine, after all, everyone else's seems kind of delicate and breakable.”
Spirit swallows heavily. I shift a little so I can peer over his shoulder and get a glimpse of his face. I see apprehension and fear flicker over it as he considers the things I have just outlined. Then his lips peel back, revealing sharpened teeth as his expression changes to anger - he is thinking of other weapons being near me, I presume. His fists clench. He heaves a sigh. “You’re right. I don’t want any other weapons near you right now, and I’m guessing you don’t want any other meisters near me. I’ll rinse my face off and contact Lord Death by mirror to let him know what’s going on with us. Maybe he’ll know more about what’s happening.” I let him go so he can rinse off. “Or you could just leave your face like it is right now, since we’re not going anywhere.” I mumble under my breath. “I can hear you, you know.” He calls out. Damn. I hadn’t intended for him to. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can make a mess all over my face again once I’m done reporting.” He offers. I brighten. “It would make me feel much better!” I cheerfully enthuse, all but bouncing into the bathroom to stand beside Spirit at the mirror.
Rinsing his face off only takes a few moments, and then he is breathing on the mirror to fog it up and ‘dial’ Death’s number. “Spirit!” The being greets him with typical cheer. “Hello sir. I, uh, I won’t be coming in today, and neither will Stein. When I ran into him on the way to the Academy something weird happened…” Spirit relates what happened to the being, whom I suspect is listening quite keenly indeed despite the mask getting in the way of me being able to read any facial expressions. Spirit also adds the conclusion I had silently considered; that our discussion yesterday about our changing relationship had contributed to this in some way. He doesn’t go into explicit detail, but I would imagine the fact we’re both standing bare-chested in front of his bathroom mirror, with very obvious claim-marks on our necks, and my side still coated in Spirit's seed, would certainly imply a number of things.
Death rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Things like this have happened before, though I am uncertain if they’ve progressed as far as the two of you have. Ordinarily the expression of possessiveness is triggered by seeing their partner respectively wielding, or being wielded by, another. In your case, from what you’ve just told me, that was not what happened. In the past when such behaviour occurred, since it occurred in a public area and presented a danger to those present, the involved individuals were captured and detained, pending a thorough examination of them for malicious magics and suchlike. However, the physical changes you mentioned are not something I have heard of before - and they would certainly have been reported on if they’d happened.”
So, the physical changes were an outlier. I consider this. “Spirit is far stronger a weapon, and I far stronger a meister, than the vast majority of people. Statistically speaking, the majority of previous cases would have been in people far weaker than we are, and possibly with a less powerful resonance.” I suggest.
“That is not untrue. In fact, until now all the cases have been with pairs that have been together for at least a decade, and often longer. Until I recalled you to Death City, the two of you had not even seen each other for more than a decade, and prior to that had only been partnered for five years - and with a most unpleasant parting to boot. Your case is in all ways proving to be quite unique. And now that I truly think about it, you are certainly correct in regards to the matter of power - Spirit is the first Death Scythe this has ever happened to, so far as any of our records know.”
The being falls silent, clearly contemplative. His arms are crossed and he is idly drumming the fingers of one hand against an elbow. “Sir, you’ve said before that Stein’s the strongest meister who’s ever passed through the Academy. I kinda doubt that I’m the strongest weapon who’s ever attended, but I know I am pretty damn strong; I was even before I became a Death Scythe. I can’t really speak to how strong other people’s resonances are, but… Even the very first time Stein and I resonated, when we didn’t really know each other at all, it was incredibly powerful. It felt like puzzle pieces I hadn’t known were missing from me finally fell into place.”
My head jerks to the side to stare wide-eyed at Spirit. I had felt the same, though with my logical and scientifically minded ways of thinking, I would not have put it so poetically. Nor, at the time, had I pondered the matter in depth. I confess that since I had read - and heard from others - that resonances began relatively weak and then tended to become more powerful with time as the meister and weapon(s) got to know each other and learnt to work together more efficiently, it had never really crossed my mind to think that our initial, powerful resonance was out of the ordinary. I realise now that was a monumental oversight on my part. Ugh. Monumental oversights seem to be regrettably par for the course with me and things related to Spirit.
Spirit seems to have thought of something else, because he flushes. “Um… I, uh… In our second year I…” Spirit coughs, clearly feeling very awkward. His face reddens further and his head drops down to tuck against his chest. His fingers are twisting together, indicating his nervousness. He seems… ashamed? “A little way into our second year I…” He swallows heavily and screws his eyes shut. “IwantedtoeatStein.” He blurts out this sentence with great rapidity and in a mumble that is barely loud enough to hear. I stare at him when my mind parses out the sentence. I had heard of the phrase ‘a loud silence’ before, but not until now had I understood what it meant.
He had wanted to eat me?! As though I were some kishin spawn or witch?! Death’s voice is worrisomely flat as he speaks. “You actively wanted to eat your meister’s soul? The meister with whom you, at that time, had no issues at all with?”
Spirit cringes, his body trying to curl in on itself even more. “Y-yes. Kind of. I didn’t want to kill him and eat it like he was a kishin spawn or something. I just wanted to… Uhm. I kind of just wanted to have the eensiest little nibble of a tiniest little bit of his soul. Weapons eat souls to gain power, generally with the intention of becoming a Death Scythe and serving as one of your personal weapons. I know that at least part of the power we gain from eating those souls comes from the soul itself - the stronger the kishin spawn, the harder the battle. And I could tell there was a difference in the strength I gained from the stronger ones’ souls.”
I am staring at Spirit as though I’ve never seen him before in my life. Do I actually know him as well as I think I do? Where has this investigative, scientifically-thinking facet of him been hiding all these years?! Why has he never shown it to me? Are there experiments he might be interested in after all? Would he… would he want to perform experiments with me, so long as they didn’t involve harming other humans?
Never in my life have I desiredwantedlustedhungered for anything or anyone as badly as I did for Spirit right now, as I realised that while it might not be a large part of who he is, he does have at least some inclination towards my science and research type interests. I turn so I can press myself against him, wrapping my arms around him tightly and resting my forehead snugly in the crook of his neck. He startles badly as I come into contact with him, clearly not expecting that I would take such a thing in stride.
His nervously fidgeting hands come up to wrap around my arm, holding it tightly. “So yeah, we get some strength from the soul itself. And Stein’s soul is… it's really strong. He’s really strong. He’s intelligent to the point of it being kinda scary. I know he loses his fight against his madness at times. When we resonate I can feel it, lurking like some starving, nightmarish creature inside of him, just waiting for his guard to lower so it can pounce. I know how much effort and strength it takes for him to fend it off constantly. And Stein was my meister. He was mine and I wanted to keep him, to make sure I always had at least a little bit of him. I wanted to be closer to him, since he was so closed off. So yeah, I wanted a little bit of him for myself, to hoard away forever. I… I mean, I never did anything about it.” Spirit’s body is trembling in my arms. He is anguished about this. He’s been keeping this hidden a long time. Did he think if he’d said something to me about it that I would reject him?
He takes a gulp of air and continues. “At least, not on purpose. But I realised a moment ago that not too long after I first felt like that - maybe a couple of weeks? - there actually was something different about our resonance. I didn’t really consciously notice it back then, or even recently, since it’s just the way our resonance has almost always been. I barely remember it not being how it is now. But… I’ve resonated with other people since we parted ways in the Academy. When I resonate with other people I feel their souls against mine, a bit like we’re holding hands I guess? But Stein’s… in comparison I could always feel more of Stein’s soul against mine. Like instead of just holding hands, we were hugging. But, after that, it felt a little different. Like his adorable little cutie-meister self was sitting in my lap, snuggling with me. While we were naked. And.. I could taste him during, and for a little after, our resonances. I had just figured the difference was 'coz we were improving. Because our bond was getting stronger."
He winces. “I guess I was wrong. Maybe the difference wasn’t because our bond had gotten stronger normally, but that it had strengthened because at some point while we resonated I actually had taken a little nibble of his soul. Stolen a little bit of it to keep for myself.”
Death is staring at Spirit. I have no idea what the being might be thinking. His gaze turns to me. “Stein, can you recall anything at all about the period of time Spirit refers to?” He asks. I think about it. A short way into our second year, Spirit had said. I rack my brains thoroughly. “I don’t remember anything even slightly out of the ordinary, no.” I answer at last. And I truly do not recall anything even the slightest bit strange. If I had noticed something, after all, I would have investigated it.
“I see.” I get the feeling Death is pursing his lips, not entirely believing me. “I want the two of you to resonate now. Spirit, you will tell me what this ‘tasting’ is like.” It takes less than a heartbeat to reach out my soul to Spirit’s. It takes less than a fraction of the speed of thought for our souls to entangle. We both shudder in pleasure. Because this is markedly different to not even nine days ago, when we’d had a brief mission. I can feel Spirit’s soul in a way I never have before. And I can feel a sensation that is, indeed, very much like his tongue resting against the pulse in my neck. Except that it is decidedly not the pulse of my carotid artery that his tongue is against - it’s my very soul. The mark on my neck feels like strong static electricity is humming inside it.
You’re his. You’re his and his hungry teeth are scant millimetres behind the tongue that’s been licking at your soul for two thirds of your life. He could extinguish you in less than a heartbeat. But he won’t because you’re his. He won’t because he is yours. The meister-instincts in me seem to have strong thoughts about this. I am trembling, panting into his shoulder. And I know he is scarcely better off.
“H-he tastes good. I d-d-don’t… I don’t know what else to ssss-say.” Spirit’s voice is guttural and choked as he stutters the words out. He is desperately straining for control, fighting the urge to turn to me and restake his claim. I cannot say I am any better off. “Stein. You have no problems with this? With having a hungry predator’s mouth at your very soul?” The tone of Death’s voice indicates that he cannot conceive of anyone who wouldn’t have a problem with such a situation. The lightning in my veins is replaced by ice as I realise something.
I shove Spirit behind me, standing protectively in front of him, and roar at the being looking at us through the mirror. “I have no problem at all with it! I am happy to have my soul in his care! And if you EVER try to hurt him then I do not care who or what you are - I will end you and feed YOUR soul to Spirit!!” I am shouting so loudly that my vocal cords are protesting. The icy fingers of fear are clawing their way through my veins, sinking their talons into my hammering heart. The world around me has shrunken to the heat of Spirit’s body at my back and the sight of the dangerous thing in the mirror. The thing that would kill Spirit without a second thought if my answer had been as it had expected, instead of what it was.
The ice of fear is pushed back by the fire of madness erupting through me like an awakened volcano. I feel my lips peel back; I know my grin is utterly feral. I wonder if my eyes are the changed ones now. I know that there is nothing human in my own gaze, which is hyperfixated on the inhuman thing in the mirror. “He’s. Mine. You. Can’t. Have. Him.” The words are difficult to get out, not just because of my injured throat, but because the kind of madness that lurks in me isn’t really, at its heart, the kind that bothers with speech. Being so thoroughly in its grasp hinders my ability to employ verbal language to make my point.
I can tell Death is not just taken aback by my violently vehement response, but in this moment is actually wary of me. Wary not because of what I might do to others under his banner, but of what damage I might be capable of inflicting to him. My fingers are curling around nothing, which makes me twitchy. Spirit clearly notices this, for the next thing I know the light of transformation flickers in the corner of my eyes, and then his snath is in my hands. Our resonance link snaps into place - I am armed, and infinitely more dangerous.
As Death speaks, it is abundantly clear to me that he is choosing his words with extreme care. “You are protective of Spirit and he is clearly protective of you too. I have never seen his blade gleam so malevolently. I do not know what this strange, new bond the two of you have entered into will do to you, how it will affect you going forwards. For my part, I do not believe that this bond is a healthy one. Souls are not meant to be woven together in the way yours now seem to be. But... it is not my choice to make. It is yours, and the two of you have made it impossible to mistake what that choice is. Take a week off to see if these instincts of yours settle down. The path of slaughter the two of you could wreak individually, let alone together, is enough to frighten even me. Here in Death City, none but I could stand against you. And even if I won that battle, I do not doubt the two of you are capable of doing enough damage to me that I might well not survive the encounter. I do not want the two of you around others while these instincts are so close to the surface, and so aggressively hostile at even the mere thought of others encroaching on your ‘territory’. Contact me at the end of your week off to let me know how things have progressed. If you are in need of supplies - food, toiletries and so on - then call someone. They can deliver what you need to the door, and call you to collect the goods after they have backed away from the house.”
I do hear that Death is speaking. I grasp that while he does not like it, he has acknowledged Spirit and I’s new bond. He disappears from the mirror. The problem now is that my madness has already risen. It shrieks inside my head, blaring squealing static and violent ideas into my thoughts. It purrs in my inner ear about how good Spirit looked with my stitches holding his injuries - injuries that I gave him - together. It isn’t going to just go away simply because the thing that triggered it is gone.
Then Spirit transforms back, already facing towards me. He closes the minimal distance between us, reaches up and wraps his arms around my neck, and then he jumps. His legs wrap around my waist and his ankles hook across each other over my lower back, securing his position. I put my hands under his ass. I am helping to support his weight (though weapon strength means he does not actually need any support), but I am also getting a thoroughly delightful handful. His mouth goes straight to my neck, teeth biting into his claim-mark. They have a sharp edge to them that is not normally there - they are not quite human-blunt. He doesn't sink his teeth all the way in. The bite itself is actually quite shallow. I suspect his eyes have changed again, slit-pupiled and hungry. His teeth break my skin easily, and I feel his tongue lapping at the blood welling out of the bite mark. Madness disappears in favour of lust. That is entirely unexpected, though hardly unwelcome.
All too soon his teeth release their grip. His tongue laps over the wound, licking up the blood that is oozing out of it, like a thirsty animal laps at life-giving water. He pulls back to look at me. He wriggles in my grasp, the muscles in his legs flexing, rocking him back and forth so he can rub his growing erection against my stomach. He is giving me a teeth-baring grin. I can see they are as I surmised - sharper edged than they should be. “Shower fun now?” He asks, his voice a husky rasp.
“Shower fun. Teach me.” I growl back. His eyes widen. I’ve never asked him to teach me anything before, though whether he knows it or not I have learnt plenty from him. His gaze softens a little. He leans in and his lips brush mine as he speaks. “Teach you lots.” He agrees, obviously thrilled.