Chapter Text
“... Don’t you ever get tired of your own incessant muttering, Lyon?”
It was a particularly quiet night in la Cathedrale, the quiet murmur of the building and the near silent whispers of Lyon being the only sounds echoing the walls. Marie had busied herself away in another room as she did from time to time. Meanwhile Lyon stood stiffly in the middle of the room and Roathe lounged like a lion atop his ‘throne’, face unimpressed as he regarded the man across the way.
All day long, he would watch Lyon, oh-so-tortured, either gripping the edge of the table for dear life or burying his face in his hands. Usually the sounds of his mutters would be drowned out by Roathe’s own taunts and blabber, but as the evening went on and he grew silent, the more he could hear that grating, agitating whispering.
And if he was being honest, it quite annoyed him!
Lyon paused, pursing his lips briefly– The only acknowledgement he would make of Roathe’s comment. The look on his face said he would carry on his chants and pleas in his mind, nails scratching at the weathered wood of the table.
Couldn’t be good for the table, Roathe thinks. His eyes stay stuck on Lyon, roving from his hands, up his arms and to his face. And what a hated face it was. Roathe didn’t care much for how positively despairing Lyon looked, though he supposed he could understand it. It was likely much the same as how Roathe always wore a scowl whenever the priest caught his gaze, and a deep frown the longer he stared.
Speaking of which, Roathe’s brows were knitted together tightly as he watched on, eyes trailing down his neck and shoulders, his back… He took Lyon’s full appearance in, as though they were meeting for the first time that evening. Must have been some kind of cruel prank, to make a man of the church so handsome. The Orokin was sure that a fair few would like to do all kinds of sinful things with that blonde pretty-boy.
Hmm… An interesting notion, actually.
Roathe bites back a smirk and sighs dramatically, rocking forward to draw himself from his chair. Lyon had returned to his own silent musings, not yet noticing how the devil approached. It was only when he came close enough that Lyon’s gaze darted to Roathe, eyes narrowing and lips curling in a disgusted snarl. How feisty.
“Oh Father Lyon…” he begins, obviously taunting in his words. “Don’t look at me that way. Such a nasty expression for such a pretty face.” Roathe’s lips stretch into a devious grin, devouring the expression of horror the other now wore. God, could he be any easier to manipulate? Roathe doesn’t ease up as he strides past, making sure to drag fingers and nails across Lyon’s back. He’ll pretend for now that he didn’t feel the shiver creeping through the man’s brittle frame.
“I think it may do us some good to spend some quality time… Some bonding time, don’t you think? We are trapped here for the foreseeable future after all.” Lyon didn’t seem to like the idea of that at all. At least, not on the surface. Roathe runs his hand across Lyon’s back once more, this time pressing his hot, too hot palms against his bare skin. They glide lower as well, and stay held there, placing himself in too-close proximity to the other.
There they were again, those shivers. And goosebumps he could feel too. Cold, damp skin reacting in the evening heat. Roathe was about to speak again, but he was interrupted by the sound of a hand slapping against skin.
Lyon’s jaw was stiff as his palm collided with his own cheek, barely recoiling, as though he was trying his best to weather his self-inflicted punishment. Roathe’s face grows curious, a smile still playing on his lips. He wonders for a moment why the man hadn’t pushed Roathe away yet, after all, with his build he probably had the strength to. Why stand there and endure this sick form of torture, unless…
Unless there was a part deep, deep… Deep down which somehow yearned for this touch?
As though he was testing this theory, Roathe begins to rub small circles against the small of Lyon’s back, every so often grazing his nails against that pale skin. He finds a spot behind Lyon now, keeping close enough to trap the priest against his place at the table.
“... I’m a little curious, Father.” Roathe start’s, continuing to knead at his torso now with two hands. “Do all priests subscribe to celibacy?” His words are accented by two hands travelling mischievously up and down Lyon’s sides. His fingers curl around his wide rib-cage, threatening to dip under the fabric covering his chest.
At last, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Lyon growls loudly and grabs one of Roathe’s wrists, turning his head and glaring back with bared teeth. “Enough. I am no fool to the tricks of a devil. And whatever this–” He all but spits the words at Roathe, “This ludicrous prank is, it will not work on me.”
Even though Lyon’s feeble grip was not enough to stop Roathe’s hand, he did pause where his fingers explored, pondering the words Lyon finally decided to say to him. “Prank? Oh please. Pranks are for mere tricksters…” He returns, rolling his eyes at the notion. With only one of his hands lightly restrained, his other free hand is able to continue roaming where it pleases. And with a clear mission in mind now, they flutter right to where Roathe is sure will spark a reaction, good, bad or otherwise.
But, let’s be honest. He was expecting bad. He was expecting Lyon to fly into a rage, to grab him by the neck and throttle him in a way that would be very unfitting for a prim and proper priest. Roathe would have of course won that fight, but he expected it even still.
What he did not expect was for Lyon to hang his head and moan.
Moan?!
Roathe feels reality wash over him, thankful for their position and that his expression remained hidden from the priest. He had intended to piss Lyon off, to provoke him and invite his wrath, but instead he had hit a sensitive nerve, and he feared it would be awkward for them both to withdraw now and pretend like nothing had happened.
No, instead, Roathe had to play it cool. Taunt, and humiliate. He had to gain the advantage.
He forces a smirk and leans in close, beginning to circle Lyon’s nipple with the pad of his finger. “My, what an unbecoming sound from a holy man… Though, I suppose it may be out of your control.” Roathe speaks quietly, doing all he can to draw Lyon into his web. “It must be true… Sworn to pure innocence forever. It’s no wonder your body would grow to yearn.”
Roathe was no stranger to acts of a sexual nature. In fact, amongst the Orokin, it could be used to express a great number of things. Casual relations, playful banter… Hatred, dominance… Sometimes it meant nothing, other times it meant everything. What, he wondered, did this mean? For himself, it was hard to say. For Lyon? Even harder. This was no doubt torment for the man, which made Roathe’s chest flutter in delight. Lyon was a pest, and on a regular day Roathe would have done anything to cause him distress. Hell, on a regular day, perhaps Lyon would have already been made to kneel before him, to taste the devil’s sex.
It was a wonder then, why Roathe had slowly leant into Lyon’s back, stroking his chest as though coaxing a small kitten. Or why he let his hand be restrained still by the priest.
Perhaps it was because this hand, while it had initially acted as a means to halt Roathe’s insistent touching, had now melted into more of an anchoring grip, as though Lyon needed this to fight off the pleasure that threatened to invade his holy temple.
For the minute, Roathe maintains his light touches, fingers still running around the edge of his now perked nipple, every so often flicking his nail across it. When he grew a little bored of that, his palm slid down from his chest to his waist and his abs, silently inspecting the taut skin over thick muscles. He was not some scrawny boy who sat around reading books all day, but instead built quite handsomely. Roathe pondered the image of Lyon alone in his bedchambers, training his body. Sweat rolling over his pale skin, and the sound of his labored breathing–
“Merde..!”
Roathe’s thoughts are interrupted by the curse word hissed out, tipping his head to the side to try and get a look at his face. He realises quickly it was his claws digging into his abdomen that caused the sound, not deeply enough to draw blood, but still to sting. Roathe gently pats the spot as if to apologise, something he still finds himself surprised at. It wasn’t like him to take such care with someone he found so… Frustrating. Perhaps he was taking pity on him. Lyon, whose face the devil now peered upon, truly did look so pathetic.
His eyes were pained, and his jaw looked stiff from how he must have gritted his teeth the entire time. Lyon was looking sidelong at the other, his expression silently, ashamedly asking for mercy.
What was ‘mercy’ to him right now though? To retreat, return to his chair and never speak of this moment again? Or was it to grant him release, and then, to never speak of it again. Roathe glances down at the hand still gripping his wrist, giving the hand a little wiggle and raising a brow at Lyon.
“... I’m getting some mixed signals, Priest.”
Lyon hesitates, but drops his hand at last. “I am disgraced, Devil. If only I could bring myself to destroy you, and to destroy these…” He pauses again, as though the words were hard to come out. “These urges…”
Roathe hummed, a low, deep sound, expressing understanding. He shifts to stand next to Lyon now at his side, sliding his hand to the man’s back while the other leant against the table. “Yes, if only… But you’re enjoying the attention, aren’t you?” He offers, not so much as a taunt this time than a genuine question. The dark look he receives says enough. Roathe chooses to ignore that in favour of continuing.
“Well, look around.” Lyon’s brow knits together, as if questioning where he was going with this. Roathe clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, lifting his hand from the table to make a theatric gesture to the room around him. “As far as I’m concerned, the only ones here are you and I? Who’s to say what happened this evening if only you and I were here to witness it?” Roathe explains, slight exasperation in his tone. Lyon looked unimpressed, but did not rebut the suggestion.
“All I’m saying is that I am a man of very many secrets, Lyon. Hundreds of years of secrets, and some of much worse nature I will add, what is one more to keep?”
Roathe was quite experienced with making deals with others, especially ones that worked in his favour. He had the knack and charm to persuade anyone, and as he watches Lyon unravel ever so slightly, he can’t help but feel a rich satisfaction at his own talent.
For the first time that evening, Lyon turns to him properly, lips still quirked with an expression of disdain. This agreement would be begrudging, but at least he would agree. “... Fine. But just know that you are still seen as a stain on this world, Devil.” Lyon lifts his hand and plants it on Roathe’s shoulder, the physical green light to descend into hell together.
“Oh, you wound me.” Roathe playfully whines, but the grin on his face after says volumes about his own excitement. He was about to touch Lyon again too, but he’s halted by the other stepping forward between them, the devil lifting an intrigued brow. It wasn’t a kiss, as those were reserved for more affectionate bonds, but Lyon leans in and brings his face to Roathe’s jaw, stopping just inches away before… biting him?!
At first, Roathe was confused. The bite was quite rough actually, and while he didn’t mind the pain, he wasn’t sure how he should respond just yet. However, when Lyon’s nails drag down from his shoulder, over his chest, over the fabric which was long-since freed from his plate armour, Roathe comes to understand a little better. Yes, a kiss would not have been fitting. But teeth on skin, and nails scoring lines down their bodies? That was something Roathe could comply with.
The devil lets out an amused growl and tips his head back, giving Lyon a moment to vent out some of this frustration he must have been feeling. He enjoys this nasty little side of the man, and while he was being complacent now, it wouldn’t be long before the tables turned. Roathe’s hands find a place on Lyon’s hips for now, rubbing there soothingly. He’s devious however, and he can’t help but let his hands roam. One slips back around to grasp the soft flesh of Lyon’s ass, squeezing it roughly and using that leverage to press their hips together.
Lyon grunts in response, biting down harder, chewing at the slowly bruising flesh beneath his tongue. He pulls back abruptly, only his face, keeping their bodies pressed together. “I am not a woman, Roathe.” He reminds him, staring at the man through his eyelashes.
“And? I have taken both men and women to my bed. Apart from the obvious, how I touch them isn’t all that different from one another. And beneath those robes, your body is oh-so-tempting, even for a devil…” He growls, squeezing the flesh of his backside again. His other hand joins in too, kneading his body possessively. “Considering that you are the one here with little experience, I’d say you should just keep quiet.”
Roathe paused, taking his turn now to nip at Lyon’s jaw. His voice lowers between bites, using the leverage on Lyon’s body to grind their hips together, showing off his stirring need. “... I will gladly… Show you the pleasure of succumbing to the devil.”
Roathe snarls and digs his teeth deeper. This time, Lyon simply tips his head back in solemn acceptance.
Surprisingly, this had not become the hot, steamy, rushed makeout session that Roathe could have imagined it to be. They were not two restrained lovers who had been denying themselves solace in one another, finally able to break loose of their chains and express the passion that boiled in the pits of their stomachs. Their hunger was more trained, controlled, with a delicious hint of depravity that kept the ancient Orokin man intrigued. While his mouth kept busy on Lyon’s neck; Biting, then lapping at the spot apologetically, before biting again, one of his hands had pressed up to his chest once more. Roathe stroked against his bust, brushing his fingers over his nipples with a featherlight touch.
A low hum leaves his throat, head pulling back and delivering a few teasing nips from the base of Lyon’s throat to the curve of his jaw. His eyes finally shift back to Lyon’s expression, staring at him for a moment. He didn’t look quite so horrified anymore, but… Those brows were still furrowed in a way that made it seem like he wasn’t having fun. That wouldn’t do. Roathe had a reputation to uphold. “... Lyon.”
The priest’s expression softens slightly, palm shifting down to rest on Roathe’s arm.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I know you don’t like me, but you could at least pretend you are enjoying all this attention I am gracing you with.” Roathe snips, voice unamused.
Lyon looks a little surprised by the comment, to which Roathe raises a brow at. He didn’t realise? Perhaps the man was as oblivious as he thought.
Roathe sighs and pinches the bud of sensitive flesh under his fingers, drawing a small reaction from the other. He uses his hands to guide Lyon’s back towards the edge of the table, pressing him backwards with his hips. His free hand hoists the priest’s leg up a bit, helping him to perch on the edge of the table. Lyon is surprisingly compliant.
“Fine. Look annoyed all you want, I’ll just have my own fun then.” Roathe complains, voice lilting in his usual dramatic way. He blabbers on a bit more under his breath, murmuring about how ungrateful Lyon was, or how many would have killed to have been with someone like him, someone as smart as him, or as handsome. All the while, he helps to shed some of Lyon’s clothes covering his chest, knocking the silly hat from atop his head. When he finally sinks down to his knees before Lyon on the table, that is when he stops talking. Because soon, he won’t have much choice.
Lyon understands their position, inexperienced as he was, and swallows with anticipation. Not a rejection, at least. No second thoughts just yet. Roathe now just stares silently, moving his hands to unfasten Lyon’s belt and trousers. But the priest stops him, in favour of doing it himself. Roathe sits back on his knees ever so slightly, suddenly quite fascinated by the sight before him.
And if he could be so honest… This was quite the sight to behold.
Lyon’s hands fumble a bit with his fastenings, but he soon plucks them free. The muscles on his abdomen quiver slightly, teeth bearing into his bottom lip. Roathe sits up slightly and presses his hand against the inside of Lyon’s thigh, urging those strong legs to sit a bit wider. Just enough so he can cradle himself nice and close for the prize being presented to him. Lyon cautiously swipes his hand into his trousers and pulls out his cock, at half mast from the long tease Roathe had given him. He grips it at the base and squeezes, eyes slipping shut as he lets loose a terse sigh. This kind of touch was foreign to the man, even in the privacy of his own chambers. He was a godly man, now soon to be sullied by a devil… Before that thought could trail far enough to make him retract and rethink everything up until now, his own hand is joined by another atop it, one much hotter and calloused than his own.
Roathe closes his hand over Lyon’s own and squeezes, as though helping the priest to pleasure himself. “This is a new experience for you, isn’t it.” Roathe starts, using light conversation to help Lyon unwind. He lets his own thumb knead at the underside alongside the touch of both their hands, eyes lulling lazily between Lyon’s expression and the growing member before him. “I always wondered how one could resist any sexual endeavours at all. Not that I consider myself a deviant, but I do enjoy indulging myself and a partner from time to time.”
Lyon’s eyes had long since fluttered shut, possibly from pleasure or possibly to do all he could to forget that the literal devil was helping him masturbate. Whatever it was, the darkness behind his lids somehow emboldened him, fist gliding roughly up his shaft, causing his brow to quirk. Roathe tuts quietly and squeezes around Lyon’s knuckles, drawing his fingers back to the base and holding them there.
“Now, now… Patience. You need to lubricate first.” Which Roathe could do for him. He had a mouth, a tongue. But that would make things too easy, and where was the fun in that?
The Orokin leans in and flicks his tongue out, barely grazing the lip of his cockhead, sighing a hot breath over the leaking tip. “I must say, you look much more relaxed now, Lyon…” he begins, offering the most disgustingly tempting touches between each sentence. “Have the voices in your mind run in fear?” Another flick of the tongue. “Or has a taste of sex turned you into a fiend?” Now, a peck against the underside vein. “You would have never taken me for the type to–” Roathe yelps as his hair is abruptly grabbed, Lyon’s grip much more forceful than he looked capable of.
“Be silent, devil. If all you are going to do is talk endlessly and cause such ruckus…” Lyon glances to the side, eyeing the thick wooden door to Marie’s bedchambers. A flash of guilt crosses his expression, solemn gaze returning to Roathe’s face. “... Then let us stop, and never speak of this again.”
Roathe stares with a flame of annoyance behind his eyes. It was hard to say if he was annoyed at being called noisy, or that Lyon was considering Marie at all at this moment. Or that he was threatening to leave. For fear of ruining the mood however, Roathe sighs his understanding, lifting his free hand to stroke over the skin of Lyon’s abdomen, much more tenderly than before.
“... Fine. If all you wanted was a perfectly behaved harlot to please you, you only need say so.” Roathe offers his taunt with a smile, one that told he wasn’t truly bothered by Lyon’s words. After all, he understood that this was new; Overwhelming, of course. And considering their relationship, quite the leap for the holy man to make. In return, Roathe could grant him some allowances.
Roathe gently removes Lyon’s hands from the base of his cock and replacing it with his own. With a practiced motion, he tucks his head down and places an open-mouthed kiss at the side, lolling his tongue over the spot. This time, instead of pulling away to leave Lyon on the edge, he runs his tongue from base to tip, closing his lips around the head and sucking wetly before lapping down the side again.
The sound that leaves Lyon is strained, his fingers tensing in Roathe’s hair before relaxing again. The gesture is rough, but not aimed to hurt this time. “... Lua…” He whispers, muttering something about forgiveness before he is rendered silent again by Roathe’s tongue.
Roathe only makes a sound when he knows the vibrations of his tongue will resonate through Lyon, growling quietly as he finally takes all of him into his mouth. It’s only for a brief moment, but the attention does not stop. From kisses and licks to long sucks, Roathe pleasures Lyon as much as he knows how to. Even Lyon begins to grow adventurous with how both his hands grip Roathe’s head and guides him to where he needed him the most – As though Roathe didn’t already know.
It was quite exciting to see someone so conservative become so engrossed in the sinful behaviour they were currently indulging in, and Roathe could feel himself getting more into it, trading licks and kisses for deep swallows, breathing ragged as he bobbed his head. When Lyon’s hands gripped too tightly, signalling his imminent release, he eased off his cock and panted hotly at the tip instead, chuckling lowly with satisfaction. This time when he speaks, it’s soft under his breath, and devoid of any malice.
“Oh, Lyon… You have no clue the amount of restraint I’m exercising right now.” He breathes, leaning down to kiss and nip at his thigh while he lets Lyon simmer. “How easily I could make you come, to taste you… Void, even that is enough to turn me on as well.” Roathe stares boldly up at the priest and scrapes his nails down his thigh, before sitting back to show himself off to the other. Even in the dim candlelight, Roathe’s erection can be seen protruding from his hip, a cerulean hand dropping to trace the outline of his member. “I feel your first time should be much more grand though, if it’s by my hand. I would hate to waste such a… Ceremonious occasion, by leaving you disappointed and wanting more.”
Lyon watches him and swallows hard, glancing between Roathe’s lap and his face. It’s embarrassing how his cock twitches in eagerness, feeling betrayed by his body’s natural desires. But, shame had left him many moments ago, having already gone too far to turn back now. “If that is how you feel,” Lyon starts, sliding a hand from the back of Roathe’s neck to his shoulder. He strokes the junction of shoulder and neck before sliding lower and fisting his hand in Roathe’s shirt. He tugs gently, eye darkening as they finally speak some truth from blackness of his mind.
“... Drive the stake in, devil. Make it a night never to be forgotten, and forge my body in brimstone.”
Well. A very sexy, demonic way to say Make me come, Roathe. The devil felt his heart shudder and his cock throb in response.
“Your wish is my command, Lyon.” Roathe offers with a smirk, rising to his feet and closing the distance between the two of them.
–
At last, the hot and steamy makeout scene they had been anticipating. Roathe was the one to initiate, driving his lips forcefully against Lyon’s own. He’s tragically delighted to feel him lean into it, their lips parting and tongues clashing to fight for dominance over one another. A growl from Lyon, a whine from Roathe, but neither seemed eager to give up just yet. And both were quite okay with that.
Roathe does sacrifice a little bit of control in order to focus on unbuttoning his trousers, parting their kiss so he could watch what he was doing. Lyon keeps his mouth busy on the blossoming hickeys left from before, biting and sucking in hopes of creating new spots to cover his neck. Once Roathe’s pants were unfastened, he pushed them down to the middle of his thigh, taking hold of his length to smack it against Lyon’s own. A silent promise of what was to come.
Lyon looks between the two of them and huffs, breath quivering on his tongue. The sight was enough to reinvigorate his flagging hardness. He reaches to hold Roathe’s face on either side, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs before drawing him in for another kiss. The first is brief, a peck or two, before his head tips to the side and he buries his tongue again, needing the skin on skin to keep himself sane. Roathe couldn’t believe how different the man was now versus an hour or so ago. He was pleased by the change indeed.
As their lips joined again and again, tongues thrashing for more, Roathe settled in the curve of Lyon’s hips, resting their cocks together and gripping both in one strong hand. Having not been touched at all, the devil’s length is weeping copiously at the tip, drooling down onto his partner’s to create a slick wetness between their skin. It’s enough lubricant right now for Roathe to start a pace, sighing with relief as he slides his shaft against Lyon’s. The movement, the sensation, it’s all hypnotic as he falls into a rhythm, their lips falling apart to allow instead for their quiet moans to sing out.
Lyon tips back to rest on his propped elbows, head still sitting stiff as he bucks his hips into the touch. Roathe moves to lean over him further and braces himself on the table with one hand, while the other keeps their lengths together. Penetrative sex right now, without the restraint and willpower to stop and prepare properly would not have been a good idea, but them both fucking Roathe’s hand together had been a happy medium. The Orokin wanted Lyon to really feel it, however, to give him the magnificent orgasm he had promised him before. He thrusts his hips roughly but slows after a moment, staring down at Lyon commandingly.
“Here… Put your hands here.” He instructs, releasing their cocks and guiding Lyon’s hand to press down on them both; Pinning Roathe’s member beneath his hand, and his own length beneath that. A makeshift pussy for him to fuck, slick by the precum now coating them. The position wasn’t terribly dignified, but Lyon felt a strange kind of control now. He could feel Roathe move, head relaxing back as he loosed a moan from his throat. Such sounds easily fueled the devil above him, hips drawing back as he began fucking his hands.
With newfound freedom of his hands, Roathe instead grips Lyon’s hips to stabilize himself. He presses the pads of his fingers in and continuously thrusts his hips, the movement more languid and smooth now. For a moment his eyes flutter shut, lost in the pleasure, but then he remembers that he doesn't want to miss a single moment of Lyon’s unravelling. He opens his eyes again and feels his heart turn to honey.
Lyon looked like he was sent from the heavens above; Pale skin warm with candlelight, eye soft and mellow… Perhaps free for only a moment from the torment in his mind. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, a false narrative brought on by his rapidly approaching orgasm. But still, Roathe couldn't help his deeply romantic heart from believing it.
Roathe worries at his lip for a bit, but doesn't relent. He holds fast for Lyon’s sake, but he knows it won't be long now. Together, they would throw themselves over the edge. Roathe just couldn't help being a little self-indulgent, closing the gap between them to kiss Lyon deeply. Not roughly; Just wanting. His heart is alight as he glides his lip to Lyon’s ear and whispers to him, words now meant only for him.
“You feel incredible, Lyon– And words couldn't begin to describe how beautiful you are now.” He whimpers, gulping down the moans Lyon allows him to hear. “Come… Come for me Lyon, use me, take advantage– fuck..” Lyon gasps and throws an arm around Roathe, needing more touch as hot cum erupts from the head of his cock. Roathe can feel his body shuddering beneath him, his release drawn out and long. Like a mile long rope finally uncoiling and snapping after decades of tension.
The devil greedily presses their lips together in an attempt to swallow up any sobs of pleasure that would slip from Lyon’s mouth as he finds his own release, moaning loud enough to drown any of the priest's sounds. At this moment, this most sacred state of being was only for Roathe to hear. Not for some stickybeak nun to eavesdrop on.
Their lips stay mingled until they’re both down from their high, until Lyon pulls back and gasps a few much needed breaths. He finally slumps against the table and sighs, reaching up to rub his eye and face. Roathe holds him more loosely now, giving him an opportunity to slip away if he needed to. He lay there silently for now however, self soothing while Roathe made a move to clean themselves up.
He can't bring himself to leave Lyon’s side just yet, and instead opts for removing his shirt and using that to gently swipe away the evidence of their passion. Once they were more or less tidy, he balls the shirt and tosses it aside, first redressing Lyon’s lower half before his own. Lyon still hadn't said anything to him, and Roathe felt a bite of concern at the back of his mind.
He wasn't stupid, and he was well aware of post-coitus clarity that would likely drive Lyon to his bed chambers to mull over the travesties committed in this room that evening. Hell, Lyon may never be able to look at this table with peace again, now sullied by the devil. Perhaps he wouldn’t even deign to speak with Roathe, not even to sling malice his way.
Roathe must have looked quite pathetic, as Lyon lifts himself up and places his hand gently against his cheek. The touch stirs him from his internal spiralling, gaze lifting to meet Lyon’s own. He didn't look concerned or sorrowful, but instead rather stern. As if reprimanding Roathe for looking so… Pitiful.
“If you wear this kind of expression after what we just did, how should I feel, hm?” Lyon whispers, grabbing his face with his other hand to press a firm kiss to his lips. Roathe feels conflicted when his heart melts a little.
“... My apologies. My mind was conjuring some daft thoughts.” Roathe offers, kissing Lyon again with a quiet tenderness. “It is about time I send you to your bed chambers. You won't start feeling lonely there, will you?” A light tease, nothing cruel in his tone. Playful, warm. Roathe may be the devil, but in his time, he was a lover, a companion. It was hard not to let it show after their evening together.
As promised, Roathe steps back and takes Lyon’s hand to help him sit up and stand once more. He squeezes his hand and hesitates, stroking his thumb over his knuckles before releasing him, trying not to sign too loudly as he turns to stalk back to his usual chair.
“... Thank you. By the way.” Lyon manages after a few moments of silence. Roathe lifts a hand and waves it dismissively, keeping his back to Lyon and trying to make himself look busy. Just until he was out of the room and he could properly stew on what they had done. He listens for Lyon’s footsteps, which stop after a meter or two, before he hears him speak.
“So,” he begins. “... Are you coming, Roathe?” An invitation? Roathe stiffens and straightens up, pausing before turning around with the biggest, most devious, shit-eating grin he could muster. Before he could taunt and tease, the priest sighs dramatically and shoos him with his hand. “Nevermind.” But there was a smile behind that look of mild annoyance. Lyon quirks his head in invitation and strides off to his room, Roathe quickly falling into step.
Maybe they had reached some kind of understanding.