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"It's best to keep him in quarantine," Hyacine suggested. "The memories Cypher-sama took from Phainon-sama belong to Khaslana, precisely the state he was in while containing Irontomb."
Cypher pressed her hands against her waist at the implication of that statement.
"I found the feather. I should’ve taken something else. Damn it."
"Don't blame yourself, Cypher" Aglaea intervened, her soothing voice breaking through the agonizing silence. "Phainon is fine, he just needs to rest."
"His data isn't entirely corrupted. Evidence of that is his sanity has returned," Anaxa added. "I can say that only five percent is contaminated. He was able to resist at one hundred percent and contained it. That range is nothing for him."
Mydei listened to everything from a corner, pressing his fingers into the hardened skin of his arms. In the middle of the pavilion, Phainon slept. Hyacine had given him medicine even though it wasn't necessary, because even exhaustion could be an illness.
He walks toward Phainon and crouches down, his armor letting out a tinkling sound. The surface where Phainon lies is just a cement slab. Mydei watches him and slowly removes part of his upper garment, folding it with pragmatic movements. He places it carefully under Phainon's head while caressing his cheekbone.
Castorice stands behind him. She also brought a blanket.
Phainon had been everyone's savior. Now it was their turn to care for him.
Everyone is aware of the situation. They're inside a book, and the truth isn't necessarily a wave that crashes over them. Even though they're inorganic beings, there was a promise to change that variable. To leave behind the system of zeros and ones and give them all a heart that truly beats.
Mydei had been reunited with his parents, with the vestiges of his nation enduring in everyone's memory, but without being able to return to its former glory.
Cyrene had promised to extend that world of white pages and restore the memories of that glorious Amphoreus. However, for those who remembered the wounds from the thousands upon thousands of wars they lived through against Lygus, against the Stellaron, there was no rush to return to those walls corroded by gloomy memories.
They decided to set up tents in the main pavilion, in that garden dressed in pink where the tropical sound of peace could still be heard. They organized themselves until they created a resting refuge. It wasn't surprisingly or unexpectedly that Mydei and Phainon would share one. In fact, it was better that way. Phainon needed to be watched, and there was no better person than his partner for that purpose.
It's a miracle in itself, because Phainon's mind lies on a wavering line. Remnants remain not only in his body but also in his personality.
Mydei doesn't care. Phainon will still be himself, even if his heartbeats had been so weak.
Of course, he had to go through a long, rough road where his patience was tested. Phainon feared that Mydei would hate him for those cycles of terror, those countless stabbings, those hands dressed in golden blood again and again.
Mydei would have wished that the object they used to bring back Phainon's memories wasn't precisely the feather from Khaslana's wings. But after weighing it, after chewing on those torrid evocations, there was nothing specific that could define Phainon. His sword is stained with blood, and the sun represents the one who couldn't see the dawn. Everything is a decline, an answer to the broken image that remains of Phainon.
He has done everything to deal with it. And his partner is aware. Mydei is cautious when expressing his concern. He knows Phainon is proud and doesn't boast about his pain or show dramatics. Mydei knows this well and admires that about him, though it also bothers him. That man keeps many things to himself, even the wounds that continue bleeding silently in his consciousness. He never told him frankly, because sleeping together makes it inevitable to notice, but Phainon cries every night. He grips the sheets, and the most pitiful moan comes from his lips. Sometimes he says names, calls for Mydei, asks for forgiveness, tells him he's doing it for everyone, and Mydei wants to tell him so many things if only his dictionary had more words. What remains is kissing his forehead, wiping away his tears, and sometimes moving him a bit or waking him. He never tells him why, but Phainon's grateful look is enough to know he won't ask why Mydei tears him from that undervalued state of dreamlike anarchy that shreds his nerves.
That morning, he wakes him carefully. Phainon had a difficult night and barely managed to steal a few hours of rest. When Phainon opens his eyes, those blue gems, the prince thinks he's facing the true dawn.
"I made you breakfast. Eat something. You didn't have dinner last night."
Their natural state is to annoy each other, to play with satire and sarcasm, but now all that has been set aside. Phainon is too exhausted to bother Mydei or respond with a comment that would make him angry.
"Thank you," he says faintly. "I'll bathe first."
And Mydei nods, watching him sit up, massage his head with that broad back hunched, full of scratches from past nights, and get up to collect the basin and a towel. It doesn't take more than thirty minutes. He looks better, but those dark circles hanging under his eyes remind Mydei of Flameraver's gray and melancholic face.
He stretches out his arm and caresses Phainon's cheek. Phainon no longer tenses at this, nor does his spine become rigid. Now, he just leans his face into Mydei's palm and smiles, closing his eyes.
"What did you make to eat?"
"Don't be demanding."
"I can be if my partner is a professional chef" Phainon responds, moving closer, and the prince is relieved that he's taking initiative. He first leaves a kiss on the crimson arc beneath Mydei's eye. "Have I told you I like this tattoo?"
And with his thumb, he carefully traces the line.
"Maybe in eight hundred cycles. In others, you've been less direct."
Mydei widens his lip slightly and allows Phainon to take his mouth. It's a short kiss, a greeting and a good morning, a signature of the solid ground their relationship now walks on, to even call each other 'partners.' The gossip already rains down, of course, but accustomed to it, he always ignores it.
What's seen doesn't need to be asked.
That morning, Phainon wears a simple tunic with loose folds and gray straps. They don't bring out any color in him, nor do they flatter him, though he looks more composed. He has left behind that heroic emblem, that chivalrous air to rest in the local image he always was.
Mydei has also shed his armor. Not only the metallic one, but also the one of pride, that exalted one, and he allows himself to be softer with him.
Of the breakfast Mydei made, Phainon barely eats a couple of bites, but it's progress. He gets up and washes the dishes, tidies up anything he finds out of place, and his fragile expression transforms into mild surprise when he returns to where his bed is, finding Mydei lying on it completely naked.
It's an invitation, and he can't help but laugh when he sees the exposed curves, shaped by years of training without shame or mercy. Those taut abdominal muscles, with lines like fire marking the bronzed skin, those iron thighs, the oval belly and the peripheral path toward those edenic pectorals. Phainon's gaze travels upward, and he holds his breath when he sees Mydei arch slightly to display the swan-like neck ideal for kissing, the pronounced bones of the clavicles, the slow breathing that shows in the pulse...
Mydei stretches out his hand and invites him back to bed. They've reached the point where being naked is more than a symbol of that air of pleasures laid bare. It's become the meaning of the intimacy they've developed. They shed the armor they had to maintain, a prince and a savior, to make room for two men who love each other deeply without having the strength in their lips to say it explicitly. However, they have their ways. Many ways.
He won't speak of the anxiety attack he had when he was alone, reliving how in his infinite cycles, he suffered the dagger wound of memory upon realizing he'd found the most warlike fear. Mydei believed he had no anxieties about mundane things that even a warrior might have, but he unlocked another when he discovered that in one cycle he hadn't met Phainon. That he'd lived a happy childhood, but thanks to Phainon. That he'd grown up in an era of glory for Castum Kremnos where he met great warriors, but with no one being like Phainon.
He had vanished in a rain of particles, gazing at Kephale's statue with an emptiness in his heart. Finding that familiarity only when he saw that fallen titan. As if he could call out and it would answer, though he didn't know the name. But he felt it in his heart. I know you're there, I know you're waiting for me... I hear you calling me in my dreams.
So now, finally in this cycle of true peace, he doesn't want to move away from him. Mydei draws Phainon to the bed and removes his tunic as if it were a towel. Their lips intertwine in a dance. Phainon tastes his mouth hungrily and Mydei receives him. He opens his legs and lets him in. The weight of that man was so comforting, feeling his human warmth and not one of a furnace, being able to wrap his arms around him and sigh in his ear.
"Bite," he asks, no, demands. "Mark me."
At that request, driven by the mere vanity of possessing each other in more than one sense, Phainon is over him, spilling his presence like the halo he once wore, undoing the braid of his hair. He threads his fingers through Mydei's hair and Mydei softens his expression. That sweetness of Phainon's was so endearing, contrasting with his animal request. But he doesn't hold back, of course. He intertwines his fingers and that smile drawn by a brush with a golden tip stretches gently. He says nothing for a few seconds, and then Mydei feels the pressure at the junction of collarbone and neck, and gasps. For him, that kind of pain only ignites those dormant embers in his belly, forcing him to tighten his arms around Phainon's back.
He lifts his belly, and their bulges, heavy with weeping, brush against each other. The preparations are quick because they have everything at hand; they haven't left this bed in days except to change and wash the sheets. Mydei holds his breath when Phainon inserts two fingers without hesitation. There's no transition from one to two, and he's grateful for it. He's swallowed Phainon's penis long enough for the pleasures of the moment. Yet, he's not immune to the sensation either. He swallows and arches his back slightly.
It's so insufficient, he thinks, such an undeserved waste of time when he already desires it deep inside.
The blond hair unfolds in golden strands on the pillow as he arches his legs further and places a pillow under his waist. Phainon understands that he wants no more, so he withdraws his fingers, but has the audacity to lick them and then bring them to his mouth.
Mydei laughs, accepts the challenge, and uses his tongue to lick right where Phainon has. The line of his tongue traces a path along the index finger and down the flats of the knuckle to climb to the ring finger. He repeats the process two more times until, through that window, he feels him finally open the portals of his flesh.
He slides inside him once more, more slowly this time, as if he wants to prolong that moment of union that only they shared. He can't bear to hold back the stifled moan that struggles from his lips.
"Phainon…" the name escapes him before he can contain it in a higher octave. Few have heard that fragile, delicate tone he can utter when pleasure coils around every nerve ending.
Phainon's hips begin their counterpoint. Slow at first. He withdraws. But then he smiles like the son of a bitch he is and… enters with relentless precision.
One of the prince's hands clung frantically to the fledgling hero's back while the other wrapped around his neck, desperately searching for a foothold as he thrust upward to meet each stroke. His body was enveloped in the boiling lava of pleasure, but he needed more. He needed to feel even fuller. More one with him. Until he couldn't tell where he ended and Phainon began.
The bed shook beneath them, the golden eyes grew sharper, and he dug his nails into Phainon's back, pressing his knees to his sides, hearing him groan with pleasure.
"Mydei…"
"I'm here." There were no trivialities; calling each other and responding was enough. Because having that before, even if it sounded trivial, was something they hadn't had.
In an instant, Phainon broke the tight embrace, whispering for a second. He released him for a moment and removed the earring from his ear. He carefully places it on the nightstand where the necklace he'd taken off the first day lay.
"Last time it got tangled in your hair, though I won't deny I love the way it jingles when we're intimate."
"Then leave it." Phainon narrows his eyes and leans toward him, their foreheads touching, inhaling his warm breath. He places a hand on that chest that rises and falls as he revels in those sculpted curves.
"You're so accommodating to me, Mydeimos. What would your parents say?"
"They'd be happy to see me kill you if you don't start moving right now."
A chuckle. That angelic beauty. That seraphic voice.
But he says nothing, only adjusting himself with that smug expression Mydei both loves and hates.
He feels Phainon lift his knees to his chest and use them to push again with the growing precision of someone on familiar ground. Shit.
Mydei needs to lean back against the headboard and moans shamelessly. Each time a thrust finds him, he thinks about how Phainon is able to touch places on him he didn't know he needed to be touched.
The dry scrape of skin against skin echoes in the room—obscene, perfect—as Phainon shifts their positions so Mydei is in control. It's a pause as they adjust. Mydei leans against Phainon's gold-scarred pecs, bending down to kiss them, to bite a nipple and tug at it, which hears him curse. It's a small act of revenge; Mydei's own nipples are swollen from Phainon sucking and nibbling them. It was only fair. And it was a little more noticeable on Phainon, his skin as immaculate as limestone. Beautiful. Broken. But beautiful nonetheless. Whenever he can, he kisses those golden scars and shows him they are commendable. They are the result of a victory.
He wraps his thighs around his waist but needs a moment to breathe. The prince liked that position, even though it also made him see stars.
Phainon reaches out and takes one of the ribbons from his robes that was lying nearby.
"Here."
Mydei takes it to tie his hair back and then lets out a sigh as he throws his head back with his eyes closed. He adjusts himself to help align himself with Phainon's powerful rod and devour every inch. Phainon sits with him and wraps his arms around his waist. He faces him with his usual gaze, determined and firm, which is only seen in these moments because otherwise he is just a bundle of frustrations.
Resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest above the gold tattoo, Mydei sighs.
"Gimme a moment." It's odd that it's him saying that. "Don't move."
"As long as you want, Your Majesty." And he kisses his shoulder, nibbling and sucking, making Mydei melt even more, as he begins to move his legs to sway him slightly and keep the moment from getting too hot. He clearly didn't heed the request, but he didn't make a big deal of it either.
That's where he finds his strength. He wanted just one moment, despite the countless times they'd done it, to feel Phainon inside him. Just that, just the fact that he would open him up and dominate those walls of flesh that already welcomed him like an awaited guest. Sometimes they're so eager that they don't capture that moment precisely because they're preoccupied with something else.
So, supporting himself on his savior's knees, he begins to move. He bites his lip. He raises his hips and lets himself fall. He receives support from those strong hands, preventing him from succumbing to rapid exhaustion, even though he has always been the one with more stamina.
Phainon caresses him, tracing his skin with those calloused fingers effortlessly, leaving a feverish trail in the scarlet lines etched on his skin, his body yielding with brazen eagerness. Mydei had had lovers before meeting Phainon, in the millions of cycles and one-night stands. Never soulmates, until his eyes met a blue gaze with the ring of Kephale, and he knew that his heart would surrender forever.
They will never explicitly say "I love you" to each other; he hasn't yet succumbed to the weakness and deception of pleasure, but he allows himself other things. He calls out to him, his voice tinged with that complacency for a demanding, eager chef, so that he realizes the havoc he is wreaking on him.
"Phainon… Phainon…"
And Phainon answers. He calls him back. He tells him he looks beautiful. How is it possible that he doesn't hate him? That he can't believe he's so lucky, after having been the cause of their deaths.
"Don't mention that," he pleads, panting, moving closer to their faces, slowing his pace. "Think about me, about what we're doing. About what it means."
His arms encircle his savior's neck, and their mouths meet. Mydei doesn't stop; those gentle waves of pleasure still wash over him, but hearing Phainon's husky gasps sends his nerves on edge. That's why he chose a gentler rhythm this time, prolonging the moment while he was above him, letting his presence clear the weeds from Phainon's thoughts.
There are tears. They're always present, and Mydei kisses them tenderly. He doesn't know if it's because of the moment, if he too has fallen into the trap of sentimentality, but one escapes the man from Kremnos as well. It slides down his cheek and mingles with his sweat. It goes unnoticed because he hasn't become invulnerable to his own feelings either. Phainon mentions that vertebra, and Mydei sometimes wanted to laugh, to reveal his greatest secret. Because he hadn't realized until much later that his true weakness was Phainon. The despair he felt seeing him in Irontomb’s form. The fear of losing him. That his data wouldn't be recovered. Mydei had lost many people and friends in his countless lives; he couldn't lose Phainon. He couldn't bear it. Those screams he had to hear in the passage of the heart of empty desire froze his blood, for he was never one to be moved in such a way. There he understood that thorn of love, though he had already done so in all his lives.
So he, too, wants to savor every second. Phainon takes hold of his thighs and has stolen the helm, now directing the thrusts, and Mydei lets him. Their breasts, marked by traces of love, brush against each other in the ceaseless uncertainty of their hips.
He searched for him in the darkness and found him, placed his hand on his belly, and kissed his neck over that tattoo, no longer veiled by a choker.
With serene skill, without the slightest stumble, Phainon left behind the cliffs of pain, finding Mydei transformed into a horizonless swamp, smelling of raw animal, of his stench of pleasure, and returns him to the quilt, takes the caged animal in a silent abandonment that rises in Mydei's belly. He brazenly squeezes it between his fingers and slides it in a couple of times.
Mydei can't hold back and almost lets out a moan louder than he should. He brings his hand to his mouth because he doesn't want to be heard; they're always careful about the time, and there might be people outside.
Carefully, without stopping his thrusts, Phainon removes his hand.
"Let them hear, Mydeimos." His voice is distant thunder. "They already know what we are. What we do."
The Phainon in front of him sends shivers down his spine. A jolt jolts through his body. His eyes now glow in the darkness: golden, two flames that made the earth tremble, but his hair is still gray. Khaslana wants to wake up, and Mydei is even more excited. He takes his face in his hands and kisses him. He bites the center of the sunburst on his neck. He grips him tightly by the side. He encircles his waist.
No one else makes him tremble like this.
No one else sets his blood ablaze with just a look.
No one else could understand the shadows in his soul without words.
Phainon lifts him. He lays him down… he holds him down by the wrists.
And Mydei writhes beneath him, agile and languid. It's a struggle too. Until he can't take it anymore and ecstasy explodes in his body. Sweat clings to his skin and his hair. And the flow, warm and abundant, fills his insides like morning dew in Soto when his partner finishes a little later, leaning over him.
"You're so incredible, Mydei. I want to do it again," he says, biting his earlobe.
"Wait a few minutes, Hks" he gasps in response, while Phainon is also in a cloud of pleasure but seems a little more in control.
"I want to do it from behind."
“We’ve already talked about this, my capricious prince,” Phainon purrs, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I don’t want you to turn your back on me.”
“Phainon.”
“Please.” His voice trails off. “Choose any position you like… just don’t turn your back on me.”
And with that plea, Mydei gives in, for once. And like many other times. Although, a little idea occurs to him. He pulls away slightly and grunts as Phainon slowly withdraws from his body, leaving evidence on the sheets. He ignores it for now and shifts his tired legs a little.
“Mydei?”
“Let’s start with something…” he says softly. He turns onto his back, holding a pillow in his arms and resting his face on it. “Kiss my back, you can do that, right?”
Phainon laughs, not like before, just a small murmur, as if he were reluctantly plucked out.
“You’re cruel.” And his words lack warmth, holding only a resigned tone, as he leans down to kiss his cheek, his shoulder, his shoulder blades, descending along the line of his spine and settling on the tenth vertebra.
Mydei doesn't tense up, even though he knows Phainon has a lot to deal with in that damned spot. He reaches back and runs his fingers through the silver hair.
"Go on," he urges, prompting Phainon to continue, using both hands to caress his ribs, his sides, his belly.
Then, he moves back up and turns his face to kiss him. Mydei raises his hips and smiles as Phainon's belly bumps against… him. His adorned and lush breasts in the prime of spring.
"That was always your plan!" Phainon realizes, too late to back down when his own being, brimming with that good evidence, stirs. It was, yes, he won't deny it.
"You're already here, just put it back in," he replies, laughing, propping himself up on his elbows to arch his back. "I did ninety percent of the work. Which you should be ashamed of."
"I'll make you regret provoking me, Mydeimos."
"I'll be eager to see that, Savior."
Days before.
Many will wonder how Mydei managed to navigate the cracks in that battered Savior's heart and reach that point of immediacy where they wouldn't leave that tent, devoted to each other, while his parents hadn't dared to peek in even to offer a courtesy greeting.
Mydei wasn't concerned. His parents were something distant to him despite having lived a lifetime for them across thousands upon thousands of cycles. He loved them, of course. He would never deny the affection forged with the sweat and blood they had bathed in and used to create life. But Mydei couldn't compare at that moment, barely an instant, a fleeting blink, a flickering flame, an ephemeral existence, with all the millions of moments he had lived with Phainon.
He needed him. He needed to drink in his presence. He needed to have him inside him, to have him stir his insides, to shake his heart, to make him dust off that throat that had forgotten how to pronounce the echoes of love.
So to reach the point where they were now, he had to work on his patience to deal with Phainon's tumultuous memories. However, he was winning. He thought he wouldn't be able to bear it, but then he realized he had gentleness to spare, that Phainon truly made him discover himself, because he had so much to give him: running his fingers through his hair at night and making sure he slept well, intertwining their fingers or carefully caressing his back when Phainon emptied his stomach into a bucket when the dizziness and anxiety overwhelmed him.
He had been able to endure for so long, that scratched and broken armor of his open chest that had protected them all. Now dealing with the aftermath seemed like more than simple work.
Now their relationship was in full bloom, but he also remembered the early days. Those when they hadn't touched each other since everything ended, not even a conversation alone, without having spectators because of their friend from beyond the sky. So for that reason, it was he who wanted them to share a tent, a place just for two to distract themselves from the bad memories that lingered beyond the borders of rationality.
It was a good sign when the first nights they stayed up late talking, Mydei getting closer each time he could and Phainon learning to deal with it. It was one afternoon when drinking and laughing, by the time Mydei put a hand on that wonderful man's thigh and gave him a smile. He had wanted nothing more than to sit in his lap from the first moment, but he'd had to restrain himself seeing that Phainon was also holding back, and he knew he wasn't wrong about that. So he supposed he should be the one to take the first step.
"You said you had a desire after never having ambitions, Phainon," he began, moving closer so their breaths intertwined. "But I also have some."
His hand squeezed the belt that surrounded his thigh and Phainon's breath caught in his throat. Mydei knew him, knew him better than anything in that paper world, and couldn't help but smile smugly.
"And what are they?" the savior asked carefully.
Mydei brought their faces together and Phainon didn't pull away.
"Don't ask something you already know the answer to."
The blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"I don't think you're suggesting getting back together with me when I've used your weakness against y..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Mydei shattered it to pieces when he joined their mouths and pushed him against the cushions to climb onto his body. He took his face and the kiss drifted to the wastelands of urgency, to that territory of no return where boundaries blurred.
And though he thought he was being selfish, he realized they were on the same page together, as Phainon responded to the kiss with the same effusiveness. He didn't push him away, didn't stop him. On the contrary, he ran his hands up his back and caressed that spot where a weakness had once existed. Mydei felt the malice grow inside him and began tearing off his clothes. He didn't want any more barriers, neither psychological nor fabric.
"Mydei... wait..."
The kiss broke for a moment and both had reddened corners of their mouths, panting with that expression of being a predator with prey between its fangs. Mydei growled because this was something habitual with Phainon: interrupting the moment over nonsense. Nevertheless, he also had self-control. He didn't get off his body. His blond hair fell like a small curtain over Phainon's face because he refused to pull away. He only gave him enough space to say the string of words purely intertwined with stupidity. Because that's what it would be.
"Mydei, now my body isn't like it was before... The flames from the coreflames left deep cracks in my body and..."
And there it was.
Why would he, a warrior with boiling blood, care about some fucking scars? If he hadn't had his immortal body before that healed even the unbreakable evil of death, he would have had countless ones too.
He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. Phainon apparently also expected that response.
"I'm just telling you!"
"Don't stop me to tell me that nonsense, Phainon."
"You really don't care?"
Mydei raised an eyebrow. Sometimes he wondered if Phainon's brain mass, in charge of his cognitive functions, was already damaged from so many beatings. Because he couldn't believe he could conceive such reasoning purely while in full use of his faculties. He sighed, fine. Patience, Mydei, patience. He could justify it because so many cycles had made him lose his reason, burned his eyes, fractured his body. That warm smile had gone numb and faded, where only rage remained.
He could be more open, though he had always been less so about matters of the heart.
"The only thing that matters to me, Phainon, is that you're here." And he took his hand to bring it to his heart. Even if it was just a program, even if those heartbeats didn't exist in real life. "We're here."
There was a small surprise on the most beautiful face Mydei could have ever seen, even with his dark circles, even if Phainon could barely see out of his right eye and Hyacine had to do rehabilitation sessions with him to recover it, which had good expectations.
Then there was a transition to a smile and finally the closing of the subject. Phainon lunged at him and now took his lips. His hands became restless, desperate. Clothes got in the way, and so did words.
While Phainon had often teased him about going half-naked, the grace was that, in reality, he wasn't. When it came to tearing off their clothes like whiplashes, they had to stand up because there was too much to remove. Mydei took off the metal pieces, the shoulder pad ornaments, the inner thigh straps. Phainon was even more overwhelming because he had three layers of fabric on top. Mydei hated Aglaea for that. Even when he had already freed himself completely, Phainon was still struggling with the white coat because he hadn't taken off his gloves and it was stuck. It was always the same.
There were countless efforts trying to pull the coat off over his head, which he knew very well he shouldn't, and it became a tireless struggle because he hadn't completely unfastened the straps.
"Damn this clothing!" he heard him shout, and the prince couldn't help but laugh. Phainon didn't have that flowery language that Lady Tribbie and Aglaea were proud of. He knew how to curse and insult, knew how to attack the throat with good words but also knew dirty water in lyrics and spat it without remorse.
"Take off the gloves first, shit" Mydei sighed, watching him struggle a bit more because it was funny. And because the centimeters of exposed skin showed him what Phainon wanted to protect.
Those thick scars that carved furrows in the limestone skin. They were bathed in gold and Mydei was careful not to shudder. Because Phainon had truly survived Khaslana mode.
"One thing has nothing to do with the other!" Phainon declared, pulling him from his thoughts, his voice coming out muffled between the spirals of clothing.
Mydei laughed a little. So he approached to help him, thinking he should tear those adorned fabrics if it weren't for the fact that once Aglaea had hung them both for it. So he had to use his skilled hands to free him because he already knew the patterns of that design by memory. They were almost finished when Phainon got tangled in the cape, losing his balance and making the worst decision to seek support from him. Mydei didn't have his feet firmly planted because he had been unbuckling the thigh belt when they were both dragged to the floor.
Gravity did its thing and Phainon fell on his back. Mydei on top of him had hit his head on one of the tables.
"Hks, you have two left feet!" he said, trying to get up.
"You can't talk much if you couldn't balance me! Has the strength of the lion of Kremnos been reduced to that of a branch trampled by the subtleties of peace?" he complained, and there it was. Phainon's haughty insults that attacked right at the jugular.
Mydei was going to respond, also sink his fangs in, before thinking better of it and not doing so. Not because he manifested a palpable pity toward Phainon, because he could tease him without touching certain roughness, but he got distracted when he felt those hands take him by the waist and saw him smiling. It had been so long since he'd shown that curve so genuine that Mydei forgot that his head hurt from the blow, the hormonal heat, and also that he was almost getting angry. So like a moth attracted to light, to that burning sun, he returned to Phainon's lips, who was laughing. Mydei didn't find it as funny but smiled. It was more than enough.
It didn't take long for them to get up and return to the bed where they did it after so long. They did it until their limbs could take no more, until Phainon had fallen asleep on Mydei's chest after coming, leaving his thighs raw.
The rest is history.
So now, in that present, while it was still the lucid hour.
The prince caressed his ash-colored hair and his lips were on the forehead of his most precious being. Phainon always reminded him that he was the cause of his deaths, but Mydei couldn't care less. His blood had served to ignite the dawn. And leaving that subject aside, what he wanted to make Phainon understand was that there were more times that in all his cycles, his versions and those of that man, they had loved each other. They had been in damp sheets, in hot baths, fighting on rooftops like schizophrenic cats, consuming themselves in pleasure and in the love they didn't fertilize with anyone else.
"You loved me more times than you killed me, savior."