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Life… was certainly unfair.
In all honesty, Flins’ life as a human wasn’t bad at all. He enjoyed his visits in Nasha Town, his usual night patrol schedule suited him well enough and he earned Mora to purchase a variety of beautiful gemstones with rich histories of their own. He was perfectly able to live a humble, but satisfactory life, with all his needs met and not much left to wish for.
Of course, life didn’t come without its fair share of problems, but usually those weren’t noteworthy enough to brood or contemplate his decisions over. Except this one, troublesome individual in his care. One of the five Sinners of Khaenri’ah and the notorious head of the Wild Hunt, who had caused a lot of suffering throughout Nod-Krai. Now finally sane and ready to open a new chapter of his life, Rerir still remained a menace through and through. No, perhaps he had gotten even worse if one would have asked Flins in this instance.
He could see the triumphant, evil smirk behind those bandages.
One of the most unfair things in the fae’s life right now was the mere fact that the Sinner still retained a lot of his strength and the ability to manipulate abyssal energy. Another was the fact, that Rerir wasn’t amicable in all things. No, the Sinner could be exceptionally stubborn, even if he had readily accepted Flins’ help in guiding him through this newfound life.
Now, the Sinner sat across him, only the table in-between separated them. However, that didn’t mean much as an abyssal arm had firmly wrapped around his waist, effectively pinning him to his seat. Flins had tried, but this arm simply wouldn’t budge, keeping him bound to this uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in for what had felt like hours.
He glanced over to another abyssal hand that was occupied with dusting off the shelves while its owner sat quietly in his chair, reading some instruction manual he had found lying around. It was one of Aino’s if Flins remembered correctly. One of the girl’s many attempts to teach the Lightkeepers how to maintain the streetlights, but truth be told, Flins had never even taken a glimpse at it.
“Rerir?” Flins carefully inquired.
“Hm?” The Sinner didn’t even look up from the manual, dismissing whatever it was Flins wanted to say, outright.
“I’m afraid I’m having trouble concentrating right now,” Flins said, already feeling the abyssal arm around his waist tighten. “I presume some fresh air and perhaps a quick stroll are needed.”
“And I presume that Starshyna of yours said he wanted that report as soon as possible.” Rerir flipped a page, still entirely focused on that manual. “The sooner you finish, the earlier you can take your stroll.”
This was definitely one of the major downsides of living with a Sinner. Or perhaps it was just a major downside of living with Rerir specifically. Flins would have considered retreating into his lantern, but another abyssal hand held it wrapped in its claws. What a horrible hostage situation, except the hostage in this case was Flins himself. An escape seemed utterly impossible if no miracle saved him from his predicament.
Luckily, Flins was a crafty fae. One well-versed in creating his very own miracles. He neatly laid down his pen, right next to the still very much empty paper. Then, his hand wandered onto the abyssal hand resting at his waist. The arm itself may have been unyielding, but lifting the hand was an easy enough feat. It came to his advantage that Rerir seemed to thoroughly underestimate him despite their past combat encounters. And it would have been insulting if it weren’t so helpful for his little plan.
Noticing the abyssal hand being lifted, Rerir raised a brow as he finally looked up from the manual. Flins’ shenanigans had always been a mystery to him. One that was indescribably hard to decipher. Sometimes he truly wondered what really went through the head of this cheeky fae.
And cheeky was the right word.
Rerir blinked. His mind tried to make sure what he witnessed when Flins placed a single kiss on the back of the abyssal hand only to watch him place more tiny, gentle kisses. His lips slowly moved from the back to the fingers, sending a faint, prickly sensation through the Sinner’s spine. It was quickly replaced by a pang of jealousy. A true absurdity if he considered that this abyssal hand was, in some form, a part of himself. And still, he only wished it could have been his real hand instead.
To Rerir’s dismay, Flins didn’t stop there. His lips parted slightly to take a nibble at one of the fingers. An oddly sensual experience, considering Rerir could feel it lightly, but still was forced to take the role as an onlooker. He felt like he was watching something intimate, something forbidden as the heat involuntarily rose to his cheeks. That hand may have been part of himself, and he may have been capable of feeling every touch, but he felt more like an accidental voyeur stuck in having to keep watching – and it was still his own hand.
Behind those bandages, his mouth opened in shock when he watched that abyssal hand free itself from the shallow bite, only to find its way onto the Lightkeeper’s cheek in a loving caress. The thumb gently rubbed at the corner of Flins’ lips and in turn, he opened his mouth willingly. A display that bordered on the shameless.
Rerir wasn’t sure anymore if he still controlled that hand or if it had developed a mind of its own by now, but for his own sanity he decided it must have been the latter.
Overwhelmed, he slammed down the manual and quickly called back his abyssal hands. Anything to flee this kind of situation and the rising, completely nonsensical jealousy he was feeling. Quickly enough, that sensation was taken over by a baffling surprise however, when he saw the sudden smirk appearing on Flins’ lips. Right before said fae sizzled into a flame that vanished into the floating lantern, now free from the abyssal hand that had blocked it off prior.
In that moment, Rerir wanted nothing more than to curse every name under the sun. Tricked, so easily by the machinations of a fae and a tactic that was even more than simply unfair. By now it had become so much clearer to which lengths Flins was willing to go to escape writing his reports, but obviously two could play such a game.
While the lantern quietly tried to float away, an abyssal hand quickly reappeared grabbing it by the handle to drag it back, right into the Sinner’s hands.
“Don’t think I’ll let you escape,” Rerir hummed, carefully petting the glass.
Well, he didn’t know exactly how to drag Flins out again, but he had an idea or two he could try. With all the tricks this troublesome fae loved to play on him, Rerir was quite eager to pay him back the favor. In a hauntingly slow motion, he dragged his clawed finger over the glass, ending that trail with a few anticipatory taps. The flame inside flickered as if it were trembling, but perhaps that was just his imagination.
Then, Rerir narrowed his eye, recalling that the fae reacted rather sensitive to abyssal influence. The Sinner had found it to be quite ironic considering his job, but then again, it most likely depended on the amount and strength of the energy. The usual ghouls Flins encountered on his patrols were certainly child’s play for a skilled warrior, but he was no mere ghoul. With a last tap against the glass, Rerir had finally made up his mind.
He already imagined the fae’s reaction when he poured his abyssal energy over the lantern as if it was mist slowly rolling in. It found its way inside the confines of the fae’s beloved object, seemingly cornering the flickering, blue flame that looked for an escape route, but couldn’t find one so easily.
Observing this scene turned out to be much more fascinating than Rerir had hoped for. The crimson mist that was his abyssal energy, started to intermingle with the flame. Blue fire, decorated with specks and streaks of crimson. It looked like those energies danced with each other, and yet vied for dominance all at the same time. A dance Rerir very much liked, as he made sure not to overpower Flins’ flame, but still left him no chance to turn the tide.
He watched the blue flame trying to push back, only to tremble when the crimson mist enveloped it quickly after, igniting a color that suddenly seemed to burn so much brighter. Rerir wondered what it was like for the fae. Was it like a long and arduous battle against an enemy? Was it painful, perhaps?
‘Shit,’ Rerir cursed internally, only now noticing the simple fact that he had completely forgotten about the other side of the coin.
What if this was indeed painful for Flins?
What if his abyssal powers only served to hurt him?
Sure, he was being careful not to completely overpower the flame, but that did little when his powers potentially pricked like a thousand needles maltreating the Lightkeeper. The mere thought of it caused him to turn his approach much softer. The crimson mist thinned out in consequence, spreading itself over the blue flame like a gentle veil. The flames burned low, only occasionally flickering higher.
The only downside to this changed approach was the fact that Rerir intended to force Flins out of the lantern. Without applying enough pressure that scheme was doomed to fail regardless. And thus, Rerir furrowed his brows in conflict. He didn’t want to cause harm, but he also couldn’t leave Flins be. No, he absolutely had to get the illusive fae out of there.
Carefully, he poured more of his abyssal energy into the lantern. The crimson mist thickened again, cornering the flames once more. Rerir watched them flicker higher and wilder, unsure what to make of it. And before long, the blue fire would seek out the crimson mist, mingle and dance, falling a little more into the same rhythm.
However, Rerir’s patience was running a little thin. Perhaps this method wouldn’t bring him any closer to his goal. He quickly tapped against the glass, before withdrawing his energy altogether. To his surprise, the blue flame followed and the human body of the Lightkeeper materialized itself right onto the Sinner’s lap.
“That was uncalled for,” Flins protested, but he seemed to be entirely out of breath, sharply drawing in air. “You cannot just–”
The fae’s back leaned against Rerir’s chest, head resting on his shoulder as he tried to gather his composure. He was flustered. More than Rerir had ever witnessed. No, he couldn’t remember the Lightkeeper ever being this abashed, eyes desperately trying to avoid him entirely before just closing them shut with this rosy tint on his cheeks.
“Do… Do you intend to continue this somewhere more appropriate?” Flins asked in a hushed voice, and yet he sounded so hesitantly expectant.
Flins was met with silence while Rerir was completely dumbfounded.
Heavens, what did he do, exactly?
Quickly shoving that thought aside, Rerir wrapped his left arm around the fae to hold him steady. His right hand pulled down the bandages covering his mouth, before he pressed a tender kiss to Flins’ neck. The body replied with a shudder before his eyes fluttered open again. Just in time to observe abyssal hands placing the sheet of paper and pen right in front of him.
Rerir couldn’t be serious–
“Maybe if you’re a good boy and finally finish your report,” Rerir teased as he grabbed Flins’ hand to guide it to the pen. All while another kiss was peppered to his neck.
Rerir could still hear the fae whine, despite the shrill, obnoxiously loud chaos that was screeching inside his head. His demeanor may have remained calm, but in reality, he had fallen into a kind of panic he had never experienced before. Just what was that reaction? What even happened? Should he profusely apologize or just keep playing the part?
‘Just what the hell did I even do?!’