Chapter Text
Life was good.
Avery might even argue, too good— lying in the afterglow nestled in bed with his hot, sexy, cute, amazing boyfriend, who always smelled really good, like… a cosy apple pie. No, his scent profile was more complex than that. Far less complex was the fact that he had the best pecs, firm but pillowy—
Getting sidetracked.
Maybe he should do less ogling and more snuggling.
“How are you doing?” he said, murmuring his question into the crook of Derlord’s neck, the top of Avery’s head bumping the jaw of his helmet lightly.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, Derlord pulled Avery closer by his waist, letting the duvet fall around them. It was sticky and warm underneath, proof of their insatiable libido. They couldn’t bring themselves to care.
“Good,” Derlord replied simply. And Avery knew that it was true, if the bone-crushing hug he was being subjected to had anything to say about it. If Derlord pulled him closer, he doubted that his heart would survive the ordeal.
Avery sighed. Completely satisfied. “That’s good.”
Not wanting to ruin the sweetness of the moment, he reciprocated the hug gently, settling his arms up and around Derlord’s back, earning him a contented sigh from the knight.
He could stay like this forever. Just him and Derlord, hidden away in their now-officially-shared-house. It had taken a while to convince Derlord to stop acting like a skittish house guest after they got together (the knight was still getting used to the boyfriend title). Even longer to convince him to share a room, but the end result of the Derlord being able to relax his entire weight against him every night was worth it.
“Avery…”
Notch… he could spend an eternity listening to Derlord’s soothing rumble of a voice. If he were human, he could have probably climaxed from his voice alone. Was that even possible for humans?
“Yes, Der?” he mumbled dreamily.
“Another round?”
And oh wow… It just kept getting better. Avery couldn’t stop the gigantic smile from spreading across his face. It made a gloopy noise against Derlord’s chest as his slimy face morphed to accommodate the joy he felt.
He nuzzled impossibly closer, his voice coming out warbled against Derlord’s sweat-slicked skin. “M’ dick that good, huh?”
Derlord chuckled. A light and airy sound that still did things to Avery’s heart regardless of the time they’d already spent living together. A terrifyingly long time as friends, not as long as lovers but when they were friends had things been that much different? Avery smiled even wider. The only difference was the smoking hot, steamy marathon sex—
“Do you need a break, Aves?”
At the sound of the concern laced into his boyfriend’s voice, Avery reluctantly pulled his face away from Derlord’s chest, just enough to gaze at Derlord’s eyes through the gaps in his helmet.
He missed the sight of those eyes (even if he had just gazed into them not too long ago). They looked especially pretty, tear-stained and slightly puffy; he could make them even prettier with another round.
“Funny. You know I don’t have a refractory period.” He leaned back fully this time, shifting his weight onto his knees in favour of straddling the naked knight. The view as always, boner-inducing.
“Are you sure that you don’t need a break, Der?”
His hands settled naturally at their favourite place like magnets to metal, the quiet, soft pants Derlord let out as Avery massaged his chest only spurred him on.
“Funny… mph, you still don’t… don’t know the answer to that by now?” Derlord’s hands flew to grasp Avery’s wrists, ensuring that they stayed in place.
“Oh I know. I just like hearing you say it.” Avery shifted forward a little, putting more strength into his arms as he circled his thumbs over the hardened peaks teasingly. “So what’s the answer?”
“Evil… No more… haa— teasing…” Derlord mumbled in between heavy breaths, his eyes fluttering erratically as he tried to maintain eye contact.
The blush under his eyes, his brows furrowing, his attention entirely on Avery, albeit trying his best to keep it there— it should be impossible to get cuteness aggression over a guy two heads taller than him. Did that stop Avery?
Obviously not.
He directed his overflowing feelings onto the even cuter nipples beneath his palms, rolling them between his fingers. Derlord hissed in return, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth while a blush crept down his neck.
So, so cute. Avery was floating away on cloud nine.
“You make the prettiest noises…” He tugged them harshly; Derlord tried to keep his mouth shut but choked on a low moan. “Ready for more?”
“Fuck... ye-yeah, please Aves… “
Avery chuckled. “Begging already?”
“Head… head feels… keep going… please.”
Avery’s pace faltered somewhat before continuing— a feeling of worry wormed its way into his chest. He was still on cloud nine, but at the implication of Derlord’s head aching after so many rounds, he slipped from cloud nine down to cloud eight. Was cloud eight a thing? It felt appropriate.
“Are you okay?“
“Nnh… just… a lot of things… haaa… on my mind,”
Derlord’s eyes flew open, chest twitching beneath the chill of stationary, slimy hands. “What—why are you stopping?”
“Your head, hun. Is it still hurting?”
The grip around his wrists tightened ever so slightly, and when Derlord’s posture went stiff, Avery felt his stomach drop. Without all the armour, his body language was a lot easier to read.
“But… we’ve been going at it for hours… The King should be gone by now?“
Derlord sighed, then fixed Avery with an obscure expression. It would have been unreadable to some, but Avery knew what that look meant. It was the same expression he wore every time he got caught in a lie… Not that Derlord had explicitly lied about anything, but still, his head dropped in guilt despite this fact.
“Aves…” Derlord pulled away from Avery’s wrists, choosing to encapsulate his hands in a gentle hold, tenderly, as if placating a spooked beast. “The King… he hasn't been completely quiet. Even with you holding him back, his influence is growing. It’s just a whisper right now, but he’s still here… even after so many rounds.”
Avery’s eyes went wide, his jaw dropping open before he could stop it. “I—I thought. I thought I was helping?”
“You are helping. Notch, you’re doing so much,” Derlord murmured quickly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the back of Avery’s hands. “I’m sorry for keeping it from you, but you already exhaust yourself for me… I don’t… I don’t want to burden you further.”
Avery’s face fell as he squinted down at their joined hands.
Derlord, the ever-so-loveable-idiot, had decided that an everlasting headache was just an inevitable outcome that he had to tolerate— accepting that Avery’s best was no longer enough to soothe his aching head and that he was fine with it.
That wouldn’t do.
Avery knew that he could do better than his supposed best; he clasped his hands around Derlord’s own even tighter, determination flooding through his trembling form.
“I can still make it better. I just need to… up the ante.”
The look Derlord gave him was filled to the brim with disbelief. “You need to what?”
“I can… I can split my core! I tried it once when I was a teen—it took a long time to adapt so I haven’t tried it since, but there will be two of me!” The idea formed in his mind as the words simultaneously left him. It wasn’t his most convincing plan, but it was a plan nonetheless. “Plus, I’m older and wiser now, so it shouldn’t be that difficult? Probably…”
“You can do that?”
“I can try!”
Derlord seemed to ponder it seriously for a moment, his gaze dropping down to their joined hands as the cogs in his brain worked overtime. Avery always thought that habit of his was seriously endearing, although in the current moment, it only filled him with dreadful anticipation.
“If there’s two of me, that’s like, twice the stamina! Your migraines would stand no chance!” Strange as it was, this was obviously the only solution. If one of him wasn’t enough, well, Avery wasn’t the greatest at maths, but he knew that two was better than one. “I won't let you down, Der!”
Worry pooled in his gut at the fact that Derlord still hadn’t said anything. Neither for nor against the idea.
“You don’t want two of me?” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke and Avery felt the sudden urge to avert his gaze. He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure; he had intended to ease Derlord’s doubts with his own confidence. Could Derlord tell that he wasn’t actually that confident?—
“Would your subconscious split too?” Derlord cut in, halting his internal spiral with a sudden air of seriousness.
Avery fidgeted under his gaze, always caught off by its intensity. “Only if I want to, if I don’t then the copy will just… melt, I think.”
“If you split, could The King possess the other?” Derlord pressed on with the voice he always used when he got hopelessly curious. “The empty one?”
“I mean… yeah. Probably?” Avery's frown deepened somewhat. It was a very valid question; that didn’t mean he liked the implication. “But why would you want him to have a body instead of a second me?”
The sight of a plotting grin caused Avery to retract by a fraction. Derlord leaned in closer, not letting him get away. “Because if he’s in the clone…” he said quietly, as if sharing a secret he didn’t want anyone to overhear. “I won’t get migraines anymore.”
Avery's eyes widened as a gear in his mind clicked into place.
Derlord was smart, sure, but this might have been his best idea yet. A smile that rivalled Derlord’s own bloomed onto Avery’s face. “No more migraines?” he said a little breathlessly.
“No more migraines; no more unreasonable amounts of sex.”
It was a tempting proposition, maybe not the unreasonable amounts of sex part, but definitely the migraine-less part. After suffering from The King’s voice for so long, Avery knew that the knight deserved some peace of mind. And yet…
“I-I don’t know, if The King has a physical body… he might be able to hurt you.”
Derlord’s breath hitched, his hands involuntarily gripping the duvet as he got lost in thought. Avery could practically see the steam rising from his helmet from how hard he was thinking.
After a few more moments, Derlord finally raised his head. “I know that you’ll keep me safe.” A decisive conclusion.
It was Avery’s turn to think, albeit with pride welling up in his core. It made him happy to know that Derlord could rely on him like this— after all, he had been training tirelessly in the skywars arena to ensure that no harm would come to them.
His brows furrowed despite his conviction.
“But we don’t know how strong he’ll be? What if he—“
“There’s nobody stronger than you, Aves,” Derlord shot back without hesitation, his grin softening into something more sincere.
“That’s not fair… you’re not allowed to look at me like that when I’m trying to be sensible for once.”
“He said that he promises not to hurt us,” Derlord huffed, the bed shifting underneath him as he propped himself up against the headboard carefully with Avery still settled in his lap.
“Well, he’s not exactly the most trustworthy guy. How are we so sure he’ll keep his word?”
Derlord winced, and Avery’s arms flew up to fret over him— he stopped when Derlord let out a huff, filled with disbelief. “He said that he’s willing to make a binding pact.”
“Is he that desperate?”
“Desperate for a beating maybe. If he has a physical body, you’d finally be able to get some revenge.”
The proposal was getting more and more attractive with each point Derlord brought up. Better yet, Avery wanted nothing more than to alleviate the knights' suffering, and Avery felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards at the thought, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
It was far too risky—
“Avery,” Derlord said, cutting through the start of another internal spiral, as if sensing Avery’s hesitation. “Think about it.”
Derlord was looking up at him with those deceptively sultry eyes. Avery knew that look... That was the look Derlord wore every time he wanted Avery to do something for him.
When the knight leaned in closer, placing his mouth against his ear, the slime couldn’t hold back a shiver, the effect detrimental with his voice quiet and gentle.
“If he’s gone, all of my attention will be… on you and you alone.”
The way Derlord’s breath tickled his ear nearly sent him into orbit. Distantly, Avery could hear his face bubbling. “Th-that’s cheating,” he stuttered, his hand settling at the base of the helmet’s crista to tug his head back sharply— earning him a small gasp.
With Derlord’s neck now exposed, Avery watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, the skin there offendingly unmarked. He thought about biting it, but Derlord hadn’t done anything to deserve it just yet.
Derlord smiled sharply, exposed canines glinting beneath the moonlight. His throat trembled to accommodate a chuckle and the sound went straight to Avery’s dick.
“Don’t you want that? Just me and you for once?” Derlord said, peering down at him over his nose.
Fuck. My dick is going to explode.
“Since when did you know how to flirt?” Avery grumbled, the core of his face a bubbly shade of pink.
Derlord tilted his head down until their eyes were level (with surprising ease despite the firm grip behind his helmet). “Learned from the best,” he said, smile softening into something more innocent— one hardly befitting their current predicament. “Is it working?”
Avery sighed in defeat. “Fine, you win. But you’re going to have to use that big brain of yours to come up with a backup plan.” He slipped his hand down to caress the cheek of Derlord’s helmet. “I’m sure it’ll be easy for you, clever clogs.”
“Hmm. Right now isn’t the best time.”
“And why’s that?”
“He’s insulting you in my head again. He’s very angry.” It would have been concerning if Derlord didn’t look so pleased.
“Oh yeah?” Avery grinned, slowly leaning forward. “Then let me escort our grumpy guest to the exit,” he said, closing the distance between them and Derlord hummed against his lips before Avery’s tongue coaxed him into opening his mouth.
For the very serious mission of self-splitting, more preparation was required and so a few days were spent trying to come up with contingency plans in case anything went awry.
Avery liked to believe that he made equal contributions to their discussions, but then again, he was more than happy to leave most of the heavy lifting to Derlord.
He trusted that Derlord would come up with something good… Is what he told himself every time his attention focused on the cute little scowl Derlord would subject his notebook to when he realised that one of his plans wouldn’t work. Come on Avery, focus! He would scold himself internally. Less swooning and more king-dooming!
And so by the end of the third day, after a very well earned post-thinking meal, they found themselves in the living room; Derlord settled on the couch with Avery hovering near him albeit very anxiously.
“Ready, Aves?”
Avery halted his coffee table circling, his gaze snapping to the source of the sound. “To be honest, no, not really.” While his feet remained stationary, the energy transferred to his arms and he couldn’t stop them from flailing. “I know you said that he can’t hurt you, but how can you be so sure he’ll stay true to his word? I don’t trust him—“
“I’m certain.”
Avery resumed his pacing. “How can you be so sure? If anything, he’ll probably aim for you first—“
“Avery.”
“What!”
At the sight of Derlord’s shoulders hitching up defensively, guilt weaved its way into Avery’s posture. He sighed, folding in on himself slightly. “I’m sorry, Der. I’m just freaking out… I don’t know what I’d do if something bad happens to you…”
Derlord held an arm out towards him.
Avery already knew what that gesture meant. He walked closer, taking his hand with his own like a moth drawn to a flame.
Derlord tugged him closer gently until Avery’s knees bumped against the couch; he stood still, holding Derlord’s hands; held up by the knight's thighs bracing him from both sides.
“I won’t let that happen,” Derlord promised. Avery’s heart trembled as Derlord craned his head upwards holding his gaze, his helmet clinking softly. “Trust me.”
He squeezed Derlord’s hands tightly. “You already know that I do, but I can’t help it—“
Derlord sighed. When he leaned back, slipping his hands out of Avery’s grip, the slime chided himself internally for being so helplessly protective.
“And… and also it can’t happen.” Without any knightly decorum, Derlord tugged the waistband of his joggers lower. “Avery, look at this.”
“Woah!” Avery’s hands flew up to cover his eyes instinctively, his face impossibly warm. “Right now?!”
Derlord chuckled, shaking his head fondly.
Right… yeah, they were together…ogling Derlord was allowed now. The timing was a little strange but he would be crazy to deny the opportunity handed to him on a silver platter. And a feast it was, until— Avery’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes found the exposed sliver of skin, right there on his lower abdomen.
“…What…what. Is. That.”
“It was part of our negotiations,” Derlord mumbled, hands clenched around his waistband revealing a familiar, yellow sigil imprinted into his skin. The contrast in colours was as pretty as it was annoying. “I agreed to a brand so that you wouldn’t worry…”
Despite himself, Avery felt the urge to coo. “Aww, Der… No wait—“ He snapped out of it, leaning in closer to inspect the offending mark with a terrible scowl. “Could he not have put it literally anywhere else? Like on your arm? Or, or somewhere more hidden?”
“To be fair, I didn’t think to specify the placement before we finalised our agreement…” The knight levelled Avery with a look, then averted his gaze. After another hesitant moment coupled with a finger anxiously tapping against his thigh, he slowly craned his helmet back in Avery’s direction, almost guiltily. “And you have one too.”
Avery felt faint. He was going to pass out.
“Oh… oh my Notch.”
“I’m sorry, Aves…This is the only thing I could think of to get rid of my headaches while ensuring our safety.” Derlord’s voice sounded so uncharacteristically small that Avery couldn’t even bring himself to continue his own dramatic self-pitying spiral. “But I can try and think of another way if you really don’t like it—“
“No… it’s, it’s okay, Der… We are getting him out of your head once and for all,” Avery said with a sigh, peeling back his own waistband to peek at a replica brand on his slimy abdomen.
It was unpleasant, to have the mark of The King In Yellow—the root of all their problems—taunting him on his skin, although as he switched his gaze back and forth between each of their respective marks…
The slime’s chest ached. Whether or not he liked it, Derlord had done it for him. To ease his worries.
His hand drifted towards the knight’s mark curiously. Smooth, with a texture like paint, and thankfully, Derlord hadn’t reacted as if it hurt.
Avery had always been a cup half-full kind of guy; he couldn’t stop the small chain of bubbles that rose to the top of his head at the thought that they basically had matching tattoos.
“Matching tattoos? That’s your takeaway from all of this?” Derlord said, his tone conveying disbelief as he hid away said matching tattoo, tilting his helmet away, completely abashed.
Snitch. Avery cursed The King telepathically, but since this particular projected thought had made Derlord blush so cutely, Avery couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. Mere cotton wouldn’t get in the way of Avery’s admiration; he circled the edge of it through the fabric anyway, causing the knight to shiver beautifully. “What were you expecting? Did you think that I would be mad?”
“I thought that you would… be…” The knight’s breath hitched, his muscles jumping when Avery added more pressure.
Had The King’s mark made him more sensitive? Was it a full body effect? Or maybe Derlord liked the idea that they were matching too?—
“Ah, Aves… mnn maybe, maybe more after…”
As delightful as Avery’s train of thought had been, Derlord was right. They had more pressing matters to attend to.
“I can’t wait to punch the living daylight out of The King…” he sighed, circling Derlord’s lower abdomen tenderly with his thumb.
A shaky hand slithered around Avery’s wrist, halting his impromptu teasing. Derlord cleared his throat, blush creeping down his neck peeking through the collar of his baggy shirt. “He… said that you can try.”
“Ohhhhohoh.” Avery peeled himself away from the knight albeit very reluctantly. They could continue once he got rid of their persistent homewrecker. “It is on sight.”
He took a few deliberate steps back, putting some distance between himself and the couch so he wouldn't accidentally drip onto the upholstery. It was showtime.
Closing his eyes determinedly, he plunged an arm through the centre of his chest until his hand settled around his heart, or rather, his spherical solid core. Thanks to the slimes not having as many pain receptors as humans, the process was more tedious than painful— so he grasped it hard.
“Aves?” Derlord’s voice was tight with tension as he watched Avery wobble. The couch creaked as the knight leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees defensively. “Does it hurt?”
“Nope… Just feels… really weird.” Which was a terrible understatement; it felt like squeezing a rubber ball. As he applied more pressure, his core trembled beneath his grip before giving way. It split cleanly at the centre and with it, the main bulk of his mass naturally followed suit.
For a brief, disorienting second, Avery felt the edges of his body relax and melt and he feared the process wouldn’t stop until he was nothing but a green puddle of goo on the floor. Thankfully, muscle memory kicked into gear before that could happen; his body morphed back into shape around the smaller core.
When he opened his eyes, a second Avery looked back at him blankly, completely void of any hint of life.
Avery looked up at a now-very-tall-Derlord, his neck straining. “Ta-da.” He let out a breathless chuckle coupled with a wobbly thumbs-up. “One empty vessel, ready for an eviction.”
Derlord poked his cheek gently. His brow was still furrowed, but thankfully he had a small smile to go along with it. “Are you going to stay this small forever?”
Avery nuzzled Derlord’s finger with his cheek; he still couldn’t feel his arms yet but at least he could feel his legs— threads of fabric, that he realised were his clothes, rubbed against his feet maddeningly, having swamped him from the transformation. “A buffet of slime balls and I should be back to normal. We have some in the chest right?”
“Yeah…” Derlord said, switching his attention to the copy on the left, already wavering at the edges. He poked its cheek too. “What about this guy?”
“Cease this incessant prodding, you insolent mortal!” The replica hissed, rippling into existence with indignation. “Do you comprehend whose visage you are defiling?!”
Derlord stilled briefly. The transfer must have occurred as soon as Derlord came into contact with the empty vessel and surprisingly without much fanfare.
“What’s wrong?” he asked with a sly smirk, accentuating each word with a sharp poke to the fuming slime’s face. “Am I. Bothering. You?”
A mockery of a hand grasped the prodding finger, encapsulating it in formless slime. “I shall extinguish the pathetic embers of your life and drape your flayed husk atop the spires of Carcosa—“
“How would you even get there? You can’t even walk.”
The King’s vessel surged upwards alarmingly before settling back down, as if all the excess anger within his new form had no idea where to go. It must have caused a chemical reaction within; his core swirled a sickly yellow hue as if he were about to explode.
Somehow undeterred by the unusual display, Derlord switched to petting the top of The King’s melting head gently. It angered him even more and warbled, incoherent curses of agony echoed through the room.
Avery thought about suggesting not to provoke the unpredictable eldritch entity, but as he watched The King struggle to push away Derlord’s gauntleted hand— having little control over his new form… Avery decided against it.
He could let Derlord have his revenge (the gods above knew he deserved it), under careful supervision of course. Then again, with the way his own arms were still trying to remember what arms looked like, he doubted he would be much help.
“How are you feeling?” Derlord asked him suddenly, completely disregarding the angry slime at his feet in favour of scooping up his pint-sized partner into his arms.
“Small.” Avery sighed, nuzzling into his chest. When Derlord deposited him gently onto the couch with a chuckle, the slime could only pout.
“Don’t worry” Derlord said as he left the room; although he returned just as quickly and thankfully, with an armful of slime balls. He stepped over the seething, melting vessel on the floor, returning to Avery’s side.
He stared at Avery for a long moment, glanced at The King, then raised a slime ball in Avery’s direction with a small blush dusting his cheeks. “…Say… say aah.”
Avery gawked, his eyes wide with surprise. Usually, Avery was the one to initiate the cheesy-couple-things, but as Derlord deposited the ball into his open mouth, he noticed a miserable glare from the yellow puddle on the ground a few feet away in his peripheral.
Derlord was so sneaky and Avery could only hum with pride. If being used in Derlord’s petty revenge plan meant getting hand-fed by his partner, Avery couldn’t bring himself to care about the exploitation. In fact, he could put on an even better show to express his appreciation.
“Thfank’ you, Honey,” he mumbled, his words muffled from chewing around a slime ball. Because his form was smaller than usual, the high-pitched voice he was forced to use made the pet name sound even more ridiculous.
The King recoiled immediately, probably in disgust. “How nauseating. One day, you will perish. I only wish it were by my hand,” the puddle grumbled and Avery smiled. Definitely in disgust, although, was there a hint of jealousy in his tone?
Funnily enough, Derlord seemed to recoil at the pet name too, and the faintest blush had snuck its way under his helmet. Stubborn to a fault, he committed to the plan.
“…Any… anytime… Sweetie.”
Avery didn’t know what he had expected, but it definitely wasn’t a pet name from Mr. Stoic himself. He could get used to the sound of it.
The King must not have expected it either; his glare worsened. "If this wretched vessel possessed a mortal stomach," The King hissed, his voice bubbling, "I would empty it upon your rug."
Avery smiled wider, looking down at The King from atop his mighty perch— the couch. “He’s so angry… like a chihuahua.”
Derlord followed his gaze, helmet tilted down at The King with something akin to pity and amusement. “Maybe if we put him in a chest, it would mellow him out?”
The King’s yellow core abruptly stopped its furious swirling in favour of shrinking back against the floorboards.
"You… wouldn't dare," he spat, though the bubbling of his voice lacked its previous venom. It sounded almost... frantic.
With a smirk, Derlord shifted his weight, making a deliberate show of preparing to stand up. "We have a spare one in the storage room. The dark oak one."
"This is blasphemy!" The King’s mass surged upwards, forming a tiny nub that looked suspiciously like an accusing finger. "I have spent a torturous amount of time sealed within the suffocating abyss of your feeble mind, and now you wish to subject me to a box of earthly rot?—“
"It's actually spruce," Avery corrected unhelpfully.
"I care not for your pathetic timber!"
“Want me to go grab it, Honey?” Avery said now in his normal pitch, having finished off the final slime ball returning to his usual height.
“No need, Sweetie. I’ve got this one—“
"H-Halt! I shall temporarily suspend my divine wrath! I will… I will even endure your revolting displays of mortal courtship without complaint! Just... do not sentence me to darkness once more..."
“Hmmm.” Derlord tapped his chin in mock contemplation. “What if we leave the lid open? We could even give you a blanket if you get chilly—“
The King snapped.
A sharp tendril shot from the palm of his hand, aiming straight for Derlord’s throat—
Avery intercepted it before it could land, although with the way The King’s manifested weapon trembled under his grip weakly, he realised that The King’s promise to not harm them was still under effect.
Regardless, the mere fact that The King had even attempted anything in the first place was worthy of reprimand, and with that intention he grabbed the vessel by the scruff of his poorly-manifested neck.
Avery turned to a very wide eyed Derlord; his scowl softened into a reassuring smile. "Give me ten minutes, Der. I'm going to go have a little talk with our guest about house manners."
“You will do no such thing!” The entity fumed, writhing in an attempt to dislodge himself from Avery’s iron grip.
“Ah… okay.” Derlord could only blink as Avery nodded his head before turning on his heel towards the hallway. “Be… be careful.”
“Unhand me, you heathen!—” The King’s voice rang out, before being cut off by the distant click of their bedroom door.
As Derlord sat on the edge of his seat, he expected a barrage of pain-filled curses, maybe even the shattering of a vase or for the entire house to collapse. When ten minutes of anxious waiting trickled into twenty, Derlord found himself impossibly concerned.
But it was still silent.
Better yet, so was his head.
Without the constant pang of an impending migraine, he couldn’t help but lean back against the couch with a shaky sigh, his eyes tracing the wooden grain pattern of their ceiling.
He had forgotten what silence felt like. True silence.
And with that admission, he let his eyes drift shut, savouring the sensation of migraine-less bliss. Just for a small while.
…
….
“Der?” He opened his eyes to the familiar sight of a wide, wobbly grin. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
Derlord jolted awake. When had he fallen asleep? No, an even better question: “Where is he—“
“Woah, hey it’s okay,” Avery said, easing the knight back against the couch with a gentle hand on his shoulder then stepped to the side, signalling to the armchair behind him. “He’s right here.”
Mini-Avery came into view, still small and still scowling. That much was to be expected but…The King was… lounging casually in their armchair?
Derlord had to hold back a laugh at the sight of a suspiciously fist-shaped indent caved into the side of The King’s head. He hid his mouth behind his hand, feigning a yawn to conceal a satisfied grin.
The King saw straight through him and scowled, looking down at the knight over his nose, but surprisingly… he made no comment.
As if sensing Derlord’s confusion, Avery bounced back into his view, grinning wide. “We had a… very calm talk. He’s going to be very well behaved from now on. Isn’t that right, Hastur.”
The King stayed stubbornly quiet, until Avery turned around briefly in his direction.
“As promised, I will not make an attempt on either of your lives.”
Derlord could only watch in amazement as Avery nodded at The King, before returning his attention back to the knight, looking somewhat proud. “Yeahhh, turns out we have a lot in common!”
Avery’s joy was infectious, and Derlord couldn’t stop a small grin from forming on his own face. He chuckled. “You have… a lot in common with an eldritch entity?”
Now somewhat shy, Avery looked away while scratching his chin. “Well, no. It’s more like… we have very similar tastes.”
“Similar tastes?”
Beside them, The King stayed eerily quiet, making no contribution to alleviate the knight’s confusion.
Derlord eyed them both suspiciously.
The King’s face had even swirled a warmer shade of yellow, although the glare he sent back at the knight felt akin to a death threat.
“Don’t—don’t worry about it,” Avery replied a little too quickly. Derlord would have pressed him on the topic more, but the slime sat beside him before he could, prompting him to shuffle to the left to make space for the other. “But, back on topic, he’s still really angry, like, in general, so I’m thinking of taking him to a skywars match so that he doesn’t accidentally blow up our house. What do you think?”
“Hmm.” Derlord stared ahead at the yellow slime before them, taking note of how The King’s face hadn’t displayed anything but contempt the entire time. “It might be a good outlet for him. Good idea, Aves.”
Avery’s back straightened as he beamed at Derlord; The King also sat up, although his scowl worsened.
“I will not waste my precious time on a peasant’s brawl—“
“Want to come watch, Der?” Avery cut in, eyes wide and shining.
Derlord considered it. It was always a treat to watch the deceptively strong slime decimate the competition in his matches, and with the new addition of The King, it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes monitoring him. But then again…
“I think I’ll sit this one out, Aves.” He trusted that Avery would be able to handle him— in fact, he had already proven it. Besides, “The entryway needs some maintenance. Now that my migraines are gone, It’s my turn to take care of the chores.”
“We can do that later, together,” he said gently, his grin softening into something sincere. “When we get back from the match?”
“Are your ears only for display?—“
“No, it’s fine,” Derlord cut in, ignoring the furious yellow slime, “You’ve been doing most of the chores these past few weeks… it’s my turn to pull my weight. Just keep an eye on him, okay?”
Avery sighed. “You’ll private message me if you need anything, right?”
“I will. Now go have fun, and… stay safe.”
“We will.” He placed a kiss on the temple of Derlord’s helmet, and the knight gravitated towards him, chasing it instinctively as Avery pulled away. “Thank you, Der.”
How sickening, or so, The King would have chided them if he hadn’t already made it to the door. Freedom was imminent— but Avery stopped him easily, picking him up by the scruff of his newly-manifested yellow robes once more.
“And where do you think you’re going, your royal highness?”
“You ignorant slime! This is not what we agreed on—“
“Bye, Der!” Avery said, waving at him with a cheeky grin. “Love you!”
“…Love you too.”
“Awww,” Avery cooed. “Missing you already, Honey!”
“Disgusting—“
And for the second time that day, Avery clicked the door shut with a ridiculously angry slime in tow, silencing his complaints.
When Avery and The King had returned from their first match, Derlord had braced himself for… he wasn’t sure what to expect exactly, the situation in itself was so outlandishly strange, but both of them had returned with loose shoulders; no further injuries or bickering.
Turns out a skywars match was exactly what The King needed.
Their first meal together had been equally as interesting, regardless of the fact that it nearly hadn’t happened at all. Mushroom stew, as usual, was the default for Derlord, but Avery opted for a plate full of slime balls, just like he always did after a skywars match to hasten recovery.
The King had opted for nothing.
Avery seemed a bit crestfallen at the rejection to his invite to join their meal, and Derlord wasn’t going to let that last for long. A bribe was all that was needed to coax The King out of his moping on the couch, and funnily enough, a singular slime ball was the answer.
“Der, he is a natural,” Avery had said, practically smushing his face into his own plate. “You should have seen him speed-bridge! It’s like he doesn't even need to aim!”
"Even in this limiting form, it was child’s play," The King added casually, perched upon the makeshift stool Derlord had crafted and dragged to the table; it was an extra tall one. To make up for The King’s lack of height.
Derlord had hummed, watching Avery get carried away with their adventurous retelling, a dopey smile to match Avery’s own creeping onto his face. While skywars matches weren’t exactly Derlord’s thing, if they were Avery’s, then Derlord could listen to him talk about it all night long.
He hadn’t meant that literally, but when the last few rays of light had filtered through their windows without them noticing— time flies by when you’re having fun, he thought while cleaning up the table.
“Good night,” Avery and Derlord had said to The King after offering him the couch. Obviously, their farewell wasn’t reciprocated, and as Derlord lay awake with a tired-out slime clinging onto his arm, he wondered if The King had gone to sleep at all.
Well, out of sight out of mind, he mused internally. As long as The King wasn’t damaging any of their property, he couldn’t care less what he got up to. Irresponsible? Maybe. But with migraine-less peace, he decided to be selfish for once.
Although, when The King returned in the morning, standing tall enough to rival Avery’s own height, Derlord apologised internally to all of the innocent slime blocks that must have fallen victim to The King’s rehabilitation scheme..
A week into their arrangement, Derlord felt as if he’d been reincarnated.
Life… life was good.
Life was always good, with Avery around, but recently Derlord might argue, that it was too good— finally having a much needed respite from The King’s grating info-dump in his head. Even though The King was still, technically, present, a physical form meant that Derlord would only have to deal with him briefly and after a day of mind-numbing chore completion, Derlord couldn’t bring himself to fall for his taunts.
Gone was his grouchy posture, replaced by a refreshed straightened back due to no longer being weighed down by a constant headache. The same air of calm could be said for Avery, who, with the recent addition of his new skywars party member, finally had someone to drag with him every time he had an urge to compete— all smiles and full of stories that Derlord found himself looking forward to after his own uneventful days maintaining the base.
And just like clockwork, they discussed their respective days once more.
“How did today’s match go?” Derlord said, before weaving a napkin through the gap in his helm to dab at his mouth. It had been Avery’s turn to cook that night, but after their match, Derlord wouldn’t let him.
Mushroom-slimeball-soup had an interesting flavour profile.
Avery wasted no time in replying, surging with excitement. “Hastur’s making a name for himself nowadays!” He bumped his elbow into The King’s lightly. “Aren’t you, buddy!”
The King scoffed. “Do not refer to me as your buddy.” Despite the sharp tone of his voice, the tiniest hint of a smile had snuck onto his slimy face, brimming with pride. “…But I suppose that it is true. The foolish mortals in the arena have recognised my domineering presence and prowess.”
“Yeah, they even call us the dangerous duo!”
“It is the natural conclusion. Although you only leech off my reputation.”
Avery gawked. “Are you— are you kidding me?”
In retaliation, he swiped a slime ball from The King’s plate (the last slime ball)— It was The King’s turn to gawk.
“Return that at once, you glutton!” A yellow tendril flew across the table, wrapping itself around Avery’s wrist to pause the thievery. “As the most valued player of this team, I am more deserving of this sustenance!—“
Unaffected by The King’s outburst, Avery stuck his tongue out at him, before craning his neck down to swallow the slime ball in one, giant gulp.
There was a moment of stillness.
The calm before the storm, Derlord called it.
He knew what was about to happen next (unfortunately from experience), and with that in mind he leaned to the left, dodging a flurry of tendrils exploding from The King’s mass.
A weary sigh escaped him as he watched Avery deflect each one with ease, all while munching away at the stolen tribute in his mouth.
Derlord hated that this had become the new normal. That and the fact that he had gotten used to having to scrub extra hard at the yellow goo from The King’s plates every evening after tea.
But then again, it was a small price to pay for peace.
Avery added a reluctant apology to the end of his farewell “Good night.” And The King… The King reciprocated Avery’s offered friends-again-fist bump? Not without his typical grumbling and an unwarranted insult, but still…
Something sickly sweet swirled in Derlord’s chest at the sight of his favourite person and favourite eldritch entity (not that there was much competition) getting along, and the feeling prompted him to pat The King’s head.
“Good night, Hastur,” he added softly.
The irrational urge to squish the scowling slime’s face lingered even after he pulled his hand away, but stranger things had happened since The King’s physical manifestation, so Derlord didn’t think much about it.
On the other hand, The King thought about it.
A lot.
His narrowed eyes burned holes into the ceiling above the couch where he lay and with so much indignation that he was surprised to find that it hadn't caught fire from the intensity of his glare. He seethed even more over the fact that his face was the exception.
‘Must still be adapting to the new form,’ The King tried to convince himself before subjecting the couch’s pillows to his fury, pummelling them into the next morning with perfectly-manifested, slimy fists.
…
Two whole weeks had passed by now. And with it, the final tournament of the skywars season came to an end.
“Der! We’re back!” Avery boomed, practically bodying their front door, the sound of it announcing their arrival.
The result of the match?
Obviously, “The ‘Dangerous duo’ has returned victorious!”
Upon receiving no reply, Avery’s eyes scanned the vacant living room. Behind him, The King shut the door with a disapproving shake of his head. “Derlord?” Avery called out once more.
A quiet voice echoed through the hallway. “In the kitchen. Be there in a sec.”
Avery nodded with a smile (as if Derlord could see him), then flopped onto the couch with a terribly wide grin. “We won!” he shouted back.
They heard Derlord chuckle distantly. “I knew you would. Want a drink?”
“Water for me!” Avery tilted his head at The King who had settled into his favourite spot: their maroon armchair. “Want anything?”
“No.”
“Hastur wants one too, Der!”
“What—“
“Pfft—got it.”
A little annoyed by Avery volunteering him for a drink, The King sagged in his chair but otherwise made no complaint. Such a tribute offered by mere mortals was beneath him, but if they were so insistent to show their devotion, who was he to deny them?
The sound of a tap drifted lazily through the base, soothing Avery into relaxing into the cushions. Still high on the adrenaline of their recent victory, he sighed dreamily.
“I have to say, Hastur, you really know how to pull your weight, huh?”
“Obviously,” The King said with practiced arrogance, although Avery could spot the small smile he sported. It sharpened into his usual sly grin that meant he was up to no good. “The same could not be said for your performance. You could have dispatched the last player more efficiently had you not been so careless.”
Okay. Rude. Avery thought as he sat up suddenly, his eye twitching. “Oh yeah? Well, where were you for the last few minutes anyways?”
“Looting the remains of my most recent conquest—“
“See? You weren’t even there for the showdown. Looks like I was the MVP this match.”
The King’s back straightened in his own chair, matching Avery’s tense posture as his leg bounced. “Strategy is more important than brute strength—“
Avery barked a laugh. “So you admit that I am stronger?”
“It seems as though your head is vacant. I possess power beyond your comprehension.”
“Der?” Avery called out over his shoulder. “Who’s stronger? Me or this weakling?”
The King’s jaw hinged open. “W-Weakling?!” His legs twitched with the intention to spring out of his chair— to initiate a brawl— until Derlord sighed, breaching the doorway with two glasses of water.
But he had also appeared with something else, and both Avery and The King found themselves speechless.
“Hmmm…” Derlord waltzed into the centre of the room, leaning down to hand Avery his glass. The movement pulled his chosen skintight shirt taut across his chest, outlining muscle that usually stayed hidden beneath armour and layers. “I haven’t seen The King fight.”
Very valid point, Avery thought briefly. And he would have loved to discuss it more— in fact, he had opened his mouth to do so, until his eyes caught a flash of skin peeking above Derlord’s waistband… then lower… to the way the fabric of his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips.
Avery’s hand missed the offered glass entirely. Embarrassingly.
Derlord slotted it into his hand anyway, continuing his musing thoughtfully. “So, I don’t think that I can make an accurate deduction.”
Blinking back into existence, Avery nursed his cup gently, peeking over the rim of his cup at the retreating knight, whose hardened back muscles were now on full display. “But me and Hastur fight all the time,” he mumbled into his water, all while hoping that his transparent cup would hide his furious blush. “And—and I always win…”
Derlord handed The King his own glass, having to slot it into his hand just as he had with Avery. “Those fights weren’t serious though, right?”
It took a while for The King to collect his bearings, and he must have been staring for too long since Derlord tilted his head to the side in confusion.
The King, somehow, looked even more offended than before— though the faintest orange tint spreading across his face ruined the effect. “They were not… And hence they… were not an accurate measurement… of my strength.” The chair’s armrest he clung onto with his free hand was definitely feeling the true extent of his strength.
Somehow satisfied with The King’s answer, Derlord simply nodded at him, his back straightening, dragging his waistband lower— revealing The King’s mark that rested politely on his lower abdomen. His mark—
“That’s that then,” he said decisively. Although The King had already forgotten what, exactly, they were talking about. “Decide between yourselves. Peacefully, please.”
Deciding on anything was currently impossible for either of them; their hopelessly distracted gazes followed Derlord as he made his way back to the hallway.
Once the knight was completely out of view, they sent each other snide, judging looks; if only both of their faces weren’t so flushed the intended effect might have been more successful. Real recognising real.
“And what exactly are you looking at?” Avery said.
“On the contrary, what are you looking at?”
“I asked you first.”
"Then remain unanswered."
Avery’s scowl worsened. With the intent of not wasting any more time on pointless bickering when a treasure chest lay buried nearby, Avery leaped from the couch to trail hurriedly after the knight.
A grin stretched across Avery’s face as Derlord came into view, busy chopping vegetables. He fought the urge to whistle in appreciation. Instead, he snaked his arms around the small of Derlord’s waist, pulling himself flush against the knight’s back with a happy hum as if he were trying to merge with the other. Was that more shameless than whistling? Probably. But subtlety had never really been Avery’s thing.
“Der… you’re not siding with him over me, are you?”
A small sigh escaped Derlord that suggested he was annoyed. Avery knew better when the knight relaxed his shoulders, leaning his weight into the embrace. “Can I give you my answer after I’ve finished prepping lunch?—“
“How dishonest,” The King’s voice cut in shakily, drawing in both of their gazes to where he was standing at the kitchen’s doorway; an equally shaky finger was pointed straight at Avery. “You aim to skew the results with poorly concealed coercion."
Avery flinched back, sweating. “W-what? No I'm—“
Then The King’s finger snapped toward Derlord's direction. “And you.”
“…What have I done?”
“Have you no shame?… Where is your armour?”
Derlord peered down at his own apparel. Armour-less but the heat outside had warranted it, and besides, “I was farming,” he said simply, his eyes wandering back to his half-chopped evidence.
“Farming.”
“Farming.”
“You heard that, Hastur? He was farming,” Avery added unhelpfully, nuzzling his head against Derlord’s shoulder earning him a chuckle.
“That. Is not the issue here, you lemming.” Neither Avery nor Derlord were looking at him, but the strain in Hastur’s voice made it obvious he was getting mad again. “Must he till the ground in such revealing rags?”
Avery smiled against Derlord’s back, his voice murmured against the thin fabric. “Revealing rags? I’d argue that he’s wearing too much—“
A yellow tendril flew across the room in an instant, wrapping itself around Avery’s waist before snapping back.
“What the fuck—“ One second, he was hugging his boyfriend, the next, he found himself dangling upside down by his leg. Flailing, the slime tensed his core to fold upwards, clenching a fist around the manifested arm forcing The King’s arm to wriggle in his grasp before dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground.
“Shameless heathen! Your miniscule mind is filled with filth—“
A fist flew, rippling the surface of The King’s face.
More tendrils erupted from The King’s main mass in retaliation, only for Avery to deflect each one with practiced ease.
Derlord watched them brawl for another few seconds before returning to his cutting board. The sound of chopping soon joined the grunts and shouting behind him.
“I was having a very nice moment with Der just now!” Avery hissed, crouching low to dodge a sweeping blow.
“Must that moment be now?! An unbiased opinion is required in order to settle our prior debate!”
Derlord sighed quietly. “How can I be unbiased if I wasn't even there?” he said, now speaking to his carrots. His carrots stared back at him with pity. “My opinion would be redundant.”
The comment had more or less been for himself; somehow his self-musing had put a pause into their fighting, if the eerie quiet that followed said anything about it.
Nothing but the sound of Derlord’s knife hitting the chopping board sounded around them.
Finally, Avery broke the silence. “No he’s got a point, he hasn’t come to watch any of our matches together.”
The sound of slime merging followed. Behind him, Hastur’s tendrils must have melted back into place.
“Then we will have him spectate one.”
“Can’t, sorry,” Derlord said with a huff. “I'm going to patch up the roof tomorrow.”
“Who said anything about tomorrow?” Avery mused from behind him; his voice was closer now, prompting Derlord to crane his neck around to face him.
“The arena is closed right now—“
Both of Avery’s hands entered his peripheral, slotting onto the counter on either side of him. Derlord’s breath hitched as he was effectively caged in; a shiver ran through him, the hair on his arms standing up as the cold from Avery’s chest seeped into his back.
“But Der…” Avery’s breath drifted through the gaps of his helmet, tickling his ear; low and warm with amusement. “There’s an arena right down the hallway.”
Only when The King wrapped a gentle tentacle around his wrist did he stop his chopping, his knife trembling softly in his grip.
“Make haste, puny knight,” The King’s voice reverberated through his other ear. “My superiority will be proven.”
Two weeks had passed since The King’s arrival. And each day, Avery had returned exhausted from his skywars matches with The King before promptly passing out as soon as his head hit his pillow…
And Derlord was fine with that. The toys he used while Avery was away were fine with that too, but they hadn’t been enough.
“Avery…” Derlord’s voice trembled as he spoke, trying to hide his excitement, “you’re… okay with The King being present?”
“As long as you’re okay with him… and, well,” he chuckled into Derlord’s shoulder, “I kinda promised him that I wouldn’t get jealous if you ever wanted to do stuff with him.”
“…When was this?”
“Oh y’know… the first chat we ever had.”
“…Is that why he’s been so well behaved?”
“Hmm. Maybe?”
“Must I remind you that I am present.”
Derlord smiled at the wall before him, fighting a laugh and a furious blush. “Then-then yeah, we can erm… that's fine with me…” he said, uncharacteristically quiet.
Avery sighed, but Derlord could feel him smiling against his back. Apparently, the slime was just as excited as he was. “If that’s what you want—“
“Then that’s settled.” There was another gentle tug on Derlord’s wrist, trying to coax him out of Avery’s embrace. “Enough of this senseless lingering.”
Derlord and Avery shared an amused look at his poorly hidden enthusiasm. When Avery actually laughed aloud, a small tentacle immediately whacked him on the back of the head.
As another brawl broke out, Derlord could only shake his head fondly.