Chapter Text
Mr. Fool was troubled. A coin sat in his palm, roughly the same size as a Loen gold pound. One side was mirror smooth, the other embossed with a woman’s silhouette. It still held the faint warmth from Mr. Hanged Man’s grasp.
The coin was an artifact that had been sacrificed to him mere moments before, after Alger’s quick prayer beseeching aid. Mr. Hanged Man was laying low at a hotel, recovering from a short battle with pirates during his shore leave. His crew was scattered over the island tending to their own business while the captain of the Blue Avenger was left to his own devices.
The artifact had been used in the battle, striking Alger with a strange power that chilled him to the bone and left a strange sense of impending doom in his chest. Slaying the man who struck him, Alger had pried the artifact from the corpse’s grasp. The chill and sense of doom persisted, growing stronger, even hours later when he was safely away from the battlefield. He was out of sorts in multiple ways, the chill clinging to his bones, the sense of doom heavy in his chest. He was too sensitive and by a few hours after the battle, the texture of his garments was maddening against his skin.
Unsettled, he’d turned to Mr. Fool. When the illusory wings of the Angel’s Embrace failed to cleanse the corruption, the coin was sacrificed to the deity to study. If anyone could figure out what was plaguing him, surely the amiable, knowledgeable, and mysterious god could.
Said ‘god’ was familiar with this particular artifact. Alone above the gray fog, Klein held the coin in his palm, a frown curling his lips. His nose wrinkled up in distaste despite his usually impeccable physical control. “I don’t even remember losing the damn thing,” he muttered, shaking his head at a loss. “At least its curse can be resolved easily.”
His first encounter with this particular artifact had etched itself indelibly into his memory. It took only a single divination to confirm it was the exact same coin. A second divination revealed a fact he’d missed the first time he encountered it; the coin had the property of wandering. Wandering. As in the sequence 3 of the Apprentice pathway.
“Not even the spirit world can hold this thing,” he muttered in annoyance, “Not when it can just slip through reality.” But in all of existence, how was it that it found its way back to him?
Perhaps some form of the law of convergence? Was it drawn to adjacent pathways? No, that didn’t make sense. While it did end up in his hands, it went through Alger first. The only thing they had in common was the effects of the gray fog’s aura.
He’d taken the coin above the gray fog more than once when it was in his possession. Was it wandering towards those with its ‘scent’? Klein’s temple throbbed at the possibility.
His divination revealed that the coin was formed when a Demoness lost control while using an artifact formed from a Wanderer’s characteristic. By a twist of fate, the out-of-control monster she’d become had attempted to consume the original artifact. The result was a merging of the Beyonder characteristics into an unstable mix.
Smoothing his expression, he reached for Alger’s prayer star, touching the connection. He held the coin up, once more exuding the lofty and distanced image of The Fool, “This artifact’s curse is from the Demoness pathway,” he said, reporting the facts with the weight due such poor tidings. However, considering the nature of the thing, his Clown powers were put to the test to keep his tone and expression under control, “the curse will be removed naturally if you engage in and complete sexual relations. However, you have to be familiar with your partner. Knowing them at least a week should suffice.” He paused before finishing the message, “Failure to do so within four hours from the time of cursing will result in death.”
Messaged ended, he tapped the star once again, sending the response to Alger. Then, Klein fell back into the Fool’s Seat of honor, letting out a breath, “Oh, that curse has to suck,” he mused, staring up at the domed palace ceiling overhead. A terrible curse, but nothing he had to worry about. Alger was resourceful, strong, and cunning. With four whole hours, he could surely figure out how to woo someone among his acquaintances.
Mr. Hanged Man was truly one of the most reliable members of the Tarot Club. Not only had he grown more and more like a mentor to those younger than him, but he’d steadily come into himself. At least, that’s what it looked like from the seat of The Fool, watching him grow since the day Klein first accidentally dragged him into the world above the gray fog. What had once been a suspicious and cunning man, infinitely reserved with his words, who kept his cards close to his chest had become…
Well.
A suspicious and cunning man, fairly reserved with his words, keeping his cards close to his chest while doling out advice to the benefit of those among them.
But hey, progress was progress. He gave him credit for that.
Klein was torn from his idle thoughts when Alger’s prayer star pulsed once more. Knowing Alger, it was likely a pious prayer thanking him for his assistance. Fond amusement on his face, he tapped the star, the vague smile falling from his lips when the message played.
“Honorable Mr. Fool,” Alger’s voice was strained. Hesitant. Choked. Klein sat up, posture straightening as Alger’s prayer continued, “I was cursed some time ago. It’s already been hours. I don’t know how long.”
The prayer ended.
‘Shit!’ Immediately conjuring a coin, Klein flipped his way through multiple yes-no divinations until he arrived at his answer. Alger was running out of time. The coin vanished into a puff of gray fog as he relayed his findings to the man.
“You have less than an hour, but more than thirty minutes to remove the curse.” Simple. Straight forward. It wasted no time, delivered in The Fool’s usual manner, face and voice not betraying the anxiety he felt on Alger’s behalf.
The reply came swiftly.
“Mr. Fool,” an edge of fear had crept into the man’s voice, “that’s…” he faltered, “not enough time to find someone. What,” Alger choked up, “what can I do?”
Klein stared at Alger’s star as the message ended. Alger was too far away from anyone he knew. He wouldn’t have enough time to hunt someone down and convince them to help him.
‘I shouldn’t have loaned Creeping Hunger to Leonard!’ Klein grit his teeth. He’d handed it off to Leonard just that morning for an overnight loan, a spot of insurance on a dangerous Red Gloves mission. A quick glance at Leonard’s prayer star showed him in an inconvenient place, surrounded by his team, Creeping Hunger disguised to match his normal glove. Leonard wouldn’t be able to sacrifice it back to him. Without Creeping Hunger, Klein had no way to quickly travel to Alger’s side to take him to someone who could help.
What to do? Time was ticking by, Alger’s prayer unanswered. Mr. Hanged Man was still kneeling on the rug of his hotel room, hands clasped together and head bowed in supplication, clearly trying to think his way out of the situation.
Thinking wouldn’t help. The curse needed action. Very specific action. Klein had learned that when he and Danitz were cursed together in his first experience with the Demoness Coin.
‘I will save him, there has to be a way!’ Drawing in a shaking breath that his projection above the gray fog technically didn’t need, he conjured a page, a divination statement writing itself across the surface. He held his hand out, pendulum coalescing together out of fog. Whispering the divination statement seven times, he closed his eyes tight until motion brushed against his skin. Klein opened his eyes. The pendulum was spinning clockwise rapidly. His decision was instant. If he hesitated at all, he wouldn’t be able to commit.
The page and pendulum vanished and he reached for Alger’s star. A column of red lit Mr. Hanged Man’s chair. When it cleared, Alger was seated there, hands still firmly clasped, head still bowed.
“Mr. Hanged Man,” Klein greeted, mouth dry. It was annoying how realistic the physical sensations were in their non-physical forms above the gray fog.
Blue eyes snapped open, the hands coming down to the ancient marbled table, head raising as Alger’s gaze locked onto The Fool with the naked reverence he held towards him. “Mr. Fool,” he whispered, clearly at a loss, “am I going to die?”
‘No, but I will. Social death!’ Klein kept a straight face despite his sardonic lampooning. “I found a way to save you,” he said, steeling himself and not wasting time.
Alger held his breath, sitting straighter, attentive. The man was nearly quivering, “What must I do, Mr. Fool?”
It took every ounce of Clown control Klein could muster to keep a straight face, “I performed divinations on this situation. The solution is here.”
“Here?” Alger’s gaze broke from the Fool, roaming the majestic columns, the distant stars, the domed ceiling overhead. Searching.
Klein held absolutely still. His words were going to horrify the man. He knew it in his heart and soul. But time was ticking fast.
“Yes. Here.” He took a deep breath, allowing it to show. Posture straight, the fog around the table churning as if stirred, he leveled his gaze at Alger. If he weren’t up against a ticking clock, if Alger had more time, he never would have said it: “You’ve known me longer than a week.”
All was silent above the gray fog. Alger’s eyes trembled, his back rigid, hands clutching together atop the table hard enough for his joints to hurt, “You?” Had he misheard? He dared not raise his gaze, though he longed to search the god’s face. Even were he to dare to gaze upon God, those enigmatic, fog blurred features would give nothing away.
“Me,” Klein’s confirmation came with false bravado, a steadiness he lacked. His Clown powers enabled that single word to fall from his lips as a pronouncement. A statement of fact. He did not falter, though the thickening fog around his features hid a scarlet blush.
Eyes wide with horror, Mr. Hanged Man was staring at the table in front of himself, gaze locked on nothing as his shoulders shook. It was the fear Klein had anticipated. After all, he’d just propositioned the man.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hanged Man,” Klein said, “You don’t have much time. But this choice is yours to make. I will force nothing.”
“Isn’t this beneath you? I don’t have anything worthy of trading for, for,” Alger didn’t finish his sentence. Couldn’t, if Klein’s guess was right. The man was flustered, his clever mind so clearly grinding to a near halt.
“We aren’t engaging in prostitution, Mr. Hanged Man,” Klein assured. ‘I didn’t even think of trading anything for it,’ he muttered inwardly before continuing, “Protecting your life is not beneath me. This, I would gladly give. It will break your curse, save your life, and stabilize and increase humanity. We needn’t bring anything more to it.” Even if Klein didn’t need to strengthen any humanity, he didn’t directly say it was a benefit either of them would get!
“Doing this yourself…” Alger’s voice was full of awe, “You could have asked any of your followers, anyone in the Tarot Club… but you’d do this yourself?”
‘…I’m a fucking idiot. I should have been Mr. World for this!’ The dire situation had blinded him to the most obvious way to save face as Mr. Fool. But now it was too late. Now he had to explain things in a way that would make sense.
Klein kept a straight face, leaning back in the seat of the Fool, his hands resting on his crossed knee. “How many of them would have accepted only because I asked?” Klein prompted, throwing his own persona under the bus, “Mr. World would not have even questioned it. Yet, would he lay with you of his own free will, or out of a sense of duty to me?
“I would not do that to him,” Klein shook his head, “the only way to be certain that all parties are involved of their own free will is to do this myself.”
“I’m unworthy,” Alger’s voice was a whisper, yet it seemed to fill the space.
Mr. Fool’s chuckle chased the echo of it away, “It’s not a question of worth. It’s a question of intent and consent.”
The shaking never let up, trembling in Alger’s voice, “I would… I would humbly accept your aid, Mr. Fool.” His eyes were locked downward, his broad frame stooped in on itself as if he were trying to somehow hide in plain sight.
Taking a moment to view Alger with his spirit vision, Klein cocked his head to one side. Mr. Hanged Man’s aura was enveloped utterly with the colors of fear, dark and swirling through his astral body with only a hint of blue. Laced through the colors were intangible black webs of frost shot through with the warm reddish colors of arousal, like fine cracks in a mirror’s surface. That was the coin’s curse, the pollution Klein had failed to purge.
Never had Klein seen Alger so afraid, not even the first time he’d been pulled above the gray fog. This wasn’t the active, fight-or-flight fear of combat. It was the deeper, instinctive fear of a promised, inevitable demise. The fear of the unknown.
The fact that Alger could communicate at all was commendable.
“I’m glad. Then, let’s get comfortable.” Klein allowed relief to show in his voice, the usual lofty tones of the Fool replaced with something gentler. More human. Yet, that made Alger flinch. Klein tried not to take it personally.
Exerting his will over the space above the gray fog, Klein rose one hand for an act of showmanship, timing the changes with the snap of his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the long marbled table with its twenty-two chairs vanished, the space around them replaced with something more grounded in reality. Their surroundings were an amalgamation of the hotel rooms Klein had enjoyed during his sea travels, though the quality of the furniture borrowed heavily from his experience as Dwayne Dantes, merging the sea life with luxury.
Alger’s chair was replaced with a deep recliner. He was seated there, dressed in the simple shirt and trousers he’d worn when he prayed. His other garments had been discarded prior to the prayer as the sensation of cloth on his increasingly sensitive skin grew uncomfortable. The recliner was beside an open window. Thin, wispy curtains fluttered in a salty sea breeze. Outside lay a vague world cloaked in gray fog, the faint outlines of a town and the sound of sea birds and waves carrying on the wind.
With wide eyes, Alger slowly lowered his hands to his lap, gaze flicking around their environment. While he’d witnessed the initial emergence of the grand palace above the gray fog, he’d never since seen Mr. Fool alter their surroundings so drastically until now. When Alger’s gaze landed on Mr. Fool, the sailor reflexively flinched, looking instead to his hands. The ever present fog that blurred Mr. Fool’s features had thinned, so much so that he’d caught sight of the smile curving those lips, the blurry hint of His features.
“My apologies, Mr. Fool,” Alger was quick to murmur.
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Klein assured. He sat perched on the edge of the bed, facing Alger’s chair with his hands folded together over his crossed knees just as he had in his throne. Most of his clothing had vanished, leaving him in his shirtsleeves, trousers, and socks, “In this place, it’s safe to gaze upon me. You will come to no harm.”
Trusting him at his word, Alger rose his head, looking toward Mr. Fool. The smile Klein offered in return held true warmth. “Much better,” Klein murmured. Exerting the full potential of his Clown powers, he tilted his head inquiringly to one side, “How do you prefer to do things with men?” he asked, as if seeking Alger’s opinion on the weather.
The tone perfectly masked the embarrassment those words dredged up. To this day, Klein had been with exactly one bed partner. Danitz was surprisingly intelligent when it came to matters of sex. While their non-romantic relationship had been borne of necessity, thanks to the self-same coin that thrust this situation upon Alger, Klein had learned to enjoy the sex immensely. He missed Danitz more than he cared to admit, even to himself.
Even with everything Danitz taught him about sex and allowing himself to be vulnerable, it still didn’t adequately prepare him to initiate things with a new partner. Klein would have preferred to take things slow, to build things up, create and nurture anticipation and desire. But Alger didn’t have enough time for such pleasantries.
“Whatever you desire, Mr. Fool,” Alger deferred, ducking his head, a hand rising to his chest as he half-bowed in his seat, “by your will.”
Klein sighed inwardly, ‘That’s awkward.’ He sat in silence a moment, not hiding the fact that he was studying Alger. Try as he might, it was difficult to imagine the proud man as anything but a top. ‘I just can’t see him as a bottom,’ he muttered to himself, ‘maybe it’s because he’s part of the Stormlord’s church? Toxic masculinity’s abundant there. Mr. Hanged Man likes to be in control, so why would the bedroom be any different?’
Of course, some might think similarly of Gehrman Sparrow, but Klein willfully shoved such thoughts to the back of his mind. What did Gehrman’s unexpected submissive streak have to do with him, Mr. Fool? Nothing.
It was fine for two personae to overlap in little ways.
“Whatever I desire?” Mr. Fool’s expression turned thoughtful, his hands rising to loosen his tie, fingers opening the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a pale V of skin, “In that case, I’ll take the bottom.”
Disbelief, relief, and confusion rapidly crossed Alger’s face, “You’re sure?” he asked.
Klein’s voice returned to Mr. Fool’s usual mysterious tones, “Heh, heh, it’s safer that way.”
That mollified Alger, though his shoulders tensed, “Safer… yes, Mr. Fool, I understand. Thank you.” He bowed his head once more.
‘It really is safer, for me. If you ever learn the truth,’ Klein silently admitted. Perhaps Alger would be a little less murderous towards him if the truth ever came out. Beside that, Klein firmly believed that taking advantage of Alger in this situation would be an abuse of perceived power. However, part of Klein couldn’t help but wonder, ‘Am I just over-justifying bottoming?’
Putting his more complicated thoughts aside, Klein lowered his hands, resting them on the bed on either side of him as he leveled his gaze on Alger, “You’re short on time,” the warning was a gentle reminder, “as unfortunate as it is to rush things, we should begin.”
Blanching, Alger rose, a quiet, “Yes,” on his lips as he approached, only to stop a short distance away from Mr. Fool. Though he was looking upon him openly, he stayed more than an arm’s length away. Hesitation writ large on his face, his feet stalled.
“You needn’t be afraid, Mr. Hanged Man,” Klein assured, one hand rising, loosening another button on his shirt, pushing it further open. He leaned back, weight braced on the other hand. “Please, in this, treat me as an equal.”
A deep breath clearly wasn’t enough to settle him. Alger nodded anyways, straightening his posture, looking more like the confident man he’d been when Klein met him on that island. Strange how that felt like a lifetime ago.
“May I touch you, Mr. Fool?” Alger’s voice was tense, disbelieving, but he did not waver.
“It would be very difficult for us to do this otherwise,” Klein’s teasing was playful, the light tone earning a surprised blink from Alger. Taking mercy on him, Klein scooted to the edge of the bed, reaching out and clasping Alger’s hand in his. Alger’s hand trembled slightly when skin met skin, but he did not pull away. Gentle, careful not to seem forceful or demanding, he led the man closer, until he stood between Mr. Fool’s spread knees.
Placing Alger’s hand on his cheek, Klein leaned into the sailor’s calloused palm. That trembling intensified, Alger dropping his gaze. This close, it seemed the man’s courage gave out. He didn’t dare look at the Fool’s face.
Gentle and undemanding, Klein spoke. “Remember. In this room, you may look directly at me.” Those blue eyes rose hesitantly, meeting his own fog obscured gaze. “I consent to your touch,” Klein continued, turning to nuzzle his smooth cheek against Alger’s palm. “If you unintentionally do anything I dislike, I will let you know. However, you will suffer no punishments. You have my word. I only ask,” and here, he paused, lips and warm breath brushing against Alger’s palm as he spoke, “that you do the same. Inform me if I overstep your boundaries. You are allowed to say no. You are allowed to ask for things to stop. Do you understand, Mr. Hanged Man?”
Awe dawning on Alger’s face, experimental fingers relaxed against Mr. Fool’s face, thumb sweeping to the side, thumb caressing the god’s lips. “I understand, Mr. Fool.”
‘Good, he’s warming up to it. But if things keep going at this rate, he’s going to run out of time before we even get our pants off.’ Unwilling to let the man die from hesitation, Klein boldly pressed his tongue against Alger’s thumb followed by gentle teeth grazing the tip. Alger froze, but did not pull away, gaze intense. The sailor’s breath hitched.
Klein opened his mouth further, tongue sliding against the side of Alger’s thumb, swirling around the tip. His teeth grazed skin once more before he wrapped his lips tight, tongue tracing the shape of his thumbnail while he sucked suggestively on the digit.
“Mr. Fool,” shock colored Alger’s voice, but he didn’t pull away. When Klein swirled his tongue around that thumb again, it bent, pinning the god’s tongue to the bottom of his mouth. Eyes narrowing, clearly experimenting with the situation, Alger took control with his own suggestive motions, thumb fucking the god’s lips.
When no resistance was met, no reprimand came, his hand slowed. Emboldened, he pulled it back, thumb popping wetly from Mr. Fool’s lips, hand dropping to Mr. Fool’s shoulder. He pressed, first lightly, then firm, the deity falling back onto the plush bedding without complaint.
Arms spread loose at his sides, legs hanging off the edge of the bed with his sock clad toes resting on the floor, Klein watched Alger with half-lidded eyes, an approving smile on his lips. “Very good,” he encouraged.
Lifting one knee onto the edge of the bed, Alger slid it under one of Mr. Fool’s legs. As Alger climbed onto the bed between his legs, Klein scooted further back, until his heels rested on the edge of the mattress, Alger’s firm weight above him. The mattress dipped on the right of his head, Alger bracing his weight as the other hand rose to Mr. Fool’s jaw. The backs of his knuckles traced the shape of it, following the line back to the juncture where it met the neck. He cradled the Fool’s head.
Relaxing into the bedding, Klein rose a hand, resting it against Alger’s side, enjoying the warmth through his shirt, marveling at the firmness of the muscles below his palm. He followed the motion of Alger’s chest expanding with his breaths. The whole time, Klein’s gaze was on Alger’s face, and the man seemed to be closely inspecting Mr. Fool’s lips.
Klein’s hand left Alger, joining the other at his own shirt, continuing to unbutton it, “Don’t linger too long,” he murmured, fingers undoing the final button as he pulled half the shirt open, exposing his chest. Those blue eyes flicked down from Mr. Fool’s barely obscured lips to drink in the sight of the god’s bare skin.
Incredibly slim, with well defined muscles. Mr. Fool’s build was a surprise and a delight all in one. Lost in the moment, he nearly missed when Mr. Fool drew his breath in. He was too distracted watching his chest rise, gaze flicking to the bared side of the god’s chest and the exposed pink nipple.
“May I undress you?” Klein asked.
Alger registered the question and froze, swallowing roughly, Adam’s apple bobbing, “You may,” he consented, holding still as Mr. Fool’s hands rose, slim fingers skimming along his arms, up to his shoulders, then following the line of his chest down to the sides. Alighting at the waist of Alger’s trousers, he deftly picked at the fabric, pulling it from where it was neatly tucked in. Cooperating, Alger sat up, arms rising as Mr. Fool dragged the shirt up over his head. Discarded to the side, it landed in a rumpled heap on the bedding beside them.
Though Alger couldn’t fully make out Mr. Fool’s face, His gaze was obvious through the thinning fog. A pretty flush had risen on the god’s barely visible cheeks.
Blood rushing in his ears, head in his face, and pants growing tighter by the moment, Klein took him in from his vantage point beneath him. Mr. Hanged Man’s body was sculpted and shaped by his life at sea. The way his muscles moved beneath his weathered skin was mesmerizing, even in the gentle light filling the room. The shadows cast in the valleys between muscles drew him in, tantalizing and inviting. His gaze dipped to trace Alger’s belly, staring at the man’s sturdy core. Alger’s build promised strength. Klein’s heart raced.
Allowing temptation to guide him, Klein sat up, smirking ever so slightly at Alger’s surprised jump, though the sailor admirably stopped himself, holding his place. Sticking his tongue out, Klein pressed it firmly to the center of Alger’s chest, licking a stripe up between his pecs. Sensation was so realistic above the gray fog. Though neither was physically present, he still caught the scent of Alger’s skin, tasted the salt of his sweat.
A delicious shudder left the man as Klein’s tongue dragged slowly up until it settled at the dip of his collar bones, where Mr. Fool nibbled, gentle as a kitten. Satisfaction curled in Klein’s gut when one arm wrapped around him, palm resting at the back of his head as if to hold him there.
Never in his wildest dreams had Alger ever dared imagine this. Mr. Fool’s teeth scraped at his skin, lips pressing to kiss and suckle. Eyes closing, Alger clutched the soft hair under his palm, breath unstable as it left his lips in another shudder. The god of the Tarot Club was sweet.
Honestly, Alger wasn’t certain what he’d expected to happen when Mr. Fool offered himself. But now, they were here, skin to skin, the gods lips and tongue and teeth exploring his body. A low sound of appreciation finally rumbled from Alger’s chest.
Klein smiled against the man’s skin. ‘Good. Warming up to things.’
This wasn’t how Klein had anticipated spending his evening. Danitz had taught him a lot about companionship, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the physical side of it. He hadn’t shared anyone’s bed since he left Danitz behind. Maybe that was part of why he was so quick to jump to Alger’s aid.
He was certain Mr. Hanged Man would understand his desire for discretion. Alger would not to tell a soul what happened here. Of that much, he was certain.
Tongue leaving Alger’s chest, Klein smirked at the low sound rumbling out of the sailor. It would have been so much fun to drag this out, to take his sweet time discovering what the man liked. But time was ticking and Alger only had so much of it. They could not afford to linger overlong on foreplay.
Klein reached for Alger’s belt, fingers skimming along the worn brown leather. Lips pressing again to Alger’s skin, he kissed him while his clever fingers easily loosened the belt strap from the loop, unbuckling it and pulling it free. The belt joined Alger’s shirt, discarded haphazardly to the side.
With a determined grunt, Alger pulled back, hands dropping to Mr. Fool’s belt as he boldly returned the favor. There was less finesse behind the action, but the end result was the same, shiny black leather dropped to the side.
They paused then, chests heaving, Alger kneeling on the bed between Klein’s bent legs. The tension was growing exponentially, a flame licking at tinder. But judging by the way Alger’s face pinched slightly, the man was starting to think again, and Klein was certain that wouldn’t help them achieve their goal.
Uncertainty crept into Alger’s face, as if he weren’t quite sure what to do next. The tension grew awkward, Alger’s eyes tracking over Mr. Fool’s body, settling on the loose shirt, the bared skin. He didn’t make any further moves.
‘Overwhelmed? Scared of displeasing me?’ Klein sighed internally, taking initiative. Slim fingers alighted on Alger’s sides, tracing the shapes of Alger’s muscles. “You’re tense.” The usual tone of the Fool had melted away into something more intimate, low and full of warmth. Closer to his true self. “Let me help you relax.”
Klein’s hand slowed, nudging Alger’s shoulder, “Sit on the edge of the bed,” he said, and when he realized that anything he requested could be misconstrued as an order from a god, he softened it with a gentle, “please.”
The intimacy in the tone had Alger’s eyes wide, and after a heartbeat, he nodded, “As you wish,” obeying the request. He pulled away from Mr. Fool, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees.
With legs on either side of Alger now, Klein sat up, arms wrapping around the broad shouldered man from behind. The tension remained, even Alger’s breathing freezing at the embrace. Klein’s lips pressed to his neck, just below the ear, kissing Alger there before scooting back, only to leave the bed.
In a fluid, graceful motion, he turned, stepping in between Alger’s knees and kneeling between them. Confusion swept Alger’s face, “Mr. Fool?” he asked, breath catching, uncertainty wavering his voice as Klein’s hands moved to Alger’s hips. Those fingers skimmed along the waistband of his trousers, towards the front.
“May I?” Klein requested, not looking up. His gaze was only for what lay before him. Alger’s stomach muscles were tense.
“By your will,” Alger replied, voice strained.
Mr. Fool sighed at the stiffness in those words, the deferential attitude. It was fine at the Tarot Club, but in this situation it felt wrong. “As an equal,” he reminded him, “may I continue?”
Alger swallowed, voice and breath shallow, “Yes.”
‘Better,’ he decided.
Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against Alger’s trousers, just over the groin. Hands grasping at the man’s legs to steady himself, Klein pulled his lips back, teeth capturing the edge of the cloth. Methodically, using the Clown’s physical coordination to its fullest, he worked Alger’s fly open.
Mr. Hanged Man didn’t breathe at all, holding infinitely still for him. Mr. Fool didn’t fumble once, displaying a shocking prowess at undressing a man with his teeth. Alger needed to recalibrate his understanding of the universe.
Trousers opened, Klein swapped to his hands, fingers sliding down along skin, brushing through blue pubic hair. Amusement curled Klein’s lips into a grin. ‘Carpet matches the drapes,’ he lampooned silently, though he chided himself, ‘don’t get distracted.’
Capturing Alger’s cock with his hand, he liberated him from the confines of the man’s underwear to find he was barely half-hard. ‘He really is nervous.’
It wasn’t difficult to understand the situation, though. Anxiety and fear could lead to failure to perform. With death looming in the near future, anyone would be afraid. Adding in the surreal situation, it was no surprise Alger hadn’t quite gotten it up yet. As a keyboard warrior, he’d learned all about such problems, even if he hadn’t had the opportunity to suffer them himself.
Slim fingers stroked the exposed shaft, trailing from root to tip with feather-light touches, “Am I that displeasing a partner?” He quipped, not looking up. He didn’t see the way Alger winced as if anticipating divine punishment for his slow arousal.
“No, no, it’s - you’re very - I’m-” Alger squirmed where he sat, but did not pull away.
‘Goddess, that’s the most ineloquent I’ve ever heard the man. His brain might be short-circuiting right now.’
Klein bent down, kissing Alger’s cock, lips pressing against the base, surrounded by the sailor’s masculine scent. He braced his weight on Alger’s legs with his hands, tongue darting out. He licked a lazy line, tracing the route his fingers had taken. Once he reached the tip his lips parted, tongue gently sliding under the glans as he engulfed him.
Danitz had taught him well since his first time doing this. He’d gone from a ‘rookie cock sucker’, as Danitz so eloquently put it, to earning the man’s praise every time. Now, he put his skills to the test on a new partner for the first time.
A sudden, unrestrained cry was Klein’s reward, Alger’s voice rising, hips rocking faintly where he sat. The sailor’s hands moved to clutch the edge of the bed, digging into the blankets. In Klein’s mouth, Alger’s cock sluggishly responded, growing against his tongue as it swirled against the skin.
With the feedback from his Faceless abilities, Klein was immediately aware that, while Alger’s cock was shorter than Danitz’s, it was noticeably thicker. The stretch of Klein’s lips around Alger’s girth caused a surge of excitement, Klein’s cock straining in the confines of his pants. There was no question whether it would fit inside him. Even without using his Faceless abilities, Klein was confident it would.
“You needn’t debase yourself!” Alger insisted, legs trembling under Klein’s hands, body tense as a bowstring.
With a hearty suckle, Klein pulled back, suction breaking with a soft, wet pop. One hand left Alger’s knee, to grasp his base and slowly stroke the arousing member. He looked up then, head tilting back as he sought eye contact. A blush was rising on Alger’s cheeks and Klein drank the sight in. “Sex isn’t debasement,” he said, still in that gentle, intimate tone, reflecting on the lessons he’d learned himself, “it’s companionship. Trust. Comfort.” His fingers reached his tip, palming it and teasing the underside of it with his fingertips, “Sex can even be salvation. It can be whatever the participants want and need it to be.”
Nuzzling his smooth cheek against the length of Alger’s cock, Klein’s lips brushed against it as he continued, “Circumstances brought us here, but they need not dictate what this is to us. So please, relax. I won’t do anything you don’t want. Even if it results in the curse not being removed,” he sighed, breath stirring against Alger’s saliva slicked length, “I will honor your choices.”
“I’m sorry,” Alger whispered, “it’s hard.”
“So is your cock.” The words left Klein’s mouth before he could stop himself. The mortification that slipped through his Clown control was neatly hidden as he bowed his head once more over Alger’s lap.
“Mr. Fool!?” Alger sputtered, the crude comment earning a shocked sound from the sailor.
He was rewarded with Klein’s mirthful laugher, shoulders shaking slightly, “Relax,” he urged again before he took his cock back into his mouth.
Alger’s hips jolted before he got a hold of himself, hands clutching the bedding so tight his knuckles ached. Wrenching a hand free, it shook as he moved it to the back of Mr. Fool’s head, resting on surprisingly soft, smooth hair. When no reprimand came, Klein’s head still bobbing in his lap, lips tight around his shaft, Alger left his hand there, following the motion without guiding. His fingers couldn’t help but run through the strands.
When Mr. Fool took him into His throat, Alger’s breath stuttered as he fought to keep himself still, terrified of somehow hurting him.
As if he, a mortal, could harm a god.
Pulling back, Klein’s tongue swirled and worked against Alger’s cock, caressing every inch in wet heat. Alger unconsciously clenched his hand, pulling Mr. Fool’s hair. That earned a low moan, a slight vibration on his cock.
When Klein finally released him, head pulling back, a string of saliva stubbornly clung between his lip and Alger’s dick before it thinned and broke. The sight alone nearly drove Alger to madness, his body quivering. His hand had followed that hair, still clutching tight enough to cause mild pain. Fully aroused, he’d gained a new appreciation for the Tarot Club’s god.
Without a word, Klein rose, Alger’s fingers loosening and falling away from his hair as the man - the one Alger believed to be a god - stood between the sailor’s spread legs. The fog obscuring his face was thinner now, the features, while still blurred, more readable than ever. It was a conscious act of intimacy on Klein’s behalf, to set Alger more at ease. His gaze was fixed on Alger as he unbuttoned his slacks, thumbs tugging them down with his undergarment.
Baring himself to Alger, his erect cock sprang blessedly free of the cloth confines, the air in the imagined hotel room cool on his skin. The moment was silent, save for the distant sound of waves and the cries of gulls from the window. Alger didn’t move, though his chest rose and fell with his erratic breaths.
Klein allowed gravity to take his trousers and underwear to the floor, pushing them aside with one foot. He was left in nothing but the open shirt and a pair of black socks. Tilting his head back slightly, he spread his arms to the side, as if presenting himself for the sailor’s inspection.
Having not gone out of his way to sculpt his form, Klein wore the same image he always did above the gray fog, one that was essentially Klein Moretti but taller and obscured in fog, every scar and imperfection that might identify him hidden away by his Faceless power. Thus, Mr. Fool was pale, his body svelt.
Alger drank him in hungrily. Mr. Fool’s cock was slender and long, fully at attention. Sparse, dark hair trailed from his lower belly to his groin in short curls. His hips were so narrow that, were he just a man and not a god, Alger would be afraid of breaking him.
After a moment of acclimation, allowing Alger to sweep his gaze over him, Klein put his hands to Alger’s shoulders. One leg lifted to the bed, knee resting on the edge. Alger scooted further back as Mr. Fool smoothly straddled his lap, knees digging into the bedding on either side of Alger’s thighs.
Leaning in, Klein skimmed his lips against the line of Alger’s jaw, expression scrunching slightly at the rough texture of the sailor’s scruff, kiss trailing a fraction of an inch from Alger’s lips. A slow roll of his hips ground their cocks between them.
Barely a hair’s breadth away, the enigmatic fog that always obscured Mr. Fool’s face didn’t blur his features. Alger was faced with half-lidded eyes of honeyed gold, beautiful and hazed with desire. Their gazes met, held.
Something inside Alger snapped, his self-control crumbling. He closed the last of the distance, pressing his lips to Mr. Fool’s in a sudden kiss. His hands grabbed Mr. Fool’s hips, pulling him close as his tongue reverently begged entrance.
It was granted. Alger licked his way between the Fool’s teeth, into the mouth that opened willingly to the plunder. He tasted so utterly human that it stole Alger’s breath. Somehow, that made it all the more divine.
Of course Mr. Fool would make himself seem as human as possible. It was clearly for Alger’s comfort. His hands tightened on Mr. Fool’s hips, rocking up to meet him, grinding their cocks together as the slim god replied in kind. Lips parted just long enough for a shaky breath before Alger turned to worshiping the Fool with his mouth.
The sweet friction built quickly, until a soft moan broke free from Klein’s lips, echoed by Alger’s voice. Shared pleasure jolted through them both and Alger sought more, bucking up beneath Mr. Fool. His breaths turned labored, his hands tightened on his god’s hips.
Soon, it became too much and Alger acted. Hauling Mr. Fool off his lap by the hips, he pushed him down onto his back. Klein sank into the bedding, relief fluttering in his chest.
Finally, he’d gotten Alger relaxed enough for this.
“Forgive me,” the sailor uttered as he climbed atop his god, lips hungry as they clashed once more with His. He pinned Him down with his weight, kissing him until they were both breathless.
“Mr. Hanged Man, there’s nothing to forgive.” Klein’s chest was heaving, his voice breathy, body trembling and eager, “As lovely as this is,” his legs splayed wide, hips rising in invitation, “we can’t forget our goal. Please, you may continue.”
Time was ticking by too fast, Klein’s worries growing by the moment. He was tracking the time. They’d started with less than an hour, but more than half an hour. Somewhere in between laid the line between life and death for Alger, and Klein’s intuition wouldn’t allow him to forget the ticking clock.
Drawing in a deep breath, kneeling between Klein’s legs, Alger ran his hands down Mr. Fool’s body, dragging his calloused palms over smooth, unblemished skin. He marveled at the contrast, only stopping when his hands made it to Mr. Fool’s groin. One hand boldly curled around Mr. Fool’s sac, thumb caressing between his balls.
The Tarot Club’s god was many things to Alger. Divine. Mysterious, powerful. Intimidating. Kind. Knowledgeable. Now, as the deity lay nude before him, head thrown back, the pale column of his neck exposed, legs spread wide, hips lifted from the bed, muscles tense and hands grasping at the bedding, Alger added more traits to the list.
Beautiful. Alluring. Erotic.
He stopped fondling him, hand sliding lower, one finger sliding until it pressed between Klein’s ass cheeks, an excited smirk curling his lips when Mr. Fool squirmed at the touch. Coming to a languid stop when he found the entrance, his finger rested there a moment, gentle pressure rocking a teasing circle at the hole.
A gasp escaped Klein’s lips when a cool, slick wetness bloomed between them. He couldn’t stop the startled buck of his hips, lips falling open to draw in a breath.
“So I can use my powers here,” Alger observed. He paused then, the slick feeling starting to fade, “Ah- may I use them here?”
“G-,” Klein breathed, nearly swearing by the goddess, catching himself in time to finish with, “Go on,” half whispered.
‘There’d be no way to explain that away as Mr. Fool!’ He chided himself.
“By your will,” Alger murmured, this time there was something sensual in his tone. The slick feeling returned, Alger’s finger beginning to rock and tease at Mr. Fool’s hole, “While this has plenty of applications in combat, this is the second most common use for this ability.”
Klein closed his eyes, head tipping back, hips rising further, a wordless acknowledgment in his throat.
Massaging the entrance, Alger generously slathered the mystically conjured lubricant over the outer rim before finally pressing to sink his finger past the initial resistance into Mr. Fool’s warmth. Kneeling between Klein’s legs, Alger bent down to press small kisses to the exposed skin of his chest, the shirt still hanging wide open.
He liked the half-dressed look on Mr. Fool.
An uncomfortable grunt fell from Mr. Fool’s lips and Alger froze. When nothing followed but shallow breathing, he proceeded. Finger pushing slowly deeper, his god’s every reaction cataloged, Alger sank a second finger in beside the first, slow and careful as he stretched the tight ring. His lips never left Mr. Fool’s skin, his body bowed over Mr. Fool’s as his fingers readied Him. Almost meditative, he may as well have been praying with how gentle his touch was.
The discomfort fled Klein’s voice. The third finger was met with a soft, sweet sound, half a whimper, half a plea. When Alger froze this time it wasn’t out of fear, but sudden, acute desire to cause the sound again. With utter reverence, his fingers stretched and dilated Him, readying the divine body to receive his worship.
He would earn those sounds again.
A fine tremor of anticipation in his gut, Alger slid his fingers out, rewarded with a soft whimper of loss. Kissing the taut muscles of Mr. Fool’s belly once more, Alger rose back onto his knees, pressing closer. Grasping himself, he created more of that slick substance, coating his cock throughly from root to tip. Only once he was adequately and throughly slick - and keeping it that way with a touch of spirituality - he guided himself to Mr. Fool’s prepared entrance.
Inch by inch, he sank into Mr. Fool’s body. Agonizingly slow. Even gods would moan, and Mr. Fool’s voice rose, the sound a blessing to Alger’s ears. Once more than half of Alger’s thick cock had sunken past the entrance, Mr. Fool made a soft sound beneath him before bucking up off the bed as he fought to sheath the rest of Alger’s dick inside him, only to be foiled by the sailor’s hand catching his hip, stalling him.
A desperate, wordless cry of protest fell from Mr. Fool’s lips, his body writhing beneath Alger, rocking and grinding with eager whimpers as Alger held him down, controlling the pace until the moment he bottomed out inside. Only then, once his hips were flush with Mr. Fool’s ass, did the god settle down with another needy whimper.
Never before had Alger felt more powerful. Not when victorious in battle. Not when commanding his crew. Not even when he advanced to his latest sequence. Those experiences all paled in comparison to holding Mr. Fool down and controlling the pace as he slowly speared the god on his cock.
Beneath him, Klein was rocking and grinding, sensual sounds falling freely from his lips. With his Clown control, he could have fought to stop them, yet with Danitz he’d learned that letting go was the sweetest bliss.
When Alger began to move, Mr. Fool eagerly and greedily met every roll of his hips. Alger struggled to keep himself in check, to respond to Mr. Fool’s enthusiastic participation with restraint. This was all happening at Mr. Fool’s will. He’d volunteered Himself to save Alger’s life. It would be a betrayal not to treat Him with the utter reverence His magnanimous existence deserved.
After all, despite the illusion of control, Alger knew Mr. Fool could choose to end things in an instant. In a single breath, it could be over, both the sex and his life. Believe in the might of the gods, but not their benevolence. There is always a price extracted. That knowledge settled in the back of his mind, warily warning him to caution.
The pressure to please was at an all time high. He could not disappoint Mr. Fool, he could not afford to fail him. It was his divine duty to pleasure his god, to bring him to the highest heights.
To focus on his own pleasure would be blasphemy of the highest order. Alger’s pleasure was meaningless next to His, and he would gladly serve.
Warmth stretched around his cock, clutching him tight. Alger was infinitely careful lest he manage to hurt the god. If such a thing was even possible for a mere mortal. Settling into place atop of Mr. Fool, weight braced on his arms, Alger pressed his face to the Fool’s throat, worshiping him with reverent kisses.
Even in what he understood to be his astral body, Alger was keenly aware of physical sensations. A boon of the Fool’s realm, perhaps? It emulated the physical world perfectly. A pulse pounded beneath his lips where he kissed, warm with life and blood.
A body was a body, after all, even one that belonged to a god. Flesh and blood, hosting divinity. His strokes were slow, seeking the places that earned the sweetest cries. One hand roamed Mr. Fool’s body, settling on his chest, sliding under the edge of that open shirt to caress the firm bud of one pink nipple.
A gentle thrust. He kissed Mr. Fool’s throat, right above the pulse point. A slow withdraw. His lips skimmed up to His jaw. Another thrust, gentle as a prayer. It earned a soft cry, another bucking of those slim hips as his cock pressed against the prostate.
Even gods felt pleasure. A body was a body, and Alger knew well how to pleasure a man.
This was a god. A god who had chosen him. A god who had guided him. A god who smiled. A god with a firm hand. A god with humanity.
His god.
Alger’s lips trailed up from the throat, a path of kisses making its way to Mr. Fool’s lips. He claimed them once more, the kiss gentle and sweet. His hips found a rhythm, slow and sinuous, the motion rolling through his core.
It was perilously close to lovemaking.
Intuition warned Klein that they were taking too long, time still ticking away despite the sweet sensations they shared. If felt incredible, yes, but the goal of their impromptu tryst felt too far away. At this rate, Alger was at risk of dying before they finished.
Klein didn’t want Alger to die. He especially didn’t want Alger to die while they were in the middle of having sex.
Tilting his head until the kiss broke, Klein nipped Alger’s lower lip, capturing it for a moment and biting just enough to pinch. The sailor flinched, thrusts stuttering to a stop.
Alger’s confused apology died half-formed when Mr. Fool’s finger laid across Alger’s lips in a shushing gesture.
“Alger,” Mr. Hanged Man’s true name caught the man’s attention, the sailor quivering above Klein, “you’re worshiping me.” Klein’s voice dipped to a murmur, his finger turning, caressing the spot on Alger’s lip he’d nipped. The hand slid to his cheek, cupped it, sliding towards the back of his head to hold him as he leaned into to whisper in his ear, “you should be desecrating me.”
The words took a moment to sink in. Confusion contorted Alger’s face as he pulled back, still close enough to see the gorgeous honeyed gold of Mr. Fool’s half-closed eyes through the layer of distortion the fog lent the god.
Mr. Fool’s provocation didn’t end there. He pointedly bucked up against the sailor, “Fuck me like a man, Alger. Show me what the Tyrant’s pathway is capable of.” Hooking a leg around Alger’s hip, the second followed on the other side, wrapping close, ankles crossing to lock their bodies together.
Klein thanked Danitz in his heart for teaching him the fine art of sensually provoking one’s bed partner. Even if the student had outpaced the teacher in a single session.
Alger’s breath hitched, “Are you sure?”
“You’re short on time,” Mr. Fool’s voice was breathy, low, “Chase the pleasure. We’ll have plenty of time when you’re saved. Now fuck me.”
Alger’s mind was whirling with thoughts, ‘Plenty of time? Is he implying we’ll continue? Or that we will do this again? Surely not. I’m not worthy of-‘ Alger’s self depreciating thoughts were cut off when Mr. Fool’s hips bucked impatiently beneath him, legs tightening around his waist.
“Alger,” the god’s demand was breathless, somewhat nasally, almost as if…
‘No. Do not think it. Mr. Fool does not whine.’ Weight braced on one hand, Alger reached down, grasping Mr. Fool’s hip with his other. The gentleness fled, calloused fingers grasping with near bruising force, “As you wish,” he said, slamming their hips together hard enough to coax a shout from the god below him.
Alger rather liked that sound, too. He drew in a ragged breath, “You want me to treat you as an equal, to fuck you?” His voice lowered into a growl for the last words, hips thrusting once more, brutally hard.
Another cry ripped from Mr. Fool’s lips, his legs tight around the sailor, holding them flush. “Yes!” Mr. Fool’s voice was a shaky exhalation. In an instant, Mr. Fool’s hands were grasping his shoulders, slim fingers digging in to weathered skin. The God’s chest was heaving with His breaths, perfectly imitating mortality. Every harsh snap of Alger’s hips earned another sharp cry from His lips.
The surreality of the situation was intoxicating. He was fucking the Tarot Club’s god.
Hips crushing Mr. Fool into the mattress, he let himself go in the moment, pleasure climbing. After a particularly deep thrust, blunt nails dug into his shoulders, clawing hard enough to hurt. Alger hissed, stopping, hips grinding into the body beneath him with punishing force. He reached up to capture Mr. Fool’s wrists in his hands, yanking them away from his shoulders and shoving them to the bed above the god’s head, “Behave!” he snapped instinctively, only to freeze.
His mind crashed around him. ‘Shit.’ What had he just done? Mr. Fool’s back was arched, captured hands balled into fists, wrist bones pressing against Alger’s palm. They were deceptively fragile in his grasp. He’d just told Mr. Fool to behave.
So this was how he would die. Not how he expected to go.
Alger’s spiraling thoughts were interrupted with a low cry and a splash of warmth against his belly. Mr. Fool was trembling beneath him, passage clenching tight around Alger’s cock, legs squeezing around him.
For a second time in the span of two seconds, Alger’s mind froze. Easing back on his knees, he glanced between them, gaze blank as he stared at the cum still drooling from the tip of Mr. Fool’s untouched cock, at the trail it painted up His pale torso, at the short rope that had struck his own skin, now heavily dripping down.
He did not comprehend what he was seeing. Alger looked up. The god’s barely obscured face was beet red, lips hanging open, eyes wider than he’d ever seen.
Klein stared at Alger in shock, recovering from the abrupt pleasure he’d just been slammed with. ‘Didn’t expect to discover a new kink,’ he sighed inwardly.
“Proceed,” Mr. Fool croaked, voice hoarse.
Alger’s head tilted to one side. Strange how that hoarse voice was almost familiar. But surely he’d never heard Mr. Fool’s voice go hoarse before, had he?
Alger let his eyes travel up from Mr. Fool’s face to the slender wrists captured under his hands. To an outsider, someone who assumed the man beneath him was merely human, it would look like Alger had overpowered the smaller man. It even almost felt like he had.
‘Is this what Mr. Fool enjoys?’ Alger’s mind began racing through the possibilities, ‘A fantasy of helplessness?’
Among mortals, it wasn’t at all uncommon for those in power to enjoy submitting in bed. He didn’t have enough fingers to list all the sailors - both pirates and those from the Storm church - who were allegedly into such things. If many gods were once mortal, then it stood to reason that those with abundant humanity, such as Mr. Fool, would have some lingering mortal desires.
Like sex. Like allowing someone to overpower them.
Experimentally, he pushed those wrists harder into the bedding, rewarded with a soft sound from the god below him. He could work with that.
Alger transferred one of those ‘captive’ wrists to his other hand, pressing them together as, still balls deep inside of Mr. Fool, he snatched His shiny leather belt from the side of the bed where it had been tossed. Emboldened by the god’s cooperation, he held the belt in his teeth then put the end of it through the buckle. Looping it around Mr. Fool’s crossed wrists, he pulled the end, cinching the belt tight. He wound the belt around the crossed wrists a criss-crossing pattern before pressing the loose end into Mr. Fool’s palm.
Klein reflexively curled his fingers around the leather, heart slamming in his throat. Still trembling after his surprise orgasm, he was content to let Alger do whatever the Hell he wanted.
The sailor’s voice was a low growl, “Don’t let go.”
‘Huh?’ It took Klein a moment of sluggish thought before he realized how easy it would be to escape the belt. If he let go of the belt end, it would be simple to unwind from his wrists and remove it. The bondage was half psychological and required his active participation. ‘Well done, Mr. Hanged Man,’ he praised in his heart, his newly discovered kink rapidly evolving.
Arms bound over his head, Klein couldn’t help but marvel at how exposed he felt. This wasn’t something Danitz had prepared him for. He clutched the end of the belt obediently, face hot and flushed. Alger’s eyes were on him, drinking him in. As much as Klein wanted to close his eyes, he met that blue gaze head on.
Calloused hands ran down Klein’s legs before catching him under the knee, cock pulling out of him. A protesting sound slipped from Klein’s lips as Alger left him empty, only to cut off when the sailor pushed his legs up, tilting his hips.
The Clown’s flexibility made it easy for Alger to fold him nearly in half, leaving Klein’s legs wide open, knees pressing to the mattress. His ass was completely exposed.
The look of surprised awe on Alger’s face was enough to make Klein chuff out a breathy laugh, despite the inherent discomfort of the position. When the sailor’s gaze snapped back to his face, Klein did his best to shrug despite the hands tied above his head, looking away, “My pathway is very flexible.”
Mr. Fool almost looked shy. Alger liked that. He grasped himself, lining his dick back up with the Fool’s hole. “Good,” he was relishing the moment, spurred on by the Fool’s permissive behavior. If he wanted to be treated like an equal, Alger had finally been convinced.
Pressing in, Alger’s weight sank him back into that tight heat. Klein arched his back, chest pressing further upwards as Alger’s chest pressed flush against it.
The pace Alger set was punishing, his weight pushing Klein’s legs down against the bedding, spearing his wide open body again and again. Alger’s own eager sounds were mingling with Klein’s, and when he finally grasped Mr. Fool’s cock with one slick, calloused hand, the pinned god beneath him bucked and writhed.
Their efforts were not in vain. Klein was the first over the edge, a sound terribly close to a scream ripping from his throat, leaving it raw. Bent as he was, the cum spattered over his own chest and face.
Still sheathed inside Mr. Fool, he repositioned, releasing his legs and easing them back to the bedding. Two more savage thrusts followed before Alger came, grinding his hips flush against Klein’s ass, spilling himself deep inside him. Yet, before he could even begin to apologize for neither warning nor asking permission to cum inside, a dark mist formed in the space between them. A freezing sensation passed through his body, expelling into that mist. There was a phantom sigh, then gray fog collapsed into the space from nowhere, snuffing the black cloud out.
Beneath Alger, Klein let go of the belt, wriggling until it loosened and freed his hands. “Hold still,” he urged, holding one hand out. calling Alger’s prayer star to him.
Startled and confused, Alger could only watch as what appeared to be a red rimmed window opened in the air, showing an overhead view of his real body, slumped against the side of the bed where he’d been seated praying to Mr. Fool. Through the strange portal, he could see something illusory and black tangled in his real body’s chest, like thorns tight around the heart.
While Alger was distracted, Klein summoned what he needed, the Red Priest Card of Blasphemy flew from the junk pile, phasing through the imagined wall. Catching it deftly in one hand, he quickly used it’s power to buff himself and sent a Paper Angel to the prayer star.
Watching with wide-eyed awe, holding terribly still, Alger witnessed as the angel’s blessing his body in a wash of red. When the view cleared, the tangle of black was gone.
Dismissing the card back to the junk pile, Klein let himself half-collapse beneath Alger, a heavy, relieved sigh escaping his lips. “It’s done,” he said, though he tried for Mr. Fool’s usual tones, the tremble still remaining in his body ruined the effect. “Removing the curse from your astral body destroyed the protection it had against my power.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fool,” Alger whispered, awe in his voice. Hesitating a moment, he began to withdraw, “I apologize for this-“
Klein interrupted him, an arm wrapping around him to keep him close, “You have nothing to apologize for.”
They fell silent, catching their breaths, each relieved to have broken the curse. Several long moments passed, Alger’s cock still slotted deep inside.
The first to move was Klein. He put his hand to Alger’s chest and pressed, the sailor obediently allowing him to push him up then to one side. As one, they rolled over, Alger landing on his back as Mr. Fool straddled him, sitting on his cock. Their gazes met again, Alger’s lips half opened, hands raised as if uncertain where to put them.
Klein put his hands in Alger’s, fingers curling between the sailor’s. Those strong, warm hands made him feel small. Ridiculous as it was, even though he was higher sequence than Alger, it still made him feel safe when their hands clasped together.
Closing his eyes, Klein rolled his hips, hands holding tight against Alger’s as he began to ride him in a slow, lazy manner. Without the specter of death hanging over Alger’s head, Klein savored the feeling of the sailor inside his body, voice breathy as he let himself be heard.
Together, they moved, once more back to the languid pace they’d begun with, sinuous and sensual, until they hit their tipping point once more. Once both were spent, Klein rose off Alger’s cock, a low sound in his throat as the shaft left him. Cum spilled from his stretched hole, running down his inner thighs. Watching, Alger was spellbound by the sight.
Glancing down at himself, Klein smiled ruefully at the seed clinging to his skin. Everything but the lines painting his legs was his own. Lazily, he rose one hand over his head, snapping his fingers for show as he willed the gray fog to clean them. Cum and sweat vanished, leaving their skin fresh. Settling down at Alger’s side, Klein nestled his face against his chest.
Alger didn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around him. They rested together until their breathing was even and their hearts no longer pounded.
More than the sex, this was what Klein had missed and craved after parting ways with Danitz. Simple human touch and connection. ‘I think I’m addicted to cuddling,’ he sighed to himself.
If it were the physical realm, he would have been content to let himself fall asleep right there. Soon, they would part. But for now, he immersed himself in the rare comfort.
✦· · ─ ·✦· ─ · ·✦
Alger’s eyes blinked open, the world coming slowly into focus. The familiar hotel room looked a lot more drab after his experience above the gray fog. His arms and legs were stiff from his slumped pose and it took him several moments to rise from the floor, letting himself fall onto the bed on his back with a groan.
Only then did he notice the cold, wet sensation at his groin. Loosening his pants and tugging them open, he grimaced at the mess of cum, scowling at it. He supposed it was time for a bath. Flinging an arm over his eyes, he fought back the thoughts of pale skin and fragile wrists.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same again. He let his breath out, shaky and slow. At the next Tarot Meeting, he would do his best not to look directly upon the god, while praying his thoughts didn’t turn blasphemous. This was… going to be difficult. After all, he sat right across from a Spectator.
✦· · ─ ·✦· ─ · ·✦
Meanwhile, Klein landed back in his body, only to stagger back a step and let himself collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Breath heaving out of him, he raked both hands through his hair, laughing shakily as he felt a phantom echo of soreness in his ass. His muscles ached vaguely, as if he’d overworked himself.
With a laugh, he turned his spiritual vision in on himself, checking his state, only to pause. There was a trace of foreign spirituality inside of him, hidden within his astral body.
On closer inspection, a blush flushed his face. A fragment of Mr. Hanged Man’s spirituality. It was a faint mark, slowly drowning within his own. He watched in fascination as it diluted, spreading through him until it dispersed.
Klein covered his face with both his hands, barking out an embarrassed laugh.
“Goddess,” Klein breathed, dragging his hands down his face, “that was unexpected.”
He closed his eyes, head tilting back, “I’ll need to thicken the fog around us next Tarot Club,” he said to the ceiling, “but if I only thicken it around the two of us, it’ll tip Miss Justice off that something happened. No, I need to thicken it around everyone.”
Even with his Clown powers, he didn’t trust that he could even look at Mr. Hanged Man without blushing. Rising from the toilet lid, he moved to straighten his clothes, finally noticing the cold, damp feeling in his trousers.
Good thing he was in the bathroom, his first order of business was a bath, followed by a nap. The world could wait a couple more hours, and if a certain sailor featured in his thoughts while he rested, none would be the wiser.