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Ash has fallen from grace and the plummet left him in pieces. First: a build up, trouble stacking until the tower toppled over—and he went down with it, trying to salvage whatever was left of the empire he’s brought into existence. An extension of himself, likewise unsteady.
He sits at the edge of the mattress in his home away from home. Whilst he walked its corridors, the Pantheon felt vacant despite elaborate art, the silence far too loud, but the faux-coziness he ran to only makes him nauseous now. And the bed is too big for comfort.
Putting finer emotions into words has never been Ash’s strong suit. He knows when he’s angry, because he wants to break things. A cycle: things break, he gets angry, breaks more perfectly good things. That’s pretty much it. But beyond the rage splintering through his body, there’s a sour, undeniable knowledge of his own helplessness.
Ewron consistently involves him in some absurd antics. For being Ash’s anchor, he also plays the part of rough sea waves. Sometimes it makes Ash wonder if Ewron, by choosing the occupation of an assassin (and pastor), didn't defy the fate of a jester.
Precisely, it was his poor decision making and nagging that toppled the tower over. The last few days have been so good, an idyll in comparison to all they’ve been through up to that point. Ash’s dignity has been desecrated the moment he let his guard down and allowed Ewron to guide them both through darkness. Propelled from heaven, he hit the hard pavement.
Maybe his first mistake was that proposal to Ewron, tying their destinies together like a fool grabbing at any outstretched hand and clasping tight. Maybe he should call it off. Do it all by himself. Or blow his brains out for the sake of more than five seconds of peace.
He truly considers taking the glock out of his backpack when the resonance of a waystone activating reaches him.
He’s slouching, elbows perched on his knees and palms covering the upper part of his face, and the broad steps until Ewron stands before him do not make him want to look up. As per usual, his mere presence causes a rise of nerves. Voltage taut where glitches begin jumping, an indicator of Ash knowing but choosing not to address him.
Ewron clears his throat.
Ash purses his lips, praying to any benevolent being above for this to be a joke, and lifts his head. Not a joke, but Ewron himself, in the flesh. Which, to be frank, is close enough of an epigram. He stares back unwavering. As if it were Ash who came crawling back.
"Come on." He jerks his chin. "We can’t be—kurwa, grać w kotka i myszkę for the rest of forever.” (playing cat and mouse) “Tell me what made you angry, apologize while you’re at it, and we can go back to more important things.”
The hypocrisy sends a sharp pang through Ash's mind. He has to swallow back a bitter incivility threatening to spill.
He sighs, mentally preparing himself for whatever he's about to try and get through to Ewron to get turned on its head.
"I," Ash says, deliberate and flat, "don't have a heart anymore, Ewron. And it's your fault. You got me involved in some war, whatever that means—yeah, right, you blindly nodded along to whatever Dark Cucurucho told you, no questions, only master, yes master—"
“He is my master.”
Ash stops.
“Right—”
"You agreed for me to take it and give it to him.” Ewron’s voice hardens with each syllable. “You literally agreed, I don't see how any of this is my fault.”
"I didn't…" Ash scrunches his eyes shut, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I did, but I didn't expect you to bow down before him like he's your… god, and I didn’t expect you to give me away like that. I still don't care for the heart. I feel no different now. Maybe a bit colder, but… it's more about honor. I never wanted to be some servant, you know that. You agreed we wouldn't be serving anyone, that this is us gaining and equal, and beyond it—it's just you and me with no bounds.”
Ewron crosses his arms over his chest. “So you got upset because I played my role well, and you can’t make a fucking decision as always, so now all the blame goes to me when you’re the one who’s meant to give orders—”
Ash is abruptly on his feet, back straight so Ewron has to look up to meet his eyeline now. He feels so small, he can at least feign being the bigger person.
“You played your role so superb, you dumbass, that a demon from hell asked you whether you have control over me. And you said yes. As if I'm a step below you.”
“There’s,” Ewron scrambles for words, “a lot of… You wouldn't understand. But you know that's not true.”
Ash's brows furrow. “I should. But I don't.”
“Why?” He sounds so earnest when he asks, Ash feels a sting of guilt at the backstage of his ribcage.
But he's not to blame. He can't be, not when something within his consciousness tugs at him, yelling that this is wrong. He might not recall his past, all of it being a blur of quartz and cold floors pressed against his cheek, but Ash has learned to trust this gut feeling. It earns him survival. And right now he waltzed right into a lion's nest. Willingly. Despite alarms blaring.
Anger boils and pops bubbles in his chest, within the cavity where a heart once was. He can’t do this—he needs peace, away from Ewron, away from everyone or else he’ll do something stupid.
“I can’t, Ewron. I need… space, or time, or both. I don’t know. We can’t talk about this right now.”
Ash can tell Ewron is frustrated too, as venom seeps through him. “Why? You want to put it away for later, but we don’t have time! Dark Cucurucho could call on us at any moment, and you’re, what, gonna keep sulking in your room? We need to think, and act! That was our mistake, we didn’t think before we acted. So think about it now.”
“We did. You told me to give up my heart. You didn’t mention anything about giving me up, or your loyalty, or any specifics about a war—”
“You're so,” Ewron forces through his teeth, hands curling into fists. “Not gluing, not fucking gluing at all, ohmygod, what's so wrong about me getting stronger, anyway?”
“It was at a cost,” Ash spits out.
Ewron tilts his head, lips curling into a knowing smirk. He steps sideways; Ash tenses, a zoo animal behind glass being observed by a wild predator.
“Want me to show you?”
Some foreign electric pressure captures Ash’s joints in a tight squeeze. Red particles. Crushing. He tries to move his foot up, shift away. But he cannot.
Trapped. Can't move. A lump rises in his throat, screams of protest balled up—that, or vomiting, or in the worst case pissing himself makes them let him go, so if he has to—if he has to he'll puke just so they let him go.
“Ewron.” His voice quivers, body trembling, and he's unable to stop it. Oh, this is a nightmare. An actual nightmare. “What the hell are you doing?”
His expression splits in a full grin, wrist flicking. Ash is sent flying into the wall, code jolting as his body denies him the instinct of curling on himself.
This asshole. Ash is going to murder him.
Balance held only by the gravity break Ewron has created around him, he breathes hard, nostrils flaring.
He chuckles. “Impressive, right? You could be my puppet—anyone could be my puppet. See, so I wasn’t lying when I told him I could control you!—”
The shackles waver momentarily, a slip in Ewron’s grip on Ash. He grabs it and rips away like a band-aid, tackling Ewron to the ground.
He mewls when his back hits the hard floor. “But I won’t!”
Ash’s hand snake around his throat, thumb resting over fluttering pulse, fingers tangling into the hair at Ewron's nape. Wriggling, trying to get out of his grasp. His body weight seals Ewron flat against the ground.
“I won't, I won't, Ash, Ash, Ash.”
Between the two of them, it's Ewron who's objectively stronger now. Ash never got any shiny things from The Federation. All they gave him is a glitched out face and messed up joints, the need to take eye drops, and constant paranoia. Not much of a treasure, any of those.
On the other hand ascendancy courses through Ewron's veins, pulsing from the source: a new heart, the amulet, hammering golden eminence to the point he glows. To anyone else, the frenzied manic glint in his eye would be a telltale sign to run, that this is some madman, with the expected unpredictability of a mortal who’s possessed too much power for a vessel so fragile.
“Do not,” Ash says, pressing down on the pulse point, “ever do that again. Don’t even think about it.”
Ewron promptly sucks in air, for the dramatics.
“I'm serious.” His voice comes out strained. Ash curses himself for the warmth that tone stirs in his abdomen.
He spits back, “Why even come here? To mock me?”
Ewron’s smile falters, finally.
“I can't spend the night alone.” Uncharacteristically tranquil, he goes on, “You woke me up, you know. Every time you laid down next to me at Prawdziwa. Cuddling up to me, grabbing my tail to pull it over yourse—”
“Okay, okay, right, IgetitIgetitokay.”
It stings, a peppery tingling at his fingertips. It'd be so, so simple to give in. Let the hard drive take over, consciousness go idle. Watch the spark in Ewron's eyes dim as he asphyxiates.
But relief timidly seeps into the place of a phantom paroxysm in his chest. And, damn him, he doesn’t want to, either. It’s cold, in that huge bed. Alone.
“I—but you can’t just—”
Words fail him.
He regards Ewron with a long look. The miserable slant of his ears, flat against his head. The way his chest heaves with either frenzy or exhaustion, or both.
He’s going to do something stupid.
Ash surges forward, hands sliding down to clasp at Ewron’s collar, as their mouths slot together. The tension between like a loaded magnet—a threat of their teeth grinding with how brutally he closed the gap. Danger, Ewron is all danger and spontaneity. So why has Ash ever expected anything else, really? The record screeches to a halt, pressure of a canine against his mouth as though a warning before something gets him. Ash lets himself feel scared. If it entails Ewron's closure, he can be terrified all his life and then some.
His body tilts, morphing to complete the curve between Ewron's lips. Ewron makes a contented noise, reciprocating just as eagerly. Well, he's going to regret feeling smug soon enough.
Desperate, Ewron gulps for air once they part.
“I'd let you,” he says, disdain burning in his glare, “choke me until I have no hearts left.”
He tugs at Ash’s jacket, bringing him closer, aggressive like a dog pulling at a piece of meat to tear it apart. Ewron’s fervent breath ghosts over Ash's lips, warmth seeping through and leading down.
For a heartbeat, an ugly urge to punch and kick Ewron until he bleeds flashes in his mind. And it doesn't seem like too bad of an idea.
“That's no pledge of loyalty.” He grins incredulously. His calf presses down on Ewron’s thighs, keeping him locked. “You'd enjoy it.”
The way he says it is sandpaper dry, but Ewron can sense the quickening of his rising chest and a promise of this going the interesting route.
He hums. “I’d let you rip the amulet away from my neck and leave me weak again.”
“Really? How touching.”
Settles on the last resort. “I would let you do anything, and I’d do everything for you, too.”
Ash exhales, posture deflating.
“Good.”
His fingers slide down to untangle the sash around Ewron’s waist.
“Oh,” Ewron says, not too cleverly.
Well. Ash prefers a good show. Words never work unequivocally enough, anyway.
Once the belt holding Ewron’s robe together is unbuckled, he goes back up to press a bruising kiss against his bottom lip. Nipping at the softness, he drops his knees down on each side of Ewron’s hips. Ewron wriggles his hands down between them, trying to get his pants off, only succeeding to pitifully push them down to his knees.
Ash’s mouth slips to the side, past his cheek and jaw, and he only stops when he catches a glimpse of shining gold and turquoise beneath Ewron’s collar.
“Undress,” he rasps, already yanking at the bottom of Ewron's robe to pull it over his head.
Ewron lifts himself up to his best ability, sighing when he’s half-naked below Ash, who can’t seem to keep his tongue off of Ewron’s skin. He can't be accused of lusting; Ewron tastes of something new, distinctly charged with megalomania. He assaults the curve of his throat, adding teeth when Ewron makes a whimper of approval.
Pants kicked all the way down at last, Ewron with his cock half-hard tries to grind up into Ash.
“Uh, uh, uh.” Ash shakes his head, peering at him. “I’m not doing this for you.”
Ewron halts, dumbfounded—and Ash takes that opportunity to push his gloved hand down and around Ewron’s cock.
“Oh fu—yes, yes, Ash, oh.”
His fingers slowly work up Ewron’s length, thumb circling the slit. It’s beyond Ash how the leather can be anyhow pleasurable, but judging by the flush on Ewron’s cheeks, the maniac is enjoying it. Ash’s other hand hugs around his throat again. Resting.
He strokes him until his palm is coated in pre. Ewron’s obscene noises and Ash’s hard breathing sound in the room; through the balcony, and out into the cold outside night. The speed abruptly picks up. Taut fabric slides wetly over Ewron’s cock. There—his pulse picks up. He presses his thumb down on a jumping tendon on the side of his neck.
Panic, delicious panic rushes to Ewron's brain at that.
“Fuck,” he cries out, hips involuntarily bucking up into Ash’s grip.
Ash keeps going, the friction turning electric. Ewron’s chest stutters with half-inhales broken by moans. Ash—he’s outside of it. Staring down at the amulet. What a curious thing. Its shine isn't artificial, Ash can sense it glows organically, as though it were a part of nature. Irrevocably tied to the world, the fabric of space between their bodies.
“Ash." He’s panting, and by the way he says it, like he’ll die if he doesn’t let him know how good it feels, Ash knows he should stop.
So he halts. Ewron is still moving, still trembling, even as the touch leaves him and he can breathe unrestricted again.
“No, no.” Pitiful, blinking away the daze of a climax. “Ash?”
Ash uses his wet fingers—still gloved—to push apart Ewron’s asscheeks. He winces when they circle around his hole.
“So you just want to fuck it out?” Ewron chuckles, shaky. “Wow, finally a good decision.”
Ash gives him an unamused look.
“Don’t be so—” He fails to quip, as it turns into a purposefully loud moan when Ash pushes a finger into the opening.
He pumps in and out with similar vigor to earlier. Ewron writhes, lids fluttering closed. It's infuriating, just how much Ewron’s enjoying himself, lost in the feeling of being filled; Ash needs it repeated like a mantra that this is only the build up.
Ewron paws at Ash's jacket, disappointed evident in his pout. Ash lodges another finger in; he grinds down on his hand.
“I’m not taking my clothes off,” Ash says, and he whines in protest. “You don’t deserve it.”
“Come on, Ash. I like seeing you.”
It’s a little hard for Ash to believe; the image of burnt, cracked surface of calloused wolds, purple veins splayed out—not exactly eye candy.
He roughly nudges his fingers up, and Ewron screams when they catch right on his sweet spot. He's gasping and arching his back. Can't go a second without being dramatic.
“You’re not the one dealing out orders here.”
"Oh! Hmm," Ewron purrs.
Too satisfied for Ash's liking.
There's no warning before the third one joins the rest; "Ash!" he bawls out, struggling to keep his legs open against muscle strain.
The rhythm remains dizzying, slamming into Ewron's prostate with each thrust. His face twists with concentration, mouth agape so whimpers have a leeway of slipping out.
The amulet burns brighter, winking up at Ash. Ash scowls back.
Ewron moves erratically, hips stuttering.
"I'm—I'm close, Ash, Ash."
He doesn't stop—flexes his fingers inside Ewron, relishing when the cries grow more desperate, progressively higher in pitch—but he does stunt the rhythm until it's merely a caress. Too little to take Ewron over the edge majestically, but enough to do it. A rocket launch shock wave without air compression.
Spurts of release cling to Ash's vest, but most of it ends up painting Ewron's stomach. His body goes limp, head lolling to the side.
The orgasm mustn't have crashed into him how he'd wanted it to, as he points a narrow look up at Ash.
"Why didn't you…?"
He slows completely then, observing the sweat gathered on Ewron's forehead. Red splotches all the way down his neck.
And now his vest is ruined. He pulls his fingers away from Ewron to unbutton it, tossing it to the side blindly. Loosening his tie to throw it away as well, he tries breathing steadily and deep. Examining himself.
He is not satiated. Heat coils in his stomach like a growling threat, nudging him to make Ewron beg for mercy, while something disgusting and domestic nabs at him to kiss Ewron's cheek and tuck him into bed. They've both gone too soft.
Except, Ash metaphorically.
"Aw, now we can't have that."
"Ash—"
His mouth shuts up Ewron's own with a kiss. Scarred but soft against chapped, wanting. He goes lenient despite the restlessness. They spend a while there, clinging to tenderness now that some tension has loosened. This is good. This image in front of Ash. Disheveled bunch of ginger hair, red irritated lips where Ewron bit down on them to try to contain the pleasure. All for Ash's eyes only.
He straightens his back again and sits down between Ewron's knees.
"You can keep going, right?"
Adorable, how quickly Ewron nods.
His fingers slip back in. Pulsing around them, Ewron hisses at how sensitive post-orgasm has him. His prostate starts getting massaged persistently, and he yells out a profanity when Ash strokes his length with his dominant hand.
"Fuckfuckfuck, oh my god." He attempts to rut further into the pressure.
The heat rises slower now, engulfing Ewron from the toes up.
Muscles in his thighs flex. He grips Ash's, clutching for dear life.
"O kurwa, ja pierdole—znaczy, ty pierdolisz, ale—oh, fuck."
He severely misjudged Ewron's ability to run his mouth while getting railed, looking at how his brain works overtime to come up with drivel even now—though something tells Ash most of it is to spur him on.
"Get on with it." Bingo. "There, there, you got it."
He's just about to come again, the hurricane in his stomach spiraling to chase sweet release. But Ash pulls both his hands away. And, no joke, Ewron's moan never sounded more sorrowful.
He looks pissed. Ash fights the urge to smile.
Taking a deep breath, Ewron asks sweetly, "Oh, can you not get it up today? Taking it out on me?"
"Shut the fuck up," Ash groans, "or I’ll leave you like this."
He actually sounds like he might kill Ewron instead of fucking him, and that’s the only reason he closes his mouth shut, drawing out the zipping gesture and flicking away the key.
Ash must admit, he's started feeling affected himself, so Ewron's nonsense achieved what it aimed for.
He crouches on one of his knees to get up and grab lube, but Ewron's tail grabs his ankle and hand seizes his wrist.
"I thought you were joking?" Oh, he's worried. Genuinely worried Ash won't fuck him.
"I'm going to get lube," Ash reasons, deadpan.
"Don't. Don't go, don't go. Just do it. I can take it."
"No, you can't."
"Please, Ash. Please."
Ugh.
The chime of an unbuckled belt makes his ears twitch.
"No you cannot, you moron." Ash heaves a sigh, pulling off his slacks.
He peels off his gloves, flinging them away in the same direction as his pants and vest; spits down onto his hand, palming his dick and giving it a few strokes.
Ewron watches, mouth salivating. The moan he lets out when he finally pushes inside is drawn out and so loud clarity washes over Ash: goodness, he's let him scream his throat raw in a house full of people. With the balcony open. Unfortunately all the embarrassment does is turn him on further rather than make him stop.
He tenses around Ash, before the stiffness dissolves in a mist.
The hand he puts over Ewron's mouth is purely precautionary. And secretly to watch him roll his eyes first in annoyance, then in pleasure as Ash pulls out and snaps back in.
His tail thuds against the floor. Ewron's legs wrap around Ash's waist, holding him flush against his bare chest. Ash can feel the hurried jump of his heart and the radiance of power above it.
He pulls his hips down harshly. The hand over Ewron's mouth slips to grab at his arm instead, searching for anything to hold onto. Teeth graze over Ewron's collarbone where Ash erratically huffs, chasing the shock waves.
“That's the Ash I know,” Ewron purrs, claws digging into Ash's back through fabric, a light nip. Evidence of greed to feel more skin. “Oh, here, that's my Supreme Leader.”
It clicks.
Ewron gets off on having someone above him. Literally, as Ash thrusts into him with a disbelieving chuckle now, and figuratively in any hierarchy he can claw his way into. Once it settles, Ash feels a bit dumb for not noticing it sooner. Ewron, on one knee, dedicating his life to him back on the boats; such chivalry, as if he were a medieval knight pledging loyalty to his king.
But this is no place for any of that now. The floorboards creak as Ash's hips move quicker, all noise turning into void except for their bubble of pleasure.
Thoughtless, just physical bodies experiencing. If ancient philosophers went looking for proof of hedonism in modern times, Ewron's blissed out expression would be transcribed on clay tablets. Poems, rhetorical speeches written… But it's only Ash who gets to witness it, and the possessiveness that comes with it makes his head swim, his mouth talk before he thinks.
“Who’s your master now, huh?”
Ewron babbles incoherently, a mix of two languages clashing like puzzle pieces from different boxes. Ash slows, pushing all the way in but never fully out.
“Tell me.”
The sense of belonging. Ash always felt weird about that one.
“Tell me, who is it, Ewron?”
Through the fucked-out haze, sharp lashes flutter for him to peer at Ash.
“Master,” he murmurs, “master.”
Ash raises his brows, expectant.
“I’m yours,” Ewron says instead, and it tilts Ash’s world on its axis.
Right.
It's true. No revelation; Ewron dedicated himself to Ash, sculpted his own existence so it could be useful to him. So Ash didn't have to be all by himself, but alongside a kindred spirit.
It's true, so the fact Ash can't catch his breath about it is entirely unreasonable.
Brought out of it, he palms Ewron's cock and caresses him in vigorous strokes, to the rhythm of his hips snapping in and out. Ewron keens. Flourishes in the sudden wave of pleasure and increasing squeeze in his abdomen.
He is Ash's.
His knees buckle, balance struggling. Just let him do this, gods above. He's so close.
Mine, mine, mine, delirious and as if it's the rope holding him down to Earth, Ash loops in his head. Mine, mine.
The rope snaps. Ash goes plummeting.
He comes buried deep—deep enough (he hopes) for it to bruise Ewron's insides, so he's Ash's within and out—his molars grinding, a guttural sound at the back of his throat. He continues inching in and out of Ewron's hole, somewhat subconsciously now, riding it out. Ewron's cock weeps a few more pitiful spurts of cum; all he can do is whimper, voice too raw for any more soliloquies.
He pulls out.
Pointedly stares up, at Ewron's face. His eyes are closed, he's breathing through his mouth. All Ash is left with is bitter pity.
And a guy to help clean up.
"Ash," Ewron rasps, his voice evidence of what they've done instead of properly talking it out. "Does this mean I can sleep in your bed tonight?"
Faraway and hollow, but he responds, "Yeah… Yeah…" and it's only thanks to the night being so quiet that Ewron catches it.
Ash stands, walking with great concentration on each step to the backpack by his bed, and grabs a towel for them both. The silence is different from the one at the Pantheon. Namely because he's not alone, but also since back there it's clinical. Sterile and, these days, unwelcoming. Here it just smells of sex.
The clean up passes by him. He's too lost somewhere else, away from there. He returns when Ewron is clutching at him so he can be guided to the bed.
Ash slips in under the covers beside him, at a few inches of distance. He's not expecting cuddles. The thought of Ewron's body on his now kind of repulses him.
He really needs to get his heart back. It can only belong to one person.