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Chapter Text

Cascades of orange and red foliage begin their descent onto paved pathways and sectioned areas of greenery. The sky starts to quiet earlier as nature takes its time to rest. In another world, the night would swallow the sun by the early evening.

During this time of year, Phainon loves to feel the crisp breeze run by him with a warm drink in hand. To sit outside and gently separate the spines of books he rarely gets to indulge in, for the sole purpose to relay it later to someone half-listening. A reminder of the somethings and someones he left back in his true home. 

However, a different way to engage in the season befell Phainon after he became more closely acquainted with Okhema. An ever-lengthening series of activities: combating the tide, taking inventories, assisting in relocating items in a variety of spaces, his (self-imposed) undertaking of helping Lady Aglaea with her secretive tasks prior to the month of weaving. Don’t get him wrong, he (mostly) enjoys what he does considering where he could’ve ended up in life. But by the Titans, does it exhaust him greatly. 

By the evening of the last day of the week, Phainon practically stumbles into his designated quarters. Not even realizing his front door was much more slack than it should’ve been.  

He thinks about taking refuge on his central kline. Just to rest his eyes for a few minutes before quickly refueling for his next endeavor. Yet a distracting scent catches his attention, snapping him out of his stupor for a brief second. 

Phainon sniffs. Akin to a starved creature, he lets his nose lead to the aroma so seasoned he can almost taste it. 

His mind doesn’t process that there clearly was an intruder in his kitchen: traces of his cookware left on the counter and a cabinet still partially cracked open. Nor does he consciously pinpoint that the intruder is most likely someone he is quite familiar with. Instead, Phainon’s recognition is instinctual.

He cranes his sore spine down to inspect the large covered pot on the stove. On the lid is quite the loving note: Eat before you come bother me. Always being combative in some form, Phainon lifts the lid to take a peek - some sort of meaty stew- before promptly resealing the pot with a small smile. Like he hadn’t just entered a haggard man, Phainon nearly floats to the ‘first-guess’ location of his intruder. 

As expected, Mydei is lying on Phainon’s bed as if he owns this space (he practically does at this point). The Deliverer tiptoes in - on the chance his companion is actually sleeping. And based on the crown prince’s position, that chance is most likely aligned with reality: his back fully exposed to the air, head clearly buried in a pillow, no movement to wordlessly acknowledge a new presence. 

Quietly, Phainon settles in front of the resting figure. This close, he can hear the low sound of Mydei’s breaths; only clearly audible when he’s in a deeper state of rest. He can feel the heat of bare skin radiating through the fabric of his clothes. Unable to help himself, he can taste the slightest hint of salt from the warm skin under his lips. 

Phainon dots a line of tiny kisses over the sensitive section of Mydei’s spine. No reaction. With a light sigh, the man simply moves to shrug off his coat and lay it over the Kremnoan – since he decided not to get under the covers. He must’ve come here exhausted as well. 

And yet, Mydei still spared the effort to take care of Phainon in some capacity.

“You must’ve gotten bored waiting for me, hm?” Phainon whispers for no reason in particular. He gently runs a hand through the red-tipped ends of strawberry blond strands. Doesn’t feel like they’ve been washed today.

“Even getting into my bed while still carrying the outdoors on you.” Although the Deliverer has a penchant for cleanliness, that’s not his primary concern when it comes to the warrior. His hand smooths over the slightly exposed part of a muscular shoulder, gently squeezing.

“How about I let you rest your eyes in my stead, so I can enjoy dinner while it's fresh? Then we can go to the baths together; I’ll clean you off myself.” His statements are only acknowledged by the steady pattern of light breaths. Phainon laughs a little to himself, feeling a bit silly. But talking to Mydei, or just gazing upon him, always puts his heart at ease. Even when doesn’t consciously realize he’s on edge. 

After a few more gentle touches and another peck, Phainon stands. He stretches: one side, then to the other. Taking his time to leave despite knowing he’s only going a few steps away. As he is about to pass his bedroom doorframe- 

“Phainon, did I not tell you to eat beforehand?” A sleepy yawn of a question. They’re all directed to Phainon nowadays, when in private. Not “Deliverer”. It greatly pleases said man for some reason.

“I haven’t seen you all day, and that’s how you greet me?” Phainon is quick to turn on his heel and make a beeline to encase the roused man in some sort of odd embrace. His doting affection is met with an undignified grunt, but no attempts to move his person.

“Do you deserve a proper greeting when you can’t follow simple directions? Can’t even rest in peace here.” Despite the vocal complaint, Mydei seems to have no problem returning at least one of Phainon’s attempts to kiss his face. Once he’s successful, he pulls back to playfully scowl at the man who genuinely appears half-asleep still.

“Oh don’t start that with me - aren’t you supposed to bathe before breaking and entering into my quarters?”

“Tch. You carelessly left your front door unlocked, HKS. You should be happy that I got in before anyone else could. And if I were to have gone to the baths without you, you would’ve thrown a fit.” Phainon hums innocently, in place of directly answering. He knows Mydei is right but won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, he tries to love on his companion more, but the temperamental prince loosely swats him away.

“Go eat. Cold food is not good for your digestion.” Mydei rolls off the Deliverer in favor of settling back into his sleeping position. That’s his way of saying ‘hurry up so we can retire to bed earlier’, Phainon certainly knows. Oh well, his other duties can be saved for tomorrow. 

“Don’t get too comfortable in the meantime, I wouldn't want to take more ‘drastic measures’ to wake you. I can’t wait to enjoy your cooking again~”

“Choke,” a muffled, harmless grumble. Phainon lets his laugh be more audible this time around. 

“Maybe tomorrow, if you let me~” To finish the flirtatious parting, Phainon slaps the coat-covered dip of his spine. His selectively-hearing ears clearly catch the hitch in Mydei’s breath. Hurriedly, Phainon escapes before he could get the full crimson cast of wrath.

As he gently pulls in the door to his bedroom, Phainon is reminded how content he’s been recently despite everything. Never minding being in a rare genuinely good mood, he embraces the light feeling in himself as he saunters away. 

Maybe he has yet to fully realize he’s been nourished and revitalized by his companion alone.

Chapter Text

Calamity season always brings a chilling darkness over Amphoreus, most heightened during the month of mourning. There’s this hanging silence that is not quite true peace: an inactiveness that plagues unlike any other time. 

Mydei doesn’t typically languish in this sort of atmosphere. Accepting Strife’s palm always leads one closer to Thanatos – not that the warrior would ever get more than a mere brush past Death’s side, before marching past a few others towards the world of living yet again.  

However, following in the footsteps of recent years, Mydei doesn’t have the same energy to easily bypass the season. Maybe it’s due to the cycles of life and death being more spread out than his first decade, or two. Maybe since he moved from his loose concept of home quite some time ago, this time of year has become a pressing reminder of why he had to. Maybe it’s because he can actually reflect more due to changes in this newer period: that somehow weighs more on him than when he and his people were in much less safer circumstances.

No matter the reason, the tide of life will flow whether he’s drowning in a wave or if he chooses to swim forth. So instead, perhaps not always consciously choosing so, he often mentally checks out between the fewer tasks on his agenda. Or even more commonly, fall into a slumber - the eternal dawn would shine regardless. 

Although this Light Calendar, Mydei’s typical ‘Month of Mourning' routine would barely get the chance to come into fruition. Especially when he starts to slip for too long around a certain someone…

“Oh Mydeimos~” an overly sweet sounding tone calls out to him. It sounds a little far despite their proximity.

“Hm.” Mydei blinks away any static haze overriding his senses and attention. He shifts his gaze to the man settled beside him on his common-area kline. An exaggerated sigh follows from the other party.

“Were you even listening to me?” A full-faced pout forms on pretty features. “Do you ignore all your partners as cruelly as you do me?” The Kremnoan scowls. Maybe the seemingly endless silence would be more favorable than dealing with him on the daily. 

“What are you whining about now? You know you’re my lone partner.” Mydei says frankly, the sentiment oddly comfortable on his tongue. Cyan eyes shine with evident mischief and joy. But this is a battle the warrior won’t entertain. “If you stop blabbing with filler, you wouldn’t lose my attention before getting to your point”

“Are you implying that I’m boring?”

“Yours words, Phainon. Not mine.” Said man reaches over to pinch Mydei’s nose. While the action alone is enough to light the Kremnoan’s internals aflame, he makes sure his delight is not expressed in the slightest. He remains still as Phainon shifts closer; his companion repositions to lay his head full of aged-hair on a firm lap. The two pieces sticking out tempt Mydei to mess with them, but he’s already allowing this much without complaint (happily). 

“Anyways,” Phainon huffs as if he’s both greatly content and offended, “I was giving you a detailed recount of some wonderful literature that I read at the Grove; I was hoping to reenact it with you. But since comprehension isn’t your strong suit, I won’t fault you for not being able to follow closely.” 

Yank. Gentle enough to not cause any legitimate pain, but a warning for… the insult to his intelligence. Yes. 

“Ouchhhh! I can feel that!” A hand encompasses his before he could fully move it away. It feels nice, like it always does. Warm with life.

“That’s the point, HKS. It’s too early in the day to indulge in your madness.”

“Like you have better things to do. I know today is your full day off, unless something grave happens,” Phainon grumbles. “But hey,” he says a bit louder, “I’m trying to stay true to my word of ‘giving us things to do so we won’t get bogged down by the solemn season’. I’m… just at a minor standstill.”

“Oh? Are you finally running out of absurd ideas to drag me into?”

“No!” Phainon shoots up with a near childish defiance in his tone. Though, a small grin replaces the stupid (-ly cute) smile on the man’s face. “What makes you think that? Or…  are you getting cold feet after all this time, just waiting for the chance to be discreet about it?” Mydei huffs. This newest routine rolls off his tongue like ancient history.

“There is no phrase for ‘cold feet’ in the Kremnoan language, so it’s foolish for you to suggest that.”

“Good,” Mydei raises a brow, “because I just came up with an excellent idea! I’m surprised I haven’t thought of this sooner.” That immediately tells the warrior that this will be the latest ‘idiotic and potentially life-threatening’ competition.

“Spit it out.”

“Continuing our series of competitions, since our tally is currently even, let’s see who can embrace the other for the longest without losing strength!” Mydei gawks at the man, who seems dead serious about his proposal. 

Truly this will be the most idiotic and potentially life-threatening competition yet. How will Mydei explain on his path back that he died from sheer emotion by being unrelentingly encompassed by his companion? Yet, there’s this part of his soul that always itches when the word ‘competition’ becomes involved. And it’s not like he truly minds the physical touching aspect of their relatively recently expanded companionship (it’s the opposite). 

“I suspect that you have ulterior motives, HKS.” 

“So you are getting cold feet?” Mydei ‘hmph’s before reaching out to Phainon. The Kremnoan doesn’t answer stupid inquiries. But like the bastard he is, the snow-haired man slinks out of any potential grasp, slightly folding his arms.

“I wasn’t done yet~ There is also a condition: I have to lie on top of you. Doesn’t matter how that fully looks, for the sake of this competition.” The Kremnoan blankly blinks at Phainon. How did he end up with this fool? Better yet, how did he end up with a fool that treats him like a part of his foolish kind?

“What’s next, you’re going to add a clause to keep our eyes closed so we can channel our energy into the strongest possible embrace?”

“Excuse you, I take our competitions very seriously. It’s just something to do while I make a longer list for future, better competitions. In my head. If you’re really against, we could always have that rematch for our wres-”

“No.” Mydei internally shudders at the not too distant memory. Since they always somehow balance each other out, there was no clear winner for that competition: it should stay as such. Phainon's little fond laugh doesn’t persuade him either.

“So this na- I mean competition it is! I’m ready when you are.”

“Just get to moving,” Mydei states as he reclines into a more comfortable position. Phainon easily crawls on top of him, making an unusually content sigh as he flops on top of the sturdy figure. His barer-than-usual arms slink around a filled torso; Mydei returns the grip over the spread of the Deliverer’s back. 

“You seem to be enjoying this too,” Phainon teases, “Already starting to feel warmer.” Unfortunately, Phainon is quite correct about Mydei enjoying this opportunity. 

“Quiet, before I crush you.” Everything else that immediately came to mind was too sappy - he can’t give his partner too much satisfaction in one sitting.

“Not if I crush you first~~” Mydei simply rubs the man’s head in a manner that conveys ‘you can try, if you dare’.

The Kremnoan knows neither of them are truly going to display strength despite their usual competitive behavior. He also knows Phainon needs this unspoken support too, despite the mutual scolding(s) of the importance of keeping oneself active during this time. But of course, being a side of the same coin, Mydei doesn’t call him out. Instead, he calmly “rests” his eyes; the weight on his body shifting his attention from the weight still lingering in his being.

Chapter Text

Phainon has fallen to his knees, with a warm golden heart cradled in his hands. Mydei is splayed out on the ground, with a small smirk persisting on his face - somehow still cocky despite his evident state of pain. The only other witnesses currently (at least two more are promptly on the way) are mortification and unuttered defeat from both parties.

Honestly, Phainon does not know how his day ended up like this. How is he supposed to present this circumstance to her in any manner that’s even close to reasonable?! - Well actually, he might as well mentally rehearse any useful context. 

It all started two quints into Entry Hour. Since the chill and chaos of Calamity Season have finally passed, a certain Deliverer and his partner regained their energy to indulge more frequently in “their” shenanigans to “liven” the atmosphere. Naturally, this goal entails beginning each day by waking up his routine bed companion with much enthusiasm.

“Rise and shine Mydeimos! Hope you slept well. Ready to see who can make a better breakfast to start the day off right?” Phainon stated while hovering over the forcibly awoken man, who appeared to be mentally questioning his every life decision thus far. Mydei blinked at him after a few moments. 

“Is it impossible for you to start your day like a normal person?”

“What, doesn’t everyone have to cook and eat one way or another? That sounds like normal behavior to me.” Phainon leaned closer. “Are you still falling victim to the ‘quitter mindset’? Oh, I’d hate to enjoy a warm stack of fluffy, delicious honeycakes all by myself because someone wants a boring morning. But if that’s what you truly prefer-” Mydei quickly rose from the bed with purpose. The Deliverer - semi thrown to the side by the force - sat somewhat wide-eyed as Mydei, bared in all his glory, gave a typical blank stare and folded arms.

“There is no word for ‘quitter’ in the Kremnoan dictionary; you should crack open one of your own to find a better way to irritate me. I’m only entertaining your need for ‘play’ this early because I’m hungry.” The crown prince had turned away from the instigator. “And make your next ‘challenge’ more difficult. I don't feel like hearing you sulk about losing over honeycakes when you're shown a proper breakfast.” Phainon hops into a stand, stretching casually. Never had he thought this would be a way to "flirt” early in the morning with a companion. 

“What makes you think you will beat me? In fact, how about we make extra to let some others give the verdict, for fairness?” Mydei’s head turned back, maybe even in interest due to the slight upward twitch of his lips.

“And when you still lose, then what?”

“We have an even tally to break anyway, if I somehow lose, or if there is no clear winner, we’ll just have to keep going until that changes. That idea doesn’t intimidate you, right?” The warrior had narrowed his eyes at Phainon. 

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous. I plan to put you in your place once and for all.” 

…Now recollecting the very start of the day, perhaps that was the teetering point right before the descent down a slippery slope. And perhaps rather than a slip, their competitiveness became a full-bodied tumble with no breaks until they struck rock bottom. 

So what happened between the Fourth Quint of Entry Hour and the quints leading up to mid Action Hour? It’s kind of a blur, but Phainon does his best to remember. 

After eating their own breakfast (a mix of both savory and sweet), they had both made a stack of fifty mini honeycakes to give out to passerbyers. Each person would receive one from Phainon, more plain looking with a rich and nutty flavor, and one from Mydei, carefully decorated with a lingering fruity aftertaste. To attempt to reduce bias and increase fairness, they let people cast their vote in an impromptu Teleslate-notes-app poll, and vowed to not look until the end.

“So, what’s the verdict - you can count, right?” Being wise, Mydei ignored Phainon until he was done tallying the votes. 

“Twenty-five votes each,” the Kremnoan deadpanned. Phainon gasped, though a part of him expected this outcome based on their combined luck. 

“No way! It’s perfectly split down the middle?"

“If you don’t believe me, count it yourself.” 

“No, I trust you.” Phainon replied genuinely. Both had too much integrity and honor (*ahem* pride in one’s own capabilities) to be dishonest about individual results. “Well, how much time do I have left until you need to start working?”

“I am stationed in Okhema, and Janusopolis if needed, for the season. I am an emergency resource rather than full active duty, so you have me until reinforcement is needed.”

“Oh really? Then that is good news! Since we’re already close to Marmoreal Market, why don’t we see who needs assistance and decide our next competition based on that?” 

That was a kick off to a much larger than expected series of competitions. Who could sort the most books so Ctesiphona could catch up on administrative tasks? Who could arrange the produce and botany areas of stores in a better fashion since the usual owner is on vacation? Who could identify more genuine artifacts since Theodoros obtained a surplus? Who could make more dishes in Kyros’ restaurant to help with the Fifth-Quint-Lucid-Hour rush (and get a free meal on the side)? 

Despite the variety, and the slight advantages from both of their skillsets, they ended with tie after tie after tie. Once the two finished their meal on one of their preferred rooftops (yes, they saw which could make it up faster through a less conventional method, which ended in another tie), Phainon heaved a sigh. Both from fullness and an unusual wave of tiredness.

“Ready to give up, Deliverer?” The man perked up from his half sitting, half slouching position. 

“Me? Give up? Never. I thought you didn’t like easy wins.”

“Our definitions of ‘easy’ seem to be in conflict. But you are correct. Victory only feels rewarding when it’s hard earned.”

“I’m surprised that’s a word in your dictionary.” Mydei raised a brow. “You never seem to take that route.” Another sigh. Before a deeper conversation could transpire, Phainon transitioned into something more manageable. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred on the rooftops, hasn’t it?” 

“Mm.” The Kremnoan hummed thoughtfully in agreement. The Deliverer stood up shortly after, searching around for one of his “hidden” wooden swords. Once it’s located, he smiled at his companion, some vigor knocking out his sleepiness.

“What do you say, partner?”

“How will the competition be scored this time?” Mydei got up with ease, dusting his worn gauntlet and keeping the other one off. 

Most aren’t foolish to spar with an armed man. Especially a prince of the Kremnoan dynasty, no less. But most aren’t Phainon, who knows that Mydei wouldn’t even accidentally hit him with a potentially fatal blow. 

“How about we judge the victor based on the passion of his blows, in honor of our companionship? It is that time of year for renewal, after all,” he stated slyly, with the intention of jest. But he forgot that Mydei takes him a little too earnestly at times. The warrior sharpened his form as if this were a dead serious matter. 

“Have you actually learned something from reading for once? I wasn’t aware you knew more about this Kremnoan tradition.” It was at this moment Phainon fully realized his implication. And he was not prepared for another ten day and ten night battle, if that implication was in a similar vein.

Hastily, Phainon tried to think of something to help lower the huge discrepancy between their concept of their spar without accidentally hurting Mydei’s feelings. 

“O-oh I wasn’t really referring to that tradition - not quite that time of year, yeah? You know I would show you all of my heart if I could, but we should probably head out and patrol the outskirts in a quint or two.” Phainon said with a little more hesitance. But this is where the metaphorical tumble hit the ground face first.

Mydei’s face remained worryingly neutral. Then the Kremnoan moved closer. 

“Our competition is still weighed on passion, yes?”

“Yes?” Phainon echoes, with more confusion.

“And giving all your heart would make one victorious?” Phainon blinks at him.

“Uhm yes? Theoret-” 

A sound a human body should not make interrupted the clarification the Deliverer planned on adding. He noted something cool opening and bringing together the palm of his hands. Then something extremely warm was placed within them. While it wasn’t audible, he could feel it move at a slowed pace in his palms.

Then Phainon looked down, praying that it was some odd common object. But no. 

Golden. Muscular tissue. Connected arteries. Still pulsating. Any hint of color immediately drained from Phainon.

Mydei slumps over, causing the Deliverer to gently guide them both to the ground. Just so he didn’t accidentally kill the man for good (he might’ve forgotten Mydei was immortal until he called for aid in an extremely vague, panicked manner). 

“Mydeimos, why would you…” A cough comes from said man. Whatever visible agony he’s in was weakly laughed off, replaced by a victorious smile.

“Our tally is broken now. Do you agree?”

Two women, one of the remaining third of a woman, a grove scholar, and a ‘dooting’ beast surround the pair. Tribbie looks upon the sight with horror. Aglaea is evidently unamused (putting it lightly). Anaxa gazes with half reprimand, half fascination. But the reaction that catches Phainon’s worried gaze the most is Hyacine’s. 

During his few impromptu shifts at the clinic, he has always seen Hyacine with a calm gaze and a patient smile. Her face and posture solely portraying reassurance and confidence. Yet now, she is rivalling Mydei for the most simultaneously blank and enraged expression known to man. Her slow inhale after Phainon recounts the events - in a much shorter fashion than listed - doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Lord Phainon, Lord Mydei,” she says, overly sweet. 

“Mhm?” Phainon tilts his head, careful not to move any other part of his body, lest he drops Mydei’s heart. The warrior simply grunts in acknowledgement. 

“I don’t want to see either of you - and I don’t care who starts it or who ends it - playing with immortality ever again.” She speaks slowly, as if they were both young, extremely troublesome children. “If you do,” she hisses through her teeth, “I will make you wish the black tide got to you before I did. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” they both muttered, but the words were more than loud enough in the thick atmosphere. Phainon ignores the proud looks coming from the other figures; if he gets any hotter from embarrassment, he might have to pull a Mydei and not come back. Fortunately, Hyacine quickly brightens up to her usual self with a clap of her hands.

“Good! I will do my best to make this painless, but given the current circumstance, it will take me a longer time than usual - even with the others here and Mydei’s healing abilities.” She crouches down to the Kremnoan. “Would you like to pet Little Ica and tell me one of your stories while we work on you?” 

“Sure.” As if Phainon wasn’t quite literally holding his heart, Mydei begins to run his mouth uncharacteristically while the small team works carefully to avoid sending him through another cycle of immortality. After a period of oddly reflective silence, Phainon loosens up enough to weakly join the conversation.

So on that day, Phainon finally learned a difficult lesson with another traumatizing memory added to his roster. Though perhaps said trauma disallowed him from comprehending the full importance of such a lesson. Because by the next day, they were right back to causing mayhem (much to everyone’s disappointment). 

But who could blame them? Maybe they were just destined to be (overly) passionate rivals.

Chapter Text

It’s been a long few weeks for someone like Mydei. A month of greater agreeability entails more diplomatic exchanges, with an abundance of words, rather than settling disputes in a manner suitable for his heritage. And he has never been good with outwardly verbalizing his thoughts, princely demeanor aside. 

So as Mydei stands around at an event with a share of Chrysos heirs, leaders, and diplomats, he longs to be elsewhere. Mentally, he’s already afar. What is he going to make for dinner tonight? Which one of his people’s worries must he quell next? Is that chimera he assisted the other day doing fine?

“Mydeimos!” Hearing that voice is akin to being slapped hard on the shoulder: more than enough to break his train of idle thought. His blank gaze bores into an eerily chipper figure. The man holds two rich rouge drinks in hand, one outstretched towards the impromptu guard. “You look like you could be doing things with your time. Already tired of manning the door?”

“For the first time, you aren’t wrong,” Mydei replies smoothly, keeping his arms crossed. Should he even be drinking anything that he didn’t bring himself? 

At Phainon’s expectant, shimmering eyes, the warrior releases a light sigh as he takes the glass. Being cautious, he takes a sniff: routine pomegranate brew, no subtle lingering scent that burns. He restrains a light smile at the gesture as he takes a proper sip. 

“Heh. Here I am trying to be kind, and you’re already insulting me.” A mock of a complaint. “I thought I could help make your time spent less boring and more productive.” 

“You have many ideas that aren’t necessarily good.” The Kremnoan hears the undertone: Phainon has somehow tired himself from socializing as well. Mydei won’t call him out for not revealing his true reason, though. That mysterious aura from such a seemingly ‘open book’ of a man oddly allures Mydei. 

…Did he actually just think that? Maybe this drink is stronger than his usual, and the scent and taste were simply deceptive. Then again, he’s only had a sip or two. 

Phainon is gulping it down like nothing is wrong. His throat bobs with each mini sip- Mydei’s getting distracted again. Although his companion’s nonchalance is not a spoken challenge, the Kremnoan feels like this is yet another scenario to attempt to out-compete each other. He takes another sip. 

Maybe he’s just getting up in his head. Or maybe Phainon knows something he doesn’t, bluffing with such a striking poker f- focus. As his Deliverer opens his mouth, most likely to rebuttal, Mydei preemptively cuts this off. 

“What even is this?” Mydei comments with a swirl of the glass. Even the consistency seems normal. Although he genuinely doubts that Phainon would poison him, his issues regarding trust have never been truly settled. He hasn’t made his internal conflict his ethereal companion’s problem, but it still makes his stomach churn hot. With worry.  

“It’s the pomegranate brew from the refreshment area. Want some more?” Mydei shakes his head.

“This is an odd place to serve it.” One normally doesn’t see Kremnoan “delicacies” in Okhema, especially at administrative gatherings. Phainon makes a thoughtful hum.

“You know, I thought so too. Don’t think anyone else has touched it.” A pause. “Probably because Miss Cipher scouted me out with these glasses and claimed to have made it herself. Something about a fusion…” The sip Mydei is on almost got spat out. He interrupts Phainon before he could fully zone out.

“Have you considered that most sane people wouldn’t trust a drink made by the legendary thief?” Though the Kremnoan states that, he knows that Cipher usually doesn’t have ill intent. However, that doesn’t make him feel any less uneasy about any potential “harmless” effects the drink could have. No less considering Mydei has already drunk more than half his share at this point. 

“I believe you forget who you’re talking to, dearest Mydeimos~” His full name twice in a row in public. Said main raises a brow. 

Time to find Miss Cifera. Now.

“And I believe you are forgetting where you are.” Mydei says under his breath. His companion tilts his head slightly. 

The warrior internally debates informing Phainon of his next course of action for all of two seconds. Mydei decides to simply reach for the man’s wrist and guide him along. If the Deliverer had any reaction, he wouldn’t know. He scans around, looking for any sign of the rather elusive women.

Then something like a sign from above - or actually, it is one: a scrap of paper floats down in Mydei’s vicinity. He stretches his idle golden gauntlet to carefully catch in between his fingertips. The writing is quite small, but he can read it well enough for an odd chill to erupt in his person.

I thought I’d have to wait around for eternity for that Deliverer boy to stop running his mouth with others before he made his way to you. Speaking of such, isn’t this place so muggy and crowded for young lovers during one of the months of passion? You probably hadn’t had that thought, super serious Little Prince, but I’m well known for being considerate! I made the first glasses of the pomegranate brew extra special for you lovebirds. So I give you two permission to leave early, those drinks work quickly! (Your batch of the brew is made with pomegranate, honey, figs, milk, a sprinkle of saffron, and just a few drops of a special red wine  – so all natural and clean for you health nuts.)

With lots of love, 

Your favorite legendary thief 

Given who he is dealing with, there is a good chance she is playing a trick on them and there’s nothing unusual with the drinks. After all, it tastes, smells, and swirls like one of his own batches, despite the differences in listed ingredients. 

Yet, there’s also an equal chance that the trick does involve “natural enhancers” that will be notably bothersome in this setting. Mydei is not entirely naive; he’s heard of supposed ingredients that strengthen the effects of pre-existing desire when combined. And he can’t pinpoint whether his distracting thoughts are a product of boredom or extra assistance.

Before he could make up his mind, a weight leaning over from behind him answers. Mydei always senses he’s in trouble when Phainon is too silent. He doesn’t know what he should be more concerned by: the fact that they are in this proximity in public or that drink has clearly had a quicker effect on Phainon, given mass that is pressed against his backside. Knowing Phainon is enough by himself, Mydei feels a word  - not native to his dictionary - that he’ll be “missing” for a day around Okhema if the drinks are truly enhanced. 

“Well Mydeimos,” Third time, “I assume you also read Miss Cipher’s message? …I think we should see ourselves out soon then.” The Deliverer purrs into his ear. Mydei ignores the heat shooting throughout his body in favor of being more responsible. He looks around wearily. Thankfully, everyone seems too caught up in their own conversations to notice their display.

“Back up, Deliverer,” he says under his breath. “I’m fine with leaving, but we shouldn’t be giving anyone any ideas on the reason why.”

“And why not?” Phainon challenged, keeping his voice down. “I wouldn’t mind taking you here right in front of everyone, so that we could avoid any false rumors. That round table can be easily cleared, yeah? Or maybe you’d prefer that wall over there-” 

“W-well I do mind.” Mydei chooses to ‘bravely (no other word can fit the action, obviously)’ create the distance between his companion and himself. When he turns back around to face Phainon, another wave of ‘that word’ mixed with heat travels through him. In the relatively dim interior lighting, it almost seems like the symbol in Phainon’s eyes are alit with something devious. The small smile and faint blush on his features doesn’t help such an expression.

Not one to cause unnecessary attention nor easily concede defeat, Mydei simply walks by Phainon, sets his near-empty glass down at the appropriate place, and nearly makes a run for the exit. As he does so, he prays to whichever listening Titan that the drink’s effects are not too potent and leave as quick as they come. 

“Augh…hh…Mydeimos.”

They didn’t make it back home. They barely made it five minutes away from the venue. 

“Mmmm. H-hah.” 

The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is pressed and slightly bent against some wall in a forgettable Okheman alleyway. His Deliverer has his back, like old times. 

“Titans, you feel… so warm… for me. So good,” This time, Phainon wraps his arms around the broad figure, sinking deep in and almost-fully out of Mydei. He moves at a pace akin to one who’s about to be deployed for a few months: trying to savor their partner as in-depth yet also as quickly as possible. 

“Can’t believe you made me wait to have you like this again,” Phainon whispers as he presses another kiss into hot skin. A partially gloved hand graces a braced core and lies flat against a remarkable set of abs. “‘Don’t even need a drink, hah… when tasting you gives me the same effect… regardless.”

Mydei wonders if Phainon could feel the force of his own cock through the thick layers, given how unusually deep the Kremnoan feels he’s being stretched. Not that he’s complaining. His body’s demanding desire to be filled is being met at least.

Although, perhaps thanks to that stupid drink, Mydei craves more. To be fully buried into and finished in. And to be ravaged again as soon as they arrive home. And again on their bed. And again-

“Hmph,” Mydei huffs out steaming air from his nose in response. He has little energy to dedicate towards speaking. Instead, his limited focus has been to split to his own aching dick that he’s half-heartedly stroking and the one attached to his Phainon that’s fucking him deep.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Also, Phainon blabs enough to fill in the space for him anyway. “Don’t get too quiet on me though; I like hearing you. If I don’t get your feedback in some way, I might just have to call it quits and wait for a better day,” the man speaks with no shame evident in his tone. Perhaps just to tease, Phainon slows the roll of his hips. Mydei in this state, however, is in no mood to fool around. 

“If you stop, I’ll rip your cock off… and use it for myself.” The last part of the sentence tapers off into more of a whisper; the Kremnoan realized what he was saying as the words slipped out. Sure, Mydei has gotten worked up during sex plenty of times before, but he’s never so direct in this manner. 

And the loveable bastard behind him dares to twitch inside him at the threat. Then Phainon changes his grip on the Kremnoan and the way he’s positioned slightly, clearly invigorated by the combative sentiment. If Mydei was on the verge of seeing stars before, he’s now seeing something more abstract from Chaos.

“T-that’s more like-ah it.” Mydei purposefully tenses around his companion to show his approval. He savors the loud groan from Phainon. 

Distantly, the prince recognizes he should reminder the Deliverer that they are still in the blind spot of the public eye. Still under the eternal light, no less.

However, due to the equally loud slick sounds their bodies make and the state of his mind, Mydei disregards that logical thought. He uses his last bit of undazed attention to attempt to stop his body from quivering as he approaches his release.

“G-good,” Phainon replies late. “Just a… little bit more, Mydeimos.” Phainon bends to nearly lay on top of him. One hand stabilizes; the other moves to feel him up everywhere. His torso, his arms, his jewelry. “Turn back for me real quick, hm?” While it’s phrased as a suggestion, Mydei knows it’s more of a necessity. Again, not like he’s complaining about that anecdote.

Once he attempts to fix whatever fucked-out expression is on his face, Mydei turns to look at his companion. Phainon body’s is flushed as his face. His lips are wet, and seemingly already bruised from the briefest foreplay session of their companionship. But his eyes are always what catch the Kremnoan’s attention: the odd yellow of his pupils now appear like growing suns amidst the sea of hazed-over cyan. 

Phainon curses under his breath as they briefly lock eyes. As Mydei feels the tell-tale throbs in him and the Deliverer tightening his grip, he turns his head back and stabilizes himself more on the wall. Allowing for Phainon to angle himself just right again as he bucks in the Kremnoan with urgency.

“Mydei… –-ns–above, you’re so h-han- fuck, gonna- ohh.” That’s the rest of the warning Mydei gets as Phainon fully sheathes himself to shoot his load inside. 

Somewhat overloaded, the warrior can’t figure out whether to even his breaths or appreciate the sensation as his own climax slams into him. 

“Phai…non, mmm,” Mydei fully moans through his release, his cock throbbing pathetically with each spurt.

As he comes down, he waits for his heart to stop racing, for the satisfied feeling to wash over him, for his body to cease its light shaking and cool down. Yet, none of those things happen to the extent they should.

Even worse, the man still in him has yet to fully flag. If anything, Phainon feels just as hard as before. And the way he’s rubbing Mydei both comfortingly and seductively is suspicious. But in case Mydei wasn’t sure…

“Hey Mydeimos?” Phainon breaks the weighted silence with something that nearly sounds like a plea. 

“What?” 

“I know I promised I would control myself until we get home, but I don’t think waiting ‘this’ out will work anytime soon either…” the Deliverer trails off. Mydei groans weakly, even as his body is returns to being aflame at the notion.

Mydei swears he will get that demigod once he’s done getting cracked like a hard shell. If he will get to her in this life, however, is debatable. The warrior has a sneaking suspicion that he’ll be out longer than he anticipated at this rate. 

Oh well.  At least this was something to break up the monotony. Perhaps if Phainon fucks him into mandatory bed rest long enough to avoid the rest of this month’s gatherings, maybe her life can be spared.