ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ sᴘᴇᴇᴄʜ.

           his sigh accumulates   from both relief & a sense of security, which was unusual, simply because it had become a thing far too rare ( for most demi-gods, atleast, because safety always seemed to be temporary for them ).  bundled into a cocoon in the breadth of devon’s arms, however, with his lips over his neck   & pecking kisses   over to his cheek that it was a kind of security which felt surreal to have so easily at his disposal — because devon could kiss him all day, if he so as much asked him.  a content hum escapes him too, undoubtedly finding a shudder against the sensitivity of his neck.  lethargically,   his arm drops over devon’s torso, & they remain there without an ounce of motivation to move.

                  ❛    ——  i’m fine, too.    ❜       he said, & it was enough to fill in the blanks for the rest of the conversation. they didn’t have to say anymore either, because once kenneth became familiar to the  warmth  surrounding them, he felt himself grow heavy. sinking into the mattress, pupils dilated, muscles lax, & arms wound around devon with his nose tucked under his chin, so that nothing but their scents flanked them even as they succumbed to sleep.

            it took more than a few layers of sunset to wake him, & when he did, lashes fluttering against skin, he found devon absent from his side.   alarmed on instinct,   kenneth shot up right & felt his pulse quicken. it took the next few seconds for him to trample logic back into his head, & assure himself there was no reason for devon to be in trouble or for devon to be hurt.  if such a thing was to be true, surely he would not be the only person under alert.  this was camp jupiter,   they were safe here. at least.

               Devon wakes first and his first thought is to hit the shower, mostly because he didn’t get to last night and he’d rather get morning cuddles with Ken smelling like soapy glory than like sweat and an old training t-shirt. He may not be a perfect guy, but at least he’s very clean.

               After his early shower –through which he hopes Ken won’t wake up and freak out-, he heads to the common room to fetch clean camp-issued clothes, toothbrush in his mouth as he walks around.          

               And that’s when he hears Ken’s voice, muffled by the quilt and still sleep-tinted. Shit. He hurriedly heads back to Ken’s room and steps in, brush discarded and mouth rinsed in an afterthought right before he walks through the door.

               “I’m here” he announces, hair wet and dripping over his shoulders.

               Ken always looks perfect in the morning. He’s nothing but a bundle of bed covers and half a face poking out from underneath, but the sun is hitting his skin and lighting it just the right way, and Devon could melt from this view.

               “I took a shower, didn’t get to last night and I felt kinda gross.” In two swift steps he’s next to the bed, and he settles himself next to the cocoon that is his boyfriend. He doesn’t want to uncover him, so he bends down and places a small minty kiss to his forehead instead.

                                    ❛    you’re  stupid.    ❜

                 but his anger had diminished  completely by the time devon’s fingers find the shape of his ribcage, & trace along to greet his the hilt of his bones.  forgiven, all together, with the way he knows what each touch asks & what each touch wants, without having to ask when he understood with absolutely certainty that it was genuine — everything was genuine with devon. there was no lie, scheme, or malice between them.  perhaps secrets separated them,   but none of them were capable of irreparable harm over what they shared.  he knew devon would swallow poison than allow anything to hurt kenneth. it seemed his contempt could be placated by no sorcery on earth but the touch of devon’s fingers, the shy brush of their lips, which — he thought, merely to amuse himself — was a kind of   sorcery   on its own, too.

                  the sky lifts from his shoulders, & he’s no longer atlas. his fingers stretch & clench, gripping the fabric of devon’s shirt in quiet, but needy calm.  it was enthralling for him to learn that his   lips still fit,   & always would, devon’s mouth like a puzzle piece.  there was, of course, the awkward click of their teeth following a ripple of quiet,   embarrassed snickers.    there was the entwining of their hands & the brush of their lashes, & then there was the kiss too, soft like love but firm like magic.  they were half-gods, afterall.  they weren’t a   tragedy yet.

          kenneth would kiss him anyways, fate like it or not.  suddenly, he finds his weight shifting until he’s pulling devon down with him,   two bodies   nested together over the bed.  carefully, he breaks the kiss & drops his head over the mattress. his eyes hold onto   devon’s stare,   & his fingers absently trace through the unruly, dark locks of his hair. 

               Devon sighs something like a response and pulls ken close enough to kiss his nose, and everything is alright for a moment. Forget the world outside their little bubble of peace. Forget everything that’s not them right now and right here, because it doesn’t matter.

               His hands travel up Ken’s ribs to his spine and settle there, heavy and warm, a light massage over his top. Their legs are intertwined, their breaths mixing and curling around each other, and Dev knows he’d trade all he’s ever had to have this every day from now on.

               His lips meet the crook of Ken’s neck, and then his jaw and his cheek, and he lets out a content hum.

               “Much better now” he whispers, making sure Ken knows he’s feeling better because he’s there with him. Always better with him.

               It’s probably dinner time, but he doesn’t move. They can sneak off to steal some food from the kitchen when they’re done cuddling. Outside, they can hear the campers make their way towards the halls. All Devon can think is that the senate members will be there, too, and all traces of hunger he might have had fade away. They can definitely eat later.

  the claim surprises him,      though he isn’t certain why or what surprised him more : the fact that devon had defended him over something so futile,  or  the  fact  that  something  as futile as that could anger devon.  it  wasn’t  unusual,  ofcourse,  for  the  senate  to  talk  rubbish  about  kenneth.   he ha d a particular reputation for defending  delinquents  around camp,  &  devon  had  recently become the key show case in the senate.  it  hadn’t  struck  him  before  that  in  turn,  devon  would  be  defending him as well, & there was no way of knowing for how long either.  a  bubble  of  irritation  clashed  with  one  of  adoration, allowing for the twitch of his lips & his fingers  to  hold  the  wrist  in  his  hands  with  ever more care   than before. it was unsual to think,  devon  was  as  fragile  as  he  was  iron  built.

                               ❛    it’s okay,  i believe you.    ❜

     so, he scooted closer ( reluctantly,  perhaps  not; rather, he felt oddly   shy of touch   ) to the other boy until his thigh had sidled up against that of devon’s.  a  soothed  sigh  pressed  through  him, muscles no longer taut now that  he  had  the  comfort  of  devon’s  proximity  with  him.   well  aware  of  devon’s antics,  he was not  about  to  grant  a  kiss  so  quickly.  instead,  he  turned  his  eyes  to  him  with  a  wrinkle  of  his  nose,  &  settled his  chin  over  his  shoulder.

               An invitation? Perhaps not so much, but Devon takes the proximity as a chance to put his free hand on Ken’s side and feel his bones under his palms. It’s funny how being close to Ken can be so unnerving for most people and yet so calming for Devon. He’s better than any drug humans or gods could ever make, and Dev is addicted by now.

               Ken rests his chin on Dev’s shoulder, just shy away from kissing his cheek, and Devon’s heart catches in his chest.

               He’s mad still, he can tell, but at least Ken believes him. Not like Dev would ever lie or give Ken reasons not to believe him, but knowing that is reassuring. No matter what the senate throws at him for this (and they will, oh he knows they will), but at least he’ll have Ken on his side.

               It was perhaps barbaric chivalry what got Dev to punch the guy in the face in order to protect Ken’s honor, which the senate won’t care about or even consider bad enough to spare him from a few nights of guard duty at least. Plus it’s not like Ken needs anyone to protect him like that –and he knew that, Ken is about the most autonomous person he knows-, but he got so mad.

               He looks up at Ken and sighs, nuzzling his face until they’re forehead to forehead and he can stare into his eyes. They’re too close to focus on them, but he doesn’t move away. His hand on his ribs pets small circles, finds muscle between his bones.

                          ❛    are …   are  you  alright  ?    ❜  

        his voice comes out    surprisingly soft, a tumble of concern washing over him when devon’s skin so as much flinches under the gentle caress of his hands attempting to repair the damage scarring his knuckles.  it was no oddity to see devon in such a battered condition ( see, kenneth had long ago become accustomed to his   pointless quarrel’s   with people who did not even matter )  yet his blood  startled him each time it dripped.  he grasps for the nearest gauze strip & smoothly slips his hand under devon’s.

          then, with reluctance, his digits extend forward & sink into the unruly beds of devon’s hair. it’s a gentle caress,   brimming with worry   kenneth could only show in the fleeting shifts of his expression — the furrow of his brow, hanging frowns, careful touch. it seemed that slowly, his anger held no significance over him when his   fondness   for the other boy failed to fluctuate throughout this ordeal. he would be unnerved by the dangers to devon’s safety either way.  

        only then, after he has completed his study of   bruised knuckles,   does he fold his fingers into the palm of devon’s hand. lowering his chin, kenneth offers an apologetic kiss to the tips of devon’s numbed fingertips before adverting his frown to the ground.

               Devon melts at the touch of Ken’s lips to his fingertips, the warmth and softness of it almost making it whine. He can’t help it, he always gets like this after there’s been tension between them, and right now he’d give anything to lie down with Ken in bed and forget it ever happened.

               He knows what Ken means, though, and the thought pulls the smallest sad smile from his lips. It’s never his aim to worry Ken, and he’s aware he does so quite frequently. He can’t help his moods, and though he tries to hold back his anger sometimes it floods out and explodes, and everyone around him gets splashed.

               He sighs and looks up at Ken, begging him for a kiss with his eyes.

               “I’m sorry.” His voice is as pitiful as he feels, and he makes no effort to mask It with pride. He doesn’t need to right now.

               That’s what he gets for acting on instinct without thinking.

               Fuck everything.

               ❛    well, i don’t care what you want.    ❜

     a baffled huff takes him, accompanied by the annoyed roll of his eyes.  unfortunately, his arrogance matched his stubbornness too, which   abandoned   most of his chances on actually listening.   for the most part, he felt it wouldn’t make a difference either way.  the cynical depression of the events had bemused him more than he had thought it would,  that even devon’s touch failed to offer much of an improvement to his mood.    it did, however,   make an inevitable change in the way he looked at him.

             “Fine.”

               It took all of Devon’s self-control not to let out a deep sigh of relief, but newfound bubbliness pooled in his eyes as he gave Ken’s fingers a little squeeze. Finally. Ken was giving him a bit of room to bring him closer, to set a better mood, but he didn’t want to push it yet.

           Without a protest this time, Devon sat down and offered his wounded hand for his best friend to examine. He didn’t care much for the pain and hadn’t even felt it for that long, but now that it was Ken examining him from  up close he felt like wincing, if anything to get a couple get-better pats on the shoulder and maybe, if he got lucky, a kiss.

          Gods, he felt so pathetic.

          Pathetically into Ken, too.

               ❛    no,    ❜     a mumble, & then,     ❛    i hate you.    ❜  

 he would not listen easily,   for sure.  once exasperated by petty scenario’s such as this, his interest over what surrounded him dwindled drastically until he wished to see no more of anything involving camp jupiter.   the calloused pattern   of his hands placated his temper simply through additional chores & minor distractions, shuffling through a pile of dust colored maps or registering ancient books to their according place on his shelf.   his room was a mess, it was about time he cleansed it of neglect. 

     but devon was something else.   devon wouldn’t turn & leave   in a fit of rage like kenneth had, like kenneth would, not because kenneth’s wrath stretched anymore more maliciously than devon’s did, but because kenneth was the sole individual who could mandate the boy’s anger to fluctuate considerably the   second he spoke.   the possibility was, that devon couldn’t fight kenneth even if he tried. this simple notion built on kenneth’s arrogance,  therefore he felt himself inclined to avoid a   decent response.    instead, he pivoted on his heels & stormed past devon to another shelf,  their shoulders clashing with alarm & blood churning with impatience. 

          “Because I don’t wanna leave” he says, his breath close to Ken’s and his blood pumping fast through his veins. It’s always moments like this that make him nervous. More than a  monster, more than an angry senate against him; what he fears the most in the world is Ken turning him  away. He won’t allow that over something as stupid as a punch.

           His eyes meet Ken’s at even level and his look is pitiful, asking his boyfriend, his best friend for forgiveness and slack. The disappointment andanger that settled during the senate meeting are still fresh in his mind, and he doesn’t want anotherbattle here. He wants Ken, and he wants him close and supportive.

             “Ken” he says, again, and this time his fingers find Ken’s and he holds themlightly. He isn’t forceful; Ken could free himself any second, and he knows there’s a fatchance he will, but he hopes he won’t. He hopes he’ll stay.

              “Please.” Another plead, but Devon isn’t sure he’s getting anycloser to gaining acceptance from him. He almost lets out an exasperated sigh, but stops himself at the last moment. “I said I’m sorry about what happened.”

      he cares not to answer.    in-fact,  he no longer feels the need to express himself on the situation.   what had to be treated was taken care of, & what was left to treat was the dried blood over his fingertips.  his ribcage works much like a bridge,  broken away from the world immediately after a distressed flare   — & so,  swiftly, in succession to the locks clicking shut inside of him, he feels himself detach from his previously    worrisome disposition.    if devon’s pleas were bullet, he’d make sure the sound of his footsteps heeding no thought to them were   bombs.   there was no placating kenneth vareck’s scorn & contempt. 

        if only the sun   could burn through devon,   kenneth could spare himself speech.  refusing to meet the other’s demands, he continues his cold march west to where he can relocate his cohort & subtract himself from devon’s reach.  the trainee’s,   his trainee’s,  are gathered about the gazebo with their spears tucked behind their backs, letters fluttering about the messenger nymphs,  the pit patter of the fountain drowning out devon’s uncomfortable requests. finally, after little pity,    kenenth does stop.

               When he first got to camp, Devon found it strange when legionaries guarding doors and dorms moved out of his way. Nowadays, though, he’s so used to it he hardly notices it. Especially kids fromlower cohorts seem to have a deeply engraved fear for Ken and him that Dev won’t try to understand or act on.

Kenneth’s  anger, though, that’s something he needs to fix. Because he knows how he gets, and he knows how he himself gets in return when they don’t sort out stuff, and he’s not going through a week of silent treatment and careless beating up during training for a  stupid fight. A fight, he may add, started because Devon was trying to defend the guy on probation of his cohort. No way.

So he gives ken a few minutes, because it’s always better to let him cool off after storming through a door like this, and steps in carefully.

“Ken” he says, his back against the door and his hands on his hips, though not in a severe gesture. “Are we gonna talk about this?” He doesn’t even know what they’d talk about. In fact, talking seems like a terrible idea, it’ll only anger both of them more.

He shifts uncomfortably and finds Ken’s eyes with his own. “Look, you know I’m sorry I caused you trouble, and I’m thankful you were there to stop me.”

He can already hear Ken’s response in his head, even before the other parts his lips. I shouldn’t need to stop you.

             ❛    sure, make my life harder.     ❜   his voice is close to venom, his stare as indifferent as a stone, & his fist balled with another threat. he could punch devon,   square across   the face.  he wanted to take the blood out of him for the trouble he knowingly caused, for the scars he knowingly earned, & the pain he inflicted on himself just for the sake of rush, relief,  & anger.  kenneth felt himself shudder, not out of the slightest of gratifications, but from mere irritation.   ❛    if you say another word to me right now, i swear ——     ❜

                you’ll do what ?   his own voice shot back at him.  so he said nothing, & resorted to merely scowling.  he scowled, gritted his teeth, tightened his jaw, clenched his fists, glowered with hate, until he grew tired. finally, once the gauze was tight &  warm from blood   over devon’s wounds, he abruptly stood with a pointed look to his own hands. 

            Okay, so maybe he overdid it with the comment, but if Devon has a specialty is not knowing when to shut up when Ken is angry, and it seems like this has been the last drop for him. He doesn’t want to sigh (because it will anger Ken further), so he stands and directs his gaze towards his best friend doing his best impersonation of a puppy.

            Ken doesn’t turn, though, so the effort is futile and he has to follow him outside with his wounds half-nursed and his mood dropping like a bomb.

            “Ken, come on” he starts, but doesn’t push it. If ken explodes right now he’ll  scorch him to a pile of ashes. He trots after him instead, light on his feet but always falling a few steps behind. His knuckles are drippingblood onto the floor.

            “Please, stop” he says after a couple minutes. They’re past the stables now, and the unforgiving sun of midday is heating up his back uncomfortably. “Ken, let’s talk about this, I’m sorry.”

            And truth is he is; he’s sorry he angered Ken. Sorry he can’t keep his mouth shut and sorry he can’t seem to keep out of trouble, but he’s not sorry he hit the guy. He’d hit him again –maybe not right now, to spare himself from a horrible death a la Vareck-, but he won’t say that now.

                                  ❛    fuck that, we do this my way.                    12 minutes, you blow this god damn place up.    ❜

           don’t wait for me, he almost adds, but as much as his determination burns, so does his pride. he will not fail, nor will he fetch after another    agent’s shadow —    & such a callous shift of his stature displays nothing but a resolute decision :   he will win. he will win on his own accord, & as he, too, punctures a confused soul down to the ground with ease, absent of any     sympathy, kenneth’s fingers begin     dwindling over a phone screen yet again. he does not falter even as devon chastises him. 

                               ❛    trust me, american.    ❜

         the light’s briefly flicker back to life, before shocking back into black. the fuses that were once illuminated under the stretch of the sky now shriek with sparks, a crimson rain of fire before settling away.   the comm buzzes   & devon’s grunts give away enough for him to determine that the south block was now free of any guard’s supervision. fleeing quickly from the aisle of dead bodies, the hacker finds himself infiltrating the building despite the puzzled disruption outside,     which was now inevitably rising to a more heightened   commotion of panic.  

              kenneth scrambles under the wooden frames of the kitchen counters as three guards flood into the open  space   of the room & before they had the oppurnitiy to request back up, he quickly recovers his phone & deploys a single jam comm, ultimately    disabling the call.     next, he grabs for one of the frag grenades & tosses the beeping explosive towards the crowd. a rustle of alarm passes before dust sprays forward, & taking advantage of the stirring panic, kenneth clinks his pistol in place &   rises out from hiding.    in quick, swift succession, he shoots all three down before advancing forward without a glance back & establishes the first IED in place.

              “9 minutes”  Devon reminds him over comm, before he turns and keeps making his way through the guards.

            Surprisingly he hasn’t been seen yet. The reason why he can’t figure out, to be honest, because he’s pretty sure if he was a guard and his partners startedmysteriously disappearing he’d have a feeling something wasn’t right, but the guards in the West sector seem as calm as can be. They’re in their positions, but they lack thetension of a real night at work. They’re standing, not watching, not very actively, at least, and Devon uses that to his advantage the only way he knows.

              As the first one falls dead at his feet, his body convulsing over the thankfully muffling grass, he takes his communication device and places it on his free ear. No distress calls so far. Ken must be doing a good job on his own, too.

              There’s at least six guards left in here, but he hasn’t had to use any fire weapons so far, so the prospect seems bright by now. He makes a mental note to figure out the company these guards are from, to make sure to never recommend them to anyone. One of them is even texting on his phone. Useless pricks.

              The next three kills aresmooth and quiet, the way he likes it, but of course not everything could be so easy, and as the fourth falls to the floor, he lets out awail that alerts the remaining two. The radio signal is immediate. ‘Heard something. Be on the lookout’

             If only that wasn’t your fucking job, you moron.

            Now they’re circling around, watching and keeping their steps quiet, trying to hear anything out of the ordinary. They haven’t noticed the line of corpses leading up to Dev yet, but he figures it’ll take seconds for them to find it. 4 minutes left. He might have to think of a plan B.

            He stays hidden until he hears the first warning over the dead guard’s comm. ‘Bodies found, someone’s attacked the south block. We need backup on the West – repeat, we need backup on the West block.’

              He’s placed the last of the explosives during the confusion, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he’ssmiling.

his hand glimmers in a faint glow,    as if waking from cold slumber, while warmth spreads through every street of nerves lined under his skin & pours into the batch of sore, bruised muscles beside him. it was as frustrating as it was    painful to see    the pair of hands, cheeks, lips that he had grown particularly fond of to be stained with hate. every fight was a product of devon’s reverberating anger,    one only kenneth could placate   if he was within reach.

❛    no. fool.     ❜     his frown couldn’t stretch longer than it already had.    the remorse   over the sight of the injuries wisps into irritation, before the heel of his fist strikes the back of his lover’s head once more.    ❛    i’m jus’ sorry it wasn’t me who clocked your stupid face.    ❜

            Despite himself, Devon welcomes the hit at the back of his head with merely a quiet grunt. It is true that he’s  angry  more often than not, but he’d never snap at Ken like he did to those guys at the senate. Or at least he’d never do it with the same awareness with which he hit the senate member.

             “You have to admit, though, that the senate guys are assholes” he grumbles, lifting his chin up so Ken can clean the wound on his chin. A wound that he gave himself while shoving his opponent’s head against the rough pebbled floor of the senate room.

              His knuckles tell the same story of someone who’s fought andwon. He split the skin over the bone by punching him. The nail marks on his forearms are from someone trying to pry him off the guy, and then there’s the bruises over his wrist are from Ken, dragging him away from there with all of hisrage contained. Or most of it, anyway.

              And now Devon sits in front of him, looking completelyharmless, sitting still to allow his friend room and comfort with his work. It’sfascinating to see Ken’s hands move like this, so knowingly. He’s patched up a lot of wounds in his life but he always does so in a way that’smethodical and efficient, but far less impressive.

              Ken’s fingers brush the tender skin of his hands and he winces, but doesn’t complain.

         ❛    i will cut your jaw.    ❜

               a scowl follows the   steel   of his words.  he did nothing to hide his fatigue, with the golden shards trapped within his irises bustling with rage he struggled to subdue.  perhaps their zealous, frightful effect had reduced over the years he had known   devon   — because in turn for each hateful threat, all devon provided was either a   shrug or a bored wrinkle of his nose.    it exasperated kenneth even more. 

                 Devon lets himself be guided and settles on a flat rock by the path. Ken’s grip is a commanding one, but a welcome  one too. He knows the weight of his hand, the warmth it spreads from the back of his neck to his chest and down his limbs, so he doesn’t fight it.

         Instead he sits and watches his friend through deep  green  eyes, his gaze as heavy and intense as his friend’s hands on him. For once, it’s not a warning. Never a warning with Ken.

           ❛    the f*ck’s your problem ?   ❜   

       the words are a hiss, with his hand grazing down to cuff the back of devon’s head. it initiates strings of harsh commotions on his part :  he holds him,    shoves him,    buries crescents into his arms.  kenneth’s closing statement in front of the senate had saved the other from a week long suspension, &, but worse,   had only influenced kenneth’s image as a backbone to most delinquents in camp jupiter.   devon was not the first rascal he was threading away from the council’s labor-based punishments.

       he was not sure how much more of this the council or  reyna   would tolerate.  devon had developed a habit of punching senate members on the slightest hints of   provocation. 

     “Funny how you keep saying that”

The words pour out from his lips like warm poison, but he doesn’t mean wrong by them. Not to Ken. It’s not his fault senate members hate him. It’s not his fault they’re so biased against him or most of his brothers. It’s not his fault his father’s blood runs pure in his veins. They know Devon. They know who he is and what he’s done and how easy it is to provoke him, and sill they do, so fuck them if they get punched in return.

Plus at least half of the senate is on his PunchOnSight list. So their fault.

He looks at Ken, his knuckles still hot from the beating, and lets his fingers clench and unclench as blood rushes back to them.

kenneth & devon’s instagram !!