Where's the fun in that?

It was for a case, of course. Nothing else could tempt Emilio into a place like this. His client’s credit card had pinged one too many purchases here, and while it could have been a stolen card number, she suspected her partner might be buying extravagant gifts for someone else with it instead. All Emilio needed to do was get confirmation that they guy had been here, maybe some details on what he’d been buying. It was a boring case, but it was an easy one.

Or… it would have been, if not for the faun. Naturally, he was at the register when Emilio stepped into the store. It was nearly enough to make the fury turn and walk out, to find some other way to get the information he was after. But he wanted this case finished quickly so he could spend his time on something better, and that might mean putting up with the faun. Gritting his teeth, Emilio approached the register. “I need information,” he said, forgoing a greeting. They’d both know it was fake, anyway.

—

Reluctantly, Kieran had found the Oasis to be helpful when it came to his… troubles. Surely, he was doing better with it than many other fae, managing to keep his glamor up a lot of the time and only having a handful of… instances when it came to feeding, but the fae-packed magical hotspot did help. And it was large, enough so that any areas he had previously visited could be easily avoided - not that Kieran was actively avoiding any parts of it for a reason. Just a passing thought. Visiting the Oasis had helped enough to bring Kieran confidently back to Covet Couture and although he’d missed the clothes more than the customers, really, being at the store was something he enjoyed and the faun didn’t like for the things he enjoyed to be kept from him. 

And on the topic of things to enjoy… Emilio’s face was among the last Kieran would have expected to appear in the store, not only because the hunter seemed adamant to avoid Kieran but because he always seemed dressed in homeless-person-chique. 

Gruffly, Emilio started the conversation before Kieran could get a word out but it didn’t discourage the faun from putting on his brightest (and fakest) smile. “Oh, you’ve finally come to your senses and decided to stop looking like trash? Someone finally hit you on the head hard enough to make a positive impact?” Kieran teased, leaning onto the counter and blinking expectantly. Obviously that wasn’t the case but since Kieran couldn’t get a meal out of the other man, at least he could get a rise out of him. Even if it wasn’t the rise he usually preferred to get, it was amusing all the same. “Might be a bit out of your budget though, honey.”

—-

Of course Kieran was going to be insufferable about this. In all honesty, Emilio had expected nothing less. This was someone who was so obsessed with the idea of having power over people that his desire for it consumed him entirely, drove him into making stupid decisions like making an enemy out of a hunter just to get a thrill. It wasn’t even remotely surprising that he was enjoying the idea of Emilio needing something from him. What was worrying — or, rather, what might have been worrying had Emilio had more of a capacity to worry about such things — was the fact that it didn’t bother him as much as it normally might have. There was a certain degree of numbness that had settled over everything as of late. It was difficult for anything to get through that.

He stared at the faun for a moment after Kieran spoke, as if letting the words settle into the air between them. “Are you finished?” He asked flatly, nostrils flaring in quiet irritation. He almost wished for the version of himself that would have been angry enough to take a swing at Kieran just for being irritating, but that Emilio had been absent for some time now, and wouldn’t have done him much good in this investigation, anyway. He just needed to get the information he wanted. When he was finished, he could go to the bar and find someone who could make him feel something for a while, even if all that something was was the sting of a blade or the ache of a blow or the crippling sense of self hatred that always came at the heels of them both.

“Like I said, I need information. If I show you a picture, can you tell me if the guy has been in here before?” He wasn’t expecting Kieran to be helpful, but maybe the faun would tell Emilio what he wanted in exchange for the intel. At this point, Emilio figured he was open to making a deal if it got him out of here sooner instead of later.

—

Perhaps it had helped the hunter to know what he was walking into beforehand as he seemed slightly less annoyed by Kieran than during their last run in back at the bar. He was irritated, obviously, but doing a better job at containing it. Probably a good thing for Kieran but less good that it made the faun instantly want to poke and prod - restraint was one of his least favorite things, even when lack of restraint might possibly mean a repeat of what had happened the last time Emilio was inside Covet Couture. “It takes me quite a bit longer than that to finish,” Kieran sighed without missing a beat but he allowed Emilio to state his purpose. The more he knew, the better to press the hunter’s little buttons. 

“Oh, need? That’s a word I like to hear,” Kieran cooed, straightening out as he smiled at Emilio, overjoyed at this turn of events. Of course, he couldn’t push too hard - there was a chance of Emilio leaving and attempting to return with another employee present and that would ruin all of the fun. “I’m sure I can help. I’m also sure you weren’t expecting me to do so just from the kindness of my heart, were you? You seem, mm… at least a smidge too smart for that. Just about.” 

—-

Of course there were innuendos to be had; that seemed like Kieran’s native tongue, the language he was most comfortable with. Perhaps there was a world in which Emilio adopted the same sort of speech to make him more pliable, but he couldn’t muster it today. Or, rather, he couldn’t muster it with Kieran, who had been irritating at best and infuriating at worst since the very first time Emilio spoke to him. The fury only rolled his eyes in response to Kieran’s wordplay now, unwilling to provide the reaction the faun was probably going for. He wanted information; he couldn’t get it if he broke Kieran’s teeth.

He couldn’t get it for free, either. That, too, had been something he’d expected. He’d met plenty of fae over the years, but few who seemed as dedicated to deal-making as Kieran seemed to be. There was one looming deal between them already, and though Emilio had expertly twisted it into his favor, he wasn’t looking to add a second to the list. But he did need this intel, and Kieran was the best person to give it to him. So, with a grunt, he figured he could at least entertain the thought. “What do you want? I’m not promising you shit.”

—

Kieran was used to all different sorts of reactions to his fun little quips or his coming on too strong - they ranged anywhere from awkward blushing to the annoyed rolling of eyes Emilio was displaying, or threats of physical violence from the boring yet handsome men who took offense to their beauty being appreciated - and most of the time, trying to work the initial reaction into one he preferred was like a little game. Sometimes one he played with his magic, if the situation was dire, but other times the challenge was in changing their mind without the hypnosis. Or in Emilio’s case, it was the only option. Of course, Kieran had no delusions that he would have Emilio swooning and blushing by the end of this encounter but if all that pent up anger could be pointed in some other direction… 

“Fine, pretend you don’t enjoy my little quips,” Kieran huffed without any real annoyance on his part, still cocky and amused because the upper hand was his. With a bit of effort, Emilio seemed to wrack that brain of his for a moment and Kieran blinked expectantly, head cocking when the hunter finally spoke. “No promises does remove a lot of fun possibilities from the table,” Kieran hummed, tapping a finger against his lips as he pretended to think. “And I’ll assume that means you’re not willing to break our little deal, either. Which I still think is your loss and reminds me that you still haven’t thanked me for the fun you had that evening.” 

Making a show of stretching out, as if this whole exchange was starting to bore him, Kieran rounded the register without warning and strolled deeper into the store. “You know, it’s very hard for me to ask for something that I want when I don’t even know what you can deliver on,” Kieran pondered out loud as he brushed miniscule wrinkles from the clothing on display, refusing to give Emilio his full attention. “Since I don’t need anything stabbed or punched at the moment, well… what are you good at?”

—-

“I don’t have to pretend. You’re not as charming as you think you are.” He thought it was probably true, if only because he doubted there was anyone on Earth who was as charming as Kieran believed himself to be. He understood how the thing the faun had going on probably worked on plenty of people. Emilio couldn’t deny that the fae was good looking enough. It was what happened when he opened his mouth that made him bad to be around. But there were people who were into that sort of thing, people who enjoyed it. Kieran probably had no trouble at all convincing people around him into his bed; the only reason he gave two shits about Emilio was because he hadn’t managed to accomplish it with him yet.

The fury offered Kieran a deadpan look in response to his assumption, which he figured was answer enough. No, he wouldn’t let Kieran out of the promise he’d forced him into, even if it wasn’t doing anything for him now. It didn’t matter that his death meant Kieran could no longer feed from Emilio even without the promise in place, didn’t matter that his magic probably wouldn’t have any effect on someone long dead. It mattered that Emilio had exactly one upper hand here. It mattered that he wanted to keep that. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for that thanks,” Emilio scoffed. Then, after a pause, “Or do. I’ll stand here and watch you turn purple.”

Without any other way to get his answers, Emilio was forced to trail behind Kieran as he walked through the store. He wouldn’t be able to hear the asshole otherwise, and while that might normally be preferable, this was the one time Emilio actually cared what Kieran had to say. Unfortunately, what Kieran had to say right now wasn’t very useful. Emilio really didn’t have many skills beyond stabbing and punching. He could offer the faun a freebie detective case, but he doubted Kieran would go for something like that. There was really only one thing Emilio could offer that Kieran would go for. Normally, he wouldn’t have offered it at all. But… self destruction had become a crutch to lean on lately, and hating himself was a familiar comfort. Pressing his tongue against his teeth, he leaned against the wall beside the mannequin Kieran was smoothing. “I can show you a few things I’m good at,” he said, letting his gaze drop down Kieran’s body, “but we’d need to go into the dressing room.”

—

Emilio was far from the first person to try and talk down Kieran, although the numbers had dwindled quite effectively the longer Kieran had spent with the humans, learning exactly how they ticked, how to get into their minds and under their skin even without his hypnosis - although the hypnosis always helped. He’d swayed others like Emilio, with or without magic, and those that couldn’t be swayed, well, bad taste and all that. “At least I have charm,” Kieran sighed, finding no need to argue that he was indeed just that charming, regardless of if that charm happened to work on depression incarnate in a hunter. Didn’t make him any less fun to toy with, of course. 

“Ooh, a fan of breath play? Noted.” Sure enough, Emilio wanted answers bad enough to follow Kieran’s lead, trailing behind him in a way that immediately stroked the faun’s ego. After a moment’s hesitation, the hunter put himself into Kieran’s view, expression having changed from before. The deep seated irritation wasn’t gone, Kieran doubted it ever went all that far, but it was blanketed by something new. Nothing genuine, of course, but the faun wasn’t all too pressed about that. This wasn’t really about getting Emilio to like him at this point, too much had taken place between the two. No, it was about control. 

Emilio had held him captive with their deal back in the woods, still partially did with the current promise not to feed off him, even if Kieran didn’t really suffer too much from that particular string. Still, a bind to not do what came naturally to him, what was his birthright, really? It was too much control for anyone to hold, especially someone like Emilio. Shifting the balance was a necessary thing and what Emilio’s wandering gaze was suggesting was a good start. 

“Fine. But if you’re not as good as you say you are then I’ll be keeping that precious information you want all to myself. And before you complain, I don’t lie. Unless you want to make it a formal deal?” Kieran pushed, turning away before Emilio could provide an answer as the answer was one Kieran already knew. No deals. He’d just have to take Kieran’s word for it. With the store empty aside from Emilio, locking up for a short while was well within Kieran’s power, a sign assuring that he would be back after a short lunch break not technically a lie - even if he couldn’t feed on Emilio, a bit of taking back control could be just as satiating. “Well then. How do you prefer to show off?”

—

Emilio rolled his eyes, but offered no argument. He was capable of being charming when he wanted to be, had proven it plenty of times in bars and on cases. (Mostly the latter, these days. Emilio didn’t exactly need to break out the charm for the people he’d been going home with lately, after all.) But arguing this point to Kieran wasn’t worth the effort it would take because, in truth, Emilio didn’t care if the faun thought he was charming or not. Normally he had no problem arguing over nothing until he was blue in the fucking face, but he was so goddamn tired lately. He couldn’t imagine mustering up the energy to care about this argument when he was spending all of his reserves just trying to keep himself grounded in the present moment.

“More a fan of anything that keeps me from having to listen to you talk,” he said dryly, though there was less heat to it than there might have been a few months prior. The last year had been hard on the fury. He’d died and come back a monster, he’d done monstrous things in the aftermath. He didn’t know who he was anymore, only that he was someone he didn’t like, someone he didn’t want to be, someone his friend would leave in an alley to die because he was no longer worth saving. 

Making that offer to Kieran was easy, all things considered. He’d been with people far worse than an arrogant faun in recent months, fucked people much more insufferable and less redeemable. He didn’t like Kieran, but he didn’t have to. In fact, it was easier to do things like this with people he didn’t like. It was easier to let himself sleep with people he knew he’d never care for, because what had the alternative given him? His wedding band was a heavy weight on his finger, like a cinderblock tied to the ankle of someone about to be shoved in a river. The necklace that held the ring Teddy had once given him felt like a noose, most days, the iron charm Diana had added to it only tightening the knot. Eve told him she loved him before she left him to die. Talia would have thrown the promises she made to herself out the window if she’d known who was responsible for the glaive she pulled from his shoulder. It was better when Emilio didn’t care about the people in his life because it was better when the people in Emilio’s life didn’t care about him. 

“It won’t matter,” he said, watching Kieran move to lock the door. “I’m as good as I say I am.” And he was. It was one thing he was well aware of, one thing he had going for him. He was bad at relationships, bad at keeping people alive, bad at being a person worth being, but he was good in bed. He could make people come back for more, even if they didn’t particularly like him. The fact that, in recent months, he’d leaned into not giving a shit about his own well-being and allowing whoever he was with to do whatever the fuck they wanted only added to that. He waited until Kieran turned back towards him, then tilted his head. “That depends,” he replied. “Do you want me on my knees, or on my back?”

—

Oh, how Kieran enjoyed the way things could change, how nothing was certain and boundaries were really set only to be broken later on. The faun wondered how the Emilio from before, the one that had snuck into this very same store only to break Kieran’s nose and threaten him would feel about the Emilio currently standing here, offering to get on his knees without so much as blinking. Kieran wasn’t deluding himself into this being something the hunter wanted - what he wanted was information and apparently, pleasure was one of the few currencies Emilio had to deal in. Something Kieran could, on a very superficial level, respect. Of course, Kieran usually just took what he wanted one way or another but the faun understood the same simple fact Emilio seemed to be working with - this currency was a valuable one. Not necessarily less valuable than the fact of Kieran enjoying the man finally submitting, after what felt like too long being annoyed by the strings of the deal, the faint sting of the beating he’d received. 

“Well, why limit ourselves to just one display of your talents, since you’re so eager.” Emilio wasn’t, obviously, except maybe eager to get it over with, but since Kieran was denied the innate privilege of feeding throughout this little business deal, he’d have to settle for toying with the hunter instead. If Emilio happened to accidentally enjoy himself in the process, well, all the better, since Kieran suspected this personification of a storm cloud would be furious about it after the fact. “Come along, then.” 

The dressing rooms were just as lavish as the rest of the store, of course, each cubicle nice and spacious, the luscious poufs in the center of the area meant for anyone waiting to pass judgement on whatever appeared from behind the velvet curtains. Mirrors surrounded the space as well and Kieran caught a glimpse of his own satisfied expression as he sauntered into the space, with a less than satisfied Emilio trailing behind him. With a content sigh, the faun settled on a pouffe, legs crossing. “Off,” he demanded, gesturing to Emilio, or his clothing in particular. Both because who knew what those various faint stains were and more importantly, because Kieran could. 

—-

Another version of Emilio would have argued. The version of him that existed before Eve left him to die at Rowan’s hands, or the one from before he’d killed a woman in Owen’s apartment, or the one from before his chest was a mess of empty scar tissue, or the one from a year ago who was alive, still, might have pointed out that Kieran was asking for more than he’d offered and not giving him anything extra in return. Any one of those versions might have said he could get the information he wanted in a way Kieran wouldn’t like instead, that the faun should be happy that he was being offered the carrot instead of the stick. But, then again, some of those versions of Emilio — the healthier ones, the ones that gave more of a shit about whether or not he could live with himself — would have never made Kieran this offer at all. 

This particular version of Emilio — dull-eyed, heavy, still half-existing in an alley where his best friend left him to die — only shrugged. Sure, he’d show off both positions. He’d let Kieran fuck him, and Kieran wouldn’t be the worst person to do so. Kieran wouldn’t even be the worst person who’d done so this week, all things considered; he’d gone home with far more unsavory people at the bar, done worse with them than anything he could do with Kieran in the limited space of an (admittedly large) dressing room. 

He disliked the mirrors in the space, disliked each time he caught sight of his own reflection. He barely recognized the man standing across from Kieran, with the messy curls and the bags under his eyes. The solution was to look at Kieran instead, because even if Emilio did dislike the faun, he still liked Kieran a lot more than he liked himself. They were both monsters, probably; Emilio was the bigger one. 

He pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor of the dressing room. There was a pang somewhere in his chest. Shame, maybe, or discomfort. Not at the act, but at the way it further revealed the state of him. The scarring on his chest was an impossible thing to miss. The rest of his torso was similarly scarred, of course — a lifetime of hunting meant that there was very little surface area on his body not marred with some sort of harrowing incident he’d laughed off the moment it was over — but the chest was messy. Worse still, there was a new addition on his back where Rowan’s glaive had been shoved into his shoulder, not yet healed entirely. Emilio ignored the way every movement of his arms tugged on that wound, slipping off his shoes and then his pants until he stood in front of Kieran in his boxers. Despite the scarring, his body was impressive enough. It was hard to spend your entire life as physically as Emilio had without becoming toned and keeping in decent shape. 

“You want me to take off the underwear?” He asked, looking up at Kieran. “Or do you want to do it yourself?”

—

A different kind of person might have been brought to discomfort by the vacant look in Emilio’s eyes, by the slight hesitation before the hunter removed his shirt. Kieran experienced nothing of the sort, only growing more and more curious with every new thing revealed about Emilio. The faun enjoyed being surprised and Emilio had done a pretty good job of that so far - from how badly he’d reacted to a fun yet civilized night out, to showing up at this very same store for a very different sort of physical altercation, to having Kieran caught in the wording of his own promise. A few of those surprises hadn’t been particularly enjoyable at the time but they hadn’t been boring, either. Of course, Kieran didn’t bother himself with wondering why Emilio had the sudden change of heart, only intrigued by the sudden change and then further curious by the mess of scars. 

Having witnessed plenty of death, Kieran did wonder how such a vast array of scars were compatible with life, but he didn’t know enough about hunters to estimate such a thing. They seemed perfectly capable even after losing a limb, it seemed. It wasn’t hard to read Emilio’s body language, his own discomfort with the scarring on display, which only made the faun survey the jagged skin more intently. Eventually, his gaze did roam further, taking in everything else, the parts the hunter looked less on edge about sharing. With a tone of voice as if he were asking Kieran whether he wanted the receipt, Emilio continued to try and hurry this along. As if the faun couldn’t be patient when it directly benefitted him. “Come here,” Kieran urged instead of answering, properly noticing now just how much one of Emilio’s knees seemed to act up with every step. Getting on his knees, as Emilio had so casually offered, wouldn’t be a simple nor painless task. Did he not care or did he just prefer it that way? Kieran was no stranger to the latter but it was hard to simply guess when it came to the ragged body now standing within touching range. 

As if the same knuckles hadn’t once bruised themselves on Kieran’s face, the faun grabbed Emilio’s hand to momentarily inspect the scars littered all over the skin there, too, as well as the unkept nails, the stains of smoking and possibly dried blood. Kieran discarded the hand as his lazy gaze moved up Emilio’s body, over the haggard flesh of his chest to finally meet the hunter’s eyes. “Do you prefer it to hurt?” Kieran asked curiously, partially aware that he was pushing at boundaries that might snap, might even recoil hard enough to cause damage, but unable to keep the question contained. This whole situation was a win in and of itself but it didn’t mean the faun could turn off such an integral part of himself - making others feel pleasure. Even when he couldn’t feed off it, the simple knowledge of the achievement was usually reward enough. Whether Emilio would answer honestly, would do anything that might help Kieran in his mission, that remained to be seen. But Kieran had always liked a challenge. 

—--

The faun’s gaze felt like a tangible thing, though not a sensation Emilio knew how to describe properly. It wasn’t sharp like a knife scraping his skin, because he was familiar with that sort of thing. It wasn’t the dull pressure of someone holding weight against your ribs, threatening to crush your chest if you moved in the wrong way, either. That, too, was something he’d have recognized on instinct. Maybe Kieran’s gaze was difficult to describe because it didn’t hurt, even if Emilio thought it ought to. It wasn’t painful, the way Kieran inspected the parts of himself that he didn’t particularly like to put on display. It would have been far easier if it had been. He wanted Kieran to make a snide comment so that he could explode, wanted him to scoff something entitled and infuriating, but the faun was uncharacteristically quiet as he took in the state of the fury. Emilio didn’t miss the way that gaze lingered on his chest, the way those eyes hovered over the mess of scar tissue left behind first by the vampires’ knife driving into his heart and then by the siren’s talons ripping that heart from his ribcage. 

He felt exposed, though he knew that that was the point. This wasn’t just about sex for either of them. Emilio wanted to self destruct the same way he had been for months now, wanted to ramp things up in response to the painful memories of the alley where he and Eve had rewritten their own history, where instead of pulling his corpse from its resting place and gently carrying it home she had left it to rot in someone else’s hands. And Kieran wanted to prove that he was undeniable, probably, that he could get whatever he wanted even if he couldn’t always get it the moment he wanted it. Or maybe he wanted to humiliate Emilio, wanted to pay him back for the time Emilio had bruised his knuckles against the faun’s skin or the way Emilio managed to talk him into a deal he might have preferred to avoid. Whatever Kieran wanted, he was certainly getting it now. Whatever Emilio wanted, it was being given to him. Somehow, he wasn’t sure either of them would walk away from the encounter feeling better, anyway.

Kieran ushered him in closer, and Emilio shuffled forward even as some part of him wanted to argue. It was the part of him that still felt like himself, the part of him that hated Kieran for stealing away his control once years ago now. It was a part of him that had been growing smaller and smaller each time he did something like this, a part of him he was suffocating little by little. He’d kill it eventually. Maybe it’d kill him, too. Kieran took his hand, and Emilio let him even though it felt wrong. The question caught him off guard; he wasn’t sure if it was supposed to. He considered it for a moment, though he thought the answer should have been an easy one. He’d been seeking out sex in ways that hurt for a while now, but he wasn’t certain he preferred it. He looked down at his hand, down at his side now that Kieran had released it. Like the rest of him, it was scarred. Like the rest of him, it looked dead already. “Sometimes,” he replied, only half sure it was true. Did he want it to hurt, or did he deserve for it to? Different answers. “Do you give a shit what I prefer?”

—

If he were wired differently, Kieran might have felt at least some sense of dread or worry at Emilio’s proximity - last time, as he’d antagonized the hunter at the bar, there had been contingencies. Witnesses, sacrifices. No real reason for Kieran to worry about a serious injury. Right now, the faun had neither, only had the certainty that at least Emilio wasn’t hiding any sharp piece of iron on his person. Of course, Kieran knew the damage that Emilio could do with only his fists, damage that maybe, sensibly, Kieran should have feared. Instead, the visible evidence of the violence Emilio was capable of, permanently painted across every part of his body, only had adrenaline rushing faster through the faun’s veins. If Emilio wanted him mortally wounded, he would have taken care of it during his first visit to Covet Couture. And he was meant for the undead, anyway - Kieran’s antics weren’t Emilio’s problem (except for the few times where Kieran had made it so). 

So, Kieran asked his perhaps risky question with reckless abandon, pleased to find it catching Emilio off guard. His lower lip caught between his teeth as Kieran waited for the answer, as Emilio seemed to genuinely consider it, which was more than the faun had expected. There was no knee-jerk reaction, no insult or backing out of their deal. Instead, an answer that almost sounded genuine. Kieran smirked, pleased that he was getting this chance to play with his food just a little, even if he was also actually interested in the answer. Even with Emilio holding the literal high ground, the roles were tangible with Emilio’s state of undress and his tense posture compared to the way Kieran still languished on the pouffe. “Sometimes,” Kieran replied, just as vaguely. He didn’t need a concrete answer - he could work out the details through other cues; sounds, physical reactions, a racing pulse. 

Under the pretense of moving things along, Kieran reached for Emilio once again, fingers wrapping around his wrist in a steady but firm gesture for the man to kneel. Kieran was no stranger to searching for the thrum of a pulse, a fan of feeling it jump and stutter underneath his fingers or lips, making it… odd when Emilio’s proved elusive. Asking was a possibility, another chance for this whole thing to be strained beyond its limits, but Kieran had a feeling he would get an even less concrete answer to this particular question. Maybe he would satiate his curiosity after, once other needs had been satiated first. Abandoning the search for a pulse that seemingly wasn’t there, Kieran guided the scarred hands to the belt that most likely cost more than every item of clothing Emilio had plucked off himself. Since Emilio had offered two different ways of showing off, who was Kieran to just settle for one? Besides, it would give him ample opportunity to test the limits of Emilio’s ‘sometimes’, to find out if the pain was just a part of him or something he actually enjoyed. Because he would enjoy himself - it just mattered much less to Kieran whether Emilio would actually like that he had enjoyed himself. 

—-

He found it almost laughable, the idea that Kieran cared at all what he preferred. It was probably an unearned assumption, probably the sort of thing that wasn’t entirely fair to believe, but it stuck there all the same, carving a spot for itself in his ribcage. If Kieran cared what he preferred, he wouldn’t be standing across from him letting his eyes dart hungrily over Emilio’s stiff frame. And yet… wasn’t it Emilio who had offered? Hadn’t he given this freely, just as he always did? The people he’d been seeking out lately were not good people, but it was he who was doing the seeking. It was him approaching strangers in bars, choosing who to speak to based entirely on who looked like they’d care the least about his well-being and his dead eyes. He had plenty of opportunities to seek out better people. Wyatt had offered him some version of this that wouldn’t make him hurt himself, offered something rough with a gentleness lurking beneath the surface, and Emilio had balked at it. Diana had invited him over, and he could have gone, could have had something softer, and instead he had left her message unanswered and ignored her for months after. It was Emilio who chose this, and he could not pretend otherwise. It was Emilio who wanted this, and it did not matter that he would hate himself for it after. He hated himself already, without this. At least this way, he could feel something else for a moment or two. At least this way, he could interspace the heavy feeling with something just a little lighter.

Kieran took his hand, and Emilio almost flinched. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he was hyperaware that there was no pulse beating beneath his skin, sick with the thought that Kieran — like so many other people, like everyone who knew the truth about him — could uncover what he was without his permission. But the faun didn’t comment, and Emilio said nothing, either. He wondered absently if Kieran knowing would change anything. The promise he’d trapped the fae in before his death prevented Kieran from feeding on him even if it had been something that was still physically possible, but perhaps knowing it could never be an option at all even if the promise was released would disgust the faun. Perhaps he had no interest in fucking someone he couldn’t make a meal of, no matter how hard to get they might play. Between the two of them, Kieran was far more honest in this exchange. Emilio knew what he was already, knew what he wanted, knew how to give it to him. Kieran had none of those answers for himself. If things were unbalanced, they were unbalanced in Emilio’s favor. 

He let Kieran pull him to his knees, anyway. He could have gotten down gently, saved himself the blinding shot of pain that came when his bad knee hit the ground roughly, but he didn’t bother. He let himself drop, let the pain twist in his stomach and send spots dancing in front of his vision. It subsided a little, though it was certainly still there. Emilio ignored it steadfastly, focusing instead on his hands gripping Kieran’s belt. He tilted his chin up, looked Kieran in the eye. Slowly, deft fingers unbuckled the belt, sliding it loose. He knew, of course, how to put on a show. He could have given a better one, could have removed the belt with his teeth, could have probably ensured that Kieran was spent before his pants came down at all. Instead, his movements were more methodical. The belt was plucked from the loops in his pants and set aside, the pants unbuttoned and slid down slowly. He looked up at Kieran again, head tilting in a silent question. Was this what he wanted, or did he expect more fanfare? Emilio would just as soon get to work, but… Kieran was flashy. He knew that.

—

More bits and pieces presented themselves, much like the total absence of a pulse, once Emilio dropped to his knees. It was careless, rash like everything else about the hunter, and painful. Maybe Emilio couldn’t fully mask the shot of pain or just didn’t care enough to fully manage it, either way Kieran’s head tilted curiously as he watched worn features crease just so in pain, dark eyes momentarily losing their focus. There was no genuine enjoyment in the act but no real suffering, either. Kieran couldn’t find any sense of Emilio searching for appreciation or soothing to stave over the sharp aches, either. It was simply there and then swiftly ignored as Emilio moved on from it. Perhaps the pain wasn’t preferable to Emilio, but just a fact of his life. As expected as breathing. Would avoiding the pain make the whole thing better or too much to bear for the hunter? There obviously wouldn’t be any genuine kindness to be found here but Kieran was genuinely curious as to how heavy of a hand would settle in Emilio’s sweet spot. If he even had one at this rate. If Emilio did, Kieran was confident he’d find it. 

While Kieran studied every movement, Emilio seemed to just go through the motions until pausing suddenly, earning a raised eyebrow from the faun. Not asking for permission, that much was clear. Interesting, for someone who had walked in here demanding information, who had recently argued that control was everything. Sure, all of this was just part of an exchange but never had it been stated that Emilio needed to tilt his head and beg to be told what to do. Kieran didn’t need to be asked twice. 

“Oh, is someone hesitant about those talents? You want to make sure you’re doing a good job?” Kieran breathed tauntingly, finally sitting up straighter so his fingers could tangle into the unruly mop of hair that provided quite a decent grip, wrapping in firmly but not to the point of pain. Not yet. No, Kieran wanted to push slowly at the edges of this, to hopefully catch the point in which Emilio’s eyes clouded over with something entirely different to anger or indifference. A point in which he might give in to his body and baser instincts - aside from the one of beating people up. “Let me show you.” 

And so Kieran pushed at one pressure point after another, literally and figuratively. Testing if Emilio would at any point fight back and if he didn’t, whether he enjoyed giving in or not - Kieran had no actual intention of allowing the other to argue properly, just wanted to see if he would. Fingers and teeth worked at vulnerable spots, pushed and tugged, gauging a reaction even though Kieran suspected there was little to no actual risk as he applied pressure to Emilio’s throat, just as pulseless as his wrist. “What do you really prefer, hmm?” Kieran pushed once breaths had grown heavier and eyes darker, firm press of his palm against the back of Emilio’s head keeping the hunter’s body flush against the wall of the dressing room, nestled between it and Kieran’s body. “What’s the harm in telling me? The fact that you might maybe get what you want?” 

—---

This would all be easier, of course, if Kieran were less of an asshole. If he’d been less of a sore winner (because he had won something here, had taken the trophy in a game they’d been playing since the first night in the club, had crossed the finish line the moment Emilio stripped off his shirt), it might have been a bit more manageable. He could have swallowed it (and… other things) with a little more ease, could have hated himself a little less. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Kieran wasn’t looking to make this easier. Kieran didn’t care how easily Emilio could swallow whatever they were doing here. If anything, he probably wanted to make sure Emilio hated himself when this was over; if anything, he probably found that a far more entertaining option. The thought would have been enough to push him to his feet a year ago; he would have beaten the answers out of Kieran instead, would have replaced carrot with stick with little fanfare. 

But now, in the present, this version of Emilio bit his tongue. This subdued Emilio, this dead-eyed Emilio, this Emilio who felt as though all he ever did was lose things. No wonder one of his closest friends left him in an alley to die with little hesitation; no wonder even Owen found him pathetic enough to follow around for hours on end like a glorified babysitter; no wonder his pain meant so little that the idea of stealing a fucking wallet in response to someone carving his heart from his chest and placing it between their teeth was seen as a ridiculous overreaction. A corpse could only ever be a corpse. Treating it as anything more than that was a silly notion, a childish one. 

He considered Kieran’s words — something he certainly wouldn’t have bothered doing had this been a moment where the world felt a little less heavy — but he wasn’t sure they were right. He didn’t want to be told he was doing a good job, didn’t want to be praised. He wanted… something, he was certain. And it was something that wasn’t this, but he had no idea what it was. He thought of Wyatt, who told him once that it was okay to let people take care of him, after. He thought of Diana, who’d looked at him with a softness he’d known he didn’t deserve. He thought of Teddy, who he’d abandoned, of Juliana, who he’d gotten killed, of Xóchitl and of Jade and of every person who’d ever greeted him with a soft touch that made him feel sick now.

And then, Kieran’s hands were in his hair and he thought of nothing at all.

Kieran’s touch was pleasant enough; it was clear that he knew what he was doing, clear that he understood how to make someone feel good physically. There was an underlying discomfort that came from Emilio himself, of course, a quiet disgust that was only ever pointed inward. Kieran’s hands on him felt good. It infuriated him that it felt good. The reactions he gave were physical and involuntary, but not played up the way they might have been with someone he actually cared for. Kieran’s hand pressed against his throat, applying just enough pressure to make it hard to draw a full breath, but he didn’t need to breathe, anyway. The question settled between them, the one without an answer: what did he want? What did he prefer? Emilio arched his back, pressing himself against Kieran a little more before pulling away to press against the wall instead, unsure which was preferable. 

“I want…” The words were half a strained exhale, fighting their way past the hand pressed against his throat. I want my life back. I want to feel like me again. I want to be alive. I want my heart to sit in my chest. I want it to beat. I want to be a person instead of a corpse. I want someone — Christ, I want fucking anyone to apologize for doing what they’ve done to me. I want the people who hurt me to feel guilty, to feel something. I want to feel the way I used to feel when I felt things worth feeling. 

He closed his eyes, forehead pressing against the wall. “I want you to stop talking.” 

And then, with nothing to kill, Emilio went back to doing the only other thing he felt he was good for.

—

Briefly, the way Emilio’s words scratched their way free from his throat almost uninvited teased the possibility of him actually revealing something honest. In the end, disappointingly, he didn’t reveal anything real, even if it was clearly honest. Of course, Kieran had never said that he would honor whatever Emilio might request, a low chuckle being the response to the honest want. Kieran did not stay quiet, even if the pressing for Emilio to express any desires stopped - stubborn as he was, Kieran did sometimes have the ability to know when a limit was reached. Not to mention his focus being spent on making sure Emilio couldn’t stay quiet, either. 

It wasn’t immediate but it was obvious, the gradual shift in Emilio as breaths slowed and clothing was picked up off the floor. Kieran wasn’t surprised by it, had expected this exact outcome really, much like Emilio wouldn’t be shocked by the faun’s obvious enjoyment and smug expression. “Do you barter with yourself a lot?” Kieran asked curiously, and just as smugly, as he shrugged on his jacket and left the dressing room area. Back in view of the windows outside, relative safety since he couldn’t not antagonize Emilio a bit further. To placate him slightly, however, Kieran did make a beeline for the register, a silent show that he would be upholding his end of the deal. 

—--

When it was over, the finish came with the same thing it always did in situations like this one. There was a moment — half a second, really, the empty space where a heartbeat once sat — of quiet elation. In this fraction of a miniscule measure of time, Emilio was just a body. He was a husk, an empty thing made emptier in a way that brought a relief he’d spent so much of his life chasing. But the feeling never lasted long enough to amount to anything. The moment of elation faded back into numbness, and he felt worse than he’d felt at the start. He felt dirty, felt ruined, felt used up. He felt the same way he had after the siren was finished repeatedly tossing him into a pit full of bodies; his limbs felt stiff, like rigor mortis was swimming back up to catch him again, to pull him back down into its grasp. 

And Kieran wasn’t helping, of course. Emilio had known he wouldn’t. That was part of why he’d done this, part of why he’d offered himself up like a pig pressing its head into the hand of a butcher. Kieran had done nothing Emilio hadn’t asked for; Emilio had asked for nothing Kieran hadn’t done. In fact, the faun had been more accommodating than most of the people Emilio went home with these days. And still, he felt as though he wanted to scrub the feeling from his skin, felt as though he might be sick. He also felt as though he wanted to invite a second round, wanted to chase that half second of bliss where he was something beyond himself. 

(Christ. Wyatt had been right — this was fucked up.)

He pulled his clothes back on mechanically, looking just as dead eyed as he had when he’d taken them off. Kieran asked a question — do you barter with yourself a lot? — and Emilio stiffened. He wasn’t even sure of the answer. Was it bartering with himself in dive bars, when he invited terrible people to do terrible things to him just so that he could feel something different than what he normally did? Was it bartering with himself if all he received in return was that moment that didn’t last? He forced himself to unfreeze, pulled his shirt over his body to hide away the scar tissue on his chest. “Only if you have something worth offering me,” he replied, knowing it was a lie. Most of the things he got when he did shit like this was worthless. In fact, the information Kieran would give him was the only time he’d ever found something worthwhile, doing a thing like this.

He followed the faun to the register, glad that there would at least be no further ‘bartering’ needed today. He bit back a comment about how he must have been good, if Kieran wasn’t asking for more in order to hold up his end of the deal. Not long ago, he would have made the comment. Not before his death — before his death, he wouldn’t have done this at all, wouldn’t have fucked his way into the answers he needed if the person he was fucking was someone like Kieran — but before Eve, maybe. Before the siren gouged his heart out, before Arden died on his sofa, before he tore a woman’s throat out on the floor of Owen’s living room, before he agreed to help Talia kill a hunter and stopped only when he realized that hunter was Daiyu. He used to have a smart mouth; now, he tended to occupy it in other ways instead.

Leaning against the counter and taking weight off his bad leg, which was already beginning to quietly protest the activities he and Kieran had taken part in, Emilio tapped a finger impatiently against the back of the register. “Well?” He asked, raising a brow. “Was the guy here, or not?” No matter what answer Kieran gave him, he knew it wouldn’t be worth the price he’d paid for it. And, no matter how much he hated himself in the aftermath… he knew it wouldn’t be particularly hard for Kieran to convince him to ‘pay the price’ again.

—

There was so much to unravel about the hunter that maybe was no longer just a hunter, the absence of a palpable pulse at every turn fascinating Kieran, and finding a string to pull on that made Emilio visibly pause was still novel enough to thrill the faun. He wouldn’t bother finding every string, familiar enough with his own whims to know that he’d get bored of Emilio’s ‘woe is me’ act soon enough but for now, enjoying the mix of predictability and mystery. The mess of Emilio’s chest vanished - the source for another question that would most likely have the man freezing up again, but Kieran would save that for a later date - and he gave a very inconclusive answer. “The bar for what you deem worthy doesn’t seem very high, does it?” 

Fingers moved across the keyboard even as Kieran kept Emilio in his line of sight, only partially to make sure the other wouldn’t suddenly feel the need to lash out now, mostly to further admire just how dark those eyes really were. Not in the sense of their color but rather, the window they seemed to provide into absolutely nothing. Kieran’s whole being itched to change that, to replace the gaping nothingness with glazed over bliss instead - he’d gotten the briefest of taste of it earlier, only a flash of genuine pleasure that had been immediately swallowed back up in the darkness. Brief or not, the faun was counting it as a win but he’d never been one for subtlety and it nagged at him, not being able to do what he did best. Maybe because of the deal or maybe not.