𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊

“As someone who recently obtained a Hampton Nautical Mayflower ship in a bottle, I solemnly swear,” he says, pressing a fist to his chest and bowing, albeit with a grin on his face, “that no harm will ever come to my boyfriend’s vintage car.”

Malachi can’t help the peal of laughter that escapes him shortly after. “Come on.” He jerks his chin towards the door as he hooks their pinkies together. Excelsior, he mouths at Jordan.

Outside, the camp is ghost-quiet, with only a few commotions here and there from places that had yet to be mended together. Walking though the debri and the ashes of the unforgotten battle makes his expression sober up but when he glimpses Jordan again, head tilted so that a slice of his face drinks up the sunlight, some of his previous smile flits across his lips once more. “Not much,” he says in a softer tone, chuckling. “It takes quite an effort to be celebratory when you’re surrounded by—” he gestures towards the wreckage, “this.”

They reach the car soon. “Perhaps we should stay,” Malachi sighs, carefully but absently touching the polished hood. “Doesn’t it seem like they need us? In case another attack comes this way again?” His gaze drifts to Jordan in search of much-needed counsel. Their love has always been this: duty over intimacy, work over themselves. Heroes first, lovers second.

-

“All the more reason we should have a moment to ourselves and find something to enjoy,” Jordan said. It was rich, coming from the workaholic, but he of all people knew how quickly one could drown in obligations.

Malachi had been the one to teach him that there was more to life than the grind, so now that the roles were flipped, and his boyfriend was in desperate need of a reminder himself, Jordan was glad to provide.

“Too many virtues is a vice,” he counters, a grin on his lips as he spins around on his heel once more. “You,” he points at Jordan, “are my vice, baby.” Malachi winks, chuckling. One year older, the same cliché sayings and endless love; he hasn’t grown up, not truly. He prefers to see himself as an eternal golden summer, never once losing his leaves and forever cast in amber. But when Jordan leans in and the heat of his mouth engulfs his own again? It does to him what autumn does to trees.

His eyes are half-hooded when they part. They take everything in, the dark velvet curl of the other’s lashes, the cherry red lips, before he guffaws. “Ah, so, a reminder to take advantage of this as much as I can before that time comes,” he drawls, a refreshed grin working its way across his face. Malachi knows he will. 

The small haze over his thoughts only clears as Jordan pulls away, and it makes him remember something, prompting him to ask, “Does this mean I’m finally allowed to drive that old thing you’ve been polishing?”

-

“It’s vintage,” Jordan corrected him, though he didn’t think it would have any effect convincing a man who was disinterested in cars to appreciate the timeless beauty of one. “Just,” it was almost painful to utter the words. Again. “Just be gentle with it. We don’t exactly have a mechanic on-camp. We have... the Lord of Pandemonium.” They had the son of Hephaestus himself in their midst but he’d leave it with Kite and receive a fire-breathing, missile-loaded, and chainsaw-swinging behemoth of metal in return.

Once their picnic was packed-up, Jordan made off for their camping trip with Malachi. It was as spontaneous as their first one had been way back when, but he supposed the adventurous aspect was what made such a journey exciting.

He kept his pace consistent with Malachi’s, falling into step beside him. “So, what’d the birthday boy do during the day?” he asked, chocolate curls falling past his brow when he tilted his head. 

“𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒! 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄!” kite yells, very clearly high on adrenaline as well. “is that envy i smell, jordan haelstrom?… tch. you should already know your fires pale in comparison to my galaxy brain upon its activation. healing? damage? how very puny… i can pull a lever and imagine the parts inside moving along with it.”

despite it sounding like a joke - kite is just as cliff-faced as ever, busting through the treeline and onto an actual paved road much like a scene out of fast and furious.

he switches gears, fully ignoring the rules of defensive driving in favor of cutting people off in the name of speed. 

“of course, once a millenia, when the blood moon rises and the dead walk amongst the living… this can also extend to magic items.” 

okay, yeah, now he was bragging.

-

Jordan never got motion sickness but he could definitely feel something crawl up the back of his throat now as Kite swiftly drifted around a cluster of trees and somehow skidded onto the main road without any accidents. There weren’t enough safety mechanisms in the car itself that could save him from an imminent death should they really crash at 88 mph...

Jordan swallowed a baby barf and pressed his shoulders back and into the seat in an effort to shrink himself.

It has taken a near impossible amount of self-will but Malachi has let his birthday pass with only the smallest celebrations: buying breakfast for every Pali member from restaurants they favored in the mortal world, offering presents to young satyr children who ran amok through camp afterwards, and of course, as he reaches Jordan’s door, dinner with the one person he truly wants to celebrate with. After smoothing away the dark tux he wore, carefully chosen for the dinner, he enters.

And every present he’s received today pales in comparison to the smile that greets him. As they kiss, his arms instinctively wrap around the other’s neck. He does not allow the other to take a step back right away. “Yes. But,” he pauses, cocking his head and smiling an unprincely smile. “I’m hungry for your company.” It was high treason that Jordan insisted on not seeing each other until now. His eyes dart: to the dinner, the wine and the box wrapped in a bow, but they still return to his boyfriend. “Okay,” he breathes out. “I put myself to the test by making my birthday less glamorous, but an exception must be made.” A grin flourishes on his lips as he lowers his hands to Jordan’s waist. “So,” he starts, bobbing his chin toward the spread the other has lovingly prepared, “we’re going to pack our dinner and retrace our steps, to our first ever date, by renting a van again. For the first time in my life, I am not interested in champagne parties or rowdy celebrations, I—” Malachi’s grin becomes almost sheepish. He catches the other’s eyes, flecked with the warmth of a bonfire. “All I want to do is go camping with the love of my life.”  

-

“You’re always hungry for my company,” Jordan pointed out as a matter-of-factly. The day Malachi didn’t want to be stuck to his hip in one way or another would be the day of reckoning, and a real cause for concern. His boyfriend’s attempt at suiting up for the occasion didn’t go unnoticed, either, and what could he say but that he quite appreciated the sharp tux. A little overdressed for what Malachi considered a “less glamorous” birthday, though.

“Well, it is your birthday,” he said. “So, whatever you say goes.” It wasn’t often Jordan indulged his boyfriend and recently they hadn’t been spending as much time together as missions outside of camp became more of a frequent commodity. The brunet leaned in close to kiss him, this time lingering there to deepen it a bit, his hands rested firmly on his boyfriend’s hips. When he pulled a hair’s breadth away, he murmured, his tone of voice silky smooth like amber honey. “But your privileges end at midnight,” he teased. “Enjoy the pampering while it lasts.” He pecked his nose, begrudgingly peeled himself from his boyfriend’s arms, and packed up their dinner in a picnic basket for the road. The pistol and his new vintage rifle, the Devil’s Trigger, also came along, because one could never be too sure on an excursion outside of camp anymore.

Malachi is brewing his midnight tea. Chamomile in a bag, steeped gently, and therein lies a brief remedy to the sleepless nights he has been experiencing since the icy wastelands. It tastes warm as he sips from it, and he is a little more awake when he pulls out his phone as it chimes. He is, however, fully awake, when he sees what it’s chimed about.

[ CHACHI: ] This is … very late.

And yet Jordan isn’t asleep. He has left his boyfriend waiting in his room, hoping to sleep soon, but … he taps on the other’s name in his phone for a quick message.  

[ CHACHI HAS FORWARDED img9824.jpg ] [ CHACHI: ] So, I’m only a harmless messenger

[ CHACHI: ] But Beau says he wishes to spend the night with us?

@necroheir​

It was, indeed, very late, but Jordan was deep in a tome he’d borrowed from the Mageia library the other day. He hadn’t put it down in hours, like he was spellbound to the pages of text, and enraptured by the pool of knowledge within. He was close to a breakthrough, he could feel it like one craved the catharsis of finishing a satisfying book, then there was the buzz of his phone by his side.

He picked it up, read that it was from Malachi who was just one room from his, and didn’t linger too long on the forwarded attachment of the risque photo. He wasn’t in the mood, but he wasn’t going to deny Malachi the fun he clearly wanted to have.

Rolling back his shoulders some, he texted Beau:

[ JORDAN ] You can come over.

𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐅𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐓, tipping head as those precious keys are pulled away from his grasp. “perhaps you’ve forgotten about my foresight,” kite replies, not missing a single beat, “nothing happens, jordan haelstrom. and even if it did… i would buff out any scratches like new, and add a couple Mk.III ‘Tread Fether’ Missile Tubes.”

regardless, as they get situated within the car itself, kite flicks his tongue over his lips. “vroom vroom, no?” he chuckles, “i am only grateful that, should i crash at 88mp/h, you will be able to heal both of our injuries.”

and with a rev of the engine, kite takes off, 0-60 in the grasslands surrounding olympus. 

“𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍-𝐀-𝐆𝐎-𝐆𝐎, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘!!”

The only redeeming factor to any of this was that Kite was technically the demigod of machinery, and that there would be no better mechanic to leave his baby to should Kite actually crash it, yet... Jordan buckled himself in and gripped the leather seat a bit too tight in anticipation, his heart lurching as he heard tires shredding the forest floor.

Not one for the former, Jordan settled on a simple arrangement of dinner and wine, and set aside a sleek box wrapped in a black satin bow. It was a Burberry polo shirt and a Bvlgari wristwatch, both nonmagical, but still luxurious by mortal standards and honestly grades better than whatever Malachi wore. When the birthday boy was at his door, on time for dinner, he greeted him with a smile, that too a gift in its own right. “Hey,” he said, bringing him close by the nape of his neck to kiss him. “Happy birthday, ‘Chi. Hungry?” 

    marcos was not all there in this moment - once he began to start being lifted, he tried his best to stand up and then landing on a bed where he began laughing. holding on to the drink in his hand that started all this - still a bit intact. “i - i don’t know — but this shit is …. oh my gods…. i spilled my wine.” he pouted, as he was about to go for another sip of the cup that had gotten the demigod to where he is now. his mind clouded and warped - the color to his tan skin began to go pale. lifting his head up too fast he got light headed fast - his eyes rolling back as he failed to take a sip of the cup. “yup – something is w-wrong .. huh…. oh, hi j-jordan … why are you so ….. “ blinking a few times, his vision began to get worse, his heart racing too fast. 

-

He wasn’t getting much to work with, unfortunately. It didn’t make sense that the son of Dionysus himself would experience alcohol intoxication, so Jordan ruled out that wine being a factor, unless... He took the drink in Marcos’ hand and took an experimental sniff of it. It smelled like wine, even looked like it, but underneath the tannins and deceptively fruity notes, he smelled something else. “Okay, buddy, just stay with me,” he said. At the camp, they didn’t have the comforts of modern medicine, or even an entire ER staff at the beck and call of an emergency, but they had magic. He rested his hands on either side of Marcos’ neck, and flooded his system with his green, purifying flames, his eyes glowing that fierce hue, until the veins underneath Marcos’ skin glowed that same color as well. It would be a slow process, but an effective one, as he tried to detoxify the stimulant in Marcos’ blood the best he could.

“Voithos, that’s the healers.” Kaiden nodded, remembering only a little of what he’d been told about each house. It was a noble pursuit to want to heal the other members of the group, make sure everyone came out in one piece. Definitely not where Kaiden belonged. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t altruistic either. “Mhm, yep. I’m guessing we mages give off a certain energy?” He chuckled. Pursuit of power perhaps or an obvious inclination towards the more flamboyant and dramatic of fighting styles. After all, hurling fire and summoning flaming phoenixes to fight for you was pretty theatrical. “I’m curious how our fire abilities differ, and if we could combine them at all.” Kaiden mused thoughtfully. 

-

“Well-acquainted with a few of the mages here,” he said. They all seemed to share an insatiable thirst for power, though he assumed they all had different motives for wanting it.

Now that Izyk was a bit confused and hadn’t been expecting. Hear their complaints? “What is that supposed to mean?” His blue eyes glanced back down at the water and he fell silent as if he was trying to listen in as well. He couldn’t hear anything, so he turned to look back at the younger man when he mentioned they liked shiny things. Silently he reached into his jean pockets and grabbed a few of the lingering Euros he kept there (just in case) and tossed them over the ledge of the boat and into the lake below him. “Can’t have the neighbors mad at me, can I?” Did he understand it? No, but he found that he didn’t understand much of this new world of his. The least he could do was try not to piss anyone off too much. 

-

“I can communicate with them,” he explained. Luckily for him, the camp was a lot more receptive to the idea of the supernatural, more specifically ghosts and things of similar ilk. Izyk couldn’t see it, but Jordan watched as the spirits floundered like fish in the water, wrestling each other for that token that would ensure a one-way ticket onto Charon’s ferry. It seemed they were appeased, for now, as their vibrancy dulled and they gave off a more subdued, even complacent energy. “Are you a demigod?” he asked. “I’ve been to the lake a couple of nights ago, and... can’t say I noticed your boat... house before.” 

‘𝐁𝐔𝐌𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐆’ 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖: kite eklund sat, slouched hard & propping his head on a palm as jordan approaches, lost in abyssal thought so hard that the peck hardly raises his alarms - his brows only raise, features hardening much like they always did. “jordan haelstrom… you always did have a penchant for showing up when times got dire.”

he pulls himself up with a huffed breath, wiping debris from the seat of his pants. “i’ll accompany you, neo-hades… on the simple demand that i, kite eklund, am allowed to drive first.” sure, kite hadn’t ever actually driven anything - but being blessed with an intimate knowledge of mechanics helped, probably. 

“are we taking that vintage junk-heap of yours?” he asks, bumping shoulders with jordan playfully, “a lord such as yourself deserves something with a bit more defense mechanisms, you know.”

-

“That’s my job,” Jordan said as if on cue, though his brows knitted together when Kite mentioned that he seemed to appear “when times got dire.” He assumed it was about Mako, but it was a sensitive subject he was hesitant to encroach upon.

The least he could do to help was to let Kite have this joyride, even if it killed him inside to allow it. He jostled a bit from the shoulder-bump, and as he swayed back, he slung an arm casually around his friend’s shoulders. “Hey,” he scolded. “Don’t be rude.” He would have expected Kite of all people to appreciate the beauty of his “vintage junk-heap” of a car, especially all the blood, sweat, and tears he’d poured into it. “You get five minutes,” he said, handing him the keys, and then pulling it back halfway to relay a warning. “You crash it, your ass is grass, Eklund.” 

He gasps aloud as he feels the jolt in his bones – and quickly, the sound gives way to an  audible smirk. Perhaps it is the despair from the past few days or their time spent apart but everything is intensified, the heat, the rhythm, and the wild, eager pulsing of his hole around that cock. There’s a time for softness later. Right now, it’s brutal, primal, and here’s an unprincely confession: he loves it. “Right there, that spot, Jordie –” the sound breaks off into a cry as everything groans from a bullseye of a thrust, hard enough to leave him light-headed and good enough to leave his hole gurgling. He anchors himself on Jordan’s hand on his pec, expels a breathless laugh. It takes little to recoup, all thanks to Pali stamina, because in a matter of moments, his body is rolling again, thighs parting and chafed raw from the ride he instigates. It comes on suddenly, hard and unbridled, the symphony of bedsprings beginning anew as Malachi meets each thrust with fervor, his strength in his hips, his nails raking down flesh, and then he gasps, meeting Jordan mid-way as the other bolts up.

His arms move on pure instincts to wend around his boyfriend’s neck. Eyes, fierce and blown wide, lock with that bonfire gaze. “I love you,” he pants out. “I love you with my entire life, gods, Jordie, make me cu—” the word dissolves into a groan he stifles against Jordan’s neck as his hips roll back and finds his prostate grinding on that fat, ruddy cockhead he couldn’t get enough of. 

-

The way Malachi moved on his cock, angling it just the perfect way for it to grind incessantly against that sweet spot, was absolutely sinful. As Malachi reached for him, arms wreathing around his neck, he slung one of his own underneath his boyfriend’s back and kept the other pressed to the bed, bracing him down. Then, his thrusts turned hard, but slow, methodical in the way they pumped to make the most of that thinning layer of lubricant between them.

@necroheir​

    “shit balls” the demigod let out as he began limping over towards the infirmary. blood running down from his forehead, his palms - knees - the man was looking worse for wears. eyes open wide as marcos was able to hear his loud heartbeat banging loud and fast in his ears. sweat and blood covered shirt - he began to try to remove his shirt as he was entering the doors. tripping over and landing hard on the ground, splitting his left brow - but not feeling any pain. “ — ha… down i-i go ..” laughing on the ground, he tried to get himself up, but was starting to feel weak, his blood rushing through his body quickly - making the demigod lightheaded and out of it. 

-

Jordan had been helping out at the infirmary for the past couple of days, lending his powers wherever they could be applied. There were selfish reasons for it, too, as shadowing a therapeudae throughout the day was a more interactive way of learning how to apply his magics as a healer. It was a slow afternoon, spent between tending to sprained ankles and minor cuts, until Marcos stumbled in looking like he’d been pulled through a meat grinder. “Jesus,” he said instinctively, failing to catch his friend but struggling to pull his dead weight up. “What the hell happened?” He carried him to the nearest bed first, and glanced over his body for any eyesores, or major injuries.

This was why he wanted to stay away from people; he hated talking to others. Lave him alone in his small part of the lake was all he asked for and yet– yet someone was waving in his window that night. Opening the window, he stuck his head out with perhaps not the most pleasant look on his face as he glared at the other. “Water. I live on top of water,” he explained before glancing down at the water seeing the souls glittering in the moonlight. It wasn’t the first time he had seen them and just like that first night he caught the glimmer, Izyk was unbothered. Ocean blue eyes glanced back at the other as he said, “all water is graves. Oceans, lakes, rivers. They all have dead bodies in them, why is this any different?” 

-

Jordan hadn’t quite expected someone like Izyk to be the one living in a houseboat, but then again, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe an old hag? A lake troll? Certainly not someone tall, handsome, and uncomfortably nostalgic of his own mentor once upon a time. He cleared his throat to recover from the momentary shock and turned his gaze to the souls that were jostling the boat to no avail. “I see your point,” he said. “Suppose it... translates a little different when you can hear their complaints.” His shoulders lifted into a casual shrug when that palpable silence followed. “They like shiny things. A coin, if you care for appeasing them.” Respecting them, was what he wanted to say, but he had a feeling this stranger didn’t care for that sort.

Kaiden nodded as he listened to Jordan give his own reasons for why he’d come to camp, chosen to become a demigod and follow the path they’d all agreed to take. He didn’t have quite the same heroic, altruistic approach and certainly wasn’t looking to help the little guy, but punishing those who deserved it, that was something Kaiden could empathise with. “Thank you.” Kaiden nodded with a casual smile. “So what house are you in Jordan? This whole different houses thing seems very YA novel, but I see the need, putting people alongside those who will train in a similar style makes sense.” He mused conversationally. 

-

Jordan chuckled at that. It really did seem like something out of a YA novel, attractive protagonists and the occasional feel-good moments included. “It does, huh? I’m, uh, Voithos,” he said. “Responsible for keeping everyone alive.” Honestly, his trauma from their most recent battle with Medusa was still fresh on his mind because it was the closest he’d ever gotten to actually feeling overwhelmed in the moment. “Let me guess... Mageia?” he asked in return. Something about wanting power always seemed to resonate within the mages, for some reason.

“don’t tell malachi. he’ll get jealous that you’re one of the people that matter.” he chuckles a bit as the soothing flames dance over his skin. the warmth of them makes him feel drowsy, or maybe it’s whatever medications the staff have given him to help expedite the healing process. either way, beau shrugs. “can’t need anyone.” he says with a yawn, grogginess beginning to settle in his bones. this time, he rolls over, giving jordan his back. there’s no pain, or if there is, the lingering effects of the flames take the bite off. “be dead one of these days. told them not to mourn.” another yawn, eyelids falling closed. “see you tomorrow.” he says with a wayward look over his shoulder before he pulls the blanket up over his head, blocking out the lights and, much to his dismay, not the snores of the others. 

-

Jordan knew it was a futile effort at this point to convince Beau of anything, especially of his worth, or that he was loved, and cared for. He wasn’t going to waste his breath, but that didn’t mean he’d stop being there for him regardless. “Not if I do my job,” he said quietly, and swept his hand in a simple gesture across the oil lantern at his side, extinguishing the flame within. “Sleep tight, Beau Peep,” Jordan murmured once more, and left the infirmary room to give him some peace, though he stopped one of the caretakers to politely remind her to keep an eye out for Beau sneaking out before morning came.