currently dying

he had his purpose for it, sure, but a God letting a human live sounded like it should be a big thing.

your body still couldn’t understand the difference between flight or fight and affection.

you were okay with confusing them for a bit longer.

unum lay stretched out on the bed next to you, his robes discarded in the intimacy of the moment. too warm. the sun in your room. how did you not burn yet?

“a God’s love is irreversible,” he said, like it was final (it should have been, coming from said God’s mouth), “you could erase my existence. change fate over. you can’t rewrite a God’s love.”

his hand was around your waist, a heavy weight, burning like the surface of the sun. you didn’t know if you should pull away.

“Gods don’t love,” you said, tracing the stars in his eyes. “then they’re not Gods anymore.”

his starburst eyes flared brighter at your words, jagged smile growing wider. “oh?” he crooned, tilting your chin up with a finger. “you think love Ungods me? that makes it better.”

he pressed your palm flat against his chest– devoid of a heart, empty like space, and scorching you like you touched the sun. it didn’t hurt, you thought. not like it should. “look,” he said, voice reverent. “I am burning for you, and it doesn’t even hurt! doesn’t that mean something?"

he waved his hand carelessly in the air, producing a memory before your eyes, your first touch of him. it felt like a decaying prayer between you. unum laughed into your hair, curling his fingers into your clothes, as if he was afraid you’d leave.

as if he’d be afraid of anything.

“you can rewrite me all you want, but this part stays true forever,” he said, an oath. you almost believed him.

“why love me, then? out of everyone else you could have..” you tried looking into his eyes, holding so much inside them that they appeared like a void. you couldn’t even look at him without burning. “you could kill me at any moment.”

his eyes flared for a split second, white hot and too bright, making you blink to adjust to the light. for the first time since you’d known him, unum looked smaller. his arm felt heavier on top of you, but he reeled his touch back before you could think too much of it. “kill you..” he murmured, tracing the line of your jaw thoughtfully. light spilled from his touch, too warm, all wrong.

“you think I don’t know?” a laugh spilled out of him– too sharp-edged for joy. “I could burn this whole world down by accident before breakfast! but you..” he squeezed your palm against his chest. you could almost feel a heartbeat there if you lied hard enough. “you are my only prayer,” he said finally, like he was passing down a law to the world.

you ached in places you didn’t know how to name.

“gods don’t pray,” you said instead, your voice cracked like your resolve.

his expression flickered. he wanted to laugh. or scream. maybe both.

instead, he swallowed, forcing his trembling hands to settle back on your skin. the warmth was almost painful now, the sheer light of him too much for mortal nerves to handle. “I do,” he murmured, his gaze fixing on your face. “I do.”

“I need you,” he whispered, the words not more than a ragged breath. “I need you like I need light.”

the ache spread, like fire under your skin. “unum–” you tried, your fingers grasping his shoulders to try and ground yourself.

he leaned into your touch, his breaths sharp. his starburst eyes almost flared again, a feverish glint in them. “don’t say it,” he pleaded. “don’t say you want me gone.”

he pulled you into his arms, his touch still too hot, his grip too tight. “I can do better,” he said desperately, breath warm against your ear. “anything. I’ll stop talking so much. I’ll stop walking into things. I’ll stop setting curtains on fire. just don’t say it.”

fire flared in you, like kindlings catching a spark, lighting you up from within. “‘m not saying it,” you said quietly. a lie? you didn’t know. fearful all the same.

unum froze, his grip loosening– just slightly, like a candle flame flickering uncertainly in the dark.

“not saying it?” he repeated, voice small and disbelieving. the glow of his eyes wavered as he searched your face for any hint of deception. his hands slid up to cradle your jaw with unbearable gentleness. it felt wrong. “you mean that?” a pause– then his whole body shuddered forward into you with a sound halfway into manic glee. “liar. liar liar liar–!” he nuzzled almost violently against your collarbone anyway, teeth grazing skin without actually breaking it. “I forgive you.”

Gods weren’t meant to love without consuming, you knew. not because they wanted to, but because that’s all they knew. to take. to consume. to pick at your organs with your own bones. he’d dig his hands into your innards right now, if you let him.

but maybe the choice of not doing that was his love for you.

you’d never understand how Gods loved.

unum shifted, bringing you closer into his embrace, cradling your head against his chest. the warmth was more bearable now, even if you knew it’d burn you away if you stayed too long. you looked up at him. his starry eyes were soft, like he knew the exact weight he needed to use to break you, so he wasn’t. you were okay with burning, you decided.

“don’t you know what I could do to you like this?” he asked, each word dipped in unspoken prayer. “I could tear you apart right now. you know I want to. so why let me close?”

you sighed. “I don’t know. fear?”

unum made a face at that, something complicated between offense and awe.

“fear?” he repeated, voice pitching. he ran his hand through his hair, red slipping through his fingers like liquid flame. “say it’s not fear. say it’s something worse,” he said finally, his voice too close to pleading for either of your liking.

“whats worse than fear?” you asked, pushing his hand away from his hair to smoothen out the wild locks. it felt too natural for it to be right.

he went still at the question. there was something almost thoughtful about the way he studied you, far too much knowledge in his eyes for someone who was deemed to be stupid. he didn’t answer immediately; instead, he crowded you backwards until he was on top of you.

he pressed closer again, one hand pinning yours above your head, twining your fingers with his as he leaned over. “desire.” his voice softer now, he uttered the word. “say it’s desire.”

you looked up at him. he very much looked like the sun on top of you, too bright, too warm. “that’s damning,” you said quietly.

he grinned, something manic glowing in his eyes. “you've already gained a God’s love,” he said softly, reverently, as if tasting his worship for you. “nothing can be more damning than that.”

you couldn't argue that.

so you pulled him close instead. if you were damned already, you might as well go out on your own terms, right?

unum’s lips were softer than they had any right to be, and yours against them felt like sin, like you touched something you weren't meant to. you felt more than heard him gasp against you, and you swallowed the sound without thinking.

your fingers dipped in red, stroking through his hair in mindless little circles– a touch meant to soothe him, or you? you didn't know.

you'd tasted a god. surely there was no saving you anymore.

he pulled back just enough to graze his sharp teeth over your lips– not punishing, pleading. his halo like third eye flickered, like it was debating if now was a good time to open up. golden light spilled from his shadow, surrounding you.

“oh,” he breathed out, giddy, delirious. “you taste me? you taste divinity?” a laugh punched out of him, too loud for the room, something sounding scarily close to hunger. “I could carve my name into your tongue if you asked! let it linger there when you speak! let every word be mine–”

something unfurled in your chest. too soft for fear, too sharp for affection.

desire, then.

damn you.

it was a quieter fire than fear, desire.

it didn’t scream in your bones or send your body bolting for exits that didn’t exist. it settled instead– low and insistent– curling around your ribs like it intended to stay. if you thought on it a second too long, you could imagine it being unum’s hand instead, cradling your heart like it was something precious. gripping it like it was his next meal.

“unum,” you said again, his name more of a warning this time. or a prayer. you weren’t sure which one you were allowed to use.

he stilled at the sound of it. not because you said his name– but because you said it like it was nothing more than that. not a symbol. not the sun. but just unum. his grin faltered, the hunger melting into something more fragile.

“say it again,” he murmured. “say it like you’re choosing me.”

you swallowed. you could still taste him on your tongue, warm and sharp. entirely too wrong. “you’re terrifying.”

he laughed, breathless. “I know.”

“and you’ll ruin me.”

his eyes burned brighter. “yes.”

you lifted your trapped hand, until he let go of it just enough so you could press your palm to his chest. you wondered for a moment would he let you dig inside his chest. could you make him a heart if he let you open his insides? his empty chest remained still, unanswering.

“love me, then,” you said softly, permission? oath. “with all you have. I know it'll burn me.”

he sucked in a sharp breath, as if he physically felt your words. for a terrifying moment, he was still, too still. and then–

unum laughed. bright and flaring like the rays of the sun, lighting up the room with its ring. “already do!” his voice cracked at the admission, like the weight of it was too heavy. “I love you until it hurt. until I burn so bright I forget my own name!”

then he shrunk, his voice quieter, almost ashamed. “you can stop me if it gets too much.”

you hummed, pressing your palm against his chest again. a promise, maybe. if you squinted hard enough.

“I will.”

you may never understand how the Gods loved.

but looking at unum right now– bright eyed, laughing like the world was in his hands, like it was made in your shape..

the prayers. the songs. the worship.

it was your whole world, as you were its world. it gave you reason to carry the weight of everyone’s pleas, and you gave it home.

anaxagoras was the first person to argue otherwise.

anaxagoras, your dear anaxagoras. the blasphemer, the heretic, the lunatic who defied the gods in a world where finding their coreflames was the only way to gain salvation. he’d look at your divine texts and scoff. hear the begging chorus of the mass at your feet and laugh. it should have been infuriating. it should have been everything you were against.

but how could you find him anything but a part of the starry skies when he looked at you like you’d given him new life?

love was difficult. it was messy, and complicated, and you were more than half certain that you had no ability to feel that emotion until it fell into your arms in the shape of a weary scholar.

even when the weight of the holy inside your chest (your lungs, your heart, every single blood cell–) screamed and writhed in protest. when the decay pooled into your mouth like ink spilling from a bottle. the divine were cruel, you knew, but you never could quite get used to the way your body would fail under its load. but even then, when you were falling, anaxagoras was there to hold you.

he’d be the one to catch you, to hold you close, to shush your tears till the storm passed. you never understood why. you were everything he was against, yet he loved you like you were his last breath. held you like he’d seen the shape of the universe in your palms.

because even anaxagoras, for all his heresy, was a devotee when it came to you.

not for the divine in you. not for the blessings you gave out. but for you. the person who sang to the flowers in the garden because it “helped them grow better.” who could recite a prayer from heart, but forgot the names of high priests within five minutes. who kissed him and meant it, then hid away from embarrassment for a good ten minutes.

he didn’t need the titans’ blessing in you to find divinity in your soul. you were divine because you existed, and he was a hopeless fool in love.

he’d call you every pet name under the sun: my star, my sun, my dear, my heart, because to him, you were everything. even when your body failed you.

the nights were the most difficult.

your bouts of rot had a tendency to strike during nighttime, when your body was too exhausted to hold off the waves. he’d hold you through it, uncaring of the decay staining him, murmuring assurances in your ear. he’d never say it’d be okay, that it’d get better, because you both knew that was a lie, and anaxagoras did not lie. instead, he’d talk about his day. gripe about snarky students and hard headed sages. he’d tell you about the dromases in okhema he’d want to visit. about the way the stars reflecting in your eyes that looked like a galaxy of their own.

he didn’t care if the rot touched him– let it. let it take him whole, consume him entirely, because even if it did, it couldn’t erase his love for you. a fact of the world, he’d call it. and even when he felt his lungs constricting, filling with ink, he’d hold you closer, grumbling about petty work concerns.

because love, to him, meant choosing his own ruin, as long as it was with you.

he’d told you the story of icarus one time. the boy who touched the sun. and when you called it a romance, he’d nearly scoffed. “you call everything romantic,” he’d said. you simply smiled. “that’s because there’s love in everything.”

absurd.

and then you gave him that smile that made him lose his train of thought, and he forgot all about the argument.

it was only when you were dying, that he realized you were right.

there was only so much a mortal body could take, you both knew. and the limits of yours had long been crossed. it felt like a betrayal to all his reason, the thought of you not being by his side. like his identity was stolen away from him. because anaxagoras had a lot of names given to him, but anaxa was only ever yours.

icarus would always fall for the sun, even when it took the shape of someone dying.

and so this time, the sun fell instead of icarus. and it took all of his love away with it.

--

so foggy, in fact, that you almost missed the figure waiting on the couch.

almost.

“..anaxa?”

he looked up from the book in his hands, the candlelight painting his pale hair and tracing the sharp line of his jaw. his usual long coat was gone, replaced with–

with..

pale mint lace hugged his lean frame, the soft, almost flowery design on them outlining the slight swell of his chest and hips, delicate straps framing his thighs in an overall sinful picture.

he was wearing lingerie.

the fucker was wearing lingerie.

you had to blink a few times to make sure that this was actually real and not a product of some sort of exhaustion induced hallucination. they had to be, right?

“I take it your day was difficult,” he finally spoke up, his voice a dry drawl as usual, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. he even set his book down with care, posture composed. “I thought a visual reprieve might.. improve your mood.”

you could hear how carefully he was choosing his words. the way he was trying his hardest to hold back a smirk. the sight made you want to strangle him– or kiss him stupid. you didn’t know.

“anaxa..” you started, voice strangled.

“it’s anaxagoras,” he corrected, as usual. the dry tone made you come back to earth a little. “I merely thought a little.. gift would be nice after all the hard work you’ve been putting in,” he said, tilting his head in a mock innocent gesture that made his hair fall just the right way, and you wanted to sink your fingers into it and pull–

“this counts as a gift?” you asked, your voice more of a squeak than anything.

anaxa’s lips twitched, just barely. “are you displeased?” he asked, tone still carefully neutral, but you could hear the faint hints of nervousness there, buried under layers of practiced calm.

you opened your mouth. then closed it again, flustered beyond words. your brain struggled to assemble any words through the repeated chants of anaxa, my anaxa, sitting there in sheer mint lace, one leg elegantly crossed over the other as if he were giving a lecture and not melting your entire sense of shame or composure.

“I..” you took a breath, half laughing, half groaning. “I think I’m more horny than anything right now.”

his visible eye gleamed, an amused mischief lighting it up. he tilted his head. “good. that was the intended reaction.”

that did it.

whatever last bit of restraint you had evaporated. you crossed the space between you in two quick strides, your hands reaching out to grab his face and pull him into a desperate kiss.

he made a startled sound, low in his throat, and immediately melted into the touch, kissing you back with just as much fervour. his hands found your hips, pulling you in till you were standing between his legs.

the lace was softer than you’d imagined– and so much more sinful up close. you could feel the fine fabric shift under your fingers as you dragged your palms down his chest, over his ribs.

“was this really just a ‘gift’?” you murmured against his lips, breath warm.

he looked up at you through a half lidded gaze, the faintest of smirks tugging at his mouth even when his cheeks were flushed with color. “perhaps.. a controlled experiment.”

“oh? testing what, exactly?”

“how long you could maintain rational thought.”

you laughed– breathless and incredulous– and kissed him again, harder this time. “I hope you’re taking notes then,” you murmured, your hand tracing down the lace on his chest to the skimpy panties he was wearing. you slipped your hand inside the soft material, wrapping your hand around his hard on, already staining the lace.

he made a quiet, choked noise, his hips bucking up into your touch. “mm,” you hummed against his lips. “your experiment will fail without sufficient data.”

his breath hitched. “then.. I suppose I must document the results firsthand..”

you grinned, stroking him in the usual fast pace that he liked, too turned on to even think about teasing right now. he moaned quietly, biting his lip to muffle the seemingly undignified sound. your hand reached up, pulling his bottom lip from under his teeth. “you’ll skew the data,” you chided playfully.

your thumb rubbed the tip of his length, spreading the pooling pre cum to make the slide of your hand easier. his hips were bucking up without a care now, fucking your hand as he panted underneath you. “you.. are being awfully bold tonight..” he breathed, his voice shaky and torn with pleasure. you smiled. “lets say I’m.. motivated.”

you could tell he was close by the way his moans were slipping out a bit more freely now, hips fucking up into your hand desperately. “go on, cum for me, pretty,” you cooed, twisting your hand just the way he liked.

and off he went, spilling into your hand with a strangled moan, ruining the lacy panties. you kept moving your hand until he had to grasp your wrist for a break. you smiled, satisfied and utterly whipped for the menace of a man underneath you.

“is that enough data for your experiment?” you teased. he took a moment to answer, catching his breath, and when he did, you found your positions flipped, his hands pulling you down and pinning you underneath him on the couch. he tilted his head in mock contemplation.

“I think it requires further research.”

--