warm up

out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔬: 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖘

apple pie, veggie stew, whatever. ivan knew he wasn’t about to head out into the woods of wherever unprepared, and there was only one man on his apparent squad who seemed to have any experience in the kitchen.

hunting keaton down should’ve been easy; ivan almost had a second sense when it came to tracking big dick energy, and the most chill of the pali seemed to radiate it in spades. once he found the man, he laid down the three sheaves of paper, then set his hand down on it, raised by fingers spread like a table’s legs. firmly, but silently.

A nod and a deeper grin because, yeah, hell shit. Joshua had gone through a lot during the trial but as harrowing as it had been (with him still not being sure the worst of it was over), he came out of it stronger. That scar and the one on his shoulder were just his proof of it. 

“And you’ve got a lot of experience hitting people with golf clubs.” Not a question. Because he wasn’t gonna pry like many others had done with him. But it was fun to pick up little facts like that. “The plan was to work out then clean up… but if you got something you wanna talk about I can just double up on my training later.” He was pretty sure Ivan wasn’t the type to show up without something to say or something planned. And Josh was the type to bite the bait in front of him. With an uttering of the day’s phrase, the doors to Pali opened and he held the door open for the other demigod to enter.

oops. did he say that out loud? ivan let his smirk deepen, josh’s more direct conclusion somehow more comforting than a prodding question. he let the answer speak for itself. “you wanna work out, I can chill. I don’t mind a show.” his ears perked up, as if he could catch the password for whatever later use, but he couldn’t make it out. instead, he simply followed the demigod inside, already knowing where to turn at the training pit.

River was clearly struggling not to show a silly grin upon hearing Ivan’s reaction. Sure, the idea was ridiculous, but everything about this new world was. A seed from the underworld wouldn’t come with a typical shell to crack. “Yes. It’s a deal.” The son of Demeter nodded earnestly and with some enthusiasm.

The large, dark and smooth seed was handed to Ivan with a butterfly light glide of their fingers to follow. Unlike earlier, River didn’t avoid touching the sparkling flame whose color was just so beautiful. Maybe it was just the thrill of coming out unscathed, but his arm hairs were on end afterward and nerves felt soothed. River’s eyes remained on the palm and seed, alight with wonder and curiosity. Hope that this might just work.

well, at least it wasn’t entirely for free. a deal made on faith. of course river jumped on it, since it’s just as like he wouldn’t have to pay his end. internally, ivan twisted at the thought, not getting something back for his effort, no matter how miniscule.

this time, however, river didn’t brush or blush as their fingers passed by. contact was fleeting, but still there, and ivan didn’t have to manufacture it. interesting. his healing energy encompassed the seed as his fingers closed around it, searing in its own way, as he imagined he’d close a cut or reduce a wound. a gift of warmth, of life.

for good measure, he held it there between them, burning in a soft, warm pink. his eyes went back and forth, from the seed to river, a few times. “...we gonna know if this works, or not?”

“i fear that someone who only goes where the upper hand is may not know exactly what it is that they’re fighting for.“ loreto couldn’t judge someone that he hadn’t met you, at least not in a personal level, but that didn’t really stop him either. if the dragon could be swayed to one side, then he could easily be swayed to the other if that was the case. “years of practice where speaking practically entailed most of my work.” he chuckled softly as he slowly turned around with the base of his heels planted into the ground. “while you are correct, it’s our power, it does come with a bit of history.” and if his came from a woman who was known to have some hidden rage, what did that mean about him? “hopefully the civilians here see it that way too. not mini gods, but just ourselves.” 

hazel eyes flicker over the expanse of ivan’s chest. the other demigod probably doesn’t do it on purpose, but the way the fabric stretches over taut muscles, folds over the thickness of his pecs, is enough to pull kian’s attention away for a moment until a flicker of his power makes him focus on the task at hand. besides, it’s not like he’ll see underneath the coat. 

he holds his hands a centimeter or two above the cards and his eyes flash onyx, tendrils of ink seep through his veins like a spiderweb and in a voice that almost doesn’t belong to him, he demands. “show us the truth.” then he begins to pull the cards. all ten of them. “nine of swords reversed, page of swords reversed, queen of wands reversed, king of swords reversed, wheel of fortune, knight of cups, three of pentacles, eight of swords, eight of wands, strength.” he lays them out in the celtic cross and looks up at ivan. “you can look at them if you’d like, but i’ll begin the reading now.”

ivan was absolutely, totally doing it on purpose. even if his own interest was variable, having someone else’s was invaluable. men (and women) were often stupid for the ones they wanted to fuck.

watching kian use his power was interesting, seeing the sneer and veneer getting a glossy shade of black, from his eyes to the power seeping from his hands. he wondered what kian saw, when he looked like that? what kian thoughts others saw? if he cared? then, how others saw ivan’s flames?

If Lex had been planning on ending up in this position with Ivan after training, he definitely would’ve started ridding himself of the worst of the armour if nothing else. But that would’ve required the forethought that it could happen.

This? This was entirely unexpected territory, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Far from it. He soaked up the physicality of the exchange, and the unmistakable warmth from the son of Hestia. He knew next to nothing of him, but still felt more calmed in his presence than most he’d encountered. Each breath was slow as Ivan began to shift himself in to a position that seemed more comfortable for them both. Palm settling just at the hem, thumb daring enough to run against it. Almost bordering beneath fabric, but still holding himself back from breaching that barrier.

“Can I really say anything on the teasing front considering the massage?” The bump of the other’s hips was mirrored, free hand instead reaching up. Cupping Ivan’ jaw, thumbing against the bare skin there. Some form of contact.

it’s a breath of a threat. lex’s thumb approached a border rather clearly, boldly, and ivan’s breath held in his chest as he rode out the adrenaline of the man getting so close. the will-he-won’t-he, the tension, building up in ivan’s limbs enough for him to shiver.

“you gonna complain about the massage?” he teased, managing a smirk until he was touched. starved for it as he was, his eyes closed too smoothly, too quickly, as he just barely pressed into that palm. lines in his neck raising and fading as he adjusted, to let lex’s hand bear a bit of the weight of his head.

for a moment, he was content to sit there and simply breathe. like the dances, when he was held too closely, too warmly. “someone coming to train’s gonna have a lotta questions,” he muttered, moving his lips as little as possible, lest he dislodge the hand on him. a shift, and his unshaven jaw scrubbed against lex’s palm and fingers. “and I don’t think either of us got answers.” his thighs flexed, squeezing lex’s flanks as he stayed straddled.

Since discovering that he could leave camp freely, Ender recently hadn’t been spending much time actually at camp the past few weeks. His mind was elsewhere when he was actually back and the once outspoken and boisterous demigod tended to be silent as he was lost in wherever the drugs that he acquired in the mortal cities took him to. Some were good memories that left him with a small smile on his face and others left him almost as he saw a ghost, one from his past that was threatening to haunt him. Of course, this required him to leave his room which was even rarer these days since they came back from hell; the drugs only made it worse.  It was late at night when Ender stumbled out of his room in mageia and made his way into the dinning hall. The call of hunger was more important that reliving past memories, watching his mistakes fold out over and over again on a loop like a really bad horror film. Or at least in that moment it was more important, in a few hours he probably would deem otherwise. A quick glance around the room he spotted a familiar mop of hair sitting at a table and moved to sit down across from the other demigod. Ender was silent for a second almost as he if was watching the other eat before asking, “so….what’s on the menu today?”

said ‘mop of hair’ was a dark hood, pulled over his head. by this point, ivan was normally returned to somewhere private, but something warm for the cooling nights sounded nice enough to break precedent for. there was a stoneware mug of something hot between his hands, steaming enough to be dangerous, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by the heat.

ivan looked up when addressed, having tucked away a rather large amount of roast that was left from the earlier dinner. “meat,” he said, knocking the plate to his side with a knuckle. his other hand tapped painted nails on the mug. “think they got some soup left, but it’s never as good as the leftovers in the house.” a voithos blessing and curse; no food as good as what’s at home. “what’s got you up and around?” while he wouldn’t answer that himself, nothing was stopping him from being the one asking. regarding the other just a touch more intently, since he’d yet to learn much about this man in particular.

“well, i was supposed to and then a horde of skeletons decided to be rude.” he raised his brows for emphasis, then flashed a lopsided, raffish grin at the other male. “the loveliest one.”

as the small bottles were spilled across the table, credence bent over to look at the colors that together made up a palette that was unabashedly ivan, all warm tones. “you don’t have blue,” the storm witch said almost mournfully, though one of the gold ones caught his eyes.

once ivan spoke, he turned back to look at the man, amused and appraising. “the minute you see me wear cargo pants or one of those awful graphic tees with offensive quotes, just promptly end me right on the spot.” credence reached for the base coat, gave it a little shake. he hadn’t done this prior to camp – what with soldiers and toxic, venomous masculinity – but here, he knew he could be free about it. “i’ll go golden,” another close-mouthed smile before he uncapped the base coat bottle and began the work. “so,” credence started, back to his other reason of being here, “entertain me, ivan, what’s your story? we never finished our talk over ambrosia.”

‎‎‘the loveliest prick.’ ivan huffed, amused. “you want blue, you buy it next time.” that being, if there actually was a next time, if they managed to get along through this one. it seemed well enough to start, the two trained enough with their barbs to miss each other entirely.

he’d yet to notice the warmth of his colors, how even in a concept of dark and hidden, he’d still managed to show some sense of comfort, of invitation. don’t spell it out, he’ll deny it entirely.

“sounds like we got our contingency plans,” he muttered, with a soft chuckle. “you look like a mid-western disney trip, I’ll call the guys to put you down.” did ivan have ‘guys’? he liked to think so. noting credence’s polish choice, it’s like a record scratch when he looked up at the other, all angles and poise.

the polish moved slowly over his nails. he lacked physical grace in most areas, but made up for it with patience and a glacial pace. that speed went even slower as he regarded the request. “you demand that shit from everyone? or is this just you ‘getting comfortable’?” his already rough, airy voice seemed to thin a bit. “you can entertain yourself.” if this was an attempt to dig up his past, the foundation wasn’t even cracked, yet. “or, tell me what ‘my story’ is gonna get me. make it worth my while.” by that point, he wasn’t even looking at credence, finishing the last pass of clear before going to spin open the black.

“Uh huh.” Covered in drying sweat, dirt and foliage, he could only take Ivan’s words as a joke. His eyes tracked the hand as it plucked the leaf, one brow arched as it was tossed off. He could never tell what was going on with the son of Hestia. While that made him fascinating, it also activated that defensive side of the son of war. 

“Turns out getting shot in the chest with death magic isn’t all that lethal when you’ve got two people healing the hell out of you.” Joshua grinned, shrugging. “Still hurts about as much as getting stabbed by a lava bug, though.” He raised his hoodie enough to show the small scar above his belly button from where the hellwasp had stabbed him in the gut. He looked down at it then back up at Ivan. “That was your first time fighting since you got here, right?”

there underneath the grime and the work, josh did look good. that, or ivan had already been so aligned towards the man, that he’d look good in almost anything.

and that would be worrying, if he cared enough to examine it.

    Ivan had a point, if not one Bastion would had gravitated towards. It wasn’t unreasonable, it was a genuine concern and one that he wouldn’t dismiss, “We’ll contain everyone to the first floors and the greenhouse, I don’t imagine anyone would but I’ll take full responsibility if anything does.” he feigned a cross over his chest, “even so I can animate our doors probably to stay shut unless it’s us.” thinking out-loud more than anything, as in it was a theory than reality. Over the months the smith-son was proud of his abilities, how they’ve progressed, yet still he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t live up to—especially with Ivan, as the male seemed like the type who was hard to win over but easy to lose. 

    “Well the goal is twenty but between interest, trust, and the time constraint in which I’ve implemented…I’d calculate that less than fifty percent of the guys will show. Tops it’d be our house and maybe 6 other dudes.” Bastion wanted to partially ease Ivan’s mind, which for the forger meant something you couldn’t lie about; numbers. “If you give me a list of your concerns, I can do my best to curve them by tonight.” he smiled, “I’m surprisingly efficient.”  

bash was taking him more seriously than he’d expected. which was appreciated, but also put ivan on the backfoot. “the fact that you can ‘animate doors’ and shit hasn’t gone sideways with jokes or tricks or whatever, says a lot about you.” he let his slight grin communicate exactly what it said, and that it wasn’t bad.

“however many show. five or fifteen. that’s men we don’t know, running around where we live, and I know we’re not gonna be able to keep eyes on all of them. one, I don’t want anyone getting into my shit. if I knew someone could just...walk in, I don’t even know where I could sleep anymore.” a quick glance to the cautious, wary man underneath the dark and polished surface. “second, if this is gonna happen again, make it move. last thing you all need is the whole camp expecting a fucking free course meal every time we win shit. you’re gonna need a break, I’m gonna need a break, we all will. while this house has me, I’m not gonna let us be doormats, or shit like that.”

“you don’t?” credence questioned, blue eyes regarding the other in return with amusement during the half second ivan looked back.

after the invasion, this was much desired – needed, even – and he was glad to do it with the mysterious son of hestia, purely for his curiosity’s delight. ivan was a walking secret swathed in obsidian. what parts of him did the other keep hidden in the dark, out of his own flames’ reach?

his next words elicited a chuckle from the storm witch. “i suppose i could pamper you as thanks for the helpful flames you provided during that wretched night.” credence splayed his own fingers to the sky, picturing his nails in different colors against the backdrop of blue. “you could try a bright orange,” he suggested casually. “would go well when you—” a whoosh sound escaped him to mimic a flame being summoned.

“I meant, did you do yours already,” he chided. his hand was held up, remover having done its job. his nails were well-treated, trimmed and clear, prepared for what was to come. “prick.” he chuckled softly.

onto the table, he spilled out a number of small bottles to clink and clack; a myriad of colors, sure, but all rode a certain theme. deep purples, blood reds, hot pinks, a few golds with and without shimmer -- and more types of black than would be reasonable.

“I’ll pamper myself, or I’ll pay someone to do it.” since he wouldn’t expect the type of man he gravitated towards to actually be into this sort of thing. “the minute you see me with a different color polish, it’s my way of telling you I’m in mortal danger but can’t say anything without someone killing me.” he grabbed one of the black bottles -- a candy finish, almost -- as well as one of the clear ones. “go too dark, you want a base coat.” his brow lifted, almost in challenge as he regarded the other, waving his free hand towards the pile.

once inside the somewhat familiar room, kian is bombarded by the heat and comfort that it emits. he nods his head before he picks a larger table, enough to lay the cards out but still small enough to keep the reading intimate between the two of them. kian shakes his head when ivan returns with some ancient looking candles and he raises an eyebrow. “mood lighting is always nice.” he reaffirms. around the table, with his index finger, he begins to draw a circle around the perimeter of it. his eyes flash an inky black and wherever his finger touches, a line of crackling, onyx energy fizzles into existence before settling into the table. he places the cards in the middle, between them once ivan sits down. “think of what you want answered. then shuffle and cut the deck.” 

whether ivan wanted it or not, his room was inviting. comfortable. soothing, waves of warmth that evoke a sensation of home and welcome despite his more closed-off demeanor. with kian settled and the candles burning, ivan himself took a seat at the table, across from the witch-born, hands folded behind his head, arms raised. it pulled his chest taut, visible even under the layers of his thin coat and whatever was underneath. eyes locked on kian, ivan nodded. do I make it out alive? or do I cut and run? the question didn’t need to be asked aloud, or at least kian didn’t demand it. he leaned forward, doing as asked, opting for a more casual shuffle than a bridge -- his fingers weren’t that deft. he felt for a good spot, then split the deck closer towards the bottom, more cards on the stack he shifted to the right. then he laid back again, hands behind his head once more, one log even crossing to rest his ankle on the other knee.