#absum

Here's my shitty Absum/Atropa half a drabble. They've just tied the official knot and gotten back home.

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Atropa reaches out to him, soft skin sliding against his uniform. Her raven hair falls down in rivulets, framing her face like a veil. Something in him stutters then, dark and hungry. Absum stills.

She takes the lead, decisive and sure in all she does, pushing him backwards into the barely-used bedroom, until his legs hit the bed and he stumbles. As he settles on the creaking mattress, Atropa steps closer.

One hand caresses his face, tender against his scars, as the other drops to his shoulder, searching for the cape's buckle. He surrenders to this feeling, this burning in his gut, in his chest. And yet.

She deserves better than this, should not be made to do all the work. Though he tries to tell her so, she frowns.

"Atropa, please."

"There is no...," she shakes her head, then steps close to him, tall and unafraid. "We are being observed, as you predicted. We must play our part."

And then she kisses him, and he can count each khol darkened eyelash.

His good hand moves to the nape of her neck, holding her close. But she moves out of reach, eyes shining in the penumbra.

"Let's get you out of these clothes, husband."

He tries to stand, knees shaking. And she- she pulls his cape off, and with it breastplate, decorative sash. He moves to take her own cape off, hand reaching for the pin at her throat, afraid she will finally move away, disgusted with him at last.

She lets him.

He can tell something's wrong, however. He hasn't known Atropa long, but from the set of her brows, from the angle of her shoulders, she's not in the moment. And Absum has lost many things- long ago, and nearer, in many pieces or at once. But he can't- he won't- there's no way he can let himself go if his partner isn't there with him.

And truly, it wouldn't be fair to Atropa, to force her to endure him.

So even though something in him breaks, some selfish flame inside that screams with every movement, he steps away, silent.

Her eyes widen, a hand reaching out. Mechanically? He doesn't know, can't bear to think on it. Better to keep his head, and his pride. With a grunt, he bends, gathering the discarded cloaks.

"We should get to sleep, {wife?}."

His voice is husky, and he swallows. Counts to ten.

Thankfully, her only answer is a nod, a "goodnight, husband," when he joins her on the wide bed, back to back.