#addelsain

By now, his arm looked like an avid drug user’s, and he felt like one as well, with the somnicin levels in his blood well over the recommended dose. Thankfully, that would fix itself within the next hour, and so would, he hoped, the headache.

Next to himself, he could see Herrsch giving the equipment and technicians similar treatment, rolling his shoulders. Herrsch looked over, giving him a smile. Asshole, he never dealt with headaches.

Dox, at one point, joked about him having nothing in that pretty head of his, back before they’d dreamed together. Oh, how wrong he had been, how vast the worlds in Herrsch’s head were.

The dreamer of their latest job was waking up as well, the only person in the room to let himself be treated and checked. 

Dox pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, noting an absence in notifications, but a missed call.

“Immo called,” he mused, thumbing the lock screen away. “Gonna ring back.”

Herrsch gave a nod, eyes tracking him as he got up, shook off the drugs making him drowsy and made his way to the corner of the room to call. Instead, he focused on the dreamer, when all the equipment was removed and the man rubbed at his temples.

The man noticed him, offering a wobbly smile. Extraction jobs always left the subject the most rattled, though they helped in the long run. He couldn’t speak from his own experience, not like anyone has ever run an extraction on him. He wasn’t sure if it were possible at this point anymore.

A thing to ponder later. 

The low hum in the room ceased as the technician powered the ADSSU down, all screens of connected computers and machines fading to black and leaving the room in only the dim light from the overhead lamps.

He looked over to Dox just in time to see his face blanch, brows knitting themselves together like they never expected to be apart again. Herrsch’s followed suit. Not much could phase Dox to that degree.

“You’re fucking with me,” he forced out, barely above a whisper. “Please say you’re fucking with me.”

Whatever he heard obviously didn’t indicate Immo was fucking with him. Herrsch didn’t think he could get any paler with his complexion, but he was proved wrong when Dox turned the same shade as the wall behind him.

“I— We’ll be— We’ll get the earliest flight, fuck, okay. Don’t… don’t go to sleep.” Dox pulled the phone away from his ear to check the clock. “It’ll be like— three? Four? Hours. Fuck, don’t go to sleep. Please.” A pause. “There are Monsters in the pantry. I don’t care if you drink all of them, please just don’t go to sleep.” Another pause. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The call ended with Dox’s arm going slack, falling down to his side, Immo’s photo bright on the screen before it turned itself off. 

Before Herrsch could open his mouth, utter a single sound, Dox turned to him and pointed with his chin towards the door. Obediently, Herrsch nodded, standing from the dream chair and leading the way. He had to hold the door open for Dox, who couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

As soon as it was closed, he turned to him, hand in his hair, and raked his fingers through the long strands in an attempt to calm him. “What was that about?”

Dox opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, leaned into his touch, closed it again, and let out the shakiest breath Herrsch had heard outside of a panic attack. “Immo…” he whispered, barely audible. “He… He dreamed himself too deep and— somehow, he ended up switching places with Conwell.”

Panic seized Herrsch’s chest, squeezing until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

“So, that was…”

“Mm-hm.”

“Can you get us the earliest flight back?” 

Dox just nodded, already on it, tapping away at his phone with shaky fingers. Herrsch squeezed him against his side for one short moment before rushing back into the room to grab their bags.

--------------- --------------- --------------- --------------- ---------------

Herrsch’s jeep screeched as they parked, tire tracks blooming on their driveway, and the engine wasn’t even fully off before Dox was wrestling with his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

The front door opened to reveal Queen, with hair askew and a look of an old woman plastered on her youthful face. Just by looking, Dox knew— he knew it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a ploy to get them to come early, but he had to— he had to check for himself.

Ducking under her arm was no problem even given their heights. He knew their house like the back of his hand, found Immo in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor with an Xbox controller in his hand and some game on the screen. He was obviously losing, if his annoyed expression was any way of knowing, and even that blasted the alarm sirens in his brain. 

Immo was good at video games.

Empty energy drink cans littered the floor around him, ten, fifteen, twenty-six. Jesus Christ.

“H-hey,” he said, pulling Immo’s — Conwell’s — attention away from the screen. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days instead of hours. 

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Immo’s mouth said, and Dox focused on that for some reason, the way his lips moved, the words they shaped, sounding for all the world like nothing Immo would ever say. 

Herrsch and Queen talked in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out about what, rooted to the spot. Tears welled in his eyes because — fuck! — he knew what it was like, getting tricked by a shade in a dream and not wake up for days. His legs didn’t feel like his as he crossed the carpet in the living room, offering Conwell one of his hands to pull him up. 

The smile he got as a reward bordered the uncanny valley. Conwell didn’t know how to move Immo’s body like Immo, instead looking like a passable double. For one single, terrifying instant, Dox was worried it was him that was stuck in a dream, one that was imminent for crumbling.

“C’mon,” he choked, refusing to let Conwell see him cry, “Let’s tuck you in.”

Dox lead Conwell downstairs, only stopping to tell Herrsch and Queen that they’d be in the lab, that he’d— keep Conwell stable until Herrsch figured out a way to do an extraction right. Just wake me up when you need me. I’ll keep the dream stable.

Herrsch nodded, his immaculately schooled features betraying all his worry and fears, if only to Dox. It wasn’t a good look on him.

The lab was dark, quiet save the ever-running ventilation keeping the basement breathable. Dox’s fingers found the lightswitch and he went through the motions of turning the ADSSU and all its equipment on, watching with blank eyes at the flat lines and numbers.

“Sit down,” he said, then added a soft, “please.”

Conwell obliged. Dox knew it wasn’t his fault. Logically, he knew Conwell didn’t like this either. He had already had his life, and becoming a dream shade attached to a memento Immo got his hands on and practically possessing the boy wasn’t for the purpose of stealing his body. It didn’t mean Dox wasn’t mad. It didn’t mean he wasn’t considering messaging the board of Dreamers to standardize checks on mementos.

Which is why he tried his hardest not to look at his face, the unnatural, fake smile on his boyfriend’s lips, as he held Conwell’s arm above the elbow. His hand shook, but as soon as he had opened a fresh needle and attached it to the drip of the IV, it stopped. 

He located the vein he knew by heart now, wiping the area with an alcohol wipe and puncturing the skin until he was sure the needle wouldn’t come loose. A strip of medical tape to hold it in place never hurt anyone, either.

He attached the vitals machine with similar detachedness, but didn’t let the IV drip just yet.

“Herrsch,” he called up the stairs, and it was only moments before he appeared, that knowing look on his face. He placed a hand on Dox’s cheek. He cradled it, because it couldn’t be called anything else, and led him to one of the other dream chairs. 

Conwell averted his eyes as Herrsch leaned down, placed a kiss on Dox’s forehead. It had been different to watch such interactions in dreams, through Immo’s eyes. Now he felt like nothing but a voyeur. 

The IV was attached to Dox’s arm for the second time that day, and so were the vitals, and Herrsch turned the IV on immediately, watching the somnicin make its way to Dox’s arm. He felt terrible about the dosage, but there was no way Dox was staying asleep if he didn’t up it.

Dox didn’t make a single comment on it, however, just looked at Herrsch with determination that screamed ‘I’ll do my best.’

Herrsch knew why Dox wanted to do this. Herrsch’s name held more power in the industry, and he was better at talking to people, if only marginally. Dox’s dreams weren’t stable, not most of the time, but in the first layer, it would be more than enough to hold them both for the few hours Herrsch had to think of something. 

Dox’s eyes fluttered closed and the vitals machine evened out as he fell asleep, the tenseness falling off his features momentarily. Herrsch moved to Conwell, turning his IV on as well.

“Don’t do anything shady,” Herrsch warned, looking straight into Conwell’s eyes.

Conwell laughed, voice Immo’s but not like Immo. He wasn’t so stupid to try anything, and even if neither Dox nor Herrsch believed it, he cared about Immo as well.

With another grunt, Dox smiled at him, wiping the crust from his eyes with the back of his hand. The other hand reached into his pocket, to find his phone and see whether they had to leave soon. Sure, the sun was hot and the air humid, but it still felt nice next to the trees.

Instead of his phone, his fingers curled around something small in his pocket. Frowning, he pulls it out.

It turned out to be a small figure of a cat, one of those toy lines that kids had been all over when he was in middle school. It was scuffed, scratched and with peeling paint in some spots, and with a crudely drawn bow on its head in sharpie. Immo had thought it would be a good prank, and got an earful and then the silent treatment for a whole week after Dox learned it was him who did it.

He’d been so mad, his only keepsake of mo—

Wait.

He looked at Immo again, and his smiling face was no longer there, in his place sitting Conwell, with all his wrinkles and heavy eyes. Dox breathed a small breath of relief. He was dreaming.

He stood up, patting the invisible dust off his jacket, and stepped onto the grass. It turned to ash and heavy, dark stone under his soles, bleeding through the rest of the grass. It turned back as soon as he lifted the foot, and bled away when he put it down again.

Okay, so the dream wasn’t the stablest, but it would do for now.

Looking down at his hand, he wondered how he could even think it wasn’t a dream. His fingers were too short, the skin softer than it had been in years. The weight of his long hair was gone from his scalp.

Aware of not being real, the dream shaped itself around them. Trees blended away, replaced by glowing neon cubes, merrily making their slow way around them. If touched, Dox knew they would feel soft and malleable. The grass turned from vibrant green to a dull, dark blue. 

"That's more like it," Conwell said, looking up at the night sky. "I have not been in your dream in a long time. It is always a marvel."

Dox scoffed. "Well, that's good at least, because we'll be stuck here for a while." He never was the best dream architect. Sure, he could make a specific dreamscape if he put his mind to it, planned it out and all, but his dreams defaulted to this night plane with nothing but some cubes floating around. If they walked in a direction long enough, they’d find some broken down industrial complexes, but little more. The short glimpse at the beginning was all that was left of his original dreams, before Herrsch decided he was too dangerous to himself in dreamscapes with a shade in his head and offered to extract it.

He shook his head.

Not the time to delve so deep.

With a flick of a wrist, his phone materialized out of thin air. Looking at its screen made his head hurt, letters flying all over the place, illegible, but at the least the analog clock in the middle of the screen was always readable. It read 3:47 right now, but he knew if he looked at it in a second it could still say 3:47, or it could jump over to like 10:10. 

Such was the flow of time in dreams, always unpredictable, always janky, even with his powers over it, powers that came in handy more often than he was comfortable with.

He trained his eyes onto Conwell, watchful over the shade as he started to manifest blades, sticking each into the soil in a neat line, adding a new element to the dream. Dox looked at the phone screen again. 2:13.

He hoped Herrsch would figure something out before this dream collapsed on itself.

————————————————————————————————

Crack.

Herrsch suppressed his wince at the loud noise. This had been the fourth time Queen had punched the wall. Two of those punches had left indents in the plaster, but he refrained from commenting. When his call connected to naught but a voicemail again, he felt the very same urge.

He'd already gotten ahold of Centurion and Sariel, and Shakti came along with Queen, though she had remained out of the way until now, only deeming it unbothersome to come and try to calm her wife down.

He racked his brain for a plan, pushing all budding symptoms of a panic attack to the back of his mind.

Dox and Conwell were in the first layer right now. It was unlikely Immo had dreamed himself past layer two. To achieve a switch like Queen explained (like Conwell told her), they'd need to dream themselves to layer three. When Immo awoke and got himself trapped, believing he was awake, they must've been bumped up to layer two, and Conwell then up to layer one, knowing they were asleep. He knows Immo. He wouldn't mistake layer one for reality, surely. And when Immo's body awoke for real, it had been Conwell inside it, finding himself on the surface.

Sure, it sounded logical and neat when he broke it down like that, but it did little to quell any of his feelings. He could repeat it aloud, but he knew exactly with which inflection Queen would tell him to go fuck himself. So he didn't.

The fact that Nova was not picking up his calls was only making his panic worse. They'd need a bigger team to try and do an extraction on such a situation. A skilled physician, knowing the dosages for each layer and how to alter them on the fly, a technician to keep watch, at the very least two skilled architects to anchor on layer one and two, more of them to alter Immo's dream just enough for him to realize he was dreaming. Maybe another one to anchor layer three, just in case. He could act as the extractor himself, Dox could be the layering watcher, but they'd still need more people, to make sure the dream didn't collapse. 

God, they'd need at the very least ten people. But he didn't want to take any chances, this was Immo's mind on the line here, and he wasn't about to chance anything going wrong.

"Mm, hello?"

"Thank god, Centurion," he breathed, when the monotone beeping of his phone stopped. "Please, I need a favor."

"A favor? C'mon, buddy, do you really think I wouldn't help out? It's not like I'm gonna hold anything out for you, you know I don't mind—"

"Immo is trapped in a dream."

Centurion fell silent, his usual tirade of 'not doing favors. just helping out!' stopping in its tracks. "I… can be at your place in twenty, you can uh… tell me the details then," he said, when the silence started dragging on into the uncomfortable levels. 

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you, Chung."

He didn't mention the casual slip of his real name, but he didn't drop the call either. "Want me to bring my ADSSU? Actually, nevermind, I'll— I'll bring what's needed."

Herrsch nodded, shook his head, slapped himself because this wasn't a damn video call, and said a quiet "Thank you."

And just like that, he was back to being redirected to voicemails, until his phone rang and he eagerly picked up, pressing it against his shoulder. His hands were too preoccupied opening the door for Centurion, who had managed a record time of under ten minutes to pack up and drive down.

"Nova? I've been trying to reach you forever, I need you to come over, Immo has—"

"Mr. Herrscher? Good afternoon, this is—"

Herrsch's face fell. Centurion shot him a knowing look and placed a hand onto his shoulder for but a moment. Enough to convey his own feelings. I'm here. We're going to do this, and do it right. Don't worry. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment. If you need anything, send a message through the website."

He didn't wait for a response, just swiped the call away in favor of dialing Nova again. Nothing but voicemail, over and over. He was really starting to panic now.

Sure, he believed in himself, knew he could pull Immo out on his own, but his emotions were all over the place at the moment and not having a backup was simply asking for trouble and there weren't many extractors Herrsch worked with and trusted as much as Nova. The thought of screwing this up, of losing Immo forever was making bile rise to the back of his throat.

When the doorbell rang, he damn near jumped three feet in the air, scrambling not to drop his phone and open the door simultaneously. This time it was Sariel, with Morphy in tow, looking as if they both walked off the cover of a magazine. And maybe they had. It wasn't unusual for Morphy to enlist Sariel as her co-architect, to stabilize her dreams for public viewings.

"Fuck," Herrsch said, a wobbly smile lifting his lips. "Thank you. And thank you for bringing Morphy."

"No point losing two of our best at once," Sariel said, completely ignoring him and squeezing past, sauntering in like she owned the place. Morphy, on the other hand, wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him with strength that her thin arms betrayed.

"Sariel doesn't mean it like that," she promised. "It'll be okay."

He nodded. "I know. It's good to have you. You're a great architect."

There was a slight dusting of pink across her cheeks, and she puffed up like a peacock when she let him go. "Excuse you. I'm the best architect, thank you very much."

And though he felt nothing like laughing, a chuckle bubbled up from his throat, half-hysterical. "Of course. My apologies."

"Accepted. Now, where is your fridge? I'm parched."

He led Morphy to the kitchen, where he let her help herself to juice and rummage the pantry, and then he wasn't paying attention because another van parked itself next to Centurion's in their rapidly shrinking driveway. With his heart hammering, he was just in time to open the door and see Nova, just the sight of him making Herrsch's insides settle the barest amount. 

"I thought—"

Nova held up his phone, showing off a notification for thirty-seven missed calls. God, Herrsch didn't even realize he'd called that many times. Fuck.

"Sariel called first. I was… too busy to pick up." He nodded his head at the van, and as if on cue, the other people inside spilled out, Iblis, Anular and Prime. Doing quick maths in his head, Herrsch realized they now had a viable team.

Unsure of what to say, he placed a hand onto Nova's prosthetic shoulder, hoping that he'd be able to read the gratitude on Herrsch's face. Nova pulled him into an actual hug instead; he'd lost track of how much physical contact he'd had today, already much more than the previous couple months combined, but he didn't care.

"No wallowing. Let's set up."

"Yes."

They piled in, Iblis' chatter background noise, only to find the rest of people, sans Centurion and Shakti, waiting in the living room. But now, with Laby sitting on the back of the couch and held in place by Twilight's hands securely on her ankles to prevent falls.

"Hi Herrsch!! Laby let herself in through the back!" she told him, a smile splitting her face, "I want to help! Pretty please?"

"Impressive," he says, and it makes the other Herrscher's lips split into a wide grin, with teeth all too sharp. Well, as long as he keeps his mouth shut, Dox makes a surprisingly good Herrscher.

The bandaged eye hides Dox's own, hiding the only other thing that would give him away. He makes a petrifyingly accurate Dominator. Doom Bringer, however, he can't do no matter what.

"I practiced," Dox boasts smugly.  "The void is endless, it's coming to eat you all, waaaaaah!" he  mimics, holding his arms in front of himself and flattening his tone. Not that far off the mark, actually. He's missing the ever-present echo.

It's a little disconcerting, to hear his voice coming from what is essentially Herrscher's body, but it's not like he hadn't seen (or heard, in this case) weirder things in his time.

"I think you should try Bluhen," Herrscher tells him, interested in how the other portrays his human-like counterpart.

Dox flashes him another grin and with a flash of pink light, the second Herrscher is gone, in his place Bluhen sporting a black eye, the one thing that lets Herrscher know it's still Dox in there, and having a tremendous amount of fun with it.

"It's me, Bluhen!" Dox exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air, "I've come to kill demons and say human proverbs wrong! It's my Achilles' forehead!"

Herrscher can't help his lips turning up, and that, in turn, makes Dox's grin even wider. It's so wide it probably hurts his cheeks, but it's not an unusual sight on Bluhen's face. Bluhen tries with the proverbs, he really does, but he still does not get them.

Not that Herrscher does either, but even he knows it's called Achilles' heel. Miss knight explained it once about their strategy against the demons, so he remembers it means a weak spot.

"Who next?" Dox asks, a childish glee gleaming in his eyes, a mischief unfulfilled.

"Try Immortal," Herrscher requests, his own gaze turning just a little curious as Dox's form flickers with a pink shine.

And in the next second, Immortal stands before him, a smirk that looks identical to the real deal, but the eyes, crinkled at the corner and unmistakably pink still give it away. Maybe one day Dox will learn to manipulate those as well. Or maybe not, Herrscher isn't sure how it even works. If he asked, he's sure Dox would just spill a bunch of technical terms at him, and he isn't in the mood for that.

Immortal - Dox - takes a step forward and presses a hand against the hole in Herrscher's chest, painted fingernails dragging down around the edge of it. Dox's eyes are alight with something Herrscher isn't sure he can place correctly.

"Oh, Scher," Dox whispers, leaning up to be closer to his ear. The soft touch at his chest doesn't leave, and Herrscher welcomes it wholeheartedly, leaning into it as much as he leans into Dox himself. "I love you so much," Dox continues, "More than there are swords I can summon."

Herrscher can't help a chuckle, and then Dox joins him, their breaths intermingling as they laugh, forehead to forehead.

"Was I good?" Dox asks him, batting his eyelashes before pushing red hair out of his face. He makes a face as he does so, unused to Immortal's fringe.

"Spot on," Herrscher tells him, leaning down to capture those lips that look so much like Immortal's right now. They still carry Dox's softness, though.

Dox's eyes slip closed as Herrscher envelops him in dark tendrils, snaking some around his hips and shoulders in a mockery of an embrace. Dox, however, melts right into the touch as of he'd never felt anything better in his life.

It makes Herrscher want to hold him closer, the tendrils squeezing momentarily before he will them to slack. He doesn't want to suffocate the other.

"So who did you like the best?" Dox asks when they pull apart. Dox is heaving for breath while Herrscher forgot he needs to breathe yet again. He swallows an apology from the tip of his tongue, because Dox's face is flushed red and his eyes hold nothing but happiness.

He places a hand at his hip, grinning lopsidedly and already knowing that Herrscher would say he liked his impression of Immortal the most, but the fallen celestial manages to surprise the smugness right out of him with a well placed kiss to his forehead.

"I think I like the original you better."

Dox feels his cheeks flush further, full of embarrassment and flattery, so much so that his hold on his form slips and he's back to the one Herrscher meant.

He leans down to kiss the real lips again, savoring the softness and Dox's sudden shyness.

This is not what he'd expected, but when it comes to these two, especially Infi, he should be used to it already. But, it's not like he's used to sexual stuff anyway. Infi's fingers aren't helping; the way they curl and drag over his walls is the only thing that his fried brain could focus on for the last ten minutes.

"I'll tell you, then," is muttered right into his ear, Apos' soft monotone too loud coupled with the breath tickling his sensitive skin. "You look stunning. You're taking Infi's fingers so well, all to be ready for me, and you're so pretty spread out like this."

Several things happen right then. The first one is Infi's hand shaking, making his fingers push a little farther than before. The second is Esper's hips canting up into the touch, despite Apos' hands holding his thighs still in case he'd have hurt himself before he got used to Infi's digits.

The praise had gone straight to Esper's heat, forced as it must have been. Apos' lips press kisses beneath his ear and over his nape, fingers digging into his thighs to still him again.

The next thing that happens, not that Esper can help it, is the flash of pleasure that sweeps over him, and he spills himself all over his own quivering stomach. The last one is the disgustingly pathetic sob that tears out of his vocal chords along with it.

And all he can feel is shame.

There's no high to talk of this time, and Esper slumps in Apos' hold, tears prickling the corners of his eyes and leaking out unbidden. He was doing so well-- he was doing so, so damn well, and he'd blown it--

Apos' hands leave his thighs, which slump as well as the rest of him. Infi's fingers also pull out of him and he feels too empty all of a sudden, too cold even still leaning against Apos' chest.

He's ready for anger, he's ready for being berated and for being left alone for the night. What he isn't ready for, is Infi's gentle fingers, the dry ones, not the ones that had just been inside him not minutes ago, brushing his cheek, thumb rubbing away the tears still streaming down.

"Es? Dude, you okay?" Infi asks him, promoting Esper to open his eyes that he doesn't even remember closing. "Did something happen?"

"I- I-" And he chokes, like the fucking idiot he is. Ruined it all. "Sorry-- I-- didn't mean to--!"

Apos' hands are back, wrapped around him and pulling him further back into that hollow chest. "You felt good, didn't you."

It isn't phased like a question, it isn't a question, but still Esper feels the need to nod. So he does.

"That's good then," Infi chides. He's made himself comfortable between Esper's legs, leaning forward on his knees to press a line of kisses from Esper's wet cheek to his lips. The kiss tastes salty.

Apos sounds like he can somehow read his mind, and in that moment, Esper couldn't be happier for such an ability. "We aren't mad," he says, resting his chin on Esper's bony shoulder. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns on thin ribs, halfway to tickling and all the way to comforting.

"Shit," Esper swears, forehead touching Infi's when they pull away from the messy kiss. In any other scenario, he'd be enjoying the moment, the closeness to both his lovers, but he can't shake the bad feeling lodged in his gut, right where the heat used to be.

Infi looks at him with such unbridled love in his eyes that it makes him want to cry all over again. He takes to brushing the sweaty fringe from Esper's forehead, tracing his scar on the way to his chin, and finally cradling his face like he's made of glass, like he's something precious to be kept safe.

"Hey, I'm glad you felt good," he says, seals his words with another kiss to Esper's lips, nothing but a peck.

He's a lot different in bed than Esper had expected him to be - rough and fast, like his fighting style. But Esper can't say he minds, not at all. To receive such love and care…

His hands come up from where they've been gripping the sheets in a vice and instead wind themselves around Infi's shoulders, holding him close like his whole life depended on it.

"I love you," Esper mutters, hiding his too warm face in the nook of Infi's neck. "Both of you," he adds a bit louder, but muffled by the tan skin, it comes out just as quiet.

Both of them hear him with no problem, though. And both of them squeeze him, as if in reply.

"We love you too," Apos voices the thought, his fingers slipping down Esper's stomach and through the mess he's made of it. Esper isn't sure what he's doing, but he gets his answer a moment later, when Apos sticks his soiled fingers into his mouth and makes obscene noises. "You taste good."

Esper's sure his face is as hot as it can get without actually being on fire. He can make out Apos' little smirk even from the weird angle, knows it's there.

"You're gross," Esper tells him, no heat to his words.

"Want to try some?" Apos drags across his stomach again, making him flinch from the soft touch. He's making an even bigger mess, unheeding of it.

Esper doesn't grace him with another witty quip when he taps the wet digits against his lips. Instead he opens his mouth and welcomes them in, doing his best not to appear too eager.

"Seeing you enjoying it so much," Infi mumbles, his eyes hooded as he looks as Esper, watches him accommodate Apos' long fingers as they roam over his tongue. So much for not appearing eager. A bit of dark saliva dribbles from the corner of his lips when he can't swallow it down, and Infi's eyes are watching it like a hawk. "Makes me want a taste myself… Mind if I clean you up?"

Esper isn't sure he's ever nodded so fast in his life.

Infi gives him one of those good trademark grins, one side quirked up further than the other. He drops onto the bed, slotting between Esper's spread legs, but not before kissing his way down there, a line of heated presses all the way over his torso. He teases a little, because of course he does, it's Infi, taking to kissing the sensitive expanse of Esper's inner thighs instead.

"Spread your legs a bit more, let him get a good look at how pretty you are," Apos says, having taken to marking the pale flesh of Esper's neck and shoulder with hickies. His lips on Esper's scar send shivers down the time traveler's spine.

Esper doesn't know why it's so easy for them to get to him. Apos sounds like he always does, impassive and quiet, but somehow with a tint of desire that truly gets to him. Nevermind that he's saying all Esper wants to hear.

He obliges, glad for Apos' hand coming down to support his thigh. Infi trails his kisses upwards again, mouth so close to his oversensitive cock that his breath fans over the heated flesh and makes Esper jolt unconsciously.

There's that trademark grin still on Infi's lips, a twinkle in his eye as if he's looking at the entire world, and fuck, Esper chokes on nothing because he realizes that's probably what Infi thinks, that Apos and him - him!! - are the ones who put the stars in the sky. He drags his tongue over Esper's belly, tickling him while he laps up the mess he'd made of himself.

Esper watches him, mesmerized by the overly theatrical show. Infi doesn't stop until his stomach is completely free of any black residue, and by that point, Esper's chest shakes, his breath raspy and his cock half hard again and bumping into Infi's chin.

"Would you be down for more?" Infi asks him, propped up on Esper's stomach like it's the most comfortable spot in the world.

Esper swallows heavily. "Is more… y'know…?"

Apos' fingers card through his sweaty hair, nails dragging over his scalp in just the right way to make him melt. If he were a cat, he'd probably be purring right now.

"Only if you want. No pressure," he says.

"Yeah-- Yes, I didn't want to ruin anything, so please--"

Apos shushes him, petting him almost like one would a scared animal. It works, and that's maybe the worst part.

"You didn't ruin anything," Infi tells him, "I promise."

He's reaching up and grasping one of Esper's hands, which have taken to balling up the already crumpled sheets - he'd complain about it if he paid it any mind - and winding their fingers together, warm and solid and comforting and Esper sucks in a breath too shaky to do him any good at all.

The sight of Infi pulling his bony, pale hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the wrist, right over his half-faded scar, still twining their fingers like he wouldn't let go for the world and squeezing, makes Esper want to tear up again. There's a weight on his chest that feels both constricting and borderline painful.

In a good way.

"I like seeing you come," Infi utters, like he's sharing an important secret, and then he's kissing at that raised skin again, feathery touches that shouldn't feel like so much but they do, goddess do they. "You looked like you really liked it, y'know? And that's what's important."

Esper chokes, "But, what… about you?"

"We're good. We're trying to make your first time nice here, y'know?"

Apos makes a confirming sound, nuzzling his cheek into Esper's neck. "We'll go at your pace, not ours."

"My pace…" Esper repeats softly, almost to himself. It makes the words seem realer, more tangible. "Okay… okay."

Infi leans up and captures his lips in another kiss, and Esper melts right into it, lets Infi in and ravage his mouth with tender touches.

"Would you like Apos to fuck you now?"

Esper's breath leaves him, or what's left of it, and he nods. Infi's grin is still pressed to his lips and there are hands on his hips, maneuvering him like wet clay, pulling him up and further into Apos' lap. He can feel Apos' cock at his backside, leaking wetness over his skin and it should feel gross but all he can feel at that moment is desire, to feel full and connected to the man behind him, to be one with him.

Or whatever sappy shit is usually connected with sex.

He wants it all.

"Remember, your pace, okay? Don't rush," Infi says, back with the small jar of cream he'd used to slick his fingers to prepare him, lathering it onto his hand once more. It looks like he has sent trouble with just one hand, but like hell is he gonna let go of Esper's fingers when they squeeze his like his life depends on it.

He takes a hold of Apos, and Esper knows because of the startled inhale right by his ear, Apos' breath fanning shaky on his skin and making it erupt in goosebumps. Infi makes a quick work of slicking him up, but it's Infi, so he can't help but tease at least a little, his thumb rubbing small circles over the head of Apos' weeping cock, mixing the green precum gathered there with the translucent cream.

"Stop teasing," Apos chides, but the bitterness of his words is negated by his panting, hips rutting up the barest amount into Infi's touch, rubbing against Esper's back in the process.

"Aye, aye, cap'n." Infi's face is red, almost like his hair as he guides Esper up, two sets of hands on his thin hips to position him above Apos' heat. "Go slow, baby," he says to Esper, getting a slower nod in return, and pushes him down the barest amount.

He can feel the head of Apos' cock against his entrance, biting his lip in what could only be described as anxiety, and then the head pops inside, aided by the copious slick, and his lips fall open, no sound making it out.

He trembles all over and Infi takes to rubbing his arms, doing his best to calm him down, but how could he calm down when he feels so much all of a sudden?

He'd wanted to feel full, and now he feels just like that, and Apos isn't even halfway inside him.

"Does it hurt?" Apos asks, unnaturally calm - though for him, that's the norm. Esper isn't sure Infi would have the same self-restraint. He's a little glad they'd gone with Apos for the first time.

"No…" And he shakes his head to indicate as such. He tries to impale himself further, but both pair of hands stop him, someone's thumbs rubbing his hip bones.

"Wait a bit, adjust," Apos coos, watching with rapt attention each of Esper's twitches and small sighs. "You're so tight… so good."

A groan rumbles from Esper's throat, guttural and heady. "I'm good," he says after a moment, though he feels far from good, he feels great, spectacular, amazing, beyond words of this language.

And just like that, they both guide him lower, Apos' girth stretching him in the best of ways, rubbing against his sensitive walls. There's slick dripping from within, and when he looks down at where they're joined, he sees just the barest amount of dark mixed into the clear, shiny liquid on his thighs and he groans again, throwing his head back against Apos' shoulder.

"I'm gonna come," he half-laughs, chest shaking with the effort of breathing steadily.

"Just like this, untouched? What a good boy," Infi praises, making Esper grit his teeth, a fresh wave of want overcoming him at just those words. His backside is flush with Apos' hips, he feels full and warm, still holding onto Infi's hand, squeezing it to the point of his knuckles going whiter than they usually are.

"I don't-- want to, though," he grits out, looking up at Infi through the mess of sweaty, plastered bangs. He wants to feel more, he wants Apos to enjoy this too. He wants to feel even closer.

"I think Apos could help there," Infi says, sharing a toothy grin and an impassive stare with Apos over Esper's shoulder.

"What do you…?" Esper trails off at the end, looking over his shoulder the best he can. Apos is looking at him with an unclear look, some sort of uncertainty or worry or whatever that Esper's muddy mind can't discern.

From beneath them, Apos' dark tendrils appear, sneaking over the covers and running over Esper's trembling legs. They're elusive as always, waxing and waning like small tidal waves across his skin.

Infi's grin only widens at the sight of them and he reaches out to pet one. It bumps into his palm almost affectionately. Esper watches curiously.

"What if one of these bad boys," Infi says, running a finger over the smoke-like tendril, "were to plug your pretty little cock up?"

Esper gasps, watching the way the tendril moves in Infi's hand.

"Does it… hurt?" he can't help but ask, even though he  feels a stab of desire in his already heated belly.

"No," Apos mutters, thumbs rubbing circles into Esper's hips again, to calm him and maybe himself too. "Infi likes it, but if you don't want to, you don't have to. It was just a suggestion." He sends Infi a pointed look, but the redhead is nodding along.

"I'd... like to try it," Esper exhales, trembling in badly restrained pleasure. His cock is bouncing against his stomach, dripping dark precum all over the pale skin. He feels so close to cumming with each little twitch of Apos' cock in him. "Just hurry…"

"It'd be okay to come again, you know," Apos sighs, smoothing a hand over one milky thigh.

"He says he wants to try, so let him."

Apos concedes with a sigh and the tendril slips from Infi's hold. It thins out, waving in the air a little before descending down to Esper's cock, running over the swollen length from base to tip, glistening with his precum now.

Esper watches it with a mixture of heat and a little apprehension, heart throbbing within his ribcage. It presses into the tip, easily slipping into the slit.

He gasps at the unusual feeling, but just like Apos promised, there is no pain. The tendril thins out not to cause any pain, and it travels down his length easily. The feeling of it scraping against the inside of his cock make his whole body seize up as pleasure travels up his spine right to his brain, whiting out his vision.

He slumps forward onto Infi, squeezing his hand tightly as he trembles all over. Small, cut off sounds force themselves out of his mouth.

Infi holds him from falling down all the way, brushing his hair with his free hand. "Es?" he calls out, his voice holding a twinge of panic. "Are you okay? Baby?"

Esper whines right into Infi's shoulder. "Yeah... Feels good…"

Apos chuckles from behind him, trailing a hand over his cock. The dual sensation from within and from out makes Esper choke out another moan. The tendril swells within him and thins out and he arches into the touch, slumping back onto Apos' cock and only causing more pleasurable flashes to go up and down his spine.

"You feel good too," he tells Esper, pulling him back against his chest. Esper lets himself get moved, relaxing back against his lover. The words wrap themselves around him like a warm blanket, almost like Apos' arms. "So warm and tight. You're perfect."

Esper whines.

Infi looks them over,  appreciating the way Apos fills Esper up, from the front and from the back, the way Esper twitches in his hold, the way the dark tendrils surround them both. His hand moves to his own cock, pumping himself and hissing at the much needed contact.

Esper opens his foggy eyes, looking at Infi and moaning when he sees him touching himself. He jerks in Apos' hold, cries tumbling from him one after another.

"Infi…" he moans, pulling Infi closer by their joined hands. Their lips come together in a mess of teeth and tongue, stuttered breaths intermingling between them.

"You're doing so well," Infi says, pressing a kiss to Esper's neck, along the edge of the scar. "You're taking Apos so perfectly. Can you hear his breaths? He's feeling real good. He only gets like that when he feels so, so, sooo good."

"I'm glad…" Esper forces out, devolving into a moan.

The tendril moving within his cock makes him want to jerk into its movement, but each time he does, Apos only meets his thrusts with his own matching ones, driving himself so deep… He feels so good he wants to scream, isn't sure he already isn't.

He feels so close, teethering on that edge but unable to fall down. Each time he feels he might, the tendril swells within him, stopping it and sending him spiralling even further than he thought possible.

Infi's fingers trace his heavy cock, feathery touches that feel like too much on his oversensitive skin, but they're gone just as quick, instead running down his balls and perineum to where his rim stretches so delightfully around Apos.

A finger moves along it, only adding to the dirty squelching sounds their skin makes when slapping together. Infi hums, pushing that finger inside just the tiniest bit, stretching him even further and making him keen.

"I bet you could fit more," Infi coos, pulling the finger out only to push it back in further on Apos' next thrust. "I bet you'd look so so pretty stretched around us both…"

Esper nods, too far gone to register the meaning of Infi's words right away. His mind feels like it's shrouded with a thick blanket.

"Just suggestions," Apos supplies from behind, staring at Infi with equal amounts of heat and reprimand. "We're going at your pace, Esper."

It's undeniable that his thrusts get a bit more forceful, through, dragging over Esper's inner walls in such a pleasant way.

"What do ya say, pretty boy?" Infi asks, tugging Esper's hand up to his face and brushing his wet cheek with both of their knuckles. "Wanna give it a shot?"

"Yeah... Yeah," Esper repeats, words broken and heady with need. Infi catches him with another kiss.

"Just say the word and I'll stop. Got it?"

Esper makes a noise, but Infi insists, kissing over his hand and up his wrist again until Esper looks right at him, paying him the attention he wanted.

"If you say it hurts, if you feel it's too much, if you just want to stop, you just say so. Okay?"

"Yeah…"

Infi, seemingly satisfied with that, reaches for the cream again. He spreads a bit too much over his fingers and it drips down obscenely, but he doesn't want to hurt Esper. He's back to rubbing his rim, making both Esper and Apos whine at the feeling. One finger presses in again, even easier with the extra slickness.

Esper watches with need pooling low in his tummy as Infi adds another, and then another, stretching him until it feels almost uncomfortable. It never hurts, though.

Apos is saying something to him, a low grumble by his ear, but he can't make out the words over the thumping of his own blood in his ears. Infi is looking at him like a predator, like he wants to devour him whole and keep him safe, locked up somewhere no one would get to him.

It's an addicting feeling, and Esper can't help but cry out for more, more, more of him and more of what he's giving him.

"I'll go slow, okay baby? You tell us when," Infi says, and Esper only heard him because he pulls his fingers out and waits until the glassy look in his eyes melts away again.

He nods, not trusting his voice, eyes glued to Infi as he spreads the cream over his own cock, so slick already with precum. He wets his dry lips in anticipation.

Apos lifts his legs, aided by the tendrils, and Esper obediently wraps them around Infi's waist, locking his ankles behind the small of his back. Infi hovers over him, one hand positioning himself and the other wrapping up with Esper's again, as if it had never left in the first place.

"If you say stop, we stop. Squeeze three times if no talky," he says before he pushes forward, as slowly as humanly possible.

Apos stops moving, holding Esper's hips still like he'd done before, to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself. Slowly, Infi pushes inside of him, stretching him more than Esper could've ever imagined, his walls fluttering around the both of them as he adjusts.

"You okay?" Infi asks, sweat beading at his forehead. It's so tight inside, makes him want to push forward and bury himself to the hilt, but he needs to know if Esper's alright first.

"I'm... fine," Esper pants, body shivering like a leaf between them. It's almost too much, but it's also not enough. He wants Infi. "Keep going…!"

Infi obliges, inch by slow inch pushing until his hips are flush with Esper's, until he's fully encased in his warmth. Apos' cock twitches next to his, rubbing against him in the best of ways.

"You're... so perfect," he says, rubbing the tears of what he hopes is pleasure from under Esper's eye, which cracks open to look at him. Esper's lips pull up into a shaky smile, lopsided and goofy.

"How's it feel?" he asks, eyes twinkling with more unshed tears.

"Indescribable," Apos answers, hips twitching up. Just a little, but even that is enough for Esper to cry out, following the motion and pulling himself up. Two cocks push into him, and then pull him down into the feeling, rubbing his insides like they were made for it.

"Fucking… so good," Infi blabbers, doing his damnest not to give into the want of closing his eyes. He doesn't want to miss even a single one of Esper's expressions.

Infi presses a hand against Esper's chest, feeling the erratic heartbeat and shallow breathing right beneath his fingertips. His fingers slide over the moonstone etched into pale skin, shining and slick with sweat, and Esper keens the most precious sound, arcing his back like a bow pulled taut, pressing himself further into that touch. A full body shiver runs through him when Infi presses harder, tracing the gem's contours, running over the edges almost reverently.

"Fuck!" he cries, tightening around both of them multiple times. It's almost like he can't help it.

And it makes Infi grin like the fucking Cheshire cat.

"You like that? You like when I touch your pretty little gem?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Esper looks at him with half-lidded, misty eyes. They've long since started swimming in black, pupils blown so wide they look like thin rings of mesmerizing pink and nothing more. There's passion and hunger etched into that gaze, obvious like the sky outside.

Infi swallows, snapping his hips at the same time Apos does, pulling another delicious moan out of Esper, who's trying his hard to keep up with them. "Want me to touch it more?"

His answer is a jerky nod, over and over, so hard Esper's hair bounces alongside it.

"Why don't you use your words?" Apos prompts, adding his own hand to the mix and drawing a line with a finger, all the way from the bottom of the crystal to the top, right over where it meets Esper's skin.

"Please--!" Esper cries, after a second of catching his breath, which doesn't in reality help any. "I want… dig into it!"

Infi hesitates a moment, unsure, but Apos pushes his fingers against the edge without a beat, feeling both the soft skin and unyeilding crystal, and Esper's sight erupts with fireworks, nerves short-circuiting. He cries and thrashes, easily held still by Apos' uncountable appendages, making sure he wouldn't hurt himself.

Seeing his violent reaction, Infi doesn't waste another second and digs his fingers into the other side of the crystal, drunk off the sound it pulls from Esper. High and full of raw feeling, and it will probably make Esper's throat raw as well, later on.

"I… I wanna…" Esper screams, unsure of where he wants to, needs to, move. Whether to slam himself down when either of his lovers pulls out, or to push forward into the tendril filling his cock. It feels so full, and when he opens his eyes to look down (when had he closed them again?) it definitely looks thicker, an outline of it visible even from the outside, running up and down as it moves, in and out and in and out...

Esper cries out, feels more wetness running down his cheeks.

"I wanna come… please…!" he begs, fingers scrambling over Infi's back in search of something to hold onto. They twist into a few strands of red hair, pulling at it unconsciously as Apos gives him what he'd asked for, the tendril slithering out and instead wrapping itself around his cock, squeezing from bottom to top and back down, its tip still deciding to tease his slit. Even without delving back in, it's too much.

He comes with a sob, somehow both arching high up and slumping back against Apos' shoulder, ropes of dark cum shooting onto his stomach and messing it up once more. His mind goes blank for a few long seconds, and he feels both of his lovers keep thrusting into him, Infi's hand over his cock now and jerking it along with the tendril. He pumps him until he has nothing more to give, only quiet whimpers that get lost in the slapping of skin.

Apos jerks behind him, pushing in as deep as he can and spilling himself inside, adding to the mess of cream and precum, and Esper can feel it inside himself, shaking as he can do nothing but sit there, breathless and sated and so, so warm.

Infi pulls out of him, hand on his cock as he jerks himself, hair plastered all over his face. He cries Esper's name as he comes, splatters of white hitting Esper's stomach, mixing with his own cum and dripping down his skin.

He lays against Apos for what feels like hours, catching his lost breath and floating between consciousness and sleep, only aware of the gradual calming in all three of their breathing. He feels soiled in the best of ways, in disbelief that that's a thing he could even feel.

"Shh, you did so well," Infi's voice croons, his hand wiping away tears that Esper didn't even know were still falling from his eyes. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Did it feel good, did you feel good?"

"Yeah," Esper croaks, not recognizing his own voice from how broken and deep it is at that moment.

Apos' tendrils help pull him up and Apos slips from inside of him with a wet squelch, making Esper tremble. A stream of slick follows, a mixture of everything that should feel so, so gross but instead just feels warm as it slides down his thighs.

Apos' tendrils arrange the pillows into a lump before they disappear, and he guides Esper to sit against them before Infi presses a glass of water into his shaky hands, telling him to drink. He's glad for it, glad for how good it feels sliding down his parched throat.

"How about I go run a bath, hm?" Infi asks as he takes the empty glass back, putting it away onto the bedside table. He brings a wet cloth instead, dabbing at Esper's face to clean it and then wiping the cum off his stomach. The cold touch feels so good on his heated skin.

Esper makes a non-committal noise, still moments away from falling asleep right there. Infi only laughs.

"I got all the scenty stuff you love, c'mon. You'll feel super gross if you don't wash up," he says, poking at Esper's side with a painted nail.

Esper knows he's right, but he doesn't want to move. "Don't wanna…"

"Can't be helped, I'll carry you," Apos says, already hoisting him up and holding him close to his empty chest. Esper burrows his face into the corrupted skin.

"You'll cuddle me when we get back, right?"

"One hundred percent, baby."

"And you'll dry my hair?"

"Whatever you want."

“Mm, morning,” is Immortal’s sluggish reply as he burrows his cheek into the pillow.

The side behind Dox is cold, meaning Herrsh is already up and about, but he’s more interested in his other, currently present partner at the moment. Especially when he can feel a certain body part poking his thigh.

Dox’s lips quirk up into a grin and he slips a hand between them, scooting down Immortal’s body, down his taut stomach and into the waistband of his shorts to curl around his half-hard cock. His hand is barely big enough to wrap around the girth and it somehow manages to send a spark through him.

“Someone’s eager early,” he laughs not unkindly, but Immortal’s hand wraps around his wrist and pulls his hand out of his shorts. Dox quirks his head in confusion; after all, Infi — Immortal — has never been one to decline such an offer before, especially one this bold.

“Gotta go shower,” Immortal grumbles, moving away to get up and head to the bathroom without even a look back.

Dox is left alone on the suddenly too-big-for-him bed, looking at the closed bathroom door with a mixture of confusion and hurt swirling deep in his belly.

Had he done something wrong? Overstepped some invisible boundary he hadn’t known was there? Is Immortal angry at him?

He finds no answer to any of the questions running through his mind, so he does his best to push them away and make sure he’s more careful next time.

The next manages to — somehow? he’s not sure here — go even worse. He returns from Echo’s place with a lollipop she’d given him (they’d gotten that close over the years) stuck between his lips, humming a tune. His spirits were high, and then he found his lovers making out in the kitchen.

Not that that was a bad thing, of course not, but when they’d taken notice of him standing there, watching them with rapt attention, Immortal had pulled away and, red faced as he was, chuckled and said, “I guess that’s enough, haha.”

Dox had watched him retreat into the bedroom; neither his nor Herrscher’s arousal had been very discreet. Dox didn’t dare ask this time, just biting through his lollipop and chewing at the shards as he left Herrscher to go after Immortal.

He can’t even count the days they haven’t had sex. Well, he can, but he’s not going to hurt himself that way.

What he can count, though, is the number of days he hadn’t been kissed. Well, again, not quite correct, but he can very easily count the number of days he hadn’t been kissed on the lips. The others just… stopped doing it.

If he’s lucky, Immortal would kiss his cheek, or Herrscher would lean down and kiss his forehead, but that’s all he’d get. Even asking for a kiss would yield the very same results, so he doesn’t bother anymore.

He fills the void in his chest with chocolate, with helping Echo, with shopping for parts he doesn’t need, with missions he’s not needed on, with trying to find the thing he’d done wrong. He can’t find it, and it only drives it further home.

He wants to be held, wants the cold seeping into his bones to go away, but some masochistic part of him forces him to stay in bed, curled up and shivering. He wouldn’t be given what he wants anyway.

Dox stands in the doorway, holding on to the frame for a second as he watches his lovers lean on each other, completely engrossed in their conversation. He itches to cross the few meters separating them and sprawl across the sofa with them, but he forces that itch down.

It's not his place anymore, he knows. So he retreats upstairs, too silent in the already silent building.

The bed — his bed, the small one in his room, not their shared one — becomes a sanctuary to him. The blanket is warm around him and the pillow doesn't ask why he stays there so much, why he curls up and twists the blanket between his feet. His old room is as messy as his life feels, with unfinished blueprints strewn about the table, El shards piling up between them and rolled in the corners where they'd fallen and he didn't bother picking them up.

His suit sits on a mannequin propped in its own corner, as if taunting him. He'd tried to prevent this, he really had.

But no matter how differently he'd talked or if he'd even withdrawn from affection himself, Herrsh and Immo had always ended up slowly disliking him. He supposes it was bound to happen eventually; they'd lose interest in him sooner or later. No one could stand him if they learned all he'd done.

He'd thought he had come to terms with it.

Unfortunately, he hadn't, as it would seem.

The door opens with a creak he'd gotten used to at this old place and he panics for some reason, squeezing his eyes closed and stilling his body in hopes of appearing asleep. Maybe they'd finally come to the conclusion that they didn't like him anymore?

Who is it? Dox strains his ears and concludes it's Immortal from the way his steps come up to the bed, loud and bold, yet he's trying not to make noise and 'wake' him up.

The gesture makes Dox's heart beat faster.

There's a few moments where Immortal just stands over him in silence and Dox hopes to Ishmael and any other gods that his fake sleeping is convincing enough to fool the other. It seems it is, because Immortal sighs and twists on his heel, leaving the room just as quickly as he'd entered.

Dox's shoulders slump, body he didn't even know had been strung like a bow relaxing, almost melting into the covers.

If he can get a few hours more to pretend they still love him before they take it away from him, he'll take it. Faking sleep had never been all that hard anyway. But now that Immortal had left without a single word or action, Dox feels like he'd been robbed of all the energy he'd had.

He wishes he could have either of their arms around himself now — because wishing for both would be way too much when he can't have either. He wishes he could feel lips against his own, robbing him of breath and making him feel light headed. He wishes for ever curious fingers making him feel like he's interesting, like he's worth it.

Bile forces its way up his throat and he desperately swallows it down around the lump lodged there. The corners of his eyes sting no matter how hard he forces them shut, even when there's colors dancing across the darkness.

He feels pathetic for crying over something so obvious, something he'd expected, but the tears are there nonetheless, rolling down his cheeks and staining the pillow with both normal and dark drops.

Ugly sobs tear from his lips, and through them, he doesn't even hear the door opening again. He's startled by a hand placed on his shoulder, shaking him softly.

Through blurry eyes he can see Immortal kneeling next to the bed, but not much else. His voice is soft and quiet, as if he's placating a scared animal. Honestly, is Dox anything else? "Dox, what's wrong? C'mon, talk to me, what happened?"

Dox's heart pangs at the thought that Immortal feels like he has to calm him. He raises a hand up to his face, furiously wiping the tears away, though the results are dubious.

"I'm fine," he says, pushing himself upright.

"That is such bullshit," Immortal scoffs, reaching out to brush a thumb over Dox's cheek, "Half your face is black!"

Dox chuckles, pushing Immortal's hand away with one of his. "Sorry."

"What're you apologizing for?! For El's sake, Dox, what happened?"

Dox flinches away as Immortal raises his voice, almost unconsciously. Immortal's expression drops at that and he grits his teeth, angry at himself for letting himself go like that. Dox doesn't like shouting, he really, really doesn't.

Dox contemplates going back and saying something else, something that wouldn't make Immortal angry, but then he thinks back to the failed attempts of not reaching this conclusion and decides against it. He would just mess up in a different way, probably.

"You don't have to pretend to care about me anymore," he says, looking down at the bunched blanket between them, hanging halfway off the bed. It's suddenly so interesting, the way the thin purple lines bunch and move over and under the folds. "I already figured out that you were just waiting for the right time to tell me."

Immortal stares at him in silence for long minutes, fiery gaze burning right through Dox. Then, he stands up, and Dox thinks this is it, he's gonna turn around and leave. But he doesn't.

"How did you get to that conclusion?" Immortal asks, his voice steady even though inside he feels nothing but steady. He wants to cry and scream and hold Dox close until he stops thinking such stupid things.

"You don't like touching me anymore. I guess you thought you were sneaky, but it was pretty obvious you didn't want to have sex with me anymore." Dox laughs, eyes looking through the sheets, somewhere far away. It's easier to talk about when he's making fun of it. "And then you stopped kissing me, and I just wasn't… Well, you've made it kinda obvious once I looked at the whole picture! I was actually surprised when you touched my cheek just now, haha!"

Tears prick the corners of his eyes but he refuses to let them fall this time. At least not before Immortal leaves.

"Dox…" Immortal breathes out, as if beyond words. And he is; does his lover think they don't... love him anymore? "Dox, listen to me, I love you— we love you! We never stopped, and we never will!"

Immortal's knees hit the mattress on either side of Dox and he leans down to wrap long arms around Dox's small form. The time traveler simply slumps in the hold, tears rolling down his cheeks once more, despite how hard he'd tried to stop them. He laughs shakily. "What are you doing?"

"Dox, I'm sorry," Immortal mutters into his ear, close enough to do that, "I didn't think you'd... think something like that. I love you, I truly do."

Dox sniffs, a gross sound that should've deterred anyone, but Herrscher enters the room instead, taking in their tangled state. "Why don't you like being with me anymore then?"

"That's not it, Dox! It's just that you l—"

"Herrsh? Could I get a kiss?" Dox asks, cutting him off with a another sniffle. Herrscher looks at Immortal first, slowly puzzling it out in his mind, and then he leans down and presses his lips to Dox's forehead for a split moment.

Herrscher only ever does what Immortal does. Dox fights more tears, though his voice is wavering.

"See? That— that wasn't a romantic kiss… That was a 'will you leave me alone if I do this?' kiss," he mumbles.

Herrscher looks at Immortal, brows furrowing. "It was?"

"No!" Immortal huffs, placing both hands on to Dox's shoulders. "Listen to me for a sec?"

Dox's face looks ten shades of pain at that moment, eyes watery with the unshed tears, and Immortal feels like punching a wall right then. Maybe later.

"We," he says, slowly, to make his point even clearer, "love. you. Shit, Dox, I didn't think you were… Let me explain, it's not that we don't wanna touch you and kiss you, it's just— it's weird!"

"Weird?"

"You're a kid! I'm not gonna fuck a kid! I'm not gonna shove my tongue into a kid's mouth!" Immortal huffs, making a disgusted face, even holding out his tongue.

"I'm not a kid," Dox says, "I'm like five years older than you."

Immortal immediately looks offended, "You're not!" he cries, "You're like three and a half older at most. But still, you look like a kid and it just… feels weird, y'know."

"So you don't love me as much when I look like this?" Dox asks, trying to puzzle this whole thing out. He feels dumb, like he'd just been presented with a machine and told to reassemble it and he has no idea how.

"No! Where do you keep coming up with these dumb ideas! I swear, it's like you're not a genius at all," Immortal grumbles, rolling his eyes.

Herrscher has made himself comfortable on the bed by then, wrapping his arms around Dox from behind and pulling the boy against his chest.

Immortal continues, bouncing on his knees just the tiniest bit. "It's not more or less love, it's just kind of different love? Like, what I just said. I don't... wanna fuck you in this form, but it does make me wanna carry you around and hug you more, y'know?"

"Nuh-uh," Dox shakes his head, brows furrowed.

"See, like that! That just makes me wanna squeeze you. You're very squeezable in this form, by the way."

This finally gets a chuckle out of the time traveler. "Thanks."

Immortal's smile falls into a serious expression again. He brushes the curly strands from Dox's face, thumb rubbing soft, small lines into his cheek. "Dox. We love you. Really, we do. And by Ishmael if you need us to show you then we will, won't we, Herrsh?"

Herrscher makes a non-committal, but vaguely affirmative hum, throat vibrating against Dox's shoulder.

"So I can get a kiss if I switch forms?" Dox asks, swallowing. A ball of… — what, shame? self hate? insecurity? — had lodged itself deep in his stomach, weighing him down and making his gut twist painfully. It almost feels like he wants to puke. It's honestly surprising that his voice doesn't break more than it does. "A— a proper one?"

Immortal looks wrecked as the words leave Dox's dry lips, eyes shouting a vehement 'goddess, sorry!' He looks guilty. "As many as you want, Dox, I swear, I…"

Pink light floods the room and Immortal is a little glad for the timing, unsure where his ramble had been heading. Dox's tiny frame faded with the light, a bigger one left in its place, lithe limbs tucked uncomfortably between them and long strands of hair falling limbly in his face as he hangs his head. For whatever reason Immortal can't figure out, Dox is trying to make himself appear smaller, shoulders tensed and back bent.

He's shivering between them, just like a leaf.

Immortal's heart breaks at the sight; what did Dox think would happen now? That they would tell him they didn't want him in his true form either? What a joke.

Except he knows that's right, and the knowledge makes him want to cry. They'd really screwed up. Or, more accurately, he had. Because Herrscher used him as a guide, wasn't sure about feelings or human emotions or anything, so anything he did was right in the celestial's book. Sometimes that knowledge was off-putting.

He raised a shaky hand to Dox's cheek again, hooking a finger under his chin to gently tilt his head up. Dox's face is a mess and he refuses to look Immortal in the eyes.

Immortal rubs under his eye with a thumb, over the very prominent dark circles he wishes weren't there. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, watching Dox's eyebrows do a dance under his bangs, unsure what position to land in.

All he manages is a small nod.

Immortal leans in, only hesitating a split second mere hair breadths away from Dox, and presses his lips to Dox's in a soft, tender kiss. He can almost taste the whimper that leaves Dox's throat, dying somewhere on his tongue. The kiss itself tastes of salt, dried tears clinging to Dox's lips; Immortal wishes they hadn't been there in the first place.

Dox's arms come up to grip at his shirt, fingers trembling and knuckles turning white from the force with which he fists the fabric. He clutches at Immortal like he's a last lifeline before the doom of an endless sea.

Herrscher holds him close in turn, peppering kisses along the scar peeking from beneath his long hair. He can feel the way Dox's heart pounds like a hummingbird trying to escape a cage.

The scene feels a bit more than a little bizarre, but none of them mind at the moment. Dox sniffles and rests his head against Immortal's collarbone. He doesn't say anything, doesn't trust his voice not to betray him.

"Hey," Herrscher breaks the silence, squeezing Dox's torso the tiniest amount. "We love you, you know."

"I'm sorry," Dox mutters into Immortal's shirt. He trembles between them.

"Why're you sorry? It's okay, c'mon."

There's a beat of silence and then Dox shoves his face into his hands, Immortal's shirt and all. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Herrscher opens his mouth, brows drawn together in confusion, but Immortal shakes his head. "You're forgiven," he says softly, running a hand through Dox's hair, carding it through the silky locks. He doesn't know what Dox is apologizing for, but obviously it means a lot to him. "It's okay now, I promise."

Herrscher gently guides Dox's chin to the side so he can also kiss him. "Love you," he says, pressing his cheek to Dox’s.

Dox reaches to Immortal, tugging on his shirt a little as if to bring him closer, but it’s nowhere near strong enough to do that. It’s the first such thing he’d done all day. He looks at Immortal like a kicked puppy, cheeks red and puffy from all the crying. “Hold me?” he asks — begs — and something within Immortal breaks. “Please…?” Dox whispers, looking ready to cry again when Immortal doesn’t move for a second too long.

He makes up for it by flinging himself forward, encasing Dox in his arms, smushing Herrscher’s between himself and Dox. The time traveler hiccups a sob between them, but they just hold him closer, a messy and wet sandwich of misery and love.

Immortal’s mind races as Dox slowly calms down, slumped in their hold and ready to pass out at any second. He wants to make it up to him; Dox deserves at least that much. He hadn’t even realized his behavior would make him feel like this, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind with how much he adores his lover, but that doesn’t mean it hadn’t.

He can already tell Dox is not going to want to change from this form for a while at least. Usually, even unconsciously, he’d shift into the smaller form when going to bed, but right now he’s exactly as solidly big and lanky as ever. Immortal feels sick when the realization dawns on him that they might’ve tainted the form Dox had used to feel better in with bad emotions.

His head turns, eyes roving over the fluorescent and the blues and greens and blacks. And pink.

His brows furrow and he picks himself up, pushing his fringe out of his face as he takes a slow step towards the pink crack in what appears to be the air itself. He watches it with a confused expression, taking a step back when it cracks open more, revealing a pale face with even paler hair in a mess.

Magenta eyes look down at him from the crack, shadowed by a sea of black, and then blink. Something flashes in those eyes, something akin to recognition. Add gasps.

“Ain—”

“Mr. Ancient…?” Apostasia mutters, as if not believing his eyes. “How did you get here?”

Add’s confused expression morphs into a grin, a wide one, unlike any Ain had ever seen on him, tugging at his cheeks and showing off teeth that look a little too sharp. “You’re fine!”

“I— well, yes. You’ve— you haven’t forgotten me.” Ain’s tone is soft, eyes looking to the side, unable to look straight at the time traveler.

“There’s no way I could,” Add says, a little too fast, breathless, reaching out to grab a hold of Apos’ hand. On instinct, he yanks it back, but Add’s grip is tight and doesn’t let him. It’s the corrupted hand, but the boy doesn’t seem to care, just tightens his grip, squeezes his aching fingers. “You’re all Elsword talks about.”

Ain’s eyes go wide, something in him leaps at the words. “I am…? Elsword…”

“I figured out a way to time travel efficiently,” Add says, tugging at Ain’s wrist. Ain isn’t sure if he’s even aware of it; his eyes shine so bright and he looks genuinely happy to see him.

Maybe… Maybe it really would be for the better to abandon the mission. If he… If he finished it, what if there still was a chance of him disappearing? He wouldn’t want to never be able to see this smile — even though this is the first time Add had shown him an expression like this — and he wouldn’t want Elsword to be upset. Anything but that.

“Come home with me?”

Add’s words sound off, like he himself isn’t sure if they’re correct. Home…?

At one point, his home had been by his goddess’ side, surrounded by the radiant pillars and the overwhelming aura of Her being. Now, thinking about going back to it, when he knows he isn’t welcome there anymore, when he knows she had shunned him, makes his stomach churn and bile threaten to rush up his throat. That’s not home anymore.

And for Add, who always did his best to find a way to return to the past where he’d come from, to say ‘home’… He can’t mean the past.

When had ‘home’ stopped being a place, and instead became… people?

Ain clearly remembers the first smile he’d seen on Elsword’s face, when he’d argued with Aisha about some bandits, so, so long ago. Maybe that had been it. Or maybe it had been the first time Elsword had clung to him, breathing ragged and tears welling in his eyes, Conwell gripped close to himself between them as the Dark El traveled through him.

He’s not sure, but that had been one of the last times he’d seen the boy. No matter how much he prayed, the Goddess didn’t answer to any of his words, and eventually he’d ended up here, consulting the chaos itself. It was right, though.

“Let’s go home,” he says, squeezes Add’s hand back.

The time traveler’s eyes soften and he tugs again, and this time Apos’ whole body comes forward, only to be enveloped by those lanky, way-too-thin arms. Add’s head comes to rest on his chest and he squeezes Ain’s chest.

His hands shake.

“Come on.”

As suddenly as he’d hugged him, he lets go, turning around and stepping one leg through the pink portal. Ain can’t help but smile at the actions. Ain follows through the portal after him, leaving behind the vast nothingness of Henir’s space.

They emerge in the middle of Velder, and Ain isn’t even fully on the ground with both feet before he’s tackled to the ground, his back hitting the stone pavement painfully. He laughs as he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ain!”

Strong hands wrap themselves around him and he reaches up to pet the red hair pressing into the crook of his neck.

“I missed you,” Infi cries, the tears he’s hiding in the fabric of Apos’ top more than evident in his breaking voice.

“I missed you too,” Ain mumbles back, fisting his hands at the back of Elsword’s top, hiding his face in the boy’s sticking-out hair. “Sorry, I’m back now. I won’t leave you again.”

“You better not!” Elsword says, pulling away to finally look at him properly. “You hair is longer,” he remarks.

A smile worms its way onto Apos’ face. How is that the thing Infi decides to comment on? “Yours is too,” he replies, twirling a strand with one of his hands.

Looking past Elsword’s bright hair, he sees Add standing nearby, the pink dimensional portal closing next to him. His Dynamo looks different. Lifting a hand from Elsword’s back, he motions the boy closer.

Add looks around, then back at Ain as if asking ‘me?’ Apos nods and Add walks forward, leaning down, but Ain grips the hem of his jacket and pulls him down. With a yelp, the boy ends up sprawled on top of them, pulling a wheeze out of Elsword.

He savors the near-suffocating weight of the boys on top of him, looks up at the eye following him, blinking down as to acknowledge his stare. Like the void itself is telling him it’s alright. And hell, maybe it is.