#enoch

"Is this how you remember it?"

"Mm. That's his door?"

"Does it look familiar?"

Actually, Rune looked at it again, staring over his shoulder. "Yes."

Appearances were abstract and full of symbolism. The door appeared heavier, here, like something Hector could not fathom lifting in the world of consciousness. And still, without hesitation, the cambion knocked three times.

Enoch: It was dark for Enoch.

That familiar sensation of falling lurched through his stomach as he stared upward, those pinprick eyes watching him while he plunged endlessly through the void. The scream that should have torn from his throat was stolen before it could leave his lungs. Then those eyes began to change.

They unfurled into vast cosmic spirals, expanding outward until they filled everything around him. Galaxies bloomed and burst in silent explosions of color and light. One of those celestial eyes split open, revealing a gaping wound in the fabric of space itself and something emerged.

A tendril slithered free, woven from starlight and something far more alien. It moved with impossible grace, drifting toward him through the darkness. Before Enoch could recoil, it coiled around his ankle. It started pulling him in despite his struggles.

The scholar jerked awake. His heart hammered against his ribs as he looked around wildly, the endless void gone. Instead, he found himself sprawled across the couch before the crackling fireplace in his library. Warm amber light danced across the towering bookshelves. He immediately glanced down at his ankle. Trousers and leather boots remained untouched.

Taking a slow breath, he pushed himself upright and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothing. The lingering unease had barely begun to settle when a knock echoed through the room and his attention snapped to the door. He could not explain why the sound filled him with such trepidation. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the brass knob and for a moment he hesitated, then turned it and pulled the door open.

What greeted Hector was the scholar himself, dressed in a crisp white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a deep royal-purple vest fitted over it, and dark blue trousers.

Enoch: For the briefest moment, however, a shadow stood just behind Enoch's left shoulder, shaped almost like a second version of the scholar. Its features were indistinct, blurred as though seen through warped glass. Two pale points gleamed where eyes should have been and then it was gone as Enoch opened the door a little wider.

“Well, hello again.”

He lingered there a second too long, caught by the strange sensation of greeting someone within his own dream. The peculiarity of it threatened to distract him until manners won out.

“Please,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Rune-Hector: The two might have been a representation for night and day. Hector smiled warmly in greeting, standing before him in a perfectly fitting linen suit. The tan fabric complemented the warmth of his skin. Fine leather suspenders peeked from beneath his coat as a pleasant, chill breeze danced between them.

Rune raised his chin in greeting, then ducked his chin, as if embarrassed by some realization. He felt both overdressed and intruding. And yet, his clothes didn’t seem to fit. Not the way Hector and Enoch dressed. The waistline was too low, too near his hips. Hector assumed the style to be something Italian.

“Hope we didn’t keep you waiting. Time can move so differently… here.” Had that been – no. It was nothing. And still, Hector’s brow remained wrinkled as he stepped through the threshold. With his back to the pair, he would be none the wiser as Rune stole a kiss. Just a brief bit of affection to Enoch’s cheek as he too stepped forth.

“Is this really…?” Rune smiled privately at his companion.

Enoch: “No, you're absolutely fine. I don't think I was waiting very long.” He agreed with the sentiment, though time felt strange here. It seemed to stretch and compress all at once, leaving him with no real sense of how long he had been dreaming before jolting awake.

The Euthanatos was greeted with a small smile. Enoch's hand settled at Rune's side, giving it a gentle squeeze in return.

“The flat?” he finished for the mage, glancing over his shoulder as his smile widened. “Does it truly surprise you?”

As Hector had guessed, however, the demesne was not wholly complete. It was an amalgamation of his flat and a home he had yet to possess. Once, it had taken the form of a library which had been a strange fusion of the library from his grandfather's house, where he had spent countless hours as a child, and the one at the university. But over time that shape had begun to feel wrong, as though it no longer fit.

Now it resembled something that brought him peace.

There the mage would find the familiar elements of Enoch’s flat: the hearth crackling with warmth, the modest kitchen, the well-worn chaise. Yet the space extended beyond what should have been possible. A staircase climbed to a second floor that did not exist in reality, while a hallway stretched farther than the dimensions of the building allowed, suggesting rooms that had never been built. The flat had become an outline of what seemed to be a future home the scholar dreamed of.

His little corner library had even grown as well. What had once been a single bookshelf now occupied an entire wall, with a second and third shelf standing beside it, filled with volumes he imagined owning if only he had the space. Framed photographs rested among them, one of his grandfather, another of his parents, and the calico familiar he had met earlier that spring.

Enoch: This version of the home had larger windows that should have overlooked London. Instead, beyond the glass stretched an endless sea of stars and swirling galaxies. Nebulae drifted lazily through the darkness, and distant constellations shimmered against the void. The cosmos pressed against the panes as though the house itself floated somewhere between worlds.

“Welcome to...” Enoch hesitated, blue eyes wandering over the space.

“Well, I don't quite know what to call it, exactly.”

Rune-Hector: His expectation had leaned toward an old and terrible house. That malnourishing place what had been his childhood. What might have once been regarded as safe. Given what they had learned… Rune looked around with fresh eyes and understanding. The place of many lessons, many soul-binding, soul-yearning conversations. His heart skipped a beat, even here.

“Do you wish for me to answer honestly?” His fingers pressed softly to Enoch’s lower back. How he wanted to pull him closer. The urge to smother him in affection swelled to the point of holding his breath to subdue it.

“What exactly is happening here?” The mage pointed to the mindless stairs.

“I’ve seen this before.” Up to this point, his silence had been intentional. The pair had huddled close, requiring a moment to themselves, but his realization made him giddy. “There was a man, last year. I didn’t understand a word he spoke. Stairs going everywhere all at once into doorways leading to more stairs, upside down and sideways. Now that I recall… he spoke like you,” he said, looking pointedly at Rune.

“Like me?”

“Gibberish.”

An arm came around the cambion’s shoulders, his cheek viciously pinched. “Nee, nee. You haven’t been part of the crew long enough. Gedraag je.”

Hector barely squirmed. “Thank you for having us. Did you want to name your demesne?”

Enoch: Enoch glanced toward the Euthanatos, knowing he would have liked to hear whatever thoughts were forming behind that look. With present company, however, it was probably best saved for later, assuming they would remember once they woke.

For a moment, the scholar found himself caught in that familiar spell, quietly admiring his companion as he took in the demesne. The gentle slope of his nose, his lips…His gaze followed where Rune pointed toward the mindless staircase. He was on the verge of offering an explanation but he’d let Hector take hold of the conversation instead. It made more sense anyway.

The tease earned a small smile, and he bit lightly at the inside of his cheek.

“Ah, is that what I can call it? I’m learning gibberish?”

He looked between Rune and Hector, amused by their antics.

“I’m not entirely sure," he started. “Do you have a name for yours?”

Rune-Hector: "Don't you start, too."

"People call him Dutch, and his language gibberish. Have since the day I arrived."

But this wasn't about them. Rune relased both of them, reluctant to one, and set about to explore the library, curious if he would find familiar titles, or if they would be titled at all.

"No," Hector confessed. "Mine is just... I don't have one. I'd like to think it would be my childhood home. More like... the courtyard, and the music room. I don't play any music, but, the room was special to me. It was where my family lingered most often. Is this your home here in London?"

Enoch: “What? I can say it every now and then... as a reminder.”

Enoch let his hand fall back to his side as Rune wandered off to explore the expanded library. There, the mage would find many familiar titles; copies of books that existed in their waking lives and lined the shelves of Enoch's flat. Others were unfamiliar, likely volumes the scholar had long intended to acquire but had never found the time or money to purchase. Then there were the stranger books. Some bore no title at all.

Yet if any of them were pulled from the shelf and examined more closely, a curious pattern emerged. Upon opening them, every single volume revealed nothing but blank pages. Not a line of text. Empty from cover to cover.

Meanwhile, Enoch's attention shifted back to the cambion. Hector's description of what he thought his own demesne would be like caught him by surprise. It sounded as though he had given the matter considerable thought.

“Yes, mostly,” Enoch replied. “Though a bit... expanded.” His gaze swept across the room, “I appreciate my flat, but I admit it could do with a little more space.”

Rune-Hector: Rune pulled the first book with a familiar title and thumbed through the pages, curious if Enoch's memory warehouse stored what even his conscious mind could not readily recite. It was, after all, one of the best features of a demesne.

But from page one to 273, there was nothing. He closed the book, opened again. Nothing.

"Your flat," Hector echoed. "Oh, departamentos. Right. I'm not sure what I expected. Books, yes, but I thought you lived in something large, with a thousand paintings on the walls reaching to the sky."

"You should see his house in Bath. It's exactly what you're picturing."

"Why do you look offended by that book?"

"Enoch, come here."

Enoch: "If I'm honest, that's not quite my taste," he looked over his shoulder toward Rune before looking back to Hector, giving a small nod. "Yes, my grandfather..." But the words trailed off as his attention was drawn back to the Euthanatos.

Enoch had been called by his full name before, but there was something different about the way Rune said it this time. Absurdly, he found himself thinking he was somehow in trouble.

“Yes?”

 Crossing the room, he came to stand beside the mage. His gaze briefly settled on the photographs before following Rune’s to whatever had captured his concern.

“Oh...”

Rune-Hector: The book was handed over. Looking over the shelves, Frankenstein was found and gathered, along with a novel he recognized by the title but had never read. Hector said nothing as he joined them, watching as the mage opened each book, propping them on the shelves to reveal the middle page of each.

"But I can read mine," Rune said under his breath. "Is this normal, or is that normal?"

"I've seen the Bible in one," Hector said, softly. "Words in golden cursive, written in Latin. But, this might be the same as the stairs."

Enoch: Enoch looked down at the book in his hands. It was his copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth. He knew the story well... or at least he thought he did. Perhaps not in such detail as to recall every page, but well enough.

His gaze followed Rune as the mage pulled volume after volume from the shelves, each one revealing the same thing: empty pages. A faint frown settled on Enoch's features.

He reached for his collection of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories instead. Those, too, were favorites of his, books he had read enough times to nearly recite from memory. It didn't help that he prided himself on his eidetic memory.

Carefully, he opened the cover, only to find them blank, too. His frown deepened as he turned the book over in his hands, as though inspecting it from another angle might somehow reveal what was missing.

“What does it mean?"

Rune-Hector: Hector was tempted to pull a book as well, but kept his hands to himself. Rune was already doing enough. He realized he was more concerned for what this discovery was going to do to Enoch than the empty pages.

"How long have you been here? Your demesne, do you remember when you created it?"

Enoch: Enoch looked down at the volume in his hands with disappointment, trying to understand why he could not recall the words of stories he had loved for so long.

At first, he started to shake his head before catching himself.

“I suppose it was after my Awakening,” he said slowly. “But it looked very different then. This...” His eyes wandered around the room. “This is newer.”

Was that why it felt unfinished?

Why certain details seemed to be missing?

The thought left a small crease between his brows.

Rune-Hector: Hector worried his lip a moment, then nodded.

"What is this book you're holding? Is it your favorite? The spines have titles, so you can write something. Let's start with something simple. Write your name on the pastedown."

Opened to the first page, his hand overed over the endpaper, covering it.

"Like this. Imagine your name beneath your palm, the shape of it, the color, the curves. Or, if you prefer, write it with your finger."

Enoch: Enoch had noticed that Hector had not answered his previous question. Whether it was out of concern for the scholar or for some other reason, he could not say. The cambion's body language was hardly reassuring, and that worried the scholar. But he persisted nonetheless as he followed the instructions.

At first, he pressed his palm against the page. It felt awkward, however, and writing his name seemed more natural, so he lifted a finger and carefully traced the letters across the paper instead.

Nothing happened.

He frowned.

Drawing in a slow breath, he tried again, this time concentrating harder. His finger glided across the blank page, but once more there was no ink and no sign that he had written anything at all.

"I don't understand..."

Rune-Hector: There should have been something. Even an indention in the paper, like a dry fountain pen digging ghost letters. The apprehension of their host felt palpable, and he realized, was making an impression on him. On Rune, he couldn't say. The mage had gone quiet, staring intently at the page, hands tight on his hips.

"You said this is newer. You've been doing renovations. Were these conscious decisions?"

Hector looked to one of the walls, the trim was different, as was the color.

"This, did you stare and will its shape before your eyes, or did you imagine it over your morning coffee and afternoon tea, and find it here when you went to sleep? Both are possible."

Enoch: “I think it started changing after our visit to Bath.”

The place had left quite an impression on the scholar. He must have daydreamed this version of his demesne into existence while grading papers or slowly losing interest during a faculty meeting.

“It was the latter,” he offered, closing the book and tucking it beneath one arm. Yet he did not sound entirely convinced by his own explanation.

“Why?”

How could he have overlooked something as obvious as empty books?

He was now looking at the rest of the home, searching for other inconsistencies he might have missed.

For the first time since arriving, the demesne felt unfamiliar. As though he were seeing it through someone else's eyes.

Rune-Hector: "Because it would explain why you're struggling now. You are new to all of this, and yet you have created so much. Not only that, you've broken walls and reimagined your haven when most only seek to expand or decorate. Not to mention -"

"- you're anxious," Rune finished.

"Yes," Hector nodded. "But, these books are curious."

Rune closed the books he had opened, taking his time slipping them back into place.

"This is your memory warehouse. Everyone has books. Or photographs. Every part of their history viewable in some way. You've opened these books before?"

Enoch: The way the two of them were looking at him made Enoch feel as though he ought to be concerned as well.

“You should know better than most that that's my constant state of being,” he said to the Euthantos.

But levity aside, Hector had a point. He hadn't even known he was capable of remaking his demesne until the day he had woken to find himself in a version of his flat instead of the library. The discovery had surprised him enough that he had spent quite some time wandering through it.

“When it first changed, I was surprised to even be here,” he admitted. “So I explored. I wanted to see how closely it matched reality. The books seemed normal, at least the ones I opened. Not…” He gestured vaguely toward the blank volumes. “Not like this.” But that could be explained probably by his anxiety.

Rune-Hector: "I know," said Rune, voice as quiet as every night sitting together on the lounge. "In the time I've known you, you've proven again and again that you will not allow your anxiety to govern you." Which was why he found himself doubting the cambion's logic, despite it being the most probable cause.

Hector considered the photographs. Those were in fine condition. Lovingly crafted, one might say.

"I have some exercises for you, in the morning. Not meditation, but adjacent."

"He doesn't do well with meditation."

"I said adjacent," Hector smiled.

Enoch: Enoch looked momentarily surprised by the sudden kindness. He offered the mage a gentle look in return, one touched with gratitude.

“It’s true,” he admitted, smiling faintly at the cambion. “I find it very difficult to sit still unless I’m actively working through a research problem.”

His attention drifted back to the room and restlessness soon had him wandering toward his desk, fingers brushing over its surface before his gaze shifted to the window beside it. Beyond the glass, the stars swirled in their endless dance. Was this not normal then?

“What sort of exercise did you have in mind?”

Rune-Hector: "No, you don't wish to wait until morning?"

"Eager, stubborn, insatiable, impatient; haven't I used all of these adjectives before?" Rune leaned away, anticipating a swat.

"Hm. Well, we begin as if this were merely a dream. It breathes the same air, after all. I advise you begin a dream journal. Even when you are here. Write down every last detail as soon as you wake. Keep it beside your nightstand. If the only thing you can recall is a feeling, then write that.

"Next, to focus your intentions," Hector gestured to their surrounding area, to the books on the shelves, "you will look at your hand. Yes, your hand. Memorize the lines, scars, everything. You will do the same in your dreams. You will force your reality down to the last details in your demesne. Next, you will write something on your hand. Your next intention, and you will carry it with you here. Every night you will do this until you have mastered bringing your palm notes. Once you're able to do this, you will better master bringing intentions without writing them. These books will refill. Your house better realized. If you still struggle, you will set an alarm to wake you every 5 hours, sitting with your thoughts of this place and what you've seen for as long as you can hold it, and return."

Enoch: Rune was wise to step back, for the swat that followed was accompanied by a book. Not that Enoch put any real force behind it, he had no intention of harming his beloved, but the look he gave him was pointed all the same.

“Is that what you've been writing about me in your letters?” the scholar accused, fighting the corners of his mouth as they threatened to curl upward.

Despite the distraction, his attention soon returned to the cambion as Hector explained the exercise.

“You may have to remind me of this once I wake,” Enoch admitted with an apologetic smile. He understood the purpose behind it well enough. His first concern, however, was for the Euthanatos. The prospect of disrupting Rune's sleep while he sorted out his demesne sat poorly with him. Perhaps it would be kinder that he stays at his own flat until things under control.

“I shall do as the good doctor prescribes,” he agreed with a small nod.

At last, he gestured toward the window and the endless cosmos beyond it.

“Is that what this is meant to represent, then?” he asked. “My anxious mind?”

Rune-Hector: Rune's shoulders rose and fell, scratching at his chin as a means of distraction, a mask as he looked elsewhere. He wondered if the bedroom was here as well, and how silly but on the nose that would be. A bed in a dream world. And could you sleep in your dreams? Was that true unconsciousness?

"I know. There will be more. If you like, I will write everything down in the morning. I'll make sure Rune gets it before we depart."

Hector stared at the old mage a moment. His mouth opened. Closed.

"Yes, it is. Like a dreamless sleep. But to answer you, Enoch, I'm..." The cambion blinked, walked to the window, feeling at the frame. "Have you ever stuck your hand out?"

Enoch: That look of feigned obliviousness tickled the scholar, and he had to fight the smile threatening to betray him. He couldn't be flirting with his beau when he was actively being assigned homework. And should the Euthanatos choose to explore further, he would indeed find a replica of the bedroom. Everything was in its place, including a framed photograph of the mage resting on the nightstand.

Enoch stood a little straighter, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the stars beyond the window next to Hector.

“I have not.”

The admission prompted him to step closer. Reaching for the latch, he undid it and pushed the window open. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring into the endless void beyond. Something in his gut twisted, and it felt like a strange pull urging him to lean forward. Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against the sea of stars.

The cosmos rippled at his touch and slowly, he turned his wrist, watching the starlight shimmer and coil around his fingers. The glow crawled up his hand, over his wrist and suddenly it yanked him forward...

“Stay still. You're only going to make this worse for yourself.” The accented French voice echoed through the space as the stars vanished. A younger Enoch struggled against the wooden vice clamped around his left arm.

“No. No...”

The boy could not have been older than fifteen. His frantic gaze darted between his trapped arm and the man tightening the restraints around it.

“I promise, please—please don't.” His voice cracked, thick with tears. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry for whatever I've done. Please, papa...”

“Stop sniveling. Haven't I raised you better than this?” A strong hand landed on his shoulder, forcing the teenager back into the hard wooden chair beneath him.

“And you're sure he has to be awake?” a woman asked from his right. “What if someone hears him?”

“It has to be this way,” Doc answered. “But find something to muffle him if you must.”

“Make sure it's a clean break if you want it to heal properly,” came Dr. Blackwell's voice from somewhere behind them.

The taste of a wadded-up rag filled the boy’s mouth. "Just bite down on it dear, it'll be over soon."

Foreign words washed over them as the room began to chant. Dark blooded runic symbols had been drawn on his arm, and they seemed to writhe on his skin, pulsing with each foreign syllable spoken around him. Panic clawed at his chest and he tried to pull free again, but both the restraints and his grandfather held firm. The chants grew louder and more cacophonous with each verse until they reached a maddening crescendo.

Then came the sickening crack.

A muffled scream tore through the memory as agony exploded through both the boy's arm and Enoch's as he recoiled from the window and fell backwards, the memory in the void disappearing with it.

Rune-Hector: Rune nodded, caught pleasantly by surprise. To learn anything new at his age was far from a regular occurrence. Having expected Hector to charm the mage with more specificities of lucid dreams and sleep patterns, his attention turned elsewhere. It was only a moment. A stretch of his neck and a shuffle of a few measly meters, curious to find the bedroom they shared, to find their closet, or shoes scattered on the ground, just as they were back home, when he heard the metal of the latch squeak, and felt in his own stomach the same anxiety of his companion.

“Enoch!” A name said in unison. Hector’s arm had wrapped around his waist by the time Rune returned. Willing to hang himself out of the window himself, Rune reached for Enoch’s arm, holding desperately to his chest. Windows had dangerous potential. Why hadn’t Hector said? Why had he allowed him – no, why had he strayed from his side? The blame lay with him, the eldest.

But it was not Enoch’s voice, filled with panic and adrenaline, which reached his ears. Their grasp firm, the pair stared out the window at a scene almost too perfect to be a memory. Too heinous to be real, and yet… neither of them could deny the cruelty of man.

The very names of contention, their faces shed of years, their hearts still odious and beating. Hector felt a sulfurous disdain fill his stomach and lungs at the sound of an innocent child’s scream, the breaking of sinless naivete.

And the trio fell backward, cushioning Enoch in the fall. Hector cradled the offended arm with a churning in his stomach.

“Are you alright?”

Rune was on his feet, palms to the window. Whispering prayers in Dutch, his fingers reshaped, traced the frame of the window, and poured his intent beyond its imagined glass as he shut and locked it.

Enoch: Whatever haze had befallen the blond was shattered by a sudden explosion of pain.

What Hector found himself cradling was a ruined arm. The fracture was grotesque, the bones having ripped clean through the skin and splitting open the old white scar Enoch had attributed to his own doing. Blood poured freely from the wound, soaking his white shirt, staining his trousers, and dripping onto the floor below.

He could only clutch at the mangled limb, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as his vision swam and his temples pounded. The pain was so immense that he could scarcely comprehend what was happening around him.

Beyond the window, the tranquil cosmos had become a storm. The endless sea of stars had given way to a crimson tempest, as though the void itself had taken offense to the interruption and its windows being closed.

With a deafening crack, the windowpanes burst open once more, wrenching themselves free despite Rune's efforts to keep them shut. The spell sealing them failed beneath the force as violent winds roared into the flat, sending loose papers, books, and every unsecured object spiraling into a chaotic whirlwind.

Behind the churning red clouds, lightning split the heavens, and in that flash, a human-looking figure emerged. It bore the scholar’s likeness almost perfectly: the same height, build, down to the same white shirt, vest, and dark trousers Enoch wore now. But where eyes should have been, there was only endless black. Worse still were the countless other eyes scattered across its neck and winding down both forearms, each one fixed unblinkingly upon the shattered window and the trio inside.

It spoke, but its lips never moved.

Instead, its voice existed everywhere at once, bypassing the ears entirely. The sound drove itself straight into Enoch’s mind like a spike, sending fresh agony tearing through his skull. He couldn’t understand it, but as it began to walk forward, an instinct older than reason seized him.

Fear.

Pure, overwhelming fear.

Rune-Hector: The Euthanatos stood between the men and the Unknown. Faith was as reliable as seven on his dice. It was faith that had been his first punch of reality. The humbling truth that there were worst beasts than the man he called father. Things that preyed upon children in quiet, devout villages. Things with fangs, and apathy, and empty eyes. That very faith should have welded the window shut.

Rune retreated a step, remaining both barrier and shield. What filled the space sank his heart into his stomach. A bastardization of the man at his back. After so many nights turning page after page of Enoch’s sketchbook, he didn’t have to question the eerily familiar shape. His actions didn’t register as conscious decisions. The foreign language was challenged and answered with Celestial tongue. Louder, stronger than his prayers to the Unknown void. A direct response to what both mage and cambion knew, as certain as a white squall on the horizon, was neither an avatar, nor a figment of Enoch’s suppressed memories.

“This isn’t real.” Hector placed a firm grip on Enoch’s shoulders, squeezed. “This is your spirit, our spirits. We’re going to wake up in five, four…”

Rune took another step back, another, until he felt the back of his legs collide with Hector’s arm. He could put his faith in him, too. Their eyes would open simultaneously at the count of one. Until that final push, he wouldn’t dare look away. In fact, he didn’t know that he could if he wanted to.

With his first breath in the waking world, Hector rolled onto his side. He reached for Enoch’s face, only to find Rune’s hand already there, forehead pressed to the young mage’s temple, spilling prayer after prayer over his being, for his safety, for his return, for his own clarity.

"Look at me. Look at me, En."

Enoch: It was Hector's hands on his shoulders that finally pulled the scholar's attention away from Rune and the avatar as it continued its advance toward them. Enoch forced himself to look at the cambion and focus on his voice rather than the figure closing the distance. None of this was real. It was only a dream. They could leave it. They only had to wake.

Yet something deep in his gut insisted otherwise. It whispered that something terrible would happen if Raine reached them. Still, he nodded and gripped Hector's forearm. He swallowed thickly around the fear lodged in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut.

This isn't real.

This isn't real.

As Hector began the countdown, Enoch clung to the words like a lifeline. The arm beneath his hand vanished first, then Rune's closeness, and for one dreadful instant, he was alone with…with that thing. He could feel the avatar's presence just inches from his face, staring at him.

I am real.

Then it was gone, and the world lurched.

Enoch’s heart hammered violently against his ribs, but he did not dare open his eyes. But the mutterings of Dutch and the cool pressure of Rune’s hand were enough to convince him they had escaped the dreaming. He thought he might be sick.

Swallowing hard against the nausea, his right hand reached up to clasp Rune's wrist, unwilling to risk moving his left arm until he knew what had become of it. For several long moments, all he could do was breathe. A small, terrified part of him still wondered whether he had merely awakened into another dream and whether this, too, was one more deception crafted by his avatar.

“Are you...” he began, the word real dying before it reached his lips, instead he whispered, “Are you alright? Are you both alright?”

Enoch: “No crab. Got it,” the blond agreed with a chuckle at the face Hector made. It made him wonder, not for the first time this evening, if these were the mannerisms he would expect in a younger brother.

Seeing the two bags Rune hauled, Enoch did not bother asking if he could help. He simply reached out and took one automatically, determined to even the load. And if it resulted in a brief, silent tug-of-war between them, the scholar’s thoughts would stubbornly insist he was perfectly capable of carrying a bag despite whatever objections the mage might have.

Once they were off the dock and beyond the threshold of the ship, Enoch's gaze immediately swept their surroundings. Just to ensure no passerby or dockworker had witnessed them emerging from what appeared to be thin air. Satisfied for now, he adjusted his grip on the bag and glanced toward Rune.

“Would you like to drop these off at the flat?”

Rune: And tug-of-war they did. You're already holding things, his thoughts insisted, but relinquished his hold after one final, stubborn pull.

Rune's eyes remained ahead, walking with a healthy pace just shy of leisure.

"The pub," he decided. "It's closer. It'll never be more protected than it is tonight. I can better decide what comes home."

Home. He didn't blush saying it anymore, but his heart still skipped a beat in public.

"Do you really want to come back? I can return in the morning, if you don't. Say you... came ill, or something," he smirked.

Enoch: His satchel did not count, and Enoch would argue that point in this little back and forth. The worn leather bag he carried to the university was practically an extension of himself at this point. Victorious, he held the bag in both arms. It also afforded him the opportunity to feel through the cloth its contents, curiosity getting the better of him as he tried to guess what might be inside.

His gaze lifted to Rune. His suggestion was in a way gauging the mage’s thoughts, but the follow-up left the scholar's face warming. How dare he. Home, he had called it... and he loved the sound of it.

For a moment the poor scholar was so distracted by it that he nearly lost track of the conversation entirely.

“That would be terribly rude, lying to your friend.”

Though if he were being honest, there was a reason for his hesitation. The thought of sleeping in the same bed as Hector while he rooted around inside his demesne was unsettling. What if he found something? What if there truly was something wrong with him?

“No, I’ll follow through,” Enoch said, giving a small shake of his head. “Hector seemed quite adamant about helping me. Plus, he’s very charming and kind.”

Rune: The old man watched the young scholar nosy about his business, tickled by his quiet antics. Surely, he knew he was being watched. They were shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I have a crown in this one," he confessed. "Won it from my mentor. Supplies in the other. A few relics. Another of my kimonos. Some shoes. You'll see it all, eventually." But not tonight.

"You didn't say which you'd prefer. If I'm to sleep beside you or watch over you. I know the man well enough, he has more integrity than a nun. But all of that charm... did you... feel anything? Anything... you wish to talk about?"

Enoch: If Enoch was aware he was being watched, he did an admirable job of ignoring the mage while gently probing through the bag with an investigative squeeze. His little act of amateur detective work came to an abrupt halt, however, when Rune appeased his curiosity and revealed what he had brought.

“Are these... all your belongings?”

The scholar was not naïve enough to believe the mage would bring everything he owned into London unless he intended to stay for some time.

And, well...

He held the bag a little closer to his chest.

“Beside, if you don’t mind.”

That final question gave him pause, and after a moment he countered with one of his own.

“Do you grow immune to it after a while? I mean, we’ve already established that I’m particularly susceptible to magical effects.” Clarissa’s spell and Mary’s tea immediately came to mind.

“But yes, to answer your question,” he continued. “It became worse when you joined.”

His face warmed noticeably, and he looked away from the mage rather than meeting his eyes.

“I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone on that damned boat is both magical and pretty.”

Rune: He didn't have to answer that. The look he gave said more than words. Enoch knew well enough, given how tightly he now clasped his possessions.

The man showed his love in such new and unique ways. Just when he thought he had this man figured out, another punch to his heart.

The mention of his inclusion caused a slower pace, but for a beat, returning to form as he cleared nothing from his throat. There would be no meeting of eyes from either one.

"I don't believe you just called Alma Moses pretty. Unless I've had your taste in men all wrong from the beginning. There's someone for everyone, I suppose."

Enoch: One brow rose as Rune's pace slowed, causing them to fall out of step. More notably, Enoch's question had been thoroughly ignored. The audacity of this man. His shoulder bumped lightly into the mage in retaliation once he caught up. Rude.

He was not prepared to let the matter go just yet, but Rune had conveniently opened the door to an equally entertaining line of questioning.

“And what, pray tell, is my taste?” he asked, amusement coloring his voice.

The scholar glanced sidelong at his companion, blue eyes bright with mischief behind his glasses.

Rune: Did Enoch want to play this game? The man of his heart had a poker face.

"Oh, swarthy foreigners with accents. Bright eyes. Mm, bright ones. Like emeralds on sandy shores. Someone to hide their smile behind fingers. Book smart. A real Don Juan."

The mage nudged back.

"You don't become immune. You grow stronger. Imogene is my age. Moses is a phoenix reaching his golden years. Hector feels good, but he can't influence me."

Enoch: He was fishing for a reaction, and Rune delivered beautifully.

“Mm, mm, maybe...but it almost sounds as though you're describing yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curled upward as he swayed slightly from the nudge.

“You're saying age equates to strength and immunity?” Enoch asked, glancing at his mage. “Then by those metrics, I am in considerable danger.”

Rune: Himself? The stoicism was already broken, making a face at his beloved.

"Since when do I - I'm a bookworm?"

... Since when was the bait reversed? He couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Considerable danger of a 25-year-old? I think not."

Enoch: And that look right there made it entirely worth it. The blond laughed.

“Yes! You're well-read, and one doesn't earn that distinction without actually reading a few books.”

Enoch was still chuckling when the next revelation caught him completely off guard.

“Wait, I'm actually older than him?”

His brows shot up in surprise. So far, every magikin he had met had been at least twice his age. Current company included.

Rune: He supposed he couldn't argue with that, but, a bookworm was someone to know more than a handful of books. If he stopped to think about it, he could count his collection on both hands.

"Did you think all beings with a shred of magic were your elders?"

Enoch: Which reminded him, he still needed to make Rune continue reading to him in English.

Though certainly not tonight.

“Out of everyone I've met with any sort of magical ability, they've all been older than me,” Enoch pointed out. “You can't fault me for entertaining the possibility.”

Rune: "I've told you I was a child with - you're ridiculous. I need to find you more children your age."

He was just going to... jog ahead.

Enoch: “I resent that.”

The protest lacked any real conviction, his grin only broadening as he watched Rune jog ahead of him.

It was, admittedly, another angle from which to admire the mage as he carried his belongings.

Rune: The pub was bustling, more lively with raised voices, shuffling chairs and clinked glasses than usual. Men and women of various ages, ethnicities, and clothes; what they all had in common were scars, and recognition of the man walking in. Both Suda and Rune were shouted as greetings. A hirsute man roughly Enoch's age grabbed the Euthanatos in a bear-like embrace, lifting him from the ground, bag and all.

The same song, sung here as it had been on the ship, "I'm not back," followed by a resounding, "Fuck off!"

The bag Enoch carried was taken with a sigh. Far from exasperation, the mage was as awake as a cup of black coffee.

"I'll just be a moment."

Enoch: Enoch wasn't sure he had ever seen the pub this busy.

It was loud and full of life, packed with strange faces and louder voices calling out his beloved's name from every corner of the room.

The scholar stood off to the side, blue eyes dancing from one sailor to the next.

There was something wonderfully novel about seeing Rune in his element. Enoch found himself thoroughly entertained by the jovial crowd and the warmth with which they greeted the mage.

When Rune finally made his way back over and reached for the bags, Enoch glanced toward the staircase over his shoulder.

“I can drop these off if you'd like to catch up with everyone,” he offered, relinquishing the bag. “It seems they've missed you.”

Rune: This sweet man with his darling perspective. He didn't want to dispel the illusion, and yet -

"This isn't - no. Won't be long."

At no point was Enoch left unsupervised. A pair of eyes from someone in the crowd glanced up, inspected, and then another pair at the former looked away. Again and again.

The hirsute man smiled at him with too many teeth for his mouth. Two women came from behind the salon curtain. Two more slipped behind it.

And as his word, Rune came down the stairs with purpose in his gait.

"Ready?"

Enoch: “What do you mean?”

Enoch seemed mildly perplexed, but complied as he waited as instructed. Had he misunderstood something? If he had, he wasn't entirely sure what it was, and the question occupied his thoughts while he stood there.

With his arms now free of Rune's belongings, his hands slipped into his pockets as his attention wandered across the tavern. The scholar let his gaze sweep the room, initially oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. At least until the man smiled at him.

Enoch returned the smile politely and offered a small nod of acknowledgment before lowering his gaze again, having noticed it wasn’t only the man looking at him.

“Mm, a quick stop to pick up some clothes to change into and then dinner?” he asked quietly once Rune rejoined him.

His eyes flickered briefly over the mage's shoulder toward the eyes that remained on him.

“I can't help but think your shipmates are starting to form an opinion about me.”

Rune: Despite all of those eyes, no one had dared approach. For whatever reason, the blond existed in a warded bubble of protection. At least tonight, no one was going to offer their hand and their name.

Dark eyes swept the room. "Mm. That's what happens when people are left to their own assumptions." Fingers pressed to Enoch's lower back, turning him towards the door and away from all of the familiar faces. Friendly, neutral, or hostile made no difference. The young mage could only handle so much in a single night.

"I've taken a leave of absence before, if you recall. They feel it's within their right to tease me."

Enoch: He was glad that there were no further introductions, though part of him had braced for the possibility.

Enoch followed the gentle pressure of those fingers, turning toward the door and stepping back out into the city.

“Oh, is that why they...” He let out a soft chuckle as the realization settled in. “No wonder they were staring.”

A smirk briefly tugged at the corner of his mouth as he cast Rune a sidelong glance.

“I’m the reason they won’t be getting their luck back, if I’m so bold as to assume.

“Do you know how much time you'll have with them?”

Rune: Their luck. That was one perspective, and it being Enoch's, he would rather favor it. At least through his eyes, it had nothing to do with Aoi. Not everyone aboard the ship had known of her. Only those with his confidence, and that was only a handful. They might have known something had gone amiss, but the point remained the same: he had abandoned them and returned.

"Could be days or a month. Depends on the mood of everyone aboard. When the majority are restless, or an untouched plot of land discovered, some creature to discover, it might be years until their return."

Enoch: Enoch briefly stepped ahead of Rune as another couple approached along the sidewalk, moving aside to give them room before falling back into step beside his companion. He glanced over at the mage.

“Years?”

His eyes lingered on Rune for a moment before turning forward again.

He already knew the answer. He had helped carry the man's belongings, after all. Yet the thought continued to bounce around in his head, growing louder the longer he sat with it until he could no longer keep himself from asking.

“And you're sure? Absolutely certain you don't wish to go back with them?”

He drew a breath as his hand rose to the back of his neck, scratching at an itch that wasn't really there.

“I don't want you to resent me for it.” His gaze dropped briefly to the pavement beneath their feet. “Not that I think anything ill will come of...” us.

“What I'm trying to say is...”

His eyes found Rune again, hopeless for this man. For a moment, it looked as though he might continue but instead he closed his mouth. The scholar was finally learning that not every thought needed to be said.

Rune: Having known this man for what was coming up on a year, he could see the wheels turning behind the unspoken. Did he have to answer that, when Enoch already knew what he was going to say? The bags had already been left in his room.

"You're saying whole pages of nothing to me," Rune retreated to German. "We've come this far, only for you to doubt me now? It's too late for that. You'll just have to come to terms with the knowledge that I'm not leaving. I'm going to see wrinkles on your face before you master a single spell," he smirked.

Enoch: The words that followed had the young professor looking away as warmth spread across his cheeks. His hand rose to adjust his glasses, biting his inner cheek at the thought of growing older alongside his mage. The fact that Rune had even entertained the idea, well… it made his heart stumble.

“Mm, give me some credit,” he protested. “I've managed to cast a few spells. A handful were even a success.”

Rune: Another of those moments, things they had said before repeated for peace of mind. Tonight, Enoch needed that peace. A coin toss for who would need reassuring words tomorrow. Two men trying to wrap each other's wounds at the same time.

"Oh? Show me your favorite spell," he gestured with both hands. The world was theirs, the street relatively quiet for this time of night.

Enoch: “Well, the concentration spell and the finding-things spell have both come in handy. I just don't happen to have anything to find or concentrate on at the moment.”

“And,” his hand went up, “I’m passively listening for lies all the time now.”

Truthfully, the list of spells he had gathered was still rather small. His training had largely fallen by the wayside once his avatar had begun complicating things, and somewhere along the line their lessons had been abandoned.

“Let's see...” Enoch tilted his head as he took stock. “I've managed to glimpse ahead in time, and I’ve done that sense danger spell once...”

Rune: Rune nodded along. His smile re-perked at the mischievous thought - maybe, perhaps, if Enoch was inclined... to finding him again. If the stars aligned, and Raine could cooperate.

Always that fucking avatar.

"You could try time sight. Remember the spell when we visited your estate? I worried you with laudanum. You wouldn't need that. It's worth trying. Could be me, Hector, anyone on the ship. That's the place to do it. There's almost always some scrap of tass."

Enoch: “When I was trying to figure out what was ailing you?”

He wasn't entirely sure what the spell had been called, only that it had been born from a combination of frantic research and concern for the sailor. Somehow, between old texts and stubborn determination, he had managed to discover that Rune was suffering from scurvy.

Now he found himself trying to recall what other spells he had successfully performed. Well there was that correspondence spell through the scraps of paper. There were others too, he was certain of it, but the longer his thoughts were on the estate, the more those memories became sullied with the unpleasant discoveries they'd made there.

“Mm.”

The sound was absent-minded, his attention only half on the conversation as he sorted through his thoughts. But still, a question surfaced.

“Do you know how tass is generated?”

Rune: For a moment he stared, confused which memory he had pulled, because it wasn't the memory he had intended. But, if laudanum wasn't enough to trigger recall, then there was something else which would surely jog his memory.

"When I didn't breathe for six minutes and forty-two seconds."

It was a matter of pride to prove his unconsciousness had been a fluke, but that was not for today - not that he could foresee.

"But... any spell cast during out visit would be impressive. You learned invaluable skills. Easier for you then than I've ever seen. Except... I feel you perform best when you're... relaxed. Yes, you can cast when stressed, even distraught, but... I've come to understand, that's not you."

Rune looked up from the sidewalk once again.

"Why do you ask?"

Enoch: “Oh, you’re talking about the library!”

How could he have forgotten that?

Rune had given him such a fright. So had what he had seen in that vision. Being reminded that he had, in a sense, been possessed still didn't sit right with him, especially when there were so many unanswered questions surrounding what had happened that night and what, exactly, had taken hold of him.

“I suppose it being my childhood home was enough to help with my casting,” he ventured.

The scholar fell quiet for a beat.

“You know, I wish that visit had been more. There was... more I wanted to show you, but...” He shook his head, abandoning the thought for now.

“Part of what fascinates me is that magic feels like another branch of science in its own way. Understanding the source, how it functions, and how quintessence works would help.”

Rune: It took five seconds to inhale, to think about what he wanted to say, and if it was worth saying. It had been months. They needed to revisit that place, see what Mary had done, if she was still there - did Enoch still employ her? Why? It hadn't crossed his mind to inquire.

But he wanted to speak clearly, carefully, as he might have with his once official title.

"We can look back and pine for alterations, but they spoke of others, and I was ill, and you were betrayed, and it wasn't safe. I know in my chest it wasn't safe. I don't regret leaving. We went away carrying more than we entered with. But, I'm not surprised you're curious about tass, and I'm not surprised we're talking about the house in the same breath. Tass is crystalized quintessence. That is the water is wet explanation. It's either made naturally at a node, or pulled from one's avatar into an object. Depending on the death, the bodies of mages, familiars, vampires, changlings, these all have a chance of becoming tass."

Enoch: “I know.”

His hands had found their way back into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk as they walked. There was a slight tension in his shoulders as they circled back to the subject of the house.

Enoch glanced over at Rune as the mage began explaining things the way he always did when slipping into teaching mode. Perhaps it was a lesson. There was something comforting about that, about listening to him while they made their way back toward the flat they now called home.

“Mm, but in this instance, I'm asking why water is wet,” he said, unable to resist flashing his companion a boyish grin. “And what gives it that property?”

The smile faded as his attention returned to the pavement.

“We wondered why there would be tass on the grounds if no one there was awakened.”

The question still bothered him. They had walked away from the estate with far too many unanswered questions, and Enoch found that frustration lingering like a stone in his shoe.

Rune: The subject bothered him more than their past decisions. It bothered him for a reason he couldn't articulate until they got to the dormitory.

"Why haven't you learned this at the Arcanum? I shouldn't have the capacity to teach you anything anymore." It wasn't that the society doubled as a school, but their wealth of knowledge was meant to surpass anything he might offer. This was more than Enoch enjoying the sound of his voice.

Rune held one of the small double doors, letting it swing closed behind them.

"Could have been an artifact they didn't realize, or the power to harvest. Could have been a node the estate was built upon. Would explain their mania. Could be a number of things," the mage sighed. "You're thinking about returning, aren't you?"

Enoch: “I think it's part of their process. They're a secretive bunch, as you know, so I suppose they're vetting me.”

His shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug.

“All I can do is keep showing up and hope they see that I'm serious about my studies.”

Once inside, Enoch took the lead, heading up the stairs.

“Yes, just to sort out the sale of the place and pack everything up.”

Rune: "What are you thinking of keeping?" Arguably more important, "What can go in a fire?"

Their evening needn't to be ruined with a bitter taste like tannis root on their tongues. It was better filled with more productive thoughts and discoveries. But no dust would settle until dawn.

"Do you want me there? I haven't - I'm not sure how. I don't remember if I have. Your demesne. Just your dreams."

Enoch: “I'm not sure. Perhaps a few of my things. I'll have to go through Doc's belongings as well and decide what should be donated, sold, or kept.” Because despite the value of the house, the scholar couldn't imagine ever living there.

At the mention of burning things, he glanced over at his beloved.

"I'll let you pick one thing to burn.” A small bit of levity to soften an otherwise unpleasant subject.

Reaching their floor, Enoch fished his key from his pocket and headed for the door. He unlocked it and stepped inside, holding it open for Rune before following him in.

"Yes? It might be helpful if Hector can do it.  I don't know how this will all work tonight."

Rune: Tempting to say the house with a straight face, but that would not end well. He didn't need to see the future to know the obvious. And what would have been the second option? His grandfather's portrait? No. He knew there was something dangerous. Something worth destroying.

"Given his experience, I would be surprised if he couldn't manage two at once."

And... his fingers wiped forcefully at his mouth. If he was trying to eliminate evidence of a smile or a frown, he didn't know, at first. He stared firmly at the floor, waiting for the muscles in his stomach to uncramp. Ah. He had swallowed a laugh.

Enoch: The blond headed straight for his desk after shedding his coat and shoes by the door, intent on putting away the manuscript they had recovered for their specter friend.

He flipped open the leather satchel and began unloading its contents onto the desk.

“Have you done this before? It would be my first time, so I’ll have to follow your lead.”

The comment was made absentmindedly; his back turned to his beloved. As a result, he entirely missed Rune’s reaction, blissfully unaware that he might have just added a little more tinder to an already smoldering fire.

Otto’s manuscript was tucked away in a drawer. The journal, however, remained in the satchel for now. Enoch suspected it would prove useful tonight.

Rune: From behind, the sound of breathing through fingers. The struggle of breath through the mage's nose, and then, a snort. Perhaps clearing his throat would help, but it was already too late.

"Have I done what, my love? Slept with another man? Walked in someone's dream? Slept with two men at once? You'll have to be more specific."

Enoch: The sound earned a raised brow from the scholar before he glanced over his shoulder at his snickering companion.

His face immediately went red.

“That wasn't—”

“You know that—”

“I wouldn't—”

Enoch stared at his lover for a moment, visibly struggling to decide what exactly he was supposed to do with him.

"You cheeky bastard."

There was no heat behind the accusation, only embarrassed affection.

“I’m getting my clothes.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and retreated toward the bedroom in search of a change of clothes, abandoning the mage for now.

Rune: The unfinished sentences only made things worse. The bubbly sound escaping his chest came just as much of a surprise for him as it might Enoch, but once it escaped, more followed, and he couldn't help a single second.

"I'm not sorry," his words proud. "Ah, no. You did this. This is your fault."

Rune looked around the dorm. He didn't need anything. He would settle beside Enoch in his trousers and shirt and be set upon by wrinkles in the morning; nothing an iron couldn't fix.

"Do we have any more of that laudanum?"

Enoch: “I know you're not sorry, and I most certainly did not, you fiend!” the professor called from the bedroom as he rummaged through his drawers in search of pajama pants and a change of clothes for the following morning.

The sound of that laughter was his favorite.

It wasn't often he managed to get such a reaction out of the mage, which made it all the more delightful when he did. Enoch found himself biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he folded the clothes and tucked them into his leather bag. A fresh pair of socks followed shortly after. That should do it.

“Yes, we barely put a dent in it. Shall I bring it?”

He was already reaching for the bedside drawer before the question had fully left his mouth, retrieving the amber bottle and dropper and adding them to his belongings.

Once everything was packed away, he finally emerged from the bedroom and rejoined Rune in the living room.

“I’m telling Hector you were being crass.”

Rune: He almost thanked his Heavenly Father that Enoch was in another room, rubbing his face with both hands to save himself before being caught. He didn't feel a blush, but he needn't feel the heat to know it was there.

"Barely?" Given how much he had consumed by the fireplace that night - no, this was the second bottle, wasn't it? Knowing his diagnosis hadn't cured him overnight, but slow healing had been a new, blurry experience.

Enoch would return to find his Dutchman frowning, hands on his hips. "You'd snitch on me? Since when did he outrank me?"

Enoch: It amused the professor that his sarcasm hadn't been immediately recognized by his beloved. When Rune had been ill, Enoch had spent that miserable week after their trip doing everything he could to keep the sailor comfortable and distracted from the discomfort of scurvy, hence half a bottle was gone.

Seeing that familiar stance brought a smile to his face.

Crossing the room, he slipped his hands through the inviting space offered by those akimbo arms and wrapped them around Rune's waist, drawing the mage closer.

“I wouldn't betray you like that. You are my favorite seaman.”

His smile widened.

Rune: It was unspoken, the way that arm took what belonged to it. The way Rune relaxed in his hole, despite his stubborn stance. The smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth was unmistakable.

Seaman, he said, and with - no, almost made it three seconds with a straight face. He was pushing that face now out of principle.

"Let's go, you fool. Our sleep demon awaits." And they still needed food. Time was an athlete tonight, sprinting ahead with no regards.

Enoch: Enoch watched that crease at the corner of Rune’s mouth fight valiantly for dominance before ultimately losing the battle. A soft laugh escaped him as he was pushed away.

“Rude. That was funny,” he complained mildly, lifting a hand to adjust his glasses.

He had only taken a single step back, remaining well within the mage’s reach.

“I need something from you first.”

His fingers caught Rune’s tie, using it to gently reel him back in and close the distance between them. Their lips brushed together, and Enoch’s nose nudged softly against his mage’s.

“Only because I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to kiss you tonight.”

Rune: Fingers on his tie with as much authority as the arm around his waist. Rune didn't bother to resist what he wanted. Enoch had a point, up to a point; no one aboard the ship would do a double take, if not to scowl at Rune for having abandoned them for romance. Certainly not Hector. No, dare he think - he wouldn't. Not even for a moment. The cambion might as well have been a teenager in his eyes, and Rune would never share this man.

"Ten seconds of passionate, carnal sin." And if he could just slow time down enough, letting ten seconds stretch to twenty, thirty...

He would try.

Enoch: “Only ten seconds?”

Well, then he had better not waste them.

It was ten seconds of utterly indulgent kisses, his hand pressed against the mage’s chest after abandoning his tie in favor of touch.

His fingertips hovered near the buttons of the mage's shirt, entertaining the thought of undoing them. They lingered there for a moment before smoothing over the fabric instead, granting himself the smallest taste of what they couldn't have tonight.

Why was he so greedy for his own frustration?

Because frustration was exactly what he felt when he finally pulled away.

And yet those ten seconds had felt much longer.

“We should go before we find an excuse to stay.”

Rune: Having time make demands of them added to the ache between his legs, a promise of relief tomorrow? No. There was no guarantee of anything. But his arm snaked around Enoch's waist, pulling him in as though they had all the time in the world they did not possess.

"We already have an excuse," disappointment sighed from his body, yet he bit his lip and smiled, briefly. "Come on. I'm suddenly famished."

Enoch: A little muffled sound escaped the scholar as he was pulled back in. Pressed against his mage like that, the ache he carried became immediately apparent.

The temptation to slip a hand between them and torment Rune just a little was difficult to ignore. Really, what was stopping him besides himself? They were safe here, and he would indulge in a few more seconds of teasing, of feeling the mage through the fabric of his trousers while he spoke. He would blame it on all the pent-up feeling he'd accumulated aboard the ship. Right, they were supposed to be getting food and heading back.

“What are you craving?”

Rune: Hector had that way about him from the beginning. The first week of his presence had been a shift in cultural normalcy for the crew. The friction on deck had been palpable, sexual famishment to those unaware and unprepared both hilarious and frustrating.

And now, there was nothing he wanted more in this world than to rip the clothes form Enoch's body. If he could bury his face between his legs and suck him dry -

"You, but, English food will do. What's the most English food we could give him? He said something about pastry, or did you?"

Enoch: “Ah, I'm glad to know I'm so easily replaceable,” he teased as he considered what might qualify as sufficiently English cuisine.

“He did say nothing with crab in it. So, I'm thinking perhaps a cottage pie or a toad in the hole. Both involve pastry of a sort, if that's what you're craving.”

Enoch hummed thoughtfully.

“Bangers and mash are excellent as well, since as it stands, I'm not on the menu.”

He gave his lover a squeeze before reluctantly disentangling himself and heading for the door.

Rune: "Toad in the - Ridiculous. Let's have pie. All sorts. We'll soon have him comparing French pastries." One of the only histories he had on him, and by no means solid. Some story about visiting France, and the discovery of his ability to heal. Enoch was bound to know before sunrise, if his interview was picked up where he left it.

"What I'm hearing from you, is you want breakfast. You're already looking forward to sunrise."

Enoch: “Have you ever had a stout pie?” he asked as he straightened his clothing before stepping outside, locking the flat behind them.

“You can have all those dishes for dinner as well,” he added, unable to resist defending English cuisine as they made their way toward the stairs.

“What English dish has become your favourite?”

Rune: "If I have, I didn't know it."

Rune no longer looked back at the dorm, no longer bowed with a final blessing and prayer. The wards were strong enough to feel, like a change of frequency against his skin. The pulse was low, down in his gut.

"Bubble and squeak," he smirked. "Or... ah, fish and chips. I needn't ask yours. Anything with a spot of caramel."

Enoch: He would add that to their growing list of orders for the evening. At the rate they were going, they would be eating very well tonight.

“Hmm, there's hope for you yet. You're fitting in quite well with us English folk,” he teased with a smile as he held the door open for his companion.

“I... suppose you're right.”

Enoch considered it for a moment, hands slipping into his pockets as they walked.

“Mm, but let it be noted that I do enjoy a good meal like a Sunday roast.”

Rune: Even now, with as many months as he had slept in the dormitory, for all of their excuses and dodging and careful scheduling, Rune still kept his head low until they reached the outside.

If only he could build them a house with his own two hands. If not here, perhaps, one day, in their dreams.

But think about anything else. The price of rice, the heavy storm-laden sky, the taste of Enoch's lips - don't let him catch that thought.

Sunday roast. A well enough distraction.

"And you never once went to church? I'm understanding that's unheard of, here."

Enoch: Enoch had learned that if they acted normally and gave no one a reason to be suspicious, they were, for the most part, invisible.

Over time, he had become familiar with a few faces around the building, particularly those on his floor, though even then their interactions rarely extended beyond a brief greeting or a nod of acknowledgment. These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as he took the stairs down, along with considerations of dinner, sparing the mage from Enoch accidentally picking up on sweet thoughts of homing together.

“I have, a handful of times when I was a child. I made friends with some of the other children in town and begged my grandfather to let me visit them.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “Reluctantly, he agreed, and sometimes the lot of us would go to church together. Though it only happened a few times before it stopped.”

He wasn't entirely sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with his grandfather's differences from the rest of the community.

“I got to go again once I was at boarding school and met William, and then later at university. There was a girl who was rather sweet on me asked me to go with her a few times, so I did.”

Rune: "Mm, sweet on you." He might have smiled, had it not been for thoughts of little Enoch making friends, feet kicking between the pews and trying to pay attention to this foreign concept of religion, largely ignored at home.

Or... no. That wasn't right.

"Gods," he sighed. "That's what you've always said. Gods." In what language were they meant to converse? Continuing in English. That had been Enoch's insistence. He could no longer make the excuse of being too slow to comprehend.

A heavy drop of rain attacked the bridge of his nose, making him softly jolt. He knew there was going to be a vampire sleeping in his room tonight.

"Tell me why your God is plural."

Enoch: The scholar frowned thoughtfully, turning the word over in his mind. He had said it for so long that he hadn't even been conscious of it until he met the Euthanatos.

“I did. I try not to as much now. It's not very polite,” he admitted, glancing over at the mage.

“I wasn't raised particularly religious as you know. There was the Church of England, of course, and my grandfather made certain I understood what most people believed. But with my grandfather traveling so much and getting to know so many different cultures, exploring so many different lands...” A sad smile touched his lips. “Well, you've seen some of the treasures he collected from his expeditions.”

A drop of rain struck nearby, and Enoch instinctively tipped his face upward toward the darkening sky. He adjusted the leather strap on his shoulder, wishing he had thought to bring both his hat and an umbrella. The air felt heavy with humidity.

“When he told me stories about those places, he explained that there were other religions in the world, far beyond the worship of a single God. He thought it was naïve to believe such a vast world could be governed by only one entity.” He glanced at Rune. “His words, not mine.”

“And so I learned about different faiths. My grandfather made a point of teaching me about world religions alongside everything my tutors covered. He wanted me to be well-rounded.”

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug.

“I suppose that's when the singular became plural.”

His brows furrowed in that familiar way.

“The other man who shared that view was my mentor, Etienne. Though now we know there was a connection there.”

Rune: "I question who influenced whom for these... gods."

By their pathing, he knew which restaurant Enoch was guiding them to. Their pace was strong, spurred by the promise of rain. Reaching the crossroad, Rune came to a halt.

"Can you name them? All of the religions he ever taught you? He must have had a favorite, or... if not a favorite, is it even more curious if he left one out." By now, his words were for his feet. Mutterings of a Euthanatos catching a wayward thread.

But an old man bumped shoulders with him, grumbling as he crossed the street. The world moved regardless of his musing.

"It's nothing," was an incomplete promise. "You know me, I'm a terrier."

Enoch: “As you know, there are several religions older than Christianity, but that's where you're more of an expert than I am.” He wasn't about to venture too far outside his realm of knowledge for fear of putting his foot in his mouth and accidentally offending his companion.

“Mm, I can certainly try, but I'm sure I'll miss a few, and my grandfather would be horrified to hear me lump some of them together.” He had drifted a little closer to Rune, if only to catch the words muttered toward his feet, quietly admiring the man's stubborn insistence on keeping the conversation in English.

 “He wasn't teaching me theology. It was more... culture, history, anthropology. Though that's not to say my grandfather wasn't particularly interested in Egyptian societies. Anything dealing with death, rebirth, judgment, imortality...”

The old man that had brushed past Rune earned a brief frown from the scholar before his attention returned to the mage.

“Doc went on an expedition to Egypt and later to the Amazon while I was away at boarding school,” he continued. “I desperately wanted to go with him because it sounded exciting, but when he returned, he'd tell me about the people who lived there, what they believed, and he'd usually bring back some small gift or bauble.”

Another fat raindrop struck his spectacles.

That was enough to quicken his pace.

Instinctively, his hand reached for Rune's, only for propriety to win out at the last second. Instead, his fingers caught the edge of the mage's cuff and gave it a gentle tug toward the restaurant. They were only another block away.

“No, please.” His smile softened. “I'm rather enjoying this. I’d like to know what your thoughts are chasing.”

Rune: Rune wished he could see everything Enoch said in front of him like an open magazine. Each sentence a speech bubble in some cartoon. He was a visual learner; this thread was something. Not yet worth articulation, but... it was something.

How Enoch could speak with any ounce of fondness about these people, knowing what he knew, was the sourest taste. Rifling around in an innocent boy's mind, cutting him, manipulating him; it was an audacity worse than his father.

And the thread, strong as an orb-weaver's silk, became taut.

"We've established that these people were a cult, and what do cults need, if not a god or goddess to hide behind. I never asked what deity, and I should have. That language. It's... Oh. We're here." Still two buildings over, but his trail was ending there, once more apprehensive to finish his thoughts.

Enoch: Perhaps enjoying wasn't the right word for what he was feeling as they spoke about his past. Cathartic, maybe. Or perhaps it was simply part of the process of coming to terms with everything they had discovered. It was difficult to say.

His attention returned to the road ahead. It was easier than looking at the mage beside him, because the word cult felt like a brand burned into his skin. He carried the name by virtue of his magical discipline and little else. Whatever twisted beliefs his grandfather had held were not his own.

Instinctively, he wanted to push back against it all and deny any connection. But that was the frightened little boy in him trying to run from truths that were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“What Mary said to me?”

His head turned, recalling the unfamiliar words he had hastily written into his notebook during the train ride back to London. But that was where the conversation ended.

The door to the eatery swung open, and a couple hurried out, eager to escape before the heavens finally opened. The storm had been threatening them all evening. A flash of lightning illuminated the street, followed a moment later by a low roll of thunder.

Rune: Rune frowned at the sky. If they didn't make it in time, the rain would go right through to Enoch's bones. Being naturally cold, he would hardly feel the difference, but not his lover. What a perfect excuse to dry him thoroughly, and -

Was that Hector, or just his insatiable lust?

"Tomorrow," he elbowed Enoch forward. "I fear we'll have the last of the pastry here. I think it's been a popular day." The restaurant was utterly filled and more behind them; some hiding from the oncoming storm, a single familiar face from the ship, and more than a few cottage pies and other savory pastries on plates.

"Do you intend to strengthen your mind magic from this night forth?" A question whispered in the safety of German as they waited in line.

Enoch: The eatery was busy, and with the number of patrons in the area made it warm as Enoch and navigated around occupied tables and others, like them, trying to place an order before the downpour arrived.

Plates clattered from somewhere behind the counter, blending with the dull murmur of conversation that filled the establishment. At Rune's nudge, Enoch stepped forward into line, the aroma of food immediately making his stomach growl.

They found themselves behind a mustachioed man who appeared to be muttering to himself, carrying on what sounded suspiciously like a conversation with no one at all. Enoch's attention lingered on him for a moment before the soft words spoken in German stole it away.

His gaze shifted to the mage, and he nodded.

“All magic, if I'm being honest. But yes. Do you have a lesson in mind?”

Rune: The man in front of them was almost certainly something, though, if whom he conversed with was a wraith, it was certainly an old soul with a mastery of exclusivity. Rune didn't see or feel a thing.

But sometimes, a cigar was just a cigar, and a lonely man was just talking to himself, another face in the London crowd.

"Several. I've been trying not to interfere, as per the Arcanum's request, but frankly, I'm frustrated and impatient with them."

Enoch: His hands rested behind his back, one loosely clasping the opposite wrist as the blond kept his gaze ahead.

“How would they know?”

It was an innocent enough question, though the sidelong glance he gave Rune suggested he might be willing to bend the rules just a little.

“I certainly wouldn't be the reason they found out,” he whispered.

A hint of amusement lifted the corner of his mouth as he gently rocked on his heels before stepping forward with the rest of the queue as it crept closer to the counter.

Rune: "By the same means I ask of your mind magic," the mage whispered. He wished Enoch hadn't such a profound interest in that secret society, but he understood his insatiable drive, and the motivation of a man lied to most of his life. Yes, he understood. Didn't mean he had to like it.

'You need stronger walls, my love. If you can hear my voice this instance, who is to say someone else isn't privy to our conversation? When you can wrap your thoughts in a fence, then I will let you read everything in my grimoire you're not supposed to.'

Enoch: Enoch gave a small nod, but a moment later he heard his lover's voice in his head.

The sound of it sent a pang through him.

The only other times they had seemed to connect like this were during moments of intimacy when all of his attention had been fixed on the mage and nothing else had existed to distract him. This realization was enough to make the professor find interest in his leather boots, trying to hide this little thought before it could be picked up. But, as Rune had already pointed out, his thoughts were hardly private when someone knew how to listen, like his lover.

Either way, all he had to do was think back at him, right? That was how it had happened before. So tentatively, he’d give it a try.

And how would I begin to build this fence, herz?

Rune: Rune considered his approach. Thoughts were not so much a house, as often described. They were far more fluid. Paintings, or a book.

The Atlantic Ocean, December. Water as vast as it was blue, deeper than the deepest sapphire. The sky was gray, kissing the open water on the horizon. A storm as promised as the one outside rippled the restless water. If cold could be visualized beyond ice and snow, it was the Atlantic in December. His birth home, and where he was certain he would die. The only image Enoch would catch.

"You didn't hear anything, did you? Just now, I recited a haiku. You'll grow accustomed, eventually, thinking two things at once. It's no different, I imagine, from playing the piano."

Enoch: He was listening, or at least he thought he was. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't heard the poem his lover had shared, nor any accompanying thoughts.

So when questioned, he shook his head.

“No.”

A small furrow formed between his brows as he considered it.

“Why does it only work sometimes, then?” he asked. “Is it like listening for lies?”

The comparison seemed the closest thing he had to reference. That, too, had begun as something intermittent and unreliable before gradually becoming second nature.

“Or am I simply terrible at it?”

Rune: Had he not - Rune stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"I wonder, sometimes, if your mind magic is only mine, picking you up and giving you what I wish. If you didn't see anything."

They were playing a dangerous game, even if their language was foreign, they were speaking too much of it in a crowded room.

"You might be terrible." His companion fought a smile as they reached the hostess. No, no table. Their order would be takeaway.

Enoch: “Maybe, but it could also be the atmosphere or... current company,” he ventured, taking a guess as the gentleman ahead of them was finally helped.

The scholar glanced to his right, giving his mage a look of mock offense before nudging his shoulder with his own. “That was not the vote of confidence I was looking for,” he replied with a smirk.

At last, they were called forward and as they stepped up to the counter, Enoch couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at the line that had formed behind them. Beyond the doors, the rain had finally begun, people hurrying along the street and ducking beneath awnings to escape the downpour.

Rune: They had been most improper, abandoning their hats, regardless of the hour. Their reason for requiring was growling and grumbling just beyond the glass door.

Rune would agree to whatever Enoch's heart desired. Hector would be grateful for anything, as far as he was aware, and so long as pastry was involved, and an absence of dairy, Rune would survive it. Their argument would be the same as it always was - almost always - reaching for his wallet in a race to place his money down first. Equally a matter of sinful pride as it was determination to provide for this man he'd claimed his own.

Enoch: Another polite nudge to Rune's ribs and a whispered, “Stop that,” was Enoch's contribution to the ongoing battle they seemed destined to have whenever money was involved.

The professor saw it quite simply: Hector was going to help him, which put tonight's meal firmly within Enoch's jurisdiction. Their order quickly grew to include a cottage pie, two steak and stout pies, a treacle tart, and a spotted dick for dessert. Perhaps it was too much, but whatever remained could be enjoyed by Hector later.

But much to the sting of his pride, however, Rune's stubbornness won the evening. Enoch could only watch as his mage paid for everything before they were directed to wait off to the side while the food was prepared.

“I’m pushing you out of the way next time,” he informed him, folding his arms in mild protest.

Rune: "You could have pushed me now." Dark eyes looked up from his wallet, brow arched. "You're so polite. Don't want to cause a scene. I'll gladly cause one." He would and had as a loner, as a face among many in a crowd of sailors. But Enoch? An indisputable bluff.

"When was the last time you were ill?"

Enoch: Enoch briefly considered acting on his impulses retroactively, but as he stared at his mage, he found himself wondering whether Rune would actually cause a scene. He would be mortified.

“You wouldn’t,” said the scholar as his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

His spectacles, however, had become spotted from the rain earlier, so he removed them and pulled out his handkerchief, polishing the lenses while he considered the sudden question.

“Perhaps last fall, if I'm not mistaken. I had a terrible head cold.” He paused, making a face. “And my allergies are absolute awful during the spring.”

His attention lifted back to Rune.

“Why?”

Rune: "Mm. You're not as sick as you used to be." Based on what Enoch had told him; as much as he would have been delighted, he hadn't been a part of his life for as long as he felt it. A pity.

Hands in pockets, Rune walked to the window, arched his neck to peer beyond the street lamps and lit windows.

"Nothing important. Your hat."

Enoch: “Correct. Though there was a period when I was quite ill as a student, and Etienne…”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. The answer presented itself the moment his mentor's name left his lips, and that anxious knot in his stomach briefly returned.

Enoch adjusted his spectacles and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket before following the sailor toward the window. Rain pattered steadily against the glass now, streaking the city beyond.

“Hm?” His attention shifted back to Rune. “I…I forgot to bring it with me.”

Rune: "I know," he said, gently. "That's what I'm worried about." But... surely he would be fine. It wasn't about luck, but the man they intended to sleep with tonight.

No, the man Enoch intended to sleep with, and it would be Rune, sleeping only with Enoch. He much preferred the sound of that.

"You'll be fine. I shouldn't worry." He would leave it at that.

Enoch: It was that worry that finally helped the scholar connect the dots. As he stared out at the rain, he realized what his companion was concerned about. The realization was sweet, and the sentiment behind it drew a smile from him.

Worry. When was the last time someone had genuinely worried for him. For a moment, the young mage found himself staring at his beloved before turning his attention back to the city beyond the rain-streaked window. No one else needed to be privy to just how much he adored this man.

“Even if I get sick,” he whispered still in German, “you'll nurse me back to health, won't you?”

Rune: This man continued to be bold, bolder than he had ever fathomed him to be. He shouldn't be surprised anymore, and yet he looked over his shoulder, searching for anyone aware and staring - or trying not to stare.

"You're so lucky I'm lucky," he scolded. "We're so stupid, God takes pity on us. Yes. You know I will."

Enoch: The eatery was loud enough that a throwaway comment from the blond would be swallowed whole by the din of conversation. Surely no one was paying attention to them as they waited for their food. They were anonymous among the crowd, and perhaps it was that sense of safety that encouraged the scholar to toe the line. But being scolded would quickly put him back in his place.

Enoch inhaled and slowly exhaled through his nose, turning his attention to the other patrons. Everyone seemed absorbed in their own conversations, meals, and hurried attempts to escape the rain.

“Words,” he murmured, “they're just words.”

Hardly a reason to become cross with one another. Though his attention soon drifted toward the counter, wondering how much longer it would take before their order was finally ready.

Rune: "There is a spell for that," he sighed, smiled. If they were going to play this game of bold and bolder, at least let it be a lesson in magic. "Or I should say, a hex. I haven't yet mastered the - mind magic is tricky. If you ever need a reminder that I'm only human. The spell jumbles all language upon the intended. My first attempt, everyone sounded alien for days. I was not the intended."

Enoch: A snort escaped the blond. He wasn't quite laughing at the mage, but he was certainly suppressing a smile as he turned his attention toward the counter.

“How did you come across it?”

He was perhaps tempted to try it himself someday, though the professor suspected if it also backfired on him, not understanding his students would be a detriment.

Before he could follow it up with another remark at the sailor's expense, their number was called.

Enoch stepped forward to collect the paper bags, carefully taking hold of them as the warmth of the food seeped through the paper. As he did, a part of him wondered how they were supposed to make it back to the ship through the steadily worsening rain.

Rune: So, they would stare at opposite things; the better to keep their sanity intact. These little games were delightfully frustrating, until the delightful whittled into dust.

If his telepathy was strong enough, would it feel like invisible fingers caressing his skin? Or was that telekinesis? Both? Sensation was, to some degree, if not all, a process of the mind, no? Enoch would know, but... the question would lead down a path they couldn't travel.

"I found the spell on Kraus' desk. Thought he was due for some payback."

The question wasn't making it back to the ship, it was a question of the food surviving the journey. Which was why Rune was shrugging the sport coat from his shoulders, holding it open expectantly. Only a moment of staring before he shook his hands.

"Go on. I'll survive."

Enoch: “You were a terrible student. Imagine if I had done that to my mentor.”

He gave a look toward the sailor, though he was quickly distracted when their order appeared on the counter.

“What? No, you're being a fool.”

Clutching the food to his chest, he stared toward the door as it swung open and shut with the steady flow of customers. He pointedly ignored the coat Rune was offering.

“Put that back on. Look, there are awnings all the way down the street.”

He wasn't looking at the mage anymore. That would only invite argument. Instead, he began edging toward the door.

“I'll be able to make it. Just keep up.”

Before Rune could properly object, Enoch slipped outside and immediately tucked himself beneath the nearest awning. Rain splashed against his leather boots, water cascading from the edge of the covering in a steady curtain.

Already, he was eyeing the next refuge down the street. It would be just a few seconds exposed to the rain, nothing more. The food was tucked under his jacket and off he went.

For the most part, the plan was working. He darted from awning to awning with surprising confidence, though plenty of rain still managed to find him. Cold drops dampened his hair and trickled down his neck, his shoulders splattered, darkening the fabric of his sport coat. Still, the food remained dry, shielded in his arms.

Rune: "Your lucky your mentor wasn't a drunk." They could exchange looks, daring one to say something to the other. Wouldn't matter for long, as Enoch was out the door, leaving a bewildered Euthanatos trailing after him.

"I want to eat food when we get there, not drink it from the bag!" Loving spite had his coat hanging from his forearm as he followed behind, awning after awning, just an arm's length behind this man he had decided would be his own - the notion hadn't shifted, only illuminated with astounding clarity. He loved this idiot genius. This ridiculous, insatiable, charming enigma. A man this stubborn could survive the apocalypse, whatever shape it took.

And still he followed behind, gently singing a familiar spell under his breath.

Hector awaited at the topmost of the gangway, biting his nails, leaning against the rail in his tan Burberry trench coat. It was as far to shore as he would allow himself. He didn't know why he insisted to linger when no one would see him - but he would see them, and the storm was getting worse by the minute.

"Oh, go on. Just a few more steps," Moses coughed, laughed. The old man had, at last, surrendered to mother nature, limping his way to the stairs and below deck.

"Goodnight, Mr. Moses."

Enoch: One eyebrow arched as he exchanged looks with the mage, as if there was a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. Fortunately for Rune, he was spared for now as Enoch ventured onward.

It was a miserable state of affairs by the time he reached the final awning. The remaining shops had already shuttered their doors against the worsening weather, leaving the scholar with no refuge for the rest of the journey back to the ship. Thunder rolled overhead, accompanied by flashes of lightning that illuminated the harbor in brief, stark bursts as the blond stared out toward the docks.

“I hear your concern,” he finally said, glancing at the mage beside him. “And I'll make sure it stays intact if it's the last thing I do.”

His gaze returned to the rain as he tried to calculate the most efficient route forward while preserving the integrity of the food. No matter how he approached the problem, one conclusion remained unavoidable. He was going to get soaked.

With a long-suffering sigh, Enoch shrugged out of his coat and carefully wrapped it around the paper bags, adding an extra layer of protection against the rain. The gesture was performed while very deliberately not looking at Rune. He could be stubborn too.

“We'll have to make a run for it.”

He saw no alternative. They had exhausted the available cover, and the docks still lay ahead of them. The professor tightened his grip on the precious cargo and glanced toward the sailor.

“Lead the way?”

After all, he still wasn't entirely sure where the invisible ship was docked.

Rune: "The last thing, you say," incredulous, but teasing. And what a surprise! Now his beloved wrapped the food in his coat. Who might have predicted this outcome! One should have placed money on it.

"I swear to - I'm going to bite you." Perhaps he should start making his threats in Japanese; it would have been more of a guarantee of privacy than German.

Without the birds to guide him, Rune swirled his finger. Rain fell upon the water and the dock effortlessly. Far more important not to outline such a bulky ship than care about a few suspended seagulls. But now, Rune followed the pale light from his fingertip, walking with purpose, and only a brief glance over his shoulder. No one was out at this hour. The dock belonged to them.

And to the man awaiting them on the ship, hand over his mouth, softly laughing at the pair.

"Why are you both without your coats?"

"It's such a lovely evening. We didn't want to miss a single drop."

The pair were guided past the wheel and Imogene's sleeping body behind it. Through the rounded door, where the world was suddenly quiet, give or take the odd creak and moan of old wood and restless magic.

"Just through there. This will be our room," Hector gestured to the first door on the left. Rune was ready to point out that he hadn't developed dementia since their last visit, but realized the cambion was speaking to Enoch. Two bleach white towels sat neatly at the foot of the bed. There was no fireplace, of course, not on a ship, not especially in a vampire's chambers, but there was a modest, pristine iron stove, locked tight and crackling with life. A tidy bed, two barrel chairs, and a single wardrobe with drawers, the cabinet secured by a single little hook.

The room was suitable for a monk; fitting, considering the owner rarely slept in it.

"How was your adventure?" Hector was already out of his coat, shaking it outside the room before draping it over the clothes horse by the stove.

Enoch: “You already did…” the blond replied with a smirk, meeting the mage's gaze as a challenge.

He still bore the mark on his shoulder from the night before, and Rune had one of his own from this morning. Had it really only been this morning? Somehow the day felt far longer than it had any right to.

As Rune took the lead, Enoch wasn't entirely sure why it never occurred to him to do the same or to make use of the ring he'd been gifted, the very one he never seemed to remove. Instead, he allowed himself an indulgent moment, watching the rain fall over his lover. It wouldn't be long before the sailor was thoroughly soaked, his shirt clinging to him in a way that made the scholar's thoughts decidedly unhelpful. Enoch took a deep breath and forcibly redirected them elsewhere; tonight would already be difficult enough. The first cold drop that slipped down the back of his neck sent a shiver through him as he hurried after the mage.

By the time they reached Hector, they were both a sight to behold. At some point during the journey, Enoch had removed his spectacles and tucked them into a pocket since they were of no use in this weather.

“I have never met anyone as stubborn as this man.” Yet the look he gave Rune was nothing short of adoration.

He was grateful when they were ushered into drier quarters, though part of him couldn't help but fixate on the wet footprints and droplets they left in their wake. Enoch came to a stop in one spot and watched water drip from him, soon creating a small puddle around his boots.

“I’m terribly sorry. If you have a mop or more towels I’ll see to this mess we’re making.”

Enoch: But the question about their evening seemed to break the spell. Enoch turned his attention to the food, carefully unwrapping the protected bags and offering them over for Hector to inspect while he attended to his own state. His coat was shaken free of excess water and draped next to the cambion’s, his boots followed shortly after, abandoned by the stove. One towel was taken and used to dry his face and hair while another was held out toward the mage.

“Well, the pub was rather rowdy tonight, mostly with your crew, I assume. None of whom I was introduced to.” A teasing glance was shot in Rune's direction. “And we spent a good portion of the evening debating what the most English meal imaginable would be.”

He gestured toward the rescued packages.

“So you'll be sampling London's finest pies and sweets....assuming they survived the journey.”

Rune: “Did you know that the umbrella was invented thousands of years ago? In fact, the foldable umbrella, known as the “broken um-“

“But are you actually complaining, scolding us, or delighting us with random facts from one of your books?”

A little of all three, in his own way. Hector’s smile reached his eyes just the same. His shoes were removed and left against the wall near the stove. They would have a pile of things before long, filling every inch of the clothing lines. Already, Rune was undoing the buttons of his shirt, stepping outside and out of the captain’s quarters entirely to wring it out. Once again, the selkie didn’t move, oblivious to the man beside him from white knuckling his shirt to stepping back inside, letting the door clack shut behind him.

“Rhys has plenty of towels,” Hector stretched, yawned. “You’re not a bother.”

Rune draped the offered towel over his shoulders, pulling it over his hair, yet did nothing to pat himself down. Too busy staring at the food in Hector’s hands, sniffing each pastry, as if searching for a specific scent. One steak and stout and one treacle pie was brought to his chest as he settled on the floor beside the stove.

Rune took the cottage pie and spotted dick, settling at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you for this. It’s still warm.” The tone of surprise brought a smile to the mage’s face, albeit briefly.

“What is that?” Hector made a face at the dessert Rune had chosen.

“Why don’t you explain?” Rune's smile bloomed, directed at Enoch.

Enoch: “I considered bringing an umbrella and my hat, but by the time I thought of it, it was far too late to fetch either,” the scholar lamented.

“Hush, let him speak. I’m interested in learning more,” he waved at the mage.

In the meantime, the scholar did his best to dry his hair.

“Good. I might need another towel, given the state I’m in,” he said as he brought the towel around his neck.

After retrieving his glasses and settling them back onto his nose, his gaze shifted from Hector to Rune. The sight of his lover half-undressed made him pause. His jaw tightened briefly spotting his love bite before he looked away and redirected his attention toward the pies currently being inspected.

“I do hope you enjoy them.”

He slipped off his suspenders and let them hang loose before undoing the cuffs of his white shirt and the first few buttons. For a moment, he considered following Rune's example and wringing the water out of it, but that thought was interrupted when a question was directed his way.

“Hm?”

Several emotions crossed his face in quick succession. First came the excitement of explaining a traditional dish, followed almost immediately by the realization of why the mage wanted him to explain it.

Rune earned a long look.

Crossing over, Enoch reached down and ruffled his lover's hair through the towel.

“Spotted dick,” he started with a chuckle.

He took a seat and completed their little circle, claiming the remaining steak and stout pie for himself.

“You're sharing,” he informed Rune, pointing a finger at the dessert.

Settling in, he continued, “It's a steamed pudding. The 'spotted' part comes from the raisins, and 'dick'...” He paused, trying not to smile. “Well, that's because it's a pudding. The word pudding was shortened to 'pudden', then 'ding', and somewhere along the way it became 'dick'. So….spotted dick.”

Rune: "I wish our stay was longer. I would make a trade with you, give you a few meals from home. Have you been to Mexico? O-Or Spain?" Hector looked to Rune, as though he might also have answers, but his mouth was overstuffed with pastry and stewed meat. The bulges in his cheeks nearly made Hector laugh; some things never changed, and shouldn't.

The mage winked at his lover, forced into silence as he endlessly chewed.

"The English language is fascinating," the cambion sighed. "At least it isn't as ridiculous as French."

Enoch: “Oh? Do you know when you'll be leaving? I didn't think it would be quite so immediate.”

The scholar looked from Hector to the mage and then back again. As for the question directed at him, he shook his head.

“No, though I have been invited to visit Spain.” A small smile touched his lips. “And perhaps do a bit of traveling.” The mage had mentioned it before, and perhaps that plan would come to fruition sooner rather than later.

The sight of those chipmunked cheeks made Enoch smile and his cheeks dimple. How was this man so adorable?

“You say that, yet Dutch is hardly a walk in the park.” He pointed lightly with his fork toward Rune. “He's fortunate I already knew German.”

Finally, the scholar took a bite of his pie to hide the smile threatening to widen, quietly relishing in teasing his companion.

Rune: "I've heard tomorrow, late morning. I've heard the end of the week. Either way, it's too soon."

Rune nodded, managing to swallow, but filled his mouth before an articulation could reach behind his thoughts. It was a matter of a vote, most of the time, but the latest prediction was always final.

"You would have a lot of fun in Spain, I know it," Hector smiled. "You would do well to see a warm beach."

A grunt of approval from the mage, then disapproval, frowning from above his potatoes.

"I was offered German, once. My tutor - " Hector paused to swallow, hiding his mouth behind his fingers. "- who is also my uncle-in-law, half of his family is German. German, Scottish, Spanish. I don't know how that came to be. It's so... aggressive. N-No offense," Hector laughed softly at Rune's deadpan expression. He seemed to be getting it from both sides this evening.

Enoch: “Why does everyone think I need sun? Am I truly that pale?” He glanced down at his forearms as if presenting evidence. “You do realize I'd burn to a crisp, don't you? I'm an Englishman, after all.” But the face the Euthanatos made quickly earned a laugh from him.

Enoch took another bite of his pie, enjoying a piece of steak as he listened. His gaze drifted toward Hector, watching him with something that bordered on fondness. By the time he swallowed, he found himself smiling with the cambion as he laughed.

“Intonation—that's what matters,” he insisted. “Though I suppose there are some words you simply can't escape.”

He dug his fork into his pie, preparing another bite.

“Mm, to continue our interview, and perhaps spare us from being cursed, tell me about Mexico. Was that where you said you were from?”

His eyes seemed to brighten despite the long evening they've had.

“I've always wanted to visit that side of the world.”

Rune: "You are... quite Victorian," Hector had chosen his words carefully, and yet his smile ached. Just a touch of pink on his nose. Laughter wanted to escape him again, but he denied it. The feeling had a name, at least in one language or two; the sensation of being drunk with delight.

Cursed? Oh. The Euthanatos.

"Mhm. The very bottom. Campeche. It's... bright. If England is gray and green, wet and, well, mild, Campeche is bright. White, sapphire, brighter, vivid colors. I feel like there was always music, even when there wasn't." He suddenly missed his mother's garden.

Enoch: “You are being too kind. Please, you can be honest here.” The scholar couldn't help but gently poke at the cambion with his words.

As Hector spoke about home, Enoch tried to picture such a place. It sounded much like what he imagined Spain might be like when he eventually would visit the familiar. His thoughts drifted briefly, realizing he really ought to write him a letter soon.

But his attention returned to Hector.

“It sounds delightful and vibrant,” the scholar agreed. “And what of the culture? I don't think I've ever met anyone from Mexico.” He smiled faintly. “And I rather doubt what I learned from textbooks as a schoolboy does it any justice.”

Rune: "Well, where I lived, it was heavily Catholic. All of that discipline and guilt juxtapose all of those colors we spoke of. The brick and stone of the city versus the beach, the forest," he gestured, hands together, separated by an inch, rubbing back and forth. "These two philosophies on life, side-by-side. It's all fun and games until Lent."

The Orthodox among them scoffed, nodded.

"You Catholics and your guilt. It especially doesn't suit you."

"But am I really Catholic?"

"Short of spontaneous combustion. You can't help how you were raised."

Hector's shoulders rolled in a little. Better to steer clear of that subject. He didn't intend for it to sting.

"The city was calm, despite the war. People looked out for each other. Most people spoke with their chests. Celebrations and arguments alike, all boisterous. It was the quiet... quiet was cause for concern, for most. They don't like quiet people, either."

Enoch: Enoch ate as he listened, nodding when it was appropriate. Glancing at the mage whenever he spoke, quietly observing the exchange unfolding between the two sailors and noticing how Hector seemed to shy away from the subject. Poor thing, perhaps he should speak.

“Ah, you mean the Mexican-American War, correct?” he asked, trying to recall what had been covered in his World History courses, particularly the sections focused on North America.

“Why would being quiet be a concern?” he continued, brow furrowing slightly. “Was it enough to draw suspicion?”

By then, Enoch had finished his meal and set the empty container aside in favor of reaching for the dessert Rune had claimed for himself.

Rune: Enoch was not the only one glancing between two people. His smile was small and fought with a soft bite of his cheek between molars.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm older than Rune."

The mage frowned at them both, but said nothing, taking a bite of his dessert before allowing his companion to take it.

"Suspicion is a word for it. Boisterous, remember? Everything is loud. Birth, celebrated, death, celebrated - after a day of weeping - arguments debated loudly and with your whole body, but never with malice. Well... not never, but... most of the time. When people are quiet, something has frightened them."

Enoch: “No? I was going to say, you look good for your age.”

The blond laughed softly at Rune's frown, stealing the pudding long enough to take two bites before returning it to its owner.

“Well, that's quite different from the culture here in England. I think it would be lovely to experience something like that.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you ever consider going back, or is life on the high seas more your calling now?”

With his hands free again, the scholar returned his attention to the towel draped around his shoulders, continuing his efforts to dry himself off. Outside, the rain still battered the ship, making the thought of the dry clothes he'd brought with him all the more appealing.

Rune: Hadn't he revealed his age? He thought he had. Or Hector had. Between the crackling fire and two soothing voices, the room had taken on a somnolent mood Rune couldn't shake.

"He's younger than you. Touch him, and you'll know his exact age down to the second. You can practice time and life magic on someone other than me, or that familiar."

Hector was shaking his head at the question, but the mention of a familiar had him perk.

"You have a familiar? Where? What kind?"

Enoch: “Mm, that's right. You were poking fun at me for thinking every magikin was older than me.”

How could he have forgotten so quickly?

The blond sighed and blamed it on fatigue. It had been a long day, and his mind wasn't quite as sharp as usual. Though at the mention of a familiar, however, a sad smile found its way back onto his face before he shook his head.

“No, I don't have a familiar,” he replied softly.

Though the mention of Olek immediately made him miss him terribly. He wondered how the familiar was doing.

“He's a familiar I met early this spring. He lives in Spain.” A fondness crept into his voice. “He's a very large cat with the softest fur and a tail like a feather duster.”

The memory prompted another thought.

“Actually...”

Reaching for his satchel, the scholar pulled out his sketchbook and flipped through the pages until he found the drawing he was looking for. He turned it around to show Hector a sketch of the familiar in his feline form.

“His name is Olek.”

Rune: "I'll be twenty-six in November," but Hector had yet to frown, very aware he was the youngest aboard the ship. "You thought I was eighty-something?"

Rune waved off the question. "He thinks we're living in 1840-something, that's all. Too much time magic," the Euthanatos smirked.

The sketchbook was taken with both hands, captured not by the familiar, but its creator.

"You're remarkable. Is there anything you can't do?"

"I haven't seen him garden, yet. He'd probably excel at that, too."

"And this familiar, Olek, why isn't he yours? Don't they only come to people they desire?"

The mage gave a soft grunt.

Enoch: “Just for a moment,” he lightly teased Hector before Rune's comment effectively shushed him.

Being called remarkable, however, was enough to bring a warm blush to Enoch's face. He immediately shook his head, dismissing the compliment as something undeserved.

“I... it's honestly nothing,” he tried to insist, suddenly feeling self-conscious about his work. Nor would he mention the little pots lining the windowsill of his office back at the university.

“Oh.”

The sound the mage made drew his attention for a moment before he looked back to Hector.

“Well, he..." The scholar hesitated just for a second. "He already has a mage he's attending to.”

Rune: It was better, Rune assumed, to keep his mouth shut in regard to the familiar, but the subject was already settling in the room like a fog he refused to fan.

"Oh," Hector echoed. "I didn't know they could - I suppose why not. Anyone can speak with anyone. Did he appear out of nowhere to you?"

Enoch: “In a way. I was sitting in the park near the university, having my lunch, when this enormous cat suddenly walked up to me, friendly as could be.” He smiled at the memory. “I very much entertained the idea of kidnapping him home,” he chuckled.

“I didn't know familiars existed at the time. Then he followed me back to my office and transformed into this tall man.” The scholar shook his head, still amused by the recollection. “I was so startled that I fell right out of my chair. But in my defense, I think most people would have had a similar reaction.”

Rune: The cambion chuckled. "What I know comes from stories. Mostly. There was a witch and familiar aboard the ship, once. A bullfrog. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was... enlightening. But it sounds like... well, sounds like he almost switched allegiances."

Rune gathered their rubbish, stuffing back into the paper bag to sit on the floor.

"You're taking the middle," he instructed, gesturing from Enoch to his right. Already he made himself comfortable near the edge, leaving the space by the wall for the cambion.

Enoch: “Do you think? I believe he's simply very kind to everyone he meets,” he replied.

The idea of a bullfrog familiar intrigued him though, and he was tempted to press further, but before he could, the mage was already ushering the conversation along. Enoch couldn't help but notice the shift in Rune's demeanor.

He knew the sailor wasn't particularly fond of the familiar, which was why he rarely spoke about Olek. Getting the chance to do so with Hector had felt strangely liberating. Perhaps he saw a bit of that same kindness in the cambion and found himself drawn to it, but that was neither here nor there as he watched Rune move to settle himself at the edge of the bunk.

“I brought a change of clothes, if it would be alright for me to change.” His gaze swept the room, though there wasn't exactly anywhere private to do so. Then his attention returned to the mage.

“And you are not sleeping in wet clothes,” he gently reprimanded. “I have an extra set you'll use. We do not need you getting sick.”

The clothes Enoch was currently wearing would be dry by morning, and that suited him just fine.

Rune: "I'm the one undressed," Rune pointed out. Already, the cambion was turning to face the stove, finishing the last of his dessert with a gentle hum of approval. They were in a room within a room, yet it hadn't crossed his mind to leave their little hole in the wall. The world outside of Rhys' room was full of people, and he was too tired to socialize. Someone was bound to make a proposal that he sleep in their bed, and he hadn't the energy to upset one of his crew.

"Do you intend to sleep fully dressed?" Rune arched a brow. 'Or, do you wish to keep me to yourself?'

Enoch: “Yes, but I...” He glanced toward Hector, who had obligingly turned to face the stove as though that alone might provide the privacy Enoch was hoping for. His attention returned to Rune.

“Isn't that why I brought...” He trailed off, taking a slow breath before addressing the cambion.

“Hector, would you mind giving us a moment, please?”

Partly because Enoch genuinely wanted a bit of privacy, but also because he wasn't entirely sure what to make of the mage's words at the moment.

Rune: Privacy aboard the ship was a nearly laughable concept, added the fact that the intimacy demon looked genuinely confused for all of two seconds before he got to his feet, taking the paper bag and any remaining trash with him outside without a word. The sailor in bed was nearly equally bewildered.

Once the door was closed, he asked, "Are you having second thoughts?"

Enoch: “A part of me says yes, if I'm being honest. But I just needed a moment.”

With that, he finally set about shedding the damp clothes clinging to him, trading them for something dry and considerably more comfortable.

“Are you sure you don't want to change as well?” he asked. “These will be dry by morning, and I'll simply wear them again. You can have my other set.”

Once changed, he drifted back to the mage, holding the spare clothes. But all of this fuss over clothing probably wasn't the real reason he'd asked the cambion to step out.

Rune: "I didn't bring anything with me, and I'm not wearing your clothes. You're not wearing damp clothes. You didn't wring those out." In fact, he sat up with just such intention.

"What are you second guessing?"

Enoch: He had draped his damp clothes near the stove in the hopes they would be dry enough to wear again by morning.

“You are so stubborn sometimes,” the scholar sighed.

Turning slightly, he rested a hand against his lover's side, as though the gentle touch might stop him from worrying over tasks that could wait.

"What if there is nothing wrong and it's all just been in my head?” he asked quietly. “What if these have only been my own manifestations?”

His gaze dropped to the mages chest, his eyes unfocused.

“What if I'm going mad?”

And before he could stop himself, a second worry surfaced.

“Or worse...” His fingers tightened slightly against Rune's side. “What if he does find something wrong with me?”

Rune: There it was, the meat of why Hector had been sent from the room. The hand was obeyed, fingers gently resting against Enoch's wrist.

"Either way, we're here now. You'll sleep well, regardless of what we find. Good news, or less than, fatigue won't be an issue."

A joke that didn't reach his eyes. He pulled his companion between his legs, embraced his thighs, and stared up at him.

"Whatever it is, you won't go into the unknown alone. I promise you."

Enoch: His chin dipped down, subdued by the touch. Now that the words had left his mouth, they felt foolish, and part of him wished he could take them back. But the mage was kind enough to listen and offer his own version of comfort.

Enoch let himself be drawn in, his hands shifting to rest gently on Rune's shoulders.

“And you won't gather your things and leave on this ship if you start having second thoughts about me?”

One hand lifted to brush the damp dark strands back from his lover's face, tucking them away as he studied him.

Rune: Was this a tease to hear what he wanted, or a genuine concern? With a smile absent from his face, he could only assume. He would allow his first thought to be his first response as he stroked the back of his legs.

"You're my home now."

Enoch: Could the mage feel the tension coiled tight in his lovers stomach? The worry that lingered in between those furrowed brows? It was what drove his fingers to gently cup his lover’s neck as he searched those warm hues.

The soft strokes of Rune’s hand did help, if only a little. It was those words that shifted to carry the weight he felt. The very same words that warmed his face and made his chest ache. How dare he say something like that? How dare he choose a moment like this to romance him with such honesty?

All he could muster was a gentle squeeze in response.

You have ruined me.

Rune: Words needn't be said to be understood. A moment of reverent silence, stroking one another's skin, breathing, existing in their affections. This was an instance without question, without hesitation. Actions, sometimes, needed a stronger voice than words themselves.

And with a sharp inhale, the moment was concluded, and he kissed his companion's stomach.

"I'm calling him back in." And yet he didn't. Staring up at Enoch, he waited for permission.

Enoch: His arms slipped gently around Rune's head after the sweet kiss, holding the mage against his stomach for a moment longer. But when the moment had run its course, he loosened his hold and looked down at him, offering a small nod of agreement. They could bring the cambion back. But before the mage could rise, Enoch leaned down to steal one last kiss.

“And had I known you'd be showing off this morning's escapades, I might have reconsidered giving you that gift,” he teased gently in reference to the bite that bruised his lover’s ribs.

Rune: Better. Enoch breathed easier, and it was all that mattered - the kiss was returned in kind. Like the last drink before sleep. It was good medicine.

"I don't believe he's noticed." Or the cambion had trained himself not to stare when it was important. He wondered if he could somehow feel it. If he could feel them right now, their lips, their warmth.

Best not to linger on that too long and feed his former crewmate accidentally.

"Be a good boy and keep it to yourself," Rune winked, pushing his lover back with a single finger.

Hector waited patiently just outside. At a small round table with two chairs, his arm splayed across, used as a pillow for his cheek. Rune said nothing, only motioned back inside with his head. Soft eyes blinked just once, and obeyed.

"Are you comfortable now?" Hector greeted Enoch in the doorway.

Enoch: Enoch took a step back, still feeling the ghost of the finger pressed against his chest as he stared after Rune.

Good boy.

He swallowed and rubbed at his cheeks, trying to dispel the strange flutter those words had left in his stomach. It was ridiculous, really. He sank onto the edge of the bed, setting his satchel on the floor beside him. After a moment, he reached inside and pulled out his notebook and pen, intending to jot down a few key phrases that would help him better describe the events of tonight.

Scooting toward the middle of the mattress, he settled against the headboard and drew his knees up to serve as a makeshift writing desk. The pen had only just touched the page when Hector spoke and Enoch looked up.

“I must apologize,” he said, lowering the notebook slightly. “I imagine that came across as rather rude, and that was not my intention at all.” A faint grimace crossed his face. “I needed a moment to collect myself.”

Rune: "I understand. I imagine it's not often a man such as yourself sleeps... this way." His lips sunk inward, disallowing his smile to graduate into a grin.

"I'll be back," Rune sighed. "Going to leave a note on the table."

The two men sidestepped. One existed, the other entered fully. Hector shrugged from his suspenders, but made no further effort to undress. Still fully dressed, bare feet, he made himself at home at the foot of the bed. Not a squeak or groan of metal or wood. The mattress hardly shifted.

"Is it a dream diary?"

Enoch: The confession of admitting that he had never shared a bed with anyone like this since childhood sleepovers was on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t offer it to the cambion. Instead, he set the notebook aside when it was questioned. The room was quiet now, occupied only by the two of them.

“No, it’s more of a journal,” he explained. “I jot down interesting things I encounter that I don’t want to forget; notes, thoughts, curious findings...” He set the pen atop the cover now. “I usually go back and read through them later to revisit the day or the event. It helps me think more clearly and sort out what I should do next.”

A small smile touched his lips.

“I suppose it’s a habit I picked up from documenting everything in the laboratory.”

Rune: "And what do you not want to forget about tonight?" It didn't sound like a grimoire, but he didn't mind being wrong. He couldn't recall having seen a spell take place, nor the mention of one.

But he wanted to keep that smile, however small, from disappearing.

"I suppose walking in the rain with your loved one is very romantic. Yes," he decided. "At least, I think it is."

Enoch: “Ah, we weren’t really walking,” he admitted, unable to suppress the faint smile in remembering their erratic journey back to the ship after collecting dinner.

He shook his head lightly. “No, I was thinking more about this ship, our interview, and perhaps a little more about what you are,” Enoch said openly.

His fingers tapped against the leather cover. “If I come across a spell, or if one is shared with me, it usually goes in here first before I transcribe it into the journal I keep at home.” It was almost as if he had heard the cambion’s thoughts.

“But tonight,” he continued, his hands resting in his lap, “is about seeing whether you can walk into my dreams or my demesne. Perhaps both. I imagine either way it will be rather telling.”

Rune: Hector would be caught staring. There were many worthy reasons, but just one arrested his attention. It was the first time Enoch had felt anything like the man in the next room. The mage had caught something. How remarkable! And so young.

"Do you think he's taking his time?" A single finger pointed at the door, falling into his lap. "Please, don't let me stop you. If you want to keep writing, if you want to ask me anything." A shoulder slowly rose and fell. "I want you to feel at ease."

Enoch: Enoch blinked when he saw Hector intently staring at him. Had he done something? A hand shifted to adjust his glasses.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but a little more time for questions may not be such a bad thing.”

His gaze drifted toward the door.  He couldn't help but wonder whether the mage had deliberately left him alone with the cambion.

“Perhaps you could walk me through what I should expect tonight. And, in turn, do you have any questions for me that might help narrow down what the issue is?”

Rune: There would be no sideways glance at the door. Only turning to rest his back against the footboard. Once more, Enoch became his world.

"Falling asleep will be easy. You will hold my hand. However you choose is comfortable for you. You want for me to see your demesne; that is where we need to go. In dreams, when you are with someone, you are both painters on a single canvas. In your demesne, at best, I may have a fine-tipped quill. Your demesne is St. Peter's Basilica. I will be there to guide you."

Enoch: Enoch was glad he had asked for clarification. The explanation brought some comfort, if only because knowing what to expect made the unknown feel slightly less daunting.

“Alright,” he said with a small nod. “And what will you be doing? How will you be able to tell whether things are... normal or if something is wrong?”

As he spoke, he shifted further onto the bed, drawing his legs up and crossing them beneath him. His attention settled fully on Hector now, curiosity outweighing his apprehension.

Rune: "First... What is it that you know of your demesne? Has Rune explained anything to you?"

The door cracked open an inch. The Euthanatos paused, not wanting to disturb the pair; he appeared more like a thief caught red-handed sneaking into a private residence.

"Don't mind me," he said, not quite whispering. "Couldn't find the ink."

Enoch: He nodded. Yes, they had discussed it a few days after his Awakening, when sleep had become impossible and the mage had come to help ease the vivid nightmares that had plagued him since forging the pact with his avatar. But that wasn't what he said, however.

“Yes, mine is a library,” Enoch replied. “A blend of the one from my childhood home and the library at the university.”

His explanation faltered as the door opened and his beau slipped quietly into the room.

“I have some in my bag,” he offered, gesturing toward it so he could help himself.

Rune: Rune shook his head and hand, walking quietly to the bed, but not yet committing. "I found some. Not a fountain pen in sight. I don't know why the captain insists on -"

"- quills," the pair said in unison. The cambion shook his head. "I'm almost certain it has something to do with a spell. A magic quill, or ink, or paper. Something."

"Well, we won't be disturbed." Rune leaned his hip against the mattress, hand akimbo. There at the head of the bed, next to Enoch, he lingered.

"You said a library," Hector returned to the subject. "So, your demesne has detail. That's good. From what I understand, many mages cannot fathom beyond a vague image during meditation. But that is the way of most people, humans, I mean. Most people only have their dreams. Both of these places exist in the same space. That is why the two are often mistaken for each other. They are, and they aren't."

Hector's hands came together, as if readying to pray. The tips of his fingers rested against his lips. He had more to say, but hesitated. Was this a lesson, or a sorting of thoughts? He didn't want to assume his new friend ignorant.

"You ask how I will know. You have a resonation. Your demesne, your spiritual home, will have the same resonation. You know what this might be? Simply, you have not yet mastered construction. You're a new carpenter. Your mind and soul at odds as dueling architects, set to create every unconscious influence."

Enoch: Enoch nodded along, able to follow the explanation well enough. This was not the first time he had broached the subject, though his own exploration of magic had been limited. Now that he intended to join the Arcanum, it seemed prudent to arrive with at least some foundation of knowledge if he wished to be taken seriously by the scholars within that society.

As a matter of fact, he appreciated the cambion's willingness to break things down and address each question as it arose. Hector seemed to have picked up on the scholar’s mannerisms.

“So you would be able to tell if… my demesne and I don't share the same resonance?” he asked, attempting to draw a conclusion from the explanation. His head tilted in that familiar way of his, blue eyes focused on Hector as he worked through the idea.

Rune: Rune had nothing to add. As often as he walked in the astral realms, his point of focus had become more tangible Umbral realms. One might argue the Shadowlands were both; Hector might point out anyone could astral project into the Atrocities Realm, but then that begged to question why he struggled with separating his soul from his body. Put simply, Rune didn't like the taste of it.

But between the sailors, there was only one former, formal teacher. He would never admit Hector's teaching methods had been an inspiration for his own. A jumping off point far better than that of his own mentor. Less throwing empty bottles.

"The resonance will be... off. If you and your demesne are not synchronized."

Enoch: “And if it’s off, what then?”

He picked up his notebook and jotted down the word resonance for later consideration. He did not fully understand its importance yet, but perhaps it was one of those concepts that only became clear once experienced firsthand. Closing the notebook partway, he glanced over at Rune who was on his left.

“And will both of you be...” He paused, wondering if there was a term for it…had Hector mentioned it? “Walking through my demesne?”

Rune: "Then I will assist you in repairing and rebuilding. If it's my understanding, it'll never be easier than with me."

"Your bragging is endless," Rune rolled his eyes. Hector's mouth fell open, sitting up to protest. The Euthanatos waved him off immediately.

"Jokes. Just jokes. Your honor is intact."

"I'll make sure Rune finds us. If he behaves."

Enoch: The scholar nodded, wondering what they would make of his demesne. It wasn't something he could control, though that hardly stopped him from worrying about it.

His gaze drifted to Rune, a gentle smile appearing at the tease before he looked back to Hector and gave a small nod.

“So, how do we...begin?"

Rune: "If you don't mind." Hector gestured to the space between Enoch and the wall. He knew where he belonged, and where Rune would tolerate. The mage must have been a soldier in his past life. Always had to be the one nearest the door.

Only after the pair settled did Rune glance the room for a forgotten, non-existent candle, then situated himself on the opposite side.

Hector folded his sleeves, breathing already gentle and regular. How plush and warm and cloudlike the bed had become, simply with his nearness.

"Make yourself comfortable. You can turn to face him, if you wish. Or me."

Enoch: Enoch nodded and tucked his notebook and pen back into his satchel before settling himself on the bed. It was a peculiar situation, to say the very least. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling as the mattress shifted on either side of him, his hands folded over his chest.

When Hector spoke, Enoch looked toward him, then glanced over at Rune. Neither option felt particularly comfortable.

He could feel embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck, warming his ears and coloring his features. He was overthinking it, he decided. That was the problem.

With a quiet sigh, he removed his glasses and held them out toward Rune.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Once the mage had taken them, Enoch let his head settle back against the pillow.

How, exactly, was he supposed to fall asleep when he felt this awkward?

Rune: Glasses safely tucked away, Rune turned to face him, and without ceremony, draped his bare arm across Enoch's middle.

"An oblivious human could hear your thoughts, they're so loud," Rune muttered, eyes already closed.

The misplaced feeling wouldn't last much longer. Not when Hector offered his hand. If the mage needed a little push, so be it. An unfathomable drowsiness would take hold the moment their skin made contact. A tired akin to a long, productive day. The kind of sleep begged for the moment one's head touched the pillow. A promise of blissful, restful sleep.

Enoch: “Shh.”

He had every right to be nervous, but Rune was right. The added weight of the mage’s arm draped across his midsection grounded him, prompting the scholar to draw a deeper breath and slowly let it out. Gradually, the tension seeped from his shoulders.

When he took Hector’s hand, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Enoch sank further into the mattress, the warmth of those beside him making it far easier to surrender to sleep. His eyelids grew heavy.

The last thing he thought he saw was his avatar standing at the foot of the bed, motionless in the darkness. Pinpricks of pale light marked where its eyes should have been, fixed squarely upon him.

Enoch: Enoch slept most soundly when the Euthanatos slept over, more often than not. Even these few hours were no exception, as if he knew he was safe from the nightmares his avatar pried open in that shadowed space. The whispers could not reach him where stronger emotions drowned them out in the presence of his companion.

Perhaps it was the added warmth of the fire, dancing and casting soft shadows across the room, but the professor did not stir. His nose was tucked beneath the covers, breath slow and even as Rune tiptoed from the room. Enoch remained asleep through those gifted thirty minutes, unmoved by quiet footsteps or shifting light. Even when the scent of food eventually drifted in, it was not enough to wake the sleeping blond.

Rune: Rune paused periodically, staring out and through the furniture and walks as he felt time pulse in its perfect constant. Ten minutes, then twenty. Thirty minutes, Rune poked his head in the bedroom. He mourned disturbing his lover's tranquility, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Fingers comber gently through his hair.

"The world waits for you," he guided, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Enoch: “Mm, tell it to carry on without me,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

He would gladly accept the kiss to his forehead, but Rune was no closer to getting the stubborn professor out of bed. Quite the opposite. Blindly, his hand reached up, fingers catching the front of Rune’s shirt, aiming to tug him back down to bed with drowsy insistence.

“Five more minutes.”

Rune: Resistance was only an ounce of strength, before the surrender of responsibility, crumpling against Enoch's chest with a sigh. There were moments when denial was crucial. Five more minutes?

"Five more minutes, then I'm pouring tea on your face."

Enoch: His eyes stayed closed, but a faint, victorious smile curved his mouth at the added weight against his chest. Small victories, and he would take every single one. His arms came up easily, wrapping around his favorite sailor and drawing him in with sleepy contentment.

“You’d do that? To your favorite apprentice?”

One blue eye cracked open just long enough to peer at the mage before drifting shut again. The fire crackled just at the foot of his bed, and the smell of food spoke of sweet gestures that had taken his lover time.

“…How long did you rest?”

Rune: "You're my only -" The realization made him smile. He was quoting himself.

"Shut up." Better, he thought, then shrugged. "Been awake half an hour. You've toast and eggs waiting for you. Water's boiled. You're almost out of butter. I'll get some, and fruit and jam while I'm out today. We'll eat like kings."

His fingertips caressed across Enoch's sharp jaw.

"You're spending your five minutes wisely."

Enoch: It had been too long since he had heard that familiar mantra, and it made him smile all the more. Enoch hummed his approval as he drew in a slow breath, shoulders expanding before he finally coaxed both eyes open to take in his beloved.

“You spoil me,” he whispered as he returned the touch, fingers slowly running up and then down the length of the mage’s back.

“I can send word I’m ill and play hooky,” he teased, just to make those five minutes last longer.

Rune: The temptation left a gap in his mouth. It would have been so easy to comply. To encourage scandalous behavior. But his mouth closed. Lips thinned as he considered the ramifications.

"You're not me. Next, you'll be spending your days at the pub, earning your rent with a lucky hand. No, no. Get up and eat your toast."

Enoch: For a handful of heartbeats, he watched that deliberation play across Rune’s face, their joke teetering on the brink of possibility before the verdict fell. He could have sent word with Geoff down the hall…

Enoch groaned softly as the fantasy was dashed, but retaliation came easily. Under the pretense of getting up, his arm tightened around the mage’s waist and he rolled him back into the mattress, ending up on top as he pushed himself upright. The firelight glowed behind him and the mark at his shoulder showed a little darker now.

“I would be so very poor,” he smirked, dipping down for his first kiss.

Another yawn and stretch followed, his five minutes up, and at last he conceded. With a reluctant huff, the professor slipped from the bed to wander toward the promise of tea, toast, and eggs.

Rune: Rune's eyes were on the ceiling before he processed what had happened. Air still in his lungs, he held his breath to keep from laughing and giving them away. The walls weren't as thin as they were weeks before - the story was still rather unbelievable - but he wasn't willing to take such risks. They already gambled enough.

But he would take pleasure in slapping Enoch's arm. Only then would he indulge in their first morning kiss.

"Your..." He stared at the mark on his shoulder. The memory twitched his cock. Hidden, thank God, as he sat up and over the edge of the bed. "Does it hurt?"

Enoch: “Mm?” The blond paused in the doorway, turning back at the question. His gaze flicked from his lover's face to the mark on his own shoulder.

“Not very much,” he admitted. “Though you did rather make me see stars.”

Fingers brushed over the tender skin, not quite touching at first, then tracing the edge of the bruise with quiet curiosity.

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes bright with mischief.

“Are you considering claiming me elsewhere?” he teased, already drifting toward the washroom.

Bare skin, thin white boxers, and absolutely no attempt at modesty. The mage could have his pick.

Rune: Rune made no attempt to move. Rather, he admired from afar and took Enoch at his word. He had no choice. Not a single tingle in his ear canal.

"Don't tempt me. I'd leave a nice bruise over your ribs just to hear you moan when I touch it, but..." But that wasn't Enoch. That was him. Could he finally, after how long? fifty years? could he finally admit it to himself? To Enoch?

"You should leave me one. As a parting gift."

Enoch: His steps faltered, the image alone enough to make warmth bloom low in his stomach. This man was better than a cup of coffee for how thoroughly he awakened him.

Enoch glanced down at the floorboards, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood, before lifting his eyes back to the mage and extending his hand.

"Then join me for my shower."

Rune: He had done something to him. Noticed by the hesitation in his movements and the reluctance to look at him. At first, he assumed an apology was in order. Too much of himself. Too brazen. But then Enoch opened his mouth, reminding him of the stupidity of his thoughts.

"How do you have a shower here?" he mused, removing what remained of his clothes. "The pub has only one. You really are posh."

Enoch: “I would have thought the estate and title in my name might have been a clue,” Enoch replied, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as he watched the last layers of clothes fall away.

Much like Rune, he admired his lover before reaching for his hand and guiding him toward the washroom.

“It’s a newer building,” he explained, leaning in to turn the taps. “Designed by an architect from Mayfair, actually. He was very proud of bringing a little luxury north.”

Rune: Holding his hand even now. He was reminded of the estate. How they wanted to explore like children, both the house and their bodies. But was it childish, how often Enoch reached for his hand? He wouldn't dare say yes.

"In some other life, I think you would have made an excellent architect. I can see you, with your sketchbook, staring at cathedrals for hours, inspired by their Gothic nature."

Enoch: “A doctor, a chemist, a professor… an architect,” he murmured with a faint, self-aware smile as he tested the water. “I really was destined to be insufferably posh.”

He glanced back at Rune, brows lifting with mild surprise. “You think so?” Enoch momentarily considered what that life would be, but one thing stood out.

He tested the water again, and satisfied with the warmth, the blond shed the last of his clothes and turned, closing the distance so his hands could settle on Rune’s hips.

“If that were true,” he said gently, eyes searching his lover’s, “we wouldn’t have met. And where would that leave us?”

Rune: Those warm fingers pressing and pulling his hips did something to his insides. Made him want to drop to his knees then and there, but Enoch had things to do, more important than having a mouth between his legs.

"I'm not sure," he lied for both of their sakes. "But I think you would still be happy. Probably living in Paris, smoking, staring out your window shirtless, a beautiful man in your bed. Or staring at the Duomo, arguing over it with another artist."

Enoch: “I already have a beautiful man in my arms.”

Fingers curled against the sailor, drawing him closer. The corner of his mouth lifted in soft triumph at the absurdity of those imagined lives. A life in Paris didn’t fit the way this did.

However, the taste of a cigarette was tempting, if only to serve as a distraction from the heat pooling low in his stomach at the thought of what he could do with his lover and be even later to class.

“France was lovely, the last time I went,” he conceded, stepping into the warm spray of the shower. The water darkened his hair instantly, tracing little rivers and streams down his shoulders and chest.

“But I much prefer arguing with you.”

Rune: "It's ok." As though discussing tastes in wine. Here was a subject they could debate at their leisure. All the while, Rune lathered and rubbed a bar of soap across Enoch's shoulders.

"You should see the north. Gothenburg. Copenhagen. The Gulf of Bothnia is the most tranquil you'll ever lay your eyes on. If you don't want to freeze your nuts off, I could show you Greece."

Enoch: “I quite enjoyed their food,” was Enoch’s argument, standing under his lover’s attentive hands with a small, contented smile. He should have reached for a second bar of soap, but as it stood, he let himself be indulged for a moment longer until it was his turn with it.

“I haven’t traveled more north than Liverpool,” he said, eyes fixed on the tile in front of him. “Gothenburg sounds…bracing.”

And the mage made him laugh.

“Greece?” Enoch asked, glancing back over his shoulder with a faint, playful smile, “I can be persuaded to endure a little sun.

"How would we get there?"

Rune: "What other way would a sailor take you? By train?"

The bar of soap was relinquished, turning around for his turn, hands at his sides until touched. The lightest pushing would put both hands on the wall.

The scent of soap was as soothing as it was luxurious. He could lull back to sleep standing, if allowed.

"You would have a thousand and one freckles by the time we return home. You would be unrecognizable. Your hair sun-bleached. I would bet all the lint in my pocket."

Enoch: “Here’s a man who champions the use of magic yet shackles himself to the most pedestrian methods of travel.” Enoch had to bite the inside of his cheek before the grin could get him into trouble.

He took the soap and worked it between his palms, the slick warmth giving him a perfectly indulgent excuse to step closer and smooth his hands over the familiar muscles that made his heart beat a little harder.

“Can’t we simply appear in Greece using… correspondence and prime magic?”

His hands slid down Rune’s sides as he leaned in, lips brushing down the line of his neck.

“Because that would give you more time to map every freckle with your mouth.”

Rune: His mouth opened, closed. His argument was dead before arrival, to say he was a sailor before a mage, when it was the other way around. The truth was offensive only to his pride.

One deep breath expanded his back, giving more canvas for his lover to indulge. He couldn't recall the last time he was so pale; every freckle like a star across an unpolluted sky.

"Do you wish for me to hire a porter? Trying to win me over with sex, are you? You forget I enjoy the journey."

Enoch: Watching Rune’s profile from behind, Enoch couldn’t quite suppress the small, satisfied smile on his lips. His hands massaging at his leisure, admiring the same scattered freckles he had seen on the night of his awakening and ever since. They had been destined from the very beginning, he thought as he traced one with the pad of his finger to another, idly connecting them like constellations.

Tired thoughts led to tired words, and he was caught.

“A little,” Enoch replied honestly, “I’ve enjoyed getting to discover you.”

His arms came around Rune’s ribs, the blond leaning forward as his chest pressed to his damp back, chin settling against his shoulder.

“Let’s do a week in Spain, another in Greece. We’ll set sail in the summer, and I’ll document our journey.”

Rune: The warmth of those arms, in contrast to the cooler water bouncing off their skin, made him suppress a shiver. His arms came to rest over Enoch's, head gently falling back.

"Set sail? Not so pedestrian, is it?" He didn't laugh, but sighed, content. "I'll see to a porter here. We'll sail home. I want to see you on the open water. See how green you are," he grinned.

Enoch: “Mm why does my suffering please you?” he teased, leaning in to aggressively nuzzle into the crook where shoulder met neck. He lingered there, pressing a few lazy kisses along the exposed skin.

“You wish me sunburnt and seasick,” he accused lightly. “What have I done to offend you?”

Rune: "I want to see you as a sailor, at least for a day." Traveling from Greece to England would take more than a day. Somewhere upwards of 10, if their ship was inclined to stop at every port along the way. More time together. Time made up for using a porter. Most excellent.

"Come on. We can't have you late."

Enoch: They had begun to sway ever so slightly from side to side, caught up in the shared daydream.

“You want to see me tying knots and hoisting sails?” he mused. Perhaps the sailor was romanticizing him a touch, but he found he rather liked the imagery.

“Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll be your sailor for a day… or ten.”

At the mention of being late, a begrudging sigh slipped from the blond. He was in no particular rush to bring their shower to an end.

“Not yet, you’ve asked something from me.”

With that, his fingers pressed lightly at Rune’s hip, guiding him to turn and face the scholar.

Rune: "Ha. I doubt very much any ship will allow you access. Our mode of transportation will be a steamship, unless... unless we time this just right, and my crew welcomes you aboard."

Ah. So he'd heard that.

"Did I?" He was still fighting the fatigue behind his eyes. Still, he turned obediently, looking expectantly at his lover.

Enoch: “Well, fortunate of them that they are visiting now. Perhaps you can plan that timing.”

It was a marvel either of them were still upright. A few scattered hours of sleep had proven just enough to keep them functional, barely. Though, perhaps what was to come would remedy that deficit.

“Mm. You did ask me to leave you with a reminder.”

He offered no further explanation. Instead, his fingers traced slowly down along Rune’s ribs and over his stomach, following the little streams of water that washed over him. His lips following the damp line of collarbone, tongue and teeth aiding in trailing kisses downward, intent on claiming his lover.

Rune: "I'll see what I can do. No promises." Promises made months in advance didn't suit him. Not even knowing how long he intended to live among the crew. Lingering in England hadn't been a plan; that much, everyone knew.

But promising to love this man, give him everything he deserved, to daydream of a house, someday... This was as easy as breathing.

"A remind - mm. I did." And his stomach was now doing flips, watching this man, so comfortable and so brazen. Both hands found their way into Enoch's hair, squeezing as teeth sank their promise into his skin. Biting his lip was for both of their sakes.

Enoch: “Do you still want me to?” he asked when his lips left skin warmed by the water running over them.

One hand rested at Rune’s hip while the other slid up along his sternum, savoring the feel of slick skin beneath his palm as he pressed his lover gently back against the wall. He resumed his task, teeth grazing over damp flesh and with the approval to continue, encouraged by fingers threading through his hair, he eventually lowered himself to his knees.

The first bite was gentle, then the pressure grew.

Memory of the night before flickered through him, sending a shiver through him. A quiet, reckless urge whispered for him to bite harder, and for a moment he indulged it, pressure deepening until he wasn’t certain whether he had broken the skin or not. He pulled back slightly, startled by his impulses. A softer kiss followed in quiet apology, his teeth having left imprints along ribs that would surely bruise.

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking up at his mage.

Rune: All he could manage was a nod. Anticipation had locked his tongue in place and nearly stolen the air from his lungs. Breathe, he told himself. Breathe, and don't make noise. Don't give their life away over indulgence.

The suffering was as spectacular as it was cold in his stomach.

Pain shot from his ribs and through his groin. His body slowly writhed as if from orgasm, shuddering and melting against the cold wall.

Those teeth were sharper than expectation, and more determined than he realized possible.

At last, he managed to inhale. His mouth had dried despite their environment.

Words. German, English - what were these? He needed a moment to swallow.

"Mm. Mm...hmm."

The young mage was pulled to his needy lips. Just one more moment, before they returned to the world.

Enoch: He pressed his cheek against Rune’s upper thigh, one arm loosely wrapped around the man’s leg as he caught his breath, his heart still hammering high in his throat. Looking up, he caught that brief struggle for words witnessing his companion momentarily at a loss. Had he truly done that?

His gaze flickered, traitorously, to the tense muscle before him, temptation stirring at the thought of taking it into his mouth, if only to leave Rune a boneless mess. Too little sleep invited reckless thoughts.

Before impulse could drag him further down that path, he was on his feet again. Warm arms slipped around Rune’s hips as he leaned in, catching his mouth in a firm kiss. One hand slid up to push dark hair back from his lover’s face.

That same ache seized his chest again. It hurt to breathe sometimes, how deeply he loved this man, an insatiable mixture of affection and hunger that had not yet settled. The bite had awakened something restless in him, not entirely satisfied to end there. He pulled back slightly.

“Can I touch you?”

Rune: A thought shared, despite a dorm full of sleeper minds and rejecting currents. A pair of fools who could scarcely breathe, still willingly submerged because... just because. Love was and always would be just because.

"You don't have to ask for permission." There was a delicious gamble imbued in his offer; the idea of Enoch touching as he pleased when he pleased. Within logical reason, which he believed he would never have to question. This was a promise in their private, secret moments.

And his chest ached with the thrill, as did his cock.

"If I want you to stop, I'll say... pijnboom."

Enoch: “I like knowing you want me.”

There was something deeply satisfying in Rune’s enthusiasm for the professor. Never before had Enoch been coveted and the realization that the desire between them was mutual filled his stomach with indulgent warmth. For a fleeting moment he wondered if admitting that aloud made him sound childish and too needy, but exhaustion spared him the spiral of overthinking. Instead, he clung to the simple promise his lover had offered: whenever, wherever.

“Pijnboom,” he repeated softly, carefully turning the mage so he faced the wall. “What does it mean?”

His hands never left Rune, sliding down along his sides before circling around to the front, fingers wrapping and teasing against the firm length there.

Rune: "I'll always want you," he said without thinking. Enoch didn't have to articulate anything this close. He wondered if that would always be the case. Birthdays and anniversaries were going to be an exercise of will to keep secret.

"Kiefer," he explained. His hands pressed lightly against the wall, as one would being frisked by London's finest. "What, you haven't... mm... gotten to... plants... in Dutch?"

Slowly, his head lulled back to rest against his lover.

Enoch: He stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them as his slick, damp body brushed against Rune’s. The movement pressed him closer still, his hips shifting in a slow, repetitive rhythm in tandem with his hand as he let his brow rest lightly against the mage’s temple.

“Mm, no… not quite yet. I was thinking of learning anatomy next.”

His free hand wandered, spreading across his lover’s stomach before sliding upward, fingers tracing over the firm contours of muscles beneath them.

“I know one already,” he added, his nose brushing just behind Rune’s ear before he pressed a soft kiss there. “Mijn hart.”

“But what of here?” he asked, teeth grazing the outer rim of his ear.

“Or here?” he added with a faint, teasing squeeze to his lover’s cock.

Rune: The sound that escaped him teetered a fine line between a laugh and a moan. Wasn't there a word for that, too?

"I'm not giving you a lesson here and now." Their little shower would no doubt last all morning, if not until sunset. A day to themselves, clothes forbidden, and intelligence traded for base instinct.

But not today.

Today, this very moment, Rune was all but rutting against the wall, breath unstable and almost loud.

"You... enjoy - too much." He'd forgotten something. "Torture." That was it.

Enoch: “Then a lesson for later,” Enoch amended, a smile curling as he listened to the lovely sounds his companion made under his attention. The spray of water over them had long since turned tepid, but the warmth between them more than compensated for it.

His hand slid slowly up from Rune’s chest to the base of his neck, resting there. Much like in the shared dream they had, his fingers curved loosely around it, though without pressure for now.

“Torture?” he echoed softly, nose brushing against his jaw. Perhaps a little, though he wouldn’t quite admit it. Yet the way he was rubbing himself against Rune was maddening and enough to steal the breath from them both.

“I should… tie you down and…”

His hips angled in, his cock finding the space between his lover as he slid against him, teasing the line of his ass without pressing further.

“…and explore you how I want.”

Rune: Blunt nails scraped fruitlessly against tile, offering little solace when every fiber of his being begged to submit. Time didn't have to be of importance; nor responsibilities, careers - if only ten minutes more.

And then his eyes rolled, body shuddering. Delighted confusion struck like waves of heat through his entire body, pooling between his legs and throat simultaneously.

They were responsible people. Men with voices of reason, common ground, sound logic. All hopelessly lost as he arched his back. The first air to reach his lungs was used for the most erotic of noises.

Please... where were the words? Any words from any language.

"I... mn. Not... yet. W-Work."

Enoch: With a touch of sleep deprivation and intoxication in lust and love for the Euthanatos, Enoch was not entirely himself, though he was still aware enough to feel the heat rise to his face at the words he whispered.

At the sound of his vocal lover, his heart skipped, partly from pleasure, partly from weariness that they did not have complete privacy. Much like a similar night that had once gotten him into trouble, his fingers found Rune’s lips to muffle his cries.

Thoughts came slowly, if at all, with the way Rune’s body arched and moved. Sensation overtook reason and all he could focus on was rocking and rutting against his lover to relieve the building ache.

“Then… finish for me…” the words breaking under his own heavy breaths, his other hand never having left his lover, enjoying the weighty feel as he guided him with long deliberate strokes.

Rune: There was that hand again, that promise over his mouth. Rather than dredge unwanted memories, the loss of control encouraged a familiar ache from his body and soul. The splitting of hairs from sanity to pleasure.

It would take just one misuse of willpower, one shrug of his integrity, and he could become a slave.

The rocking of Enoch's hips, the feeling of his erection against his skin, relentless stroking, was all too much to bear. Warmth coated his lover's fingers in perfect synchrony with grunts, pants, and uncontrollable, inelegant thrusting.

Enoch: All that existed was the warmth of Rune's body beneath him, his own pressing in desperate search for release as the tension coiled tighter in his stomach, threatening to spill.

Panted breaths slipped past parted lips, soft groans following as his cock found residence sliding between his lover's ass.

What if he slid his fingers in? The thought was too little too late as warmth suddenly coated his fingers. Such a reaction stole his breath, but his body was already chasing the feeling with each thrust. Every shift of his hips brought him closer until suddenly he came undone, a flash of white spilling and staining against warm, wet skin.

This was not how he had envisioned his morning going.

Rune: Just a shift in position and they would finally be one. A temptation sitting hot on his tongue. One word, please, is all it would take, and Enoch would know his motives. And he would indulge them both. He knew it was his word alone which kept Enoch at bay. Duty was a mere obligation his lover was willing to discard, and so much did that little word want to escape his lips.

But his thighs were quivering uncontrollably. His chest ached as strongly as his tender cock.

Please. Take what you want. Finish inside of me, like a gift.

Enoch would have heard that, wouldn't he? He shook his head. No. His body and mind were at war. Logic and wisdom losing to carnal, desperate needs.

But it was too late. Whatever fate spared them - he felt the warmth against his lower back and had to feel for himself, face pressed to the wall, he reached behind with both hands just to have it. After all, it was his doing. It belonged to him.

"Next time," he breathed, "you'll have me completely."

Enoch: Their warm little bathroom was thick with the sound of their soft panting. Enoch tipped his head forward, resting it against Rune as his arms wrapped around his ribs, as if to hold them up while they reigned in runaway heartbeats. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the echo of those words and his wandering hands drew a faint, private smile from him.

He dipped his head, brushing past damp, clinging locks to nuzzle, then press a lingering kiss to the back of mage’s neck.

“How am I to survive you?”

The question meant for his thoughts had accidentally slipped out but the sentiment held true. He’d coax his companion to turn; fingers lifting to his chin and guide him closer because the need to kiss him was too great.

“…We should probably get cleaned up. Again.”

Rune: Survive? A question he could ask in kind. Here they were covered in sweat and semen when they were meant to be covered in suds. Better still, Enoch was meant to be dressing for work! Survive? How indeed.

The mage was pliant in his hold, turning obediently and smiling into their kiss. If they could sleep in this shower - no. No. He cupped his companion's face in both hands and nuzzled.

"Mm. You're an absolute mess. Can't have Professor Neumann looking like a whore." One more kiss for good measure, before turning Enoch toward the curtain and opening it. "Out."

Enoch: Enoch found himself leaning just slightly to meet the nuzzle, caught easily between damp hands.

“A whore?” he echoed under his breath, the corners of his mouth threatening to turn upward despite himself. “I’m only trying to make up for lost time,” he added in his defense, basking in that familiar, handsome face.

Then suddenly hands at his shoulders were turning him firmly toward the exit.

“Ah—! A moment, at least let me rinse—”

A final, hurried wash and rinse, and Rune had his way. Enoch stepped out soon after, toweling himself off as he crossed back into the bedroom, already half-focused on drying his hair and gathering himself.

“So,” he called from within, voice carrying down the hall, “do you intend to follow up with your specter friend today?”

Rune: "Lost time?" Was he still on about that? The time between acquaintanceship and romance? Surely not; this was about their rude incorporeal guest.

In which case, he felt the same injustice. As it stood, their privacy was in limited, precious quantities. And that tingle down his spine? His eyes closed with a sigh. Enoch was already gone, and once again, they were not alone.

"I have little choice. If I'm not mistaken, I don't believe we're alone."

The faucet squeaked tight.

"I need access to wherever his old desk may be..."

Enoch: His intuitive lover was correct, there had been feelings he’d frustratingly denied himself in the alleyway the night before.

With the warmer weather, the scholar had dressed accordingly: a pressed white shirt, blue pinstriped trousers, a matching bowtie, brown leather suspenders, and a jacket thrown neatly overtop, no need for the extra layer of a vest. He was brushing through his hair when he learned of their guest.

“Come by my lab after work,” he said, “I’ll see what I can uncover and perhaps find where his desk is kept.”

A careful dab of cologne at each pulse point and his neck before he stepped out from the room, adjusting his cuffs as he did.

“How do I look?” He paused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Hopefully not like a whore.”

Rune: Rune had only just gotten to drying his hair when Enoch reappeared. There his man stood, naked as the night he was born, a towel draped over his head, looking momentarily like a babushka.

His cock pulsed once. Ignore that.

"Mm... not a whore. You've cleaned up nicely."

He turned to face the tile, if only to save himself further exposure of that physique and the consequences between his legs.

"Your lab, then. I'll keep our guest company, in the meantime." More like... he would try to pawn him off on his shipmates. Today would be far from boring.

"Do you dare kiss me before you leave?"

Enoch: There was nothing wrong with the naked Dutchman standing in his bathroom, quite the contrary. It made leaving this and every morning an exercise in restraint when this man chose to keep him company.

Blue eyes lingered as Rune turned to face away from him, offering the clean toned line of his shoulders and back. He smiled faintly, unable to help himself as he indulged just a little bit.

“Mm, yes but I still have my tea and toast that you’ve prepared for me,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against the warm skin on his shoulder. His fingers followed, light and absent, ghosting over the bruise surely forming along his ribs.

Rune: "Ah, right, that." He had forgotten all about food, except the taste of Enoch - and if he didn't stop thinking about it, he would need to relieve himself, again.

Hardly anything to grumble about. His lover and best friend was doing nothing to ease his troubles. He could hardly recall when he was ever this insatiable. He wondered, briefly, if there was any merit behind the tales of soulmates. This was not the first time he had considered, but liked to keep the thought to himself.

A thought which dissolved with a light touch of fingers.

"Leave me, you beast. Do you intend to keep me naked?"

Enoch: The tea and toast had likely gone cold by now, neglected in favor of a far more worthwhile distraction. Given the strain of recent days with his circumstances, it felt like a fair trade, even if it meant the scholar would be a few minutes late to his lecture.

A foxish hint of a grin touched his lips at the reprimand. “Yes, one day, but that day is not today.”

A little intrusive thought followed, but he let it pass. Instead, he pressed a brief kiss to his mage’s temple before releasing him.

“Go on, get dressed while I finish getting ready.”

Rune: "One day," he echoed. In a house by the sea. Just a little daydream. Perhaps, he thought - no. No. Live in the present. What a novel, silly idea for a Euthanatos.

But he no longer kept his satchel out in the open, and he no longer asked Enoch to fetch his things from within. The added weight would raise too many questions.

"I could just give you the key," he mused, brushing past to make himself presentable. "But that would mean having our guest in your ear all afternoon. You don't have to see and hear him clearly to know he'll be a nuisance."

Enoch: “Mm but if it brings you peace of mind…”

The temptation was too great, especially with the mage brushing past him in such a state. A quick, fleeting pinch to that bare backside, and he was already retreating toward the kitchen.

Enough mischief for now.

“Leave me with it so you can enjoy your day with your crew. I’m sure I can manage,” he called from the kitchen, setting the tea to warm again before finally taking a bite of his toast.

Rune: The towel in his hands was quickly rolled and snapped at Enoch's thigh. Ridiculous. He needed to dress before this madness continued.

"And lose the opportunity for our guest to terrorize Sang? Raeni? Hector? I think not. I'll find you this afternoon. Your lab."

Enoch: Rune was met with silence as the professor leaned over the sink, carefully balancing egg atop toast, attempting to eat quickly so he could dash out the door. It took several beats before he finally responded.

“And you like these people? Why would you subject them to our rather prude guest? No offense, Otto.”

He took a quick swig of tea.

“…And what, exactly, will you do to me when I inevitably annoy you?”

Rune: "It's because I like them, I wish to keep them on their toes."

And Hector was easy enough to rile. Rhys, not so much. Raeni? To see something more than a neutral expression.

One of the books on the shelf by the fireplace was pulled from thin air, floating, opening, pages turning. Rune quietly chuckled at something said.

"What? Me? What makes you think I'll retaliate?"

Enoch: The scholar smirked, brushing a bit of egg from his face before turning the faucet on just enough to dampen his fingers and clean them.

“I think you rather enjoy seeing my reactions.”

He finished the rest of his tea, pausing to watch the floating book for a moment, quietly marveling at how drastically his life had changed in less than a year.

But that familiar anxiety of being late to class nudged him into motion. He pushed away from the counter and stepped toward his lover to kiss him goodbye.

“Enjoy yourself and I’ll see you this evening, yes?”

Rune: "Always." Even now, however miniscule, every reaction was valuable. It was Enoch he watched as the young mage witnessed Otto Bauer making himself at home.

They had come many miles in what felt like a blink and an eternity.

He returned the kiss in kind, and made a point of stepping out of the line-of-sight of the door as it was opened. Left alone with their guest, he would walk quietly, speak softly, and clean as mindful as a thief. Eventually, he would slip from the dormitory during the goldilocks hour, when the majority of its occupants were absent, not yet to return for lunch or afternoon studies.

Straight to the pub, his second home, and an old invisible ship on the River Thames.

Enoch: “See? And that’s precisely why I think you’d retaliate,” the blond smirked, leaning in to give his mage a soft nuzzle and a parting kiss. Then he was off, collecting his bag and keys before slipping out the door entirely.

The day moved quickly after that. A morning lecture, followed by a faculty meeting, then a brief return to his office to meet with a student eager to assist in his research. Another lecture followed, and a short stop at the library before he finally settled into the laboratory for the remainder of the afternoon and into the early evening.

It had been during the faculty meeting that he managed to catch Thomas, asking somewhat carefully what he knew of the old Professor Bauer. The question earned him a curious look, but it eventually led him to the elderly librarian who had once been friendly with the late professor.

Through that conversation, Enoch learned the location of Bauer’s old room, though time hadn’t permitted him to investigate further. Instead, he made his way to the lab, determined to make progress on his work until whenever the mage would should up.

And when the Euthanatos would arrive, he would find Enoch deep in his experiments. His coat had been shed in favor of a heavy apron, thick gloves pulled over his hands as he worked with something far more noxious than usual. The laboratory windows stood open, letting the sharp smell of the experiment bleed out into the air.

Rune: Ever since that fateful day of confession, their lives had conspired against them. Days exclusively in each other’s company felt more like a daydream than tangible reality. Truth be, watching Enoch’s back and the last shadow of his hand upon the doorknob, he was exhausted. Not of the man still lingering on his lips, but of the everlasting war of propriety.

But the battles were chosen carefully, and today, the battle of Otto Bauer politely raged on. Polite… on one end of the spectrum, there was Otto, trying to carry a book out of the flat, only to realize his stamina was severely limited. The flare of his ghostly nostrils and the tremble of a nearly teacup, the canary in the coal mine.

On the other end, Rune, bathed, groomed, and bitter with the concept of babysitting.

The wraith was ushered from the dormitory, led through the wilderness that was London on a busy morning. Straight to his second home, staring across from the infamous river. A few familiar faces to come ashore had made themselves at home. A little vampire had curled up on his cot, sleeping peacefully. He was tucked in without word. Otto, for once, had been stricken dumb by the revelations behind the curtain. A poker table occupied by vampire, witch, werewolves, and an empath, most of whom were paying attention, staring, even greeting him as an equal. This had been precisely his strategy.

Rune: Soon, Otto settled into an all-day conversation with the empath. They huddled in the corner, two chairs, one seemingly empty, one woman, seemingly talking to herself. Rune excused himself to the ship, to his old room, where he helped himself to some of his old things. He made his rounds, greeting those too reluctant to leave the ship, and decided then and there he wanted Enoch to know a taste of this life.

But, in the meantime, he had to collect the wraith and return from the deviated path. That afternoon, Rune poked his head into Enoch’s lap, nose hidden behind his hand, a new satchel hanging from his shoulders.

“Are you trying to dispose of a body?”

Enoch: Despite the windows being open, the air still carried the smell of burnt chemicals tinged with iron. Glassware cluttered every surface: flasks, beakers, coiled tubing, some quietly bubbling, others stained with residues of past experiments.

Enoch stood there with his sleeves rolled, goggles shielding his eyes, and a white cloth tied over his nose and mouth. In his grip, held carefully with tongs, was a flask that caught the light oddly. Its contents shifting in color, somewhere between a deep red and then into a dark brown.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the right tools for that,” came the muffled reply of the chemist as he adjusted the angle of the flask over the flame. The liquid inside gave a soft, uneven bubble, releasing another curl of smoke

“Stay by my desk, if you would. I’m almost done here,” he said, though his gaze never left the flask.

“I’m forcing a change in the hemoglobin,” he started to explain, almost absently, though there was excitement threading through his tone. “Heating it, introducing an oxidizing agent… it alters how the iron behaves and binds. In this state, it can no longer carry oxygen properly.”

“It’s… not unlike what happens in certain poisonings,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “The blood looks perfectly capable but functionally, it’s useless.”

He paused, realizing that his companion probably wasn’t interested in a hematology lesson. Only then did he glance back again, just briefly.

“How were your adventures today?”

Rune: "I still beg the question why you're not an Etherite," Rune muttered under his breath. He followed the path allowed him, leaning against the wall, well out of reach - hopefully - of any disaster. He trusted Enoch to keep himself out of harm.

"Hemoglobin." The word tasted funny in his accent. Had he ever heard the word in Dutch? He wanted to know, now.

"I doubt it can do anything once you cook it." His sailor was smirking.

Adventures. Rune turned his head toward his invisible companion.

"I think he has a crush on our resident empath. I hardly had to babysit."

A pause, his hands raised slowly in surrender. Poor wording. "Ready to end this."

Enoch: “Hush, I do not need commentary from the peanut gallery,” Enoch grinned behind his mask, giving the solution another careful swirl. “Besides, I’m investigating whether awakened blood possesses different properties from that of those who don’t practice magic.”

So far, the results had been disappointingly inconclusive…including this experiment.

He set the glassware carefully onto a metal ring, freeing his hands to snuff out the flame and allow both the solution and flask to cool. The tongs were set aside next, followed by the gloves, which he peeled off and left on the table. His goggles were pushed up onto his head, the cloth mask tugged down around his neck as his nose wrinkled at the lingering chemical smell that would, eventually, fade.

“How are your shipmates?” he asked as he moved toward another set of gently boiling, softly clinking bottles. “Have they begun asking for you back?”

He inspected them with the same care, extinguishing their flames as well before finally turning his full attention toward the sailor.

Rune: The glass beakers were scrutinized. Were these used once and destroyed? Seemed a waste. But then, just as swiftly as the thought appeared, so too did another, more silly thought: this was where Enoch accumulated mess. While his flat was relatively tidy, one might assume from years of stern looks and dutiful ritual, here, mess was... allowed? Curious.

"Some," he wouldn't lie. What would it achieve? "They'll just have to wait. Do you... need assistance?" A single finger gestured around the chaos that was scientific discovery.

Enoch: Some glassware was reused, most of it actually, though a few pieces were intended for only a single use depending on the experiment. Rune received his answer a moment later when Enoch carried the flask he had been working with toward the sink to be properly cleaned later. The rest…well it could wait for when he was back.

“Uh…”

Perhaps the least elegant response the Brit had offered all evening, caught momentarily off guard by the request.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assured quickly. “I just need a moment to document my thoughts, if you don’t mind.”

His hand rose to the cloth hanging loosely around his neck like a makeshift scarf, tugging it free before setting it beside his notebook. He bent over the page, quickly jotting down the last of his findings.

“The library,” he explained as he finished the final sentence. “Mr. Abernathy was apparently acquainted with Professor Bauer, according to my sources and likely the person most familiar with where Bauer’s office belongings ended up after his forced retirement.”

Rune: Another gesture. By all means.

Otto had no comment to make. Not as he walked the parameter of the laboratory, not when he peeked into several flasks and sniffed, as though he might recognize a scent he could not even smell.

The mage quietly scoffed, pulling out White Fang by Jack London. This wasn't his book. At least, this wasn't his book yesterday.

While Enoch worked, Rune slowly sank to the floor, carefully reading over chapter one.

Eventually, dark eyes peeked over the pages when spoken to.

"So... this Mr. Abernathy is the... librarian? Has his desk there?"

Enoch: “Not quite. He should know where Bauer’s things ended up, though, and that’s promising. We simply make a quick trip to the library and hopefully get this all sorted.”

The notebook was closed and carried back to his desk and tucked away into a drawer. Next came the apron, which he removed and hung up. The scholar cast one last glance around the laboratory, checking to ensure nothing else required attention before they left. Satisfied, he gathered his satchel and suit jacket, organizing a few loose papers inside before finally approaching his companion.

“What have you got there?” he asked, extending a hand to help the mage to his feet.

Rune: Rune took the offering, and placed the book in Enoch's hand. On the opposite side of the cover bore the name Alma Moses, 1906.

"One of my mates gave it to me. Finished somewhere across the Tyrrhenian Sea. He said it was boring - the man only enjoys penny dreadfuls. Took it off his hands to study."

The book was tucked in his inner coat pocket.

"Shall we?"

Enoch: Enoch looked over the book, recognizing the title if only because he had read it quite some time ago.

“I remember enjoying it. You’ll have to let me know what you think once you’ve finished.” He handed the book back.

“But you still owe me the rest of the first one,” he smiled. “Speaking of which, we should resume our lessons.” The last remark came as he switched from German back into English.

“Mm, a moment though…I think you’ve forgotten something.”

Before the mage could protest, Enoch gently tugged him behind one of the laboratory benches, the tall shelving enough to conceal them from view for a brief moment.

There, hidden away among glassware and books, the scholar leaned in to brush a soft kiss against Rune’s lips.

Rune: "English for lessons, right? Our agreement still has a leg to stand on." Not officially. As far as the Arcanum was concerned, he was now an unappreciated wildcard, but that was neither here nor there, today.

"Ah, English, English," he grumbled in the language.

He was turning for the door when his wrist was caught. The mage made no complaint, uttered no question as he was pulled into the shadows.

The world was right again. Nose against nose, forehead to forehead, he sighed, breathed in their private air, and pulled Enoch into a deeper kiss, clutching the back of his head. Almost. At the very cusp of eager, redirected blood flow, he pulled himself away.

"Lead the way, beast."

Enoch: Holding his wrist soon became holding his hips as Enoch leaned in to return the kiss. The way the mage held him only intensified the moment, a hand slowly sliding up the small of Rune’s back to draw him closer and keep him there.

A loose, honest grin lingered on the scholar’s lips when they finally parted, though he still refused to let go of his companion just yet.

“Your shipmates will be waiting quite some time for your return,” he smirked. “Either until my death, or until you eventually grow tired of me.”

His eyes crinkled warmly at the corners.

“Unless, of course, I abandon London entirely and join you as a pirate.”

One of Enoch’s hands drifted up along the Euthanatos’s side, knowingly brushing near the bite mark from their morning, in quiet pursuit of a reaction before he pressed one final kiss into the crook of his lover’s neck.

Now he had earned that nickname.

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the mage and started leading them toward the library, locking the laboratory behind them on the way out.

Rune: His smile was soft, but, something flickered between the lust and the love. Something knowing. This wasn't the first instance Enoch had mentioned boredom. He was old enough to know it was more than simple jest.

But anything he had intended to say was forgotten. A simple touch gave the game away, his neck stolen like a vampire's kiss.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it was a game. Perhaps, he hoped, Enoch was being territorial. Words said out loud to make them real - his own little spell of confidence.

Disoriented, lavished in love, arousal, and soreness, Rune straightened his clothes and hair before coming out from behind their sanctuary.

"Fiend."

Enoch: The evening air was pleasant on his still- warm face as Enoch led them across campus. He was in the middle of buttoning his suit jacket as they stepped onto the sidewalk and made their way toward the library.

The campus remained lively this evening. Students lounged across the grass to enjoy the lingering warmth while others wandered in small groups, talking amongst themselves as faculty crossed between buildings.

Had the Euthanatos truly never wanted a life like this?

The thought surfaced unexpectedly, only for Enoch to immediately counter it himself. Compared to the high-stakes adventures of life at sea, this academic world must have seemed terribly tame. And perhaps some small part of him worried this sort of life would only remain charming for a little while before inevitably becoming dull to the sailor.

Why was he plagued with such pessimistic thoughts lately?

Enoch was pulled from his thoughts when a red-haired student passing by offered the professor a small wave and greeting on their way toward the library steps.

The scholar returned it politely before holding the door open for his companion to enter first. Once inside, he nodded lightly toward the front desk.

“I’ll see if Mr. Abernathy is in.”

Rune: As it were, Enoch's thoughts like stepping stones in water were too faint for notice. Too many people, distracted by his lover's brazen whims. He was still debating which it truly was: romantic, or sexual? He decided it had been both. As uncomfortable as it was to admit, he found himself comparing their carnal pleasures to Aoi's chaos. One was healthy, loving, one was...

Days like these were a reminder. There was only forward. If given the option to relive his life from childhood... it would be a living Hell.

Right. The library. Rune stepped inside and to the side. Otto Bauer looked from side to side, as though expecting something.

"It's been rearranged," he grumbled. "What was the point of that? It's the same amount of shelves."

"If I had a penny for every complaint," Rune sighed. "Not you." He gestured in front of them. "We'll be here."

Enoch: Now… it was no secret that Enoch was not particularly skilled at subterfuge. He had far too many tells. His stammer worsened, the tips of his ears pinkened, and sustained eye contact became nearly impossible for him.

What he was good at, however, was sidestepping the truth through half-truths and careful omission.

The young scholar was eventually directed toward the elderly librarian, where he explained that not all of Professor Bauer’s belongings had been collected after his departure and that he was inquiring on someone else’s behalf. There had been a brief moment where he faltered under further questioning, but he recovered quickly enough by claiming that Bauer’s brother had entrusted him with the key to the professor’s desk and that he merely needed directions to where it had been moved.

Plausible enough, apparently.

The old librarian informed him that the desk had been placed into storage in the west wing, awaiting reassignment alongside other furniture for incoming faculty next term. Fortunate timing for them.

He very much wanted to ask how the librarian knew so much, but pressing his luck further felt unwise. Instead, he thanked the older man politely before returning to his companion and their spectral friend.

Enoch gave a small nod for Rune to follow as he led them toward the left side of the library, where a pair of double doors opened into another corridor leading toward the west wing of the university.

“They’ve placed it in storage,” he explained quietly as they walked. “So hopefully his belongings are still there.”

Rune: Rune made himself a statue in his corner of the room, still by the door. A method of avoidance which usually succeeded. So long as attention remained elsewhere diverted, no one would remember his face, however strange or beautiful or hideous he was regarded. A fairly recent phenomena, one spanning years he could count on a single hand. The price mages paid for experience - some more than others.

Perhaps it was to their fortune, or simply his nearness. He would like to believe in Enoch's independent merits.

"Mr. Bauer congratulates you on being a good liar," he smirked. "Pardon me. A perjurer. His wording."

Enoch: His gaze stayed fixed on the hallway ahead as they walked, hands loosely gripping the strap of his satchel while he searched for what might pass as a storage room.

But the mage’s compliment made him glance over, blue eyes squinting in offense.

“I most certainly did not lie,” he argued. “I merely… obscured the truth a little.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling outright before redirecting his attention forward again.

“I cannot have either of you sullying my good name.”

Might as well change the subject while they were at it.

“Is there any way we could use the finding spell to locate the desk that key belongs to?”

Rune: Rune only chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. He was only the medium. Or median? Both?

"Otto is already poking his head in the doors ahead of us. Seeing as neither of us have ever touched the thing..." But, maybe with Otto's assistance. "Are storage rooms hidden like a dungeon in this place?" A rhetorical question as he rooted himself in place, slowly spinning his finger as he waited for the telltale distortion of space.

Enoch: Enoch looked ahead, wishing for a moment that he was able to see Otto, but not even the faintest disturbance in the air gave any indication of where the spectre had gone.

Instead, his footsteps slowed alongside his companion’s.

“I don’t believe so,” he answered thoughtfully, oblivious that it had been a rhetorical question. “But they likely wouldn’t store surplus near the lecture halls. More toward the least-used rooms of the wing, I would imagine.”

He nodded for the Euthanatos to continue following him.

“These are all classrooms and study rooms,” he reasoned. “We’ll probably have better luck further down.”

Rune: "Well, you were told storage, and storage - Otto's leaving us for dust."

That spell would do nothing. He dropped his hand in defeat, returning to Enoch's side and then ahead, turning left - west, it would appear.

"Yes, yes. We're here. Don't have another heart attack. He says he's found it. Third door."

Enoch: “For someone who’s dead, he’s rather impatient.”

Enoch followed after the mage, quickening his pace slightly as they turned down a corridor leading toward the less frequented parts of the wing. Every so often, the scholar glanced back over his shoulder. Not out of fear exactly, but he would very much prefer not to explain himself if they happened to be stopped wandering the halls after hours.

“Mm.”

From there, Enoch took the lead, counting doors beneath his breath until they reached the third one. He tested the handle and found it unlocked.

The room beyond appeared long abandoned.

Desks and chairs had been stacked haphazardly against the walls alongside several old easels, all coated in a fine layer of dust. The setting sun spilled through the windows in long amber beams, catching drifting columns of dust in the air and giving the neglected room an almost dreamlike quality.

Enoch stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning the clutter.

“Which one?”

Three large wooden desks sat piled within the room, chairs stacked awkwardly atop them.

Rune: "How you can tell the fledglings and the veterans apart. Trust me, this is preferrable."

Weren't grand old furnishings meant to be covered by a sheet? Something he had read in books, and heard from the mouth of Clara Kraus, after her father died in his sleep. 'It's a ghost house, now,' she had said, not a tear in her eyes. 'They filled it with sheets.'

Rune snapped back to the present with a sigh.

One of the chairs by the pile of desks rolled by an invisible force, coming to a squeaking stop by the window. The same unseen fingers wiped a trail of dust from the largest desk, trailing down to the bottom drawer. So, he was to be that kind of wraith. A swift learner, as he had been in life. A new suspicion festered in Rune's gut.

"And we're shown the way," he sighed. The key was tossed to Enoch. "Will this really be the end of it?"

Enoch: There was a hum of acknowledgment from the scholar as he moved to inspect the desks. His attention snagged almost immediately on the sight of the chair rolling away on its own.

It made him stop short.

For a moment, Enoch simply stood there, caught by the sheer surrealness of what his life had become, following ghosts through abandoned halls to search in forgotten desks for a manuscript. Then the fingerprints appeared from thin air, and his fascination only deepened. Blue eyes tracked them carefully, marveling at the impossible sight with open curiosity rather than fear.

“Is everything alright?” he asked suddenly, turning to look toward his companion just in time, his hands lifting to catch the key tossed his way.

“You sigh rather often,” he observed. “As though… something is weighing on you.”

He let the thought rest there for now, breaking eye contact as he approached the desk Otto had indicated. Following the spectre’s guidance, he reached for the drawer first and, unsurprisingly, found it locked. So the key was slid into place and with a soft click and twist, the drawer popped open.

“Brilliant.”

Rune: "Sorry." He almost sighed again. "It's just..." He shook his head. "It's nothing. The price of dealing with the dead."

Otto stood to Enoch's right, staring down at what he believed to be his unfinished business. His magnum opus. Paper and ink in a black, forgotten drawer. No one had bothered to break it open. No one had cared for the rattling within as it was moved into storage, to gather dust, useless, unwanted, unimportant.

"Otto," Rune warned.

Enoch was gestured away, gently at first, then sharply, as though swiping at a fly.

Enoch: It took Enoch a moment to realize that his beau had actually apologized, a rarity in itself, and even more startling when he noticed the mage echoing some of his own mannerisms back at him. The realization nearly drew a smile from him, and he bit lightly at his lower lip to hide it, instead focusing on the stubborn drawer he was arguing with.

At last, the drawer gave and carefully, he pulled the papers free, sitting back on his heels to inspect them more closely.

“May I?” he asked Otto, entirely unaware of the unrest brewing nearby.

He almost missed the first gesture had it not been for that sharp tone. From the corner of his eye he caught the movement, followed quickly by another that made him straighten at once, startled from his focus. The manuscript was tucked securely beneath his arm as he rose and moved away from the desk, concern overtaking his curiosity.

Rune: What Enoch could not see was a wraith on the verge of a frenzy. The room had thickened with humidity. The first escape of vapor from their mouths, and he knew they were past the point of return.

Rune wrapped his prayer beads around his hand, held out as if cautioning a rabid dog.

The drawer rattled in its desk pocket, snatched to the floor and flown across the room with a loud crash, shattering.

"Out. Get out." The commands which proceeded were sharper, well-versed phrases with heavy consonants. Familiar like Latin, and yet plucked from every language before and after its conception. The room filled with a symphony of rattling windows, chairs, and drawers.

And then nothing. Rune crossed himself and prayed, then crossed himself again.

There was no time to linger. Rune stepped quickly into the hall.

"That's what happens when wraiths indulge their emotions."

Enoch: Enoch had retreated to Rune’s side of the room, his attention flicking anxiously between the Euthanatos and the desk he had just searched.

The sudden clatter of the drawer ripping free and crashing apart into splintered wood startled the poor scholar badly enough that the hairs along the back of his neck rose at once. Fear plunged through him sharp and immediate, an instinctive kind born from danger he could not see nor predict.

He was only allowed a handful of seconds within the room before Rune snapped at him to get out.

Enoch hesitated.

His blue eyes stayed fixed stubbornly on the mage, fingers twitching with the urge to grab him by the collar and drag him out with him. But Rune knew what he was doing, right? And so the young mageling forced himself to trust him.

His hand stayed tightly around the doorknob once outside, listening to whatever was unfolding on the other side beneath the pounding of his own heartbeat filling his ears.

“Are you alright?”

The moment Rune emerged, Enoch shut the door firmly behind them before reaching out to grip the mage’s arm, squeezing as though reassuring himself Rune was alright and not... not possessed by Otto.

"What happens now?"

Rune: To their left and right. No one. Rune whispered in Dutch, eye closing and head tilting. No danger, no red. Glimpsing the future was unnecessary exhaustion.

Still a sentinel, he took Enoch's hand and squeezed, kissed his fingers, and released him.

"Put the manuscript away. Talk about work loudly. Be excited about it. Now."

Rune put his back to the room. Hands in pocket, eyes forward, his hardened features softened as footsteps started around the corner. In five seconds, they would discover the source of a floating thread. Just a human going about their day, blissfully oblivious.

Enoch: The poor professor was still thoroughly shaken by how quickly everything had turned. Yet he remained still, listening carefully yet heard no footsteps rushing toward them. Even so, it startled him when his beloved suddenly took his hand and kissed it.

Just like that, it became the newest reason his heart drummed in his ears. Honestly, how dare the mage act so casually after frightening him half to death?

For a beat, Enoch simply stared at Rune before finally being pulled back to the matter at hand.

The manuscript was tucked into his satchel, though Rune earned a pointed side-eye when he instructed the scholar to speak excitedly about his work, as if that was ever difficult for him.

Still, the scholar appreciated the direction.

As they walked away from the room, Enoch seamlessly slipped into conversation about the experiments he intended to attempt next, along with the progress he had been making on his own manuscript that he hoped to publish before the end of autumn.

His gaze flickered briefly toward the person in the hall, but the stranger paid them little mind. They would continue down the hall, Enoch fighting the impulse to look behind him and ask about Otto.

Rune: No one would suspect the gentleman professor animated over his life's work. More in character and unnoticeable than awkward silence, tight shoulders, staring at the floor. Rune glanced his direction but once, nodding when appropriate. It was a good call. What consternation? They were breathing easy.

Finally, the hall filled with only their footsteps.

"What happens now is a drink. Several. We're going to the pub. Do with the manuscript as you wish." But his face contorted in silent argument with himself. "If I may be frank, I think you should forget it. Lock it away somewhere, or I shall. Leave it for... a rainy day, or a more willing era. What you have in that bag is dangerous. As for Otto, I don't know. I don't think we'll see him for a while. "

Enoch: “What does this mean for him? Was that not his unfinished business?” the blond asked softly. Even with no one nearby, he kept his voice low, wary of how easily sound carried through these halls.

What had the ghost wanted done with the manuscript? To publish it? To have it read?

“It’s his story…”

There was much left unsaid in those quiet words, but Enoch had already resolved himself to seeing at least some part of the spectre’s wishes fulfilled if it might finally help the man move on.

His hand tightened around the leather strap of his satchel as his thoughts drifted toward the pages now hidden safely inside. So occupied by his thoughts that he barely registered they were heading toward the bar.

Rune: "I'm willing to bet money it is, but... wraiths are peculiar. I've told you, the dead feed on emotions, specific ones keep them satiated, healed. What we just witnessed... some sort of existential crisis. 'My life's work,' something-something 'we're all just broken memories.'"

His hand placed firmly between Enoch's shoulders, patted.

"If we hear about strange, violent paranormal activities in the area, or Otto's brother has a heart attack in the bathtub, we'll know who to blame."

Enoch: “Was he feeding on us? Your shipmates?”

The shift still left the scholar reeling. From everything Rune had described, Otto had seemed almost pleasant, and then suddenly...

Enoch was struggling to reconcile the whiplash of a good-natured ghost turning volatile so quickly. His eyes widened further at the mention of Otto’s brother’s fate, and he turned sharply toward the mage.

“I won’t forgive myself if that happens.”

The confession came quickly, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as unease settled deeper into him. Somehow this felt like a failure on his part, even if he could not fully explain why.

“What if we speak to him?” he suggested after a moment. “Try to calm him?”

Rune: "The fault would belong to know one, En. Not anyone living. Whatever emotions sustain him, seeing his book was an overdose. It's behind us, now."

In all his predictions, Enoch's worrying lip hadn't been on the cards. He felt obligated, but not to Otto.

"You wish for me to summon him? That's not happening tonight. I'm not doing it. I'm not having a volatile ghost anywhere near you."

Enoch: Enoch stared ahead as they walked, his gaze fixed on the worn flooring beneath their feet. His hands tightened around the leather strap of his satchel with weakened strength before eventually letting go, retreating instead into his pockets.

One had to choose their battles wisely, and from the firmness in Rune’s voice, Enoch understood this was not one he was going to win. So, he drew in a slow breath and gave a small nod.

"I understand. I... I won't ask that of you."

Silence stretched between them for a while as they continued down the hall, footsteps echoing softly around them before Enoch finally spoke again.

“Tell me about your crew,” he said, glancing over at the mage at last. “If I am to meet them.”

Rune: There had to have been at least a hundred people milling about in this enormous building, and yet, it was only Enoch, his world, his life, and some twinge of misplaced guilt.

"Some other time. I promise. We'll see to him again."

It was easy to say yes, he realized; saying no was an act of willpower.

"The Lord willing, you'll only meet a few of them. Ines, maybe. Ahanu. Not our captain. No. He's a deplorable flirt. We picked up a few more, recently." As in months and months ago. No mention of any new blood, but those in need of sanctuary or of transportation were rarely worth a conversation.

"Would you like to see my home?"

Enoch: The subject was set aside for now. Enoch could only hope they would not wake tomorrow to news of any deaths, particularly that of an older Bauer brother.

Fortunately, the mention of Rune’s crew proved to be a distraction, and the casual reveal of a flirtatious captain made the scholar blink in surprise. Somehow, that had not been what he was expecting at all.

“How do you know?” he asked, glancing over at the mage with renewed curiosity. “Do you write to them?”

A beat passed before another thought struck him.

“And… how does mail even arrive on a ship?”

The answer came to him almost immediately after the question left his mouth.

Magic.

"Of course. You've been living in mine, it's time I see yours."

Rune: One of the enormous double doors was opened, held until Enoch's passing. Seemed he had answered the question himself. The Euthanatos' smile reached his eyes.

"There is a designated place on the ship. A little correspondence spell. Only a few of us can do it. Guess who ends up being the postmen? I give them English news, they give me tales of islands with bird-women and a baby dragon."

Living. Not just knowing his home, but living in it. The mage cleared his throat, trying not to look pleased at nothing.

"How about the ship first? I might gather a few more of my things."

Enoch: “You once mentioned that ghosts can act as messengers. Is that it?”

Though the exchange of news drew a sharper reaction from him, Enoch’s brows lifting at the mention of dragons and harpies. Those certainly had not been on his list of things he considered remotely possible.

But then again, how many impossible things had already become reality in the past year alone?

Enoch glanced over at the pointed clearing of Rune’s throat and immediately caught that look on his lover’s face. The mage earned a playful nudge from Enoch’s shoulder just as they stepped outside and London greeted them once more.

"Lead the way, sailor."

Rune: "It's something. They don't do well over water. Our world and the Shadowlands are nearly mirrors." He didn't like the subject, but swallowed through it. It was no one's fault, but he suddenly missed a woman he had never formally met.

But the ship would be a well-deserved distraction. Better than the pub, where Captain Nachim almost certainly was. Someone, many someones, would be in Clarissa's salon. Someone was most definitely sleeping on his cot. This was the sane, pragmatic choice.

If the pair had passed familiar faces on the way to the navel pier, Rune made no mention nor glance. He didn't want to be stopped by a werewolf or a banshee.

More besides, he had to relocate the ship.

"Where are you, you big bitch." Only two small cargo ships took up space on the pier, and a tiny barge leaning heavily on starboard, being scrutinized by two old men with their hands on their hips. But something much larger was groaning. Creaks and moans that had once been his lullaby.

"Mm. There. Look." Above them, a small flock of black-headed gulls argued for purchase on an invisible structure. From the height, possibly the fore top yard.

Rune stepped carefully, his good ear seemingly turned to the water. There, a few feet - a gangplank, invisible, scraped against the pier. Rune felt at its edges with his foot.

"Step where I step." If Enoch didn't shadow him, he would witness the mage disappear into thin air, walking up an invisible incline. To follow, would be to lift the veil. An enormous first-rate ship, but not quite. Too clean, too colorful, like an unsailed vessel waiting patiently for her maiden voyage.

A man in mulberry and brown leaned with crossed arms on a shroud. His holler, like a wet cough wanting to scream, didn't faze the mage in the slightest.

"What do ya 'ave wit' ya? Bring yer arse o'er here 'n tell us news o' the world!"

"Where's Rhys?"

"Up me arse with a candlestick. Is it urgent?"

A sigh. A breath. Rune pointed to the man all but lying over ropes. "Moses."

Enoch: Then did he mean the sailors were the postmen? That had to be it. But Enoch didn’t dwell on the thought for long as they made their way toward the pier.

Truthfully, he rarely found himself near this part of London. The docks were a novelty to him, and the cargo ships lining the harbor easily captured his attention. None of them resembled the vessel his beloved spoke of with such fondness. Though admittedly, Enoch wasn’t entirely certain of what he had been expecting. It certainly had not been an invisible ship nor that Rune would have to search for it.

His gaze lifted to where the mage pointed, noticing the gulls circling and squabbling above seemingly empty air. Huh.

The scholar's steps slowed as he watched the mage test an invisible foothold before casually stepping onto nothing at all and continuing forward. And then, just like that, the Euthanatos vanished from sight. The scholar glanced around instinctively to see whether anyone else had noticed. No one had reacted and after a brief hesitation, Enoch followed.

Carefully, he tested the unseen step beneath his shoe before committing his full weight to it. And there the veil lifted like breath from glass. Suddenly the ship stood before him in all her grandeur.

The sight rooted him in place.

She was magnificent.

Enoch stared openly, awed by the vivid colors of the ship and by the sheer impossibility that something so massive could be hidden.

The sudden sound of another voice startled him from his reverie, his attention snapping upward toward the sailor draped among the ropes overhead. The exchange that followed only deepened the surrealness of the moment.

Rune’s sigh drew a faint smile from him.

Slowly, and perhaps a touch awkwardly, Enoch lifted a hand and offered Moses a polite little wave.

Rune: Alma Moses. The very name scribbled onto his new book. The man looked older than the oldest ship. The oldest-looking man to call himself crew. White hair peeked from behind his mariner cap, whiter than the salt and pepper beard hastily trimmed with a knife.

"We'll leave you to it, Moses. Sleep well." The old man huffed at the implication, removing his hat and swatting their direction, as though he might reach Rune's face for the audacity.

"You're back!" cried a voice from the wheel. A younger man sat with spread legs against the binnacle. An abandoned game of solitaire between his feet. His smile was tight, restricted by old burns across his jaw. He couldn't have been older than twenty - one might assume.

"I'm not back. I'm just getting some things."

Rune was heading for the companionway when the young man jumped to his feet.

"Renovations! Nono! Do you want to get stretched like Ines?!"

That would explain the crates on the quarter and poop deck. His running theory on the fate of this ship was still uncontested. Enoch might laugh, when he had the chance to explain.

"We just did renovations!"

"Hector has it. Or Raeni? Or Rhys?"

Deep breath. Slow.

"I'll... find... Hector?" The scarred man winced.

"Please."

The young man turned his attention to Enoch and startled. Had he been there the entire time?

"Who are you?"

Enoch: Enoch’s hands had moved behind his back, loosely clasped there as they ventured further into the ship. His attention flickered constantly from one detail to the next, trying to take in everything.

He listened to the conversation without interrupting, content for the moment to simply observe. At least until he was rather pointedly brought into it.

The scholar blinked, visibly surprised to suddenly become the focus, but quickly recovered enough to offer a polite smile as he extended his hand.

“Oh, I’m Dr. Enoch Neumann,” he introduced himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rune: There was something about that offered hand that made the man laugh. His smile had reached his eyes, all but disappearing behind thick lashes. Enoch's fingers was taken into a forceful handshake. Rune would bet it was the first of its kind.

"Imogene Astor. You stay up here, small fry. Recruited another one?"

"No. He's not for you, or Nachim, or anyone." Rune was heading for the companionway again, if only to yell below deck. Imogene fidgeted in place, scratching at his scars.

"But you are something. Youuuuu're something."

Enoch: Enoch’s smile wavered slightly when the other man laughed at him, though he remained a good sport about it and shook the stranger’s hand all the same.

“A pleasure, Mr. Astor.”

Once the handshake ended, his hand returned behind his back, fingers clasping together again as his attention shifted instinctively toward Rune. He very nearly stepped behind the Euthanatos out of habit before the sailor’s next words stopped him short.

Ah.

“Oh, um… yes, I suppose,” he answered, momentarily caught off guard. “I’m a professor at London University. Biochemistry.”

But maybe that wasn't what the man was asking for.

Rune: "Ah... Is - Is he on the level?"

Rune's head popped up from the hole in the floor, eyes darting between the two.

"If he wanted to tell you, he would."

"I'll tell you, but maybe you should pay me, first. Or I pay you? We pay each other. Then it's practically free!"

Rune reemerged with another shipmate at his heels. A man just shy of the mage's height, crate in hand, smiled politely from behind it. Eyes as bright as whiskey in sunlight, broken by flecks of brilliant green like zinnia flowers in bloom.

"Hola." Unlike Imogene, the smile that reached his eyes harbored not a shred of mischief.

Enoch: Enoch looked toward the shipmate, the response only confirming his suspicions. Well, after all, that did make sense.

And while he debated how much to share, his sailor’s head suddenly popped up, causing the scholar’s brows to ease slightly at the reassurance of his presence.

Right.

They were in relatively safe company. A ship full of supernatural beings. How Etienne would have reveled in such a discovery. Perhaps his grandfather as well.

The thought briefly soured the wonder Enoch had been feeling, dulling his excitement before he pushed it aside.

“Let's.... let's keep it free. I was born and raised here in England, human as can be, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered at last. “And a very lousy mage.”

Mage. The word still felt strange on his tongue. Not yet something he fully embraced as part of himself, and likely not something he would comfortably claim until he became far better at magic than he currently was.

“Ah, hello there.”

He offered the newest face a polite smile as well, trying not to look too visibly overwhelmed by the growing number of introductions.

Rune: Rune studied his beloved's face, reassured as to why he had chosen this hour, and not the early morning for a tour. A handful of greetings by the shyest homebodies was a better gamble than a hundred eager to poke, tug, and press for an interview. Or worse, Nachim giving one of his recruitment speeches. Poor Enoch would cave in on himself.

The balance between keeping his companion all for himself and allowing him space in his life was, in this moment, a conscious consideration.

"Mmmm. Mage. Another mage. There is only one me! Just one selkie." Imogene bowed deeply, arms wide.

The crate was placed atop another, cracked open with the crowbar Rune had been playing with. As he rifled through his things, the newest face approached, offering his hand.

"Enoch Neumann? It is an honor to finally meet you." A voice like silk, spoken from the back of his throat with Spanish inflections. He glanced once at Imogen, features still relaxed. "My name is Hector. Please, allow me to show you our home."

Enoch: This must have been how poor Rune had felt during Halloween, introduced to colleague after colleague and thrown headfirst into a game he had never agreed to play. At least here, Enoch still had the ability to still speak.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flicked toward Rune’s, sharing the thought silently before his attention returned to Mr. Astor.

“A selkie? As in the mythical sea horses—” He stopped himself mid-thought. “Wait, no, those are kelpies...”

Enoch went quiet for a second before snapping his fingers in realization.

“Seals, that’s it.”

And yet that only left him staring at Mr. Astor with even more confusion than before.

The sudden crack of wood nearby pulled his attention away, followed shortly by yet another hand being extended toward him.

“Yes, Dr. Enoch Neumann but Enoch works just as well. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he replied warmly, returning the handshake.

At the suggestion of being whisked away, however, the blond hesitated, uncertain whether he ought to stray when Rune had said he would show him around. But then again…This was rather like meeting a family of sorts. Best to not be impolite.

"If it doesn't disrupt what you were doing...I wouldn't want to be a bother."

Rune: Rune very nearly glared at Hector for the intentional slip. Did he already know something about Enoch that he didn't? Would that make him feel more at home, knowing that Rune had already shared their relationship with the trusted, most loved of the ship?

Keeping his attention on the contents of the crate was damn near impossible.

"You dare lump me in with those murder horses?!"

Rune straightened on the defense, but Hector had already taken Enoch by the arm, walking calmly toward the stairs to the poop deck. Whether he was making a show at Enoch's expense or earnestly offended made no difference.

"He meant nothing by it, Astor. He's still learning." From one seducer to another, Imogene didn't stand a chance. The selkie returned to his cards, falling as one would expect from a child on the verge of a tantrum. Once removed from his line of sight, Enoch was released. Hector's hands disappeared behind his back.

"Have you ever seen a ship like this one? You will never see stars the way you will see them here. And our captain has the best view." He pointed with his chin to the skylight directly above the captain's quarters. "Don't worry. I just wanted to have you to myself for a bit." His smile returned, just as soft.

Enoch: With the familiarity Hector spoke to him, Enoch got the distinct impression that at least a few members of the crew already knew of his existence. It was a strangely humbling thought.

Perhaps he and Rune should have discussed beforehand how this visit might go. But it was far too late for that now.

“My apologies, Mr. Astor, I did not mean any disrespect.”

Before he knew it, he was being swept away by the arm and redirected from one very upset selkie. It wasn’t as though he could dig in his heels without embarrassing both himself and his companion.

So, Enoch did what he often did best in unfamiliar situations, he adapted, allowing his new guide to lead him along while sharing details about the ship.

“I… have not,” Enoch admitted as his hands slipped back into his pockets, his gaze following where Hector pointed. “Though I imagine any view while onboard would be the best one.”

A smile touched the scholar’s lips as his attention drifted back across the vessel itself.

He found himself committing the details to memory, wanting to sketch them later while the images were still fresh in his mind.

But the stranger’s next words caused Enoch’s brows to rise slightly, his attention returning to the man beside him.

“That almost seems like cause for concern,” he replied lightly, finally meeting Hector’s gaze directly. “I apologize. I’ve heard far less about you than you apparently have about me.”

Rune: "I know." Fingers too smooth for a sailor rubbed beneath his chin. "He wanted to keep you for himself." I understand now. "But, having you up here... I know what it feels like. This ship can house eight hundred crew. More. If our captain could save everyone, collect everyone, he would. But my first time on this ship, my knees wanted to buckle. Everybody was staring as Capitán gives his welcome speech. Each time is the same. He gives our name, what we are, what we'll do, how we beat him in combat."

His hand returned to his back, slowly leaning in, but not too close.

"I'm sorry. You felt... scared. I think even Rune forgets... not all of us are leathered veterans."

Enoch: The scholar observed Hector quietly, maintaining a pleasant yet neutral expression as he listened. His eyes flickered back toward the ship at the mention of how many souls it could hold. Given the sheer size of the vessel, the number needed to be enormous. Still, he found himself wondering how one remained an individual among such a vast working body.

But Hector had just unknowingly offered him an opening to learn more, well at least until the sailor’s next words caused Enoch’s brows to furrow in mild confusion.

“Scared?” he echoed.

Then realization dawned.

“Oh...oh no. I’m… I’m not joining, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Rune: His smile returned with his head shake.

"No. Rune has already told us he won't be returning. No... it's just what you gave me. It was just a moment. Forgive me if I misinterpreted."

Enoch: “What I gave you?”

The poor scholar somehow looked even more confused at first. There had been nothing literal he could think of that he had given.

Then his gaze drifted toward the stairs, and a hand lifted to rub at the back of his neck as he realized what happened.

“Ah...being nervous, you mean?”

A faint, sheepish laugh escaped him.

“I suppose that is true, but I’ll be fine, honestly.” His smile softened. “Thank you for your concern."

Rune: "Yes. Being nervous." His smile was attached, now. The ice seemed broken. The air between them was comfortable enough to chuckle without concern for its regard. For all of the letters shared between their little circle, skittish wasn't once Enoch's adjective.

"You're welcome. Rune says you're insatiably curious. He said a lot of things, but, well, is it for me to say? I don't know. I had to meet you. An awakened mage. I've never met one. I haven't met a lot of people. My list grows every day."

Enoch: “I suppose I should have expected this.” Enoch’s voice softened as his gaze drifted back across the ship. “It’s… a bit overwhelming, if I’m being honest. Not you particularly,” he added quickly, “but the idea of meeting others who… share this world.”

His hands slipped further into his pockets as he spoke more to the vessel itself than to the stranger beside him.

“Especially as you pointed it out, being recently awakened to it all.”

Only when his sentence trailed off did his attention return fully to Hector, and the moment Rune’s letters were mentioned, color heightening in his cheeks.

“I hope it’s been good things he’s shared with you all.”

Trying to escape the embarrassment threatening to creep further into his expression, Enoch took a few steps away to inspect more of the deck.

“I would imagine, as a sailor, you would meet quite a few people along the way,” he mused before glancing back over his shoulder toward Hector. “Are you new to the ship?”

Rune: "He said you were enthusiastic. Isn't that how you met? You were trying to find us, magic, secrets. I'm glad it was Rune to have found you." And not some villain, one to chew him up and spit the pulp. Clairvoyance wasn't one of his gifts. He didn't envy any with visions, but he knew a fortunate circumstance when it was looking at him.

"I could dispel some myths for you, but I think you already have a grasp. We're just people. Proud people, most of us are very proud, but we're people. I hope that's not a disappointment."

From the quarterdeck, Rune was busy filling a satchel with clothes, a hat box, and another book. Hector walked to the edge of the deck, staring at the city lit like fireflies in a forest.

"I don't... I don't go ashore. I was rescued the year before last. I owe Capitán my service."

Enoch: “Mm, I was on something of a mission to prove magic was real,” Enoch admitted, a faint smile touching his lips. “Strange occurrences had been happening around me, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.”

Though admittedly, he had become rather distracted from that original goal.

“I’m glad he did too.”

The young mage gave a small nod; having already come to understand that much from the few individuals he had encountered so far.

“Oh?” His brows lifted slightly. “But is that not the point of being aboard one of these? To go out and explore the world?”

His gaze wandered across the ship’s deck.

As lovely as the vessel was, Enoch could not imagine never yearning for something beyond it eventually. Wouldn’t one grow restless in time?

Still, he did not pry further. He sensed perhaps something tragic had happened to this man, given his words and the tone his voice had taken.

Rune: The London breeze was less than flattering, carrying with it a very human, bodily scent. Within the span of a day, discontent had begun to fester in his feet and legs. The arousal he felt every second of every day morphed with restlessness. It wasn't affection he sought, but carnal, stupid animal needs.

Though he would never disrespect a holy man aboard this ship, he couldn't help but admire the man he had chosen. Staring at him eased the disquiet in his loins.

Had his gaze lingered indulgently? Staring at more than his expression, he admired his lips, the structure of his jaw, the width of his shoulders. Like staring at art on the wall. He had a feeling Rune felt the same, and often stared at this gentleman. What fantastic energy.

The breath through his nose was audible, breaking his silence as he looked away, but only momentarily. It was impolite to look elsewhere, after all.

"It feels small, doesn't it? But I've seen so much ocean, so many shores. My purpose is here. We all have a purpose. Tell me, before, you said there were strange occurrences?"

Enoch: They had been standing in the same spot for a little while now, and Enoch got the distinct impression that perhaps this man was studying him, trying to determine the sort of person he was rather than the fact that Hector was indulging in his physique.

The truth that the sailor was admiring him never once crossed the scholar’s mind. And the longer the silence stretched, the more self-conscious he became.

Had he somehow offended this sailor as well, like the one downstairs? The last thing Enoch wanted was for the crew to think him boorish, arrogant, or someone who considered himself above them.

The thought distracted him, trying to think of a way to make amends until the sailor finally replied.

“Ah, yes.” Enoch visibly relaxed. “We can walk and talk while you give me a tour of the rest of your ship?”

As he spoke, he shifted to flip open his satchel.

“If you don’t mind me taking notes,” he added with an apologetic little smile, “I can repay the favor by answering whatever questions you might have about London.”

Rune: Not a flat refusal, but ignoring the question completely. The most frustrating type of person, nearly impossible to have a straightforward conversation with. He would know, having tried to play the role of avoidant as a child. One couldn't simply hide in a tree all of Sunday, then pretend to be deaf when confronted.  That is how one ends up nailed in a coffin of good intentions.

"I'm afraid the tour will be here. Renovations. But I will do my best."

What questions could he ask, when his mouth would be otherwise occupied with a tour? Clever, or desperate? Perhaps both?

Hector gestured beneath them. He began to explain the wheel and its mechanics. The rope which wrapped around it, disappearing into the stomach of the ship, attached to the tiller sweep, controlling the rudder.

"You can see the rudder, here, just a little, if you look over the side. This is the poop deck. Down there, the quarterdeck. There are six levels, seven including this one. Quarterdeck, upper gun deck, middle, lower, orlop, and the hold. The captain's quarters are directly beneath us," he gestured again to the skylight. "Down below, we have stores, a bakery, the best chef in the seven seas. The... steward's room is being adjoined to the pantry. We have a medical dispensary, a surgeon, mess hall, armory, carpenter, and arena. Renovations are for none of that, but, we would have to pass dangerous magic to reach the orlop. Spells to... condense space, and expand it. This ship is... a decent size. Large, yes, but, in human hands, most everyone would be sleeping in hammocks. No privacy. Capitán intends to end this. Below us, inside, it is a castle, and it's having growing pains."

Rune sat near the top of the stairs, arms on his knees, listening.

Enoch: Enoch blinked when it was announced that his tour would be rather short, or perhaps more accurately, limited to only these two areas. And yet, from the way the sailor described it, there seemed to be so much more hidden within this impossible vessel. Still, the blond made for an attentive audience. What truly caught his attention, however, was just how intricate the ship itself was. Stores. A bakery. An arena?

“This sounds like it’s its own city,” Enoch remarked, unable to hide the fascination in his voice. “You tell me all this, yet aren’t able to show me any of it,” he teased. “Shame on you for bringing my hopes up and dashing them in the same breath.”

There was unmistakable hunger in those blue eyes now, the scholar having been handed a tantalizing glimpse into a world of magic and wonder that remained frustratingly out of reach. His notebook was cracked open long enough to jot down a few notes he intended to expand upon later, the word castle underlined twice.

“Are you a mage as well?” he asked, glancing back toward Hector. “How does all of this function? Is it a group effort to sustain magic on this scale, or is your captain…” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “I’m not even certain what the proper term would be.” A brief laugh escaped him through his nose as he realized perhaps, he was speaking too much.

“Forgive me. Magic is just… fascinating. It feels like an entire field of study unto itself, much like science. And if I’m being honest, it’s become something of a passion passed onto me.”

His gaze wandered toward the stairs, catching sight of his beloved before it returned to Hector.

Enoch: “You asked about London. Well, the strange occurrences that started all of this for me were things very much like this. Things that simply could not be explained.” A faint smile crossed his lips then. “I was looking for a man that no one could remember. I looked like a madman asking about him at a bar and that’s how I first crossed paths with your shipmate.”

It wasn’t that Enoch meant to avoid speaking about himself. It was simply that this world, this strange hidden life of ghosts, magic, and impossible ships, was infinitely more fascinating to him than anything he considered about himself.

Rune: There was that excitement Rune had written about. Hector’s shoulders bounced with a gentle laugh. By all means. Rather than bothered by the barrage, he nodded to every question, each statement, mouth shut and patient as the next came, and the next. Yes, it sounded like a city. He nodded. No, he shook his head, he couldn’t show him anything. This was a matter of trust. Did Enoch hear a single lie?

“Forgive me.” His hand over his heart, his tour guide bowed, his laugh finally audible.

The muscles in Rune’s abdomen tightened at the sound. Nothing. It was nothing. This was what he had wanted, and yet…

“Do you wish for me to answer first to last, or categorically?”

But there would be more, before he could reach for the first or second inquiry.

“I see. This man you couldn’t remember, do you… remember if you found him?”

Enoch: Truth be told, Enoch had been listening for lies, a subtle itch in his ear, unsure of what exactly to expect aboard a ship like this, especially the first one he had ever stepped foot upon. Surprisingly, though, he had sensed no trace of subterfuge from his tour guide so far, and it quietly helped dispel some of the unease and rumors he had carried with him.

At Hector’s laughter, the scholar visibly grew a touch sheepish. His enthusiasm had once again gotten the better of him, and he could already feel himself veering dangerously close to making a fool of himself.

"S-sorry. I'll try to pace myself."

But first, he had to answer the sailor.

“I… maybe?” he admitted uncertainly. “I wouldn’t remember if I had crossed paths with him, would I?” A thoughtful crease formed between his brows. “I rather lost track of that mission once I awakened.”

With that, he circled back to his own curiosity.

“Answer in whichever way makes the most sense to you,” Enoch said with an apologetic smile. “Though I should warn you, for every answer you give me, I’ll likely have ten more questions afterward.”

Rune: Hector noticed a shift of light and shadow from the stairs. The Euthanatos had climbed one more step. A foot closer to their conversation, yet not between it. He leaned against the stair rail, chin resting in his hand, watching, admiring, loving. He would much rather this, than some unknown familiar. The night crew were his family. Every last one. This man, known only two years, was one he would kill for.

And yet, every laugh between them, every tease was a reminder of his species. He felt the warmth of his sincerity on his skin. It was a feathery, almost arousing touch. He could only imagine what Enoch was feeling, if anything.

If anything.

"Please," a soft word, "be yourself." The question was answered with a helpless shrug. "To my understanding, some mages are powerful enough to be... forgettable. God, or whomever, designed them that way. You. Designed you that way. But to," his finger circled toward his shoulder, "you asked, um... if I am a mage. Would you like for me to start there?"

Enoch: “Yes, that’s what I’ve been told as well. Useful as it might be at times when I wish to disappear from my students.”

The professor’s fingers flexed slightly around the notebook in his grasp, tightening briefly against the worn leather tome he carried everywhere with him. It grounded him in a way, part of the armor he wore into unfamiliar situations and perhaps the only indication the Euthanatos would get if Hector’s charms were having some effect on Enoch at all.

“Sure,” the scholar agreed with a small smile. “Sounds as good a place as any to begin our interview.”

Rune: "Is that what this is? We're having an interview now? First an exhausting tour of every nook and cranny, and now we interview? Ay, ay, ay! Please. Pull up a chair."

There were no chairs, only the floor, which Hector settled on. The pair were within eyeshot, now.

Enoch: “We climbed a set of stairs and you sold me the idea of what the rest of the ship might look like,” Enoch corrected, though his gaze remained easy, carrying a flicker of playfulness rather than any true accusation.

“Mhm.”

For now, the scholar accommodated, moving to sit across from Hector. His attention briefly flickered toward his lover, wondering whether Rune intended to join the conversation now that they were closer.

“As you were, Hector…” He trailed off for a beat, realizing he had not actually caught the man’s full name to properly document it in the notebook already resting open in his lap.

Rune: No further movement from the stairs, though an argument could be made that he had joined them. There was no pretending he wasn't a bystander. All for the sake of Enoch's peace of mind. He could have his interview; time was of no importance.

"Mm. Hector Tallulah Sanz Flores. I've never been interviewed before."

He glanced at his old shipmate, as though he had said something.

"Capitán wasn't - it wasn't an interview."

Enoch: There were a handful of glances cast toward Rune throughout the entirety of the visit, subtle little checks Enoch made in an attempt to read his body language and gauge his feelings on the situation without outright asking him.

The mage was giving him an opportunity to explore this hidden part of his life through the people he had spent the most time with. In its own way, it was rather sweet. They could hardly sail across the sea to visit Rune’s Dutch shores and childhood home as they had done with Bath.

“I… was mostly kidding. I wasn’t seriously going to interview you,” Enoch admitted with a soft laugh.

“But if you truly would like me to, I can.” His smile warmed slightly. “And may I say, you have a fantastic name. I don’t think I’ve heard the name Tallulah anytime recently—if ever.”

That, too, found its way into the notebook.

“Alright,” he said as he settled more comfortably into the conversation. “If we’re truly to do this, Hector, where are you from, and what exactly are you, if not a mage?”

Rune: They were both looking at him now, making him consider if going below deck was worth the danger. His presence had become an interruption. To say anything would be to invite himself where he didn't want to be invited.

"Mostly?" Enoch received Hector's undivided attention once more. "Rune didn't tell me you're a trickster." It had come from his mouth, after all.

The mage leaned forward, his own mouth opening, closed. Alma Moses was waving him down - or anyone, it was hard to tell from the top yard. Reason enough to excuse himself with a quick bow.

And there went their buffer, in a suit, climbing the shroud as though he had never left.

"I was picked up in Mexico. I'd never lived anywhere else. The world was just books, before, and what came to port." The young man, an actual young man among the masquerading, scoffed and scratched his chin. "I'm stalling, forgive me. I um... well, my mother is human. My father... my father is an incubus. That makes me a cambion."

Enoch: "Me? A trickster?"

That was certainly a first for the scholar, and admittedly, it amused him more than he expected. It almost even got a reaction out of the Euthanatos beside them.

But before Rune could properly be drawn into the conversation, the mage was gone, leaving the blond alone with his shipmate.

Enoch turned his attention fully back to Hector, already intrigued the moment books were mentioned, and even more so by what exactly the man himself was.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of a being like that before.”

That detail, too, earned a place within the notebook.

“And what exactly does that mean for you when it comes to magic and its uses?”

Rune: Ankles crossed as he turned his attention heavenward, looking for stars in the light polluted sky. Only masts, seagulls, and crew.

"I'm not sure if what I do is magic, or if it's something demonic. It's what I am, you see. My father, he could do terrible things. I've only read about him. His kind. I know it to be true, because," a pause, finding Rune high above, securing gaskets with even more crew ascending to assist. "There are those, the faithful, their presence can... well, sometimes it stings."

Yet the man didn't flinch, didn't frown.

"I'm afraid I'm taking the scenic route again. What I am, what I do, my world revolves around healing. Sexual healing, and sleep. Those with insomnia, those with terrible nightmares, fear of sleep, they come to me. With their permission, I join them in their dreams, walk their demesne. That is my role, my purpose."

Enoch: The scholar listened, allowing Hector the floor without interruption. Eventually, however, his gaze followed the sailor’s upward.

For a moment, Enoch simply watched in quiet awe as members of the crew moved about the ship, working. It was amazing how easy they made it look. But...one of them in particular caught his attention enough that he blinked.

Was that...Rune?

The scholar was momentarily distracted and nearly missed what Hector had just said.

Did he say sexual healing?

That had his attention, Enoch reaching up to adjust his glasses as the other continued.

"But only a service you provide for your crewmates since you don't visit off shore and meet others, yes?"

Rune: "That's right. Everyone is here because we've been promised freedom. These are the outcasts, the scorn. Including myself. Everyone here has a story, and many are as heavy as anchors. I make my rounds each shift, assist those who allow it."

His fingernails scraped idlly on the floor.

"The day before we arrived here, before, Rune very nearly went overboard. Sleepwalking. He doesn't let me help."

Enoch: Enoch almost found himself bringing up his own experience with the sleepwalker, but he held his tongue at the last second.

He wasn’t entirely certain what Rune had or had not shared about the two of them, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally overstep and reveal something the mage preferred remain private.

“So how does one enter a demesne?” he asked instead, leaning forward slightly. “And how much are you actually able to interact with while inside one?”

Rune: "You haven't?" He pointed between the man on the floor with him, and the man high above. "That surprises me. To enter someone else's demesne, you go through the door of your own. Some people don't have doors. They don't want any visitors, just their own private universe. But if you've made a door, you've made a jumping off point. On the other side of your door is everything in the Astral Realms. Say, I enter your dream. I'm a visitor, you're my host. I can interact some. I can change my clothes, the color of the trees, maybe, the music. The landscape belongs to the host. Except, those with exceptional power of the mind," he added, fingers tapping against his temple. "Then it doesn't matter who is the host."

Enoch: There was a noticeable hesitation in response to that question.

Rune likely had not shared the details of their shared dream, nor the fact that they had interacted with one another believing they were painted reflections of each other.

Warmth crept across Enoch’s cheeks at the memory, though he kept his attention fixed firmly on Hector instead as he listened.

The insight proved useful, and a few more hurried notes found their way into the notebook resting in his lap.

Perhaps he ought to try again someday and show Rune the parts of his demesne that no longer entirely felt like his own.

"Interesting..." And the blond had gotten lost in his thoughts, the silence stretching as he stared at the notebook.

Rune: "Hm." Hector's smile returned. Fingertips glided across his lips. Must have been potent, he thought, to feel his heat from this distance.

"Dreams and demesne are different," he continued. "You can't alter someone's home, but you can dreams. That's how you know you're in one."

The crew were beginning their descent. It was the gentle roll of thunder above that had spurred action. A storm wanting to shed its woes in the city. It tickled the cambion, how easily one could resume old roles.

"You've been having troubles," he said, softly. "He's come to us for advice. If you would like, pretend I didn't say anything. But if not, I can correspond with you. Doesn't have to be about anything important. Can be anything you need."

Enoch: Enoch glanced up at the mention of the two terms, realizing he had accidentally conflated them. Though more importantly, it left him briefly wondering whether Hector might also be capable of hearing his thoughts.

Especially when the sailor brought up Enoch’s rather particular predicament with his avatar. His brows furrowed for a moment before slowly easing again as he gave a small nod.

“Yes. It’s… peculiar, given what I’ve been told about avatars.” His voice lowered thoughtfully. “Mine is not the most helpful.”

Ever since their visit to the manor, Raine had been ever-present. Always standing somewhere just at the left edge of Enoch’s peripheral vision like a silent statue. At times the scholar would think he heard Raine speaking to him, only to look over and find nothing but the avatar watching him with those soulless eyes. The thing was like an unsettling doppelgänger wearing his own face.

“Perhaps,” he continued after a beat, attempting a faint smile, “I require a specialist such as yourself to root around and determine whether something in particular has gone wrong with my demesne.”

Rune: The cambion leaned forward, legs crossed, chin resting on laced fingers. That undivided attention again. The men echoing orders from the masts, the returning crew with their shouting and laughter, the breeze, birds, nothing else existed on this deck but Enoch Neumann.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know, I've never had one." The statement was said as though an apology. This was what he had been told. An odd, intimidating figure in Enoch's life. A hinderance, rather than empowerment. The mages aboard had said the same as everyone else; avatars were a reflection of the soul, incapable of true harm. The demon could give no opinion on what he did not possess, neither could the druids, or immortals, or anyone else. But he felt his role was not yet useless.

"But I can help you with sleep. If you're willing, and with Rune's blessing, I would have to sleep beside you. I'm not yet strong enough to find people without touch. Not quickly. Most of the night would be spent searching, otherwise."

Enoch: This setting was hardly conducive to keeping the scholar’s attention fixed solely on the cambion before him. It took genuine effort not to glance toward the sailors shouting across the deck. There was simply too much to look at, too much happening all at once. But the subject at hand demanded his focus.

“If half of you is human,” Enoch mused thoughtfully, “then I wonder what exactly dictates the threshold for wielding magic and possessing an avatar…” More a thought experiment to revisit later than an actual question. “Did you have an imaginary friend growing up?” he asked suddenly, unable to stop himself before the conversation drifted too far from the topic.

Though the offer to help with his demesne was an appreciated distraction, though the way how did give Enoch pause. And then Rune’s name had been brought into it.

It was strange.

No one had ever acknowledged it. Their relationship existed only in his apartment and a few stolen moments outside of it, the subject taboo enough to be criminalized. But here, aboard this impossible ship filled with awakened beings and sailors who existed outside ordinary society, there seemed to be no judgment attached to it at all.

What freedom there was in that. To be seen without scrutiny…without expectation. Warmth spread faintly across his face, and his gaze dipped toward the notebook resting in his lap, though he felt a sense of giddiness at the realization.

“…I suppose yes,” he admitted after a moment. “That’s likely how it would have to work, since…” His eyes lifted back toward Hector again. “It would have to be aboard the ship, wouldn’t it?”

Rune: The question was one he had asked himself from the very first witch's introduction, and every mage since. There were mages who could dreamwalk, split realities and walk the realms of the dead, and yet, why was he not one of them? Why was demon his sole title? Many days and nights of reflection had led to his ultimate conclusion: this was his lot in life. There was no escaping what he was, hiding behind something else. A demon was a demon.

"Imaginary? No," he smiled. But, there was something behind his eyes. An unspoken thought he would pocket for a later opening.

Affirmation returned his gaze, smile falling with surprise.

"Oh, I..." His chest swelled, stretching his suspenders. "As I said, I-I don't... go ashore. I can't. I'm so sorry. But... the upper deck is almost finished, and the quarterdeck. There is a place where we can sleep."

"You mean to take Rhys' quarters?" The sound of Rune's voice might as well have been a clap of thunder. Rounded shoulders tightened in, then relaxed.

"He would understand."

"You could come with us to -" Hector was already shaking his head.

Rune lowered to the floor hip first, arm on his knee. It was a matter of seconds, three at most, with a gentle unspoken argument filling the silence between them.

The Euthanatos sighed.

"How are you getting on?" Rune looked to Enoch.

Enoch: The blond had noticed that look in Hector’s eyes, though before he could press further on it, the conversation had already moved on.

“Right, you did mention that.”

And while he was undeniably curious to know what exactly kept the man from ever stepping ashore, they were hardly acquainted enough for that degree of familiarity. Yet somehow, they were talking about sharing a bed. What a very strange life he seemed to lead these days.

Enthralled as he was by the conversation, both he and Hector startled slightly at Rune’s sudden voice joining them again. Blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses lifted toward his companion, and Enoch nodded in response.

“I believe it’s going well,” he answered with a faint smile. “He has yet to grow tired of my endless questions, which I consider promising.”

Rune: "I don't see how I could. It's only a matter of keeping up with them. I'm aware I've left a few by the wayside. Please forgive me."

"And before the night's over, he'll apologize at least three more times."

This time, Hector's smile strained a little. "I'm s - mm. I don't always apologize."

"I know. You're so frustratingly polite."

Rune gave Enoch's knee a squeeze, waiting for his attention, to study the nuance of his face, his aura. Waiting to read a sign that they should show themselves out. Was he fine, truly?

"What have you left out?" he asked, hand falling to his lap.

"The... ah. What makes the ship function."

"Oh. Magic. Of course," Rune smirked.

Enoch: Enoch would not hold that against the cambion. Hector was already being a remarkably good sport about the entire ordeal.

“There’s nothing wrong with being polite,” he defended mildly, feeling somewhat compelled to do so given that he, too, very much fell into that category.

But the thought was interrupted by the gentle squeeze to his knee, prompting him to look up and meet Rune’s gaze. It was his silent way of checking in and the scholar appreciated it.

"Hoi."

He was fine. Turns out sitting down and having an informal interview was the quickest way for  the scholar to regain his bearings.

And while he appreciated Rune's company, that particular response earned the mage a light smack against the knee with the back of Enoch’s notebook.

"Excuse me, I wasn't asking you."

Rune: That little word was all he needed. Their world was safe and for the moment, quiet... enough.

"Ow." The mage feigned injury, rubbing his knee and scowling.

"I'm afraid the truth is nearly as blunt. Deniz protects the ship. Rune has reenforced the durability of the wood, is that right?"

"Mm. The wood down in the hold, every few years."

"And it is you and Raeni to bring luck to the ship," Hector continued. "Finn brings good weather. He's our resident alchemist," he added, nodding to Enoch.

Enoch: A small smile played at Enoch’s lips at the mage’s reaction, his eyes lingering briefly across those features before returning to Hector once more.

“But your explanation comes with considerably more context than his.”

The scholar shifted slightly, propping his knees up as his arms draped loosely across them while he considered it all. In a way, everyone aboard seemed to serve a purpose, magic user or otherwise.

"Alchemist, eh? Probably someone else I'd get on with."

Rune: Hector was struggling not to appear obvious. He was smiling like a loon as the pair, biting on his cheeks to save himself - no, not himself. To prevent Enoch from blushing. The heat radiating off of their bodies was almost enough to sustain him. He tried not to think about it, but, it was his nature.

"You would get along with a lot more than you presume. Your hands are soft now, but you would make a fine addition."

"Don't fill his head with daydreams. He's a city boy," Rune finally grinned.

Enoch: He could feel Hector’s eyes on him while he stared at his companion, and perhaps it was the cambion’s fault, or simply his own growing desires, that for a fleeting moment Enoch found himself wanting to push the mage onto his back and continue their playful banter, but this was not the time or place to act like teenage boys.

“I believe I would be terribly seasick all the time,” Enoch admitted with a soft chuckle, “though I imagine it would at least make catching fish considerably easier.”

Rune earned a nudge to his shoulder from the scholar.

"Oi," he started to protest, "I can be adventurous."

Rune: "As was I, at first." Hector wasn't afraid of admitting his faults. Rune had never been caught mal de mer, but the man had spent more years at sea than Hector had on this earth. "Even on canoes. My grandfather would take me fishing. I had a terrible time."

"And yet here you are, trying to make an innocent scholar sick. What is this, revenge?"

The cambion laughed. He had never heard the mage make jokes before. Not like this. Dry, expressionless humor, yes, but this was... different.

A hum and a sigh later, Hector looked between them.

"Will you allow me to help you, Enoch?"

Enoch: “Ah! My grandfather used to take me fishing as well. Did you also feel bad for the fish and throw them back afterward?”

Between his politeness and shared experiences, Hector was quickly becoming rather likable in the scholar’s eyes.

Enoch smiled faintly as he pulled his knees in a little closer, loosely encircling them with his arms while he looked between the two sailors. There was something oddly lovely about this. Just sitting around and talking about nothing of consequence with company he did not feel obligated to perform for.

Here, he wasn’t a biochemist. Truthfully, his education did not seem to matter at all here, and that realization felt unexpectedly freeing, like a breath of fresh air after years spent carefully curating himself around colleagues, faculty, and expectations. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wishing he had more friendships like this.

“Oh…”

At the mention of his demesne again, his gaze shifted instinctively toward Rune as though expecting the mage to answer for him.

“I mean, if we think it would help any,” Enoch said after a moment. “Honestly, I could simply have a very odd avatar and be making a storm in a teacup.”

Rune: "I can't say I did, but I would much rather swim with them."

Rune nodded along. Was it wrong to miss this, he wondered. The life he led was a loving one. His choice. The man to his right was his honor. This was a chapter of his life free of regret, but that wasn't to say he had fallen out of love with what had once been. One would simply destroy him to live without. The other was the sea.

You will have it again.

Rune looked to his right, to the sky. Ruine? His hand returned to Enoch's knee.

"What we've done, he does better. So I'm told."

"I cannot alter anything in your demesne against your will, but I can see it. I can walk you through how to shape your environment. I will see whatever you wish for me to see."

"So, hammering a note to Rhys' door," Rune muttered. He looked to Enoch again. "If we do this, I'm watching over you all night, or I'm sleeping beside you. That's all there is to it."

Enoch: “I can get behind swimming. It’s been far too long since I last went for one.”

The last lake he had swum in was the very one where he had awakened.

His gaze drifted toward the mage, realizing that swimming had been one of the things he had hoped they might do while in Bath. At the time, however, Rune had been far too ill to spend an afternoon in the creek. Perhaps on a future visit.

His attention settled on the hand resting atop his knee. It took the scholar a moment to respond because years of social conditioning had taught him to be cautious. Here, though, it was different. His own hand came to rest atop Rune’s, fingers curling lightly around it.

His attention remained on his lover before flickering briefly to Hector and then back again. The mage knew him far too well, and that realization was both humbling and comforting. His fingers gave Rune’s a gentle squeeze.

“And there is truly nothing I can say to convince you to come ashore if we are to do this?” he gently asked Hector. “You would likely have better luck getting me to sleep in my apartment. No offense to what I imagine are perfectly fine accommodations aboard this ship.”

Rune: The silence wasn't awkward, not to Hector and least of all to Rune. Hector turned his attention to the sky, wondering which details of this encounter was going in his diary. Rune was getting tunnel vision. He wanted to know everything Enoch was thinking, yet only caught the abstract. He could spend all night letting everything flow from his head like a freed river. But this ship would eventually be gone, and the cambion with it.

The subject again. The one Rune had already pressed. Hector's shoulders tightened inward, knees brought to his chest. The mage let air into his lungs intentionally, slowly, refusing the muscles of his abdomen to tighten and brace.

"The last time I was... ashore... my lover was killed by his father, a sexton." Tilting his head, the cambion exposed scratch mark scars along his neck. He tilted again, the same on the other side.

"Because of me, a father killed his son, and a son killed his father. Don't ask it of me, Enoch. I promise, you will sleep."

Enoch: He had not meant any harm by the question, not knowing the history behind it or the weight it carried until now. By the time Enoch noticed the shift in Hector’s body language, it was already too late. He had missed the opportunity to steer the conversation elsewhere and spare the sailor from having to explain himself.

But tragedy seemed to be a common thread woven through this ship. Between Rune and Hector, Enoch could not help but feel a quiet sadness for them both.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Somehow, he had managed to mar the jovial mood they had been sharing only moments before.

Drawing in a slow breath, he let it out just as gradually, his attention settling on the grain of the wood by his feet. After a moment, he offered Hector a small nod without quite meeting his eyes.

“When do you propose we do this?”

Rune: Well, there it was. Not a can't, but a won't. Rather than a slave to Captain Nachim's whims, he was a willing cardinal in a cage of his creation, the key on his side of the bars. It wasn't Rune's place to warn; it wasn't his story to tell.

But neither man wanted to see the young mage wilt.

"I'm sorry," Hector said to his feet, daring to look up with clean eyes. "For what I..."

Rune held up a single finger, determined to put a stop to that sentence. "How many did I say, three?"

The demon smiled, grateful. "Whenever you're ready. I don't suspect you'll wish to be here in the morning. That's when it's the loudest."

"On deck you lovely dregs!" Rune mocked, arms open wide. "Time for head count. Is anyone flotsam?" The pair laughed.

Enoch: “This most certainly wasn’t how I planned to spend my evening either,” he admitted, his gaze lifting toward Rune. The sight of the mage’s antics was enough to coax a smile back onto his face. The sailors were laughing again, and just like that, the tension seemed to dissolve.

“I think not,” Enoch agreed. A significantly larger gathering of shipmates sounded rather daunting, and he was not entirely certain he was prepared to meet that many new faces all at once.

“Well, we haven’t had dinner yet. Perhaps after we get a bite to eat?” He paused, considering it for a moment. “Hm. Is there any food you miss that you haven’t been able to get aboard the ship? Perhaps I could pick something up and bring it back. It’ll allow me to get some things from home as well.”

Rune: "Certainly none of this was planned," said Rune.

"But here we are," Hector concluded.

Talk of leaving the ship had the mage gathering to his feet. For a brief moment, Hector's heart sank with a deep, unsettling feeling. He didn't want them to leave. Desperately, in the span of a breath in, a breath out, he feared he might never see them again. Silly, he told himself, but his hand still clutched his chest, reluctantly following along.

"I doubt you'll find chiles en nogada in London." He bit his lip, hand on the railing. "What are you having? English food is still new to me. Show me what you like." He felt in his tan coat for his money. A hand landed on his head, scratching his scalp and ruffling his hair.

Enoch: "... ... ..." He stared at his beloved flummoxed but eventually curiosity won out. "I'm...trustworthy enough to tell."

Rune: "You know what I've done at the lighthouse." He bit into the flesh of his lip. "But, I've done other things. Things with... instruments... of sorts."

Enoch: "What...type of instruments?"

Rune: "Phallic ones." His book was so interesting it had to cover his face.

Enoch: There was a mischievous smile he quickly covered with his fingers.

“You absolute heathen…”

That book was getting pushed down by a finger.

“Also at the lighthouse? Or…wait…here?”

Rune: "Some things have to be left for Jesus' ears only," he whispered. His cheeks were most definitely pink.

Enoch: “I’m in love with a deviant.” Yet he was moving to straddle his lover’s lap. “Have you done it here? In my flat? Where?”

Rune: He was helpless to stop him, leaning back in his seat to accommodate rather than push him from his lap.

"No, I haven't done it here," he whispered, as though the neighbors might hear. "Does that... does that arouse you?"

Enoch: It was his turn to go red in response to that question. “Wouldn’t it be improper if I said yes?” he whispered just as quietly. The floor suddenly became very interesting.

Rune: "I don't care about improper." If he had, he wouldn't have done it. "I want to know what makes you ache."

Enoch: That wording was powerful in itself because it made his stomach quiver. “You…” And softer yet, “But perhaps that as well.”

Rune: "Perhaps," he echoed. "Perhaps I should recreate the scene."

Enoch: He could only stare at his beau; words seemingly lost at this offer. But one question managed to surface. “When?”

Rune: Slowly, his arm found its way around Enoch's waist, pulling him to his chest.

"Whenever you're ready to see me... a mess."

Enoch: His arms moved to rest over Rune's shoulders, the scholar's attention on those perfect lips.

"Then I look forward to when you surprise me."

Rune: So, at any time, any day? His smile curled mischievously.

"That's more dangerous than you telling me when and where. You know that, En. I don't know if your heart is ready."

Enoch: He wasn’t entirely certain his heart was prepared for it even now given as to how hard it was beating. He pinched Rune's chin between his fingers, enjoying the vantage he currently had.

“Yes, but…this way I can’t overthink it if it comes as a surprise.”

Rune: "And if I told you to control me, now. Would you overthink? If you could have your way with me, any manner of... deviant thoughts... what will you do?"

Enoch: “Of course. I already am.” But this could be an exercise in trying to overcome it. “To your credit, you’ve done a fine job in planting intrusive thoughts that have you in much less clothing, on that couch there, with my fingers inside of you while I take you with my mouth.”

Rune: Without any shred of warning, Enoch was grabbed by his ass and lifted. Once on his feet, his companion was placed on his own.

Two fingers pushed him back to arm's length, while his other hand busied loosening his tie.

Enoch: A soft breath of surprise escaped the scholar as he was suddenly on his feet. The look he gave was almost questioning. Where they to do this now? Here? But the way Rune set to loosening his tie left little room for protest. The scholar hesitated because spontaneity had never been his strength. But watching his love undress. Yes…that he could manage.

Rune: Watching was his only demand. Dark eyes remained fixed on his lover as though a lifeline. The tie was slipped from his collar and placed around Enoch's neck. Again, he stepped back, loosening the buttons of his shirt, untucking, and shrugging from his shoulders.

"Tell me to stop and I will."

Enoch: The tie draped around his neck drew a loose grin, his hands briefly distracted by the fine silk as his fingers brushed over it.

“You’re not getting this back.”

He watched as each button slipped free, helping undress his lover with his eyes. At the first glimpse of skin, he faltered.

This man made him feel like he was on fire, capable of stripping away his composure, only leaving that yearning urge to reach out and touch.

“This…this is good.”

Rune: "Good? You wish for me to stop? Not my belt? Not... anything else?" His thumbs slipped beneath the rim of his trousers. A step back, another. The back of his legs came in contact with the couch, where he dropped with a smirk.

Enoch: That…that wasn’t quite what he meant, but did his mage know that or was he toying with him on purpose?

“I was enjoying your work. I wasn’t asking you to stop quite yet. Unless you require some assistance.”

Rune: "You may watch me undress from a distance, or have the tactile pleasure of doing it yourself. Either I'm in charge, or you are." Today, there would be no in between. He wanted to know which urge Enoch would satisfy.

Enoch: His head tilted to the side, a touch of amusement playing across his face as he considered his options. Then he moved, not toward the mage, but to the small dining set, pulling a chair free and bringing it over before settling into it, arms crossing loosely.

“Go on then.”

Rune: He would make short work of the belt. Allowing the force to sway his hips. It was folded and discarded, allowed to tumble off the couch. Trousers and underwear were pulled as one and left pooled at his feet. All that remained were his socks and garters. In God's good glory he stood, hands resting comfortably on his hips until he collapsed onto the couch. It was then, Enoch no longer existed. Eyes closed, he stretched, arms over head, chest forward and strong.

Enoch: It was a sight to behold his beloved so confidently standing in his birthday suit. The scholar watched openly, fully aware that what he saw was his to cherish and his alone.

His gaze traced the lines of a lithe, strong frame, admiring the contours that shaped his lover as he stretched across the chaise. For now, he resisted the impulse to get up and close the distance and touch as he pleased. The Euathanatos was in charge right now, and Enoch could only sit and watch, helpless in the most willing sense.

Rune: One arm remained over his head, over the chaise. The silence was filled with a quiet sigh and even quieter breathing. He explored his body with a single hand, starting with his neck, down and across his chest and the subtle valley and hills of his stomach. His genitals had become stiff and engorged by the time he reached his thigh. And still, his lashes pressed to his cheeks. If he opened his eyes, the game would be over.

Enoch: Enoch did not move.

He remained where he’d settled, fingers curled lightly against his knee, all of his attention fixed on the man before him. There was a distinct hunger in those blue eyes.

His gaze followed the slow path of that wandering hand, tracing it as if he could feel it himself, the line of his throat, the slow rise and fall of his chest, and how that stiff muscle now stood at attention. His own breath had grown shallow, warmth creeping into his cheeks.

He shifted slightly in his chair, a subtle adjustment betraying him, feeling the quiet insistence of his own arousal growing the longer he watched.

Rune: He had never done this before. Never taken the time to explore his body at his leisure, for the viewing pleasure of another. There was something about Enoch, his youth perhaps, or his insatiable devotion, that encouraged spontaneity. His beauty had been spoken of before, by drunk lips, by despicable puppeteering lips, but these lips were the only ones he wanted to feel upon his body, and the thought of them made his erection throb. He felt it in his hands, the weight of it, the strength, and the tightness of his scrotum. Further he explored, spreading his legs for Enoch to discover never before seen skin. The realization of which turned his head, hiding in his raised arm.

Enoch: Enoch was proper gentleman in all sense of those words until he was not.

He was an observer by nature. It was what his work demanded, what made him good at it and an astute student. But this… this was something else entirely. Here, he was no longer a detached scholar, but a captive audience to the slow delicacy of his beloved as he caressed himself. This was not like studying form in an art hall, where admiration remained untouched by want.

Here, want burned.

There was something intoxicating in watching the mage and having permission to watch and witness something so private offered so openly. And he realized, with a quiet sort of astonishment, that he liked it.

His lower lip caught between his teeth, abusing it as Rune spread himself for his viewing. Every instinct urged him to close the distance but not yet. He held himself there, suspended in that tension.

Rune: The legs had been the invitation. Now, it was only a matter of time, waiting for his lover's patience to boil over. The anticipation would not kill him, but would not spare him, either. He felt as though he would be sick, yet would ascend to Heaven without the profligacy of death.

His fingers came just shy of his hole, brought to his mouth to suck on a single finger. Was Enoch aware of what was coming? Did he want to see? Would he finally speak?

He would soon learn, as his hand returned between his legs, his middle finger circling, slipped into the tight ring of muscle with a gasp.

Enoch: Enoch had a little more patience to spare, but his hands needed something to occupy them. For the moment, he remained tethered to his chair, so they found the front of his shirt instead, undoing the first few buttons as an attempt to relieve the heat that had begun to feel inescapable as he watched his beloved.

There was a clear tension in his slacks that no amount of subtle adjustment could ease. His breath caught as the thought crossed his mind… could he allow himself that kind of indulgence while watching the mage as he…

His cheeks flushed at the very idea, yet his body burned with the need to do something. His legs shifted apart, and his hand moved almost of its own accord, brushing against the outline of his arousal. The contact drew a breath from him before he palmed it again. The scholar’s composure slipped further, and his waistband loosened, the weight of his stiffness filled his hand.

Rune: The absence of words or the shifting of Enoch's chair nearly gave pause. If not for knowing the heart of the man, he would have opened his eyes. Had Enoch been uncomfortable, his displeasure would have been felt like crawling insects. Of this, he was certain.

So, he did what only a sane lover would do, and pushed himself further, until his body writhed with satisfaction. Refusing to touch his aching arousal, it began to drip against his stomach, leaving a small wet trail toward his hip.

Enoch: He had already shared what he wanted to do to his lover, yet simply witnessing this had become a pleasure in itself, especially when paired with a few distracted strokes of his own. But something about the mage and the way his body responded under his own touch, was enough to tip the balance.

The need to touch and feel that warmth for himself wore through what little patience remained. The scholar rose from his seat at last, drawn forward only to settle onto his knees before the couch.

There would be no word. His hands came first, gliding along the outside of Rune’s thighs. Then his lips followed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his knee, and another, slower one along the inside of his thigh.

Rune: There it was, at last. Just a small sound of shifting weight and yielding wood planks. His body stilled, but only for a moment. His finger remained hidden in his body as he felt a shift in air beside himself. He turned his head in the hope of a gentle collision.

But those fingertips were unexpected, and caused an immediate clenching and twitching of muscles, and a shuddered sigh.

His body begged in the silence, unable to fathom what he should do next.

Enoch: Enoch looked up from where he knelt, his hands shifting to anchor themselves at the mage’s hips. There was something to be said about this moment as he allowed himself to take in the sight before him, almost worshipfully. From the rise and fall of Rune’s chest, to the warmth that touched his cheeks and parted his lips, his lover was a vision.

When the mage turned his head, it felt like a quiet summons. Enoch leaned in, pressing another kiss to the inside of his thigh before pulling those hips closer to the edge of the cushion.

Spontaneity, that was the test, wasn’t it? To not think too much and instead simply act.

He left soft biting kisses along the inside of Rune’s thighs, while one hand wandered. That aching member would not be left unattended for much longer as his thumb dipped over the slit to collect the clear sticky pre and take his first taste. The touch that followed slid down the length only to squeeze back up again before repeating. And as he touched his partner, it was Rune’s face that he watched, enjoying every reaction he was able to draw from him.

Rune: He would swear upon his honor, he felt words from unspoken lips, like whispers on his skin. He felt seen, and loved, and adored.

But once more, he was startled, almost uncomfortable. He didn't know where Enoch would strike, where he would feel heat next. The thrill was unlike any he had ever experienced. He lay there at his mercy, trembling against his will.

Turned at Enoch's whim, his hand slipped free, held uselessly at his side. His aching need pulsed beneath his lover's fingers.

"What do you want of me?" he whispered.

Enoch: “To let yourself feel.”

It was an interesting turn in events. Rune relinquishing one sense seemed to free the scholar in a way he hadn’t expected. One hand remained on his lover, while the other drifted upward along his abdomen, palm flattening to feel the warmth beneath his touch, fingers splaying as he went. Enoch took his time, savoring the subtle tremors beneath his hand as it traveled higher, over his sternum, pausing just shy of his collarbone, fingertips brushing lightly at the hollow of his throat.

Between those parted legs, it was easy to lean in, pressing a kiss to Rune’s ribs, his touch continuing its slow, strokes up and down. Another kiss followed, this time over his nipple. Finally, his hand resting on his lover’s throat shifted, guiding his chin downward enough as Enoch leaned in to close the distance and pressed a final kiss to his lips.

Rune: Each touch was a surprise, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Sanity was a negotiation. Articulation traded for the abstract. Colors behind his eyelids, heat and silky texture a roulette game. And the sounds... the sounds like music. He was insatiable for that music.

Mercy was a beautiful word. One of the most edible of any language. He was at his mercy. An object to be played with, but not quite. A slave to his whim, but not quite.

Toes planted on the hardwood floor, hips slowly responding to his stroking rhythm.

Blindly, he reached, fingertips hesitant. Would he be allowed to roam as Enoch roamed? Or did he want his hands above his head?

Would his lover feel the question?

Enoch: So focused on his lover, it almost felt they were in tune, reading each shift in body language as hesitant fingertips brushed against him. The touch felt as if he were asking for permission, but that gentle brush of question was heard. The answer came quietly as Enoch pressed a warm kiss into his palm and leaned into the touch.

The hand that had tilted Rune’s chin for the kiss lingered there, thumb brushing softly against his lower lip in a silent request for him to part them, if only to wet his fingers. And Enoch watched him as he did, warmth steadily rising into his face at this newfound boldness he currently possessed.

Rune: When was he going to open his eyes? He had wanted to for some time. From the moment the chair legs had groaned against the floor. From the first touch of skin. From the warmth of Enoch's lips. He wanted to know what Enoch looked like in this moment. How red his cheeks were; if his mouth was agape as he watched his wandering fingers; were his eyes wide or heavy?

But not knowing what was next was as much as a thrill as hoping that, eventually, Enoch would demand his gaze. He might very well float away.

Fingers disappeared behind deep peach lips, sucked obediently. He opened his mouth, allowed Enoch to witness the pink of his tongue, and his fingers sitting there.

Enoch: He could feel himself fighting the instinct to retreat from such forwardness. It was a quiet battle within himself as he watched his lover respond so obediently to his asks. In a way, he was grateful the Euthanatos could not properly see him in that moment because he felt painfully inexperienced, and even that brief flicker of thought threatened to fan the instinct to withdraw.

So instead, he focused on Rune.

On the sound of his breathing, on every small noise he made, and on the sensation of his mouth and tongue around his fingers, enough to make his cock twitch. When he finally drew them back, a thin strand of saliva lingered briefly before snapping apart.

Gods, what a lovely sight.

Lust and desire had been building for far too long, and with a sudden impulse to catch the poor mage off guard, Enoch leaned in to steal his lips in a kiss. At the same time, his damp fingers drifted lower and between his lover, brushing in small circles against that tight ring of muscles before slowly pressing a finger in.

Rune: That urge to shrink in on himself and sound the retreat was some familiar, uninvited guest. It hit his conscience like a splash of cold water on hot skin, compelling his hands to action. Ever blind, he felt for Enoch's jaw, cradling it in both of his palms.

He felt his approach, yet still he gasped into his lover's mouth. He was being taken. Held in place, kissed, invaded, and he was ascending to a heavenly place.

"It's yours," he confessed.

"It's yours," he promised.

Eyelids tightened in a last desperate strategy to hold himself in darkness.

"Don't stop." The blond was pulled back to his mouth.

Enoch: Before he could even strongly consider his actions, those cooler hands against his overheated face disrupted every coherent thought he had. Instead, he leaned into the touch instinctively, answering his request.

This was his.

The thought echoed in his mind as his finger sank into his lover. And it was repeated again as he aimed to find that same spot which had driven such a strong reaction out of him. He was chasing that same response again, fascinated by the way the mage reacted beneath his hands.

“You are mine—”

Whether it was meant as a statement or a question, even Enoch wasn’t certain. The words dissolved into another hungry and desperate kiss as their lips crashed. His attention stayed fixed on Rune, greedy for every soft sound breathed against his mouth and every subtle movement as he slid a single digit in and out of his lover.

 Eventually the scholar broke the kiss only to start trailing downward.

“You can look,” he said, finally granting the permission his lover had been denied.

Rune: Writhing hips and fresh noises announced the moment of Enoch's success. An attempt was made to swallow sounds down his throat, only adding new and different gasps, gulps, and whimpers.

The blind man nodded. Yes. Yes, he belonged to him. Nothing but his faith had ever felt as unquestionable.

A familiar had saturated the dormitory with magic, and still he struggled for some semblance of composure.

And now that permission had been granted, he was afraid to look. Not fear of repercussion, but fear of his freedom. Fear that he might find Enoch neutral and unimpressed.

But his eyes opened anyway, fixed on the ceiling. He didn't know what his lover intended next, but his legs spread anyway. A silent invitation as his fingers disappeared into his hair.

Enoch: With a wider breadth to work between those knees, Enoch adjusted his position, easing the minor discomfort that came with kneeling there so long. It hardly compared to the distraction of his lover and the delicate melodies that came from him. Those quiet whimpers and breathy gasps only encouraged him further.

How hard would the mage struggle to stay quiet with what he was going to do next? Enoch’s composure was long gone. Heat lingered openly across his face, worsened by the fingers threading through his hair in encouragement.

His tongue would make first contact with his lover, sweeping around the head, sliding down along the underside of the shaft before taking it partially into his mouth to suckle. Every reaction the mage gave him was met with fascinated focus, his eyes lifting often behind the lenses of his glasses left on partly because Rune seemed so fond of them, and partly because Enoch selfishly wanted to witness every expression clearly.

He would return to base, this time taking all of his lover into his mouth only to bob again as his hand pumped in unison. His movements grew more confident with each passing moment, finding a rhythm, all while his thoughts briefly wandered toward what else Rune might allow, and what further reactions he could coax from him by adding a second finger.

Rune: Being possessed, taken for the love and pleasure of another, was akin to sun-drenched skin being caressed by cold fingers. He was reminded of Aoi, of foul-breathed sailors, of a woman with auburn hair and a thousand freckles, taking him on quiet mornings without so much as a greeting.

But Enoch wasn't Clara, or Aoi, or unnamed, anonymous men with rough hands. He could bear to look at him, eyes warm with trust, longing, and unresolved fear of the unknown.

Whether or not Enoch understood made no difference; his way of loving was a salve.

Without thought, Rune placed one of his legs on Enoch's shoulders, and with only minor consideration, began fucking the professor's mouth. Each roll of his hips brought him that much deeper into his throat, and pressed those fingers to a place eliciting softer, more submissive sounds. One rash instance, one delicious mistake, he would become this man's sex slave.

Enoch: Never had the scholar done anything like this before. Every one of his senses was consumed by the way his lover moved and the sounds he made in response to fingers pressing into warm inner walls that tightened with every thrust.

The act alone left Enoch aching, his own neglected arousal throbbing painfully beneath his clothes, yet it was a delicious sort of torment, one he would endure gladly just to keep Rune like this.

When that sudden weight settled against his shoulder, the blond paused only briefly in understanding before seamlessly adjusting to it. One hand smoothed along Rune’s outer thigh while the other remained intent on reaching deeper in this new position. He was entirely at the mage’s mercy now, his mouth there to be used however his lover saw fit.

Soft hums and muffled groans escaped him as hazed blue eyes flicked upward, momentarily drinking in the expression of bliss painted so openly across his lover’s face. His fingers tightened eagerly against Rune’s hip, pulling him closer, feeling every movement press deeper as his hand curled against the places that drew those reactions from him again and again.

Enoch was lost to it.

Lost to the heat, the sounds, the way this man trembled above him.

For those few moments, nothing beyond their little world existed. No looming dangers, no burdens waiting outside these walls. Only the mage in his arms and the overwhelming pleasure of being allowed to touch him and to have him like this.

Rune: Once more, the world had become dark. His eyelids tight, concentrated and selfish, until a dawning washed over him. Enoch could do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased, and yet… it was he who governed this moment. His placid gentleman, no doubt hard and aching between his legs, gave and received without question, without hesitation. The man who cradled burdens as protectively as his heart, once more, giving service as an act of love.

It was almost too much. What he could not voice, his fingers tried to convey, squeezing and massaging Enoch’s scalp as he rutted like a wild animal. There was no means to retreat. Enoch, his master, had him as good as strapped. Between his mouth and his fingers, what was left to do but pant, writhe, and choke on his orgasm? It was too soon. This had been a mere moment, or had it been an hour? Teeth sank into his wrist, moaning into his skin, muscles trembled, cramped, and finally, with the last pulse of his erection, he remembered to breathe.

“H-Het spijt me. Ik was niet van plan dat te doen. Het spijt me.”

His leg rolled from Enoch's shoulder. Sitting up, Enoch was pushed backward, filling his lap with his presence. There on the floor, he kissed this man. Messy, labored breathing, and so very much in love.

Enoch: He had been told the stories before, of lovers who had taken from the mage for their own pleasure without ever considering. Enoch had been offered that same freedom. Whenever, wherever…that was the deal.

But what of the mage?

The same man who wanted, perhaps more than anything, to be loved and fiercely protected in turn. What of his wants? His needs?

That was where Enoch had settled within himself. Moments like these should never belong only to one person, and the thought of others taking the mage for granted left something sour twisting in his chest. So Rune was given the reins in his own quiet way. Everything moved at the sailor’s pace, limited only by what he allowed, and Enoch would never willingly take more than that.

Did Rune know that?

Did he understand that, in truth, it was Enoch who rested entirely at his mercy?

The thoughts barely had time to form as a response before the feeling of fingers threading through his hair scattered them apart like fragile strands of silk, leaving him to the very real sensation of his lover thrusting into his mouth.

Those cries escalated, the telltale sign of his efforts as they culminated in muscles spasming and clenching around his fingers, his own pulse quickening. His gaze was on Rune for the duration of his climax, greedily enjoying it because it was his to have. Warmth soon coated the back of his throat and he swallowed, accepting his gift as the taste of bitter almonds lingered on his tongue.

By the time it ended, Enoch was left dazed, hardly given the time to understand what was happening, let alone the words said to him before the world shifted again. Suddenly he was pushed backward, catching himself with his arms as the warm weight of his naked lover settled into his lap.

His chin tipped upward instinctively to receive the kiss that followed, returning it eagerly as his clean hand slid into the back of his lover’s hair, fingers choking the strands just to keep him close.

Rune: Spontaneity had never been his strength. Was that not the thought Enoch harbored just minutes ago? And now he was sucking on his lover's tongue, and playfully biting his lip, still desperate for a proper filling of his lungs.

"I know you," he breathed. "I know your ways. I know what you're doing."

Despite his softening arousal, trembling thighs, he rocked himself, pressed their genitals together, just because he could. What had started as a game, he refused to let end one-sided. It was clear what they desired, just as their love was as clear as polished glass.

Another day, unsuspecting, Enoch would get his promised surprise, but not today.

"I want you to have me. En, what have you been waiting for? For me to - to change my mind?"

Enoch: Another fresh wave of ache coursed through him, his lover occupying every corner of his thoughts simply through his presence alone. Heat lingered across Enoch’s face, color still high in his freckled cheeks as soft hums of approval slipped from him alongside the occasional breathless groan at each playful bite.

How was it possible he still could not get enough of this man?

Forehead pressed to forehead, he tried to steady his breathing through parted lips, eyes drifting shut for a brief moment.

“What… what am I doing?” he asked softly between breaths, only for the question to fracture the moment those shifting hips brushed against the very obvious tension trapped beneath fabric. The sensation scattered his thoughts entirely, wanting to give in to the carnal instincts his body clearly desired.

Instead, his nose brushed along the side of Rune’s neck, lips finding the crook of it as though he might hide there from both the question and the answer. His hand slipped from the back of Rune’s head to settle around his waist instead, holding him close while silence stretched between them for a beat.

“No,” he finally admitted, shaking his head faintly. “I was… I was waiting for you.”

The confession grew quieter after that, uncertainty creeping through it.

“It’s just…” His cheeks darkened fully red now. “I don’t know.”

A nervous laugh escaped him under his breath.

“What if I’m utterly rubbish at it?”

Rune: "You're..." His best friend was laughing, breathless. "You pushed me to the brink of sanity... and you fear performance?"

A sheen of sweat had him staring between strands of clumped hair. The world was spinning. He was almost sick with it, this joy. To feel Enoch's hot breath against his neck was almost too much. His cock twitched, determined for a resurrection.

Legs wrapped around Enoch's waist, arms around his shoulders tight, almost desperate.

"Eight months. I thought - I thought you were not ready." Not once had it been a question of himself. Not for an instant.

His kisses softened. Gentle, careful. A confession of love disguised as affection. However long it would take, he waited for his lover to look him in the eyes.

"Carry me to bed."

Enoch: “I mean…yes, I suppose…” He couldn’t help but grin at that laughter, and especially once it had been phrased like that.

“But it’s not only that,” he tried to argue, if only so he did not sound completely pathetic.

Enoch remained half-hidden where he had tucked himself against Rune, avoiding those eyes for the moment as he wrestled with the discomfort of his own inexperience. Even so, his arm tightened around the mage’s waist in response.

“I…”

“Wait—you’ve been counting?”

No, never mind that.

He drew in a breath, considering how best to put the rest into words.

“You’ve told me about your past and the way others have treated you and…” His voice softened. “I never want you to think I would take you for granted. Or assume you would simply give yourself to me without me considering whether you even wanted that.”

It felt easier to confess these things to the warm skin beneath his lips, to the canvas of Rune’s back which he painted slowly with the soft strokes of his fingertips and the gentle drag of his nails.

His eyes drifted shut beneath the soft kisses pressed against him, returning them just as gently until evasion was no longer possible. Eventually their lips parted, and once they did, Enoch found himself trapped by those warm hues again.

“You seem to have far more confidence in my strength than I do.”

But for their sake, he would try.

The decision showed itself in the way Enoch suddenly tightened his hold around the mage before attempting, somewhat awkwardly and with very little elegance and grace, to push himself upright. The effort earned a soft breath of exertion.

“Do not mock me,” he warned immediately, already smiling despite himself as he adjusted his grip to keep the mage from slipping.

Rune: No charming quip or witty argument could distract from the ache in his chest. A secret such as this, kept behind those lips. Did that make Enoch a liar? No. His specialty was omission. This was nothing new. But it was romantic. Had anyone ever loved him so wholly? So selflessly? Now he questioned his worth. This love was too pure, too perfect. If he clung hard enough, if he loved strongly enough, he might one day discover if soulmates were more than myth.

The ascension was slow and brutal, but Rune did his best not to laugh, not to jostle them. He rewarded his diligence with a playful bite, teeth sinking into Enoch's neck, mindful not to leave a mark.

"I had every confidence," he said into his skin. His tongue circled the young mage's ear. "The jar in the bedside drawer. You're going to take it, and you're going to make love to me."

Enoch: Had Rune laughed, they would never had made it to the bedroom, they would have stayed collapsed on the floor in a tangled heap instead. But somehow Enoch managed it, carrying them through their small flat toward the back room.

And for all his efforts, his reward was a bite.

The sensation coaxed a soft groan from the scholar, that and the slow trace of tongue along the outline of his ear sent a pulse through him, his arousal twitching immediately to the whispered promises breathed against his skin.

It was damning for the Euthanatos, really, because the scholar suddenly wanted nothing more than to taste those words on his lips.

He turned just enough for their mouths to meet, kissing his lover as though they had both been starved for the contact. He refused to break away even as he lowered the mage onto the bed and leaned over him simply to maintain contact for a few moments longer, until breathing finally forced him to part.

“And you truly want this?”

His eyes were clouded with desire, yes, but more than that there was unmistakable love in the way he looked at the sailor sprawled so beautifully across their mussed sheets, the last of the setting sunlight spilling gold across Rune’s skin.

Rune: On any given day, regardless of sleep or irritability, the pair had shared unsolicited, unnegotiated affection. Some days less than others, and still meaningful; the little kisses on his shoulder, his hair, and the kiss before parting ways were kept hidden in a locked box in his memories. The number had been forgotten long ago, yet somewhere in his file was a tally. He would never forget this moment, another for the box. The moment when Enoch stole his breath, demanding not only his patience, but his endurance. The sting in his chest was addicting. His cock was not yet spent.

His world had narrowed to two blue eyes. The temptation to reassure was outweighed by the simple realization: he knew – everything he wanted to say was there, in the warmth of the eyes staring back at him.

“Mm.”

I’ve always wanted you. Don’t you see that now?

“Don’t worry.” Enoch’s hand was placed over his heart. Strong, but calm. “Do you want me to?” He glanced in the direction of the jar. “I’ll show you what to do.”

Enoch: How long had it been since their shared dream? Since their inevitable tumble toward the reality of just how deeply they had fallen for one another?

Despite it almost being a year, somehow doubt still plagued the scholar. It crept quietly into the corners of his mind like tendrils, making him question the reality of this relationship, convincing him at times that he could not possibly deserve this kind of happiness. That he was somehow broken for loving another man.

Now he was humbled because he could feel the opposite in this moment, in those words, and in the patience and willingness to guide him through something so intimate.

Truthfully, he had barely known intimacy beyond a few kisses and some fondling over too tight pants while he was in school. So how could this man desire him and hear him think he had always wanted him? Those familiar ichor-like threads of self-doubt tried to surface again, only to be smothered as his hand was taken.

His palm rested over Rune’s heart, listening to it, feeling that steady pulse beneath his fingers.

First he needed to breathe, the warmth from the sitting room still clung to him, so he undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, allowing it to hang open loosely from his shoulders. Finally he reached for the little jar.

"Show me."

Rune: Show, he asked, and he would, by taking two of Enoch’s fingers and covering them in the thick substance from the jar. “Like this,” he instructed. “What you did, before.” He guided his lover’s hand between his legs, directing his fingers to circle, slowly, before slipping inside. Even this caused his legs to shift, opening wider. Once more utterly exposed.

“You’ve already prepped me.” His hand returned to Enoch’s face, sitting up to kiss beneath his eye. “Use what remains on yourself.”

His instinct was to turn and face the wall, to be on his side. Not his belly, to be used thoughtlessly, but to feel Enoch’s chest against his back. To feel the strength of his arms pull him closer. But he didn’t want to make a mistake. This was, after all, Enoch’s first time. Here the two of them were, trying to accommodate each other’s needs. Communication was… certainly a new experience. Eight months of every sex imaginable, only to be struck dumb by an imagined language barrier.

“I…” What do you want? Tell me, please.

Enoch: The lubricant was thick against his fingers as he was guided back toward his lover. His touch glided over warm skin before slowly sinking inside, and Enoch could already feel his heartbeat beginning to quicken at the sensation of lover around his fingers. The way his companion shifted in response sent another pulse of heat through the scholar.

Those cool hands against his face were a blessing, and he nodded in understanding, eyes closing briefly beneath that soft kiss.

His stomach twisted itself into a thousand nervous knots as he drew back just enough to unfasten his trousers, pushing the bothersome fabric down until he was finally free of them. The shirt and neckties joined the small pile as well. What remained on his fingers he spread over himself in a few slow strokes, trying not to think too hard about what came next.

But now there was nothing left except the act itself. And somehow, that only made the silence heavier. He was painfully aware of every breath and movement between them, finding himself listening for the rest of Rune’s sentence even after it had already faded away. Eventually, the blond released a pent-up breath, bowing his head as an anxious laugh slipped free.

“Sorry,” he whispered, smiling sheepishly despite the flush overtaking his face. “I just need to stop thinking about it.”

Because this was supposed to feel natural, right? He needed to get out of his head and listen to what his body was desperately telling him, which was to kiss this man senseless and press him back into the mattress.

And so he did.

With the hand still resting against Rune’s chest, Enoch gently urged his lover backward into the bed as he caught him in a kiss.

“You said you wanted to face me,” he whispered softly between kisses, breath warm against Rune’s lips. “Is that still alright?”

Rune: Rune was obedient to those hands, feeling blindly for the pillows to shove one off the bed, placing the other underneath his hips. His eyes never left him, and he realized its significance. Yes, he wanted the feeling of those strong arms against him, but turning to face the wall was something else, and the realization was creating blush in places he had never seen.

“It’s…”

Could he pray? Was praying acceptable, despite the sin? Hands rested on Enoch’s shoulders, only to immediately cup his neck. It was a kind of prayer.

“What if you don’t…” enjoy the faces I make? What if you don’t like what you see? What if, somehow, this is a spell, and facing me breaks it?

Their kisses were anchors, desperately needed before he was swept away in a sea of doubt.

And then, the dawning of a new realization. “We’re… sharing again,” he scoffed. This doubt wasn’t about Enoch. This subject of self-worth was dealt with long ago, was it not? Confessions had already been said. Forgiveness already bestowed. This shadow between them was not of his making.

And it didn’t belong to Enoch, either.

He pulled his lover chest to chest. This was familiar. Freedom to explore was theirs. Always had been. He would roam as he pleased, as he had a hundred times before, lips sliding from Enoch’s narrow jaw, to his slender neck, to his ear, where he kissed.

“When you’re ready.”

Enoch: The bed dipped beneath the weight of his knees as he followed after Rune, allowing those hands to guide him down without a word. His gaze never left the mage; there was a softness to his expression and to this entire moment.

At the beginning of that unfinished question, a flicker of doubt crossed the scholar's features, his mind all too eager to catastrophize before anything had even happened. Fortunately, the kisses proved a welcome distraction for them both. His lips had found Rune's brow when that realization surfaced, drawing a pause and a small smile from him.

"Always when we're closest."

Before he could dwell on what exactly they were sharing, chest pressed to chest with nothing but the mage filling his thoughts. One arm curved over Rune's head, fingers disappearing into those soft, dark strands. He welcomed the trail of gentle kisses, turning just enough to nuzzle against Rune's temple as he nodded.

Settled between Rune's legs, he shifted his hips and guided himself closer with his free hand, his breath gradually quickening. He moved forward, pressing the damp tip of his head against his lover in a slow circular motion before easing forward again. He’d give his lover time to adjust before continuing. By the time they were flush, his stomach felt taut with nerves and anticipation, and every beat of his heart was painfully, yet wonderfully loud in his chest.

“Are you alright?”

Rune: “Always,” he echoed.

No one had ever been this gentle with him. He didn’t want to think about anyone else, but the comparison was inescapable. Unfortunate though it may be, he had years more experience, and what had felt deserved and orgasmic at the time now soured his stomach. No one had loved him. Not even the one who had tried desperately to make him love her.

His hands remained glued to the nape of Enoch’s neck. Knees raised and receptive. The weight of reality was heavier than anticipated. A world of responsibility; for Enoch’s comfort, wellbeing, for his happiness. This was not a toy to pick up and put down – Enoch was not him.

“Mm. You can… move, when you’re – or sit up, if you – I’m fine.” More than fine. He was perfectly filled, and fighting the instinct to fall into old habits.

"A-Are you...?" alright?

Enoch: His eyes were on his love, and in that moment, he caught the edges of those thoughts. He could feel the weight of them against his own heart and the more immediate desire to sooth the hurt his beloved still carried. Warm lips pressed a kiss beneath the mage’s eye and another along the edge of his jaw, each one a quiet promise to always love him.

But the thought of Rune seeing himself as a toy had Enoch shaking his head. Realizing a second too late that the gesture could easily be mistaken for an answer to the question, the blond visibly flustered.

“I mean yes—I... yes, I’m fine as well.”

He sheepishly smiled, and somehow their shared fumbling eased some of the tension knotting in his chest.

He had been presented with so many delicious possibilities, but where they were felt nice. There was nothing wrong with the basics, right?

“L-let’s try this for now,” he said softly. “Unless you’d prefer another...”

He was starting to get into his own head again and overthink.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much.”

And to break that, he’d start moving, his pace slow at first and quickly enjoying the sensation that squeezed around him as his rhythm steadied. Poor Rune’s lips would likely be kiss-bruised by the end of the night, because Enoch found himself leaning in for yet another.

Rune: An apology in this position suddenly stuck Rune stupid. The urge to laugh was fought and failed. Just a smile and a tension of muscles. What sound managed to escape was nothing more than a breath, then a moan.

"We can't be idiots here. Not here." Fingers disappeared into pale hair, pulling Enoch down just as his lover learned forward, his eager mouth greeting eager lips. Their pace was comfortable, at first, until it became frustrating. His erection pressed between their bodies, wet at the tip and agonizingly stiff. The friction of Enoch's movement was almost enough to finish him. He forced his focus on two blue eyes, hoping to get lost in his gaze, that it might be a sufficient distraction, that he might last until Enoch slicked his insides.

But words were beginning to fail. Even thoughts, private or otherwise, had become abstract colors, desires, and sensations in a carnal void.

Not even Enoch's name could escape his lips, only struggled panting.

Enoch: That smile was exactly the response the poor scholar needed as he clumsily navigated this. More than anything, Enoch hoped he was doing right by the mage with their first time together.

“I think….” he began between breaths, “I think… it’s alright if we’re idiots here.” Because if not here, then when?

Enoch’s fingers curled into dark strands, using them as an anchor as he returned each kiss. His breathing had begun to quicken into soft pants, and his hands drifted along Rune’s arms before settling over them, their fingers intertwining as they pressed into the mattress.

Words seemed to vanish beneath the sounds his lover was making. Shared thoughts and feelings lost their shape as he rutted against, and into his lover. And those warm tones he focused on helped distract from the inevitable, but perhaps changing positions might help prolong things too.

It took an impressive amount of willpower for the blond to slow himself, his shoulders damp as sweat beaded down his back with exertion as he finally came to a reluctant stop.

“I-I love you,” he whispered, the words pressed against Rune’s temple. “So damn much. And… and I don’t want to rush this.”

His hand rose to brush dark hair back from Rune’s face, tucking it gently behind an ear. Then, wrapping his arms around the mage, Enoch carefully guided them upright. There was an effort to try and not slip out, but even as he did, it would be easy for Rune to readjust himself once he settled again on his lover’s lap.

“Is this good?”

Rune: Rune looked between their legs as his lover slowed, wondering if the scholar had experienced the world's most silent orgasm, but being wrong was delightful. His body was already tender, and would be worse by morning. It had been years since he had allowed the company of a man, and longer were the years since he had actually enjoyed every aspect. He could sleep into the afternoon tomorrow, if need be, because Enoch said he loved him, and he said the words back, softly, lovingly, with not a concern of tomorrow.

Arms held strong to Enoch's shoulders, lingering, clinging as he repositioned himself. He didn't need to be told; adjusting to his knees, he reached behind, returning Enoch home with a shudder and a sigh. Was it good? His answer was silent, hips rolling with a will of their own. The opposite of Enoch in all things, Rune's pace was erratic yet purposeful, with the haste of a selfish animal in desperate pursuit of release.

"Touch me. Anywhere."

Enoch: Those three soft words, spoken so gently by the mage managed to make the scholar’s heart stumble. His chest tightened with a pleasant ache, and if there was one thing Enoch was certain of, it was that he was hopelessly lovesick for this man. Unable to help himself, he nuzzled against Rune’s jaw.

He was in a heady state, his thoughts clouded and swimming in a tide of dopamine that distracted him even from the brief look his lover cast between them. His arms remained wrapped around Rune’s torso as he tried to steady his breathing in this new position. The effort was short-lived because a soft moan escaped into the mage’s shoulder when he felt himself guided back into place.

Rune was determined to make him finish given how their pace increased. Enoch’s hands spread across sweat-slick shoulder blades, clinging to him. It wasn’t long before quiet sounds began slipping free of him again, each one drawn out by the erratic rhythm of those rolling hips. One arm slid across Rune’s back to grip the opposite shoulder, and Enoch found himself moving with him, meeting each with a thrust. The closeness of their bodies only heightened his awareness of the stiff, aching head rubbing against him. It wouldn’t be left unattended now that he had a free hand and could reach between them.

"Felix…”

Rune: The name nearly stilled him. Slowing with a deliberateness, he willed himself to hear Enoch's intention, allowed himself this random kindness, this romance his companion insisted from a pure place.

The name was harmless. Enoch might as well have been a saint. Saint Enoch, patron saint of romance, curiosity, and resilience.

He didn't want to let him go. Not even to accommodate his hand. To lean back would be to feel the cold on his chest, to lose his labored breathing against his skin, the sound of his voice in his ear.

"Do you intend for me to come again?" He would wait for his answer, sucking on his earlobe.

Enoch: For a moment, all that filled his ears were the sounds of his own heartbeat and ragged breathing. He could feel the mage’s heart echoing against his chest, equally unsteady as they both slowed. He had been brought to the very edge of reason, only for them to pull back from it long enough to catch their breath.

“Mm.” He nodded, eyes closing as a quiet sigh escaped him, his cock twitching inside his lover at the attention his earlobe received. His fingers remained tangled in Rune’s hair, nails gently scratching at the base of his scalp before trailing down the back of his neck.

“I like the sounds you make, and…” Heat was already creeping into his flushed cheeks, momentarily glad the mage couldn’t directly look at him.

“I want to feel when you do.”

Rune: What motivation to embrace the chill of the bedroom. What he wanted to say could wait for eternity, but he circulated his thoughts just the same. You can’t keep giving me firsts; my heart will seize.

Hands braced on Enoch’s shoulders as he leaned back, planting his feet on the mattress, before bringing his hands away to hold himself up. Here, his lover could have everything he wanted, but the taste of his lips. Here he would witness the throb of his lover, almost synchronized, the heave of his labored breathing, every tense muscle, and the dance of his hips. If discovery was his intention, then he would have to grasp what bobbed between their bodies himself, for the man riding him was otherwise occupied, head falling back, devoting all of his good sense to maintain any semblance of relative silence.

Enoch: His hold loosened as the mage pulled back, blue eyes following him as he adjusted his position. Enoch’s hand rested at Rune’s hips before one shifted behind him to brace against the mattress for support.

His heart hammered in his chest, rising and falling with each breath as he tried to steady himself, but the new position…well, it gave him the freedom to openly admire his lover, and it captivated the poor scholar. His gaze wandered from Rune's throat to the curve of his collarbone, down across his chest and further to his hips, which were moving with purpose as he watched with fascination. Before conscious thought could catch up, instinct took over and his hips rolled upward.

Thoughts weren’t forming correctly now; all that existed were feelings of his body melting and an intense pleasure he had never experienced with another before. Fingers dug into the mage’s side, his thrusts matching the rhythm as best he could as his hand came between them to touch his lover in unison. Each synchronous roll brought him treacherously close to the edge as he squeezed his lover from base to tip and down again.

Rune: Mutual desire. Real, mutual desire. This was more than a quick, petty fuck against the wall or pressed into the ground. More than a woman basking in her control over his body, or a living, breathing phallus to take the edge off. He might have been allowed to weep at Enoch's kindness, but he would rather rut, and pant, cheeks pink and eyes drunk on a substance better than alcohol. Whimpers trickled in, promising a mess of their mutual creation. What had become a steady, desperate rhythm now stuttered to a needy grind, rolling his hips as he was filled utterly. Thighs quivered, squeezed, and froze in place as he spilled himself between them, covering his lover's hand.

And still, he rolled his hips. On his back, gasping like a dying man for breath, he offered his body, begging with eyes and with thoughts for the man inside him to leave himself there, to take what he wanted, to fill him and claim him.

Enoch: Everything right now, for the scholar, was reactionary. There was no room for thought or contemplation; that would come later, once he had reached the fulcrum of the evening. Reflection belonged to the aftermath, when the desperate need for release no longer consumed him.

The sudden stutter in Rune’s movement and the grind of those hips against him broke something inside Enoch. He felt that final crescendo ripple through Rune, squeezing around him, and lustfully he basked in the broken whimpers that accompanied it. It was beautiful. It was overwhelming. It was perfect. It was exactly what he wanted.

Those hips were merciless in their intent and they would get their request. In one fluid motion, his lover was on his back with the blond hovering above him, driven by a need that could no longer be ignored. Hitched breaths and quiet moans filled Rune's good ear as Enoch answered the silent pleas that urged him to claim the mage. And he would.

With one final roll of his hips, every muscle in his body drew taut. For a moment, all thought vanished and all that existed was the release that spilled, coating and filling his love, driven deeper by each dying thrust. His world had narrowed to riding this wave of ecstasy and the dizzying rush that left him breathless.

For a long moment, nothing existed beyond the sound of their breathing as the tension gradually seeped from his limbs. When coherent thought finally began to return, there was only one thing he wanted. Turning his head, Enoch sought out Rune's lips and kissed him deeply before he let himself collapse on top of the mage, utterly spent.

Rune: The moment of silence was concerning. Not a silence of the room, but a silence of the mind. As though their link had been thusly severed. Something strange and unusual replaced that silence in his chest, like a cold, wet stone of worry.

But he was slicked. His man still nestled inside him, on top of him, descending from a Heaven of their making. All was right in the world.

His sigh of relief was audible, and his arms gentle around Enoch's shoulders, featherlike, as if anything more might damage his delicate frame.

But his Enoch was made of stronger stuff. Was that alright to say, even to himself? His. His mage. His love. His better half.

"Stay out of my head," he warned, offering smaller kisses wherever he could reach. Those deep, passionate kisses were addictive, but he would take what he could get. "I'm being sentimental."

Enoch: A high-pitched ringing like tinnitus filled the void left behind. It was as though Enoch had brushed against the cosmos itself and was only now returning from it.

Gradually, other sounds filtered back in, like the ambient sounds of the apartment, the mage's soft breath, and the drum of his heartbeat. But unfortunately, his body felt far too heavy to move. Poor Rune would have to be trapped beneath him for the moment.

Enoch allowed himself to rest against the mage's shoulder, eyes closed as he took another moment to gather his thoughts and catch his breath. He focused on his beloved instead, on the reassuring feel of those arms around him and the soft kisses landing on his skin.

The kiss to his hair drew a faint smile from the blond. Through damp strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead, he tipped his head back enough to look up at the mage.

Unfortunately for Rune, telling Enoch not to do something often produced the opposite effect.

Perhaps a small part of him was contrarian. Or perhaps he simply did not know how to sever the connection between them. Whatever the reason, the soft brush of Rune's thoughts bled across that bond, and it was enough for Enoch to understand what the mage was dwelling upon.

What he caught made his face warm and his chest ache.

To belong to someone so completely, to be chosen and cherished in return was a joy he had never known before. Not like this. Not with someone who loved him back and who truly cared for him without expectation...or manipulation.

That realization made him inhale sharply.

Swallowing around the emotion, Enoch lifted a hand and threaded his fingers through his love's damp hair, offering the same quiet affection he had been given.

"I am yours...be it for a month, a year, or a hundred. I am yours."

Rune: There was simply no escape. Enoch would hear what he pleased, and he found himself unable and uncaring enough to stop him. Some things were better left unsaid, but in their unspoken void, such thoughts were… safe.

But even still, the pleasurable fantasy of falling asleep with Enoch buried inside him was too much. Probably. He had to keep something for himself.

“How… how is it that you can blush… after all that? Your blush is blushing.”

In an ideal world – no. He had to stop. These thoughts which came flooding in like a broken dam were poetic, beautiful, and wholly useless. At some point, darling reveries would become devices of torture, squeezing their hearts and souls, leaving behind guilt-shaped wounds to scar over. But already, his heart ached immeasurably.

I love you. A thousand times, I love you. I never want to lose you. Not ever. Not for a moment.

The sentiment was unfinished. A deliberate image of his beloved ocean had taken its place. For his sanity. For Enoch's heart. To bury the 'what ifs' and 'why nots' and 'please, in a different world' someplace deep and hidden.

"Get off me. We need a shower. Unless you plan to sleep on me, like this."

Enoch: “Hush. Let me be.”

His hand came up to cover Rune’s mouth, hiding his own smile against the mage's shoulder before his beloved could make another comment on how red his scholar was.

Enoch was content to remain like this for a while longer. Content to listen to Rune's thoughts as they drifted quietly across their bond, to share in the comfortable silence that settled between them. The little flat had become their haven; a place where their feelings, sentiments, and fears could be laid bare without judgment. Another wave of gentle affection brushed against him through their connection.

The blond turned, resting his chin lightly against Rune as he looked at him with softened eyes. A familiar tightness settled in his chest, accompanied by the sting behind his nose. His fingers drifted down almost absentmindedly to caress the mage's jaw. He wanted to answer, but he did not trust his voice not to betray him.

Instead, Enoch lowered his gaze and closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to Rune's shoulder. His arm tightened around the Euthanatos in a quiet squeeze. It was enough to keep the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes at bay. A quiet sniff escaped him nonetheless, and the corners of his mouth curled into a small, fond smile at Rune's next words.

“Get off me, he says,” Enoch grumbled playfully against the mage's warm skin. “That's terribly rude. I’m going to bite you for that.”

Before Rune had much chance to object, Enoch sank his teeth into his shoulder in an attempt to get a rise out of his mage. He bit down hard enough to leave a mark before easing away with a satisfied little hum. Only then did he relent, finally untangling himself from his beloved and rolling onto his side.

Rune: The sudden hand made him laugh. Just a little noise of air from his nose. He shook his head, taking the hand with him. Of all of the noises they had made, it was a tease that forced his silence.

A room of self-composed music. The rhythm of their breathing was almost hypnotic, until the tightness in his ribs, he realized, was not of his doing. Looking into those eyes, he knew the source of his phantom pain. A woundless agony as old as the man in his arms. It was impossible to fathom how hundreds of souls could have looked at his face and not wanted to cradle and love him utterly. How those close to him, meant to love and protect him, could have played the perfidious ally, could exist apathetically in his presence.

The warmth behind his eyes, now that belonged to him. The tingle from Enoch’s nose was foreign, but Rune had come to understand his companion. They couldn’t both cry, drowning in trust and waning hormones.

This was precisely the appropriate moment. Just as their confession of love. No probable instance would have been as fulfilling, as healing, as profound.

He had reached for Enoch’s face when bitten. He had half a mind to bite back, but rather, with a firm hold, took for himself a passionate kiss.