#exeflame

Enkaku adalah sebuah nama yang tak pernah ia akui sejak jemarinya menyapa kematian untuk pertama kali.

Ia tak menamai dirinya dengan sebutan apapun setelahnya. Ia cukup puas dengan jantung yang berdetak, napas yang berembus. Tak perlu menoktah nama lain pada takdirnya yang sudah retak. Namun mereka memanggilnya Flamebringer, maka ia menghela debuan di padang bersimbah darah dan memanggil dirinya dengan sebutan serupa.

Tak ada yang pernah memanggilnya Enkaku lagi, kecuali W dan itu bukan hal yang patut ia bicarakan dengan jantung yang masih berdenyut di antara tulang rusuknya. Bahkan di momen terakhir kematiannya, Flamebringer masih harus mengingatkan diri sendiri bahwa ia tak seharusnya mencari wanita itu di selipan memori yang telah kelabu. Bagi ia, bagi semua makhluk yang menapak di atas Terra, Enkaku telah lebur. Kerangkanya tersimpan jauh di bawah tanah, meski jantungnya masih berdetak sesekali.

Di hadapannya, memandang balik dari dalam cermin dengan wajah yang letih dan jengkel terhadap semesta, adalah Enkaku.

Flamebringer menghela napas dalam-dalam, mencoba menyerap sebanyak-banyaknya kesabaran dan melepaskan hasrat untuk melayangkan tinju pada cermin dua kaki dari tempatnya berdiri. Ingin rasanya mengambil retakan kaca dan mengiris nadi, mati untuk kedua kali agar ia selesai. Sampai kapan semesta mau mempermainkannya begini? Sudah betul mati di Terra, mesti pula ia dihidupkan kembali entah di dimensi mana. Namun lagi, pun meski ia lakukan, ia tak ragu akan kegigihan semesta untuk menyeretnya kembali. Lebih baik turuti kemauan bangsat satu ini sampai ia bisa dapat kesempatan mati lagi.

Jemari panjang naik ke dadanya. Aneh sekali rasanya melihat jari-jemari tanpa belulang dan tikas dari luka-luka semasa pertempuran. Dadanya hangat, sedikit lebih ringkih; ia maklum, tempat ini tidak terlihat seperti dunia dengan hasrat menghancurkan yang sama dengan Terra. Tidak dengan cara sama, setidaknya. Meski denyut jantungnya masih bertemu di ujung jemari, namun ia tahu. Sudut bibirnya tersungging dalam senyum sarat ironi.

“Senang kau?” tanyanya pada pantulan di cermin yang bersih. “Tubuh sekarat begini kau suruh aku mainkan sampai dia mati, begitu? Buang-buang waktu saja, tahu?”

Pantulannya tak menjawab, bibirnya mengatup segera setelah Flamebringer berhenti berujar. Tentu saja, memang ia mengharapkan apa? Tuntunan Tuhan? Tuhan sudah mati bersama Enkaku. Tak ada jejak kemuliaan dan mukjizatnya dalam nadi Flamebringer. Tidak di dunia yang telah ia tinggalkan, tidak pula di dunia asing ini.

Ia memejamkan mata sejenak, meneguk ludah. Mau bagaimana lagi, pikirnya getir. Mau diapakan lagi? Hidup saja sampai mati. Hidup saja sampai semesta lelah.

Saat matanya terbuka, pantulannya menatap ia balik dengan kerut samar di wajah. Pedar di raut muka nampak bagai percik api, namun lelah juga terpatri di sana. Ia nampak sengsara—nampak pilu.

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Dunia ini tak jauh berbeda dengan Terra. Namanya Bumi, dan Flamebringer mengacungkan jari tengah pada langit biru segera setelah ia paham mengenai tempat yang terlalu padat akan manusia ini. Persetan kau, teriaknya dalam hati. Dunianya kacau karena perselisihan dan perang, kebencian akan perbedaan kasta, darah bertumpahan di atas tanah kering kerontang karena kebencian. Dunia inipun seperti itu—hanya saja lebih licik, lebih kejam. Ia tak terkejut. ‘Toh tidak ada yang baru juga. Orang bisa mati tanpa dibunuh dengan senjata, cuma ya memang kekerasan lebih efektif.

Ia menatap tangannya yang halus dan tak sekekar sebelumnya. Lebih baik mulai olahraga dan berlatih. Tidak di dunia ini, dunianya, dimanapun, kekerasan akan selalu lebih efektif.

Ia punya kalender di kamar tidur, ruang tamu, dapur, kamar mandi—yang benar saja. Satu alisnya terangkat, lama-lama makin tinggi saat ia menemukan satu-persatu kalender. Semua tanggalnya diberi catatan. Pergi ke kafe tiap Rabu, potong rambut sebulan sekali, pergi ke toko bunga beli benih tiap dua bulan, pergi ke dokter dua minggu sekali. Masih normal. Namun ada pula catatan kecil seperti hidup normal, jalan-jalan ke pemakaman umum, cari anjing untuk diusap, usir Samuel. Kata-kata seperti itu ada di setiap tanggal, setiap bulan.

Ia mengerutkan bibir, siapa lagi pula Samuel? Rentenir? Pengemis?

Meskipun Enkaku di sini lebih anteng, lebih punya pandangan yang—ya tidak optimis juga, tapi tidak pesimis. Ia berjalan di tengah, berpindah mengikuti rotasi semesta kemanapun ia tengah ingin membawanya. Ia tak terkesan ambisius dengan apapun, tidak frustasi sampai mau mampus, tidak terlalu bahagia juga. Imbang betul jadi manusia—itu sebutan makhluk di sini. Tidak ada ras seperti di Terra. Ternyata, rasnya dibedakan dengan kulit dan suku bangsa. Yah, tidak beda-beda amat juga, terutama soal ketidakadilan terhadap ras-ras tertentu. Sampah yang sama, peduli setan. Flamebringer tidak datang ke sini untuk mengubah dunia menjadi lebih baik. Cuma hidup, lalu menunggu mati saja rasanya sudah cukup menyusahkan.

Kamarnya sederhana dan tidak berdekorasi. Sekedar foto saja tidak punya. Ranjang, lemari, rak barang, dan sebuah meja dengan tumpukan jurnal di atasnya. Ia mengetahui sedikit banyak perjalanan Enkaku dari tiap lembarannya. Beberapa jurnal usianya sudah lebih dari dua-puluh-tahun. Oh, ia sudah tiga-puluh-empat? Lebih tua dari usia aslinya, meskipun wajah mereka tak banyak mengalami perubahan. Tetap saja. Sudah tua bukan alasan tidak menguatkan fisik, ia berpikir dengan wajah berkerut, mencubit perutnya yang lembek. Ia tidak kekar, tidak tambun; tidak lemah, tidak kuat juga. Dibandingkan dengan tubuh lamanya, yang ini sudah kelewat lembut.

Ia lahir dari keluarga berada, sekolah dengan baik, tidak punya banyak teman, mengidap penyakit yang sampai sekarang tidak dapat didiagnosa oleh dokter manapun yang mereka tuju, dan suka tanaman. Flamebringer menatap kalimat itu, nyengir. Lumayan; kalau orangnya senang berkebun, ia tidak punya masalah dengannya. Penyakitnya barangkali karena Oripathy dari tubuh lama. Entah apalah jampi-jampi semesta sampai penyakitnya bisa melewati dimensi dan garis kehidupan. Intinya: tidak dapat didiagnosa, tidak ada obat penyembuh, mati juga. Sederhana, tidak perlu jenius untuk mengambil kesimpulan kalau tidak di dunianya, tidak di dunia ini, Flamebringer tetap dikutuk dengan takdir mati muda.

“Ya sudah,” ia mendumel sendiri sambil membolak-balik jurnal untuk mencari informasi penting. “Untuk apa juga hidup lama-lama. Kurang kerjaan.”

Ia mendapat alamat praktik dokternya, kafe yang biasa ia datangi, tempat membeli benih bunga, dan tempat langganan potong rambut. Sampai diberi empat bintang di samping nama tempatnya. Ia mengamati surai birunya di cermin dan harus mengakui, potongannya rapi dan mendetail. Tidak ada penjelasan tentang mengapa ia punya kebiasaan jalan-jalan ke pemakaman tiap pulang dari periksa rutin ke dokter, atau siapa itu Samuel.

Namun pada jurnal yang memuat perjalanannya selama perkuliahan, terdapat jeda selama kurang lebih dua tahun sebelum halamannya terisi kembali. Tidak akan pernah sama, Enkaku menoreh dengan tulisan tangan yang ia yakin hanya bisa dibaca olehnya sendiri, tidak akan pernah lupa. Tidak akan mengejar sampai waktunya tiba. Ia rasa, sesuatu terjadi dalam waktu dua tahun catatannya menghilang—sesuatu yang membawanya kembali ke pemakaman umum dalam frekuensi yang mengkhawatirkan bagi orang biasa.

Ia menatap tulisannya dengan pandangan jijik dan heran. Sok puitis, bangsat, pikirnya. Sekarang siapa yang repot mengartikan kata-kata tidak jelas begini? Dia sendiri. Ini adalah epitome “menyabotase diri sendiri” dalam artian yang sesungguhnya.

Udaranya sejuk dari lantai atas begini, pikirnya sambil merebahkan diri di balkoni. Di luar terik dan sesak, namun di bawah naungan balkoni lantai atas, ia aman dari hiruk-pikuk kota asing, di planet yang asing ini. Enkaku merokok, dan merupakan perokok berat, dinilai dari stok rokok di kabinet makanan di dapur, dan asbak di setiap ruangan di rumah ini.

Flamebringer menyalakan sebatang rokok, menghirup nikotin jauh ke lesung paru, dan mengembus asap ke udara. Sekalian berkontribusi pada kehancuran kalian semua, ia pikir dengan cengir sarat ironi. Semua pasti mati, pasti berakhir. Apapun yang ia lakukan, atau tidak lakukan, tidak akan ada bedanya. Flamebringer tahu diri. Ia cuma Sarkaz—manusia, oke, iya—biasa, semesta punya berkali lipat lebih banyak kuasa dibanding ia.

Ia mengubah pikirannya terhadap Enkaku. Pria ini tidak sesantai itu menunggu kematian. Ia aktif mengejar kematian, atas asas yang sama dengan yang Flamebringer punya. Kematian pasti datang, dan ia tak tertarik memperlambat waktu ajal menjemput. Datang ya datang saja, tidak perlu permisi apalagi sampai bertamu baru pergi kencan bersama ke alam baka.

Semua teknologinya hampir sama, perbedaannya hanya beberapa sektor yang lebih ditonjolkan. Teknologi berperangnya berbeda, orang biasa bisa pakai senapan, karena cara berperang manusia sudah diatur oleh politik. Ada undang-undang tentang kriminal dalam perang, malah. Ia hampir tertawa. Kalau yang begitu mau diaplikasikan ke Terra, mampus sudah ia mendekam di penjara sejak belia. Setidaknya, tidak banyak perbedaan yang berarti sampai ia mesti belajar dari awal mengenai adab di zaman ini. Penggunaan ponsel juga sama saja. Namun di sini ada internet, semacam interkoneksi di Terra tapi lebih wah. Ia mengedikkan bahu, lebih gampang mencari tahu apa yang terjadi tujuh-belas tahun lalu.

Ia menyesap rokoknya sampai ke ujung filter, menatap langit yang tertutupi gedung-gedung perkantoran yang menjulang. Hal buruk, pasti, pikirnya. Tidak mungkin yang lain dari sana, karena kemalangan selalu merasa sepi tanpa inang untuk dihinggapi. Ia menekan ujung puntung rokok ke asbak, melihat perciknya melembut sebelum mati. Seperti melihat perjalanan hidup sendiri, pikirnya sayu.

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Enkaku suka berpakaian hangat dan tebal. Flamebringer menganga kala melihat koleksi pakaiannya. Mereka nyaman dipakai, lembut di kulit, dan memang betul cocok dengan kulit dan postur tubuhnya. Tapi ya... tidak perlu sampai satu lemari semuanya begini juga. Kebanyakan dari sweternya dua ukuran lebih besar, beberapa jaket dan kardigan juga. Saat ia mencoba memakai beberapa di hari Rabu, ia terkesan dengan seberapa berbeda ia terlihat dari biasanya. Untuk pertama kali dalam hidupnya, Flamebringer terlihat lemah lembut.

Ia tertawa sejenak di depan kaca. Lemah lembut, senang tanaman, suka bersih-bersih (dinilai dari betapa rapi dan bersihnya cermin dan permukaan barang di rumah ini), kurang lebih enak dipandang, postur tubuh bagus, dan merokok. Kombinasinya sudah pas jadi lelaki simpanan orang. Latif dan ramah tamah, enak dicumbu, namun cukup ‘jantan’ untuk tetap mengingatkan bahwa ia lelaki. Bisa saja ia simpanan om-om. Maksudnya, apartemen ini memang kecil tapi barangnya lengkap dan terlihat apik. Tawanya menggelegar lebih keras, bergaung di antara dinding kamar.

Siapa yang sangka, prajurit haus darah bisa pindah profesi jadi lacur pilihan lelaki kaya yang melenceng dari norma?

Kemudian ia meneguk ludah. Tidak perlu dipancing begitu, semesta pasti punya hal tidak waras yang disimpan untuknya di dimensi ini. Hal remeh-temeh macam jadi simpanan lelaki lain adalah perkara mudah kalau sudah diatur.

Ia menghela napas, menatap wajah Enkaku di cermin, dan bersiap untuk hidup dalam detak jantung yang telah ia rebut.

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Kafe tempatnya pergi bagus dan nyaman. Kopinya tidak sampai membuat ia bercucuran air mata, namun cukup enak untuk membuatnya betah duduk selama empat-puluh menit di teras—menghirup kopi dan menyesap beberapa batang rokok sembari berpikir tentang apa yang harus ia lakukan sekarang. Ya, betul, hidup saja sampai mati. Tapi pekerjaannya apa? Kesehariannya dalam praktikal seperti apa? Yang ia biasa lakukan sehari-hari apa sebetulnya?

Meski datang ke kafe ini tiap hari Rabu adalah rutinitas, namun pegawai kafe nampak tak mengenalinya. Atau mungkin memang tak pernah bicara dengannya. Barangkali Enkaku juga melakukan hal yang sama, menghindari ke teras supaya jauh dari hiruk pikuk pengunjung lain. Keramaian di jalan raya dapat dimaklumi karena tak terdengar jelas; di dalam, ia jadi tahu kalau seorang gadis baru saja putus dari pacar barunya, ibu-ibu sosialita adu pamer liburan ke luar negeri; ricuh. Mending ditinggal.

Tak ada kontak keluarga di ponsel Enkaku. Teman juga masih tanda tanya. Cuma ada beberapa di sana: dokter, penjual bibit, emergensi, tukang listrik, pemilik apartemen, satpam dan resepsionis apartemen, dan Pak Arka. Ia memutar bola mata melihat nama itu. Dari percakapan sebelumnya di sebuah aplikasi chat, mereka bertemu sekitar dua sampai empat kali dalam sebulan. Lebih sering hanya dua kali.

Pak Arka terkesan sebagai lelaki cakap dan sopan, namun tidak suka pakai basa-basi, yang mana Flamebringer suka-suka saja karena ia malas bicara pakai embel-embel. Lelaki itu hanya akan bertanya ia di mana, meminta waktu bertemu, kemudian terus seperti itu. Tidak ada yang aneh sama sekali. Hanya saja, kadang Pak Arka bertanya ‘boleh melihatmu?’ tanpa mengajak bertemu, dan Enkaku akan mengirim fotonya. Tidak ada yang telanjang, tapi kesemuanya intim. Dari sana ia mengambil kesimpulan bahwa, ironisnya, Enkaku memang simpanan lelaki lain.

Ia mengangkat cangkir kopi, menenggak isinya untuk menyembunyikan cengir tak percaya di bibir. Ya kaget saja. Lucu, dan tidak masalah kalau memang Enkaku maunya begitu karena ini bukan kehidupan Flamebringer, tapi ya—ya... ini tetap bagian dari dirinya, dan ia berhak merasa bahwa ini menggelikan dan membuat jengah karena ia yang akan meneruskan pekerjaan ini. Mereka bertemu barangkali untuk bersenggama. Memangnya bagaimana biasanya Enkaku bertingkah dalam hubungan badan? Lembut seperti koleksi pakaiannya, menunduk di bawah Pak Arka, atau liar dan tidak sabaran seperti Flamebringer?

Meh, yang mana saja tidak masalah. Kalaupun tidak sama sepertinya, ya tinggal pura-pura saja. Usianya tiga-puluh-empat, tidak punya pekerjaan tetap, dan tidak tahu keterampilan macam apa yang ia punya selain berkebun. Keterampilannya yang biasa tak dapat dipakai di tubuh dan dunia ini. Ya jadi lelaki simpananlah solusinya, pikirnya dengan tawa dalam hati. Ini benar-benar aneh dan bikin histeris. Namun lagi, reflek keterkejutan Flamebringer sudah lama mengering karena kondisi di dimensi aslinya. Lagipula, dengan tubuh yang siap menyambut kematian ini, wajar saja kalau Enkaku tidak repot-repot bekerja atau membuka usaha.

Sayang saja—sudah repot-repot, malah modar.

Belum ada pesan dari Pak Arka untuk sekarang, dan sejauh yang ia tahu, Enkaku tak pernah menghubungi lelaki itu lebih dulu. Menunggu panggilan saja, berhubung ini pekerjaan. Pekerjaan yang menguntungkan, menurut isi rekeningnya. Sebenarnya lepas dari Pak Arka sekarangpun ia masih bisa bertahan hidup sekitar empat tahun tanpa melakukan apapun. Namun lagi, kurang tahu juga selama apa semesta ingin melihatnya di sini.

Tatapannya berubah muram saat mengingat informasi yang ia dapatkan melalui internet. Untuk masalah pekerjaan ia santai saja; terhibur, malah. Namun alasan mengapa Enkaku rajin mengunjungi pemakaman umum bukanlah karena ia sudah terlalu gila karena lelah hidup, atau menunggu keajaiban dari pesugihan dan perjanjian dengan setan. Ia datang untuk berkunjung.

Mengunjungi empat-puluh-dua mahasiswa dan seorang dosen yang tewas dalam kecelakaan bis di sebuah studi tur. Enkaku adalah satu-satunya orang yang selamat karena ia sakit dan tak mengikuti studi tur. Ia mendengus, betul ‘kan. Tidak perlu jauh-jauh mencari tragedi, di depan mata juga sudah ada, menatap balik dengan mata tajam dan seringai penuh darah korban.

“Pantas saja dikirim ke sini,” gumamnya sendiri. Tatapannya melekat pada bekas kopi di meja, jemari mengetuk-ngetuk pelan.

Tinggal satu yang belum jelas. Samuel.

Flamebringer sudah mencari di semua catatan Enkaku, di ponselnya; tak ada satupun yang menyebut tentang Samuel. Hanya kalendernya yang berkata demikian. Tebakannya bisa betul sejauh ini, mengenai Pak Arka dan teman-teman sekelasnya semasa kuliah. Mungkin saja ia akan benar lagi kali ini, mengenai Samuel. Rentenir, pasti. Kalau tidak ya pengemis, atau preman yang entah bagaimana terlibat dengan Enkaku. Yang mana saja, sejauh ini ia setuju dengan catatan Enkaku.

Siapapun, apapun Samuel dalam kehidupannya, lebih baik usir saja dari ambang pintu.

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Flamebringer tidur di ranjang Enkaku, mengenakan pakaiannya, memakai peralatannya, menghisap rokoknya. Ia dengan setia menunggu panggilan pekerjaan dari Pak Arka, minum kopi enak yang harganya tidak bersahabat seminggu sekali, buang sampah dan membersihkan apartemen, menyapa balik resepsionis dan satpam. Ternyata, Enkaku adalah orang yang ramah. Atau ramah di luarnya saja, mana tahu. Orang ramah biasanya banyak kawan; kontak Enkaku isinya tukang listrik, demi Tuhan.

Selama beberapa minggu, ia menjalani hari di bawah bayangan Enkaku.

Sesekali, ia mengirimi Pak Arka foto saat diminta. Ia sebisa mungkin menirukan pose yang sudah-sudah agar tak terlihat mencurigakan. Meskipun sebenarnya ia juga tidak berpose muluk-muluk. Meskipun dunia mereka berbanding terbalik, namun ia rasa Enkaku tidak terlalu jauh dengannya soal sifat dan tabiat. Tidak mungkin juga kelakuan dan cara mereka menanggapi sesuatu bisa jauh berbeda, berhubung mereka orang yang sama. Hanya saja, mesti diakui kalau dibandingkan apati yang dianut Flamebringer, kepasrahan lebih cocok dengan Enkaku. Pria ini berpikir, kepalang tanggung, sekalian saja berendam kalau sudah basah, dan menjalani sisa harinya dengan ketertarikan yang dibatasi dinding tebal akan hidup dan dunia.

Ia pergi ke dokter, tertegun sesaat melihat Kal’tsit, dan mengedik. Ya kalau ada versi lain dari dirinya di sini, begitu juga dengan semua orang di Terra. Ia mengangguk saat Kal’tsit bicara, dan menjawab pertanyaannya dengan jelas karena baik di Terra maupun di Bumi, Kal’tsit adalah wanita yang dahsyat kadar intimidasinya. Ia diperiksa, diberi obat, ditanya-tanya lagi sebelum pulang, kemudian diperintahkan istirahat yang banyak. Menurut jurnal Enkaku, Kal’tsit adalah dokter yang menanganinya selama lima tahun terakhir. Ia tahu mengenai riwayat penyakit Enkaku. Barangkali itulah alasan mengapa mereka hanya memberinya rangkaian obat tanpa melakukan apapun yang berarti. Saat ini, yang mereka coba lakukan bukanlah menyelamatkan Enkaku, namun memperpanjang waktu.

Mereka dokter, mereka tak bodoh. Mereka tahu orang mati bahkan saat bertemu dengan napas yang masih saling bertukar.

Penjual benihnya mengenali Flamebringer dan ia mengertakkan gigi saat ia terpaksa harus menghabiskan waktu sepuluh menit untuk basa-basi mengobrol dengan wanita itu. Ya sudahlah, yang penting ia diberi benih ekstra. Iya, ia memang murah, bisa dibeli dengan dua paket benih. Dasar Pak Arka saja yang bodoh membayarnya puluhan juta untuk sekali senggama.

Yang mana, terjadi seminggu kemudian.

Ia tersenyum lamat-lamat saat melihat seorang pria yang cocok dengan deskripsi Pak Arka dengan baju yang ia kenakan. Tentu saja. Kepalanya mengangguk-angguk sembari ia melangkah, pringas-pringis saat ia berusaha menerima fakta bahwa ia tidur dengan Dokter. Tidak kaget, sih. ‘Toh di dimensinya mereka juga pernah menghabiskan malam berdua selama bekerja sama, tapi ini keadaan yang jelas beda. Jadi rasanya masih janggal. Kalau Dokter dan Pak Arka tidak jauh-jauh tabiatnya, setidaknya ia tahu ia sukanya bagaimana saat di ranjang.

Sebelum ia menghampiri lelaki itu, ia menghabiskan waktu cengar-cengir di dalam kamar mandi restoran terlebih dulu. Ini benar-benar konyol. Mati di pertempuran, dipindahtangankan ke dimensi lain, mesti menghidupi sisa hari tubuh sekarat ini, belajar hidup di planet orang, dan sekarang ia akan (berencana) tidur (lagi) dengan pria yang pernah membunuh bersamanya dalam perang sipil Kazdel.

Dokter di dimensi ini sudah lebih tua darinya. Mungkin sekitar empat-puluhan, menuju lima-puluh. Wajar, mengingat Enkaku juga sudah kepala tiga. Perawakannya sama; tinggi dan tegap, rambut hitam, kulit sawo matang, dan punya tatapan yang tajam meski raut wajahnya mengasihi. Yang berubah hanya matanya, dan beberapa helai uban yang sedikit nampak di sisi kepala. Matanya hitam, bukan lembayung. Namun itu juga tidak mengejutkan, mengingat mata jingga Flamebringer juga telah berubah menjadi cokelat cerah. Ia rasa, karena perbedaan darah dan DNA di dimensi ini, karakteristik fisik seperti itu juga tiada.

Ia menyapa Flamebringer dengan senyum hangat. Khas kebapakan sekali—ia mengira-ngira apa Pak Arka sudah memiliki momongan. Pria ini lebih serupa dengan pembawaan Dokter setelah ia amnesia, dibanding pria apatis dan haus kemenangan saat Flamebringer pertama mengenalnya. Santun sekali saat mereka berbincang. Ia terlihat terbiasa dengan cara Flamebringer bicara, dan mencentang satu lagi spekulasi yang betul. Jadi memang pembawaan mereka tidak terlalu berbeda. Ia rasa Enkaku juga hanya ramah-tamah pada orang di daftar kontaknya karena mereka mengenalnya lama. Sama saja dengannya.

Pak Arka persis seperti Dokter di ranjang, minus tendensi sadistik yang ekstrim. Ia senang bila Flamebringer membalas, namun tetap memegang kendali di ruangan. Ia tetap lebih suka mendominasi orang lain, namun permainannya lebih langsam, lebih halus. Setelah selesai, ia memeluk dan membelai Flamebringer sampai tertidur.

Saat mereka berpisah, ia mencium bibirnya lembut, dan pergi menggunakan taksi karena membawa mobil sendiri sama saja mengundang pengintaian istri. Saat taksinya sudah menghilang di kerumunan jalan, ponsel Flamebringer berdering. Pak Arka telah mengirimkan sejumlah uang ke rekeningnya, dan sebuah panggilan tak terjawab dari nomor tak dikenal. Nomornya tak disimpan, jadi barangkali tak penting.

Ia melambaikan tangan saat sebuah taksi mendekat, dan memberitahu alamat rumah yang sudah ia hafalkan selama dua hari di apartemen. Nama daerah di dunia ini masih terasa asing di lidahnya. Ia paham saat orang bicara karena osmosis dari pengalaman Enkaku, tapi tetap saja asing semua. Ia mengembus napas dan bersandar pada kursi taksi, mengamati jalanan yang mereka lalui dan mengingat-ingat rute yang diambil, bangunan di sisi kiri dan kanan jalan, orang-orang berlalu-lalang.

Ia mengedip, merasa sesuatu tersendat di tenggorokannya. Sentimen. Ia boleh saja apatis dengan dimensinya, namun ia terlahir di sana. Dunia ini mempunyai hampir semua yang dipunya dimensinya, orang-orang yang sama, namun ini bukan tempatnya dan Flamebringer hampir terkekeh saat ia berpikir, rasanya seperti rindu kampung halaman. Tapi ia tak bisa kembali; bagaimanapun, ini bukan sekadar liburan.

Saat ia turun dari taksi, satpam apartemen menyambutnya dengan roman muka berhias kekhawatiran. Keningnya mengernyit. “Ada apa?”

“Anu... itu Pak,” sang satpam terbata, menoleh kebelakang sesekali. “Itu—Mas Samuel datang lagi. Sekarang menunggu di depan apartemen Bapak.”

Matanya melebar. Ho, pikirnya, datang juga akhirnya. Nah, sekarang tinggal melihat siapa dan apa urusannya dengan Enkaku. ‘Toh kalau rentenir juga tinggal dibayar, meskipun ia tidak tahu berapa banyak yang dipinjam sampai tidak bisa terbayar gaji dari Pak Arka. Kalau bukan juga tak masalah, yang penting tahu dulu—

Setidaknya begitu yang dipikirkan beberapa menit lalu, sebelum keluar dari elevator dan menemukan Executor duduk di samping ambang pintu apartemennya. Ia berhenti sejenak, alis terangkat tinggi di kening, bingung. Jadi Samuel adalah Executor di dunia ini. Lalu ia ada di sini... kenapa?

Samuel—ugh, aneh sekali memanggilnya begitu. Flamebringer saja tidak pernah bicara dengan Executor, boro-boro memanggil namanya—menengadah saat ia mendekat. Flamebringer tercengang; meskipun dari fisik tak tampak jauh berbeda dari perawakannya di Terra, namun Executor terlihat muda di sini. Samar ia menyadari bahwa pria itu mengenakan seragam yang—oh Tuhan, bibirnya terbuka sedikit saat ia menyadari di mana ia pernah melihat seragam itu. Executor—Samuel, yang mana saja, bahkan belum jadi pria; ia masih seorang pemuda belia di sini. Itu seragam anak sekolah menengah atas. Memang Executor lebih muda beberapa tahun darinya berdasarkan informasi dari buku panduan operator, tapi Samuel umurnya setengah dari umur Enkaku.

Ia tak mampu mencegah seringai lebar di wajahnya, membuat Executor/Samuel menatapnya terkejut. Kenapa? Tidak pernah lihat orang senyum? Bukannya dia sendiri yang tidak pernah tersenyum? Oh, ya. Itu Executor. Barangkali berbeda dengan Samuel. Sedekat ini, ia baru memerhatikan bahwa matanya tetaplah biru, dan terlihat polos. Seringai Flamebringer naik lebih tinggi. Luar biasa, sungguh luar biasa. Hiburan tanpa henti menantinya di dimensi ini.

“Enkaku?” panggil Samuel hati-hati.

Ia tersentak dari menertawakan Executor dalam kepalanya saat suara berat Samuel menyapa telinganya. Belum cukup berat, ia pernah mendengar Executor bicara dan nadanya lebih monoton juga. “Hm?”

“Kau oke?”

Oke? Oke? Executor yang ini tidak memakai kata-kata formal? Kerasukan Setan dari mana? Luar biasa.

“Oke,” jawabnya. “Tentu saja oke.” Bagaimana tidak kalau hiburannya menyenangkan begini?

Mata Samuel menyipit. “Oke karena baru pergi dengan ayahku?”

Senyum Flamebringer luntur seketika. Oh. Oh. Tidak mungkin. Tentu saja, tidak mungkin, ‘kan, ya? Tidak mungkin. Baru saja ia merasa sumringah. Kenapa ada saja yang membuyarkan kesenangannya seperti ini? Dengan cara begini pula.

Wajar saja mengusir Samuel termasuk dalam daftar. Siapa yang mau berurusan dengan anak dari om-om yang menjadikanmu simpanan? Bukan Flamebringer, yang pasti. Ia mengatur napas, berusaha kembali tenang dan menguasai diri. Usir saja, usir.

“Ada urusan apa?” tanyanya dengan suara datar.

Bibir Samuel sedikit berkerut mendengar perubahan nada bicaranya, ia nampak seperti anak yang baru saja disumpahserapah orangtua Lumayan mirip, berhubung status Flamebringer sekarang juga sudah patut dipanggil bapak, meskipun hanya oleh satpam dan resepsionis apartemen. Ia berusaha mendekat, namun Flamebringer melangkah mundur untuk menghindarinya. Jangan banyak bacot, otaknya mengingatkan. Sudah ditanya cepat-cepat suruh dia hengkang dari depan apartemennya.

“Cuma mau melihatmu,” Samuel kemudian menjawab, suaranya kecil dan lesu. Seperti sudah pasrah, seperti sudah terbiasa.

Ha. Hah. “Hah?”

Samuel menghela napas, tangannya terkepal erat di sisi kaki. “Dengar,” ia memulai.

Flamebringer makin mengerutkan kening; gila saja mau dengarkan dia komplain soal Flamebringer tidur dan menghabiskan uang ayahnya sementara mereka berselingkuh di balik punggung nyonya rumah. Tidak mau. Betul memang kalender di seluruh penjuru rumahnya. Saatnya mengusir anak ini. Heh, sempat ia terkekeh dalam hati, anak. Tidak menyangka akan datang hari di mana ia bisa ada di situasi tak masuk akal ini. Namun lagi, mati dan pindah dimensi jauh lebih tak masuk akal, jadi ia diam saja.

Ia tak menggubris Samuel, dan beringsut untuk membuka pintunya. Baru saja kunci masuk ke lubang, telapak lebar dan jemari kokoh mencengkeram lengannya. Ia berjengit, Enkaku betul-betul tidak sebanding dengan seberapa kuat Flamebringer sebenarnya. Dulu.

“Dengar dulu, Enkaku,” Samuel berkata, berusaha menahan Flamebringer di tempat. Tampangnya kurang lebih masih minim ekspresi, namun matanya lebih mudah dibaca. Lebih jujur. “Aku tahu kau bilang aku masih muda, tapi tolong dengarkan. Beri aku kesempatan dulu, oke? Kenapa tidak coba pacaran denganku dulu? Coba saja, kau boleh pergi kalau tidak—“

Ia tak melanjutkan lagi kata-katanya saat Flamebringer menyentak paksa lengannya dari cengkeraman Samuel. Cepat-cepat ia memutar kunci apartemen, dan mendorong pintu terbuka. Gila, ini lebih gila dari anak klien yang ingin menghujat Flamebringer karena berselingkuh dengan ayahnya. Gila sudah dunia ini.

“Enkaku—Enkaku!” Samuel berusaha mengikutinya masuk, namun Flamebringer buru-buru menutup pintu. Meskipun begitu, ia masih sanggup menahan pintu dengan sebelah tangan, satunya mencengkeram ambang pintu sampai buku-buku jarinya memutih. “Aku bisa berikan apapun yang ayahku berikan, oke? Sex, apartemen, mobil, uang—berapapun dia membayarmu, aku bisa membayar lebih. Jadi tolong—“

“Sinting!” Flamebringer akhirnya bersuara, tidak tahan untuk tidak mengumpat mendengar ucapan Samuel yang makin lama makin membuat kepalanya berputar. Sinting, ia juga sinting karena tidak mengira ini akan terjadi. Jelas-jelas sampai ditulis di semua kalender meskipun tidak ada satupun jurnal maupun isi ponsel mengenai Samuel. Ia menggebrak pintu hingga tertutup, dan menggerendel semua selot kunci.

Ia tak mendengar suara Samuel lagi, dan pemuda itu tak mencoba memaksa masuk. Namun beberapa saat kemudian, ia mendengar, “Aku tidak akan menyerah,” sebelum langkah kakinya terdengar menjauh dari pintu. Saat ia mendengar dering elevator, baru ia berani bernapas lega. Kepalanya menggeleng tiada henti, masih tidak percaya dengan apa yang terjadi.

Enkaku mengusir Samuel bukan karena ia meniduri ayahnya, tapi karena Samuel ingin menidurinya. Sinting—sudah sinting semua. Punggungnya merosot turun dari sanggaannya di pintu, bingung dan kaget. Anak itu—apa? Lima-belas? Tujuh-belas tahun? Oh Tuhan, usia Flamebringer saat ini saja lebih dari dua kali lipatnya usia Samuel. Dan anak itu mau tidur dengannya? Mau senggama? Mau praktek kawin, main pintu belakang, adu pedang, dengannya? Dia saja masih bocah.

Dinilai dari reaksi satpam, dan cara Samuel bicara, serta kalender Enkaku, ini bukan kali pertama Samuel datang ke sini dengan maksud yang sama. Hah. Hah. Apa? Bagaimana? Apa yang sebenarnya sedang terjadi?

Ia buru-buru membuka balkoni, dan mengeluarkan rokok. Baru saat ia sudah menyesap beberapa hisap nikotin, kepalanya mulai bisa berpikir jernih kembali. Untuk apa pula ia sampai panik begitu? ‘Toh hal-hal tidak diduga seperti ini sudah seharusnya diprediksi. Sudah semestinya ia bisa jadi cukup flexibel untuk menangani apapun yang berusaha dilemparkan semesta padanya. Ia mengembuskan asap rokok bersama dengan hela napas lelah. Ia mendongak pada langit biru Bumi, dan mengangkat jari tengahnya lagi.

“Mati saja kau, bangsat,” umpatnya, meskipun tahu, semesta sedang tertawa.

-

Sudah hampir setengah tahun sejak ia dilempar dengan tidak sopan ke sini. Sedikit tidaknya, ia mulai terbiasa dengan adab Bumi. Mulai berbincang dengan satpam dan resepsionis, perlahan menolerir penjual bibit yang terlalu ceria, mengurus tanaman di rumah, dan bersih-bersih. Ia tidak menyangka ia akan seniat ini, tapi ia tidak punya kegiatan lain. Ia coba olahraga, meskipun cuma sanggup dua-puluh menit karena tubuhnya tak kuat. Tapi selain nonton televisi, jalan-jalan, kencan dengan Pak Arka dan minum kopi, Flamebringer betul-betul tak punya kesibukan. Ia mendengus, santai sekali hidup manusia sekarat satu ini.

Orangtua Enkaku tak pernah menghubunginya sejak usianya dua-puluh-delapan. Ternyata ia ketahuan saat sedang pergi dengan Pak Arka, kena usir, dan dicoret dari silsilah keluarga. Ia tak sewot soal itu; Flamebringer pikir itu juga karena Enkaku memang punya apati yang sama dengannya, dan karena ia sudah kaya. Uang itu penting, bagi keduanya. Bisa beli senjata dan bibit bunga, bisa makan dan minum, bisa beli rokok. Kurang penting apa lagi? Jadi dengan cucuran uang dari perkerjaannya sebagai lacur eksklusif, ia sudah lebih dari berkecukupan, bahkan lebih dari saat ia masih bersama keluarganya.

Ia datang ke dokter dengan rutin, bayar dengan uang hasil keringat saat senggama, dan berkunjung ke pemakaman umum untuk pertama dan terakhir kalinya. Ia tidak mengenal orang-orang ini, tidak merasa kasihan dan sedih atas kematian mereka, tidak tahu cerita mereka pula. Yang bisa ia lakukan hanya menyampaikan salam terakhir, dan berpamitan. Enkaku sudah lenyap dari dunia ini. Flamebringer tidak perlu repot melakukan sesuatu yang tidak berguna untuknya, bahkan demi sebuah sentimen.

Samuel datang setiap ia pulang bertemu dengan Pak Arka, dan bila mereka hanya bertemu satu-dua kali, Samuel akan datang pada hari Minggu, jam sembilan pagi, tanpa pernah terlewat sekalipun. Dedikasinya tinggi, Flamebringer akui. Tentu saja, secara estetika, ia enak dipandang. Tubuhnya bagus, dan ia ambisius sekali mau kencan dengan Flamebringer. Namun lagi, meskipun ia legal (Flamebringer meneriakinya bocah suatu kali, dan Samuel berkutat dengan dompetnya untuk mengeluarkan KTP. Usianya delapan-belas) ia tetap tak tertarik tidur dengan anak kliennya. Canggung betul. Malam bersetubuh dengan ayahanda, di pagi hari bergumul di ranjang dengan ananda. Lagipula, mana sanggup Samuel membayarnya sama besar dengan Pak Arka.

“Uang darimana?” ia bertanya dengan nada datar suatu hari, wajahnya jengkel luar biasa karena diganggu saat sedang sikat gigi. Ia masih memegang gagang sikat di satu tangan, masih memakai piyama (betul, Enkaku tidur pakai piyama yang harganya hampir setara dua kali gaji Flamebringer di Terra). “Uang bapakmu juga kan? Mau bilang kau pakai uang ibumu? Lebih tidak etis lagi.”

Samuel nampak sedikit malu mendengar omongannya. Mungkin kena telak di ulu hati. Bagus, sekalian muntah karena fakta. Ia menggeleng, masih kukuh ingin bicara. “Aku juga bekerja, dan punya tabungan sendiri.”

“Iya, kerja sampingan di tempat bapakmu ‘toh? Tabungan juga mengumpulkan uang yang diberikan orangtuamu? Coba kau menghadap bapak ibumu, terus cerita kalau uang dari mereka, uang kerjamu juga, kau pakai buat tidur dengan om-om.”

“Tidak melulu harus tidur denganmu,” kata Samuel, tidak menepis bagian terakhir. Betul memang ia keras sekali berkeinginan bergumul di balik selimut dengan lelaki yang matang secara umur dan fisik. “Aku ingin kencan denganmu.”

“Aku tidak mau mengencanimu,” potongnya langsung.

Samuel mengangguk, sudah kebal ditolak rupanya. Tangguh juga anak ini, tapi tetap saja tidak mengubah fakta kalau ia merepotkan, dan menjengkelkan. Ia rindu Executor, meskipun mereka tak dekat. Setidaknya Executor tidak akan mengganggunya begini. Ia mau Executor asli yang bicara formal, lebih mirip mesin dibanding manusia, dan tidak datang tiap hari Minggu untuk membujuk Flamebringer agar mau jadi kekasihnya.

“Ya justru karena itu, apapun hubungan yang kau mau, aku akan sanggupi,” pemuda itu melanjutkan. Asing rasanya mendengar aku dari bibir yang selama ini ia ingat hanya merapal saya. Lebih manusiawi memang, namun asing. “Kalaupun harus sama dengan ayahku. Aku bisa, ya? Aku bisa.”

Flamebringer menghela napas. Ia mulai lelah dengan kegiatan tarik-menarik yang tidak akan ada gunanya ini. Lebih baik pangkas saat masih kuncup, meskipun Samuel sudah terbukti sebagai rumput liar yang masih akan tumbuh meski dicabut sampai ke akar. Ia mencabut sikat gigi dari mulutnya—Samuel menjelaskan panjang lebar begitu, lebih baik ia melanjutkan menyikat gigi belakang—dan memasang tampang yang lebih pengertian dari wajah judes beberapa saat lalu.

“Dengar,” katanya. “Pak Arka membayarku empat-puluh juta tiap bertemu, sering membelikan barang yang harganya mungkin lebih mahal dari SPP sekolah kelas elite-mu itu, dan masih mengiriku dua-puluh-lima juta per-bulan terlepas dari kami bertemu atau tidak. Ia bisa memuaskanku di ranjang, peduli padaku, tidak menggangguku, dan secara garis besar adalah kandidat yang lebih bagus. Yang bisa kau tawarkan apa kepadaku?”

Samuel diam dihujani perkataan menusuk seperti itu. Ia terperangah, tak berkata-kata sejenak. Mungkin ini pertama kalinya ia bicara begini panjang lebar dengan Enkaku, dan pertama kalinya dihantam kromo seperti itu. Wajah pasifnya mengeras makin lama ia diam. Mata birunya, yang barangkali ia warisi dari ibu, menatap tajam wajah cuek Flamebringer. Sejenak, ia terlihat seperti Executor.

“Betul,” ucapnya lambat, tekanan silabelnya pasti. “Tidak ada yang bisa saya tawarkan, yang tidak mampu dilakukan lebih baik oleh ayah saya. Tapi Anda juga masih belum mengembalikan cincin pemberian saya, dan masih terus meladeni kedatangan saya hingga kini.”

Alis Flamebringer naik. Oh? Sudah kembali lagi ke bahasa formal Executor? Tipikal yang marah jadi sopan? Atau memang pembawaan aslinya seperti itu, dan melenceng di pertengah jalan karena pergaulan yang lebih santai dari kehidupannya? Yang manapun, masih tidak mengubah fakta bahwa Enkaku punya urusan lebih jauh dengan Samuel dari sekadar yang dapat Flamebringer pahami.

“Cincin?” tanyanya.

Wajah Samuel mencelos. Ia nampak belia kembali, nampak sakit hati. “Anda... lupa? Atau memang sudah Anda buang?”

Cincin... memang ada kotak cincin di laci meja di kamarnya. Itu pemberian Samuel? Kalau sudah sampai memberi cincin—dan diterima—lalu kenapa sampai harus ada drama picisan usir-mengusir seperti ini? Flamebringer tidak mau tahu, tak mau urus. Namun lagi, wajah kecewa Samuel membuat jantungnya berdenyut. Ia menghela napas, memutar bola mata dan menatap langit-langit; frustasi. Ia tidak merasa apa-apa saat berhenti mengunjungi pemakaman, tapi menolak bocah ini dan Enkaku seolah kembali dari entah dimensi mana untuk membuat tubuhnya mengingat rasa yang Flamebringer tak pahami. Ia merutuk dalam hati. Ya kalau masih punya urusan dengan orang lain, jangan suruh ia datang ke sini dulu. Lagipula kalau memang suka, untuk apa pula usir-usir?

“Masih ada,” katanya kemudian. “Oke, begini. Aku masih meladeni karena kau terus-terusan datang. Kubilang sekali lagi, jangan mempersulit urusanku, oke? Aku tidur dengan ayahmu. Aku tidak mau tidur denganmu juga.”

“Anda bisa berhenti berhubungan dengan ayah saya,” usul Samuel dengan tampang polos.

Flamebringer nyengir, mengejutkan Samuel yang mungkin tak terbiasa dapat perlakuan sesantai ini dari Enkaku. Tidak lagi, setidaknya, bila menilik masa lalu mereka yang masih tak ia ketahui. “Bisa,” katanya, dan hampir kasihan saat wajah Samuel terlihat cerah. “Tapi bukan karena mau pacaran dengan kau juga.”

Alis Samuel berkerut. Ia nampak kecewa, namun terbiasa. Flamebringer menengadah lagi, minta bantuan semesta agar dijauhkan dari konflik romansa tidak penting seperti ini. Tentu saja tidak dijawab, tapi ia juga bingung mau bersikap bagaimana.

“Harus betul pacaran denganku?” tanya Flamebringer kemudian.

“Iya,” jawab Samuel.

“Kau—oke. Aku tidak mau punya hubungan asmara dengan anak seusiamu, aku juga tidak mau tidur denganmu karena kau pasti minta lebih. Minta jalan-jalan lah, minta dipeluk lah, minta jadi kekasih lah. Tidak minat,” katanya. Sudah paling baik begini. Bagaimanapun perasaan Enkaku terhadap Samuel, Flamebringer tetap bukanlah Enkaku. Kalau ia dikirim ke sini untuk mengambil kemudi tubuh Enkaku, maka kemudinya akan berjalan sesuai yang Flamebringer mau. Ia hanya akan memberi keringanan pada Enkaku dengan tetap terlibat dengan bocah sinting ini. “Tapi kau bisa berteman denganku, oke? Main ke sini, atau apalah. Asal kau tidak duduk-duduk di depan macam pengemis. Satpam apartemenku juga khawatir dengan kelakuanmu.”

Wajah Samuel masih sama pasifnya, sama datarnya, tapi matanya—oh, Tuhan, matanya berbinar. Ia menatap Flamebringer seolah tengah bermimpi. “Betul... boleh?”

Ia mengangguk. “Boleh, asal tidak pegang-pegang, dan tidak ambil kesempatan dalam kesempitan. Kau pilih saja, berteman denganku tanpa sama sekali mengajakku kencan. Atau kau bisa cari cara memanjat sampai ke lantai apartemenku karena namamu akan dimasukkan daftar hitam pengunjung apartemen setelah ini.”

“Baik,” Samuel serta merta menyanggupi, setitik saja tidak terdengar keraguan di suaranya. “Saya tidak akan minta kencan lagi.”

Flamebringer menyeringai. Gampang sekali mengolok anak-anak, pikirnya. Bagaimanapun, perasaan Samuel akan terus mengental seiring dengan kontak dekat dan rutin. Tapi itu sudah bukan urusan Flamebringer. “Hentikan bacot tolol soal ingin jadi kekasihku, oke? Jadilah anak normal yang tidak minat dengan om-om.”

“Oke,” kata Samuel lagi, kosakatanya kembali informal. Flamebringer mulai berpikir, barangkali Enkaku-lah yang membuat pemuda ini mulai bicara seperti manusia normal. Cukup dekat juga berarti dulu. Yang mana membuat ia ingin mengejek bayangannya sendiri. Atas tujuan apa dekat-dekat dengan anak lelaki yang lebih muda dengannya? Yang semasa mereka dekat mungkin masih belum balig.

Ia mengangguk, mulai berbalik untuk menyelesaikan sikat gigi. Tangan Samuel kembali mencegahnya. Ia menghela napas. “Datangnya lain kali saja, hari ini aku mau bersantai sendiri.”

“Itu...” ia terbata, terlihat agak tak nyaman. “Ayah—“

Raut muka Flamebringer langsung rata. “Aku tidak akan berhenti bertemu ayahmu cuma karena kau tidak suka. Ya sesukamu juga, mau terima oke, tidak juga tidak masalah.”

Samuel tampak seperti sedang menelan lemon berbalut cuka makan. Wajahnya masam sekali sampai Flamebringer hampir tertawa. Ia menghela napas, kemudian menggeleng. “Tidak apa. Aku boleh datang berarti minggu depan?”

“Hnm,” gumamnya, melepaskan lengannya dari Samuel, dan menelisip masuk. “Minggu depan oke. Sekarang, enyah.”

Ia tak menunggu jawaban Samuel sebelum menutup pintu di muka datarnya.

Satu minggu kemudian, Pak Arka menghubunginya—ingin bertemu. Flamebringer agak keki, sebetulnya. Karena esok Samuel pasti datang. Namun lagi, ia sudah memberitahunya dengan jelas bahwa ia akan tetap melanjutkan pekerjaan dengan Pak Arka. Jadi mau Samuel senang atau sebal, not his motherfucking business.

Ia kadang bertanya-tanya; kapan Enkaku dan Samuel kenal? Sebelum ia bekerja dengan Pak Arka? Atau sebelum? Pak Arka tahu tidak kalau puteranya suka nongkrong di depan pintu Flamebringer, merengek minta kencan? Darimana Pak Arka kenal dengan Enkaku? Apa hubungan Samuel dan Enkaku sebetulnya?

Sama dengan anaknya, tak ada satupun cerita mengenai Pak Arka di jurnal Enkaku. Mungkin karena ia membatasi mereka dalam kehidupan pribadinya, karena hubungan di antara ketiganya yang rumit. Enkaku lebih sensitif dari Flamebringer, rupanya. Karena boro-boro mau mempertahankan dinamika seperti itu selama bertahun-tahun, baru setengah tahun saja ia sudah menyerah. Persetan, kalau tidak suka ya tinggal suruh Flamebringer kembali jadi debu semesta setelah kematian.

Ia setengah berencana untuk bertanya pada Pak Arka, tapi rasanya—kagok. Kata-katanya tersendat di tenggorokan. Ia tak mampu bicara soal Samuel, tidak nyaman. Tidak saat Pak Arka mencumbunya halus, menelanjanginya dengan kesopanan yang membuat Flamebringer berpikir dari sini berarti tata krama zaman Viktoria anak itu. Meskipun wajahnya adalah wajah familiar Dokter, namun perlahan Flamebringer mulai menyadari sedikit perbedaan. Bila harus duduk diam dan menilik lagi, Pak Arka dan Samuel punya kemiripan satu sama lain. Meskipun, ia rasa, Samuel barangkali lebih condong pada DNA ibunya.

Ia hampir bergidik saat itu juga. Buat apa memikirkan kemiripan Pak Arka dan Samuel saat ia hendak bercumbu dengan salah satunya? Lama-lama meladeni Samuel membuatnya sinting juga.

Mereka menghabiskan malam seperti biasa. Pak Arka menciumnya lembut sebelum pergi seperti pertemuan-pertemuan sebelumnya, dan mengirimkan sejumlah uang setelah pergi dengan taksi. Flamebringer pulang dengan langkah gontai. Sudah hampir jam sembilan, Samuel pasti tahu ia kemana. Entah darimana anak itu bisa terus-menerus tahu kapan ia dan Pak Arka bertemu. Mengintip? Atau mengamati gelagat bapaknya di rumah? Istrinya memang tidak tahu atau pura-pura tidak tahu?

Ia menggelengkan kepala. Tidak perlu dipikirkan, ujarnya pada diri sendiri. Tinggal hidup, lalu mati. Jangan diambil pusing, jangan terlalu dalam terlibat dengan orang lain. Nanti tersangkut benang takdir baru tahu rasa.

“Selamat pagi, Pak Enkaku,” sapa satpam apartment. “Mas Samuel ada di atas, Pak. Butuh saya bantu, atau...?”

Ia tersenyum kecil. “Tidak perlu. Aku yang suruh.”

Si satpam nampak terkejut, namun cukup sopan untuk tak mengatakan apapun. Mereka menghargai kliennya, meskipun ini bukan apartemen elite kelas atas. Flamebringer selalu membawa bekas cumbu Pak Arka saat pulang, cupang di kiri dan kanan leher, turun sampai ke tulang selangka. Tak pernah sekalipun mereka menatap lancang padanya bahkan dengan penampilan seperti itu, bahkan meski mereka tahu ia bekerja seperti ini selama bertahun-tahun. Barangkali inilah alasan Enkaku tinggal di apartemen kecil ini, dan mengapa kontak pribadi mereka bisa masuk ke ponselnya.

“Naik dulu,” ia mengangguk pada satpam dan resepsionis. Keduanya mengangguk balik, tersenyum.

Executor—Samuel, menunggunya di depan pintu saat ia keluar dari elevator. Ia berdiri saat Flamebringer mendekat. “Selamat pagi,” sapanya.

Flamebringer meliriknya sebentar sembari membuka pintu. Samuel terlihat seperti anak muda pada umumnya—jeans, kemeja, jaket trendi, sepatu yang ia yakin harganya meroket karena brand value. Namun ia begitu rapi; ada aura tersendiri yang membedakannya dengan remaja seusianya. Ia membawa diri dengan cara seseorang yang lebih tua, yang tahu apa yang ia lakukan. Ya, kecuali cara merayu Enkaku, jelas. Bertahun-tahun masih kena tolak sudah cukup jadi bukti.

Ia, juga, membawa bunga. Salvia dan edelweiss. Flamebringer memutar bola matanya. “Masuk,” katanya, melangkah lebih dulu dan menutup pintu di balik punggung Samuel. “Sini,” ia menyodorkan telapak, meminta bunga yang di bawa pemuda itu.

Samuel nampak gelagapan dengan sikap ringkasnya. Ia menyerahkan ikatan salvia dan edelweiss pada Flamebringer, yang segera mencarikan tempat untuk meletakkan mereka. Ia merendam mereka dalam sebuah botol, dan meletakkannya di atas lemari sepinggang di ruang tengah. Samuel masih berdiri di depan pintu ketika ia mulai menggantungkan kardigan. “Kemarin antusias betul mau datang. Sekarang sudah masuk malah macam ikan keluar dari air,” sindirnya.

Pemuda itu menghirup napas dalam, kemudian melepas sepatu dan jaket yang dikenakan. “Permisi,” katanya.

“Sudah sarapan?” tanya Flamebringer. Samuel mengangguk. “Oke, duduk saja di sana. Nonton TV, main gim, apalah. Ambil makanan di kulkas kalau lapar, aku mau ganti baju.”

Saat ia keluar, Samuel sudah menyalakan TV, namun ia sendiri tengah membaca sebuah buku yang Flamebringer tahu ia ambil dari atas lemari. Anak ini familiar dengan apartemennya. Pernah masuk juga berarti. Ia kagok di awal mungkin karena sudah lama tidak menginjakkan kaki ke sini. Flamebringer menutup pintu kamar, dan duduk di sampingnya, menengok ke halaman yang ia baca.

“Kau suka ceritanya?” tanyanya basa-basi. Kalau ini Executor, mungkin akan dijawab tidak. Ia memang tak kenal lelaki itu, tapi dari tingkah dan cara bicaranya saja sudah ia terka kalau hobinya mungkin membaca Undang-Undang Laterano di waktu senggang.

“Tidak.” Bibir Flamebringer merekah dalam seringai, bingo. “Saya lebih suka baca karya non-fiksi.”

“Seperti Undang-Undang Negara?”

Samuel tersenyum. “Kau masih ingat.”

Seringai Flamebringer runtuh lebih cepat dari abu rokok yang sudah berat di ujung puntung. Oh, ya. Mereka kenal sejak dulu. Ia mengangguk, kemudian beranjak untuk membuat sarapan. Ia tak mengajak Samuel mengobrol, Samuel juga tak bersuara sementara ia membaca dan Flamebringer membuat sarapan. Baru saat ia selesai makan, ia berbalik dan menjatuhkan diri di samping Samuel lagi.

“Kapan aku dan kau bertemu pertama kali?” tanyanya, menatap layar televisi dan mengamati ekspresi heran Samuel hanya dari sudut matanya.

“Delapan tahun lalu,” jawabnya. “Ada apa?”

Flamebringer tak menjawab pertanyaannya, lebih memilih untuk melancarkan pertanyaan lain. “Kenapa bisa bertemu?”

“Enkaku?” wajah Samuel mulai khawatir. “Ada apa?”

Ia mendecakkan lidah. “Jawab saja.”

Samuel mengerutkan alis, namun tetap menjawab. “Kau bekerja di toko bunga di depan kantor ayahku. Ibu sering langganan dan mengajakku. Kita bertemu, kau kadang memberiku kue kalau Ibu sedang mengobrol dengan tante pemilik toko.”

Hatinya mencelos. “Toko bunga disebelah minimarket dan restoran ramen?”

Pemuda di sebelahnya meletakkan buku yang ia baca, dan membenahi posisi duduk agar ia dapat melihat Flamebringer dengan jelas. “Enkaku,” panggilnya. “Apa maksudmu bertanya seperti ini?”

Flamebringer menolehnya, tatapannya menusuk dan dingin. “Kau tidak mau jawab?”

Samuel nampak merasa bersalah, dan menggeleng. “Bukan begitu.”

“Jawab saja pertanyaanku kalau begitu,” ujarnya, menoleh kembali pada televisi dan membiarkan Samuel berkutat dengan kebingungan. Selama ia memberi informasi yang ia butuhkan, ia tak peduli dengan perasaan pemuda itu.

“Ya,” Samuel buka mulut beberapa saat kemudian. “Iya, toko bunga yang itu.”

Ia mengangguk lamat-lamat. Wajar saja wanita itu akrab sekali dengannya. Mantan bos, ternyata. Ia melanjutkan, “Cuma sekedar langganan beli bunga. Kenapa bisa kau sebegitunya bergelayut padaku?”

Napas yang ditarik Samuel terdengar keras, tajam. Seolah ia tak percaya dengan untaian kata yang meluncur dengan mudahnya dari bibir lelaki ini. “Anda...” suaranya bergetar sedikit. Flamebringer mengabaikan denyut jantungnya yang mulai tak nyaman saat menyadari bahwa Samuel mungkin merasakan kecamuk perasaan sampai kembali ke pola bicara yang formal. “Anda baik pada saya, dan mengajak saya bicara seperti orang biasa meskipun saya hanya anak sepuluh tahun. Lama-lama Ibu kadang menitip saya di sana kalau ada keperluan mendadak, Anda bilang tidak keberatan mengasuh saya sebentar karena di toko bunga juga tidak terlalu sibuk. Tante juga setuju, karena Ibu adalah pelanggan setia.”

Ia berhenti sesaat. Flamebringer menolehnya, kemudian mengembuskan napas dan meraih remot untuk mematikan TV. Ia berbalik dan menghadap Samuel, masih menatapnya dengan wajah tanpa ekspresi dan mata yang mengamati. “Lalu?”

Samuel tersentak dari lamunannya. Wajah yang biasanya sedikit ekspresif kini kembali mengeras, menutup diri. Namun matanya jujur, ia khawatir. “Enka—“

“Lalu?” gertak Flamebringer.

Samuel mengertakkan gigi, membuang pandang. Ia baru bicara setelah agak lama. “Ya terus begitu, saya senang dekat dengan Anda karena Anda tidak memandang remeh atau rendah terhadap saya. Tapi Anda juga mengerti kalau saya masih belia. Anda bilang kita boleh jadi teman, saya bisa berkeluh kesah pada Anda. Saya mulai pergi sendiri menemui Anda sejak saya diizinkan, kita dekat dari sana.”

Flamebringer mual, mual sekali. Sesakit apa Enkaku sampai mau mendekati anak di bawah umur?

“Apa aku pernah melakukan sesuatu kepadamu?” tanyanya.

“Tidak,” Samuel menggeleng, kemudian wajahnya melunak. “Anda yang pertama kali menyadari bahwa saya menyukai Anda, dan mulai membatasi jarak di antara kita. Saat saya menyatakan perasaan, Anda menolak. Saya serahkan cincin saya karena saya masih terlampau sensitif saat itu. Saya tidak mau menerima bahwa Anda tidak hanya menolak, namun juga tidak ingin saya menghubungi Anda lagi.”

Ia menghela napas. Lega. Jadi bukan karena ia menyukai Samuel yang masih terlalu muda, hanya Samuel saja yang mengalami fase Hero Worship yang berlanjut hingga mengakar. “Tidakkah kau pikir kau hanya sedang mengalami—“

“Fase Hero Worship?” potong Samuel. Ia tersenyum kecut. “Anda juga berkata begitu dua tahun lalu.”

Dan Samuel masih mengejarnya hingga kini? Flamebringer mesti memberi penghargaan pada anak ini. Gigih betul. Ia tak akan mencoba meremehkan perasaan Samuel dengan mengatakan bahwa ia tak mengerti. Anak ini jelas jauh lebih inteligen dan bijak dari kawan-kawannya. Sudah dewasa sebelum waktunya karena lingkungan. Pemuda ini barangkali menyadari bahwa ia memuja Enkaku sedemikian rupa karena ia satu-satunya orang yang cukup dekat, yang menganggap Samuel sebagai lawan bicara yang setara, namun masih mengayomi karena ia masih sepuluh tahun, demi Tuhan.

“Kapan kau tahu aku mulai tidur dengan ayahmu?”

Jemari Samuel mengepal, rahangnya mengejang sesaat sebelum posturnya melemas. Flamebringer mengangkat alis. Drama picisan macam apa ini. Mungkin sesudah ini ia mesti pindah kota, pindah negara kalau perlu. Biar tak perlu repot dengan Samuel dan Pak Arka.

“Sejak awal,” katanya dengan geraman rendah.

Flamebringer menyentil kepalanya pelan, membuatnya terperangah. “Biasa saja jawabnya. Baik kau maupun Pak Arka bukan kekasihku. Apa hakmu, ataupun dia, untuk merasa kesal atas apa yang terjadi dalam hidupku? Kalau kau kesal karena kau khawatir dengan ibumu, ya boleh saja. Tapi cicak di kolong mejaku juga tahu kau kesal karena cemburu. Bisa tidak, berhenti berpikir pakai emosi? Kau berjanji padaku. Kau masuk ke sini, kau cuma teman. Kau tidak bisa bersikap demikian, minggat kau dari rumahku.”

Alis Samuel berkerut, kepalanya tertunduk sementara ia menenangkan diri. Flamebringer beranjak untuk mengambil segelas air, dan menawarkan padanya. “Aku stres lihat kau punya banyak emosi begitu. Biasanya kau seperti robot.”

Sesaat, wajah Samuel kosong. “Maaf?”

Oh, ya. Yang itu Executor. Meh. “Kau terserah mau apa, aku mau merokok. Kurasa aku juga tidak mau dengar kau bicara kalau kau begitu terus.”

Ia melenggang pergi dari ruang tamu, dan menutup pintu menuju balkoni dibelakangnya. Di luar agak mendung. Ia bersyukur balkoninya terlindungi. Kalau hujan juga tidak akan kecipratan air, kecuali anginnya kencang. Ia duduk di lantai balkon, dan mengeluarkan rokok dari saku celana. Masa bodoh Samuel mau melakukan apa. Ia bilang bisa berkunjung ke sini, tidak bilang ia punya tanggung jawab menghibur dan meladeni pemuda itu.

Hanya saja, tidak sampai sepuluh menit kemudian, pintu di belakangnya bergeser terbuka, dan Samuel melangkah ke balkoni. Ia menoleh sejenak, dan melanjutkan melamun sambil menatap jendela-jendela di gedung perkantoran di seberang jalan. “Tutup pintunya, nanti A/C-nya tidak dingin.”

Samuel patuh, dan menutup pintu sebelum duduk di sampingnya. “Anda masih merokok?”

Flamebringer mendengus, kemudian terkekeh kecil. “Ya jelas begitu ‘kan? Kau kalau mau menceramahiku soal mati karena kanker paru-paru, mending kembali ke dalam. Pulang sekalian. Kalau mau duduk di sini ya agak jauh, nanti asapnya terhirup pula.”

“Tidak,” jawabnya. “Sudah terbiasa. Silakan, saya tidak berminat mengomentari cara hidup Anda.”

“Bagus,” sahutnya.

Mereka diam lama, sampai Flamebringer habis beberapa batang rokok. Ia mengira Samuel sudah ketiduran, tapi pemuda itu sedang memperhatikannya. “Creep,” umpatnya, membiarkan bahasa lama dari Terra terdengar. Samuel tidak perlu tahu dia omong apa, biar kedepannya ia bisa mengumpat dengan lebih sejahtera.

“Anda ini...” Samuel memulai. Ia terlihat ragu sesaat, namun menelan keraguan dan melanjutkan, “Anda bukan Enkaku, ‘kan?”

Jantung Flamebringer mencelos. Ia menatap Samuel. Bagaimana bisa ia tahu secepat ini? Namun lagi, ia tak merasa ia mau berbohong. Biarkan saja. Mungkin dengan begitu, Samuel akan meninggalkannya.

Wajahnya netral saat ia berkata, “Bukan.”

“Oh,” Samuel berbisik. Ia meneguk ludah, kemudian menatap ke depan balkoni. “Baiklah.”

“Kenapa? Karena aku menanyaimu dari tadi?”

Samuel menggeleng. “Enkaku tidak akan pernah membiarkan saya kembali, meskipun dia menyayangi saya. Anda bersikap seperti saat Enkaku pertama mengenal saya, hanya saja lebih kasar dan cuek. Anda juga lebih bisa menerima perasaan saya, dan kecemburuan saya terhadap Ayah.”

Ia menghela napas, bersandar pada dinding kaca. Anak ini betul-betul menyukai Enkaku, huh? Ia tahu mereka orang yang berbeda dalam waktu singkat, dan masih mampu berpikir jernih di antara interaksi mereka. Cukup jernih untuk menganalisa dan mengambil kesimpulan. Cerdik dan setia sampai mampus dengan orang yang entah sudah mati, entah dikirim ke dimensi lain seperti Flamebringer.

“Aku tidak mengerti orang itu seperti apa,” mulainya. “Tapi kalau dia sayang kau, kenapa kau malah berpikir aneh kalau aku mengizinkanmu ke sini lagi? Kurasa setelah bertahun-tahun jadi simpanan Pak Arka juga tentu saja ia akan paham soal perasaanmu terhadap hubungan mereka. Apa yang aneh?”

Sudut bibir Samuel terangkat dalam senyum hambar. Ia menoleh, menaut netra Flamebringer dalam tatapan yang membuat ia hampir tercekik napas sendiri. Pedih, kecewa, pasrah—Samuel memberikan semuanya pada Flamebringer, dan ia terhuyung di bawah beban perasaan pemuda itu.

“Bukan kasih yang lebih dari sekadar teman. Enkaku... jatuh cinta pada ayah saya,” ucapnya dengan suara lirih. “Kalau ia dengar apa yang saya ucapkan pada Anda saat itu, saat saya mencoba menyamakan diri dengan Ayah, saya pasti sudah kena tampar.”

Hatinya terenyuh. Sebegitunya. Sebegitu bodoh dan rumitnya perasaan manusia. Ia mengedip, menelan kembali kata-katanya, dan berpikir. Inilah mengapa Enkaku lebih memilih pergi dari keluarga dibanding meninggalkan pria itu, pun meski ia beristri. Ia jatuh cinta. Pak Arka sendiri... Flamebringer tersenyum miris. Pak Arka menyukai Enkaku, dan mengasihinya begitu besar, namun tidak seperti Enkaku yang jatuh cinta. Itulah alasan mengapa ia tak menyadari bahwa orang yang ia sentuh bukanlah pria yang sama.

“Ibumu?” tanyanya kemudian.

“Ibu dan Ayah menikah karena dijodohkan. Ia cuma meminta agar Ayah tidak sembrono dengan perselingkuhannya agar tidak menggegerkan keluarga besar; Saya dengar saat mereka bicara,” ia menatap Flamebringer lagi. “Dua tahun setelah saya bertemu Enkaku.”

Ia menghela napas entah sudah keberapa kalinya. Jelas sudah. Sekarang, tinggal bagaimana ia akan menyikapi kedua lelaki ini. Ia mengeluarkan sebatang rokok lagi. “Kau—mau bagaimana sekarang? Kau sudah tahu aku bukan Enkaku. Aku tidak mengingat sejarahmu dengannya, dan meskipun aku terlihat seperti dia, terdengar seperti dia, aku bukan Enkaku.”

Samuel memberinya anggukan kecil. “Saya tahu. Tapi tetap tidak bisa merubah fakta bahwa Anda terlihat seperti orang yang saya kasihi. Butuh waktu bagi saya untuk memahami dan menerima kalau—“ ia diam, tidak sanggup melanjutkan.

“Dia sudah mati,” Flamebringer melanjutkan untuknya, hanya karena ia prihatin, dan karena Samuel memang harus mengerti bahwa Enkaku tak akan kembali.

Pemuda di hadapannya menarik napas panjang, namun ia menatap Flamebringer dengan mata yang tak berair. Air matanya disimpan untuk diri sendiri. Karena orang di depannya bukan sosok familiar yang tahu dan mengerti akan perasaannya.

“Dengar,” ujarnya. “Ambil waktu selama yang kau perlu. Tak usah datang dulu ke sini, sudahi saja dulu urusanmu dengan perasaan sendiri. Aku tahu sulit melihatku sementara kau tahu Enkaku sudah mati. Tapi aku juga tidak punya pilihan. Pulanglah, oke?”

“Baik...” lirih Samuel.

Sebelum bejalan menuju elevator, ia sempat berbalik untuk bertanya. “Siapa nama Anda?”

“Flamebringer,” jawabnya. “Tapi Enkaku juga namaku. Yang mana saja bisa kau pakai.”

Ia mengangguk, kemudian berlalu pergi.

Flamebringer menghela napas, memandang botol berisi salvia dan edelwiss. Apapun yang ingin Samuel katakan, semua itu bukan untuknya. Tidak seharusnya ia ikut pusing dengan masalah ini. Terutama bila Samuel tahu ia bukanlah orang yang ia harapkan. Ia bertanya-tanya; bila ia tak mati lebih dulu, apakah ia dan Executor bisa merangkai kisah seperti ini?

Barangkali tidak. Flamebringer tak memiliki ketertarikan kepadanya, begitu juga ia. Ia sendiri baru memikirkan plausibilitas itu ketika dihadapkan dengan seorang pemuda berwajah sama dengan Executor, yang mencintai dirinya di dunia ini. Tiap kehidupan dan dimensi punya cerita masing-masing, dengan jalur yang berbeda. Di sana, ia mati dengan separuh perasaan yang masih mencari W. Di sini, Enkaku mati dengan hati yang bertaut pada Pak Arka. Pada akhirnya, kesamaan yang mereka miliki hanyalah bencana dan kesialan.

-

Butuh waktu hampir satu tahun sebelum Samuel kembali.

Flamebringer hampir menyangka ia lupa, atau memilih untuk tak menemuinya lagi karena tak sanggup. Satpam apartemennya sampai bingung. Ia masih menjalani harinya seperti biasa. Mengurus tanaman, minum kopi kemahalan, ke dokter, bertemu dengan Pak Arka, dan berkeliling kota agar ia familier dengan tempat ini.

Ia tumbang sesekali. Semenjak ia mengambil alih tubuh Enkaku, Kal’tsit menyatakan bahwa kondisinya membaik, namun belum berkemungkinan sembuh. Ia tak masalah, sudah biasa yang kondisi begini. Namun ia juga lupa bahwa tubuh Enkaku tetaplah sekarat. Dari kesemuanya, ia beruntung ia hanya pernah tak sadarkan diri di luar rumah dua kali. Tak ada efek fatal dari hal tersebut—yang terdeteksi, setidaknya.

Singkatnya, ini sama saja dengan Terra. Hanya saja ia tak perlu berperang. Meskipun awalnya membosankan dan hampir membuatnya frustasi, namun lama-lama ia terbiasa juga. Ia berusaha melihat situasi ini sebagai hari-hari berlibur di Rhodes. Jalani saja, tanpa perlu banyak cakap. Kalau ia merasa frustasi, ya tinggal merokok, minum kopi, berkebun, berbelanja, atau menunggu Pak Arka agar ia bisa melampiaskan energinya di ranjang.

Di antara bulan demi bulan yang berlalu, ia lambat laun mulai menerima kehidupannya di sini, dan melupakan Samuel.

Karena itu, di suatu hari di bulan Mei, saat ia tengah menyirami pot-pot bunga di balkoninya, seseorang membunyikan bel apartemennya dan Flamebringer tersentak kaget. Tidak ada yang pernah mengunjunginya. Satpam dan resepsionis selalu menelepon bila ada keperluan. Pak Arka tak pernah mengajak bertemu di apartemennya. Jadi—siapa?

Saat ia melihat Samuel berdiri di depan pintu, dadanya berdenyut sesaat. Tidak menyangka saja.

“Halo,” sapa Samuel saat ia membuka pintu

Ia mengangguk pada pemuda itu dan mengangkat telapaknya sesaat. “Yo,” sahutnya. “Kau mau masuk? Atau cuma mampir?”

Samuel menyunggingkan senyum kecil. “Kalau boleh bertamu sebentar, saya akan sangat berterimakasih.”

Bola mata Flamebringer naik ke langit-langit. Seperti bicara dengan politikus saja rasanya. Ia mempersilakan pemuda itu masuk, dan memperhatikannya. Ia terlihat berbeda. Mungkin karena potong rambut. Ia punya undercut sekarang. Pakainnya sama rapi dengan sebelumnya, lebih stylish saja. Mungkin menerima kematian orang yang ia sayangi membawa banyak perubahan. Meskipun orang tersebut masih berdiri di depan Samuel, bernapas dan sekarat.

“Kau lebih tampan begini,” komentarnya, memberi gestur pada keseluruhan tubuh Samuel. “Tidak murung dan tidak kaku karena terlalu banyak emosi yang dijejalkan dalam-dalam.”

Pemuda itu menggaruk telinganya, sedikit kelihatan kikuk. “Saya hanya mengikuti saran Anda.”

Ia mengedikkan bahu. “Yeah, sure. Ambil saja minum dan makan sendiri di kulkas dan kabinet kalau lapar. Aku masih menyiram tanaman.”

Samuel mengangguk, dan mengikutinya ke balkoni.

“Bagaimana kabar Anda?” tanyanya.

Flamebringer tak tahan untuk tidak menyeringai. Konyol. Sudah seperti wawancara karyawan baru saja. Ia berbalik menghadap Samuel dengan senyum mengejek. “Dengar, kalau ada yang mau disampaikan langsung saja. Aku tidak butuh basa-basi.”

Ia berbalik lagi untuk mengurus tanamannya. Sudah hampir selesai ketika Samuel bicara lagi.

“Saya masih menyukai Enkaku, dan sulit rasanya kehilangan dia. Terutama bila sosoknya masih ada di hadapan saya, meskipun saya tahu itu bukan dia. Tapi saya menghabiskan waktu untuk berdamai dengan fakta bahwa yang terjadi sudah terjadi. Jadi... saya pikir, tidak ada salahnya mencoba dari awal. Sebagian karena saya egois dan masih ingin terus mengingat Enkaku, namun sebagian lagi karena saya juga berusaha untuk menormalisasi hidup dengan Enkaku yang... merupakan orang asing.”

“Jadi?” flamebringer mengangkat alis, takjub juga mendengar kalimat sebanyak itu keluar dari seseorang dengan wajah Executor.

“Jadi—“ ia menarik napas dalam, dan menatap Flamebringer dengan pandangan mantap. “Bagaimana kalau kita coba berteman?”

Ia memberinya senyum kecil, hanya sudut bibir yang terangkat. “Tentu. Tidak ada salahnya. Mau makan siang bersama?”

Dan begitu saja, harinya terus berlanjut di Bumi. Kali ini, dengan Samuel dalam hidupnya.

Ia tidak parah-parah juga. Ia semakin mirip Executor sekarang, bila Executor punya sisi lembut, dan setengah-biased terhadap Flamebringer. Ia kaku di awal, sebelum melunak setelah berbulan-bulan mengunjungi apartemennya. Mereka mulai bicara, mulai berdiskusi, dan Flamebringer mulai menolerir dan lambat laun menerima kehadiran Samuel sebagai hal yang tetap dalam hidupnya.

Pemuda itu sudah masuk kuliah sekarang. Ia masih bekerja di kantor ayahnya, dan berencana untuk magang di sana juga bila waktunya tiba. Ia hendak masuk ke jurusan teknik mesin, sesuai dengan bisnis ayahnya. Namun mengurungkan diri, dan alih-alih memilih memasuki jurusan hukum. Ayahnya berencana untuk memasukkannya menjadi legal officer karena Samuel tertarik dengan dunia bisnis juga. Ibunya setuju saja asal Samuel senang, dan asal ia ingat pulang ke rumah sesekali. Rupanya ia terlalu banyak bekerja dan belajar sampai kadang tertidur di kantor dan apartemen yang disewakan orangtuanya di dekat kampus.

Flamebringer kadang-kadang bercerita tentang Terra. Ia tidak tahu apakah Samuel menganggapnya berbohong, atau sudah gila. Tapi pemuda itu mendengarkan dengan seksama, dan selalu mengingat detail mengenai apa yang ia ceritakan.

“Jadi, saya juga ada di Terra?” tanyanya, ketika Flamebringer bercerita tentang Executor. “Saya paham dengan jalan pikirannya. Tapi dia tidak terasa seperti saya.”

Flamebringer tertawa. “Ya karena dia memang bukan kau, bodoh. Lagipula jalan hidup kalian berbeda, pantas saja kelakuannya juga bisa melenceng sedikit. Akumulasi dari tingkah seseorang juga dipengaruhi peristiwa dalam hidup. Kalau kau terlahir dalam posisi Executor, dengan latar belakang, tanggung jawab dan peperangan yang terjadi, maka kau akan jadi dia.”

“Anda tidak pernah merasa aneh melihat wajah dia di sini, sebagai saya?”

“Ya aneh,” ia mengakui. “Karena aku dan dia sama sekali tidak bersinggungan, dan kau datang sebagai orang yang dekat dengan Enkaku. Lagipula, wajahmu masih berekspresi dibanding raut mukanya. Satu Rhodes menyebutnya robot, karena betulan tidak pernah melihat ia merubah mimik muka.”

Samuel menatapnya dengan alis berkerut, berusaha menelan cerita yang diberikan, dan membuat Flamebringer terbahak karena ia secara tak sengaja baru saja membuktikan perkatannya barusan.

Ia tetap menemui Pak Arka, dan Samuel tak pernah menyinggungnya lagi mengenai itu. Sesuai janjinya dulu.

Saat ia tumbang di hadapan Samuel, dunia seolah perlahan berotasi terbalik. Ada yang berubah, meskipun Flamebringer tak bisa dengan jelas mengatakan itu apa.

Samuel panik, dan membawanya ke dokter Kal’tsit. Ia tak perlu dirawat inap, dan kembali ke apartemen dengan kondisi lebih baik. Satpam apartemen membantunya naik sampai ke atas bersama Samuel. Saat pintu tertutup, dan ia sudah menghempas napas di atas sofa empuk, Samuel meraih tangannya, dan berkata, “Boleh aku menginap?”

Untuk pertama kalinya sejak hampir satu setengah tahun mereka memutuskan untuk berteman, Samuel berhenti menggunakan cara bicara kelewat formal dengannya. Ia tak tahu, entah karena khawatir, atau karena ia melihat bayang-bayang Enkaku di wajah pucat Flamebringer, namun wajahnya terlihat cemas, takut. Flamebringer tersenyum dalam hati; ia tak mau melihat Enkaku mati untuk kedua kali.

“Aku tetap akan mati entah kau suka atau tidak,” ucapnya. “Luruskan dulu kepalamu, Samuel. Aku bukan Enkaku, jangan salah memberikan perasaan khawatir cuma karena kau melihat wajahnya yang tumbang.”

Samuel menggeram rendah, frustasi. “Bukan begitu—“ ia tersendat, meremas jemari Flamebringer dalam genggamannya. “Saya sudah menerima, oke? Saya mencoba dan terus mencoba untuk menerima. Saya juga menghargai Anda sebagai diri Anda sendiri, bukan sebagai Enkaku. Saya tahu batasannya; saya tahu ia sudah tiada, saya tahu bahwa Anda yang sedang berdiri di depan saya. Tapi Anda juga teman saya. Saya peduli, saya—“

Ia tak sanggup melanjutkan lagi, kehabisan napas dan tercekat oleh air mata yang tak pernah bisa jatuh di wajah kosong Samuel. Flamebringer melunak. Bagaimanapun, Samuel masih remaja yang beranjak dewasa. Meski lebih bijak dan matur, meski gigih dan berkepala dingin, ia bukanlah anak yang terlahir di peperangan Terra. Keras dan tak tergugahnya hati Samuel, tak bisa disamakan dengan kerasnya keteguhan hati anak-anak Terra, apati yang mereka telan bulat-bulat sedari dini agar mereka dapat menyingkirkan perasaan dan bertahan hidup. Flamebringer tak bisa menyamakan Samuel, atau siapapun dari dunia ini, dengan para penghuni Terra.

Maka, ia menggenggam balik jemari Samuel, dan menariknya ke dalam pelukan. “Hush,” bisiknya. “Berisik. Biarkan aku istirahat dulu, oke?”

Samuel terdiam, tak berkutik di rengkuhannya. Namun kemudian, ia memeluk erat tubuh Flamebringer, yang berpura-pura tak merasakan air mata Samuel meresap ke sela sweter dan membasahi kulit. Ia membiarkan pemuda itu menangis dalam diam; menangisi yang terkasih, yang tak membalas tautan perasaannya, yang pergi tanpa kata selamat tinggal, yang kini entah tersesat di dimensi mana dan meninggalkan nyawa lain di hadapan Samuel. Pasti sulit, pikir Flamebringer, melihat hantu dari orang yang ia sayangi, meski tahu itu bukan dia.

Erat jemari Samuel mencengkeram sisi tubuhnya, punggung bergetar oleh isak yang ia redam. Flamebringer sesekali mengelus punggungnya, namun tak bicara. Tak menawarkan kata-kata pelipur lara. Tidak perlu, ini adalah sesuatu yang mesti Samuel proses sendiri, sebelum ia paham seutuhnya dan siap menerima uluran tangan untuk menjalani harinya kedepan.

Samuel tak berkata, jangan pergi. Cuma berulang-ulang berbisik Enkaku, Enkaku, selamat tinggal, selamat tinggal Enkaku, dengan suara lirih, dengan air mata yang masih membasahi bahu Flamebringer.

Saat ia terbangun, malam telah turun. Samuel masih terlelap, kepalanya bersandar di pangkuan Flamebringer. Sisa air mata mengering di sisi wajahnya. Ia masih menggenggam jemarinya, meskipun tak lagi erat dalam kantuk. Ia menghela napas, menyapu jari-jemari di antara surai putih yang rutin Samuel warnai.

Enkaku, di suatu waktu, mengusulkan Samuel—yang taat aturan, yang berpenampilan rapi, yang tidak pernah macam-macam apalagi melanggar peraturan—mewarnai rambutnya. Ia bilang, Samuel cocok dengan warna putih. Maka Samuel, yang hidup matinya barangkali sudah digantungkan di telapak Enkaku, betulan mewarnai rambutnya dan mengejutkan seisi sekolah. Orangtuanya juga terkejut, namun tak mempermasalahkan hal itu. Pak Arka bahkan dengan sengaja menggunakan kuasanya sebagai “orang kaya” agar Samuel tetap dapat mengenakan warna rambut yang ia suka, saat pihak sekolah memanggilnya lantaran rambut Samuel melanggar peraturan mengenai penampilan siswa.

Cinta mati, kata orang. Flamebringer telah melihatnya. Di antara pertempuran Terra, cinta mati dibawa sampai ke artian harfiah karena tak ada satupun orang di Terra, yang pernah menyentuh senjata, pernah berpikir bahwa nyawa mereka tak akan melayang hari ini. Mereka semua siap mati tanpa diingat. Cinta mati yang sesungguhnya.

Namun baru kali ini Flamebringer melihat cinta mati sepilu ini, dari pemuda sebelia ini. Ia mengerti bahwa Enkaku telah lebih dulu mencintai Arka, namun ia juga paham bahwa Enkaku melihat apa yang ia lihat. Ia tak akan mau mengotori anak sesuci ini. Tidak mau merusak hati yang masih rapuh dengan segala kerumitan dan pahitnya kasih.

“Kenapa kau harus jatuh cinta pada waktu yang salah?” bisiknya.

Di pangkuannya, Samuel terlelap dalam untaian memori yang ia lepaskan satu-persatu. Genggamannya mengerat di jemari Flamebringer.

Ia menatap sayu pemuda itu. Ia tak pernah mencinta sampai begini; apa yang ia punya dengan W bukanlah sesuatu semurni ini. Sudah terlanjut kotor dan picik, meski ia tahu W peduli. Namun mereka berdua sama-sama paham. Mereka punya kehidupan yang tak mampu mengakomodasi afeksi.

“Hei,” ia menggoyangkan bahu Samuel pelan-pelan. “Hei, Samuel.”

Pemuda itu bangun setelah beberapa menit. Barangkali kelewat lelah oleh tangis. “Flamebringer?”

Oh. Hatinya berdenyut sesaat. Sebegitunya tekadnya melepaskan Enkaku. Ia tersenyum canggung. “Uh, mau menginap saja? Kurasa terlalu malam untuk pulang. Apartemenmu lumayan jauh dari sini.”

Samuel mengedip pelan, seolah belum sepenuhnya tersadar. “Boleh?” tanyanya, polos sekali.

“Boleh, tapi kau tidur di sofa. Ranjangku kecil,” ucapnya.

Samuel mengangguk, dan menuruti tarikan lengan Flamebringer saat ia menyuruhnya membasuh muka sementara ia menyiapkan pakaian ganti untuk Samuel. Pakaiannya pas di bagian bahu, tapi sedikit kepanjangan di lengan baju dan celana. Tidak heran juga, Flamebringer sekepala lebih tinggi darinya.

Saat ia hendak mematikan lampu dan kembali ke kamar, Samuel bangkit sedikit dari sofa dan berkata, “Selamat malam, Flamebringer.”

Ia tersenyum simpul. “Selamat malam, Samuel.”

Sebelum ia terlelap, ia menatap langit-langit kamarnya dan berpikir; untuk kedua kalinya, nama Enkaku telah mati bersama debu semesta.

-

Rasanya lebih mudah bernapas setelah itu. Perlahan, Samuel mulai terbuka, seutuhnya. Bukan karena ia adalah bayangan Enkaku; dan ia mulai terbuka, seutuhnya, karena ia juga dapat menghargai Samuel sebagai seseorang yang telah berusaha sejauh ini. Terkadang Samuel menginap, dan, sesekali—sekitar satu kali dalam dua sampai tiga bulan—Flamebringer menginap di apartemennya. Biasanya itu karena mereka keluar di daerah dekat kampus Samuel dan pulang terlalu larut.

Pak Arka... Ia sesungguhnya tak tahu apakah pria itu tahu bahwa ia berteman dekat dengan anaknya, lagi. Namun ia tak memperlakukan Flamebringer berbeda dari sebelumnya. Masih begitu santun dan mengasihi, masih dengan kebiasaannya di ranjang, masih dengan ciuman lembutnya sebelum pergi. Flamebringer tak jatuh cinta dengannya, namun ia—nyaman. Karena Pak Arka adalah satu hal yang pasti, yang tak berubah. Seperti karang yang tak tergerus air, bahkan meski dihempas ombak setiap saat. Tempatnya berlabuh saat napasnya tercekat di tenggorokan, mengingat Terra dengan rasa sakit yang membutakan. Tempatnya bertumpu dari perasaannya yang kadang tak dapat dimengerti.

Samuel membuatnya merasa. Meskipun ia bukan robot konstipasi seperti Executor, namun Flamebringer tak pernah merasa bingung akan cara mengungkapkan perasaan, tak pernah membatasi perasaannya sendiri. Namun setelah melihatnya retak di malam itu, setelah ia memutuskan untuk membuka diri, ia merasa kewalahan dengan perasaan-perasaan baru yang ia alami.

Ini pertama kalinya ia membiarkan sisi sentimentalnya lepas. Karena ini pertama kalinya pula ia berada di tempat di mana ia dapat membiarkan hal itu terjadi. Terra bukanlah tempat bagi mereka yang berhati lembut. Bahkan Sarkaz lemah lembut yang Shining selalu lindungi itu, Flamebringer tahu ia menguatkan hati kala pertempuran tiba demi keselamatan para petarung. Jadi, ini semua juga merupakan hal yang baru baginya. Dan di antara terombang-ambing kala ia mencoba membiasakan diri dengan keadaan emosional yang baru, Pak Arka menjadi titik gravitasi yang menjaganya agar tak melayang dan meninggalkan orbit.

Salah satu hal yang membuat Flamebringer bingung harus bereaksi apa, adalah bagaimana Samuel membiasakan diri untuk dekat dengannya—secara fisik. Ia tak masalah dengan hal itu—lihat juga bagaimana sulitnya pemuda itu untuk menyentuh orang lain karena memang ingin, karena mau menunjukkan kedekatan antara orang yang mengenal satu sama lain. Rangkulan di pundak, berpegangan tangan, memeluk, semua ia pelajari perlahan dalam bulan-bulan mereka mulai menata kembali pertemanan mereka.

Namun hal itu juga membuat semakin mawas terhadap... kehadiran Samuel. Muka, suara, mimik, emosi, tubuh, pergerakan—semua hal soal Samuel rasanya dikeraskan dua kali lipat di kepala Flamebringer. Ia tahu tanda-tanda ini. Ia pernah melewatinya, lagipula, tidak perlu berpura-pura bodoh bahwa ia tertarik dengan Samuel setelah sekian lama mereka mengenal satu sama lain.

“Bodoh,” ia berkata suatu hari, asap rokok mengepul di sekitarnya. Samuel tengah dalam perjalanan menuju apartemennya, berjanji membawa burger yang Flamebringer ingin coba. “Bodoh,” ulangnya, wajahnya berkerut. “Tolol sekali, baru suka sekarang.”

Ia tak mau bilang. Tak mau membuat bayangan Enkaku kembali dan memukul mundur perkembangan Samuel sejauh ini. Ia juga tak mau dianggap sebagai pengganti. Ia sanggup—tentu saja. Namun untuk apa perjalanan selama hampir tiga tahun sejak ia dikirim ke sini, kalau harus kembali ke langkah awal?

Rasanya mau terjun dari balkon saja, saking merasa tololnya. Perasaannya berkecamuk, tidak paham harus diapakan. Ia tak tahu harus merasa bagaimana, dan mesti memberi kepastian pada hatinya mengenai keputusan yang akan ia ambil. Ia tidak suka bohong atas perasaannya. Tidak mau pura-pura tidak tahu. Namun ia juga tak bisa begitu saja bilang, oh, hey kid, tahu tidak? Sekarang aku suka kau, haha, ya setelah terlambat tiga tahun.

Ia rasa, sampai sebegitunya hal ini memengaruhinya, karena saat ia bertemu dengan Pak Arka bulan selanjutnya, ia malu setengah mati saat ia menangis. Entah kerasukan setan apa. Saat lelaki itu membelai rambutnya halus, bergumam lembut di telinga Flamebringer, air mata besar-besar jatuh dari pelupuk matanya. Ia tak tampak menawan saat menangis, ia tahu. Tapi ia tak bisa berhenti.

Pak Arka dengan cemas bertanya, ada apa? Ada yang sakit? Enkaku? dan memeluknya erat saat ia menggeleng lemah, berkata tidak tahu, tapi tidak tahan saja.

Lengan kokoh terus merengkuhnya sementara ia menangis di dekapan Pak Arka, sampai ia tertidur karena kelelahan menangis. Pria itu tak bertanya apapun, hanya menciumnya sedikit lebih lama dari biasa saat ia hendak pergi.

“Hei,” Flamebringer bertanya di suatu siang, saat Samuel sedang berselonjor di sofa. Pak Arka tak menghubunginya agak lama, barangkali memberinya waktu untuk menenangkan diri. Tapi bagaimana bisa mau tenang kalau sumbernya setiap minggu datang ke apartemen?

“Hnm?” sahut Samuel, menoleh padanya.

Pintu balkonnya hari ini dibuka. Flamebringer baru beli kipas, yang ia letak di ujung ruangan agar ia bisa menonton sambil merokok, tanpa kepanasan karena A/C dimatikan. Ia menyesap rokok sampai ke tenggorokan, sebelum mengembus asap. Pandangannya tak teralih dari jendela-jendela gedung kantor di luar.

“Kau rindu Enkaku?”

Samuel tak menjawab, lama sekali. Maklum saja, pikirnya. Itu bukan pertanyaan yang menyenangkan. Mungkin tidak seharusnya ia bertanya. Namun ia ingin tahu, entah atas tujuan apa kecuali menyakiti diri sendiri.

“Iya,” Samuel berkata, setelah kebisuan yang melekat terlalu lama di udara.

“Oh.”

Keduanya tak mengatakan apapun lagi. Di luar terik, orang-orang di TV berteriak dan tertawa; Flamebringer menarik napas penuh nikotin, dan mengembuskan asap berbalur kekecewaan.

-

Pak Arka tak berkata apapun saat Flamebringer mulai melucuti pakaiannya, melompat naik ke rengkuhan lelaki itu saat Arka menggendongnya ke ranjang. Ciumannya kasar, tiap tautan bibirnya dan Arka terasa seperti keputusaasaan yang diteriakkan besar-besar. Ia mencumbu Arka dengan urgensi yang tak mampu ia jelaskan, seolah ia tak ingin melepaskan, seolah ia tak ingin lupa bahwa ia masih ada di sini.

Untuk pertama kalinya, Flamebringer-lah yang berinisiatif mengajak bertemu. Ia menolak ajakan bertemu Samuel, dengan alasan pekerjaan, dan berusaha tak memikirkan bagaimana Samuel akan langsung tahu bahwa ia berbohong. Alasan mengapa ia selalu tahu kapan mereka bertemu, adalah dari akun email ibunya yang ia retas diam-diam. Ibunya menyewa seseorang untuk mengamati kapan saja Pak Arka dan Flamebringer bertemu. Semua ini semata demi memastikan tak ada saksi mata, ataupun anggota keluarga yang mempunyai potensi untuk membawa perselingkuhan ini pada atensi publik. Jadi ia tahu, bahwa bukan Pak Arka yang meminta bertemu, melainkan Flamebringer sendiri.

Desah rendah meluncur dari bibirnya saat Arka menghentak masuk, lagi dan lagi. Keduanya kakinya mengapit era pinggang lelaki itu, berusaha menariknya lebih dekat. Ia tak mau berpikir soal reaksi Samuel, tak mau menerka-nerka apa yang ia pikirkan saat ini.

Usai mereka bersenggama, Pak Arka menatapnya sedih dengan raut wajah yang terlalu mirip dengan Samuel. Ia menyampirkan seuntai surai ke belakang telinga Flamebringer, membelai pipinya lembut, namun tak mengatakan apapun.

Hal ini terus berlanjut, hingga berbulan-bulan kemudian. Ia selalu menolak apabila Samuel mengajak keluar, dengan alasan bekerja. Selalu tak ada di apartemen tiap ia mencoba berkunjung. Selalu menghindar karena Flamebringer adalah orang tolol yang tak mengerti cara menangani perasaan sendiri. Konyol, karena bahkan Samuel, yang notabene lebih muda dan sensitif, tetap berusaha untuk berdamai dengan urusan perasaannya. Namun ia tak mengerti cara memberitahu Samuel bahwa ia suka, bahwa ia tak mau mencoba bersama dengan ia dengan wajah yang persis dengan orang dulu ia cintai. Maka ia berlari, dan terus berlari dari Samuel.

Sampai suatu hari, Samuel berhenti menghubunginya.

Ia menghubungi Pak Arka, dan untuk pertama kalinya pula, mereka bertemu di apartemen Flamebringer. Di mana ia menghabiskan malam di ranjang kecil, memeluk Flamebringer sementara ia mendekam tanpa suara.

-

“Aku tak mengerti,” ucap Kal’tsit saat ia tumbang untuk ketiga kalinya dalam satu bulan. “Perkembanganmu sudah begitu bagus selama dua tahun belakangan. Apa yang terjadi?”

Flamebringer mengulum lidah. Ia mengedikkan bahu, tak menatap wanita itu saat ia berkata, “Patah hati.”

Kal’tsit menghela napas, dan menulis resep obatnya di secarik kertas. “Urus patah hatimu,” ucapnya, menekan kertas resep ke dada Flamebringer yang semakin mengurus. “Kalau tidak mau kupaksa tinggal di ruang inap.”

Yang, tentu saja, tidak ia lakukan.

Namun semesta tertawa padanya, dan memutuskan bahwa ia mesti menghadapi persoalan ini bahkan saat ia tak siap dan tak mengerti. Karena, mengapa tidak? Makin ia menderita, makin yahud.

Saat ia tergeletak tak sadarkan diri di depan pintu apartemen, Samuel baru saja melangkah keluar dari elevator. Ia tak mendengar jeritan pemuda itu, tak melihat wajah yang memucat diliputi kecemasan dan rasa takut, tak merasakan saat tubuhnya dibopong masuk ke dalam. Yang ia rasakan hanya aroma Samuel di sekelilingnya, dan hangat dekapannya saat ia memeluk Flamebringer erat-erat.

“Hei,” sapanya saat Flamebringer akhirnya sadarkan diri. Senyumnya agak bergetar, matanya memerah meski tak berair. Pasti mengejutkan, melihatnya tergeletak begitu saja.

“Hei,” sapanya balik dengan suara serak, tersenyum. Karena ia rindu Samuel, dan persetan perasaan bodohnya. Kenapa ia bisa selama itu menjauh? Tolol.

Samuel membantunya mengambilkan air, dan meletakkan kembali gelas yang kosong ke atas meja. Ia kembali memeluk Flamebringer, yang terduduk di pangkuannya, namun terlalu lemas untuk berpindah posisi. Nyaman juga begini, mending manfaatkan kesempatan daripada denial lagi. Ia juga sudah lelah. ‘Toh, ini juga yang disarankan Kal’tsit. Hantam sajalah, persetan bagaimana hasilnya.

Pada akhirnya, Flamebringer selalu siap akan kesendirian. Ia hanya takut akan penolakan Samuel, karena perasaan seperti ini terlalu baru untuknya. Tidak terasa seperti W, sama sekali tidak. Karena mereka berdua saling mengerti bahkan tanpa kata. Karena mereka berdua sama-sama manusia kotor yang retak oleh takdir. Mereka berbagi tempat berlindung, untuk sejenak mengambil napas dari kerasnya guncangan hidup di Terra. Namun menyukai Samuel terasa seperti terbang tanpa sayap; seperti aroma kopi yang terlalu mahal dan burger di malam buta; seperti aroma nikotin yang ikut melekat di kaus Samuel; seperti senyum halusnya pada Flamebringer yang terasa seperti sebuah rahasia, hanya untuk Flamebringer seorang.

Ia mengangkat jemarinya, membelai sisi wajah Samuel yang mulai ditumbuhi jenggot tipis-tipis. Mungkin ia belum bercukup hari ini. Ibu jarinya mengusap lembut pada tulang pipinya yang tinggi. “Hei,” panggilnya pelan.

Angin semilir di malam yang diisi oleh hiruk-pikuk kota. Empat belas lantai di atas jalanan, di sebuah apartemen kecil, di pangkuan Samuel, ia merasa bahwa dunia terasa terlalu sunyi. Hanya iringan napas mereka yang memenuhi telinganya. Maka ia tersenyum, dan membisikkan sebuah rahasia pada pemuda itu.

“Jangan benci aku,” ucapnya.

Pemuda itu menggeleng. “Tak akan pernah,” janjinya, dan untuk sejenak saja, Flamebringer mengizinkan dirinya percaya.

Samuel tak bereaksi apapun saat Flamebringer mengecup bibirnya. Namun kemudian ia menutup mata, dan mengembus napas halus, yang Flamebringer telan dengan lenguh rendah. Kedua tangannya mendekap tubuhnya mendekat, seolah ia ingin merasakan detak jantungnya dari balik lapisan kain. Bibir mereka bergerak dalam gesekan perlahan; langsam, sensual.

Untuk pertama kalinya selama beberapa bulan belakangan, Flamebringer akhirnya merasa bahwa ia dapat bernapas lega. Ia tak tahu siapa yang dilihat Samuel saat ini; ia atau Enkaku. Namun itu tak jadi masalah. Ia sudah mengungkapkan kecamuk dalam dadanya, sudah mengudarakan kejujuran. Ia tak mempunyai hutang apapun dengan hati yang berdenyut tiap kali Samuel memagut bibirnya. Pun meski ia hanya melihat Enkaku, setidaknya biarkan Flamebringer merasakan ini sekali saja.

Saat bibir mereka mengecup lembut untuk yang terakhir kali sebelum memisahkan diri, Flamebringer membuka mata dan tersenyum sayu. Samuel terlihat lelah, namun ia tak terlihat benci, tidak juga jengkel atau sedih. Hanya lelah.

“Kau menghindariku berbulan-bulan karena ini?” tanyanya.

Flamebringer terkekeh pelan. “Tololnya, iya.”

Pemuda itu terlihat tak yakin sesaat, mirip betul dengan saat ia menanyakan identitas Flamebringer dulu, dulu sekali. Rasanya aneh mengingat ia tak terlahir di dunia ini, dan baru menapak jejak di sini kurang dari empat tahun lalu. “Kau suka padaku?”

Ia cuma memberikan cengiran, satu bahunya mengedik di cengkeraman telapak Samuel. “Iya.”

“Kau tidak mau bilang karena tidak mau aku menganggapmu Enkaku?” tanyanya lagi.

Flamebringer mendengus, mengingat kebodohannya. Padahal, yasudah. Biarkan saja kalaupun ia ditolak karena Samuel masih menyimpan rasa pada Enkaku. Ia bisa belajar untuk menerima dan pulih, melangkah ke arah lain kalau memang mau melepas penat dari sakit hati.

“Ya,” katanya.

Samuel mengerutkan alis. Surai putihnya bergoyang; ia perlu potong rambut lagi. “Kau ada di sini, di sofa ini, ketika aku melepaskan Enkaku. Kau yang menemaniku selama aku menangis. Kenapa kau masih bisa berpikiran begitu?”

Ia berdecak, menyenggol lemah dada Samuel dengan bahunya. “Aku tahu aku tolol, oke? Tapi kau bilang padaku kau masih rindu Enkaku, ya mana kutahu kalau perasaanku langsung kacau karena itu.”

Sejenak pemuda itu terlihat bingung. “Kapan—“ memori melekat di kepalanya, dan ia bertanya, “saat kau bertanya siang hari itu?”

Ia mengangguk, dan Samuel menghela napas. “Tentu saja aku masih merindukan Enkaku. Kurasa sebagian dari diriku akan selalu merindukannya, tapi aku sudah rela. Kau tahu itu. Aku tak pernah melihatmu sebagai Enkaku sejak saat itu. Aku berteman denganmu karena aku suka perangai dan cara kau memperlakukanku. Aku dekat denganmu karena kau orang yang menarik.”

Flamebringer mendengarkan penjelasannya dengan debar jantung yang makin lama makin kencang. Dekat begini, ia yakin Samuel bisa mendengarnya. “Oke. Aku minta maaf karena sudah berpikir begitu. Perasaan membuatku jadi dungu, oke?”

Samuel tersenyum mengiyakan. “Betul.”

Flamebringer tertawa, sedikit serak, banyak leganya. Ia mengecup bibir Samuel sekali lagi, dan menatap matanya.

“Aku suka kau.”

“Aku juga.” Senyum Samuel melembut, mengusap helai rambut Flamebringer yang jatuh ke mata. “Hanya kau saja yang tidak sadar, karena terlalu takut mengakui perasaan sendiri.”

“Hnm,” angguknya, menikmati belaian Samuel. “Pak Arka banyak membantu juga.”

Tangan Samuel berhenti sejenak. Flamebringer menatapnya tanpa berkedip, menilik reaksinya. “Kau... masih akan bertemu dengan ayahku?”

Ia mengangguk, hampir tertawa pada sakit hati dan kekecewaan yang langsung terpatri di wajah Samuel yang makin lama makin terpahat oleh puber. “Untuk berpamitan, Tolol,” katanya, sengaja menekankan bagian terakhir.

Untuk sejenak, pemuda itu cuma menatapnya kosong, sebelum ia terlihat kaget, dan tersenyum sumringah. Pertama kali dalam berbulan-bulan sejak terakhir ia melihat senyum begitu di wajah Samuel. Ia terima saja saat pemuda itu memeluknya erat.

“Terimakasih,” ujarnya. “Aku tahu tidak mudah juga. Karena kau sudah bersama Ayah sejak lama.”

Betul. Ia memang bukan Enkaku, namun Arka telah bersamanya dari awal ia datang ke dimensi ini, hingga sekarang. Ia juga yang merengkuh dan menjaga Flamebringer saat ia terlelap, saat ia terlalu lelah karena perasaannya. Kadang ia berpikir, apakah pria itu juga mencintai Enkaku, namun memilih untuk tak menunjukkan karena tak ingin mengekangnya. Karena ia tak ingin melibatkan Enkaku dalam permasalahan keluarga besar mereka.

“Jadi,” katanya kemudian. “Tawaranmu empat tahun lalu masih berlaku?”

Samuel tertawa, langsung mengerti apa yang ia bicarakan. “Tentu saja, tapi aku tak bisa membayarmu empat-puluh-juta tiap kita bertemu, karena kita bertemu sering. Atau memberimu uang bulanan dua-puluh-lima juta, atau memberikanmu barang seharga bayaran kuliahku—karena lebih besar dari SPP sekolah. Belum bisa, setidaknya.”

Ia nyengir kuda mendengar humor dari pemuda itu. Jauh sekali dari Samuel yang kaku di awal pertemanan mereka. “No probs, kau bisa bayar tagihan rumah sakitku saja sudah perkasa sekali di mataku.”

Mata biru Samuel lembut dan penuh kasih mendengar ucapannya. Flamebringer mendadak merasa jengah.

“Aku tahu kau suatu saat akan pergi juga, dan tidak akan kembali karena tubuhmu tidak mampu bertahan,” ujarnya, duka menguntai dari tiap silabel. “Aku bisa terima. Tapi jangan pergi seperti ini lagi, ya? Jangan tinggalkan aku tanpa penjelasan begitu.”

“Tidak akan,” janjinya, tersenyum di balik bibir Samuel saat ia mengecupnya lagi. “Tidak akan pernah lagi.”

-

Pak Arka memeluknya erat saat ia berkata akan pergi. Ia tak terlihat marah, atau kecewa; hanya sedikit sedih dan tatapan mengasihi yang sama. “Sebelum kita berpisah, boleh aku tahu siapa namamu?”

Flamebringer merasa jantungnya naik ke tenggorokan untuk sesaat, sebelum tenang kembali saat Arka tersenyum padanya. Tentu saja, kalau anaknya saja bisa langsung cepat mengenalinya, ya tidak mungkin pria yang sudah begitu lekat dengan Enkaku seperti Arka tidak merasakan apapun.

“Flamebringer,” ujarnya.

Pak Arka mengangguk. “Boleh saya mencium kamu untuk terakhir kali, Flamebringer?”

Ia tak menjawab, hanya merengkuh wajah lelaki itu, dan mengecup bibirnya dalam-dalam; merasakan tuangan perasaan yang selama ini selalu disimpan rapat-rapat oleh Lan Arka. Kasihnya, rindunya, sakitnya, pedihnya, cintanya. Rasanya sedang dibuai dalam tornado perasaan. Jemari Arka mengusap sisi pinggangnya, membelai tengkuk dan rambutnya. Flamebringer merasa pilu, pilu, pilu saat Arka menciumnya lembut, penuh perasaan, penuh keputusasaan, dan penerimaan.

Saat mereka berpisah kembali, jantungnya serasa diremas kuat-kuat melihat betapa mata hitam Arka dipenuhi gurat lara. Ia mengambil keputusan yang betul dengan memilih bersama Samuel, karena ia tahu bahwa semua pusaran kasih yang Arka punya, bukanlah ia yang mesti menuai.

“Kapan kau tahu?” tanyanya.

“Sejak pertama kita bertemu,” ujarnya. “Saya mesti meminta maaf, karena terkesan memanfaatkan kehadiran Anda di sini. Tetapi saya cuma manusia. Enkaku adalah orang terkasih bagi saya, dan meskipun saya tak tahu bagaimana Anda bisa sampai di sini, saya tahu ia telah lenyap.”

“Tidak perlu,” kata Flamebringer, dan maju untuk menciumnya lagi. “Aku juga. Maaf, aku memanfaatkanmu untuk lari dari ketololanku soal perasaan.”

Pak Arka terkekeh kecil mendengar ucapannya. “Tidak apa. Itu juga membantu saya menyadari bahwa sudah sepatutnya saya berhenti mengejar bayang Enkaku dari Anda. Saya yakin perasaan Anda sudah menuntun Anda pada tempat yang membuat Anda bahagia.”

Tawa lepas meluncur dari bibir Flamebringer. “Aneh tidak ‘sih, tahu kalau aku mengencani anakmu sekarang? Apalagi aku kelihatan seperti—ini.”

Arka menarik poni panjangnya ke belakang telinga, persis sama seperti cara Samuel melakukannya. “Anda bukan Enkaku, saya mengerti dan menghargai itu. Anda adalah seseorang yang tak terkait dengan masa lalu saya maupun Samuel. Jadi tidak sepatutnya ada penilaian miring terhadap keputusan Anda. Saya cuma berharap Samuel bisa membahagiakan Anda, dan Anda bahagia di sisinya.”

Ia tersenyum, tulus. Wajar saja Enkaku bisa cinta padanya.

“Boleh aku tanya, kenapa kau tak pernah bilang kau cinta pada Enkaku?”

Lelaki itu menatapnya sedih, dan mengembus napas berat. “Mencintai Enkaku bukanlah kebebasan yang bisa saya dapatkan di kehidupan kali ini, Flamebringer. Terkadang, kita mau tak mau harus takluk pada takdir, dan mencurangi nasib semampu kita.”

Ia mengerti; ia rasa ia mengerti. Dikecupnya sekali lagi bibir Arka, sebelum memeluknya erat. “Semoga, entah di dimensi mana, kau bisa dapat kebebasan itu.”

Lan Arka memberinya senyum manis saat ia membungkuk dan berkata, “Terimakasih, Flamebringer. Selamat tinggal.”

“Selamat tinggal, Arka,” ucapnya, melambai dan berbalik pergi.

Samuel menunggunya di sofa ketika ia kembali ke apartemen, membaca modul kuliahnya yang tebal. “Bagaimana?” tanyanya.

Flamebringe berpura-pura berpikir sejenak, sebelum menyeringai. “Kurasa bakat menciummu turun dari ayahmu, Samuel.”

Ia tertawa saat Samuel hendak memukulnya dengan modul, berlari menjauh sebelum mendekat dan membiarkan pemuda itu memeluknya.

“Jadi sewa oom, Mas Samuel?” candanya.

“Jadi,” jawab Samuel tanpa urat malu. “Sewa oom sampai tua.”

“Ew, bangsat, najis,” tawanya. “Aku sudah tua.”

Samuel menciumnya. “Sampai aku tua.”

Tidak buruk juga, bersama Samuel sampai dia ringkih. Atau sampai tubuh Flamebringer tumbang lebih dulu, entah mana yang sampai duluan. “Boleh,” katanya. “Lumayan juga dapat sugar daddy sampai modar.”

Di telinganya, Samuel mendengus. Namun kemudian ia menatap Flamebringer seperti ia menatapnya setiap hari—lembut, penuh kasih, penuh janji yang akan ia tepati. “Aku suka kau, tahu?”

Flamebringer memberinya cengir kecil. “Yeah, tahu. Aku juga, kau tahu?”

Saat Samuel menciumnya lagi, dalam dan intens, satu tangan Flamebringer mengacungkan jari tengah pada langit biru di luar ruang tengah. Mampus kau, bangsat, umpatnya. Makan saja pahitnya kekalahan karena Flamebringer akan menang, akan terus menang. Karena ia akan mencoba bahagia, sampai mati, dengan lelaki tolol ini.

If someone actually asked when they started dating, Flamebringer would honestly say, “Fuck, I don’t even remember.”

But he could tell you how, which actually didn’t really make much sense. He could confirm that neither Executor nor he was interested romantically with each other at that time. It was perhaps just a fancy of their appearances; with the help of a few glasses of wine, and Lappland’s well-placed words of betting. Bet you can’t crack that android nutjob over there, she had whispered, pouring wine into his empty glass as Flamebringer was distracted by Executor’s high cheekbones. In the light of the bar, the man looked ethereal, especially through the filter of Flamebringer’s inebriated eyes.

“Bet your next salary I can fuck him tonight,” he slurred out. Maybe he was losing it, but fuck, he was dying, not blind. He knew a piece of gems in the midst of Rhodes’ tiny ass bar, alright.

Lappland had laughed then, already halfway into her own bottle and didn’t even show the slightest bit of signs that she was drunk. This motherfucker was a beast, Flamebringer thought. She said, “Oh, bet the twice of your salary that he can fuck the Oripathy out of you. If you can get him to bed, that is.”

This was utterly stupid, what was left of his rational thought said. He ignored it with the power of a stupidity-powered brain cells. “Even better,” he said, and downed the rest of his wine, before sauntering over to where the Sankta was sitting ram-rod straight on the sofa with his friends—were they even friends? He looked like he was dragged here without his consent. Which, actually made more sense. He didn’t look like a bar-boy, more like a church-boy or something. He would be a tough nut to crack, indeed.

There were four people in the table: that Kjerag smiley boy, the blue questionable Sankta, that apple pie girl, and Executor—the white haired-dude #1. Also known as the guy who Flamebringer had decided on a whim that yes, he was the one, the absolute number one in this moving city of whom he would seduce the fuck out of. This is stupid, he thought one last time, right before he swung his long leg over Executor’s side and settled comfortably in his lap.

He could feel rather than hear when the rest of the table, the bar, fell into silence at his sudden action. The conversations just suddenly dropped into an awkward silence, to the point that he could hear the excitement and impatience in Lappland’s gleeful, toothy grin. He looked into Executor’s face, which was still set into a careful line of blankness. He didn’t even react when Flamebringer just suddenly decided that Executor’s lap was a free real estate of sort. Although, he did give him a miniscule nod to acknowledge his presence.

Oh? He thought with a mind drowning in wines and Lappland’s taunting words, the church boy wasn’t freaked out? Either he was too polite, or he simply didn’t mind. Maybe he thought this was something that people just do. This guy, after all, was proven to lack a certain degree of common sense and knowledge of the more sensitive sense of social etiquette. But anyway, he didn’t react negatively and hadn’t pushed Flamebringer out of his lap yet, so. He was succeeding so far.

He turned to the rest of the table, and gave them a condescending smile. “Whatchu lookin’ at? Stop gaping like a goldfish, it’s unattractive on you,” he said, and had to refrain from laughing when Smiley Boy and Apple Pie promptly shut their mouths with embarrassed face. The Questionable Blue, however, just lifted her glass and gave him a toast before resuming her previously cut-off conversation with an elegance of a swan. He liked that girl already. She seemed to possess more sanity than Lappland, which was tremendously great in his mind. Anyone who had more than two brain cells and an ounce of sanity was already better than Lappland because she had none.

He turned his attention back to Executor, who was still holding on to his drink. He looked stupid like that, he probably didn’t drink anyway. So he took the glass from the man’s gloved hand, and finished it in less than ten seconds. He reached back to put the empty glass on the table, and focused on the pale blue eyes that were now trained on his flushed face. He gingerly put each of his hands on the man’s wide shoulders, squeezing a bit to feel the sturdy muscles and bones beneath his palms. Biting the corner of his lip, he tightened his hold just the barest bit harder and let his lip go when Executor’s eyes followed the movement.

So. He wasn’t entirely unaffected, huh? This might be fun, he thought, a loopy smile on his lips as leaned down to whisper, “Do I look pretty, Mr. Sankta?”

Executor heaved a soft puff of breath, and nodded just the slightest, hidden from view by Flamebringer’s back. He grinned; who would’ve thought that the ever so proper-and-prime Sankta engineer could also put his interest in people? A sexual interest, nonetheless.

“Good,” he nodded, approving Executor’s reply. “I’m drunk,” he said, and caught the look on Executor’s face that most probably said obviously which he expressed with a lift of his eyebrow. “But you’re the prettiest looking bastard in this bar, so I’m going to kiss you, alright? Just punch me if you don’t like it.”

As he leaned down even further, he heard Apple Pie’s sharp intake of breath and the start of Lappland’s cackle. Executor didn’t say anything, but then, he put his hands on Flamebringer’s hips and experimentally tightened his grip on his slender waist. Flamebringer sighed as he felt the thick, gloved fingers were rubbing circles on his clothed skin. When he was close enough to feel the warmth of the man’s breath, he looked down into his eyes, and mouthed softly on the corner of his lips. “Touch my skin,” he whispered against his lips.

When Executor—miraculously—complied, and slipped his fingers into Flamebringer’s sleeveless shirt to put his hands on his bare hips, he gasped softly and finally, finally kissed him.

Executor was warm underneath him, his lips slightly chapped, but it just made his head spun harder as he licked across his dry lips and delved into the kiss. It was quite a pleasant surprise to know that Executor wasn’t completely blind about things like this. He reciprocated as soon as Flamebringer’s lips started moving against his own; slowly, almost like they were testing the water. Waiting in circles, trying to see which one of them would show their fangs first. They exchanged a few soft kisses, before Flamebringer pulled back and looked into his eyes again, and smirked.

This time, when he leaned down to kiss him again, Executor knew what he should expect. Flamebringer kissed him properly, rougher than before, deeper than just the doorstep of his teeth. His hand moved to cup Executor’s face and the back of his neck, as Executor’s hand tightened further and hauled him closer. It knocked the breath out of him, how the man could manhandle Flamebringer so easily like that. Fuck, imagine how easy it was for him to manhandle Flamebringer on the bed despite being the smaller between the two.

Behind him, on the bar stool, Lappland was positively cackling. He didn’t pay attention to that, though. Hard to divide his focus when Executor kissed him back with insistent, firm touches that skirted the edge of roughness. He welcomed the warm tongue that slipped past his lips; moaning low in his throat when one of the man’s hands slipped out of his shirt, and gripped the underside of his thigh to pull him closer still. Fuck, Flamebringer was a strong warrior, alright, but to feel someone else—someone so incredibly stoic and impeccable like Executor—showing their blatant strength in moving him around like a ragdoll, wasn’t something that fell short on blowing his desires through the roof.

He could feel the front of his pants tenting, his desires catching up to him as he felt his flushed skin burned even hotter. His own fingers creeped up from the back of Executor’s neck to grab a handful of his white hair, letting his mouth be ravished when Executor growled low and kissed him harder than before. With the way his mouth was in constant assault, the hands on his hip and thigh burning heat like  a brand into his skin, his head becoming more and more clouded by the second, it was small wonder that he didn’t realize when the three others in the table had been shocked into uncomfortable silence and awkwardness. All except the Questionable Blue, who calmly ushered the two others out of the seat, and called out, “Executor,” with a nod as she guided them to another table.

Flamebringer saw with half-lidded eyes as Executor’s gaze moved to the retreating backs of his colleagues. His bit his lips as a warning; when he touched someone, he liked the attention—the full attention. That was probably why he only ever slept with people who could understand his tendencies, and could stand with him toe to toe when it came to the matter of carnal desires. He let out a surprised gasp when Executor bit his lips back, with much more force than he did, breaking the skin and spreading the taste of blood across his tongue.

He couldn’t help the moan that slipped past his tongue at that. Who would have thought that Executor, the human equivalent of a refrigerator, the perfect example of a poised, stoic Sankta, was someone who was most possibly kinky enough to share a kiss that tasted of blood and hazy desires? He sucked on Executor’s tongue, feeling the rough surface of it entangled with his own. Faintly, he realized that he was grinding down on the Sankta, and forcefully broke the kiss with a gasp when he felt the answering erection in Executor’s pants meeting his own.

He looked down, and had to bite his lips at how prominent the outline of his hardened bulge was. “Fuck,” he cursed, voice rough with desires. “Want to put my mouth on you,” he whispered with urgency, biting his lower lip hard and felt the wound that Executor had bitten bleed against the newer assault.

He slowly rolled his hips forward, closing his eyes and baring his neck when he felt the delicious pain-pleasure of the friction. He felt the hand on his thigh went back to his hips, and looked down to see Executor’s jaw hardening as he tried to retain his self-control. Why would he do that? Flamebringer especially went out of his way on his drunken ass to seduce the fuck out of his polite motherfucker; it wouldn’t do if he could still control himself, showing only the barest of reactions compared to Flamebringer’s shameless, blatant show of desires.

So he furrowed his eyebrows, looking up from beneath his lashes. “Want your mouth on my skin. Every. Inch. Of it,” he said, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

Executor closed his eyes at his wanton, whispered moans as he dropped his head on Executor’s shoulder, letting out pleasured sighs on his ears. Good, Flamebringer though as he saw how hard the man was clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck popping out from his effort and—yeah, he couldn’t lie. It was kinda hot seeing Executor like that. Why hadn’t he gotten drunk earlier so he could see this side of the infamous Machine of Rhodes Island?

But then, Executor was gripping his hips tight, stopping his movement as easily as he tore the aorta out of a beast with his bare hands—or at least, that was the rumors Flamebringer heard. Just imagining what those hands could do to him was enough to send an electric shiver down his spine. He tugged at Executor’s hair, “Why are we stopping? We haven’t even started yet.”

The shorter man took a moment to heave a few deep breaths, the clench of his jaw slowly loosening even if the grip on Flamebringer’s hips was still tight enough to bruise. His erection hadn’t flagged down at all, still tenting quite obviously against Flamebringer’s thigh. When he looked at him, he suppressed the shiver that broke out all over his body at how sharp and smoldering his stare was. He unconsciously licked his lips and Executor’s finger bit into his skin at that, earning him a low groan that Flamebringer tried to silence by biting his lips hard. So he liked a little bit pain with his pleasure, sue him.

“I would not bed you,” he said clearly.

Flamebringer’s face fell, his hard-on quickly softening at the rejection. He wasn’t interested in fucking someone who wasn’t willing or interested, even if he could try to change their mind. But he had tried, and if the other party still said no, then it was not his place to force himself onto them. Even drunk out of his ass and could barely think properly, it was still ingrained into his mind.

“Oh,” he said softly, lips forming around the word. Well—neither Lappland nor him was getting any money out of each other, he guessed. Since it looked like he wasn’t going to get dicked tonight.

He made to move from Executor’s lap, but was prevented from doing so by the hands still grasping his waist. He paused—didn’t this motherfucker reject him just now? Then what the fuck was he doing?

With a very calm demeanor, Executor put him back properly to his lap, and looked into eyes as he said with deep, measured voice, “I would not bed you tonight, as you are clearly drunk. But I would like for us to continue this endeavor by tomorrow, if you still desire to do so by the morning.”

Flamebringer’s inebriated mind paused for a second, pulling together whatever left of his brain cells to process the complicated sentences. It took him a while, while Executor patiently waited for him, before his eyes widened in understanding, his mouth a small ‘o’ before he chuckled.

“Fuck, you can’t talk like that when I can’t even tell up from down,” he complained. “My brain hurts just from hearing your speech pattern alone.”

“You’re doing a good job in understanding my intentions,” Executor reassured him, which was something hella weird to reassure. He told him so, and the engineer didn’t even blink. This motherfucker was completely unfazed, it was amazing to think that he was sporting an erection and kissing him like a starved man just a moment ago.

“Alright,” he tilted his head. “Now what? You gonna leave me here?”

“If that is what you want, then I will transfer your care to Operator Lappland. She appears to be sober enough to deposit you to your quarter safely.”

Flamebringer rolled his eyes, slapping the side of Executor’s arm, maybe a lot harder than he intended. Meh, let it be. He deserved it anyway. “I’m not a thing, you shitty fuck,” he said, hitting the man one more time for good measure. “Use better words—normal words.”

“I apologized,” Executor nodded at him. “I did not intend to offend you by that.”

Flamebringer sighed, now he lost the mood completely. Seriously, what the fuck was up with this man anyway? As far as he remembered, Rhodes Island housed numerous people from Laterano, and they had an array of Sanktas at disposal. None of them talked like this; like someone just inserted the language codes into Executor’s brain and forgot to tell him that he was going to talk to fellow person instead of machine.

“Never mind,” he said with a flat tone. He tried to get out of his hold, and this time Executor let him do so. He was still very much drunk, however, as he stumbled over his own feet when he stood up and ended up stumbling into Executor’s hard chest. Ooh, his drunken mind said, nice one. Flamebringer probably would have hit himself if he was the least bit sober.

A drunken Flamebringer could only mean either one of the two: very depressed, or very horny. Because despite drinking regularly, he didn’t make it into a habit to get drunk. Unless Lappland was present in the vicinity, then it would be guaranteed that he was going to get wasted whether he wanted it or not. Right now, despite declaring that he already lost interest, his sad excuse of a brain was noticing every which way that Executor could turn him on. What the fuck was so special from a hard chest anyway? There were plenty of muscular operators in this nomadic city, fuck he probably owned much more muscle mass than Executor. Why the fuck would his brain focus on that particular trait?

But it did, and he did, and suddenly, he just wanted to put his hands on every inch of Executor’s skin. He put both of his arms around the shorter man’s neck, and leaned close to his face. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight? So tomorrow morning you can make good of your promise, hm? Come on, angel boy, you know you want to put your hands on me.”

Executor stared at him for a moment; at his lips, the jut of his collarbones, prominent even through the clothes. He looked at something behind Flamebringer, and seemed to be communicating with someone. He turned, only to see Lappland giving Executor two thumbs up along with an obnoxious grin on her face. “Go for it,” her lips said, “fuck him good for me.”

He really needed to find new people to hang out with. Both Midnight and she were insufferable, and W would only be present when he was suffering. He was surrounded by idiots—sadistic idiots who enjoyed his misery.

“Very well,” Executor said a heartbeat later. He heaved Flamebringer’s weight onto him, and put an arm around him to secure his position. “Please walk carefully.”

Lappland waved at him excitedly, her bottles swinging around from one hand as she gave him the unholiest grin of them all. He flipped her off, and had a second to look at Executor’s friends, who had moved to the other end of the bar. Both Apple Pie and Smiley Boy were looking embarrassed and flushed, Questionable Blue gave him a single wink, and smoothly redirected the conversation to something about logistics route around Kazimier. He chuckled at that before Executor pulled him along to get out of the bar.

“Are we going to your room?” he asked as they walked. Now that he wasn’t thinking with his dick as much, he was starting to feel sleepy.

“No,” Executor answered. “It would be better to sleep in your quarter. If you changed your mind in the morning, you do not have to go through the hassles of walking back to your room. It would be likely that you are going to experience severe hangover from your alcohol intake tonight, after all.”

He halted in his step, forcing Executor to also stop in the middle of the hallway with him. He looked at the man liked he was seeing a new species for the first time. And it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration either. “You’re so considerate,” he said in awe. “Fuck, why are you so considerate?” His voice was rising in disbelief and faint hysteria.

Executor patiently pulled him along to continue their trip to Flamebringer’s room. For a moment, he wondered whether Executor had stalked him before, because he seemed to know the direction of his quarter even without his input. But then again, he remembered. Yeah, the man probably read the operator’s manual and room designation, and remembered them all. Aside from his freakish, robotic nature, he was also one of the engineers. It was only normal that he’d know the blueprints of this giant ship.

“Operator Flamebringer,” he called when they arrived in front of his door. “The codes, if you would please.”

“Stop calling me operator if you’re gonna put your dick in my ass by tomorrow,” he sighed, inputting his codes. Or tried to, at least. His mind was more or less still muddled; he always got the number wrong even if he remembered them. “Fuck this,” he growled impatiently, tempted to punch the shit out of the code panel. “You do it. It’s 981246.”

When the door was finally opened, and Executor gently laid him down on the bed, he sighed in relief. Sleep rushed in to him, causing his whole body to become lethargic with fatigue that he only felt now. He vaguely felt Executor moved him around; pulling off his jacket, his boots and socks, struggled a little bit with his belt before pulling that off too, and the ID choker around his neck. He sighed again when he felt he could breathe a little bit easier, and nuzzled into his pillow, already halfway into dreamless sleep.

When the bed dipped next to him a few moments later, he reached his hand out blindly and felt Executor’s fingers encircled his wrist. He brought Flamebringer’s hand back and put it around his neck, putting his own hand on Flamebringer’s waist. He inched closer to what he assumed as Executor’s chest, and briefly smirked as he remembered how taken he was to the man’s chest. It was as firm as he thought, hard muscles pressing against his cheeks as he laid his head there.

He didn’t really remember what happened afterwards, but when he woke up, he was alone.

His head was ringing, headache hanging heavily on the base of his neck. He groaned when he felt his temples pulsed with the force of the hangover. He would kill Lappland, he absolutely would. That jerk might have been fine with that much alcohol, but Flamebringer knew as much that he could never drink the woman under the table. He sat up with difficulty, feeling his stomach lurched uncomfortably at the movement. Why in the world would he let Lappland had that much lenience again, he didn’t know. He sighed; fuck his head hurt.

“You should drink some aspirin.”

Flamebringer would never admit it until the day Oripathy finally sucked the life out of him, but he might or might not have let out a surprised squeak when the voice seemingly had appeared out of nowhere. His heart raced inside his ribcage, eyes wild as he focused on… Executor. What.

“What,” he said, not fully comprehending the situation at hand. Why would the man stand there, inside his room, holding a glass of water and two tablets of what might be aspirin? Was he lost or some—oh. He remembered, no without a colossal amount of embarrassment and fury of a thousand suns at Lappland, about last night. “I plastered myself shamelessly all over you, didn’t I.”

Executor nodded at his quasi-statement. He offered the glass and tablets again, until Flamebringer sighed and finally took them, mumbling his thanks as he swallowed the aspirin. His jacket was folded neatly on the bedside table; his boots deposited at the foot of the bed, next to what he assumed as Executor’s own shoes. The man’s jacket was also folded on top of Flamebringer’s, leaving the man in his undershirt that did awful job on hiding the curve of his muscles underneath. He was once again reminded about the barrage of dirty thoughts he had about the man last night, and had to admit that sober or not, it was quite hard to not think dirty about Executor if he actually paid attention to the man’s appearance.

He wasn’t even close to average looking. Fair skin, pale eyes, white hair, halo on top of his head, his wings fluttering lightly on his back; it was almost an unfair comparison that his body wasn’t as angelic as the rest of him. That body, and the sizeable erection that Flamebringer knew he packed down there, were the works of the devil. He looked fucking sinful, alright? It was only sheer mortification about his behavior last night, and the fact that he smelt like alcohol and cigarette that prevented him from jumping the man.

And he would be right in doing so, because Executor did promise to fuck him in the morning, didn’t he?

He put the empty glass on the nightstand, and stood up shakily, waving away Executor who tried to help him. “I need to shower,” he said. “You can—do whatever you want.”

He didn’t wait for the man’s reply before scurrying away to the bathroom. There was another toothbrush next to his. Executor probably opened a new package from the stash inside his cabinet. His towel was also a little bit damp. He tried not to think too much about Executor showering in the same place where he currently stood, naked and wet. He let out a breath roughly, just what the fuck was he thinking? He wasn’t a bumbling, virgin teenager for fuck’s sake. What was he getting so worked up for?

Still, as he stood under the shower head, trying to clear his head away with cold shower, his mind traitorously conjured the image of Executor’s naked body. His hard muscles, his chest, his shoulders; coupled with his the memories from last night, Flamebringer was ashamed that he was getting hard in record time even under the onslaught of cold water on his body. What the fuck, indeed.

He resigned himself to the fact that his morning wood was going to be spent on the fantasy of Executor’s body—which was fucked up in more ways than one, but, as he looked down on his raging hard-on, he didn’t think he had much choice. He just wanted to get the images of Executor out of his head as soon as possible.

He turned the shower into a lukewarm setting, and touched his cock with heavy feelings. It wasn’t like the man was unattractive. He was—which was also part of the problems. Flamebringer bit his lips as his fingers came into contact with the sensitive skin around the head of his cock. The rivulets of water pouring down on his body sled down in warm embrace, imitating the heat of someone enveloping his body.

He had slept with numerous people in his life. Some of them were okay, some of them were fantastic. He never bothered with arrangements that might not suite his needs. He didn’t really mind about his partner, as long as they were interesting enough to keep him engaged. Men, women, either, neither; fucking or being fucked, he didn’t mind. It was sex; there was no need to complicate it. He did complicate it with W once upon a time, but even then they had separated on their own paths and were currently in sort of weird friendship that consisted of him acknowledging her presence and the fact that they were together back then. She liked to tease him still, and either scoffed or mocked him, but she respected his choices and beliefs.

Still, the closest he had ever felt this bothered was when he found out that Lappland could fuck him well into the morning. That had been mind-blowing—enough that it kept him coming back for more on the rare occasions they had leisure time to fuck for hours. But what Lappland had used on him, was still vastly different than the real thing.

Which Executor possessed in abundance, if his memory served him right.

Now that he started imagining the way Executor would touch him, he couldn’t stop. He put a hand on the wall to lean his weight onto, as his other hand caressed his skin. From the back of his ear, down to grope and squeeze his pecs, pinching his nipples until they were red and hardened. He tried to keep his voice low as he teased his nipples, fondling the nub around the tip of his fingers, biting his lip as he pinched them harder and harder still. His cock was still untouched, painfully erect against his stomach. He heaved a pant as he looked down, eyes hazy from lust and the water wetting his lashes. His groped his nipples harshly one more time, before sliding his fingers down and finally, finally touched himself.

He remembered grinding against Executor last night in his lap. It looked, and felt, big. But then again, he only saw the outline of it. But it had felt so hot against his own erection last night, even through their respective pants. He started pumping his cock lazily, a light twist of his wrist as he remembered how it felt to be manhandled so easily by Executor’s strong arms. Flamebringer, even since he fucked Midnight that one time, had realized that he had the hots for being manhandled in bed. Rough and careless, as if he—all his towering height and considerable weight of muscle mass—was something so light that it required no thought to move him around to fit his partner’s bidding.

Of course, he liked it also when he had a complete control. But there was just an allure in fighting even in bed, grappling for some semblance of dominance despite knowing that he would be taken anyway. It was rare to find someone who could fulfill the satisfaction of the struggle in pushing and pulling at each other. Midnight was probably the closest to understanding this particular side of him. But then again, most of the times he would look at Midnight’s face and then there would be this unexplainable urge to bash that man’s head on the nearest solid surface. He didn’t even know why, he just felt like he had to.

His breath came in pants as his fingers started to quicken their pace, gripping just a little bit too tight to give him an edge. He twisted his wrist in the way that he liked, unable to stifle the small gasp that had left his lips when it sent an electric jolt through his spine. Kissing Executor was something he had remembered in details. His chapped lips, his sensuous tongue intertwining with his own, and the way he just took as he delved deeper into the kiss. He was almost breathless from a few kisses simply because Executor had been so assured, so confident in himself that he felt like a dependable current that Flamebringer could lose himself into.

He stepped closer to the wall, leaning his forehead against the cold tile as he moved his other hand to the back. He went past the swell of his ass, and slipped his long finger between the cheeks. He didn’t have any lube or ointment on him, but the leftover suds on his body should be more than enough. He wasn’t planning on fingering himself, it would take too long. And if Executor turned out to be still waiting instead going back to his own quarter, then it would be even more awkward than before. He flushed as he wondered just how long had he been in the bathroom; did Executor notice? Did he know that Flamebringer was shamelessly touching himself in the shower stall, thinking about his kisses and the memories of them grinding against each other on the bar?

His breath hitched as his arousal burned in the pit of his stomach.  He tightened the hold on his cock, moving his hand faster as the other hand worked on his backside. He brushed over his hole with a finger, just brushing back and forth, and pressing gently against the puckered skin. How would it feel to have Executor’s fingers on him instead? Wrapped around his sensitive cock, pressing his fingers into his hole and let Flamebringer feel the burn of it, knowing that he was masochistic enough to enjoy the slight pain.

“Ngh,” he breathed out, stuttering in his pace at the thought of being touched by Executor. He didn’t really understand what the big deal about that guy was, either. But if he had to guess, it was probably the way he handled Flamebringer with assured confidence and practiced touches. The way he kissed him without hesitation, biting back when Flamebringer did and wasn’t afraid to show that he wasn’t as angelic as he looked. It was the way he had arranged Flamebringer on his lap, however he liked, as close as he wanted. But most of all, it was the way he just rolled with the punches—accepting Flamebringer’s abrupt seduction, taking what had been offered on his own pace, and was appreciative enough of him to still comply with Flamebringer’s wishes. The combination of those elements was enough to make his head dizzy with sheer want.

He was unashamed when he let out Executor’s name as he finally relented to desire and slipped a finger inside. The slight burn was enough to have him skirting over the edge, but not enough to make him come. His hand was moving fast and steady on his cock, tightening around the flesh with punishing grip. But still it wasn’t enough. He needed—he needed something more.

In the midst of a mind clouded by lust, he hadn’t realized that he didn’t lock his door, wasn’t aware when someone had slipped inside and saw him succumbing to lust. He let out a surprised gasp when a naked chest was pressed against his back, a large palm covering his hand on his cock, fingers caressing the skin around his tail. He unintentionally moaned out loud when he realized what was happening.

Executor wasn’t fazed by him stuttering to a halt at his presence. He hooked his chin over Flamebringer’s bent form, and resumed pumping his dick with a tight grip. Flamebringer’s body jolted as it recognized other people’s touch on his skin. His cock was pulsing painfully, making him keened as he frantically searched for the right kind of touch to bring him over the edge of pleasure. The finger he had inside was moving faster now, disregarding the discomfort of not having enough lube to slick the way.

He had given up on touching his cock, choosing to lean his palm against the wall once again. Because his head was already spinning enough as it was, he couldn’t think coherently with lust and sensitivity washing over his body. But it wasn’t enough—he had to—to—

But then, Executor was moving his finger out from his hole with gentle hand, kissed the back of his neck to calm him down as he whined low from his throat. As soon as his finger was removed, Flamebringer had to brace both of his hands against the wall because Executor was slipping his rock hard, huge erection between his cheeks, rubbing and grinding against his softened hole.

He choked on his saliva when he felt how hot, how heavy it was. Executor’s hand was calloused around the edges, and it gave him a certain kind of friction that made goosebumps broke out on his skin. He moved his hand faster when Flamebringer pushed back against his erection, trying to relieve the itch inside of him that he couldn’t quite scratch.

He felt Executor’s breath sweeping against his shoulder in heavy pants. He ground into Flamebringer, pushing his cock as close as possible without actually getting inside. The slide of him between his asscheeks was maddening enough that Flamebringer had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from moaning out Executor’s name again. Did he hear, when he said his name out loud just moments ago? The thought sent another wave of arousal, of being found out, of what Executor would think about it. Evidently, he’d take it in stride and wouldn’t be surprised. He might even like it, because he had seen Flamebringer so desperate and wanton in the bathroom stall, and had come here himself to alleviate the frustration.

He pushed back against Executor with renewed vigor, moving his hips in tandem with Executor’s hand on his cock. It was when he finally moaned out his name, that Executor snapped. He let go of Flamebringer’s cock and gripped both sides of his narrow hips with his wide palms. His thumbs were digging into his hipbones, and he unabashedly let out small gasps from the sensation of being held tight like this again.

Then, Executor started to move. He pushed himself forward, plastering himself on his back, making Flamebringer let out a small whimper when he felt his tail was pressed between their bodies. He peppered kisses alongside his shoulder blades and spine as he ground hard into Flamebringer’s ass. The wet, hot slide of his length was wonderful and cruel at the same time. It felt so good, to have something to grind against, something so blunt and big, but it wasn’t inside of him and Flamebringer let out a plethora of curses when a particular hard thrust unbalanced him. He ended up half bent, holding onto the slippery walls and Executor’s arm.

“Exe—ah, ah, fuck—Executor,” he gasped out. Trying to get away and getting closer at the same time. This was enough to make him dizzy with want, but they were in Flamebringer’s quarter, just a few steps away from his bed and lube inside his nightstand. “Executor!” he called louder when the man didn’t slow down.

He wrenched himself away from his strong grip—oh fuck, he thought, impossibly aroused, oh fucking-fuckity-fuck—and had to lean back on the tiled wall when he saw how blown out Executor’s eyes were. The pale blue was now only a ring around the dilated irises, blatantly showing how aroused the man was. Of course, the obvious indication was the very same erection that Flamebringer had been rubbing against a moment ago. He let out a helpless moan when he looked down, and saw the cock between Executor’s legs. It didn’t even stand out like his, simply because it was too heavy.

“Fuck,” he said, for the hundredth time that day, and dropped down to his knees. He vaguely heard Executor saying something, but he was already holding his cock—as hot, as heavy as it looked in his hand—and leaned forward to envelop it in his mouth.

For the first time since he entered the bathroom, Executor let out a sound. The groan that had been ripped out of his throat made Flamebringer’s cock spurted out a trickle of pre-cum just from hearing it. He sound gutted, and he was barely halfway from swallowing Executor’s cock whole. He didn’t wait to get used to the size, opening his lips wider and loosening his jaw as it filled his mouth more than anyone had ever been. He almost choked when the blunt head pushed past the muscles of his throat, pushing deeper still as he was slowly feeling lightheaded from the sheer girth of Executor’s cock cutting air supply from his neck.

He inhaled deep through his nose when he finally reached the base, pressing his nose against the pale curls of his pubes. Above him, Executor groaned and clenched his hand on the wall, one hand hovering just a wisp away from Flamebringer’s hair like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. He swallowed a few times around the cock inside his mouth, and started moving. He pulled up slowly, suckling on the head and tasting the bitter pre-cum on his tongue, before gradually moving along the shaft again. Over and over again, sucking him in slow, torturous motion—until he heard Executor growled this time, and finally put his hand on Flamebringer’s head, gripping his strands so harsh that he felt the stinging pain on his scalp. He moaned around his cock, sending vibrations up to his nerve and making the grip on his hair tighter still.

He reached for the hand on his hair, spreading his palm around it, and looked up to stare into Executor’s eyes with a wicked look. He lowered his lids, and slowly pushed Executor’s hand down, moving his head along with the movement. All the time, he still kept their eye contact so the Sankta would know. Use me, he signed with his eyes, smirking inside as Executor’s breath hitched when he understood what Flamebringer wanted. He heard him say something—Lateranian, but wasn’t the ones people usually used nowadays. It was probably the old language, and he couldn’t believe that he said this, but it sounded so hot coming out of Executor’s mouth right when he tugged at Flamebringer’s hair and kept him in place as he moved his hips in a harsh pace.

At this point, Flamebringer could do nothing but take it. His jaw was hurting from the size, and it felt too big to use his tongue properly. He couldn’t anyway, what with how hard Executor was driving his hips into Flamebringer’s pliant mouth. Reaching down, he tugged at his neglected erection, that hadn’t flagged down up until now. It felt nice, and was making him lightheaded. The girth that was sliding in and out of his throat, the lukewarm droplets of water above their heads, the strong grip that pulled deliciously on his scalp; it was the push that he needed. Just a little bit more.

He raised his hand again, pushing further on Executor’s hand, and finally touched himself when Executor let go of all pretenses as he went harder on Flamebringer. He let his mouth be used, head moving like a ragdoll as Executor thrust his hips at the same time he pushed his head down on his cock. He was moving too fast, the rough slide of his cock inside the wet heat of his throat burned, but Flamebringer welcomed the pain and discomfort with a sigh of pleasure.

It didn’t take long before he was coming, spurting cum on the bathroom floor and watched with half-lidded eyes as the liquids were swept away by water. He reached for Executor’s toned thigh, and buried his nose back to his pubes, before pulling back just slightly around the base. The hand around his hair hurt so much, but it was the kind of hurt that he could enjoy. It made him excited, and focused. It made him let go with abandon, and made him competitive too. It was a wonderful thing to know that someone like Executor, who had taken care of him so gently, last night, had the capacity to do this—face-fucking him so rough it made him cum.

When his pace stuttered, and Executor’s breath was so loud it echoed in the bathroom, Flamebringer kept his mouth on the root and braced for the bitterness of cum. When it did come, he gripped the meat of Executor’s thigh and sunk his nails in. He came a lot, flooding his already occupied mouth with bitter, musky hot liquid. He choked when he couldn’t swallow, finally letting his mouth be filled with cum without being able to do anything.

He coughed, the sound rough in his ears as Executor final pulled out from his mouth. The cum that had been trapped in his mouth flowed out from the sides of his lips. He swallowed what had been left inside, and let the rest drip down from his chin. He looked good like this, after all. He knew, Midnight had said so in several different occasions. Fucked out with red lips and cum dripping from his lips; eyes still not quite focused, voice rugged from the rough ministration. If he played his card right, Executor might be persuaded into staying a bit longer, and then they could finally do the deed; doing the vertical tango, fucking like stupid, hormonal teenagers until they were both spent.

Executor was still panting harshly, but when he looked down, he closed his eyes and had to reorganize his breath. Flamebringer smirked at his reaction, knowing how well this particular look worked nice and effective on people like Executor. The hand on his hair was no longer in a punishing grip; it just lay there to ground the both of them.

“I apologized,” Executor said a moment later, helping Flamebringer up to his feet. His legs were still a little bit unsteady from how long he was straining on them. “I got carried away and forgot to relieve you as well.”

“No problems, dude,” he replied, and winced at how rough his voice sounded. Gods, he sounded like every bit of his situation just now: completely fucked-out. “I already came, when I sucked you off.”

Executor paused, hands stilling on Flamebringer’s arms. But then, he was saying something in the same old language. This time, it sounded like a curse.

“Are you even aware how hard it is for people to keep their hands off of you if you were to say things like those?” the man asked then, pulling them both under the shower for a few seconds to rinse out their sweats and cum that was still left somewhere the water couldn’t reach.

“Yes, I am,” he answered when they went out of the stalls, and Executor patted him all over with his damp towel. “Good to know it works just fine on you.”

He didn’t get any more replies, but Executor did usher him out of the bathroom to change into fresh clothes. They had been standing under the shower for too long. The tips of their fingers were both pruned from the over-exposure to water. He changed into a comfortable shirt and a pair of shorts; he was planning to stay inside his room since he was free of schedule today. He watched as Executor changed into the clothes he wore last night, and whistled appreciatively at the back view.

“I’m sleepy now,” he announced, laying back on his bed and made himself comfortable before turning to Executor, who was standing a few feet away and was watching him with intent eyes. “What are you waiting for? Come here, dead fish.”

But Executor was already shaking his head. He stepped closer to put on his jacket and boots. “I have to miss out on the offer this time,” he told Flamebringer. “I am scheduled to travel to Siesta today.”

Flamebringer shrugged. Yeah, well, he couldn’t exactly persuade him out of missions. He would punch anyone who would interfere with his missions, so he didn’t try to make Executor extend his stay if he had good reasons. “Alright,” he nodded at the man. “Thanks for today—and last night.”

Unexpectedly, he was served to a soft smile that seemed to glow in the morning light. “It was my pleasure as well,” Executor replied.

“Wanna fool around again sometimes?” he asked, shameless. It wasn’t his fault that Executor just clicked right with him when it came to sexual compatibility. The man ticked so much of his kink boxes that it was a wonder how they didn’t get on earlier.

Executor straightened up from tying his boots, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Flamebringer’s leisure form. He bent forward, and kissed him the same way he kissed last night: firm, assured. Flamebringer sighed into his mouth, enjoying the slide of their lips and the sting when Executor bit at the same place he had broken skin beforehand.

“I would be very much obliged,” Executor said after he pulled back. “I will see you after I am finished with my mission, if you are available.”

He waved the man away with a lopsided smile. “Don’t die before you get your dick in me.”

-

When he met with Lappland in the evening at the dining hall, the girl was sporting a huge bruise on her jugular. “Training,” she answered with a grin.

He shrugged, and turned to take his food tray to an empty table with Lappland following behind him. As soon as they sat down, she leaned forward with a grin. “So, how’s the nutjob?”

His answering smirk was wide and entirely not PG. “It is a nut job,” he said, sharing a look with the Lupo in front of him, who started to cackle madly. “But you’re not getting any money from me.”

“What—why?” pouted Lappland.

“We only had sex in the morning, and he didn’t fuck me either. He’s going away on missions.”

“Shame,” she shook her head, biting into her apple. “He looks like he’s your type.”

He didn’t deny that. Executor was his type in appearance and kinks; not so much with his demeanor. He was still put off by the way he talked, and acted in general when they weren’t sucking faces. It didn’t matter anyway—his real life personality didn’t really matter as long as he could satisfy him in bed. Midnight was a prime example of that, being a crack head that Flamebringer had wanted to pulverize in daily basis just because his face was so—so annoying. And they had sex regularly, before Flamebringer started sleeping with Lappland, too.

“I’m going to dump both Midnight and you,” he said between the bites.

Lappland put a hand over her heart in a dramatic gesture. “He’s that good?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m ready to risk it all for his huge cock,” he replied easily.

She laughed, throwing her head back and clutching her stomach. It wasn’t even that funny, but Lappland comprehended words and their meanings differently from normal people. He was used to this, and she was used to his antics as well. This was what he meant when he said he only slept with people who understood his tendencies. This compatibility that transcended even into real life was something akin to camaraderie. Except for Executor, who could make his knees turned into jellies just from a simple shower sex, and still be someone that Flamebringer didn’t want to interact with in daily basis.

“You’re such a thirsty bitch, Enkaku,” she said with a certain kind of softness in her eyes.

“Takes one to know one,” he quipped.

She shrugged at that, making a face that he could read as eh it’s not wrong, and continued eating her dinner. He dug in, too, and pretended not to hear when Midnight called out to them. Outside of the bed, they were sort of—friends. He didn’t really understand how it could come to be, and why he had allowed it to happen, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Midnight was too much of a disgustingly annoying leech that refused to come off his skin no matter how hard he tugged. Of course, the man had expressed his dejection at his opinion, with great dramatic effects. He didn’t know why people like Midnight and Lappland flocked to him, even W—who was fully aware of his irk on dramatics—used that move on him too, sometimes, when she was particularly bored and wanted to get the rise out of him.

“I’ve called you, like, ten times,” Midnight complained as he sat close to him.

“He got a new boy toy,” Lappland said. “He’s dumping you.”

The man’s eyes widened. “So the rumors are true!”

Flamebringer turned to him with a flat face. “What rumors.”

“You should really stop that habit of making your questions into statements.” Midnight put down his tray and patted his cheek gently.

He slapped the wandering hand away. “I’m not asking. I’m demanding answers.”

“Exactly,” the man nodded to himself, unperturbed by Flamebringer’s reaction to him in general. “You shouldn’t just go around demanding everyone to answer for you. Be more polite! Like Executor, for example.”

Ah, so it was about that. He scoffed, and ignored Midnight again as he chewed on his chicken. Midnight squawked in indignation at being ignored. He let out a long-suffering sigh, and glanced at him briefly. “I got a new boy toy, I’m dumping you,” he repeated what Lappland had said, “now get the fuck out of my hair.”

“How callous, Enkaku!” Midnight wailed, hanging onto his shoulders as Flamebringer’s hand insistently pushed him away. “Not even a goodbye sex! I’m hurt!”

Lappland leered at them, and Flamebringer could sense an incoming headache when she opened her damned mouth. “I agree. We all should just have a threesome for the last time before Enkaku got carried away by his angel boy. I guess we could call it… a farewell fuck.”

Flamebringer rolled his eyes heavenwards so hard it actually hurt as Midnight and Lappland both immediately started to cackle. Loudly. He pretended that he didn’t feel the stares of the operators around them, wishing to all gods that he didn’t believe in that the ground would swallow him whole. These two lunatics were truly the bane of his existence, aside from W’s uncanny habit of ruffling his feathers and Executor’s perfect impersonation of a dead fish in social circumstances. It was almost funny how the four of them had slept with Flamebringer one way or another. Maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was him and his unconscious desire to be around people who could make his blood vessels explode—both in sex and real life.

“Oh?” a female voice suddenly joined in the fray. “You didn’t invite me to your farewell party? Shame, we could have had an orgy to welcome the new addition of the lunatics in your arsenal.”

He looked up and gave W a deadpan expression. Great. Now she was here too. He regretted so bad ever taking on Lappland’s stupid bet. Not the fucking with Executor part—that had been mind-blowing for such a short period of contact. But knowing that Lappland had been the one to suggest it, of course she wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it to Midnight and W.

“Oh, just fuck me,” he whispered despairingly in a low growl.

W tittered next to Lappland. “Oh, we could, darling boy. But I guess you prefer Executor doing that to you instead, now. Never pegged you to be the type to bone a dead fish.”

It was a testament to how much she knew him, and how alike the both of them were in some ways, that she could use the same expression of describing Executor. He gave them all a scathing look, and resolutely ate his dinner while the three of them speculated rather shamelessly about Executor’s repertoire in bed.

“Ah,” W sighed a few moments later. “I can’t believe I’m seeing the day where I have to give you away to such a proper man.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned. “I only fucked with the guy once; I’m not gonna marry him just because he has a nice cock.”

“Oh, darling, we fucked you beforehand. We knew what you like, what tick you off,” W gave him a suggestive look, small smile playing on her lips. “And this guy? He completely blew you away overnight.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “And that equals to me wanting to marry him?”

W considered that for a moment, nodding as he chewed slowly on her dinner. “You’re right,” she said, and he rolled his eyes. Of course he was right. But then, she grinned, slow and mischievous at him, twirling her spaghetti with a finesse of a serial killer waiting to stab his eyes with her fork. “Maybe he needs to fuck you a few times more before you’re convinced. You’re not that cheap, after all. Even if I’m sure he gave you the dowries in abundance.”

“Fuck you,” he spat out, and took the chicken from her tray.

She wrinkled her nose at that, calmly reaching over to Midnight’s tray and took whatever she wanted from there. “You’re so petty, Enkaku. It’s not pretty.”

“Pretty enough for Executor,” Midnight quipped, and squawked for the second time when Flamebringer reached over to actually bash his head on the table this time. “Hey! Save the violence for S/M play only!”

His fingers were trembling from sheer annoyance and unbidden urge to beat them all to death. He really needed to have new friends. This was the utmost urgent matter. That Questionable Blue Sankta seemed nice and sane, compared to these three lunatics. He wanted to discard them as soon as possible.

“Fuck you all,” he said viciously, pointing sharply at the three idiots’ faces. “Especially you, and you, and you in particular. Fuck you all so hard to Kazdel and back.”

He glared at them with all his might, flipping both of his middle fingers and the left the table with his tray and decided to sit with the Penguin Logistic bunch, who all looked surprised—and a little bit mystified at the dark look on his face. Apple Pie girl still looked awkward and embarrassed, but Questionable Blue just beckoned him over to sit next to her.

“That’s some lively, rowdy bunch you got there,” she said, glancing at the three lunatics whose laughter could be heard even from here.

“They’re not gonna live any longer once I’m finished,” he growled, shoveling W’s stolen chicken into his mouth.

The girl, whose name still eluded him, nodded and took a sip out of her coffee. She was done with dinner, faster than the rest of the table. “Please dispose the body properly; we don’t want to scare the new recruits with the corpses.”

Oh he liked this girl. “There won’t be any corpses,” he said with a grin, and grinned wider when that singing girl from the group squeaked at his words. She was only a little girl; it was understandable that she wouldn’t be as unaffected as Questionable Blue.

“Ooh, clean work. I like that.” she replied easily. “Want to have some drink with me someday this week?”

He grinned at her. “Sure,” he said. “I need a break from those three fuckface anyway.”

(He went to the bar with Questionable Blue on the weekend, and found out that her name was Mostima. She brazenly admitted that she was a fallen angel, and talked to him about the cities beyond the horizon. He told her about his plants, and they agreed to hang out again sometimes.)

(The three fuckface actually fucked him into oblivion in a messy foursome; each of them taking turn fucking him into the mattress, whispering dirty words about how pretty he looked—laid bare and open for them. How absolutely gorgeous he was when they fucked into him, how Executor was going to see the same thing when he finally had Flamebringer under him, wanton and moaning for more. When they were done with him, he was boneless and breathless from hours upon hours of being fucked. Sore, and satisfied as they caressed him gently to sleep.)

(He pulverized them all in training for the next few weeks.)

-

Executor came back a little after two weeks since his departure. There was an ambush on his way back, and he had to detour since the backup could not reach him in time. When Flamebringer went to see him in his room, he looked a little rugged and tired. He was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, shirtless and still a little bit damp from shower. He did give him a small smile when he saw Flamebringer outside of his door. “Operator Flamebringer,” he nodded at him.

He rolled his eyes, pushing past the man to get inside. “I’m not gonna let you anywhere near my ass if you keep insisting on calling me that.”

He did understand that it was a strange concept to Executor, being close and familiar to other people to the point of shedding formalities. But then again, he’d had his cock inside Flamebringer’s mouth two weeks ago; he didn’t think formalities would mean shit between the two of them. He said so to the man as he carelessly took off his boots and dropped down to Executor’s bed face first.

Their room wasn’t that different; no decorations, no small mementos, just the standard furnitures that Rhodes Island had given in the first place. The bed was a little bit different, though. It smelt like Executor—the sort of musk that he could smell in nearly all of males that he had encountered. But Executor’s was a little bit tapered, a little bit muted. He smelt clean, like a freshly washed clothes from the laundry, with the ever present musk. It wasn’t a bad smell at all, although it didn’t stand out. It reflected the man’s demeanor, he thought. Oh, he stood out, alright. With that face on his body, he would stand out no matter where he went. But he was mostly quiet around people, choosing to work around machines instead. If it weren’t for his striking look, and his honest-to-god blunt and overly formal speech pattern, he might as well be an involuntary wallflower.

He felt Executor’s warm hand slipping inside his shirt to rub his back in a slow, circular motion. He moaned softly into the pillow; Executor must have been tired, and yet here he was. Hogging his bed and having his back rubbed as he tempted to just fall asleep right then and there.

“Are you this gentle to everyone you fuck?” he asked after a few more minutes of enjoying the simple touch. He tilted his head to look at Executor, who was currently checking on his phone for something.

The man then put his phone away after confirming something, and turned his attention back to Flamebringer. “It is only right to treat people with courtesy, especially if we have favors to ask from them.”

He smiled; of course he would be polite as fuck to his hook-ups. “And what favor do you have to ask from me?”

Executor didn’t answer immediately, but his fingers slowly lifted Flamebringer’s shirt up. His hand roamed more freely after Flamebringer took it off completely, pressing on the divot of his scapula, spreading his palm over the curve of his spine. It was soft and sensual, but not enough to spark a fire of arousal. It was enjoyable nonetheless.

“I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said to him, with a small amount of threat. Because he would. He didn’t know what was it with Executor’s hand that seemed to be able to make him feel a certain kind of things. From burning arousal, to comfortable warmth. He should just keep this man for his hand instead of his cock. Although, that one would be nice too.

The hand moved to his shoulder then, pushing him a little bit to the side as Executor scooted closer on the bed. “I would like you to lie on your back, if you would please.”

He groaned a little bit, stretching his comfortable muscles, and did as he was asked. He was in a lethargic mood, but seeing the bare view of Executor’s upper body was enough to keep his mind alert. He got a nicely sculpted body, shaped from years of training and fighting. The muscles on his arms and shoulders were especially exquisite, what with him being a sniper that had to carry heavy guns everywhere. For someone who was shorter, and smaller, than Flamebringer, Executor possessed a certain kind of aura that made him look sturdy, dependable. Like his wide shoulders were enough to carry the burden of the world.

Tonight, though, they just had to carry the weight of Flamebringer’s demands and desires.

His pants were taken off, along with his briefs, leaving him bare and open. Naked from head to toe. Executor looked at him intently with those pale blue eyes, taking in the sight of Flamebringer—pliant and naked on his bed. He raked his eyes slowly over his disheveled hair, his half-lidded eyes, the slightly-parted lips, his prominent collarbones. He reached out to touch his neck, rubbing the warm skin there, and started to press ever so slightly.

Flamebringer’s eyes slipped close at the pressure of that big palm over his neck, mouth falling open as the pressure started to add up. Choking was more of W’s thing, but he was open to the experience as well. He felt the fingers squeezed lightly, before coming back to the faint pressure, and squeezing again every few seconds.

He rubbed his thighs together, starting to feel his skin flushing from the heat creeping sluggishly all over his body. His hand came up to hold onto Executor’s hand when the grasp he had tightened harder than the previous light squeeze. He threw his head back, baring his neck to the man, and couldn’t help the small gasps carried away from his throat as Executor’s fingers tightened; harder, and harder still.

But then, the pressure slowly eased up, before leaving his throat completely. He opened his eyes, and was treated to a serene smile on Executor’s calm face. He gave a coy smile back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so,” answered the man, before moving up the bed. “Spread your legs.”

Apparently, Executor’s idea of foreplay was to finger him for hours on end, until he was a sobbing mess on the sheets. It had started tame enough, with Executor kissing his neck and collarbones with lips that sucked and bit softly on the surface. A little sting, not enough to leave a mark. Down to his chest, fondling the firm muscles and licking around his areola, teething around the nub until Flamebringer grasped his shoulder in a harsh grip. He was sensitive there, and Executor seemed to be enjoying the fact that such a simple touch could reduce him into a trembling, moaning mess.

“Have you ever considered having a nipple piercing?” Executor suddenly asked between licks and bites on Flamebringer’s sore nipples.

He heaved a breath through his nose, trying to regain some semblance of coherency that he knew was never there in the first place. “N—no,” he gasped out, back arching of the bed when Executor pinched a nipple a tad too hard. “Too sensitive.”

The Sankta pulled back to look at him when he said, “Shall we try nipple clamps next time?”

Flamebringer laughed so suddenly that he was surprised by himself. Executor had said it so seriously, but the timing was a little too strange that he couldn’t help but be startled into a series of chuckles laced with disbelief. “We haven’t even fucked properly yet and you’re already whipping out the clamps? Truly the pinnacle of gentlemen,” he sneered with eyes full of mirth.

To his surprise, again, the corners of Executor’s eyes crinkled a little bit in humor. The man wasn’t as conservative as he seemed, and he might or might not be harboring the same type of humor that Flamebringer possessed. He leaned down then, kissing his lips softly before asking, “Should I fuck you today, then?”

It was sort of a novelty to hear such crude words coming out of Executor’s mouth, and Flamebringer was living for it. He grabbed one of the man’s hands, and guided it down to his cock, already hard and leaking from the constant stimulation on his nipples. “Yes,” he said.

Executor’s hand immediately went to work on his cock, enveloping the heated flesh with his palm and pumped it with firm movements of his wrist. “How good is your endurance?”

He furrowed his eyebrows at the odd question, but felt a jolt inside his belly at the peeking hunger in Executor’s eyes despite his passive face. His other hand went back to his nipples, and Flamebringer was forced into answering the question when a little tweak on his nub brought a zing of pleasure along his spine. “Good enough to last a few rounds,” he answered, talking from experience.

It was a very wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, he was cursing and clawing at Executor’s arms. His mouth was parted as he sighed out moans that seemed to be brought from the depth of his lungs, his skin flushed, his eyes closed in frustration as he felt Executor’s fingers twisted mercilessly on his prostate. He opened his eyes to glare weakly at the man, too aroused and too wrung out to muster anything stronger.

Executor had been fingering him for more than an hour now; alternating between slow, measured thrust of his fingers, to a quick pace that had left Flamebringer moaning and aching from the feeling of being played with by his hand. His face was calm, aside from the perspiration on his temples. His other hand moving up and down on Flamebringer’s cock. He groaned from the oversensitivity; he had come approximately two times now, from Executor’s fingers alone. He didn’t know what kind of steely self-control that the man possessed, but he was starting to be desperate and aching.

“Exe—Executor,” he stuttered out, pulling at his arm in vain as the man just kept on thrusting his fingers inside, spreading them to stretch him well and nice. But he had been stretched enough to accommodate his cock, no matter how thick it was. Those fingers were amazing inside of him, but he wanted something more. He needed something more. He gritted his teeth when a particularly well-aimed thrust sent him to the edge, spurting hot semen all over Executor’s hand.

While he lay there, panting and trying to regain his senses, Executor’s fingers had started to move again. He keened, pulling at his shoulder to kiss him messy and sloppy. “Fuck me already,” he growled into his mouth, licking into the corners and pushing Executor’s tongue into his own mouth when he tried to invade Flamebringer’s. “Just fuck me already, bastard.”

But Executor’s face was still as calm as ever, hands still on their steady pace to bring Flamebringer onto the edge of sanity from too many sensations on his body. “I am,” he said, “fucking you.”

Flamebringer’s mouth opened up in a sudden gasp when Executor’s finger quickened their pace, making the knot inside his stomach tightened because no matter how long he had been fingered, how many times he came, Executor was simply too good at this that he couldn’t help but feel the rise of pleasure all over his heated skin. It just felt too good, too much, too little. He glared at the man, nails sinking deep into his skin that he knew he broke some skin. “If you don’t get your stupid cock inside me right this second, I swear to god I’ll walk out of the door and fuck Midnight instead.”

Pale blue eyes narrowed slightly at his words, but his body betrayed nothing; still so steady, still so controlled. It frustrated him because he could see Executor’s erection through his sweatpants and it hurt him to know that it was within his reach, but unable to feel it on his skin. However, a few thrusts later, Executor straightened up and said, “Very well. How would you like to be taken?”

He let out a rush of air, fin-fucking-nally. “However you like, just—just fuck me already, damn you—ah—“

Executor shushed him with a soft kiss, pulling out his finger from Flamebringer’s hole and reached over to the nightstand for condoms. Flamebringer felt like he could cry from relief when Executor rolled the condom on his thick, heavy cock and slathered more lube on it even if Flamebringer was completely soaked already. So loose and ready to be fucked open.

When the blunt head pressed against his hole, Flamebringer brought up his hand to bit at the back of his palm, trying in futile to stifle the wanton gasp. His hand was removed a second later, however. Executor’s eyes bored into his as he pushed inside, both of his hands locking Flamebringer’s down to the sheets as he was unable to keep the loud, pathetically needy whimper that came unbidden from his throat after being teased for so long.

Despite already being fingered so well, so loose and soft inside, he still felt the stretch from Executor’s large girth inside of him. He threw his head back, unable to cope with the sensation of being filled by something so thick, so hot inside, pushing further than his finger could reach—than anyone had ever reached. By how far he was stretched, Executor didn’t even need to search for his soft spot, his heavy cock was already pressing hard on it just by being inside of Flamebringer. He had never thought that it was possible, before this.

When Executor bottomed out, it felt like the energy had been drained clean from his body, leaving his body shaking and pliant on the bed. His hair was plastered all over his forehead from how much he was sweating, his throat felt dry and sore already from moaning, and they hadn’t even started yet. He was almost afraid of what would be left of him after Executor was thoroughly done with his ministrations.

“Move,” he breathed out after being silent for a few moments, adjusting to Executor’s size. “You can move now.”

Executor nodded, and surged up to kiss him, pressing even further inside and drawing out groans from Flamebringer’s throat. He started slow; just short thrusts that made him clenched the sheets between his fingers from the sheer pressure of him inside. But it didn’t take long until Executor started to quicken the thrust of his hips, pulling out halfway before slamming inside with more force than before. His hand held onto the back of Flamebringer’s thighs as leverage, gradually picking up the pace until he was fucking into him with abandon.

Flamebringer looked at him with a smirk, he was flushed and sweating and he knew just how wrecked he looked. But he did get what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to be ashamed that he enjoyed it. He enjoyed this a lot; the pleasure that had bordered on too-much, the softness of Executor’s touch that juxtaposed with how rough he was fucking into him once he got the hang of the pace, the absolute weight of him inside, the way his eyes burned into him. They were probably the only indication of how much Executor just wished to let go of his control, because his face was betraying nothing at all.

He looked focused, concentrating on the movements of his hips, of his unforgiving tight grip on his firm thighs. But his eyes—they looked so wild, so hungry. He looked like he wanted to devour Flamebringer whole and crush his carcasses beneath his claws. He was very much on-board with that idea, so he started pushing back against Executor’s thrust and threw him a wink when his pace stuttered from the sudden heat, before resuming the hard pace he had set before.

“Do you like it?” he asked with breathless voice. Reaching forward to hold onto Executor’s shoulder, groping and fondling his chest with the other hand. When he pinched his nipple, as hard as he had played with Flamebringer at the start, he thrust inside so hard that Flamebringer’s mouth parted in a loud, long scream.

With a low groan, he pulled the man down so he could feel the full weight of Executor on top of him. The weight knocked the breath out of him. Not because he couldn’t handle it—he was strong enough to lift Executor, he thought—but it was just the feeling of being pressed down, of bare skin touching against skin, of how warm and harsh and calm and intense Executor was when it came to pleasures.

“Harder,” he demanded, lifting his legs and hooking them on Executor’s back, pressing against the divot of his spine as if to press him closer still inside. “Fuck me harder,” he repeated, clearer than before; amber eyes lit in carnal desires as he mouthed along the length of Executor’s neck.

He heard the old language uttered from Executor’s mouth like a litany of curses, of praises and prayers. He couldn’t tell, but it made his cock jump on his stomach nonetheless. He put his hands on the sides of Flamebringer’s head and gave him what he wanted, biting his neck hard when Flamebringer was moaning shamelessly, deep voice going higher and higher the harder Executor fucked into him.

Executor’s body wasn’t safe from his wandering hands and lips; nail marks that drew blood on his back, the bruises that had started to purple on his neck and shoulders. Flamebringer kissed into him like he was a parched man in the middle of the dessert, and Executor was the only one who could save him. “Feel so good—ah—feel so good,” he stuttered as his body was moved from the thrusts. “Touch me,” he said when he felt the knot in his belly becoming tighter and tighter as his release was mounting. “Come on, touch me.”

It didn’t take long for him to come from Executor’s rough hand on his cock, spurts of semi-clear semen sticking to their skin. He had come four times today, and Executor looked like he wasn’t even close to finish. So Flamebringer took a deep breath, loosened his body, and hung on to the man’s shoulders. He grinned, wicked and still so cocky even after he was fucked boneless. Lappland was right; this man could fuck the Oripathy out of him. He chuckled against Executor’s lips, and whispered, “Fuck me good, Mr. Sankta.”

Executor took on to that challenge with sharp eyes and steady, ruthless rhythm. Flamebringer could only hang on for dear life as the man took what he needed from his body, marking him every which way he went and pushing into him so hard he saw stars behind his eyelids. He didn’t know if the walls of Rhodes’ nomadic city was soundproofed enough, but he couldn’t really stop the loud moans and groans from his lips, couldn’t stop to think that he shouldn’t be this shameless. Well—people probably would turn to be this shameless if they had Executor’s cock fucking the life out of them.

When Executor groaned low in his ears, face flushed and getting a little bit desperate, Flamebringer kissed him and tightened as much as he could. He came with Flamebringer’s tongue on his mouth, his hands pulled at the white strands so hard he was sure the man could feel the pain pulsing on his scalp. He clenched his teeth, hips unconsciously moving when he felt Executor’s cock pulsing inside as he came so much into the condom.

When he was done, he leaned his entire weight on Flamebringer—who chuckled at him when he snuffled close to his neck, still trembling from the aftermath of his orgasm. It was—weird. To see that Executor could be this soft and endearing after the whole show of dominance. He didn’t even mind when Executor unexpectedly bit hard on his shoulder, drawing a hoarse moan out of Flamebringer’s mouth when he didn’t relent and bit through the skin. He gasped, eyes shutting close as the pain on his shoulder bloomed like a tendril all over his veins.

He tugged harshly on Executor’s hair, wanting very much to slap the guileless expression on Executor’s face even as his blood still dripped from the corner of his mouth. “What the fuck is it with you and biting me bloody?” he complained, even if he did enjoy the intense pain, simply because it was within the sexual act. Besides, it thrilled him to know that Executor did have a biting kink, possibly blood play as well because this isn’t the first time he bit Flamebringer bloody.

“I like it,” he simply said, like he didn’t just leave a deep indent of his teeth all over Flamebringer’s body.

Flamebringer looked at him like he did two weeks ago, like Executor was a new species he had never seen before. He lifted his eyebrows, and stared some more. Executor, the android motherfucker, just stared back at him until he shrugged and said, “Well—it’s not like I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Executor said. “You seem to like it when I inflict pain upon you in sexual acts.”

He ignored the way Executor expressed his words, and chose to smile at the observation. “You catch on fast,” he said. “Good job. Now get your shitty dick out of my ass, I need to shower.”

The shorter man obliged, pulling out slowly and rubbing the skin of Flamebringer’s thigh when he hissed as he did so. Only now that they were done, that Flamebringer finally felt the fatigue catching up on him. His whole body hurt. He skin was still too sensitive, his hole clenched around nothing as the memory of Executor’s fingers moving inside played over and over again in his mind. That was probably the longest foreplay he had ever done, simply taking his fingers for almost two hours. He chuckled, staring into the ceiling of the room.

Who would’ve thought that Executor could push his buttons to this point, and still left him wanting more by the end of it?

Although he wasn’t planning on marrying Executor, or even be in close vicinity with him for reasons other than fucking, W was right about one thing: Executor had definitely, absolutely blown him away overnight.

He went to the bathroom and took a shower with legs that were still shaky. It was his turn to use Executor’s toothbrush and towel, and requesting/demanding to be lent soft shirt and pants because his skin was too sensitive for his skintight sleeveless shirt and leather pants.

Just like that night, Executor settled next to him and rubbed his back gently until he felt sleepy enough to let his guard down and said, “That was amazing. No one ever fucked me like you did.”

He felt the smile on his temple as Executor pressed a soft kiss there. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” he asked back.

“Yes.” Executor then patted his ass softly when Flamebringer hooked his leg over to rest on his hip. Yeah, he was the clingy sort after an intense sex. Most of his partners were surprised by that. Midnight was, before he rolled with the punches and doted on him. Lappland and W sort of expected that from him. It didn’t always happen, but when it did, they readily welcome him into their arms. Executor was another exception it seemed, as he just went with whatever Flamebringer threw at him, and gave back as much.

“Good,” he yawned. “Because I’d like to do it again with you. If you’re up for it.”

He didn’t expect a rejection, because he knew what kind of charm he had over people if he actually tried to charm their pants off of them. And he had seen how Executor treated him—which probably created such confusions on his previous bed partners because he was just so tender, caring to the point of too much for a title of “fuck-buddies”. But Flamebringer didn’t mind the attention, and the intense focus that Executor seemed to give to his partners. Even if they were there just for sex.

Still, it was nice to hear the man said, “I would like to as well, thank you.”

He smiled sleepily, patting Executor’s neck and closing his eyes. “Good, now let me sleep.”

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Executor’s hand rubbing his back, his lips on his hair, the whispers of Executor’s old language in his ears, and the bone-deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him like a blanket.

-

They were swept in whirlwind of missions after that night. Executor had held him close in his sleep, and let Flamebringer kept his clothes when he got back to his room, holding the clothes that the man had meticulously folded in a bundle as he walked the most fantastic walk of shame, ever. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Lappland sleeping in his bed as he entered his quarter. The three fuckface—he had taken to call them that in his mind after the whole fiasco in the dining hall, and it had stuck on him ever since—knew his passcodes, as Executor did too, now. Sometimes they’d just sleep there, for reasons he never asked because some things were too private to share, even if he could guess why.

She sighed when he lay down next to her, snuggling close to his chest and looked up with her nose twitching. “You smell like him,” she said, but it wasn’t an accusation. It was just a simple fact.

“He fucked me for hours on end last night,” he stated the obvious. “And these are his clothes.”

She nodded, and closed her eyes again. “It’s weird,” she said into the silence of his room. “I’m so used to smelling only the three of us on you. Now another one is there.”

“Better get used to it,” he said, and sighed into her hair as she reached up to rub on the strands of his hair. He found out that she had a habit of doing that when she was distressed. He let her be.

“You’re really going to dump us, aren’t you?” she laughed. “You like him?”

He thought about it for a while. The chemistry between them when it came to sex was off the chart, but he only ever slept with the guy twice, and had never talked to him prior to that. It was still a wonder that Executor had been so open to his drunken advances on that night. But then again, after they slept together, he could gather that Executor was more open to experiences, and was more adventurous than he looked. It was just the way he held himself, with an air of coldness and aloofness that made people reluctant to get close, he realized.

Personally, he didn’t do well with people like Executor. He was far too stuffy and rigid to ever get into the circle that Flamebringer had chosen to be in. He didn’t like the way he spoke, and the way he handled things sometimes, but then again, the man was just brought up like that—the same way everyone had their own quirks that accumulated with time to make themselves them.

But, he was also far too gentle to his one-night stands and understanding as well as polite to a fault when he handled Flamebringer. Even if he could turn into an entirely different person while he fucked, he could see where the lines of Executor’s juxtaposing behavior merged and blurred together to make himself Executor. It wasn’t even that he was a different person, as much as it was only a part of him that people couldn’t see in certain lights.

“I like sleeping with him,” he allowed, because as much as he welcomed the brand new thrill of having Executor in his sex life, he didn’t know two shits about him. And so did Executor about Flamebringer. “I don’t know about the rest.”

She hummed, nodding lightly against his chest. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t say anything after that, and he was content to let her sleep. He had to go at twelve to the greenhouse. He promised Lena that he would help her with the new batch of aconites. Tomorrow, he was going to Ursus with the A6 Team for a retrieving mission. The situation in Ursus was still too dangerous, so they sent him along with two other medics.

For now, though, he could just close his eyes and catch a little bit more sleep; lying close to Lappland and the ever present scent of tragedy and longing that seemed to surround her all the time.

-

The next time Executor fucked him, it was the night before he had to go on a mission. He fucked him slow that night, avoiding over-taxing his body. Flamebringer had sucked him off twice in-between the hours of them tousling around the bed. This time, when they were done and Executor’s eyes were closing in sleep, Flamebringer took the time to look at each detail of his face, to file away for later.

His lashes were long, longer than Flamebringer’s. Almost as long as W’s, as they shadowed over his high cheekbones. In general, Executor was blessed with an attractive look, with an absolutely envy-inducing bone structure. His face was small, made delicate with his white strands of hair. But his jaw was firm and shaped almost too perfect to be real. He looked like every inch an angel he was, especially when he slept like this—calm and undisturbed, face serene and lack.

When he woke up, though, he looked intimidating. It was probably the way his cold, blue eyes just swept over everything with zero apathy in them. It might also be the way he kept himself so blank, and Flamebringer could understand that some people might be unsettled by the lack of social cues that Executor gave. He was a blank page that not everyone could read. Sure, he could read him in bed, but that was probably because they had respective preferences in sex that just happened to fit each other.

He wondered, if he gave this man a chance, could they actually form some kind of friendship, with the way they were so different from each other? He frankly couldn’t say for sure, and it was hard to simulate any scenario in his head. Simply because he had never seen Executor being friendly to people around him. He wasn’t hostile either, but he was just unfit to engage in most of social circumstances. His flat reactions and stiff words were enough to unnerve people.

People gave Flamebringer a wide berth because he was a Sarkaz, and one that was close to Doctor. He was an exotic attraction that everyone was too afraid to touch, but they liked looking at him. Just to see if they could figure him out just by staring. They were afraid, too. His reputation was known by people who had lived long enough to taste blood on their tongue every single day, but there were people who had seen him in battles, and didn’t like what they saw. The blood thirst, the complete disregard of his life and other people’s life, the complete apathy he had shown to things he wasn’t interested in.

They were perplexed, too, by how brazen and condescending he could be. Like they had suspected that he was a colossal jerk beforehand, but was still surprised when it turned out to be true. It was the plants, probably. They had seen him as something bad—some of them, at least—simply because he was Sarkaz, because he came from Kazdel. But they wanted to see something good in him when they found out how gentle he could be with his plants, and was once again confused when they couldn’t see any speck of kindness that they wanted to see.

He had none. He was a jerk, and he accepted that. He accepted the consequences of his behavior and reputation, and he didn’t exactly have the time to please all those people. He didn’t want to, ever.

But Executor, on the other hand, people gave him a wide berth because they were intrigued. He had heard the way female operators whispered in glee as they talked about “that handsome engineer”, and how they had given up on him when they realized that he didn’t even realize that they were flirting with him. They liked him because they liked the idea of him. An angel in white, with face that could have been sculpted by God himself, and the way that he had been associated with good even without him knowing about it.

He was an angel with a gun, just the way that Apple Pie girl was. That one Sankta kid with a crossbow, and even Mostima, even if she had fallen. They only called her fallen because they had equaled Sanktas with goodness, with inherent grace and kindness. And so far, their opinion was strengthened by the way Apple Pie and Crossbow Sankta had been so kind and cheerful to people around them. People were unsure about Mostima because she still held himself so well, kind and friendly—if a bit distant—even if she was a fallen angel. They wanted to see her as something tarnished, something bad and disgraceful. She was all of that and more, but she could also be as good as a Sankta still.

It was unfair, of course, the way people associate a person based on their stereotypes. But people like him, like Mostima, was so used to this treatment that he didn’t think twice about it anymore. There was also someone like Executor, who was both shunned and loved in equal measure because he was an enigma to people around him. The motherfucker was probably aware of it, but he didn’t seem to understand the gravity of sentiment that people felt. So he just ignored it, most probably. He could hear inside his head, Executor saying, “It is not crucial to the mission”.

He smiled sardonically at the sleeping Sankta. Yeah, they could relate on that one thing, at least. Maybe he could try, he thought. See if he could befriend this dead fish. Mostima would know a thing or two about him, and Flamebringer could probably lessen the degree of Executor’s machine-like behavior when he dealt with people.

So the next morning when they woke up, tangled in Executor’s bed, he asked, “Want to get breakfast with me?”

-

He started bringing Executor more often with him every time they slept together. Dinner, lunch or breakfast, or just hanging around the bar. He didn’t drink, granted, but it was still fun seeing him awkwardly holding the glass of liquor as Flamebringer tried to rope him into conversations. If he failed to do that, well, he could just distract Executor with his mouth. The guy seemed to like listening to him talk, probably because he didn’t have much thing to say, either.

The first time he had shown up at the dining hall with Executor in tow, sporting obvious bruises on their necks and arms, the three fuckface had looked absolutely gleeful. Like Christmas had come early, and they were enjoying the best present of them all. He had tried his best to sit on a separated table with Executor, but being the insufferable son of bitches that they were, had followed right to their table and asked Executor a thousand of embarrassing questions that he calmly answered as he ate his pancake.

“What do you think? He’s very pretty right?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Very good with his mouth, too.”

“He is.”

“You should try dressing him up in lingerie, he’d be absolutely stunning.”

“I will consider the suggestion for later use, thank you.”

And so on, with the ever increasing private questions, while they acted like he wasn’t in hearing range, plastered next to Executor, who was still patiently explaining the difference between executors on Notarial Hall with the normal operators from Laterano. He very much wanted to drag them all to the training room and break their bones, but Midnight’s foot brushed against his under the table, and stayed there as the man himself didn’t even looked fazed and continued with his rapid-fire questions about Executor’s previous sleeping partners. He sighed and cursed them inside his head, but refrained from stopping them from… whatever interrogation they were having with Executor.

They had varied from one person to another—his partners—Executor said. He didn’t disclose their identity, and Flamebringer was pretty sure the fuckface didn’t really care either. They just wanted to know how someone like Executor could be well-versed in sex to the point that Flamebringer was so taken to him. To his horror, he realized it was almost like they were questioning him to see whether he was “worth it” to be with Flamebringer or not. Which was frankly wrong and disturbing because Executor and he were just fuck-buddies.

He honestly didn’t know why they made such a fuss over this. It wasn’t like he liked the guy or something.

“I am just like other people,” Executor said. “I have the same urges and feelings. I think it is only a matter of upbringing and natural characteristics that differentiate us. People often mistaken Sanktas with angels, but we are not. We can bleed too, we can live and love, we can be bad and displeasing.”

Flamebringer put down his coffee to look at him as Executor carefully arranged his eating utensils on top of his plate, before pushing them aside. “I think,” he added a few moments later. “People forgot that, and Sanktas are too proud to admit that it is true. That we are not angels. We are simply a race with wings and halos, we are not untainted. We are not inherently holy.”

He… didn’t expect him to say that. He knew that by heart, he knew that every single person in this table knew what he was talking about. But to hear him talked about it so openly, with such calmness and serene face while he explained it, it had felt so different than how messy and full of accusations it had been inside Flamebringer’s head.

W was the first to break the silence. She nodded sharply at Executor, eyes no longer full of mirth. She looked calculating, but not condescending. She looked thoughtful. “Wonderfully worded,” she commented. “You’re not half bad.”

“Thank you,” Executor said, and Flamebringer watched as something unfurled between the two of them. Like they were engaging in a silent conversation on their own. W had that effect on people. Her presence could be very encompassing, domineering in her enigma. She made people feel like she was assessing them and that they had to abide by what she amount them to be. Executor didn’t seem to have difficulties holding himself against W’s intense gaze. He’d be fine, Flamebringer assured himself, not knowing why he was worried in the first place.

After that one encounter, they didn’t bombard him with numerous questions like the first day, but they did try to include him in conversations. Trying to make Executor participate in a back-and-forth banter was like pulling teeth. The most jarring thing about him was that he only spoke whenever he was addressed, and wouldn’t ask any question back to anyone. It was akin to talking to an answering wall. Flamebringer was right about one thing, at least. He was horrible in things like this. God was indeed fair, huh.

In a way, Mostima had said on their drinking session, Executor understood the social cues and people in general. He had feelings, just like the rest of them, and he wasn’t dumb. He was far from being dumb, even if they were talking about social interactions. But what he couldn’t comprehend was the way people attributed their sentiments to a certain behavior or cues. He just simply didn’t work on the same framework when it came to that. He worked in a more plausible, logical way—which wasn’t something that could be done when dealing with fickle feelings. They simply weren’t rational, as all feelings were.

Executor, in his framework, could perceive and understood people from observation, which was just part of being someone who partook in war. You were aware of people, what people thought, what they might hate and like about you. Even the slightest tilt of behavior could affect your well-being in a war. The more you learned about people, the more you knew how rotten they could be. But they could be better, too. And the gap of rationality between the two spectrums of a person’s intention and behavior was what executors were.

Executor could possibly be like that since he was born, and brought up in strict teachings of Sanktas. But the moment he pledged to be an executor, he took in the role of that rational gap in people’s spectrums. They worked under the law that disregarded even the oldest law of Sankta, it was only to be expected that they were wired differently than other people. To expect Executor to be like an average people was like hoping to tame Catastrophe. It was simply could not be done. But to expect that Executor was above everything else and be a complete merciless judge of God’s will all the time was also not a fair thing to do.

He pledged, and he had agreed to live his life as an executor, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t allowed to have his own private life. Executor wasn’t a real angel, much less the angels from Old Testaments, with their absolute devotion and unblinking efficiency in carrying God’s judgment. He could bleed and die. “It wouldn’t hurt to try to treat him like you would treat everyone else in this ship,” Mostima said.

Everyone had a reason to be in Rhodes Island, with their own backgrounds, traumas and stories. Executor, too, had those. He had the right to be treated in the same manner, too.

“Hey,” he said one day, his head lying on Executor’s chest as the man played with his hair. After Lappland had made a comment about how soft his hair was after she bought him a conditioner, Executor had taken to play with it when they were just lying around like this after sex.

“Hmm?” Executor replied, not really looking at Flamebringer, who was looking at him from his chin. He was still unfairly good looking from that angle.

“You can try to reply to conversations without having to be asked, you know,” he said, reaching to trace his long finger on Executor’s perfectly sculpted jaw. “Just offer your opinion. It’s okay. It’s part of the give and take in interactions like that. You can ask, too.”

He heard the steady thrum of Executor’s heart in his ears; the vibration of his voice when Executor spoke again.

“I will try to apply it in practice,” he said, but promised nothing.

Flamebringer didn’t mind. He could always remind him, after all. “It’s okay to insult someone when it’s only in banters, too. You’ve seen us do that, it’s okay. If that’s not up to your alley, then teasing is fine. Show some humor, at least. People feel at ease when they could detect a certain cue of comedy. Of course, not all people share our kind of humor, but it is okay to show it, sometimes.”

Executor looked at him then. He didn’t know where those pale blue eyes landed on the vicinity of his squished face, but then he was cupping his face softly, and was kissing him like he wanted to say words Flamebringer didn’t understand right into his lungs. “I will try,” he said afterwards.

“And start using contractions in your sentences, too.”

“I will draw the line right there,” Executor then said with a flat face.

Flamebringer gaped, then laughed, hiding his face on Executor’s neck. “See? I knew we had the same type of humor. It’s just harder to unearth yours.”

When Executor’s lip quirk into something that might or might not be a smirk, Flamebringer thought back to that night when he decided to try to befriend him. He didn’t know, back then, whether it would work or not. Whether it would be worth it or not. But here, as he pushed up a little to kiss the underside of Executor’s jaw, he thought that W was right, once again.

He was not half bad.

-

Their progress was slow, but it wasn’t in vain. Executor still talked like a damn android with overly handsome face, but Flamebringer was too used about that part of him to complain about it anymore. Just over a year ago, he said to himself that he didn’t want to interact with the man in daily basis because he was a stuck-up motherfucker who was too stiff for his taste. But then, here he was, didn’t even blink at Executor’s overly formal speech of pattern, and was endeared instead when he started doing his dead fish impression.

“Do you like him now?” Lappland had asked, curled around his back and nosing the base of his hairline with a cold nose. Texas had been injured in a mission, he heard. And because she knew she wouldn’t be welcomed in the infirmary, she went back to his room to sleep there.

He held her hand on his waist, considering. “He’s not as bad as I thought,” he said instead.

“It’s okay,” she said, and it broke his heart a little to hear how soft her voice was when she said, “maybe we will have enough time to figure it out.”

He was reminded of the curse in his veins, in hers. They couldn’t run from it, not when God had abandoned them and condemned them in life and death. Both Lappland and he didn’t have anyone aside from W and Midnight. All four of them shared the same fate, after all. Everyone except for Midnight had refused treatment. The infection was spreading fast, and they had no interest in prolonging death when they knew that they had no hope. It was better to accept it head on like this.

He didn’t say anything when Lappland’s arms tightened around him, and grasped her fingers in his. He might not have enough time, by the rate of his infection. But he wasn’t afraid, he had nothing to lose. They cared for him, Midnight even more so with the way he had given himself entirely to all of them, but they understood. He didn’t fear death. But sometimes—when W took him out for a smoke, when Midnight held him in silence, when Lappland let her guard down and let him see her broken pieces—he felt his heart ache a little inside a rotten, broken body.

-

Sometimes, he slept at Executor’s quarter, for the sole purpose of sleeping. He had been given the entry code after they had fooled around for half a year. So sometimes, he would just walk past Executor’s quarter, and went inside to sleep because his quarter was too far away. He usually slept there too after he worked around the greenhouse, since it was closer. Executor didn’t say anything about that, and would just go about his business while Flamebringer slept on his bed. He would join him afterwards, smelling damp and clean, holding Flamebringer close in his sleep.

He liked oranges, Flamebringer found out. He couldn’t stand spicy foods, but he could handle hot food like a champ. Somehow, people believed that Executor was a vegan. He had laughed at that because one of Executor’s favored meal was meat. He guessed it was because of his face and behavior.

He had this little tick of rubbing his thumb on his forefinger when he was irked or annoyed. It was subtle, and almost always hidden from people’s eyes. But Flamebringer had spotted it pretty easily because he was usually with Executor whenever neither of them was on any mission. He still hung out with the people from the greenhouse whenever he had worked there, and went to the bar regularly with Mostima whenever they had free time and Mostima wasn’t away on the latter half of the world. And despite his earlier statement of dumping the fuckfaces, he found that he actually hung out around them even more than before.

He was sure that they were bad influences for Executor, but he took it in strides. Executor, too, had been with them long enough that he didn’t need to wait for Flamebringer to join them on the dining hall if he happened to be there. They didn’t express it to him, but Flamebringer could see that they were getting comfortable around the Sankta, as well. Lappland was the first to discover Executor’s unusual sense of humor, and had been milking it dry for all it was worth.

Executor knew how to make the coffee that Flamebringer liked, and didn’t say anything when he said he liked chocolate cakes but hated sweet things. He bought him chocolate cakes then, whenever they were docked on a city. He knew how Flamebringer liked his toasts, and that he liked to wear Executor’s clothes because they were soft on his skin and his own clothes because he knew he looked good in them.

He gave Flamebringer custom-made heels, once, and proceeded to fuck him after he pranced around in his room for Executor. He had to admit, his legs looked amazing in the tosca heels. Executor had liked it, too.

Sometimes, when he was listening to Flamebringer talked about his job in the greenhouse—which most of the time would be more interesting than the normal missions he was sent into—he would ask. What sort of flowers he liked, what plants he had grown, did he like trees, which plant he enjoyed growing the most—trivial things that mattered a lot to Flamebringer.

In turn, he offered a piece of information about himself. He liked books, reading and collecting them. Even if it was easier to read digitally, but there was just a certain sensation of owning, touching, and flipping the paper of the books by his own hands, that had attracted Executor. He liked non-fictions, history books to be exact. But he could appreciate all sorts of books.

“There are also books that are trash,” he had said, flushed and wanton.

Executor thought for a moment, before thrusting back inside, holding both of Flamebringer’s hands above his head. “True,” he said, and started working his hips.

It was just the little things that he noticed, that made him realized just how far both of them had progressed from mere one-night stands to a sort-of-friends. Executor knew how his body moved, in and out of bed, knew how to work around him and slotted perfectly next to him like a mismatched puzzle that somehow worked together just fine.

Executor brought him seeds whenever he was back from his missions. He would bring some when he had to go back to Laterano, too. And Flamebringer bought him books whenever he had time to go to the market after his missions. It was sort of nice, having something and someone to come back to after going away for so long. He never had to move from his seat when they were in dining halls because Executor would be ready with a tray full of food that he knew Flamebringer liked, and Flamebringer would peel his oranges for him just because he wanted to.

W had cooed at them, pretty face smug and insufferable as she said, “You two are so disgustingly oblivious. It’s adorable, really,” which didn’t really make sense to him whatsoever.

“What’s she saying?” he would ask Executor, because it seemed like W and Executor had this special way of communicating between them that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Executor would let him took a slice of his meat from his tray and shrugged his shoulders. “I do not understand, either.”

“He really blew you away, huh,” W said, much later on, puffing out smoke from her lips as she leaned against the metal wall.

Flamebringer heaved the nicotine deep into his lungs, looking up at the blue sky as he exhaled, feeling the rumble of the moving city. After a long time contemplating, he finally settled with, “In more ways than one.”

She sat next to him then, caressing the side of his face gently and turning his face to look at her properly. “There are ways you haven’t realized, too,” she told him. “Not yet, at least.”

He leaned in to kiss her, because it felt right at that moment, and because W had always known him like an open book. She had this way of kissing that kind of drove him crazy each time. The smart flick of her tongue, the push and pull of her lips—going from gentle, light touches, to completely ravishing all at once, before settling back on the slow pace again. W handled sex and touches like she would handle her battles, brutal and efficient, and it had always left him breathless and aching.

But there were times like this, when she was witty instead of mocking; just a tad too rough in the way he liked; careful and considerate with her touches. She could be gentle, in her own ways. But it was so far in-between, because she liked being the dominant one in bed. That was why, when she had kissed him so gently like that, he pulled back to look at her red eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, and turned back to her cigarette. “Nothing,” she said, “I’m just feeling wistful. And happy, for you. Sort of.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant, but he let it go. W would tell him when she felt like he was being stupid for too long. So he just quipped with, “Only sort of?”

“Know your place, peasant,” she answered easily, and let the comfortable silence settle between them.

-

It was a long standing agreement that they didn’t talk about feelings, right at the time when they actually needed it. The four of them had gone through a lot in their lives. Even Midnight, who was known as someone who was flagrantly optimistic, had his fair share of bitters and pains. Being a host was not exactly a walk in the park. Flamebringer wouldn’t admit it even if the was threatened with torture, but Midnight had long since mastered how to walk the thin line between political and sincerity. He was unbelievably earnest, and yet understood the workings of people around him; how to appease them, how to appear non-threatening so people would lower their guard around him, but kept tab on everything so he could use it for his advantage in his job as a host.

W and him… they were probably the most constipated of them all. They all kept secret, they all kept their true feelings within an inch of their lives. But Midnight and Lappland had always been shameless in expressing who they were, what they were like. W and he were still something of an enigma to the rest of Rhodes Island, simply because they dispensed their feelings like a treasure—hard to acquire, and there was never a guarantee that it would be a good thing.

It took time to understand how they thought and acted, how they reacted; how they skittered around the edges of keeping the lid tight and showing just enough to know that there was an unspoken trust between the four of them. It took time to learn their stories and the way they were shaped from their experiences and traumas.

But ultimately, they didn’t talk about their feelings, even when it was the time they needed to.

Lappland never talked about how he now smelt like Executor all the time, and has taken to like the way Executor’s and Flamebringer’s scent fused together. She said, “You smell like you’re happy. Or not as bitchy about life, at least.”

He thought there must have been something that he missed, but didn’t think too much about it anymore.

When Midnight came to his room at two in the morning, and held him close without words, he allowed it. Lappland had come earlier, too. And now, he was sandwiched between the two; holding Lappland to his chest, and feeling Midnight’s heartbeat against his back. Lappland, at a certain point, could smell how people felt, because feelings were just secretion of biochemical. She knew the smell of restlessness and anxiety even before her brain caught up with it. Midnight was Flamebringer’s first longstanding fuck-buddy. He knew, more or less, about him. It was by that experience alone that he understood what the man was feeling.

They slept like that, piled on his bed. It was a tight fit, because it should have housed only one person, but they worked around it just fine. In the morning, Midnight kissed him awake, and left with a tired smile on his lips. Lappland stayed a bit longer, kissing his neck softly and Flamebringer was reminded that despite having bonds with all of them, there was just something between Lappland and he that fit together so well, unexpectedly.

“He’s good for you,” she said, and he knew which he she was talking about immediately.

“Because he’s not a bunch of pricks like you all,” he deflected.

She laughed, hoarse and truthful. “You’re more honest, and even if we’ve seen more than what other people have of you, you’re far more relaxed around him than what I’ve seen in years.”

It… pricked something inside of him. A certain dormant feeling that he didn’t want to examine too close, in fear of what the world might do if it caught the whiff it.

“I think he understands,” she said, after looking at the emotions hidden behind his eyes. “We’re bound to die anyway. In wars, there is no winner. We all lose something by the end of it.”

She kissed him, soft and so uncharacteristic of her. She usually kissed him fevered passion and sharp teeth. But she touched him tenderly that morning, like she was trying to hold his broken pieces in her bloody hands. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and to Flamebringer, it sounded like she wanted to cry. “Don’t let things that you cherish slip between your fingers, just because you’re afraid. He understands; I think at this point, he already knew you as well as we do. So—“ she took a deep breath, and kissed him again. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t regret, Enkaku.”

He loved her, he thought. It didn’t matter what kind of affection that he felt, because at that moment, he loved her. She did, too. In her own ways, with the way she comprehended feelings. They were all a little too jaded, a little too broken to love properly. But they gave little trickles of it still, just enough to show that they kept a little piece of each other in their mind.

When she kissed him for the last time before she left, he could taste the tears. The regret of what had transpired between Texas and her, the long broken hope. He held her tight, and let her frail back retreated into the hallways.

-

He thought, it was almost like they were letting go. The talk between W and him; the honesty of Lappland’s words. It was novel, and though it was unusual, it wasn’t a bad thing. Midnight didn’t approach him until they were sent together on a mission. He offered Flamebringer a pack of cigarette as they waited for the transporter to arrive. They were in a jungle just on the outskirts of Victoria, resting after their mission.

Midnight didn’t smoke, he knew. But he kept cigarettes on his coat pocket just for Flamebringer. He paid attention to the smallest things, and kept it with him for a long, long time. He was meticulous for someone so carefree. Flamebringer took it with a nod, and lighted up the cigarettes, standing a bit far from the rest of the team. Midnight looked at the resting form of his team for a moment, before turning back to Flamebringer.

“I think W and Lappland have covered the base,” he said. “I don’t have many things left to say.”

Flamebringer looked at him, then. “Why are you all acting like you’re giving me away? You don’t really think that I’m gonna marry him, do you?”

Midnight grinned, so effortlessly charming that Flamebringer kind of wanted to punch his pretty face. “You could, though.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. The base told them that a transporter would be arriving in approximately half an hour. That Popukar kid was sleeping soundly on the Blue Lady’s lap. He remembered her name simply because the kid was an absolute chaos. She’s earnest, and terrifying in battles. He understood why Kal’tsit would be upset that a kid should fight their battles, but they didn’t have much choice. That much of raw power would be a waste if it wasn’t put to a good use. She seemed to suffer a symptom of split-personality disorder, another effect of her Oripathy. It saved her the trauma of killing people on her young age, but it would catch up on her soon. He just hoped that whenever it was, both Kal’tsit and Doctor had prepared her well.

“I like you,” Midnight suddenly said, and Flamebringer’s cigarette almost fell from his lips.

While it wasn’t exactly a secret that they slept together—to the people who paid attention, at least—but they never talked about it so blatantly in the open like this. He didn’t mind, but it was just… new.

“My Oripathy is worse than yours,” he said, “why are you the one talking like you’re gonna die first?”

Midnight gave him a faux-pout and tsked incessantly, “You’re so callous! My delicate feelings were hurt terribly.”

“Die in a fire.”

The shorter man laughed, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. They were too far away for them to hear about they were talking about, fortunately. If they do, they probably would have said the same thing to Midnight.

“I’m serious, though,” he said. “I like you.”

His brows furrowed a little bit, but he decided to hear him out. “I know that.”

“I know, too,” he said then, softly. There was a smile on his lips, something private that almost made Flamebringer’s breath stutter. “I know that it’s probably hard for them to say this, because they don’t want to be too sentimental. But I think they’ve said the same thing, too, if worded a little bit differently.”

And just like that, Flamebringer knew. Because he could read it. In W’s confident words, in Lappland’s soft whispers. And now, forming in Midnight’s lips, he knew it too.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, and didn’t touch any inch of Flamebringer’s skin. But his eyes were enough to make him feel like he was being held in his arms.

He didn’t know what to reply to that kind of statement. It wasn’t just W and Lappland; it was hard for him, too. Because he wouldn’t know what to say, faced with such honesty and certainty that people like them rarely able to afford. He breathed out a sigh, and nodded, in hope that Midnight would understand what he was trying to convey. He would, Flamebringer knew.

There were no words to be exchanged after that. But when the transporter arrived, and the team sluggishly dragged their ass to the vehicle, Midnight placed a warm, firm hand on the side of his neck. Flamebringer quirked a smile at the man, and held the hand for a moment, before they followed suit into the transporter. Back to the base, where he could walk pass Executor’s room and slept on his bed until the man came back; lying next to him and holding him close like he wanted to keep Flamebringer there forever.

-

Kal’tsit gave him a calculating look when he came into the infirmary. He awkwardly waved at her and scurried away to Executor’s bed. She was a fearsome woman, and Flamebringer had known how formidable she could be. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he was afraid of her, and the way she stabbed the needles like she wanted to personally kill him with each injection. Not to mention all those rumors about her… spine.

He didn’t fear death, but that woman… she scared him.

She didn’t say anything, though. Just lifted a thin eyebrow, and pulled the curtains around Executor’s bed to give them a semblance of privacy. He was thankful for that, although he didn’t understand her motives either. It didn’t matter, now. Not when Executor was looking at him, still so calm and unperturbed even with bandages around his head and torso. He was injured badly from his last mission; this was his fifth day in the infirmary, and Flamebringer only came now because he was away to Kazdel with W and Lappland for a special ops.

“You look like shit,” he commented, and smirked when he saw the growing stubbles on Executor’s jaw. Sometimes he did forget that the man had the same biological anatomy in general with the rest of them mortal beings. He just—in certain lights he looked so unreal that it was sometimes still so surprising seeing him with a shadow of beard and mustache.

“It is nice to see you, too,” Executor replied. He was getting better with the whole “back-and-forth banter”. Sometimes Flamebringer even heard him uttering sarcasm—those were the most exciting moments in his day.

Executor scooted away a little when Flamebringer sat on the edge of the bed, close to his injured torso. His long fingers carefully ghosted over the bandages, and ended up on the Sankta’s hand. He held it in his, callouses and warmth of his palm seeped into Flamebringer’s skin. He was alive, at least. But it had been so, so easy to kill someone. A trained Sankta or not.

He brushed away the hair on Executor’s bandaged forehead, and kissed him in slow, gentle slide of his lips, mindful of how tired and hurt his body must be. The stubble scraped on his skin, and he snickered a little into the kiss. It felt funny—had always felt funny anytime they kissed with Executor’s stubble rubbing on his face. He usually came out with a stubble burn after the kiss on those times. He shaved, regularly, but the growth of his facial hair was slower than Executor’s.

“Was it that bad?” he asked.

“Only on my torso,” Executor answered.” The wound on my head is mostly superficial, although it bleeds a lot, naturally, because of the location.”

He nodded, unconsciously letting out a relieved sigh. Executor scooted further away, and signaled for him to lie down. “The bed is too small,” he laughed. “And Kal’tsit will kill me if she sees that I’m harassing her patients.”

“You’re not a bother,” Executor replied easily. “Come.”

So he did, trying not to press to hard against the injured regions. He let Executor rested his head on his shoulder, hand coming up to play with Flamebringer’s hair. “Your hair is quite coarse today.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he mocked, but still allowed the fingers to run between his strands. “I just came back a few hours ago. I haven’t had the time to shower yet.”

“You should rest first before coming here.”

“I slept all the way from Kazdel to Rhodes, I rested enough.”

“Very well,” Executor said, and let Flamebringer’s steady breath lulled them into a comfortable silence.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but when he felt his eyes were becoming too heavy, his mouth spoke without a thought. “You could have died.”

Executor tensed imperceptibly next to him, but relaxed a second later. “But I didn’t.”

He nodded, kissing the top of the Sankta’s head. He still smelt of blood and sweat, but Flamebringer found that he didn’t mind it terribly. He was sure that he smelt the same, after all. With a hint of gunpowder from being so close with W for a long period of time in the battlefield.

“It’s so easy,” he continued, “to die. You can die as easily as I can, even with this curse.”

Executor lifted his head from his shoulder, and Flamebringer helped him sat up so he could lean against the headboard. He looked at Flamebringer, eyes intense and unblinking. “You have refused treatments to Oripathy, Enkaku. That, coupled with the battlefields and everything that is going on in this world, has amounted to a higher risk of death on your end.”

“People will die,” he said. “Regardless whether it’s Oripathy or being killed by a stray bullet in a fight. If you can bleed, then you can die. I have chosen this path since a long time ago, and I have no interest in giving myself false hopes. There is no cure, Samuel. Even if there will be, there is no guarantee that it will be available before I died. It’s not the matter of being stubborn, or too proud; this is just a choice and personal view of life and death.”

Executor took that in, silent for a few moments. He nodded then, and didn’t look away from Flamebringer’s amber eyes. “I understand, and I, too, have accepted the workings of this world. But it doesn’t mean that I won’t be saddened, if you were to die. When I was hurt in the battlefield, and the transporter hadn’t arrived in time, I thought that if I were to die there, I would surely miss being alive next to you.”

“Oh,” Flamebringer breathed out, surprised by the confession. But, he thought, it was… pleasant, kind of. To know that someone would think about him like that. “That’s—yeah. I think I would miss a world with you in it, too.”

Executor gave him a small, sincere smile and Flamebringer thought that maybe W was right all along, since the very first time.

He grinned at the man, and whispered against his lips, their hot breaths intermingled with each other. “This isn’t a good life. But it’s not half bad with you in it, I guess.”

When Executor leaned into his mouth, kissing him with a burst of feelings that he didn’t say, Flamebringer thought that maybe he understood, too. What he felt, what they have between the two of them. It wasn’t… something as intense as he thought. It was something light and easy; a place where he could breathe and sleep, and Executor would be there to hold him—lying close on his bed, stealing a moment of peace in the midst of this chaotic world. It wasn’t half bad, really.

-

He had to admit, it went completely over his head, despite everything.

Mostima was actually the first person to blatantly say it to his face. They were hanging out at the bar, this time along with Lappland and Exusiai—that Apple Pie girl whose name Flamebringer finally remembered after almost a year being reminded by Mostima. They were sitting around the table near the bar counter. Lappland was already chugging the bottle down, while Exusiai—very much drunk and losing nearly all her inhibitions—cheered on her. Mostima drank with a more sedate pace next to him.

“It is somehow still a wonder to me,” she said, looking at Exusiai with a look that made Flamebringer feel like he was intruding on something private.

“What is,” he asked, the habit of making his questions into statement came out despite Midnight’s incessant complains about it.

She smiled then, poised and calm, as she turned to him. "That nearly three years ago, I was sitting in the very same place as I am right now, witnessing you drunkenly wheedling your way into Executor’s pants.”

He choked on his drink, coughing harshly as he set down the glass and glared at Mostima’s smirking face. Gods, years after knowing her, he had found out along the way that she was just as insane as the fuckfaces. She just had more grace in her bones. “Fuck you.”

“The sentiment would be better suited for Executor, would it not?” she replied as easily, sipping on her drink as she watched Lappland downed the rest of the bottle. “Impressive,” she murmured into her drink.

“She’s a fucking beast,” he said.

Mostima nodded. “I agree.”

She looked like she wanted to stop Exusiai, when Lappland had cajoled her into ordering more drinks. The girl had always been royal and impulsive when it came to managing money. She could see Exusiai crying about her wallet tomorrow morning in the dining hall. But she let it be, turning to him instead.

“Took you a long time to date him, though,” she said, and Flamebringer thought that surprises could never stop falling from her lips.

He looked at her, face blank as he slowly comprehended her words. Finally, he just said, “What.”

This time, it was Mostima’s turn to look surprised. She didn’t really have the right to do so when she was the one spewing this kind of shits on his face, he thought. She only looked confused for a moment. There was a sort of apprehension that seemed to dawn on her. He could not relate at all.

“Oh,” she said, and then smiled, drinking the rest of the liquor in her glass. “You didn’t know.”

“Exactly,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “What?”

She shook her head, the smile still staying on the corner of her lips. “Nothing.”

“We’re not dating,” he said, because they actually didn’t. And now he was wondering as well, why didn’t they?

“Doesn’t look like that to me.” Mostima calmly accepted the drink that Exusiai had handed to her, laughing merrily next to Lappland who was steadily drinking herself into an early grave. “Thank you, Exia. As I was saying, the whole Rhodes just thinks that you two are dating.”

They were close, yes. It was more than just one-night stands, and definitely more than close friends. The way Executor touched was a tad too intimate for them to settle down on the normal bracket of friendship. They never really stopped and thought about the nature of their relationship, however. It just simply escaped their observation, and it was most probably because they were the ones doing it. There were certain things that you couldn’t see about yourself, no matter how hard you look.

“Is that why the girls in the engineering keep giving me the stink eyes? Because they thought I’m dating their crush?” Now that he thought about it, there were unexplainable instances that he just waved away because it was just too weird. Like how people would automatically assume he was looking for Executor, or that people would alert Executor whenever Flamebringer was in the vicinity; or that no one rarely blinked their eyes anymore when they caught Flamebringer holding Executor’s hand on top of the dining table, or the way Executor would reach out randomly to him just to touch.

“Yes, and more,” answered Mostima. “To me, it’s just the way you look at each other. I guess you’re too used to him to notice, but he looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s willing to understand in this world.”

And he probably did, knowing what a constipated motherfucker Executor was. But Mostima wasn’t done yet, he felt himself holding a breath as she tilted her head, and looked at him like she was amazed, envious, resigned.

“You look at him like you’re falling in love.”

Oh.

She smiled at him, and let him stew in his thought as she finally took the drinks from Exusiai and Lappland, patiently ushering them both out of the bar with sheer strength of someone who was used to disciplining a rowdy bunch. She glanced at him for the last time before exiting the bar, and smiled to herself when she saw how shocked and lost in thought the man was.

-

The thought had stayed with him throughout the month. Executor was back to Laterano for more than three months, and Flamebringer had five consecutive special ops in a row. It was a wonder how he had survived through them, with a distracted mind like that. But then again, he was a trained warrior with sharp instincts and considerable prowess in the battlefield—disgustingly lovey-dovey thoughts notwithstanding. It was hard—he had to admit—with the memory of Mostima’s words constantly replaying inside his head.

“Is there something wrong?” the Doctor had asked one time, in the rare occasion that he went on special ops.

“Ah,” he said, startled out of his thought. “Nothing. Just… mundane things.”

“Executor has arrived on the base two weeks ago, if that’s what you’re thinking of,” the man suddenly said.

“What? Wait—no, that wasn’t what I was thinking of—“ he said, eyes wide. “But, yeah. Thanks for telling me.”

Doctor shrugged, handing him the comm. and started walking towards the door of the transporter. “Try not to die before you meet him, then.”

So, even the Doctor knew? He felt like, considering they were the subject of the rumors, they were the last to actually found out about it. He spent the rest of the mission, and the trip back to the base, with such restlessness that he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. This was freaking him out; he had never felt this way ever since he killed someone for the first time, and even then the acceptance had been swift in the face of a brewing war.

His skin was itchy with the need to touch, to shake Executor until his bones rattled, about all these things. The most the man would do was probably listening to him with a passive face, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. Maybe it was also the nearly six month’s separation. They never contacted each other while Executor was away, since he was in a Laterano’s official business while he was there, and it was near impossible to steal time to contact anyone else that wasn’t the base control room in special ops, if at all.

And yet, when Flamebringer saw Executor’s face for the first time in months, fresh out of the bathroom with a towel on his hips, all those words died a horrible death on his lips. He had wanted to see him, he realized, more than he thought

“I am glad you are here, now,” Executor said in-between the harsh kisses they shared. “I have missed you a lot, Enkaku.”

“Kiss first, talk later,” he said, and went down to suck Executor’s cock.

He guessed the restlessness had manifested into the way his touches felt urgent and impatient, like he couldn’t wait any longer to have Executor’s fingers on his skin. The Sankta had obliged to his unspoken demands, and had made a quick work to prepare Flamebringer. He was tighter than the last time they fucked, seeing as he hadn’t even touched himself because of the barrage of missions he had to undergo.

“Touch me,” he groaned out, pulling at Executor’s hand. “Samuel, touch me.”

“You are needier than usual today,” he had commented, but did as he was asked nonetheless. He thrust his fingers inside a few moments longer, and seemed to be enjoying the little gasps and hitches in Flamebringer’s breath.

Executor looked as impeccable as ever, even with a sizeable erection lying heavy between his legs. Flamebringer reached with his toes to touch it, and grinned when Executor’s fingers stuttered on their pace inside of him. “And you,” he said, pressing harder with the heel of his foot, “should shut the fuck up and fuck me already.”

He had forgotten the sensation of being stretched out by the girth, to accommodate the heavy cock inside of him, to feel the pulse of his arousal as he gripped the sheets tight between his fingers. They only exchanged a look once, before Executor started moving. It didn’t take him long to get used to it again, enjoying the push and slide of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside.

Just like before, Executor fucked him with such intensity and undivided attention that Flamebringer felt the knot of arousal in his stomach tightened up. He looked good like that; so focused in his lust, looking at him like he wanted to devour him whole, moving like he wanted to break Flamebringer and put together the pieces into something new, something more beautiful.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he moaned out, a playful smirk on his lips as he tightened around Executor. “Fuck me properly.

He was flipped on his stomach then, Executor driving deep inside as he started fucking into him with abandon. Flamebringer was shameless in his desires; moans after moans, the loud, drawn out scream of Executor’s name on his tongue. Executor had come first, spilling inside the condom as he gripped Flamebringer’s hips so tight he was sure it would be bruised by the end of the night. He came a moment later, teased mercilessly within an inch of his life under Executor’s clever fingers.

As he came down from the high, breathing hard against the skin of Executor’s shoulder, he said, “Apparently, we’re dating now.”

Executor looked down at him, and reached over to wipe the sweat on his face. He swept the blood on Flamebringer’s bitten lips, and absentmindedly answered as his thumb was sucked into the warm mouth. “Are we.”

It was so akin to the way Flamebringer worded his questions that he had to let go of Executor’s finger, and laughed. “Yeah. The whole city knew, except for us.”

Executor settled next to him, looking into his eyes as he brushed his sweaty bangs away from his face. “It’s not an unpleasant thought,” he said, honest and earnest.

Flamebringer bit his lips to keep the smile from splitting his face “Yeah? Careful though, I might think you like me enough to spoil me rotten.”

Executor tucked himself under Flamebringer’s chin, and kissed the jut of his collarbones and it felt like a promise. “Mm, I think I will,” he said. “You should be cherished by the people who love you.”

It felt like a confession, worded into something that Executor understood. Into something that wasn’t a lie, or half-hearted empty words. Flamebringer kissed the top of his head and chuckled. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

And just like that, everything fell into places in the way Flamebringer’s life had never been able to.

-

Something changed between them. After the night that they had talked about their relationship months ago—the easy fall of Executor’s love on his lips, the honesty of his feelings in the fingers that traipsed up on Flamebringer’s body—they fell into a semblance of dynamics of being two people who were in an exclusive relationship. It was easier than he thought, and not as stifling. It was probably because they both understood each other too well, to the point that it required no thought for him to know what Executor had wanted, and vice versa.

It was just in the way they moved, following an invisible dancing pattern around each other. The steps felt light, the dip felt breathtaking. Realizing that he had fallen in love was a four years journey, but once he did, falling in love with someone who adored him as much as Executor was easy, so easy.

More than how Executor knew when to touch lightly, when to hold on; the unspoken trust of being there when Flamebringer fell, the certainty that he would be accepted. They gave and took; they danced, and twirled and pulled at each other all night long in the floor dance of their shared fate. And with the way Executor had put an unblinking faith in him, Flamebringer felt like he could dance all night long, as long as forever allowed him.

He was sitting on the usual table on the dining hall, still sleepy and fatigued because he only came back from mission at four in the morning. He didn’t have serious wounds, but there were bruises on his arms that were still tender to the touch. Executor had taken to dress him in soft clothes because he recalled how Flamebringer said that he liked the way the fabric felt against his skin. So here he was, wearing another one of Executor’s newly bought sweater, wearing his pants, with his jacket draped over his shoulder.

He looked every bit a like a besotted lover, and he lived for it.

W was already there, playing with the straw of her milk. She looked worse for the wear, mainly because she took most of the damage from last night’s mission. There weren’t any lasting injuries, thankfully, but she had to hold off a dozen of enemies at once, and then more because the rest of the team was a little bit too far to aid her in time. She looked at his face and sneered.

“This is so terribly domestic,” she said, and gestured to his entirety, as well as Executor when he sat down with two trays. “It disgusts me.”

He gave her a stink eye, and proceeded to peel Executor’s orange for him, further proving her point. Midnight arrived a moment later, looking bright and sprightly in the early morning. Now that disgusted Flamebringer, because despite his name, Midnight was an ultimately morning person. “Good morning,” he greeted, then looked at Flamebringer’s attire and nodded to himself. “Still so disgustingly domestic, I see.”

W cackled from her seat, and scooted over so Midnight could sit next to her. Flamebringer flipped him a middle finger, and shrugged off Executor’s jacket since he didn’t want it to get dirty as he ate. He gave the peeled orange to Executor; the man turned out to have a special soft spot for sour things. “I—“ he started, but the Sankta cut him off, already standing up.

“Coffee?” he asked, just to confirm.

Flamebringer closed his mouth, smiling at the man as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“I will be back soon,” Executor said, and pushed his tray on Flamebringer’s direction a little bit when he reached over to take a piece of melon.

As Executor’s back retreated, Midnight sighed, extravagantly loud so Flamebringer would pay attention to him. He leveled him with a flat look instead.

“Sometimes, you two are just so sickeningly sweet that I wanted to puke,” Midnight said after the nth time witnessing the effortless flutter of Executor and Flamebringer around each other. “You should get married or something.”

“Or something,” Flamebringer deadpanned, but he didn’t seem to hate the idea. “Oi, dumbass. This other dumbass said we should take the vows.”

Executor, who had just come back with a steaming hot coffee for the Sarkaz, just calmly placed the cup of coffee first. “Do you actually want to marry me, or do you just want to make Operator Midnight suffer?”

He grinned at the man; he knew him so well. “Depends,” he pretended to think as he sipped on his coffee. It was good as always, although he didn’t know who make it. Executor sucked at cooking department. “You gonna teach me your Old Language if we’re married?”

The Sankta didn’t even waste a breath before nodding, said, “Of course.”

“Sweet,” he smiled. “Go on, propose to me.”

“Alright.” Executor—as whipped, as flat-faced as he usually was—then reached into the pocket of his working jacket, and casually put a velvety ring box on top of the cafeteria table, saying “Will you marry me, Enkaku?” as the whole room erupted into chaos.

Midnight shouted in disbelief, wailing in fake despair as he dramatically slammed his head on the table; W straightened up immediately from her slump, her eyes were filled with a sort of unholy glee that made the red irises glowed. The nearest operators from their table had also joined in the fray. He vaguely heard someone saying, “Oh my God! He’s proposing!” as the dining hall suddenly turned into a flurry of noise and movements.

Suddenly, Mostima was there, next to him, looking alternatively awed and wanting to laugh herself sick. He could relate, because, what the fuck. He chuckled in disbelief, wondering when Executor had the time to actually buy the rings. But then again, he wasn’t joking when he told him to propose. This was, after all, the man he had spent the last four years with.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scathingly said, confusing several spectators. “Do it again, properly this time.”

Executor was unfazed as he carefully knelt in front of Flamebringer, and opened the velvet box to reveal a pair of oxidized-gold rings. It wasn’t fancy, and it certainly didn’t look like a wedding ring, but fuck if it wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d seen these days. Only because it was his wedding ring—he was biased, sue him.

“Enkaku,” Executor said, and there was something different in his voice, something that even other people could hear clearly. The gentleness, the absolute devotion; this man was absolutely whipped and Flamebringer had never felt more powerful in his life than this moment. “Will you marry me?”

He almost laughed, almost. Because the whole room probably already knew his answer anyway, why were they watching in the first place? But it didn’t matter, because Executor looked so soft and a little bit messy from sleep, clad in his shirt and sweatpants, and looking at Flamebringer like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He could return the sentiment, tenfold.

He gave the man a grin, and reached down to spread his finger in front of Executor. “You fucking bet I will, Dumbfuck.”

The cheer was almost deafening in his ears. He didn’t know what they were so happy about and how his marriage proposal would concern them, but he was enjoying the euphoria of the moment. As Executor fumbled with the box a little bit, he helped him by holding the box while he slipped the ring on Flamebringer ring finger. He took the second ring, and put it on Executor’s ring finger as well. It was… not unlike walking on clouds, a fantasy that he knew would be short-lived, but he indulged in it nonetheless.

“Congratulation,” Mostima said. “You are now Officially Whipped.”

Executor put the box back into his jacket, and sat back down again as the people around them congratulated both of them. He didn’t even know half of these people, he thought. He smirked at Mostima, and flipped her off, too. She smirked back, and stood up to disperse the people because she knew that Flamebringer would snap soon if they didn’t scram.

“You owe me a lot of drinks,” she said then, and waved at them as she went back to her table. He thought back to the night Mostima had dropped the bomb months ago, and thought that yeah, he owed her all the drinks in the world.

“What was it again?” W leered at him. He was, for the lack of words, afraid of her at that moment. Because she looked like someone had given her absolute power to the universe, and she was going to do horrible things with it. “”I’m not gonna marry him just because he has a nice cock” isn’t that right, Enkaku?”

See? He knew it.

“Please just shut the fuck up,” he begged, lowly. Because he knew W wouldn’t stop once she started.

“I’m gonna say it,” she said, without mercy. He sighed. “I told you so,” she said, and looking so incredibly pleased by that; like a smug, oversized cat.

 Midnight still looked shocked next to her. He knew that the both of them were basically married the moment Flamebringer started bringing Executor with him to their table, but he would have never guessed that he was going to be the catalyst to the actual proposal.

“I can’t believe I have unknowingly volunteered myself to be subjected to your disgusting domestic life,” he croaked out at last, then chuckled to himself, as if he still couldn’t believe what had transpired just now. “I’m gonna cry obnoxiously on your wedding.”

“Sucks to be you,” Flamebringer shrugged, and gave Executor the rest of his salad. “Stop talking about wedding, there might not be one. We’re in the middle of the war.”

“Why not?” W said, disposing her empty milk box to the side, and was chewing on her bacon. “We could have a small wedding here. I’m sure Doctor would approve, he already knew about you two, after all.”

They could, of course. But—he turned to Executor first, who had finished his salad, and was piling their empty trays together. “Hey, wanna get married with an actual wedding party with me?”

W and Midnight immediately imitated retching sounds, as Executor blinked and nodded. “I do.”

He grinned at him. “Nice. We can get married just in pajamas, don’t worry.”

“What?” W interrupted. “Why the fuck would you settle with that? I did not endure you two flirted your ass off in front of me just to see a wedding party in pajamas. Go wear a pretty dress for me, you stupid bitch.”

He had never considered it before, wearing a wedding dress. To be fair, the thought of marriage had never crossed his mind, before Executor and his stupidly good impersonation of a dead fish. The dead fish who was now watching him with calm, collected bearings as if he hadn’t just turned their world upside down. He didn’t mind terribly, though.

Sure, he looked good in tight dresses and heels and lingerie, but a wedding dress was novel. Not to mention that the whole idea of white, pristine dress suit Executor more than it did on him. As if sensing his thought, Executor said, “I can wear the dress instead, if you want.”

And wasn’t that a thought. He would look so unbelievably ethereal in a flowing white dress. But then, W was brandishing her fork like a weapon, on Executor’s face.

“You shut the fuck up,” she said, sounding impatient. “This is for me, not for either of you sickening lovebirds. Come on, pretty boy, entertain me for the last time before you elope into the sunset with this dead fish. I can recommend some good tailors, you’d look good with a jumpsuit wedding dress I think. Easier access to fuck and fight.”

“He would look good in a tight bodice-type, too, wouldn’t you think?” Midnight replied, like this was something normal, discussing about Flamebringer’s wedding dress. It was bizarre.

“Do you even own a suit,” he said to Executor, who nodded at him. Of course the church-boy would own a suit. Probably a white one at that.

“No,” W said again. “I’m choosing his suit, too.”

He looked at her, incredulous. “Why the fuck are you so obsessed with this?”

She smiled then, softer, smaller. Something that he should have witnessed in the low light of the dusk, instead of under the bright light of the dining hall, and for a second he remembered that he had loved this person, too. “Because I enjoy victories. And this just erects my monumental victory over your stupid ass. Can’t believe you were so deep in denial, and yet here you are, making heart eyes at him.”

In the end, he gave up and let her had her ways.

A month later, she took both Executor and him to a place in Victoria, and had blatantly asked Executor for his credit card. He gave it to her without much word. He was filthy rich, Flamebringer knew this. But it was at that moment, as the tailor measured him within an inch of his life, that he actually saw how much he was willing to pay for things Flamebringer wanted. The wedding dress and suit were disgustingly expensive, but Executor didn’t even bat an eyelash when W gave him the credit card back.

When he came to talk to the Doctor about it, he just congratulated him and said, “Please don’t destroy the hall too much, I’m poor enough as it is. Feeding hundreds of operators do that to your wallet.”

There were other people involved in the wedding, too. The people who agreed to cook for the meals, to arrange the general hall for the wedding, Smiley Boy even personally took the responsibility of designing the invitation card and spreading it all over the ship. Flamebringer didn’t even know how but he got the Penguin Logistic girls as his bridesmaid. It was probably Mostima’s doing—Texas was less than happy about it, but she had caved under the peer pressure of her team. Lappland would probably have a major stroke when she saw Texas in a bridesmaid dress.

In-between the wedding preparations, they still went on missions, and unabashedly flirted in the comm. until the other operators were groaning and tell them to shut the fuck up. They were also understandably shocked when they heard Executor actually flirted back. It was fun to watch, at least.

When the dress had arrived, he thought, he was grateful that W had been so adamant on arranging the wedding, because the dress was beautiful. It was simple, and sharp; something that he could wear in a wedding, and in battles. Although, frankly, he didn’t know why he would wear that to battles.

W looked like she had difficulty to speak when he tried putting on the dress. She swallowed, and twirled him around slowly to see the entirety of the dress and the train. “I have the veil with me,” she said. “You would look devastating with it. I think I can fight both Lappland and Midnight for the honor of walking you down the aisle.”

Midnight had showed up with a pair of silver pumps with him, the heel decorated by ornamentals. He had bought him heels before, so it wasn’t a surprise that he would know Flamebringer’s shoe size. They fit perfectly on his feet, and he marveled for a moment at how glamorously simple the heels were. Lappland had given him a leather choker with a diamond on it. It was partly a gift from the Doctor also, as the replacement for his ID choker. Heh, and he said that he got no money left. That lying piece of shit.

“I got money,” she said, because she, too, was filthy rich with all the inheritance of her family. “It’s probably the first time I ever enjoyed it. But it’s your wedding, so I bought you these.”

It was a sleek pocket knife, with carvings on the handle and part of the knife itself. It was clear that the knife was crafted more for the aesthetic purpose, and it was pretty. But he noticed also the sharp blade, and believed that Lappland had given thought into practicality as well.

“You like it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can stab all of you with this when you’re being insufferable.”

She had laughed then, and had commented about how he was practically flaunting his chest with the upper part of the dress. “I don’t hate it, though. Your man-boobs are absolutely glorious.”

He swung the knife at her, and she dodged as easily as breathing. Laughing as she went to hide behind Midnight’s tall form. He didn’t have time to brutally murder her with his wedding gift, however, because Executor stepped into the room, then.

He was pretty sure that his jaw was on the floor. He drunk in the sight of his soon-to-be life partner, feeling his heart beat loudly inside his chest, and only felt a little bit guilty for wanting to taint their wedding dress and suits just to have Executor fucking him in that suit. He had thought that white would fit so well with Executor because of his general angelic aesthetic, but fuck—

“Careful,” W said next to him, gently pushing his jaw so he could close his mouth. “Your thirst is showing, baby boy.”

“Well,” he swallowed, hard. “You can’t blame me.”

She looked over at Executor, and nodded appreciatively. “Fair enough.”

The suit wasn’t grandeur; it followed the same theme of his wedding dress: simplicity. Something that they could move around in, just like what W had said: easy access to fuck and fight. He supposed, she was right in saying that. Because despite all their planning, there was no guarantee that nothing would happen in the wedding day. They were staying alert, even now.

The material of the suit was sleek, but the black suit had fit on so well to Executor’s fit form. It accentuated his wide shoulders and lean waist; the shape of his long, strong legs. Of course, standing next to Flamebringer, anyone would think that he was shorter and smaller. But clad in something that had been tailored so specifically to follow the line of his body, he almost forgot just how tall the man actually was. It punched through him then, that this was his lover, wearing a suit, and he was wearing a wedding dress, and they were getting married in less than a week and—

“Hey,” he said when Executor was close enough. “I know that this is stupid, but… will you marry me, Samuel? Say yes.”

Next to him, W gagged so hard and rolled her eyes. He ignored her in favor of looking at the soft smile playing on the corner of Executor’s lips as he nodded slowly.

“You look stunning,” he said, lifting the train of Flamebringer’s wedding dress and feeling the silky material between his fingers. “You’re beautiful, Enkaku.”

“Damn, boy,” he hooted, suddenly feeling hot and flushed all of the sudden. “You’re such a smooth motherfucker.”

“Only for you,” Executor agreed, and carefully put his hands on Flamebringer’s hips to bring him closer.

“Oh my God!” Midnight exclaimed from the corner of the room where Lappland had looked like she was so ready to throw up her breakfast and lunch. “Can you two stop flirting for like, two seconds? Why did I even agree to this anyway?”

“I’m starting to regret it, too,” W replied, and then turned back to them. “It fits quite well, as I thought. The train is detachable. So you can just throw it off if needed. Although make sure you keep it, it costs a lot. Oh, well, it’s not my money anyway. You,” he turned to Executor, stabbing a slender finger on his chest, “are going to be with me before the wedding. You look good enough to eat, but that floppy skater-boy hair needed to get out before I shaved your head completely.”

They ran over the schedule one more time, and went to check on the general hall to see the preparations after getting out of their respective wedding clothes. Flamebringer was brazen when W looked down and found out that he achingly hard inside hi briefs. She just rolled her eyes, muttering teenagers under her breath. What could he say? Executor looked fucking fantastic in black. He couldn’t wait until this was over and he could ride that man for hours.

Executor returned the sentiment, it seemed. Because he couldn’t stop telling Flamebringer how beautiful, how stunning he looked, how much Executor just wanted to ruin him in his pretty wedding dress. He fucked him with vigor that night, and honestly, Flamebringer couldn’t even complain when he was too busy being fucked within an inch of his life. But oh what a wonderful life that had been.

Apparently, Lappland had won the fight for the honor of walking him down the aisle. She had bought a suit and had promptly screamed at him when she found out that Texas was going to be the bridesmaid—as he had predicted beforehand.

“She’s crazy,” W panted at the training room. He had to agree, Lappland had been absolutely brutal when she had been goaded into a competitive mode. She trounced both W and Midnight as easily as hot knife slicing through butter. “Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be the priest.”

“You’re not even legally cut out to be a priest,” Midnight quipped. “Let alone logically.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she slapped his arm, and declared that she would be the one to witness their vows. “I arranged the marriage, so what I say, goes.”

“I feel like this isn’t even my wedding in the first place,” he commented dryly. “This is more of you playing house with us as the real-life dolls.”

She smiled and patted his cheek with sweaty hands. “It’s good that you finally realized that.”

Midnight had claimed his place as the “entertainer” in the wedding. “I can sing, and I was a host. I’m the perfect one-man entertainer that you need in your wedding,” he said with a reassuring tone, which wasn’t reassuring at all.

The preparation was hectic for such a small wedding, and Flamebringer had never, not even once, thought that he would be here to witness people fussing left and right over his wedding. He looked at Executor across the room, doing his own training with the other snipers. W should be there as well, but she was currently too busy asking for a rematch with Lappland—who had just emerged from the door after buying drinks.

He thought, this was needlessly messy and stressing, and it wasn’t going to be a proper and conventional wedding anyway. But, looking at Executor’s sturdy back as he shot target after target, and feeling his heart flipped when the Sankta suddenly turned over and smiled at him, it was more than enough.

-

On the morning of their wedding, Executor woke him up abruptly. He was startled when he felt that his body was shaken rather urgently, thinking to himself that it wasn’t even six in the morning according to his body clock. He rubbed at his eyes, and finally followed Executor’s insistent hand.

“What—“ a yawn cut him off, and he sniffed a little bit more before he realized how rigid and distressed Executor was. The remaining sleepiness immediately left him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Samuel, come on, talk to me.”

Executor didn’t immediately answer, trying to calm down with each exhale and inhale. When he looked into Flamebringer’s eyes, he was shocked to see fear in those pale blue irises. His heart went to his throat; his anxiety suddenly went through the roof because what exactly had made Executor afraid?

“Samuel,” he called again, softer this time, grasping the man’s fingers in his and kissing the back of his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever you’re worried about, I’ll be here. It’s okay.”

It took a long time to coax Executor. When he finally spoke, Flamebringer was torn between punching his defined jaw and kissing him senseless.

“I had been worrying about the possibilities of me being unable to proceed with the wedding in orderly fashion,” he said. Flamebringer had noticed this since a long time ago, but the more nervous or pressured Executor was, the more it manifested into his formal speech pattern. “I might make terrible mistakes, both in general practicalities and the vows, as well. There might be something unpleasant that comes suddenly in the middle of our wedding. These thoughts kept me awake for a good few hours, so much so that I am unable to cope with it. I apologize that I have disturbed your resting time.”

He chuckled in disbelief. He couldn’t—god, this man was terrible for his heart. He kissed him, hard. Trying to convey his feelings and how much he loved him. Executor was still so rigid, before he gradually loosened and returned the kiss with the same fervor; almost like he was afraid that the moment they stopped kissing, Flamebringer would tell him that he wasn’t going to take the vows.

“You’re not good for my heart,” he told him. “You’re okay. You’re more than okay for me. You’re everything I have ever wanted these last few years, alright? The wedding is just some grand party that W wanted to have because she’s a little bitch that way. But I don’t need a wedding, or even a marriage, to want you to be by my side however long we can. Alright?”

Executor exhaled against his lips, closing his eyes and holding on tight to Flamebringer. It made his heart ache, that he was trusted enough to see this moment of weakness. For him, his head reminded. He was worried because he was afraid he wouldn’t be a good groom for him. An Executor who knew what he was doing, and was confident and calm was fucking sexy—but this? This honest, so very humane Executor was even more lethal. He couldn’t even think straight with all the affection he had felt in his chest.

“You’re such a dumbass, Samuel,” he said, so very softly that he was almost embarrassed by how indulgent he sounded.

“Takes one to know one,” Executor replied, and kissed him again.

He went to Mostima to get his hair styled, while Executor had obediently followed W to wherever they were going. He didn’t know, he was too busy being cooed at by Croissant and Sora, as Mostima very carefully coifed his hair into a softer hairstyle than his usual rugged appearance.

“Your hair is rather wavy,” she said, putting a few strands on the front while keeping the rest of them neatly behind his ear. It was similar to his usual style just more… appropriate for a wedding. “You look pretty with the dress, by the way.”

Exusiai was busy coaxing Texas into her dress, with numerous promises of snacks and food that he would buy for her. Anything, as long as she got in the damned dress. She didn’t curse, of course, typical of Sanktas. But he was pretty sure she was close to that because Texas had been stubborn since she found out that Lappland was going to walk him down the aisle. The bridesmaid and she would be next to each other, as the result. He grinned, letting the two other girls prattled about his dress and shoes. Let them be, he thought, it was fun seeing other people suffered for once.

When she was done, Mostima had run off for a few minutes before coming back with W in tow. She had worn a back-less black dress that matched her eyes so well. He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You want to be my priest in that?”

“I’m unconventional,” she waved away his comment, and opened the box she was holding,pulling out a long veil with flowers embroidery on it. She gave it to Mostima, who proceeded to secure it to his hair with a few help from a few clear-colored bobby pins. W had looked at him with serene face, eyes soft and sad at the same time.

She touched the side of his face, caressing his jaw with long, manicured fingers. “What a pretty groom,” she whispered. There was something else in her eyes, and he thought he understood. He looked at her, twirling slowly so she could see him in the entirety of the wedding dress and veil. She gave him a satisfied nod afterwards; face hardening into its usual confidence state after the fragile moment between them was broken.

“Good,” she said. “He’s already in the wedding venue. He looks green, that’s fucking unattractive if you ask me. You sure you still want to marry this bumbling idiot?”

“Sadly, yeah,” he said with a grin.

“Whipped-ass motherfuckers,” she cursed under her breath.

Texas visibly tensed when Lappland entered the room, and deadass gaped at Texas for a good minute, before remembering where she was and what she was supposed to do. Texas was ignoring her studiously.

“Ah,” she said when she saw Flamebringer, a faux pout on her lips. “You sure you wanna marry him? You’re too pretty for him, Enkaku.”

He rolled his eyes at the same question. “Shut the fuck up. You’re just as bad as this fuckface right here.”

Both of the fuckface looked at each other then, and laughed quietly. Mostima took over, and handed him a bouquet of beautifully arranged velvet roses in navy color. They were simple and elegant, contrasting starkly on his all-white attire. He heaved a deep breath, and exhaled it. He was a little bit nervous, but he also wanted to see Executor so bad.

“Alright,” he said, and took Lappland’s offered arm in his. “Let’s get this shit done.”

The heels Midnight had given him clacked against the metal floor of Rhodes Island. They were comfortable on his feet, and he knew that they looked pretty on him. He was beautiful, assured, and looked ready to terrorize a wedding into submission, and he knew it. They walked in confident strides, with Lappland next to him and W on the other side. All the Logistic Penguins followed behind in a line of two.

When they neared the vicinity of the venue, W had walked on the front to take her supposed place on the altar as the priest. He still couldn’t believe the audacity of that motherfucker.

“Ready?” he heard Lappland whispered, her fingers squeezing over his for a moment.

He nodded imperceptibly. “More than anything.”

And yet, when they entered through the opened door, his breath was knocked roughly out of his lungs. He gripped Lappland’s arm tighter in his because—because. Fuck.

Seeing Executor in the black suit for the first time was already enough to fuck him over twice and more. But seeing him there, standing next to the Doctor in his damned black suit, with his hair trimmed and slicked back neatly, a fucking cross earring—he wanted to kiss and murder W at the same time—was a whole different thing entirely.

He gritted his teeth, and walked with his head poised high, his back straight as he smirked at Executor from under his veil. It was empowering, to see the little ticks on Executor’s face when he saw him in his wedding dress. The way he swallowed around nothing, the grit of his jaw, the slight tensing of his shoulders. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only affected by this. But it was just the way that Executor was standing there, and he walking there as well, to exchange their vows that for a moment Flamebringer was sure that this was his mere imagination, and that he would wake up alone in his bed.

But when Lappland and he stopped at the stair to the altar, and Executor offered his hand to his; as he looked back at Lappland, who smiled softly and brushed her fingers on the diamond in the middle of his choker, that she had given, mouthing “Go,” to him; when he grasped the warm hand in his and took the final step to the altar; standing in front of Executor as two grooms who were about to be married at last—it was real, everything was real, and Flamebringer was breathless from the reality of this moment.

He looked around, and found that most of the operators he knew were there. Not all of them, as several operators were in missions, or were in holidays, or were manning the ship because Rhodes couldn’t take care of herself just because there was a wedding today. They looked as apprehensive as him, as nervous and excited.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Executor smiled at him, soft and small.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and every crevice in-between,” W started, and Flamebringer fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Today, we are here to witness the unity of these two stupid motherfuckers who danced around each other for far too long. I think it’s about time we take a break from their disgusting pining and wed them properly.”

 Midnight had loudly sobbed into his handkerchief at the front row. Kal’tsit, who sat next to him, looked so disgusted that he pitied what she might do to Midnight later. But when the man lifted his eyes, they were red around the rim, Flamebringer quirked a helpless smile when the man gave him a watery smile and thumbs-up. The audience were laughing at W’s words, and he suspected that it was a sentiment that was shared beyond their table—the exasperation about their pining.

“For nearly five years now, we had witnessed the story of these two individuals. Today, we have arrived at the biggest chapter of their life yet. We are here to give them blessings and wishes, as well as hopes, for them.”

She offered her hand then, which both Executor and he took. They held each other’s hand as W laid a silk tie between them. The hall was quiet then, and Flamebringer could hear Lappland’s heartbeat next to him, Doctor’s bated breath next to Executor.

“Samuel and Enkaku,” W started in solemn, serene voice. “I bid you to look into each other’s eyes.”

He looked up, and even behind the soft curtain of the veil, he could see the happiness radiating from Executor’s eyes. He smiled; he wanted to hold him close, wanted to kiss him and tell him that he looked like an idiot, but he was his endearing idiot nonetheless. The corner of Executor’s lips quirked up as if he could read Flamebringer’s mind.

“Will you honor and respect one another, and seek to never break that honor?”

“We will,” they answered in unison, voice harmonized, entwined with each other. W took the ends of the tie, and draped it over their hands once more.

“Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it?”

“We will.” The tie was draped for the third time to signify the binding that had been made.

“Will you share the burdens of each so that your spirits may grow in this unison?”

“We will.” The tie draped over their hands for the fourth time, binding them tighter still. It was a testament to their self-control that they had sounded so steady and calm, while the raging desire in each other’s eyes were all they could see.

“Will you share each other’s laughter, and find the brightness of life in each other’s heart, despite the dark and dreary world?”

The room waited with bated breath at the last of W’s vows, and Flamebringer gave Executor a grin before they both said, “We will.”

W draped the tie for the last time, and tied each of the ends together. “And so the binding is made.”

He heard several soft gasps around the room and grasped Executor’s hand tight in his.

“You may exchange your own vows, now,” W said, and stepped back as Flamebringer and Executor walked closer to each other.

Which was also the moment when the floor suddenly wobbled.

Executor caught him when he slipped as the ship rocked harshly, and abruptly stopped in its track. Above them, the announcement from the intercom blared loud and clear. “To all citizens of Rhodes Island, be ready at your respective battle stations. Multiple threats had been detected, requesting immediate deployment.”

Flamebringer leaned back against Executor’s chest and groaned, loudly. “Motherfucker,” he cursed out, and everyone seemed to share the same sentiment.

They only had a few seconds of reprieve, though. For someone to actually approached the moving city itself was alarming, to know that there were several groups that had tried to threw them off track was even more dangerous. They all moved under Doctor’s direct orders, going to their respective battle stations.

He untied the silk tie from their hands, and tied it to Executor’s arm instead. “I’m going to get bloody down there, you keep it, alright?”

“Enkaku,” W growled behind him. “Don’t you fucking dare getting blood on that dress.”

He threw her a wide grin as he reached for both of his swords. Midnight had come with his sword belt, and put it over his wedding dress. Lappland’s pocket knife was strapped to his back pocket, hidden from view. Doctor had looked at him with a resigned face when he saw that he was getting ready in his wedding dress and heels.

“What?” he said. “You want me to get down there naked?”

“Never mind,” the Doctor had sighed. “Don’t die alright? This is your wedding day, after all. You can’t let me pay so much for the catering only to disappear even before we cut the cake.”

He laughed, and patted his cheeks before following the other guards onto the frontline. He looked back one last time to see Executor hauling his guns and fuck him, he looked absolutely stunning in his black suit and guns. Flamebringer might be developing a kink right now. The man then turned, and mouthed, “Be safe,” to him. He saluted at his husband and went down.

He was giddy. They hadn’t exchanged their complete vows, hadn’t even kissed to seal the deal, but he was already his husband. And I am his husband, he realized with a laugh. Midnight had looked at him like he was losing his mind. Which, he might be. He couldn’t believe they actually got attacked on his wedding day. For the nth time, W was right. This dress was easy access indeed: to fuck and fight.

The battlefield was messy. Operators fighting on the ground and staying alert on the ships as the enemies tried to get past them into the nomadic city. Doctor was barking out orders at them through the comm., and Flamebringer ripped off his veil to tie it around the hilt of his sword. It looked good there, white and beautiful against the sharp metal. He would get it bloody in no time, just like his dress.

For someone who had never fought in dress and heels, he fought rather admirably, he thought. Granted, the dress was a jumpsuit to begin with, but he still got the train on and only remembered to pull it off as he beheaded an enemy in front of him. Someone pulled the train before he could detach it, and a bullet went past him to lodge in the skull of the enemy. W’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Listen,” she growled. “I don’t give a fuck if this is a general channel. Reroute the channel if you want, Doctor, but my boy toys haven’t finished their vows, and I wanted them to do it now.”

He swung his sword and drove the other into someone’s eyes, laughing like he hadn’t been in a while; wild, unrestrained, skirting the edge of insanity. “You’re batshit crazy,” he told her through the comm. “You’re gonna get us all killed, fuckface.”

“Exactly,” she said, and she sounded so terrible that Flamebringer wanted to kiss her. He loved Executor, but there was just a brand of insanity that W possessed that he had admired up until this day. “Before either one of you get killed, fucking finish the vow.”

Doctor sighed into the comm, and said, “Reroute to channel seven if you don’t want to hear them continuing their wedding, right in the middle of a battle—I swear to god—“

He was cut off by a voice that sounded so much like Kal’tsit. “Just get on with it.”

She had sounded so calm, and threatening that no one dared to complain. Midnight shouted at him, and he swiveled to the left before punching a solar plexus, and sliced through soft flesh with his swords. He focused his eyes on the battlefield as he said, “You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hands.”

Flamebringer rolled over from a chainsaw, and thrust his sword to someone’s jugular, spraying blood all over his neck. His dress was more or less ruined now, but he felt exhilarated and invincible when Executor’s voice crackled through the comm line.

“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.”

The battle raged around them, shouts and exclaims were heard as pained grunts and moans joined in the harmony. In the middle of the chaos, he smiled serenely and crushed someone’s future with the unforgiving bend of his blade.

“I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.”

He heard someone’s choked voice over the comm., and grinned against the back of a dead man. He threw the dead weight off, and ran to the other end where the enemies had swarmed.

“And the eyes into which I smile in the morning,” Executor’s answering pledge travelled through his ears; he sounded like he was moving around. He was probably scouring the vantage position.

“I pledge to you the first bite from my meat.”

“And the first drink from the cup.”

He groaned when an arrow nicked his arm, rolling to avoid more arrows coming to their area. From afar, he had seen that the enemies’ horde had been thinning on their front. He didn’t know about the other area. He exhaled, and hid behind a defender to regroup his thoughts. He sighed into his comm., and realized that the cuffs of his pants were completely red. He chuckled at that. And moved along with the defender when she signaled him to the enemy on the left.

“I pledge to you my living and dying,” he said, and thrust his katana right into the heart of the woman in front of him. “Equally in your care.”

“And tell no strangers our grievances,” Executor said, and fired a shot. There were screams in the background, ones that Flamebringer could hear it himself even without the comm.

He heaved a pant, and growled as he held his sword on the enemy’s attack. “This is my wedding vow to you,” he almost screamed it out loud as he strained with the effort to overthrow the hulking enemy. Midnight came to his rescue a moment later, raining arts attack on the enemy surrounding them.

As he heard Executor’s breath, he smiled and hacked the head off the enemy’s shoulder, and confidently turned to where he knew Executor must have been. He had deducted his position from the echo of the gunshot and screams he had heard earlier.

He exhaled a bloody breath, and said in the same heartbeat as Executor’s, “This is a marriage of equals.”

He didn’t even turn when a bullet went past him, and killed the enemy behind him with terrifying precision. He smiled, and knew that Executor had seen him, because he could saw the figure in black suit standing on a platform of the ship. He was a sniper who worked better in close range, he knew that. Knew that he was also absolutely brutal in battles to make up for the disadvantage in range.

There were a few cheers heard in the comm., and then W’s voice came through—tired and content. “Through light and darkness, through deaths and afterlives, I now unite you under the vows of the damned, as lovers in life and demise. Now fucking kiss.”

He laughed, and he heard Executor’s scoff too, he thought. But he couldn’t be sure. The Doctor’s voice came in then. “Amen,” he said. “Now that you’re husband and husband, can we get back on track?”

The battle lasted for another two hours after that, with the majority of it actually cleaning the stray enemies. Bayonetting, so to speak. Their numbers had been many, but they were rather uncoordinated and had attacked sloppily. It was just a matter of endurance, before they weeded out every last one of them. Midnight slumped next to him on the ground after they were done. He was hurt minimally, but he got scratches all over him and his bloody wedding dress.

“W will kill you,” Midnight said when he saw the veil on Flamebringer’s sword.

“She hijacked the comm. and delayed Doctor’s orders just so I can exchange vows,” he reminded the man. “She doesn’t get to say shits about what I did in battles.”

The man shrugged. “Well, no one objected because the instructions were clear since the start anyway. They weren’t expert assassins. I think W wouldn’t ask for such things if we were in imminent danger.”

He was right, of course. The battle had lasted for about four hours, and even if he was tired by the end of it, it was because the sheer number of the enemies, not because they were incredibly skilled that he couldn’t handle them. He killed more than two dozen alone, and it said something about the enemy’s commander who had sent their troops without certainty of victory.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Executor’s voice in his comm. “Enkaku,” he had called, and his eyes automatically swept the battlefield for the sign of the groom. He found him striding to his direction, looking for all of him a murderous angel with his black suit and guns. Flamebringer might or might not have been getting hard inside his wedding dress. The adrenaline, complete with how fucking ravishing Executor had looked—it really was a small wonder.

He got up on trembling legs; maybe fighting with heels was a bad decision, after all. But his boots were all the way in his room, and it really was a testament to Midnight’s taste that he was actually trembling more from exertion rather than the pain from the heels. They had felt soft and unrestricting on his feet, and he was used to moving in such tall pumps.

He gave his husband a lopsided grin, and sighed into his embrace when Executor’s strong arms enveloped him. He mourned the pristine suit as it was stained with blood from Executor’s skin and dress now. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Executor had pulled back and held him close by the hips, cupping his face as he talked in steady, deep voice around an old language that Flamebringer had been learning these past few months.

“Complete your vow,” he said, and Flamebringer wanted to kiss him so bad that he vibrated with the sheer desire of it.

His eyes were alight, painting his face in an unholy glow as he stood there in his bloody dress, his swords by his side as his hands reached out to rest on Executor’s jaw. His hair was a mess, there were specks of blood on the side of his face and neck, and he had never seen Executor looked that in love with him. Not like this; not with the way he looked so intensely into Flamebringer’s eyes with pale blue eyes that had looked so cold, and burned ichor on his skin. Not with the way he held Flamebringer like he was ready to kneel in front of him, and betray the whole universe if Flamebringer ever wished him to do so.

His voice was a low whisper, secretive, sacrilegious. “And when the time comes, you’ll take me to the death’s altar and throw the reaper my remains. You’ll give him my soul, and promised yourself next, so you can save my rotten heart for yourself.” He smiled when Executor tightened his hold on his hips, fingers clenching against the side of his face.

And when he completed the vow, saying in solemn voice his devotion and crushing pledge, Flamebringer had vowed along with him his whole life, his death and reborn; his sins and confessions.

“And when my time comes, I will give your heart and mine to God’s cold mercy. So I can take your hand, and be with you in the void of afterlife,” Executor had said, and smiled at him so sincerely that Flamebringer’s heart started hurting.

He gripped the binding silk tie on Executor’s arm, and pulled him in to kiss him; hard, dirty. The smell of blood was still in his nose, the operators around them had watched the old language poured from their lips, and the day was starting to end from the line of the horizon.

Flamebringer sighed into Executor’s mouth, and laughed when he felt the man’s smile against his lips.

“Hey,” he said, opening his eyes to look at the man he had loved so dear and whole. “Husband.”

And when Executor had swept away the hair from his face, rubbing the speck of blood on his cheek with eyes so tender, saying, “Hello, husband,” Flamebringer could do nothing but fell deeper.

-

So, if someone actually asked when they started dating, Flamebringer would honestly say, “Fuck, I don’t even remember.”

But if someone asked him how it ended, he would grin and looked at the ring on his finger, and said, “Pretty damn good, actually.”

The village chief greeted him with grim eyes and a ghost of a smile that did not went past his lips. The lines of his face were prominent; tired, afraid, resigned. The few villagers who were with them showed the same air of faint despair, none of them looked like they had a good sleep these past few months. It was probably true, according to their story.

Eight months ago, a nun was found in the sanctuary on a misty morning. She was naked, her cross thrown so carelessly on the corner of the room; she was incoherent from lust, whispering Enkaku, Enkaku over and over again like an unholy prayer. The pastor and the nuns had kept her inside the cell, performing prayers and exorcisms, but it was all proven to be futile. She did not wake up from her stupor; she did not even recognize the words of God and had been crying and begging for an entity that she had called as Enkaku. It was bad enough that they were utterly clueless on how to attend to her, but it didn’t stop there.

Even before the chief told him, Executor had understood. It was a work of the devil, and once it had taken root, it would spread like a plague, stopping at nothing. Not long after, another nun was found in the same state as the first one at the sanctuary. The same name on her lips as the haze of sins clouded over her eyes. It continued, taking even two priests with the same tragedy. The church was understandably overwhelmed. It didn’t matter what kind of cleansing and exorcism that they did, the sickness had spread too far to be contained now. Before long, the village had lost all contacts with the church as they barricaded themselves in. No one went in or out of it anymore.

The people who lived next to the church either had fled, or went missing as well as they had tried to enter the church in the hope to help. Sometimes, they still heard and saw movements within the church. But no one dared to enter the vicinity of it anymore. The chief had left food every few days in the hope that if someone was still alive inside the church, at the very least they could survive for a few days longer until help came.

It took the messenger from the village four weeks to arrive to Laterano. They had sent two other messengers before him, but they never came back. They thought that the messengers were simply got delayed in their travel, but then they found them in the forest next to a farm of a villager, already dead. So they gave the last messenger every talisman they had, and prayed for the best. Miraculously, he came back safely with Executor in tow. Although he was lost for almost two weeks, and was close to dying when Executor, who was on the border, had noticed his prone figure and helped him to his feet.

“We are too afraid to leave this village,” the chief said. “Every night, we heard voices that sound like our brothers and sisters from the church. But when we looked outside the window, only darkness remained. There is a devil in our village, and we cannot escape. That’s why we tried to contact Laterano in the hope they would help us with this misfortune.”

“I understand,” Executor nodded. In front of him was the path to the church. The villagers would not accompany him there, as they were afraid of what would be inside. He nodded to them, gave the chief a small wooden box. “Inside is a scripture of prayers, and stones that have been infused with runes. Put each stone in front of every door step, and pray in the night. Do not go out, even in the daylight, if I haven’t come back.”

He looked around the path, and slowly noticed the dark mist surrounding the area. The humans could not discern the mist from the usual fog that had taken place in the village these past few months, but trained Sanktas were able to see it with their bare eyes. He looked back to the chief. “If I didn’t come back within three days, take your villagers out of this town. Keep the stones with you, and keep praying until you reach Laterano. My colleague would meet you there; he goes by the name of Uriel. May God save us all.”

“May God bless your steps,” the chief nodded back. “May God save us all.”

They left him soon after, and he turned to trudge down the path to the abandoned part of the village. The houses were empty and neglected. No signs of life anywhere, even the animals. There were just oppressing silence that descended heavily upon his shoulders the closer he was to the church. With a deep sigh, he pulled his jacket closer to him. The jacket was something that had been given to him, alongside his guns and his new name, when he became an executor. There were runes and prayers in every seams of the jacket to protect them from unholy beings. And yet, even with it, he could still feel the coldness seeping through the threads. This wasn’t something normal; the piercing coldness, the clouds of fog that never disappeared, the unnatural silence, the crushing weight of uneasiness. He prayed to God, that everyone within the church could still be saved and guided back to the right path.

As he neared the church, he had to breathe slowly through his nose. Even an executor like him had difficulties to walk with the fogs around him. They seemed to weigh down on his body, making his step slower, heavier. It was akin to forcefully walk against a thick barrier, and it might be. The fogs might be the barrier that kept people away from the church, and from leaving this town. The devil inside was trying to keep them in so it could devour them all, one soul at a time.

He looked up, there were lights inside. The chief was right; there were still signs of life and movements, although he did not know what had transpired inside this place that used to be a holy sanctuary. It was with small difficulty that he was finally able to knock on the closed door, and waited for someone to hopefully be able to open it.

It was long before the door finally opened. The fog had thickened as the day slowly nearing its end. The lights flickered a few times inside, and faintly, so faint he thought he was imagining it for a moment, there were whispers. They sounded so far away, before disappearing with the wind, and coming back again with discernible words. Executor’s hand slowly inched to his guns and vials of holy water he kept within his jacket. The lower the sun went, the louder the whispered became. This was the voices that the chief had told him.

He knocked on the door one more time, before drawing out one of his guns from its holster. There were runes carved into the grip and the barrel of the gun, along with the bullets. Executor could kill a man with his bare hands, but he needed more than that to kill evils. The whispers had become even louder than before, indiscernible voices ringing in his ears like a plea, an accusations, a litany of prayers for the wrong god.

“Enkaku,” he suddenly heard a woman’s voice next to his ears, and quickly turned around, gun pointing directly at the… nun in front of him.

In the haze of the whispers, he didn’t notice that the door had been opened. Inside, was a nun with wide eyes and pale face. Her delicate hands trembled when she looked at Executor’s gun pointing straight at her. She held the cross necklace hanging on her neck so tight that the skin around it went white. Her lips, so red and refined, finally opened up when she realized who Executor was. “Are—are you,” she said, stuttering from the tremor that wracked her body. “Are you from Laterano?”

Her eyes were glued to his jacket, and slowly, the grip on the cross loosened. He nodded, lowering his gun before introducing himself. “My name is Executor, from Laterano Notarial Hall. The chief had called me here to help with the church.”

She breathed out a long sigh, her smile a little bit watery as she nodded and stepped back to allow him to enter the church. She quickly locked the door as soon as he was inside, and put chains around the lock for good measure. There were written seals with prayers on them stuck to the door, a line of salt on the door jamb. They were pitch-black, like they had been burned.

The young nun turned to him then. “Did you hear the whispers?”

He nodded. The whispers were most likely the result of impure energy that had been released from the victims of the devil, searching for a place to sink their sharp claws into. She looked like she was going to cry when she said, “They’re my brothers and sisters. They sound like them. I remember the words they said,” she whispered. “Every time I opened the door, the whispers would come, too. I can still hear them from inside the church, but it’s not as loud.”

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“The pastor and the nuns are always praying in the sanctuary. We sleep in the same room now, afraid that one of us will be taken again if we were to separate,” she explained. “The—the others… they—they were locked inside the cells. We only came to them in the daylight. At night—“

Her words were interrupted as a piercing scream was heard in the silence of the church, and then followed by others. The screams lasted for a few seconds, before they started talking, crying, begging. Their language… Executor felt like he recognized that. It wasn’t the same language that was used by the chief and the nun. Between the intelligible screams, he heard the same thing that had been whispered by the wind moments ago. Enkaku, Enkaku.

The nun gasped at the screams, and sidled closer to him. Around them, darkness had descended. He put a careful hand on her small shoulder, and furrowed his eyebrows at the heat emanating from her clothed skin. She looked up, eyes the color of honey stared into his pale blue with an intensity that surprised him. They didn’t say anything, simply staring at each other as Executor realized just how stunning those eyes were. They looked—

The moment was broken when she blinked, long lashes stark against her pale skin. “What is your real name, Mister?”

He heaved a quite sigh, stepping back from her as he tried to regain his composure. “I am called only by the name that had been given to me by Notarial Hall. There is no other name I associated with anymore.”

She nodded. “Mister Executor,” she tried on her lips. It was melodious, a dulcet in her voice. “Would you like to meet the pastor?”

He nodded, and turned to follow her when she started to the direction of what he presumed as the sanctuary. She still walked close to him, jumping every time the screams started again. Her pace was slow, however, like she was almost lethargic. Executor realized that it was most likely due to the oppressing fog. If an executor like him could be affected, then an ordinary nun like her must have felt it as well. Worse, even.

When they reached a closed door, she knelt to pull on a string of bells that span along the length of the doorstep. She did it three times, before she opened the door and gestured for Executor to follow her. Just like before, she quickly locked the door behind him after they got in. He supposed after months of being trapped here, she had become so paranoid. In front of them, candles were lit around the altar as a pastor and four other nuns knelt down on the floor, prayers flowed from their mouth in a steady whisper. They didn’t turn, didn’t move to see the nun and him.

“We never stopped praying when night falls,” she explained. “In the daylight, it’s still as bad. But the night time is something that we cannot understand, Mister Executor.”

She sat down on one of the pews, and smiled at Executor so he would sit down too. There were scars on her face, he realized. The left cheeks, down to her neck before disappearing beneath the high neckline of her clothes. He wondered if those were old scars, or scars she had acquired in her time here. He sat down next to her, and listened to her speaking, melodious voice sighing into his ears.

“None of us can get out anymore,” she started. “After the two priests had died, everything suddenly went from bad to absolute nightmare.”

Her delicate, long-fingered hands trembled as she recalled her memory. She looked down for a moment, and in the candle lights, he realized that her hair was not black. It was dark blue, like the night sky. He blinked for a moment. This was unusual of him, to be so distracted by something that wasn’t his job. Maybe the fog had affected him more than he thought.

“We thought that we could handle it, but it just becomes worse and worse. When the first nun was found, we thought it was the evil hands of human. But she never recovered, and then it started to spread. More nuns fell to the same fate. The doctors in the village could not identify their sickness. And so we held on. We tried to take care of them, but their conditions got worse day by day. They become violent, always screaming for something called Enkaku.”

He straightened up and paid closer attention to her at the name. This Enkaku seemed to be the name of the devil that had put misery upon this church and its inhabitants. “Did they ever tell you who Enkaku is? What do they look like?”

The nun shook her head, her veil moving along. This close, Executor could see the scars on her face more clearly. They were harsher than he thought. They must have looked so grotesque before, because the gash on her face was quite big and long. His pale eyes followed the line of the scars on the side of her neck, and wondered just how far the scars went. Maybe just a little bit under her neckline? The base of her neck? Her collarbones? Her—

“Mister Executor?”

He was startled back into reality at her voice, realizing with a strange sense of impending calamity that something was not right. He quickly pulled back his hands, which had unconsciously reached towards her neck in the moment he was wondering. She seemed to realize that she was looking at her scars and looked away, moving her veil to the side to cover her neck.

“I apologize,” he said with sincerity. “I never meant to do that.”

She turned back to him and smiled sadly. “No, it’s okay. I guess anyone would be curious as to why a nun could have these scars. They look hideous, no? I’m used to people looking at them.”

He quickly shook his head. “No, neither they nor I should have done it. They are part of your story, and should be kept private from prying eyes unless you dictate otherwise. I truly apologize for my behavior. If it helped any, I still think that you look lovely, and your scars are the memento to remind people of your fierceness and strength.”

She smiled at him then, less sad than before. “Thank you, Mister. I never thought people from the Notarial Hall would be this nice. I have always heard the intimidating tales about them.”

“I do not blame you for thinking like that,” he said, because even though he was polite—all of them were—he was not as nice normally. This, coupled with his strange behaviors these last few hours, was uncanny. He should get to work soon, before the fog clouded his mind too far.

He glanced at the praying pastor and nuns, who hadn’t stopped even for a second. There were six people alive in here. They were probably relying on the food that the chief had delivered to them every few days. The faster they got out of here, the better. “Continue your story,” he told the nun.

“They never told us anything about Enkaku. They were too far gone to think properly, I suppose. But—“ she paused, looking uncomfortable and spooked. “It’s just—when they got worse, they screamed every night, calling for this being. And it would last for a week, before they... died.”

Ah, he thought. So his speculations were confirmed before. They couldn’t get out, couldn’t helped the ones already infected, and could only watch in horror as their brothers and sisters died one by one. “How many people are there in the cells right now?”

“Four, Mister,” she said. “We barricaded the door and sealed it with Holy Scriptures; they are just so strong in the night. In the morning, however, they are more docile. We’re hoping that you could do the exorcism in the morning instead? Maybe you can talk to them that way, because we didn’t know what had happened. Not at all. I—I would like to know, too. This way, I think I can understand and can remember my fallen brothers and sisters in a better light, rather than the brutality they had shown before their deaths.”

He sighed in silence, considering her words. He didn’t normally wait that long to finish a job and it wouldn’t be as smooth as what she expected. He was not an exorcist to begin with; he could not save her brothers and sisters that had been infected. He could only save those that had not been touched by the hands of the devil. But looking at her hopeful face, he could not bring himself to tell the truth. He would just have to do his job without her knowledge. A sleeping spell would do, along with the others. That way, they didn’t have to hear the moment he killed their brothers and sisters in cold blood. Tomorrow morning, they could go back to the village, and he could send someone else to exorcise this place thoroughly.

“Alright,” he nodded at her, and was momentarily stunned by the soft smile on her red, red lips. “You mentioned that you all sleep here now?”

“Oh, not here,” she said. “The room next to the kitchen, we sleep there now.”

“Are you going to join the prayer?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’m going to stand guard. So I can notify the others if something happened.”

“I can stay with you; it will be safer that way. I do not need much sleep, either. So we can get to work tomorrow morning without problem.”

She looked relieved at his offer, and agreed to it easily. He stood up from the pew, and let her guided him to the sleeping room. Before they left, she closed the door to the sanctuary. The prayers still continued, the candles casting tall shadows on the pastor and nuns inside. Before they left, he glanced back. Their heads were down in deep prayers, their backs still and unmoving. It was almost like they didn’t breathe anymore.

-

The screams were still heard outside, along with the whispers. The young nun shivered next to him, and he almost offered his jacket, before she refused with slight discomfort on her face. He supposed it was to be expected. Terrified to death or not, she was still a nun. She told him that they had underestimated this problem, and that it had festered before they could escape. Now, every time they tried to escape, it was almost like they were prevented by a thick barrier outside the door. That barrier also prevented other people from entering, as it seemed.

“I had heard that people tried to enter to the church, but they never came out afterwards,” he told her.

She gasped, and looked at him with wide eyes full of honey. “No one ever visited us anymore since four months ago. No one entered and no one went out, except for you Mister. Even the food that had been left for us were usually thrown in because no one could get close enough. We are truly trapped from inside and out.”

He thought for a moment, those people were either went missing in the forest, or was devoured by the so-called Enkaku. He would have to investigate this matter properly after tonight. He gave her a reassuring look, and said, “I will try to find them tomorrow. You do not need to concern yourself with that.”

She gave him a grateful smile, and once again, Executor had to blink for a moment because he felt like his head had slowed down. The fog was thick, and the light candle she brought with him was swaying with the breeze. The screams hadn’t stopped even for a moment. Enkaku, they cried, Enkaku.

He breathed slowly through his nose. His head was swimming, like he was walking very slowly through a strong current. His lungs felt like they were being pressed down by unseen forces. His breaths were becoming harsher by the seconds. Beside him, the young nun looked uneasy upon noticing his predicament. He tried his best to follow her footsteps, head ringing with the whispers and the fog.

The room was large; six mattresses were set on the floor, one of them was separated a bit far from the rest. He supposed it was the pastor’s bed. The nun led him to the very same bed, and said, “You may sleep here if you’re tired, the pastor will not be back tonight, after all. If you’re hungry, that door is adjacent to the kitchen. We still have some bread and canned soups if you wanted to eat.”

He made to refuse her offer, because he didn’t need sleep. He needed to execute his job as soon as he could, before this church was swallowed completely by darkness. He also needed to put a sleeping spell on her, and the rest of the pastor and nuns. But as he opened his mouth, he found that it was incredibly difficult to speak.

The young nun looked really worried now, setting down the candle on a table and stepped closer to him. “Mister? Are you alright? You look quite pale.”

He shook his head, but it felt like the room was slowly spinning now. His breaths came in pants as he tried to focus on his surroundings. Briefly, he noticed that the nun was almost face to face with him, her smaller form emanating warmth that made him tremble. What is this, he thought hazily. He groaned when she cupped his face with long, soft fingers. Her palms were hot, incredibly, like they had been just dipped into fire. It felt like a brand on his cheeks, he was sure that she would leave mark on his skin from how blistering the heat from her palms felt like.

“I am alright,” he gritted out. But then, he was swaying on his feet, until her thin arms caught him. Pressed so close like this, he was served whiffs of her scent. So sweet and enchanting; there was an allure in that scent that he couldn’t quite explain. It smelt like fire, like the oppressing fog around the church, it smelt like the air before the dusk, when the world was at its darkest hour and the sun seemed like it would never rise.

He faintly realized that they were moving along to the bed. He could only watch with hazy eyes and mind so numb, so detached from reality, as she coaxed him to take off his jacket. She looked like she was hurt when she held the jacket, and Executor wanted to kiss that frown away from her face. She was asking him to do something, but he couldn’t hear what it was, just that his body was moving on his own as he pulled out his guns and let it clatter to the ground.

She smiled then, saccharine sweet as she leaned down over his face. He only noticed that her veil wasn’t there anymore when her long, long hair spilled down onto his neck. She whispered something—what is it, what is it—

“What is your name, Mister?”

Before he could answer, the world spun around him, and he fell back into the embrace of the abyss.

-

There were hands on his body, pulling him out of his slumber, out of the mattress he was laying on. He heard the whispers, louder in his ears. It almost felt like they were talking inside his head. That language… it was the same one that the infected nuns and priests had used, as they screamed into the night, a call for Enkaku.

They held each of his arms, and he vaguely noticed that his feet were moving on their own accord. He felt like he was floating, the fog inside his head still thick and crushing. He looked down on his arms, and watched with a bizarre fascination at the almost skeletal fingers clutching him. The skin around the bones had sunken in so deep that it almost felt like they had dried. The arms were as bony, as skeletal as the rest of them. He couldn’t see their faces; they were covered by similar veils that the young nun had worn. These are… the nuns from the praying room?

Behind him, there were heavy footsteps following them. That must have been the pastor. He tried to clear the haziness from his head, but the world was still spinning around him. They weren’t praying anymore. Something must have happened. The young nun—where is she?

Unbidden, his head was flooded by the memory of her warmth; the smooth skin of her palms, the searing heat from them; her eyes filled with honey; her sweet, alluring smile; her hair spilling over like a the night sky. Her voice—

Executor gasped, his lungs felt like they were on fire. It burned every time he tried to breathe. The fire spread, quicker than he could comprehend—to his neck, his arms, his chest, his legs, the pit of his stomach. He felt hot, hot, hot, a searing pain that lanced through his veins like his blood had been replaced by molten lava. He groaned, loud and feral. He was so parched, so thirsty. He needed something to quench this gnawing thirst inside him. Something—something—

The pastor walked ahead of him, opening the door into the sanctuary. He stumbled when his feet his something, but the skeletal fingers around his arms were pulling him forwards with such strength that bellied the fragility of their bones. As the door closed behind him, the bells rung and rung and rung, the screams descended into a hysteria that enveloped the whole church. The heat inside Executor burned brighter than before.

They let him go in front of the altar, and left him there. He didn’t hear their footsteps anymore, but when he turned, they were nowhere to be seen. He was alone in the sanctuary, with his hazy thoughts and unquenchable heat in his underneath his skin.

But when he turned to the altar, he found that he was not alone.

There was someone, standing in front of the altar, praying underneath the cross covered in blood. With dark hair like the night sky falling on their back, a veil with laces on the edge cascaded from their head to their back. The sheen of it looked so soft in the dim light of the candle. He felt like he knew this person.

He tried to walk on feet that felt like lead, hands reaching forward as the heat burned him from the insides. But the closer he walked, the taller the figure seemed to be. The shoulders broadened, the slender figure morphed into a firmer, sturdier frame. Executor’s breaths were so loud in his ears. Outside the sanctuary door, the bells were ringing again.

As he touched the edge of the veil, the figure turned, and Executor’s breath caught in his throat. Standing there underneath the bloody cross, with long hair as dark as the night, the veil cascading soft shadows over his features, was the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life.

As the tall man walked to him with soft, careful steps, Executor fell to his knees. His legs were trembling, his fingers clenched around empty air, his blood sung as the man looked down at him with eyes so alike to lit ambers. He was beautiful, too beautiful, that Executor felt his head spun again from the sheer breathlessness this man had reduced him into. There, in front of him, wrapped in white robes as smooth as silk, the man stood like God’s most bewitching nightmare.

The candles suddenly erupted into a shower of fires around him, the light turning into the vermillion and his heart stopped in its cage as the man smiled at him. It looked familiar, even if it looked more alluring and sinister under the red haze of the candle lights. He was—the… young nun?

All at once, the similarities hit him like a tornado; the eyes, the lips, the hair, the scars on the side of his face. And yet, instead of scars, there were crystals as black as the eyes of demons. They followed the same pattern on his face, down to his neck, to his collarbones, and disappeared beneath the robes he was wearing. Alongside his fringe, there were protruding bones, as black as the crystals on his body, as sharp as knives. Horns, his mind told him, they were horns.

He knew who this man was, had heard his name in the winds, the screams of the fallen, and now it fell from his lips like a reverent prayer to a cruel god.

“Enkaku,” he called out, hands outstretched to the man. “Enkaku…”

When the man knelt down and took his hands in his long, graceful fingers, it felt like the world had finally returned to its axis. His head stopped spinning, the fog in his head clearing away, but the heat was becoming worse and worse by the second. He gasped for air, panting heavily as his lungs constricted inside his ribs.

“Please,” he pleaded softly.

Enkaku slowly guided his hands to his body, smiling as he pulled down the robes to his shoulders, exposing smooth skin and the last trail of the black crystals. Executor let out a sigh when his fingers finally touched him. It was not unlike finding oasis in a vast dessert, like coming up for air after being underwater for so long.

“Tell me your name, Executor,” Enkaku commanded in a voice so deep, so smooth, gliding against his skin like a caress. He was unable to refuse him.

“Samuel,” he said without a thought. Anything, he would tell him anything as long as he stayed here and be by Executor’s side.

Enkaku had smiled, saccharine, wicked. Somewhere inside his mind, Executor felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here. That should get out, and leave, and run. But then, Enkaku pulled the sash of his robes free, and Executor held his breath as the robes fell away, bunching at his waist as he crawled to where he was kneeling, and settled on his lap, weighing him down like the most beautiful sin.

“Would you like to touch me, Samuel?” Enkaku’s enchanting voice whispered into his ears. “You feel the heat inside of you, don’t you? I can help you, darling. I can help you ease the pain away, would you like that?”

He was nodding before the man was finished, a litany of please, yes, please, please was falling from his parched lips. Enkaku laughed; his amber eyes full of mockery, his laughter pitiless and vicious. But then, he was kissing him, and all Executor could think of was how soft his lips were, his tongue cold across his mouth, how sweet, sweet, sweet he tasted. He couldn’t get enough. He surged up to kiss him, again and again, licking into Enkaku’s mouth and felt the heat inside him flared brighter as the man sighed into his mouth. It felt like drinking nectars, but the more he kissed him, the thirstier he felt. He needed more, he wanted more.

He bit Enkaku’s lips hard enough to draw blood, and reveled in the delirious moans he let out. God, he was so beautiful. Executor wanted to hold him and crush his bones. Wanted to devour him whole so he could taste his blood on his tongue. Wanted him so bad, so bad.

“Slow down, darling,” Enkaku said when they parted, smiling when Executor tried to follow his lips. “We have all night. I will let you touch every single part of my body. All of it.” He put Executor’s palm on his chest, bit his lower lip when Executor pulled and pinch at the slowly hardening nub. He let out sweet, sweet moans when Executor’s left hand took the other nub into his fingers, circling it with soft touches, before twisting it mercilessly in his fingers. Enkaku smiled at him, amber eyes slowly darkening with lust.

He took Executor’s hands in his again, and guided them down to his lean stomach, down to his slender hips. He let him caressed the jutting hipbones, spreading his palms on them and marveling at how he could almost covered the man’s hips with the span of his palms. But then, Enkaku was moving his hands again, down to the base of his spine, where he gasped as he found a protruding tail bones underneath his fingers. The tail felt crystalized, wrapping around his hands as he rubbed the base firmly, earning him low, drawn out keens from the man on top of him.

“You’re not so much of a saint now, are you, Samuel?” Enkaku mocked, breathless in his moans.

Executor nodded. It was not far from the truth, after all. His head was full of the burning desires to wreck this man, to put his fingers on every inch of his smooth skin, to feel him on his tongue, to have him in any ways he could. He tilted his head up to kiss Enkaku, enveloping his soft lips with his mouth, tongue intertwined with such sensuality that Executor shivered from it. “Never been a saint,” he whispered between the kisses. “Will never be.”

Enkaku was filled with glee as he heard the words fell from his mouth, kissing him harder and swallowing Executor’s groans when he moved his hands down, down until his fingers slipped between the cleft of his ass. The skin of his hole was already so soft, he was so wet that Executor had to pull back to gasp as his fingers rubbed against the puckered skin, the slippery wetness seeped between his fingers. Enkaku whined when he pulled his fingers back to sniff at the wetness between his fingers and sucked on them to taste. They tasted sweet, just like the rest of him.

When he pulled his fingers out, Enkaku grasped his fingers and lapped at them with his tongue, coating it with his saliva until his fingers were glistening, before sucking them into his mouth. Executor heaved a breath trough his nose. His trousers felt so tight, as his cock pulsed in tandem with Enkaku sucking on his fingers. His cold tongue flicking between the digits, his cheeks hollowed out to suck him in further. He felt like there was no air around him anymore; the carnal lust burned inside his chest, in his groin. He wanted to see Enkaku swallowed around his cock, choking on his cum. Wanted to ruin him so bad he could taste the desperation with each intake of burning air he took.

“Enkaku,” he called, watching with half-lidded eyes as Enkaku let out his fingers with a demurred smile, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the tip of his fingers. “I want you,” he said, and the screams outside the sanctuary fell on deaf ears as Executor couldn’t hear anything beyond his breaths, beyond Enkaku’s gasps and moans. The bells were ringing so loud, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when Enkaku looked at him with amber eyes filled with unholy desires and a body so sinful, so tempting just a breath away from his touch. “I want you so much,” he whispered with voice hoarse with desire. “I want you so much.”

“And you will have me,” the man answered, voice soothing even as he lowered his head to mouth at the tenting erection between Executor’s legs. He licked at the bulge, lapping his tongue and sucking on the outline of his cock as his hips bucked into the warmth of his mouth. It hurt, it hurt a lot. But he could only wait as Enkaku looked up with wicked promises in his eyes.

When the man’s slender fingers opened the clasp of his trousers, he bit his lip to swallow his groans. There was something different down there. His cock was pulsing hard; his groin felt hot to the touch as he helped Enkaku took out his hardened length. He watched with hazy eyes as Enkaku inhaled the musk of his pubic hair, rubbing his cheeks against his cock and smearing pre-cum all over his cheeks. He felt heavier tonight, Executor realized. The weight of his felt hefty in his hand. He knew every inch of his body, this was different.

“I am not a man who is easily satisfied, Samuel,” Enkaku said in soft drawl, fingers encircling Executor’s girth and gripping tight, rubbing the head of his cock and down to his root. Over and over again until he felt his abdomen tightening from the pleasure and friction. He watched with awe as his erection grew further still in Enkaku’s grasp. “It would do you good if you could use the gift I have bestowed. You can do that, can’t you, Samuel? You can fuck me good, fuck me hard with your heavy cock?”

He swallowed numerous promises to fuck him so good he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about stopping. But all he said was a simple affirmation of, “Yes.” Because there was no words that could explain how much he wanted to embrace this man, wanted to fill him in again and again until they were both spent and exhausted.

“Good,” Enkaku said with a satisfied smirk, before swallowing around Executor’s cock.

He gasped, hands immediately went to hold onto Enkaku’s long, blue hair. They were so soft to the touch, threading between his fingers like the silk of his robes. He unabashedly let out a loud a groan when Enkaku spread his lips to accommodate him further, red lips stretched thin around his girth as he went down, down until he felt the back of Enkaku’s throat fluttering around the head of his cock, and even then he went further down still until his nose met the curl of the coarse hair on his groin. His throat felt so dry when he looked down to see the bulge of his cock outlined on Enkaku’s throat, reaching so far down he could feel the man struggled to breathe.

His fingers traipsed up to the skin on his neck, breath hitching when he felt the bulge, and pressing against it just so that Enkaku whined low in his throat, making him moan in return because of the vibration. He felt the man swallowed around him, before he started moving, and then Executor had to hold on for dear life on Enkaku’s hair because it felt so good, it felt too much and too little all at once, it felt like nothing could ever matter anymore when Enkaku’s soft lips moved up and down his length with ease. He hollowed out his cheeks, tightening the suction around his cock as if he was trying to pull Executor’s very soul through his cock alone.

He was trembling, his eyes couldn’t stay open for long as he was lost to pleasure. But he forced them to look down, just to see his hard cock slipped past Enkaku’s mouth, moaning low in appreciation as he sucked on the head, and went down again until he was encased in Enkaku’s throat once more. It was a pattern that made his head dizzy with overwhelming arousal, and the chant of he’s so beautiful, so pretty on my cock, so dangerous, should get out of here, want him, want to defile him in the altar, so God could see, could see his sins laid bare on his prayers.

He gritted his teeth, nails digging into Enkaku’s scalp when he realized that one of Enkaku’s hands was reaching onto his back, long fingers working in and out of his wet hole. The sight of those fingers, glistening with his sweet, sweet wetness, made his stomach pulse with heat. He reached forward to lay his palm across Enkaku’s butt cheeks, driving his cock further into his mouth as he gasped and choked when Executor’s palm landed harshly against his skin. Enkaku moaned around the cock in his mouth when the slap came again, each time harder than the last one on the swell of his ass.

The sixth time his palm came down, the skin was already red with the imprint of his hand. Enkaku’s fingers worked faster as he sucked harder on Executor’s cock. He rubbed the sore skin, feeling the heat of it on the smoothness of the surface, before slipping a finger inside of Enkaku. He was already soaked down there; the clear, saccharine slick ran down his knuckles as he thrust his fingers alongside Enkaku’s. When he pressed the second finger in, Enkaku sucked hard on his cock, before letting it out with a wet, filthy sound.

He leaned his head on Executor’s thigh, pulling his own fingers out to hold onto him as Executor’s fingers drove in and out, in and out without mercy on his drenched hole. He thrust in three, four fingers and had to close his eyes when the obscene sound of his fingers thrusting into Enkaku became so loud amidst the silent church. There screams were no longer heard, the whispers, the bells—they were enveloped in silence but for Enkaku’s harsh breath and Executor’s fingers working him open down there.

When he felt his digits brushed against something firm, however, he felt Enkaku jolted on his lap, and let the filthiest moan he had ever heard. He felt his body becoming hotter and hotter as the burn inside of him came back with vengeance. Enkaku seemed to know, too, as he got up and pushed Executor’s fingers away. The came out with a wet slide that that made Enkaku heaved a deep sigh, amber eyes closed as he tried to pull himself together. When they were open, they were wild and enchanting. Executor could stare at them forever.

He was pushed to his back as Enkaku climbed onto his lap, panting softly as he grasped Executor’s cock and sink down on him slowly. “Oh,” the man gasped. “Oh, Samuel.”

Executor bit into his own fist as the felt the overwhelming sensation of being enveloped in tight, wet heat. It was unlike anything he’d ever had before. Enkaku was so tight, so warm, so deliciously wet as he slid down with ease on his large girth. He took him in so well, tightening when his cock brushed against that firm spot again and sending shivers down Executor’s spine as he closed his eyes and tried not to drown in the immense pleasure simply from being inside of this pretty man.

When he felt every single inch of him had been enveloped by Enkaku’s heat, he was only allowed a single breath as Enkaku looked down at him and gave him a wicked smirk. It was all the warning he got before Enkaku started to move, and when he did, he moved fast. Executor couldn’t stop the groans from falling out of his mouth as he held unto Enkaku’s hips, mind reeling from the divine sensation of Enkaku bouncing on his lap like he was trying to ride the fastest chariot into the sun.

He moved tirelessly, his ass slapping against Executor’s thighs as he took him to the root. He moved with abandon, chasing his own release without a care for Executor. He didn’t mind, not when he was almost breathless from pleasure. Not when Enkaku looked so enthralling on top of him. The veil had long since fallen down, his hair spilling over his shoulders like a dark curtain, eyes closed as he bit his lips hard. He looked every bit like a filthy angel that God had sent down to bring Executor to his knees. And down to his knees he went.

He thrust his hips up into the heat, reveling in the surprised gasp that earned him. Enkaku’s eyes flew open, his smirk grew wider as he met Executor thrust after thrust. He pulled his hands towards his body, asking to be touched. So he did, fondling the supple flesh of his chest as he would to a woman. His nipples were already hard and jutting, and he let out the sweetest moan when Executor pinched and twisted them with his fingers. “Yes,” he whined, pace going a little bit faster than before. “Harder, Samuel. Touch me.”

He complied, twisting and fondling them roughly in his hands as he felt his release built up and up and—

He stuttered, eyes wide and confused as his release were halted. On top of him, Enkaku laughed.

“Oh, Samuel,” he cooed, like a prayer, like a mocker. “I am the one who’d going to decide when I will let you come. Remember, darling, I am not a man who is easily satisfied.”

He heaved and choked on air as the pace picked up again. The fire burning inside of him was a steady glow of ambers, and then there was anger. Hot and surging, corroding his mind as the sweet whisper of brutality and ruthlessness took over.

He got up and grasped at Enkaku’s hips, gripping them tight as he rammed into him harder. Enkaku was laughing again, saying, “Yes, yes. That’s it darling boy, fuck me.”

He couldn’t remember just how long he had been thrusting into Enkaku, just the oppressing weight of impeded release that made him angrier and angrier. Enkaku was a moaning mess on his lap, his silk robes pooled around his waist like a mockery of modesty. He tugged at the man’s long hair, kissing along his bared neck, inhaling his delicious scent into his lungs. He wanted to bite him, sink his teeth into skin and flesh and let him bleed on the floor. But he couldn’t, not when Enkaku was still withholding his release.

So he sucked on the skin until bruises bloomed under his lips, biting close to Enkaku’s crystals and ground into him when he let out soft mewls at that. He was sensitive there, and his tail, Executor remembered. He caressed the base of his tail, alternating between soft touches and harsh grips that had Enkaku panting and gasping above him. When he tugged however, Enkaku tightened impossibly so around him as he shook through his orgasm. Executor closed his eyes, it was too much, too tight, too wet. The slick from Enkaku’s hole slid down to coat his thighs.

“Enkaku,” he gritted out. “Let me come—please.”

Enkaku calmed his breath in just matters of minute, before he was kissing him, rough and filthy. He licked Executor’s lips with his cold tongue, before pulling back and smirked at him. “We’re not done yet, Samuel. Not even close.”

He tightened around Executor’s hard cock, and he bit back a groan when Enkaku started moving again. He was too sensitive after being denied his release twice. So he pushed the taller man down on the floor, and spread his long legs apart, pushing them to Enkaku’s chest as he hammered away with abandon. If he were to be refused of release, then he would fuck him until he begged for Executor to stop.

Enkaku didn’t waste a breath before hooking his own hands under his knees, keeping himself spread open like cheap whores on dark alleys. But he would be the one who would devour anyone who dared to come to him. Just like the way he was devouring Executor right now. He grunted when the change of position brought his cock even deeper inside Enkaku, and leaned back against the heel of his feet as he set a harsh pace.

When he opened his eyes, Enkaku was pumping his red, angry cock with a rough twist of his slender fingers. Executor growled at that, and slapped his hands away. It was only fair that he could only cum from Executor’s cock inside him, fucking him with animalistic recklessness.

“If only you could see yourself,” Enkaku said, a sneer on his beautiful face. He was sweating from head to toe from the exertion, but the sheen of it on his skin only made Executor’s head spun with depraved desires. “It would be a wonder if God will ever give their forgiveness for such a sinner.”

God would never forgive him, he thought, not answering to Enkaku’s words. Even long before this, he was never a man that could walk the bridge to Heaven. He had worked under God’s name because he was taught that it was the right thing to do, but he had never been the chosen child that would carry the light of forgiveness, nor would he be forgiven. Executor did not know which God he was praying to, but he knew that none of the God in this universe that would be kind enough to forgive someone like him. Gods were cruel in their judgment, and cruel in their love. Just like Enkaku.

He rubbed the underside of Enkaku’s thighs with his palm, feeling the smoothness of his skin and the wetness from the slick that had flowed down. He bent down low to kiss them, sucking the skin and bit around it to leave a mark. When he pulled back, his palm stroke down as hard as he could. Enkaku screamed, red lips parted and tongue lolling out as he landed the strike for the second time, harder than before. He was using his full strength to land the third blow, watching in satisfaction as the skin almost broke under his rough ministrations.

On the fourth strike, Enkaku tightened up like before, and came onto his stomach, coating his muscles in white pearl. He smiled at Executor, surging up to kiss him slow and dirty. He licked into Executor, tangling their tongues together, sinking his teeth on his lips and came back with Executor’s blood running down his chin. He laughed at Executor’s stricken face, and gripped his shoulders tight, planting his sharp nails into the skin when Executor abruptly stood up and laid him on the altar.

He looked beautiful there, Executor thought. His dark hair spread like halo, his robes were hanging onto his hips and thighs. He looked unbelievably ethereal, like a goddess ready to be sacrificed.

Enkaku looked up at the bloody cross on the wall. His smile was serene, so enchanting, and yet so vicious when he closed his eyes to laugh at how he had sully this holy place into a ruin beyond salvation. Executor reached to swipe his thumb on his soft lips, licking his own when Enkaku opened up and sucked his thumb in as he looked into Executor’s eyes.

As he hollowed out his cheeks, lapping his tongue on his thumb, Executor gripped on the edge of the altar and started moving slowly inside Enkaku. The man let his thighs parted opened, and Executor slotted himself between them, burrowing his cock deeper inside of him when Enkaku’s legs hooked around his waist. He pulled out until only the tip remained inside, and slammed his entire length harshly. Enkaku chokes on his saliva at the sensation, closing his eyes and sucking harder on the digit inside his mouth.

Executor did it again, pulling out completely before slamming back inside, again and again until Enkaku’s hole stayed gaping when he pulled out completely this time. He watched, mesmerized by the sight, and twisted three fingers inside, moving them hard and fast as Enkaku’s moans fell like a choir in the sanctuary. He kept them moving, pressing mercilessly against the firm bundle of nerves inside, and refusing to give Enkaku his cock back.

“Samuel,” he breathed out, it almost sounded like a plea. “Samuel, fuck me.”

“I am doing exactly that,” he simply said, inserting another finger inside and jabbing them harder at Enkaku’s sensitive spot.

Enkaku grunted in frustration, and pulled Executor closer by the legs on his hips. “I’ll let you come,” he said. “I’ll let you come inside me, alright, darling? Now, come, fuck me.”

Executor immediately pulled out his fingers, and slid his cock back into the warmth of Enkaku’s embrace, swallowing his own groan so he could hear the man’s high pitched keens as he felt every inch of Executor’s girth pushing inside. He was panting by the time he bottomed out, grasping onto Enkaku’s thighs like a lifeline. “Enkaku,” he moaned out, and looked into his amber eyes. “You look so beautiful, so beautiful, Enkaku.”

“I am,” the man smiled. “And you could have me, Samuel, all of me. All you have to do was let go.”

At that moment, the forgotten haziness and burning heat inside of him surged without mercy. He heaved in a gasp as the world started to spin around the sanctuary. He tried to blink, to hold onto some semblance of coherency, but all he could feel was Enkaku’s tight heat enveloping him, and his voice, whispering into his ears. Just let go, darling. Let go, and I’ll let you be mine.

He felt all the withheld release mounting up as he moved hard and fast, his hips slamming into the tight heat with such brutality that surprised him. But he couldn’t lament on it, not for long. Not when the fire burned in the pit of his stomach, his chest, his throat. He was clawing at his neck with his left hand, as his right hand gripped Enkaku’s hips so tight he could almost feel his bones breaking under his fingers. The faster he moved, the less air he could inhale. His throat felt like it was constricted, like someone was crushing his windpipe with invisible force.

He dropped forward onto Enkaku’s chest, hand moving from his neck to the man’s shoulder as he rammed into him over and over, feeling the wet slide of his cock against velvety walls. His skin felt it was burning, he felt so hot, too hot. It was almost like there was ichor inside his veins and his mortal body was falling apart trying to contain it. He was getting desperate; his movements uncontrolled as Enkaku gathered him close in his arms, whispering in his ears in-between his moans.

The moment he tightened impossibly for the third time, whispers of let go, just let go, don’t you want to be mine, Samuel? in his ears, Executor felt like time stopped for a moment. The haze was clear, the fire eating him alive from the insides had died down, the ichor in his veins had been replaced by something else. Something he was familiar with, something wicked, something unholy. Red bleed into his eyes, and in the moment that time continued to tick down, Executor bit hard into Enkaku’s neck, elongated fangs ripping skin and flesh apart as he sunk his teeth so deep within the veins.

He felt rather than heard when Enkaku howled, his eyes flew apart at the unbelievable pain that he must have felt right now. His nails raked on Executor’s back, his legs spasming on his hips. He tried to push Executor away, but he held on, sinking his teeth deeper, feeling his nails breaking the skin on Enkaku’s waist from the force of it. He felt Enkaku tightening again when he came for the third time, despite everything.

Executor moved, too, chasing his own release as Enkaku’s hold on his soul loosening. Enkaku started trashing in his arms when he felt something entered his body through Executor’s fangs. “Samuel!” he growled low, still trying to push Executor away. “What did you do? Let go—let go!”

When the rest of the poison had entered Enkaku’s body, Executor let go. He took both of Enkaku’s wrists and slammed them onto the surface of the altar. Enkaku’s eyes widened when his amber met the redness where there were pale blue previously. He laughed then, ugly and hysterics and Executor still moved, still chasing the end of the heat inside the pit of his stomach.

“You tricked me,” he accused with scathing hiss.

Executor smiled for the first time since he stepped into this church. “So did you, Enkaku.”

Enkaku threw his head back when a particularly hard thrust sent him moving up the altar, unable to keep his whimpers and keens as Executor thrust once, twice, before holding him close, thrusting as deep as he could before he felt the unbelievable heat of his cum inside of Enkaku. He was dizzy from Enkaku’s mind games and the force of his release after being denied of it for so long. He cum again, and again, flooding Enkaku’s insides with his fluids until he felt some of it leaked out. Enkaku was trembling in his arms, mouth opened in silent scream.

The aftermath of it left him breathless and disoriented, but he took it in strides. There was nothing Enkaku could do. Not with the poison spreading rapidly through his blood. Executor pulled out then, watching with sick fascination as his cum, so much of it, trickled out of Enkaku’s loose hole. He really was a beautiful, cruel god. Splayed on the altar like this, helpless and thoroughly debauched, it was ironically similar to a sacrificing ritual. Executor willed his heartbeat to calm, tucking his cock back into his pants, and walked up to Enkaku’s twitching form on the altar.

The man’s eyes were alight, filled by hatred and indignation. He supposed it was to be expected, he had been beaten in his own game, after all. Executor looked at him, remembering his face, his crystals, his long hair, his horns and tails, his body; he couldn’t lie, with or without Enkaku’s magic, he was still a beautiful being. It was such a shame that he had to die like this.

“Who are you,” Enkaku demanded, still so prideful even at death’s doorstep.

“I am Executor, of Notarial Hall,” he said.

Black tendrils had started to spread from where Executor had bitten him. In such a short time, it had reached Enkaku’s hips, enveloping his arms, coming up to his neck and lips. He narrowed his eyes at him, “You are a vampire.”

“Yes,” he said. “As you are an Incubus.”

He looked lost for a moment. Executor sighed, and pulled his robes up, laying him down on the altar properly so he could rest his legs. It was a pity that God’s most beautiful creation was a wicked thing that he had to kill for the sake of his belief, for his responsibility to the Notarial Hall.

“I am not an exorcist, Enkaku,” he said. “There are creatures like you, who could not be handled by human, who could endanger so many lives if you’re not eradicated fast. Executors from the Notarial Hall work for that purpose. We are damned, all of us, we would never receive forgiveness simply for the blood that ran in our veins. We are not tied down by God’s rules, as we are not his beloved worshippers. We are the ones who could kill the likes of you, simply because we do not need god to bless our prayers.”

“What a piteous fate that you chose there, Samuel,” Enkaku laughed, cold and sinister. The tendrils were no doubt had spread far and beyond. “No matter what you do, you will always be damned by the God that you had knelt down for.”

He looked at him, and sighed. There was no use of denying what Enkaku had said. It was true. He stepped back from the Altar. Looking up at the cross, he started praying, and looked at Enkaku as he said, “May god erase the sins of those you have put your fingers upon. May you burn in the light of God’s mercy.”

Enkaku laughed then, his smirk full of hatred and vengeance as he spat out, “You will burn with me someday, Samuel. I will wait for you in the depth of hell until the day comes where your God will condemn you for doing their wills.”

Executor looked at him for the last time, and turned to leave, Enkaku’s curses following him as he opened the door and took a deep breath as the screams and the whispers attacked his senses all at once. The bells were ringing on his feet. He stepped pas it, and went to the sleeping room. The nuns and pastor were there, lying on the floor as Enkaku’s magic could no longer held onto them. They must have been dead for weeks, used by Enkaku to manipulate him when he came to the sanctuary. He found his jacket and put it on, taking his guns that he had so carelessly thrown to the floor.

He pulled back the safety, and aimed at their heads, pressing the trigger five times as each bullet buried deep within their skulls. This way, nothing could ever use them for their personal wicked plans anymore. He sent prayers for them, and stepped out to take care of the infected nuns and priests. They were in grotesque shape as he reached the room, trying to claw at his feet and screaming at him. He ripped a nun’s hand off from his arm, throwing it to the corner of the room as the nun wailed in pain. They couldn’t be saved either. This place had been condemned the moment Enkaku touched the first nun. He shot every single one of them on the head as well, and sent them prayers to soothe their souls.

When he walked past the sanctuary, Enkaku was looking at him from the altar, eyes dark and lips pulled back in a terrifying smile. He said, “You’ll never forget me Samuel,” his lips said, “you’ll burn with me too.”

He looked away and concentrated on spreading his own magic throughout the church. There was nothing left here; nothing worth saving, nothing that could be salvaged. He walked out of the church, and found that the barrier was no longer in place. The whispers were still there, and prayed as his magic gathered, and fire lit up from inside the church. The scream grew louder and louder as the fire burned brighter, spreading all around the church. Burning the fallen nuns and priests, the pastor, Enkaku.

He thought he could hear Enkaku’s voice in his ears, whispering Samuel, you could have been mine, as he watched the fire enveloping the whole building with tired eyes. It was not morning yet, the sky was still dark, but the whispers had gradually died down the more the church was burned. He finished his prayer, offered one last farewell to the lost souls, and turned to walk back to the village, bringing the weight of his sins and god’s painful mercy.

Enkaku was right. One day, Executor would burn with him. But today, he would live, even as the condemned.