#kstbj

“And there’s the romance of the whole encounter, gone,” he laments. Just as they reach the door, too! 

Located on the outskirts of the village, his old follower’s home is a rough-hewn hut surrounded by overgrown bushes. There is no light shining from within, no smoke exiting the mud-and-stone column protruding from the roof. Somewhere in the dirt, All for One can sense a buried idol that wards off any do-gooder’s attempt at arson.

All for One pushes at the wood, sweeping an arm out in a gesture for Torino to step in first.

“A real lightning bolt of attraction,” Torino says, dry, and instead of agreeably following All for One’s direction, he stops in front of his (well, it’s not locked in just yet, but All for One can seal this deal; the blade is just one aspect of several for Torino to truly become his champion) patron and tilts his head. Their eyes meet.

There’s blood on his face still, streaking up from a stubbled jaw and staining the arch of his nose. A few abrasions mar the overall visage, but overall…

All for One smiles. He’s always been partial to those who spilled blood for him.

“What are we doing here?”

“Resting,” he answers, innocent. “After all, we’ve made enemies among the villagers. You can’t pay for a room until they, hm, forget the beating you’ve delivered.”

Torino’s eyebrows draw together in a clear, if silent, curse. His thin mouth tightens into a bloodless line, and then he blows out a rough sigh. “The owner?”

“Long dead.”

“... Provisions?”

All for One blinks down at his knight. “You’re here.”

“Ah,” says Torino, sounding as though puzzle pieces have finally slotted into place. Whatever revelations have occurred in Torino’s head, they certainly haven’t come from All for One, who is now dearly wishing for that mental backdoor access. One step at a time, though. Torino’s only just promised to bear the sword to the vault.

If he plays his cards right, he can tempt Torino a little further down.

“It's a shelter from the elements,” he says.

“And only that,” Torino mocks.

“I offered you what I have. See what I’ve lost now?” All for One reaches for Torino’s forehead--an old habit--and deftly switches tracks to card the silver hair with his fingers. And Torino lets him. “All my tributes, my riches, oh, they all claimed it was going to be redistributed. But then they said it was cursed, and they hoarded it for themselves.”

“Because you parted with your gold so easily.”

“I made exchanges based on equal value.”

“So in your eyes, is this shelter worth my tender love and care?” Torino glances at the sparse interior--a hearth, a cobwebbed cauldron, a dusty bed with moth-eaten covers--and looks back at All for One with a challenging stare. The sting of his question fails to hurt, though. A part of All for One exults at the phrase ‘tender love and care.’

“Not alone,” says All for One slyly. “Why, you’ve been given the whole package, Sir Torino. The weapon, the house, and the god, all at your disposal.” With his hand at Torino’s nape, he draws him forward until their chests make contact, and All for One bends his own neck in order to give Torino a kiss.

Torino makes a noise, somehow startled in spite of all the signals having been sent his way. His hands go to grasp at All for One’s waist. He kisses back tentatively, then hungrily. As All for One pulls away for air, Torino takes the opportunity to urge him into the hut, kicking the door shut behind them.

“Air’s not as stale as I expected.”

“Mm,” he hums, distracted by the influx of power. It’s quick to recede, so All for One’s using it fast to make this living space more bearable. Cycling a sharp, cold breeze to kill any small, leggy intruders is the first item on his agenda.

“You’re doing something,” Torino realizes aloud, and he follows that profoundly redundant statement with an explorative trail of his mouth to All for One’s throat. Breathed against that flesh, Torino says, “Is it the action, or the intention?”

“It’s more fun when it’s both.” The deflection earns him teeth, almost immediately soothed by a tongue, and All for One clutches at Torino’s neck with a gasp. “Bed. Now.”

“What, you’re not going to fuss about the sheets?”

“Torino.”

“I don’t have supplies,” Torino says, a hint of warning entering his tone. “Give me more time in the next town, and maybe I’ll get away with more than a jar of salt.”

“If you’re following along,” All for One retorts, “then you can predict how I’ll fix it.”

The thing is, All for One thinks as he takes a step back, Torino does follow along. He’s grasped that worship isn’t just for ego’s sake. But if All for One spells it out, Torino will act contrary just to poke fun at the Demon Lord of Evil.

Closer to the bed. He thinks of undressing himself, but Torino’s pointed question holds true: All for One does want to fuss about the sheets. So instead he sits on top of the covers and watches Torino shuffle off his traveling gear: the boxy pack, the cloak, and the belts attached to the sheath of his blade. The boots come off one at a time, and after a moment, so does the top half of his outfit.

“You’re folding your clothes?”

“In the loosest of terms,” Torino says. The linens and the mail are rendered into neat squares sitting on top of the cloak; with no other way to delay the inevitable, Torino finally gives all his attention to All for One.

“Well?” All for One says, imperious in his invitation. He cocks his head and parts his legs.

“I gotta undress you too?”

“Perhaps passion could win out over propriety just this once,” he suggests.

Torino huffs out a laugh, but he approaches All for One without hesitation and climbs into the bed, carelessly tugging the Demon Lord of Evil to the center. For easier access, he rucks up the skirts of All for One’s robe.

“Hey, look at that. You do wear pants.”

“You’ll want to take my shoes off before that.”

The click of a tongue is hardly a reprimand, not when Torino so agreeably catches one of All for One’s legs and starts feeling for the seam where the hems were tucked into a road-worn boot. He drags a nail over the bunched fabric when he finds it, and is terribly gentle while pulling linen from leather.

It feels like worship, for all that Torino says no prayers.

All for One basks in it. His vision blurs slightly, going out of focus as Torino occupies himself with divesting All for One of his shoes and pants. The flow of power is only a trickle, and this mortal vessel can’t even hoard it, so he has to use it now. Priorities, priorities… definitely the bed first.

Using magic to mend and launder fabric would have earned his ridicule once, but it’s not as though All for One has the capacity to weave it anew just this second. He thinks longingly of the fine things lost from his castle: the furnishings, the meals, the painted-black plates of armor his armies donned to induce fear.

“Still here?”

With a start, All for One feels the cold air brush against bare skin. There are hands stroking up and down his legs, and Torino shuffles closer on his knees. Power licks through his veins like a dog slavering for its first meal of the day.

Half-dazed, he says, “Yes,” and, “More.”

“Greedy,” Torino accuses, and even though it’s not the vow of devotion that All for One starves for, it’s a shade closer to fondness than Torino would probably perish before admitting. His knight digs his fingers against the pliant flesh of All for One’s thighs, bites his throat hard enough to earn a gasping moan. “Selfish.”

“You’re here to please your god,” All for One manages.