#miscfic

“Hm.”

“Because it would be too much. If I—if I had to deal with your memory. I mean—” He huffed. “I won wearing your banner. I won in your honour. Of course I was thinking about you. How could I do anything else?”

Ren was smiling at him, cheeks pink, teeth showing. “I know.”

“But no, my liege,” Martyn said, not without humour, “I didn’t think about you while I was fucking someone else.”

“You should’ve.”

“I’ll just go off and do that now, then, shall I?”

“No,” Ren said, immediately. He grabbed Martyn’s shoulders and pulled him closer until Martyn was lying more securely on his chest. It was one of Ren’s favourite ways to hold him, Martyn knew; and it wasn’t as though Martyn would complain about it, either the being held or the manhandling. “Not again. Never again. Stay here.”

Martyn flashed his teeth up at him. “With you? My lord, I’d never dream of going anywhere else.”

Ren made a pleased noise. For a long while they didn’t speak. Martyn focused on the slow, steady pressure of Ren’s hand caressing along his spine, his other hand playing with Martyn’s hair, combing his fingers through it.

“I hated thinking you’d have to watch,” Martyn said, eventually. In truth there hadn’t been a moment he hadn’t hated, if he slowed down for longer than a second and let his brain catch up to his hands and the weapons in them. “Not just. That.”

“I loved watching you win,” said Ren. “Hated seeing you in pain.”

Martyn made a noise before he could stop himself, a sort of half laugh and half sob. “Yeah.”

“Because you were, weren’t you,” Ren said, soft. “No one else could see it, but you were hurting, yeah?”

“I dunno,” Martyn said. “I think Scott probably knew.”

“He doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.”

He had immediately regretted using the name. But Martyn wanted to make sure they were still talking about the same haunting, here.

“Martyn. Martyn,” Ren said. He was holding Martyn’s face in his hands again, thumb brushing across his cheekbones. Keeping him there. “I loved seeing you win. But I’d not have you suffer another moment. You’re mine only. You hear me? No more of this.”

“I don’t know how much you were watching,” Martyn said, because it was easier to deflect. If he’d had his way he wouldn’t have let Ren see any of it, but of course he never had control over that sort of thing. “What we—did.”

“You mean…”

“Yeah. Yeah, like that.”

Ren’s expression would have looked neutral to most people, but Martyn knew his tells. His jaw was tight. “I saw enough.”

Martyn said, trying to make it a joke, “So you saw when he held me underwater so he could—”

“Did he ever do anything for you?” Ren said, abruptly.

Martyn froze. Ren made a jerky, aborted movement, like he’d wanted to reach for him and then forcibly stopped himself. Martyn of course wished he hadn’t. But it was more about Ren’s comfort here.

“Scott did plenty of things for me,” Martyn said, slowly. “He’s—we’re friends.”

“I don’t know if he did,” said Ren, louder. He was getting angry. “Because from where I was standing, it looked a whole lot like he used you.”

“Well, you know I like to be used.”

“Not like that,” Ren said. “Don’t try to fool me like that.”

“Okay,” Martyn managed to choke out.

Ren held him for another long moment, without saying anything. As though he thought Martyn would try to slip away from him. As though Martyn could bring himself to do anything like that ever again.

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Martyn said, muffled into the front of Ren’s shirt. He thought Ren might say he was just making it all worse, but Ren didn’t say anything. “Not all the time. I mean. Sometimes it’s just easier. To fuck the people you’re allied with.”

“Done this before, have you,” Ren said, neutrally.

Martyn burrowed further into Ren’s chest. “Not since you.”

Which was demonstrably a lie. But Ren didn’t call him on it.

“I didn’t regret it,” Martyn told him. “I mean, I don’t.”

“What?”

“Betraying Scott.” But of course it wasn’t really a betrayal if Scott had known all along that it would happen, was it? “Killing him. Winning. All that.”

Ren didn’t say anything. Martyn said, “I’d have done it to anyone. Scott wasn’t special.” That got a reaction—Ren’s arms tightening around Martyn’s chest—as he’d expected. Martyn added, goading, “I’d have fucked anyone, for time or shelter, you know. I’m a wildcard, haven’t you heard? I’m a loose cannon. I can’t be trusted.”

“That’s not the impression I’ve had.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn tilted his chin up so he could look into Ren’s dark eyes. Ren’s eyes said that he knew plainly what game Martyn was playing, and would indulge him as long as he remembered it was just a game. Martyn said, “Go on, then, my liege. Educate me. What sort of man am I, then?”

“Loyal,” Ren said, immediately. His arms held Martyn in place against his chest. “Brave. Strong—stronger than you know.”

“Flatterer,” said Martyn. He could feel his face heat.

“Beautiful,” Ren added. He pressed a kiss to Martyn’s brow. “Determined. Righteous.”

“Come on, now.”

Ren’s mouth was against his ear now. He murmured, “Most importantly. Mine.”

“I showed you mine,” Ren said, trying to bring some levity back into the conversation. He would have loved to bring Martyn to Hermitcraft, really, but he’d been too nervous to ask, during their first game together, and this time around he was too scared that Martyn would say no if outright invited. Instead, he added, “I think you’d like it. You’re creative, you’d like it…”

Martyn huffed. “I get enough time having to think of all the horrible things I’ve done to my friends, thanks.”

And that was why Ren didn’t like to bring it up. “I understand.”

“No you don’t,” Martyn said. “Not really. Not if you want to make me—”

He cut himself off. His ankle twitched in Ren’s grip. Ren said, “I think you’d like my friends. I—I think they’d like you, too.”

“More people to fuck over.”

Not everyone’s home server was as nice as Hermitcraft, Ren knew. He still didn’t know where everyone went, outside the games. It was possible that Martyn and his friends were working through something else—when he’d mentioned it, before, Martyn had made a wordless noise of hurt and said, “‘Friends’? Right. That’s what they are. If you think so too,” which Ren couldn’t explain and had been too chickenshit to ask about any further—really he was just so tripped up by everything Martyn said.

“Can’t,” said Martyn, face pressed into Ren’s neck. “Miss you.”

Ren made a not-very-valiant effort to disguise the shudder that ran through him. He wasn’t reticent about how he liked when Martyn was shy and needy like this, but he still worried sometimes that he would frighten Martyn with how much he liked it. “D’you want me to come lie down with you? Hold you, for a bit?”

“Please,” Martyn agreed.

Ren closed his book and stood, turning. “C’mere,” he said, then bent and scooped up Martyn in his arms, Martyn’s legs around his waist. Martyn rested his head against Ren’s shoulder while Ren carried him into their bedroom and deposited him on the rumpled sheets, head on the pillows. “You’re cute,” Ren told him, mostly because it was true, and partially to make Martyn flush.

They ended up with Martyn curled on his side, Ren behind him, holding him. One of Ren’s legs slung over Martyn’s thigh. Martyn’s cheek resting on his bicep. His hair in Ren’s face. The warmth of his body, his scent, the way his shoulders loosened when he exhaled. “Feels good.”

Ren snaked an arm over Martyn’s side so he could grab his wrists and hold them together. “You want it like this? Me pinning you down?”

Martyn might have been facing away from him, but Ren could see how his ears turned red. “Yeah,” he said, so quietly Ren could barely hear him.

“Hey,” Ren said. “It’s no trouble.” He squeezed Martyn’s wrists. “You just close your eyes and try to get some sleep. I’ll stay here.”

“Mhmm,” said Martyn. Then, barely audible: “Love you.”

Ren buried his face in Martyn’s hair. He might not feel like sleeping, but Martyn’s careful vulnerabilities would always make him feel like crying. “I love you too,” he murmured. Rubbed his thumb against the underside of Martyn’s wrist, across his pulse. “Always.”

“What? Why’d you want to do that?”

Maybe he hadn’t heard. “Everyone says I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy,” Pearl says. “Do you ever think your friends make you want to be a worse person?”

Jimmy does a little shuffling motion slightly closer towards the gate, then stops. “Erm. I don’t think so?”

“You’re cute. Like a little bug I could step on with my shoe,” Pearl informs him. “I don’t want to hurt you, I promise.”

“Well, good? Thank you? I don’t wanna hurt you either.”

Pearl says, “We could be soulmates, have you considered that? Wouldn’t it be awful? I think it would be worse than a lot of things. But then we could tease Scott about it! With the snow! I had a dog,” she adds. “People were so mean to my dog, they hit her and kicked her and then when she growled at them they’d hit her and when she snapped at them they’d kick her.”

“...Okay,” says Jimmy, awkwardly. “Should I call someone? Er, Martyn, maybe?”

“Nooo, no, no no,” Pearl says, sing-song, “don’t call! I won’t come when you call! I just wanna talk. You like talking! Right? You said we could be friends? Oh, but then you changed your mind.”

“I was kinda worried about you,” Jimmy says. Then, “I’m still kinda worried about you actually.”

It’s been a while since anyone’s been worried about Pearl. She brightens, leaning over the little wooden gate, closer to Jimmy. “He’s worried about you too,” she says, like it’s a secret, which it probably is. But Pearl’s been sneaky, sneaking around, getting all kinds of sneaking in. “Bet you’re glad you’re not his soulmate, yeah?”

“I’m— I’ll have you know I’m perfectly happy with... with my soulmate,” Jimmy says.

Pearl says, “Isn’t it kind of rude to be soulmates with someone else when you’re married? Isn’t it kind of cheating?”

“I—”

“Just kidding!” says Pearl. “I really shouldn’t have stolen your horse.”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy says. “I forgive you. I’ve got another one.”

Pearl giggles. Oh right, she was supposed to be apologising. “Sorry! Sorry, it’s fun to tease you, I think he was right when he said it’s fun to tease you. Everybody says I’m crazy,” she adds. Did she say that already? Well, people keep saying it. “I’m just lonely. I don’t want to tie you up and put you in a cage and poke you with a stick. And say you’re the worst person and the reason I don’t believe in love and the cause of all my problems. And hurt me.”

Jimmy looks kind of like he’s been hit upside the head. “Did... did someone do that to you?”

“Oh, I hope not,” Pearl says, shuddering. “That would be really mean, wouldn’t it?”

Gem almost shrieks. “Where! Have you heard that before!” Both Scott and Impulse crack up. Gem’s tempted to cover her ears and start yelling loudly until they go away. Impulse says, “Don’t—don’t think about it, okay, just don’t think—” “Gem, everybody sleeps with their allies,” Scott says, in that patient talking-to-a-toddler voice that Gem hates. Gem wails. “I don’t!”

Really Ren could have done anything and Martyn would have said it was fine. Ren could have ripped his clothes off and forced him to his knees, and Martyn would have begged for more; Ren could have hit him across the face and Martyn would have forced a smile with bloodied teeth and thanked him for deigning to touch him. But Ren’s fingers were gentle, tugging carefully at the knot of the sash, loosening it. A note of concentration, of worship, in his gaze. Like he was amazed that Martyn would let him do something like this, when it was his own fucking banner.

“Hey,” Ren murmured, kissing Martyn’s jaw softly. “What’s wrong?”

He’d stopped trying to untie the sash. It made Martyn want to shout at him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, “why would something be wr—”

Ren’s hand brushed across his cheek. “You’re crying.”

“Oh.”

Martyn swiped his sleeve hastily across his face to dry his eyes, but more tears kept spilling out, unbidden. “It’s fine,” he said, mortified, “it’s fine, I’m fine, it’s not your fault.”

Ren gently caught his wrist and tugged it away from his face. “It’s okay,” he said. His voice was so gentle, low and patient. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? It’s okay if you cry.”

“It’s not that,” Martyn said, turning his face to the side. He never cried. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had. Anything could happen to him, and he wouldn’t cry, but of course Ren would touch him for once and Martyn would fuck it all up. “I don’t know why I’m—”

“It’s all right,” Ren said. He shifted like he was going to pull away, which was the opposite of what Martyn wanted, but he was only adjusting so he was more sprawled on top of him, strong arms bracketing Martyn’s head, legs a solid weight against Martyn’s own. “I’ve got you. Do you want to slow down?”

Martyn shook his head furiously. “Don’t—don’t fucking say that. Don’t even fucking—”

“Okay, okay,” Ren soothed. He pressed his mouth against Martyn’s cheekbone, then the other, kissing away the tears. “I won’t.”

Once, Martyn remembered, Scott had caught the end of the sash and tugged playfully at it, and Martyn had almost drawn his sword on him, alliances be damned. It had been a point of contention. Once—Martyn remembered—once he’d been on his knees begging for some semblance of touch from a monster that hadn’t even got Ren’s eyes right, couldn’t even replicate the depth of kindness in them; once, he’d been commanded to strip off the banner, and he’d fought back, he’d snapped his teeth and shouted I won’t, or maybe he’d sobbed, maybe he’d curled up on his side and pleaded, I can’t, I can’t, please don’t make me. Martyn remembered, but that was the problem.

Ren was still gazing down at him like Martyn was the most precious thing in the world. “Hand,” he said, and Martyn shuddered beneath him. He kissed Martyn’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his temple. “Can I help?”

“It’s not you,” said Martyn, almost angry. “It’s not your fucking fault. I’ll be fine in a moment, I just—”

He thought, if Ren ever stopped looking at him, he might die. Even at his worst, no one had ever looked at him like this, with such infinite tenderness. Ren kissed his jaw again, and Martyn felt a fresh wave of tears pour down his cheeks.

“Don’t stop,” he said. His voice was thin and ragged, how he felt. When he inhaled, it was a shuddering breath, wet and raw. “Please. Don’t stop touching me. You—you can’t.”

“I won’t,” Ren promised. No one had ever touched him like this, Martyn thought; Scott certainly hadn’t, and if the monster ever had, it was something best forgotten. “Of course I won’t.”

Martyn pushed up against him, trying to find Ren’s mouth. Ren met him easily, pressing his weight on him, holding him down against the bed, grounding him. Martyn’s stupid tears were getting all over his own face and Ren’s now too, but Ren didn’t seem to mind. “I won’t leave you,” Ren told him, between kisses. “I’m here.” Another kiss. “You’re here with me.” Another. “And you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Martyn agreed, dazed.

Ren smiled at him. He lifted one hand to rest against Martyn’s cheek, thumbing the delicate skin beneath his eye, wiping away the tears. “You with me? My Hand?”

“Always,” said Martyn, because it was a stupid question.

The grin that broke onto Ren’s face was wide and helpless. He nuzzled his face against Martyn’s neck, kissing him there, then pulling back to beam at him again. “Yeah? You still wanna do this? We don’t have to take your clothes off.”

“No, I want you to.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Martyn said. He still had Ren’s banner tied around his waist, but he had Ren, now. He’d lost his king’s colours before, he’d died for them; that deep red, that violent white. But now, at the end of things, he’d returned the banner into his king’s willing hands. He’d brought their flag back home. “Please,” he added, because he knew what it did to Ren. Ren’s smile was like the sun, warming him. Martyn said, “It’s your banner, milord. I kept it safe for you.”

Scott: Ugh. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, there were so many times that were good for it… Curse that man and his being kind and giving me things.

and it’s like. girl can you make it two seconds without qualifying your affection. because at this point I don’t think you can! just say you didn’t want to kill him. none of this ‘there were so many times that were good for it’ nonsense.

“Well I’m just saying, right, I wouldn’t mind it, didn’t you hear me, did you?”

“Wouldn’t mind what, is the question.”

“Oh, if you wanted to take your mask off for Cleo,” says Bdubs.

Etho blinks at him. “Why would I do that?”

“To kiss her?” Bdubs is looking back at Etho like Etho’s the crazy one here. “To do something else? I dunno, why d’you take your mask off for anything, yeah? I’m not the jealous type, okay, I’m giving you permission, it’s fine, it’s okay.”

“I hadn’t considered it,” Etho tells him. It’s not a line: he knows Bdubs won’t think it’s a line, anyway.

“Yeah! Yeah, consider it, though. Think about it! It’d be fun, it could be fun, don’tcha think? Think about it?”

“I’d want you to be there,” says Etho.