Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mortarion's hands froze just above his shoulders. Mortarion stared back at him. Eyes wider than before, but no longer so trusting. Oh, how it hurt Calas's soul to see the change in demeanor, to watch his beloved Reaper retreat from the confession. But he was honest with Mortarion, and honest with himself. He couldn't hide anymore.

There was silence. The two of them locked together in this moment under the rainfall of light, waiting on the other.

"I..." The Reaper's voice was as frail as the drops of morning dew upon the land before they were choked away by their toxic contenders. "...Don't understand."

In the periphery of his vision, Calas noticed a small tremble in the, his Reaper's hands.

"Calas, you..."

"I love you, Mortarion," Calas repeated. It was the truth. He could hide it no longer. He could not lie anymore nor say anything else.

"No...that's not...how-"

"Yes, Mortarion. I really do. I love you," Calas's hands held firmer on the reaper's smooth skin. Not to control, not to hold in place; to reassure that Calas was there, and he would not be leaving him. "And I have for so long." His own voice almost caught in his own throat, his own emotions so hard to regulate. He wanted to kiss Mortarion then and there, but he needed him to understand his feelings more than all else. "I love you, Mortarion."

"...I don't..."

Calas's heart dropped. Yet somehow, he still felt lightened. He was free of the secret he had kept hidden, which had weighed him down for so long. Now it was let free in the air, flickering about in the space around them like a moth exploring dark abandoned places, looking for a light or destination.

Poor Mortarion. He had heard the word love before, certainly - but he had never known it as something he could have for himself.

"When you say you, you love," his voice quivered on the word, "...what do you mean?"

"When I say I love you," Calas emphasized the last word. He had a feeling Mortarion excluded mention of himself on purpose. "I mean..." How to explain this. How to make him understand.

He had to tell him, damn the consequences. He was too far gone. Whether Mortarion hated or resented him for his desire was his own decision; he would await it like the blade of the Reaper's scythe falling upon those facing his judgment. But let his love know the full and true extent of his crimes before sentencing him.

Calas sighed, his breath full of longing, then took a deep breath in. The scent of his Reaper filled his senses, so close as to each other's bodies as they were. So intoxicating...there was nothing more than he wanted than to be by that body, that person forever, and-

That. That was the only answer, wasn't it? To speak his innermost thoughts aloud to the Reaper, his dearest Reaper, his savior and his first friend, first and only love.

"I mean," he reiterated, "that I admire you, care for you..." He paused, tasting the words on his tongue before saying them to ensure they had the right flavor, "The love that I have is concern and wanting. Wanting to be with you forever. Wanting to ensure you are well and healthy."

He hesitated on the next part. He wasn't sure if the Reaper would...appreciate certain forms of love. So he was subtle, but he didn't lie to Mortarion. Not now. "I want to be...intimate with you. Stay by your side, near to you, next to you. Whenever you'll allow me. Whenever you want me. Always..."

No response from the Reaper, other than his hands folding down to his sides. His slender, delicate fingers and snow-white palms that looked almost inhuman in their perfection. Which handled both weapons and tools with ferocity and delicacy.

The flower Mortarion had given him remained intertwined between his fingers. "I want to hear you tell me all about the flowers. Forever. I want you to tell me all that you refrain from speaking out in front of others. I want you to show me all the hidden wonders you keep. I want you. All of you. Every facet and edge, whether brittle or sharp; whether dim or dark; all of you, together, I will accept it."

His Mortarion, his Reaper, continued to stare at him as he bared his soul. It was clear to Calas through the intensity of his bearing that he was listening intensely to every word. Calas would seize this opportunity. He had to. There'd never be such a perfect scenario, such a brilliant setting between only them amongst the dim and the dark and the resplendent showering lights above that danced along to Calas's powers.

But what else to say? What else to promise his Reaper, what could accurately convey the depths of his longing?

He loved Mortarion. He loved Mortarion beyond words, beyond anyone and anything else. All he wanted, all Calas Typhon wanted was...

"...And I...I want to be with you." A hand fell down from the cheek to rest on his Reaper's chest, where two rapid heartbeats could be felt. "Always. I want you."

I want you to love me too.

Mortarion was still. Staring into Calas's eyes, yet Calas knew his focus was introspective. For a while there was quiet so all-encompassing Calas felt he might have been deafened, the only sounds he could hear the thundering of his singular heart in his ears as he awaited a response.

"That...is what love is?"

Calas didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Another pause. "I believe I first saw affection when I escaped my father with you - the villagers who saw their lost ones returned to them from what had been expected death."

"Affection is part of love, Reaper." Calas nodded, encouraging. "They loved those people."

Mortarion was thinking now, deep in thought. He looked away from Calas, as if ashamed that he didn't immediately know the answer to a question. Calas couldn't prevent himself from gently stroking a thumb along his cheek. Wordlessly attempting to reassure him it's alright, take your time.

Mortarion pulled back. Calas let him go despite his selfishness screaming to keep his Reaper close; he knew he needed to give him the space to reach a point of clarity. To be comfortable enough to share anything that could be considered even a hint of vulnerability.

Distantly, Calas worried if even that had been too much touch for Mortarion. Had he pushed him too far already, pushed him away?

Barely a breath above a whispered mumble, almost shy: "I...I was glad to see that you had not been killed when I saw you again, Calas..."

Calas's dark eyes widened. His own heart raced faster. Calm down, he willed himself, he might be frightened if you get too eager too quickly. Let him speak, he hasn't even...

"Love?" Spoken as a question, like a man taking a mouthful of a new flavor and being surprised it was not awful. Mortarion was talking to himself, eyes still averted.

"Please," Calas thought, "Savor it. Embrace it. I'd do anything to keep you with me."

Amber eyes flickered over to catch Calas's before shying away once again. "To want someone...healthy, and be concerned about them when in danger. To want them by your side."

Calas remained silent, and Mortarion took this as a sign to continue speaking. Attempting to rationalize his feelings. Perhaps even Calas's. "I...such emotions? How you have explained what they are; given example scenarios, told me what they represent..." His eyes narrowed ever slightly, a microexpression Calas recognized as him examining a problem he had to overcome. "Those are...similar to my own, but...I am not sure-"

"You're curious, aren't you?" Calas responded with a gentle tone. "You've always been so eager for knowledge. Would you like to learn with me?"

Slowly, Mortarion turned to face him again. No longer hiding in isolation. "I...I would."

"Tell me, Reaper."

"Of what?"

"Anything. Everything. I am here for you, as you were for me." Calas nodded. "Any questions you need me to answer, I will."

Another pause. Mortarion had questions in mind, that much was obvious. "I know that tears are physiological indicators of intense distress." The from experience was left unsaid. It didn't need to be voiced. Calas had seen several of the Reaper's scars, and he knew the brutality and sickening cruelty of the overlords. "A symptom of pain. And you, Calas...you were crying." He shook his head slightly and frowned, turned his eyes down to glower at the ground. It was a mask to cover up and protect himself. Others might have thought otherwise, but Calas knew Mortarion more than them. "How can love also be pain?"

Oh, Mortarion. Of course he wouldn't understand the difference. "Remember when we first escaped down the mountain? You mentioned there was your first sight of affection. Do you remember how they wept? The tears on their faces as they held each other close?" Those gilded eyes he adored rose with the glimmer of dawning understanding. Calas smiled as he wiped away the tears from his dirty cheeks. "Crying...crying is not always from pain or from sadness, Mortarion. Sometimes it's from overwhelming emotions of any sort. Including joy."

"I haven't hurt you?" He whispered with such ardency, as if he was frightened of the answer. Of himself.

"No, never. Never." Calas had to swallow the words I would far sooner hurt you that crawled up his throat like bile before they tore themselves past his teeth. He didn't want to say that. He didn't know why he almost said that. "Love isn't meant to be painful."

Mortarion stared at him again for a while, mulling over this new information.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course. Calas."

"May I kiss you?"

Mortarion stared at him. Calas stared back. Mortarion had seen kisses before, surely...? Or was he hesitating because he found the concept idiotic, or unpleasant?

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes." Hopefully that didn't sound too desperate. Attempting to save his own sorry pride, he quickly added "If not, I wouldn't have asked. Reaper."

"Have you kissed before?"

Calas quirked a brow. He knew Mortarion liked to know everything, but now this was turning into an interrogation of a subject he refused to admit he wasn't exactly proficient in. "I've kissed my mother and she's kissed me. But that's different. A different type of love. A different type of kiss."

"Oh," Mortarion tactfully responded with a complete lack of grace, "so you also don't have a good sense for how to kiss, as I never have at all."

"I have had many ideas as to how it works," Calas nearly snapped. He could feel his cheeks reddening with embarrassment.  He rubbed his temple with a palm, covering his face. "Would you like me to kiss you, or not?"

"...Yes."

Calas almost coughed in abrupt, chokingly powerful glee. "You want me to kiss you?" He had hoped, and was the one who asked, but hearing it from Mortarion himself was so much more poignant.

"Yes," Mortarion repeated patiently, "I would like you to kiss me. I want to...know. How it feels." Another pause, the quietly he added "How love feels."

"Oh, Mortarion," Calas nearly-groaned, "I want to show you more than you know." Show him much more, indeed. But a kiss first. Love first, before lust.

Mortarion leaned forward, placing his hands atop his lap as he sat upon his knees. "Then you should show me," he murmured in hushed reply. "So that I may know."

Calas felt his heart beat faster. "I will," he replied, placing his hands back on the Reaper's face. Gently, he guided the beautiful visage in his hand closer to his own face. He could barely take his eyes away from the lips between his palms, how they looked so untouched despite the few scars across them.

For so long he had yearned to place his own upon them. Now couldn't come soon enough.

Still, he had to witness the expression on his Reaper's face as they grew closer. Calas drew his eyes up to Mortarion's. His golden irises were overshadowed by dilated pupils that stared back into Calas's. So focused as if they were afraid of looking away, afraid to lose a moment of this time. Calas understood. He wanted to remember this experience forever.

He couldn't stop the fair smile that graced his lips before he angled his head to let them touch.

Chaste. Only lightly brushing against one another. But touching. Contact. Warmth.

Each other. Together.

Calas pressed further against his love. Mortarion didn't move away. Mortarion let Calas touch him.

By the cold, his lips were perfect. Perfect.

Calas wanted him more than ever; wanted more.

He couldn't hold back. It was too much, too exquisite. Once more, Calas let himself be without restraint. His delight. His joy. His rapturous release.

It was felt everywhere, all around them and then over them. The life of the cave singing in harmony with the otherworldly choir he conducted. It was life. It was love. It was Calas's love; his desire for Mortarion cast aglow across them and their surroundings. As before; no, brighter, the creatures of the cave shone for them.

More. More than ever Calas felt himself. Felt Mortarion against him. He smiled in delight against Mortarion's mouth. He could sense how they reacted to him. The larva above to the fungi creeping along the ground glistened. Even the flower entwined in Calas's fingers that held his beloved's face close. Gorgeous. It was freedom. It was Calas's desires, no longer hidden, no longer repressed out of fear of rejection. It was them, together, as one, under a rain of light that cut through the darkness like their unbroken blades had their enemies.

As the lights fulminated around them Mortarion's pupils dilated, but never once moved from their fixation on Calas's own eyes. Just as Calas did. They mirrored each other. A perfect match, as if fate determined it.

He briefly pulled his head back, keeping that perfect face in his hands, and his smile grew. His face was warm. So all-encompassing was his elation that Calas felt almost gleefully drunk. However this was better than any alcohol. The only comparison was how addictive was the sensation. Mortarion was like a drug to him, and he needed more.

Mortarion was still between his hands, looking expectantly at him. Calas didn't hesitate to indulge them both. He tilted his head to kiss him at the other angle. This time he pressed firmer against those scarred lips, savoring the experience. They stayed like this until Calas was breathless, Only pulling away once more to inhale and get a better view of Mortarion's expression.

It was thoughtful and contemplative. He was  quiet as he was when deep in thought. Watching Calas's own face. His eyes even shifted down to look at Calas's lips. Calas resisted the impulse to lick them, to taste the lingering residue of his Reaper upon his mouth.

Mortarion was his own unique type of shy and although he did not verbalize it found the contact...not terrible. It wasn't painful as Calas had assured him. But internally he was still confused about all that had occurred. It had been so much so abruptly. He had not an inkling that Calas had ever loved him before, but he couldn't neglect the possibility that he simply did not know how to identify the symptoms. Calas's emotions...and his own. He was, although he would never admit it to any but himself, afraid to have to think about these unfamiliar revelations. So as a distraction he pointed out the obvious. "Calas, your face is...flushed."

The smile didn't leave Calas's face. "Indeed. It is." His fingers traced Mortarion's cheekbones.

"Are you...warm?"

Calas huskily chuckled, although Mort could tell it was not mocking. Not from him. "Yes...yes I am. Because of you, Reaper." A barest quirk of his lips into the confident smirk Calas oft wore around him when in good spirits. "Your face is also flushed."

Mortarion was almost shamed by the realization - but if Calas enjoyed it, it couldn't be bad, certainly? Despite himself he now noticed more blood rushing under the dilated capillaries under his cheeks. Under Calas's quick and solid fingers. Oh. It only intensified as he consciously thought about the contact.

Calas's expression turned a bit sharper and he leaned ever so closer. "Looks good on you." His lids lowered, and his voice dropped in pitch. "I wouldn't mind seeing more of you...More of you like this. So beautiful..." He closed the distance between them and mumbled the last phrase against Mortarion's mouth.

Mortarion...Mortarion wanted...

Did it matter what he wanted?

Had it ever?

Doubts started to creep inside his mind. Conflicted emotions. Necare, father, father had said...

He thought as he always did. And his thoughts echoed his foster father's cruel words that wormed their way into his brain and constantly ate at his mind. He was pathetic. He was a wretch. He was weak.

Calas said he hadn't been hurt. However. There was always more to everything, always some deeper reason for why anyone would do anything. And Calas, he had been hurt. Mortarion had noticed the wounds despite their superficial nature. Seemingly superficial. The Overlords knew how to inflict the greatest harms with the slightest of touches.

Perhaps Calas was...sick. Delirious. Perhaps the Overlord had done something to make him unwell; something that had clouded his keen mind. And Calas was flushed. Feverish. He might be ill.

Calas couldn't possibly be in his right mind.

He couldn't.

Mortarion couldn't.

Mortarion couldn't be loved.

Deep in his lonely soul, he knew what Calas had described couldn't be for him. His dear comrade and first friend must have been confused. He must have been affected by some torment, and had only confessed to Mortarion out of distress and disorientation. Mortarion could not blame him for such. Even though he had tried to resist, Necare had twisted his mind, twisted his emotions to make Mortarion desire...desire comfort from the one who abused him. Especially as a young child he desperately craved a gentle touch, even more so after Necare had viciously beat him. Even from Necare after the bastard beat him.

Calas...must have been experiencing something similar. Yes. Except since Mortarion, his friend, was around, he was able to seek comfort and concern from him instead of the bastard who took him. Mortarion could not fault him. Not when he had been weaker than Calas, gave in to the one torturing him to grovel at their feet like a meek starving crag-dog begging for scraps.

Poor Calas. Mortarion needed to help him realize he had himself confused, that he had been tricked. Mortarion refused to mislead his friend.

How to show him? Mortarion knew he lacked the subtle talents with words that Hunda, Caipha, or even Calas himself possessed when it came to reassuring those under distress. And there was no physical enemy to destroy that would remove this illusion that clouded Calas's demeanor.

What could he possibly demonstrate to Calas? What wretched aspect of himself could he bare that would end this? He was weak, pathetic; Calas did not know how miserably inadequate he was. If he did, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

His scars ran too deep. He had been ruined. He had survived and would continue to do so, but he had suffered. It was clear as his mutilated skin. He was disgusting. Ugly. He hated others seeing him even moreso than he hated seeing himself.

If...If Calas saw...

"Calas. Wait." Mortarion leaned away swiftly, leaving Calas's hands empty and grasping at the space left by his presence. He got to his feet and stepped back. Calas remained kneeling on the ground below him. He attempted to hide the frown on his face, but the concern remained evident.

"Do you not like-" Mortarion's sharp senses caught the strangled hitch of breath Calas tried to hide "-not like it?"

"No." He hadn't intended to upset Calas. Not at all. But he found it difficult to explain what he needed to do without insulting Calas. He wasn't at fault, not at all. "I mean...I...and you...Wait, Calas, I... need you to wait for me for a moment." Calas looked uncertain, which was an expression Mortarion had rarely ever seen on him, and never in a pleasant context. "Please."

"Was it a lot?" Calas's voice was soft, gentle. Perhaps a tinge of sadness? "Do you need a bit of time to think? I didn't mean to rush you. If I did, Reaper, I swear I'm so-"

"You need not be sorry. You did nothing I..." Mortarion couldn't bring himself to say didn't want. He...he couldn't say that. That, that would just delude Calas more, and Mortarion wouldn't do that to his friend. "Nothing I did not request." He couldn't lie to Calas either. That had been the truth. That had happened. It was his fault for making Calas this way.

Calas did not look reassured. In a way, that was good - he might be realizing he didn't love him. Perhaps it was someone else. Mortarion was certain they would be better for him. Anyone else had to be.

"You deserve to be happy," Mortarion softly muttered as he averted his eyes. He didn't want to see Calas's expression when he realized. He knew he would be rejected. That was the only outcome. He stepped further away from Calas into the shadows. The light around them dimmed; whatever magic Calas had done was fading. That was for the best. Mortarion was a monster that deserved to be in the shadows. He pretended to be a leader among the people, but that was him finding better purpose. He was meant to kill and destroy, nothing more. He'd ruin Calas. He couldn't give him what a real person possibly needed.

"Thank you," Calas replied in an uncharacteristically small and quiet voice. It reminded Mortarion of himself when he was a child, having been told a piece of information he had been desperate to know for a long time. His face was...it was hard to describe, and Mortarion found himself unable to parse the emotions on it. "So do you."

Mortarion didn't. He hadn't proven himself strong enough yet.

Would he ever?

"Calas," Mortarion said as he forced himself to look at Calas again, "There is something I must show you." One of his hands came up to grasp and fumble with a clap near his neck. He tried to find security in its form and in the importance, the necessity of the task ahead.

Calas stared at him. "Anything you want, Reaper. I won't turn away. Not from you." Perhaps he was curious. That was better than betrayal...or disappointment. Either way his friend seemed less distressed than when Mortarion had initially pulled back. Mortarion regretted it wouldn't last. He could only hope Calas wouldn't wholly reject him once he witnessed the whole of his disfigurement.

He didn't want Calas to leave him.

He was afraid Calas would leave him as much as he was afraid Calas wouldn't.

Mortarion was afraid. He pushed through the fear as he always did. Fear that Calas would reject him on his own terms once his mind had cleared of whatever poison that plagued it. He used it to stoke his spirit, made himself determined to proceed with the task at hand.

"I...need to prepare. Calas, would you close your eyes?" The request prompted a pointed look. The second-in-command of the Death Guard was no doubt trying to understand the reason for such a strange request. "I'd prefer you not watch the...preparations."

Best to get it all done at once. Show him everything, all of it, the entirety of the failures and punishments and legacy of grotesque inadequacy mapped in brutal detail across his skin and wretched form. Necare had always found it fit to mock him while he stripped, and although he didn't believe Calas would be so crass he still felt uncomfortable being watched. Displaying yourself naked before another was a sign of weakness. Submission. He trusted Calas enough to submit himself before him like this knowing it would result in shock and repulsion. That was the intent.

He wouldn't be hurt by Calas's reaction. He steeled himself. He had heard worse, been tormented and tortured beyond mere human capacity to comprehend the pain. Been forced to memorize it, become intimate with it. There was nothing Calas could do to him he had not already endured. All would be fine. He told himself this because it was the only outcome he allowed himself to envision.

Calas swallowed and nodded. "I can do that. Tell me when you're ready." Mortarion was grateful he was such a loyal friend. Calas asked no further questions. Instead he simply shifted into a more comfortable sitting position and turning his head away while closing his eyes. "Mmmn. You can start now, Reaper."

Mortarion exhaled releasing the tightness that had bound his chest. Calas was amenable to his request. The remainder had to be undertaken by his own hands. The hand by his neck gripped the clasp tighter. He steadied himself.

Calas wasn't watching. Despite that Mortarion couldn't bring himself to face him during the task. Foolish. Still he found himself turning his back to Calas. He wondered if Calas had any inkling of what horrors the Reaper planned to show him. Mortarion reminded himself this was necessary to ensure Calas's health and safety. Calas would realize he had been confounded by illness, then he would return to normalcy and Mortarion could rest knowing he hadn't contributed to his hurt.

He soothed himself by repeating this in his mind as he began. Clasps were undone, belts were loosened and pulled off. He would do this for Calas. Calas. Repeating his friend's name in his mind took the edge off, made him feel secure. This was not him, a child, being forced to humiliate himself in front of his father or his father's allies. This was his decision, his choice. And he made this choice for Calas and only Calas.

He didn't believe Calas would ever try to hurt him. If it was Calas...it would be fine. He...didn't mind, as long as it was Calas.

Only Calas.

As he stripped he carefully folded and placed his armor and clothing onto the cave floor. It was much darker now, and the darkness comforted him in his increasing nudity. The larva above flickered with indifference, casting speckles of light across his pale rugose skin. Apart from the lantern's light they were the only illumination in the cave. Maybe Calas wouldn't be able to see all the details. Maybe he'd have to step closer. He'd assess the situation once the time came.

His acute senses picked up a marked increase in Calas's heart rate and a shift in his breathing pattern. He glanced back and Calas still had his eyes closed and head turned away. He felt guilt for questioning his friend's honesty. Calas was probably getting anxious to see whatever the Reaper had for him. He idly wondered what Calas thought it would be. There was no possible way he would expect a naked body in front of him. The thought seemed so bizarre it was almost amusing.

Almost.

It wouldn't be when Calas saw him.

He was almost bare. His armor had all been carefully removed and put aside. The multiple layers of clothing below were already halfway off. His body was inured to the cold, yet he still shivered. He once again glanced at Calas, who also must have been cold. He couldn't possibly be shivering with anticipation.

Mortarion knew Calas didn't want him.

Wouldn't want him after he saw him.

Bare. Naked. Disgusting.

Unworthy.

Calas wouldn't want to see more of him. Calas thought he was beautiful because he hadn't seen more of him. Calas wouldn't love him once he saw the weakness permanently etched across his skin. Across his mind. Across his soul.

He paused, doubting himself. He couldn't doubt Calas. Therefore, it was only logical that Calas was confused, ill, and never meant to say that he...he loved...

Calas said it wasn't meant to hurt. But his chest, no, someplace deeper that didn't occupy physical space ached.

So it couldn't be. He was hurting himself. He had to stop this before it hurt Calas too. Whatever it was. Because it couldn't be love.

He wasn't worthy of love.

He felt that strange longing, that faint echo of an emotion he felt when he came down the mountain for the first time and saw the people embracing. Calas said they had been feeling love.

He wasn't a person. Not like them. He couldn't love.

...

Then why.

Why did he want to?

Why did he tell Calas he wanted to know?

He was so, so stupid.

How could anyone ever love him.

Mortarion bit his lip to quail the awful whimpering sound that threatened to escape him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He needed to do this. He would do this for Calas. He...

Wanted to do this for Calas.

Once again he found clarity and purpose in the form of his dear friend. Calas. None of this seemed so terrible when he remembered him.

He finished removing his clothes, but faltered when his hands rested upon his cloak. It was large enough to encompass him on its own. His fingers lingered on it. Maybe. Maybe Calas wouldn't need to see all of him. Maybe he could preserve some dignity for the both of them.

He took it into his hands and held it against his chest. Pressing it tightly between his hearts, letting it garner warmth as he stood up and centered himself. He took one last glance at Calas. He was still sitting still with his head averted and eyes shut. Respecting the Reaper's request.

The first person to ever give him a choice. Respecting him. Mortarion would never forget how he saved him. Calas deserved to be by his side...if he wanted to be. But Mortarion couldn't believe himself to be loved, so he had to try and convince himself. Convince Calas.

There was only one task left.

He still felt shame over his broken body. He would prefer to not bare all of it if possible, so he grabbed an end of his cloak in each hand draping the fabric between them. Mortarion held his hands against his chest, allowing the cloak to drape across his backside. The cloak covered just below his lower back down to his legs. He was still exposed yet the scant covering of fabric combined with its heft in his hands gave him an additional sense of security.

Mortarion couldn't bring himself to face Calas when he showed himself. Didn't want to see the look on his face and the shocked revulsion in his dark eyes. He was afraid of the rejection despite how he knew it was inevitable. Best get it done now and save them both the anguish.

The Reaper faced away. Eyes locked on the opposing wall of the cavern. He fixed his face into an expressionless mask. He was told by most that he lacked talent when it came to emoting - minus anger - but Calas was able to read his mien at any time. He didn't want Calas to see how afraid he was.

"Calas," he announced, "I am ready."

A moment of silence. Mortarion didn't hear Calas move at all until he replied "Are you?"

Was he?

Once again Calas had given him a choice.

He was.

"Yes. You can look now. Calas." Look at me.

Gaze upon me, and know you could never love me.

He heard the sharp intake of breath. The rapid beating of the heart that almost stopped before racing faster.

Oh, poor Calas...

He must have been horrified. Disgusted. Repulsed.

As if beckoned all the creatures around them light up once again, though this time revealing his nakedness. Calas must have called to them again, asked them to divulge the hideous details that were hidden by the darkness like a man forced by his own mind to gaze upon a dismembered corpse in gross curiosity.

A strained voice finally emerged from behind him. "Re...Reaper..." He still couldn't bring himself to face his friend. Words would be enough. He didn't need to memorize the moment he confirmed he was a monstrosity.

Deep, husky breaths. Mortarion stood stock-still, letting himself be judged for the horror he was. His hands balled the edges of his cloak tighter, seeking a distraction from his friend's reaction. He bit the inside of his lip, curbing the sour expression before it contaminated his face. He couldn't stop the ghostly whisper of "Calas" that escaped his mouth, a sentiment he should have kept hidden released into the void.

He couldn't envision how horrible was the sight he forced Calas to endure. Had it been enough? The rough sounds of Calas's breathing were interrupted by the shift of cloth against cloth and boots against the ground. Calas had abruptly stood up.

Was he going to run? If he did Mortarion would not blame him. He could redress and meet up with him outside the cave, and this entire misbegotten event would be forgotten.

He shouldn't look. He should just let this be over. He should have known it could never last. But he...he wanted to see Calas. What Calas thought of him. The agony of uncertainty was worse than the sharp blade of truth.

He forced himself to turn.

Calas was...

Calas was...?

Mortarion didn't understand. Calas had been stunned silent. He had anticipated repulsion. Calas should have been...

But he wasn't.

The expression on Calas's face isn't one he recognizes. It's not disgust, or disappointment, or hate, it's...warm. Warm and soft like his expression when he realized the Reaper had come for him.

Like the expression on his face when he was kissing him. When he said he loved him.

The mask of stoicism he had plastered across his face began to crumble. How? He didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

Now it was him who stared at the other. Shoulders twisted just enough that he could angle his face to directly view Calas's own. Calas's eyes were wide, both lids open and pupils dilated, focused on his spine, his shoulders...even briefly glancing down to the lowest reaches of his uncovered back before flicking back upwards to repeat the process. Eventually, though, those deep dark eyes graced Mortarion's face.

They lingered, and Mortarion felt so self-conscious. What did Calas see in him? What did he think? Did he now know his fear as well as his weakness?

If they did, would they look at him as they did?

"...Beautiful."

Calas said he was beautiful. Beautiful.

He could barely process the word. "No," he instinctively replied, not even intending to say the thought aloud, "I'm-"

"Handsome." Calas didn't let him finish. "Elegant."

Mortarion was disoriented by the disconnect between his expectation and reality. His head felt as if it were full of fog and his thoughts were lost among the clouds. He could only think to repeat himself. "I'm...I'm ugly."

"No." Calas was decisive, firm in his statement. Mortarion knew he said it with full conviction in his heart and mind. He hadn't made Calas realize he didn't want him. The same expression, the same force and tone as when he confessed earlier.

Calas...could he really love him?

Calas didn't give him enough time to get lost in his own head. He brought him back to the moment with his rich voice. "Did you not know you're beautiful?" His brow softened and the warmth on his face became tainted with...sorrow? "Am I the first to tell you?"

"I was told I was ugly," he mumbled back. He stepped so that his side was facing Calas. It was better to speak to him this way, now that his...now that he knew Calas...

A shadow of anger passed across Calas's expression as he bared his teeth. "Bastards. They lied." He shook his head. "I know I'm not the first to have noticed your beauty. Have you never caught the shy glances of others up at you?"

Mortarion looked blankly back at Calas. Why would that be something of note? "I'm an oddity. I tower over all humanity. Of course they look at me."

"So no." Calas shook his head. "Shall I tell you?"

Mortarion found it his turn to be stunned into silence. His mind suddenly felt inadequate when it came to processing this information of all things.

Calas sighed, then continued. "That Scout who flutters around your feet so carefully. That new recruit, Vorx, should be even more obvious." He turned his head to the side and muttered quietly "Rask, sometimes, too...".

Impossible. "That's simply because I saved them." True, it was a commonality between all three.

"It can be both, Reaper. And among us who haven't you saved?" Oh, that was also accurate. Calas had a point. But didn't Calas also save him? Did Calas know that? If both had saved the other, should he be sneaking looks at Calas the same way...

He...did not dislike the sight of Calas. Was that the same? Did it only qualify if one had the correct expression, one matching Calas's description; Calas's face when he said he loved-

His thoughts swirled.

"But I-" he stammered. His own hearts started to beat faster. He was left with no recourse, no explanation other than that Calas loved him.

"What, Reaper?" Calas's voice was too gentle, too kind. He took a small step toward him, as if he was trying to approach a skittish animal. "What do you need to know? He placed a hand on his chest over his heart. A symbol of promise. "I'll tell you all."

He was afraid that Calas might not love him.

He was so afraid. He had always been afraid. Fear, other than loneliness, was the first emotion he knew. It was so familiar to him. Love wasn't.

"Are you sure?" Doubt clouded him, made him doubt his friend - no, himself. He scarcely knew of love except as something he couldn't have. Something Calas had described. Something similar to what he felt for Calas. It was frightening, shaking the foundation of how he knew himself and how he viewed the world in which he existed.

"That I love you?" Calas need no clarification. He understood his Reaper's doubts, the question not fully asked for fear of stating it aloud. The fist on his heart thumped against it in emphasis. "Absolutely. I promise you with all that I have Reaper that I do love you." He continued, growing more ardent with each word. "I have been in love with you since I first saw you the day we first met. And in the seven years since then I have only grown to love you more." He was so sincere it almost hurt Mortarion to be in the proximity of such pure honesty.

He wrapped his cloak tighter around his form. He felt his face flush as it had under Calas's firm hands. "Don't you see the scars?" Don't you see me?

"Let me see you, my Reaper." Calas was unaffected. No, that was incorrect. Mortarion could tell he was more determined than ever to prove himself. "I will show you how I love you all the same."

Oh, Calas...

Could he really?

If not him, who else?

"You said you wanted to know," Calas looked at him with such an expression Mortarion had never seen him make before today, "I will love you with all my heart and soul. Make you feel that you never believed. Make you feel...happiness. Joy. Pleasure." Calas took another step further. He didn't look away. He acted as if Mortarion was his whole world. "When I said I want to be with you always... meant it."

If there was ever a chance that Calas would not...

He had to take it. He had to know for sure.

"If you will..." Mortarion kept the cloak in his hands, but let his arms fall from their embrace around his chest to his sides. Meekly he averted his eyes to the side as he spread his arms and bared his naked front to Calas. "Then let me know."

"Oh..." Calas's voice was barely above a whisper, but it filled Mortarion's ears. "This only makes me love you more."

Mortarion looked up.

Calas's eyes had not looked away. His cheeks were flushed as they had been when they kissed. His lips were slightly parted and Mortarion found his eyes drawn to them. He remembered the sensation of them against his own as if a ghost was caressing him. 

He felt every bit of his nakedness and vulnerability as Calas's eyes roamed his entire form. Tracing the outline of his body, eyes flickering down over the legs quickly before centering themselves on his chest. The location of his most prominent vivisection scars.

If he was focused on them why did he look so...entranced? No, that wasn't right. Mortarion had been doing all he could to discourage Calas from seeing his weakness and ugliness. He couldn't find a suitable word to describe it. It simply was, as if this was the natural outcome of this scenario. As if Calas had always wanted to see him.

Mortarion didn't understand. There was nothing left for him to say. He stood there like a statue, as he had previously in his life. However this time it didn't feel like a punishment. It didn't fill him with a deep sense of shame and smoldering resentment. Perhaps it was because he had made this choice freely. His choice.

How such a small distinction could cause such a change in outcome. He thought back to his earlier argument with Calas, before their armies split. He hadn't agreed with Calas, but he let him go regardless because he felt he owed Calas a choice.

Here, in this cave together with only the Reaper, Calas had let him make each choice. Given him each opportunity to decide what to do with himself. With Calas.

And Mortarion had told him his decisions.

He had decided he wanted to learn with Calas. He wanted to try to love Calas.

So why now was he reticent?

"How shall I let you know, my Reaper?" The hand that had been on Calas's heart was extended out towards him. Palm up, inviting. "That there no doubt I want to be at your side?"

Oh, Calas. How could he assuage the bottomless pit inside the Reaper of men? Mortarion wanted to be filled, to become whole.

He wanted Calas to be able to fill that hole.

Calas must have noticed the conjecture in his countenance for he offered a suggestion. Clever Calas. "May I come to you? I..." He trailed off.

Mortarion finished the thought for him. "Want to be with me." Calas didn't need words to prove himself anymore. He had said all he could. Now there were only the Reaper's internal doubts to banish.

"Yes," Calas intoned, his voice encouraging, "Yes I do, Reaper. Do you understand now?"

"I..." Mortarion hesitated. "I want to." He had to persist. He had to know.

Calas's face twisted in an odd way, but he smiled at Mortarion. After learning humans could cry when happy he didn't trust his ability to discern emotions from facial expression. He would have to trust that Calas was being truthful with him. After all Calas had done tonight he couldn't find evidence he wasn't. Calas had been so sincere, so determined, so open and trusting and...

Mortarion wanted more.

"Can I touch you?" Calas's voice was hopeful, but light and full of the tenderness Mortarion found himself craving. "Is there any better way to prove my conviction? My love."

"You want to?" Nobody had ever wanted to touch him before. Not in such a longing way. Not in a way that didn't hurt.

"Doubtless, my love."

Mortarion couldn't discern a reason to deny him. "...You may."

Maybe Calas would decide he was disgusting when he saw him in detail. But that would be his choice, and Mortarion would not begrudge him of that.

Judging by the immediacy that Calas stepped forward upon his consent, however, Calas might not. Mortarion found himself hoping he wouldn't.

So very unlike him. Calas was causing so many changes in him now, making him feel sensations he never knew. His earlier claims were no boasts. Rather, they were promises.

"Thank you." Calas was so sincere, staring up into his eyes as he approached...He was significantly shorter, wasn't he? That would be a complication, Calas barely reached his waist. He'd have to amend that.

His fingers fidgeted against the cloak he still held. A solution came to mind. The cave floor was damp and cold, but his cloak was thick and waterproofed. The surface would be hard nonetheless, but certainly couldn't be less comfortable than standing. A distant part of his mind recalled that he'd have to locate Calas's armor before they left. He shunted that thought to the side as he kneeled down, Calas pausing as he did.

"Ah," Calas promptly understood what he was doing, "That's right, Reaper. Let me get closer to you, see you...touch you..." His voice trailed off but Mortarion could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

Mortarion's own hearts were doing the same. He felt a form of anticipation he never had before; not fearful nervousness, not quite the rush of battle. Something entirely new. He finished spreading the reinforced cloth over a suitably flat outcrop of rock, then sat down upon it. His legs, which seemed gangly and ill-proportioned to himself, bent to the side as he rested one hand on his lap and dangled the other down to caress his cloak on the floor.

Calas joined him, sitting down in front of him with a muted grunt. He shuffled onto his knees in a probably attempt to find the most comfortable position where he could easily reach Mortarion. Mortarion remained still as he waited for Calas to initiate contact.

His scars were on clear display in all their grotesque extent. Most explicit were the lines of hypertrophic scars that followed the incision from years of Necare's butchery. He looked like a rotten burst fruit that had been peeled then shoddily stitched back together. His skin was rough, mottled with remnants of his inability to be strong enough to not be injured, not be punished, not be unworthy. All over his body. There was nowhere he had remained untouched. He still didn't understand how Calas could want him in any way more than a weapon.

Calas would have to show him.

Mortarion wondered how it would feel to be touched in such a way. Would it be like the kiss? He had...enjoyed that. He almost felt guilty for enjoying it, but Calas had wanted that which assuaged him. His senses were primed and alert to all sensations around him. He wanted to know everything. He wanted Calas to show him.

"May I have your hand?" The question was combined with a hand held out palm up. A benign request. Mortarion certainly wouldn't deny it. He placed his own hand - spindly, elongated - atop it. Calas smiled at him and wrapped his fingers around Mortarion's, then twisted his palm. His fingers intertwined with his own skeletal digits. Calas held Mortarion's hand, and rubbed circles in the dorsal surface against his skin. "Does it hurt?"

Mortarion was puzzled by the query. Of course it didn't. "No. It doesn't."

"Indeed. My touches won't hurt you."

Reassurance. Kind, clever Calas. In theory Mortarion should have known such, that Calas physically could not injure him with his bare hands. However his old experiences left their own metaphorical scars on his psyche; rails that guided his thoughts along dark paths. In that regard he was thankful for Calas's words clearing his mind. "They won't."

Calas's free hand reached out to him. It held in place in the space between them. Mortarion wondered why he halted and shifted his focus to Calas's face. On it was an expression unbefitting of him. He appeared hesitant and unconfident, neither of which Mortarion thought his friend should be. Before Mortarion could ask him what was wrong Calas spoke. "Do you think I am...strange?"

"Strange?"

Calas's hand fell down to his side. He looked away from Mortarion as if ashamed of himself. "Freakish. Deviant. Queer." He bit his lip before continuing. "These desires of mine...are they odious? Do my wants offend you?"

Mortarion knew Calas was unusual.

So was he.

"No," Mortarion simply said, and it was the truth.

The reason Calas was different from others was not the same as his own. His...talents, per se, were the same as the Overlords and that was why he was ostracized. Mortarion hadn't been disturbed by his powers after their escape; only once he realized humans didn't have such abilities did he think to hate them rather than the Overlords. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps he should go back to a more targeted hate. Perhaps is wasn't those powers, but rather how they were used.

But right now Mortarion just wanted Calas. Nothing else mattered. He'd put those thoughts away for another day.

There was a more immediate matter to address.

"Calas," Mortarion leaned forward towards his dear friend, "would you kiss me again?"

Calas's eyes dilated and all traces of uncertainty on his face instantly vanished. "Yes," he replied so abruptly Mortarion was sure he didn't even have to consciously think of the answer. Mortarion allowed himself a bit of relief that Calas was no longer upset.

Perhaps even a faint smile, now that they were in a cave and sheltered from the sky falling down.

Once again those hands caught his face like a moth snatched up as it fluttered to a flame. They were just as warm, and they held him with greater force than before as Calas pulled him down and Mortarion let him have his way. He was enjoying this. He didn't want Calas to stop.

Calas was firmer, more assertive than during their previous kisses. He pressed his lips against Mortarion's mouth with greater vigor. His mouth opened at one point, and his tongue slid out to touch the surface of Mortarion's lips. Mortarion made a, a sound, of confusion and Calas retracted his tongue. It had been...strange? But he didn't feel like questioning Calas about it. 

The kisses continued with Mortarion pressing forward against Calas's lips. This in turn encouraged Calas to kiss him harder. Hold him tighter. Hold him closer. Soon it was Calas making those sounds.

He was letting Calas teach him what it meant to be loved. What a curious thing it was.

Eventually Calas pulled back. He released the Reaper's shallow cheeks to rest his arms across his lap as he breathed heavily and shifted his position again. Mortarion watched him and waited for what Calas would next demonstrate.

At this moment, Mortarion decided he would give himself wholly over to Calas. He admitted to himself that they both wanted each other. Only Calas knew how to do acts of love, so Mortarion would let him lead and he would follow.

"Are you ready?" Calas asked him once he had his breathing back under control. "Will you be alright if I touch your body?"

Mortarion nodded, indicating his consent. He rolled his shoulders back to bare his chest outwards. There was no point in hiding now. He would see this through to the end. Yet it had not felt like something he had to endure. How novel.

He liked it.

Calas looked him in the eyes and said "I'll start now. If you want me to stop, tell me."

"I will."

That was enough for Calas to move. He led one hand forward towards the center of the Reaper's chest. Another followed behind angled down and to the side, as if it was to cup the position where the latissimus dorsi and serratus anterior muscles touched. And it did, fingers curling slightly to follow the shape of Mortarion's body as the other hand rested itself upon his pectoralis major.

The hands were warm; the sensation pleasant against the chill of the cavern that had settled across his skin. Mortarion released a small sigh as his torso relaxed into the warmth. Calas swallowed and his hands pressed firmer into his pale flesh. The hand on his chest pulled back a fraction and Mortarion waited to see where he would touch next. A couple fingers extended and graced the skin next to a vivisection scar. He tensed once more despite himself. Father-Necare, had traced those scars he made with his sharpened nail while Mortarion was forced to stay still, endure the pain and humiliation, or be punished. Necare would even draw blood, rip them open under his cruel touches and his adopted son had to withstand. Calas couldn't, wouldn't do such to him, and he had to cognizantly remind himself of such.

The fingers trailed down on the skin next to the raised surface of the hypertrophic scar. The thumb of his other hand rubbed circles against his side. No, Calas wasn't hurting him. He was loving him. And Mortarion was eager to be loved more.

Calas grew more bold with his ministrations. One hand gliding across the skin of his chest as if drawing an ancient sigil. The other slowly sliding down to hold his hip. Calas did want him. No more doubts, no more hesitation. And he himself wanted Calas too. They were a match for each other, and Mortarion wondered if others ever felt as if they fit so right up against another's body.

Calas wanted him.

Calas loved him.

He was loved. He never thought he could be loved, yet Calas was here loving him. For once in his life he was pleased to be wrong. And he wasn't being punished. He was being rewarded, with Calas tracing the contours of his body as if it were a map to treasures yet untold, and only Mortarion had the key. Calas looked so focused despite the flush on his face, intensely watching every movement he made, brows furrowed and-

-a frown.

He noticed it, subtle as it was, the moment a finger crossed the tough hill of a scar dividing his abdomen in two.

Calas loved him, otherwise he would have left by now. He was sure of that. But perhaps...Calas didn't have to love his scars. That was understandable. Mortarion hated them too. If he didn't have them, he would be stronger. Better. Worthy.

He turned his head away from Calas and twitched. He felt ashamed, and wanted to cover himself once more. Calas continued, following the lines of his scars, displeased expression still plastered on his face. "I hate the scars too," he mumbled, "they're remnants of my own weakness and failures. It's alright to find them unpleasant."

"What?" The hand on his hip came up to cup his jaw and turn his head so that Calas could look in his eyes. His expression had changed - the frown was less pronounced, the brow furrowed in a different direction. "I don't hate any part of you. I said it when you asked me what my love was, and I spoke the truth. I love all of you, scars included. I don't think less of you for them, and I'm not such a fool to think you weak."

Mortarion stared back. "But you had a frown as your expression while you touched them."

Calas shook his head. "It's not you at all. I simply dislike anyone else having ever touched you."

Those words stung. Mortarion clenched his fists and bit the inside of his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. "I didn't want them to. I, I didn't simply let them. I fought-"

"-I know." A sudden swift and soft kiss quieted Mortarion's caustic thoughts. "I know, love. I understand." More kisses followed in between words of reassurance. "I understand. I just want you to be all mine. Mine alone."

The confession assuaged his concerns...as did the gentle but sincere kisses. Mortarion found those most enjoyable. But he had to pause them to ask another question that was now gnawing at his brain. "Why then am I so...desirable? For..." He pulled away to awkwardly gesture at his chest and Calas's hands. "This?"

Calas paused in contemplation before responding. "Because you're beautiful. Gorgeous." Mortarion's face must have conveyed a lack of conviction, because Calas continued. "Everyone on this planet has scars. Those without them haven't lived. I could never begrudge you of them." A thought suddenly occurred to Calas, and he immediately acted on the impulse. "I have my own. I'll show you mine."

The offer piqued Mortarion's attention. He had seen Calas's naked chest before - he was often the one who treated the wounds of the injured. However, Mortarion was curious to how the experience would be under these circumstances. Would Calas feel touched as he was? Would Calas touch himself?

Calas removed his ripped shirt as Mortarion's mind wondered; pulling over his head before tossing it aside haphazardly. Without the fabric in the way the Reaper could see the fresh scratches from the abuse during his captivity. A surge of anger rushed through him; how dare they-

Oh. He understood what Calas had been trying to convey. He felt it too now.

Mortarion kept those thoughts silent as Calas made a strange sound while shifting on his knees. One hand rested across his lap, and the other moved to hold one of Mortarion's own. "Your turn to touch me, Reaper."

His turn. An equal standing between the both of them. In other matters where his body was exploited-explored, it was only he who was examined. This was novel. This was something he had wanted. To not be apart from others; to not be alone.

Where to start? Perhaps Calas sensed his hesitation because he took Mortarion's hand and placed it on his heart. His hand was oversized compared to Calas's body. Calas took no mind and released Mortarion's hand, letting his own fall across his other on his lap. "Follow my scars. Explore my flesh to your liking; till you are no longer ashamed of your own."

A generous offer. Mortarion would take it.

He tried to imitate how Calas had touched him. Traced the skin on his chest, on his shoulders, on his arms. The way Calas shivered indicated he wasn't doing as well as Calas had, but since Calas had offered and Mortarion knew by now that Calas's wouldn't offer anything he didn't want he continued. True to his word, and Mortarion's own perfect memory, Calas did have his own scars. Far fewer and smaller than Mortarion's own, but still present. They were of varying ages, from long-healed to recent battles to the currently-forming scabs of his cuts. He left the later alone as not to interfere with their healing.

His fingers passed over the tattoo of the Death Guard emblem on Calas's bicep. He had been there when it had been etched into the skin. He had even finished the design, Calas having offered him the chance to try his hand at the art. Apparently it was a painful, if not at least uncomfortable process, yet Calas showed no signs of regret during the procedure. At the time Mortarion had thought it was because he was so dedicated to their cause. Now, however, he wondered if it was because it gave Calas the chance to seek closeness to his Reaper.

He cupped his hand around the mark and applied a bit of pressure. Calas made a noise, and it didn't sound bad, so perhaps that was a good tactic. Or at least a good tactile sensation. Mortarion had enjoyed the soft pressure from Calas's hands as they held his face. There was a possibility the sensation would be pleasant when replicated elsewhere.

He decided to try where Calas had initially placed his hand - his chest, over his heart. Calas's pectoralis major was very well-developed. It bulged out from the rest of his chest and overshadowed his abdomen with its abundant sternocostal head. It was also a bit pliable, presumably a layer of fat over the muscle. That meant Calas had been eating well. Good, he needed to keep his strength up. He squeezed the flesh and Calas let out a sort of sound and his pale flesh began to flush.

Was that a positive outcome? Calas shifted into the touch and murmured his name so it wasn't negative. One of his dear friend's hands lifted off his lap to press his palm deeper against his chest, and the other near his crotch-

Oh.

There was a bulge near his crotch.

That was. His brain took longer than it strictly should have to review his knowledge of human biology. It was an erection.

He didn't know what to do with that.

Calas must have noticed his stare. Suddenly he was leaning back away from Mortarion before going still. His cheeks far redder than ever before. His eyes were wide in shock...fear? Of him??

Before Mortarion could ask what he had done wrong Calas bared his teeth in some half-grimace half-smile. "Sorry," he repositioned his legs in an attempt to hide his erection, "this is..."

"That is...a physiological reaction." It was. He knew so far. The context was...hard to parse in terms of the moment. It didn't fit with his previous knowledge, at least not well.

Calas coughed and nodded. "Yes...it is."

"You don't need to be sorry." Mortarion replied. "It means..."  Truthfully, Mortarion didn't know. He knew of only one context for this, and it wasn't under positive circumstances.

An awkward laugh from Calas interrupted him. "I’m pleased?"

Mortarion stared incredulously.

"Yes, it does." Calas's fingers drummed against one of his thick thighs. "And that I'm...excited."

Mortarion knew of only one possible reason for "excitement" given the situation. And if that was the case... "For...?"

Calas's smile lost its sharpness. "To see you. All of you, like this..." He no longer seemed frightened, which Mortarion took as a signal that questions were acceptable.

"Why?" Calas had said he loved him; hadn't shied away from him despite his scars. Yet Mortarion still found it difficult to envision ever being the cause of such a reaction.

Calas chuckled, deep and low in his chest as if the question was absurd. "Have I not yet told you? You're beautiful."

"Am I?"

That was the question. Mortarion asked it with such painful, ardent sincerity. Calas understood the deeper meaning. It was more than just his superficial appearance. It was Mortarion in whole, his soul, his very essence. It was a question of whether Mortarion would ever be good enough, be worthy.

Be worthy of Calas's love.

Calas took both his hands and tenderly held Mortarion's head. Made sure he was looking him in the eyes as he responded, so that he could see into the very depths of Calas's soul and know it was the truth. "Yes, Mortarion. You are beautiful. You are worthy."

Mortarion kissed him, desperately, upon those words. Calas kissed him back. They were perfect together.

Eventually they pulled away. Still together in spirit. Calas hoped they would always be. If not after their communion here they never would. But he had touched Mortarion, let him know his true feelings, and had not been rejected. Mortarion hadn't stated any reciprocality, but his actions gave Calas the confidence he needed. Now he could wait for those sweet words to pour forth from the lips of his Reaper.

He did notice Mortarion's eyes return to staring at his groin. Calas had surmised that Mortarion wasn't upset, merely puzzled by Calas's arousal. Calas knew that Mortarion didn't have any sexual experience with those in valleys after escaping Necare. He didn't know of his previous relationship with it, except that he hoped for his sake it was also nonexistent.

"So. This is not a negative outcome of our...interactions?"

Oh, Mortarion. Such an oddly innocent way of wording their "interactions". It was endearing, as was everything about him. The only exception was his distaste for the powers the overlords - and Calas - possessed. But Calas had said he would accept Mortarion with all his faults, and that could certainly be worked on. He wouldn't give up on his love so easily. "Not at all. Although..." His penis had been throbbing since Mortarion showed him his naked body, and it was starting to become a bit uncomfortable. "I might need to attend to it." He didn't except Mortarion to want to-

"May I observe?"

-well, participate, but he didn't expect him to want to watch either. The thought of Mortarion being so interested as to want to see him...made him all the more eager to get started. "Oh...absolutely." He laid back on Mortarion's cloak and began pulling at his pants. He couldn't wait to get started.

They were lying together side by side on the cold floor. Mortarion had positioned himself so that his head was only slightly above that of Calas's. On his side so he was facing Calas. Calas was breathing deeply, steadily. Coming down from his euphoric high he was more relaxed than he had ever been. Blissful, even. He wiped his hand off of the cloak ignoring the sticky residue on his thighs. Mortarion did not react, not minding the new stain added to it. Calas smiled as Mortarion gazed at him, curiosity still on his contemplative face. He reached over and pulled Mortarion closer to him, who became pliant and rolled along with the hand. Mortarion was coaxed to curl against Calas's body, his head resting across Calas's breast. "What did you think, Reaper?"

Mortarion nuzzled his face in the crevice between his friend's pectorals. He was, although incredibly reticent to admit it, a bit bashful about the encounter. "It was...interesting," he mumbled against Calas's flesh.

A hand stroked Mortarion's hair. "Not unpleasant?"

"No, not unpleasant." He thought about what he had observed. His own physiological state was not nearly as aroused. He enjoyed the physical sensation as he laid against Calas, and Calas petting his hair. However, he wasn't sure he wanted to try and replicate Calas's...ejaculation. It seemed too much somehow. "But I...don't think I want to try it."

Calas hummed in contemplation before pressing a kiss to the top of his beloved's head. "That's alright, my love. I enjoyed myself greatly. You don't have to feel pressured to try if you don't feel ready. Not now or ever." He wrapped both arms around Mortarion's broad shoulders. "Do you want to continue with these types of touches?"

"Mmm...yes. I...I really enjoy them, and the time I've spent here with you." The confession left his face flushed and hearts racing even though it was strictly less revealing than stripping naked and touching each other's bodies. It felt more vulnerable somehow. To reveal his heart and that he craved tenderness. Affection.

He craved love.

And Calas had given him it.

Beautiful, strange, wonderful Calas Typhon. His savior, his first friend. His...

"Beloved?"

Calas spoke it aloud first, bold as ever. "Are you alright?"

"Of course."

"Your mind seemed focused on something. I wanted to make sure it was something enjoyable."

Mort allowed himself another hidden smile, lips curling upward against Calas's chest. "Very enjoyable." He had never thought such contact even adjacent to reproduction could be pleasant, or anything more than tolerable for the sake of continuing the human species. He and Calas couldn't even reproduce.

Mortarion wasn't sure why he bothered with the following statement. "My only knowledge of human reproduction was from my father or his texts on human biology. They were...very different from this."

That spurred Calas to attention. He rolled over so that he was on top of Mortarion propping himself up on his hands, looming over Mortarion's head. "Don't think about that." He moved down to give him a quick kiss. "Think about me. Only think about me."

Mortarion turned away in shame. "I'm-"

"-Don't. Don't ever be sorry or ashamed for what others have done to you." A fire flared in Calas's eyes, a burning anger mixed with a stern voice. The anger burned down into soft concern, and he whispered "Necare, or the other overlords...did they ever do this to you?"

Mortarion thought about the times he had accompanied his foster-father as a child to the barns and the threats when he grew older. He had never been touched in the way Calas did, and never been bred. So he was fine. "No," he simply replied. He didn't need to overexplain to Calas.

His friend released a deep breath upon that. "Good. They've hurt you too much already in other ways."

Mortarion was confused. "What is the difference?" He confessed, "They still touched me and plied my flesh."

A look of...pity? Covered Calas's handsome face? From anyone else it would have enraged him, but he made special exceptions for Calas. "They shouldn't. We'll kill them all. Still, it's...I suppose the distinction might not matter to you, but I am...aware of it. Your suffering is valid all the same."

"Thank you." Mortarion had little left to say, but Calas seemed to have more to say.

"There are some...rules to follow, Reaper, when it comes to sex." He noticed Mortarion's eyes widen and quickly amended "And other such intimate acts and touches. Most key being that unless both parties desire each other equally nothing should happen."

"Understood." Mortarion nodded. He understood more than just the words Calas had spoken aloud. The implication that he would not pressure Mortarion into full sexual intercourse nor would he think less of him for denying Calas the opportunity. He appreciated the sentiment deeply, but shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest. Calas had always given him and respected his choices.

"Good. I also want to ensure you know that nobody is responsible for other's...sexual desires towards them. No one is obligated to do anything for anyone even if the other desires them."

Was Calas trying to reassure Mortarion, or himself? Mortarion knew Calas would never try to take advantage of him, but he agreed anyway without complaint. "Yes."

Calas seemed satisfied, but made no move to return to his previous position. "Now, my beloved Reaper, I ask you one question: what do you want?"

Mortarion thought. With Calas above him it was difficult to get lost in his own mind. "I want to stay here with you a while longer."

Calas smiled back. "That can be arranged." He rolled back onto his back beside Mortarion and coaxed him into their previous position with Mortarion resting his cheek atop Calas's ample chest.

They stayed together and watched the lights above glimmer down upon them like a blessing.

They walked side by side. Hand in hand.

It was time to return to their army. As much as they both wished to stay in the moment together forever, they both understood their duties. They had redressed, put their weapons away and gathered the armor that had been taken from Calas. No one would suspect a thing.

They were quiet, simply basking in each other's presence until Mortarion broke the silence. "This cave system...I believe it can stay." Calas turned to look at him as Mortarion continued to walk without pause. "I don't want to destroy this one. It's...unnecessary."

"So you want to keep it, Reaper?" Calas smirked at him, and the Reaper of Men found himself smiling back. "Be our secret spot?"

Mortarion noticed his cheeks flush at the tone in Calas's rich voice. "Maybe someday, we can come back here. And we can...explore more."

"Together?" Calas's fingers intertwined and tightened around his beloved's.

"Together."

They left together under the lights.

You are the light, I've been searching for forever

Feels like, man, I've really never felt the rain

Buried in the desert, didn't think I'd push through the dirt

You just cleansed me like a waterfall, you came

I'm screamin' like a kettle on a stove

You cranked the heat up, I was cold

My past grew mold around my heart

And all my anger, sadness, regret, disappeared, it's madness

I'm not used to all this watеr love, it's true

But you make mе want to

Plan out my last days on earth, eating you

The tips of your teeth fit perfect in me

You're a shower of light I'd devour any day of the week

Baby, cleanse me