Work Text:
“ You … Have - you have twelve freckles surrounding your mouth. Though - one is more of a beauty mark. Hm. “
A monotonous voice broke the gentle silence.
“ Oh – are they your favourites, then? Haha. “
At this point, this conversation was routine for them. What had once started as unwilling and uncomfortable - the feeling of being touched, or even being seen, becoming too much for the pair of them - had now become their usual, as Frederick would lay back and close his eyes under candlelight, and Aesop would rest atop him, hesitant. The Embalmer would then crane himself over the Composer, who was now void of make-up and synthetics, and he would take in what made the man natural.
To Aesop, the poor boy whose entire career had revolved around correcting and concealing features of the dead, it was a privilege to have someone so alive allow him to take him in. Each freckle or beauty mark - each discoloration, or scar, or misplaced lock of hair - he did not feel as if he ought to have been permitted to lay his eyes on such. Though, when his lover’s eyes folded, and he received a gentle smile to signify his pleasure, Aesop seemed to be incapable of looking away.
And so, he asked himself ‘ why? ‘- Why did the man trust him so? Why did the one before him, so alive - so warm - so colourful - allow him close? Did he not know how dangerous Aesop could be? Aesop had told him what he had done - did his beloved not care? Or, was his beloved simply biding time? … No, he wasn’t so cruel. To others, perhaps Frederick could be, but Aesop - for the first time in his life - felt the closest thing to safety, when next to the man. Compared to the Composer, he felt bare and disgusting - an acolyte next to a God.
He knew the one before him was beautiful - and he knew that Frederick knew the same.
The Embalmer had never thought of his lover as particularly crude, though he begrudged to hear his Composer echo previous comments given to him. He felt as if, under the words, he would shrink - incapable of loving Frederick, incapable of complimenting him the way he believed he wanted, but somehow far more eloquent than the cat - calls and vulgarities the man had faced. And he was no fool - Aesop knew how to close his mouth and to avoid his eyes meeting Frederick’s. He was not one to know what to say, nor when to say such, but his inconsistent blurting of matter-of-fact compliments could not have been comfortable for the one he so adored, he thought. Still, he continued.
He knew himself to be selfish. Though, when his lover smiled so when Aesop seemed to praise his features, he doubted his thought processes. Did he enjoy it so … ?
“ … No. You - there is a mark on the back of your neck. I believe I like th - that the most. I do not know why, “
“ Is there, now? Where - abouts, dear ? “
“ Mm - sit up … ? “
Without thinking, as if his actions were up to nothing more than muscle memory, the Embalmer ghosted his ungloved hands around the Composer’s waist as he moved to sit up, Frederick only smiling lazily as he propped himself against the side of the sofa they resided on. Aesop then brought his hands up, one resting on Frederick’s shoulder, and the other grazing its fingers against the back of Frederick’s neck, until he rested on the nape.
“ Here - it is only a spot - a - well, a beauty mark, really, “
His fingers absentmindedly tapped on the nape of the Composer’s neck as the two of them fidgeted, and it was now Aesop’s turn to have arms flung softly around his waist, the Composer interlocking his fingers behind the Embalmer’s back and resting his forearms on his hip - bones. Once, Aesop would have cringed away from the pseudo - embrace, and Frederick would not have even initiated such, but time had made the couple grow fonder, and Aesop only found himself melting into the feeling, clearly becoming less tense in the man’s lap.
“ I like other - oth - other features, do not get me wrong … “
“ I know you do, Aesop, “
Despite his words, Frederick did not seem to scold or dismiss his lover, but rather leaned his face forward as Aesop snaked his hand from his neck to his cheek. There, he cupped Frederick’s face and, though the touch was not necessarily soft, it was clear that the Embalmer focused greatly on the Composer’s comfort, only lightly brushing his thumb across his cheek.
Frederick had been the one to introduce Aesop to what the living could truly be like - the delights even a face had to offer. His lover watched with wide eyes when he blushed, almost in awe that he had caused such a natural phenomena, and his lover was soothed by simply leaning his head against Frederick’s chest, listening to the heartbeat he had to offer - how it sped up and slowed down without free will; how it was influenced by him. The Embalmer had accepted in his adolescence that he would not be the one to flush or flatter another, and that he would only be surrounded with the lifeless. The Composer, however, seemed to dismantle his mind and heart, leaving him not only vulnerable, but secure in that vulnerability. He did not flinch away from his scarred face, nor did he force him into silence. For once, someone that would give him the chance to learn - someone that would give him the chance to see something as simple as a blush, or a laugh dedicated to him and him alone.
Aesop Carl loved the one before him. He loved the way he worked; he near - enough worshipped every involuntary action bestowed before him. Each blush was a blessing to him.
And thus, his ever - wide eyed scanned the man’s face, and scarred hands caressed patches of red on the Composer’s face - not quite blushes, but rather born discoloration the man insisted on covering. To Aesop, who was already lucky enough to see the man under the makeup he assisted in putting on, Frederick’s features could be considered the ninth wonder of the natural world.
As silence fell upon them, their faces only gravitated closer. Aesop’s hand had moved over - time, from the patches on Frederick’s cheek, to tracing the freckles dotted around his face and neck, to tapping along his jaw as they seemed to stare at each other. The communication was unspoken, though there was nothing to say. There was only a soft smile from Frederick, with relaxed eyes, meeting a light frown and hauntingly wide eyed from Aesop. Despite this, they were nothing but infatuated with the sight of the one before each other, and Aesop seemed to flush as he felt a hand lightly move up and down his back, breaking eye contact and creating a small smile and laugh.
Then, the silence was broken by near - teases, cooing and aww - ing from the Composer as he tried to coax his lover into looking at him again - an easy feat, as Frederick rested his forehead against the other’s. For a few seconds, they returned to the silence they bathed in.
“ Are - haha - are you not going to kiss me today, then? Are you so cruel? “
Frederick teased, punctuating himself by pushing their noses together lightly and alluding to another aspect of their routine; one Aesop was less - than - proud to admit to.
“ Come, now - do you not love me anymore, darling ? “ A clear joke.
“ I would have thought you - you would be bored of that, now. Annoyed. “
“ Annoyed? Never ! “
“ Mm .. “
Aesop only hummed in acknowledgement of his lover’s words and moved to rest his head on Frederick’s shoulder, his eyes finally relaxing as he lingered there for a moment.
“ May I? “
“ You may! In fact - I insist. “
Such words brought about an airy laugh from the Embalmer, bashful as he wrapped his arms around his lover, though close enough to reach nonetheless, and pressed his lips lightly to the Composer’s neck. His kisses were hardly noticeable, as if Aesop were too afraid to break the other under his touch, and they focused on marks scattered around him. Soon, he had trailed from the bottom of Frederick’s neck to the corner of his lips - he seemed to follow an invisible path on his beloved’s face, one he had studied endlessly and gotten used to - one he had followed before, and, no doubt, would follow again. Throughout this, Frederick’s hand rested in Aesop’s hair, lightly brushing through the locks, and a smile remained on his face as he moved and leaned, accommodating to the feeling.
As the kisses became closer to his lips, however, Frederick dragged his hand down to hold Aesop’s face, cupping the one before him and puckering his lips.
… And then scoffing as Aesop turned his face, his lips now against the palm of Frederick’s hand and kissing the scarring on his hands, and then his wrist, and then the other side of his neck – mirroring the trail he followed from before. The Embalmer only smiled in malicious delight as his Composer pouted upon his return, and he went back to leaning his forehead against the other. It was then he took a moment to admire the blush coating Frederick’s face - light, but because of him.
“ Don’t be like that… “ He whined.
“ Like what … ? “
A groan came from the Composer as he leaned forward, pecking the Embalmer swiftly, and extracting a surprised laugh from Aesop. Within the second, Aesop had returned the sentiment, pressing scarred lips awkwardly against Frederick’s, a kiss so untrained and pitiful against anyone - else. Still, he received a hum in delight as the Composer chose to deepen the kiss, and the two of them stayed as such for a few moments, nothing but lost in each other.
When they did pull away, there was nothing more to be said, and they mutually returned to pressing their foreheads against each other, eyes locking similarly to how they did before - nothing more than part of their routine. Aesop’s hands returned to wandering Frederick’s face and neck lightly, tracing freckles and marks subconsciously, memorising his boyfriend’s visage as he did so, and Frederick returned to absentmindedly rubbing his lover’s back in comfort, smiling and shutting his eyes as Aesop’s scanned his face.