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They probably deserved this downtime, he thought. The day had been taxing, they needed to recharge.
Exhausted, they all lounged in the dark room, illuminated by an orange-tinted salt lamp that didn’t quite reach their skin. IV was passed out spread-eagled on an armchair: brown, cracked leather that had seen better days. The whole house had seen better days, if he was to be honest. But at least they had a house now, it was sturdy and sheltered and had a good room for an altar, and a good basement for practicing their offerings before presenting them to the world.
III was curled up on a pile of pillows, tightly wound like a cat. Soft sounds spilled from behind his cloth mask, little rumbles and purrs and whispers. He was next to IV’s chair, situating himself so IV can stroke slowly through his long hair. They were both dozing, exhausted from the day’s activities, and it was a beautiful sight to behold. If II wasn’t distracted by the man beside him on the couch, he would have taken a picture of them to put on his wall and save forever. But that would have to wait, there was something with six eyes and long claws that demanded his attention by simply existing in the space next to him.
II watched as the light spilled over his chest, his stomach, through the cracks of his fingers, pooling in the dip below his ribs and fizzing on sharp shadows. Small dark rainbows danced along his knuckles, his nail beds, his belly button. His nipples, his clavicle, the outlines of his ribs. Six copper eyes blink slowly out of order as he studies his own hand like a foreign object, and II is entranced. Leaning closer for a better look; subtle shifts in the weight on the couch.
Vessel tipped closer, perhaps unconsciously, and his hoodie jacket falls to the side to reveal more of that oil-spill skin. II watches the patterns stretch down his side, shifting slowly, lethargic. Across the sharp jut of his hipbones, peeking out from his too-big jeans and undone belt. Lazy, effortless, beautiful. Intoxicating, maybe. The pull of it was distracting.
II glanced up to see Vessel side-eyeing him with all six of his stunning red eyes. Copper flecks glinted in the light of the salt lamp, flashing with a magic unknown. Magic that sparks at his fingertips, works on the minds of thousands to pull them under. Magic that dances around his fingers now, small flickers of blueish light that swim in waves and spindles around his fingers as he moves them, twirling, through the thick air. His hair has been moving this whole time too, thick tendrils with minds of their own that seek heat and flesh, and it becomes II’s focus. He knows he’s being watched, and he doesn’t care. Receiving attention from such an ethereal creature as Vessel feels like the highest blessing he could ever be granted.
II knows Vessel can’t really control the movement of his hair. It was reaching for II all on its own, straining to touch him. Who was he to deny it, really? It may not have a mouth to talk with, but it was still a part of Vessel, and therefore deserved to be heard and obeyed. He tipped his head into the wriggling mass, letting it slide all over his masked skull. It felt a little weird, but he thought he could see a little tension slide from Vessel’s shoulders. His eyes closed one by one, slowly, and a breath left the slit that was his mouth. And that was worth the strangeness, he thought. It was kind of comforting, actually: a strange feeling for sure, but a nice one. He closed his eyes too and let the tendrils caress his head, the tips of his ears, anything they could reach. Slowly petting at him.
After a time, he cracked his eyes open to see Vessel’s face inches from his, copper eyes flitting all over his masked face. At some point, he had turned to face II, allowing his hair to reach more parts of II and letting him see the outline of his eyes through the mask. Vessel studied his eyelashes, short but incredibly human. II felt exposed under his many-eyed gaze, shrinking a little. Vessel’s hair pulled off him, recoiling at the anxiety running through him, and he let out a sound at the loss of contact.
Vessel lifted a clawed finger and pointed slowly at II’s hand, where it rested on the couch between them.
“Touch.” was all he said, simple and rasped through fused jaws.
II lifted his hands. Hovered them. Where? He signed. He wasn’t really allowed to speak, not often. Not with his mask on.
Vessel was in a slow mood tonight. He swivelled his wrist like a sloth, pointing at his chest. “Touch,” he repeated.
And so II laid his right palm in the centre of Vessel’s chest, where his heart should be. He was warm and cool, kind of slimy but not really, rough and smooth. II pressed, just a little. To feel his heart beating slower than any creature’s should.
“Move. More.” Vessel looked directly through II’s soul, reading him like an open book. II was transfixed on where their skin met, the dull swirls of colour in Vessel’s skin seeped into his hand and fingers at every point of contact. It was breathtaking, II felt like he might have forgotten how to breathe when the words fell from Vessel’s lack of lips. He broke out of his trance with a jolt, meeting Vessel’s intense eyes gazing at him with what might have been adoration, childlike wonder. Red iris, black sclera, copper flecks that shimmered and popped. Six, switching their point of focus from one of II’s eyes to the other, studying him and cataloguing his reactions.
II pointed at his mask dumbly, asking permission to remove it. He doesn’t do it often, the least out of all of them, and there was that undercurrent of desperation in the way he gestured to his face without removing his hand from its anchor on hiss chest that Vessel was powerless to ignore. Who was he to pass up on an opportunity to see his mates unmasked? Every time, he could track how their transformation had morphed their faces, becoming more similar to his by the day.
One thing the process had failed to change about II was his eyes, and it was one of Vessel’s favourite things. They were still deep blue instead of the scarlet or copper colour they should be, reminding him of the bottomless, endless ocean. As the rest of the mask came off, tugged away awkwardly with II’s left hand, Vessel memorised just how far the transformation had progressed. II’s face was grey now. His nose was sealing, becoming less pronounced and more like a hump. His short, now black hair was all fucked up from being under the mask for so long; Vessel couldn’t resist reaching a hand up and ruffling his claws through it. II’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp.
“More?” II’s voice was creaky with disuse, soft and scratchy. Unlike Vessel, he still had his lips and mouth and tongue. His jaws wouldn’t fuse, the mask did enough to keep him silent. Vessel’s eyes closed as he tipped his head forward in recognition.
“Head, shoulder.” He creaked. II blinked, and moved to lie against Vessel, dropping his head onto his shoulder as he was asked, pressing the line of his body into him and wriggling as close as he could. He began to move his hand, tracing the shifting patterns with light touches and reverent fingertips. Vessel’s hair found it’s way back to II’s head, and II smushed his cheek into Vessel’s shoulder and closed his eyes as he let himself feel. He looped his left arm around the back of Vessel’s neck and let his hand hang off his shoulder, tracing little patterns into the jut of his bones. A rumble started up in Vessel’s chest, II could feel the vibrations if he splayed his palms between his pecs and concentrated hard.
They laid there for a time, II’s left hand creeping to cup Vessel’s cheek and grasp at the skin on his neck. Tracing his jugular vein and memorising the shape of his trachea where it pressed against his skin. Feeling the colours seep into his veins, his bones, comforting and reassuring. Vessel kept up that ceaseless rumbling, gradually growing in volume as the time poured by. It was lovely, he would never deny it, but II wanted a little bit more.
He lifted his head to look at Vessel’s eyes, tracking the movement of his hand on his chest. Upon the loss of contact, they snapped to the right to look at him with what could only described as puppy-dog eyes. (Vessel’s head stayed in the same position, as it was prone to do. Outside of Rituals, his bones fused and it was difficult to move his head much without pain.)
II pointed to Vessel’s lap with the hand wrapped around his neck.
“Sit?” Vessel tilted his head in question.
“Closer?” II offered as an explanation. It really was a bit hard to communicate with so little words, but they made it work. Vessel nodded, creaking, and II climbed onto his lap to straddle him. He shucked his shirt, opting just for his black hoodie-jacket like Vessel had, and tucked his head under Vessel’s jaw as he collapsed against him. Vessel huffed, moving his hands for the first time in what might have been hours to embrace II, one hand rubbing and squeezing at the back of his neck.
II sighed contentedly. This was certainly much better than earlier, he decided. The colours of Vessel’s skin seeped into him everywhere, all along his stomach and chest and arms, which he had tucked under Vessel’s jacket to rub gently at his back and match time with the hand on his neck. He buried his face in Vessel’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. He smelled of ozone and metal and sweat.
“You.. are… better.. now?” Vessel croaked softly, the rasp in his voice right in II’s ear and the strain of speaking four words in a row evident in the way his chest heaves against II’s. II snuggled in closer in response, wrapping his arms more around Vessel’s back and squeezing.
“Better now.” He said with a smile in his voice as he pressed his lips to Vessel’s neck in thanks.