Chapter Text
To no-one’s surprise, it started as a bet.
Peter Lukas found himself sat around a table with Simon Fairchild and Elias Bouchard in a private room of some high-end joint that he didn’t care to recall the name of. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence; Simon and Elias (or, more accurately, Jonah) had been meeting regularly in such a fashion for longer than Peter had been alive, and ten years ago, when Peter had been saddled with the job of ‘maintaining the family’s positive relationships’, he’d been invited to join them. It was only much later he discovered that of all the Lukases throughout the years to whom this invitation had been extended, he was the only one to say yes.
Still, the evenings were not unpleasant, even for him. They would rarely talk business, instead spending the time drinking, playing cards, and, as the night grew late, making wagers.
“I have one for you, Peter,” Elias reclined in his chair, glass of wine held between elegant fingers, eyes sharp as they narrowed in on Peter. “I wager that you cannot spend one whole year in a happy marriage.”
Peter frowned and, across the table, Simon grinned, the lines of his face folding like linin, “Now Jonah, that seems rather harsh on the dear boy!” Despite his words, his delight was palpable.
“What do you mean by a ‘happy marriage’?”
Elias’ mouth curled, “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. You’ll simply have to spend most of the year with them, attend to their needs, cook them dinner on occasion, care for them in sickness and in health. Just a perfectly ordinary marriage.”
Peter winced with discomfort, shuddering at just the thought. He knew that Elias knew that what he was describing was anything but ordinary for someone of his family. Still, he wasn’t willing to turn down a bet before knowing what was up for grabs.
“Oh, do tell what’s on the line here Jonah!” Simon, clearly thinking along the same lines, rested his chin on his hand in eager anticipation.
“If I win,” Elias started, placing his glass on the table in favour of steepling his fingers. “I would like a safe, return trip into the Lonely.”
“Why?”
“Oh, let’s call it idle curiosity.”
“Right,” He didn’t quite believe it, but he knew by now that it was better not to press. Elias was a bigger fan of taking information rather than giving it. “And if I win?”
Elias spread his hands, “Whatever you would like. Within reason, of course.”
“The Boatswain’s Call.” He’d had his eye on the artifact ever since Salesa had found it and had been very put out to learn that it had made its way into the vaults of artifact storage in Elias’ institute.
He watched as the grin on Elias’ face grew, and felt uncannily like he’d just played straight into his hands. It was a feeling he’d grown rather accustomed to over the course of these evenings, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant.
“So, am I to take that as you agreeing to the terms?” His eyes were so bright that Peter could only compare them to a cat just about to get the cream. Or maybe the canary.
“Hm, I don’t know. How am I even meant to find someone to marry?”
Simon scoffed from the other side of the table, “The same way the rest of your family do, dear boy. Deep pockets and desperate loners.”
“I’m sure a smart man like you can figure it out,” An elegantly manicured hand was held out before him, rings glinting in the yellow lamplight.
Peter considered the hand. He wanted that Boatswain’s Call, there was no denying that, but the stakes were high. Letting any beholder into the Lonely was risky business, let alone someone like Elias. He didn’t think the other man would set his Gaze upon his domain but equally he knew that trust was not something that existed in this room. So really, it came down to whether he thought he could win this bet. Sure, people in his family got married but their spouses were as much for the purpose of procreation as they were victims for the One Alone. So really, he’d have to choose someone who would both be willing to marry him, and with whom he could stand to be in a room with for a prolonged period of time.
A small smile made its way onto his own face as his eyes finally met Elias’. Without looking away, he ignored the hand in favour of standing, taking a half step towards the other man, and dropping to one knee.
Peter had never seen Elias caught off guard and he decided that it might be his new favourite thing. He blinked once, slowly, and then a few more times rapidly, the smirk falling from his face as his extended hand fell to his lap.
To a backdrop of Simon’s uproarious laughter, Peter said, “Elias, will you marry me?”
A range of emotions crossed the other man’s face and Peter fancied this was worth it, if just for being able to make the great Jonah Magnus lose his footing.
“Well, Jonah? It’s impolite to keep a man waiting,” Peter didn’t want to look away from Elias but the mirth in Simon’s voice was enough to tell him that the other man was practically vibrating in his seat. Simon loved a good show.
Finally, Elias schooled his expression back into something resembling apathy. He raised his chin, looking down at Peter with as much dignity as he could muster, “I hope you understand that I’m not going to make this easy for you.”
“Of course not.”
“I won’t have you running off for weeks at a time on your boat. I expect you to actually be there.”
“Elias,” Peter carefully took his hand, brushing his thumb over his ring finger. “Marry me.”
Elias pursed his lips before, finally-
“Fine. Yes,” Simon cheered and started hollering for someone to bring some champaign as Elias finally smiled, just slightly, and said quietly, “And I expect a ring next time I see you.”
---
The wedding was perhaps the single worst event of Peter’s life so far.
The way he saw it, his obligation to be a good husband began at the signing of the papers and he found no reason as to why he should waste his last precious weeks of alone time planning a wedding. Besides, from what he knew of Elias, he delighted in all things organisational, so surely the other man would be more than happy to organise the event to kick off what was sure to be a dreadful year for the both of them.
He knew he’d made a mistake when he pulled up to the venue. Even an hour before the ceremony was to commence, the front of the manor house was teeming with people, all dressed to the nines, milling about, exchanging idle chit-chat. Looking at him. He considered telling the driver to turn around there and then, to floor it back to Moorland house, or, even better, straight to the Tundra. But Peter was loath to lose a bet, especially before it had truly begun, so he merely gave a wane smile to the driver and stepped out into his own personal hell.
The event only went downhill from there. He spent agonising minutes trapped in curious conversations with those who managed to pick him out as the groom before he was even able to enter the building. Once he manged to escape past the double doors, he was frustrated to find no indication of where to go. If he was totally honest, he wasn’t sure how the whole ceremony was going to work; who walks down the aisle when there’s no bride? Surely it would be Elias, he was after all the smaller of the two, not to mention that Peter had been the one to propose.
As he wandered the halls slightly aimlessly, he considered that maybe attending the rehearsal that Elias had mentioned would be happening the day before may have, in fact, been a good idea.
Eventually, some poor young lad found him, ushering him straight to the grand hall that Elias had picked out. The doors were thrown open for him and, from the end of the aisle, music started playing. With total disregard to the slow pace of the music, Peter strode up the aisle, his back tensing as all eyes were turned on him. Doing his best to ignore them, he set his sights on one pair of eyes in particular.
Elias looked stunning. For a man who always looked ready for a spontaneous trip to the Ritz, it was impressive how he managed to dress himself up even more. His suit fit so well that it seemed to Peter he must have been poured into it, his hair was slicked back away from his face, not a strand out of place, and the bright April morning light that beamed in through the high windows glinted off his jewels (earrings, collar chain, and cufflinks, all bearing matching emerald eye motifs).
The only imperfection that Peter could see as he found himself standing opposite the other man was the irritated furrow that formed above his nose as his eyes dragged over his form.
“You’re late,” he had muttered as the musicians hurried to finish the opening song.
Peter shrugged, smiling slightly in a way he thought was sure to irritate Elias further. “I got lost.”
And so, the ceremony had begun. The officiant spoke in a monotonous drone that turned every sentence into a paragraph, they paused for music more times than Peter cared to count and, of course, he spent minute after excruciating minute at the centre of attention. He wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse that the only face he could confidently pick out of the crowd was Simon.
Their vows were standard (thankfully Elias hadn’t opted for them writing their own) and Peter repeated them dutifully. He idly wondered if he was meant to do something more, perhaps take Elias’ hand, but the other man seemed content with the steady hold of eye-contact that made Peter want to peel his skin off.
Rings were exchanged and, finally, the words were said, and Peter stepped into Elias’ space, planting a perfunctory kiss on his lips. He’d thought that perhaps it would be awkward, but mostly the action just felt cold, like kissing a mannequin maybe. At least it meant it was almost over. And sure enough, a few signatures later, they were walking arm in arm back down the aisle and out into the now midday sunshine, where Peter was relieved to find a sleek black car waiting for them.
“You can ask,” Elias said, a few scant minutes into their journey.
“Where are we going?” Peter prayed he wouldn’t say the word ’reception’.
“Oh, don’t worry Peter, I’ve had quite my fill on your discomfort from the ceremony.” His sideways glance and accompanying smirk reminded Peter of a cat.
“Rooting around in my head already?”
Elias scoffed, looking away from Peter at the passing view. “You say that as though it’s difficult.”
He supposed this was one thing he’d have to get used to during the coming year. During their poker nights, Elias usually refrained from Knowing things, if only because Simon had a knack for telling when he was cheating, a knack that Peter very much did not possess. Best to assume that Elias would know all his thoughts at all times and go from there.
“We’re going to Wales,” Elias finally revealed after another spell of silence.
“Wales?”
He rolled his eyes, as though it was obvious, “For our honeymoon, Peter.”
“Oh.” Somehow, he hadn’t expected Elias to bother with such a thing. From what he knew, the man rarely spent more than a day away from his precious institute.
“It’s my wedding, I should think I’d be permitted a few days to revel in the life of a newly wed, no?”
“You know, conversations work better when you let the other person speak first,” Peter said idly. In the corner of his eye, he could see Elias frown, but he said nothing.
Growing bored, Peter settled his attention on their driver. Not one of the Lukas-employed chauffeurs, the man behind the wheel was maybe a few years older than Peter himself and seemed to be focused pretty intently on the task at hand. Even so, he could sense something there, an isolated thread that could lead to whole tapestry of loneliness if he unspooled it carefully.
“Mr Armstrong, was it?” Elias spoke from beside him, leaning forward in his seat.
“Yes sir. Please don’t feel any obligation to make conversation with me, today is all about your blessed union after all.”
“Nonsense, we’ve quite a journey ahead of us after all. My Peter and I would love to know more about you. Are you married yourself?”
The driver smiled but it was a self-deprecating thing that only served to make the scent of isolation that little bit stronger. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“I get the impression there’s a story there,” If Elias had seemed like a cat before, he was all wolf now, a grin stretching his cheeks. It would be scary if Peter didn’t find it quite so alarmingly attractive.
The driver um’ed and ah’ed and, over the course of the next few hours, Elias had him spilling his guts, lamenting his failed loved, lost friends, and steadily fracturing family. What Peter found truly interesting, was how Elias never directly compelled him, not that he could see anyway. At first, he likened it to playing with his food, drawing out the meal for as long as he could, but it was only when he realised that the man’s loneliness was sustaining him too that Peter saw what Elias was really doing. He was sharing.
When they finally did pull up outside a homely-looking cottage, nestled in the rolling countryside, their chauffeur was little more than a husk, drained as he was. Watching him drive away, Peter was almost certain that he wouldn’t be making it back to England.
By this point, Elias had unlocked the door and was making a show of hefting one of two large cases that had been packed into the boot of the car. “Allow me,” Peter said, taking the case from him with one hand and collecting the second with the other, shuffling them both into the cramped hallway. Still standing in the doorway, he turned to look at Elias.
“Well,” Elias said impatiently. “Are you going to move aside to let me in?”
Peter considered this for a moment before instead taking one step towards Elias, bending at the knees to sweep one arm under the smaller man’s legs and brace another across his shoulders, lifting him clean off the ground. Elias let out an undignified yelp, his arms automatically grasping at Peter for some modicum of support.
“Peter! Put me down!”
Taking no heed of Elias’ slightly pitched demands, he turned and awkwardly walked them both through the door, hooking it closed with his foot once they were both inside. Only then did he gingerly lower Elias back to the ground. Elias, however, did not release his tight grip on the front of Peter’s shirt, instead pushing him back. Peter went willingly, his back meeting the door.
Like this, it was strikingly obvious to Peter just how much shorter Elias was. While Peter was the first to admit that he was a rather large man, Elias could only be considered short. Even with what he believed to be heeled shoes, Peter could probably just about rest his chin atop his head. If he didn’t think such an action would result in immediate divorce, if not something worse.
For a few, long moments, Elias didn’t say anything, opting instead to look at Peter. It was uncomfortable, his eyes leaving a trail of fire in their wake, but it also made Peter’s usually still heart thud to life in his chest. The grip on his shirt loosened and Elias carefully soothed over the creases his grip had made.
“I think there are a few aspects of this marriage that we need to discuss,” He finally said, eyes coming to rest on Peter’s.
“Such as?” It had been a long, long time since Peter had been this close to another person for this long.
“There are certain… Activities-,” Elias’ eyes dropped to his lips for such a brief second that Peter almost thought he had imagined it, “-that most couples tend to engage in.”
No question was spoken but Peter knew what he was being asked all the same. If he was entirely honest, sex wasn’t something he often thought of; he’d done it maybe a handful of times and it had been fine but it was never something he sought out. Sex with Elias was something that, perhaps foolishly, he hadn’t even considered. He was considering it now though, and he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t something utterly appealing about the idea of seeing Elias hot, sweaty, and totally dishevelled.
As the images came into his head, Elias’ face split into that predatory smirk and he leaned in closer, close enough that Peter was certain he must be on his toes. With a hand on Peter’s shoulder as leverage, he whispered, “What do you want, Peter?”
And in lieu of an answer, Peter hoisted him off the ground once again and kissed him. If the kiss that sealed their marriage had been cold, this one burnt like fire. Elias’ legs wrapped tight around his waist, his grip was like iron on the back of his jacket, and Peter was certain he had never felt such heat in his life. The fog of the lonely had never been further from his grasp. Kissing Elias was intoxicating. He wanted to run away to the Tundra. He never wanted to stop.
“Take me to bed, Captain,” Elias gasped, perhaps with less mockery than he intended, when they finally parted for air, and Peter obliged, perhaps with less regard for his God than he intended.
---
When they eventually did return to London, it wasn’t long before they found a new normal. Elias had carved out a space for Peter’s sparse belongings in his top-floor flat, and Peter found that married life fit surprisingly well on both of them.
Elias would spend long hours at work and Peter would have most of the day to himself. It was in fact rather easy to keep Elias happy most days, as simple as having dinner prepared for when he came home, generously pouring whatever drink took his fancy, and, when the mood struck them both, fucking him into their mattress.
It was thrilling to Peter, in a way. Never before had he known someone in the way he was starting to know Elias. Even after a few short weeks, he could read the small ticks of irritation, the way his mouth quirked when he was genuinely amused, the glint in his eye before he would tell a joke that he knew they would both enjoy. That’s not to say that every wall had come crumbling down at the flick of a signature, but it was hard to think of Elias as quite so uptight when he had seen him in moments of unfiltered pleasure, and in the vulnerability of sleep.
If he thought about it too much, it sent his head spinning, as if he was experiencing some sort of Vast-induced vertigo. Some days, the call of the sea, the pull to the fog, was so strong that Peter got as far as calling a taxi, packing a small bag. More terrifying were the days when he couldn’t hear that call at all.
They weren’t gentle with each other. They kissed only as a precursor to sex. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa. When they went to sleep, they faced away.
On the third morning of their honeymoon, Peter had awoken to find Elias sprawled over his chest, one leg thrown over Peter’s. He’d practically fallen into the Lonely, only returning once the sun had fully crested over the hills. Neither of them mentioned it and it hadn’t happened since.
The closest they got to innocent affection was on the days when Elias could cajole Peter out of the house to accompany him on a walk, or some errand. On those occasions they would walk with Elias clinging to Peter’s arm; the combination of skin-on-skin contact and being out in a crowd was more than Peter could stand.
While they bickered often, they fought rarely. Peter supposed that it was hard to care too much about a fight when your marriage is built on a game of chicken instead of a foundation of genuine trust.
All in all, it was a little dull if anything, and that suited Peter just fine.
---
They were just shy of three months in when Elias came home late.
Elias didn’t have a set time that he returned home from the institute each evening but the clock told Peter that it was just past 9pm. The food he’d cooked had gone cold where it rested in the pan, and the summer sun was starting to sink low in the sky. He considered perhaps calling the institute, or maybe Elias’ mobile, although the idea quickly fell apart when he realised he knew neither number. He certainly wasn’t worried, but he was starting to grow hungry. He was considering the ramifications of starting dinner without Elias when the front door opened.
He listened to the now-familiar sounds of Elias removing his shoes in the hallway, and was surprised when the man entered into the room with his jacket already slung over his arm and his expression pinched. Paying no heed to where Peter was stood in the doorway to the kitchen, he made a beeline for the sofa, draping his jacket carelessly over the back as he lay across the length of it, arm flung over his eyes.
“Elias?”
The man startled, as if he hadn’t even known Peter was there, but did not remove his arm.
“Not tonight, Peter. Have the night off.” His voice was weary, and for the first time Peter fancied he could hear the weight of his many, many years. It was an oddly unsettling thought.
Approaching the sofa cautiously, Peter loomed over his husband, taking in the tight purse of his lips, and the way his body was almost shaking as he lay.
“Headache?” Peter wagered, and Elias made a noise that sounded something like an affirmation. “Sit up.”
Elias dragged his arm away from his eyes to level a weak glare at Peter. “I’m serious, please just fuck off.” Peter just raised an eyebrow until, begrudgingly, Elias sat up. Without his arm to hide it, he could see furrow in his brow and the twitching of his eyelids. Sitting in the spot that he’d just vacated, Peter carefully guided Elias by the shoulders to lay back down, his head now pillowed on Peter’s lap.
Peter was almost inclined to call his look of bewilderment cute.
“What do you need?” The words felt strange in his mouth, and he doubted them the moment they came out. They didn’t do this, and yet something about seeing Elias like this was so intrinsically wrong that he felt compelled to do something.
Slowly, as if he too was unsure, Elias reached up until he found Peter’s arm. Trailing his fingers down to close around his wrist, he dragged his hand towards his own face, closed his eyes before laying Peter’s hand across his eyes. Unbidden, he let out a long sigh, tension immediately draining from his shoulders. His skin was so warm that Peter was sure he must be running a fever.
Elias’ hands twitched for a moment before reaching blindly once again. Peter immediately presented his free hand and, to his surprise, Elias simply rested their hands on his own stomach, his lithe fingers exploring Peter’s own rough calluses, soothing back and forth over his wedding ring, learning the curve of his palm by touch alone. It made Peter’s skin itch, but it was no worse than sinking into a bath that was just on the right side of too hot.
“It’s a lot, sometimes,” Elias said after what felt like hours. “Too much.” Peter hummed, squeezing Elias’ hand where it had come to rest in his. “Do you get that? With the One Alone?”
Peter smiled, and even he could tell that the motion was far too fond.
“Even like this, you can’t stop asking questions,” Elias opened his mouth as if to argue but Peter continued before he could. “No, it’s never too much. Not for me, anyway.”
They lapsed back into silence for a time, until Peter was certain that Elias was falling asleep. Gently, he coaxed him awake, nudging him in the direction of the bathroom while Peter transferred their uneaten dinner into tupperware; he was still hungry but the call of sleep definitely won out.
By the time he entered their bedroom, Elias had settled himself under the covers. Taking a few moments to get ready himself, Peter soon joined him, sliding under the duvet on his side. Elias barely waited a minute before shuffling into his space, arranging Peter’s pliant arms until he was able to tuck himself under his chin. His hair tickled Peter’s nose, his breath was a hot plume on his neck, and the whole thing felt so inevitable.
When he was sure Elias had fallen asleep, and with his own heart thumping erratically in his chest, he pressed a slow kiss to the top of his head, finally letting his eyes close. Just before he fell into the clutches of his own sleep, he was certain he felt the brush of Elias’ lips, right at the hollow of his throat.
---
Things changed after that night, the most striking difference being the touching. Where before there had been an unspoken wall down the middle of their bed, now they hardly seemed to have sides at all. Most commonly, Elias would sprawl himself over Peter, forgoing the pillow in favour of using his chest and encouraging Peter’s arms to act as his second duvet. Even on the sofa, Elias would wait first for Peter to settle before tucking himself against his side, sometimes even going so far as to sling a leg over one of Peter’s until he was half on his lap.
They kissed more too; before Elias headed out in the morning; in the kitchen when he came in; on the sofa like they were teenagers; even, on occasion, out in public.
If he’d been asked to describe Elias before this marriage began, he certainly wouldn’t have said tactile.
As for Peter himself, well he couldn’t say that he disliked it. It was hard to tell if Elias ran hot or he ran cold but every touch between them felt like a line of fire and yet Peter couldn’t get enough. Even on the days where it felt like too much he found himself tugging Elias closer. He never initiated the contact, although he did find himself longing for it, waiting for the moments when Elias would crowd into his space. He wasn’t sure if that counted as feeding his God. He wasn’t sure he cared.
---
“No.”
“What do you mean, ’No’?”
“I mean no, Elias.”
“Did you even listen to a thing I just said, Peter? I’m your husband, for fucks sake!”
“Not in the eyes of the family. You know this.”
Elias looked on the verge of a conniption and Peter wanted nothing more than to have a lie down, maybe in a nice cool fog.
“It’s just a funeral.”
“If it’s just a funeral then why do you need to come?”
A Lukas, one of Peter’s cousins, had died in the early hours of Saturday morning and, since the funeral invitation had arrived on Monday morning, they’d been going round in circles, having the same argument. It was now Friday.
“I’m invited!”
“You most certainly are not.”
The invitation, the same one that would have been sent to every member of the Lukas family, had been addressed ’Dear Mr/Master/Mrs/Miss/ Lukas and Family’, which Elias had taken to include him.
“Why does it even matter if I’m there? They’ll hardly notice me, what with the size of your family.”
Groaning in frustration, Peter turned away from Elias. The other man knew full well that even in a room of a thousand people, no-one could fail to notice him. In a room full of Lukases, he might as well be a disco ball.
“Give me one good reason why I can’t go.”
Peter sighed heavily, closing his eyes to try and abate his headache, “I’ve given you a thousand reasons.”
“Give me one more.”
Turning once more to look at Elias, the other man had his arms crosses tightly over his chest. His face was set with a fierce scowl and his eyes were bright with irritation. Peter couldn’t decide if he wanted to shove or kiss his stupid face.
“Funerals are sacred. We don’t let just anyone attend,” Elias opened his mouth to argue but Peter barrelled on before he could finish drawing breath. “Not saying you’re just anyone. But we take funerals very seriously. The only thing more important than a funeral is a birth, and we don’t all gather together for those.”
Frowning, Elias sat on the bed, looking up at where Peter still stood. “Are you telling me that no outsiders- not that I should be considered an outsider, as your husband- but no outsiders at all have ever been to a Lukas funeral?”
“No, I’m not saying that. But usually those people are the ones being sacrificed.”
“Which is why I don’t understand why I can’t come!” Elias threw his hands up, as if Peter was the one being unreasonable.
“What, you want to be sacrificed? I thought the whole point of this marriage was for you to have a safe trip into the Lonely.”
For a second, Elias looked… Surprised, maybe? Peter wasn’t sure, but whatever it was disappeared in a flash.
“As if your family would dare try and sacrifice me anyway. Besides, you’d stop them.”
Worryingly enough, Peter probably would.
“Fine. You can come. But only if we get married properly. In the eyes of the family,” Elias actually looked like he was considering this option, before Peter finished with, “And we don’t believe in divorce by the way. Only until death do us part.”
With a drawn-out groan, Elias flopped back onto the bed, muttering some sort of curses. Tentatively, Peter perched on the mattress beside him.
“How long will you be gone?” Elias finally asked.
“Hard to say,” Peter shrugged, glancing at his prone husband. “Depends on if she had any important duties that need to be redistributed.”
Elias hummed before holding out his hand. Obligingly, Peter took it, allowing Elias to guide him to his knee where he started to soothingly run his hand over his leg.
“I’m still mad at you,” Peter just nodded. “I’d make you sleep on the sofa if I didn’t know you’d enjoy it.”
Peter shrugged again. “Might be a good idea anyway. I need to leave early tomorrow.” By the way Elias tensed, Peter could tell he didn’t truly want Peter out of his bed. For a man so old, Elias was terrible at hiding his true feelings. Or maybe he just never let anyone close enough to see his tells.
“Will you at least tell me about it? When you get back?” He asked after a while.
“Probably not,” He squeezed Elias’ knee, wondering if the other man drew comfort from the action.
“What if I made you tell me?”
Elias had done that on occasion, attempted to compel an answer out of him. Sometimes, Peter let him but more often he let himself become shrouded in fog until Elias dropped it.
“You can come to a wedding, if someone has one this year,” Peter offered up in lieu of an answer.
Sighing, as if the idea of a compromise was entirely too taxing for him, Elias closed his eyes, folding his hands over his stomach, “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
“Of course, dear.”
---
Occasionally, Peter did still have to take trips out on the Tundra, for his own sanity if nothing else. While they weren’t the months-long voyages that he usually enjoyed, the brief respites were a temporary balm. Up to two weeks of solitude after months of near-constant company felt like as close to heaven as Peter could imagine.
The only issue was the letters. One at every port, usually presented to Tadeas when they docked before being delivered to him in his quarters. Each envelope was filled with tedious accounts of the days past, banal gossip, and perfectly penned endearments, with each letter signed ’Your devoted husband, Elias Bouchard’.
And Peter hated it.
Letters had always felt so personal, so sentimental, a reminder that someone was thinking of you. That you weren’t truly alone, no matter how far away you were.
He knew that this was precisely why Elias bothered writing them, why he went to the effort of using his fancy ink and good paper. The man refused to give Peter peace, even when they were on different continents. And, not wanting to lose over something so small, Peter found himself forced to respond, filling half a page of mindless drivel to be posted back to London before they carried on their way.
Only once they were far out from land did Peter feel safe to discard the letters, dropping them into the ocean or dipping the corners into the flames of his lantern, watching Elias’ swirling calligraphy melt away. If Elias knew that he didn’t keep his letters, he never mentioned it.
But, other than that, the Tundra remained his safe haven.
---
On the eve of their one-year anniversary, everything was… Normal.
Like usual, Peter was the first to wake, carefully manoeuvring himself out of Elias’ limpet-like grip and shuffling to the kitchen to jab at the coffee machine and start on breakfast. By the time Elias was up, he’d set a plate of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and a steaming cup of coffee at each end of the table, all of which Elias ignored in favour of wrapping his arms around Peter from behind, pressing a kiss onto his clothed shoulder.
It was as he moved away to take his seat that Peter first noticed it, settling on his tongue like a bad taste. Thinking that maybe he was mistaken, he took a gulp of orange juice, swilling it around in an attempt to wash it out. But, just as he noticed Elias watching him, there it was again.
Loneliness.
Not the usual, surface level loneliness that he liked to dig into and expand until it was big enough to consume an entire person, but the richer, aching fear of an inevitable end, of knowing that someone you care for is soon to be gone, maybe forever. The kind of loneliness that clung to hospitals and trailed kids who moved far away from their first friends, that swamped funerals and flooded airports. It was drifting off Elias in waves.
Outwardly, the other man seemed fine, cradling his coffee as he ate, occasionally darting his eyes up to look at Peter. He was quiet, but they both tended to pass the early morning in silence, individually shaking off the last dregs of sleep before the day began proper. And yet every one of Peter’s senses screamed that something was wrong.
As far as loneliness went, every avatar of the One Alone had their own tastes and, to Peter, this was the worst of them. There was no way to describe it, other than that it felt viscous in his mouth. He much preferred the game, turning someone’s love of solitude into a brand new fear, nurturing a seed of doubt into a full-blown panic. Despite this, it was hard to ignore what was a veritable feast of loneliness laid out before him, every instinct screaming to press deeper.
Still, he didn’t mention it and, when Elias left for work, decided to put it out of his mind for the day.
-
It had barely passed 4pm when Peter heard the key jangle in the door. Sidling up to the entry hallway, Peter leaned against the doorframe to watch Elias carefully toe of his shoes.
“Quiet day?”
“Quiet day,” Elias confirmed. For a long second, he looked down the hallway at Peter, his brow furrowed as if he was staring at some great puzzle. Peter was on the verge of asking if perhaps there was something on his face when Elias started down the hallway towards him, grabbed him by the face and pulled him into a searing kiss.
Immediately his senses were flooded with that same rich loneliness, and he found himself unthinkingly touching Elias, one hand pawing up his back to ruck up his shirt whilst the other curled around his wrist, fingers pressed to feel his hammering pulse. It was easy to press Elias against the wall, disconnecting their mouths to trail kisses down his jaw, his throat, fumbling with buttons to bite at his collarbone. The loneliness persisted and Peter stopped long enough for Elias to help him out of his cable-knit jumper, unsure if he was chasing the taste or trying to banish it.
Losing clothes as they went, Peter let Elias tug him to the bedroom and push him to sit on the bed. He watched Elias shuck his trousers and before he had the chance to strip off his underwear too, Peter tugged him by the hips to stand between his legs. Elias kissed him again, almost frantic, as his hands fumbled at Peter’s belt. He made to move lower, perhaps to kneel between his legs, but Peter kept him there, fingers digging into his skin, just shy of bruising.
“’Lias,” he breathed against his lips as the other man instead straddled him, hands now sliding up his exposed back. “Wait.”
Immediately, Elias stopped, breathless as his hands stilled, “What is it?”
“Just-” he leaned his head forward to briefly press his forehead to Elias’ collarbone, “-Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”
Elias huffed a wry smile, shaking his head slightly, “We both know that’s not true.”
“What, are you going to miss me Elias?”
The other man scoffed, “Oh please, you give yourself too much credit.”
Peter would have believed him if the taste of his loneliness didn’t linger on his tongue.
Carefully, he brought a hand up to cup Elias’ jaw, looking up into his husband’s eyes. Immediately, prickles of discomfort shot up his back, little pinpricks that screamed at him being perceived. He held his gaze steady.
“Why are you acting like I’m already gone?”
There was a certain headiness to asking a question of a Beholder. Elias’ eyes darted across his face, and his brain itched as he tried to pry. The ancient eyes of Jonah Magnus were dilated as they studied him.
“Maybe I will miss this,” He finally admitted, his face devoid of any shame. “Is that such a crime?”
“No. But I’d rather you miss me once I’m actually gone,” Elias opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Peter cut him off. “Elias. I’m still here.”
“…Okay. Okay.” Slowly this time, Elias leant down to kiss him, arms looped around his neck. Elias tasted like lingering coffee, the hint of something sweet, and yes, a small amount of lingering loneliness. But mostly, he just tasted like Elias.
They spent the next hour, two hours, sharing languid kisses, slowly divesting the rest of their clothes, gripping sheets, and gasping each other’s name. After, they cooked (or, more accurately, Peter cooked while Elias watched), sharing a meal as if it wasn’t the last. The dishes sat unwashed in the sink.
At the end, they settled as they always did, Elias sprawled over Peter, head tucked under his chin.
“Don’t leave while I’m asleep,” Elias whispered, just as sleep began to tug at Peter. In lieu of a response, he pressed a sleepy kiss on Elias’ hair.
---
Early, far earlier than he would usually rise, Peter untangled himself from Elias’ grasp. Grabbing the bags he had already packed, he left his sleeping husband, allowing the fog to guide him to it’s embrace. By the time Elias would usually be waking up, he was already in Southampton, halfway up the gangway of the Tundra.
Waiting for him on the desk within his quarters, he finds the Boatswain’s Call, the gleaming brass whistle sat innocuously atop a stack of divorce papers, already half-completed.