Chapter Text
“That’s enough. We’ll continue this in the morning.”
Narinder stands. The bubbling ball of eyes and ichor whipping through the room falters as the sound of his chair scraping against the floor cuts through the air. The Lamb startles and lets the remains of his magic seep back through his fingers; the potted camellia on the table wriggles weakly as his power courses out and it finally wilts. He feels a little bit like the poor flower.
As he watches Narinder don his outer robes, Lamb takes a breath and blurts out:
“You should stay.”
It’s a gamble. Night has fallen over the cult, and everyone has already retired to their tents. To ask someone to stay even longer at this hour comes with expectations… unspoken invitations. Even a holier-than-thou former deity like Narinder knows the type of assumptions that come from two creatures spending the night alone in a room.
Of course, the Lamb is not the type to flirt so subtly, nor move so quickly. Narinder has barely begun to tolerate his tiny displays of affection, and only in private.
The Lamb doesn’t want to ruin the progress he’s made, which means he mustn’t let his beloved come up with wild speculations.
At the sight of Narinder’s puffed tail and tense shoulders, Lamb quickly adds, “It’s late. Just stay here and take my bed, even if only for tonight. You know I don’t need sleep anyway.”
“I’d rather not contribute to the boorish gossip of your disciples,” Narinder grouses. Still, his posture loosens and he pauses by the tent flap, allowing the Lamb to come close and take his paw with a charming smile.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a little too late to stop the rumors. One must be willingly blind to ignore my devotion to you, mi rey.”
The Lamb lays a kiss on his paw, and teasingly presses more up his arm as a small blush spreads across Narinder’s face. He finds himself overwhelmingly pleased when he sees the rapid swish of his tail.
As if aware of his gaze, the furry black limb freezes and Narinder huffs, “You know that’s not what I’m referring to.”
“We both wake far before any of the followers do.”
“That’s not a certainty.”
“You’ve said it yourself: they’re already talking.”
Narinder flushes deeper, growling, “That doesn’t mean I want to fuel their delusions!”
“Then won’t you do me a favor and fuel mine?”
Really, the Lamb could spend the whole night coaxing him if he must. He’s no stranger to sweet talk; he finds luring flies with honey far preferable to its alternative and Narinder never fails to delight him with his reactions. And yet, Lamb has relented to him many times before, ever-patient in the face of his many rejections.
Not at this moment. Though gentle, he keeps a firm grip on Narinder’s wrist.
“...You’re unusually stubborn today,” Narinder replies. He eyes the Lamb curiously, ears swiveled down in suspicion. Even so, he doesn’t pull away. Subconsciously, his body twists to face him back, and steps even further away from the exit.
His movements don’t go unnoticed. The Lamb beams, and dials up the playful desperation in his voice, “Oh, but you’re to blame for it, you know?” Galvanized, he drapes his arms around Narinder’s waist and spins him around, laughing at the shocked yowl that escapes him. With a few dexterous steps, he flicks his hand and lets Narinder flop on his bed; the cat’s cloak draped across his other arm as he smiles triumphantly at him, “Winter has yet to relinquish its grip. The two of us would only suffer if I let you leave in such inadequate clothing.”
Narinder glares up at him, his fur ruffled and inner robes rumpled at the Lamb’s impromptu maneuver. The Lamb swallows the coo that threatens to escape him at the sight; he’s pushed his buttons enough tonight.
Regardless of his sour look, Narinder only snorts and smooths his clothing, arranging himself more comfortably on the Lamb’s bed. His overly-luxurious and large bed. Though gods don’t need sleep, some appearances must be upheld.
“Perhaps that is something you ought to attend to then, so that we can avoid these circumstances in the future.”
Then give me better clothes, moron.
“I will keep that in mind,” Lamb nods with mock solemnity.
I’m already working on it.
As Narinder curls up under the blankets, Lamb goes to put away his cloak and snuff out the candles, leaving but one lit. Done, he takes a moment to admire the sight before him. Narinder’s body is slack with contentment, eyes closed and breaths steady. Under the silken sheet, Lamb can spot his tail curling in and out. Peaceful.
After a moment, he pulls out a comforter stuffed with his own wool and drapes it over him. Narinder doesn’t open his eyes, but he rewards the Lamb with a pleased rumble that brings a doting smile to his face.
He summons a shadowy portal under his hooves, preparing to spend the night checking on the farms. But just as the void rises to meet him, he hears a sharp hiss and feels a sharp tug on his fleece.
“Where are you going?” Narinder looks up at him, looking genuinely confused and incredibly annoyed.
The Lamb matches his confusion, “I was going to check on the cult. Did you want me to stay and watch you sleep all night?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Narinder hisses, claws curling tighter in his fleece, “What manner of creature would want to be observed like a specimen while they sleep?”
“Then what do you need?” A goodnight kiss? Hot milk??? The Lamb smartly keeps the latter thoughts to himself.
Narinder’s mouth hangs open and he splutters. Through his bewilderment, Lamb admires the flush that once again spreads over his cheeks, bright even under the dim light. Finally, the cat seems to gather his thoughts and he sits up and yanks on Lamb’s cloak, bringing them face to face.
“Fool!” he hisses, “If you’re brazen enough to invite someone to your bed, be brazen enough to follow through. No self-respecting god would run away with their tail between their legs the way you do!”
His words are like a smack to the face. Even as Narinder chokes out the words through a wall of fury and embarrassment, Lamb can’t stop his own mouth from hanging open.
“You want me to sleep with you?”
Narinder pauses, his embarrassment visibly climbing when he realizes why the Lamb sounds incredibly shocked.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, you infernal lamb!” He shakes him wildly, “I should have known better than to show you any grace, considering it hardly sticks to your thick skull!”
He releases his cloak, his face still burning. His tail slips out from the covers, puffed and upright.
“...If you so prefer the company of beets and spiders, then by all means, leave,” He huffs, and settles back under the covers. A few moments pass as the Lamb continues to gape at him, before Narinder snaps again, “Make up your mind or go!”
The Lamb hesitates. In any other situation, he’d consider such a blatant display of affection from Narinder as a rousing victory. Yet…
“I have a confession,” He murmurs, drawing Narinder’s attention. The cat still looks sullen and irritated, but his ears swivel back towards him, “As much as I’d love to accompany you… I am not a peaceful bedmate. I’m afraid I’d do nothing but disturb your rest all night.”
It’s silly: a god suffering from nightmares. Still, the Lamb offers the truth to him with sincere concern. Forget keeping Narinder awake all night. He can’t bear the thought of harming him by accident– and it’s far from an unfounded fear at their current states.
Narinder sits back up and stares at him. In the dark, the light from his reflective eyes is almost eerie. If he didn’t know any better, the Lamb would assume he was reading his mind.
Eventually, he breaks the silence.
“...I am not as helpless as you believe,” Narinder replies. He lifts up his paw and draws out his claws, letting the sharp point trail softly on the Lamb’s idling hand. Though he barely uses any pressure, his claw leaves a noticeable indent on the Lamb’s calloused skin, “Though I lack my divinity, I haven’t lost my knowledge. I know the anatomy of every creature in this land; I know where every fleshy crevice and vital organs live.”
He looks up at the Lamb, equally solemn and amused, “You’d do well to avoid underestimating mortal instruments.”
The way I underestimated you.
The Lamb flexes his hand, and finally smiles at him.
“A compelling argument as always,” With a flick of his fingers, the Lamb’s fleece falls away into burning embers, leaving his thin sleep robe behind. He gestures at the bed while the Red Crown blinks sleepily and flies off to its tent.
“May I?”
Narinder tsks, sidling away as Lamb settles in next to him “Again, I find myself coddling your every worry, even as you’ve assumed my throne. You prove your inadequacy as a god day after day. I’d tell you to pray for guidance, but you’ve killed every other god who could have heard you.”
Despite his words, his tail curls around the Lamb’s calf as he presses closer to him under the covers. He doesn’t argue when the ram settles a careful hand around his waist, and his back settles against his chest, like puzzle pieces slotting into place.
“Not every god,” Lamb whispers, “I kept my favorite one, did I not?”
Narinder grumbles and lightly kicks his leg, but doesn’t answer. Minutes pass and a pleasant warmth fills the space between them that threatens to lull the Lamb to sleep, but he stubbornly tries to stay awake. Even with Narinder’s reassurance, a thrum of anxiety fills him at the thought of another nightmare.
Unfortunately, his little vow becomes harder to keep when he feels the gentle rumbling of Narinder purring against him.
“...Alright, if you insist,” Lamb whispers. He kisses the tip of Narinder’s ear: cloudlike, soft, and achingly tender.
“I hope to see you in my dreams, mi rey.”
╭┈ •─•°•-ˋˏ ༻❤︎༺ ˎˊ-•°•─• ┈╮
Lamb doesn’t dream of Narinder. He doesn’t dream of anything at all.
And yet, the sight of his former god kneading his wool and trilling in his sleep is more than enough to make up for it.
[It’s a pity he can’t freeze this moment forever.]