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No matter what Astarion says, Nero is not in love with Raphael. Love is for children and storybooks. He doesn’t love Raphael. He’s just…impressed by the man—devil— and the organization he’s got going on here. He’s invested in it all working out. Nero is, at heart, an entrepreneur. And this is a business arrangement.
Besides, he’s not even sure Raphael even likes him anymore. He thought that maybe making the deal would help, but ever since the defeat of the Netherbrain, ever since Nero had placed the crown into Raphael’s waiting hands, he’d been distant. Almost cold. Nero has had more friendship and connection with the skeletons that haunt the hallways, the archivist in the library. With Haarlep.
He’s obviously done something to anger Raphael who is only letting him stay here because of the crown.
At any moment, Raphael might decide that he’s tired of this arrangement and toss Nero out into the mortal realm. And while he can certainly provide for himself, the fact of the matter is that Nero likes it here. He enjoys Raphael’s company-- well usually at least-- and this is the most secure place he’s had to live since his father died.
For the most part, Raphael isn’t home that often. He has work flung across the Hells, and that’s just fine. Nero has work to do taking his father’s empire back into the family. When his father had died, the whole thing had fallen on his nineteen year old shoulders. And for twelve years he’d run things smoothly, like he’d been taught.
Then the Nautiloid had happened, then the tadpole, and by the time the Elderbrain was dealt with, his empire had been swiped out from under him.
So Raphael takes over the Hells, Nero takes over the underworld of the Sword Coast and they don’t say more than three words to each other.
“The Master's home,” the Archivist says. Nero looks up from his book-- he’s been reading through everything in the library, lounging around the library when he’s home-- is it his home?-- and trying not to think about how fucked all of this feels.
“Good,” he slams the book down onto the table, “I need to talk to him.”
The Archivist blinks at him but says nothing. Nero stalks out of the library, down into Raphael’s office, where he is scribbling away at one of his contracts. At the sight of him standing int he doorway, Korilla glances between the two of them and slips out of the room.
“I want to talk to you,” Nero says, closing the door as he slips into the office.
“What can I do for you?” Raphael folds his hands on his desk. The room has the familiar whiff of sulfur that Nero has come to associate with, well, home. The office is actually somewhat cozy. Books line the wall, a fire roars in the hearth. Raphael keeps his papers neat and orderly. His chair is high backed, the room is dimly lit, and sometimes, when he stands in here to talk to Raphael, he thinks about what it might be like to fuck Raphael on that dark wooden desk.
“I’m going to sound like a kid,” Nero replies, “But I think that you hate me. So I want to know what I’ve done to change things between us. I thought you liked me. I thought I was your favorite client.”
Raphael blinks at him in mild surprise, “Why would you think that?”
“You don’t talk to me. You run out of here before I’m even up. I don’t know when we had a meal together. I appreciate you opening your house to me-”
“I thought you were keeping an eye on your investment.”
“But if you want me to leave then tell me and I will.”
“This is an extremely immature conversation,” Raphael sighs, “Certainly I like you. You are, and have always been, my favorite little mouse.”
It’s really stupid, Nero knows, because he really is in love. No matter how much he denies it, no matter how much he claims that he’s too busy for falling in love, he has gone and done it. But whenever he looks at the devil, he feels a stupid flutter in his stomach, feels his heart speed up.
“I think,” Nero rubs the back of his neck, “Why don’t we go to bed together.”
That’s not what he was trying to say, not at all. But it’s as good a place to start as any.
“If you’re feeling an urge you are welcome to the boudoir,” Raphael says, making another signature on one of his contracts, “I am sure Haarlep will be happy to serve you. He says that you are quite entertaining.”
“Right,” Nero continues, “And that’s fine, they’re- it’s-I want you.”
“Oh,” Raphael says.
“Yeah.”
The room suddenly feels uncomfortably warm. He wonders if he could make a run for it. Be in Baldur’s Gate through one of the portals before Raphael could process this conversation. He could probably do it. He knows a few secret passages through the sewers of the city.
“There should be,” Raphael waves a hand, “Parameters, for such a relationship. Merely… sexual. Nothing more.”
It’s not what Nero wants to hear. Gods, it’s not. He wants to kiss him and tell him how much he loves him, and do stupid fucking romantic shit that he’s always avoided. He’s never been in a relationship that wasn’t strictly about sex. Or that lasted more than a few weeks. Work has always come first. He’s always been desperate to make his father proud. Perhaps at the expense of his own life.
But he tends to imagine that’s not the kind of man that Raphael is, so maybe he’s got to be content with this.
“Alright,” Nero crosses his arms, “Strictly sexual.”
“I’m not going to throw you from my house,” Raphael stands up. Nero swallows, “Shall we?”
*****
The agreement is fine.
It’s fine.
He joins Raphael in his bed nearly every night, and it’s good. By the Gods is it good. But in the morning, Raphael is gone and Nero dresses in silence. They depart to their various days, and that’s that.
Four months pass. Nero considers leaving. His empire is thriving-- they expanded into Waterdeep last week-- and he could find somewhere to stay in one of the cities. Smuggling is a good business. It would be a nice place, maybe even in the Upper City.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he and Raphael have silted conversations and a lot of sex.
Gods, it’s pathetic.
“Do you like it here?” Raphael asks. It’s late, probably well after midnight, and Nero is already half asleep, his head on Raphael’s chest, “Because if you don’t, you know, you’re welcome to leave. You’re one of the only ones not bound to this place.”
“I actually do like it here,” Nero replies, “Which, I suppose, says a lot about my morals.”
“Do you have those?”
“Fuck off.”
“Well, it’s late,” Raphael slips out of his arms, pulls on his trousers and shirt, “I have some work to do. Sleep here if you like.”
“Raphael wait,” Nero says. He reaches over, circles one of Raphael’s wrists, “Can-”
“No,” Raphael says, and Nero has a hunch that he knows exactly what he was going to ask. Maybe even knows what Nero isn’t sure what he wants to ask, “Goodnight little mouse.”
The bedroom falls quiet, and after a moment in which Nero considers either bursting into tears-- something he hasn’t done since his father’s death-- or chasing after him. But instead he does neither of those things. He collects his own clothes, and slinks out of the room, down to the boudoir.
“You haven’t been to see me in a long while now,” Haarlep says from the bath. Nero is sure they're naked, but he’s not in the mood for anything like that. Frankly he just wants to talk, and sometimes he thinks Haarlep is the only one who understands anything, “Not since you and Raphael started doing…. whatever it is you’re doing. What are you doing, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Nero rolls up his trouser legs so he can sit on the edge of the bath. The water is warm. It always makes him feel refreshed, “I don’t know what we’re doing. Besides sex.”
“Are you in love with him?” Haarlep asks.
“Yeah,” Nero flicks some water at Haarlep. Why deny it anymore? He’s almost certain that everybody except Raphael knows it, “What do I do about it?”
“I think you could do better,” Haarlep says, dragging one of their fingers down Nero’s calf, “But it’s abundantly clear that he is enamored by you. When he visits me, he exclusively has me use your body.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” Nero says.
Haarlep shrugs, “I’m just the messenger. What will you do about your feelings?”
“I don’t know,” Nero runs a hand over his face, “Ignore them forever?”
“Pathetic.”
“Gee thanks. I don’t even know why I came here,” Nero says, “I should just go back to Baldur’s Gate. Or move to the woods and never be seen again.”
He pulls himself out of the tub, waves away Haarlep’s attempts at chatter, and decides to hunt down Raphael. If this means he’s got to leave the house then so be it. This sex only arrangement they have is going to drive him mad.
*****
“There you are,” Nero says, when he finds Raphael on one of the balconies. His shirt is unbuttoned, and Nero walks over to stand next to him, “Are you brooding?”
“Certainly not. I don’t brood.”
“That’s not even slightly true,” Nero says. He resists the urge to run a hand down Raphael’s chest. That would be a little unprofessional for the conversation they need to have, “You brood all the time. You’re standing here, frowning, looking out over the landscape. I think that’s the definition of brooding.”
“What do you want, Nero?” Raphael sounds a little annoyed. Besides, when was the last time he called Nero anything but little mouse. Or occasionally bastard.
“I’m in love with you,” Nero replies, sighing. It sounds like a stupid thing to say. Pathetic. Haarlep was right, “And I don’t want to do this like this anymore. I hate it. I love you and it’s killing me.”
“Love?”
Nero nods, “Fucking ridiculous, isn’t it. My father always said that love was a distraction and I’d be stupid to let it get in the way of things. So I tried to ignore it. Mostly because I had other things to focus on. First the tadpole, then the Elder Brain, then getting my father’s empire back in the family. But now I’m here, and it’s foolish to pretend that I don’t love you. Why else would I have agreed to give you that crown?”
Raphael doesn’t lose his frown-- in fact, Nero isn’t sure at all what’s going through his head.
“Haarlep says I could do better,” Nero shrugs, “But I love you. I love you so much it hurts. Gods, just throw me over the railing already so we can end this painful discussion.”
Instead of throwing him over into the abyss, Raphael leans forward, puts one hand on Nero’s cheek and kisses him. There’s something soft about the kiss, not the hurried, hungry kisses he’s grown familiar with, before they fall into bed and Nero forgets his own name. But something almost… romantic. Caring.
“It will be quite involved, you know, to be with me,” Raphael says, “I am a bitter, jealous man.”
“Good,” Nero replies, covering Raphel’s hand with his own, “So am I.”
“You mean it, when you tell me that you love me?”
Nero nods, “I mean it.”
“Then let’s go back to bed.”