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Not for the first time, Rain found himself basking in the luxury of Papa’s clawfoot bathtub.
The water had taken on a sweetly floral scent - a combination of the violets in the bubbles and the jasmine shampoo he’d helped himself to.
He’d learned very quickly that Papa didn’t leave things within reaching distance that he didn’t want the ghoul to spoil himself with, though the items were few and far between. Rain had the choice of either of the two towels hanging behind the door, one of which appeared to have seen considerably more use and neglect than the other. Though the second was fluffy and perfectly white, Rain eyed Papa’s black towel eagerly, the softness roughened and impossibly personal.
Papa had left the cabinet open under the sink for him to peruse the bath bombs in the little plastic container within, offering up the wide collection for his ravenous hands. There were some with petals, some with colourful marbled textures, far too many with glitter - it made Rain giddy with indecision, though he’d ultimately opted for bubbles.
There were hair oils on the counter, half a million different tubes of moisturiser, his hairbrush that had a collection of both smartly cropped salt and pepper strays, mid length black waves, and much longer blonde strands. There were half a dozen toothbrushes sitting in a cup on the sink, two robes hung on the wall - only one of which Rain had much interest in slipping on - and quite the impressive selection of rubber ducks tucked into the dusty recession of the cabinet.
The only things out of reach were the few bits and pieces stored in the shelf behind the fogged up mirror. Rain had scooped - a ghoul could follow a simple request, but his curiosity was not so easily abated. He hadn’t found anything very interesting. Papa’s medicine box, a couple spare toothbrushes, his shaving cream. There was an interesting jar of something orange and watery that, upon popping the lid off, smelled faintly of mandarine, but he’d managed to stop himself from indulging.
Papa would probably concede if he asked. He’d probably give him the whole jar with a shiny little bow on it should he bat his lashes, give up his shaving cream and Advil and the few privacies he afforded himself.
Rain didn’t ask. If he were Dewdrop, he probably wouldn’t even bother to ask, but simply help himself. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after all, and Papa was far too merciful for his own good.
Rain didn’t spare any expenses in the other delights he was privy to, dolling himself out with the refreshing cucumber face mask he’d watched Mountain churn up and gift to Papa in an old pickle jar. He embraced the steam as it wafted up around him in great big plumes, the fans long since switched off. The bath was long enough that he could sink all the way down until his head was submerged and his feet still didn’t reach the end.
He did so once or twice, just to make sure he rinsed out the worst of the shampoos suds. He could get the rest when he rinsed off later. He liked to keep his head floating above the surface just enough to be able to peek out over the lip of the tub, to be able to listen to Papa shuffling about on the other side of the bathroom door.
He could hear him humming intermittently, a pretty sound that didn’t seem to hold much sense or shape. Rain liked the indistinct melody, wondered if it was something he was cooking up for his next album or simply a musical stream of consciousness. Perhaps he wasn’t even aware of it as he moved around.
He could see his shadow pass under the door frame every now and then, vaguely purposeful. He’d been nose deep in paperwork when Rain unceremoniously announced he was there to use his bathtub, acknowledging him with a tight smile and a nod before diving back into his work. Rain didn’t recognise any of the charts or reports on his desk, but he rarely did. Helping Papa with paperwork was more Aether’s thing.
Perhaps, if he was up and wandering about again, it meant he was finished. Maybe he was taking a break - it was about lunchtime when Rain interrupted him, and he’d been in there at least long enough for them to have missed dinner. Papa seemed to be just as nocturnal as the ghouls some days.
It was hard to tell what kind of toll it took on his awfully mortal body with the paint. He rarely strayed beyond his bedroom without his paint, though it was usually just the black of his eyes and lip. It was amusing, the way he would simply forget he was Papa now, that he had earned his stripes. Imperator never forgot, and the ghouls had overheard their rather stern conversations about proper attire and appropriate paint before.
Rain preferred to see his face. He liked the paint, liked the sharp angles and severe colours, but he liked it even more when he began to sweat it off, or when he wiped it clean at the end of a long day. He could do without the weariness and the exhaustion, but the softness of his skin was always a welcome sight, as were the lines of his wrinkles and the splatter of freckles across his nose.
Seeing his face was like using Papa’s towel - it was familiar, and comfortable, and so unbearably intimate that it made him want to sink his teeth into the meat of his shoulder and hold him down so he could commit every fibre of him to memory.
Rain let himself relax for another few minutes, making sure the call of Leviathan was satiated before shifting. It was tradition to wade down into the freezing depths of the pond in the thick of the forest, but Rain didn’t fancy that in the middle of winter. He could have spent his time in one of the baths in the ghoul commons, but they were prone to interruption. Ghouls cared little for personal space or privacy.
Besides, if he had gone anywhere else to quench his thirst, he’d have had to trudge back to his own bed afterwards. The was always a ghoul available for a cuddle, but he much preferred the cosiness of Papa’s bed, and Papa’s sheets, and Papa’s laundry detergent.
And, perhaps, the feel of Papa settling down beside him at his behest, arms thick and warm and safe around him.
It was that thought that ultimately pulled him from his soak, pulling the plug to let the water drain with a wince as it gurgled and screamed. He twisted his wrist to gather up a handful of untainted water to take away the few suds and bubbles still clinging to him before skipping across the room to tug Papa’s towel from its hook, lifting it to his face to sniff before running it over him.
He could just wiggle his fingers and collect the moisture from his body without leaving Papa with more laundry to deal with, but he never did.
He rubbed the worst of the wetness from his hair, helping himself to the moisturisers and a toothbrush and whatever else his greedy hands desired before tossing the towel into the hamper. He forwent a robe, snapping his fingers once to disperse the steam. The last thing he needed was his soaking oasis to go mouldy on him.
His nakedness was not a rare sight in Papa’s quarters. The same could be said about any of his ghouls. After months crammed into a sweaty tour bus together, modesty was not on the high end of their concerns.
“That was a quick dip,” Papa said as Rain opened the door. “You usually marinate a full day.”
Papa had migrated back to his desk once more, one pencil tucked behind his ear, another pressed to paper as he wrote down numbers in a gridded notebook. He had his reading glasses sitting high on his nose, dressed down in his red sweats and a black t-shirt.
It was always a little staggering to see him in such regular clothing. Even on the road, he’d insisted on dressing up each day. Rain was pleased to see he’d taken off his paint at least.
“I got lonely,” he said with a put upon pout, swaggering over to the desk so he could drape himself over Papa, bumping the crown of his head affectionately against his neck. “You should take up my offer and join me next time. It is good for the soul.”
“My soul is perfectly content showering on its own, my ghoul. Besides, it's Leviathan - you are cutting enough corners as it is, you do not need me intruding.”
Always a stickler for the rules. Truthfully, Leviathan did not seem to care how he found his body of water, whether it be in a dank old pond on his own or the comfort of a claw tub with handsome company.
“How long was I in there?” he asked instead.
Papa offered him a half hearted grunt, gesturing widely to the clock on his nightstand. Rain rolled his eyes and followed the direction, squinting to make sense of the lines and dots.
“It’s nearly three in the morning,” he surmised, gripping the man a little tighter. “Well past your bedtime, Papa.”
“Rain, please,” he sighed, leaning back to stare sideways at him. “Between us, it is just Copia.”
Rain had been told about how the previous Papa’s had preened at the title. Aether said Terzo used to take it as the biggest compliment, all but insisting that they use it. Copia always seemed to shy away from it, like the title was no longer the honour it once was, always correcting them with Copia as soon as he and his ghouls had fallen away from listening ears.
In the same way his ghouls warmed when he used their names, he all but melted when they used his. Even as Cardinal, he’d get a soft look about him when they called him Copia, as if they’d dropped to their knees and called him King.
“Well, Copia,” he purred, leaning in close to his ear, “I’m going to bed, and I think you should come with me.”
“Do you now?”
He hummed, tilting his head to let the point of his horn nuzzle against his temple. “Come on, this’ll all still be here later, but I won’t.”
Copia never put up much of a fight against the whims of his ghouls. They knew when he was actually busy, when he was doing work that simply couldn’t wait, when he just couldn’t risk an interruption. It was their duty to tell him when the work could wait, that the numbers he didn’t finish writing would not be the death of him, that he was allowed a few hours to rest.
He felt the tension in Copia’s shoulders evaporate away like the mist in the bathroom as he leaned back into Rain’s touch, a heavy breath leaving his mouth. He carefully lowered his glasses, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he took in the toll of the day’s labour on his body.
“A nap would not hurt,” he mumbled, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye. “You will stay?”
Rain softened. “All night,” he promised. “Probably won’t roll out of bed until way after you’ve left, anyway. You always get up too early.”
“Seven o’clock is perfectly acceptable.”
“Not for a puny human.”
“I fear I have spoiled you, my ghoul. All of my indulgences have made you lazy.”
He can’t say he was the most motivated of ghouls even back in the Pit. He recalled spending most of his time lavishing in the shallow end of the depths, staring up at the cavernous sky as he floated on his back, directionless and purposeless in the cold water.
He remembered doing exactly that when the sky split right down the middle above him, a glowing rip in reality as a gloved hand reached through. He’d considered ignoring it - he had a pretty good life in the Pit, all things accounted for, and he didn’t know what fate awaited him topside.
He remembered reaching back and threading their fingers together and being tugged upwards with so much force it made his head spin, a wall of warmth the likes he’d never known seep into his bones as he was pulled into the Abbey’s dank catacombs. He remembered sitting on the floor, naked and wet and dazed as the Cardinal had awkwardly crept forward, holding out a dry towel and a cool thermos of water.
He remembered ignoring both and pressing his face right into the palm of his hand instead, purring as the Cardinal gently and carefully combed back his drenched hair, as he relearned how to draw in breath. He remembered thinking that he would do anything the Cardinal would ask of him, no matter the labour or sweat or blood it cost.
He didn’t say any of that, though.
“One of us needs to know when to relax,” he said instead, digging his knuckles into his ribs just to see him jerk. “Come on, Copia. I’m ready for sleep.”
Rain waited patiently by the bed as Copia finally gathered himself onto his feet, his back popping as he straightened. He spent a moment organising his papers into piles to see to in the morning - to see to later in the morning - before he began to strip himself down. Rain watched keenly as his shirt came off, as he pulled the knot holding up his sweats loose, as they fell gracefully down around his ankles. He toed his way out of them, kicking off his socks as he shuffled toward the closed door leading toward the hallway back into the guts of the church.
“Lights off,” he said, seemingly to himself as he flicked off the yellow tinted overheads, plunging them into mostly darkness for a moment that was disrupted only by the steadily rising sun on the other side of his blinds.
After a minute, a faint blue glow began to emanate from Rain. He raised his arms, cooing as the spots and freckles along the back of them came to life under the darkness, followed swiftly by the collection on his face, thighs and back.
They’d never glowed in the Pits. He didn’t know why that was - perhaps he’d found a better diet since reaching the surface, or perhaps the sunshine during the day helped, or maybe he was leeching some of the quintessence out of Aether.
He could feel Copia staring at him fondly across the room. He’d proven to like the bioluminescent spread as much as Rain did, eyes raking across the expanse of it like he does the paintings on the ceiling of the chapel, or the stained glass windows in the library.
“You are a wonderful sight to behold, my ghoul,” he said, voice quiet and helplessly enamoured.
Rain was glad his blush didn’t glow, too, as heat rose to his cheeks, caught a little off guard by the compliment. “Just get in already,” he whined.
Copia laughed, using him like a floor lamp to navigate the dark room until he could clamber onto the mattress, throwing back the covers to make room for his ghoul. Rain followed suit, slipping in next to him quick as a whip, plastering himself to Copia’s side before he even pulled the blankets back up.
He pressed his nose back to the flesh where neck meets shoulder, humming at the long worn scent of mandarin. He minded his claws as he grabbed at Copia’s chest, kneading there happily as the man relaxed back into his pillows.
“You know, if I didn’t run the treasury,” he yawned, “whatever poor fool was left to do it would probably cry at the amount of hot water being eaten up in this room. Lots of money down the drain there.”
“Sleep, Copia,” he whispered, pressing back into the delicate fingers that threaded through his hair to rub soothingly into his scalp. Then, because he couldn’t help it, “If you’d join me, you’d use less water.”
Copia laughed, pulling him tighter against him. “Next time, Rain,” he promised. “Next time.”