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#37- without a motive: (Felwinter/Timur)

"Really? More weapons?" Felspring hovered over Felwinter's shoulder as he and Timur packed crate after crate with their find. "This really isn't what these people need, you know."

"I know, I know," Felwinter's usually flat voice had a strong tone of exasperation to it that made Timur hide a smile. They'd been in this bunker all afternoon, and Felspring had hardly let up on him. It took a lot to rile the Exo enough to get any sort of emotive response out of him, but if anyone could do it, it was his Ghost. "I was hoping to find more tech in here, too." He glanced at Timur, who hurriedly looked down to better conceal his smirk. "We all were. But this will help. It will . That village just east of here is still getting raided weekly and there's only so much we can do for them." He heaved another big rifle into the crate he was packing, one of dozens, and Timur sat up, helpfully dumping several cases of ammo in alongside it. "If we can't fight for them, the least we can do is help them defend themselves."

"And they're beautiful guns," Timur pointed out. "It'd be shameful to let them go to waste."

"They are elegant," Felwinter agreed. "And in pristine working order-"

"That's got nothing to do with anything!" Felspring insisted. "Those poor people are just going to get slaughtered and these are going to end up in the hands of more Warlords and you're going to get shot by them-!" She went on, bitterly rattling off all the worst-case scenarios, the Ghost's faith in humanity apparently particularly thin today. Felwinter sat and endured it, looking tiredly back at Timur. Timur helpfully packed several more weapons, then leaned up abruptly to lay a somewhat lingering kiss on Felwinter's high cheek.

"Well I think you have the right idea," he said warmly, settling back.

"And what if -I  -Uh..." Felspring trailed off, shocked. Felwinter sat frozen, his eyes wide with surprise, but Timur just smiled sweetly and shrugged when his friend remained speechless.

"You have to start somewhere," Timur said eventually, when the baffled silence stretched, but it was unclear if he meant the guns or the kiss. 

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#36 - to give up control: (Felwinter/Osiris)

Osiris, it would seem, was in a particularly fiery mood today. Felwinter made the observation coolly enough, continuing to move, blocking each attack smoothly: parry, parry, thrust, side-step. Usually, he found sparring with his student enjoyable. Perhaps even thrilling, when Osiris' focus sharpened down to a blade of its own and his potential shone through. But today, he was scattered, reckless, and wild. Troubled. He was challenging Felwinter, clawing for control and conquest, and nothing the Iron Lord did seemed to be diffusing the rapidly growing pressure. An explosion was coming, and it would be to Osiris' detriment.

Felwinter hated days like these. Not because the trouble bothered him - far from it - but because it pained him to see Osiris struggling. Something needed to give, and it wasn't going to be Osiris without a mess.

Osiris lunged again with a shout, raw with frustration and outrage -oh it had been such a rough morning for him - and Felwinter forewent scanning the area first like he'd meant to: he was going to have to trust his instincts alone this time. Instead, he planted himself and stood his ground, allowing Osiris to run him through. The pain and the damage is trivial. Osiris hadn't expected to actually land a blow, and nothing vital is struck, and he is so shocked that his Dawnblade dissipates immediately. Felwinter will take the time to heal himself eventually, but for now Osiris is in the perfect position for him to throw his arms around his student and crush their bodies together, hugging him firmly. He bows his head, rolls his spine, and even bends his knees ever so slightly so that he may dip down and capture his student's mouth with his own.

Osiris couldn’t respond at first, and Felwinter whispered his name against his lips in a heartfelt plea. He'd never begged for anything in his long life before but he surrendered to Osiris, kneeling slowly before him, dragging him down with him so that they remain connected, and coaxed him into taking what he needs of Felwinter until they are tangled together in a heap and Osiris crumpled into a hiccuping, gasping mess, but he was finally calm .

Later, Felwinter thought, he would have to explain that not all battles are won with combat, and not all battles are won with victory. For now, Osiris was still taking and accepting kisses from him like he was starving, and Felwinter reasoned lessons can wait a little longer.

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#46 - Envious or Jealous kisses: (Saint 14/Rasputin)

The Saint fascinated him. Rasputin had been studying the Exo, watching him carefully for some time now as he moved, interacting with one person after another, trying to sluice out the minutiae of what made such an enviable warrior so unfathomably gentle-hearted.

He'd seen records, footage, had endless first-hand accounts of Saint-14's battle prowess with more anecdotes than not of the man tearing his enemies apart with his bare hands or beating foes to death with the bodies of their felled brethren. Rasputin admired his readiness to use whatever tools were (or weren't) at hand to win a battle come what may, and respected the Exo's noble sense of justice and ability to make swift decisions in combat.

Everyone else seemed to see something entirely different in the man, however, and it baffled the Warmind to no end. He watched hands powerful enough to tear limbs from bodies clasp Elsie's so delicately one would think they were cast from blown glass. He saw  Saint squeeze Ana in an embrace warm and encompassing with just enough strength to make her squeak but not break her. He knew he could break her but he did not, and would never. Even Felwinter leaned into a firm clasp of his shoulder when he would pull away from his own father. Rasputin had lost track of his son for a time and didn't quite have all of Felwinter's memories, but he'd seen every one of Siddhartha's days, and he didn't recall ever seeing him smile before like he did for Saint, either. 

Seeing Saint kiss Osiris, the couple ignoring him even though the old Warlock often loudly protested his presence, had made Rasputin go hot in an unfamiliar, oppressive way that had left him troubled for hours. They had been passionate, Osiris gripping his lover with a hard clutch that might have bruised another human, but Saint had been gentle, accommodating even, savoring the moment and sinking into it and Rasputin had found himself preoccupied with his hands and how they cradled the much slimmer man, tucking him in carefully against his broad body. Rasputin had long-since confirmed the unrelenting chill of the Void himself, and how it seemed to linger on its wielders, but he couldn't help but guess that Saint was somehow warm anyway. The curiosity made him ache.

Made him itch.

Made him indignant.

Made Rasputin wait until there was no one else around to follow Saint-14 into a secluded alcove.

Perhaps Saint sensed something was amiss because when he turned, his eyes were a little too wide, their light brighter than usual, but he still smiled, greeting Rasputin with that magnetic warmth. It almost made the Warmind lose his nerve.

"You are one of the most dangerous souls in this City," Rasputin interrupted his greeting. "And yet no one cares about that."

Saint blinked at him, surprised and confused. Rasputin inched closer without realizing it. All he could think of was wanting to know how warm this sunshine-like man was.

"Instead, everyone you meet falls in love with you." It was an accusation. Bitter. Frustrated. Rushed, because Rasputin pushed forward and connected with the other Exo in a clumsy clash of mouths and Light that made Saint gasp, then moan, then chuckle warmly as he gave Rasputin a little shove, but only to set him on his heels. He grabbed his face -and yes! his hands are warm! -and adjusted his angle, correcting him with a smirk.

"I do not," he purred, resuming the kiss, briefly, but with a gentle sincerity that made Rasputin want to collapse, or maybe scream. It almost hurt, and he was already reeling with unresolved confusion that was so much worse than whatever it was he was feeling previously. "But maybe some people," Saint finished, stepping back.

Rasputin blinked at him, speechless. He was struggling to process some very strange sensations. Saint laughed again, soft and pleasant, and miles from anything mocking.

"Come my friend. We will sit, and we will talk." 

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#25 - as a 'yes': (Timur/Gheleon)

"Hello, Darling,"

Timur's sudden arrival beside Gheleon up in the big ash tree where he perched didn't startle the Hunter - he'd seen him coming after all - but the way the Warlock could seemingly detach himself from gravity to bound weightlessly up to such heights without effort nor sound always captured his attention. He pulled his legs up from his sprawl over the stout branch to make room for his unlikely partner, flashing him a grin.

"Hello yourself," he purred, his smile brightening when Timur sat with his legs a-dangle and scooted in close so they were seated shoulder-to-shoulder. Timur's legs kicked happily into the open air beneath them. "And what has you so buoyant this fine morning?"

" Buoyant? " Timur hummed, grinning. "That's your word for me today?"

"Effervescent, perhaps," Gheleon countered, scooting in even closer. "You practically hovered up here. So what is it?" Timur laughed.

"You know me too well," he complained, still laughing.

"That's your own fault!"

"I've been busy!" Timur chortled, his companionable mirth giving way to genuine excitement. "Learning a new craft!"

Gheleon's eyebrows went up but he teased,

"Oh? Well if it's tree-climbing you're doing superbly, lad!"

Timur barked out a laugh so sharp he snorted.

"No  no," he gasped, giggling, "though your feedback is duly noted!" He extended his hand, palm out, and his Ghost appeared, squinting merrily at Gheleon in greeting before dropping a cloth-wrapped parcel into his waiting palm. "More weapons!" He opened it with a flourish, exposing first a thin, elongated hardwood box he must have made, and then within it, a simple, elegant dagger. "Knives!" He lifted it from its seat with another flourish and handed it over to the now notably dark-eyed Hunter seated beside him. "Tell me, my love, how I have done. Is it good? Do you like it?"

Gheleon took the blade with reverence, turning it over in his hands, giving it his most sincere assessment as Timur watched him with bright, hungry eyes, the Warlock visibly aching for approval.

"It's beautiful, Timur," Gheleon whispered.

"Do you want it?" Timur asked, dropping his voice. "I made it for you ."

Gheleon was still staring at the glinting, pristine knife, turning it in his grip as he tested the heft over and over, but at this, his head snapped up.

Timur got a full eyeful of the Hunter's dazzling smile a split second before Gheleon leapt without thinking, and then they were in free fall, lips locked together too firmly for Timur's startled shriek to escape. They hit the ground below hard, poor Timur breaking their fall, and the impact leaving him completely winded and dazed as he gasped and heaved, somewhere between choking on half-collapsed lungs and laughing.

He caught his air a split moment later when the dagger, lost in the havoc, jackknifed into the ground right beside his head. He turned, looking at it in wide-eyed shock, then back up at Gheleon before bursting into howling, heaving laughter.

"Is that a yes?" he choked.

Gheleon's returning kiss seemed to imply it was.

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#40 - because the world is ending: (Felwinter/Timur)

Felwinter looked from the blackening sky to the man he knew would one day be raised in the Light as Timur, and felt something leaden and cold in his chest sink low into his gut.

"We're going to die," he told him. The sky lit red, warsats and surface to air lasers, missiles, artillery - everything the Warmind had was being launched at pyramid ships. They couldn't see it from where they stood, but Felwinter knew Rasputin's attacks were futile, and would render the Warmind practically inert for centuries. The eerie red flames reflected in his compatriot's eyes, washing out that dusky blue Felwinter loved so much.

"You know this? For sure?" The man asked. Until now he'd spoken so warmly to Felwinter, that familiar spark of gregariousness making him so, so familiar, but now his voice was hushed and raw with uncertainty. Not fear. Not yet.

Felwinter closed his eyes.

"You, and everyone else here will perish," Felwinter said quietly. "And someday, a long time from now, you will live again as someone else, different...but the same. I know him well, and we have studied what happens here." The man's eyes narrowed. "You're an engineer yes? With a gift for electronics. Machinery. Weapons. But also, people . You like to know how things tick." 

His brow knit, lips twitching. Felwinter thought he might be holding in a smile but he still felt bad. He shouldn't have said any of this.

"Perhaps you do know me," the man that isn't yet Timur murmured. The earth shook, making him stagger, and Felwinter couldn't help but snap a hand out to his elbow to steady him, earning him a shrewd look. "What's your real name, Siddhartha?" he asked thoughtfully, looking Felwinter over. "So I can find you."

"You won't remember it. You won't remember anything," Felwinter croaked.

"All the more reason to tell me." The wind picked up, and a shadow cast itself over the Cosmodrome. They were running out of time.

"Felwinter," he said, almost against his own will, the name tumbling out of him.

" Felwinter ," the other man breathed, smiling. "Strong. Noble. A bit lonesome. Yes, I can see how I'd fall in love with someone like you." Felwinter was looking back up at the sky warily, but his attention snapped back.

"I never said-"

"Hey. Come here."

Felwinter realized he'd been holding this poor man captive by the arm when he reeled him in closer by his grip.

"I'm sorry," Felwinter blurted. "I didn't mean to-"

"No apologies. Let me try something." His future Timur pulled him in even closer, then stretched up onto his toes to press a kiss over Felwinter's mouth. It's short, experimental, and almost comically chaste, but it makes Felwinter whimper. The stranger smiled brightly and stepped back.

"Yep, thought so."

Felwinter opened his mouth to ask, but the sky screamed, and they are swallowed.

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#07 - to shut them up: (Felwinter/Timur)

"-because you know those things can get just ridiculously complicated for no reason, but I've always considered it worth at least having a look at-" Timur sat right beside Felwinter on the sofa, partially lounged against the Exo, crowding his personal space and even bumping his arm from time to time as he talked with his hands.

Felwinter sighed and lowered the book he'd been desperately trying to read for the last twenty minutes.

"-Fallen engineering, if you can call it that, those filthy creatures, aside, the blasted things are actually pretty brilliant, and damn useful if you can get them re-wired without blowing them up. I've rigged a few to work like flying turrets you know. Can't quite get them to work independently for me like the Fallen do. Not without a few extra tricks, heh, but those shanks can lift quite a lot of weight for those clunky little bodies, and they're damn fun to stick a rocket launcher to the bottom of!"

Felwinter turned his head slightly, looking over at his partner with poorly suppressed exasperation. Timur had not only followed him back to the study uninvited, he'd been incessantly rambling the entire duration of his visit, an end to which Felwinter still had no means of predicting nor initiating.

It wasn't that he didn't like Timur. Far from it, in fact. The man was keen-eyed and clever, and an eager assistant on their excursions.

Hell, sometimes Felwinter could even admit he was fun . Delightful even.

Oh, who was he kidding. He was actually quite enamored with the man.

But at the moment he was considering strangling him just for a few precious moments of peace and quiet because Timur would not. stop. talking.

This was the price one paid for the pleasure of having Timur about, Felwinter lamented. Sometimes the Stormtrancer got himself worked up and excited about a topic and he just had to ramble until he worked it out of his system.

"They'll fire a shot and - Wheee! blow themselves in a full cartwheel before they're righted again!" Timur was still going, even if Felwinter had tuned him out briefly. "I'll show you sometime, Fel, they're the funniest thing. Even you’ll laugh! I think what I really want, though, is to get my hands on one of those big guys. You know the ones, right, Fel? I wonder if I can hack the brains of one of those. Permanently I mean. I could get one to turn and run off on its flock I think, same as any other. They can't be too special. But just think of all that we could pack into one with a bigger chassis-"

Shanks. How could anyone go on this long about shanks ?! Felwinter resisted the urge to groan. He couldn’t take it any longer.

"Timur?" He ground the name out, finally interrupting Timur.

"Yes, dearest?" Timur purred, teasing. Felwinter laid his book aside entirely and twisted where he sat to fist his hand into Timur's lapel. He hauled him in so close his faceplates were nearly touching Timur's nose.

"Shut the hell up," Felwinter huffed, tipping his head just so to press a searing kiss into Timur's mouth. Timur made a surprised noise, but then immediately pressed in, throwing his arms around Felwinter in a surprisingly tender embrace. He spoke only once more before pouring himself into the kiss.

"Okay."

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#21- on a place of insecurity (Felwinter/Osiris)

It's a moment of peace and quiet: the first in days. The garden behind their little home is a hidden sanctuary, and a good place to sit together and catch their breath now that the clouds have cleared and the last of the rain has fallen, for now at least.

A little park bench nestled against a shaded wall of the house makes just enough room for the couple as Osiris and Felwinter admire the flowers in the early morning light together. Felwinter has kept one of Osiris' hands cradled in both of his the entire time, but now his attention is turned downward where they rest on his knee, and not out at the garden. Osiris follows his gaze and nearly pulls his hand away.

Without his Light, already his hands are growing weathered, the creases around his knuckles deepening, the skin a little thinner, a little frailer than it had been just a few years prior. There are some fresh scars where he'd been careless, taking for granted the days when a hard scuff or cut was nothing; something that could be healed away without a thought but now left a gouge for days that would inevitably scar thanks to picking, worrying fingers unused to troublesome things like bandages and scabs.

"I am aging," he groans, fingers twitching in Felwinter's grip, betraying his urge to hide himself. "My hands already look old," he laments.

Felwinter tilts his head and adjusts his grip, making no secret he is examining Osiris closely. Now Osiris actually does give his hand a tug, trying to pull away but Felwinter's grip on him tightens.

"I don't think so," Felwinter says at last, his voice soft. "They have signs of use, yes," he says, releasing Osiris with one of his hands to hold it up alongside his. His own plating is heavily scuffed and scratched around the knuckles and fingers, the deep, dark gloss that made the rest of his body shine long gone here. Osiris pulls his lip into the grip of his teeth, chewing it. They look the same. "But not old," Felwinter concludes..

"What I see," Felwinter goes on, raising Osiris' hand in his own slowly, "Is stories." He kisses his knuckles, the press of cool metal against warm skin making Osiris shiver. "Experiences." Another kiss at the back of his hand. "Memories." Another for Osiris' wrist. "Your hands," Felwinter continues, looking up to meet Osiris' eyes, "like the rest of you, are beautiful, and I treasure them."

Osiris swallows hard and tears his eyes from Felwinter's, looking away. He refuses to acknowledge that his hand is trembling in Felwinter's.

"If you say so," he huffed, shaken.

If Felwinter says so, then it is so.

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#22 - in a rush of adrenaline: (Felwinter/Osiris)

Osiris knew the day would be different when Felwinter approached him on the training field without even his signature longcoat. Gone was the helmet, his armor, even his gloves. Down to naught but a white linen shirt and well worn leather slacks, his casual state of dress out here in the open felt like near nudity to Osiris. He struggled not to stare.

"Sparring today," Felwinter hummed, and knowing his teacher rarely fooled around with pretense, Osiris squared his stance and summoned his Dawnblade immediately- but only for it to be snuffed to nothing by a deep wash of Void that left him shivering.

It had been a long time since Felwinter had done that to him. He didn't remember it making his heart race like this last time.

"Hold on," Felwinter said gently. "Today, no weapons. No Light. There are times when these resources may not be available to us. There are methods to suppress the Light. Weapons can break. Energy can wane." He held up his hands. His fingers were loose, curling slightly, arms relaxed. He stood just out of arms' reach of Osiris, but the Sunsinger knew that he also stood close enough to him that if Felwinter truly wanted, he could lunge forward and strike him dead before he could see him coming. "So today, we sharpen our bodies as weapons." Osiris' lips parted. Felwinter's spine straightened. "Ready yourself."

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Felwinter held his ground, waiting for Osiris to charge.

Osiris...just this once... didn't take the bait.

Felwinter treated him to a rare smile.

"Good," he purred. "Very good." With that, he surged forward himself, closing the gap and initiating the battle with a strike right for Osiris' face. Osiris blocked and grabbed Felwinter's wrist, yanking in the hopes of securing a throw, but Felwinter twisted free and danced back. His replying kick forced Osiris into a backward tumble to dodge, but he was able to lunge for his teacher's knees, and with a brief thrill nearly set Felwinter on his ass.

And so it went. The pair exchanged blows, swinging arms and legs, strikes sharp and fierce, narrowly missing throats and faces, each play getting a little harder, a little dirtier as things heated up not with hostility, but delight. It was a game of cat and mouse, a test of skill, yes, but moreso, strategy. Felwinter was fearsomely strong, but Osiris was nimble and impossibly fast. If there was a victor, it was going to boil down to who outsmarted who.

Or, who made the first mistake.

Osiris gasped, shocked when Felwinter suddenly dropped, grabbing Osiris' arm and shoving his heel into Osiris' hip as he went down, using his straightened leg to leverage him up and over, airborne! in a horrifying throw that threatened to plow him face first into the earth over Felwinter's shoulder. He made eye contact with his master on the way over, had a fraction of a second to register Felwinter's triumphant, playful little smirk, and snarled. He tucked his head and shoulder and rolled gracelessly out of an otherwise catastrophic fall, but he returned Felwinter's grip as he did, hauling the Exo along with him. Felwinter barked out a startled sound, half-laughing. He rose onto his knees, pulling against Osiris, and attempted escape, but Osiris wasn't done with him. He scrambled up, and leapt after Felwinter, tackling him back to the ground, immediately throwing himself over his instructor to grapple him. There was another half-gasped sound of protest from Felwinter: a complaint. This wasn't the intent of the lesson, but here they were, tussling on the ground, rolling, flailing. He wasn't going to surrender any sooner than Osiris was, however, if his determined little chuckles were any indication. The sound of his delight made Osiris' heart race in a way the exertion of combat didn't quite do.

Felwinter's long legs were a problem, hooking and twisting, and at one point getting a knee wedged beneath Osiris' hip again and very nearly tossing him once again, making him bark out an outraged protest that brought out a single, delighted laugh from Felwinter. Osiris growled, displeased that his upper hand was slipping.

"Stop that!" He snarled, swallowing his own laughter.

"Make me!" Felwinter countered brightly, his tone causing Osiris' heart to leap and tumble and surge. They'd been there wrestling, tangled together, rolling on the ground, but this was what made his skin go hot and his belly start to flutter.

Distantly, he was aware that they could have an audience. They probably did. Surely, with how they were behaving, someone was watching. Just like Felwinter, however, he'd been pulled in. They were too close, too hot, and with his blood pumping and his mind clouded with excitement and adrenaline and too many other chemicals, and Osiris had gone just a little bit insane.

He let go of where he clasped Felwinter's wrists, freeing him just long enough to grab his face instead. He heaved Felwinter's head up, bending to meet him, and with a growl, all but plowed into him with a ferocious kiss, breathing hard through his nose, mouth parted, tongue probing, shaking hard as he poured into what was either romance or an act of aggression, Osiris wasn't quite so sure. Felwinter stiffened, then huffed, sagging back and winding his arms gently around Osiris' back, holding him as he let things go without interruption, groaning softly. He was smiling when Osiris finally pulled back, panting and pink-faced, his lips a bit swollen from bruising.

"I-" Osiris croaked, but whatever he said was interrupted when Felwinter's smile turned just a shade devious. With a swift twist and a swing of his leg, he finally got that throw in, Osiris' startled yelp echoing across the training field. 

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#47 - out of spite: (Osiris/Rasputin)

"You kissed Saint."

Ah. So it was going to be one of those days.

Rasputin nearly got up from his station and left without even responding to Osiris.

Yes he had, and he'd liked it very much. The event was still rotating gently but persistently in the back of his mind, in fact. He had not realized he had so many tactile sensors in his face. He had not expected the sort of electrical feedback- not like Arc energy, but something softer and warmer - fuzzier - when they touched. He had not expected Saint to treat him so kindly about it. To reciprocate . To sit and talk it out with him afterwards.

It was terribly tempting to throw all of that in Osiris' face, especially his partner's enthusiastic participation, when the Warlock took such accusatory tones, but he refrained. It would be a cruel disservice to Saint to do so.

He liked Saint.

Rasputin closed his eyes, venting softly, and chose his words carefully before he responded.

"Recklessly, yes," he confessed. "I assume you take issue with this?" Would he apologize when Osiris told him he did? He wasn't sorry, and he found lying distasteful.

"No," Osiris said, almost sour at the notion. "Saint is his own man, and he may do what he wishes with whom he wishes. We have been very clear with allowing one another such liberties," Osiris said, his tone prideful. "The life of a Guardian is a long one, after all."

This gave Rasputin pause. He agreed. Monogamy was a funny human concept he had long learned to accept but hadn't quite been able to grasp . It also raised new questions.

If his coercion of Saint, unintentional though it had been, was not the issue, then what was? It was certainly something.

"Reasonable," Rasputin said, giving Osiris a scrutinizing stare. "So what is the problem, then?" He turned and rose, crossing the room to approach Osiris. The Warlock wasn't a small man on his own, but Rasputin towered over him all the same, and Osiris scowled slightly as he craned his neck to look up at Rasputin.

"No problem," Osiris said, perhaps somewhat defensively. "I was merely curious as to how you would respond."

Rasputin's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Preposterous," he said, nearly laughing. "You hate me too much to engage in such casual conversation. What is it really?" There was something hot inside of Rasputin's chest again. Not quite the jealous ache of longing, but something fiery and bitey that yearned for a reaction out of Osiris. Take the bait! Bite! Burn! He wanted to see that flame that enamored Felwinter so much, that drew Saint into a passion. Surely it was there, they couldn't both be seeing things. There had to be more to this feisty little man than meanness. "Feeling left out? Jealous?"

Osiris' eyes narrowed, and his lip curled into a little snarl, but it wasn't quite an angry thing. Replaying the moment in his head later, he would recognize the expression from Felwinter's memories. This was the expression of an Osiris dangerously glad to accept a challenge.

That was all the warning Rasputin got before Osiris had surged up and forward, throwing himself against Rasputin. He pushed him hard, putting his weight into shoving the Warmind back against a nearby bulkhead with a stout thud and crushing his mouth over Rasputin's in a searing, demanding kiss.

Rasputin froze, holding perfectly still until Osiris backed away with a mean smirk, whereupon he could only blink in shock, utterly baffled.

He'd fought Hive, Vex, predicted the Black Fleet and outsmarted the God of War. He'd stolen the keys to Time with the same blithe disregard as a kid hijacking his dad's car, and come back unscathed and fully successful, but for all his triumphs, he'd never, ever predicted THAT.

Osiris flashed him a grin.

"No, not at all," Osiris said, chipper. He turned away from Rasputin, leaving him stuck to the wall as he sauntered off. "Good luck with that. Or whatever."

Rasputin could only watch him go, those same synapses on his face singing with new heat all over again.

Good luck indeed.

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#04 - kiss where it hurts: (Timur/Felwinter)

Brilliant white Light filled Felwinter's vision, dazzling him, and for a sweet fleeting moment, he knew nothing. Then the glare faded and gave way to too-bright winter sunlight, and warmth, soothing like a parent's embrace, withered to nothing until he was left chilled in the half-melted drift of snow where he'd fallen. He coughed, letting out a rusty sound, and blinked, cringing as Timur stepped over him, his body blocking out the sun and casting him in shadow and inadvertently leaving an even colder draft over him.

"We back?" Timur squatted, crouching over Felwinter's knees, and extended a hand, gripping his firmly and helping him sit up stiffly. "That was a hard hit."

Felwinter glanced down at himself, staring blandly at his ruined armor and coat. The last time he'd seen himself there'd been a hole the size of a shovel torn through his chest. He couldn't remember why the Fallen Walker had gotten the drop on him yet. Sometimes the rezes took a few minutes to really sink all the way in, he thought.

"Yeah..." Felwinter pushed up, letting Timur scoot back then rise, further tugging him to his feet. 

He felt weird.

"You okay, buddy?" Timur asked, looking him over. Felwinter let him hold onto his hand, letting his partner's firm grip help to ground him. With his free hand, he touched his own chest, fingers ghosting over smooth metal and synthskin. It was all intact. He knew it was. An unexpected shudder wracked him, making him rattle. He could almost feel the ragged edges of himself under his fingertips.

"I'm fine," he rasped, staring down at his own body as if looking away would allow himself to fall apart. He remembered feeling shaken like this after his first deaths, early after being raised as well, but it had been so very long since he'd last had a bad death. "I know I am, but... Feels like the hole's still there." The memory of the pain lingered, making him ache.

Timur nodded solemnly.

He knew all too well what Felwinter was experiencing.

"Been a while, huh?" he asked softly. "But don't worry," he went on, pushing Felwinter's ruined clothes aside, exposing his now-pristine chassis. "Felspring put you back together just right. See?" He flashed a little smile, sweet and sincere, and pressed his palm firmly against Felwinter's chest. Felwinter exhaled sharply, a strong vent of expelled air kicking up the loose fabric hanging off his shoulders. "Strong and solid," Timur went on softly, his voice confident but gentle, "just like you've always been. You'll forget how it felt soon, too." He stepped in closer, draping his arms around Felwinter's waist. "And we got those creeps good for their trouble, remember? That's worth something, right?"

Felwinter tipped his head to the side, looking past Timur to the smoking heap of wreckage not far beyond. He didn't remember doing any of that, and had to assume 'we' meant Timur.

In fact, the longer he looked, the more tell-tale forking scorch marks in the earth surrounding the demolished walker he could see. He met Timur's eyes with a pale stare, and the Stormtrancer gave him a crooked, unrepentant grin.

He didn't take well to Felwinter being mistreated. Or shot. Especially shot. 

Felwinter could only imagine how he'd taken his death, no matter how temporary.

"It does ache," he said. "It's so strange..."

Timur's smile softened.

"Still?" He knelt in the slush at their feet, and pressed his lips to Felwinter's chest in a slow, reverent kiss. The heat of his mouth pulled a thin, nearly mute moan from the Exo. "How about now?" Timur murmured against his plating, pressing more kisses over where the wound had been. His lips were soft, and the touches filled Felwinter's chest with a sweet, flooding warmth that did indeed push that lingering ache away. He laid a hand over Timur’s head, caressing his hair gratefully.

"No," he whispered. "It's gone now."

Chapter Text

"A rematch?" Felspring squinted suspiciously at the letter Felwinter held. "'No-one holds back this time',?!" she read on, incredulous. "He knocked your block off last time!"

"Shaxx didn't hold back," Felwinter drawled, unconcerned. "I did."

"He's going to kill you," Felspring insisted.

"Probably," Felwinter shrugged.

"Permanently!"

"Not if you keep out of sight. If his intentions are malicious, run back here and get reinforcements, but Shaxx is a sworn ally. He won't try anything too uncouth."

"You're really going to go," Felspring deadpanned, disbelieving. Felwinter shrugged again, nonchalant.

"Why not? Could be fun." Felspring let out a howl of exasperation.

"Fun!"

They were both right. 

Shaxx's intentions were pure enough, the big Titan truly simply wanting a rematch for the sake of the fight. For him this was play, and he was taking great delight in their little fracas.

Felwinter was also truly beginning to worry this beast of a man would end him.

Shaxx's energy was boundless, and they'd been at it all afternoon, trading blows and Light alike, gradually whittling one another's resolve away until their match had become more of a battle of the wills than a test of strength or skill.

"Give up!" Shaxx demanded, lunging for Felwinter only to catch but the hem of his coat as the Exo danced away. The beloved garment tore when Felwinter lurched clear of a second grab, and he stifled a lamenting sigh.

"You give up. And get me a new coat."

"You shouldn't have worn such loose clothing into combat if you didn't want to get it grabbed at, idiot!" Shaxx boomed, chucking the scrap he'd won back at Felwinter. Felwinter huffed and slipped into the Void specifically so he could dart in behind Shaxx and yank his mark off his hips. The big Titan let out a shrill yelp of surprise and spun on his heels just as Felwinter tossed the belt and heavy fabric back in his face, then followed through with a wicked uppercut that sent Shaxx staggering backward and his helmet flying up and off his head.

For a split second, Shaxx stared back at him with wide eyes, the Warlord well and truly shocked. It would seem he'd barely actually even felt Felwinter's punch, but he was so surprised by the play that it had done more to stun him than pain ever would. 

Then Shaxx grinned and pounced on Felwinter.

They fell together in a tangle of arms, legs, and armor, Felwinter scrambling to try and escape, Shaxx cackling gleefully.

"Going to play dirty are you?!" He laughed, winding strong limbs around the slim Exo and holding him tight. "If that's your game, my friend, I'm afraid you'll be sorely beaten!"

"Hey-" Felwinter floundered, venting hard as he pushed and shoved and slapped at Shaxx, making the Titan giggle. He barked out an angry shout when Shaxx grabbed the back of his helm with one hand and pried it up and forward, peeling the protective garment from Felwinter's head and tossing it aside. Felwinter sputtered, blinking against the sudden daylight and abrupt loss of his hindsight. He glared at Shaxx, grinning back at him from mere inches from his face. 

"Isn't this fun?" Shaxx gasped, panting hard as Felwinter continued to struggle, getting an arm free to slap him hard. Shaxx yelped but only laughed harder. "I haven't had this much fun in centuries!" He shook Felwinter in his grip gleefully. "Why, I'm so grateful to you, Warlock, I-" He cut off, grunting when Felwinter managed to knee him in the gut, but then he smirked and simply grabbed Felwinter by the shoulders and kissed him. 

The Exo immediately slugged Shaxx upside the head, toppling him. He got up, wiping his mouth, and strode over to where Shaxx lay thoroughly stunned, and hauled the big Titan up by the straps of his armor, forcing him to stand.

"Cheater," Felwinter hissed, returning the kiss roughly.

Shaxx laughed, returned the punch, and followed Felwinter down for another kiss of his own.

It was going to be a long, rough evening.

It was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

#22 - in a rush of adrenaline (Osiris/Rasputin)

"You're joking." 

Osiris stared, disbelieving, back at Rasputin, who leveled the Warlock his flattest, deadpan glare in response.

"I'm terrible at jokes," he said. "Surely you've heard the stories."

"Shut it with your cute baby stories," Osiris snapped. "I know you're merely testing me."

"I am not testing you," Rasputin insisted, "I'm asking that you-"

"I refuse," Osiris said, crossing his arms. Rasputin vented hard, huffing audibly, irked by the Warlock's standoffish attitude.

"Why?" He clipped, frustrated. "Why refuse?"

"You are too arrogant. You will not listen."

"I'll listen," Rasputin insisted. "I want to learn."

"You are not even listening now," Osiris countered. "I told you no under no uncertain terms, and yet you are still here, pestering me."

"Your response is illogical," Rasputin tried, shaking his arms out at his sides. He was fighting hard not to mirror Osiris' closed posture, or worse, take on a more aggressive one. Osiris was astute. Rasputin knew that his demeanor would have as much of an effect on the once-Phoenix as his words would. "I wish to have a clear understanding of my shortcomings."

"Oh?" Osiris' lip curled. "Had I not already established that?"

Rasputin vented again, feeling crestfallen though he did not show it. He was trying to close the gap between them. Stars above, was he trying, but Osiris was making things remarkably difficult.

"I will listen," he promised, as sincerely as he could. "Please, Osiris." He was such a wretched, precious man. Felwinter loved him, Rasputin reminded himself. Saint loved him. There was more to Osiris than this. He was being difficult on purpose.

Rasputin didn't like being punished, but he knew he had much to atone for.

Much to learn.

"I'd much rather learn it from you," Rasputin added softly, changing his approach ever so slightly. "We may not see eye-to-eye on many things, but that does not mean I don't trust you far more than most."

It was a strange delight to see Osiris' face change. He blinked, his harsh countenance softening, and the Warlock took a long step back, looking Rasputin over. Whatever it was he was looking for, he saw, because he nodded.

"Very well," Osiris said. "But not here."

It had been hours. Osiris was right. Rasputin didn't want to listen, and he had long ago grown weary of trying to grasp what the old Warlock was trying to teach him. But he persevered, shoving down the urge to turn away, to give up, to throw hands and simply blame a bad teacher as the problem, because he knew that wasn't true.

He was impatient, and this took time.

For the first time, he did not have the benefit of Felwinter's experience as a Lightbearer pre-loaded into his subconscious to aid his progress. For the first time in eons, he had to do it all from scratch. Nothing else he'd ever done or learned could stand in for this. He was at the ground floor, or maybe somewhere in the basement level, because the more Osiris spoke, the more he realized there was a human element to this Strand that he...simply did not possess.

Not to mention the notion of releasing control, rather than tightening his grip, unnerved Rasputin to his very core. Was that really what was required of him here, or was this some mean prank of Osiris'?

He let out a long, rattling breath, drawing on the work of oft-forgotten lungs to try and better calm himself.

"We can take a break, if you are feeling worn down," Osiris offered, and his voice was not unkind, but understanding. "I recognize your determination but trying for so long can become oppressive, and even detrimental to your efforts."

Rasputin wanted to say he wasn't tired. He didn't think he could fatigue, not physically, but... Something like exhaustion was sinking into his systems. He was cranky, shaky, and feeling rebelliously put out by his lack of progress. He nodded.

"Once more..." he grunted. "And then yes, I will rest."

Osiris laughed. It was a soft thing, a chuff of air, aimed down at his own chest and folded arms, and he shook his head when Rasputin looked over sharply.

"I'm sorry," he said, sincere. Too sincere! Rasputin almost recoiled. "I-" he let out another of the same funny, breathy little laughs. "I'm suddenly aware of how Felwinter must have felt all those times he had to fight to get me to just stop after a long day." 

Rasputin stared at him, for a minute forgetting he meant to try and summon this new power one last time.

"Saint has mentioned you and I may have some things in common," he said carefully. Osiris made a dry sound of disgust, but smiled.

"You'd do well not to listen so closely to Saint. He is a talented storyteller," Osiris chuckled, his voice warm with affection. He looked up, meeting Rasputin's eyes, and sterned up. "Now go on. One more so we can go home. We'll come back tomorrow." He flapped his hands impatiently at the Warmind, urging him to get on with it.

Rasputin snorted to himself but nodded, and turned his attention forward, eyes narrowing to mere slits in concentration.

To visualize nothing, and then reach into it, seemed absurd. As absurd as seeing any connection, any similarity between himself and Osiris, in fact. But Saint saw something. Saint saw things more clearly, Rasputin thought, than anyone else he'd ever known. Saint said they were alike, could build a connection, be friends, if they tried. It was why Rasputin had come to Osiris, not because he truly had any desire to wield the Darkness. His Solar flame was more than enough for him, blinding, burning, cleansing...the same heat that appealed to Saint. To their Phoenix. A point of connection. A thread between them.

Rasputin's fingers dipped into the darkness and seemed to tangle with the nothing. With…Everything? For a fleeting moment, the universe opened up before him as a fingertip plucked a single thread, its resonance reverberating through every atom of his being.

Rasputin gasped, eyes snapping open as a ripple of emerald energy washed through him. Beside him, Osiris murmured a soft, startled, "Oh!"

"I did it?" Rasputin yelped. He looked over at Osiris. "I did it?!" Osiris grinned and nodded.

A delighted whoop escaped Rasputin before he could contain it.

"I did it!" He turned on the Warlock and snatched him up and, without thinking, hugged him close and gave him a fast, ecstatic kiss. He was so fatigued, so frustrated with himself, so relieved, he didn't even notice, even when Osiris stared wall-eyed back at him as he continued to cuddle him in his excitement. "Saint was right," he declared, grinning. "I'm- what?"

Osiris blinked at him and laughed.

"Saint is going to love hearing about this," Osiris snorted. 

Chapter Text

"...Fel?"

Timur stared up at the Exo with moon-wide eyes. The stone of the Temple wall was cold against his back, even through layers of robes, but he could feel heat radiating off of Felwinter's chest against his own. He wasn't surprised. Felwinter's eyes burned like bonfires as he stared back down at him in silence. Two hallways over, they could hear the din of their fellows as they approached, the clash of armor and weapons mingling with merry talk and laughter, the lot returning from another successful raid.

But here, in this hallway, it was quiet. Dark, even. Felwinter had pinned Timur beneath a brazier that had, for a time, been lit until the force of his approach, Void Light spilling off him in chilly waves, had snuffed its flame.

Timur shivered, too hot and too cold, and fought not to gasp for breath as he resisted holding it in while he was scrutinized so deeply.

"I'm... What-?"

"Shh." Felwinter's eyes shifted, traveling down Timur's face. "Give me a minute."

"I don't-" Timur didn't fight him, but he didn't understand, either. Sure, Felwinter pushed him around sometimes, playfully, if Timur could hassle a rise out of his friend, but he never did anything like this. It was never intimate like this. Their faces were nearly touching, Felwinter had leaned in so close. Timur swallowed dryly and fought hard to avoid revealing how much his predicament excited him.

Felwinter tilted his head slightly, contemplating...something, and down the next hallway, Lady Jolder's laughter carried loud and bright, making Timur jump and gasp out his own startled laugh, breathless and gasping.

"Fel they're gonna-" He cut off briefly as Felwinter met his eyes again. That shade of amber was so pretty, and at the moment his optics were just blazing an ochre yellow that he hadn't seen very often. "Fel, this can't possibly look-!" He cut off with a startled squeak, his head thumping back softly against stone as Felwinter lunged in, slamming their mouths together in a firm, domineering kiss that blew the air out of him and left Timur trembling in his grip. It lingered, stretched, and Timur squirmed uncomfortably as the voices drew closer, the first Iron Lords surely about to turn the corner and see them at any moment.

Felwinter heard them too, and as quickly as he'd pounced on the Stormtrancer, he pulled away. He gave Timur a quick once-over and a nod, then, without a word, turned on his heel and strode away swiftly, retreating. Timur swore, pushing away from the wall just as Felwinter vanished down the far end of the corridor, and Lady Skorri skipped around the corner at Timur's back.

He let his friend sweep him into their crowd, but just as soon gave them the slip once again.

He had a kiss to chase. 

Chapter Text

Timur sat smiling around his pipe as he watched Osiris pace the Study. The poor little birdlet had worked himself up into a right frenzy after a particularly spicy debate with some of the other students at supper.

"Do they even listen?!" Oh he was so indignant. Timur thought it was cute, most of the time, when Osiris got fired up like this, but glancing over, he noticed Felwinter's eyes had started to narrow. He wasn't annoyed. That was virtually impossible when it came to Osiris, but the first inklings of disapproval were beginning to arise. "Surely these morons have to have heard some of what you all have been trying to teach them?!" Osiris made good points, but he lost the plot when he started on the name-calling. "It's like the Iron Lords will take in just any old dipshit that walks too close to the Mountain these days! To have such a paper thin understanding of the Light and how it works is embarrassing. At least you have standards, unlike some of those other-"

Felwinter stiffened.

"Whoa, whoa," Timur sat up straighter and his hand shot out when Osiris passed nice and close to the sofa where he sat. He caught the trainee's wrist and gave him a firm pull, hauling him down into his lap. "Easy now," Timur soothed, grinning when Osiris' eyes flashed dangerously and he scowled. "None of that." Osiris opened his mouth, looking fit to spit venom, and Timur was quick to pull his pipe away and lunge in, kissing the young Warlock firmly before Osiris could tell him what he thought of his fellow students, their instructors, or Timur.

Osiris growled, then groaned, then whimpered, Timur stubbornly deepening the kiss, jaw working, until at last Osiris went limp in his arms, melting against him. Only at length did they part, Timur laying one last parting smooch on his temple and Osiris heaving a big sigh and laying his chin on Timur's shoulder as he relaxed.

"Better, baby?" Timur hummed, rubbing his back. Osiris sniffed, indignant that he'd been so easily diffused, but nodded.

"Maybe."

Chapter Text

#49 - out of necessity: (Osiris/Saint 14)

Osiris fought not to sag at the conference table. He didn't want to be here.  He hated meetings. Hated conference tables . He tapped his fingers on his knees beneath, steadily reminding himself this wasn't a Consensus tribunal, or some bureaucratic pageantry. This was a critical meeting of the minds to help preserve the fate of humanity. He was invited here. He was needed here. Valued. And likewise, he valued many of his peers gathered with him.

It didn't make it any easier to focus on the exchange between Eris Morn and Queen Mara as he struggled with old traumas and insecurities, however, the once-exile glaring at Zavala from across the table.

He could have picked a better place to have this discussion. They didn't need a desk . They didn't need... He glanced around the rather cavernous meeting room their little group occupied... all this .

He was really uncomfortable here.

"Very well, my Techeons will begin preparations once Osiris... Osiris?" Mara leaned out and looked over the vast table top at the Warlock in question, and had to call his name a second time, making him jump. Osiris hissed, snapping to attention.

"Err, of course, Queen Mara," he fumbled. Mara frowned, but he knew her well enough to recognize it was a scrutinizing look, not one of disapproval. She squared her shoulders.

"I believe we have what we need for now," she said sternly, looking over at Zavala. Not far to her right, Eris nodded. "I will contact you when Osiris, Eris, and I have sufficient findings.

Osiris could see Zavala didn't like being dismissed, but he had no choice in the matter. The Queen did what she wished, when she wished it, and that included ending overly stuffy conferences.

"Uh, really, don't you think-" Oh, he was going to argue?

"Some of us have places to be, Commander," Mara said coolly. 

Zavala backed right down with a nod.

"Of course."

Osiris stood quickly, but Mara was on her feet quicker, and already on her way to the door with her entourage. Osiris' own hasty retreat was inconspicuous.

Saint wasn't waiting just outside the door. He never did. He waited a hallway away, down and around the corner. They never arranged their rendezvous, they simply unerringly found one another. This was no different as Osiris all but stormed around the corner right into his lover's arms.

"Shelter. Now." He shoved at the big Exo's chest, looking all around. They didn't need privacy. Their relationship was not illicit. Osiris simply preferred things this way. Saint did not mind.

"Osiris," Saint cooed his name, clasping big hands over Osiris' shoulder blades in a comforting embrace. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," Osiris snipped. "But.." He softened, lowering his voice. "I do miss you." He smiled wryly up at him. "Even more than usual. Home is too far." He found a secluded notch between doorways and hauled Saint into it, pulling down on him insistently. "Kiss me like it's been longer. I need you."

Saint's eyes brightened in a slow grin, and he happily relented to Osiris' urging, dipping his lover with the force of his passion.

" Gladly , my Bird." 

Chapter Text

#06 - on a falling tear: (Felwinter/Osiris/Saint14)

It... was time. Nestled securely between Saint and Felwinter as they three curled together on the couch as he was, Osiris thought it would have been easy to open up about what had transpired in the Pits of Luna and after. Instead, he was finding that repeating the tale of his pursuit of Xivu Arath and her High Celebrant, the loss of Sagira, and his subsequent enslavement by Savathun was quite possibly one of the most difficult endeavors he'd ever embarked on.

The telling was simple enough. He'd told the story so many times now he could speak the words without even thinking them, without hearing his own voice. He could almost say Sagira's name without his voice breaking.

Almost.

(no he couldn't)

What he could not take were his lovers' reactions.

Saint knew the tale far too well by now. It had taken some time for him to get the whole story, Osiris forcing him to piece it together, and he thought that perhaps this was the first time the Titan had heard it all cohesively from start to finish. But he did know it, and he'd had his time to grieve together with Osiris.

Osiris lamented picking those wounds raw once more, but supposed Saint did own some of that pain by insisting he remain with him while Osiris fulfilled his promise to Felwinter to fill him in.

Those scabs, even rubbed raw and aching again, were old and at least somewhat healed over now. The pain dulled. Saint hissed and growled softly here and there as Osiris spoke, his arms firm around his side of the Warlock, but he no longer carried the explosive, sympathetic rage he once had.

His fuse had burned down. The seeds of his ire had been sewn, and the fallout from his behavior had been mended between them. They had moved on as best they could for better or worse.

But Felwinter.

Felwinter ...

Osiris could feel his body gradually tighten against his side. He was getting quieter and quieter. He'd surpassed the limits of humanity, and was now too quiet, too still to pass as a normal Exo. It'd been a long time since Osiris had seen him this rigid. He'd gotten so much better at blending in. But now even his body got too cold, roaring fans the only sound from him at all.

He was the opposite of Saint in this regard. He processed pain and rage so much differently. It frightened Osiris just a little: not for himself, but for Felwinter. What would his beloved do, now? Osiris wasn't sure but he worried about it.

"Osiris..." Felwinter's soft voice cut through his ruminations, and a gentle hand on his chin lifted his gaze. Osiris looked up from where he realized he'd been staring down into his hands on his lap, twisted into tight fists. He'd curled up into a knot, knees pulled in tight, ankles tucked beneath himself. He didn't remember moving. His eyes stung, and he blinked, grimacing when a tear escaped. Felwinter's eyes narrowed in one of his subtle, concerned frowns, and he leaned in, catching it with a kiss before it ran off Osiris' cheek. Osiris' breath hitched and he looked away, pulling from his beloved's gentle grip only to come face to face with Saint, who met him with the same exact treatment.

"It is over, Osiris," Saint said softly, laying another kiss, damp and salt-tinged, over his lips. "And we are here for you."

Felwinter bent deep to press his face into the back of  Osiris' neck, mouthing warm skin there, and nodded, squeezing him firmly where he held him. Osiris' breath caught again, and though he began to sob in earnest, he smiled, nodding.

"I know," he gasped, wiping angrily at his eyes only for Felwinter to look up and catch one hand, kissing the wetness away from his palm. Osiris' breath shook, but he didn't pull his hand away, turning his face into more peppering kisses from Saint while Felwinter began to lavish each fingertip.

" Light , I know..."

It would be okay, he thought. They wouldn't allow it to be anything else.

Chapter Text

#19 - for luck (Cayde 6/Andal Brask) 

"You sure about this?" Cayde-6 looked down into the valley below, eyeing the lay of the land scrupulously. "Awwwful lot of bad guys down there." He could see the colors of the House of Wolves everywhere, even from a distance.

Andal Brask snorted, laughing softly.

"Down there? Nah. There's not so many." He squared his shoulders and stance, adjusting his belt on his hips. "There's like. Barely any at all." He grinned over at his partner. "Right? We can take 'em. No problem."

Cayde grinned back.

"No, yeah, no problem!" He chirped, pulling his cannon and giving it a showy spin. "I mean. I've totally got all those guys," he swept his hand in a broad gesture that encompassed nearly all of the valley. "Easy peasy. Not sure what you're gonna do, actually. Was just testing to see if you were paying attention."

Andal let out another laugh, this one louder and much bolder.

"Seeing if I was paying attention..!" he scoffed. "Idiot," he scolded warmly. "I'm payin' way more attention than you are!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How so?"

Andal grinned.

"You'll see."

"We bettin' on it?" Cayde tipped his chin up. Andal mirrored the gesture with a smirk.

"Sure. How 'bout fifty."

"A hundred . Don't be cheap!"

"A hundred!? That's everything I have!" Andal balked. Cayde shrugged with a crooked grin.

"Split up, most kills doesn't have to walk home naked?" he offered his hand to shake on, and Andal grudgingly shook.

"Fine!" He huffed, but gripped Cayde's fist and reeled him in. He kissed him firmly, startling the Exo.

"He-hey! What was that for?!" Cayde gasped, wide-eyed, the lights in his throat bright with an Exo flush. Andal grinned.

"Luck. You'll need it."

Chapter Text

#30 - as a comfort: (Saint 14 & Misraaks )

The Market District was a bright place full of color, movement, light, and sound. Life moved all around Saint as he ambled carefully around shoppers and booths alike, admiring the people as much as the wares on display.

There were enough humans here mingling with the Eliksni of House Light that Saint almost blended in, if it weren't for his significant stature, and that, for the moment at least, he was the only Exo in the crowd. It warmed his heart to see Humanity and their once enemies mixing peacefully. The sun was out, the sky was clear. It was a beautiful day. 

The scent of flowers mixed sweetly with roasting meats and breads. A pair of Drekhs plucked away on acoustic guitars in the shade of a tree, the couple tinkering on a duet together. Saint shot them a smile as he passed and one raised a secondary arm in a cheerful wave. The other, a transplant from another house, was still regrowing docked arms, but tipped its snout up in greeting instead. Saint's smile brightened as he passed along, ducking under low-hanging flower pots and through an archway.

Eido's grotto was cooler, but no less bright than outside. There were flowers everywhere, and butterflies danced in sunbeams filtering down through the ceiling. Saint reckoned they must be drawn to her sweet demeanor because he'd seen them nowhere else outside. One curious, sociable creature knew another, he reasoned warmly.

The young Scribe was nowhere to be seen, but her concoctions burbled and bubbled quietly on overladen workbenches, so Saint thought she must not be too far away. She never was.

She didn't like to leave her father out of her sight for too long these days.

Neither did Saint.

Unconcerned with examining Eido's work too closely, Saint turned away from that patch of sunshine to the shadow in the corner, his eyes dimming.

Misraakskel sat slumped in his throne, arms folded tight around his carapace, head lowered, the lights of his helm dim as he slumbered. For a minute, Saint stood planted where he was, watching. Misraaks was shrinking, his armor loose on his body, his limbs slim. The seat of the great chair supporting him seemed to swallow his body instead of surround it.

There was no ignoring that the Kell of the House of Light was ailing.

As Saint watched, Misraaks' head tossed, the Kell hissing audibly with a hard vent of Ether. His legs twitched, and the claws of his hands scrabbled against the armor covering his thighs. He jerked, moaning. The shadows surrounding him grow longer . Darker.

Saint knows the evil that haunts him.

Looking around and confirming they were alone, he strode across the room and right up the dias, squaring his shoulders as he walked.

"Leave him alone, you vile wretch," he hissed, his voice low. He was looking at Misraaks, but he was addressing someone - something - else. He knew what was there, even if he could not see it, and he was not afraid. "You are not allowed power here this day. Be gone!" He reached Misraaks, and a distinct chill, wet and slippery like an ice cube, slid right down his spine to settle uncomfortably low in his gut like a threat, but Saint ignored it.

"Misraakskel," he whispered, bending low over his friend. "You are strong. You are loved. And today, you are safe with the Saint." He bent at the waist and kissed the knuckles of one of Misraaks' hands gently.

The shadows seemed to ease, and Misraaks heaved a sigh, his slumber becoming restful as soon as Saint touched him. 

Saint pulled back, surprised that was truly all it had taken, but then nodded curtly to himself, satisfied with the results.

"Good," he murmured. "Then I will stay."

With that, he folded himself up at Misraaks' feet and settled down to stand guard for as long as it took for his friend to safely catch some rest.

It was the least he could do, after all, after everything.

Chapter Text

#35 - to gain something: (Timur/Osiris)

"Show me."

Timur's head popped up from where he'd been poking at a tiny wire in a tiny device through an enormous magnifying glass. He wasn't easily startled, but Osiris appearing in his workshop without him noticing did the trick. The kid was starting to move almost as quietly as Fel did. Two of them, he thought with wry warmth, was going to be tough to handle. Timur flashed a smile.

"Oh, hello Osiris," he said, sitting back from his project. "What's that now?"

"That trick you taught Colovance," Osiris said, crossing his arms. "Show me too." Timur's grin returned, and this time it stuck. My, he was so prickly...and demanding! A curious mix for someone who wanted something. He supposed that's what he got for letting feelings get tangled up into things. Sometimes they all got a little too liberal with how casual their more supposedly professional exchanges went.

"Oh that thing?" He laughed. "It's so simple I thought you'd figure it out on your own!"

Osiris' nose wrinkled up cutely when he scowled.

"Show me anyway," he insisted.

"Maybe," Timur tipped back in his seat, stretching his legs out so that his ankles nearly bumped Osiris'. "What's in it for me? You come down here all demanding and prickly-like. Hardly motivating when I was minding my business and having a nice time, here," Timur said. He watched one of Osiris' cheeks dimple as the trainee no doubt started to worry it from the inside as he thought on this. Timur stared back at him evenly, that smile still plastered onto his face, and wondered just what Osiris would do. He didn't back down, and he didn't offer concessions. And everyone knew better than to give Timur an open-ended offer. He'd put him in a tricky spot on purpose.

After a moment, Osiris donned a little smirk and strode forward until he was standing right over Timur, making the Stormtrancer crane his neck to look up at him.

"I know what you want," he said, voice low. He bent down, and Timur's eyes widened when their lips nearly met, breath and body heat mingling tantalizingly, but nothing touching. Timur planted his weight, the chair scooting back so he didn't fall, and Osiris quickly straightened back up without quite ever connecting, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. There was no hiding the look of disappointment on Timur's face, nor the faint dusting of excited pink on his cheeks.

"Show me first," Osiris said, lifting his chin.

Timur's smile returned, but his eyes narrowed.

So the little fireball wanted to play games, did he?

He leapt up, swift as the storms that energized him, and caught Osiris in his arms. Osiris yipped in surprise, but didn't put up an ounce of protest once Timur had him, instead throwing his arms around the senior Warlock's shoulders. His bluffs were getting better, Timur thought with a happy chuckle, but he had some work to do still.

" Pay me first," he purred, helping himself.

Chapter Text

#12 - in grief (Rasputin & Felwinter)

It took some time after the Cosmodrome had stopped shaking from the explosion for the dust to settle. The Lightbearers had really done some damage on their way down, and Rasputin had his work cut out for him to regain access to the Site Six bunker. The Warmind was aware, more or less, of what had transpired thanks to black box recorders and some feeble transmissions still trickling in from the few surviving nanites, but at first he was largely blind and almost entirely cut off from his own systems thanks to the damage. 

He'd known they wouldn't go down without a fight. He'd been prepared for war. He still didn't have to like the results. 

Nasty, freakish dead things. 

They could stay dead. 

But he had to see. Had to be sure. He didn't have his Seraphs anymore, and frames were too bulky, and too slow to be thorough search parties.

He had -

He...

Visual data relays returned, and for all that Rasputin had seen and done, the images shocked him. The destruction was to be expected after an explosion so powerful, but what truly gave the Warmind pause was the SIVA.

Twisted, gnarled vines in waves and swathes of red coated everything, engulfing it, consuming it. His rage... His malice, given grotesque form, thrown right in his face.

It had seemed so much simpler, so much more benign from a distance. Lines of code didn't tell the same tale as bodies torn asunder, half-consumed, wracked in visible terror and agony. Unfeeling Zeroes and Ones made it far less poignant that these undead things were also men and women.

People.

Felwinter's friends.

His son.

Rasputin didn't find the body right away. He knew he was there, and even had a fairly accurate idea of where to search, and still Rasputin had nearly given up when he'd finally found something . A limb. The rest of him had been elsewhere. Not far away, no, but...not attached, either.

The red-mesh impulse that had been sweeping the vast room flickered in a long wave and then collapsed down to that singular place, pinprick points of light quivering as Rasputin examined what was left of his most beloved creation and arguably the best part of him. His child, his humanity- the Traveler had stolen him from Rasputin, but Rasputin had snuffed his flame.

Aurora synapse flared and shrank over and over as Rasputin mapped out dimensions he already knew as well as his own, ghosting over hands, chest, and face, electronic tears doing nothing for surging grief.

Oh, how he'd failed. Oh, he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

More beats of light flowed in, flickering, filling the room, but no amount of anguished kisses from a mourning father could warm the cooling body of a murdered child.

This one he would have to live with.

Chapter Text

#50- out of love: (Rasputin & Felwinter)

Rasputin trod the Corridors of Time a little more slowly than was strictly necessary. The burden he carried in his arms did not trouble him. His race against the inevitable was over.

He could afford to steal a few minutes more. He didn't care if he was selfish.

Felwinter was alive. Alive . He was as well as he could be, and safe with him, even if he was hard-pressed to convince poor Felwinter of the fact.

Rasputin didn't blame his son for not trusting him, even if he was still struggling to process the pain of just how poorly he'd actually been received. Rasputin knew what he'd done, and the pain he caused.

He realized, with no small sting, that this was likely the last time Felwinter would let him this close (and that 'let' was a dubious qualifier when Rasputin had rendered the Exo unconscious for both of their safety) if the shattered plating under his eye was any indication, and while Rasputin could accept the fate he'd created for himself, he wasn't about to miss an opportunity no matter how small, either.

And so he took advantage of what little time he had, no matter how pitifully one-sided it was, for despite all his wrong doings and all his bad choices, he loved his son, and these precious few minutes with him meant the world to Rasputin.

"Someday," he whispered, knowing Felwinter could not hear him and relieved that Felspring was busy chattering with Caerus somewhere trailing behind, "I will be able to tell you in a way that will matter." But for now, even effectively alone, he still could not. He had to do better. He would . He tipped his chin down, nuzzling in to lay a slow kiss onto Felwinter's too-hot forehead, immediately feeling a sharp slap of guilt for stealing the touch, though he'd done so largely without realizing what he was doing until it was too late. What was one more drop in a sea of sins, Rasputin thought bitterly. He lifted his head and picked up his pace.

Love and remorse alone were not enough.

He would do better.

Chapter Text

"Really? All the way up here?" Timur laughed softly as he scrambled up gracelessly to join Gheleon's side, just ever so slightly out of breath with the effort it'd taken to reach him. Gheleon snorted, offering a toothy, crooked little grin in reply. 

"No one knows I'm up here," he said as an explanation. He'd always preferred the loftiest perches he could find, but the other half of the game now was to see what lengths his favorite playmate would go to to join him. Timur was no Hunter,0 but he was wickedly resourceful, and nearly as stubborn as the Mountain itself.

"I knew you were," Timur sniffed, sticking his lip out petulantly.

" You were actively searching for me," Gheleon pointed out. "I was watching you. And you know where to look." He tossed Timur an appraising look. His knees were scuffed. He had a leap on him, but it was not enough to scale these sorts of heights. "Furthermore, you are not No One."

Timur let out a charmed little giggle at that, enjoying that assessment.

"Well that's a relief!" He chirped. He leaned out, looking down as a small stampede of trainees and several Iron Wolves passed beneath them, oblivious to their voyeurs perched high above. "These guys really don't look up do they?" He murmured, smirking. "We could get away with anything up here..."

Gheleon hummed his agreement, but didn't say anything else until there were more passersby. At last, far below, all Saladin needed to do was tilt his head up ever so slightly, and he would have seen them, but his gaze stayed level. Chuckling, Gheleon reached out and grabbed Timur by one lofty collar and tugged him down to kiss him passionately.

"We really could," he said, licking his lips when they parted.

Ladies Efrideet and Jolder would be in an utter uproar to spot them tangled together, but Timur indulged in returning the favor when they ran the exact same risk. Gheleon laughed softly into the kiss, but held on tight, unable to ignore the tension in Timur's shoulders until the pair below them passed. Timur parted with a gasp, panting softly, and grinned.

"That's fun," he tittered, grinning. There was a dusting of pink high on his cheeks, and his eyes were bright and excitable. Gheleon gave him an assessing once-over.

"It is," he purred, leering. "Want to see what else we can get away with?"

Chapter Text

#24 - in danger: (Timur/Gheleon)

"I told you this was a bad idea!" Gheleon took a flying tumble past Timur, tucking and rolling in a flutter of capes and furs to flatten out in cover low beside Timur. The Warlock laughed.

"What? This isn't fun for you?!" He crowed, popping up from the little crater they'd settled into. He had a rocket launcher in his arms, and barely took time to aim before firing a shot into a mob of Fallen raiders that were rapidly gaining ground on them. The recoil knocked him flat on his ass, making him cackle through wheezes of pain. There was a delay, and then a tremendous explosion and a chorus of outraged shrieks as his shot hit its mark anyway. Even a miss was a hit with a quarter mile blast radius. He recovered and sat back up, peeking out of hiding to check the damage only to immediately be pelted with wire rifle fire from all angles. He yelped and dove down to sprawl out beside Gheleon.

"This might have been a bad idea," Timur laughed, panting. He looked over, and only laughed harder when he caught sight of the flat, unimpressed look Gheleon was giving him.

"You're laughing," Gheleon deadpanned. "We're being shot at, and you're laughing."

Timur shrugged.

"Getting shot hurts!" Gheleon complained.

Timur grinned, reloaded, and threw himself upright to fire another shot. He managed not to fall a second time, and things got significantly quieter after another explosion.

"Have you been shot yet?" He asked, smiling. He knew he hadn't been. Gheleon made a face.

"No," he said sullenly. He was already sensing a trap from his clever companion.

"And are you in dan-" Timur cut off, spinning where he crouched beside Gheleon, his Lash snapping out. He fired at seemingly nothing, only for a now-dead Vandal to decloak with a scream, the body crumpling heavily. There was a smoking hole through its forehead. Timur cleared his throat.

"I said , are you in danger?" He asked sweetly, batting his eyelashes as if he hadn’t just domed an enemy that had nearly gotten the drop on them. Gheleon stared between the corpse and his partner, giving Timur a bland look.

"Okay, did you even skin your knee when you dove down here?" Timur drawled, half laughing, half trying to feign annoyance.

"I almost did," Gheleon said, smirking. "I was in grave peril there for a moment."

"Because you threw yourself into the air?" Timur chuckled, leaning in.

"You were supposed to catch me," Gheleon purred, tipping his chin up to nuzzle at Timur.

"Oh, oh no..." Timur snorted. "No, no no... I don't do that." He grinned, and pursed his lips, smooching Gheleon's nose and making him snort and sputter. "You do your acrobatics at your own risk."

Gheleon turned away, a hot blush forming fast as he tried to hide a smile.

"Pah."

Chapter Text

#36 - to give up control: (Timur/Gheleon)

"Let me try that."

Gheleon had been watching Timur fire off shot after shot from one of his strange, experimental weapons with growing intrigue. It looked like the Warlock might be feeding it his Light, and every once in a while, exposed wires near the chamber threw off showers of sparks, shocking him painfully, but Timur was grinning like mad with every shot, even when he had to shake feeling into his singed fingers.

They were clearing the way for a caravan of refugees, taking unfair pop shots at one encampment of Fallen after another, just like several other small teams of Iron Lords and Wolves all through the region, and while Gheleon didn't like usually playing dirty like this, Timur had no qualms about it. Gheleon had less issue when it was in defense of civilians.

He probably should have been helping, but far be it from him to rob Timur of his fun.

Timur paused and looked over at him, the muzzle of his slightly smoking weapon lowering a few degrees.

"Errr." He grimaced. "Perhaps best not," he said, sounding just a little sheepish. "It's um, n-not quite ready."

"I noticed," Gheleon snorted, tipping his head to the obviously incomplete build. "It keeps biting."

"It is a little bitey, yes," Timur lamented, holstering the thing briefly to rub sore fingers.

"Is that why?" Gheleon asked, stepping well into Timur's personal space to reach for it anyway. Timur leaned back.

"I figured that was a good enough reason, yes," he gasped. Gheleon got his hands on the thing, and it was impossible not to notice the immediate electrical surge that pulsed through his arms, making his chest feel hot and wobbly. Timur's hand snapped out, and together, the pair tugged on it, both wrestling for claim over it.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Gheleon grinned. He liked it when he made Timur nervous. The Warlock would blush and start to stammer cutely if he pushed him hard enough, and then he could bully him into anything once he was flustered. "If it fries me, you can use it to cover me until I'm back up."

Timur wasn't having it.

"I'd feel t-terrible," he murmured, cowing.

"Oh, no need for that," Gheleon sighed, leaning in. He pressed up, standing up on his toes, and the blasted thing zapped him right in the chest when he squashed it between them to capture Timur's mouth with his own, but he ignored it without so much as flinching. If the Stormtrancer could take it, so could he. Timur moaned, and Gheleon could practically taste his conviction crumbling, especially when the Warlock's jaw unlocked, lips parting in welcome. Gheleon poured into it, devouring his mouth, pushing in to feed hungrily on him, but all the while, he kept a steady grip on the tingling, hot little gun in his hand.

The moment Timur's grip finally went slack, Gheleon gave it a yank, lurching it free.

"Hey!" Betrayal mingled with delight in Timur's eyes. He could appreciate a good trick, even at his own expense. "You ornery little shit!" he laughed.

Gheleon laughed right back.

"Learned that trick from you, Sparky," he chortled, then let out a colorful oath as he was immediately zapped again.

Maybe it was a little too soon to be calling anyone names, he thought wryly, taking aim.

Maybe it didn't matter, with the sultry grin Timur had aimed his way.

Chapter Text

#41- because the world is saved: (Saint 14/Osiris)

Osiris stared evenly over the table at the two Eliksni, elbows planted, hands folded in front of his face.  Across from him, Misraaks, Kell of the house of Light, sat folded awkwardly at the human-sized table gazing grimly back. Beside him, Eido blinked sedately, eyeing what lay between them with a critical eye, thoughtful.

Off to one side, Saint-14 perched on the edge of a high stool, surveying the contents of a datapad.

"Hmmm, yes," he rumbled, nodding sagely. "The rules here, they say that this space means a boon for the player who takes it, so that is a second turn for Scribe Eido." He flashed a smile as he picked up a pair of dice from the playing board settled between them and handed them to her. "Roll again, my dear."

"Oh, perhaps my fortune has picked up finally," Eido chirped, pleased. She made a good roll, and happily nudged a playing piece along a winding path painted onto the set. Osiris grunted, lowering his head to further hide his smirk deeper into his hands.

"Perhaps, but it won't save you," he drawled, eyes sparkling as he taunted his young opponent. "Not with so few turns left my young Scribe." Eido was doing well enough, but the Phoenix held a devastating lead.

All four of Eido's eyes narrowed in a cheeky squint.

"Perhaps, but it's not mathematically impossible," she countered gamely. "You haven't won until you've won... Old Man. "

Saint barked out a laugh. Osiris simply snorted softly and shook his head.

"Very well," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Mithrax's turn?"

The Kell groaned and oh so delicately plucked the dice up with the very tips of his claws, his grip on such tiny objects tenuous, and half-dropped, half-cast them onto the board. While Eido had been managing with reasonably mixed fortune, Misraaks' had been consistently dreadful from the start.

The dice bounced once and clunked to a stop. He squinted, then pushed up to lean forward, looking at his roll in disbelief for a long moment before he tumbled into a string of curses so lengthy and colorful Eido squeaked, covering her head with all four hands.

Saint laughed again.

"My! I am not sure I understood all of those words," he chuckled. "You will have to teach me."

"He most certainly will not!" Eido cut in shrilly, scratching at the carapace of her skull as if she could forcibly scrub the profanity from her head.

Misraaks groaned and sagged where he sat, nudging his piece along sullenly.

It had been his worst roll yet, and he fell even further behind.

"Oof, Father, your luck is dreadful!" Eido lamented.

"It is a rather two way game," Saint agreed. "My condolences my friend."

"As long as my ill fortune sticks to games, I do not mind...much," Misraaks groaned.

"Perhaps next time Osiris will share," Eido mused, Ether hissing as she giggled.

"He shares nothing," Saint deadpanned, making Osiris snort. "It is your turn, my Bird." Misraaks bumped the dice toward Osiris, hissing sourly when they tumbled unhelpfully to a nice, high roll in the process, and Osiris swept them up. He eyed the board shrewdly, eyebrow arched. He no longer hid his smirk.

"Perhaps a bet is in order," he murmured, grinning over at Misraaks. "I think I can win on the next roll."  Misraaks sat forward, counting spaces. It would require a perfect roll.

"Impossible," Misraaks growled. "No one is that lucky!"

"Are you taking the bet? You buy us all drinks if I do," Osiris insisted, tossing the dice in his palm again enticingly.

"And when you don't ," Misraaks countered, " You buy for a week!"

Eido's eyes widened, and Saint tipped his head back slightly, but Osiris grinned.

"Deal." He tossed the dice, and they went tumbling, spinning, and crashed against the slightly raised edge of the game board to bounce off roughly. The careened to a stop, but the numbers shown were not, in fact, perfect. Misraaks laughed.

"Now hold on," Osiris counted spaces. He'd landed on another boon.

"It is a double-play. Your roll, it counts for twice as many," Saint choked as he read off the card the datapad displayed, fighting hard not to laugh. Misraaks let out the sort of outraged chirp one usually only heard from hatchlings.

It was more than enough to complete the course to the winning block. "C-congratulations, my love," Saint wheezed, giggling as he leaned forward to lay a fat, congratulatory kiss on Osiris' forehead. "You have S-Saved the World and The Kell of Light is buying drinks."

Chapter Text

#48 - out of habit: (Felwinter/Osiris)

The Great Hall is dark except for the golden firelight from the great urns littering the space, the shadows they cast far deeper than the shifting illumination they give. It’s warm, crowded, and hushed as their number huddles together to drink, dine, and give audience to what Felwinter thinks might be one of Lady Skorri's lovelier performances.

He doesn’t praise her (or anyone else) lightly, but he does enjoy her singing. Enough so that he braved the bodies, and moreso, the hands to come here: the back-slapping and the shoulder grabbing, the arm's gripped in companionable greetings that he understood but did not enjoy, and hated having to reciprocate. Enough so, that he boldly keeps Osiris tucked securely under one arm against his side, shielding him as he walks his student through the crowd, ushering him into a corner where they are guarded on two sides, and still have a good enough perspective. He knows his student loves the music as much as he, and hates the crowds even more.

For Osiris, Felwinter doesn’t mind the hands so much.

When Skorri sings like this , with Osiris at his side, he hardly minds any of it.

They stand for hours, shoulder to shoulder at first, then with Felwinter's arm tucked around Osiris, hand low and subtle on his hip.

Then Osiris' head drops to his shoulder.

It’s fine. They would be fine. It’s dark, nobody is looking their way, and anyone who did look would have to stare so long to identify either of them in the dim that Felwinter would have plenty of time to move if they needed to.

It’s fine.

It is a lovely evening and a comfortable warmth spreads sweetly between them.

The singing and firelight are mesmerizing.

Osiris sighs dreamily between songs, shifting to ever so subtly nuzzle Felwinter's arm. It is as intimate as he dares to get in public, but it makes heat spread in Felwinter’s chest. He turns his head and presses a long, lingering kiss to Osiris' crown, feeling his student melt against him in reply, every curve of him seeming to quiver and then go soft as he presses as much of himself as he can against his mentor's side. 

Reality slams back and Felwinter nearly pulls away, startled. 

He hadn't realized what he'd been doing until he felt Osiris respond, but it's so natural to stand here with him like this. So normal with how they fit together. He shifts, but decides to stay where he is, mouth pressed into Osiris' hair.

She’s singing the tale of two lovers and their clandestine romance. 

He feels it too. 

Chapter Text

#27 - as a suggestion: (Lord Saladin/Lady Jolder)

Saladin Forge thought she was as lovely as the sun. Even on their down day, out on the training grounds sparring for fun, she was in her best armor, polished to a mirror shine, and in full warpaint, dark kohl under her eyes so that their dazzling blue flashes ferociously every time they make eye contact. Her lips are red, too, but only because he'd split them with a punch, blood brightening rosy skin. If he'd pulled the strike, he knew she would have killed him for holding back.

He adored her for it.

He thought she was lovely and brilliant and ferocious and she was hurtling through the air right at him and he barely managed to block her responding strike, staggering backwards several steps from the force of her.

She laughed, melodic and bright, and kicked him in the shins because he was too busy looking at her eyes.

"Focus, you daft old oak!" She giggled, launching at him with a shoulder charge he dodged much more gracefully. "And fight me like you mean it!"

"We're training, my Lady!" Saladin countered. Lady Jolder laughed again, brighter than ever, and chucked her shield at him. It crashed against his axe with a horrible clang.

"Do the enemies we train to fight expect you to take it easy as well?" She teased, dancing from side to side, taunting him. She even did a little pirouette, her armor glittering dazzling fractals of white and blue from snow and sky. She bounded forward, into his personal space, and pressed up against him. "Do they too know that you will stay your hand if they wear pretty eye-makeup?" 

"I- what?!" He sputtered, skin darkening as he went hot, but she only batted her eyelashes at him...and then grabbed him by the collar and threw him down hard to the ground, winding him. She pounced on him, throwing her weight onto his chest, making him wheeze, and sat astride him grinning.

"You heard me, Lord Saladin!" She leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with him. "You. Are. Distracted!" she sang. "And I have watched you spar with poor Silimar enough to know that you usually do not have this problem."

Saladin scowled and tried to sit up but she bounced her weight, slamming him back down before he could get very far.  He sputtered, struggling with what to say, cornered as he was. Jolder looked utterly delighted by the results of her bullying. She tipped her head, looking him over. "Don't worry. Next time I'm sure you'll get the pin," she cooed. With that, she flattened out and paid him a good, hungry kiss.

She kept kissing him until he started to lean into it, responding, and then she gave his lip a gentle bite and leapt away, panting and rubbing her bloodied, swollen lips around a crooked smile. "Better catch me, if you want the rest," she purred, dancing away.

Saladin jumped, scrambling to his feet.

Chapter Text

#03 - as a goodbye: (Sjur Eido & OC, Sjur Eido/Mara Sov)

Sjur Eido stands with her shoulders squared and her chin held high, watching the steady line of her Corsairs parade by with a critical, caring eye. They are at their finest: armor neat, eyes hardened, weapons pristine. They are ready for war. Sjur greets every single one as she passes on the way to the transport, clasping her hand and murmuring well wishes and encouraging words before laying a kiss to each forehead. She worries someone will recognize her blessings as the farewells in disguise that they are, but nobody has ever said anything as much. No one would dare. She really does hope she will see them again.

"Oh dear, even your youngest?" From a step behind her, her Queen has been observing everything in lofty silence.

Sjur doesn't respond to her immediately. Indeed, a woman notably younger than the rest of her peers had stopped before her. Bright eyed and ferocious with a determination to achieve - she doesn't need to prove herself, she's quite good at that - makes her burn like a star.

"Fight well, bright Casryn," Sjur says solemnly, smiling. "You're destined to achieve great things, I can see it." She sees Casryn's lips twitch and press more firmly together to prevent a smile, but the admiration in her eyes is impossible to hide. She's tripped along after Sjur since she was a child, barely a teen, determined to learn her ways, to become one of her Corsairs, and she has excelled. Sjur has to fight the urge to hug her when she lays a kiss to her temple and wishes her luck. There's a dark feeling in her throat. The days that follow will be colder, she thinks, when the world loses Casryn's flame. It's an ominous premonition she keeps to herself as the last warriors file by and she turns to Queen Mara.

"My Wrath," Mara lays her hands of Sjur's shoulders, and much as Sjur has been doing for the last hour, she leans in and places a delicate, chaste kiss on her beloved's brow. Their love is no secret, but it is all they will allow in the daylight. Sjur gets that cold feeling again and she swallows a lump. "Farewell."

Chapter Text

Of course he heard the footsteps, pounding, pattering, echoing through the hall as someone made a frantic dash from point A to point B. No attempt was being made to muffle them, that was for sure. Lord Gheleon reckoned the folks down in the village below the Mountain probably heard them.

That was no Hunter running his way, that was for sure.

He'd bet at least two of his best knives it was a student though. It was that time of day for group classes, he thought, or just past it, and his older brethren were more dignified. Or at least louder about it if the Temple was getting knocked down around their ears again. Radegast had one hell of a set of lungs on him, and even Felwinter could call out like a clap of thunder when he wanted your attention.

The footsteps were getting closer, so Gheleon stopped and planted himself just before a corner and waited.

Sure enough, moments later, someone came barreling around the bend and, utterly failing to register the presence of someone else standing there at all, crashed right into him with a yelp and a spectacular cascade of books and bags and other paraphernalia Gheleon didn't care to try and identify.

He wasn't a very big guy, but poor Colovance bounced right off of him and fell hard on his ass, showering himself with heavy-looking objects as he went down. Gheleon cringed. How such a skinny kid could even carry that much was beyond him, but it looked like it all hurt.

"Whoa! Easy there, Lad!" He crouched down at Colovance's shoulder, helping the groaning Warlock sit up while the redhead was busy rubbing his head with both hands, scrubbing away the pain with rough, frustrated gestures. He murmured his thanks, but somewhat belatedly seemed to focus as he sat up all the way, making eye-contact with Gheleon.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He leapt to his feet, nearly toppling Gheleon in his rush. "I didn't see you there at all, I'm terribly sorry, I should have been paying more attention I know!" He stooped, scrambling to pick up the books that were scattered everywhere. He was frantic, dropping nearly as many as he scooped back up into his arms. "Do please forgive me Lord Gheleon, I promise to be more cautious next time-"

"Yikes, wow, slow down kid," Gheleon waved his hands, fumbling to try and get in there to help the poor trainee. "You're not on fire."

"I might as well be, I'm really late!"

"You'll be forgiven, surely-"

"Be that as it may, it's terribly rude-"

"Shush and slow down already!" Gheleon gave him a firm jab in the ribs, making him squeak and drop all his books all over again. Colovance made a pitiful sound of distress, a hot, embarrassed blush coloring his fair features. Gheleon couldn't help but smile as the dense speckling of freckles across the young man's face seemed to stand out all the darker because of it.

"Deep breaths, and let me help ya," he said slowly, bending down and beginning to collect what Colovance had dropped. Colovance sucked in a deep breath and held it. "I said breaths! Plural!" Gheleon laughed, jabbing him again. Colovance gasped, hiccuped, and started to breathe more normally. By then, Gheleon had collected all of his things, and placed them into the student's arms carefully.

"Now there," he said soothingly. "No more rushing or you'll get hurt again. You're a clever one, I've seen it, but you have to keep your head on." Colovance's blush deepened, and Gheleon couldn't resist leaning in to lay a playful little smooch right on the bridge of his nose, where the freckles were the most dense. Colovance squeaked and got even redder, his face and hair nearly the same color.

Adorable.

"Now come on, I'll escort you to class so you're not scolded," Gheleon said, waving him along. "You were very helpful stopping to give me a hand when ya did, even with class about to start."

"I wha- OH." Colovance caught on only a little slowly. "I appreciate that," he said, voice small. He had the books balanced in the crook of one arm so he could scratch at his nose where Gheleon had kissed him. "Really."

"Eh, you're a good egg," Gheleon waved him down as they started off. "Y'deserve a break. And I like your boss a bit," he added wryly.

Colovance coughed politely.

So he'd heard.

Chapter Text

#17 - as a distraction: (The Drifter & Eva Levante)

Mahjong nights were so long in standing now that the Drifter didn't even remember exactly when it had gotten started anymore. Time was kind of a screwy thing when you lived forever, but it couldn't have been that long because Eva still looked the same, and so did Tess, sort of. Unless Eva was just unaging because she was practicing some weird sort of life-force vampirism on Guardians or something.

He wouldn't put it past her.

Nice lady, real sweet.

Wouldn't trust her for five seconds outside of game night and her little holiday shindigs though.

And he knew she was on the exact same level with him.

But that didn't matter on game night. Especially when Tess had brought a particularly fine bottle of aged whiskey as the winner's prize.

Now, Mahjong took three things to win: Skill, Strategy, and Luck. Drifter had a whole lot of all three, and he knew he could wipe these ladies right out of the tower every damn match if he really wanted to, but he liked to meter his winnings: keep it fair, and keep his true skills on the down-low. Sometimes he let them win for months before he took one, playing one dumb chip after another even if it hurt a little, because the Drifter was about playing the long game. For nights like tonight, when he was going to be taking that bottle home hell or high water.

"My, fortune is favoring you tonight my dear," Eva crooned, as Drifter laid down another piece, his hand getting smaller and smaller. "Not doing anything extra to help your luck, I hope."

Tess made a soft snrk and sat back, blinking widely at the old woman and Drifter. Drifter sat up, clutching at his heart as though he'd been deeply wounded.

"Yer not suggestin' I'm cheatin' are ya?" He crooned. "I'd neva ! Not when I know you could tear the recipe for my favorite cookies outta that cookbook you give the Guardians every year!" He held his hands up, shaking them and showing his sleeves were free of tricks. "Jus' good ole luck for the Drifter tonight, 'fraid."

Eva eyed him up and down, a little smirk playing on her lips.

What the Drifter hadn't yet realized, was he wasn't the only one playing win-or-die for that bottle.

"Well thank you for your honesty, dear," Eva simpered. She reached out and patted his hand when he lowered it, then leaned in and gave him a wet, sticky smack of a kiss right on the corner of the mouth.

He shuddered, his mind going blank.

Oh! No! Not good! He was not into that!

Brr!

Her lipstick was weird and waxy and her skin was fragile-soft and there was a weird sweetness to her breath on his skin and it was burned into his nostrils and he could taste it and he'd swapped spit with a lot of weird stuff but the self-proclaimed universal grandma to all was not on his to-do list and he'd never once taken an appraising eye to her and he never intended to.

Tess' eyebrows shot up and she stifled a smirk as she fought to keep from laughing as the Drifter struggled not to squirm, sputter, or do anything else uncouth. He was a professional after all, but this time his poker face faltered.

"Th-thanks, Eva," he wheezed, grimacing when he realized he probably couldn't get away with wiping his face with his sleeve.

Eva only nodded. She'd hit her mark. He didn't even realize how badly his focus had slipped, but his game was dreadful after that, and she slid right past him to eventually win. It wasn't until both women had trounced the Drifter into the ground and Eva had her whisky in hand, that he realized what had happened.

"You sly old bat," he drawled, eyeing her and finally giving his face a good scrub with his sleeve. "You did that on purpose."

She flashed him a viper's smile.

"Did what, dear?"