Work Text:
The bottle slips from his hand and shatters. Varadha considers getting up to clean the pieces (Baba came everynight in the dark to cover him with a blanket) but the alcohol is spreading through his body and he is feeling hot. Varadha hopes for a dreamless sleep before his eyes close.
But he comes anyway. When has he not?
*
He opens his eyes, he’s on Deva’s lap and Deva is looking down at him. There is a gentle smile on his lips, gentler than the rustle of the leaves above him.
“Done sleeping, princess?” Deva teases but doesn’t push him off.
Sunlight filters through the leaves, a golden halo behind Deva. His brown skin shines amber. His breath a melody. Daisies bloom on his cheekbones.
And Varadha is mesmerized. He wants to touch Deva . He moves to caress Deva’s cheek and the shadow follows, a black silhouette of his hand on Deva’s face. The spell breaks. “Yeah, I’m done,” Varadha yawns and sits up straight.
“Race you to the top then”
“What? Hey, wait!” But Deva had already started climbing. He reaches for a branch, shows the annoyed Varadha his tongue, and continues his annoying ascent. Varadha stands and shakes the sand off his kurta. He can hear the guard he has paid his entire month’s pocket money to quarreling with his friend. “The Kartha will kill you if he finds out. Two kids alone beyond the border? How could you?” There is some more incoherent mumbling and he is worried. He can see his father on his colossal throne, his lips pursed with disapproval and his nose turned up in that particular way that made the Lords stammer and sweat but this time, it is Varadha he is addressing and Varadha is shaking, he is scared, so damned scared- “Hey!”
He looks up with a jolt. Deva’s on the topmost branch, he’s calling Varadha and right now, Varadha’s entire world is the brilliant smile on Deva’s face. A branch bows for Varadha to step on. He laughs and leaps and he has reached.
From up here, they can see the entirety of Khansaar, sprawling and dark behind its huge gates.
“Hi,” says Deva.
“Hello”
“I’m a ghost”
“Really, sir? Why are you out in the daylight then?”
“I like haunting people who come to my tree”
“Will you haunt me then?”
Deva swings on the branch and lands softly on his feet. “Of course”
“You prefer haunting me to heaven, sir?”
The clown jumps again, switching from hands to feet, making perfect circles. He had grown taller than Varadha and his arms were stronger from the many days he spent working on his father’s cars. Varadha wrinkles his nose. “You’re such a show-off,” he says, clearly impressed.
Deva pauses for a while and lifts himself up on his hands until he’s almost level with Varadha. “And you’re just jealous,” he says, cocking his head. Sweat had gathered on his brow, sticking his curls to his forehead.
“Am not. I can do this too.”
“Yes you are,” Deva laughs before continuing his antics.
“I can do it better than you, even.”
“Do it then.”
Varadha can't register what exactly happens but he has obviously taken a misstep which ends with Deva losing his grip and Varadha grabbing him with all the strength he could gather. Deva sways in mid air, Varadha’s hold on his body the only thing keeping him from plummeting to death, their faces so close he could count the flakes of gold in Deva’s eyes.
“He’s beautiful,” Varadha thinks. A flush of exertion dusts the boy’s cheeks and he can feel his warm breath, his lips parted. And there’s something in the way Deva looks at Varadha, something unspeakable yet so loud. Almost like that of an animal who smells and drinks the poison in the milk its master gives him. It terrifies Varadha- and excites him.
Perhaps, that shows on his face for Deva lowers his gaze. He can feel its intensity on his lips, a promise if Varadha lets him give it. He's curious.
“Go on,” he whispers and Deva places the softest kiss on his lips.
All too quickly, he moves back and studies Varadha’s face. But there is nothing to see except unsatisfied hunger and Varadha leans in and connects them together again. Their lips fall together clumsily. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, his eyes are closed but all he can feel is a blur of tenderness and warmth and Deva’s hands on his hair and neck and back. A trail of daisies follows the bare skin he touches. More, Varadha wants more. He wants everything Deva has to offer and he knows Deva will give him anything. He takes Deva’s lower lip between his teeth and the chapped tissue breaks easily. Blood stains their mouths. Varadha pulls apart and tastes it, watching Deva watch him.
He realises that he cannot feel Deva’s weight anymore. A young branch has grown under his feet, supporting him.
Deva puts his thumb on Varadha’s lips, now swollen and pink. He bites the finger, a cat’s way of affection. “Ow,” Deva flinches even as he grins. He catches Varadha’s nose ring in his mouth and tugs on it gently. Varadha lets himself fall, Deva’s arms wrapping around him, the tree binding them together until he was sure they would choke to death. But oh, what a sweet way to die. He kisses the mark of lightning on Deva’s neck, the gods’ test of his devotion. And which god can boast of a devotee like him?
“I do,” Deva says when they return. His hand is firm in Varadha’s, the way it always has been, the way it will always be.
“Do what?” he asks. The sun is setting and colours are liquid. They are painted in red and violet.
“Prefer haunting you to heaven.”
Laughter fills the air and the sound follows them to the gates of Khansaar.
The guard salutes Varadha, a strange, almost sickly smile splitting his face. But they do not know how easily a man can be bought and sold.
*
The Kartha of Khansaar knows all. He is omnipotent and omnipresent.
*
The next night, Shouryaangas are slaughtered in their sleep. Newborns, young and old- the sword finds them all. They behead the wolf. The Kartha smiles. Soon, they’ll celebrate Passover in his honour.
In another part of the same city, his son throws his bracelet to dogs. In another part of the same city, a vow is made. “For you, I’ll be predator or prey. For you, I’ll return to this place anytime you call me.”
*
Varadha lies awake. His eyes are closed, patterns of colours appearing and disappearing under his eyelids. There is no blanket on him. He is cold.