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Black woke from a deep, dreamless sleep; the best he’d had in months. His eyelids fluttered in the assault of the new day with all its harsh lights, colors and shapes that tugged him relentlessly further and further out of his drowsy state.
A light pressure spread across his chest. Light and constant, which told him all he needed to know: Zamasu didn’t take sleep that night, or if he did, he’d woken who knows how long ago, keeping his embrace soothing and even for Black’s sake.
“Good morning,” Zamasu murmured, his breath a light breeze on the back of Black’s earlobe.
Nothing of this body can be kept a secret from him, Black thought. Zamasu must have sensed the uptick in his heart rate, or the quickening in the rise and fall of his chest. He knew he was awake instantly.
Black stretched his back, the imperfect mortal spine he’d stolen drumming pop-popopp-pop.
“Did you sleep well?” Zamasu said, his voice a delicious deep purr after not speaking for hours.
“You know that better than I,” Black grunted. It wasn’t a sarcastic remark, only a stating of fact.
“Oh? And if I chose not to intrude on whatever activity has been taking place here?”
Zamasu freed his arm from under Black’s and combed back a bunch of thick locks from his soulmate’s forehead. He didn’t stop there; his gentle fingers raked the length of Black’s scalp right down to the nape of his neck. An involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped Black’s lips. It embarrassed him, which in turn made him irate.
The vulnerability of mortal flesh was both the key to their victory and a source of shame he’d never had to deal with as a deity. And sometimes he wished he could look into Zamasu’s head, to learn the reasons behind his behavior that, lately, made no sense whatsoever.
They had their agreement. Black needed help in falling asleep, so Zamasu would hold him in his embrace at night. Black’s body came with a need that neither of them had bargained for, but was in the interest of both to be satisfied. So Zamasu would satisfy it, not in the base, animalistic way of the mortals, but by stimulating certain regions of his partner’s brain that gave the illusion of being touched, without being touched in reality.
The whole pleasure-affair shouldn’t have lasted long. Black knew that Zamasu could play a quick magic trick on his brain and he’d collapse on the bed like a rag doll to further tumble down into unconsciousness, and that would be it, done, show’s over for the night.
But Zamasu had a different approach. He would toy with Black as long as he pleased before releasing him in a blast of pure bliss. Anticipation, excitement, pain – yes, even pain – cycled across Black’s senses. Tunes of trickery played on his central nervous system that took him to the edge of release and held him back, over and over, so he would bite down on his lips or suck in air through gritted teeth, back arching, crotch aching in desperate bouts of yearning.
Why would Zamasu prolong his state of arousal and suffering, Black had no idea. He said it was for greater pleasure. A truth and a lie at the same time. Yes, it did have the desired effect. But Zamasu had the power to cause bliss of any magnitude without the charade. If it wasn’t enough of a head-scratcher, as a god of creation, a race of whose people didn’t reproduce the mortal way, Zamasu had no intimate urges, so he derived no pleasure from doing it one way or another.
And now the stroking of his scalp. Black had to find out why he did it, why he would make such a provocative gesture when he himself worked tirelessly on suppressing his unwanted affection towards Zamasu.
Surely it was unwanted. A god needed no physical affection, he remembered that much from his time of being one, soul and body.
Yawning, he turned to face Zamasu. He needed answers before heavy thoughts burrowed into his brain and spoiled the rest of his day. It was time. He had to ask it, even if it meant making things awkward between them. He must do it. As he turned, poised to voice his concerns, Zamasu said “Wait”, for his other arm was still stuck between Black and the bed.
It was too late to stop. The momentum carried Black’s body and pulled Zamasu’s in, and they collided clumsily, heads and chests bumping into each other. And as they untangled themselves, tittering at their clumsiness, Zamasu’s lip accidentally brushed Black’s.
Black closed his mouth. It burned as if singed by smoldering tea, and Zamasu put two fingers on his own. Not in a wiping motion, but as if he wanted to keep an invisible object on it, to trap a feeling. He sat there, his eyelids half-covering his downcast gaze, fingers gently pressed on a memory.
Black’s breath hitched. The sight before him couldn’t be captured by even the most talented artist. Grace itself took form in his soulmate, pure and incomprehensible, and he was cherishing a touch from his, Black’s lip, an accident, a fluke of fate, and yet it meant something to this most divine being.
“Sorry,” Black blurted out, breaking the magic. It seemed appropriate, yet he cursed himself for ruining the perfect picture.
“Huh?”
Zamasu snapped out of his reverie. He pulled his fingers away, observed them, a puzzled expression rearranging the features of his face.
“Oh,” he said, fixing his huge, steel-gray eyes on Black. “Think nothing of it. You had no intention to act in a sinful way with me.”
“Sinful?” Black said, unable to put a filter on his confusion. So if done deliberately, would such a gentle display of affection be a sin?
“Why yes, naturally,” Zamasu answered his unasked question. “We had started out as the same person, and only got split by the machinations of wretched mortals. Any… how shall I put it? Any willful act of intimacy between us, besides what I must perform for your flawed body, would be an unforgivable sin. Do you not agree?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Black said, and added to himself: like that. “But whatever you say must be right.”
“Then I am happy we are on the same page,” Zamasu said, smiling.
It was the most miserable day they’d had in a long time, perhaps the most miserable since their arrival. Black had no appetite for breakfast, and Zamasu kept ruining their tea. They kept to themselves for the most part, exchanging one or two necessary sentences here and there.
Scorching winds blasted across the bastion of pine trees. The sun painted their wooden cabin in unbearable shades of bright yellow turning orange and then red as the day progressed.
Black took no pleasure in his work, and spent long hours lounging on a ruined wall of a once-building in a city he had cleansed.
The landscape depressed him. Rubble and rags, litter and filth. Not even the bones of eradicated mortals half-blanketed in fresh grass growth filled him with joy. He sat in shade with a fist under his chin, and when the shape of a ruin bothered him too much, he blasted it to pieces. By the time he got bored of it, he’d leveled half the remains of the city.
Zamasu wasn’t able to concentrate. He would start cleaning the kitchen and end up studying minutes later. His eyes skipped over most of the words in the books he had deemed worthy to peruse, so he soon took to wandering in and out of the house, unbothered by the heat. He’d lost the capacity for feeling certain sensations with his wish for immortality. Temperature was one of them, or rather, temperature that would cause him discomfort. He still felt hot and cold to a degree, but as a curiosity and not a warning for danger. The only danger for him was being bored to death. And to ward it off, he decided to force himself to take a nap in daylight.
Night fell at last. The first stars blinked down at Black when he arrived in time for dinner. A wind coming from the mountains cooled his skin, blowing unruly bunches of hair out of his face. It brought to him the memory of Zamasu’s caress early in the morning.
Dark windows gaped on all sides of the cabin, and no scent of food or beverage mingled into the smells of the night. Black sensed Zamasu’s energy emanating from the living room, healthy, but fainter than usual. When he lit a small lamp and saw his soulmate sleeping on the couch, he had no heart to wake him and sat on the floor next to him instead.
It would be wrong to watch him sleep. An invasion of privacy, even. Definitely hypocrisy.
Black had discarded the twin of the enthralling body laying so close to him that its warmth radiated to his own soul. Yes, he’d driven an energy sword straight through the heart of his old self, and it felt wonderful, to see the life draining out of his weak, pathetic past. Yet that past came back to haunt him in the future, and sometimes fits of rage grappled his soul from the mere sight of it, and sometimes waves of passion crashed at his peace, but it, he, always stirred up his emotions.
Soft breaths puffed on the back of Black’s neck. He shot a furtive glance behind him. Like an angel, Zamasu rested, his smooth face attesting to an inner peace. There was an innocent kind of intimacy about him, lying on his side without his coat or boots on, an arm under his head, white hair fanning out in unruly locks.
It was one glance too much. One look that stoked a fire Black thought he had under control. He threw back his head and ran his palm over his face. Friendship, yearning, loathing, admiration, attachment, and a whole spectrum of emotions he couldn’t or didn’t want to name, whirled inside him like a tornado, with the promise of devastation in its wake.
Why does something that harms no one have to be a sin? He brushed his index finger along his lip. It was still burning.
A warm pressure on his shoulder made him jump.
“Lost in thought, were you?” Zamasu said in a soft voice. He gave Black’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and trailed his hand across the breadth of his upper back.
“Please stop that,” Black said, leaning away. His skin tingled with pleasure.
“Did you not like it?” Zamasu reached out and caressed Black’s neck.
“I said, stop that,” Black snapped. He jumped to his feet and stormed outside. His whole body burned in a losing battle of willpower. If only he knew what Zamasu’s endgame was. The workings of a divine brain lived vividly in his memory, yet at the same time were so far away from his grasp, he lost the ability to think like his old self.
He let the night air erode his frustration, gusts of wind carrying away small bits of it, one flow after the other.
The wooden tiles creaked under Zamasu’s steps.
“I sincerely apologize,” he said as he joined Black at the balcony railing. “My actions were inappropriate, considering what I… in the morning…” his voice trailed away.
“You said what had to be said,” Black told him, locking his gaze on Zamasu’s eyes, the closest he would get to his soul. “But if we’ve drawn the line, it’s cruel of you to entice me to step across it.”
“I wish I could say I did not know what I was doing.” Zamasu cast down his eyes, closing the curtains on his windows. “But I do not understand why I am doing it.”
“Ironic,” Black said. “Because I’ve only recently gathered enough courage to ask you that.”
“You? In need of courage?” Zamasu laughed softly. “What kind of punishment terrified you so much that you did not dare ask a simple question earlier?”
“Losing you.”
The words crashed down on Zamasu. Two simple words struck him in a spot not even invulnerability could protect. He wrapped his arms around himself in …futile defense? …embarrassment? Or perhaps to soothe himself?
“There is not much to lose,” he said quietly.
Black stepped closer. “Only half of my soul. I don’t want to lose something that took me so long to find.”
“But I am causing you pain,” Zamasu said and hid his face in his hand. “I… I cannot feel the same urges as you do, try as I might. I am not enough.”
“Oh?” Black peeled away Zamasu’s hand and let it drop next to his body. He wanted to take him into his arms even more than when they first met, but he fought back the impulse. “Interesting. Are you saying you want to deepen our relationship, even though it’s a sin?”
Zamasu’s words caught in his throat several times before he could speak. “I wish we could be closer,” he said, low as a whisper. “How selfish of me. I have been living out my desires, safe within my limits, all the while I expected you to go against a core instinct of your body. How shameful can I be? And still I wish to go further, knowing well I would be unable to provide for your needs, should we… should we actually become—”
“You’re rambling,” Black said. “At any other time I’d find it amusing. But now I’d like you to give me an answer. An honest answer. Do you want us to be closer, even if the price is committing an unforgivable sin?”
Zamasu tilted his head to the side and leaned forward. His hands held Black’s arms, his lips pressed lightly against his soulmate’s. They touched, soft as a brushstroke, fleeting like a summer dream.
It lasted no longer than their morning accident, yet the two couldn’t be more different. This one had intent behind it.
“I stand beyond judgment,” Zamasu said, holding Black tight, keeping him – and himself – steady. “The deeds of a god are inherently righteous.”
“So it is I, again, who has to sin for our happiness,” Black said with a mischievous grin. His body burned from head to toe as if the high noon sun beat down on it from the night sky.
“To the ultimate sinner, shouldering one more should not be of concern.”
“If my judge says so.” Black had so much willpower left in him. It was happening. Not in a dream, nor in a repressed thought he had to shove into a deep recess of his mind before even comprehending it. No, Zamasu, whose deep blush looked like a shadow cast over his cheeks, wanted him. Closer, more intimate. He wanted Black in his own way as much as Black wanted him.
Black closed his eyes, cupped Zamasu’s chin, and leaned in for another kiss. A real, slow, devastating one, a kiss both of them would cherish for a lifetime to come. His face met with some kind of resistance. Zamasu’s palm. He was pushing him away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his stomach sinking. “I thought you wanted more, too.” Did he misunderstand him? Or was it another tease, a one-time affair, a whim of a god? He did say one, ‘shouldering one more sin.’ The night pressed in on Black, as if the universe wanted to crush him. One kiss. One sin. End of story.
Fury shot through his body. A fountain of pure frustration, bottled in for so long, cracked his barriers. Fine. If he only deserves one fleeting moment of bliss, so be it. A criminal isn’t entitled to anything apart from his punishment. He won’t take it out on Zamasu, oh no. He’ll respect his boundaries like before. This planet, though? Its seconds were numbered, and the number was closing in on zero.
“Let me do it,” Zamasu said, dispelling Black’s haze of madness. “At least in the beginning. I would be more comfortable. I hope you understand.”
“Yes,” Black said, his muscles slackening, a gentler kind of tension filling up the space anger had left in his body. “Does that mean I’m not allowed to move?”
Zamasu stroked a sweet spot behind Black’s ear. “I wish to initiate for now. You do not have to stand like a statue, but I do ask you to wait for my permission before you… perform an action. I know I am a difficult case. But can you do this for me?”
“Anything,” Black said, hand on heart. “Anything to make you feel good. And,” he added with a wink, “you can do anything to me.”
Zamasu’s blush spread to the tips of his ears and he fell silent for a few seconds. “Everybody has their limits,” he said at last. “And this way I can show you mine much easier.”
He closed the remaining distance between them and pulled Black’s arms to his back, guiding him into an embrace. His lips seeked out Black’s once more, and now he took his time with them. They touched, parted, touched at a different angle, lingered, warm and soft, while their breathing harmonized in deep, long waves, in and out. Seconds or hours into their sinmaking, Zamasu parted Black’s lips and slipped his tongue inside his mouth. They both forgot to breathe for a while, and when they remembered, they stood with their foreheads pressed together, sucking in air and each other’s exhalations in large gulps.
Perhaps it was the shortest night in Earth’s history. They went to bed at the first rays of dawn, Zamasu ordering Black to have some sleep. He graced him with a quick but wonderful fulfillment of the mortal body’s needs with his divine powers – after reluctantly admitting the reason behind taking his time on other occasions.
“I like to watch your reactions,” he said. “Besides, it does good for you to exercise control.”
“Believe me,” Black said when he was resting, satisfied, spooned in Zamasu’s arms, “you can’t imagine the amount of control I had to exercise. Until now. May I?”
Black felt Zamasu’s nod brush down and up his neck, so he took his hand and planted a kiss on it, then on his wrist, palm, and on his fingers and thumb. Sleep took him in the midst of his display of affection, the sweet taste of his partner stretching over into his dreams, in which it became the flavor of an apple, ripe and forbidden, and he devoured it with delight.