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before being dropped (literally) into The Void, you never really wondered if Gods could love.
pointless musings, really.
the abstract concept of Gods– slipping away from the cracks of your fingers when you thought about it a moment too long.
and now you were basically roommates (parents?) with one.
you loved noor and shams, there really was no doubt about that. unum was a different case though. you knew he could consume you without a thought, if it weren’t for his self restraint and curiosity about the human concept of change. you thought back to the first moments in his mansion, of being pinned to the floor, his mouth against your sternum, salivating, aching to tear, to taste, to bleed.
he didn’t, though.
instead, he let you live.
he had his purpose for it, sure, but a God letting a human live sounded like it should be a big thing.
your body still couldn’t understand the difference between flight or fight and affection.
you were okay with confusing them for a bit longer.
unum lay stretched out on the bed next to you, his robes discarded in the intimacy of the moment. too warm. the sun in your room. how did you not burn yet?
“a God’s love is irreversible,” he said, like it was final (it should have been, coming from said God’s mouth), “you could erase my existence. change fate over. you can’t rewrite a God’s love.”
his hand was around your waist, a heavy weight, burning like the surface of the sun. you didn’t know if you should pull away.
“Gods don’t love,” you said, tracing the stars in his eyes. “then they’re not Gods anymore.”
his starburst eyes flared brighter at your words, jagged smile growing wider. “oh?” he crooned, tilting your chin up with a finger. “you think love Ungods me? that makes it better.”
he pressed your palm flat against his chest– devoid of a heart, empty like space, and scorching you like you touched the sun. it didn’t hurt, you thought. not like it should. “look,” he said, voice reverent. “I am burning for you, and it doesn’t even hurt! doesn’t that mean something?"
he waved his hand carelessly in the air, producing a memory before your eyes, your first touch of him. it felt like a decaying prayer between you. unum laughed into your hair, curling his fingers into your clothes, as if he was afraid you’d leave.
as if he’d be afraid of anything.
“you can rewrite me all you want, but this part stays true forever,” he said, an oath. you almost believed him.
“why love me, then? out of everyone else you could have..” you tried looking into his eyes, holding so much inside them that they appeared like a void. you couldn’t even look at him without burning. “you could kill me at any moment.”
his eyes flared for a split second, white hot and too bright, making you blink to adjust to the light. for the first time since you’d known him, unum looked smaller. his arm felt heavier on top of you, but he reeled his touch back before you could think too much of it. “kill you..” he murmured, tracing the line of your jaw thoughtfully. light spilled from his touch, too warm, all wrong.
“you think I don’t know?” a laugh spilled out of him– too sharp-edged for joy. “I could burn this whole world down by accident before breakfast! but you..” he squeezed your palm against his chest. you could almost feel a heartbeat there if you lied hard enough. “you are my only prayer,” he said finally, like he was passing down a law to the world.
you ached in places you didn’t know how to name.
“gods don’t pray,” you said instead, your voice cracked like your resolve.
his expression flickered. he wanted to laugh. or scream. maybe both.
instead, he swallowed, forcing his trembling hands to settle back on your skin. the warmth was almost painful now, the sheer light of him too much for mortal nerves to handle. “I do,” he murmured, his gaze fixing on your face. “I do.”
“I need you,” he whispered, the words not more than a ragged breath. “I need you like I need light.”
the ache spread, like fire under your skin. “unum–” you tried, your fingers grasping his shoulders to try and ground yourself.
he leaned into your touch, his breaths sharp. his starburst eyes almost flared again, a feverish glint in them. “don’t say it,” he pleaded. “don’t say you want me gone.”
he pulled you into his arms, his touch still too hot, his grip too tight. “I can do better,” he said desperately, breath warm against your ear. “anything. I’ll stop talking so much. I’ll stop walking into things. I’ll stop setting curtains on fire. just don’t say it.”
fire flared in you, like kindlings catching a spark, lighting you up from within. “‘m not saying it,” you said quietly. a lie? you didn’t know. fearful all the same.
unum froze, his grip loosening– just slightly, like a candle flame flickering uncertainly in the dark.
“not saying it?” he repeated, voice small and disbelieving. the glow of his eyes wavered as he searched your face for any hint of deception. his hands slid up to cradle your jaw with unbearable gentleness. it felt wrong. “you mean that?” a pause– then his whole body shuddered forward into you with a sound halfway into manic glee. “liar. liar liar liar–!” he nuzzled almost violently against your collarbone anyway, teeth grazing skin without actually breaking it. “I forgive you.”
Gods weren’t meant to love without consuming, you knew. not because they wanted to, but because that’s all they knew. to take. to consume. to pick at your organs with your own bones. he’d dig his hands into your innards right now, if you let him.
but maybe the choice of not doing that was his love for you.
you’d never understand how Gods loved.
unum shifted, bringing you closer into his embrace, cradling your head against his chest. the warmth was more bearable now, even if you knew it’d burn you away if you stayed too long. you looked up at him. his starry eyes were soft, like he knew the exact weight he needed to use to break you, so he wasn’t. you were okay with burning, you decided.
“don’t you know what I could do to you like this?” he asked, each word dipped in unspoken prayer. “I could tear you apart right now. you know I want to. so why let me close?”
you sighed. “I don’t know. fear?”
unum made a face at that, something complicated between offense and awe.
“fear?” he repeated, voice pitching. he ran his hand through his hair, red slipping through his fingers like liquid flame. “say it’s not fear. say it’s something worse,” he said finally, his voice too close to pleading for either of your liking.
“whats worse than fear?” you asked, pushing his hand away from his hair to smoothen out the wild locks. it felt too natural for it to be right.
he went still at the question. there was something almost thoughtful about the way he studied you, far too much knowledge in his eyes for someone who was deemed to be stupid. he didn’t answer immediately; instead, he crowded you backwards until he was on top of you.
he pressed closer again, one hand pinning yours above your head, twining your fingers with his as he leaned over. “desire.” his voice softer now, he uttered the word. “say it’s desire.”
you looked up at him. he very much looked like the sun on top of you, too bright, too warm. “that’s damning,” you said quietly.
he grinned, something manic glowing in his eyes. “you've already gained a God’s love,” he said softly, reverently, as if tasting his worship for you. “nothing can be more damning than that.”
you couldn't argue that.
so you pulled him close instead. if you were damned already, you might as well go out on your own terms, right?
unum’s lips were softer than they had any right to be, and yours against them felt like sin, like you touched something you weren't meant to. you felt more than heard him gasp against you, and you swallowed the sound without thinking.
your fingers dipped in red, stroking through his hair in mindless little circles– a touch meant to soothe him, or you? you didn't know.
you'd tasted a god. surely there was no saving you anymore.
he pulled back just enough to graze his sharp teeth over your lips– not punishing, pleading. his halo like third eye flickered, like it was debating if now was a good time to open up. golden light spilled from his shadow, surrounding you.
“oh,” he breathed out, giddy, delirious. “you taste me? you taste divinity?” a laugh punched out of him, too loud for the room, something sounding scarily close to hunger. “I could carve my name into your tongue if you asked! let it linger there when you speak! let every word be mine–”
something unfurled in your chest. too soft for fear, too sharp for affection.
desire, then.
damn you.
it was a quieter fire than fear, desire.
it didn’t scream in your bones or send your body bolting for exits that didn’t exist. it settled instead– low and insistent– curling around your ribs like it intended to stay. if you thought on it a second too long, you could imagine it being unum’s hand instead, cradling your heart like it was something precious. gripping it like it was his next meal.
“unum,” you said again, his name more of a warning this time. or a prayer. you weren’t sure which one you were allowed to use.
he stilled at the sound of it. not because you said his name– but because you said it like it was nothing more than that. not a symbol. not the sun. but just unum. his grin faltered, the hunger melting into something more fragile.
“say it again,” he murmured. “say it like you’re choosing me.”
you swallowed. you could still taste him on your tongue, warm and sharp. entirely too wrong. “you’re terrifying.”
he laughed, breathless. “I know.”
“and you’ll ruin me.”
his eyes burned brighter. “yes.”
you lifted your trapped hand, until he let go of it just enough so you could press your palm to his chest. you wondered for a moment would he let you dig inside his chest. could you make him a heart if he let you open his insides? his empty chest remained still, unanswering.
“love me, then,” you said softly, permission? oath. “with all you have. I know it'll burn me.”
he sucked in a sharp breath, as if he physically felt your words. for a terrifying moment, he was still, too still. and then–
unum laughed. bright and flaring like the rays of the sun, lighting up the room with its ring. “already do!” his voice cracked at the admission, like the weight of it was too heavy. “I love you until it hurt. until I burn so bright I forget my own name!”
then he shrunk, his voice quieter, almost ashamed. “you can stop me if it gets too much.”
you hummed, pressing your palm against his chest again. a promise, maybe. if you squinted hard enough.
“I will.”
you may never understand how the Gods loved.
but looking at unum right now– bright eyed, laughing like the world was in his hands, like it was made in your shape..
you were okay with it for now.