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Ashswag leaned back into the windowsill, cold brick pressing into his spine. Small flickers of lamplight, mixed with scattered sparks from Tubbo's work, illuminated one of the Regime’s factories, casting long shadows across the machines, walls, and Ash himself.
Tubbo was crouched on the floor beside him, grease staining his fingers, shirt, and... about everything else. His grip tightening a valve on one of the sputtering engines that powered a particular boiler. Ash’s eyes lingered on the mechanic’s head, squinting at the jagged curve of one horn.
“You never told me how you broke that,” Ash said finally, voice smooth and curious, as though he were inquiring about a misplaced tool rather than a once-missing physical piece of Tubbo himself.
Tubbo paused his ministrations, turning his head slightly to blink up at him. “Broke what, sorry?”
“Your horn,” Ash replied, gesturing lazily to the repaired appendage. “The one with the… like, I dunno, cracks. Like someone tried to glue it back together with molten gold.”
Tubbo reached up, fingers brushing the fractured surface without thinking. The kintsugi-like lines caught the lamplight as he put his wrench to the floor, the gold gleaming faintly with the illumination. His tail twitched behind him, scuffing against the floor, betraying the smallest hint of embarrassment. “Oh, that… Uhm, man. I think it just… happened. One of the Purgatory events or some shit, probably.” He shrugged, voice casual.
Ash raised an eyebrow. “You forget that you even have horns at all, don't you?” His tone was light, but his gaze was sharp, probing. He couldn't imagine just being able to forget about the other half of yourself, even if Ash had tried, he could never hold back, nor hide, that stupid mess of glitches that deformed his skin.
Tubbo snorted softly, returning to his work. “Honestly? Yeah. Only really notice when someone points it out. Most days I’m just… me. Y’know? It's like natural of me to forget the fuckin' 'horns and tail’ thing exists.”
The Supreme Leader leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, studying the golden shimmer tracing every fracture in the horn. He sort of wondered what the texture would feel like against his fingertips.
Ashswag hesitated only a fraction of a second before leaning forward, he was a curious man at heart, what can he say?
There was a hint of something indescribable shining in the very center of his dark eyes, the same feeling made the edges of his glitch-scarred skin seem to blur together in quick succession; sputtering.
His ungloved hand rose slowly, pads of fingers hovering in the cool air between them, before they settled against the rough ridge of Tubbo’s horn.
The fractured surface was uneven, smooth in some places, jagged in others, and the thin veins of gold felt almost cooler than the horns, as if they hummed softly beneath his touch.
The solidified gold gleamed like cracks in a night sky, molten starlight poured onto him, holding the broken pieces of him back together.
Tubbo let out a sharp, startled chuff in response to the touch, the sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, his tail whipping against the floor with a soft thump-thump. His eyes widened in confusion, shoulders tensing. His almost owlish eyes blinked a few times before his pupils become almost engorged, and then going back to normal as Ash continued his ministrations with ease.
His shoulders jerked up instinctively, tension rolling through his muscular frame for one brief heartbeat, and then he sagged, letting out a laugh that was both sheepish and amused.
Tubbo doesn't think that he had realized, not really, how sensitive his horns were. Or maybe he had just never thought anyone would touch them, he doesn't even remember what was the last time somebody had even taken a second glance at the more draconic parts of him... Huh.
It kind of felt nice to have someone notice that part of him.
The sensation was strange—tingling, almost electric, sending a spark up his spinal cord, like a part of him he’d ignored for too long was suddenly flicked alive.
Ash’s thumb traced one of the gold seams, following it like a pathway that led to nothing but more crossroads. He imagined the moment it had cracked, the pain, the heat, the reckless accident that had caused this. And yet here it was, beautiful now, completely new and even more eye-catching. He breathed out slowly, the sound hidden by the soft shuffle of Tubbo’s tail against the dusty floor. It reminded Ashswag of a dog's tail, he wondered if any more parts of Tubbo could react that way.
He doesn't think he should be wondering things like that at all, actually.
“Sensitive?” Ash asked, voice feather-light, it was more of an observation than a question.
Tubbo tilted his head towards the man's hand, his elvish ears flicking in embarrassment as he grinned. “Apparently? Man, I be learning new fuckin' things everyday!" His laugh bubbled out of him, unguarded this time, a flush now creeping up the column of his neck.
A small, selfish feeling of delight started to pool deep in Ash's chest.
It felt good to Tubbo. Not just the touch—The touch was definitely a big part of it, however—but also the acknowledgment that made Ashswag touch his horns in the first place.
It was sort of a reminder that he was seen, all of him, each and every part of him, even the bits he had long stopped noticing. I mean, if you just go out into Spawn, you're surrounded by hybrids and creatures and otherworldly beings, he could almost forget that he wasn’t just another cog in the world’s most stupid, grand, fuckass machine.
But when he's here, with Ash’s careful, stupidly slender fingers tracing the ridges of his broken horn, he felt… really appreciated. Like a person. Not human, but something very much akin to that feeling.
Ash leaned in a little closer, feet dangling off the edge of the lowered windowsill as Tubbo is practically on his knees, now practically facing Ashswag with a peaceful expression across his face, blush vividly making its way across his cheeks.
The faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “Huh,” he murmured, as if filing away some secret. He didn't know that he could fluster Tubbo like this. He wants to know how much further he could go.
His hand lingered, mapping out the ridges and golden scars with renewed interest, making Tubbo’s tail flick again, slower this time, a lazy slap that matched the steady beat of his heartbeats.—This was a lie, Both of their heartbeats were racing in tandem, practically rushing towards a heart attack—He rested his eyes, just for a moment, letting the side of his head lie lazily on Ash's knees.
Tubbo’s voice was quiet and a little slurred around the edges, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying, "Y’know, man… if you’re that curious, you wanna see the rest? The… fuckin' uh, other scars?” His grin was half-joking, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mixture of curiosity and mischief, maybe even vulnerability, if he was completely honest.
Ashswag froze for a heartbeat. Maybe a few more than that, he didn't take time to count.
His hand went still against the fractured horn. The small lantern's light flickered, catching in the gold seams and in the dark planes of Tubbo's face. He looked regal.
Tubbo saw Ash tilt his head ever so slightly, like he was actually mulling it over.
His voice, when it did come, was soft and serious, the hum of his tone almost startling Tubbo in how sincere it felt. “...Yeah. I would like that, Tubbo.”
Tubbo blinked, brain buffering, registering what Ash had said, and then let out a short laugh, a puff of air through his nose. “Oh, shit. Alright then, big man.” His tail whacked on the ground, with Tubbo having to conscientiously forbid it from wrapping around Ashswag's leg.
He pushed himself to his feet, and shrugged out of the greasy, moss-Coloured, worn cardigan clinging to his shoulders. It slid down his arms with a fleeting moment of warmth before he tossed it nearby Ash, who was still sat on the windowsill, leaning slightly towards Tubbo, who was currently left in a gray tank top.
His skin underneath was pale in some places, mostly the places that had been covered by his cardigan, the other parts of his skin were sun-bronzed, and absolutely littered with all sorts of scars.
Most of them were thin, jagged white lines, a few puckered marks, almost like gunshot wounds, there were slashes across his forearms and biceps, likely from other people's swords. Some looked like old battle wounds, healed clean and long forgotten. Others were deeper, the kind that should have been fatal,—Ashswag had a few of his own, he would know the difference between lethal and healable—but somehow weren’t. They cut across his ribs and shoulder blades, getting more chaotic the more lethal they were, spreading out against the expanse of skin like the burst of a star.
Ashswag had to physically, mentally, spiritually hold back his white-hot anger that quickly began to fester deep inside of him.
Somebody had hurt Tubbo, his Tubbo. He didn't care who, if it was an accident, or how long ago it was, or how "sorry" they were. Someone had lay hands on his Tubbo with the intention of hurting him, and that was guilty enough to make them deserve a fate worse than death.
A fate that Ash would gladly enact upon them; a thousand times over.
Ashswag’s gaze lingered, maybe for too long than it should have, dark eyes tracing the constellation of healed injuries across Tubbo’s body.
He reached out slowly, fingertips hovering just above his skin before settling against the ridge of a scar along his upper arm. Thin, horizontal, shallow marks etched into his skin. They looked old, fading with time. Good. Tubbo’s skin jumped beneath the touch, a reflexive shiver running down his spine, and goosebumps began to follow wherever Ash’s fingers went.
He traced the lines of raised scars, mapping each bump and uneven seam that covered the expanse of his arms, moving from shoulder blade to collarbone to the curve of a rib beneath the tank top. Tubbo’s breath hitched, though he didn’t pull away, his tail twitching, and then coming around to snake itself around Ash's ankle.
Ashswag’s own body pulsed with glitches, fleeting distortions of his face that now began to travel down to his neck and shoulders that he tried to suppress, a skip in reality that betrayed the strain of holding still. A soft exhale slipped through his lips, shaky but quiet, as though the act of prolonged touch was unraveling him from the inside out.
And it was. The touch didn't didn't hurt him, but that was the problem, he wanted to be hurt. Needed to. This amount of peace for this long was severely unnatural to him, he felt like a fish out of water, forcibly dragged of his element. He wasn't good with being this intimate with somebody, much less somebody he knew as a pawn, an underling for him.
And so… Why did he want it so badly? He wanted to be hurt, to be slapped so hard he forgets his name, to bite and to be bitten back even harder, and, for once, he wanted to be treasured like he mattered in a way that wasn't just a dictator, or a weapon, or a higher-being.
He wanted to do mundane things with Tubbo, and if those mundane things just so happened to include murder, or overthrowing a dictatorship that rivaled The Regime, then that was the mundane for those two.
He was pretty sure he had been given that type of 'mundane-ness' by now.
The space between them was filled with the sound of measured breathing—Tubbo’s slightly quickened, Ashswag’s steady but trembling at the edges. He traced another scar along Tubbo’s side, fingers brushing over a wide slash that had nearly carved across his collarbone. He could feel the faint jump of muscle beneath his touch, his gaze the bob of Tubbo's Adam's apple, the flutter of life running stubbornly in the hybrid’s veins.
“...You’ve survived a lot,” Ash murmured, voice low enough that it almost blended into the hum of the boiler. His thumb brushed the edge of another jagged mark. “More than most could have.” It felt like praise, like he was giving a ribbon of accomplishment to the other man. It made Ash flush more than he already was. God, he really sucks at flirting.
Tubbo barked out a laugh, equal parts amusement and self-consciousness. “Yeah, well… guess I’m pretty fucking hard to kill, yeah?”
Ash nodded, "You are strong, Tobias. That's good, very good." For him or the regime was left up to both of their own interpretations.
Ash let his fingers glide along another scar, this one a deep star-like indent across Tubbo's forearm, tracing the veins of his bicep as he went down.
Ash thinks he was a saint in one of his lives to be able to do this to Tubbo. Maybe he'll try to to embrace a…. peace…loving lifestyle if it grants him more access to actions like this.
Tubbo barely caught the faint shimmer of his glitches as his breathing started to pick up, as if it was like starlight bleeding through stained glass. Angelic.
Ashswag’s hand began to slowly travel upwards, like he was testing the edges of a dangerous blade he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.
Tubbo was sort of sad his hand traveled higher, rather than lower. But he didn't say that out loud, they haven't even confessed yet for Heaven's sake.
A small, yet very prominent part of Tubbo laments at the fact that neither of them had confessed, but now was not the time to think about that as he blearily registers that Ashswag's palm was now skimming across the column of his neck, instinctively tiling his head higher.
His palms followed the slope of Tubbo’s shoulder, fingers grazing the warm skin at the edge of his tank top, before one hand cupped his jaw with a feather-light certainty. The other found the back of Tubbo’s neck, fingertips sinking softly into the short hair there, feeling the heat that gathered like a small sun beneath the skin. The pulse under his hands was quick, unsteady, and Ashswag found himself wanting to flee.
He hesitated for just a beat longer than necessary. His mind, usually sharp and calculating, was muddled, embarrassingly so. Who knew all it took to domesticate the terrifying, blood-lusted, manipulative leader of The Regime was just allowing him to make physical contact with someone that without the intention of harm.
Ash could feel the faint tremor of Tubbo’s breath where it hitched and fanned across his face.
And in the quiet space.
Ash realized he was afraid.
Horribly, desperately, wholly afraid.
Not of Tubbo, not of touch, not of being close to someone,
but of the way that this intimacy he had initiated threatened to unravel the hard shell he’d wrapped around himself. He told himself he could stop, that he should, but his fingers didn’t listen, didn't cooperate with his brain. He didn't know if it was his hand twitching or if it was himself glitching in and out of existence.
Tubbo’s lungs felt locked as he drew in a slow inhale and then held it, like moving might kill him, it likely would, Tubbo doesn't think he could forgive himself if he foolishly, shamefully ran away from this moment he wanted for so long.
His pupils were wide, swallowing the light whole, and the gold of his irises had thinned to crescent moons. He could feel the warmth of Ash’s hands, steady but gentle, framing him, holding him, and it made his chest ache in a way that was strangely pleasant. It was a warmth that flowed through his body as if it was his blood, it felt almost as natural as breathing.
He didn’t remember the last time someone had held him like this without demand, without cruelty, without the intention of pain. A part of him wanted to lean into it, to fold himself into the warmth, but another part hesitated, afraid of how much he wanted it.
He didn't know how much Ash would give him before he turned around and left him, too.
He didn't want to overstep, he was afraid to even breathe, because what if that set Ash off and it made him leave? What if he trips and falls and drowns in a pool of his own creation, never able to feel like this again? What if he tries to get more and he ends up flying too close to the sun?
Tubbo’s hands rose from his sides slowly, almost clumsy in their caution, before finally settling over Ash’s where they lay against his face, one against his neck most of the hand underneath his ear, pinky brushing the antitragus. He'd make Ash stay present then.
His fingers curled around them with a hesitant grip, rough thumbs brushing the knuckles instinctively—as if giving full permission to Ash. The edges of his lips trembled upwards, and he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves, anticipation, or something else entirely.
Ash’s thumb brushed across his lower lip, memorizing the texture, catching on the faint ridge of a scar that curved faintly across the soft flesh.
He felt the quiver there, the ghost of a shiver moving through Tubbo’s body, and he let his thumb linger, tracing and retreating in small motions that were almost reverent. Every second felt stretched, pulled taut between them, and Ash swore he could hear the hush of his own blood in his ears. Part of him thrilled at the control, at the knowledge that he could make Tubbo shiver like this with only a touch. Another part—buried and fragile—was terrified of how badly he wanted to keep doing this him.
Ash swore he could hear his own breathing resound in his brain, definitely louder than it should be, every inhale rattling against the walls of his chest. His hand lingered against Tubbo’s jaw, and he swore he could feel the faintest tremor under the skin, a small, delicate vibration of life that his fingers dared to memorize.
He told himself he wasn’t afraid, not of this, but the thought rang hollow inside his skull.
If he moves away… if I even dare to break this… it’ll all vanish.
The thought had manged to coil itself around the base of his spine, practically as insistent as the sudden pangs of his glitches that danced along his jawline.
He leaned forward a fraction, heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing to his cheeks.
Tubbo thinks that his brain had already stopped making sense the moment Ash’s thumb brushed his lip. He couldn’t think—much less breathe—and all he could feel was the heat of those hands, the weight of Ash's gaze.
His tail twitched like it had a mind of its own, in which it probably did, curling around the man’s ankle tighter, as if begging for him to not leave.
Tubbo doubted he would, but then again, Lady Luck also has a mind of her own.
He’s… he’s not really gonna do it, right? Tubbo thought, mind replaced with clouds and pressure. He’s gonna chicken out, or laugh, or—
Then Ash shifted again, and the space between them felt like it thinned to a single breath.
The entirety of Ash's being was caught between command and surrender. He did think about leaving—he always thought about leaving when it came to these situations—but his body refused to obey.
The scent of oil and smoke clung to Tubbo, metallic and warm, and Ash could almost taste it in the air. His thumb traced the faint scar on Tubbo’s lip, pulling it down, and the world narrowed to the tremble under his touch, the way Tubbo's mouth followed the action, going slightly agape.
Ashswag didn't want to think anymore, and so he didn't.
He quickly leaned in, deliberate. Lips caught against lips. Tubbo could feel his mind blanking entirely, world narrowing around this singular moment, but he couldn’t really care less at this point, because every point of skin to skin contact was blazing warm and he reached up like he’d wanted to for ages and swept tanned fingers into Ash's dark curls, slanting their mouths together and bloody fucking hell, he could stand here and kiss Ash fucking Swag for years.
There were no words running through his head. There were no people cheering in the background, no fanfare to congratulate them.
Just heat. Pure, molten, liquid lava crawling up his spine and bursting fireworks behind his eyes.
He couldn’t even remember how to inhale for a second, and when his body did finally manage to recollect itself, it came out as a sharp, surprised puff of air against Ash’s mouth.
He smiled—he couldn’t help it—and the smile pressed into the kiss, clumsy and bright. His tail tightened instinctively around Ash’s ankle, the soft scales flexing and digging lightly, like an anchor to keep him from floating away.
His brain finally caught up to itself, and of course, the first thing that came into his mind wasn't 'oh shit, he's going to kill me for this', it was rather, 'Holy shit. Holy shit, he’s kissing me. Holy fuuuucking shit' and a more quieter, sillier admission of how his lips taste faintly of green apples.
Tubbo was truly a poet in one of his lives, maybe a bard.
He felt the smile break against his lips, and something inside his chest cracked, soft and dangerous. Tubbo could feel Ash's hand pressed firmer at the back of Tubbo’s neck, fighting the urge to scratch his nails deep enough to create marks.
The warmth was unbearable, selfishly so, it felt appalling and perfect at the same time.
The thought that Tubbo was letting him do this, and that Tubbo was smiling as he let him do this, almost made Ash dizzy. He deepened the kiss slowly, cautious, like he was touching something fragile and holy, as if Tubbo was a delicacy meant to enjoy in small, tasteful, teasing increments.
Tubbo’s breath mingled with his as they both caught their breaths for a brief moment, and he could feel a tangible part of him start to flutter away with it, stretching and pulsing in inhuman ways that would make most people repulsed.
However, it just made Tubbo even more interested.
Tubbo melted. Fully, downright, shamefully melted, leaning into those hands like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to hold him exactly like this. His heart was racing out of his chest, and he didn’t care if Ash could feel it. His fingers curled around Ash’s wrists instinctively, grounding himself in the heat and reality of the moment.
Will Ash want to do this every single day with him forever, maybe? As Tubbo thinks about it, he realizes that Ash probably would, he would do anything if he just asked for it. Even if it was with a scowl and faux carelessness.
When the kiss broke, it wasn’t really gone—they were still leaning together, practically fusing into esch other's bodies—It wouldn't be all too bad, Tubbo thought, just to become one being, atleast with Ash, it sounded tempting, actually—with Tubbo leaning halfheartedly into Ash's neck, fingers still intertwined with Ash's, slightly twitching, own.
Tubbo’s grin was loose and helpless, his pupils wide enough to swallow the room.
“You’re smiling,” Ash murmured, voice thin and rough at the edges, "I can feel it."
A deep, twisted, possessive part of his brain took satisfaction in the thought of how he did that, how he was the one person to unravel Tubbo like this, to make him giddy at the prospect of just kissing, and the thought rattled him to his bones.
“Yeah,” Tubbo said, still grinning like an idiot, voice catching on the last laugh in his chest, "I guess I… really liked this.”
His tail gave a lazy, satisfied coil around Ash’s leg, tightening slightly as if to keep him from running.
Ashswag let his thumb trace Tubbo’s cheekbone with slow reverence as he pulled his face upwards, studying his satisfied expression. A soft, dangerous smile ghosted over Ash's lips. And for once, running, nor violence, didn't even cross his mind.
Hm.
He'd think about letting Tubbo see his scars one day as well.