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The quiet hush of Pandora’s southern jungle used to be something that brought comfort. Saparata always enjoyed exploring its uncharted tangle, so different from the bustling nations littered around the archipelago filled with people and trade.
Tonight, however, is different.
There’s a distinct lack of peace in the air, and in its place an oppressive sense of dread that Saparata feels deep in his gut—like he’s constantly waiting for someone to jump out from behind the trees and pierce a blade right through his heart. There’s no telling when that’ll happen, but he knows, grimly, that it won’t be long until it will.
He still remembers it vividly: sitting with almost a dozen nation leaders in one moment, then watching helplessly as dripstone crunched through their skulls and left blood pooling all over the table and the floor in the next. Running then felt like his only option—and doing so made him look all the more guilty.
A faint white fog tints his surroundings as Saparata trudges through the jungle, mildly blocking his view but doesn’t do anything to slow his pace. It’s not like he can afford to take his time right now, anyway.
He’s painfully hyperaware of every single piece of clothing touching his skin, every slight movement in the peripherals of his vision, and every crunch of fallen leaves beneath his boots with each step he takes.
But as Saparata approaches the makeshift camp he’d made, he freezes.
In the distance, standing motionless by doused ashes, staring back at him with amethyst eyes is a familiar figure—one he recognizes all too well.
How the fuck…
A horrible chill grips Saparata’s body, completely unrelated to the warm and sunny climate of Pandora. It tenses every muscle in his body, yet despite his mind sounding alarms and his body screaming at him to turn around and run, he trudges on.
The sight feels like offering his head under a guillotine, with each step bringing the looming blade closer and closer until the silence between them is broken.
“Fluixon,” he says pointedly, “how the hell do you keep finding me?”
The man before him only smiles. “You aren’t as slick as you think you are, you know.”
A weak attempt at irking him—Saparata takes a breath to steel himself before replying, hoping the look on his face isn’t a dead giveaway to his reactions.
“You have no right to be here.”
Fluixon raises a brow, looking not at all bothered. His arms are crossed, stance far too casual for the situation they’re in to be authentic. Saparata wonders, momentarily, if it’s just an attempt at normalcy. At pretending everything is okay—like they’re okay.
“Who’s the fugitive between us two, again?”
“Because of you,” Saparata cuts in mildly, barely letting the other male finish his taunt. They’ve played this game before, no way was he losing now. But god damn was Flux making it hard to win. “And now you’re here, following me wherever I hide, like a fucking parasite!”
Fluixon tilts his head innocently, making him look so, so deceptively innocent. It does nothing but rile the albino up even further. “A parasite that’s keeping you safe. Who knows what could be out here? Or worse, who.”
As if anything could be worse than the man currently standing before him.
Saparata unsheathes his sword from his belt, the diamond gleaming underneath the moonlight in a way that was almost menacing. He holds the blade firmly in one pale hand, like he’s done countless times before—to which Fluixon’s doe-eyed gaze narrows into a smirk.
Arrogant little—
“Are you gonna use that on me?”
A beat of silence passes through them as Saparata shifts the sword in front of him, his already tight grasp turning white-knuckled. “I will,” he swears through grit teeth.
He gets nothing but a laugh—condescending, mocking, absolutely infuriating.
“Do it, then.” Fluixon is standing directly in front of him in an instant. He’s moving at a near breakneck speed, pressing the column of his throat against the tip of Saparata’s blade; it takes everything in him not to stumble backward.
Stumbling backward would mean inadvertently admitting defeat. Saparata would rather have been killed in that trial.
“You’ve had so many opportunities to kill me,” Flux continues, voice dripping with that venomous silk he saved exclusively for the man in front of him. “But you let me go every single time.”
“You sound eager,” Saparata bit back, but even he knew it was weak—of course he was eager.
Sick fuck.
Fluixon looks back at him for a moment. Then, he trails a finger along the sharp line of the blade pressed against his throat. New blood stains his lover’s sword; he doesn’t falter.
“You like it.”
Saparata withdraws entirely at that—he pulls his sword away, shoves past Flux, then kneels down to gather all his belongings back inside his bundles. Tools clank together in a way that flows in his ears like nails on a chalkboard, but the albino is determined to pack up and leave, again, for what felt like the billionth time thus far.
“You need to leave.”
Fluixon stares back at his curled form, mildly dazed and looking far too unbothered about their situation. “You’re leaving again?” he drawls, unconvinced. “How much more of this until you finally learn, my dear?”
“Until you can’t find me anymore—and I’m not your dear,” Saparata retorts witheringly.
The raven-haired male clicks his tongue before taking steps toward him, each one deliberately leaving a dent on the soil as if to taunt the albino.
“Really, now?” Fluixon stops behind him. He places his prosthetic hand on the taller male’s shoulder, metal digging into his skin until it reaches his bones. “Where else do you think you can go that’ll accept you? Yggrasil?”
The suggestion, albeit mocking, makes Saparata pause. He allows himself to feel the weight of his ex-lover’s hand wash over him. Then, he rises to his feet once again.
“...Maybe I will go there.”
The utter seriousness in his tone visibly surprises Fluixon. His eyes widen, stunned for the first time in their encounter.
“You won’t—”
“I will.”
Saparata observes through narrowed eyes as the other male struggles to grapple with his threat, and there’s a thrilling feeling in his chest knowing he’s turned the tables this time. He holds the leather fabric of his bundles closer to his sides as he starts moving through the jungle again.
There’s another pair of footsteps behind him—quicker in its intervals, clearly more agitated. Saps sighs, but he knows trying to stop Flux from following him is pointless.
Fluixon’s mouth repeatedly opens and closes like a fish out of water, before he settles with a single word when a witty retort fails to come to mind:
“Don’t.”
The audacity of his demand almost pushes Saparata to scoff. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Saps, I’m serious,” Fluixon’s tone is alarmingly urgent. He attempts to pull the taller male back by the shoulder again, this time failing when his hand is swatted away.
Saparata only starts walking faster, nearly breaking into a jog as he navigates through the thick woods surrounding them—and it’s then that it dawns on Flux that it isn’t an empty threat. He falters ever so slightly at the realization, before his footsteps come again twice as fast.
Fluixon calls after him, to which the albino keeps quiet even as his voice increases in volume, knowing his silence drove him insane when it counted the most; he kept moving, building distance between the two—step after deliberate step. He’d always been the more agile one between the both of them, and now it’s finally paying off.
The trees around them are a pointless blur—Saparata isn’t completely sure if they’re moving deeper into or out of the jungle. There’s no one to witness tonight except for the moon and stars above, and he thinks for a moment how easy it would be to kill Fluixon, right here, right now.
He isn’t listening to what the shorter male is saying anymore. The weight of his sword grows heavier on his hip, until he’s reminded of Flux’s taunt from mere minutes ago.
“You’ve had so many opportunities to kill me. But you let me go every single time.”
The memory makes his jaw clench, making him shake his head to try and forget about it. The sound of footsteps slow down before completely receding behind him—but Saps knows it’s unlikely that the parasite is actually giving up.
He’s in the middle of vaulting over a fallen tree when he feels something large make contact with the back of his head. The object knocks him clean out of balance and sends him tumbling over the other side of the log, and he lands hard on the ground with a pained groan.
Saparata curses, craning his head to the side to see what the fuck hit him, only to find out that it was a huge fucking rock—about half the size of his head.
This fucker threw a rock that was almost as big as his head at him, just to get his attention.
The albino returns to coherence seconds after he fell on his side, looking up to see Fluixon looming over his fallen body, holding another smaller rock in his hands.
“Are you even listening to me?” He has the nerve to sound calm after quite literally assaulting him, but to be completely fair, he’s done worse things and still manages to show his face like he hasn’t done anything wrong.
Saparata pushes himself up using one arm, another groan leaving his lips as he rubs the back of his head to try and mitigate the pain. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Fluixon pointedly ignores him. “Is it to spite me? You’re gonna go meddle with our enemies just because I hurt you? Was siding with them in that damn meeting not enough?” He drops the rock and crosses his arms over his chest, glaring down at Saps like he has any right to.
Saparata scoffs and opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut off before he can even get a word in.
“They’re savages, Saps; they’ll skin you alive,” Fluixon claims, his tone condescending in its delivery, as if he’s handling an unruly child.
“They’re not savages!”
“You don’t know that! My sister—”
“Your sister’s a dictator!” Saparata cuts him off again, kicking loose dirt in the shorter male’s direction fruitlessly. “Of course she’d tell you that!”
That clearly offends Fluixon. He advances towards Saps’ still sitting figure, looking ready to kill.
“Don’t call her that.”
Saparata sticks his tongue out at him, and the action catches Flux off-guard with how childish it is. “Are you a child?”
“You’re calling me a child?” the albino asks incredulously. “You threw a rock at me just now!”
“Because you were being rash, and you weren’t listening to me.”
That makes Saps roll his eyes. “Nothing you say is gonna change my mind,” he says loftily—and, with his nose in the air, he turns to resecure his bundles, which fell alongside him and spilled a few items.
Fluixon’s hand shoots out to stop him from grabbing his bundles. He tries using his other arm, but it also proves futile.
“You—” Saparata turns to tell him off, only to realize the distance between them has reduced significantly. Mere centimeters separate their faces as they kneel alone in the jungle, his wrists seized and unable to effectively move away. His cheeks flush a dark red, his intention to curse Flux out forgotten.
“You’re not going to Yggdrasil.”
Fluixon’s voice is firm, but all the taller male can really think about is how close they are. He can feel the beating of his heart start to speed up, and he knows, embarrassingly, that it isn’t from traversing the jungle, or the knowledge that he’s very much still a wanted man, or—
“Listen to me, Saps.”
Fluixon lets go of one of Saparata wrists to grasp his cheek, and it’s then that Saps thinks to pay closer attention to the look on Flux’s face. Those amethyst eyes are wide with emotions he can’t quite place—maybe it was desperation, anger, obsession, possessiveness—their intensity enough to scare anyone away.
“I need you here,” Flux whispers reverently, “is that so wrong? That I care about you?”
It was so, so wrong in many ways. The logical part within Saparata screams at him. Push him away, stab him, run away.
Pale eyes glance up and meet amethyst, their pupils equally blown wide with what his heart insisted is love. The sight, mixed with the feeling of Fluixon’s breath fanning against his lips, made it so easy to forget. About the betrayal, about the bounty on his head, about Pandora, about Yggdrasil.
About everything except the man in front of him—about Fluixon.
Saparata doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until he feels a pair of lips brush against his own. He lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding, his eyelids fluttering shut as Fluixon’s kiss dismantles his guard in one fell swoop.
The world narrows down to the two of them. He feels his body being pressed against the log behind him, and he uses his newly freed hands to hold Flux’s torso and pull him closer. His head tilts to the side to better slot their lips together, like he used to so many times before.
Saparata’s breath hitches when he feels a sting on his bottom lip, one eye opening just a sliver before he slides a hand down to Fluixon’s waist and parts his lips. The wet friction of their tongues sliding against each other drives Saps absolutely crazy—leaving him a trembling, breathless mess.
His hands tighten on the shorter male’s sides as they start to shake, his nails digging into the expensive fabric of his coat with a desperate grip.
Shit, he doesn’t care if he’s being manipulated all over again, not for now; he loves the feeling of his lover’s mouth hot against his own, the way Flux kissed him like he was the only thing in the world. The sensation makes him feel drunk, and for a moment, he allows himself to surrender.
Finally, as their lungs burn and force them to pull away, Fluixon is the first to move while Saps chases after his lips like a dog to a bone.
Saparata wipes his lips with the cuff of his sleeve, his chest heaving and breath coming in ragged hitches. He watches the raven-haired male hazily looking equally as disheveled as him, the sight making his stomach flip in a way that could only be described as nauseating.
He feels a finger lift his chin up, bringing his attention back to the present—and to the smiling face of Fluixon before him.
“Hey, you aren’t leaving, okay?”
The words make Saps swallow thickly, the reminder feeling like a cold bucket of water.
“If you do, I’ll find you,” Flux’s voice drops dangerously, the threat evident. “I always do.”
Saparata only nods in compliance; he doesn’t have the heart to argue anymore, not after that entire thing.
The nod satisfies Fluixon enough for now, so he lays backward on the log next to the albino, and that’s when he notices their hands have intertwined in the midst of their kiss. He doesn’t know whether he should tighten his grip or let go, but he eventually leaves it be.
There they lay together—in the middle of the jungle, with no one but the moon and stars to witness tonight, one of them a wanted scapegoat and the other the leader of a conspiracy.
Saparata doesn’t know how long they lay there for. He doesn’t even really feel conscious, not until he hears the sound of deep, steady breathing beside him. He glances to his side, careful not to move too much, and realizes Fluixon is asleep.
Saps doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep for, either. He almost envies the ease with which he falls asleep; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s been able to sleep well. It must have been before…
The assassination.
Right.
Saparata turns back to face the sky, the familiar pit in his stomach growing in size. His eyes remain open for what must be hours on end, watching the moon move over them until it drifts out of his sight completely.
He doesn’t fall asleep, though he can’t say the same for the man beside him. Again, his mind wanders back to that same thought: how easy it would be to kill Fluixon right now.
He knows he won’t; he’s proven time and time again that he can never bring himself to do it no matter how much he’s tried to convince himself otherwise. Ish, he can’t even kill one man—how ironic it is that Pandora thinks he’s killed six.
He thinks back to better times, to his life before he became a mediator. He remembers helping Cass and Ciarán set up a new sheep farm in Harbourbloom with Micro. He remembers sparring with Thomas and Snowbird to improve their combat techniques. He remembers strolling through Tricolour with Jophiel and Seraphim, marveling the beauty of his sister’s kingdom.
Now, two are dead, three are traitors, and three think he’s a murderer.
Eventually, the stars too leave his sight to make way for the sun. He observes, unmoving, as the sky starts to brighten and a new day begins.
This is his only opportunity.
Saparata slips his hand away from Fluixon’s loosened grip. For a moment, he feels guilty for lying to him. He knows what Flux is capable of. Come morning when he finds out about Saps’ deception…
Blood rushes back to his legs as he stands up after several hours of unuse, but that doesn’t do anything to slow him down. So, he grabs his stuff—and with one final look at Flux’s slumbering figure, Saparata leaves.
To Yggdrasil.
Yet, Fluixon’s final threat echoes in his head.
“I’ll find you. I always do.”
Saparata can only hope he fails in his promise.