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Charon's hands yank at the thick curls of Keres' hair, small pink strands falling between his fingers. The beautician snarls beneath him like a feral dog, raising a knee to attempt to push Charon away. His lower body thrashes, despite both of his arms being completely pinned. Keres is outclassed in every way that matters- height, strength, athleticism- and is easily forced back down to the ground, knees pressed down by Charon's own, his back aching as it presses into hard concrete.
"Fuck you, Schäfer. Bet you've never heard that in your spoiled fuckin' life," Charon spits, hissing through his teeth. He yanks harder on the strands of hair in his hand, bathing in the pained howl that spills from Keres' lips. It's what he lives for, what he dies for. It's the noise that he hears in his most blessed dreams.
Keres does not respond in kind, tonguing over his teeth, thinking of his next words to say. "Oh, yeah? How about you and your spirits, huh? Do you see your mommy every time you look at the corner of your vision?" He knows it's a terrible thing to say, but he says it anyway, expecting the blow for it.
And when it comes, he is unprepared. A sharp punch to his lower jaw, knocking his teeth against each other, driving them into his tongue. The thick taste of iron in his mouth grows stronger, and he breaks out into laughter, knowing that Charon's face is likely just as bad as his own. A bright, staggering sting blossoms from the back of his teeth, and as he tongues over his canines, he can feel that one has cracked. The loose shard from it floats around in his mouth, and briefly, he wonders if he should be concerned.
But as always, Charon's low drawl pulls him back in, ever desperate for more.
"Low fucking blow, Schäfer." the Spiritual leans in, pulling them nose-to-nose, a hair's width apart. Charon loosens the hand in Keres' hair, if only fractionally, letting the tension speak for itself. It's a blow that was likely too low for their tentative, hard-line relationship, but Keres doesn't let that stop him. He needs to push, needs to see what Charon is really like.
He's got something else under that surface, Keres knows it. He presses at the cracks that he sees building in the foundation.
Keres presses, loosening one of his hands enough to reach up and cup the back of Charon's neck. He sees the shudder go through the other before he feels it under his palm, a low, cold sensation that spreads from the bottom of his skull. He knows it intricately. "You know it."
He understands the way that Charon works, and Charon understands how he works. They breathe the same, bleed the same, hurt the same, kiss the same. He can tell by the slight glint in Charon's eyes, the way that his jaw flexes slightly, that he doesn't mind it.
So Keres takes the opportunity, pulling Charon down, his long blonde hair flowing around them. He tastes like cherries and ash, and despite the sugary-sweetness that Keres normally despises, he finds he can't hate it when it comes from the only other person to ever understand how he works.
He pulls away after a short moment, when Charon's hands begin to shake where they try to hold Keres down, but not without a harsh bite to the lip first. It splits the already paper-thin skin of Charon's lip, and blood pools in the small injury, trailing down his chin in a little waterfall. It's entrancing, and if he didn't know better, he'd say that Charon did it on purpose.
Keres' chest aches with something between a laugh and a growl.
"Only the best for my least favorite Medium."