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Phainon loves their morning spars.
A slash of red crystals mars the place where he was just seconds ago. Mydei appears in his peripheral vision, ready to strike at his other open side. Phainon barely manages to block the sharp edge of his gauntlets with the wooden training sword before he disappears again into the battlefield, kicking up dust to obscure Phainon’s vision as he goes.
It’s a game that’s both exciting and familiar at the same time. By now, he’s long grown used to the feel of Mydei’s attacks, learned that Mydei always steps forward with his left foot before he’s about to strike, and likes using the terrain to his advantage. In return, Mydei parries him at each and every move, having learned all his habits and striking at the weak spots he often forgets to protect.
He laughs to himself. Mydei is always full of surprises.
There’s a slight shift in the air around him before he catches sight of a shadow moving to his left. It was nigh time he stopped playing defense and really taught Mydei a lesson, so instead of waiting, Phainon advances with his sword held high. Instead, what he gets when approaching the shadow is the edge of Mydei’s cloak, fluttering in the wind.
He whirls around just in time to parry a swipe from Mydei at his back, finally meeting the man face to face. Though the battle might be fierce, the adrenaline-fueled grin all over Mydei’s face tells him the other man’s enjoying this as much as he is.
“Gotten weak?” Mydei taunts, leaning in close enough that Phainon can smell the pomegranate perfume he’s taken to using these days. His hair is mired with dust, streaks of it covering the lines of his face. The tattoos over his body glow and thrum with power. Phainon tries his best to pretend he isn’t looking and tightens his grip on his greatsword, shaking a little under the weight of Mydei’s attempts to pin him down.
“You wish,” Phainon retorts before he twists the sword, pushing and forcing Mydei to let go. He springs back to put a bit of distance between them. Titans knew he did not want to be in swiping range of those gauntlets.
Mydei eases out of his offensive stance, body relaxing into a casual stroll as he stalks Phainon like a particularly eager lion. “Chickening out, Deliverer?” He taunts again. His posture is calm, languid, almost as if he’s just off for a walk in the middle of the battlefield. Really though, it’s not that hard to read that the murderous glint in his eye is far from being gone. “You’ve been on the defense this whole time.”
Phainon grumbles under his breath as he tries very hard not to be distracted. Mydei’s body is, well, conspicuous as always, especially when he looks like he’s about ten seconds away from jumping Phainon, though probably much more aggressively than he would like. “I thought the word ‘chickening out’ didn’t exist in the Kremnoan language.”
“You taught it to me, Deliverer,” drawls Mydei, enunciating each bite of his title. He’s just asking for it at this point. “In fact, you’re the textbook definition of it right now.”
Shutting Mydei up was now top on his priority list - after all, what was that proverb about Kremnoans preferring actions to words? - and so in lieu of a response, Phainon steadies himself, lifts up his sword again, and charges in without hesitation. The first swipe meets the steel of Mydei’s gauntlets, and the man laughs with a roar before launching himself into attack once more.
Mydei matches him blow for blow, barely giving him any time to think. “Seems like the only thing you know how to do is charge, Deliverer!” He laughs, grinning in battle-induced ecstasy. He’d call Mydei a battle-frenzied freak, but Phainon knows his own cheeks are starting to tire from the grin paralleled on his own face.
He decides to say it anyway. “You battle freak!”
“Like you’re not? Try to use your brain for once in battle, Deliverer!”
“That cloak thing was dirty and you know it!” Phainon parries another slash, this one aimed at his leg. He steps aside just in time, scowling, aiming a dirty sweep at the front of Mydei’s shins. In a flash, Mydei propels himself backwards using his red crystal, landing safely a few paces away.
The rally has managed to make them both a little breathless and bruised at this point. Phainon can feel his ribs aching from where Mydei had managed to land a hit, and he can see a bruise forming over Mydei’s shoulder where he’d thumped him after successfully distracting him with the sword. Knowing the little bastard though, he’ll be healed in just a few hours. Cursed immortality and everything.
Phainon focuses on his tactics as they both catch their breath. Mydei prefers close combat, but he’s certainly agile enough to stop long-range projectiles. Good instincts and a good head mean catching him unawares is unlikely. The only time he’s probably most likely to let down his guard is -
Mydei rises again. His left leg shifts forward, body moving into his battle stance, ready to pounce.
But in response, Phainon doesn’t charge forward. Instead, he hefts his whole sword up and launches it directly at Mydei.
Surprise widens Mydei’s eyes before he’s forced to dodge the entire sword flying at him by ducking sharply to the right, finally throwing him off his guard. Acting almost purely on instinct, Phainon doesn’t even think before he launches his own body at Mydei in a psuedo-tackle, except he somehow manages to twist himself in the sand before landing squarely on him, knocking the wind out of them both as they tumble, limbs tangled, in the dust.
“Very creative, Deliverer,” Mydei spits after they come to a stop, still tangled on the ground. Phainon’s cape is not helping him at all, having been caught between the floor and a Mydei who seems more focused on chiding him than cooperating with him right now. “And do you plan to launch yourself at every enemy we see?”
Phainon shrugs the best he can in this position. “It caught you off guard.”
“HKS,” Mydei complains, as if he’s not just a hair’s breadth away from Phainon’s ears.
Despite his best efforts, Phainon’s attempts to extricate himself from Mydei prove to be in vain. The cape situation was much more futile than he had imagined, now even more hopelessly tangled between their legs. Phainon tries very hard to ignore the fact that Mydei’s very well toned, very gorgeous body was currently pressed against his, distracting himself with yanking on the cape to get it free.
Mydei sighs again. “I told you the cape was a bad idea.” He’s still not being very cooperative, the warm air of his breath blowing against the side of Phainon’s neck.
Phainon whines at him. “It looks good on me. Didn’t you use your cloak as a distraction?”
“I don’t wear that thing into battle.”
“Then why’d you use it on me?” Phainon whines again. He tries to thump Mydei for being a little cheat, but not having hands is a bit of a hinderance at the moment.
“You’re too gullible on the battlefield, Deliverer. How could I resist?”
“Meanie.” Phainon insults, to which Mydei doesn’t even dignify a response. He yanks at the cloak again, which was cooperating a bit more now, freeing itself from the confines of their legs. He moves to push the the two of them apart, already missing the warmth of Mydei’s body against his, when he brushes his fingers accidentally against Mydei’s side.
Mydei jolts away, a snort escaping his lips.
What was that?
Though every part of Mydei always caught his attention, this was new. He tries it again, drifting fingers across Mydei’s ribcage. Mydei jolts away like he’s been electrocuted, a sharp little whimper barely audibly yanked out of his throat.
It’s like Cerces has just struck him with lightning.
Is Mydei ticklish?
Trying to ignore the swell of arousal that came with hearing that whimper, he reaches his hands to Mydei’s sides again, wanting to hear that sound again. To his dismay, Mydei bats his hands away immediately, pushing him off and standing up, turning his back to Phainon in a flurry of motion. From this angle, he can see the blush that’s made its way up from Mydei’s shoulders to the gold tipped corners of his ears. A shame that Mydei was choosing to hide his expression from him.
He can try his best, at least. “Mydei, are you-”
“Shut up,” Mydei snaps, but there’s no heat in his statement. Instead, he sounds faintly embarrassed as he turns just enough to look at Phainon for him to see the welling redness in his cheeks. Mydei’s always a vision to behold, but like this, a little reddened, the attractiveness of his flush contrasting beautifully with his golden, red-tipped hair, he’s particularly stunning.
He turns around again. Phainon pouts, even though he knows Mydei can’t see it. “Mydei, come on -“
“I’m late for morning drills with the Kremnoan Detachment,” announces Mydei, beginning to march resolutely towards the exit. “I’m taking my leave.” Almost a little too quickly, head held high, he keeps his eyes forward and his back to Phainon as he paces away, leaving a little trail of dust in his wake. He’s in such a hurry he doesn’t even bother to brush himself off.
Accepting his defeat, Phainon sits up, ignoring the half-chub he thankfully managed to hide from Mydei in his pants. There’s red crystals strewn everywhere, a veritable wall of them piling up to the side. There’s dust in his hair and sand grit in his eyes. Across the arena, his sword lies a good thirty paces away, forlorn in the ground.
A voice rings out from the entrance. “Um, we have this place booked for the next hour.” Phainon looks up. It’s the city guards, coming in for their morning training session. One of them pipes up, louder this time. “Could we have your help in having the grounds clear for setting up the dummies, Lord Phainon?”
He sighs to himself. Looks like he’s on clean-up duty.
It’s not til months later that Phainon gets another chance to test out his newest hypothesis.
Unfortunately for Phainon, touching Mydei was something he was very much Not Allowed To Do (on a regular basis, at least). Throwing a casual arm over Mydei’s shoulders or slipping his hand into the crook of Mydei’s arm to drag him someplace were acceptable, friendly touches; but finding an opportunity to sneak his hands closer to Mydei’s sides would earn him a swat and a staredown. Clearly Okhema had had some influence on Mydei, if he had managed to perfect Aglaea’s icy-cold glare in the short time he had been here.
Persistence had always been one of his finer qualities; but it sure didn’t help that all the little touches across their daily breakfasts at the mess hall, their morning spars and catch-ups over dinner were very slowly driving Phainon insane with curiosity, Mydei’s untouched ribcage calling to him like a siren song. Curse his unnatural ability to know exactly when Phainon was, in his words, “plotting something in that nasty head of his”. Perhaps he really ought to school his expressions a little.
“Ahem.” Aglaea’s voice rings out, snapping Phainon out of his musings. “Are you paying attention, Phainon?” In the seat next to him, Mydei hides a snicker.
“Yes,” he responds, sitting up straight. “Go on, Lady Aglaea.”
With the Month of Weaving came the autumn harvest, the annual crop of grain and olives finally bearing fruit after months of hard work, fields turning as glorious as Mnestia’s golden threads. Okhemans, natural merrymakers, typically celebrated the end of the harvest season with possibly one of the grandest festivals of the year, full of drunken singing and dancing in the streets. The harvest was a well-received festival across the entirety of Amphoreus, celebrated across different nations and city-states alike, and no doubt the flood of refugees from all over would be joining in the celebrations this year. In the middle of it all, Aglaea, being the Demigod bearing the Authority of Romance, had always taken painstaking measures to ensure its prosperity and success every year.
Which brought them to today, a painful, terribly boring meeting that had somehow managed to stretch from the Lucid Hour all the way to what was nearing the second quint of the Action Hour. Recent events in Okhema had meant an increasingly wary population and unrest within the general public, wild debates and murmurs over the falliability of Era Nova and Era Chrysea littering the streets.
Seeing an opportunity, the Council of Elders had sought to stir up legal trouble for Aglaea, appealing to the courts over decisions as paltry as the colour of decorations to be strung up over the baths, or bringing up archaic laws like those preventing specifically drinking honeyed wine on the streets every third day of the week. Additionally, there were matters of crowd control, general law and order to attend to, merchants to discuss produce with, food and wine to procure, resulting in a never-ending list of mundane items to attend to.
“Usually, I would not require the Chrysos Heirs to participate in such a meeting,” says Aglaea. “But this year, with the arrival of the Trailblazer and recent events regarding the retrieval of Coreflames, I’m afraid we’ve had to take extra measures against Elder Caenis and her Council.” She frowns. “It would be pertinent of you to pay attention.”
“My apologies, Lady Aglaea,” Phainon winces. Mydei lets out another snicker.
“Security measures are heightened across the Grand Harvest this year,” Aglaea continues. The large diagram stretching behind her is so riddled with security points and workflow that he can hardly decipher it. “As such, you two will be on alert around the Grand Bazaar, keeping a low profile - “ She accentuates her words at this, gaze growing sterner “ - and maintaining public order.”
Mydei frowns. “What about patrols?”
“Patrols are covered by the city guard and the general soldiery this year,” Aglaea responds. “As Chrysos Heirs, your main role in this is twofold: to provide increased security where the majority of the action will be taking place, and secondly, to support public morale and the image of the Chrysos Heirs.”
Phainon is not about to turn down a chance to go wandering across the Harvest Festival with Mydei. He’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “All clear on my end, Lady Aglaea.”
She turns to Mydei. “It is not absolutely compulsory for you to join in the festivities, seeing as the Kremnoan Detachment has its own rituals and festivals to follow.” She hesitates a little. “I thought it might make the integration of the Kremnoans a little easier, if their Crown Prince was amenable.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Lady Aglaea,” Mydei intones, with his ever-princely stature. “I would be glad to be of assistance.”
“Good,” she smiles. “One more thing.” Her expression grows a little softer. “The Harvest festival is not only a time of celebration, it is also a time of gathering with family. As such, the Chrysos Heirs will be gathering at Marmoreal Palace after the festivities are done, for a meal together.”
Family. The word no doubt stung a little for Phainon, his only blood family having been lost to the black tide, years ago. But from what he had heard on the streets, it was probably even harder for Mydei. He was not so deaf to the rumours around Mydei’s parentage, the slaying of Eurypon, the poisoning of Gorgo, to know that there was probably a kernel of truth in every story. He sneaks a look at Mydei, who was coincidentally looking back at him with an indecipherable look in his eyes.
Aglaea sighs. “It’s alright. It was a bad suggestion, anyhow. Forget I ever mentioned it.”
Before Phainon can summon a reply, Mydei’s beaten him to the chase. “No, Lady Aglaea. I would welcome the idea.” He quietly keeps his gaze on Phainon, seemingly reading his expression. “That is, if the others are amenable to it.”
He’s thinking about me, Phainon internally swoons; before he straightens himself up again. The way he lights up at Mydei’s answer is not lost on Aglaea, who struggles to hide a scowl at their shenangians. Titans only know how much ranting about Mydei she’s had to endure from Phainon’s mouth over the years. “Yes, I’d be happy to.”
The scowl disappears from her face. “Then it’s settled,” she rises from her seat. “We’ll convene in the mess hall after the festivities are all over. Thank you both for your time, Phainon, Mydeimos.”
“I’ll make something for the feast, Lady Aglaea,” replies Mydei smoothly. “Although perhaps not as raucously as the Okhemans, we in Kremnos used to celebrate the coming of the harvest with our own feasts and festivals. It was more meant as a welcoming of fuel for further Strife, but,” he looks thoughtfully into the distance; “It’s nigh time for a change.”
If Phainon’s hypothetical tail wasn’t already wagging, it sure was now. “Mydei, I’ll get to taste your cooking?” He leans forward, eyes wide and eager. Mydei scoffs and murmurs something about burning his portion under his breath.
Agalea interrupts them by clearing her throat, and they both turn to look at her. She’s scowling again. “Alright, I’ll leave some of the dinner preparations to you, Mydeimos,” she intones. “Make sure to study on the security plans for the day.”
“Yes, Lady Aglaea,” they respond in unison, rising from their seats. Phainon bumps Mydei’s shoulder on the way out and Mydei shoves him back in turn before they both head off for their regular duties. The entire Okheman Guard stares at Phainon as he practically skips and hums his way through patrols the whole day, looking more like a child than the famed Deliverer of Okhema.
The day of the harvest festival ran smoothly, all thanks to Aglaea’s meticulous planning. A few drunken brawls here and there had been stomped out by Phainon, and even the Kremonans were getting in on the merrymaking, doling out pomegranate spirits and cheering on a drinking contest in the middle of the Grand Bazaar. Phainon had almost been tempted to join.
In between the bits of chaos that was bound to happen with a bunch of festival-crazed, drunken Okhemans; he’d found the opportunity to drag Mydei about, taking him around his favourite vendors, stuffing all kinds of delicacies in his mouth, and talking his ear off about all the random bits of harvest festivals he’d gotten to enjoy over the years. Surprisingly, Mydei didn’t offer up much resistance, letting Phainon yank him this way and that as random samples of wine, bread and olives were shoved into his mouth. He had even let Phainon buy him a little flower circlet from the girls at the flower stall to wear around his braid.
After a morning’s worth of wandering together, Mydei was now walking around with random gold and silver trinkets on his wrists from the jewellery stands, holding bags of bread and olives in his arms, balancing another jar of pomegranate wine in the other. It was all so awfully domestic that it was probably quite bad for Phainon’s heart. He hadn’t stopped sporting a blush the entire day, chalking it up to the heat and bustle of the festivities.
Mydei was willingly spending time with him. Together!
Soon, the festivities drew quieter, people gathering in Marmoreal Market’s main square for a harvest dance. Okhemans linked arms, encircling each other’s waists as they laughed and twirled in the middle, all to the sound of the city’s bards working up a frenzy. Some of the Kremnoans had taken the leap to join, though the majority were still standing at the sides, hesitantly looking on.
Phainon was perched on his favourite rooftop with Mydei, who was busy polishing off his spoils of war; overlooking the scene and surveying for any sign of trouble. Today had mostly been a successful day, some of the Kremnoans having willingly joined into Okheman customs and bringing new cultural flavours of their own. Possibly most importantly, he had gotten to spend time with Mydei. The image of Mydei buying groceries and chatting with little old vendors about their produce was so adorable that Phainon replayed the sight in his mind over and over again.
There had been a fair few Kremnoan vendors, too. Mydei had introduced him to Xenia, seller of a variety of Kremonan pickled olives, made him try different samples of pomegranate honey brew, and even bought a small feast of glazed ribs and cheese bread to share as they walked amongst the bustling streets. “We used to make these, during my days in the Detachment,” he had mumbled, offering Phainon one out of the kindness of his good heart. Phainon had listened carefully and attentively, accepting anything Mydei gave him. It was rare for Mydei to speak about his past.
Gazing over the town square, watching little figures dance and frolick, a brillant idea sparks in Phainon’s head. He turns to Mydei, who was observing his own countrymen, half-chewed olive in his mouth. Sensing Phainon’s gaze on him, he turns, eyes narrowing. “What blasphemous scheme have you come up with now, Deliverer?”
He grins. Perhaps the craze of the festival and the glare of Kephale’s Dawn had finally gotten to him, as he would normally never be so bold, worried for the loss of Mydei’s companionship.
“Dance with me, Mydei?”
Mydei’s cheeks turn a brillant gold. The light filters through his blonde-red hair and lights up his cheeks, the little flower circlet in his braid complementing his complexion perfectly. Phainon trails his eyes downwards, admiring the way his blush spreads down to his chest and the tops of his arms, something he hadn’t gotten to appreciate before. He thinks he ought to embarrass Mydei more often if this is the view he’s going to be treated to every time.
His revelry is stopped abruptly in its tracks before Mydei starts coughing, having choked haphazardly around the olive pit. He manages to hack it up, depositing it into his palm. “H-Have you lost your mind, Deliverer?” he stutters, almost on reflex.
Maybe Phainon did have common sense, after all. “Ah - it, it’s okay if you don’t want to, Mydei. I just thought, you know, about all that integration stuff Aglaea was talking about, but, um - “
“Fine,” Mydei grits out.
“Huh?” Phainon stares at him, in sudden bewilderment. Did Mydei just agree to -
“I said fine, Deliverer,” Mydei huffs, before climbing to his feet, stomping away to the stairs that lead downwards to the town square.
“Mydei?” Phainon leaps up from his seat, groceries abandoned on the rooftop. He runs down the stairs, two at a time, to catch up with Mydei. Had he really just agreed to -?
He emerges from the stairwell, the plaza opening up before him. In front of him stands Mydei, right at the edge of the circle of dancers, his crossed arms and refusal to look Phainon in the eyes a strange contrast against the laughter and dance happening right behind him.
A well of nervousness builds up in Phainon’s chest. “Well, then,” he begins, approaching Mydei, reaching out for his hand. To his surprise, Mydei takes his offered hand without hesitation, although he’s still loathe to look Phainon in the eyes. “Shall we?”
Not-so-gracefully, he leads Mydei into the centre of the square. Mydei’s frown grows ever deeper as quiet whispers begin to build around them:
“It’s the Deliverer of Okhema and the Prince!”
“Are they really going to dance? What will the Kremnoans think?”
“Fucking finally -“
Phainon frowned. What was that last one?
“Just get on with it, Deliverer,” Mydei’s voice cuts through the dissonance, still blushing. He leans a gauntleted hand on Phainon’s shoulder. Phainon feels as if he’s about to combust, what with Mydei’s face being so damn close; but he follows suit and lays his other hand on Mydei’s firm waist. At the touch of his hand against smooth skin, Mydei jumps a little, but doesn’t show it on his face.
Phainon grins. He’d almost forgotten all about that.
Mydei glares at him. He’s pretty, even when he’s angry, Phainon thinks idly to himself. He’s preety even when he’s angry, Phaino thinks idly to himself. “Don’t you dare.”
“Such a prime opportunity, Mydei,” he drawls back. The familiar pace of their rivalry was much easier to navigate than the part of his brain screaming about being so close to his gorgeous rival. “You want to make this a contest?”
Before Mydei can snort another derisive reply in his direction, he yanks them by their conjoined hands together, signalling the start of the dance. Albeit in typical Okheman fashion, Mydei’s unfamilar with the steps; and ends up trodding more than once on Phainon’s toes. Good thing his boots are reinforced with steel.
“So clumsy, Mydeimos,” he jeers, fingers around his waist softly skirting around. Mydei bites his lip, muffling a whimper before he glares at Phainon.
“How is this remotely fair? You’re not dancing in the Kremnoan way.”
“All’s fair in love and war,” Phainon replies, dipping his partner that draws oohs and aahs from the surrounding crowd. He draws his fingers around Mydei’s waist again, this time curling up from the arch of his wait up to his ribcage. Mydei jerks a little, growling at him. “Seems like you can’t escape this time.”
“Why are we in this position anyways? Shouldn’t I be leading?”
“You’re the one who put his hand on my shoulder, Mydei.”
Every time Phainon twirls him, sidesteps, dips him again, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to tickle Mydei along his sides, thoroughly enjoying the little reactions the Kremnoan makes. With a little jab along his ribs, Mydei jerks a little; he holds in his whimpers and laughter with every tickle of fingers along his sides; he glares at Phainon, embarrassed flush riding high on his cheeks. With every jab at his side, he intentionally steps on Phainon’s feet, going so far as to dig his heels in into the softer leather parts of his boots. Knowing Mydei, the man’s probably already memorised the steps of this dance, what with his physicality. The pain was probably intentional, but Phainon would happily endure all the downtrodden toes in the world to see Mydei’s little reactions.
The music eases to a close. Phainon hadn’t even noticed, so caught up was he in teasing Mydei, who looks as if he’s about ready to combust. Looking around them, his fellow Okhemans cheer for their dancing, clearly enjoying themselves. The Kremnoans, on the other hand, seem slightly perturbed, but some of them begin to join the fray. One of them whispers a mention to the musicians, before Kremnoans begin to join them, musical instruments in hand.
Mydei draws away from him, wiping that embarrassed and frustrated glare off his face. Phainon misses his warmth already.
The music starts again. This time, it’s more of a drumbeat, the pounding in his chest echoing the one in his chest. Mydei looks at him, flushed with the heat of the dance, grinning, triumphant as he raises his head in recognition.
“This is how we dance, Deliverer,” he smirks, before joining his countrymen, whirling into an unfamiliar sequence of steps and whirls, the dance elegant and intimidating all at once. He laughs as his countrymen join him, Okhemans being pulled into their frenzy, stumbling over unfamiliar steps, laughter growing and mixing all the same. He throws a grin at Phainon over his shoulder, hand raised in a gesture of war.
Under the glow of Kephale’s Dawn, light glinting off his armour and his hair, Mydei looks even more gloriously radiant. Grinning back at him, Phainon steps forward and joins the fray.
Two weeks after the Grand Harvest Festival comes to a close, Phainon hurries through the market, huddles of groceries buried in his arms.
It had been a long and painstaking journey to track down that same Kremnoan merchant who had sold them that pomegrante honey brew back at the Festival, what with them having abandoned all their groceries on a random rooftop. Luckily, the merchant had seemed much more amenable to him this time, what with only greeting Mydei happily and ignoring Phainon entirely the last time they had visited together.
It seemed as if their - canoodling, as Aglaea would call it, - had been of some beneficial effect to Okheman-Kremnoan relations.
As petty retribution for his little stunt at the dance, he had been continuously served wilted greens, burnt dromas steak and stale bread at the dinner table, all whilst the others enjoyed well seasoned and decorated meals with utmost courtesy. It had been a testament to Phainon’s will when Mydei served him a lump of charcoal the night of the Harvest Festival that seemed as if he had thrown it directly into the heat of Kephale’s Dawn.
His way of apology cradled in his arms, Phainon hurried to where Mydei typically was at this time of day, either winding down at his residence in the Kremnoan Quarters of the city, or relaxing at the Garden of Life with the chimeras. He was quite done with eating garbage for another two weeks, and he missed Mydei - the man had seemed more embarrassed, more subdued around him for the past two weeks, and a slog of missions had dragged them away from each other.
The elevator ride to the Garden of Life had never seemed so long. Impatiently tapping his foot, Phainon leapt off the platform once it was done ascending, and bound in long strides straight to the Garden’s centre, where Mydei was most likely to be.
The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.
Mydei had obviously had a bit of a busy day, as he’d almost never be caught unawares in public, much less napping. Yet clearly the lazy warmth of sunlight and the relatively private peace of the Garden had gotten to him, for he was in what seemed to be a doze, an orange-haired, fluffy chimera curled quietly on his chest. A second white chimera, this time with a horn growing out the left side of its head, was shuffled up to Mydei’s side. In his hair laid multiple messy yet intricate braids, multicoloured flowers intertwining with hair strands to enhance his golden complexion even further. Clearly, the work of the children who had come to play in the Garden.
Phainon felt his heart swell to twice its size as he admired the scene in front of him, smile creeping unwittingly on his lips. Catching Mydei off guard was one thing, but seeing him all dozed off in a pile of fluffy animals, little flowers in his hair, was enough to make Phainon want to explode.
Creeping towards them, groceries left to the side for now, he quietly picked his way over, earning a nip and a side-eye from the orange chimera when he raised a hand to awaken Mydei from slumber.
Suprisingly, Mydei didn’t even stir. For a man who was usually the epitome of vigilance, the effect of small fluffy animals and the warm sunlight of the Garden had seemed to lull him into a new sort of trance. Taking a firm hold of his shoulder, Phainon shook him a little more vigourously, but all he earned was a little grunt and a shaking of Mydei’s head.
“Mydei,” he tried, gently at first, then raising his voice when Mydei remained still. “Mydei, wake up.”
Mydei gave absolutely no response, sleeping away as if he was dead to the world.
Shaking and whispering clearly was getting him nowhere. Racking his brains, he gazed over Mydei’s sleeping face, thinking of a way to get him to wake up, when a sudden, spark of inspiration struck him in the form of Mydei’s very exposed, very naked side.
Phainon smirked. He’d earn another burnt meal and another two weeks of sulking, but it would be worth it. Probably. He wouldn’t get another golden opportunity like this.
Reaching for Mydei’s side, one hand skirted up along his ribcage, trailing fingers gently higher, whilst the other crept partially into Mydei’s tunic, targeting his waist and the exposed, vulnerable flesh of his other side.
Mydei only twitched, grimacing in his sleep and twisting away from his hands. The chimeras snort, peeking open lazy eyes, the orange one full-on glaring at him now. Phainon ignores it, tickling even harder, jabbing his fingers into the muscle of Mydei’s belly.
With a grunt, Mydei flies awake, and he chokes down a yelp, wide amber eyes meeting Phainon’s own as he turns to the side to protect his exposed midriff. In doing so, though, he exposes the other side of his ribcage, a ripe opportunity Phainon wasn’t about to miss. In an uncharacteristic bout of bravery (especially when it came to all things regarding Mydei), he leans down, blowing a fat raspberry directly on Mydei’s side. The chimeras bristle and skirt away, cozy afternoon nap ruined by Phainon’s tomfoolery.
“Deliverer, you -!” Mydei barely manages before he lapses into a laughing fit, as Phainon becomes ever more relentless in his attack. Soon, he’s full-on howling, squirming to get away, limbs flailing as Phainon manages to grapple one of his arms down with one hand and tickles his sides with the other.
“Stop, stop,” Mydei gasps between breaths. He’s a little breathless, possibly from laughing too hard. There’s a few tears collecting at the edge of his eyes. His other hand is curled loosely against Phainon’s wrist in a futile effort to stop the ongoing assault.
Phainon does stop, because to see Mydei like this, raw and unrestrained in his laughter, was so rare that he had barely seen it in all his years of knowing the other man. The usual sharp, harsh glare in his eyes was gone, replaced by a sort of soft, warm glow. In the light of Kephale’s Dawn, his smile seemed even brighter, the harsh years of burden and strife and duty all erased in an instant.
He looked stunning. Even more beautiful than usual.
Seizing the moment, Mydei takes his lapse in attention as a cue to gain the advantage, flipping them over. Growling, it’s his turn to pin Phainon’s arms above his head, Kephale’s Dawn from behind him encapsulating his hair like a halo.
“Had enough fun, Deliverer?” He snarks at Phainon, even though his cheeks are betrayingly illuminated in a fetching blush.
“You’re ticklish,” gasps Phainon, still slightly stunned from being in such close proximity to Mydei. “You - the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos is ticklish!”
“Shut up,” Mydei hisses at him, attempting to tickle Phainon back in return. When Phainon remains still as a stone, he tries even harder, looking back at Phainon’s face with all the adorable confusion of a wide-eyed house cat.
“This - this isn’t fair!”
“It is, my dear Mydei,” Phainon grins from beneath him. He’s sure he’s sporting a similar blush. “Who knew? I had my suspicions, but the mighty Crown Prince - “
Mydei clamps gauntleted hands over his smart mouth, face flushing deeper again. “I said shut up, Deliverer,” he grimaces. “Not a word out of you.“
“It’s not embarrassing, Mydei,” Phainon laughs as he pries Mydei’s hands off his face. “It’s just a natural reaction - “
A huff. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up - “
“Let me take your mind off it, Mydei,” Phainon breathes, staring up into Mydei’s face again. Maybe it’s the haze of the warm sunlight. Maybe it’s the way Mydei stares at him, face all hot and flushed. Maybe it’s the way they’ve been dancing around each other all this time. But in this moment, he feels drunk on bravery, at the opportunity of touch, Mydei’s smooth skin and muscle under his fingers.
In one smooth motion, he reaches up, lacing fingers through the short hair at the back of Mydei’s neck, and pulls him down, meeting his lips.
At first, Mydei stiffens, entire body going rigid. There’s a moment of complete panic that seizes up Phainon’s chest. Oh no. I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Just as he turns to pull away, apology already building in his throat; there’s a hitched breath, and Mydei leans in again, soft lips sweetly pressing against his own, a hand settling and bracing itself against his chest, against his wildly beating heart. Phainon grins widely against his mouth, joy sparking up his spine as he kisses Mydei with fervour, pulling him down even more as if to yank the two of them impossibly closer.
Phainon wants. He’s wanted this for so long. A slide of his hand up Mydei’s back earns him a little groan from Mydei’s mouth, and he sates his long-awaited desire, licking against the seam of Mydei’s lips and greedily consuming any sound Mydei readily makes out of his mouth. It’s almost overwhelming, like a fanciful dream, the way he kisses Mydei and Mydei, proud, stubborn Mydei, kisses back.
The hand at the nape of Mydei’s neck loosens, soothingly running a hand through his golden hair, little flowers and braids trailing over his fingertips. The kiss itself ebbs into something more delicate, less desperate as they ease away the years of tension between them, the soft plushness of Mydei’s lips and the sanguine smell of his pomegranate shampoo almost addictive.
Slowly, they draw away from each other, gasping for air. A kiss-drunk Mydei is a completely new kind of revelry, as Phainon comes to know; eyes hazy and lidded, lips slightly swollen and red from their kissing, chest slightly heaving from breathlessness, red marks seemingly glowing in the light of Kephale’s Dawn. Another new, brillant shade of Mydei, each one as mesmerising as the last.
Mydei takes a moment to catch his breath, but he’s still speaking a little headily, as if drunk on the moment. “And how long, have you been waiting to do that, Deliverer?” He huffs out between breaths.
Phainon traces one of the red marks arching up his torso, his own voice low and heavy with need. “A while, now.” He’s long past the point of caring about how desperate he must sound. The loss is a price he’s willing to pay to kiss Mydei again.
Mydei has the audacity to laugh at him. He leans in, so close Phainon can count his individual eyelashes, speaking only a hair’s breadth away from his face. “A while, huh?” He whispers, before leaning in again and meeting Phainon’s mouth with his own.
Phainon’s blood sings in his veins as he wraps his arms around Mydei, letting him rest the whole of his weight onto Phainon’s body. Professing his praises to whichever Titan had so kindly decided to grant him a second kiss, he eagerly presses him closer. Coaxing Mydei’s mouth to open, he readily swallows down a groan as he sweeps his tongue into Mydei’s mouth, raises a thigh between Mydei’s own, eating up all the little noises Mydei makes as his well-earned reward. Maybe he’s not aware of it, but Mydei grinds his hips in little circles, rutting against his thigh, little groans starting to make their way out of him. He grips Mydei’s waist a little firmer, runs a hand upwards, when suddenly -
Mydei makes a noise, jerky and aborted, into their kiss. His eyes fly open again, glaring into Phainon’s own before he tries to pull away abruptly. Phainon laughs into the kiss, chasing his lips, all while snaking another hand underneath his tunic, nonchalantly ignoring the batting away of Mydei’s hands. Sitting up and balancing Mydei in his lap, Phainon tucks his head in the hollow of Mydei’s chest, one hand tucked over his lower back, the other teasingly skirting around his ribs, tracing crimson tattoos that curve all the way back to his spine.
Mydei lapses into full-blown laughter, the sound almost musical in nature as he chuckles so hard the flush rides hard on his cheeks and tears gather once more over the side of his eyes. He throws his head back, exposing more of his chest and the contact of his skin against’s Phainon’s own. Phainon only stares up at him longingly, gaze mischevous, warm, and fond, all at once.
He’s never letting Mydei live this one down.