Archive of Our Own

Mydeimos wakes and groans, immediately shoving the blanket off his scorching body and wiping strands of hair out of his face.

He ignores the tremor of his fingers as he puts on his gauntlets, closing his eyes in bliss at the cold metal encasing his skin – he’d managed to wash away some of the haze by gulping down two goblets of water, though the feverish fog merely retreated to the sidelines of his mind, grasping at the edges of his every thought to pull him deeper. With a harsh exhale, he shakes his head and leaves his homestead.

He successfully makes it to the gates of Okhema, joining the group of soldiers set to accompany him on patrol. Aglaea’s threads had picked up on a dozen or so Titankin nearing the borders of the city, and they were tasked with tracking them down and taking them out. Easy enough.

Mydei’s sense of smell had never been good. Damaged by the blackened water of the sea of death, the stench of thousands of scents blending together in a whirl of pain, fear, desperation and despair dulled his perception greatly, so much so that even now, the mingling scents in the city converge into incomprehensible greyness.

He can, however, differentiate between things that smelled like him, and scents that threaten to overpower his own. Someone else must’ve ridden Kokopo yesterday; Mydeimos suppresses the growl building in his throat and begins to saddle the dromas up, sliding his hand over the leather until the staleness fades to ashen cinnamon, redwood and rust.

Shaking his head to get his mind back on track, he climbs up and motions for the soldiers to follow, slumping lightly into his seat. The eternal sunlight certainly doesn’t help the heat coursing through his veins. He wipes the sweat off his brow, grabbing a flask of water out of his satchel. Luckily for him, Phainon isn't accompanying him, so he has no one talking his ear off during the journey, allowing him to slightly relax in the hour it takes them to arrive at the location Aglaea had picked up the Titankin’s commotion.

Mydeimos swallows. His gums ache, and he runs his tongue along his canines, metallic fingers curling tighter around Kokopo’s bridle. The heat churning in his gut has spread to his limbs, making them tense up and feel numb at once, and he rolls his shoulder in the hopes of getting rid of the uncomfortable tightness. He’s too large for this body, too stationary for the energy thrumming under his skin.

When he spots the stony visage of a Titankin, he breathes a harsh sigh of relief, lips spreading into a grin.

“Alright everyone, nap time’s over!” He says over his shoulder, already getting to his feet. “Don’t fall behind.”

With that, he slides down Kokopo’s side and jumps onto the pathway, sand crunching underneath his boots. His trusty steed complies to his whistle, bellowing quietly and leading the other dromas to the sidelines, head bobbing with its heavy steps. Mydei turns once to check on the soldiers, giving them a curt nod before charging forward.

The Titankin had settled among the ruins of an abandoned house – Mydei punches a hole through the first, sends the body flying into a wall, the creature and the stone crumbling at once, burying yet another in their rubble. It sends a rush through the prince, eyes already zapping toward his next target. He’s panting, sweat gleaming in eternal daytime, though with each enemy that falls to his gauntlets, the less he cares. Aglaea’s estimate had been off – all the better for Mydeimos.

The homing arrow pierces through fortified flesh and bone, tears the enemy apart when they dare come too close to his squad; no crimson blood is spilled, only shimmering gold paints the floor, a full on snarl breaking free when a Titankin dares to attack another soldier from behind.

His vision is dotted with red and black, smears of gold and flashes of silver blades there and gone in a blink. When nothing comes forth from the rubble anymore, and two soldiers scout the area, Mydei is still heaving, visibly having to pull himself back to awareness. Fortunately, the soldiers are mostly made up of Kremnoans, regarding him with awe instead of disdain like some Okhemans do when witnessing the prince fight like this.

Clearing his throat and wiping blood off his chest, Mydeimos does a last sweep of the ruins nearby and pronounces the area cleared.

Once they’ve returned to their dromas and continue the usual patrol route, Mydei informs Garmentmaker of their success via his telesalate. His eyes flick to an unread message from the Deliverer. He swallows, staring at his stupid smile in his profile picture, then shoves his teleslate back into his pocket. Whatever Phainon wants, it can wait until he’s finished patrolling.

Uneventful hours go by, with the most exciting thing they come across a farmer whose barrels had rolled off his wagon due to a faulty rope. A few soldiers volunteer to help the man, and Mydei allows himself to fan himself some air and scarf down the remainder of his water. Squinting, he curses the giant body of Kephale in his mind, so aggravated he almost misses the deadly tundra of Aidonia.

Oh, to lay himself down in a bed of snow…

“Lord Mydei?”

Groaning lowly, he turns toward the soldier, Petros. “Yes?”

“We’re ready to continue, if you would–”

“Oh, right,” Mydei straightens up and tugs on the reins, clicking his tongue to get Kokopo to begin walking again. “Then let’s go.”

By the time they arrive at Okhema’s city gates, Mydeimos’ mind has become sluggish again, the sequence of returning Kokopo to his spot passing by in a blur. Glad to be in the shade for a moment, he crosses his arms and leans against a stone pillar, listening to Kokopo crunch on redsoil in peace.

“Mydei! There you are.”

His eyes flutter, no longer half-lidded, staring at the source of that familiar voice. “Deliverer.”

Phainon nods, not the slightest bit put off by his gruff greeting, casually petting Kokopo’s side.

Mydei inhales deeply, trying to push the haze back, suppressing a growl when Phainon’s scent fills his nose instead. It’s distinct against the whirl of grey all around, sharp and warm – sweet oranges and heady bergamot, flares of ozone and a pang of seasalt. Locating him anywhere was as simple as following that golden trail he left behind no matter where he went.

He swallows, hard. His throat bobs. His teeth ache. He steels his jaw, curls his brass claw into his own arm to distract himself from the heat flaring up in his stomach.

“What do you want?” Mydei asks, voice rougher than usual.

Phainon takes it in stride. “I wrote to you, but you didn’t respond, so– well, you look like you could use a refreshment. Come with me to the baths?”

Mydeimos stares at him for a long moment, mind spinning. “Uh…” He pushes himself off the pillar, licking dry lips. “Fine.”

Phainon beams at him with a smile much too bright for Mydei’s straining eyes.

Nonetheless, he accompanies the other alpha to the entrance of the Baths, hoping the waters will help soothe the itch all over his body. That, and Phainon’s scent, bright with triumph, is strangely pleasant. His brows furrow, trying to recall what his comrades had smelled like – the memory is fuzzy, though he vaguely recalls their scents to be more distinct than that of the rest of the Detachment. None of them had been this vivid, though.

“Mydeiii..”

Torn from his musings by Phainon’s sing-song, Mydei deepens his frown to distract from the heat spreading across his neck. “What?”

“Nothing. You keep zoning out. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” it comes out far more aggressive than he anticipates, and so he bites his lip and looks off to the side, quickly changing the topic before Phainon can begin interrogating him. In that regard, he’s really taken after Aglaea. “Let’s go to the cold section first.”

Phainon’s brows shoot up, but he falls into step with Mydei anyway, and soon enough they’ve stripped themselves off their clothes and washed off most of the sweat and grime, wading into the cool water swaying lazily in the pool. Mydeimos suppresses an unbecoming noise, submerging himself completely before rising with only his head peeking out, settling against the smooth stone encasing the body of water. The cold is like a balm, enveloping his scorching flesh, allowing his tense muscles to finally relax.

Phainon, next to him, shivers dramatically, lips quivering. “Th- This is n-nice for you?”

With his brain no longer feeling stuffed full with cotton, Mydei easily shoots him a smirk, resting his tattooed arms on the tiled sides. “Very. Too cold for you, Deliverer?”

At that, Phainon bristles, arms still wrapped around his sides, immediately rising to his taunt. “No!”

He just snorts.

The lulling drag of Phainon’s pheromones is nice, mixing with the scent of herbs poured into the waters here, mixing with his own, far more potent, now that his control on it is waning – Mydei allows himself to lean back, resting his hot neck on cold tile, eyes falling closed with a sigh.

Phainon quietly splashes next to him, swimming a small round to get used to the temperature, ending up by his side, facing away from him, arms crossed on tiles to rest his chin on them.

Amber follows the trail of a drop, sliding down the hair by his neck, trailing down his nape. Saliva pools in his mouth; his nose flares, his gums ache– Mydei turns away, staring at the statue of a fish pouring fresh water into the pool instead.

Too many people.

Too many scents, converging into one, sticking to the roof of his mouth and infiltrating his lungs; Mydeimos steps closer to Phainon, hand curling into a fist by his side, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. Energy still buzzes underneath his skin, only partially alleviated by their bath. The streets of Okhema are too small, too tight, make him miss the prairies the Detachment had passed through, fields stretching as far as the eye could see, the horizon a mere line in the distance, beckoning him closer, beckoning him to run. – So why is he still standing here, watching Phainon go from one antique vase to another, absorbed in conversation with the Beta shopkeeper?

Mydeimos closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. In the midst of greyness, gold gleams, flickers behind his eyelids.

Something within himself craves to covet that light, to grasp it and drag it away to a place where none other could lay their eyes on it–

He shakes his head and shifts where he stands, brushing hair out of his face. When Phainon had mentioned going shopping at the market after their bath, he’d offered to come with. Inexplicably, the thought of others looking and talking to Phainon while Mydei wasn’t near seemed far, far worse than Mydei being in public in his jumpy state.

Unfortunately, he’s beginning to regret this decision more with every minute that passes.

Mydeimos swallows, focusing on keeping his own scent at bay.

Phainon had finished his inquiry by now, carefully placing the vase back on the stand, glancing over to the prince, suggesting they go check out the fresh fruit that’d just arrived today.

“Sure,” he replies, just glad to move his feet again, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Phainon smiles.

Mydei stares, breath caught in his lungs, fixated on the way his tilted head bares his throat just a little more — the spell broken by the other alpha turning to walk toward the fruit stand, totally oblivious to his amounting transgressions.

He quickly falls into step with him, thankful that the fruit shop is situated in the shade, sweeping his gaze over the assortment of produce.

It wouldn’t hurt to stock up on some ingredients for the coming days…

Not long after, Phainon is munching on a peeled orange, making his way through the next street with Mydei in tow. He tries his best to ignore the greyness brushing off on them, snuffing out the impulse to growl at any passersby his brain perceives as intruding upon their space.

The Kremnoan custom to stifle one’s own scent when in the presence of someone higher in rank than oneself is nowhere to be seen in Okhema, aside from Kremnoan refugees still adhering to their social order. Mydeimos misses the simplicity of stepping into a room and the greyness receding, letting his own wash away all remaining dissonance. Okhema was a cookpot of all sorts of people, cultures clashing, simmering down to a constant exchange in scents Mydeimos could barely tell apart.

The white haired alpha in front of him was always careful with his pheromones; the gland itself hidden beneath his choker, it remained fleeting yet pleasant, like he’d learnt to cover his tracks early in life, and was polite enough to stifle it as to not attract much attention to himself among civilians.

On the battlefield or the barracks, it was a different story – when he got into the zone, his scent would sharpen, and Mydeimos needed only follow the trail of golden fury to find him amongst the broken corpses of Titankin when they ended up separated during long sequences of combat. Mydei wets his lips.

When he played right, he even managed to get Phainon to posture during their sparring sessions…

Breathing hard, Phainon’s frustrated growl resounds in the arena, scattering goosebumps across Mydei’s arms. He grins, reeling back to avoid the Deliverer’s slash aimed at his throat, kicking him in the stomach to send him back a few paces. He’s standing at his full height, chin raised to glare at him for a heartbeat before he charges in again, teeth bared and brows knit together – Mydei’s own eyes burn red, lips spread in a wide grin, successfully having riled the other up enough to let him drop his polished facade. That tight-held leash on his nature slips loose, aims to disorientate and dominate, encroaches on Mydei’s own, sharp and potent–

Perhaps he’s been drawn to Phainon’s scent for longer than he wants to admit.

Mydeimos runs his teeth across his bottom lip. He’s barely noticed they’ve left the market by now, blindly following Phainon wherever he’s leading them to.

Although his heart beats quicker at the idea of challenging Phainon to a spar, he knows it’ll only make it harder to control himself. It’s best if he goes alone, tearing mannequins and golems apart until he feels like he can breathe again.

The aftertaste of sweet orange sticks to his tongue as he cleaves through one of the last training dummies that remain standing. Engineered similar to Aglaea’s Garmentmakers, the humanoid constructs clatter to the ground and put themself back together again, returning to their initial position. Mydei is panting, gauntlets curling into claws, sweat gleaming on his back. His markings flare up, his grunts echo in the enclosed training area, and the only thing he misses is the wind in his hair, the thrill of hunting something alive, the sounds of his target wheezing as he throws them to the floor.

He doesn’t know how much time has gone by, lost in his head, lost in flashes of crimson and gold, stopping only when his arms shake too hard to hold his flask properly, spilling water all over his chest.

The dummies deactivate at the pull of a lever, and he slides down one of the walls, heaving with a slack jaw until his vision is no longer blurry.

The itch beneath his skin is scratched; the beast roaring in his blood is tamed, for now, curling up in his ribcage, exhaustion spreading like ice in his veins.

At the end of the day, when he steps into his quarters at last, his shoulders drop.

After wolfing down the steaks he makes himself for dinner, he stumbles all-too-elegantly into his bed, soothed only by his own scent sticking to his entire house. He’s never been one to fall into the macho stereotype of posturing, possessive alphas. But right now, the mere thought of that greyness intruding upon him is enough to shut the blinds completely and shove his teleslate under a pillow, spreading out on the mattress with a huff.

He’s still too hot for a blanket, staring at his ceiling, brows furrowed, a scowl pulling his lips downward.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, flipping over and willing his body to sleep.

It’s worse.

Of course it’s worse.

Staring himself down in the mirror the next morning, he splashes himself with cold water, the momentary spikes prickling on his flushed face doing laughably little to clear his head.

Still, he pushes himself off the stone basin and leaves his house on time for the next mission – a wall of grey hits him, suffocatingly murky. His vision swims, and he instinctively covers his nose with his palm, the metal thankfully overpowering the whirring pheromones of the bustling city.

His feet bring him to the guard’s station on autopilot, and he sighs when he reaches the canopy by the entrance, leaning against the stone and sinking into the shade. The diplomatic excursion he’d be part of was estimated to take around eight to ten hours, returning just around curtain-fall hour if everything went by smoothly. The space behind his eyes aches just from thinking about it– No, no, it’s fine. He’s fine.

Mydei shakes his head, ignoring the shudder rushing down his spine. His body is coiled, strung tight as a bow, wanting nothing more than to charge at something, run, chase it until he can smash his teeth into–

“Mydei, what’s up? Oh, yeesh, you look even worse–”

Mydeimos flinches. He drops his hand from his mouth, lips parting as he inhales in a rush, wide eyes staring at Phainon.

Phainon, whose brows are curved in contemplation, whose standing close, close, way too close– whose nose flares, a blush spreading over his cheeks soon after.

“You– You’re rutting.”

“And?”

The other alpha frowns at his provocation, waving his hand toward the exit of the city. “You can’t seriously plan on going on a mission like this!”

Mydei hisses through his teeth, pushing himself off the wall. “I can handle it. Always have. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“Wha- you-” Phainon gapes at him, and the longer he’s standing there, scent souring from distress and annoyance, the more often Mydeimos is forced to swallow around an influx of saliva. His eyes drift to his neck, the choker parting the sun marking, before he forces himself to meet his gaze again.

The alpha adamantly shakes his head, grabbing him by the shoulder. It takes a lot of willpower for Mydei to not tear his hand off him – he isn’t quick enough to suppress the snarl that roars in his lungs. Phainon ignores it with a click of his tongue. “This is outstandingly negligent of you, even per your standards.”

Mydeimos works his jaw, restraint slowly waning. “I- I’ve never let this stop me…”

Phainon’s lips draw into a thin line. “So what? You– you just… power through your ruts?”

“Obviously.”

“Mydei, I admire your discipline, but this is just foolish. You’re in rut, take some time off. Seriously.”

He huffs, shoving Phainon off. “Fucking- fine,” Phainon’s scent fills his mouth when he inhales through his mouth, has him bite down on his lip, vision a blur of white and silver.

Titans, he wants to–

“Ah, Lord Phainon! I was looking for y–”

His head whips around, and a wave of white-hot rage overcomes him, stepping in front of Phainon before the enthusiastic omega civilian could come too close. He’s about a head taller than the young man, who stumbles back, eyes wide, nose flaring. “Uhm-”

“Unfortunately, Lord Phainon has some more important matters to tend to, so we’ll excuse ourselves.” With that, he grabs Phainon’s wrist, uncaring of the blinding hypocrisy, and drags the other alpha with him, heading in the direction of his homestead.

“M-Mydei, what?”

The sea of grey is parted by Phainon by his side, and Mydei greedily inhales his scent, feverish mind childishly blaming the other for making it worse. If he was just as stale as all others, he could’ve trudged through the haze and continued working as usual. Now, his rationale fades with each breath he takes, and it should drive him mad, should make him push Phainon away, but he does the exact opposite, grips him tighter, bearing his teeth when Phainon tugs, as if daring to get away.

“This is on you,” he rasps, shooting him a glare, internally burning up at the way Phainon is, despite it all, letting himself be dragged through the streets of Okhema. “I’ve never– it’s not usually this bad.”

“How is this my fault??” Phainon retorts, just on the side of whiny, and Gods, Mydei has just enough self-control to not shove him into a sidestreet and devour him there. His throat bobs with his swallow.

Heat surges, collects in his gut, rushes low, lower–

He’s almost there. Just another turn left.

“Deliverer,” he starts, blood rushing in his ears like tidal waves, “Are you even aware of how– how tempting you are? How good you smell?”

Phainon stares at him like a deer caught in headlights. And if he smelled incredible normally, the note accompanying his blush was to die for. Mydei groans, coming to a stop by his doorway and tugging Phainon closer.

“But… we’re both..”

“Alphas. I am aware,” Mydei states, his other hand wrapping around the doorhandle. It creaks dangerously, just short of snapping off. “I never was… interested in omegas, nor could I be. Everyone… smells the same to me. My nose is– broken. But you…”

Phainon’s tied to his lips. He stands here, rooted to the spot, bound by nothing but the brass gauntlet curled around his wrist, a grip he’s proven he can slip out of if he really wanted to. And as if to test something out, the other intensifies his pheromones, watching Mydei’s pupils expand in eternal day, listening to the moan under his breath.

“Your scent is maddeningly clear. It–” He shudders on an exhale. “It makes me want to devour you whole.”

“I’d let you.” It’s out his mouth before he can stop it, and there's a split second where both of their hearts seem to skip a beat, and then Phainon is being pulled into Mydei’s home.

“Titans,” Phainon pants, thrown into the lion’s den, body growing rigid, his own instincts roaring up in protest. Entering the domain of an alpha in rut is a surefire way to get one’s head torn off. But before he can retreat, Mydei’s already on him, pressing him against the door, noses brushing, lips almost touching.

Metal wraps around his upper arms, pins him in place.

“One chance,” Mydei speaks against his lips, tension rolling off him in waves, eyes clear in what Phainon can only admire as stubborn determination, “you have one chance to get out of my sight until this is over, or- stay.”

Often, such an offer is mere play; but Phainon can tell he means it. He tilts his head back, carefully raises a hand, settling it on Mydei’s cheek. He’d always been warm-blooded; a human furnace, as Tribbie liked to joke, but now, he’s burning hot enough to make Phainon hiss.

Mydeimos goes still.

His eyes are wild, flick from his face to the hand, and a shudder goes through him, oh so close to the scent gland on Phainon’s wrist.

A less composed alpha would’ve jumped him by now.

All Mydei does is rasp “Phainon.” A warning, a question, a demand for him to stop teasing all at once.

“Mmh, sorry, sorry,” Phainon laughs, softly, slides his hand down to rub his wrist into Mydei’s neck, relishing in the delirious moan it triggers. “Of course I’ll stay.”

The second he finishes his sentence, Mydei slots their bodies together. His chuckle breaks off into a groan when he feels something hot and stiff grind against his hip.

“You’ll really… let me have you?”

Mydei’s rich, deep voice does it for him on normal days. Now, raspy with frustration and slightly slurred from arousal, Phainon seriously thinks his knees might give in if he keeps on talking like that.

“Yeah,” he responds, rushed, grabbing his side to keep him there, “You’ve never spent a rut with someone to help you out?”

At that, the indulgent rolls of Mydei’s waist come to a halt. “Not… really. Not like this, anyway. You?”

He feels himself blush harder. “Also no. But– at least I take care of it!”

A growl.

Then, Mydei’s lips are on his, stopping him from nagging any further, and Phainon’s eyes press shut automatically.

The scent of an alpha in rut is overwhelming – Mydei’s territorial side is made obvious here, where each and every item is covered in it, air thick and heavy with lust and alert; writing ‘mine, enter and you die’ might as well have been less subtle. Against all biology, Phainon is turned on instead of thrown off. And Mydei– Mydei’s happily mixing their scents, licking into his mouth and shoving his tongue deep, continuing to grind against him.

In a blur, they somehow end up in Mydei’s bedroom.

The scent’s even more intense here, and he wheezes, being thrown onto the mattress, Mydei crawling on top of him before he can even attempt to catch his breath. His eyes drop to the visible bulge in Mydei’s pants; he bites his lip, letting his legs fall open.

“It– It won’t be as seamless as if it’d be with an- omega,” he finds himself say, a twinge of panic in his tone.

Up above, Mydei scoffs, pulling his shirt over his head, fingers coming down to undo Phainon’s uniform too. “Obviously. I’m not too far gone to try and bitch you yet.”

Goosebumps spread across his neck, and he shifts, restless, internally fighting the clashing waves of arousal and instinctual resistance.

Mydei seems to catch himself, blinking and meeting his gaze. “I’ll take care of you. Above all else, ruts just make me… more protective.” He splays a hand out on Phainon’s bare chest, feels the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath. He ducks his head before continuing. "Possessive. Not… needy. Like this. That’s… a recent development.”

“Because of me?” – Gods, why does he sound so hopeful?

Mydei barks out a rough laugh. It goes straight to his dick.

“Essentially. So.” He clears his throat. “It’s only right you take responsibility, yeah?”

Phainon reciprocates his smirk with a sharp smile of his own. “Naturally.”

Mydei’s eyes gleam – dangerous, his alpha screams, hot, his dick rebukes. Both, his mind decides, definitely both.

And then he watches him take off his gauntlets in record speed, and follows his order to strip himself further with shaky fingers.

He’s embarrassingly hard already, tip flushed and dripping, though all that shame flies out the window the moment Mydei descends upon his cock and takes him into his mouth in one motion. Phainon yelps, automatically grabbing Mydei’s hair as his own head falls back into the pillows.

The slick noise of Mydei lapping up his pre-cum has him devolve into swift panting, abs tensing, hips rolling into the prince’s tongue as it swirls and licks to its heart's content. Phainon’s ears burn even hotter when he catches the sound of Mydei jerking himself off while he sucks his cock– unable to stifle his curiosity, he opens his eyes and cranes his neck.

And-

“Kephale, in what world would that even fit into an omega?”

Mydei moans, then chokes around Phainon’s length, staring up at him darkly, low lids almost fully obscuring his blown eyes. He rises, applying suction as he goes, getting off with a pop that makes Phainon throb–

“You can take me.” There’s conviction in there, and Phainon stifles another groan, wanting to hide but also wanting Mydei to keep on looking at him as if he hung the stars itself. “I can’t think of any one more worthy of having me.”

“Mh– you, you’ve got to stop talking like that, hah,” he complains.

“Or what?”

Or I might start thinking you love me.

“You’re the needy one, shouldn't I be the one choking on your knot?” He pivots instead, lifting himself on his elbows, pride swelling in his chest at the way Mydei’s scent grows even more potent, the hunger sharp, filthy, thick on his tongue, infiltrating his lungs.

Mydeimos’ eyes flicker, and he slurs what Phainon thinks must be some kremnoan obscenity, swaying where he kneels. When he catches himself, he nods, giving Phainon’s dick a last stroke. “Be my guest.”

With that, he sits back, pants long kicked off the bed, and beckons Phainon forward with a hand. The other alpha finds himself momentarily frozen in sight of Mydei– they’ve showered together, so he’s no stranger to his nude form, and yet, sitting in his bed, arousal on full display, abdomen tight with rut-induced tension, voluptuous chest leading up to an enticing neck and his daring, infuriatingly handsome smile at last, he can barely string words together in his mind.

Swallowing, Phainon moves to lie between his legs, tentatively wrapping a hand around the other’s length, already feeling the slight knot starting to swell up just above the root.

It’d be a lie to say Phainon hadn’t thought of doing this yesterday.

He’d had his suspicions, catching a whiff of musk in Mydei’s usually sharp, clear scent, spotting the hard lines of tension as they showered. Screw that, a lie to say he hadn’t thought of Mydei in this context a bunch of other times.

The cock in his hand twitches.

Once again, Phainon is impressed by Mydei’s self control. Kephale knows, if this was Phainon’s rut, he’d have Mydei’s head in his hands, coming down his throat in–

His face is so warm he knows he must be flushed all the way to his shoulders. He finally leans in and kisses Mydei’s tip.

A sharp intake of breath sounds from the prince, and Phainon decides to go easy on him, taking the whole head into his mouth, stroking him with his hand at the same time. The hip his other hand is holding onto twitches, and he feels Mydei tense to keep himself from fucking into his mouth.

If his lips were warm, his cock is downright hot. He relaxes his jaw, letting it slide all the way to the back of his throat, using his hand to curl around the base, rubbing across the underside just so. Mydei groans, low and breathy, and it spurns him on, sliding up, swallowing at the tip, then bobbing his head.

His lashes flutter. Mydei’s cock is heavy on his tongue, the drag against the roof of his mouth making Phainon moan.

The prince is all he perceives; he’s all he can see, all he can taste, smell, hear – and he should shy away from this, shouldn’t enjoy this act of submission, and yet his own cock drools, smears over the sheets he’s laying on, and his growl has morphed into a constant purr, rumbling against Mydei’s knot.

It jolts, Mydei grinding deeper, hips chasing after Phainon when he slides back, running his tongue over his length and pressing into the prominent veins. He swallows spit and pre-come, then tightens his grip on Mydei’s base.

Hollowing out his cheeks, he devours him once more, beginning a proper rhythm.

Up, down, up, down.

His lips stretch to accommodate his knot, slide back and press against the throbbing shaft, repeating the motion over and over while ignoring the way his jaw aches from opening so wide. The wet noises make his ears burn, loud next to Mydei’s rough panting, the moans slipping past bared teeth whenever Phainon twists his wrist just so, when he drags his teeth along his cock.

Gods, he’s so warm– so hot in his mouth, reaches deeper with every involuntary rut, thrusting into the sensitive opening of his throat.

Sparks ignite in his stomach, override the instinctual panic when he chokes, a wave of saliva easing the glide, allowing Mydei to roll his hips with a drawn-out groan.

“Just like that, Deliverer, ohh…”

Warmth blooms inside, fire licks at veins, at his loins. Phainon applies more suction, lavishes the sensitive head with more attention, flicking into the slit and swirling along the seam parting the crown and shaft – Mydei’s legs slam into his shoulders, pin him in place, as if Phainon would ever dream to pull away now. He pumps him, fast and hard, calloused hand slick with his own spit, stroking his balls for good measure.

“Phainon–” Fingers curl into his hair, and he hums, the vibration making Mydei snarl, cock ramming deeper, pre-cum dripping from Phainon’s spread lips. “I’m gonna–”

He flicks his eyes up, swirls his tongue and subtly nods – squeezing tight around the base, simulating the pulsing of a nice, tight hole, Phainon watches Mydei’s face contort, wrought in pleasure, head falling back. He keeps his knot in a tight enough grip to make Mydei hiss and shiver all over.

Phainon watches in awe as his entire body locks up, back arching off the bed. It strikes him then, not for the first time, how gorgeous Mydeimos is.

Mydei’s cock throbs in his mouth, spills down his throat– so pent up it goes on for a good minute, some spilling past his lips, Mydei keeping him shoved as far as he could, riding out his high with indulgent, little grinds.

Phainon, for his part, is too turned on to care about the ache in his jaw, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.

When Mydeimos eventually lets him come up again, his cock is still erect – it’d take a lot more for it to go down. Phainon shivers, parts nervous and so hard he can barely think.

“And, am I better than your hand?”

His hoarse question earns him a soft, low laugh, Mydei having relaxed just the slightest bit.

“You are.”

As expected, Mydei’s phase of contentment doesn’t last long.

Phainon has started to get used to the overwhelming scent filling his lungs with each breath, easily reciprocating when Mydei pins him down and kisses him with a snarl – their teeth clash, rip at skin and tear into flesh, and Phainon’s eyes press shut, moaning into his mouth. Mydei grinds down on him, slotting their cocks together, and he blindly grabs at him, dragging his nails down the prince’s back. The other alpha grunts, rolls his waist with more intent, using Phainon’s pre-come to rut against him more smoothly.

“Ah, Titans–”

Mydei chuckles, grabbing hold of his waist, moving down to mouth at his neck, pushing the choker out of the way to get access to his scent gland. Phainon’s breath hitches.

The prince moans unabashedly as he drags his tongue across it, and he trembles beneath him, cock twitching against Mydei’s own. That devious tongue laps up his sweat, rubs into the sensitive piece of skin to merge their scents.

He returns the favor, lips pulling into a smile at the resulting growl, deciding to tease him by digging his teeth in just a little.

Mydei yanks him back by the hair, looking down at him with burning eyes; Phainon merely grins, dashing and faux-innocent. The prince’s second hand pins his shoulder to the mattress, the fingers in his hair tug hard enough that it makes him wince.

“Stay,” Mydeimos hisses, and then he’s surging down, the flash of his teeth sending fresh fire into Phainon’s veins.

For a split second, he thinks of Mydei claiming him.

A full-body shudder goes through him, and he whines, hips bucking.

The prince bites down on the choker, tongue pressing into leather, the only barrier keeping him from breaking skin, tasting golden blood. He doesn’t move until the urge subsides, grinding their cocks together in the meantime, groaning encouragingly when Phainon reaches between them to jerk them both off. Drool flows from the corners of his lip, smears onto Phainon’s neck.

He manages to pull his teeth from the leather and kiss him properly, loosening his grip on his white hair, weaving it between his fingers.

When they come apart to breathe, Phainon’s face is flushed, eyes blown wider than Mydei’s ever seen them.

“Why do I feel like I’m more horny than you right now?”

“Deviant,” Mydei teases, and Phainon rolls his eyes, speeding up his hand.

“You’re just the same.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the alpha offering to get fucked, now am I?” Mydeimos pointedly thrusts into Phainon’s hand, the drag of both their cocks in his palm making his stomach flip.

Phainon can only bite his lip at that; his dick hides little, though, spilling another burst of pre into his palm, slicking up both.

“And anyway, it’s still early. You’ll be glad if you get me this lucid soon enough.”

Phainon blinks, owlish, and Mydei snorts, kissing him again, short but deceptively sweet.

He’d been right.

Phainon’s face is pressed into a pillow, his numb fingers clutching at the sheets; Mydei breathes down his neck, and he almost begs– begs for him to finally bite him properly, to cease scattering the marks of his teeth all over his collarbone and back, to bind them together so he may relish in this twisted pleasure for every rut after this one.

Tears well up in his eyes, break free and pour down his flushed cheeks, merge with the spit dribbling from his mouth.

Mydei’s cock drives into him incessantly, the sharp stretch of his knot just skirting by his rim enough to make Phainon whimper. He’s on his elbows and knees, doesn’t know how many hours have gone by, just that sometime around their third round, Mydei’s eyes had darkened, scent thick enough to make him choke, and flipped him onto his stomach, making him present himself like a proper omega, and he hasn’t known peace since.

His own dick swings with each thrust, cum smeared over his stomach and over the sheets, though he doesn’t even attempt to reach for it, knowing Mydei would simply growl and pull him back by the wrist, pinning it back down.

At first, Mydei had stayed true to his promise; he’d prepared him carefully, fingering him open as Phainon breathed and whined into his mouth, making sure he could take him before spreading his legs and settling the tip of his eager cock by Phainon’s entrance. The stretch had been enough to make him come, though not painful. Mydeimos had intertwined their hands, nosing along his jaw, murmuring encouragement, praising him when Phainon took him all the way to his knot.

Air shakes in his lungs.

He arches his back, rocks back into Mydei’s thrusts, adamant to remain an active participant despite the blackness clawing at the edges of his vision. The prince seems to sense his efforts, sliding a hand up and down his side in appreciation.

“I knew you’d be perfect for this,” he murmurs into his nape, and Phainon shudders, feeling his cock seize up inside him, spilling white-hot into him, all while continuing the slow, deep grind of his hips, working his seed deeper.

He swallows before he can drool onto the pillow again, huffing out a weak laugh, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Yeah? Since when?” Phainon asks, craning his neck to meet his eyes, pressing his back against Mydei’s chest where it brackets him. The alpha is burning up; he can feel his rapid pulse thump against his slick walls, stretching to accommodate for his girth.

“Tch–” Mydei’s eyes close when Phainon purposely tightens around him, circling his hips for good measure. “Deliverer–”

In a split second decision, Phainon pushes Mydei back by the shoulder, allowing his cock to slip out fully, and turns over, taking one moment to appreciate the affronted expression on the prince’s face before tackling him and flipping them over so he’s straddling his waist. He cups Mydei’s (still hard, Good Kephale) cock in his hand, aligning it with his stretched hole, not so cruel as to deny Mydei his need for pleasure just yet, keeping direct eye contact while he sinks down on his length.

“Since when, Mydei?” He repeats, sharpens his scent, splaying the hand out on his stomach as he no longer needs it to guide it, relishing in Mydei’s wide eyes.

“When you came up to me yesterday and I didn’t want to rip your throat out,” Mydeimos gives in, voice laced with a flash of frustration, hands settling on Phainon’s thighs.

His grip is hard enough Phainon knows it’ll leave marks. And fuck, that shouldn’t make him moan, but it does.

“Oh really? I’m honored,” Phainon says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

His shoulders tingle with all the marks Mydei has left with his teeth until now, and he’s eager to return the favor, pinning Mydei down while he sinks his teeth into his neck, close enough to his scent gland to make him gasp.

Mydeimos growls, though he does not flip them over, the lack of resistance more telling than any noise; Phainon scatters a few more across his collarbone, kissing down his chest and swirling his tongue around a nipple. At that, Mydei moans, hips snapping, burying himself to the hilt.

“Ah, M-Mydei…”

It jostles Phainon enough to make him whimper.

He spreads his legs enough to allow Mydei to properly fuck into him. His next tease gets lost, escapes his mouth in nothing but a rush of air, Mydei hitting his prostate dead on, the new angle making him see stars. His nails dig into Mydei’s shoulders, scratch hard enough to draw blood.

Mydei grabs him by the neck to smash their lips together, hungrily licking into his mouth, Phainon letting himself be devoured while his vision swims.

Heavy breathing and the slide and slap of glistening wet skin fills the bedroom, Phainon moaning blindly while getting lifted and slammed back onto Mydei’s cock. It’s hot, so hot inside him, spreading him open, heavy when he buries himself deep, his seed dripping out of him, gleaming on his inner thighs. He–

Plop.

His eyes fly wide open, jaw dropping with a silent scream at the overwhelming pressure suddenly settling inside him. Mydei fares no better. His chest rises and sinks rapidly, panting open-mouthed and staring at him in a mix of disbelief and elation.

“You–”

“Good boy,” Mydeimis croons, and Phainon whines at the warmth filling him suddenly, the alpha pumping him full of his seed once more, now unable to escape. The prince slides a hand up his ass, settling on his lower back to soothe the tense muscles there. “Look at you, taking my knot just fine.”

Phainon shudders, biting down on his lip, shifting and whimpering at the feeling of it tugging on his rim. It brushes up against his prostate, and if his cock wasn’t still out of commission, he knew it would’ve splattered all over Mydei’s chest by now. As it is, it only twitches valiantly, sensitive tip drooling over Mydei’s abs.

His instincts roar in his ribcage, and he shakes his head, leaning down, Mydei immediately pulling him into an embrace.

Despite his efforts, he snarls, and Mydei bears his neck without a second thought, dialing down his pheromones to let Phainon’s scent envelop them both. The balance between two coupling alpha’s is a delicate one to keep, especially unbonded. Phainon buries his teeth in the space between Mydei’s neck and shoulder, relaxing only at the taste of blood expanding on his tongue.

Mydeimos sighs beneath him, running a hand up and down his sweaty back.

When he pulls his teeth out and licks over the wound, his chest rumbles with an apologetic purr.

Mydei just smiles crookedly, the bliss of having knotted a tight hole overriding the pain by miles. “You alright, Deliverer?”

“Mh. You’re– I’ve never felt this full in my life,” Phainon hoarsely responds, and Mydei groans, rolling them over so they’re laying side by side, pulling him closer. Pride swells in his chest, amber eyes gazing upon Phainon’s winded expression, moving to nuzzle against his cheek. You’re too tempting for your own good, Deliverer.

“You’ll have to get used to it for a bit,” he murmurs. His hand keeps drawing circles by his tailbone, soothing the aching muscles there.

Phainon snorts, though he wraps his arms around him too, trying to relax. “I know. It’s– it’s not unpleasant, at least.”

An amused huff. “I can tell by the way you’re throbbing around me.”

The other blushes harder at that, grumbling something, and Mydei chuckles.

They lie there for a while, breathing each other in, waiting for Mydei’s knot to go down.

It wasn’t for nothing, at least – the burning need has subseeded, internal alpha pleased and sated for now, leaving his mind less clouded, his body no longer pulled tight with tension.

Exchanging lazy kisses, Phainon closes his eyes, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Until now, everything’s been wrapped up in a haze of lust, buffering his conscience to examine what this all means more closely.

As much of their relationship, this aspect remains unspoken. If it weren’t for the reciprocal note of sweetness permeating in Mydei’s pheromones, Phainon would be much less confident, but as it stands, he opens his eyes and smiles when he spots lucid amber already gazing at him, moving to kiss his neck. They can speak properly sometime later; be it hours or days or on a warm summer evening in the far future, Phainon does not mind.

He’s agreed to stay for Mydei’s rut, and that’s all that matters.

When Mydei’s knot softens and he eventually slips out, Phainon merely whines, feeling oddly empty after the weight of his cock leaves his stretched, dripping hole. He attempts to get out of bed, stopped by Mydei’s soft growl and a hand on his chest, pushing him back down.

“Let me take care of you.”

Phainon huffs out a laugh but obliges.

He watches with half-lidded eyes as Mydeimos wipes the sweat and cum off his body with a warm, damp towel, spreading out a large towel on the bed to not ruin the sheets even more, cleaning himself up as well. He’s ‘allowed’ to sit up when Mydei hands him a glass of water and gulps it down at record speed, barely having noticed how dehydrated he’d gotten. Eternal daytime often messes with his measurement of time.

While Mydei wanders off to the kitchen, he checks his teleslate. It’s afternoon already, oh lord.

Mydei returns with a small basket of bread and slices of cheese, meat and butter. His stomach growls as soon as it comes into his line of sight.

He goes to sit on the edge of the bed, then holds the bread in front of Phainon. His face prickles, surely blushing hard, embarrassed that he needs this.

Phainon shoots him a small smile, eyes alight with amusement but no mockery. He gets it, after all. It makes it a little easier. Everything, if he’s honest.

Aside from his malfunctioning pheromone sensor, his childhood spent drowning and fighting ceaselessly left a lot of his early socialization unrefined, aided by his time with the Detachment, aided by his desire to understand and connect to others to be a better leader, to not end up like his father. It’s nice, not having to explain why he’s acting a particular way, knowing that Phainon knows each instinct, knows how it’s like.

“You should eat, too,” Phainon eventually says, taking the bread after entertaining his alpha for a while by eating from his hand.

Mydeimos swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. He’s just about to reach into the basket–

“Mh-mh.” Phainon tears his in two and gives him the other half.

Mydei has half the mind not to pounce on him again. He reels it in, tearing into the bread with just a bit too much force than necessary, Phainon’s lip quirking up knowingly.

Tease.

The basket gets emptied, and Phainon stretches his back with a yawn afterwards, both of them putting on new pairs of underwear; Mydei’s still too warm to put on anything else, and Phainon’s well aware any clothes he put on will be torn off in a few hours anyway.

He shifts to sit leaning against the wall and pulls Mydei closer by the wrist.

They end up with Phainon’s head laying on Mydei’s thighs, the prince carding his fingers through his hair.

“What was your first rut like?”

Mydei blinks, awareness flickering in his eyes again, meeting Phainon’s clear gaze. The other alpha’s smiling up at him, brows relaxed but raised curiously, blue eyes searching his face.

He swallows. “Not fun.”

Phainon’s lips draw into a thin line. “Mh. Same. The best rut you’ve ever had, then.”

This one.

Instead of saying that, he clears his throat, looking off to the side for a moment, thinking.

“The ones during the Detachment weren’t bad. Always had something to chase.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Phainon’s tongue swipe across his lip, pupils dilating just a bit.

As is customary in Kremnos, it is an honor to hunt for your tribe.

Warriors make use of their pre-rut on the battlefield, allow their enhanced senses to take over, the amplified protectiveness, energy and bloodlust regarded as something to take pride in. Tasks in the Detachment were distributed accordingly; territorial Omegas in pre-heat standing guard, battle-hungry, bonded Alphas sent to the front lines, clear-headed Betas taking part in strategy discussions, and for anyone too restless to sit idly by, they were granted the task of catching targets in the vicinity.

Mydeimos had quickly grown to love those hunts.

The world around him flashes by in a blur. His gaze is fixed on the prey, anticipating each stumble, each twist and turn to escape his pursuit – energy surges, resonates in his burning legs, boots digging into the earth to propel him faster. He doesn’t know for how long he’s been running for; all he knows is that he won’t tire until he’s caught it, and that it won’t take much more.

His prey is heaving, the panting of it reaching his ears over the beat of his own heart, over the wind howling here in this field, grasslands stretching out to the far horizon. He’d already chased them out the forest he’d initially spotted it in, robbing it of the safety of the tree’s shade.

All his body does is run.

He’s closing in, can almost sink his claws in, a laugh breaking free when it shrieks and begins to sprint even faster. It zaps from here to there, trampling grass beneath its panicked jumps. It doesn’t dare turn around to see how close he’s gotten.

Blood rushes in his ears. His canines gleam, catch the light of dusk, painting the sky in shades of fresh blood.

With a snarl, he charges forth.

Brass claws ram into the prey’s shoulder and slam it onto the floor.

The prey cries out, all air punched out its lungs when it hits the ground, writhing beneath. He pins them down with minimal effort; their limbs shake from exhaustion, weakly resist, whines interrupting panting. Metal slashes across its sides, properly drawing blood for the first time.

It kicks. It shrieks. It cries.

The flesh is warm on his tongue; blood spills past his lips, teeth bared, visage stretching into a wolfish grin.

It gives in.

For a moment, he imagines slicing the stomach open, reaching into the ribcage, crushing the heart in his palm. His mouth waters, though he refrains, taking one last moment to gaze into the prey’s eyes, wide open and glassy, before slamming their head into the ground to make it pass out.

The prey’s head lolls to the side, jaw slack, slumping beneath him. He licks his lips, a purr rumbling in his chest, and sits back on his haunches. It hadn’t been too much of a challenge compared to the others – yesterday’s one had put up a good fight, and been all the more fun to subdue for it.

This one…

Quick, but not quick enough.

He slings the body over his shoulder, getting to his feet to make his way back. His own scent eclipses that of nature, another claim laid upon it aside from the gaping bite-wound by its neck.

Yes, the best ruts were those where he could run free, let self-restraint slip and instinct prevail, dive headfirst into conflicts and tear the enemy legion apart for days on end, guarding his comrades from any unnecessary bloodshed with a snarl.

Returning soaked in blood and smelling of triumph, sitting by the bonfire surrounded by his companions, sharing bread and wine. Bathing in cold lakes nearby, laying bare on the grassy shores, staring up at the sky, new energy already buzzing beneath his skin, goading him to get up and chase something once again, to wrap his hand around his knot, the latter of which he often indulged in, returning to his tent to ride out the worst of it when their campaign allowed for it.

By the time he’s done retelling, Phainon has moved to sit on his lap, shamelessly grinding down on Mydei’s reawakened hard on.

“And yours?” He murmurs against Phainon’s lips at last, and Phainon just grunts, grinding down with more purpose, grabbing Mydei by the upper arms. He’s shoved onto the mattress.

Eyes flashing, Mydei quickly hooks a leg into Phainon’s one and flips them over to stare down at him.

Phainon bares his teeth at that, but doesn’t resist when Mydei goes to pull his underwear off, returning the favor to free Mydei’s own.

“The– the first time where I had my own place, here,” Phainon answers, already sounding out of breath, spreading his legs for Mydei to settle between them properly. “I could– finally- ah, ride it out without having to– stay alert all the time.”

“Mhm.” Mydeimos roams his lips down his chest all the while, fingers having found his entrance again, tugging on the rim to test something – a purr builds in his throat. Yes, still stretched for me. He swallows a mouthful of saliva. “And?”

Phainon’s breath hitches when Mydei presses two fingers in. Nails dig into his back where Phainon’s holding onto him, make him groan.

“I, uhm,” as if the other alpha hadn’t expected Mydei to turn this question around to him, embarrassment slips into his tone, and he glances off to the side, cheeks burning red. He mumbles something.

Mydei’s smile widens. He crooks his fingers, relishing in the crystalline moan drawn from the Deliverer’s lips, and moves to speak against his flushed ear. “What was that?”

Phainon shoots him a glare. It’s less threatening when his eyes drift when he hits his prostate again. He swallows, rolls into the pressure, cock arching up and drooling all over his own stomach. “I bought a fleshlight.”

Mydei snorts, though pushes a third digit in, mind conjuring up all sorts of fantasies.

“...Multiple for each rut, since then, actually. I break them too fast.”

Next thing he knows, he’s got his tongue shoved inside the Deliverer’s mouth before it can undo him even more, fingers slipping out and blindly pawing at the sheets to find the vial of lube from earlier, because dear Nikador, if he cannot bury his cock in him right fucking now, he’ll lose it.

Phainon chuckles against his lips, ignoring his growl, burying a hand in Mydei’s hair. It’s become undone over time, blonde framing his face, soft where it brushes against his skin.

Fortunately, Mydei doesn’t have to search for long. He slicks himself up with a low moan, has half the mind to try and tease Phainon for the eager buck of his hips, the way he spreads himself wider in anticipation – but all that makes it out of his mouth is “Phainon,” the word dripping with need.

The alpha below raises his chin, gazes at him through half-lidded eyes.

Come and take it, infinite blue beckons, and Mydei is nothing if not weak for it.

He slides in, meeting barely any resistance.

Heat envelops his throbbing cock, squeezes down pointedly enough he knows Phainon’s doing it on purpose.

His hips drive forward until the rim catches on to the beginnings of his knot; he exhales in a rush, draws back just a little before slamming in, burying himself to the hilt. “AH-! Mydei, fuck!”

The thighs caging him in tremble minutely. Phainon’s eyes glaze over, mouth parted, panting quietly as he adjusts.

Mydei, for his part, is overcome with bliss, hands settling on the Deliverer’s waist to keep himself steady, head lowered between his shoulders. “Gods, you’re so fucking hot.”

The arm slung around his neck pulls him closer, allowing for Phainon to kiss him this time, the prince happy to let him lick into his mouth and sink his teeth into his lower lip, leaving indents behind. His eyes remain closed; he begins to rock back and forth, like he can’t bear to pull out any further.

A fresh wave of heat enters his veins.

His cock twitches against the walls pressing down on it, spurs him on to go quicker, putting more weight behind it until he’s swinging his hips hard enough to shove Phainon up and down on the mattress.

“Ah, ah, ah, ngh– too dee–AH! Mydei-”

Flames lick at his insides, lines of tension grasping him by the spine, and he groans, dipping down and sinking his teeth into Phainon’s shoulder.

“You can handle it. You can take it, alpha.”

Phainon hisses, quivering around his cock, insides sucking him deeper despite his scowl. “Shut up...”

Their scents have mixed, merged into something so delectable he can’t resist dragging his tongue across Phainon’s collarbone, inhaling the sharp pheromones over and over, drooling onto his marked flesh. It’s covered in hickeys, some bruising already, Phainon moaning weakly when he presses his teeth into them.

The glide is smooth and slick from the oil, flowing from Phainon’s puffy rim and covering both their inner thighs, and Mydei’s thoughts go quiet, nothing but the sensation of fucking into his soft, warm, throbbing hole reaching him.

It tightens around him when he finally comes, pulsing deep, continuing to roll his hips through the aftershocks.

Phainon’s cock throbs between their bodies, spilling over Mydei’s stomach. He whines at the feeling of the sensitive tip brushing against his abs, writhing half-heartedly, and Mydei smiles into his flushed skin, already pulling back until the tip catches onto his rim to thrust back in. The scratches on his back are bleeding; the burn is pleasant, just like when Phainon pulls on his hair to smash their lips together, teeth caught on soft skin, tearing into flesh.

Blinking the haze away, he watches Phainon lap up the drops of blood, another inferno bursting in his stomach, settling low and heavy on his loins.

He does not count to care how many rounds follow. He only remembers eventually pulling out and dozing off covered in sweat and purring loud enough to make Phainon hoarsely laugh, remembers how pleasant his hands felt, caressing his face, cooling him down with his languid touches.

His body is heavy as a boulder. Everything’s hot, the air thick enough to choke on, and his gums ache, and he slowly opens his eyes, dazed and disoriented.

Something’s moving.

The scent of another alpha in his territory tears a growl from his throat. He’s pinned him down before his vision even adjusts to the dark of night; the white-haired alpha shushes him, bearing his neck in surrender, and only when he’s buried his teeth in the choker does he realize who it is.

“...Phainon.”

A hum. Fingers card through his hair, wipe strands out of his face. “Yes. You should sleep some more, Mydei.”

He grumbles, though exhaustion is sapping away his strength already, and he slumps, pulling the other closer so he can embrace him properly. Phainon goes willingly, Mydei feeling him smile into his skin, another soft hum sounding between their warm bodies.

“Stay right here, don’t leave,” he murmurs, the order coming out slurred, and Phainon fondly rolls his eyes, practically nuzzling into his supple chest.

“I will. Now shush and rest.”

Mydei’s attempt at a warning growl at his lack of respect devolves into a snore. Phainon seals his chuckle behind his lips to let him rest, though he’s not far behind, curling into a comfortable position, indulging in the rare opportunity to use Mydei’s soft tits as his pillow.

Catching Phainon with his teleslate in hand the next morning after he procures breakfast for them, Mydei’s face contorts into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

Phainon looks up at his harsh grumble, but by then, Mydei has reached the bed and taken the teleslate out of his hand, throwing it somewhere into the mess of sheets.

The other rolls his eyes. “Chill out. I just notified Aglaea we’d be out of commission for the next few days.”

Something warm ignites in his chest – Phainon’s really planning to stay the entire time. He swallows, deflating, the other alpha having successfully placated his possessive one-track mind. “Oh.”

Phainon snorts. He pats the space beside him, inclining his head at the tablet he’s carrying. “Let’s eat.”

Mydei has no qualms about that, and they eat in silence, though it’s not an uncomfortable one.

Light spills in from between the drawn blinds, Phainon seeming to have opened a window while Mydei was busy, the air no longer as stuffy. He’s sure that’ll change soon enough. The itch under his skin is back, the warmth spreading out with each breath he takes, leaning closer to Phainon’s scent subconsciously.

“Mydei, Mydei, My–ah! Ah, ah, ah, f-fuck, I’m gonna– Mydei!”

Oh, how perfect you are. I want to keep you here forever.

The way he keeps on saying his name between gasps for air– Mydeimos moans, sucking yet another hickey into the tapestry of bruises blooming all across Phainon’s gorgeous neck as the alpha goes rigid beneath him, painting his stomach in white.

His own orgasm follows soon after, and for a moment, all they do is breathe each other in as they heave for air, heart pounding hard enough Mydei thinks it’ll jump out of his chest soon just to get closer to Phainon’s own.

He slides a hand along his side, up to his pecs, feeling it thump violently against his palm.

He mouths along his throat, reaching his jaw, kissing it softly; Phainon whines, blinking through his tears, meeting his eyes even so.

“I was right. You were able to come again.”

A scowl. “Shut up.”

Mydei laughs easily when Phainon flips them over, scattering bites across his neck and chest as retribution.

The Deliverer’s face is flushed all too prettily, tear stains making him look all the more gorgeous, and Mydei can barely believe his luck in getting to have him here, in his bed, in his arms, sobbing and whimpering on his cock.

He’s much less talkative that day, though Phainon is loud enough to make up for it – and what wonderful noises he makes.

The sheets are rumpled to the point of no return, slashed up by both their claws, and he’s faintly aware that they’ve rammed the bed into the wall often enough to carve marks into the walls. Unfortunately for his tapestry, that discovery just makes Mydeimos run hotter.

His hands caress Phainon’s shaking thighs almost reverently, press into quivering muscle he loves to spot even through the other alpha’s clothes. He’s always had an eye for the Deliverer’s figure, initially thinking it to simply be admiration for a warrior of his league, then coming to terms with the fact that him liking the way Phainon’s thigh strap dug into his thick legs had nothing to do with sportsmanship.

“It’s unfair,” he pants, and Phainon huffs, frowning, still winded from coming dry just a while ago, his dick twitching where it lays on his stomach, covered in his spend.

“What?”

Mydei’s already leaning down to lick his abs clean, comment forgotten about, his own dick sliding out and giving Phainon’s poor hole a small break. The white haired alpha hisses from the unfamiliar emptiness, though relaxes into the mattress, watching him lap up the mess he’d made with half-lidded eyes.

“What’s unfair?” He repeats, voice shot, and Mydei groans, swallowing his taste. This time, he’d begun slower, merely caressing Phainon after they’d eaten breakfast and taken a moment to clean up the bed. A hopeless endeavor, seeing as it’s become just as dirty as before.

His mind wanders here and there, a blur of white-hot need washing away his usual consistent rationale; he’s never been this down bad, never felt this burning need other alphas had described to him back during the Detachment – it almost scares him. Phainon’s choker is still in place, bearing marks deep enough to have torn through skin and flesh otherwise, the only remaining safeguard keeping Mydeimos from doing something truly foolish.

Because as much as his internal alpha wishes, the Deliverer is not his to keep.

“It’s unfair how hard it’s to resist you,” he finally answers, throat raw. He licks his lips and leans in to kiss Phainon before he can inquire more.

His tongue slides into the other’s willing mouth, so wonderfully warm and wet, a soothing balm he cannot get enough of, breaking apart only when Phainon yanks him back by the air to gasp for air.

He’s unsure what caused Phainon’s eyes to gain such a wild glow, though he finds he doesn’t care at all because it has the alpha flip them back around so he’s on his hands and elbows, presenting himself with his face pressed into a pillow.

His hands settle on Phainon’s hips, match the bruises he’s pressed into them from their hard coupling, and groans low in his throat as he pushes back into his hole, not stopping until his balls settle on the cleft of his ass. Mydeimos leans down, breathing into the warm skin of his back, drawing his hips back and slamming deep.

“Ah!”

A purr buzzes against Phainon’s back, and he goes to hold onto the pillow in his grasp, knees sliding apart to adjust to the prince’s sudden quick pace.

Through blurry eyes, Phainon gazes at the light spilling in past the blinds, a haze setting in just like the previous day.

Pleasure has taken him hostage, keeps him pliant and willing, Mydei’s pheromones thick on his tongue, lulling him in, his alpha having caught on hours ago.

He’s given in, he’s bared his neck, and there’s no note of shame in the sharp scent that Mydeimos can’t seem to get enough of. No, only arousal and a whiff of challenge remain, goading Mydei to wear himself out, wear them both out, take what he wants, get what he needs, tempt him to drop his reigns fully.

He’d always loved seeing Mydeimos in battle – he was a beast in every sense of the word, in the way people admired birds of prey and large cats, observing wild hunts in awe. Figures Phainon’s intrigue and undeniable attraction to Mydei when he tapped into his bloodlust and intent to kill during battle would extend into the bedroom as well.

And besides, Mydeimos is not the only one who often worried about being too much to handle for others. There’s a good reason he wears his choker practically 24/7 – a reason why he’s learned to stifle himself and lock himself away during his own cycle.

Now, getting fucked into the sheets hard enough he sees stars, he can’t help but grin, biting down into the pillow, already damp with his spit and tears, wishing it were Mydei’s throat.

His nails dig into the bedding, rip more tears into it, and he’s too far gone to feel guilty about ruining so many sheets of the prince. It’s the only thing keeping him from bucking away and wrestling Mydei until he’s drawn more blood for him to lick up.

Perhaps he’s not much better than Mydeimos, after all.

He’s torn from his hazy thoughts when pain yanks him to awareness; teeth are buried in his left shoulderblade, hands are grabbing at his sides, scratch across his stomach, and oh, gods, Mydeimos’ knotted him again–

His eyes roll to the back of his head. Everything goes quiet, everything goes pure white.

He floats.

Phainon comes to an unknown time later; his entire body aches. He blearily lifts his head, feels a cup carefully being pressed against his lips, opening his mouth to let fresh water pour down his parched throat. He hums, slowly regaining feeling over his body past the perception of existing as a bruise and nothing more.

There’s a hand cupping his jaw, and he’s warm and clean all over, bare safe for the choker around his neck. His skin prickles from bitemarks and bruises sure to be blooming starkly against his light complexion, and the thought of carrying Mydei’s claim even after this rut ends makes something hot inside him spark.

It’s enough to wake him up just a little more.

“Deliverer.”

There’s relief, in Mydei’s voice, careful and low – he blinks until his face is no longer fuzzy before him, a small frown curving his brows.

“Yeah?”

“Phainon,” it leaves his mouth in a sigh, and then he’s being kissed, and Phainon reciprocates, though his mind's spinning a bit.

“What happened..?” He asks once Mydei pulls away.

“I knocked you out. I, uh, didn’t mean to go that hard on you, sorry.”

He grumbles, twisting to lay on his back, suppressing a hiss at the way his lower back protests at the movement. “I’m fine.”

“You slept for four hours.”

…

“Oh. How were you holding up?”

“As if that hardly matters–”

He flicks his eyes over to the prince. “I hope you still fucked me while I was out.”

Ah, he’s always loved Mydei’s expression when Phainon manages to make him speechless.

“Deliverer–” It sounds strained, and Phainon suppresses an elated growl, though his eyes surely flash with mischief and triumph.

“Next time, just keep going.”

Phainon watches Mydei take a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together.

“You’re such a fucking freak.”

He does laugh, then. And then pulls the prince back into bed, tugging hard enough to swap their positions, settling on top of Mydei with a sharp smile.

“What makes that of you, then, so eager to lay with a deviant?” He murmurs against Mydei’s lips, grinning wide when broad hands cup his ass.

By the end of the day, Mydeimos snores loudly in his arms, wrapped around Phainon protectively, and he hums, staring at the ceiling, a proud smile lingering on his swollen, kiss-bruised lips.

He’s a damn good rut partner, if he dare say so himself. (Please, please let this become a thing, I know I’ll need you just as bad when it’s my turn now that I’ve had a taste of you.)

Phainon makes it out of the bedroom on wobbly legs around mid-day at last.

Mydei is taking advantage of his lucid phase to cook something proper for them, listening to water running; ah, Phainon’s showering.

He returns smelling like his shampoo.

Mydei swallows, grips the table. He's testing me, isn't he? “Just sit down, it’ll be done in a moment,” he says instead, keeping his voice even.

Phainon hums, plopping down on the chair opposite to his own and settling his elbows on the table, chin cupped in his palms.

“How are you feeling?” Mydei asks over his shoulder, returning to the strips of meat sizzling in the pan, mouth watering at the smell. He hasn’t had a real meal in– way too long.

“Mh, I’m fine. Sore, but that’s a given. I used some of the muscle balm on your bathroom’s counter.”

“Good.”

He takes a deep breath. He wants to apologize again, despite knowing Phainon will just wave it off.

Sweet oranges, seasalt and ozone envelop him. Phainon leans into his back, settling his chin on his shoulder, humming quietly. “What’s up?”

He swallows down a soft growl. His frustration must’ve been obvious, if not by the tension of his shoulders, then the souring of his scent. It’s still not fully under his control.

Mydei sighs.

He slumps lightly, leaning into Phainon’s slight embrace, turning down the heat on the stove. “I don’t like knowing I hurt you while you’re” in my care, in my domain, mine, “helping me,” he lands on, chewing on his lip afterward, brows furrowing.

Arms wrap around his middle, squeeze once before Phainon moves back, returning to his seat at the table. “I get it. But you know I’m resilient. And you’re too much of a sap to go too far, anyway.”

How do you know that? He wants to hiss. How do you know I won’t tear you apart? — But as soon as his mind strings those words together, he steels his jaw. No, no, he wouldn’t. Phainon is not mere prey. He’s… more like…

Mate.

“Food’s done.” He takes the pan with him, sets it between their plates, deciding to fully ignore the word now bouncing around his skull, distracting himself by filling his plate. It helps that he’s absolutely starving.

Phainon fills his own, sighing dreamily around the first bite, and Mydei can almost imagine a tail wagging like crazy behind him.

He snorts softly, then goes to chew his own.

And moans.

Gods, he really needed that.

Phainon glances up, eyes sparkling, a tease surely forming on kiss-bruised lips, though he seems to prefer stuffing his mouth instead, which Mydei appreciates.

They scarf down their first portion in record time, and by the time the pan is empty, Mydei is practically purring – both from the food, and from being able to soak up the gratification of watching Phainon enjoy what he made. Taking care of his mate. Taking care of his …rut-partner.

“While showering, I had a thought.”

“Scary.”

Phainon rolls his eyes, twirling his fork in his hand, Mydei momentarily distracted by the light splitting in the metal.

“My thought was… we should play a game…” He purposely drags it on, looking straight at him, “of tag.”

Whatever calm existed before is engulfed in the rush of heat suddenly entering his veins. His mouth parts with a winded exhale, and his vision blurs before it sharpens hard enough he knows his pupils must eclipse amber by now.

“Deliverer.”

“It’ll be fun. I’ll be it first.” Phainon is as chipper as ever, and Mydei really wants to wipe that teasing smile off his face, though his body has other plans, getting to his feet before he can even think further.

“Okay.”

A laugh.

Nikador, I want to strangle you–

“Not now, Mydei. We just ate.”

He hisses through his teeth. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Deliverer.”

Phainon just bats his eyelashes. “And I’m still worn out.”

And fuck, that works. He deflates, sitting back down, and buries his face in his hands with a drawn-out groan. “I hate you.”

Phainon chuckles across from him, brushing his foot against his ankle. “You don’t.”

I don’t.

He’s never been ‘it’ before.

Not in this way.

Where the line between play and reality is blurred by lust, where the one chasing him is someone he knows is capable of subdoing him– Mydei’s made it into his own courtyard, the spacious place walled in and perfectly shut away from the rest of the city. His lungs burn. Phainon’s elated laughter is hot on his heels, and he ducks away, having the advantage of knowing the layout of this field perfectly.

Even so, Phainon is closing in.

And–

He comes to halt in front of a wall.

He spins, though Phainon’s already on him, blue eyes wide and bright, teeth flashing as he slams him to the floor.

They roll around in the dust for a bit, but Phainon is the one who’s pinning him down by the end, sitting heavy on his middle, fixing his wrists above his head.

“Caught you,” he huffs, scent sharp with victory, and then he jumps up, shuddering in anticipation, “You’re it!”

And then he’s running.

And Mydei sees red.

The world around him becomes a mere blur.

Only Phainon remains sharp, the only thing he can focus on, running and running and running and Mydei’s grinning, limbs numb and buzzing with energy.

Oh, how perfect you are.

Phainon is fast. He's always been the more lithe of the two, the difference in muscle mass evened out by his agility, broad swipes of his greatsword enough to shatter flesh and bone, swift on his feet, able to keep up with the prince in the midst of chaos. He’s still laughing as he runs, grabbing at the trees planted in the shade of the courtyard to swing himself into a new direction, almost making Mydei crash into them – their soles leave deep footprints in the earthy ground, and Mydei’s head is starting to spin from circling the yard over and over.

“Are you getting tired, Mydei?” The other alpha taunts, breathy, zapping straight across and leaving him in the dust, though Mydei catches up quickly, not even bothering to reply with anything but a growl.

His next attempt at a fake out goes awry.

Mydei’s begun to recognize the tell of his direction changes, eyes pinned to his ankles, the way they twist and turn just moments before sprinting left instead of right – he digs his heels into the floor to shove forward, cutting in right before him. He’s rewarded by Phainon’s gasp, the alpha reacting fast, immediately running in the opposite direction.

The distance between them grows slimmer and slimmer. Mydei’s breathing hard, teeth bared in a wild grin, eternal daylight beaming down at the two, lost in their own world.

His hand stretches out, out, out, his lungs shake, his legs burn, though he feels nothing but pure joy, bloodlust and adrenaline converging into a river of flame, coursing loud in his veins.

Phainon hesitates. His eyes dart, left to right, his ankles twist–

Mydeimos grabs him by the scruff of his neck, bodily throws him to the floor.

Air leaves his mouth in a wheeze, arms immediately raised to shield himself, legs bending to kick Mydei off – it’s no longer a game of tag, if it ever truly was, not that Mydei minds. At all.

Mydei blocks the first fist aimed at his face, snarling, grabbing at the arm to fix it in place. Phainon fights back with bared teeth and glowing eyes, and Mydei relishes in the tremble of his legs, trying and failing to push him away.

“Feisty,” he comments, pressing his own weight onto Phainon’s middle, continuing to try and snatch the other’s hands as they flail and punch.

“I won’t let a loser eat me,” Phainon shoots back; sand sticks to his cheek, hair in disarray, though his gaze is alive and teasing, and it ignites something long buried in Mydei’s soul. “You have to earn this.”

With flesh as divine as yours, only the best shall be granted to such a feast, indeed.

“Confident talk, considering you’re quite helpless beneath me.” He doesn’t quite sound like himself. Goosebumps scatter across Phainon’s nape all the same, and the arm freeing itself of his grasp flexes on instinct, already shooting out like a snake, coming to wrap around the prince’s throat.

Hissing through grit teeth, Phainon bucks, using the tunic Mydei had thrown on earlier to pull him to the floor.

He doesn’t keep the upper hand for long – Mydei tears his hand from his wind-pipe, rolling them over and wrangling until he’s got both of Phainon’s wrists in an iron grip, yanking them down and flipping the man on his front to fix them on his back.

Phainon heaves out a curse, writhing to no avail, kicking at Mydei’s back as a last resort.

Mydei merely tightens his hold. Phainon winces. He shoves the wrists higher, up between Phainon’s shoulder blades into a position that over-stretches his arms, a rough laugh breaking free at the sharp gasp it triggers.

He leans down, blown eyes taking in the hairs standing up on the other alpha’s neck, the overworked muscles twitching and trembling under his weight, dirtied robe sticking to his sweat-slick form.

Phainon’s ribcage shakes with his heavy breaths. Half his face is pressed into the sandy ground, an eye glaring over his shoulder, teeth bared in what Mydei can only decipher as petty resistance.

“Caught you,” he purrs, right into his flushed ear, taking the opportunity to lick a stripe down to his neck. His scent’s potent, musky from exertion and adrenaline, a sharp note of frustration clashing with the arousal permeating from both their glands.

Phainon shudders. His legs drop, no longer kicking at Mydei’s spine, and then Phainon goes slack beneath him, giving in.

Mydeimos grins into his skin.

The position they’ve ended up in is most fortunate; Phainon's ass rubs up against Mydei’s less than subtle hard-on, makes the white-haired alpha moan under his breath, shifting lightly to roll into it with purpose.

Any other time, Phainon would’ve blanched at the mere idea of fucking someone out in the open like this, but everything about this is so hot he doesn’t even care to be embarrassed.

“Mydei…”

“My prize dares to speak?”

Phainon bites his lip to suppress a moan far too debauched considering neither of them have even undressed yet.

Though, by the way one of Mydei’s hands is sliding down his chest at the moment, he won’t have to wait long for that to change. His face burns, and he’s certain he’s flushed all the way to his shoulders. Tension coils in his stomach, sparks zapping through his tired muscles, jittery under the prince’s weight. It’s almost pleasant, being encased like this, bowing to the presence above, inhaling Mydei’s scent over and over while trying to catch his breath.

His chiton is bunched up and pushed over his ass.

A whine escapes when he feels Mydei’s fingers pull his undergarments down, the material stretching over his thick thighs in a lewd display.

His skin tingles, exposed to the air, though both of them are running so hot he doesn’t feel cold at all.

He swallows.

Mydei purrs into his nape, the hand mapping him out appreciatively, groping his ass, spreading his cheeks a little to grind down with more accuracy. Phainon presses his teeth together, heart thundering in his chest.

“Stop playing with your food,” he whispers, choosing to ignore the fact he likes this stupid role play a bit too much.

The only response he gets is a low chuckle. Heat rushes downward, and he realizes with a start that he’s unable to touch or relieve himself like this – another wine builds in his throat, airy and thin.

Teeth scrape along his trapezius, lips settling where Mydei stops, sucking a new hickey into his already bruised flesh. All the while, his hand caresses him, almost lazily, and Phainon wonders how an alpha in rut could possibly achieve this level of damned self-restraint. If he wasn’t so needy the drag of Mydei’s clothed cock was driving him mad, he’d almost be impressed enough to ask him for advice.

Just when he’s about to open his mouth to hiss at him to do something already, Mydei murmurs something in Kremnoan, the coarse vowels making him pause, and frees his knot.

“M-mhh-”

It’s hot where it slides between his cheeks, slick with pre-cum and stiff, rutting clumsily over his hole. The thick head gets caught on his rim at times, though doesn’t properly enter, and dear Kephale, Phainon’s going to die–

“Still loose enough..?”

Phainon nods so quickly it gives himself whiplash.

Mydei laughs, air hot on his prickling skin, and finally, finally, wraps his hand around the base of his cock to guide it into Phainon’s waiting hole. It breaches his rim with relative ease, the white-haired alpha bearing down and arching his back as best as he could in his position, shivering from excitement.

“Hah, Deliverer…” Mydeimos presses deeper, stretches him oh so good, pushing until Phainon’s eyes have rolled back into his skull.

His cock settles deep, hot and heavy, has him pant with a slack jaw.

“There we go… Oh, you feel so good, fuck,” Mydeimos sounds impacted at last, breaking off into a groan, and Phainon merely hums in agreement. It earns him another kiss, a drag of his cock, pulling out half-way and sliding back home, starting slow but speeding up as Mydei’s playfulness bends to carnal need once more.

His grip on his wrists lets up, though Phainon keeps them in place anyway, twisting his head to pant into the open sky.

Mydei thrusts into him hard enough he’s probably chafing his knees, though the prince is too occupied to care for such details, using his hold on Phainon’s arms to lift him higher.

“Ah, ah– that’s– there, right there, Mydei, hah, please, don’t stop–!”

His knot presses into that bundle of nerves with each slam of hips, drives into him like Mydei wishes to carve his shape into him, his insides sucking him deeper, oh so greedy to take everything Mydei’s giving him.

Whimpers and moans leave his lips on repeat, and his dick bounces most pathetically between his legs, pulsing, aching, shooting out pre-cum, begging to be touched.

“Mydei, Mydei, Mydei, plea-ah, please–” Tears spill from his eyes at last, lashes clumped as he squeezes them shut. The heat in his stomach is overwhelming, tension wrung tight as a rope, pulling and pulling and pulling–

“I could listen to you fall apart for hours.”

He barely deciphers Mydei’s purr, nodding in hopes his pleas will be answered, rocking back into his thrusts and spreading his thighs wider. Mydeimos laughs; the sound is branded into his core by now, sure to haunt his waking thoughts and heated dreams forevermore, and Phainon cries out, muscles twitching all over, tensing up, up up–

“Go on, come on my knot, Phainon, I know you can.”

“Ngh–”

The rope snaps, rings out like a gunshot. He seizes in Mydei’s arms, around his cock, vision whiting out completely.

Relief pours out infinitely.

“Good boy.”

A river of pleasure, dam broken, flowing and flowing, and he’s distantly aware he’s shaking, kept from collapsing onto the ground by Mydei’s arms wrapped around his middle, and all he can do is gasp for air before he drowns in ecstasy.

Mydei follows soon after, spilling hot inside him, riding out his high with slow, indulgent rolls, peppering kisses all over Phainon’s sweaty back.

His hand slides down, cupping Phainon’s throbbing dick, carefully stroking him until it no longer dribbles with cum.

It twitches in his hold when he swipes his thumb over the tip, rubs the underside just to feel him tremble around his knot, shushing him sweetly and moving to the root, massaging the beginnings of his own knot.

Slowly but surely, his heartrate calms down, thoughts returning to him, soul no longer lost adrift in his post-orgasmic haze. He shifts, holding more of his own weight.

A pleased hum buzzes against his back.

Phainon softly growls back, turning his head to gaze at Mydei through half-lidded eyes. “I do have some good ideas, you’ve gotta admit.”

Mydei snorts, eyes fond, and claims his lips in a kiss.

The following morning, Mydei wakes with a head far clearer than it’s been ever since his rut began. He takes his time coming to, languidly stretching his aching limbs out one by one, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The pleasant, sharp scent of Phainon wafts in the air of his bedroom, said alpha curled up beside him.

The light from the window catches the stripes of hair having fallen into his face, almost covering his eyes entirely; he looks ethereal, like this, perfect despite the tears stains painting his fair skin lightly red.

Mydei’s gaze wanders lower.

The collar remains, a lone shield, protecting the only space free from Mydei’s teeth and tongue, the rest of his neck covered in marks that make something hot and clawed tremble in his ribcage.

He allows himself to reach out. Careful not to stir him, his pointer traces the lines of his golden sigil, ending by his collarbones, caressing the bruises sucked into flesh. Phainon truly looks like he’d gotten mauled by some feral animal.

Mydeimos bites his lip, cheeks heating up, and drops his hand.

Usually, by now, he would just go back to normal. There’s still some tension in his limbs, warmth pooling in his gut, swirling slowly, but nothing intense enough for him to lose himself in it.

Except…

He doesn't want to make Phainon leave just yet.

He enjoys this closeness; taking time they don’t have, time he never allowed himself to have, pleasure he never allowed himself to even think of.

Because Phainon belongs to the Flame-Chase. To Okhema. He’s too important to be bound by mortal entanglements, as he’d said once, wine-drunk in the back of the Garden of Life escaping the festivities after being the center of attention for a bit too long. Mydei had gazed at him then, for a very long time that could’ve been a singular inhale all the same, passage of time frozen by his murmur.

Something light, sure, Phainon elaborated, oblivious to the storm now raging in Mydei’s heart. He wasn’t above admitting to enjoy the warmth of companionship at times, though he carried far too much to be ‘selfish’. Upholding the expectations placed upon him, attempting to fill the role of Hero this world in the face of ruin so desperately wished for.

Mydei had swallowed, lifting his own cup of pomegranate juice to his lips, wishing he’d just poured himself some genuine wine instead.

He’d told him he understood. Which was not a lie; the duty of a King remained heavy on his shoulders even without him claiming the throne. The Kremnoans had done it for him, and they looked upon him as their leader nonetheless, and he had no choice but to take on that obligation. He didn’t even personally mind leading – though the blood-stained post he would be inheriting, the rules and traditions that brought about so much unnecessary pain and death clung to that crown, and he was torn between desires to cast it all into the dark, start anew, and become the God-King his people oh so desperately prayed for.

He softly shakes his head, willing the memory away.

That sweet note remains in both their scents, intermingling, more honest than both their foolishly clipped tongues.

With a sigh, he crawls on top of the sleeping alpha, Phainon’s legs parting automatically, the motion bringing a genuine smile to his face.

He leans in. His lips press featherlight kisses onto his neck, wander up to his jaw, nuzzle softly into the sensitive space between his cheek and ear, before finally reaching his mouth, melting into the plush warmth that’s become so dangerously familiar over the passing days.

A hum sounds beneath. Phainon’s eyes open, and he smiles into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the prince to hold him close.

Mydei closes his own.

His next exhale wavers, fragile air tingling on Phainon’s cheek.

He sinks into the safe harbor of his body, hands sliding down Phainon’s bare sides, settling on his hips, fingers kneading the muscles and flesh until he feels the alpha melt into the mattress from it.

Neither of them know who began to roll their hips first; a slow, sleepy pace comes to be either way. They lick into each other’s mouths, explore without haste, soft growls merging into low purrs.

Phainon softly gasps when Mydei’s cock kisses his rim.

It pushes forth with an ease that has Mydei moan, pressing deeper until he’s sheathed fully inside, enjoying the drag of Phainon’s hole, squeezing around him, sucking him deeper.

He rocks back and forth in languid strokes, taking his time to work them up, sliding a hand between their bodies to take Phainon’s weeping dick in hand.

“My- Mydei,” Phainon breathes, his name well-worn on his tongue, and he just nods, pumping him slow and steady.

His dick jerks, hot and stiff in his hand, and he’s still impressed by how virile the Deliverer truly is, nearly being able to keep up with an alpha in rut.

Arousal pools in his gut, tension steadily climbs, though his touch remains gentle, bordering on reverent. Phainon shifts where he lays, the arms embracing him squeezing to alleviate the strange flutter of his heart.

“Mydei, faster,” he hisses, drawing lines into the prince’s back with his nails to spur him on, rolling into his maddeningly patient rhythm. “Don’t be so sweet on me.”

“Who was it begging me to go slower on them last night?” Mydei murmurs, though obliges, hoping to hide the way his heart drums in his chest at being called out. It’s dangerously close to lovemaking, and it’s messing with his brain. He fumbles by his hip, drawing circles with his thumb.

Phainon clicks his tongue. “Be quiet.”

He only huffs out a laugh at that, leaning down to mouth at his neck, the warmth igniting into a proper fire, singing in his veins, rushing loudly in his ears.

Soon enough, Phainon’s panting, moaning out those wonderfully hoarse noises, squeezing tight around him, tempting him to go deeper, faster, harder.

Mydeimos grunts, fingers pressing into the handprints he’d left behind, keeping him still to drill his prostate head-on each time, delighting in each throb of his insides, dick jerking in his palm.

“So pretty,” he says under his breath, face buried in Phainon’s neck, kissing the words into his skin.

“M-mh, Mydei–”

Mine.

“Are you close?”

Phainon jerkily nods, and he feels his stomach tense where he’s still stroking his cock, swiping his thumb across the underside by the tip to make him shudder all over.

“Good.”

“You?”

Mydeimos swallows, humming an affirmative, not trusting his own words right now.

His pace speeds up, rhythm faltering in pursuit of the peak, the bed creaking under them both. He’s honestly impressed they hadn’t broken the frame during his cycle.

“Kay, wanna come with you.”

And that gives him the rest.

He’s hopeless to even attempt to snuff out his responding moan, low and drawn-out, breaking off into a growl as he slams home and fills Phainon up in needy, desperate strides. Phainon falls right alongside him, spilling all over his hand, hissing through his teeth.

Mydei keeps on rocking back and forth through the aftershocks, carefully working Phainon’s cock with his hand, running fingertips along the veins on his shaft.

His mouth hangs open, catching his breath and inhaling Phainon’s scent. Phainon pulls him closer, and Mydei lets himself fall, dropping his entire weight on the man.

“Oof–”

His shoulders shake with his quiet laugh.

The other alpha grumbles, though doesn't protest, running his hands up and down his back.

Mydeimos closes his eyes, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, content to stay and hide for as long as Phainon will allow it.

The random symbols Phainon begins to trace on his back lull him in enough he almost dozes off; a squeeze around his knot is all it takes to pull him back to the surface, and he nips at Phainon’s skin as a reprimand. He feels his playful growl more than he hears it.

Dutybound as they are, Mydeimos allows himself to dream for just a little, locking this moment into a capsule to seal away in his heart.

There’s something tangible here, he knows, knows Phainon must recognize it too, not nearly as oblivious as the Deliverer pretends he is. Two strings, golden, bound by fate, reach out, intertwined yet hesitating to bind themselves into a knot tight enough it’ll rip both of them to shreds shall one depart without the other.

Silence stretches on.

Phainon chuckles, shaky, gaining more strength after he takes a steadying breath. Fingers curl into the hair by Mydei’s nape, gently lift him from his hiding place.

He meets his gaze.

And Phainon pulls him into a kiss, smooths out the sour notes of his pheromones.

He’s sore all over although his scent is warm and sweet, and by the time Mydei stands by the door, having watched him tie his shoes with relative ease, he’s smiling bright as ever.

Mydei wants to keep him.

His eyes drift to the temporary markings all over Phainon's throat, hidden beneath his coat. The bite Phainon had left on his own scent gland tingles, resonates, not deep enough to claim, not light enough to fade fast.

Next time, I'll bite you properly.

Phainon’s eyes gleam, as if to say: I'd let you.

(But perhaps it's just the remnant of his rut speaking.)

“When you're feeling up to it, let's spar. I doubt either of us want to fall behind by not training for almost a week.”

“Hm, this should be considered some form of exercise, shouldn't it?” His lip quirks up.

Phainon blushes, then snorts. His hand settles on the doorhandle, not pushing yet. “Maybe. So?”

“Obviously. See you in the ring, Deliverer.” His voice is shot, though Phainon’s own is not much better, the hoarseness aided by the fondness infusing his words.

Something about their exchange makes him feel like he’s agreed to a different request, laid out between lines they’ve said dozens of times.

His heart squeezes in his chest, drums against his ribs.

Let us be selfish fools, just for this, just for once.

Phainon grins, something dangerously close to a promise shining bright in infinite blue, and grabs the handle, and leaves the lion's den with a limp.