If you couldn't, I wouldn't have invited you. [ The state Eridanus has turned up in is hardly difficult to readāand yet, even so, Lucius grins, the Cheshire smile on his lips as sly as ever. Without waiting for Eridanus to step inside, he turns from the door, leaving it hanging open as he makes his way from the threshold. ] I'm fond of cruel jokes, but not when they come at the expense of what's mine.
[ The apartment itself, of course, is messy. Not unbearably so, but it's definitely the home of someone who only cleans up when it becomes necessary. Lucius stops where this short front hallway opens up to the kitchen, waiting for Eridanus to let himself in and shut the door behind himself before he says anything further. ]
Lover's quarrel?
[ He means between Eridanus and Traejan, naturally. He makes a habit of snooping through things that interest him, and of course he caught onto that innuendo. ]
[Normally, being referred to as owned would make his heart flutter, and yet, Eridanus' long tufted ears only seem to droop further. After a moment, where doubt tenses his shoulders and he questions whether or not he should really be here, he steps through the threshold.]
A lover's quarrel is a rather large understatement. [Eridanus tuts, and follows after Lucius down the hall. Had he been in any other state of mind, he likely would have scolded the man for keeping such a dirty home.]
Apparently Rosefica overheard me wishing to be united with you for eternity through your armorāa pauper's dream unless we can escape from this hellholeāand she thinks me a fool for pledging myself so wholly to a human. She... she doesn't understand our relationship, she thinks I am being disloyal to our marriage. [His clutches a claw at his own chest, his gaze downcast in a mix of rage, frustration, and sorrow.]
She knows naught of this dark heartāthe extent of it. If she did, she would not accept me. Not as you do... my very existence would disgust her.
[ When Lucius answers, his tone has shifted from its usual cruel mischief to something surprisingly flat. There is a sharp edge to the words, but the precise emotion behind it is hard to placeānot mirth, not anger, but something that leaves him sounding almost grim.
There are many things that he could say about that. But inside his mouth, his tongue curls to hold them downānot because he doesn't wish to upset Eridanus further, but because in this moment, he knows it plays to his advantage to be the understanding, respectful one, who has never so much as breathed a word against the other.
In the next moment, Lucius has closed the space left between them, one of his own hands coming up to press over the claw Eridanus grips at his heart. ]
There is no reason your truest heart should disgust her. It is a beautiful thing. [ He had intended to... do something in the kitchen, maybe dust off that tea kettle and see what he could do, but instead with the hand already taken in his, Lucius tries to guide Eridanus to the room opposite it: a sitting room, which has at some point grown cluttered with strange little things that have caught Lucius' fancy. ] Perhaps, if she could come to the same understanding you have... I suppose it may be too late for that, though.
[Threw him out quite literally. Though Lucius has no business knowing that depth of detail.
Eridanus can't help but think of how this mercurial man would find his unflattering fall to the ground below, broken by his rock-hard body, to be amusing. Still, in his raw emotional state, Lucius' words are a soothing balm to his ego. He knew in his heart of hearts that Lucius accepts every part of him, just as he isāsees the potential in him, and wants his freedom.
As that hand takes his, Eridanus lets his arm fall and follows behind Lucius' smaller form with the hanging head of a scorned child.] Doubtful. She would not understand your teachings, she thinks you an ignoramus. [And it would be left at just that, for as burned as he is, he doesn't think it would be very wise to spark even more malice between the two.
Eridanus folds a leg beneath himself as he sits, his runty tail curling around his backside as he faces Lucius on the couch. If he were to try to pull his hand away, he would find those greedy opalescent claws threaded stubbornly with his own fingers.]
She does not see this as my freedom, she thinks that my pledging to you is unsanctimonious and a threat to our marriage. Yet, what is the difference between such and that of a lover's? [He inhales sharply, his chest visibly filling with air as he tries to calm himself.] She is my wife, and you are my Eternal. Am I not currently being punished for being greedy? Am I not being punished for having a loosened grip on my control?
[His hold on Lucius' hand slackens finally, and defeat rolls his shoulders forwards. Confusion and pain twist his visage, the mid afternoon sun that pours through the windows glittering kaleidoscopic off of his opals, and against the bare white walls.] Pain is my curse... I wonder when will I finally be free of its clutches...
[ As Eridanus says the word ignoramus, Lucius can't help the way his ears flatten in plain irritation. And she is nothing more than a child with an ego inflated beyond her meritāthe most he can do is bite down the retort that rises his up in his throat like bile, filling his mouth with its bitter taste as it rests on his tongue.
What he manages instead is not quite so caustic, and what insult exists there remains in implication. ]
Not to worry. People far wiser have thought me stupider than I am.
[ And now they are all dead, and he is not.
Lucius does, in fact, make the attempt to withdraw his hand. Of course, his only intention had been to draw Eridanus' head down to rest upon his chest, so in the end, he supposes it makes no difference; the effect is the same. He listens to Eridanus' complaints, clicking his tongue in disapproval. ]
It sounds to me as though she expected you to enjoy the physical benefits of a lover, and none of the others. That was a mistake, of courseāwhere one arises, the other is often enough not far behind. [ ...Look, he has seen. A lot of Slaaneshi relationship drama, simply by existing on ships filled with Slaaneshi cultists. He knows how often fucking leads to murder because someone decided they have feelings and murder-suicide suddenly looks reasonable because you worship a god of extremes and you don't want to share!
Finally, though, his hand is free, and Lucius guides his head down to rest gently on his shoulderājust like a normal and considerate lover does, probably. He pats his head. ]
Perhaps you are being punished, but we aren't speaking of some force of nature. We are talking about a woman who chose to punish you, over a relationship that has nothing to do with hers.
[ After all, Lucius has already said that he has no interest in tampering with Eridanus' marriage. It's as simple as that! ]
I believe that she is more cross with the fact that I pledged myself to you without her input.
[Not that she would have understood the implications of it. Rosefica served no one but her own ideals, she did not feel the deep cravings Eridanus did. Even if he were to explain them to her, he doubts she would ever truly understandābut Lucius did, and his promises to indulge in the weakness of his flesh were like a siren song that Eridanus could not tear himself away from.
For a woman who claims to not associate with weak men, what a fool she was for marrying Eridanus Sungazer.
He turns his face into that shoulder as he's made to lean into it, his eyes fluttering closed. A soft sigh escapes him, the tension he hadn't realized was being held in his body, slowly relaxing. He's quiet for a moment, before his eyes open half-lidded.]
She believes that she should be the only one I may idolizeābut she is my wife, the love I have for her is uncontested. She is my chosen partner, I would kill and die for her, yet she believes that position by my side is challenged by your presence. [Eridanus pushes his face into the curve of Lucius' neck, his scent a comfort to a bruised heart.
She does not understand that my adoration for you is separate from my love from her. That neither one could replace the other. [The backs of his opulent claws trace up the muscled arm he leans against, making note of how the peach fuzz upon them seems to be getting thicker.] Perhaps she is right to punish me, greedy as I am, if I were in her position I would have done far worse than a simple kick out of the door.
[ It all sounds predictable enough on Rosefica's end, and reasonable enough on Eridanus'. Lucius listens, and as Eridanus presses his face firmer to Lucius' throat for comfort, he tips his head up to make room. He's barely conscious of what he's doing when he turns his chin, rubbing affectionately against the top of Eridanus' head. ]
And perhaps you would be right to. It sounds as if she doesn't care, if her punishment has you seeking comfort in the arms of the very man she felt so threatened by.
[ Short-sighted, Roseficaāand Lucius intends to take full advantage, of course. There is rarely a better time to drag a man deeper into depravity than when a loss has already driven him to despair. ]
Tell me, sweet beast: would she have allowed this, had you asked permission?
[Perhaps it wasn't the best idea, but they had both acted in their emotions at the time. Rosefica was the one who told him to leave, after all, the moment she saw Eridanus' response to Lucius on the network. The way he scoots closer is unconscious, and is just shy of practically sitting in his lap at the warmth of his comfort. How long had it been, since his heart had felt broken like this? Far too long to remember, it seemsācenturies of staying unmarried attended to that.]
Would she have allowed me to indulge in your comforts? I... [His words trail off, trembling, and the only reason he likely has abstained from crying so far it in part due to the comfort Lucius was providing.]
I don't know. I'm sure if she knew you were replaceable, that you were just some "mistress," then her pride as a wife would not be so hurt. [Because then, she would still be his number one.
It's then that he manages to pull away, the heat of their embrace not completely lost as Eridanus gazes at Lucius, just a mere breath apart.] I apologize, do you have anything to drink? I... wish to numb this pain in my chest.
[ Lucius shapes each word slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste of them on his tongue. It should be a a questionāhe should not smileābut it isn't, and he does. His lips pull back, and it isn't the manic and sharp-toothed grin Lucius has worn in their most breathless moments of wild passion; instead, it is something that might nearly be called tranquil, if not for the intensity that seems to light his eyes even now.
Eridanus pulls back, and Lucius fixes him in the warmth of that expression, a clawed hand pulling through pretty blond of his hair. At the question, he laughs, the sound airy between them. ]
Is there even any need for you to ask? [ Drinking has become a more frequent habit lately, particularly after the recent reminder of just how simple it is for a mortal body to become drunk. With one last brush of his fingers, Lucius fully untangles himself from Eridanus' body, saying as he does so, ] I will fetch us something. Stay where you are.
[ Anyway, long story short, "something" is "coca wine" because of course it is! Lucius returns with a bottle and two glasses. They're even actually wine glasses! What romance. ]
[No, he certainly is not. The pain that captures Eridanus' heart is earth-shattering, and yet, it is precisely because of the connection they share that Eridanus does not feel as if he's on the precipice of death. Any other circumstance would've had him imbibing wildly, clawing at his own flesh as sorrow grips his heart, and smearing his own blood across the floor as life slowly left him. Lucius, of all people, is the one who currently grounds him. Eridanus didn't care enough to think if it came from a place of selfishness or affection, all that mattered in this moment is that there was someone who gave enough of a shit about him to not see him succumb to depression.
When Lucius pulls away, Eridanus' skin tingles with the haunting ghost of his touch, as cool air swaths him in the absence of bodily warmth. He sits patiently, obediently, as told, and hooks his clawed fingers into the band that tied his hair into a messy plait. Opalite combs through the thin, ashy blond tresses, raking the length over one shoulder by the time Lucius has returned.
Eridanus' tired visage splits with a small smile, and he pulls the glasses that sat upon his nose away. He leans forwards and sets his glasses on the coffee table, before sliding across the couch to give Lucius a place to sit. Despite his viridescent gaze being clouded with the overcast of pain, the way his eyes fix on Lucius as he stares up at him, is nothing less than familiar adoration.] A bottle and wine glasses? If I didn't know any better I would think you were trying to seduce me. [Not that he had to try.]
I should tell you now, I prefer dry reds, though anything will do in a pinch.
[ So small as it is, the smile that finds its way to Eridanus' face warms Lucius from the inside. (It never has to be a question of selfishness or affection when the answer is both.) His own takes on a familiar impish cast, lips parting to better show the sharp points of his teeth as he purrs, ] Don't tempt me, Eridanus.
[ Indeed, it wouldn't be hard. For now, though, Lucius sets the glasses side by side and fills them both. ]
That is good information to have. I'll remember it, my Archmage. But even if it isn't your usual preference, I think you'll enjoy this.
[ Lucius sits where Eridanus makes room, and then he is as quick to touch as ever. His hand slides around the back of his neck, and at the feel of that long hair pulled loose, he idly loops a lock of it around his fingers, simply to taste its texture against his skin. ]
Many millennia ago, on the eve of every battle, the Legion would gather together and toast to our upcoming victory. [ Nostalgia is not something he cares to indulge in, nor hold in particularly high esteem, but there is a hint of it in his voice now. ] I suppose we still do, from time to time, but it's... a much more exceptional occasion, now.
[ Not that Eridanus may realize it, but for Lucius, to share such a little, pointless anecdote, about days left well behind, is something akin to an expression of fondness. ]
[Eridanus' attention turns, only for a moment, to the glasses as Lucius pours them. He plucks up the one closest to him by its delicate stem, and raises the rim to his nose. Knowing the man beside him, there must be some trick to the drink for him to mention such a vague difference. He swirls the dark liquid, aerating it within its bulbous house and inhaling the aroma as he does.]
I think you are quite right. Some citrus notes, with a hint of earthinessācheap is not a word I would use liberally, but it certainly doesn't smell of a well-aged wine. [It's a playful prod, eluding at a slight lift in demeanor from his prior despondency; but when Lucius joins him, the way he inches closer and settles a hand on his thigh still speaks of a melancholy-borne dependence.
His ears perk unconsciously as he feels those padded fingertips slide across the skin of his nape, tangling themselves with the hair that was loosened there. Shame floods his cheeks with color at the way the sensation tickles up his spine, and he knows he shouldn't feel excited by such a touchāyet, his ears peel back and lay flat against his head. As if to distract himself, Eridanus suddenly takes a generous sip of his drink.
Room-temperature liquid tingles his tongue, and he immediately understands the difference. There is something added to it, like the pink fuck they shared at the party. Eridanus' mind wanders back to that night, how wonderful it had been, and then the fallout thereafter. It's unspoken, but he appreciates the change in subject when Lucius provides it. His gaze is side-cast and curious, though he doesn't pry, seeing as the moments Lucius shares details about himself are so few and in a way, special.]
It's ironic. The last war I fought used the city I trained in as an apprentice as its base. It was odd walking those cobblestone streets, imbued with ward-magic, and stepping into bars I hadn't drank at in centuries. All my old friends were long dead, yet after all those years, the table we would always sit at still had the knife-carvings I had drunkenly made when I was a boy. [As if retracing them from memory, his fingers draw swirling patterns against Lucius' thigh.]
[ Lucius watches Eridanus, and though it had been with the intent of seeing his reaction to the wine, he cannot help but notice the little details Eridanus might hope he overlooks. The hand at his thigh is one thing; quite another is the way color floods his cheeks at the slightest, chastest touch. His eyebrows arc as he gives the hair already twined around his fingers a deliberate twirl, as if daring Eridanus to react, and his own ears perk as he watches the unfamiliar language of Eridanus' pinning tight to his skull.
But, if nothing else, Eridanus seems appreciative enough of the drink. Lucius lifts his own glass to his lips as he listens to the other man reminisce, entirely aware of the idle pattern that finger traces atop his thigh. ]
And how many wars have you fought in your little life, Archmage? [ Lucius allows the lock of hair to slip from around his finger, and as he continues to study Eridanus' face, he brushes the back of his knuckles against his jaw with careless intimacy. Of course, with the question, he thinks back on the memory Eridanus had so unwillingly shared atop the dream bird; was that dreadful siege long before the war he speaks of now, or part of it? ] I would tell you my score in return, but I'm afraid I lost count by the time I was a century old. Such is the way of things.
[As if he were a puppeteer, those fingers that twirl the hair at the base of Eridanus' skull manage to gain some reaction. Long, tufted ears twitch, the emotion displayed by them subtle, and no doubt lost on Lucius. The color in his cheeks, however, betrays him. There's a moment where frustration takes him, an irritation for how easily his pulse quickens when it comes to even the slightest of Lucius' touchesāas if he were a schoolgirl, reveling in the fleeting attention of her love.
There is a part of him that is thankful for the foot Lucius so elegantly places in his mouth, anger flickering through him at the mockery of his lifespan, though it doesn't last as it's quickly dissolved with a subtle, tight smile.]
The last ended roughly a year ago. [Eridanus' shifts, a strategian tone taking over him,] though the war against the demonic legion spanned millennia, their organizational attacks were finitely marked through our history. Eclipsing that, there were three major wars that encompassed all of Vathea, with smaller territorial disputes, and political usurpings parsed between.
[He draws a slow, steadying breath as his claws stay themselves from the idle mapping against Lucius' thigh. His gaze is turned away, as if the memories of those times were flashing before his very eyes. Perhaps they were, for unlike Lucius, Eridanus remembers every single one. They numbered less than his fingers in total, but they were long, hard-fought, and devastating.]
I'm sure the wars fought by a magister of such an insignificant lifespan would be boring to a great warlord such as yourself. [Eridanus sneers, and he turns a malicious grin against Lucius as his claws dig into the meat of his thigh in playful threat.]
[ Eridanus turns that predator's grin on him, and a shiver of delight runs down Lucius' spine. So there is still some bite left in his dear Archmage, after all! His skin prickles beneath that hand, danger radiating up his thigh at the touch of those claws, and for the way he sips at his wine, it may as well be the most pleasant feeling in the world. ]
You misunderstand. I ask because I wish to know every part of you. [ Where his hand has drifted around to Eridanus' jaw, his thumb drags across the opalite line of it, its casual touch undisturbed by the threat of those claws. ] Perhaps you're right, that the finer details of such wars wouldn't interest me. I am not one of the Blood God's rabid dogs, and I've always preferred the perfection of single combat. But I'm not asking for a detailed account of the history behind them, or for a record of every battle fought, with its victors and casualties ā I am asking about you.
[ Though, in truth, he is a little curious about those mentions of demons and their war both perpetual and defined. It sounds as though Eridanus may have been on the receiving end of his very own Black Crusade, doesn't it! ]
[For as quickly as it had bubbled to the surface, Eridanus' anger is placated by the gentle touch against his jaw. He turns his face into it, solace sought in the pads of those fingers. Familiarity joined with Lucius' idle need to disturb the space of others was quickly becoming the recipe of comfort that ebbed the pain that would otherwise consume his heart. He knew Lucius to simply be curious, but there was a part of him that wondered of a deeper meaning in this conversation. His brows knot together, a grimace briefly holding his visage before he releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.]
You should know that even I strive for perfection, but I am done talking about me. [They were difficult memories as they were, especially since the last one was filled with written letters to Rosefica between battles. Eridanus is not Lucius, he is not a dancer on the battlefield, and he does not consider it his home.]
Tell me, beloved Lucius, was there a time where you were not perfect? A time where you found the ample room to be better than you were? [He knew the man before him would be lying, for no one wins every battle in one splendid motion. As he speaks, his hand takes the one at his opalite jaw, and coaxes its fingers to trace the line where flesh and precious stone meet.]
[ Oh, but on the contrary. As that question is posed to him, his lips stretch wide in their cheshire grin, and without hesitation or a hint of insincerity, Lucius declares, ] I am not perfect now.
[ Without resistance, that finger moves where it's coaxed, the tip of his claw teasing at the space where stone and flesh meet even as his words grow heavy with excitement. ] Had I already achieved perfection, what need would I have for my eternal life? If you strive to reach that peak, as I do, you should know that to claim it is an end to things. To try and drag yourself higher still is to merely gild the lily.
Make no mistake: I am nothing less than the greatest duelist in the galaxy. That does not mean that I am yet perfect.
[ He doesn't feel the hand on his thigh anymore, or the stem of the wine glass in his hand. A manic, restless energy rolls through his limbs; it's a drive that is only ever barely chained at all, and with talk of the obsession that has filled his hearts with blood for ten-thousand years and more, it flows free. Caught up in his own momentum, his thoughts spill freely from his lips. ]
There is only one man among us who can claim to be as such, and that is Fulgrim.
[Eridanus takes a sharp breath as that name touches his ears once more. A familiar rage boils the blood in his veins, as he remembers just how adoringly Lucius spoke of this man named Fulgrim. As the other's expression grows manic with excitement, his own shadows with anger. The taste of fury was quickly becoming familiar, acrid and overwhelming. His entire life was spent with a cool temper, yet now it seems the fire he had once wielded as weapon has now become the life force that sustains him.
He also remembers the way Lucius had been quick to anger that night when he spoke ill of Fulgrim, so for now his wrath will simmer beneath the surface, patient.
As he watches Lucius' expression of deranged adulation, spite rises in Eridanus' gullet, and the idea of doling out punishment for mentioning Fulgrim eagerly bites at his thoughts. Knife-edged opal wraps around Lucius' wrist, drawing those tracing claws over his own face freely. He guides padded fingers over the sharp, jagged edge of an opal-encrusted tusk.] To claim yourself to be the greatest duelist in your galaxy, would be to claim that even you can best Fulgrim. [His words hint as something deeper, as if Lucius' own words elude to this war-father being less perfect than he claims him to be. It's a silent taunt, goading the man before him into admitting one or the other.
But starting a fight isn't what he needs right now, at least... not yet. So rather than biting down at the morsels at the edge of his mouth, he quietly turns his chin away from Lucius' touch, and takes another sip of his coca wine. Perhaps the drink will calm his fury, rather than excite it further.]
[ An ecstatic shudder floods his body as those words draw an old memory up from the muck. Though the memory of an Astartes should be flawless, millennia of narcotics and the ethereal energies of the Eye have worn away at his mind until too many have begun to blur at the edges; and yet, this one blooms in his mind's eye with perfect clarity, its horror and ecstasy forcing a breathless gasp from Lucius' lungs. He remembers that day, so so so long ago, when he had turned his blade on his father for fear that his mind was not his own, and the utter surety that he would die in a breath if Fulgrim willed it.
And yet, he has come so far since that day, hasn't he? The thought that he could beat Fulgrimāthe image of it slides down his spine like a hot iron rod, the pleasure the image brings him no less masochistic than the thought of ignoble death at his hand. It's plainly ridiculous, of course, but to indulge the idea as a mere fantasyā
He can no longer sit still. Not realizing the way his limbs have begun to tremble, abruptly, he all but leaps to his feet. ]
Ah, but there is the trick ā Fulgrim no longer dwells within the material world! [ Whether or not Eridanus allows Lucius to go, he laughs, the sound gasping. ] He reached his apotheosis long ago, my Archmage, and become something far greater than he had been even as a Primarch. Slaanesh has deemed him worthy to join the ranks of the Great Game as one of His most beloved, and we wait as his children for the day he returns to unite the Legion beneath his hands once more.
[ The words rush from him, and Lucius thinks nothing of what sense they may make to Eridanus. His face is flushed, as if he had imbibed a great deal more wine than he has. ]
It may be better, I suppose, to say that I am the greatest duelist until then.
[ Frankly, it's a miracle that he even remembered the original point being made. ]
[Whatever anger Eridanus had managed to stifle by name alone was exposed as Lucius jumped at the opportunity to sermonize his war-father. His grasp on the other's arm had been weak, the flesh slipping through his claws, yet where it fell to the couch, deadly points pierce into the cushion with murderous intent. His face reddens, as the disconnect between their experiences is filled with the gospelizing void-priests of Vathea. To Eridanus, this in the same vein as the cultists who would herald the end times of Old Gods, and the demonic proselytizers of the king of demons himself.
The way he exhales the breath he held is like dragon-fire poured past his lips, smoke pluming from the hot furnace of his rage-gripped heart, stoked by the coals of Lucius' wordsātheir embers licking at his skin. Sick thoughts of abandonment fill Eridanus' mind, of Rosefica leaving him, and if given the opportunity, Lucius too. The cesspit that opens within him is cavenous, bottomless, and thirsty. Like the fluttering of wings, selfish ideas pass through his mindāthe desire to entrap Lucius in the void of his heart clawing eager and torturous at his limbs.
Yet, it is one lone thought, one lone idea that manages to stay him from lunging at Lucius like a rabid animal. His grip on the seat cushion loosens, and he brings that wine glass, shaking in his hand, to his lips for a taste. There is a look of smug satisfaction that captures him, as he grins impishly up at Lucius.]
All his power and he's yet to come rescue you from this place? I wonder if he even notices you are gone? [His words are haughty, and he can feel the umbral talons of avaricion dig into his weak flesh.] Perhaps he's replaced you with some new toy. A shame that you are stuck in Ryslig, with no manner to contest your place in beloved Fulgrim's heart.
Have I not just said? He has turned his sights to far more important things than tending me. [ And yet, Eridanus' words do touch on the space within Lucius' mind where his scant few insecurities lie buried, stubbornly unexamined lest they be made real by their acknowledgement. It is not Fulgrim's abandonment that haunts that untouched space, however, but that of Slaanesh. The barb manages to cool his fevered blood without provoking the cold fury Eridanus' last disrespect had earned him, and Lucius' lunatic smile shrinks to something that is sly in kind. ] But not to worry ā that any one of my brothers is capable of replacing me is not something I fear.
[ The inside of his head still pounds, and as he pads back toward the couch, there is something that would nearly be a drunken sway to his step, if not for how sure-footed every stride seems to be regardless. ]
I wonder, how long as it been since I've felt his touch? [ The question is plainly rhetorical, and he laughs at it. A second later, he drains the rest of the wine from his glass, and, heedless of its fragility or the remnants of the wine still pooled within its basin, he tosses it aside. ] Eridanus, this jealousy is unbecoming of you. You are special to me. Do you think even Fulgrim loves me so deeply that he wishes for us to be joined together for all time?
[ Standing before Eridanus, Lucius splays both hands at his hips. It's an invitation, but for what is for Eridanus to decide. ]
[Suspicion knots Eridanus' brow as the manic edge of Lucius' demeanor seems to have cooled all too quickly. He had intended for his words to be a sharp jab, yet here he sat, completely unabated and unsatisfied with how his transgression had been waved aside like a buzzing fly. Perhaps there was a small part of him that sought punishment from Lucius' hands, to be made to feel and wish as if his flesh was being sundered apart in the wake of his shortcomings. He is sure that were he to simply ask, that the divine pleasure of agony interlaced with ecstasy would be lovingly gifted to him. Yet even as the heady influence of the coca wine coursed through his veins, he knew that pride would be the collar that would hold him back.
And he was not yet ready to fully hand the leash over.]
Jealousy, greed, obsession... [He breathes the words like noxious fumes, before taking a long, indulgent drink. Just as Lucius did, he finishes every last drop, before carelessly tossing the glass aside.] These are the traits that drew you to me, traits you saw promise in, that could be cultivated in the image of your god.
[With the explosive force of an erupting volcano, Eridanus leaps from the couch, only to come nose to nose with Lucius. Those words of specialness and love are like molten hot pokers to his open wounds, and act as the cattle prods that have his claws snapping around the shorter man's throat. He wants to say moreāabout how that senseless oath that had dripped like honey from his lips in a moment of passion, was the crack that birthed a chasm of darkness between he and his wife. The sense that he has been ignoring, intentionally or not, is screaming to rescind his oath.
Yet as his viridescent gaze, alight with fury, stares into the slitting golden orbs before it, he finds his words stuck in his throat. His opalite grasp is squeezing, his muscles taut with killing intent, but he doesn't crush the fragile meat and cartilage. Weakness takes him, like the swelling of a storm come to culmination, he pulls Lucius' mouth into his own. His breath is hot and heavy, the tangy scent of coca wine flavoring it, as desperation grips him even more tightly, and its as if he's being eaten alive by it.
Carelessness would have it that the sharp opal of his tusks would leave behind shallow cuts against Lucius' lips, but they matter not in Eridanus' mind as a quiet sob breaks their kiss. Stinging tears threaten the corners of his eyes, but they have yet to fall. The only notion of his sorrow manifested in the gentle shake of his shoulders and the loosening of his grip on Lucius' neck.]
[ It's something Lucius has wondered about in idle passing before: if Eridanus would enjoy having his hands around Lucius' throat as much of the reverse. But, even as Lucius tips his chin up in Eridanus' grasp as if inviting him to wring his neck, he can see that this isn't the kind of thought running through his mind. A shiver of danger ghosts across his skin, and he wonders if Eridanus finally intends to put all that superior strength to use in a way he can't resist.
The thought is like poisoned wine: it sits bitter in his mouth, and yet he cannot stop drinking of it, letting its flavor pour down his throat until it floods his flesh down to the tips of his fingers and toes. It tempts him to struggle, simply to know how it feels to be powerless and overpowered by a man he scarcely reaches the chin ofābut then Eridanus pulls him up to crush their mouths together, and Lucius can't help the noise that escapes him, a low, amused whine lost among the sounds of heated breath and lips drawing at slick lips. His own hands come up, and suddenly, he is irritated with all this cloth Eridanus is wearing, no flesh left bare for Lucius and his claws to tear into in his passion.
He can taste blood in his mouth, feel it glistening on his lips, when their mouths hitch apart again. His spiny, catlike tongue runs across his lips to clean them, and it's as good a way as any to hide that he isn't quite sure what kind of expression he should be making at first. Tearful eyes, like that strange breakdown in their shared dream, aren't something it has been Lucius' responsibility to deal with very often, and particularly not from a man he realizes he has foolishly begun to think of as something of a peer. ]
And what have you done, dear Eridanus? [ The end result is a bemused expression on Lucius' face, his eyebrows arched in confusion that isn't wholly dishonest. His fingers come up, gently pressing themselves over Eridanus' lips so he may speak without interruption. ] You never made the choice to part with your wife ā she threw you out, over something that made no difference to your love for her.
[It's the finger at his lips that grounds Eridanus, and keeps him from completely exploding into the geyser of emotions that Lucius is no doubt unprepared for. Light bless him, for he had more patience than Eridanus would have ever expected of him, and were he in the right frame of mind he likely would have appreciated it far more. Instead, the attempt at reason is met with knife-sharp claws and the dangerous edges of them that threaten Lucius' flesh yet as he pushes him back by the shoulders.]
You don't understand it is different, weā [A hitching breath interrupts him, and like the wilting leaves of a dying plant, his ears and shoulders wither.] We had an agreement, that I would tell her about these things, and then I did the opposite... she is furious for my lying, Lucius.
[It's unconscious the way his talons dig into cloth and skin, his emotions leaving him unrestrained and unthinking of their risk. His eyes are desperate as they search Lucius' confused expression, as if trying to find answers that he could grasp for in those knotted brows and slim smile. The guilt that eats his conscious, goading his imagination into vivid coca-fueled imagery of a grieving Rosefica, also selfishly seek forgiveness in Luciusāas if it were even his place to gift it.]
How am I to fix this? [A foolish question, for he already knows the answer. He knows that Rosefica will expect him to cut off their burgeoning relationship, denounce Lucius' stake in his eternity, and claim Rosefica as his one and only. It's selfishness that keeps him from admitting it to himself, and instead his denial tenses his arms rigid once more.] Should I... even fix this?
[ Irritation flashes through Lucius, twisting his mouth and laying his ears flat. His shoulders tense under those grasping hands, prepared to toss them off, already sick of being manhandled as if he has done anything wrong. What stops him is the same part of his head that had held his tongue against insulting Rosefica, just a few minutes earlier. ]
And so she tossed aside your companionship for a single transgression? [ Instead, he channels the feeling into sounding righteously indignant. Lucius, on the other hand, has no delusions about what it will mean for Eridanus to return to Rosefica's handāand never has he been a man to allow the pleasure right in front of him to be stolen by another. ] You'll fix things, in time ā when she realizes her own foolishness. Go running back to her right away, and she'll know she can demand whatever she pleases of you. She'll collar you, and control where it is you can go and who it is you can see.
[ He brings a hand to Eridanus' wrist, making a gentle attempt to pry the hand free. ]
Instead, let her realize she is every bit as miserable without you. Maybe that will make her more understanding.
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[ The apartment itself, of course, is messy. Not unbearably so, but it's definitely the home of someone who only cleans up when it becomes necessary. Lucius stops where this short front hallway opens up to the kitchen, waiting for Eridanus to let himself in and shut the door behind himself before he says anything further. ]
Lover's quarrel?
[ He means between Eridanus and Traejan, naturally. He makes a habit of snooping through things that interest him, and of course he caught onto that innuendo. ]
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A lover's quarrel is a rather large understatement. [Eridanus tuts, and follows after Lucius down the hall. Had he been in any other state of mind, he likely would have scolded the man for keeping such a dirty home.]
Apparently Rosefica overheard me wishing to be united with you for eternity through your armorāa pauper's dream unless we can escape from this hellholeāand she thinks me a fool for pledging myself so wholly to a human. She... she doesn't understand our relationship, she thinks I am being disloyal to our marriage. [His clutches a claw at his own chest, his gaze downcast in a mix of rage, frustration, and sorrow.]
She knows naught of this dark heartāthe extent of it. If she did, she would not accept me. Not as you do... my very existence would disgust her.
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[ When Lucius answers, his tone has shifted from its usual cruel mischief to something surprisingly flat. There is a sharp edge to the words, but the precise emotion behind it is hard to placeānot mirth, not anger, but something that leaves him sounding almost grim.
There are many things that he could say about that. But inside his mouth, his tongue curls to hold them downānot because he doesn't wish to upset Eridanus further, but because in this moment, he knows it plays to his advantage to be the understanding, respectful one, who has never so much as breathed a word against the other.
In the next moment, Lucius has closed the space left between them, one of his own hands coming up to press over the claw Eridanus grips at his heart. ]
There is no reason your truest heart should disgust her. It is a beautiful thing. [ He had intended to... do something in the kitchen, maybe dust off that tea kettle and see what he could do, but instead with the hand already taken in his, Lucius tries to guide Eridanus to the room opposite it: a sitting room, which has at some point grown cluttered with strange little things that have caught Lucius' fancy. ] Perhaps, if she could come to the same understanding you have... I suppose it may be too late for that, though.
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Eridanus can't help but think of how this mercurial man would find his unflattering fall to the ground below, broken by his rock-hard body, to be amusing. Still, in his raw emotional state, Lucius' words are a soothing balm to his ego. He knew in his heart of hearts that Lucius accepts every part of him, just as he isāsees the potential in him, and wants his freedom.
As that hand takes his, Eridanus lets his arm fall and follows behind Lucius' smaller form with the hanging head of a scorned child.] Doubtful. She would not understand your teachings, she thinks you an ignoramus. [And it would be left at just that, for as burned as he is, he doesn't think it would be very wise to spark even more malice between the two.
Eridanus folds a leg beneath himself as he sits, his runty tail curling around his backside as he faces Lucius on the couch. If he were to try to pull his hand away, he would find those greedy opalescent claws threaded stubbornly with his own fingers.]
She does not see this as my freedom, she thinks that my pledging to you is unsanctimonious and a threat to our marriage. Yet, what is the difference between such and that of a lover's? [He inhales sharply, his chest visibly filling with air as he tries to calm himself.] She is my wife, and you are my Eternal. Am I not currently being punished for being greedy? Am I not being punished for having a loosened grip on my control?
[His hold on Lucius' hand slackens finally, and defeat rolls his shoulders forwards. Confusion and pain twist his visage, the mid afternoon sun that pours through the windows glittering kaleidoscopic off of his opals, and against the bare white walls.] Pain is my curse... I wonder when will I finally be free of its clutches...
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What he manages instead is not quite so caustic, and what insult exists there remains in implication. ]
Not to worry. People far wiser have thought me stupider than I am.
[ And now they are all dead, and he is not.
Lucius does, in fact, make the attempt to withdraw his hand. Of course, his only intention had been to draw Eridanus' head down to rest upon his chest, so in the end, he supposes it makes no difference; the effect is the same. He listens to Eridanus' complaints, clicking his tongue in disapproval. ]
It sounds to me as though she expected you to enjoy the physical benefits of a lover, and none of the others. That was a mistake, of courseāwhere one arises, the other is often enough not far behind. [ ...Look, he has seen. A lot of Slaaneshi relationship drama, simply by existing on ships filled with Slaaneshi cultists. He knows how often fucking leads to murder because someone decided they have feelings and murder-suicide suddenly looks reasonable because you worship a god of extremes and you don't want to share!
Finally, though, his hand is free, and Lucius guides his head down to rest gently on his shoulderājust like a normal and considerate lover does, probably. He pats his head. ]
Perhaps you are being punished, but we aren't speaking of some force of nature. We are talking about a woman who chose to punish you, over a relationship that has nothing to do with hers.
[ After all, Lucius has already said that he has no interest in tampering with Eridanus' marriage. It's as simple as that! ]
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[Not that she would have understood the implications of it. Rosefica served no one but her own ideals, she did not feel the deep cravings Eridanus did. Even if he were to explain them to her, he doubts she would ever truly understandābut Lucius did, and his promises to indulge in the weakness of his flesh were like a siren song that Eridanus could not tear himself away from.
For a woman who claims to not associate with weak men, what a fool she was for marrying Eridanus Sungazer.
He turns his face into that shoulder as he's made to lean into it, his eyes fluttering closed. A soft sigh escapes him, the tension he hadn't realized was being held in his body, slowly relaxing. He's quiet for a moment, before his eyes open half-lidded.]
She believes that she should be the only one I may idolizeābut she is my wife, the love I have for her is uncontested. She is my chosen partner, I would kill and die for her, yet she believes that position by my side is challenged by your presence. [Eridanus pushes his face into the curve of Lucius' neck, his scent a comfort to a bruised heart.
She does not understand that my adoration for you is separate from my love from her. That neither one could replace the other. [The backs of his opulent claws trace up the muscled arm he leans against, making note of how the peach fuzz upon them seems to be getting thicker.] Perhaps she is right to punish me, greedy as I am, if I were in her position I would have done far worse than a simple kick out of the door.
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And perhaps you would be right to. It sounds as if she doesn't care, if her punishment has you seeking comfort in the arms of the very man she felt so threatened by.
[ Short-sighted, Roseficaāand Lucius intends to take full advantage, of course. There is rarely a better time to drag a man deeper into depravity than when a loss has already driven him to despair. ]
Tell me, sweet beast: would she have allowed this, had you asked permission?
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Would she have allowed me to indulge in your comforts? I... [His words trail off, trembling, and the only reason he likely has abstained from crying so far it in part due to the comfort Lucius was providing.]
I don't know. I'm sure if she knew you were replaceable, that you were just some "mistress," then her pride as a wife would not be so hurt. [Because then, she would still be his number one.
It's then that he manages to pull away, the heat of their embrace not completely lost as Eridanus gazes at Lucius, just a mere breath apart.] I apologize, do you have anything to drink? I... wish to numb this pain in my chest.
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[ Lucius shapes each word slowly, deliberately, savoring the taste of them on his tongue. It should be a a questionāhe should not smileābut it isn't, and he does. His lips pull back, and it isn't the manic and sharp-toothed grin Lucius has worn in their most breathless moments of wild passion; instead, it is something that might nearly be called tranquil, if not for the intensity that seems to light his eyes even now.
Eridanus pulls back, and Lucius fixes him in the warmth of that expression, a clawed hand pulling through pretty blond of his hair. At the question, he laughs, the sound airy between them. ]
Is there even any need for you to ask? [ Drinking has become a more frequent habit lately, particularly after the recent reminder of just how simple it is for a mortal body to become drunk. With one last brush of his fingers, Lucius fully untangles himself from Eridanus' body, saying as he does so, ] I will fetch us something. Stay where you are.
[ Anyway, long story short, "something" is "coca wine" because of course it is! Lucius returns with a bottle and two glasses. They're even actually wine glasses! What romance. ]
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When Lucius pulls away, Eridanus' skin tingles with the haunting ghost of his touch, as cool air swaths him in the absence of bodily warmth. He sits patiently, obediently, as told, and hooks his clawed fingers into the band that tied his hair into a messy plait. Opalite combs through the thin, ashy blond tresses, raking the length over one shoulder by the time Lucius has returned.
Eridanus' tired visage splits with a small smile, and he pulls the glasses that sat upon his nose away. He leans forwards and sets his glasses on the coffee table, before sliding across the couch to give Lucius a place to sit. Despite his viridescent gaze being clouded with the overcast of pain, the way his eyes fix on Lucius as he stares up at him, is nothing less than familiar adoration.] A bottle and wine glasses? If I didn't know any better I would think you were trying to seduce me. [Not that he had to try.]
I should tell you now, I prefer dry reds, though anything will do in a pinch.
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[ Indeed, it wouldn't be hard. For now, though, Lucius sets the glasses side by side and fills them both. ]
That is good information to have. I'll remember it, my Archmage. But even if it isn't your usual preference, I think you'll enjoy this.
[ Lucius sits where Eridanus makes room, and then he is as quick to touch as ever. His hand slides around the back of his neck, and at the feel of that long hair pulled loose, he idly loops a lock of it around his fingers, simply to taste its texture against his skin. ]
Many millennia ago, on the eve of every battle, the Legion would gather together and toast to our upcoming victory. [ Nostalgia is not something he cares to indulge in, nor hold in particularly high esteem, but there is a hint of it in his voice now. ] I suppose we still do, from time to time, but it's... a much more exceptional occasion, now.
[ Not that Eridanus may realize it, but for Lucius, to share such a little, pointless anecdote, about days left well behind, is something akin to an expression of fondness. ]
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I think you are quite right. Some citrus notes, with a hint of earthinessācheap is not a word I would use liberally, but it certainly doesn't smell of a well-aged wine. [It's a playful prod, eluding at a slight lift in demeanor from his prior despondency; but when Lucius joins him, the way he inches closer and settles a hand on his thigh still speaks of a melancholy-borne dependence.
His ears perk unconsciously as he feels those padded fingertips slide across the skin of his nape, tangling themselves with the hair that was loosened there. Shame floods his cheeks with color at the way the sensation tickles up his spine, and he knows he shouldn't feel excited by such a touchāyet, his ears peel back and lay flat against his head. As if to distract himself, Eridanus suddenly takes a generous sip of his drink.
Room-temperature liquid tingles his tongue, and he immediately understands the difference. There is something added to it, like the pink fuck they shared at the party. Eridanus' mind wanders back to that night, how wonderful it had been, and then the fallout thereafter. It's unspoken, but he appreciates the change in subject when Lucius provides it. His gaze is side-cast and curious, though he doesn't pry, seeing as the moments Lucius shares details about himself are so few and in a way, special.]
It's ironic. The last war I fought used the city I trained in as an apprentice as its base. It was odd walking those cobblestone streets, imbued with ward-magic, and stepping into bars I hadn't drank at in centuries. All my old friends were long dead, yet after all those years, the table we would always sit at still had the knife-carvings I had drunkenly made when I was a boy. [As if retracing them from memory, his fingers draw swirling patterns against Lucius' thigh.]
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But, if nothing else, Eridanus seems appreciative enough of the drink. Lucius lifts his own glass to his lips as he listens to the other man reminisce, entirely aware of the idle pattern that finger traces atop his thigh. ]
And how many wars have you fought in your little life, Archmage? [ Lucius allows the lock of hair to slip from around his finger, and as he continues to study Eridanus' face, he brushes the back of his knuckles against his jaw with careless intimacy. Of course, with the question, he thinks back on the memory Eridanus had so unwillingly shared atop the dream bird; was that dreadful siege long before the war he speaks of now, or part of it? ] I would tell you my score in return, but I'm afraid I lost count by the time I was a century old. Such is the way of things.
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There is a part of him that is thankful for the foot Lucius so elegantly places in his mouth, anger flickering through him at the mockery of his lifespan, though it doesn't last as it's quickly dissolved with a subtle, tight smile.]
The last ended roughly a year ago. [Eridanus' shifts, a strategian tone taking over him,] though the war against the demonic legion spanned millennia, their organizational attacks were finitely marked through our history. Eclipsing that, there were three major wars that encompassed all of Vathea, with smaller territorial disputes, and political usurpings parsed between.
[He draws a slow, steadying breath as his claws stay themselves from the idle mapping against Lucius' thigh. His gaze is turned away, as if the memories of those times were flashing before his very eyes. Perhaps they were, for unlike Lucius, Eridanus remembers every single one. They numbered less than his fingers in total, but they were long, hard-fought, and devastating.]
I'm sure the wars fought by a magister of such an insignificant lifespan would be boring to a great warlord such as yourself. [Eridanus sneers, and he turns a malicious grin against Lucius as his claws dig into the meat of his thigh in playful threat.]
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You misunderstand. I ask because I wish to know every part of you. [ Where his hand has drifted around to Eridanus' jaw, his thumb drags across the opalite line of it, its casual touch undisturbed by the threat of those claws. ] Perhaps you're right, that the finer details of such wars wouldn't interest me. I am not one of the Blood God's rabid dogs, and I've always preferred the perfection of single combat. But I'm not asking for a detailed account of the history behind them, or for a record of every battle fought, with its victors and casualties ā I am asking about you.
[ Though, in truth, he is a little curious about those mentions of demons and their war both perpetual and defined. It sounds as though Eridanus may have been on the receiving end of his very own Black Crusade, doesn't it! ]
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You should know that even I strive for perfection, but I am done talking about me. [They were difficult memories as they were, especially since the last one was filled with written letters to Rosefica between battles. Eridanus is not Lucius, he is not a dancer on the battlefield, and he does not consider it his home.]
Tell me, beloved Lucius, was there a time where you were not perfect? A time where you found the ample room to be better than you were? [He knew the man before him would be lying, for no one wins every battle in one splendid motion. As he speaks, his hand takes the one at his opalite jaw, and coaxes its fingers to trace the line where flesh and precious stone meet.]
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[ Without resistance, that finger moves where it's coaxed, the tip of his claw teasing at the space where stone and flesh meet even as his words grow heavy with excitement. ] Had I already achieved perfection, what need would I have for my eternal life? If you strive to reach that peak, as I do, you should know that to claim it is an end to things. To try and drag yourself higher still is to merely gild the lily.
Make no mistake: I am nothing less than the greatest duelist in the galaxy. That does not mean that I am yet perfect.
[ He doesn't feel the hand on his thigh anymore, or the stem of the wine glass in his hand. A manic, restless energy rolls through his limbs; it's a drive that is only ever barely chained at all, and with talk of the obsession that has filled his hearts with blood for ten-thousand years and more, it flows free. Caught up in his own momentum, his thoughts spill freely from his lips. ]
There is only one man among us who can claim to be as such, and that is Fulgrim.
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He also remembers the way Lucius had been quick to anger that night when he spoke ill of Fulgrim, so for now his wrath will simmer beneath the surface, patient.
As he watches Lucius' expression of deranged adulation, spite rises in Eridanus' gullet, and the idea of doling out punishment for mentioning Fulgrim eagerly bites at his thoughts. Knife-edged opal wraps around Lucius' wrist, drawing those tracing claws over his own face freely. He guides padded fingers over the sharp, jagged edge of an opal-encrusted tusk.] To claim yourself to be the greatest duelist in your galaxy, would be to claim that even you can best Fulgrim. [His words hint as something deeper, as if Lucius' own words elude to this war-father being less perfect than he claims him to be. It's a silent taunt, goading the man before him into admitting one or the other.
But starting a fight isn't what he needs right now, at least... not yet. So rather than biting down at the morsels at the edge of his mouth, he quietly turns his chin away from Lucius' touch, and takes another sip of his coca wine. Perhaps the drink will calm his fury, rather than excite it further.]
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And yet, he has come so far since that day, hasn't he? The thought that he could beat Fulgrimāthe image of it slides down his spine like a hot iron rod, the pleasure the image brings him no less masochistic than the thought of ignoble death at his hand. It's plainly ridiculous, of course, but to indulge the idea as a mere fantasyā
He can no longer sit still. Not realizing the way his limbs have begun to tremble, abruptly, he all but leaps to his feet. ]
Ah, but there is the trick ā Fulgrim no longer dwells within the material world! [ Whether or not Eridanus allows Lucius to go, he laughs, the sound gasping. ] He reached his apotheosis long ago, my Archmage, and become something far greater than he had been even as a Primarch. Slaanesh has deemed him worthy to join the ranks of the Great Game as one of His most beloved, and we wait as his children for the day he returns to unite the Legion beneath his hands once more.
[ The words rush from him, and Lucius thinks nothing of what sense they may make to Eridanus. His face is flushed, as if he had imbibed a great deal more wine than he has. ]
It may be better, I suppose, to say that I am the greatest duelist until then.
[ Frankly, it's a miracle that he even remembered the original point being made. ]
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The way he exhales the breath he held is like dragon-fire poured past his lips, smoke pluming from the hot furnace of his rage-gripped heart, stoked by the coals of Lucius' wordsātheir embers licking at his skin. Sick thoughts of abandonment fill Eridanus' mind, of Rosefica leaving him, and if given the opportunity, Lucius too. The cesspit that opens within him is cavenous, bottomless, and thirsty. Like the fluttering of wings, selfish ideas pass through his mindāthe desire to entrap Lucius in the void of his heart clawing eager and torturous at his limbs.
Yet, it is one lone thought, one lone idea that manages to stay him from lunging at Lucius like a rabid animal. His grip on the seat cushion loosens, and he brings that wine glass, shaking in his hand, to his lips for a taste. There is a look of smug satisfaction that captures him, as he grins impishly up at Lucius.]
All his power and he's yet to come rescue you from this place? I wonder if he even notices you are gone? [His words are haughty, and he can feel the umbral talons of avaricion dig into his weak flesh.] Perhaps he's replaced you with some new toy. A shame that you are stuck in Ryslig, with no manner to contest your place in beloved Fulgrim's heart.
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[ The inside of his head still pounds, and as he pads back toward the couch, there is something that would nearly be a drunken sway to his step, if not for how sure-footed every stride seems to be regardless. ]
I wonder, how long as it been since I've felt his touch? [ The question is plainly rhetorical, and he laughs at it. A second later, he drains the rest of the wine from his glass, and, heedless of its fragility or the remnants of the wine still pooled within its basin, he tosses it aside. ] Eridanus, this jealousy is unbecoming of you. You are special to me. Do you think even Fulgrim loves me so deeply that he wishes for us to be joined together for all time?
[ Standing before Eridanus, Lucius splays both hands at his hips. It's an invitation, but for what is for Eridanus to decide. ]
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And he was not yet ready to fully hand the leash over.]
Jealousy, greed, obsession... [He breathes the words like noxious fumes, before taking a long, indulgent drink. Just as Lucius did, he finishes every last drop, before carelessly tossing the glass aside.] These are the traits that drew you to me, traits you saw promise in, that could be cultivated in the image of your god.
[With the explosive force of an erupting volcano, Eridanus leaps from the couch, only to come nose to nose with Lucius. Those words of specialness and love are like molten hot pokers to his open wounds, and act as the cattle prods that have his claws snapping around the shorter man's throat. He wants to say moreāabout how that senseless oath that had dripped like honey from his lips in a moment of passion, was the crack that birthed a chasm of darkness between he and his wife. The sense that he has been ignoring, intentionally or not, is screaming to rescind his oath.
Yet as his viridescent gaze, alight with fury, stares into the slitting golden orbs before it, he finds his words stuck in his throat. His opalite grasp is squeezing, his muscles taut with killing intent, but he doesn't crush the fragile meat and cartilage. Weakness takes him, like the swelling of a storm come to culmination, he pulls Lucius' mouth into his own. His breath is hot and heavy, the tangy scent of coca wine flavoring it, as desperation grips him even more tightly, and its as if he's being eaten alive by it.
Carelessness would have it that the sharp opal of his tusks would leave behind shallow cuts against Lucius' lips, but they matter not in Eridanus' mind as a quiet sob breaks their kiss. Stinging tears threaten the corners of his eyes, but they have yet to fall. The only notion of his sorrow manifested in the gentle shake of his shoulders and the loosening of his grip on Lucius' neck.]
Light... what have I done?
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The thought is like poisoned wine: it sits bitter in his mouth, and yet he cannot stop drinking of it, letting its flavor pour down his throat until it floods his flesh down to the tips of his fingers and toes. It tempts him to struggle, simply to know how it feels to be powerless and overpowered by a man he scarcely reaches the chin ofābut then Eridanus pulls him up to crush their mouths together, and Lucius can't help the noise that escapes him, a low, amused whine lost among the sounds of heated breath and lips drawing at slick lips. His own hands come up, and suddenly, he is irritated with all this cloth Eridanus is wearing, no flesh left bare for Lucius and his claws to tear into in his passion.
He can taste blood in his mouth, feel it glistening on his lips, when their mouths hitch apart again. His spiny, catlike tongue runs across his lips to clean them, and it's as good a way as any to hide that he isn't quite sure what kind of expression he should be making at first. Tearful eyes, like that strange breakdown in their shared dream, aren't something it has been Lucius' responsibility to deal with very often, and particularly not from a man he realizes he has foolishly begun to think of as something of a peer. ]
And what have you done, dear Eridanus? [ The end result is a bemused expression on Lucius' face, his eyebrows arched in confusion that isn't wholly dishonest. His fingers come up, gently pressing themselves over Eridanus' lips so he may speak without interruption. ] You never made the choice to part with your wife ā she threw you out, over something that made no difference to your love for her.
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You don't understand it is different, weā [A hitching breath interrupts him, and like the wilting leaves of a dying plant, his ears and shoulders wither.] We had an agreement, that I would tell her about these things, and then I did the opposite... she is furious for my lying, Lucius.
[It's unconscious the way his talons dig into cloth and skin, his emotions leaving him unrestrained and unthinking of their risk. His eyes are desperate as they search Lucius' confused expression, as if trying to find answers that he could grasp for in those knotted brows and slim smile. The guilt that eats his conscious, goading his imagination into vivid coca-fueled imagery of a grieving Rosefica, also selfishly seek forgiveness in Luciusāas if it were even his place to gift it.]
How am I to fix this? [A foolish question, for he already knows the answer. He knows that Rosefica will expect him to cut off their burgeoning relationship, denounce Lucius' stake in his eternity, and claim Rosefica as his one and only. It's selfishness that keeps him from admitting it to himself, and instead his denial tenses his arms rigid once more.] Should I... even fix this?
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And so she tossed aside your companionship for a single transgression? [ Instead, he channels the feeling into sounding righteously indignant. Lucius, on the other hand, has no delusions about what it will mean for Eridanus to return to Rosefica's handāand never has he been a man to allow the pleasure right in front of him to be stolen by another. ] You'll fix things, in time ā when she realizes her own foolishness. Go running back to her right away, and she'll know she can demand whatever she pleases of you. She'll collar you, and control where it is you can go and who it is you can see.
[ He brings a hand to Eridanus' wrist, making a gentle attempt to pry the hand free. ]
Instead, let her realize she is every bit as miserable without you. Maybe that will make her more understanding.
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