[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 earthinessâcheap 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 touchâyet, 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' touchesâas 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 â 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 Fulgrimâthe 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 fantasyâ
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 â 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' wordsâtheir 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 mindâthe 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 â 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 moreâabout 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 ofâbut 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 â 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, weâ [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 Luciusâas 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 handâand 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 â 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.
[Like a soothing balm, Lucius' words provide the sweet benediction Eridanus is searching for. As if a full-bodied sigh had escaped him, Eridanus relaxes and pats those tensing shoulders beneath his hands. The worry that had tightened his visage melts away, and is instead replaced with a wide smile that touched even the wrinkling corners of his eyes.]
You are right... [His tone is soft, sweet even, as the misplaced answers he had sought were so willingly given to him.] I have never committed such a wrongdoing before, and you would think there would be even an ounce of respect for that? This is a misunderstanding... yes... a misunderstanding.
[Eridanus' talons slide away from Lucius' shoulders, and he leans down only briefly to peck at the man's forehead, as if admitting thanks for his guidance to clarity. Whether this was genuine belief, or the final nail in the coffin of his shattered mind, Eridanus is far from caring. What makes that runty tail of his swing back and forth is that he is free from the weight of his sins, if only for a moment.]
She would not allow me my freedom, and that won't do! A collar and leash is necessary for guidance, not control. [He turns away from Lucius, bending at the hip to grab the bottle of coca wine and indulge in its intoxication. He tips the mouth of the bottle to his lips and takes a few deep gulfs before handing it to Lucius,] I need to be free, yes... I need to be allowed to follow these desires, I won't be allowed to ascend without them.
[ It seems he's found the very thing Eridanus had needed to hear. As the tension drains from the other man, from his face to his posture to those claws digging so indelicately into his shoulders, Lucius' frustration evaporates as quickly as it came. A smile grows along his mouth again, close-lipped and pleased, and as those hands drop from his shoulders, Lucius lifts his own. Eridanus' lips brush so cutely against his forehead, and Lucius grazes the tips of his fingers along the back of his neck in a gesture of acceptance.
By the time Eridanus turns from him to retrieve that bottle, Lucius' own eyes are creased with indulgence. Eridanus drinks straight from the bottle, and Lucius feels nothing but pleased at the way the other man lets decorum slip. When the wine is handed back, he does the sameâthough the sip he takes is shorter, the tips of his claws teasing at the small of Eridanus' back as he pulls straight from the mouth of the bottle. They graze up the arc of his spine, with just enough pressure to be felt, and then come to a rest between his shoulder blades as Lucius gently urges him back toward the (now damaged) couch. ]
That's right. Close your eyes and listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest. It aches for you to live free as your truest self. [ As Lucius guides him down beside him, those fingers again come to slide along the back of his neck, stroking through the hair at his nape with a slow, soothing touch. He lifts the bottle to his lips again, and when he moves to pass it to Eridanus' mouth once more, he runs his tongue along the full shape of his lips with a deliberate slowness. ] You're already so beautiful, hungry beast, and you can still be so much more.
[ It's more than empty flattery, and perhaps that is more surprising to Lucius than anyone. He shivers with the thought, aching at the delightful image of the Diadem's decks with his new pet at his side. ]
[The coca wine is potent, his head already swimming from the desperate pulls he'd taken from the bottle. Whatever spiked the drink was enough to heighten his senses, opaque white pupils dilating like a mirrored pond against a grassy clearing. Each gentle fleeting touch of Lucius' fingers against his clothed flesh feels amplified, surging chemicals through his brain that spark a chain reaction of shivers, quiet gasps, and the irritable flicking of that stunted tail. In his placated state, he's easy to manipulate back onto the couch, and the buzzing that reaches all the way to the tips of his clawed fingers has him sinking even further into the worn cushions.
A deep breath is drawn in, and pretty blond lashes flutter as his eyes close. He feels the way his heart hammers in his ribcage, fueled by an intoxicating mix of wine and Lucius' words. His hands are laid at his sides, palms up with his fingers twitching anxiously each time he feels the idle stroking of fingerpads against his nape. For a moment, the tickling sensation has his brows furrowing once more, and his gaze opens half-lidded just in time to have the bottle passed back to him. Eridanus takes it delicately between his fingers, his attention lingering for a moment on the way that spined tongue chases stray beads of drink across plump lips. He swallows dryly, the urge to lunge for Lucius' mouth eating at him, but it's drunken lethargy that keeps him from actually doing it.]
I have been called many things in my centuries... [He murmurs, and tips the bottle to his own lips. The desperate gulfs he had taken earlier were catching up with him now, and the way drink spills from the corners of his lips and stain his white dress shirt is proof of that. He doesn't seem to notice it, and instead breaks his sip with a sigh.]
Yet, when I hear such praise from your lips, it's almost bestial the way my body craves moreâwhat magicks have you cast on me, to have my very soul scream for your pleasure? [The words are followed by an airy laugh, teasing in nature, but there is a hint of seriousness in them. His chin tips towards Lucius, and his eyes once more fixate on him with adulation.]
Should I not be the one asking you that, Archmage? [ Lucius grins with a vicious affection, watching the way dark color trickles down his chin. The hand toying with his hair moves, claws chasing the line of his jaw until he can feel the warm wine against the pads of his fingers, and he scoops those thin drops onto his fingertips. A second later, his tongue flicks out to wipe them clean. ] I can barely remember the last time I felt so smitten with someone.
[ Certainly, the impulse he felt toward those who challenged him on the battlefield was closeâbut those were brief flames, all-consuming for as long as they lasted but quickly satisfied. No Sharrowkyn or Sanahkt to escape his blade in centuries and more. This lingering desire to consumeâLucius has reveled in it, and Eridanus has done nothing to quench his obsession even now.
Lucius wants to move closer, and of course, they're already near enough that as much means climbing into his lap. It isn't the half-hooked posture Eridanus had felt from him the last time they had met; instead, Lucius crawls over him like a predator, hovering just without touching as if he might flee or strike without the slightest warning as to which. ]
The word rings through Eridanus' mind like a chorus of chamber bells, and he can feel his heart rate quicken with the giddiness of an inexperienced teenager. The corners of his lips quirk up into an awkward little smile, and a shy laugh warfs from his lungs.]
You flatter meâ [His playful words are cut short as Lucius stalks into his personal space, and while it wasn't unwelcome by any means, Eridanus found himself suddenly feeling much too small. Those slitting golden eyes watch him with the hunger of a beast ready to pounce, and once more his skin sings with the instinct to flee.
Just as every time before, he stays right where he's sat. Eridanus lifts his hands, cupping Lucius' face as those adoring eyes fall half-lidded.]
Hmm... let me see. Slaughter wantonly, and bathe myself bloody in the streets? I'm sure that sight would amuse you. Or perhaps... besting you in that duel? How satisfying for the both of us for your first scar against this handsome face to be made by my victory? [Slender obsidian-sharp points trace the lines of Lucius' face as he speaks, and there's a softness to his expression that is stark against his drunkenness.]
Or perhaps a gift? A head still wet at the stump... though I can imagine you would also like a new chassis of armor?
[ Eridanus' mature features light with the infatuation of a boy many, many years younger, and the feeling the lights in Lucius' chest is a ticklish mix of humor and curiosity. It bubbles a laugh to his throat as Eridanus finds his words cut short, and does nothing to discourage the predatory gleam of his hooded eyes, Lucius watching Eridanus below him as if he were every bit as small as he feels. It's funnyâEridanus has shown him just how experienced he is, and yet, underneath Lucius, he's tongue-tied and helpless.
When those hands come up to cradle his face, Lucius allows them. He leans into the touch, and as Eridanus answers him, a gentle purr rumbles in his chest. ]
Eridanus, [ he says, and the name is a purr, tooâof a different sort. He settles himself from his hunter's posture, letting his lithe shape slot into the firmness of Eridanus' body under him. ] If you can so much as push me in a duel, I'll do far more than praise you.
[ But, even in rest, the threat is never gone from Lucius' manner. He drags his tongue across his teeth as if savoring some unspoken pleasure, and his fingers trail along the flesh beneath his chinâvulnerable, in comparison, the tips of his claws memorizing every gap in the uneven opal as they graze along his skin.
The offer of a head is always a nice one, particularly with all the thoughts of his own Champion that come with itâbut what actually attracts his attention the most is the suggestion of armor. His tufted ears had sat relaxed, but now they perk. ]
Without the gift Slaanesh has given me, it won't be the same. Why, I wonder â do you wish to see me in my full splendor as lord over his warhost?
[ The question is delivered with a particular sort of coyness usually reserved for attire more easily removed. ]
[As the weight of Lucius' body relaxes against his own, Eridanus finds himself easing back down onto the couch. From an outside perspective, the two could easily look as if they were simply two lovers, lazing in the afternoon sun. By appearance alone, the nature and implications of their conversation would be lost and yet, it's exactly the connection that has brought two separate souls together. In such close proximity the gentle, if not romantic entangling of their forms, is enough to worry Eridanus that his thundering heartbeat would be noticed. Heat blooms in his pallid cheeks and flushes down the length of his neck and ears, his bashfulness encouraged by coca wine.
Lucius' words nag curious thoughts to his head, and before he can stifle them, his lips part.] What is better than your praise? [He asks quietly, as excitement buzzes under his skin.
His claws travel down, over the curve of Lucius' shoulders, before dipping between them. He drags exploring hands over those sides, once knotted with the muscles of a soldier, yet now as lean as a prowling cat's. As Lucius continues on about the armor, his words drum up a memory that wasn't his, of armor he had never seen before. It's true, it isn't the same, and no manner of enchantments could replicate itâeven if Eridanus knew the proper necromantic runes.]
And is it so awful to think that you would look lovely, draped in finery befitting of your profession? Golden armor to match golden eyes and hair. Plate dripping with blood commands stronger emotion than a shirt and jeans, don't you agree? [Eridanus chuckles at the thought, and his claws drag lazily up Lucius' spine as he does.]
[ Clawed fingers drag along his ribs and spine, and perhaps it's merely the intoxicant flooding his own veins, but the sensation lulls his own ever-chaotic thoughts. Lucius allows a deep breath to gust from his nose, and again, of his body's own accord, there is that rumbling sound from deep in his chest. He hasn't thought on it much before, but for a moment, he finds himself lingering over the way Eridanus' touch seems to coax it out from him.
He doesn't feel any shameâjust curiosity over this little change, the same way the expressive motion of his ears is a novelty. As Eridanus' body relaxes beneath him, so does his own, limbs lazy and slack as Lucius allows his weight to settle comfortably atop the other man. ]
Oh, my beast, [ Lucius begins to answer, the laugh in his voice hitching the words, ] there is so much more I can give you.
[ But even as he answers, there is a dangerous thought in the back of his headâthat he knows that heady elation, where to simply have that one particular man turn his gaze upon him would nearly be enough for him to die happy. The simple idea sends his blood racing quicker in his veins, and he can feel his own heartbeat in his chest as his tongue darts across his lips. ]
There is my touch, [ he lifts his head with an impish smile, brushing the backs of his knuckles over Eridanus' cheek, ] or perhaps I could reward you with a gift of my own. Wouldn't that be lovely?
[ He thinks about the gift he has already meant to pass to his handâbut now isn't the time for it, and neither is it meant to be held over his head as the carrot. His mind drifts around to the idea of armor again, and it's true: it would be so much more befitting of him, even in this diminished form. His eyes fall half-lidded as he lets himself savor the image of himself that Eridanus paints in his mind, blood-soaked and powerful. ]
Golden â is that the color you think suits me best?
[ Now his smile takes on a flirtatious cast, to match his voice. ]
[Eridanus had never been the most fond of cuddling. Having someone in his personal space was always a nuisance, and even with his wife he had kept their physical touching chaste more often than not. It had been with the excuse of propriety, and the expectations of noble society, but he had found comfort in those fleeting touches.
Yet with Lucius, his space is constantly invaded, as if it's just another piece of the galaxy for this warlord to conquerâexcept he didn't seem to mind it so much, even finding himself eager for when next it would happen. The way Lucius relaxes against him flares excitement through his limbs, buzzing all the way to the tips of those claws that dragged lazily up and down his spine. It felt like earning the trust of a skittish beast, and as Eridanus lays his head back to savor the feeling, he cannot help the thought of just how lucky he is.
As Lucius lists off the rewards to be given one by one, Eridanus can't help the mocking chuckle that rises from his throat.]
You touch me so often, I doubt that would be much of a reward. [His weight shifts beneath the other, accommodating him more comfortably as his claws find the sensitive meat between Lucius' shoulder blades to draw slow circles.]
A gift of your own... hm, interesting and enigmatic. I wonder, what is the type of gift a man who lives his life so wantonly to give? [He draws a short breath, looking down his chest and into those golden eyes.
When the conversation shifts back to what he could only assume to be the armor, Eridanus' visage splits into a coy grin. He raises a hand from Lucius' back and combs his fingers through that short blond hair. Was it getting longer? He couldn't quite tell.
His own cheek leans into that lover's touch, and he sighs.] Hair and eyes of gold, as if touched by the sun... looking at you makes me want to dress you in my house colors, and admire how handsome you would look. Gold, crimson, and black like dark umbra. The only thing missing would be the blood and bodies of foes at your feet.
[ It's said to tease, more than anything. The truth is that a gift from his hand is rarely different than the prizes he takes for himselfâsomething that had seemed interesting and right at the time, but little more. Still, a little suspense is rarely a bad thing, and he can't say he doesn't wonder what Eridanus might do for the chance to earn one.
As Eridanus draws up a brutal image of blood and bodies, a low laugh wafts from Lucius' lungs. He knows he is wearing the wrong face for it, and yet, he settles into the vision as if pulling on an old and comfortable coat; his head leans itself into the touch of clawed fingers in his hair, and rather than stimulated with the desire to kill, he finds himself soothed. He hasn't been keen on dwelling over the way he misses receiving even an ounce of the respect he is owed for his martial accomplishments, but now that someone is giving him as muchâunprompted, evenâhe can't help but bask in it.
There is one problem with the image Eridanus puts forth, however. ]
Gold and black are fine enough, but I much prefer the only red be the blood of the fallen painting my armor. [ His eyes, drifted close in acceptance of the touch, peel half-open, and his lips pull back in a smile as content as it is smug. ] Crimson dyes would only serve to hide just how much has been spilled by my blade, don't you agree?
[ There's probably some religious irony to be mentioned as well, but as Lucius has said before: he doesn't serve Slaanesh. Slaanesh's favor serves him, first and foremost. ]
[A bark of a laugh forces its way through Eridnaus' lungs, his expression creasing with amusement. That of all things wrong with the picture he paints, Lucius finds issue with the color red. It's almost ridiculous, but as those words pass between them, his only thought is that of course Lucius would trade vanity for only one thing: glory.
Those curling claws trace over the curve of his skull, settling to one side and scratching just behind his ear.]
I would argue that the crimson is typically for accents, and would not overpower the armor. Our dressage is mainly black with gold and crimson decorating it, in fact... [He takes a breath, they pauses as he remembers that his mage's clothes are at his apartment with Rosefica, not here.]
Well, I think that museum is still open and running exhibits on us like zoo animals. Maybe we can go there one day and I'll show you images of my home.
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I think you are quite right. Some citrus notes, with a hint of earthinessâcheap 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 touchâyet, 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 â 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 Fulgrimâthe 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 fantasyâ
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 â 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' wordsâtheir 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 mindâthe 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 moreâabout 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?
I cannot believe I am using this icon... lol...
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 ofâbut 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 â 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, weâ [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 Luciusâas 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 handâand 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 â 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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You are right... [His tone is soft, sweet even, as the misplaced answers he had sought were so willingly given to him.] I have never committed such a wrongdoing before, and you would think there would be even an ounce of respect for that? This is a misunderstanding... yes... a misunderstanding.
[Eridanus' talons slide away from Lucius' shoulders, and he leans down only briefly to peck at the man's forehead, as if admitting thanks for his guidance to clarity. Whether this was genuine belief, or the final nail in the coffin of his shattered mind, Eridanus is far from caring. What makes that runty tail of his swing back and forth is that he is free from the weight of his sins, if only for a moment.]
She would not allow me my freedom, and that won't do! A collar and leash is necessary for guidance, not control. [He turns away from Lucius, bending at the hip to grab the bottle of coca wine and indulge in its intoxication. He tips the mouth of the bottle to his lips and takes a few deep gulfs before handing it to Lucius,] I need to be free, yes... I need to be allowed to follow these desires, I won't be allowed to ascend without them.
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By the time Eridanus turns from him to retrieve that bottle, Lucius' own eyes are creased with indulgence. Eridanus drinks straight from the bottle, and Lucius feels nothing but pleased at the way the other man lets decorum slip. When the wine is handed back, he does the sameâthough the sip he takes is shorter, the tips of his claws teasing at the small of Eridanus' back as he pulls straight from the mouth of the bottle. They graze up the arc of his spine, with just enough pressure to be felt, and then come to a rest between his shoulder blades as Lucius gently urges him back toward the (now damaged) couch. ]
That's right. Close your eyes and listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest. It aches for you to live free as your truest self. [ As Lucius guides him down beside him, those fingers again come to slide along the back of his neck, stroking through the hair at his nape with a slow, soothing touch. He lifts the bottle to his lips again, and when he moves to pass it to Eridanus' mouth once more, he runs his tongue along the full shape of his lips with a deliberate slowness. ] You're already so beautiful, hungry beast, and you can still be so much more.
[ It's more than empty flattery, and perhaps that is more surprising to Lucius than anyone. He shivers with the thought, aching at the delightful image of the Diadem's decks with his new pet at his side. ]
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A deep breath is drawn in, and pretty blond lashes flutter as his eyes close. He feels the way his heart hammers in his ribcage, fueled by an intoxicating mix of wine and Lucius' words. His hands are laid at his sides, palms up with his fingers twitching anxiously each time he feels the idle stroking of fingerpads against his nape. For a moment, the tickling sensation has his brows furrowing once more, and his gaze opens half-lidded just in time to have the bottle passed back to him. Eridanus takes it delicately between his fingers, his attention lingering for a moment on the way that spined tongue chases stray beads of drink across plump lips. He swallows dryly, the urge to lunge for Lucius' mouth eating at him, but it's drunken lethargy that keeps him from actually doing it.]
I have been called many things in my centuries... [He murmurs, and tips the bottle to his own lips. The desperate gulfs he had taken earlier were catching up with him now, and the way drink spills from the corners of his lips and stain his white dress shirt is proof of that. He doesn't seem to notice it, and instead breaks his sip with a sigh.]
Yet, when I hear such praise from your lips, it's almost bestial the way my body craves moreâwhat magicks have you cast on me, to have my very soul scream for your pleasure? [The words are followed by an airy laugh, teasing in nature, but there is a hint of seriousness in them. His chin tips towards Lucius, and his eyes once more fixate on him with adulation.]
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[ Certainly, the impulse he felt toward those who challenged him on the battlefield was closeâbut those were brief flames, all-consuming for as long as they lasted but quickly satisfied. No Sharrowkyn or Sanahkt to escape his blade in centuries and more. This lingering desire to consumeâLucius has reveled in it, and Eridanus has done nothing to quench his obsession even now.
Lucius wants to move closer, and of course, they're already near enough that as much means climbing into his lap. It isn't the half-hooked posture Eridanus had felt from him the last time they had met; instead, Lucius crawls over him like a predator, hovering just without touching as if he might flee or strike without the slightest warning as to which. ]
And what would you do, just to hear more?
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The word rings through Eridanus' mind like a chorus of chamber bells, and he can feel his heart rate quicken with the giddiness of an inexperienced teenager. The corners of his lips quirk up into an awkward little smile, and a shy laugh warfs from his lungs.]
You flatter meâ [His playful words are cut short as Lucius stalks into his personal space, and while it wasn't unwelcome by any means, Eridanus found himself suddenly feeling much too small. Those slitting golden eyes watch him with the hunger of a beast ready to pounce, and once more his skin sings with the instinct to flee.
Just as every time before, he stays right where he's sat. Eridanus lifts his hands, cupping Lucius' face as those adoring eyes fall half-lidded.]
Hmm... let me see. Slaughter wantonly, and bathe myself bloody in the streets? I'm sure that sight would amuse you. Or perhaps... besting you in that duel? How satisfying for the both of us for your first scar against this handsome face to be made by my victory? [Slender obsidian-sharp points trace the lines of Lucius' face as he speaks, and there's a softness to his expression that is stark against his drunkenness.]
Or perhaps a gift? A head still wet at the stump... though I can imagine you would also like a new chassis of armor?
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When those hands come up to cradle his face, Lucius allows them. He leans into the touch, and as Eridanus answers him, a gentle purr rumbles in his chest. ]
Eridanus, [ he says, and the name is a purr, tooâof a different sort. He settles himself from his hunter's posture, letting his lithe shape slot into the firmness of Eridanus' body under him. ] If you can so much as push me in a duel, I'll do far more than praise you.
[ But, even in rest, the threat is never gone from Lucius' manner. He drags his tongue across his teeth as if savoring some unspoken pleasure, and his fingers trail along the flesh beneath his chinâvulnerable, in comparison, the tips of his claws memorizing every gap in the uneven opal as they graze along his skin.
The offer of a head is always a nice one, particularly with all the thoughts of his own Champion that come with itâbut what actually attracts his attention the most is the suggestion of armor. His tufted ears had sat relaxed, but now they perk. ]
Without the gift Slaanesh has given me, it won't be the same. Why, I wonder â do you wish to see me in my full splendor as lord over his warhost?
[ The question is delivered with a particular sort of coyness usually reserved for attire more easily removed. ]
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Lucius' words nag curious thoughts to his head, and before he can stifle them, his lips part.] What is better than your praise? [He asks quietly, as excitement buzzes under his skin.
His claws travel down, over the curve of Lucius' shoulders, before dipping between them. He drags exploring hands over those sides, once knotted with the muscles of a soldier, yet now as lean as a prowling cat's. As Lucius continues on about the armor, his words drum up a memory that wasn't his, of armor he had never seen before. It's true, it isn't the same, and no manner of enchantments could replicate itâeven if Eridanus knew the proper necromantic runes.]
And is it so awful to think that you would look lovely, draped in finery befitting of your profession? Golden armor to match golden eyes and hair. Plate dripping with blood commands stronger emotion than a shirt and jeans, don't you agree? [Eridanus chuckles at the thought, and his claws drag lazily up Lucius' spine as he does.]
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He doesn't feel any shameâjust curiosity over this little change, the same way the expressive motion of his ears is a novelty. As Eridanus' body relaxes beneath him, so does his own, limbs lazy and slack as Lucius allows his weight to settle comfortably atop the other man. ]
Oh, my beast, [ Lucius begins to answer, the laugh in his voice hitching the words, ] there is so much more I can give you.
[ But even as he answers, there is a dangerous thought in the back of his headâthat he knows that heady elation, where to simply have that one particular man turn his gaze upon him would nearly be enough for him to die happy. The simple idea sends his blood racing quicker in his veins, and he can feel his own heartbeat in his chest as his tongue darts across his lips. ]
There is my touch, [ he lifts his head with an impish smile, brushing the backs of his knuckles over Eridanus' cheek, ] or perhaps I could reward you with a gift of my own. Wouldn't that be lovely?
[ He thinks about the gift he has already meant to pass to his handâbut now isn't the time for it, and neither is it meant to be held over his head as the carrot. His mind drifts around to the idea of armor again, and it's true: it would be so much more befitting of him, even in this diminished form. His eyes fall half-lidded as he lets himself savor the image of himself that Eridanus paints in his mind, blood-soaked and powerful. ]
Golden â is that the color you think suits me best?
[ Now his smile takes on a flirtatious cast, to match his voice. ]
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Yet with Lucius, his space is constantly invaded, as if it's just another piece of the galaxy for this warlord to conquerâexcept he didn't seem to mind it so much, even finding himself eager for when next it would happen. The way Lucius relaxes against him flares excitement through his limbs, buzzing all the way to the tips of those claws that dragged lazily up and down his spine. It felt like earning the trust of a skittish beast, and as Eridanus lays his head back to savor the feeling, he cannot help the thought of just how lucky he is.
As Lucius lists off the rewards to be given one by one, Eridanus can't help the mocking chuckle that rises from his throat.]
You touch me so often, I doubt that would be much of a reward. [His weight shifts beneath the other, accommodating him more comfortably as his claws find the sensitive meat between Lucius' shoulder blades to draw slow circles.]
A gift of your own... hm, interesting and enigmatic. I wonder, what is the type of gift a man who lives his life so wantonly to give? [He draws a short breath, looking down his chest and into those golden eyes.
When the conversation shifts back to what he could only assume to be the armor, Eridanus' visage splits into a coy grin. He raises a hand from Lucius' back and combs his fingers through that short blond hair. Was it getting longer? He couldn't quite tell.
His own cheek leans into that lover's touch, and he sighs.] Hair and eyes of gold, as if touched by the sun... looking at you makes me want to dress you in my house colors, and admire how handsome you would look. Gold, crimson, and black like dark umbra. The only thing missing would be the blood and bodies of foes at your feet.
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[ It's said to tease, more than anything. The truth is that a gift from his hand is rarely different than the prizes he takes for himselfâsomething that had seemed interesting and right at the time, but little more. Still, a little suspense is rarely a bad thing, and he can't say he doesn't wonder what Eridanus might do for the chance to earn one.
As Eridanus draws up a brutal image of blood and bodies, a low laugh wafts from Lucius' lungs. He knows he is wearing the wrong face for it, and yet, he settles into the vision as if pulling on an old and comfortable coat; his head leans itself into the touch of clawed fingers in his hair, and rather than stimulated with the desire to kill, he finds himself soothed. He hasn't been keen on dwelling over the way he misses receiving even an ounce of the respect he is owed for his martial accomplishments, but now that someone is giving him as muchâunprompted, evenâhe can't help but bask in it.
There is one problem with the image Eridanus puts forth, however. ]
Gold and black are fine enough, but I much prefer the only red be the blood of the fallen painting my armor. [ His eyes, drifted close in acceptance of the touch, peel half-open, and his lips pull back in a smile as content as it is smug. ] Crimson dyes would only serve to hide just how much has been spilled by my blade, don't you agree?
[ There's probably some religious irony to be mentioned as well, but as Lucius has said before: he doesn't serve Slaanesh. Slaanesh's favor serves him, first and foremost. ]
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Those curling claws trace over the curve of his skull, settling to one side and scratching just behind his ear.]
I would argue that the crimson is typically for accents, and would not overpower the armor. Our dressage is mainly black with gold and crimson decorating it, in fact... [He takes a breath, they pauses as he remembers that his mage's clothes are at his apartment with Rosefica, not here.]
Well, I think that museum is still open and running exhibits on us like zoo animals. Maybe we can go there one day and I'll show you images of my home.
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