[ There's nothing that should surprise him, but it does. Mydei is handsome, and attractive, and - a good friend, too, so of course people in this world would want to idolise him. He almost hooks his chin on his shoulder, but resists, focussing on rinsing out the suds.
Sooner rather than later, though I don't want to be ogled during our sparring either way.
[ He can't help the words; he's always been covetous of their time together, although this he tries to pass off like he's talking about the lewd spectators alone.
It does make him sigh, tilting his head back a little more. ]
They're getting enough of a show from this shower anyways, I imagine.
I spoke about it with someone I met. That, eventually, this might all become normal for us.
[ Phainon can agree; their sparring has always been their time, has been something that they shared as rivals turned friends. So many times their first meetings had been a near endless fight, and now it brings him the kind of joy he can barely speak of.
Eyes glued to Mydei's back, he smiles fondly, one hand sliding down absently to his waist, to press his fingers gently against that too familiar weak spot. ]
[ Mydeimos reacts more to the fingers sliding along his skin than where he touches. He knows exactly where it is; he's told Phainon about it millions of times. He's been pierced there just as many times; by Phainon himself, by the Flame Reaver, by Khaslana. His muscles twitch, but it comes with a sharp exhale from Mydei; there's no sign of the instinctive startle. ]
And yet here you are, feeling up my back and taking ages to wash my hair.
[ He glances over his shoulder; not only are his ears pink, his cheeks are too, the barely-there dusting that likely stands out like a beacon to someone who knows him. ]
[ Standing like this, flushed and warm, heated from their spar and the obscene words that their observers had thrown at them, it is hard to focus. Phainon can remember how it had been, barely a few weeks ago now, to stand before his friend, to touch him, to see his pleasure and the sounds he made. It is hard to ignore the pull, the memories, the warmth that comes with it.
[ Despite what he's said, Mydeimos makes no move to turn around more, because he knows what the sound of Phainon's low voice is doing to him. He doesn't need to add fuel to the fire.
Why does he hesitate, when no one else around here is? Because it's Phainon; because it not being some aphrodisiac fueled tryst would make it feel real, and it means the words have gotten the best of him. Instead he glances at Phainon's mouth for a moment. ]
You're right and lucky; Castrum Kremnos does not have handmaids to assist with the bath.
[ He doesn't say the part he does know: that's for people you trust. Battle brothers, or partners, husbands and wives. ]
That seems an indulgence that a warrior people wouldn't take.
[ If he is being honest, of course.
They are warriors, fighters, and being bare and naked amongst anyone untrusted is something that cannot be permitted. To turn your back to someone is a danger, no matter how strong you are. To tell someone of your weak spot, when you are immortal otherwise... Phainon understands the significance of that.
Leaning forward, his chin rests on Mydei's shoulder, his hand still brushing gently, tenderly. Unable to resist the pull, the companionship, the warmth. To have Mydeimos here, to seek out comfort in a world that would have them laid bare and open to others...
Eventually, he shakes his head. ]
Even if you did, I cannot imagine you letting one bathe you.
[ Phainon takes the first move in resting his chin on his shoulder. Like that, it's easy for Mydeimos to let himself lean back, into the hand at his weak spot, against the broad chest that is blessedly free of any holes or cracks. ]
I can count the number of people I have allowed to bathe me on one finger.
[ The detachment had helped him when he was ill, but he generally managed on his own. There's only one person he's ever consciously allowed this indulgence with. ]
[ It shouldn't feel so easy, so familiar, but it does, Mydei's body warm against his own. He forgets everything else, for a moment, and allows himself this. One indulgence, in a quiet, secret place, where no one else will look upon them. ]
Then I'm pleased to be counted among them.
[ Phainon doesn't quite recognise the importance. ]
[ Exasperated, fond. His hand comes up to grab him by the chin, not harsh enough to bruise but firm as he turns a little more to look at him, to make Phainon look at his face. ]
[ He doesn't think about what he does next; with Phainon laughing, pulling him closer, a smile on his face. It feels as natural as breathing to let a smile cross his own face, to use the hold he has on Phainon to tug him into a kiss.
It's not even a heated kiss, it's clumsy for how it's over Mydei's shoulder, but it is undeniably affectionate. ]
It's frighteningly natural to lean in and let their mouths press together, to tug his friend closer, to tilt his head and lean into the kiss. It feels as if they are drawn together by all that they have, two halves of a whole, and he feels blindingly at peace.
Clumsy, and silly, and damp with the surrounding shower, but Phainon indulges, briefly. For a moment, he feels centred, he feels whole, with no parts of himself torn and mad inside of him. ]
[ He loosens his hold on Phainon's chin to curl his fingers against his cheek, turning a little more in the hold, arm brushing Phainon's chest. It feels like an easy extension of their earlier bantering and complaints, following that confession. It's not even necessarily romantic - but it's not not romantic, either.
(They've been together far fewer times than they've been friends, comrades, or even enemies; and yet it feels as if that muscle memory is the strongest in this moment.)
Then a particularly loud moan from one of the other showers has Mydeimos breaking the kiss with a startled twitch and gasp, head swiveling for the source of the noise. ]
[ Millions and millions of cycles, and few people have ever come close to feeling as close to home as Mydei himself has, welcome in the embrace of his arms and the warmth of his touch. It makes him draw closer, seek out more, a flustering inside of him that has him almost breathless, a shudder of delight running through his body.
It would continue, and his mind would not overwork it, if they were not so interrupted.
A strange flare of panic burns through Phainon, his eyes widening as he stares at Mydeimos. There's something uncomfortable that prickles over his skin, something dark and uncomfortable, and he feels the rage of it burn inside of him before he can do anything else. There is no space for logic, suddenly, as he tugs himself out of Mydeimos' arms, sliding out of the shower in a rush. ]
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[ There's nothing that should surprise him, but it does. Mydei is handsome, and attractive, and - a good friend, too, so of course people in this world would want to idolise him. He almost hooks his chin on his shoulder, but resists, focussing on rinsing out the suds.
His ears are pink. Hm. ]
It is something to get used to.
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[ He can't help the words; he's always been covetous of their time together, although this he tries to pass off like he's talking about the lewd spectators alone.
It does make him sigh, tilting his head back a little more. ]
They're getting enough of a show from this shower anyways, I imagine.
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[ Phainon can agree; their sparring has always been their time, has been something that they shared as rivals turned friends. So many times their first meetings had been a near endless fight, and now it brings him the kind of joy he can barely speak of.
Eyes glued to Mydei's back, he smiles fondly, one hand sliding down absently to his waist, to press his fingers gently against that too familiar weak spot. ]
We're hardly doing anything.
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And yet here you are, feeling up my back and taking ages to wash my hair.
[ He glances over his shoulder; not only are his ears pink, his cheeks are too, the barely-there dusting that likely stands out like a beacon to someone who knows him. ]
You'd make a terrible handmaiden.
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Chuckling, voice low, he sighs. ]
I was rising the soap.
[ A dreadful lie. ]
And a handmaiden would not join you in the bath.
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[ Despite what he's said, Mydeimos makes no move to turn around more, because he knows what the sound of Phainon's low voice is doing to him. He doesn't need to add fuel to the fire.
Why does he hesitate, when no one else around here is? Because it's Phainon; because it not being some aphrodisiac fueled tryst would make it feel real, and it means the words have gotten the best of him. Instead he glances at Phainon's mouth for a moment. ]
You're right and lucky; Castrum Kremnos does not have handmaids to assist with the bath.
[ He doesn't say the part he does know: that's for people you trust. Battle brothers, or partners, husbands and wives. ]
no subject
[ If he is being honest, of course.
They are warriors, fighters, and being bare and naked amongst anyone untrusted is something that cannot be permitted. To turn your back to someone is a danger, no matter how strong you are. To tell someone of your weak spot, when you are immortal otherwise... Phainon understands the significance of that.
Leaning forward, his chin rests on Mydei's shoulder, his hand still brushing gently, tenderly. Unable to resist the pull, the companionship, the warmth. To have Mydeimos here, to seek out comfort in a world that would have them laid bare and open to others...
Eventually, he shakes his head. ]
Even if you did, I cannot imagine you letting one bathe you.
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I can count the number of people I have allowed to bathe me on one finger.
[ The detachment had helped him when he was ill, but he generally managed on his own. There's only one person he's ever consciously allowed this indulgence with. ]
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Then I'm pleased to be counted among them.
[ Phainon doesn't quite recognise the importance. ]
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[ Exasperated, fond. His hand comes up to grab him by the chin, not harsh enough to bruise but firm as he turns a little more to look at him, to make Phainon look at his face. ]
It is still only one person, even here.
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[ Ah.
He laughs a little, feeling the pull on his chin, one arm wrapping around Mydeimos' waist to hold onto him, smile settling into place.
He understands, how. ]
Then I'll do my duty well.
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It's not even a heated kiss, it's clumsy for how it's over Mydei's shoulder, but it is undeniably affectionate. ]
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It's frighteningly natural to lean in and let their mouths press together, to tug his friend closer, to tilt his head and lean into the kiss. It feels as if they are drawn together by all that they have, two halves of a whole, and he feels blindingly at peace.
Clumsy, and silly, and damp with the surrounding shower, but Phainon indulges, briefly. For a moment, he feels centred, he feels whole, with no parts of himself torn and mad inside of him. ]
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(They've been together far fewer times than they've been friends, comrades, or even enemies; and yet it feels as if that muscle memory is the strongest in this moment.)
Then a particularly loud moan from one of the other showers has Mydeimos breaking the kiss with a startled twitch and gasp, head swiveling for the source of the noise. ]
no subject
It would continue, and his mind would not overwork it, if they were not so interrupted.
A strange flare of panic burns through Phainon, his eyes widening as he stares at Mydeimos. There's something uncomfortable that prickles over his skin, something dark and uncomfortable, and he feels the rage of it burn inside of him before he can do anything else. There is no space for logic, suddenly, as he tugs himself out of Mydeimos' arms, sliding out of the shower in a rush. ]
I - my apologies. I have to go.
[ He grabs his towel, and he runs. ]