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astracora · 3 days ago

Text

Purring

Characters: Taxionna x Kieran, Drike

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3092

Written: 20th December 2024

Sometimes they remind him of a large cat. They’re graceful, dangerous and fickle. When they’re angry, they snarl, fangs on show and a hiss at the back of their throat. When they’re happy, on very rare occasions… he hears them purr. Low and rumbling.

A noise that lights up his chest, and runs down his spine, like he imagines their cold fingers would.

It’s very rare though. He’s heard the pleased rumble when they’re eating something particularly pleasant. The first time he heard it, he almost dropped his croquettes, choking on his drink. Watching them. Eyes closed, smiling, with that low purr rippling. They’d blinked out of their daze, and made a comment to their brother about missing good quality food, and he’d only been able to tear his eyes from the tongue running over their fangs and lips when an elbow had buried itself in his side.

Elena coughing gently into her own hand, trying to hide her amused smile. His cheeks had heated, and he’d downed his drink quickly. Hoping the cold beer would soothe the very real flames licking around his insides.

You’re not a boy with a crush. He’d reminded himself, irritable and frustrated at how easily they disarmed and shattered him. Without even trying. Which somehow was worse.

He didn’t know how he’d handle the day when Taxionna purposefully tried to seduce him… IF! If they tried.

Kieran felt the exhaustion in his bones. No more, he was fine. It was needless. It wasn’t like they didn’t have their line of admirers… He could at least be more capable of helping them than anyone else.

—————

It’s an unusual day when he and Drike are hired by the Crown. It’s often only as a point, or a ‘peace’ offering. The Goddess favours her son, and she also enjoys reminding the Eternals that she commands them.

Kieran is reminded of the cold look that he received the first time he met the Goddess. A child with no past, no memories, no family, no life. She had looked down her nose at him, and even as a small boy he knew he was being judged. Judged by something stronger, bigger, and more terrifying than he could imagine. As he grew older he learned that the smile she’d offered him then, had been a tool. Just like the boy with a dagger in his hand, became a tool.

One she believed she owned.

He’d long hated the power and status of royalty and godhood. Been tempted to growl at her, a wolf with no pack.

When the warm hand of his mentor had grasped his hand. Drike a shield against his mother, the reason that her eyes had softened. Her favourite. The slightly older boy, had spoken up for him. Requested they train together. An Eternal with no place in the world, that Kieran was, protected by the Mortal son of the Gods. His back had been strong to him, even though he was small.

Warm against the chill seeping from the Goddess.

She had nodded, appeased, eager for her son to receive whatever would make him happy. If he’d been older, Kieran would have felt the treatment of a toy being handed over. So unimportant, and unable to control his own path.

The hand had pulled him out of the room, and led him from the cold throne. He had fought his trembling, refused to let any of them see his fear.

When Drike had stopped, he’d smiled at Kieran, slight fangs peeking out from his lips, and a ruddy flush to his cheeks.

Kieran never could remember much else about that day, working through his daze, his discomfort. He never could forget the warmth from Drike’s palm, or the way the door had opened for him.

An exit if he took it.

He’d known he had nowhere else to go… and maybe, if he stuck around, he could be as strong as the boy offering him a chance to choose.

He’d never, however, forgotten the Goddess, the power of the throne, determining him to be nothing but a toy or a tool. That knowledge had stuck with him all through his life, as he got older, stronger, better. A sharpened blade in the back of the corruption that spread throughout his home.

It was a lesson he kept close, so that she would never get her way to use him. Even though he stood now, surrounded by Gods and the Powerful, expected to keep them safe.

“You’re glaring, quite intensely.” Drike murmured. Mask pulled down, but his smile was audible.

A sigh was the response, irritable… and also disappointed. Kieran adjusted his mask, keeping it low. “I hate it here.” He’s sullen, he’s grumpy, he sounds like a child. His skin itches. He hates it here.

There’s a soft laugh, short, almost like its escaped the other man, “You’re not the only one.”

Their conversation is muted, stood to the side of the room, watching powerful people mingle and chat. He can smell ego. It’s bitter and putrid, and his sensitive senses feel irritated. Drike holds himself together better, Kieran notes to himself… some dissatisfaction to the realisation. He can’t help but compare them, knowing that if it weren’t for him, Drike wouldn’t react at all.

Kieran, however, feels his frustration so deeply… It’s hard not to. He’d always felt too deeply, too much. Drike had nodded, made a comment that his sibling is much the same. Their blood is fiery and passionate, but it can burn them just as much as it warms them.

He wonders if Drike’s mortality means he doesn’t feel the same burning, or if he has simply learned to control it. They have a few years between them… it’s clear in these moments. Kieran yearns for that level of maturity… the self-control.

They just have to get through this very, irritating job. Surrounded by unpleasant, stupid beings.

Whose sycophantic smiles and saccharine words filled the space as though they were not wasting every drop of oxygen.

Damned Gods.

“Finally…” He heard to his side, along with an endeared tsk.

Then, a familiar, chillingly cold voice. “Oh you’ve granted us your presence have you?”

The Goddess stands there, hands clasped before her. Beautiful wings fluttering behind her back. Halo spinning above her head. She stands with her eyes colder than ice, spearing the figure walking down the sweeping staircase. Her other half, a man with pitch black horns and an empty smirk, chuckles next to her. “Come now, I’m sure something important kept our sweet child from such an important event?”

Had they been alone, Kieran is sure the Goddess would have scoffed. In public, however, she was ever the performer. Even though her specific target was easy for the surrounding figures to accept as lesser.

When his eyes are drawn to Taxionna, he feels the jolt of lightning through him unbidden, once again. They’re not hurrying, so much, as they are harried.

Hair a little messy, lipstick smeared on their mouth, he’s pretty sure some of their buttons are undone. Glowing, beautiful, regal… alive.

Their father looks gleeful, dark eyes lighting up like they’ve set fire. “Someone important perhaps?”

Xionna smirks, fangs glinting, and rights themselves with a little wave of the hand, adjusting and fixing gracefully. He can feel the calculation in their gaze. The small thrill at the rage emanating from their mother, the joy at aggravating a woman who sees them as worthless… an amusement at playing to the role they’ve been assigned.

The fuck up royal-ling.

“Just got a little carried away, apologies for my lateness. It won’t happen again.”

He notices a flushed goddess in the background, lipstick ruined, bite marks on her neck, escape the room to avoid attention.

Jealousy is not molten in his stomach. It’s not. He’s never thought about sinking his teeth into their neck, and hearing their beautiful lilting voice turn rough with pleasure.

They look over at him, and he’s taken to moments where they’re partners in crime. Dealing with corruption against the orders of their all-seeing mother. He sees the twinkle in mismatched eyes, pupils blown from slits and a tongue running over painted lips.

The fantasy gets louder in his head, before they’re pulled away. Laughter in their voice, as they’re forced to make the rounds. The connection broken, he sinks in on himself, like a puppet with cut strings.

—————

Gods are hedonistic, by nature. He supposes. Perhaps its the power, the long lives, the boredom, all of it. They care for little but their own pleasure. He’s used to their parties dragging on, until the drunken revelry merges into other kinds of chaos.

Thankfully, he’ll be released before he has to deal with another orgy. Especially after the last one had actual goats… and he thinks a badger.

While Drike keeps watch, Kieran’s found his eyes unable to separate from Taxionna. After all the years he’s known them, he’s used to their act. They antagonise their mother, payback for years of abuse, years of being made to feel like a failure. In return, they act the failure. Live the life of the gods they were raised around. A fool publicly. It doesn’t make it settle better in his stomach.

The fake smile, the quiet death in their eyes, the discomfort in their stance. All these gods, all the powerful, all the royalty in the room. Faun, and try to manipulate, to use. Thinking they understand them. Empty headed, flirty, powerful, but foolish.

He wants to growl, and bite, and snarl. Blood in his teeth, and daggers in hand. Over them.

It’s not a normal feeling, he thinks, to want to guard and kill for them. A tool for them. He thinks about how they’ve taken blades meant for him, blood on their hands for him. Perhaps its part in parcel with their emotions.

They can’t imagine who his Heart really is. He coughs on his drink, hand at his mouth to smother it and slinks back into the shadows. Hiding, pulling away from the world. His… Hear-

“Key?”

He blinks up through his mask, righting it with a hand quickly, and as he goes to fix himself. His lessons with Drike filtering through his mind, he sees sparkling mismatched eyes. Concern deep. No longer quietly dying.

They tilt their head, hand extended, “Are you alright?” The coldest of touch against his clothed arm, the chill of their skin is so intense he can feel it through his uniform. It reignites the heat in his body.

“Fine. Drink went down wrong.” He excuses. It’s not a lie. He just doesn’t need to tell them why it went down wrong. The feeling in his heart. It’s not there.

He’s not that foolish.

This time they rub at his back, even though the coughing is calmed, he finds himself unable to move away. They’re steady, and each touch sends a tingle down his back.

Gods, he hasn’t been touched in so long. That’s why he’s reacting like a schoolboy.

It’s not them.

It’s not him.

“Be careful.” They tease, though the concern hasn’t bled away. As though he could die from choking. As though there’s a real threat to him, to what’s keeping him in this room with them. Tethered. “I wouldn’t want to lose one of the few people who can keep my back safe.”

He lets out a laugh in response, quiet and warm. Trusted. Comforted. Gods, he wants to keep that tether forever, and when he speaks his voice is low and honest, “I’ll never stop keeping you safe.”

Their hand stops, and he sees eyes widen just a little, mask forgotten, blinking dolefully at him. It’s unusual to see them surprised, perhaps he’s held his feelings too close… had they really not noticed? His loyalty, his friendship. That they would doubt his devotion?

Devotion?

No, that’s not in doubt. He is devoted to his small group of companions. He would fight for them. Die for them if he were able.

He has very little in this world, and he will not lose what he has.

He will not lose them.

It’s simply because he… cares. As a friend.

The internal process halts, as eyes soften, the silver around pupils expand. Their smirk turns into a small smile, nervous and unsure, and their hand moves to his cheek. Cold skin against him, thumb brushing over his cheek… and he freezes.

They are not shy about touching, they nudge him, hold his hand, lean on him… he has grown numb, so he thinks, to the electricity of their contact. The casual way in which they give him everything. Even if it makes him greedier.

This time, however, he is held. Tethered. Consumed by their eyes. Their hand moves down, fingers through his beard, fingertips drift just slightly over his throat. He notes, or wishes he notes, the spark of obsession in their eyes, as their nails scratch at his adam’s apple and a small noise builds in the back of their throat… Before they pull back.

He watches a mask shutter down, fear flickering before they pull back into themselves and grin at him. Fangs on full show, “What a good guard you are.” The tease, this time, is their act. False ego. He notes the way their feathers ruffle, honest even when they try hard to control it.

Noticeable, if you know them.

“T-”

“I better get going, stay safe Key.” They cut off, stepping back, and disappearing back into a party they don’t want to be at.

——————

It’s days later, when a job is over, that he finally gets to breathe with them. They’ve wrapped it up successfully, handing over their target and freed those under his heel. He feels a satisfied thrum in his body. Worn, but relieved.

They’re too far from home, so they make their way to a safe house. It’s rundown, and not the comfiest, the first time he came to one with Taxionna… he’d admittedly had a less than positive opinion of the royal.

He’d made a snarky comment about silk sheets, they’d raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing and their fangs had glimmered with their smirk.

“I don’t need to sleep, I’m sure I could make you forget about the quality of the sheets though.” He’d swallowed the saliva in his throat at the slow drag of their eyes.

This time, as they enter, Taxionna moves over to the terrible bed and lies down, watching him put his weapons on the side, loosening his uniform. He chuckles softly as they kick their shoes across the room. Lazily reclining, wings flicking and fluttering, as they lean their head on cross arms in front of them. “Comfortable?”

Their fang peeks out a little, as they respond. Voice a low grumble, muffled, “Not silk sheets, but better than running around fighting Guards.”

He rubs the back of his neck, guilt biting at his heels, but strangely satisfied that they never forget a moment. He knows its general, they remember everything… still. To be remembered so vividly by them.

When he’s finished cleaning up, removing layers until he’s in sweatpants and little else, he moves over to the bed. Sitting on the corner, watching the god in front of him. He can almost see a tail swishing behind them. Lazy flicks. He’s seen it a few times, but they normally keep it glamoured, along with their horns. He wonders idly when they let themselves be comfortable enough to lower all their glamours.

They blink up at him, the use of their powers today wearing them down, tired, and in need of feeding… or sleep. Their fangs are slightly peeking out under their angel-bow lips, and he tries not to think about the former.

“You need rest.”

They grumble a little not responding, but roll over onto their back. Their shirt has ridden up and they’ve unbuttoned their trousers, shoving them down a little. He tries really hard not to focus in on the pale stretch of skin, and the line of their underwear.

“Come on.” He reaches over, soft smile aimed at the unmasked royal, stretching out like a cat. They easily let him lift them a little, to sit up. What he doesn’t expect, is the way they lean into him. Their nose buries into his neck, and a cold hand runs up the warmth of his chest, through the hair there and onto his shoulder. “T?” They rub their face against him, yawning as they do so. Fangs scratch his skin, almost catching, before they return to rubbing their nose at the crook of his neck.

He freezes, unsure what to do with his hands, as the god in his arms tightens their hold a little. “Tired.” They grumble, and he feels his molten heart soften, hands reaching up to scratch the back of their head, while the other rests at their waist, pulling them into his lap as he realigns them, sitting back in the bed so they can lean fully against his bare chest.

His friend is tired, they’ve burned themselves out. They want to be somewhere safe. If they think that’s him…

His traitorous heart skips at every brush of their lips against his neck, especially every catch of their fangs.

Kieran wants. He wants them to sink in, drink and feed and live, and he wants it so much it startles his hands to stop.

His feline companion grumbles, nudging their head back into his hand, urging his movement, and nipping at his shoulder. He hopes they don’t think too much about his hips jumping, and he quickly resumes his petting, hand at their waist moving under their shirt to rub at their cold skin.

That’s when he hears it, the purr rumbling up their throat. Vibrating against his chest.

His fingers tremble minutely, breath catching, and his hand tightens against the back of their neck.

He wants.

To hear them purr forever.

To feel their skin pressed against his.

To feel their fangs in his throat.

To have his hand around theirs.

To kiss them.

To guard their body and their heart.

His Heart.

His Soul.

They don’t need his dagger, but they have it.

They don’t need his protection, but they have it.

As he feels them drift off, the purring tapering off as their arms wrap around his neck, and their face in his neck stills, he promises to himself they’ll always have a safe harbour with him. Where the mask that kills them quietly, can be laid down.

#wonder writes #Taxionna Halfcaste #Kieran #drabble #oc #oc writing #fiction #writers on tumblr #this is a string of consciousness practice thing #to try to get my brain back into the swing of writing #messy messy #fun though #i love kieran's pining

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