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nutteu · 1 year ago

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The Sun (It’s Just a Cloud Away)

[AO3]

“Sometimes, you two are just so sickeningly sweet that I wanted to puke,” Midnight said after the nth time witnessing the effortless flutter of Executor and Flamebringer around each other. “You should get married or something.”

“Or something,” Flamebringer deadpanned, but he didn’t seem to hate the idea. “Oi, dumbass. This other dumbass said we should take the vows.”

“Alright.” Executor��as whipped, as flat-faced as he usually was—then reached into the pocket of his working jacket, and casually put a velvety ring box on top of the cafeteria table, saying “Will you marry me, Enkaku?” as the whole room erupted into chaos.

Aka the fic where Executor and Flamebringer got married, Midnight and Lappland tries to send him into an early grave, W tries to become a priest, and there may or may not be an exchange of vows in the battlefields. [exeflame; wedding fic; published 2020-07-16; word count: 32,054]

If someone actually asked when they started dating, Flamebringer would honestly say, “Fuck, I don’t even remember.”

But he could tell you how, which actually didn’t really make much sense. He could confirm that neither Executor nor he was interested romantically with each other at that time. It was perhaps just a fancy of their appearances; with the help of a few glasses of wine, and Lappland’s well-placed words of betting. Bet you can’t crack that android nutjob over there, she had whispered, pouring wine into his empty glass as Flamebringer was distracted by Executor’s high cheekbones. In the light of the bar, the man looked ethereal, especially through the filter of Flamebringer’s inebriated eyes.

“Bet your next salary I can fuck him tonight,” he slurred out. Maybe he was losing it, but fuck, he was dying, not blind. He knew a piece of gems in the midst of Rhodes’ tiny ass bar, alright.

Lappland had laughed then, already halfway into her own bottle and didn’t even show the slightest bit of signs that she was drunk. This motherfucker was a beast, Flamebringer thought. She said, “Oh, bet the twice of your salary that he can fuck the Oripathy out of you. If you can get him to bed, that is.”

This was utterly stupid, what was left of his rational thought said. He ignored it with the power of a stupidity-powered brain cells. “Even better,” he said, and downed the rest of his wine, before sauntering over to where the Sankta was sitting ram-rod straight on the sofa with his friends—were they even friends? He looked like he was dragged here without his consent. Which, actually made more sense. He didn’t look like a bar-boy, more like a church-boy or something. He would be a tough nut to crack, indeed.

There were four people in the table: that Kjerag smiley boy, the blue questionable Sankta, that apple pie girl, and Executor—the white haired-dude #1. Also known as the guy who Flamebringer had decided on a whim that yes, he was the one, the absolute number one in this moving city of whom he would seduce the fuck out of. This is stupid, he thought one last time, right before he swung his long leg over Executor’s side and settled comfortably in his lap.

He could feel rather than hear when the rest of the table, the bar, fell into silence at his sudden action. The conversations just suddenly dropped into an awkward silence, to the point that he could hear the excitement and impatience in Lappland’s gleeful, toothy grin. He looked into Executor’s face, which was still set into a careful line of blankness. He didn’t even react when Flamebringer just suddenly decided that Executor’s lap was a free real estate of sort. Although, he did give him a miniscule nod to acknowledge his presence.

Oh? He thought with a mind drowning in wines and Lappland’s taunting words, the church boy wasn’t freaked out? Either he was too polite, or he simply didn’t mind. Maybe he thought this was something that people just do. This guy, after all, was proven to lack a certain degree of common sense and knowledge of the more sensitive sense of social etiquette. But anyway, he didn’t react negatively and hadn’t pushed Flamebringer out of his lap yet, so. He was succeeding so far.

He turned to the rest of the table, and gave them a condescending smile. “Whatchu lookin’ at? Stop gaping like a goldfish, it’s unattractive on you,” he said, and had to refrain from laughing when Smiley Boy and Apple Pie promptly shut their mouths with embarrassed face. The Questionable Blue, however, just lifted her glass and gave him a toast before resuming her previously cut-off conversation with an elegance of a swan. He liked that girl already. She seemed to possess more sanity than Lappland, which was tremendously great in his mind. Anyone who had more than two brain cells and an ounce of sanity was already better than Lappland because she had none.

He turned his attention back to Executor, who was still holding on to his drink. He looked stupid like that, he probably didn’t drink anyway. So he took the glass from the man’s gloved hand, and finished it in less than ten seconds. He reached back to put the empty glass on the table, and focused on the pale blue eyes that were now trained on his flushed face. He gingerly put each of his hands on the man’s wide shoulders, squeezing a bit to feel the sturdy muscles and bones beneath his palms. Biting the corner of his lip, he tightened his hold just the barest bit harder and let his lip go when Executor’s eyes followed the movement.

So. He wasn’t entirely unaffected, huh? This might be fun, he thought, a loopy smile on his lips as leaned down to whisper, “Do I look pretty, Mr. Sankta?”

Executor heaved a soft puff of breath, and nodded just the slightest, hidden from view by Flamebringer’s back. He grinned; who would’ve thought that the ever so proper-and-prime Sankta engineer could also put his interest in people? A sexual interest, nonetheless.

“Good,” he nodded, approving Executor’s reply. “I’m drunk,” he said, and caught the look on Executor’s face that most probably said obviously which he expressed with a lift of his eyebrow. “But you’re the prettiest looking bastard in this bar, so I’m going to kiss you, alright? Just punch me if you don’t like it.”

As he leaned down even further, he heard Apple Pie’s sharp intake of breath and the start of Lappland’s cackle. Executor didn’t say anything, but then, he put his hands on Flamebringer’s hips and experimentally tightened his grip on his slender waist. Flamebringer sighed as he felt the thick, gloved fingers were rubbing circles on his clothed skin. When he was close enough to feel the warmth of the man’s breath, he looked down into his eyes, and mouthed softly on the corner of his lips. “Touch my skin,” he whispered against his lips.

When Executor—miraculously—complied, and slipped his fingers into Flamebringer’s sleeveless shirt to put his hands on his bare hips, he gasped softly and finally, finally kissed him.

Executor was warm underneath him, his lips slightly chapped, but it just made his head spun harder as he licked across his dry lips and delved into the kiss. It was quite a pleasant surprise to know that Executor wasn’t completely blind about things like this. He reciprocated as soon as Flamebringer’s lips started moving against his own; slowly, almost like they were testing the water. Waiting in circles, trying to see which one of them would show their fangs first. They exchanged a few soft kisses, before Flamebringer pulled back and looked into his eyes again, and smirked.

This time, when he leaned down to kiss him again, Executor knew what he should expect. Flamebringer kissed him properly, rougher than before, deeper than just the doorstep of his teeth. His hand moved to cup Executor’s face and the back of his neck, as Executor’s hand tightened further and hauled him closer. It knocked the breath out of him, how the man could manhandle Flamebringer so easily like that. Fuck, imagine how easy it was for him to manhandle Flamebringer on the bed despite being the smaller between the two.

Behind him, on the bar stool, Lappland was positively cackling. He didn’t pay attention to that, though. Hard to divide his focus when Executor kissed him back with insistent, firm touches that skirted the edge of roughness. He welcomed the warm tongue that slipped past his lips; moaning low in his throat when one of the man’s hands slipped out of his shirt, and gripped the underside of his thigh to pull him closer still. Fuck, Flamebringer was a strong warrior, alright, but to feel someone else—someone so incredibly stoic and impeccable like Executor—showing their blatant strength in moving him around like a ragdoll, wasn’t something that fell short on blowing his desires through the roof.

He could feel the front of his pants tenting, his desires catching up to him as he felt his flushed skin burned even hotter. His own fingers creeped up from the back of Executor’s neck to grab a handful of his white hair, letting his mouth be ravished when Executor growled low and kissed him harder than before. With the way his mouth was in constant assault, the hands on his hip and thigh burning heat like a brand into his skin, his head becoming more and more clouded by the second, it was small wonder that he didn’t realize when the three others in the table had been shocked into uncomfortable silence and awkwardness. All except the Questionable Blue, who calmly ushered the two others out of the seat, and called out, “Executor,” with a nod as she guided them to another table.

Flamebringer saw with half-lidded eyes as Executor’s gaze moved to the retreating backs of his colleagues. His bit his lips as a warning; when he touched someone, he liked the attention—the full attention. That was probably why he only ever slept with people who could understand his tendencies, and could stand with him toe to toe when it came to the matter of carnal desires. He let out a surprised gasp when Executor bit his lips back, with much more force than he did, breaking the skin and spreading the taste of blood across his tongue.

He couldn’t help the moan that slipped past his tongue at that. Who would have thought that Executor, the human equivalent of a refrigerator, the perfect example of a poised, stoic Sankta, was someone who was most possibly kinky enough to share a kiss that tasted of blood and hazy desires? He sucked on Executor’s tongue, feeling the rough surface of it entangled with his own. Faintly, he realized that he was grinding down on the Sankta, and forcefully broke the kiss with a gasp when he felt the answering erection in Executor’s pants meeting his own.

He looked down, and had to bite his lips at how prominent the outline of his hardened bulge was. “Fuck,” he cursed, voice rough with desires. “Want to put my mouth on you,” he whispered with urgency, biting his lower lip hard and felt the wound that Executor had bitten bleed against the newer assault.

He slowly rolled his hips forward, closing his eyes and baring his neck when he felt the delicious pain-pleasure of the friction. He felt the hand on his thigh went back to his hips, and looked down to see Executor’s jaw hardening as he tried to retain his self-control. Why would he do that? Flamebringer especially went out of his way on his drunken ass to seduce the fuck out of his polite motherfucker; it wouldn’t do if he could still control himself, showing only the barest of reactions compared to Flamebringer’s shameless, blatant show of desires.

So he furrowed his eyebrows, looking up from beneath his lashes. “Want your mouth on my skin. Every. Inch. Of it,” he said, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.

Executor closed his eyes at his wanton, whispered moans as he dropped his head on Executor’s shoulder, letting out pleasured sighs on his ears. Good, Flamebringer though as he saw how hard the man was clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck popping out from his effort and—yeah, he couldn’t lie. It was kinda hot seeing Executor like that. Why hadn’t he gotten drunk earlier so he could see this side of the infamous Machine of Rhodes Island?

But then, Executor was gripping his hips tight, stopping his movement as easily as he tore the aorta out of a beast with his bare hands—or at least, that was the rumors Flamebringer heard. Just imagining what those hands could do to him was enough to send an electric shiver down his spine. He tugged at Executor’s hair, “Why are we stopping? We haven’t even started yet.”

The shorter man took a moment to heave a few deep breaths, the clench of his jaw slowly loosening even if the grip on Flamebringer’s hips was still tight enough to bruise. His erection hadn’t flagged down at all, still tenting quite obviously against Flamebringer’s thigh. When he looked at him, he suppressed the shiver that broke out all over his body at how sharp and smoldering his stare was. He unconsciously licked his lips and Executor’s finger bit into his skin at that, earning him a low groan that Flamebringer tried to silence by biting his lips hard. So he liked a little bit pain with his pleasure, sue him.

“I would not bed you,” he said clearly.

Flamebringer’s face fell, his hard-on quickly softening at the rejection. He wasn’t interested in fucking someone who wasn’t willing or interested, even if he could try to change their mind. But he had tried, and if the other party still said no, then it was not his place to force himself onto them. Even drunk out of his ass and could barely think properly, it was still ingrained into his mind.

“Oh,” he said softly, lips forming around the word. Well—neither Lappland nor him was getting any money out of each other, he guessed. Since it looked like he wasn’t going to get dicked tonight.

He made to move from Executor’s lap, but was prevented from doing so by the hands still grasping his waist. He paused—didn’t this motherfucker reject him just now? Then what the fuck was he doing?

With a very calm demeanor, Executor put him back properly to his lap, and looked into eyes as he said with deep, measured voice, “I would not bed you tonight, as you are clearly drunk. But I would like for us to continue this endeavor by tomorrow, if you still desire to do so by the morning.”

Flamebringer’s inebriated mind paused for a second, pulling together whatever left of his brain cells to process the complicated sentences. It took him a while, while Executor patiently waited for him, before his eyes widened in understanding, his mouth a small ‘o’ before he chuckled.

“Fuck, you can’t talk like that when I can’t even tell up from down,” he complained. “My brain hurts just from hearing your speech pattern alone.”

“You’re doing a good job in understanding my intentions,” Executor reassured him, which was something hella weird to reassure. He told him so, and the engineer didn’t even blink. This motherfucker was completely unfazed, it was amazing to think that he was sporting an erection and kissing him like a starved man just a moment ago.

“Alright,” he tilted his head. “Now what? You gonna leave me here?”

“If that is what you want, then I will transfer your care to Operator Lappland. She appears to be sober enough to deposit you to your quarter safely.”

Flamebringer rolled his eyes, slapping the side of Executor’s arm, maybe a lot harder than he intended. Meh, let it be. He deserved it anyway. “I’m not a thing, you shitty fuck,” he said, hitting the man one more time for good measure. “Use better words—normal words.”

“I apologized,” Executor nodded at him. “I did not intend to offend you by that.”

Flamebringer sighed, now he lost the mood completely. Seriously, what the fuck was up with this man anyway? As far as he remembered, Rhodes Island housed numerous people from Laterano, and they had an array of Sanktas at disposal. None of them talked like this; like someone just inserted the language codes into Executor’s brain and forgot to tell him that he was going to talk to fellow person instead of machine.

“Never mind,” he said with a flat tone. He tried to get out of his hold, and this time Executor let him do so. He was still very much drunk, however, as he stumbled over his own feet when he stood up and ended up stumbling into Executor’s hard chest. Ooh, his drunken mind said, nice one. Flamebringer probably would have hit himself if he was the least bit sober.

A drunken Flamebringer could only mean either one of the two: very depressed, or very horny. Because despite drinking regularly, he didn’t make it into a habit to get drunk. Unless Lappland was present in the vicinity, then it would be guaranteed that he was going to get wasted whether he wanted it or not. Right now, despite declaring that he already lost interest, his sad excuse of a brain was noticing every which way that Executor could turn him on. What the fuck was so special from a hard chest anyway? There were plenty of muscular operators in this nomadic city, fuck he probably owned much more muscle mass than Executor. Why the fuck would his brain focus on that particular trait?

But it did, and he did, and suddenly, he just wanted to put his hands on every inch of Executor’s skin. He put both of his arms around the shorter man’s neck, and leaned close to his face. “Why don’t you sleep with me tonight? So tomorrow morning you can make good of your promise, hm? Come on, angel boy, you know you want to put your hands on me.”

Executor stared at him for a moment; at his lips, the jut of his collarbones, prominent even through the clothes. He looked at something behind Flamebringer, and seemed to be communicating with someone. He turned, only to see Lappland giving Executor two thumbs up along with an obnoxious grin on her face. “Go for it,” her lips said, “fuck him good for me.”

He really needed to find new people to hang out with. Both Midnight and she were insufferable, and W would only be present when he was suffering. He was surrounded by idiots—sadistic idiots who enjoyed his misery.

“Very well,” Executor said a heartbeat later. He heaved Flamebringer’s weight onto him, and put an arm around him to secure his position. “Please walk carefully.”

Lappland waved at him excitedly, her bottles swinging around from one hand as she gave him the unholiest grin of them all. He flipped her off, and had a second to look at Executor’s friends, who had moved to the other end of the bar. Both Apple Pie and Smiley Boy were looking embarrassed and flushed, Questionable Blue gave him a single wink, and smoothly redirected the conversation to something about logistics route around Kazimier. He chuckled at that before Executor pulled him along to get out of the bar.

“Are we going to your room?” he asked as they walked. Now that he wasn’t thinking with his dick as much, he was starting to feel sleepy.

“No,” Executor answered. “It would be better to sleep in your quarter. If you changed your mind in the morning, you do not have to go through the hassles of walking back to your room. It would be likely that you are going to experience severe hangover from your alcohol intake tonight, after all.”

He halted in his step, forcing Executor to also stop in the middle of the hallway with him. He looked at the man liked he was seeing a new species for the first time. And it wasn’t too much of an exaggeration either. “You’re so considerate,” he said in awe. “Fuck, why are you so considerate?” His voice was rising in disbelief and faint hysteria.

Executor patiently pulled him along to continue their trip to Flamebringer’s room. For a moment, he wondered whether Executor had stalked him before, because he seemed to know the direction of his quarter even without his input. But then again, he remembered. Yeah, the man probably read the operator’s manual and room designation, and remembered them all. Aside from his freakish, robotic nature, he was also one of the engineers. It was only normal that he’d know the blueprints of this giant ship.

“Operator Flamebringer,” he called when they arrived in front of his door. “The codes, if you would please.”

“Stop calling me operator if you’re gonna put your dick in my ass by tomorrow,” he sighed, inputting his codes. Or tried to, at least. His mind was more or less still muddled; he always got the number wrong even if he remembered them. “Fuck this,” he growled impatiently, tempted to punch the shit out of the code panel. “You do it. It’s 981246.”

When the door was finally opened, and Executor gently laid him down on the bed, he sighed in relief. Sleep rushed in to him, causing his whole body to become lethargic with fatigue that he only felt now. He vaguely felt Executor moved him around; pulling off his jacket, his boots and socks, struggled a little bit with his belt before pulling that off too, and the ID choker around his neck. He sighed again when he felt he could breathe a little bit easier, and nuzzled into his pillow, already halfway into dreamless sleep.

When the bed dipped next to him a few moments later, he reached his hand out blindly and felt Executor’s fingers encircled his wrist. He brought Flamebringer’s hand back and put it around his neck, putting his own hand on Flamebringer’s waist. He inched closer to what he assumed as Executor’s chest, and briefly smirked as he remembered how taken he was to the man’s chest. It was as firm as he thought, hard muscles pressing against his cheeks as he laid his head there.

He didn’t really remember what happened afterwards, but when he woke up, he was alone.

His head was ringing, headache hanging heavily on the base of his neck. He groaned when he felt his temples pulsed with the force of the hangover. He would kill Lappland, he absolutely would. That jerk might have been fine with that much alcohol, but Flamebringer knew as much that he could never drink the woman under the table. He sat up with difficulty, feeling his stomach lurched uncomfortably at the movement. Why in the world would he let Lappland had that much lenience again, he didn’t know. He sighed; fuck his head hurt.

“You should drink some aspirin.”

Flamebringer would never admit it until the day Oripathy finally sucked the life out of him, but he might or might not have let out a surprised squeak when the voice seemingly had appeared out of nowhere. His heart raced inside his ribcage, eyes wild as he focused on… Executor. What.

“What,” he said, not fully comprehending the situation at hand. Why would the man stand there, inside his room, holding a glass of water and two tablets of what might be aspirin? Was he lost or some—oh. He remembered, no without a colossal amount of embarrassment and fury of a thousand suns at Lappland, about last night. “I plastered myself shamelessly all over you, didn’t I.”

Executor nodded at his quasi-statement. He offered the glass and tablets again, until Flamebringer sighed and finally took them, mumbling his thanks as he swallowed the aspirin. His jacket was folded neatly on the bedside table; his boots deposited at the foot of the bed, next to what he assumed as Executor’s own shoes. The man’s jacket was also folded on top of Flamebringer’s, leaving the man in his undershirt that did awful job on hiding the curve of his muscles underneath. He was once again reminded about the barrage of dirty thoughts he had about the man last night, and had to admit that sober or not, it was quite hard to not think dirty about Executor if he actually paid attention to the man’s appearance.

He wasn’t even close to average looking. Fair skin, pale eyes, white hair, halo on top of his head, his wings fluttering lightly on his back; it was almost an unfair comparison that his body wasn’t as angelic as the rest of him. That body, and the sizeable erection that Flamebringer knew he packed down there, were the works of the devil. He looked fucking sinful, alright? It was only sheer mortification about his behavior last night, and the fact that he smelt like alcohol and cigarette that prevented him from jumping the man.

And he would be right in doing so, because Executor did promise to fuck him in the morning, didn’t he?

He put the empty glass on the nightstand, and stood up shakily, waving away Executor who tried to help him. “I need to shower,” he said. “You can—do whatever you want.”

He didn’t wait for the man’s reply before scurrying away to the bathroom. There was another toothbrush next to his. Executor probably opened a new package from the stash inside his cabinet. His towel was also a little bit damp. He tried not to think too much about Executor showering in the same place where he currently stood, naked and wet. He let out a breath roughly, just what the fuck was he thinking? He wasn’t a bumbling, virgin teenager for fuck’s sake. What was he getting so worked up for?

Still, as he stood under the shower head, trying to clear his head away with cold shower, his mind traitorously conjured the image of Executor’s naked body. His hard muscles, his chest, his shoulders; coupled with his the memories from last night, Flamebringer was ashamed that he was getting hard in record time even under the onslaught of cold water on his body. What the fuck, indeed.

He resigned himself to the fact that his morning wood was going to be spent on the fantasy of Executor’s body—which was fucked up in more ways than one, but, as he looked down on his raging hard-on, he didn’t think he had much choice. He just wanted to get the images of Executor out of his head as soon as possible.

He turned the shower into a lukewarm setting, and touched his cock with heavy feelings. It wasn’t like the man was unattractive. He was—which was also part of the problems. Flamebringer bit his lips as his fingers came into contact with the sensitive skin around the head of his cock. The rivulets of water pouring down on his body sled down in warm embrace, imitating the heat of someone enveloping his body.

He had slept with numerous people in his life. Some of them were okay, some of them were fantastic. He never bothered with arrangements that might not suite his needs. He didn’t really mind about his partner, as long as they were interesting enough to keep him engaged. Men, women, either, neither; fucking or being fucked, he didn’t mind. It was sex; there was no need to complicate it. He did complicate it with W once upon a time, but even then they had separated on their own paths and were currently in sort of weird friendship that consisted of him acknowledging her presence and the fact that they were together back then. She liked to tease him still, and either scoffed or mocked him, but she respected his choices and beliefs.

Still, the closest he had ever felt this bothered was when he found out that Lappland could fuck him well into the morning. That had been mind-blowing—enough that it kept him coming back for more on the rare occasions they had leisure time to fuck for hours. But what Lappland had used on him, was still vastly different than the real thing.

Which Executor possessed in abundance, if his memory served him right.

Now that he started imagining the way Executor would touch him, he couldn’t stop. He put a hand on the wall to lean his weight onto, as his other hand caressed his skin. From the back of his ear, down to grope and squeeze his pecs, pinching his nipples until they were red and hardened. He tried to keep his voice low as he teased his nipples, fondling the nub around the tip of his fingers, biting his lip as he pinched them harder and harder still. His cock was still untouched, painfully erect against his stomach. He heaved a pant as he looked down, eyes hazy from lust and the water wetting his lashes. His groped his nipples harshly one more time, before sliding his fingers down and finally, finally touched himself.

He remembered grinding against Executor last night in his lap. It looked, and felt, big. But then again, he only saw the outline of it. But it had felt so hot against his own erection last night, even through their respective pants. He started pumping his cock lazily, a light twist of his wrist as he remembered how it felt to be manhandled so easily by Executor’s strong arms. Flamebringer, even since he fucked Midnight that one time, had realized that he had the hots for being manhandled in bed. Rough and careless, as if he—all his towering height and considerable weight of muscle mass—was something so light that it required no thought to move him around to fit his partner’s bidding.

Of course, he liked it also when he had a complete control. But there was just an allure in fighting even in bed, grappling for some semblance of dominance despite knowing that he would be taken anyway. It was rare to find someone who could fulfill the satisfaction of the struggle in pushing and pulling at each other. Midnight was probably the closest to understanding this particular side of him. But then again, most of the times he would look at Midnight’s face and then there would be this unexplainable urge to bash that man’s head on the nearest solid surface. He didn’t even know why, he just felt like he had to.

His breath came in pants as his fingers started to quicken their pace, gripping just a little bit too tight to give him an edge. He twisted his wrist in the way that he liked, unable to stifle the small gasp that had left his lips when it sent an electric jolt through his spine. Kissing Executor was something he had remembered in details. His chapped lips, his sensuous tongue intertwining with his own, and the way he just took as he delved deeper into the kiss. He was almost breathless from a few kisses simply because Executor had been so assured, so confident in himself that he felt like a dependable current that Flamebringer could lose himself into.

He stepped closer to the wall, leaning his forehead against the cold tile as he moved his other hand to the back. He went past the swell of his ass, and slipped his long finger between the cheeks. He didn’t have any lube or ointment on him, but the leftover suds on his body should be more than enough. He wasn’t planning on fingering himself, it would take too long. And if Executor turned out to be still waiting instead going back to his own quarter, then it would be even more awkward than before. He flushed as he wondered just how long had he been in the bathroom; did Executor notice? Did he know that Flamebringer was shamelessly touching himself in the shower stall, thinking about his kisses and the memories of them grinding against each other on the bar?

His breath hitched as his arousal burned in the pit of his stomach. He tightened the hold on his cock, moving his hand faster as the other hand worked on his backside. He brushed over his hole with a finger, just brushing back and forth, and pressing gently against the puckered skin. How would it feel to have Executor’s fingers on him instead? Wrapped around his sensitive cock, pressing his fingers into his hole and let Flamebringer feel the burn of it, knowing that he was masochistic enough to enjoy the slight pain.

“Ngh,” he breathed out, stuttering in his pace at the thought of being touched by Executor. He didn’t really understand what the big deal about that guy was, either. But if he had to guess, it was probably the way he handled Flamebringer with assured confidence and practiced touches. The way he kissed him without hesitation, biting back when Flamebringer did and wasn’t afraid to show that he wasn’t as angelic as he looked. It was the way he had arranged Flamebringer on his lap, however he liked, as close as he wanted. But most of all, it was the way he just rolled with the punches—accepting Flamebringer’s abrupt seduction, taking what had been offered on his own pace, and was appreciative enough of him to still comply with Flamebringer’s wishes. The combination of those elements was enough to make his head dizzy with sheer want.

He was unashamed when he let out Executor’s name as he finally relented to desire and slipped a finger inside. The slight burn was enough to have him skirting over the edge, but not enough to make him come. His hand was moving fast and steady on his cock, tightening around the flesh with punishing grip. But still it wasn’t enough. He needed—he needed something more.

In the midst of a mind clouded by lust, he hadn’t realized that he didn’t lock his door, wasn’t aware when someone had slipped inside and saw him succumbing to lust. He let out a surprised gasp when a naked chest was pressed against his back, a large palm covering his hand on his cock, fingers caressing the skin around his tail. He unintentionally moaned out loud when he realized what was happening.

Executor wasn’t fazed by him stuttering to a halt at his presence. He hooked his chin over Flamebringer’s bent form, and resumed pumping his dick with a tight grip. Flamebringer’s body jolted as it recognized other people’s touch on his skin. His cock was pulsing painfully, making him keened as he frantically searched for the right kind of touch to bring him over the edge of pleasure. The finger he had inside was moving faster now, disregarding the discomfort of not having enough lube to slick the way.

He had given up on touching his cock, choosing to lean his palm against the wall once again. Because his head was already spinning enough as it was, he couldn’t think coherently with lust and sensitivity washing over his body. But it wasn’t enough—he had to—to—

But then, Executor was moving his finger out from his hole with gentle hand, kissed the back of his neck to calm him down as he whined low from his throat. As soon as his finger was removed, Flamebringer had to brace both of his hands against the wall because Executor was slipping his rock hard, huge erection between his cheeks, rubbing and grinding against his softened hole.

He choked on his saliva when he felt how hot, how heavy it was. Executor’s hand was calloused around the edges, and it gave him a certain kind of friction that made goosebumps broke out on his skin. He moved his hand faster when Flamebringer pushed back against his erection, trying to relieve the itch inside of him that he couldn’t quite scratch.

He felt Executor’s breath sweeping against his shoulder in heavy pants. He ground into Flamebringer, pushing his cock as close as possible without actually getting inside. The slide of him between his asscheeks was maddening enough that Flamebringer had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from moaning out Executor’s name again. Did he hear, when he said his name out loud just moments ago? The thought sent another wave of arousal, of being found out, of what Executor would think about it. Evidently, he’d take it in stride and wouldn’t be surprised. He might even like it, because he had seen Flamebringer so desperate and wanton in the bathroom stall, and had come here himself to alleviate the frustration.

He pushed back against Executor with renewed vigor, moving his hips in tandem with Executor’s hand on his cock. It was when he finally moaned out his name, that Executor snapped. He let go of Flamebringer’s cock and gripped both sides of his narrow hips with his wide palms. His thumbs were digging into his hipbones, and he unabashedly let out small gasps from the sensation of being held tight like this again.

Then, Executor started to move. He pushed himself forward, plastering himself on his back, making Flamebringer let out a small whimper when he felt his tail was pressed between their bodies. He peppered kisses alongside his shoulder blades and spine as he ground hard into Flamebringer’s ass. The wet, hot slide of his length was wonderful and cruel at the same time. It felt so good, to have something to grind against, something so blunt and big, but it wasn’t inside of him and Flamebringer let out a plethora of curses when a particular hard thrust unbalanced him. He ended up half bent, holding onto the slippery walls and Executor’s arm.

“Exe—ah, ah, fuck—Executor,” he gasped out. Trying to get away and getting closer at the same time. This was enough to make him dizzy with want, but they were in Flamebringer’s quarter, just a few steps away from his bed and lube inside his nightstand. “Executor!” he called louder when the man didn’t slow down.

He wrenched himself away from his strong grip—oh fuck, he thought, impossibly aroused, oh fucking-fuckity-fuck—and had to lean back on the tiled wall when he saw how blown out Executor’s eyes were. The pale blue was now only a ring around the dilated irises, blatantly showing how aroused the man was. Of course, the obvious indication was the very same erection that Flamebringer had been rubbing against a moment ago. He let out a helpless moan when he looked down, and saw the cock between Executor’s legs. It didn’t even stand out like his, simply because it was too heavy.

“Fuck,” he said, for the hundredth time that day, and dropped down to his knees. He vaguely heard Executor saying something, but he was already holding his cock—as hot, as heavy as it looked in his hand—and leaned forward to envelop it in his mouth.

For the first time since he entered the bathroom, Executor let out a sound. The groan that had been ripped out of his throat made Flamebringer’s cock spurted out a trickle of pre-cum just from hearing it. He sound gutted, and he was barely halfway from swallowing Executor’s cock whole. He didn’t wait to get used to the size, opening his lips wider and loosening his jaw as it filled his mouth more than anyone had ever been. He almost choked when the blunt head pushed past the muscles of his throat, pushing deeper still as he was slowly feeling lightheaded from the sheer girth of Executor’s cock cutting air supply from his neck.

He inhaled deep through his nose when he finally reached the base, pressing his nose against the pale curls of his pubes. Above him, Executor groaned and clenched his hand on the wall, one hand hovering just a wisp away from Flamebringer’s hair like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. He swallowed a few times around the cock inside his mouth, and started moving. He pulled up slowly, suckling on the head and tasting the bitter pre-cum on his tongue, before gradually moving along the shaft again. Over and over again, sucking him in slow, torturous motion—until he heard Executor growled this time, and finally put his hand on Flamebringer’s head, gripping his strands so harsh that he felt the stinging pain on his scalp. He moaned around his cock, sending vibrations up to his nerve and making the grip on his hair tighter still.

He reached for the hand on his hair, spreading his palm around it, and looked up to stare into Executor’s eyes with a wicked look. He lowered his lids, and slowly pushed Executor’s hand down, moving his head along with the movement. All the time, he still kept their eye contact so the Sankta would know. Use me, he signed with his eyes, smirking inside as Executor’s breath hitched when he understood what Flamebringer wanted. He heard him say something—Lateranian, but wasn’t the ones people usually used nowadays. It was probably the old language, and he couldn’t believe that he said this, but it sounded so hot coming out of Executor’s mouth right when he tugged at Flamebringer’s hair and kept him in place as he moved his hips in a harsh pace.

At this point, Flamebringer could do nothing but take it. His jaw was hurting from the size, and it felt too big to use his tongue properly. He couldn’t anyway, what with how hard Executor was driving his hips into Flamebringer’s pliant mouth. Reaching down, he tugged at his neglected erection, that hadn’t flagged down up until now. It felt nice, and was making him lightheaded. The girth that was sliding in and out of his throat, the lukewarm droplets of water above their heads, the strong grip that pulled deliciously on his scalp; it was the push that he needed. Just a little bit more.

He raised his hand again, pushing further on Executor’s hand, and finally touched himself when Executor let go of all pretenses as he went harder on Flamebringer. He let his mouth be used, head moving like a ragdoll as Executor thrust his hips at the same time he pushed his head down on his cock. He was moving too fast, the rough slide of his cock inside the wet heat of his throat burned, but Flamebringer welcomed the pain and discomfort with a sigh of pleasure.

It didn’t take long before he was coming, spurting cum on the bathroom floor and watched with half-lidded eyes as the liquids were swept away by water. He reached for Executor’s toned thigh, and buried his nose back to his pubes, before pulling back just slightly around the base. The hand around his hair hurt so much, but it was the kind of hurt that he could enjoy. It made him excited, and focused. It made him let go with abandon, and made him competitive too. It was a wonderful thing to know that someone like Executor, who had taken care of him so gently, last night, had the capacity to do this—face-fucking him so rough it made him cum.

When his pace stuttered, and Executor’s breath was so loud it echoed in the bathroom, Flamebringer kept his mouth on the root and braced for the bitterness of cum. When it did come, he gripped the meat of Executor’s thigh and sunk his nails in. He came a lot, flooding his already occupied mouth with bitter, musky hot liquid. He choked when he couldn’t swallow, finally letting his mouth be filled with cum without being able to do anything.

He coughed, the sound rough in his ears as Executor final pulled out from his mouth. The cum that had been trapped in his mouth flowed out from the sides of his lips. He swallowed what had been left inside, and let the rest drip down from his chin. He looked good like this, after all. He knew, Midnight had said so in several different occasions. Fucked out with red lips and cum dripping from his lips; eyes still not quite focused, voice rugged from the rough ministration. If he played his card right, Executor might be persuaded into staying a bit longer, and then they could finally do the deed; doing the vertical tango, fucking like stupid, hormonal teenagers until they were both spent.

Executor was still panting harshly, but when he looked down, he closed his eyes and had to reorganize his breath. Flamebringer smirked at his reaction, knowing how well this particular look worked nice and effective on people like Executor. The hand on his hair was no longer in a punishing grip; it just lay there to ground the both of them.

“I apologized,” Executor said a moment later, helping Flamebringer up to his feet. His legs were still a little bit unsteady from how long he was straining on them. “I got carried away and forgot to relieve you as well.”

“No problems, dude,” he replied, and winced at how rough his voice sounded. Gods, he sounded like every bit of his situation just now: completely fucked-out. “I already came, when I sucked you off.”

Executor paused, hands stilling on Flamebringer’s arms. But then, he was saying something in the same old language. This time, it sounded like a curse.

“Are you even aware how hard it is for people to keep their hands off of you if you were to say things like those?” the man asked then, pulling them both under the shower for a few seconds to rinse out their sweats and cum that was still left somewhere the water couldn’t reach.

“Yes, I am,” he answered when they went out of the stalls, and Executor patted him all over with his damp towel. “Good to know it works just fine on you.”

He didn’t get any more replies, but Executor did usher him out of the bathroom to change into fresh clothes. They had been standing under the shower for too long. The tips of their fingers were both pruned from the over-exposure to water. He changed into a comfortable shirt and a pair of shorts; he was planning to stay inside his room since he was free of schedule today. He watched as Executor changed into the clothes he wore last night, and whistled appreciatively at the back view.

“I’m sleepy now,” he announced, laying back on his bed and made himself comfortable before turning to Executor, who was standing a few feet away and was watching him with intent eyes. “What are you waiting for? Come here, dead fish.”

But Executor was already shaking his head. He stepped closer to put on his jacket and boots. “I have to miss out on the offer this time,” he told Flamebringer. “I am scheduled to travel to Siesta today.”

Flamebringer shrugged. Yeah, well, he couldn’t exactly persuade him out of missions. He would punch anyone who would interfere with his missions, so he didn’t try to make Executor extend his stay if he had good reasons. “Alright,” he nodded at the man. “Thanks for today—and last night.”

Unexpectedly, he was served to a soft smile that seemed to glow in the morning light. “It was my pleasure as well,” Executor replied.

“Wanna fool around again sometimes?” he asked, shameless. It wasn’t his fault that Executor just clicked right with him when it came to sexual compatibility. The man ticked so much of his kink boxes that it was a wonder how they didn’t get on earlier.

Executor straightened up from tying his boots, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Flamebringer’s leisure form. He bent forward, and kissed him the same way he kissed last night: firm, assured. Flamebringer sighed into his mouth, enjoying the slide of their lips and the sting when Executor bit at the same place he had broken skin beforehand.

“I would be very much obliged,” Executor said after he pulled back. “I will see you after I am finished with my mission, if you are available.”

He waved the man away with a lopsided smile. “Don’t die before you get your dick in me.”

When he met with Lappland in the evening at the dining hall, the girl was sporting a huge bruise on her jugular. “Training,” she answered with a grin.

He shrugged, and turned to take his food tray to an empty table with Lappland following behind him. As soon as they sat down, she leaned forward with a grin. “So, how’s the nutjob?”

His answering smirk was wide and entirely not PG. “It is a nut job,” he said, sharing a look with the Lupo in front of him, who started to cackle madly. “But you’re not getting any money from me.”

“What—why?” pouted Lappland.

“We only had sex in the morning, and he didn’t fuck me either. He’s going away on missions.”

“Shame,” she shook her head, biting into her apple. “He looks like he’s your type.”

He didn’t deny that. Executor was his type in appearance and kinks; not so much with his demeanor. He was still put off by the way he talked, and acted in general when they weren’t sucking faces. It didn’t matter anyway—his real life personality didn’t really matter as long as he could satisfy him in bed. Midnight was a prime example of that, being a crack head that Flamebringer had wanted to pulverize in daily basis just because his face was so—so annoying. And they had sex regularly, before Flamebringer started sleeping with Lappland, too.

“I’m going to dump both Midnight and you,” he said between the bites.

Lappland put a hand over her heart in a dramatic gesture. “He’s that good?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m ready to risk it all for his huge cock,” he replied easily.

She laughed, throwing her head back and clutching her stomach. It wasn’t even that funny, but Lappland comprehended words and their meanings differently from normal people. He was used to this, and she was used to his antics as well. This was what he meant when he said he only slept with people who understood his tendencies. This compatibility that transcended even into real life was something akin to camaraderie. Except for Executor, who could make his knees turned into jellies just from a simple shower sex, and still be someone that Flamebringer didn’t want to interact with in daily basis.

“You’re such a thirsty bitch, Enkaku,” she said with a certain kind of softness in her eyes.

“Takes one to know one,” he quipped.

She shrugged at that, making a face that he could read as eh it’s not wrong, and continued eating her dinner. He dug in, too, and pretended not to hear when Midnight called out to them. Outside of the bed, they were sort of—friends. He didn’t really understand how it could come to be, and why he had allowed it to happen, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Midnight was too much of a disgustingly annoying leech that refused to come off his skin no matter how hard he tugged. Of course, the man had expressed his dejection at his opinion, with great dramatic effects. He didn’t know why people like Midnight and Lappland flocked to him, even W—who was fully aware of his irk on dramatics—used that move on him too, sometimes, when she was particularly bored and wanted to get the rise out of him.

“I’ve called you, like, ten times,” Midnight complained as he sat close to him.

“He got a new boy toy,” Lappland said. “He’s dumping you.”

The man’s eyes widened. “So the rumors are true!”

Flamebringer turned to him with a flat face. “What rumors.”

“You should really stop that habit of making your questions into statements.” Midnight put down his tray and patted his cheek gently.

He slapped the wandering hand away. “I’m not asking. I’m demanding answers.”

“Exactly,” the man nodded to himself, unperturbed by Flamebringer’s reaction to him in general. “You shouldn’t just go around demanding everyone to answer for you. Be more polite! Like Executor, for example.”

Ah, so it was about that. He scoffed, and ignored Midnight again as he chewed on his chicken. Midnight squawked in indignation at being ignored. He let out a long-suffering sigh, and glanced at him briefly. “I got a new boy toy, I’m dumping you,” he repeated what Lappland had said, “now get the fuck out of my hair.”

“How callous, Enkaku!” Midnight wailed, hanging onto his shoulders as Flamebringer’s hand insistently pushed him away. “Not even a goodbye sex! I’m hurt!”

Lappland leered at them, and Flamebringer could sense an incoming headache when she opened her damned mouth. “I agree. We all should just have a threesome for the last time before Enkaku got carried away by his angel boy. I guess we could call it… a farewell fuck.”

Flamebringer rolled his eyes heavenwards so hard it actually hurt as Midnight and Lappland both immediately started to cackle. Loudly. He pretended that he didn’t feel the stares of the operators around them, wishing to all gods that he didn’t believe in that the ground would swallow him whole. These two lunatics were truly the bane of his existence, aside from W’s uncanny habit of ruffling his feathers and Executor’s perfect impersonation of a dead fish in social circumstances. It was almost funny how the four of them had slept with Flamebringer one way or another. Maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was him and his unconscious desire to be around people who could make his blood vessels explode—both in sex and real life.

“Oh?” a female voice suddenly joined in the fray. “You didn’t invite me to your farewell party? Shame, we could have had an orgy to welcome the new addition of the lunatics in your arsenal.”

He looked up and gave W a deadpan expression. Great. Now she was here too. He regretted so bad ever taking on Lappland’s stupid bet. Not the fucking with Executor part—that had been mind-blowing for such a short period of contact. But knowing that Lappland had been the one to suggest it, of course she wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it to Midnight and W.

“Oh, just fuck me,” he whispered despairingly in a low growl.

W tittered next to Lappland. “Oh, we could, darling boy. But I guess you prefer Executor doing that to you instead, now. Never pegged you to be the type to bone a dead fish.”

It was a testament to how much she knew him, and how alike the both of them were in some ways, that she could use the same expression of describing Executor. He gave them all a scathing look, and resolutely ate his dinner while the three of them speculated rather shamelessly about Executor’s repertoire in bed.

“Ah,” W sighed a few moments later. “I can’t believe I’m seeing the day where I have to give you away to such a proper man.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned. “I only fucked with the guy once; I’m not gonna marry him just because he has a nice cock.”

“Oh, darling, we fucked you beforehand. We knew what you like, what tick you off,” W gave him a suggestive look, small smile playing on her lips. “And this guy? He completely blew you away overnight.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “And that equals to me wanting to marry him?”

W considered that for a moment, nodding as he chewed slowly on her dinner. “You’re right,” she said, and he rolled his eyes. Of course he was right. But then, she grinned, slow and mischievous at him, twirling her spaghetti with a finesse of a serial killer waiting to stab his eyes with her fork. “Maybe he needs to fuck you a few times more before you’re convinced. You’re not that cheap, after all. Even if I’m sure he gave you the dowries in abundance.”

“Fuck you,” he spat out, and took the chicken from her tray.

She wrinkled her nose at that, calmly reaching over to Midnight’s tray and took whatever she wanted from there. “You’re so petty, Enkaku. It’s not pretty.”

“Pretty enough for Executor,” Midnight quipped, and squawked for the second time when Flamebringer reached over to actually bash his head on the table this time. “Hey! Save the violence for S/M play only!”

His fingers were trembling from sheer annoyance and unbidden urge to beat them all to death. He really needed to have new friends. This was the utmost urgent matter. That Questionable Blue Sankta seemed nice and sane, compared to these three lunatics. He wanted to discard them as soon as possible.

“Fuck you all,” he said viciously, pointing sharply at the three idiots’ faces. “Especially you, and you, and you in particular. Fuck you all so hard to Kazdel and back.”

He glared at them with all his might, flipping both of his middle fingers and the left the table with his tray and decided to sit with the Penguin Logistic bunch, who all looked surprised—and a little bit mystified at the dark look on his face. Apple Pie girl still looked awkward and embarrassed, but Questionable Blue just beckoned him over to sit next to her.

“That’s some lively, rowdy bunch you got there,” she said, glancing at the three lunatics whose laughter could be heard even from here.

“They’re not gonna live any longer once I’m finished,” he growled, shoveling W’s stolen chicken into his mouth.

The girl, whose name still eluded him, nodded and took a sip out of her coffee. She was done with dinner, faster than the rest of the table. “Please dispose the body properly; we don’t want to scare the new recruits with the corpses.”

Oh he liked this girl. “There won’t be any corpses,” he said with a grin, and grinned wider when that singing girl from the group squeaked at his words. She was only a little girl; it was understandable that she wouldn’t be as unaffected as Questionable Blue.

“Ooh, clean work. I like that.” she replied easily. “Want to have some drink with me someday this week?”

He grinned at her. “Sure,” he said. “I need a break from those three fuckface anyway.”

(He went to the bar with Questionable Blue on the weekend, and found out that her name was Mostima. She brazenly admitted that she was a fallen angel, and talked to him about the cities beyond the horizon. He told her about his plants, and they agreed to hang out again sometimes.)

(The three fuckface actually fucked him into oblivion in a messy foursome; each of them taking turn fucking him into the mattress, whispering dirty words about how pretty he looked—laid bare and open for them. How absolutely gorgeous he was when they fucked into him, how Executor was going to see the same thing when he finally had Flamebringer under him, wanton and moaning for more. When they were done with him, he was boneless and breathless from hours upon hours of being fucked. Sore, and satisfied as they caressed him gently to sleep.)

(He pulverized them all in training for the next few weeks.)

Executor came back a little after two weeks since his departure. There was an ambush on his way back, and he had to detour since the backup could not reach him in time. When Flamebringer went to see him in his room, he looked a little rugged and tired. He was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, shirtless and still a little bit damp from shower. He did give him a small smile when he saw Flamebringer outside of his door. “Operator Flamebringer,” he nodded at him.

He rolled his eyes, pushing past the man to get inside. “I’m not gonna let you anywhere near my ass if you keep insisting on calling me that.”

He did understand that it was a strange concept to Executor, being close and familiar to other people to the point of shedding formalities. But then again, he’d had his cock inside Flamebringer’s mouth two weeks ago; he didn’t think formalities would mean shit between the two of them. He said so to the man as he carelessly took off his boots and dropped down to Executor’s bed face first.

Their room wasn’t that different; no decorations, no small mementos, just the standard furnitures that Rhodes Island had given in the first place. The bed was a little bit different, though. It smelt like Executor—the sort of musk that he could smell in nearly all of males that he had encountered. But Executor’s was a little bit tapered, a little bit muted. He smelt clean, like a freshly washed clothes from the laundry, with the ever present musk. It wasn’t a bad smell at all, although it didn’t stand out. It reflected the man’s demeanor, he thought. Oh, he stood out, alright. With that face on his body, he would stand out no matter where he went. But he was mostly quiet around people, choosing to work around machines instead. If it weren’t for his striking look, and his honest-to-god blunt and overly formal speech pattern, he might as well be an involuntary wallflower.

He felt Executor’s warm hand slipping inside his shirt to rub his back in a slow, circular motion. He moaned softly into the pillow; Executor must have been tired, and yet here he was. Hogging his bed and having his back rubbed as he tempted to just fall asleep right then and there.

“Are you this gentle to everyone you fuck?” he asked after a few more minutes of enjoying the simple touch. He tilted his head to look at Executor, who was currently checking on his phone for something.

The man then put his phone away after confirming something, and turned his attention back to Flamebringer. “It is only right to treat people with courtesy, especially if we have favors to ask from them.”

He smiled; of course he would be polite as fuck to his hook-ups. “And what favor do you have to ask from me?”

Executor didn’t answer immediately, but his fingers slowly lifted Flamebringer’s shirt up. His hand roamed more freely after Flamebringer took it off completely, pressing on the divot of his scapula, spreading his palm over the curve of his spine. It was soft and sensual, but not enough to spark a fire of arousal. It was enjoyable nonetheless.

“I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said to him, with a small amount of threat. Because he would. He didn’t know what was it with Executor’s hand that seemed to be able to make him feel a certain kind of things. From burning arousal, to comfortable warmth. He should just keep this man for his hand instead of his cock. Although, that one would be nice too.

The hand moved to his shoulder then, pushing him a little bit to the side as Executor scooted closer on the bed. “I would like you to lie on your back, if you would please.”

He groaned a little bit, stretching his comfortable muscles, and did as he was asked. He was in a lethargic mood, but seeing the bare view of Executor’s upper body was enough to keep his mind alert. He got a nicely sculpted body, shaped from years of training and fighting. The muscles on his arms and shoulders were especially exquisite, what with him being a sniper that had to carry heavy guns everywhere. For someone who was shorter, and smaller, than Flamebringer, Executor possessed a certain kind of aura that made him look sturdy, dependable. Like his wide shoulders were enough to carry the burden of the world.

Tonight, though, they just had to carry the weight of Flamebringer’s demands and desires.

His pants were taken off, along with his briefs, leaving him bare and open. Naked from head to toe. Executor looked at him intently with those pale blue eyes, taking in the sight of Flamebringer—pliant and naked on his bed. He raked his eyes slowly over his disheveled hair, his half-lidded eyes, the slightly-parted lips, his prominent collarbones. He reached out to touch his neck, rubbing the warm skin there, and started to press ever so slightly.

Flamebringer’s eyes slipped close at the pressure of that big palm over his neck, mouth falling open as the pressure started to add up. Choking was more of W’s thing, but he was open to the experience as well. He felt the fingers squeezed lightly, before coming back to the faint pressure, and squeezing again every few seconds.

He rubbed his thighs together, starting to feel his skin flushing from the heat creeping sluggishly all over his body. His hand came up to hold onto Executor’s hand when the grasp he had tightened harder than the previous light squeeze. He threw his head back, baring his neck to the man, and couldn’t help the small gasps carried away from his throat as Executor’s fingers tightened; harder, and harder still.

But then, the pressure slowly eased up, before leaving his throat completely. He opened his eyes, and was treated to a serene smile on Executor’s calm face. He gave a coy smile back. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so,” answered the man, before moving up the bed. “Spread your legs.”

Apparently, Executor’s idea of foreplay was to finger him for hours on end, until he was a sobbing mess on the sheets. It had started tame enough, with Executor kissing his neck and collarbones with lips that sucked and bit softly on the surface. A little sting, not enough to leave a mark. Down to his chest, fondling the firm muscles and licking around his areola, teething around the nub until Flamebringer grasped his shoulder in a harsh grip. He was sensitive there, and Executor seemed to be enjoying the fact that such a simple touch could reduce him into a trembling, moaning mess.

“Have you ever considered having a nipple piercing?” Executor suddenly asked between licks and bites on Flamebringer’s sore nipples.

He heaved a breath through his nose, trying to regain some semblance of coherency that he knew was never there in the first place. “N—no,” he gasped out, back arching of the bed when Executor pinched a nipple a tad too hard. “Too sensitive.”

The Sankta pulled back to look at him when he said, “Shall we try nipple clamps next time?”

Flamebringer laughed so suddenly that he was surprised by himself. Executor had said it so seriously, but the timing was a little too strange that he couldn’t help but be startled into a series of chuckles laced with disbelief. “We haven’t even fucked properly yet and you’re already whipping out the clamps? Truly the pinnacle of gentlemen,” he sneered with eyes full of mirth.

To his surprise, again, the corners of Executor’s eyes crinkled a little bit in humor. The man wasn’t as conservative as he seemed, and he might or might not be harboring the same type of humor that Flamebringer possessed. He leaned down then, kissing his lips softly before asking, “Should I fuck you today, then?”

It was sort of a novelty to hear such crude words coming out of Executor’s mouth, and Flamebringer was living for it. He grabbed one of the man’s hands, and guided it down to his cock, already hard and leaking from the constant stimulation on his nipples. “Yes,” he said.

Executor’s hand immediately went to work on his cock, enveloping the heated flesh with his palm and pumped it with firm movements of his wrist. “How good is your endurance?”

He furrowed his eyebrows at the odd question, but felt a jolt inside his belly at the peeking hunger in Executor’s eyes despite his passive face. His other hand went back to his nipples, and Flamebringer was forced into answering the question when a little tweak on his nub brought a zing of pleasure along his spine. “Good enough to last a few rounds,” he answered, talking from experience.

It was a very wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, he was cursing and clawing at Executor’s arms. His mouth was parted as he sighed out moans that seemed to be brought from the depth of his lungs, his skin flushed, his eyes closed in frustration as he felt Executor’s fingers twisted mercilessly on his prostate. He opened his eyes to glare weakly at the man, too aroused and too wrung out to muster anything stronger.

Executor had been fingering him for more than an hour now; alternating between slow, measured thrust of his fingers, to a quick pace that had left Flamebringer moaning and aching from the feeling of being played with by his hand. His face was calm, aside from the perspiration on his temples. His other hand moving up and down on Flamebringer’s cock. He groaned from the oversensitivity; he had come approximately two times now, from Executor’s fingers alone. He didn’t know what kind of steely self-control that the man possessed, but he was starting to be desperate and aching.

“Exe—Executor,” he stuttered out, pulling at his arm in vain as the man just kept on thrusting his fingers inside, spreading them to stretch him well and nice. But he had been stretched enough to accommodate his cock, no matter how thick it was. Those fingers were amazing inside of him, but he wanted something more. He needed something more. He gritted his teeth when a particularly well-aimed thrust sent him to the edge, spurting hot semen all over Executor’s hand.

While he lay there, panting and trying to regain his senses, Executor’s fingers had started to move again. He keened, pulling at his shoulder to kiss him messy and sloppy. “Fuck me already,” he growled into his mouth, licking into the corners and pushing Executor’s tongue into his own mouth when he tried to invade Flamebringer’s. “Just fuck me already, bastard.”

But Executor’s face was still as calm as ever, hands still on their steady pace to bring Flamebringer onto the edge of sanity from too many sensations on his body. “I am,” he said, “fucking you.”

Flamebringer’s mouth opened up in a sudden gasp when Executor’s finger quickened their pace, making the knot inside his stomach tightened because no matter how long he had been fingered, how many times he came, Executor was simply too good at this that he couldn’t help but feel the rise of pleasure all over his heated skin. It just felt too good, too much, too little. He glared at the man, nails sinking deep into his skin that he knew he broke some skin. “If you don’t get your stupid cock inside me right this second, I swear to god I’ll walk out of the door and fuck Midnight instead.”

Pale blue eyes narrowed slightly at his words, but his body betrayed nothing; still so steady, still so controlled. It frustrated him because he could see Executor’s erection through his sweatpants and it hurt him to know that it was within his reach, but unable to feel it on his skin. However, a few thrusts later, Executor straightened up and said, “Very well. How would you like to be taken?”

He let out a rush of air, fin-fucking-nally. “However you like, just—just fuck me already, damn you—ah—“

Executor shushed him with a soft kiss, pulling out his finger from Flamebringer’s hole and reached over to the nightstand for condoms. Flamebringer felt like he could cry from relief when Executor rolled the condom on his thick, heavy cock and slathered more lube on it even if Flamebringer was completely soaked already. So loose and ready to be fucked open.

When the blunt head pressed against his hole, Flamebringer brought up his hand to bit at the back of his palm, trying in futile to stifle the wanton gasp. His hand was removed a second later, however. Executor’s eyes bored into his as he pushed inside, both of his hands locking Flamebringer’s down to the sheets as he was unable to keep the loud, pathetically needy whimper that came unbidden from his throat after being teased for so long.

Despite already being fingered so well, so loose and soft inside, he still felt the stretch from Executor’s large girth inside of him. He threw his head back, unable to cope with the sensation of being filled by something so thick, so hot inside, pushing further than his finger could reach—than anyone had ever reached. By how far he was stretched, Executor didn’t even need to search for his soft spot, his heavy cock was already pressing hard on it just by being inside of Flamebringer. He had never thought that it was possible, before this.

When Executor bottomed out, it felt like the energy had been drained clean from his body, leaving his body shaking and pliant on the bed. His hair was plastered all over his forehead from how much he was sweating, his throat felt dry and sore already from moaning, and they hadn’t even started yet. He was almost afraid of what would be left of him after Executor was thoroughly done with his ministrations.

“Move,” he breathed out after being silent for a few moments, adjusting to Executor’s size. “You can move now.”

Executor nodded, and surged up to kiss him, pressing even further inside and drawing out groans from Flamebringer’s throat. He started slow; just short thrusts that made him clenched the sheets between his fingers from the sheer pressure of him inside. But it didn’t take long until Executor started to quicken the thrust of his hips, pulling out halfway before slamming inside with more force than before. His hand held onto the back of Flamebringer’s thighs as leverage, gradually picking up the pace until he was fucking into him with abandon.

Flamebringer looked at him with a smirk, he was flushed and sweating and he knew just how wrecked he looked. But he did get what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to be ashamed that he enjoyed it. He enjoyed this a lot; the pleasure that had bordered on too-much, the softness of Executor’s touch that juxtaposed with how rough he was fucking into him once he got the hang of the pace, the absolute weight of him inside, the way his eyes burned into him. They were probably the only indication of how much Executor just wished to let go of his control, because his face was betraying nothing at all.

He looked focused, concentrating on the movements of his hips, of his unforgiving tight grip on his firm thighs. But his eyes—they looked so wild, so hungry. He looked like he wanted to devour Flamebringer whole and crush his carcasses beneath his claws. He was very much on-board with that idea, so he started pushing back against Executor’s thrust and threw him a wink when his pace stuttered from the sudden heat, before resuming the hard pace he had set before.

“Do you like it?” he asked with breathless voice. Reaching forward to hold onto Executor’s shoulder, groping and fondling his chest with the other hand. When he pinched his nipple, as hard as he had played with Flamebringer at the start, he thrust inside so hard that Flamebringer’s mouth parted in a loud, long scream.

With a low groan, he pulled the man down so he could feel the full weight of Executor on top of him. The weight knocked the breath out of him. Not because he couldn’t handle it—he was strong enough to lift Executor, he thought—but it was just the feeling of being pressed down, of bare skin touching against skin, of how warm and harsh and calm and intense Executor was when it came to pleasures.

“Harder,” he demanded, lifting his legs and hooking them on Executor’s back, pressing against the divot of his spine as if to press him closer still inside. “Fuck me harder,” he repeated, clearer than before; amber eyes lit in carnal desires as he mouthed along the length of Executor’s neck.

He heard the old language uttered from Executor’s mouth like a litany of curses, of praises and prayers. He couldn’t tell, but it made his cock jump on his stomach nonetheless. He put his hands on the sides of Flamebringer’s head and gave him what he wanted, biting his neck hard when Flamebringer was moaning shamelessly, deep voice going higher and higher the harder Executor fucked into him.

Executor’s body wasn’t safe from his wandering hands and lips; nail marks that drew blood on his back, the bruises that had started to purple on his neck and shoulders. Flamebringer kissed into him like he was a parched man in the middle of the dessert, and Executor was the only one who could save him. “Feel so good—ah—feel so good,” he stuttered as his body was moved from the thrusts. “Touch me,” he said when he felt the knot in his belly becoming tighter and tighter as his release was mounting. “Come on, touch me.”

It didn’t take long for him to come from Executor’s rough hand on his cock, spurts of semi-clear semen sticking to their skin. He had come four times today, and Executor looked like he wasn’t even close to finish. So Flamebringer took a deep breath, loosened his body, and hung on to the man’s shoulders. He grinned, wicked and still so cocky even after he was fucked boneless. Lappland was right; this man could fuck the Oripathy out of him. He chuckled against Executor’s lips, and whispered, “Fuck me good, Mr. Sankta.”

Executor took on to that challenge with sharp eyes and steady, ruthless rhythm. Flamebringer could only hang on for dear life as the man took what he needed from his body, marking him every which way he went and pushing into him so hard he saw stars behind his eyelids. He didn’t know if the walls of Rhodes’ nomadic city was soundproofed enough, but he couldn’t really stop the loud moans and groans from his lips, couldn’t stop to think that he shouldn’t be this shameless. Well—people probably would turn to be this shameless if they had Executor’s cock fucking the life out of them.

When Executor groaned low in his ears, face flushed and getting a little bit desperate, Flamebringer kissed him and tightened as much as he could. He came with Flamebringer’s tongue on his mouth, his hands pulled at the white strands so hard he was sure the man could feel the pain pulsing on his scalp. He clenched his teeth, hips unconsciously moving when he felt Executor’s cock pulsing inside as he came so much into the condom.

When he was done, he leaned his entire weight on Flamebringer—who chuckled at him when he snuffled close to his neck, still trembling from the aftermath of his orgasm. It was—weird. To see that Executor could be this soft and endearing after the whole show of dominance. He didn’t even mind when Executor unexpectedly bit hard on his shoulder, drawing a hoarse moan out of Flamebringer’s mouth when he didn’t relent and bit through the skin. He gasped, eyes shutting close as the pain on his shoulder bloomed like a tendril all over his veins.

He tugged harshly on Executor’s hair, wanting very much to slap the guileless expression on Executor’s face even as his blood still dripped from the corner of his mouth. “What the fuck is it with you and biting me bloody?” he complained, even if he did enjoy the intense pain, simply because it was within the sexual act. Besides, it thrilled him to know that Executor did have a biting kink, possibly blood play as well because this isn’t the first time he bit Flamebringer bloody.

“I like it,” he simply said, like he didn’t just leave a deep indent of his teeth all over Flamebringer’s body.

Flamebringer looked at him like he did two weeks ago, like Executor was a new species he had never seen before. He lifted his eyebrows, and stared some more. Executor, the android motherfucker, just stared back at him until he shrugged and said, “Well—it’s not like I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Executor said. “You seem to like it when I inflict pain upon you in sexual acts.”

He ignored the way Executor expressed his words, and chose to smile at the observation. “You catch on fast,” he said. “Good job. Now get your shitty dick out of my ass, I need to shower.”

The shorter man obliged, pulling out slowly and rubbing the skin of Flamebringer’s thigh when he hissed as he did so. Only now that they were done, that Flamebringer finally felt the fatigue catching up on him. His whole body hurt. He skin was still too sensitive, his hole clenched around nothing as the memory of Executor’s fingers moving inside played over and over again in his mind. That was probably the longest foreplay he had ever done, simply taking his fingers for almost two hours. He chuckled, staring into the ceiling of the room.

Who would’ve thought that Executor could push his buttons to this point, and still left him wanting more by the end of it?

Although he wasn’t planning on marrying Executor, or even be in close vicinity with him for reasons other than fucking, W was right about one thing: Executor had definitely, absolutely blown him away overnight.

He went to the bathroom and took a shower with legs that were still shaky. It was his turn to use Executor’s toothbrush and towel, and requesting/demanding to be lent soft shirt and pants because his skin was too sensitive for his skintight sleeveless shirt and leather pants.

Just like that night, Executor settled next to him and rubbed his back gently until he felt sleepy enough to let his guard down and said, “That was amazing. No one ever fucked me like you did.”

He felt the smile on his temple as Executor pressed a soft kiss there. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” he asked back.

“Yes.” Executor then patted his ass softly when Flamebringer hooked his leg over to rest on his hip. Yeah, he was the clingy sort after an intense sex. Most of his partners were surprised by that. Midnight was, before he rolled with the punches and doted on him. Lappland and W sort of expected that from him. It didn’t always happen, but when it did, they readily welcome him into their arms. Executor was another exception it seemed, as he just went with whatever Flamebringer threw at him, and gave back as much.

“Good,” he yawned. “Because I’d like to do it again with you. If you’re up for it.”

He didn’t expect a rejection, because he knew what kind of charm he had over people if he actually tried to charm their pants off of them. And he had seen how Executor treated him—which probably created such confusions on his previous bed partners because he was just so tender, caring to the point of too much for a title of “fuck-buddies”. But Flamebringer didn’t mind the attention, and the intense focus that Executor seemed to give to his partners. Even if they were there just for sex.

Still, it was nice to hear the man said, “I would like to as well, thank you.”

He smiled sleepily, patting Executor’s neck and closing his eyes. “Good, now let me sleep.”

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Executor’s hand rubbing his back, his lips on his hair, the whispers of Executor’s old language in his ears, and the bone-deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him like a blanket.

They were swept in whirlwind of missions after that night. Executor had held him close in his sleep, and let Flamebringer kept his clothes when he got back to his room, holding the clothes that the man had meticulously folded in a bundle as he walked the most fantastic walk of shame, ever. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Lappland sleeping in his bed as he entered his quarter. The three fuckface—he had taken to call them that in his mind after the whole fiasco in the dining hall, and it had stuck on him ever since—knew his passcodes, as Executor did too, now. Sometimes they’d just sleep there, for reasons he never asked because some things were too private to share, even if he could guess why.

She sighed when he lay down next to her, snuggling close to his chest and looked up with her nose twitching. “You smell like him,” she said, but it wasn’t an accusation. It was just a simple fact.

“He fucked me for hours on end last night,” he stated the obvious. “And these are his clothes.”

She nodded, and closed her eyes again. “It’s weird,” she said into the silence of his room. “I’m so used to smelling only the three of us on you. Now another one is there.”

“Better get used to it,” he said, and sighed into her hair as she reached up to rub on the strands of his hair. He found out that she had a habit of doing that when she was distressed. He let her be.

“You’re really going to dump us, aren’t you?” she laughed. “You like him?”

He thought about it for a while. The chemistry between them when it came to sex was off the chart, but he only ever slept with the guy twice, and had never talked to him prior to that. It was still a wonder that Executor had been so open to his drunken advances on that night. But then again, after they slept together, he could gather that Executor was more open to experiences, and was more adventurous than he looked. It was just the way he held himself, with an air of coldness and aloofness that made people reluctant to get close, he realized.

Personally, he didn’t do well with people like Executor. He was far too stuffy and rigid to ever get into the circle that Flamebringer had chosen to be in. He didn’t like the way he spoke, and the way he handled things sometimes, but then again, the man was just brought up like that—the same way everyone had their own quirks that accumulated with time to make themselves them.

But, he was also far too gentle to his one-night stands and understanding as well as polite to a fault when he handled Flamebringer. Even if he could turn into an entirely different person while he fucked, he could see where the lines of Executor’s juxtaposing behavior merged and blurred together to make himself Executor. It wasn’t even that he was a different person, as much as it was only a part of him that people couldn’t see in certain lights.

“I like sleeping with him,” he allowed, because as much as he welcomed the brand new thrill of having Executor in his sex life, he didn’t know two shits about him. And so did Executor about Flamebringer. “I don’t know about the rest.”

She hummed, nodding lightly against his chest. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t say anything after that, and he was content to let her sleep. He had to go at twelve to the greenhouse. He promised Lena that he would help her with the new batch of aconites. Tomorrow, he was going to Ursus with the A6 Team for a retrieving mission. The situation in Ursus was still too dangerous, so they sent him along with two other medics.

For now, though, he could just close his eyes and catch a little bit more sleep; lying close to Lappland and the ever present scent of tragedy and longing that seemed to surround her all the time.

The next time Executor fucked him, it was the night before he had to go on a mission. He fucked him slow that night, avoiding over-taxing his body. Flamebringer had sucked him off twice in-between the hours of them tousling around the bed. This time, when they were done and Executor’s eyes were closing in sleep, Flamebringer took the time to look at each detail of his face, to file away for later.

His lashes were long, longer than Flamebringer’s. Almost as long as W’s, as they shadowed over his high cheekbones. In general, Executor was blessed with an attractive look, with an absolutely envy-inducing bone structure. His face was small, made delicate with his white strands of hair. But his jaw was firm and shaped almost too perfect to be real. He looked like every inch an angel he was, especially when he slept like this—calm and undisturbed, face serene and lack.

When he woke up, though, he looked intimidating. It was probably the way his cold, blue eyes just swept over everything with zero apathy in them. It might also be the way he kept himself so blank, and Flamebringer could understand that some people might be unsettled by the lack of social cues that Executor gave. He was a blank page that not everyone could read. Sure, he could read him in bed, but that was probably because they had respective preferences in sex that just happened to fit each other.

He wondered, if he gave this man a chance, could they actually form some kind of friendship, with the way they were so different from each other? He frankly couldn’t say for sure, and it was hard to simulate any scenario in his head. Simply because he had never seen Executor being friendly to people around him. He wasn’t hostile either, but he was just unfit to engage in most of social circumstances. His flat reactions and stiff words were enough to unnerve people.

People gave Flamebringer a wide berth because he was a Sarkaz, and one that was close to Doctor. He was an exotic attraction that everyone was too afraid to touch, but they liked looking at him. Just to see if they could figure him out just by staring. They were afraid, too. His reputation was known by people who had lived long enough to taste blood on their tongue every single day, but there were people who had seen him in battles, and didn’t like what they saw. The blood thirst, the complete disregard of his life and other people’s life, the complete apathy he had shown to things he wasn’t interested in.

They were perplexed, too, by how brazen and condescending he could be. Like they had suspected that he was a colossal jerk beforehand, but was still surprised when it turned out to be true. It was the plants, probably. They had seen him as something bad—some of them, at least—simply because he was Sarkaz, because he came from Kazdel. But they wanted to see something good in him when they found out how gentle he could be with his plants, and was once again confused when they couldn’t see any speck of kindness that they wanted to see.

He had none. He was a jerk, and he accepted that. He accepted the consequences of his behavior and reputation, and he didn’t exactly have the time to please all those people. He didn’t want to, ever.

But Executor, on the other hand, people gave him a wide berth because they were intrigued. He had heard the way female operators whispered in glee as they talked about “that handsome engineer”, and how they had given up on him when they realized that he didn’t even realize that they were flirting with him. They liked him because they liked the idea of him. An angel in white, with face that could have been sculpted by God himself, and the way that he had been associated with good even without him knowing about it.

He was an angel with a gun, just the way that Apple Pie girl was. That one Sankta kid with a crossbow, and even Mostima, even if she had fallen. They only called her fallen because they had equaled Sanktas with goodness, with inherent grace and kindness. And so far, their opinion was strengthened by the way Apple Pie and Crossbow Sankta had been so kind and cheerful to people around them. People were unsure about Mostima because she still held himself so well, kind and friendly—if a bit distant—even if she was a fallen angel. They wanted to see her as something tarnished, something bad and disgraceful. She was all of that and more, but she could also be as good as a Sankta still.

It was unfair, of course, the way people associate a person based on their stereotypes. But people like him, like Mostima, was so used to this treatment that he didn’t think twice about it anymore. There was also someone like Executor, who was both shunned and loved in equal measure because he was an enigma to people around him. The motherfucker was probably aware of it, but he didn’t seem to understand the gravity of sentiment that people felt. So he just ignored it, most probably. He could hear inside his head, Executor saying, “It is not crucial to the mission”.

He smiled sardonically at the sleeping Sankta. Yeah, they could relate on that one thing, at least. Maybe he could try, he thought. See if he could befriend this dead fish. Mostima would know a thing or two about him, and Flamebringer could probably lessen the degree of Executor’s machine-like behavior when he dealt with people.

So the next morning when they woke up, tangled in Executor’s bed, he asked, “Want to get breakfast with me?”

He started bringing Executor more often with him every time they slept together. Dinner, lunch or breakfast, or just hanging around the bar. He didn’t drink, granted, but it was still fun seeing him awkwardly holding the glass of liquor as Flamebringer tried to rope him into conversations. If he failed to do that, well, he could just distract Executor with his mouth. The guy seemed to like listening to him talk, probably because he didn’t have much thing to say, either.

The first time he had shown up at the dining hall with Executor in tow, sporting obvious bruises on their necks and arms, the three fuckface had looked absolutely gleeful. Like Christmas had come early, and they were enjoying the best present of them all. He had tried his best to sit on a separated table with Executor, but being the insufferable son of bitches that they were, had followed right to their table and asked Executor a thousand of embarrassing questions that he calmly answered as he ate his pancake.

“What do you think? He’s very pretty right?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Very good with his mouth, too.”

“He is.”

“You should try dressing him up in lingerie, he’d be absolutely stunning.”

“I will consider the suggestion for later use, thank you.”

And so on, with the ever increasing private questions, while they acted like he wasn’t in hearing range, plastered next to Executor, who was still patiently explaining the difference between executors on Notarial Hall with the normal operators from Laterano. He very much wanted to drag them all to the training room and break their bones, but Midnight’s foot brushed against his under the table, and stayed there as the man himself didn’t even looked fazed and continued with his rapid-fire questions about Executor’s previous sleeping partners. He sighed and cursed them inside his head, but refrained from stopping them from… whatever interrogation they were having with Executor.

They had varied from one person to another—his partners—Executor said. He didn’t disclose their identity, and Flamebringer was pretty sure the fuckface didn’t really care either. They just wanted to know how someone like Executor could be well-versed in sex to the point that Flamebringer was so taken to him. To his horror, he realized it was almost like they were questioning him to see whether he was “worth it” to be with Flamebringer or not. Which was frankly wrong and disturbing because Executor and he were just fuck-buddies.

He honestly didn’t know why they made such a fuss over this. It wasn’t like he liked the guy or something.

“I am just like other people,” Executor said. “I have the same urges and feelings. I think it is only a matter of upbringing and natural characteristics that differentiate us. People often mistaken Sanktas with angels, but we are not. We can bleed too, we can live and love, we can be bad and displeasing.”

Flamebringer put down his coffee to look at him as Executor carefully arranged his eating utensils on top of his plate, before pushing them aside. “I think,” he added a few moments later. “People forgot that, and Sanktas are too proud to admit that it is true. That we are not angels. We are simply a race with wings and halos, we are not untainted. We are not inherently holy.”

He… didn’t expect him to say that. He knew that by heart, he knew that every single person in this table knew what he was talking about. But to hear him talked about it so openly, with such calmness and serene face while he explained it, it had felt so different than how messy and full of accusations it had been inside Flamebringer’s head.

W was the first to break the silence. She nodded sharply at Executor, eyes no longer full of mirth. She looked calculating, but not condescending. She looked thoughtful. “Wonderfully worded,” she commented. “You’re not half bad.”

“Thank you,” Executor said, and Flamebringer watched as something unfurled between the two of them. Like they were engaging in a silent conversation on their own. W had that effect on people. Her presence could be very encompassing, domineering in her enigma. She made people feel like she was assessing them and that they had to abide by what she amount them to be. Executor didn’t seem to have difficulties holding himself against W’s intense gaze. He’d be fine, Flamebringer assured himself, not knowing why he was worried in the first place.

After that one encounter, they didn’t bombard him with numerous questions like the first day, but they did try to include him in conversations. Trying to make Executor participate in a back-and-forth banter was like pulling teeth. The most jarring thing about him was that he only spoke whenever he was addressed, and wouldn’t ask any question back to anyone. It was akin to talking to an answering wall. Flamebringer was right about one thing, at least. He was horrible in things like this. God was indeed fair, huh.

In a way, Mostima had said on their drinking session, Executor understood the social cues and people in general. He had feelings, just like the rest of them, and he wasn’t dumb. He was far from being dumb, even if they were talking about social interactions. But what he couldn’t comprehend was the way people attributed their sentiments to a certain behavior or cues. He just simply didn’t work on the same framework when it came to that. He worked in a more plausible, logical way—which wasn’t something that could be done when dealing with fickle feelings. They simply weren’t rational, as all feelings were.

Executor, in his framework, could perceive and understood people from observation, which was just part of being someone who partook in war. You were aware of people, what people thought, what they might hate and like about you. Even the slightest tilt of behavior could affect your well-being in a war. The more you learned about people, the more you knew how rotten they could be. But they could be better, too. And the gap of rationality between the two spectrums of a person’s intention and behavior was what executors were.

Executor could possibly be like that since he was born, and brought up in strict teachings of Sanktas. But the moment he pledged to be an executor, he took in the role of that rational gap in people’s spectrums. They worked under the law that disregarded even the oldest law of Sankta, it was only to be expected that they were wired differently than other people. To expect Executor to be like an average people was like hoping to tame Catastrophe. It was simply could not be done. But to expect that Executor was above everything else and be a complete merciless judge of God’s will all the time was also not a fair thing to do.

He pledged, and he had agreed to live his life as an executor, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t allowed to have his own private life. Executor wasn’t a real angel, much less the angels from Old Testaments, with their absolute devotion and unblinking efficiency in carrying God’s judgment. He could bleed and die. “It wouldn’t hurt to try to treat him like you would treat everyone else in this ship,” Mostima said.

Everyone had a reason to be in Rhodes Island, with their own backgrounds, traumas and stories. Executor, too, had those. He had the right to be treated in the same manner, too.

“Hey,” he said one day, his head lying on Executor’s chest as the man played with his hair. After Lappland had made a comment about how soft his hair was after she bought him a conditioner, Executor had taken to play with it when they were just lying around like this after sex.

“Hmm?” Executor replied, not really looking at Flamebringer, who was looking at him from his chin. He was still unfairly good looking from that angle.

“You can try to reply to conversations without having to be asked, you know,” he said, reaching to trace his long finger on Executor’s perfectly sculpted jaw. “Just offer your opinion. It’s okay. It’s part of the give and take in interactions like that. You can ask, too.”

He heard the steady thrum of Executor’s heart in his ears; the vibration of his voice when Executor spoke again.

“I will try to apply it in practice,” he said, but promised nothing.

Flamebringer didn’t mind. He could always remind him, after all. “It’s okay to insult someone when it’s only in banters, too. You’ve seen us do that, it’s okay. If that’s not up to your alley, then teasing is fine. Show some humor, at least. People feel at ease when they could detect a certain cue of comedy. Of course, not all people share our kind of humor, but it is okay to show it, sometimes.”

Executor looked at him then. He didn’t know where those pale blue eyes landed on the vicinity of his squished face, but then he was cupping his face softly, and was kissing him like he wanted to say words Flamebringer didn’t understand right into his lungs. “I will try,” he said afterwards.

“And start using contractions in your sentences, too.”

“I will draw the line right there,” Executor then said with a flat face.

Flamebringer gaped, then laughed, hiding his face on Executor’s neck. “See? I knew we had the same type of humor. It’s just harder to unearth yours.”

When Executor’s lip quirk into something that might or might not be a smirk, Flamebringer thought back to that night when he decided to try to befriend him. He didn’t know, back then, whether it would work or not. Whether it would be worth it or not. But here, as he pushed up a little to kiss the underside of Executor’s jaw, he thought that W was right, once again.

He was not half bad.

Their progress was slow, but it wasn’t in vain. Executor still talked like a damn android with overly handsome face, but Flamebringer was too used about that part of him to complain about it anymore. Just over a year ago, he said to himself that he didn’t want to interact with the man in daily basis because he was a stuck-up motherfucker who was too stiff for his taste. But then, here he was, didn’t even blink at Executor’s overly formal speech of pattern, and was endeared instead when he started doing his dead fish impression.

“Do you like him now?” Lappland had asked, curled around his back and nosing the base of his hairline with a cold nose. Texas had been injured in a mission, he heard. And because she knew she wouldn’t be welcomed in the infirmary, she went back to his room to sleep there.

He held her hand on his waist, considering. “He’s not as bad as I thought,” he said instead.

“It’s okay,” she said, and it broke his heart a little to hear how soft her voice was when she said, “maybe we will have enough time to figure it out.”

He was reminded of the curse in his veins, in hers. They couldn’t run from it, not when God had abandoned them and condemned them in life and death. Both Lappland and he didn’t have anyone aside from W and Midnight. All four of them shared the same fate, after all. Everyone except for Midnight had refused treatment. The infection was spreading fast, and they had no interest in prolonging death when they knew that they had no hope. It was better to accept it head on like this.

He didn’t say anything when Lappland’s arms tightened around him, and grasped her fingers in his. He might not have enough time, by the rate of his infection. But he wasn’t afraid, he had nothing to lose. They cared for him, Midnight even more so with the way he had given himself entirely to all of them, but they understood. He didn’t fear death. But sometimes—when W took him out for a smoke, when Midnight held him in silence, when Lappland let her guard down and let him see her broken pieces—he felt his heart ache a little inside a rotten, broken body.

Sometimes, he slept at Executor’s quarter, for the sole purpose of sleeping. He had been given the entry code after they had fooled around for half a year. So sometimes, he would just walk past Executor’s quarter, and went inside to sleep because his quarter was too far away. He usually slept there too after he worked around the greenhouse, since it was closer. Executor didn’t say anything about that, and would just go about his business while Flamebringer slept on his bed. He would join him afterwards, smelling damp and clean, holding Flamebringer close in his sleep.

He liked oranges, Flamebringer found out. He couldn’t stand spicy foods, but he could handle hot food like a champ. Somehow, people believed that Executor was a vegan. He had laughed at that because one of Executor’s favored meal was meat. He guessed it was because of his face and behavior.

He had this little tick of rubbing his thumb on his forefinger when he was irked or annoyed. It was subtle, and almost always hidden from people’s eyes. But Flamebringer had spotted it pretty easily because he was usually with Executor whenever neither of them was on any mission. He still hung out with the people from the greenhouse whenever he had worked there, and went to the bar regularly with Mostima whenever they had free time and Mostima wasn’t away on the latter half of the world. And despite his earlier statement of dumping the fuckfaces, he found that he actually hung out around them even more than before.

He was sure that they were bad influences for Executor, but he took it in strides. Executor, too, had been with them long enough that he didn’t need to wait for Flamebringer to join them on the dining hall if he happened to be there. They didn’t express it to him, but Flamebringer could see that they were getting comfortable around the Sankta, as well. Lappland was the first to discover Executor’s unusual sense of humor, and had been milking it dry for all it was worth.

Executor knew how to make the coffee that Flamebringer liked, and didn’t say anything when he said he liked chocolate cakes but hated sweet things. He bought him chocolate cakes then, whenever they were docked on a city. He knew how Flamebringer liked his toasts, and that he liked to wear Executor’s clothes because they were soft on his skin and his own clothes because he knew he looked good in them.

He gave Flamebringer custom-made heels, once, and proceeded to fuck him after he pranced around in his room for Executor. He had to admit, his legs looked amazing in the tosca heels. Executor had liked it, too.

Sometimes, when he was listening to Flamebringer talked about his job in the greenhouse—which most of the time would be more interesting than the normal missions he was sent into—he would ask. What sort of flowers he liked, what plants he had grown, did he like trees, which plant he enjoyed growing the most—trivial things that mattered a lot to Flamebringer.

In turn, he offered a piece of information about himself. He liked books, reading and collecting them. Even if it was easier to read digitally, but there was just a certain sensation of owning, touching, and flipping the paper of the books by his own hands, that had attracted Executor. He liked non-fictions, history books to be exact. But he could appreciate all sorts of books.

“There are also books that are trash,” he had said, flushed and wanton.

Executor thought for a moment, before thrusting back inside, holding both of Flamebringer’s hands above his head. “True,” he said, and started working his hips.

It was just the little things that he noticed, that made him realized just how far both of them had progressed from mere one-night stands to a sort-of-friends. Executor knew how his body moved, in and out of bed, knew how to work around him and slotted perfectly next to him like a mismatched puzzle that somehow worked together just fine.

Executor brought him seeds whenever he was back from his missions. He would bring some when he had to go back to Laterano, too. And Flamebringer bought him books whenever he had time to go to the market after his missions. It was sort of nice, having something and someone to come back to after going away for so long. He never had to move from his seat when they were in dining halls because Executor would be ready with a tray full of food that he knew Flamebringer liked, and Flamebringer would peel his oranges for him just because he wanted to.

W had cooed at them, pretty face smug and insufferable as she said, “You two are so disgustingly oblivious. It’s adorable, really,” which didn’t really make sense to him whatsoever.

“What’s she saying?” he would ask Executor, because it seemed like W and Executor had this special way of communicating between them that he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Executor would let him took a slice of his meat from his tray and shrugged his shoulders. “I do not understand, either.”

“He really blew you away, huh,” W said, much later on, puffing out smoke from her lips as she leaned against the metal wall.

Flamebringer heaved the nicotine deep into his lungs, looking up at the blue sky as he exhaled, feeling the rumble of the moving city. After a long time contemplating, he finally settled with, “In more ways than one.”

She sat next to him then, caressing the side of his face gently and turning his face to look at her properly. “There are ways you haven’t realized, too,” she told him. “Not yet, at least.”

He leaned in to kiss her, because it felt right at that moment, and because W had always known him like an open book. She had this way of kissing that kind of drove him crazy each time. The smart flick of her tongue, the push and pull of her lips—going from gentle, light touches, to completely ravishing all at once, before settling back on the slow pace again. W handled sex and touches like she would handle her battles, brutal and efficient, and it had always left him breathless and aching.

But there were times like this, when she was witty instead of mocking; just a tad too rough in the way he liked; careful and considerate with her touches. She could be gentle, in her own ways. But it was so far in-between, because she liked being the dominant one in bed. That was why, when she had kissed him so gently like that, he pulled back to look at her red eyes, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, and turned back to her cigarette. “Nothing,” she said, “I’m just feeling wistful. And happy, for you. Sort of.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant, but he let it go. W would tell him when she felt like he was being stupid for too long. So he just quipped with, “Only sort of?”

“Know your place, peasant,” she answered easily, and let the comfortable silence settle between them.

It was a long standing agreement that they didn’t talk about feelings, right at the time when they actually needed it. The four of them had gone through a lot in their lives. Even Midnight, who was known as someone who was flagrantly optimistic, had his fair share of bitters and pains. Being a host was not exactly a walk in the park. Flamebringer wouldn’t admit it even if the was threatened with torture, but Midnight had long since mastered how to walk the thin line between political and sincerity. He was unbelievably earnest, and yet understood the workings of people around him; how to appease them, how to appear non-threatening so people would lower their guard around him, but kept tab on everything so he could use it for his advantage in his job as a host.

W and him… they were probably the most constipated of them all. They all kept secret, they all kept their true feelings within an inch of their lives. But Midnight and Lappland had always been shameless in expressing who they were, what they were like. W and he were still something of an enigma to the rest of Rhodes Island, simply because they dispensed their feelings like a treasure—hard to acquire, and there was never a guarantee that it would be a good thing.

It took time to understand how they thought and acted, how they reacted; how they skittered around the edges of keeping the lid tight and showing just enough to know that there was an unspoken trust between the four of them. It took time to learn their stories and the way they were shaped from their experiences and traumas.

But ultimately, they didn’t talk about their feelings, even when it was the time they needed to.

Lappland never talked about how he now smelt like Executor all the time, and has taken to like the way Executor’s and Flamebringer’s scent fused together. She said, “You smell like you’re happy. Or not as bitchy about life, at least.”

He thought there must have been something that he missed, but didn’t think too much about it anymore.

When Midnight came to his room at two in the morning, and held him close without words, he allowed it. Lappland had come earlier, too. And now, he was sandwiched between the two; holding Lappland to his chest, and feeling Midnight’s heartbeat against his back. Lappland, at a certain point, could smell how people felt, because feelings were just secretion of biochemical. She knew the smell of restlessness and anxiety even before her brain caught up with it. Midnight was Flamebringer’s first longstanding fuck-buddy. He knew, more or less, about him. It was by that experience alone that he understood what the man was feeling.

They slept like that, piled on his bed. It was a tight fit, because it should have housed only one person, but they worked around it just fine. In the morning, Midnight kissed him awake, and left with a tired smile on his lips. Lappland stayed a bit longer, kissing his neck softly and Flamebringer was reminded that despite having bonds with all of them, there was just something between Lappland and he that fit together so well, unexpectedly.

“He’s good for you,” she said, and he knew which he she was talking about immediately.

“Because he’s not a bunch of pricks like you all,” he deflected.

She laughed, hoarse and truthful. “You’re more honest, and even if we’ve seen more than what other people have of you, you’re far more relaxed around him than what I’ve seen in years.”

It… pricked something inside of him. A certain dormant feeling that he didn’t want to examine too close, in fear of what the world might do if it caught the whiff it.

“I think he understands,” she said, after looking at the emotions hidden behind his eyes. “We’re bound to die anyway. In wars, there is no winner. We all lose something by the end of it.”

She kissed him, soft and so uncharacteristic of her. She usually kissed him fevered passion and sharp teeth. But she touched him tenderly that morning, like she was trying to hold his broken pieces in her bloody hands. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and to Flamebringer, it sounded like she wanted to cry. “Don’t let things that you cherish slip between your fingers, just because you’re afraid. He understands; I think at this point, he already knew you as well as we do. So—“ she took a deep breath, and kissed him again. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t regret, Enkaku.”

He loved her, he thought. It didn’t matter what kind of affection that he felt, because at that moment, he loved her. She did, too. In her own ways, with the way she comprehended feelings. They were all a little too jaded, a little too broken to love properly. But they gave little trickles of it still, just enough to show that they kept a little piece of each other in their mind.

When she kissed him for the last time before she left, he could taste the tears. The regret of what had transpired between Texas and her, the long broken hope. He held her tight, and let her frail back retreated into the hallways.

He thought, it was almost like they were letting go. The talk between W and him; the honesty of Lappland’s words. It was novel, and though it was unusual, it wasn’t a bad thing. Midnight didn’t approach him until they were sent together on a mission. He offered Flamebringer a pack of cigarette as they waited for the transporter to arrive. They were in a jungle just on the outskirts of Victoria, resting after their mission.

Midnight didn’t smoke, he knew. But he kept cigarettes on his coat pocket just for Flamebringer. He paid attention to the smallest things, and kept it with him for a long, long time. He was meticulous for someone so carefree. Flamebringer took it with a nod, and lighted up the cigarettes, standing a bit far from the rest of the team. Midnight looked at the resting form of his team for a moment, before turning back to Flamebringer.

“I think W and Lappland have covered the base,” he said. “I don’t have many things left to say.”

Flamebringer looked at him, then. “Why are you all acting like you’re giving me away? You don’t really think that I’m gonna marry him, do you?”

Midnight grinned, so effortlessly charming that Flamebringer kind of wanted to punch his pretty face. “You could, though.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. The base told them that a transporter would be arriving in approximately half an hour. That Popukar kid was sleeping soundly on the Blue Lady’s lap. He remembered her name simply because the kid was an absolute chaos. She’s earnest, and terrifying in battles. He understood why Kal’tsit would be upset that a kid should fight their battles, but they didn’t have much choice. That much of raw power would be a waste if it wasn’t put to a good use. She seemed to suffer a symptom of split-personality disorder, another effect of her Oripathy. It saved her the trauma of killing people on her young age, but it would catch up on her soon. He just hoped that whenever it was, both Kal’tsit and Doctor had prepared her well.

“I like you,” Midnight suddenly said, and Flamebringer’s cigarette almost fell from his lips.

While it wasn’t exactly a secret that they slept together—to the people who paid attention, at least—but they never talked about it so blatantly in the open like this. He didn’t mind, but it was just… new.

“My Oripathy is worse than yours,” he said, “why are you the one talking like you’re gonna die first?”

Midnight gave him a faux-pout and tsked incessantly, “You’re so callous! My delicate feelings were hurt terribly.”

“Die in a fire.”

The shorter man laughed, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. They were too far away for them to hear about they were talking about, fortunately. If they do, they probably would have said the same thing to Midnight.

“I’m serious, though,” he said. “I like you.”

His brows furrowed a little bit, but he decided to hear him out. “I know that.”

“I know, too,” he said then, softly. There was a smile on his lips, something private that almost made Flamebringer’s breath stutter. “I know that it’s probably hard for them to say this, because they don’t want to be too sentimental. But I think they’ve said the same thing, too, if worded a little bit differently.”

And just like that, Flamebringer knew. Because he could read it. In W’s confident words, in Lappland’s soft whispers. And now, forming in Midnight’s lips, he knew it too.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, and didn’t touch any inch of Flamebringer’s skin. But his eyes were enough to make him feel like he was being held in his arms.

He didn’t know what to reply to that kind of statement. It wasn’t just W and Lappland; it was hard for him, too. Because he wouldn’t know what to say, faced with such honesty and certainty that people like them rarely able to afford. He breathed out a sigh, and nodded, in hope that Midnight would understand what he was trying to convey. He would, Flamebringer knew.

There were no words to be exchanged after that. But when the transporter arrived, and the team sluggishly dragged their ass to the vehicle, Midnight placed a warm, firm hand on the side of his neck. Flamebringer quirked a smile at the man, and held the hand for a moment, before they followed suit into the transporter. Back to the base, where he could walk pass Executor’s room and slept on his bed until the man came back; lying next to him and holding him close like he wanted to keep Flamebringer there forever.

Kal’tsit gave him a calculating look when he came into the infirmary. He awkwardly waved at her and scurried away to Executor’s bed. She was a fearsome woman, and Flamebringer had known how formidable she could be. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he was afraid of her, and the way she stabbed the needles like she wanted to personally kill him with each injection. Not to mention all those rumors about her… spine.

He didn’t fear death, but that woman… she scared him.

She didn’t say anything, though. Just lifted a thin eyebrow, and pulled the curtains around Executor’s bed to give them a semblance of privacy. He was thankful for that, although he didn’t understand her motives either. It didn’t matter, now. Not when Executor was looking at him, still so calm and unperturbed even with bandages around his head and torso. He was injured badly from his last mission; this was his fifth day in the infirmary, and Flamebringer only came now because he was away to Kazdel with W and Lappland for a special ops.

“You look like shit,” he commented, and smirked when he saw the growing stubbles on Executor’s jaw. Sometimes he did forget that the man had the same biological anatomy in general with the rest of them mortal beings. He just—in certain lights he looked so unreal that it was sometimes still so surprising seeing him with a shadow of beard and mustache.

“It is nice to see you, too,” Executor replied. He was getting better with the whole “back-and-forth banter”. Sometimes Flamebringer even heard him uttering sarcasm—those were the most exciting moments in his day.

Executor scooted away a little when Flamebringer sat on the edge of the bed, close to his injured torso. His long fingers carefully ghosted over the bandages, and ended up on the Sankta’s hand. He held it in his, callouses and warmth of his palm seeped into Flamebringer’s skin. He was alive, at least. But it had been so, so easy to kill someone. A trained Sankta or not.

He brushed away the hair on Executor’s bandaged forehead, and kissed him in slow, gentle slide of his lips, mindful of how tired and hurt his body must be. The stubble scraped on his skin, and he snickered a little into the kiss. It felt funny—had always felt funny anytime they kissed with Executor’s stubble rubbing on his face. He usually came out with a stubble burn after the kiss on those times. He shaved, regularly, but the growth of his facial hair was slower than Executor’s.

“Was it that bad?” he asked.

“Only on my torso,” Executor answered.” The wound on my head is mostly superficial, although it bleeds a lot, naturally, because of the location.”

He nodded, unconsciously letting out a relieved sigh. Executor scooted further away, and signaled for him to lie down. “The bed is too small,” he laughed. “And Kal’tsit will kill me if she sees that I’m harassing her patients.”

“You’re not a bother,” Executor replied easily. “Come.”

So he did, trying not to press to hard against the injured regions. He let Executor rested his head on his shoulder, hand coming up to play with Flamebringer’s hair. “Your hair is quite coarse today.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” he mocked, but still allowed the fingers to run between his strands. “I just came back a few hours ago. I haven’t had the time to shower yet.”

“You should rest first before coming here.”

“I slept all the way from Kazdel to Rhodes, I rested enough.”

“Very well,” Executor said, and let Flamebringer’s steady breath lulled them into a comfortable silence.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but when he felt his eyes were becoming too heavy, his mouth spoke without a thought. “You could have died.”

Executor tensed imperceptibly next to him, but relaxed a second later. “But I didn’t.”

He nodded, kissing the top of the Sankta’s head. He still smelt of blood and sweat, but Flamebringer found that he didn’t mind it terribly. He was sure that he smelt the same, after all. With a hint of gunpowder from being so close with W for a long period of time in the battlefield.

“It’s so easy,” he continued, “to die. You can die as easily as I can, even with this curse.”

Executor lifted his head from his shoulder, and Flamebringer helped him sat up so he could lean against the headboard. He looked at Flamebringer, eyes intense and unblinking. “You have refused treatments to Oripathy, Enkaku. That, coupled with the battlefields and everything that is going on in this world, has amounted to a higher risk of death on your end.”

“People will die,” he said. “Regardless whether it’s Oripathy or being killed by a stray bullet in a fight. If you can bleed, then you can die. I have chosen this path since a long time ago, and I have no interest in giving myself false hopes. There is no cure, Samuel. Even if there will be, there is no guarantee that it will be available before I died. It’s not the matter of being stubborn, or too proud; this is just a choice and personal view of life and death.”

Executor took that in, silent for a few moments. He nodded then, and didn’t look away from Flamebringer’s amber eyes. “I understand, and I, too, have accepted the workings of this world. But it doesn’t mean that I won’t be saddened, if you were to die. When I was hurt in the battlefield, and the transporter hadn’t arrived in time, I thought that if I were to die there, I would surely miss being alive next to you.”

“Oh,” Flamebringer breathed out, surprised by the confession. But, he thought, it was… pleasant, kind of. To know that someone would think about him like that. “That’s—yeah. I think I would miss a world with you in it, too.”

Executor gave him a small, sincere smile and Flamebringer thought that maybe W was right all along, since the very first time.

He grinned at the man, and whispered against his lips, their hot breaths intermingled with each other. “This isn’t a good life. But it’s not half bad with you in it, I guess.”

When Executor leaned into his mouth, kissing him with a burst of feelings that he didn’t say, Flamebringer thought that maybe he understood, too. What he felt, what they have between the two of them. It wasn’t… something as intense as he thought. It was something light and easy; a place where he could breathe and sleep, and Executor would be there to hold him—lying close on his bed, stealing a moment of peace in the midst of this chaotic world. It wasn’t half bad, really.

He had to admit, it went completely over his head, despite everything.

Mostima was actually the first person to blatantly say it to his face. They were hanging out at the bar, this time along with Lappland and Exusiai—that Apple Pie girl whose name Flamebringer finally remembered after almost a year being reminded by Mostima. They were sitting around the table near the bar counter. Lappland was already chugging the bottle down, while Exusiai—very much drunk and losing nearly all her inhibitions—cheered on her. Mostima drank with a more sedate pace next to him.

“It is somehow still a wonder to me,” she said, looking at Exusiai with a look that made Flamebringer feel like he was intruding on something private.

“What is,” he asked, the habit of making his questions into statement came out despite Midnight’s incessant complains about it.

She smiled then, poised and calm, as she turned to him. "That nearly three years ago, I was sitting in the very same place as I am right now, witnessing you drunkenly wheedling your way into Executor’s pants.”

He choked on his drink, coughing harshly as he set down the glass and glared at Mostima’s smirking face. Gods, years after knowing her, he had found out along the way that she was just as insane as the fuckfaces. She just had more grace in her bones. “Fuck you.”

“The sentiment would be better suited for Executor, would it not?” she replied as easily, sipping on her drink as she watched Lappland downed the rest of the bottle. “Impressive,” she murmured into her drink.

“She’s a fucking beast,” he said.

Mostima nodded. “I agree.”

She looked like she wanted to stop Exusiai, when Lappland had cajoled her into ordering more drinks. The girl had always been royal and impulsive when it came to managing money. She could see Exusiai crying about her wallet tomorrow morning in the dining hall. But she let it be, turning to him instead.

“Took you a long time to date him, though,” she said, and Flamebringer thought that surprises could never stop falling from her lips.

He looked at her, face blank as he slowly comprehended her words. Finally, he just said, “What.”

This time, it was Mostima’s turn to look surprised. She didn’t really have the right to do so when she was the one spewing this kind of shits on his face, he thought. She only looked confused for a moment. There was a sort of apprehension that seemed to dawn on her. He could not relate at all.

“Oh,” she said, and then smiled, drinking the rest of the liquor in her glass. “You didn’t know.”

“Exactly,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “What?”

She shook her head, the smile still staying on the corner of her lips. “Nothing.”

“We’re not dating,” he said, because they actually didn’t. And now he was wondering as well, why didn’t they?

“Doesn’t look like that to me.” Mostima calmly accepted the drink that Exusiai had handed to her, laughing merrily next to Lappland who was steadily drinking herself into an early grave. “Thank you, Exia. As I was saying, the whole Rhodes just thinks that you two are dating.”

They were close, yes. It was more than just one-night stands, and definitely more than close friends. The way Executor touched was a tad too intimate for them to settle down on the normal bracket of friendship. They never really stopped and thought about the nature of their relationship, however. It just simply escaped their observation, and it was most probably because they were the ones doing it. There were certain things that you couldn’t see about yourself, no matter how hard you look.

“Is that why the girls in the engineering keep giving me the stink eyes? Because they thought I’m dating their crush?” Now that he thought about it, there were unexplainable instances that he just waved away because it was just too weird. Like how people would automatically assume he was looking for Executor, or that people would alert Executor whenever Flamebringer was in the vicinity; or that no one rarely blinked their eyes anymore when they caught Flamebringer holding Executor’s hand on top of the dining table, or the way Executor would reach out randomly to him just to touch.

“Yes, and more,” answered Mostima. “To me, it’s just the way you look at each other. I guess you’re too used to him to notice, but he looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s willing to understand in this world.”

And he probably did, knowing what a constipated motherfucker Executor was. But Mostima wasn’t done yet, he felt himself holding a breath as she tilted her head, and looked at him like she was amazed, envious, resigned.

“You look at him like you’re falling in love.”

Oh.

She smiled at him, and let him stew in his thought as she finally took the drinks from Exusiai and Lappland, patiently ushering them both out of the bar with sheer strength of someone who was used to disciplining a rowdy bunch. She glanced at him for the last time before exiting the bar, and smiled to herself when she saw how shocked and lost in thought the man was.

The thought had stayed with him throughout the month. Executor was back to Laterano for more than three months, and Flamebringer had five consecutive special ops in a row. It was a wonder how he had survived through them, with a distracted mind like that. But then again, he was a trained warrior with sharp instincts and considerable prowess in the battlefield—disgustingly lovey-dovey thoughts notwithstanding. It was hard—he had to admit—with the memory of Mostima’s words constantly replaying inside his head.

“Is there something wrong?” the Doctor had asked one time, in the rare occasion that he went on special ops.

“Ah,” he said, startled out of his thought. “Nothing. Just… mundane things.”

“Executor has arrived on the base two weeks ago, if that’s what you’re thinking of,” the man suddenly said.

“What? Wait—no, that wasn’t what I was thinking of—“ he said, eyes wide. “But, yeah. Thanks for telling me.”

Doctor shrugged, handing him the comm. and started walking towards the door of the transporter. “Try not to die before you meet him, then.”

So, even the Doctor knew? He felt like, considering they were the subject of the rumors, they were the last to actually found out about it. He spent the rest of the mission, and the trip back to the base, with such restlessness that he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. This was freaking him out; he had never felt this way ever since he killed someone for the first time, and even then the acceptance had been swift in the face of a brewing war.

His skin was itchy with the need to touch, to shake Executor until his bones rattled, about all these things. The most the man would do was probably listening to him with a passive face, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. Maybe it was also the nearly six month’s separation. They never contacted each other while Executor was away, since he was in a Laterano’s official business while he was there, and it was near impossible to steal time to contact anyone else that wasn’t the base control room in special ops, if at all.

And yet, when Flamebringer saw Executor’s face for the first time in months, fresh out of the bathroom with a towel on his hips, all those words died a horrible death on his lips. He had wanted to see him, he realized, more than he thought

“I am glad you are here, now,” Executor said in-between the harsh kisses they shared. “I have missed you a lot, Enkaku.”

“Kiss first, talk later,” he said, and went down to suck Executor’s cock.

He guessed the restlessness had manifested into the way his touches felt urgent and impatient, like he couldn’t wait any longer to have Executor’s fingers on his skin. The Sankta had obliged to his unspoken demands, and had made a quick work to prepare Flamebringer. He was tighter than the last time they fucked, seeing as he hadn’t even touched himself because of the barrage of missions he had to undergo.

“Touch me,” he groaned out, pulling at Executor’s hand. “Samuel, touch me.”

“You are needier than usual today,” he had commented, but did as he was asked nonetheless. He thrust his fingers inside a few moments longer, and seemed to be enjoying the little gasps and hitches in Flamebringer’s breath.

Executor looked as impeccable as ever, even with a sizeable erection lying heavy between his legs. Flamebringer reached with his toes to touch it, and grinned when Executor’s fingers stuttered on their pace inside of him. “And you,” he said, pressing harder with the heel of his foot, “should shut the fuck up and fuck me already.”

He had forgotten the sensation of being stretched out by the girth, to accommodate the heavy cock inside of him, to feel the pulse of his arousal as he gripped the sheets tight between his fingers. They only exchanged a look once, before Executor started moving. It didn’t take him long to get used to it again, enjoying the push and slide of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside.

Just like before, Executor fucked him with such intensity and undivided attention that Flamebringer felt the knot of arousal in his stomach tightened up. He looked good like that; so focused in his lust, looking at him like he wanted to devour him whole, moving like he wanted to break Flamebringer and put together the pieces into something new, something more beautiful.

“Come on, pretty boy,” he moaned out, a playful smirk on his lips as he tightened around Executor. “Fuck me properly.

He was flipped on his stomach then, Executor driving deep inside as he started fucking into him with abandon. Flamebringer was shameless in his desires; moans after moans, the loud, drawn out scream of Executor’s name on his tongue. Executor had come first, spilling inside the condom as he gripped Flamebringer’s hips so tight he was sure it would be bruised by the end of the night. He came a moment later, teased mercilessly within an inch of his life under Executor’s clever fingers.

As he came down from the high, breathing hard against the skin of Executor’s shoulder, he said, “Apparently, we’re dating now.”

Executor looked down at him, and reached over to wipe the sweat on his face. He swept the blood on Flamebringer’s bitten lips, and absentmindedly answered as his thumb was sucked into the warm mouth. “Are we.”

It was so akin to the way Flamebringer worded his questions that he had to let go of Executor’s finger, and laughed. “Yeah. The whole city knew, except for us.”

Executor settled next to him, looking into his eyes as he brushed his sweaty bangs away from his face. “It’s not an unpleasant thought,” he said, honest and earnest.

Flamebringer bit his lips to keep the smile from splitting his face “Yeah? Careful though, I might think you like me enough to spoil me rotten.”

Executor tucked himself under Flamebringer’s chin, and kissed the jut of his collarbones and it felt like a promise. “Mm, I think I will,” he said. “You should be cherished by the people who love you.”

It felt like a confession, worded into something that Executor understood. Into something that wasn’t a lie, or half-hearted empty words. Flamebringer kissed the top of his head and chuckled. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

And just like that, everything fell into places in the way Flamebringer’s life had never been able to.

Something changed between them. After the night that they had talked about their relationship months ago—the easy fall of Executor’s love on his lips, the honesty of his feelings in the fingers that traipsed up on Flamebringer’s body—they fell into a semblance of dynamics of being two people who were in an exclusive relationship. It was easier than he thought, and not as stifling. It was probably because they both understood each other too well, to the point that it required no thought for him to know what Executor had wanted, and vice versa.

It was just in the way they moved, following an invisible dancing pattern around each other. The steps felt light, the dip felt breathtaking. Realizing that he had fallen in love was a four years journey, but once he did, falling in love with someone who adored him as much as Executor was easy, so easy.

More than how Executor knew when to touch lightly, when to hold on; the unspoken trust of being there when Flamebringer fell, the certainty that he would be accepted. They gave and took; they danced, and twirled and pulled at each other all night long in the floor dance of their shared fate. And with the way Executor had put an unblinking faith in him, Flamebringer felt like he could dance all night long, as long as forever allowed him.

He was sitting on the usual table on the dining hall, still sleepy and fatigued because he only came back from mission at four in the morning. He didn’t have serious wounds, but there were bruises on his arms that were still tender to the touch. Executor had taken to dress him in soft clothes because he recalled how Flamebringer said that he liked the way the fabric felt against his skin. So here he was, wearing another one of Executor’s newly bought sweater, wearing his pants, with his jacket draped over his shoulder.

He looked every bit a like a besotted lover, and he lived for it.

W was already there, playing with the straw of her milk. She looked worse for the wear, mainly because she took most of the damage from last night’s mission. There weren’t any lasting injuries, thankfully, but she had to hold off a dozen of enemies at once, and then more because the rest of the team was a little bit too far to aid her in time. She looked at his face and sneered.

“This is so terribly domestic,” she said, and gestured to his entirety, as well as Executor when he sat down with two trays. “It disgusts me.”

He gave her a stink eye, and proceeded to peel Executor’s orange for him, further proving her point. Midnight arrived a moment later, looking bright and sprightly in the early morning. Now that disgusted Flamebringer, because despite his name, Midnight was an ultimately morning person. “Good morning,” he greeted, then looked at Flamebringer’s attire and nodded to himself. “Still so disgustingly domestic, I see.”

W cackled from her seat, and scooted over so Midnight could sit next to her. Flamebringer flipped him a middle finger, and shrugged off Executor’s jacket since he didn’t want it to get dirty as he ate. He gave the peeled orange to Executor; the man turned out to have a special soft spot for sour things. “I—“ he started, but the Sankta cut him off, already standing up.

“Coffee?” he asked, just to confirm.

Flamebringer closed his mouth, smiling at the man as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“I will be back soon,” Executor said, and pushed his tray on Flamebringer’s direction a little bit when he reached over to take a piece of melon.

As Executor’s back retreated, Midnight sighed, extravagantly loud so Flamebringer would pay attention to him. He leveled him with a flat look instead.

“Or something,” Flamebringer deadpanned, but he didn’t seem to hate the idea. “Oi, dumbass. This other dumbass said we should take the vows.”

Executor, who had just come back with a steaming hot coffee for the Sarkaz, just calmly placed the cup of coffee first. “Do you actually want to marry me, or do you just want to make Operator Midnight suffer?”

He grinned at the man; he knew him so well. “Depends,” he pretended to think as he sipped on his coffee. It was good as always, although he didn’t know who make it. Executor sucked at cooking department. “You gonna teach me your Old Language if we’re married?”

The Sankta didn’t even waste a breath before nodding, said, “Of course.”

“Sweet,” he smiled. “Go on, propose to me.”

“Alright.” Executor—as whipped, as flat-faced as he usually was—then reached into the pocket of his working jacket, and casually put a velvety ring box on top of the cafeteria table, saying “Will you marry me, Enkaku?” as the whole room erupted into chaos.

Midnight shouted in disbelief, wailing in fake despair as he dramatically slammed his head on the table; W straightened up immediately from her slump, her eyes were filled with a sort of unholy glee that made the red irises glowed. The nearest operators from their table had also joined in the fray. He vaguely heard someone saying, “Oh my God! He’s proposing!” as the dining hall suddenly turned into a flurry of noise and movements.

Suddenly, Mostima was there, next to him, looking alternatively awed and wanting to laugh herself sick. He could relate, because, what the fuck. He chuckled in disbelief, wondering when Executor had the time to actually buy the rings. But then again, he wasn’t joking when he told him to propose. This was, after all, the man he had spent the last four years with.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scathingly said, confusing several spectators. “Do it again, properly this time.”

Executor was unfazed as he carefully knelt in front of Flamebringer, and opened the velvet box to reveal a pair of oxidized-gold rings. It wasn’t fancy, and it certainly didn’t look like a wedding ring, but fuck if it wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d seen these days. Only because it was his wedding ring—he was biased, sue him.

“Enkaku,” Executor said, and there was something different in his voice, something that even other people could hear clearly. The gentleness, the absolute devotion; this man was absolutely whipped and Flamebringer had never felt more powerful in his life than this moment. “Will you marry me?”

He almost laughed, almost. Because the whole room probably already knew his answer anyway, why were they watching in the first place? But it didn’t matter, because Executor looked so soft and a little bit messy from sleep, clad in his shirt and sweatpants, and looking at Flamebringer like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. He could return the sentiment, tenfold.

He gave the man a grin, and reached down to spread his finger in front of Executor. “You fucking bet I will, Dumbfuck.”

The cheer was almost deafening in his ears. He didn’t know what they were so happy about and how his marriage proposal would concern them, but he was enjoying the euphoria of the moment. As Executor fumbled with the box a little bit, he helped him by holding the box while he slipped the ring on Flamebringer ring finger. He took the second ring, and put it on Executor’s ring finger as well. It was… not unlike walking on clouds, a fantasy that he knew would be short-lived, but he indulged in it nonetheless.

“Congratulation,” Mostima said. “You are now Officially Whipped.”

Executor put the box back into his jacket, and sat back down again as the people around them congratulated both of them. He didn’t even know half of these people, he thought. He smirked at Mostima, and flipped her off, too. She smirked back, and stood up to disperse the people because she knew that Flamebringer would snap soon if they didn’t scram.

“You owe me a lot of drinks,” she said then, and waved at them as she went back to her table. He thought back to the night Mostima had dropped the bomb months ago, and thought that yeah, he owed her all the drinks in the world.

“What was it again?” W leered at him. He was, for the lack of words, afraid of her at that moment. Because she looked like someone had given her absolute power to the universe, and she was going to do horrible things with it. “”I’m not gonna marry him just because he has a nice cock” isn’t that right, Enkaku?”

See? He knew it.

“Please just shut the fuck up,” he begged, lowly. Because he knew W wouldn’t stop once she started.

“I’m gonna say it,” she said, without mercy. He sighed. “I told you so,” she said, and looking so incredibly pleased by that; like a smug, oversized cat.

Midnight still looked shocked next to her. He knew that the both of them were basically married the moment Flamebringer started bringing Executor with him to their table, but he would have never guessed that he was going to be the catalyst to the actual proposal.

“I can’t believe I have unknowingly volunteered myself to be subjected to your disgusting domestic life,” he croaked out at last, then chuckled to himself, as if he still couldn’t believe what had transpired just now. “I’m gonna cry obnoxiously on your wedding.”

“Sucks to be you,” Flamebringer shrugged, and gave Executor the rest of his salad. “Stop talking about wedding, there might not be one. We’re in the middle of the war.”

“Why not?” W said, disposing her empty milk box to the side, and was chewing on her bacon. “We could have a small wedding here. I’m sure Doctor would approve, he already knew about you two, after all.”

They could, of course. But—he turned to Executor first, who had finished his salad, and was piling their empty trays together. “Hey, wanna get married with an actual wedding party with me?”

W and Midnight immediately imitated retching sounds, as Executor blinked and nodded. “I do.”

He grinned at him. “Nice. We can get married just in pajamas, don’t worry.”

“What?” W interrupted. “Why the fuck would you settle with that? I did not endure you two flirted your ass off in front of me just to see a wedding party in pajamas. Go wear a pretty dress for me, you stupid bitch.”

He had never considered it before, wearing a wedding dress. To be fair, the thought of marriage had never crossed his mind, before Executor and his stupidly good impersonation of a dead fish. The dead fish who was now watching him with calm, collected bearings as if he hadn’t just turned their world upside down. He didn’t mind terribly, though.

Sure, he looked good in tight dresses and heels and lingerie, but a wedding dress was novel. Not to mention that the whole idea of white, pristine dress suit Executor more than it did on him. As if sensing his thought, Executor said, “I can wear the dress instead, if you want.”

And wasn’t that a thought. He would look so unbelievably ethereal in a flowing white dress. But then, W was brandishing her fork like a weapon, on Executor’s face.

“You shut the fuck up,” she said, sounding impatient. “This is for me, not for either of you sickening lovebirds. Come on, pretty boy, entertain me for the last time before you elope into the sunset with this dead fish. I can recommend some good tailors, you’d look good with a jumpsuit wedding dress I think. Easier access to fuck and fight.”

“He would look good in a tight bodice-type, too, wouldn’t you think?” Midnight replied, like this was something normal, discussing about Flamebringer’s wedding dress. It was bizarre.

“Do you even own a suit,” he said to Executor, who nodded at him. Of course the church-boy would own a suit. Probably a white one at that.

“No,” W said again. “I’m choosing his suit, too.”

He looked at her, incredulous. “Why the fuck are you so obsessed with this?”

She smiled then, softer, smaller. Something that he should have witnessed in the low light of the dusk, instead of under the bright light of the dining hall, and for a second he remembered that he had loved this person, too. “Because I enjoy victories. And this just erects my monumental victory over your stupid ass. Can’t believe you were so deep in denial, and yet here you are, making heart eyes at him.”

In the end, he gave up and let her had her ways.

A month later, she took both Executor and him to a place in Victoria, and had blatantly asked Executor for his credit card. He gave it to her without much word. He was filthy rich, Flamebringer knew this. But it was at that moment, as the tailor measured him within an inch of his life, that he actually saw how much he was willing to pay for things Flamebringer wanted. The wedding dress and suit were disgustingly expensive, but Executor didn’t even bat an eyelash when W gave him the credit card back.

When he came to talk to the Doctor about it, he just congratulated him and said, “Please don’t destroy the hall too much, I’m poor enough as it is. Feeding hundreds of operators do that to your wallet.”

There were other people involved in the wedding, too. The people who agreed to cook for the meals, to arrange the general hall for the wedding, Smiley Boy even personally took the responsibility of designing the invitation card and spreading it all over the ship. Flamebringer didn’t even know how but he got the Penguin Logistic girls as his bridesmaid. It was probably Mostima’s doing—Texas was less than happy about it, but she had caved under the peer pressure of her team. Lappland would probably have a major stroke when she saw Texas in a bridesmaid dress.

In-between the wedding preparations, they still went on missions, and unabashedly flirted in the comm. until the other operators were groaning and tell them to shut the fuck up. They were also understandably shocked when they heard Executor actually flirted back. It was fun to watch, at least.

When the dress had arrived, he thought, he was grateful that W had been so adamant on arranging the wedding, because the dress was beautiful. It was simple, and sharp; something that he could wear in a wedding, and in battles. Although, frankly, he didn’t know why he would wear that to battles.

W looked like she had difficulty to speak when he tried putting on the dress. She swallowed, and twirled him around slowly to see the entirety of the dress and the train. “I have the veil with me,” she said. “You would look devastating with it. I think I can fight both Lappland and Midnight for the honor of walking you down the aisle.”

Midnight had showed up with a pair of silver pumps with him, the heel decorated by ornamentals. He had bought him heels before, so it wasn’t a surprise that he would know Flamebringer’s shoe size. They fit perfectly on his feet, and he marveled for a moment at how glamorously simple the heels were. Lappland had given him a leather choker with a diamond on it. It was partly a gift from the Doctor also, as the replacement for his ID choker. Heh, and he said that he got no money left. That lying piece of shit.

“I got money,” she said, because she, too, was filthy rich with all the inheritance of her family. “It’s probably the first time I ever enjoyed it. But it’s your wedding, so I bought you these.”

It was a sleek pocket knife, with carvings on the handle and part of the knife itself. It was clear that the knife was crafted more for the aesthetic purpose, and it was pretty. But he noticed also the sharp blade, and believed that Lappland had given thought into practicality as well.

“You like it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can stab all of you with this when you’re being insufferable.”

She had laughed then, and had commented about how he was practically flaunting his chest with the upper part of the dress. “I don’t hate it, though. Your man-boobs are absolutely glorious.”

He swung the knife at her, and she dodged as easily as breathing. Laughing as she went to hide behind Midnight’s tall form. He didn’t have time to brutally murder her with his wedding gift, however, because Executor stepped into the room, then.

He was pretty sure that his jaw was on the floor. He drunk in the sight of his soon-to-be life partner, feeling his heart beat loudly inside his chest, and only felt a little bit guilty for wanting to taint their wedding dress and suits just to have Executor fucking him in that suit. He had thought that white would fit so well with Executor because of his general angelic aesthetic, but fuck—

“Careful,” W said next to him, gently pushing his jaw so he could close his mouth. “Your thirst is showing, baby boy.”

“Well,” he swallowed, hard. “You can’t blame me.”

She looked over at Executor, and nodded appreciatively. “Fair enough.”

The suit wasn’t grandeur; it followed the same theme of his wedding dress: simplicity. Something that they could move around in, just like what W had said: easy access to fuck and fight. He supposed, she was right in saying that. Because despite all their planning, there was no guarantee that nothing would happen in the wedding day. They were staying alert, even now.

The material of the suit was sleek, but the black suit had fit on so well to Executor’s fit form. It accentuated his wide shoulders and lean waist; the shape of his long, strong legs. Of course, standing next to Flamebringer, anyone would think that he was shorter and smaller. But clad in something that had been tailored so specifically to follow the line of his body, he almost forgot just how tall the man actually was. It punched through him then, that this was his lover, wearing a suit, and he was wearing a wedding dress, and they were getting married in less than a week and—

“Hey,” he said when Executor was close enough. “I know that this is stupid, but… will you marry me, Samuel? Say yes.”

Next to him, W gagged so hard and rolled her eyes. He ignored her in favor of looking at the soft smile playing on the corner of Executor’s lips as he nodded slowly.

“You look stunning,” he said, lifting the train of Flamebringer’s wedding dress and feeling the silky material between his fingers. “You’re beautiful, Enkaku.”

“Damn, boy,” he hooted, suddenly feeling hot and flushed all of the sudden. “You’re such a smooth motherfucker.”

“Only for you,” Executor agreed, and carefully put his hands on Flamebringer’s hips to bring him closer.

“Oh my God!” Midnight exclaimed from the corner of the room where Lappland had looked like she was so ready to throw up her breakfast and lunch. “Can you two stop flirting for like, two seconds? Why did I even agree to this anyway?”

“I’m starting to regret it, too,” W replied, and then turned back to them. “It fits quite well, as I thought. The train is detachable. So you can just throw it off if needed. Although make sure you keep it, it costs a lot. Oh, well, it’s not my money anyway. You,” he turned to Executor, stabbing a slender finger on his chest, “are going to be with me before the wedding. You look good enough to eat, but that floppy skater-boy hair needed to get out before I shaved your head completely.”

They ran over the schedule one more time, and went to check on the general hall to see the preparations after getting out of their respective wedding clothes. Flamebringer was brazen when W looked down and found out that he achingly hard inside hi briefs. She just rolled her eyes, muttering teenagers under her breath. What could he say? Executor looked fucking fantastic in black. He couldn’t wait until this was over and he could ride that man for hours.

Executor returned the sentiment, it seemed. Because he couldn’t stop telling Flamebringer how beautiful, how stunning he looked, how much Executor just wanted to ruin him in his pretty wedding dress. He fucked him with vigor that night, and honestly, Flamebringer couldn’t even complain when he was too busy being fucked within an inch of his life. But oh what a wonderful life that had been.

Apparently, Lappland had won the fight for the honor of walking him down the aisle. She had bought a suit and had promptly screamed at him when she found out that Texas was going to be the bridesmaid—as he had predicted beforehand.

“She’s crazy,” W panted at the training room. He had to agree, Lappland had been absolutely brutal when she had been goaded into a competitive mode. She trounced both W and Midnight as easily as hot knife slicing through butter. “Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be the priest.”

“You’re not even legally cut out to be a priest,” Midnight quipped. “Let alone logically.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she slapped his arm, and declared that she would be the one to witness their vows. “I arranged the marriage, so what I say, goes.”

“I feel like this isn’t even my wedding in the first place,” he commented dryly. “This is more of you playing house with us as the real-life dolls.”

She smiled and patted his cheek with sweaty hands. “It’s good that you finally realized that.”

Midnight had claimed his place as the “entertainer” in the wedding. “I can sing, and I was a host. I’m the perfect one-man entertainer that you need in your wedding,” he said with a reassuring tone, which wasn’t reassuring at all.

The preparation was hectic for such a small wedding, and Flamebringer had never, not even once, thought that he would be here to witness people fussing left and right over his wedding. He looked at Executor across the room, doing his own training with the other snipers. W should be there as well, but she was currently too busy asking for a rematch with Lappland—who had just emerged from the door after buying drinks.

He thought, this was needlessly messy and stressing, and it wasn’t going to be a proper and conventional wedding anyway. But, looking at Executor’s sturdy back as he shot target after target, and feeling his heart flipped when the Sankta suddenly turned over and smiled at him, it was more than enough.

On the morning of their wedding, Executor woke him up abruptly. He was startled when he felt that his body was shaken rather urgently, thinking to himself that it wasn’t even six in the morning according to his body clock. He rubbed at his eyes, and finally followed Executor’s insistent hand.

“What—“ a yawn cut him off, and he sniffed a little bit more before he realized how rigid and distressed Executor was. The remaining sleepiness immediately left him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Samuel, come on, talk to me.”

Executor didn’t immediately answer, trying to calm down with each exhale and inhale. When he looked into Flamebringer’s eyes, he was shocked to see fear in those pale blue irises. His heart went to his throat; his anxiety suddenly went through the roof because what exactly had made Executor afraid?

“Samuel,” he called again, softer this time, grasping the man’s fingers in his and kissing the back of his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever you’re worried about, I’ll be here. It’s okay.”

It took a long time to coax Executor. When he finally spoke, Flamebringer was torn between punching his defined jaw and kissing him senseless.

“I had been worrying about the possibilities of me being unable to proceed with the wedding in orderly fashion,” he said. Flamebringer had noticed this since a long time ago, but the more nervous or pressured Executor was, the more it manifested into his formal speech pattern. “I might make terrible mistakes, both in general practicalities and the vows, as well. There might be something unpleasant that comes suddenly in the middle of our wedding. These thoughts kept me awake for a good few hours, so much so that I am unable to cope with it. I apologize that I have disturbed your resting time.”

He chuckled in disbelief. He couldn’t—god, this man was terrible for his heart. He kissed him, hard. Trying to convey his feelings and how much he loved him. Executor was still so rigid, before he gradually loosened and returned the kiss with the same fervor; almost like he was afraid that the moment they stopped kissing, Flamebringer would tell him that he wasn’t going to take the vows.

“You’re not good for my heart,” he told him. “You’re okay. You’re more than okay for me. You’re everything I have ever wanted these last few years, alright? The wedding is just some grand party that W wanted to have because she’s a little bitch that way. But I don’t need a wedding, or even a marriage, to want you to be by my side however long we can. Alright?”

Executor exhaled against his lips, closing his eyes and holding on tight to Flamebringer. It made his heart ache, that he was trusted enough to see this moment of weakness. For him, his head reminded. He was worried because he was afraid he wouldn’t be a good groom for him. An Executor who knew what he was doing, and was confident and calm was fucking sexy—but this? This honest, so very humane Executor was even more lethal. He couldn’t even think straight with all the affection he had felt in his chest.

“You’re such a dumbass, Samuel,” he said, so very softly that he was almost embarrassed by how indulgent he sounded.

“Takes one to know one,” Executor replied, and kissed him again.

He went to Mostima to get his hair styled, while Executor had obediently followed W to wherever they were going. He didn’t know, he was too busy being cooed at by Croissant and Sora, as Mostima very carefully coifed his hair into a softer hairstyle than his usual rugged appearance.

“Your hair is rather wavy,” she said, putting a few strands on the front while keeping the rest of them neatly behind his ear. It was similar to his usual style just more… appropriate for a wedding. “You look pretty with the dress, by the way.”

Exusiai was busy coaxing Texas into her dress, with numerous promises of snacks and food that he would buy for her. Anything, as long as she got in the damned dress. She didn’t curse, of course, typical of Sanktas. But he was pretty sure she was close to that because Texas had been stubborn since she found out that Lappland was going to walk him down the aisle. The bridesmaid and she would be next to each other, as the result. He grinned, letting the two other girls prattled about his dress and shoes. Let them be, he thought, it was fun seeing other people suffered for once.

When she was done, Mostima had run off for a few minutes before coming back with W in tow. She had worn a back-less black dress that matched her eyes so well. He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You want to be my priest in that?”

“I’m unconventional,” she waved away his comment, and opened the box she was holding,pulling out a long veil with flowers embroidery on it. She gave it to Mostima, who proceeded to secure it to his hair with a few help from a few clear-colored bobby pins. W had looked at him with serene face, eyes soft and sad at the same time.

She touched the side of his face, caressing his jaw with long, manicured fingers. “What a pretty groom,” she whispered. There was something else in her eyes, and he thought he understood. He looked at her, twirling slowly so she could see him in the entirety of the wedding dress and veil. She gave him a satisfied nod afterwards; face hardening into its usual confidence state after the fragile moment between them was broken.

“Good,” she said. “He’s already in the wedding venue. He looks green, that’s fucking unattractive if you ask me. You sure you still want to marry this bumbling idiot?”

“Sadly, yeah,” he said with a grin.

“Whipped-ass motherfuckers,” she cursed under her breath.

Texas visibly tensed when Lappland entered the room, and deadass gaped at Texas for a good minute, before remembering where she was and what she was supposed to do. Texas was ignoring her studiously.

“Ah,” she said when she saw Flamebringer, a faux pout on her lips. “You sure you wanna marry him? You’re too pretty for him, Enkaku.”

He rolled his eyes at the same question. “Shut the fuck up. You’re just as bad as this fuckface right here.”

Both of the fuckface looked at each other then, and laughed quietly. Mostima took over, and handed him a bouquet of beautifully arranged velvet roses in navy color. They were simple and elegant, contrasting starkly on his all-white attire. He heaved a deep breath, and exhaled it. He was a little bit nervous, but he also wanted to see Executor so bad.

“Alright,” he said, and took Lappland’s offered arm in his. “Let’s get this shit done.”

The heels Midnight had given him clacked against the metal floor of Rhodes Island. They were comfortable on his feet, and he knew that they looked pretty on him. He was beautiful, assured, and looked ready to terrorize a wedding into submission, and he knew it. They walked in confident strides, with Lappland next to him and W on the other side. All the Logistic Penguins followed behind in a line of two.

When they neared the vicinity of the venue, W had walked on the front to take her supposed place on the altar as the priest. He still couldn’t believe the audacity of that motherfucker.

“Ready?” he heard Lappland whispered, her fingers squeezing over his for a moment.

He nodded imperceptibly. “More than anything.”

And yet, when they entered through the opened door, his breath was knocked roughly out of his lungs. He gripped Lappland’s arm tighter in his because—because. Fuck.

Seeing Executor in the black suit for the first time was already enough to fuck him over twice and more. But seeing him there, standing next to the Doctor in his damned black suit, with his hair trimmed and slicked back neatly, a fucking cross earring—he wanted to kiss and murder W at the same time—was a whole different thing entirely.

He gritted his teeth, and walked with his head poised high, his back straight as he smirked at Executor from under his veil. It was empowering, to see the little ticks on Executor’s face when he saw him in his wedding dress. The way he swallowed around nothing, the grit of his jaw, the slight tensing of his shoulders. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only affected by this. But it was just the way that Executor was standing there, and he walking there as well, to exchange their vows that for a moment Flamebringer was sure that this was his mere imagination, and that he would wake up alone in his bed.

But when Lappland and he stopped at the stair to the altar, and Executor offered his hand to his; as he looked back at Lappland, who smiled softly and brushed her fingers on the diamond in the middle of his choker, that she had given, mouthing “Go,” to him; when he grasped the warm hand in his and took the final step to the altar; standing in front of Executor as two grooms who were about to be married at last—it was real, everything was real, and Flamebringer was breathless from the reality of this moment.

He looked around, and found that most of the operators he knew were there. Not all of them, as several operators were in missions, or were in holidays, or were manning the ship because Rhodes couldn’t take care of herself just because there was a wedding today. They looked as apprehensive as him, as nervous and excited.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Executor smiled at him, soft and small.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and every crevice in-between,” W started, and Flamebringer fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Today, we are here to witness the unity of these two stupid motherfuckers who danced around each other for far too long. I think it’s about time we take a break from their disgusting pining and wed them properly.”

Midnight had loudly sobbed into his handkerchief at the front row. Kal’tsit, who sat next to him, looked so disgusted that he pitied what she might do to Midnight later. But when the man lifted his eyes, they were red around the rim, Flamebringer quirked a helpless smile when the man gave him a watery smile and thumbs-up. The audience were laughing at W’s words, and he suspected that it was a sentiment that was shared beyond their table—the exasperation about their pining.

“For nearly five years now, we had witnessed the story of these two individuals. Today, we have arrived at the biggest chapter of their life yet. We are here to give them blessings and wishes, as well as hopes, for them.”

She offered her hand then, which both Executor and he took. They held each other’s hand as W laid a silk tie between them. The hall was quiet then, and Flamebringer could hear Lappland’s heartbeat next to him, Doctor’s bated breath next to Executor.

“Samuel and Enkaku,” W started in solemn, serene voice. “I bid you to look into each other’s eyes.”

He looked up, and even behind the soft curtain of the veil, he could see the happiness radiating from Executor’s eyes. He smiled; he wanted to hold him close, wanted to kiss him and tell him that he looked like an idiot, but he was his endearing idiot nonetheless. The corner of Executor’s lips quirked up as if he could read Flamebringer’s mind.

“Will you honor and respect one another, and seek to never break that honor?”

“We will,” they answered in unison, voice harmonized, entwined with each other. W took the ends of the tie, and draped it over their hands once more.

“Will you share each other’s pain and seek to ease it?”

“We will.” The tie was draped for the third time to signify the binding that had been made.

“Will you share the burdens of each so that your spirits may grow in this unison?”

“We will.” The tie draped over their hands for the fourth time, binding them tighter still. It was a testament to their self-control that they had sounded so steady and calm, while the raging desire in each other’s eyes were all they could see.

“Will you share each other’s laughter, and find the brightness of life in each other’s heart, despite the dark and dreary world?”

The room waited with bated breath at the last of W’s vows, and Flamebringer gave Executor a grin before they both said, “We will.”

W draped the tie for the last time, and tied each of the ends together. “And so the binding is made.”

He heard several soft gasps around the room and grasped Executor’s hand tight in his.

“You may exchange your own vows, now,” W said, and stepped back as Flamebringer and Executor walked closer to each other.

Which was also the moment when the floor suddenly wobbled.

Executor caught him when he slipped as the ship rocked harshly, and abruptly stopped in its track. Above them, the announcement from the intercom blared loud and clear. “To all citizens of Rhodes Island, be ready at your respective battle stations. Multiple threats had been detected, requesting immediate deployment.”

Flamebringer leaned back against Executor’s chest and groaned, loudly. “Motherfucker,” he cursed out, and everyone seemed to share the same sentiment.

They only had a few seconds of reprieve, though. For someone to actually approached the moving city itself was alarming, to know that there were several groups that had tried to threw them off track was even more dangerous. They all moved under Doctor’s direct orders, going to their respective battle stations.

He untied the silk tie from their hands, and tied it to Executor’s arm instead. “I’m going to get bloody down there, you keep it, alright?”

“Enkaku,” W growled behind him. “Don’t you fucking dare getting blood on that dress.”

He threw her a wide grin as he reached for both of his swords. Midnight had come with his sword belt, and put it over his wedding dress. Lappland’s pocket knife was strapped to his back pocket, hidden from view. Doctor had looked at him with a resigned face when he saw that he was getting ready in his wedding dress and heels.

“What?” he said. “You want me to get down there naked?”

“Never mind,” the Doctor had sighed. “Don’t die alright? This is your wedding day, after all. You can’t let me pay so much for the catering only to disappear even before we cut the cake.”

He laughed, and patted his cheeks before following the other guards onto the frontline. He looked back one last time to see Executor hauling his guns and fuck him, he looked absolutely stunning in his black suit and guns. Flamebringer might be developing a kink right now. The man then turned, and mouthed, “Be safe,” to him. He saluted at his husband and went down.

He was giddy. They hadn’t exchanged their complete vows, hadn’t even kissed to seal the deal, but he was already his husband. And I am his husband, he realized with a laugh. Midnight had looked at him like he was losing his mind. Which, he might be. He couldn’t believe they actually got attacked on his wedding day. For the nth time, W was right. This dress was easy access indeed: to fuck and fight.

The battlefield was messy. Operators fighting on the ground and staying alert on the ships as the enemies tried to get past them into the nomadic city. Doctor was barking out orders at them through the comm., and Flamebringer ripped off his veil to tie it around the hilt of his sword. It looked good there, white and beautiful against the sharp metal. He would get it bloody in no time, just like his dress.

For someone who had never fought in dress and heels, he fought rather admirably, he thought. Granted, the dress was a jumpsuit to begin with, but he still got the train on and only remembered to pull it off as he beheaded an enemy in front of him. Someone pulled the train before he could detach it, and a bullet went past him to lodge in the skull of the enemy. W’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Listen,” she growled. “I don’t give a fuck if this is a general channel. Reroute the channel if you want, Doctor, but my boy toys haven’t finished their vows, and I wanted them to do it now.”

He swung his sword and drove the other into someone’s eyes, laughing like he hadn’t been in a while; wild, unrestrained, skirting the edge of insanity. “You’re batshit crazy,” he told her through the comm. “You’re gonna get us all killed, fuckface.”

“Exactly,” she said, and she sounded so terrible that Flamebringer wanted to kiss her. He loved Executor, but there was just a brand of insanity that W possessed that he had admired up until this day. “Before either one of you get killed, fucking finish the vow.”

Doctor sighed into the comm, and said, “Reroute to channel seven if you don’t want to hear them continuing their wedding, right in the middle of a battle—I swear to god—“

He was cut off by a voice that sounded so much like Kal’tsit. “Just get on with it.”

She had sounded so calm, and threatening that no one dared to complain. Midnight shouted at him, and he swiveled to the left before punching a solar plexus, and sliced through soft flesh with his swords. He focused his eyes on the battlefield as he said, “You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hands.”

Flamebringer rolled over from a chainsaw, and thrust his sword to someone’s jugular, spraying blood all over his neck. His dress was more or less ruined now, but he felt exhilarated and invincible when Executor’s voice crackled through the comm line.

“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.”

The battle raged around them, shouts and exclaims were heard as pained grunts and moans joined in the harmony. In the middle of the chaos, he smiled serenely and crushed someone’s future with the unforgiving bend of his blade.

“I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.”

He heard someone’s choked voice over the comm., and grinned against the back of a dead man. He threw the dead weight off, and ran to the other end where the enemies had swarmed.

“And the eyes into which I smile in the morning,” Executor’s answering pledge travelled through his ears; he sounded like he was moving around. He was probably scouring the vantage position.

“I pledge to you the first bite from my meat.”

“And the first drink from the cup.”

He groaned when an arrow nicked his arm, rolling to avoid more arrows coming to their area. From afar, he had seen that the enemies’ horde had been thinning on their front. He didn’t know about the other area. He exhaled, and hid behind a defender to regroup his thoughts. He sighed into his comm., and realized that the cuffs of his pants were completely red. He chuckled at that. And moved along with the defender when she signaled him to the enemy on the left.

“I pledge to you my living and dying,” he said, and thrust his katana right into the heart of the woman in front of him. “Equally in your care.”

“And tell no strangers our grievances,” Executor said, and fired a shot. There were screams in the background, ones that Flamebringer could hear it himself even without the comm.

He heaved a pant, and growled as he held his sword on the enemy’s attack. “This is my wedding vow to you,” he almost screamed it out loud as he strained with the effort to overthrow the hulking enemy. Midnight came to his rescue a moment later, raining arts attack on the enemy surrounding them.

As he heard Executor’s breath, he smiled and hacked the head off the enemy’s shoulder, and confidently turned to where he knew Executor must have been. He had deducted his position from the echo of the gunshot and screams he had heard earlier.

He exhaled a bloody breath, and said in the same heartbeat as Executor’s, “This is a marriage of equals.”

He didn’t even turn when a bullet went past him, and killed the enemy behind him with terrifying precision. He smiled, and knew that Executor had seen him, because he could saw the figure in black suit standing on a platform of the ship. He was a sniper who worked better in close range, he knew that. Knew that he was also absolutely brutal in battles to make up for the disadvantage in range.

There were a few cheers heard in the comm., and then W’s voice came through—tired and content. “Through light and darkness, through deaths and afterlives, I now unite you under the vows of the damned, as lovers in life and demise. Now fucking kiss.”

He laughed, and he heard Executor’s scoff too, he thought. But he couldn’t be sure. The Doctor’s voice came in then. “Amen,” he said. “Now that you’re husband and husband, can we get back on track?”

The battle lasted for another two hours after that, with the majority of it actually cleaning the stray enemies. Bayonetting, so to speak. Their numbers had been many, but they were rather uncoordinated and had attacked sloppily. It was just a matter of endurance, before they weeded out every last one of them. Midnight slumped next to him on the ground after they were done. He was hurt minimally, but he got scratches all over him and his bloody wedding dress.

“W will kill you,” Midnight said when he saw the veil on Flamebringer’s sword.

“She hijacked the comm. and delayed Doctor’s orders just so I can exchange vows,” he reminded the man. “She doesn’t get to say shits about what I did in battles.”

The man shrugged. “Well, no one objected because the instructions were clear since the start anyway. They weren’t expert assassins. I think W wouldn’t ask for such things if we were in imminent danger.”

He was right, of course. The battle had lasted for about four hours, and even if he was tired by the end of it, it was because the sheer number of the enemies, not because they were incredibly skilled that he couldn’t handle them. He killed more than two dozen alone, and it said something about the enemy’s commander who had sent their troops without certainty of victory.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Executor’s voice in his comm. “Enkaku,” he had called, and his eyes automatically swept the battlefield for the sign of the groom. He found him striding to his direction, looking for all of him a murderous angel with his black suit and guns. Flamebringer might or might not have been getting hard inside his wedding dress. The adrenaline, complete with how fucking ravishing Executor had looked—it really was a small wonder.

He got up on trembling legs; maybe fighting with heels was a bad decision, after all. But his boots were all the way in his room, and it really was a testament to Midnight’s taste that he was actually trembling more from exertion rather than the pain from the heels. They had felt soft and unrestricting on his feet, and he was used to moving in such tall pumps.

He gave his husband a lopsided grin, and sighed into his embrace when Executor’s strong arms enveloped him. He mourned the pristine suit as it was stained with blood from Executor’s skin and dress now. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Executor had pulled back and held him close by the hips, cupping his face as he talked in steady, deep voice around an old language that Flamebringer had been learning these past few months.

“Complete your vow,” he said, and Flamebringer wanted to kiss him so bad that he vibrated with the sheer desire of it.

His eyes were alight, painting his face in an unholy glow as he stood there in his bloody dress, his swords by his side as his hands reached out to rest on Executor’s jaw. His hair was a mess, there were specks of blood on the side of his face and neck, and he had never seen Executor looked that in love with him. Not like this; not with the way he looked so intensely into Flamebringer’s eyes with pale blue eyes that had looked so cold, and burned ichor on his skin. Not with the way he held Flamebringer like he was ready to kneel in front of him, and betray the whole universe if Flamebringer ever wished him to do so.

His voice was a low whisper, secretive, sacrilegious. “And when the time comes, you’ll take me to the death’s altar and throw the reaper my remains. You’ll give him my soul, and promised yourself next, so you can save my rotten heart for yourself.” He smiled when Executor tightened his hold on his hips, fingers clenching against the side of his face.

And when he completed the vow, saying in solemn voice his devotion and crushing pledge, Flamebringer had vowed along with him his whole life, his death and reborn; his sins and confessions.

“And when my time comes, I will give your heart and mine to God’s cold mercy. So I can take your hand, and be with you in the void of afterlife,” Executor had said, and smiled at him so sincerely that Flamebringer’s heart started hurting.

He gripped the binding silk tie on Executor’s arm, and pulled him in to kiss him; hard, dirty. The smell of blood was still in his nose, the operators around them had watched the old language poured from their lips, and the day was starting to end from the line of the horizon.

Flamebringer sighed into Executor’s mouth, and laughed when he felt the man’s smile against his lips.

“Hey,” he said, opening his eyes to look at the man he had loved so dear and whole. “Husband.”

And when Executor had swept away the hair from his face, rubbing the speck of blood on his cheek with eyes so tender, saying, “Hello, husband,” Flamebringer could do nothing but fell deeper.

So, if someone actually asked when they started dating, Flamebringer would honestly say, “Fuck, I don’t even remember.”

But if someone asked him how it ended, he would grin and looked at the ring on his finger, and said, “Pretty damn good, actually.”

#arknights #Trouvaille 2020 #shiki writes #from ao3 #exeflame #executor #flamebringer #mostima #W arknights #lappland #midnight arknights #wedding fic

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