#yes this is shippy nonsense yes im living my truth

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

boethiah/trinimac lol

He's growing on me, Trinimac thinks miserably, stroking back Boethiah's hair. The notion has a few meanings. For one, Boethiah loves to lay on him as of late, climbing about him like a creeping vine until they're all entangled with one another; for two, Boethiah's greatly increased in power since they first met, no doubt due to Trinimac's patient tutoring; for three, Trinimac's just grown damnably fond of the Padomaic. They're supposed to be training at swords, but after spending so long pummeling each other into dust Trinimac's fallen to the ground and Boethiah's made himself quite comfortable atop him, chin resting on his chest, peering up at him with the most frustrating mockery of a grin.

For the most part their little affair is a secret, but out here, somewhere in a half-formed meadow on the edges of the Grey Maybe, they're lonely enough that they can be affectionate. It's a pleasant change of pace-- here, in this company, Trinimac doesn't have to care about appearance or stature. He needs not stand tall and proud, because Boethiah will only try to swat him down if he does. He need not wear Auri-el's gildings like an albatross, or take pains to make sure he looks proper, and indeed, his skin is pale grey today, ashy beneath Boethiah's roaming bruise-covered hands. Even his demeanour is relaxed, his words casual and unpretentious, and he does not fear to use words such as want or desire or whatever coarse, crude, Padomaic turns-of-phrase would get him laughed at in court.

Behind Boethiah's head, concepts-not-yet-sentient blossom in stunning auroras, forming a breathtaking backdrop for the dark spirit. "You should smile more often," Trinimac murmurs.

Boethiah cocks his head to the side, leaning his face into Trinimac's hand there. "You should give me more things to smile about."

"Have I given you something to smile about now?"

Boethiah's grin broadens, and he turns his head, kissing Trinimac's palm. Trinimac is without his armour today, and Boethiah takes advantage of the vulnerability by touching him all over.

They are not always lovers. They argue sometimes, bitterly, and Trinimac loves Auri-el too dearly to ever be devoted to another, and Boethiah has an awful tendency to grow bored. They understand this in each other, however. Trinimac is not jealous when he sees Boethiah trying to woo Azura. He's sure Boethiah isn't jealous when he himself dances with the other Anuics. The only exception to this is Lorkhan, but it is not jealousy that pains them over Lorkhan, for jealousy is too small and frivolous for someone like Lorkhan; at any rate, they never mention Lorkhan, unless their arguments grew bitter indeed. Nonetheless, Trinimac appreciates these moments when they can agree to abide each other, and highly appreciates when that abiding takes this form. He likes how Boethiah touches him, as if captivated by the differences between them. He likes it most when Boethiah can't seem to find those differences. When he and Boethiah spend hours together, searching in vain for those differences, he likes it very, very much.

"So?" Trinimac presses, "What did I give you to smile about?"

Today is one such day of few differences, he thinks, for his ashy skin is nearly the same shade as Boethiah's dusky hands, one of which is now splayed across his chest, the other wrapped around the hand he holds to Boethiah's face.

"You think I'm going to tell you?" Boethiah teases him, smiling still. "No, let's make a game of it. You tell me why I smile."

"A game? You're spending too much time with that scion of Lorkhan's."

"Don't blame Clavicus for your being boring. That's Auri-El's doing."

Trinimac tugs at Boethiah's long hair. He wears it loose today, against the brilliance of the birthing spirits above them it's dark as ink. "I didn't say I won't play," Trinimac points out.

Boethiah's smile broadens and he kisses Trinimac's palm once again. "So guess. Why do I smile, Auri-el's champion?"

Trinimac arches his head back, staring hard at the sky as if deep in thought. "Hmmm," he says, drawing it out.

"Well?" Boethiah creeps fowards. Trinimac can see the red glint of his eyes near the base of his vision.

"What makes you smile, Boethiah? You like violence. Perhaps you smile because you got to duel me today, and you nearly won."

"I did win."

"The rules of Honour state--"

"The rules of Honour only exist because you hate losing to me. I had you on the ground crying mercy. I won. Anyway," Boethiah leans forwards, pressing his forehead to Trinimac's, and that inky hair of his falls around them like a shroud, "That's not why I'm smiling."

"Perhaps you're smiling because it is a beautiful day," Trinimac offers. "And this is a pleasant moment in the Grey Maybe."

Boethiah pulls an exaggerated face. "How simple do you think I am? I'm no lover of Kyne's, I don't grow giddy for the weather."

"I don't think you're simple at all," Trinimac says, and he means it.

"I'm not smiling about the weather."

"I know."

It's just the two of them in here, blocked off from the world by Boethiah's hair, as if he's created a tiny realm for only them. Trinimac, reaches up and takes a handful of those inky locks, creating a breach through which a cool wind blows.

"You never mentioned my prize," Trinimac points out.

"Hm?"

"A game needs a prize. What do I get if I win?"

Boethiah blinks, considering that. "What do you want?"

"I do not want--"

"Oh, shut up, Trinimac. You do want! You desire more strongly than anyone I know." Boethiah says it with ire, but he's grinning still, and he presses his nose to Trinimac's cheek. "Tell me what you want as a prize."

"Hmmm."

"Accursed stubborn beast! Fine," Boethiah nuzzles his cheek, "If you cannot guess why I smile, I win the game, and I deserve a prize. Since I am not repressed as you, I can say there's a great many things I desire."

"What do you desire, Boethiah?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, because you're doing terribly so far, and I'm sure to win."

Trinimac guides Boethiah's gaze back to his own and looks at him seriously. Boethiah's body is hot and heavy on his, heavy as guilt, because Boethiah has a point: Trinimac desires far too much for someone in Auri-el's court, and at no point is it more obvious than when Boethiah touches him. Boethiah has this damnable propensity to awaken in him feelings he'd discarded in the dawn of the dawn era: greed, a want of praise, a need for glory, a craving for triumph and a desire to win. This latter desire to win, burning hot in his chest beneath Boethiah's palm that lays between their bodies, prompts him to participate in this silly game a little longer-- his brow creases and he gives it real thought.

"You're smiling because I look foolish," Trinimac supposes, "Lying on the grass like-- what do you always call me?"

Boethiah laughs. "A bearskin rug. And you do look foolish, but you always look foolish, and I am not always smiling. That's not the reason."

"You're smiling because you're under the impression you won our duel."

"I did win our duel, and I've already said it's not that."

"You're smiling because something pleasant happened to you lately?"

"Hmm, not quite."

"You're smiling because you had a nice breakfast."

Boethiah laughs again, and it's a terribly beautiful sound, such that Trinimac wouldn't mind losing this game if only to hear it again. "You're bad at this!" And he kisses Trinimac's cheek.

"Yes, probably." Trinimac tangles a hand in Boethiah's hair, and considers for a long moment.

Boethiah kisses his cheek again. "Well?"

"I've got it!" Trinimac uses his grip on Boethiah's hair to guide their gazes together again. "I know why you smile."

Boethiah tilts his head into Trinimac's palm. "Why is it?"

"You smile because you're happy."

An expression of incredulity crosses Boethiah's face, and he stares at Trinimac for so long that Trinimac is convinced he must have won, and that Boethiah is utterly surprised by that.

Glowing with triumph, he taps Boethiah's cheek. "That's it, isn't it?"

"That..." Boethiah's brow furrows, "Technically, yes, I smile because I'm happy, but-- that doesn't count!"

"Yet it's the reason you're smiling! I win."

"But you haven't determined the reason I'm happy, which was the whole point of the game!"

"The game was to say why you're smiling. Those were the rules. See? I hang out with Clavicus too."

"You're terrible!" Boethiah goes to get up, but Trinimac pulls him down, and he doesn't resist; despite the feigned ire, Boethiah is smiling still, and when he hides his face in Trinimac's shoulder, Trinimac fancies he even hears laughter, and feels a hot glowing mirth wash over him like a pleasant wave.

"I win, I win," Trinimac sings out. "I get the prize!"

"You won on a technicality! Again!"

"A win is a win is a win, Boethiah! You must be mindful of the rules."

"The rules are made for idiots like you, who cannot succeed without them!"

"Who's the idiot, vanquished foe?"

Boethiah nips him on the neck, only to kiss the spot apologetically, and then he props himself up so that he's looking into Trinimac's face again; there's a certain softness there, between the two of them, and when Trinimac cups Boethiah's face any pretense of competition melts away.

They are the same in this-- they both crave victories, but a life of fighting grows hard and painful. This tenderness makes better warriors of them both, Trinimac reasons. Though it's a secret, and though Auri-el would hate to know of it, the secret-keeping is in itself a game, a game with as sweet a prize as any.

"So," Boethiah murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. "What reward do you want, cheat?"

"I'll think of something in a minute," Trinimac replies. Truthfully, he'll probably drag it out as long as he can, spend hours trying to come up with something, knowing fully well that Boethiah will stay with him until he does.

He pauses, and then looks at Boethiah with a genuine curiosity. "Actually, I want to know the answer you sought. Why are you smiling?"

He had expected resistence, but Boethiah's expression softens, and he slips a hand up, resting a finger beneath Trinimac's chin.

 "Because you've been smiling this whole time,” says Boethiah, “And it's beautiful to look upon."

"Oh. I have?"

Boethiah kisses him, and he finds that, for once, the Padomaic has told the truth: with his lover's mouth on his, Trinimac feels clearly that his face is stretched so wide in a grin that he can hardly return the kiss, and the aching in his cheeks tell him that he's been beaming all this time.

"See?" Boethiah whispers against Trinimac's ear when they break away, "You were smiling. You should smile more often."