Archive of Our Own ^beta

The steady ebb and flow of Vessel’s renewed life leaves the young god unfazed and quite comfortable in his new role. Vessel’s companions — the monsters and men alike who were willing to give up everything for Vessel’s cause and for Sleep’s dream — have followed their new king’s example and have grown accustomed to their new roles and homes, III and IV have chosen to reside in the castle as opposed to returning to their frowzy and unstable bases, monster kind and humans can now intermingle with each other with no more ‘historical’ misunderstandings or racial biases, Vessel has grown confident in his authority — his future — with his days to come as the new king of Dormiveglia, and II remains strong by Vessel’s side.

II. Vessel sighs. 

“Something on your mind, little god?” A silky voice echoes thrice in Vessel’s eardrums, as the smooth clink of the serpent’s scales sliding together reverberates throughout her tail.

The Serpent of Desire — Vore, as II had dubbed her; Sleep’s second vessel having been the only one of the four of them that the demoness had allowed close enough to her to be convinced to join Vessel’s ranks. To this day, Vessel still remains clueless as to what it was that II had talked with her that convinced the demoness to such a dramatic extent — lays stretched out underneath the sun’s rays in the castle’s gardens, her long body almost fully uncoiled next to the king’s smaller form. The two of them are seated on the steps of one of the garden’s many gazebos, Vore having managed to seduce Vessel into accompanying her during one of her numerous sunbathing rituals; it’s a beautiful day, and the demoness simply wouldn’t accept ‘no’ as a proper answer. 

The two serpentine appendages that sprout from Vore’s shoulder blades are quiet as they rest, fully draped over the gazebo’s painted railings as the two indulge in each other’s company. They must be awake, however, as Vore’s siren-like voice maintains that eerie echoing quality that continues to haunt Vessel’s waking moments spent sitting before his grandiose piano. Her bladed arms twitch idly every now and again, and any of the sun’s rays that aren’t immediately blocked by the gazebo’s shade cast Vore’s horns and hands in a soft light, the soft glow that envelopes her appendages makes her more monstrous bits somehow seem softer, more angelic if Vessel was truly blind and naïve. 

“Yes,” Vessel answers with ease, knowing better than to try and lie to the woman draped beside him, “I have been doing a lot of thinking lately.”

“Oh! You silly, silly little mortals.” Vore laughs, though it’s a sound that greatly contrasts her speaking voice as it grates unpleasantly over Vessel’s hearing. “Always so consumed with the senseless little ideations that plague your fragile little minds. Well? Go on now. Tell me every little thought that’s crossed your mind, little E̵̩̗͊̒ů̵̠̲͎̪̚c̸̯͍̺͋l̶̜̺͒̇̈i̸͉̤͑ḋ̶̤̭̳̍͋.”

(It doesn’t escape Vessel how much Vore seems to enjoy flaunting her utterly massive size over her companions; is this why she seems to adore his beloved advisor so much?)

Vessel cants his head towards the serpent beside him, watching as she readjusts so that she’s wrapped partially around Vessel’s back like a cat vying for attention. The cold metal of the demoness’ body armor presses against Vessel’s royal robes and warmed skin with a slight sting from the differences in temperature—even with the sun shining brightly above the demon, Vore’s body still remains cold despite the sun’s insistent kisses against her scales and armor. She’s grinning down at Vessel now, the haunting pearly white of her sharp fangs brushing against the ivory of Vessel’s mask as she gently presses her body against Vessel’s back; her more insectoid appendages tap docile against the young god’s waist and sides. 

(Her presence is dangerous, Vessel knows, but he also knows how The Serpent of Desire wouldn’t harm Vessel, not like this. She’s volatile, a force to be reckoned with — of course — but Vessel knows that the demoness’ motivations are much more complicated than the mere desire to kill; she wouldn’t strike maliciously just for shits and giggles, especially not in such a boring setting. Vore is a creature of raw passion, she wouldn’t strike him dead in such a boringly domestic place, not with the two of them simply chatting like old friends. Vore is a woman of dramatics: of passion, love, and glory; it’s not that she doesn’t pose any threat to Vessel like this, it’s more so that Vore simply didn’t see Vessel as an interesting enough morsel despite everything they’ve been through together.)

“My advisor,” Vessel relents with a sigh, watching out of the corner of his eyes Vore visibly grows visibly more excited at the subject of Vessel’s thoughts, “I have been dreaming of my advisor.”

Vore’s numerous pincers tap methodically against Vessel’s cloak, her hum is low and deep — ever echoing in Vessel’s ears like a haunting memory — as her tail rattles against the garden’s trimmed grass in interest. Perhaps Vessel shouldn’t divulge too many intimate details to the demoness beside him, if only for the general safety and wellbeing of his beloved advisor as Vessel knows quite well the ways with which The Serpent of Desire eyes II down, but Vessel trusts in Sleep’s protections and he trusts in his own growing strength as a fledgling god.

“Oh! My favorite little general,” Vore coos with a smile that’s just a little too wide for Vessel to feel fully at peace in the demoness’ presence, “is he well? I used to see him every so often with that tall little pirate of yours — the one that reminds me of C̸̡͍͙̀h̷͎̝͕͋̾o̵̢̘̜͊ḵ̶̪̺͎̆͂̃̅é̷̤͓͈̞̒͛̈́h̵͔̽̀o̵̗̩͇̚͝l̸̢͍͈̽d̶͉̼͍͗̃͌͠, yes? — but I’ve been so deprived of his lovely presence as of late.” She mourns, the serpentine appendages that have slowly started to drift around Vessel and Vore’s bodies hiss quietly after Vore finishes her reminiscing; they feign a wilting motion from where they’ve been slithering about in the air, one of the heads draping itself over Vessel’s knee with another melancholic hiss. 

“Indeed.” Vessel agrees. Despite his senses of self-preservation, one of Vessel’s inked hands reaches out to gently caress the appendage’s head; it feels like a strange concoction of a snake’s scales and a spider’s carapace. “I appreciate his work ethic, especially as our new kingdom continues to flourish and grow, but I’ve come to realize how much I miss his constant presence; it’s humbling, truly.”

II has been Vessel’s treasured advisor since the beginning: when Vessel was nothing more than a tormented prince and II was a scrappy little ruffian that always had a cut brow and a missing tooth; they grew up together, and when Vessel escaped from his own execution and found Sleep, II was there every terrifying step on that unknown path. II has always been there. It’s… strange. II’s absence. The general has abandoned his sword in favor of picking up a fountain pen, once again burying himself in the piles of paperwork that encompass the kingdom’s political and economic affairs. Just like with anything and everything that II seems to set his mind to, the man is determined as he practically slaves over the neverending mountains of paperwork. 

(Vessel had tried to steal away at least a portion of the business forms that II had been hoarding, insisting that the king should be doing his kingly business. But II had been just as stubborn, arguing that the king shouldn’t have to worry about economic proposals and political documents that only needed an official signature, not a royal one—that Vessel shouldn’t have to waste his time with such affairs, not when II was more than capable of shouldering this burden for him. 

Of course, Vessel felt like utter shit when III had found them both in Vessel’s study, barely allowing himself to be whisked away by the rouge after having blown a more than obnoxious kiss towards II, still buried behind the piles of paperwork still waiting for II’s official stamp of approval. 

Vessel knows that II is stubborn, it’s part of the reason why they’re both still alive in all honesty. Though, with equal amounts of brutal honesty, Vessel sometimes wished that II would allow himself more slack.)

“Oh my,” Vore croons, the bulk of her tail sways gently from side to side, and the ‘neck’ of those twin serpentine heads shudder with an emotion Vessel couldn’t quite perceive, “you’re hungry, little god.”

“Hungry?” Vessel parrots, clearly confused, and the guttural laugh that Vore lets out is a terrifying combination of a hiss, a screech, and a song. 

“Yes,” the demoness hisses, suddenly so close to Vessel’s cloaked ears; her bladed arms and insect appendages prickle against Vessel’s sides, “you hunger, you crave, you desire.”

“But what… what am I so hungry for…?”

“Closeness.” Vore practically purrs, and her whole body seems to shiver from the word alone. “You hunger over the existence of another, you crave something more between your interactions, regardless of the state or status they were left in; you desire something more.”

“I…” Vessel pauses, and Vore allows him the time to gather his thoughts as she knows very well just how strategic the infant god likes to be when indulging in social practices. With the thick smile stretching her monstrous face, one might think she even finds the trait endearing. “No. No, that’s not right.”

Vore’s body armor grinds together menacingly as she straightens up, a loud hiss escaping her open maw like a threat. The twin appendages start to rattle and hiss in unison as they seem to copy their host’s growing aggression. Vessel, however, is unbothered as he continues to think through his complicated emotions, the hand that had been idly stroking the head of the closest appendage lifts just out of its reach as he ponders. The sun begins to set somewhere behind them, Vore’s demonic features losing their faux angelic glow.

“I do hunger, I think.” Vessel starts, his words slow and deliberate as he stares a hole into the garden before them. Vore’s hissing grows quiet, and the serpentine heads are quick to settle down as well, the familiar weight of one head drapes over his leg once again as Vore’s breath spans over the back of Vessel’s hood—a reminder of her presence, and a not-so-gentle request for him to continue. “But we’re already so close, V̶̡̯̩͎̑̄o̴̳̺͆̋̿̚r̵͕̭̟̆͌͒ę̷̛̤̈́̚ͅͅ; I just don’t understand.”

At this gentle admission, Vore visibly relaxes from her previous state of aggression; her claws settle comfortably around Vessel’s frame once again, and her tail curls loosely around his bare ankles in an almost protective posture. To be honest, Vessel isn’t sure what to think of this development, but he’s too far into this topic of discussion for Vore to simply lose interest and let him go. Vessel simply stares at his neatly discarded shoes from where they lay in the grass.

“I think it’s simple, little god,” Vore says, almost haughtily as she smiles, “you simply desire more.”

“More?” 

“Of course!” Vore laughs again, that same screeching laughter from before that has the entire length of her inhuman body shuddering from the weight. “When has a god ever been satisfied with the bare minimum?”

But, again, something about Vore’s statement didn’t sit right with Vessel; he’s never viewed his relationship with II — or III, or IV, or any of his subjects for that matter — as such a selfish, purely transactional thing. They’re more than that, they always have been.

“We worship Sleep, V̶̡̯̩͎̑̄o̴̳̺͆̋̿̚r̵͕̭̟̆͌͒ę̷̛̤̈́̚ͅͅ.” He says quietly instead, as though the demoness needed a gentle reminder. “Besides, I don’t view our relationship as such a transaction. We are not merely a king and his follower. We are… we are simply us.”

Vore’s laughter startles Vessel this time, so loud and boisterous that it causes her tail to flick from side to side, knocking against Vessel’s ankles. Her laughter grates on Vessel’s eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and he visibly flinches away from her tail when the scales scrape against his leg too harshly. 

“That’s the human in you talking, little god.” Vore giggles. “Perhaps the human side of you is content with this silly little game of cat-and-mouse, but the deity in you desires more.”

Vessel ignores the way Vore curls around him tighter in favor of thinking over her words; it’s true, Vessel has only really noticed this dissatisfaction since his ascension to godhood, but couldn’t one argue that it’s because the two of them quite literally fought a war together? But, if that’s the case, then why doesn’t Vessel feel this void regarding his relationships with III and IV? What makes his advisor so special? 

“Besides…” Vore drawls, slow and deliberate as she curls around Vessel’s side to watch what little of his reactions she could see with his hood and mask, “how else is a follower of a deity supposed to know just how special their particular method of worship is if their god doesn’t lay down their divinity and devour them whole? Love is such a raw emotion, little god, something that mortals think they know everything about as they try to take it from their peers, and deities try to fill themselves with it while they know nothing about it. To love is to offer yourself up on a golden platter with your stomach bared, ready to be devoured; to desire is to dream that, one day, it will be you who is the one who shall feast.”

Oh. The idea that II might not even know just how special he is to Vessel hurts his heart in a way that the man cannot even begin to describe. 

“You have an awful lot to say about such a human topic, V̶̡̯̩͎̑̄o̴̳̺͆̋̿̚r̵͕̭̟̆͌͒ę̷̛̤̈́̚ͅͅ.” Vessel whispers, turning his head slightly to the side so that his many eyes might be able to see Vore’s own, as hollowed out and black as they are.

“Of course.” Vore grins, manic and feral in her raw emotions. “Whose stomach do you think R̶̦̝̘̺̽͂́a̴̝̺̅̔͝i̸̼͊n̵͍̻̥͆̽͊’s arms are being so carefully loved and adored in, little god?” 

(Vessel sometimes forgets the history the two of them share: the snake and the maiden, The Serpent of Desire and The Judge of Us. He recalls IV having asked them once if the jagged scars on their back were from wings or something equally holy.

“Arms, my good merchant.” They answered, their voice echoing thrice. “They were my arms.”

“Woah.” Was all IV could say at the time, his eyes wide as he carefully took in the damage with Rain’s consent. 

“They were… a present.”

“Wh-what?”

“Well, maybe not at the time.” Rain giggled, and IV wasn’t sure how to feel about this line of conversation as Rain continued to make the perfect image of a young lovestruck woman. “But, I’ve come to view them as a gift now, from me to her.”

“Her?” IV had asked, his wide eyes unable to resist the urge to drag his eyes over the haunting sight the old teeth and claw marks make as they ran jagged along Rain’s back and sides. It’s a haunting sight; it must’ve been a brutal exchange. 

“My desire.” Rain said, almost wistfully, as if that would clarify every tormented question that was sprinting to the forefront of his mind. “My beloved serpent.”

IV never asked, and Rain never elaborated.

The knowledge that Vore was once human — just as Vessel once was — continues to haunt the empty spaces of his brain in his every waking moment.)

“You may say that your hunger and mine are of a different breed — a more ‘noble’ creature, perhaps, more ‘saccharine’ — but we are still born of the same beast. Your ‘love’ may differ from mine, but your teeth are just as sharp, E̵̩̗͊̒ů̵̠̲͎̪̚c̸̯͍̺͋l̶̜̺͒̇̈i̸͉̤͑ḋ̶̤̭̳̍͋. 

You would be a fool to pretend otherwise and deny yourself such a delicious experience.”

Vessel pauses, mulling the demoness’ words over carefully in his mind. They hold an inhuman weight to them, of course, but the intentions behind them are undeniable. He hums, nodding to himself from underneath his hood. Vore must seem content with the progress of her mental seductions as she slowly loosened the curl her serpentine body had maintained around Vessel’s crouched form, even her appendages started to withdraw from Vessel’s personal space as he continued to contemplate.

“I  desire a turn of the tables, I think.” Vessel decides, and Vore leans back as she watches him with interest in her eyes. “I want to lay down my divinity and worship him. Even if only for the night.”

“The night is your domain, little god.” Vore whispers, the entirety of her body withdrawing from Vessel as she notices him start to get antsy with the weight of his conclusions and his scheming. “You may do with your followers as you wish. Even if your wish is as boring as a mere reversal of duties-“

As soon as The Serpent of Desire has surrendered enough space, Vessel practically jumps off the gazebo’s steps in his hunger to leave.

(In his haste to be with II-)

Vessel spins around on his bare heel, taking in the sight of Vore lounging against the gazebo’s architecture with a lazy, satisfied grin stretching her thin lips. The twin appendages seem to float casually just above her shoulders, mirroring their host’s grin with an equally unsettling one of their own. The borderline threatening image doesn’t bother Vessel, not anymore. 

“I’m going to devour him whole.”

And Vore’s screeching laughter continues to follow Vessel as he bolts out of the gardens, choosing to start the search for his beloved advisor inside the castle’s walls. The beat of his own heart echoes loudly in his ears as his bare feet slam against the tiles of the castle’s flooring, the man having forgotten his shoes back in the garden in his haste, and Vessel quickly makes his way to II’s study.

The Drowned Wisdom — Aqua Regia, as Vessel had dubbed them; the all-knowing alchemist having been one of the first to join Vessel’s ranks. With Vessel’s superior intellect, it was no surprise that the two bonded almost immediately — stood slightly hunched over II’s messy desk, one pair of arms gripping onto the mahogany edge while the other pair was signing quickly in the little space that was left between the alchemist and II; it almost looked as though they were whispering, their gold jewelry and decorations clinking together in a quiet melody as their arms moved. Vessel is silent as he lingers by the doorway, his head cocked to the side as he watches II’s reactions to whatever Aqua Regia must be saying. II’s eyes are narrowed and focused as he watches Aqua Regia speak with a sense of determination. 

‘I will work hard… do my best. Thank you.’ Vessel watches as II slowly signs his gratitude; he’s quick to understand sign language — borderline fluent in understanding it — but II has always had a bit of a disconnect whenever it comes to taking the immaculate details that II’s mind conjures up and translating them into precise, delicate little movements.

II’s normally deliberate motions become tangled up and twisted into each other in all the wrong ways, it’s part of the reason why II struggles with drawing or why II gets frustrated with himself when IV tries to teach him how to play the lute; it’s also part of the reason why II makes such a good soldier, knowing this weakness of his and therefore knowing when to overcompensate the swing of his claymore so that no idiot can so much as scuff his battle armor. It’s endearing, though, watching II communicate with Aqua Regia in this way—knowing how much this means to both the alchemist and the god they all worship.

“Vess-” II speaks up, his voice sounding raw from minimal use like this was the first time he’d spoken since the early hours of the dawn when Vessel saw him last. “My Euclid.” He is quick to ‘correct’.

(And, ah. Suddenly Vessel understands why this void has suddenly opened up in his stomach, where it stemmed from.)

“II.” Vessel greets, nodding his head towards his advisor, his many eyes never breaking eye contact even as he nods towards the deity standing before them both, “A̶͓̦̲̐̆̕q̸̟̤̲̆͋̕u̶̺̫̍͊a̸̮̯̱͆ ̴̢̣̻̿̽͐R̸̞̤̭̾ē̷̟͍g̴̤̻͑͝͝i̶̳̋ȃ̵̩̦͍.”

The beast in question seems to laugh, though the only sound that it emits is the jolly clinking of their gold medallions. Aqua Regia turns away from II’s desk, their shadowed arms moving with a quality akin to water as they prepare to engage Vessel through their apparent glee.

‘ My king: the Kiss of Sleep,’ 

they sign quickly, ‘It is so lovely to see you just as the moon begins her ascent.’

“Yes,” Vessel can’t help but chuckle at the alchemist’s flowered language; his own hands lifting up to sign out of habit—something has always felt wrong about only speaking to Aqua Regia, even though Vessel is well-versed in the language they communicate in, “I hate to cut our interaction so short, my dear friend, but I’m afraid I have some urgent business to speak with my advisor on.”

There’s an unease in the air, and it takes Vessel a moment to realize that this tension is emanating from II. The alchemist slowly shifts to face II once more, tilting their head in an utterly inhuman manner as Vessel catches the slightest hint of too many golden teeth curved into an unsettling smile from beyond the shadowy depths of the deity’s heavy hood. Vessel can just barely hear the sharp inhale of breath from II, followed by an anxious gulp. They stare at each other for a while, Vessel content to see how this interaction plays out. 

(He’s never seen the alchemist regard someone with such playful intentions before, Aqua Regia typically preferring to indulge in intelligent conversations about mortal philosophy or simply exist in silence with no other company but the memory of The Apparition besides them. It’s almost heartwarming, seeing the deity that had once disregarded the concept of human emotions in their entirety indulge in so many of them now.)

The Drowned Wisdom moves closer to II’s desk once more, snatching a blank sheet of paper and a quill with one pair of arms while the other continues to engage Vessel.

‘Of course, of course, my king; I wouldn’t dream of keeping your lovely advisor from you, not when there’s such important official business that must be dealt with.’ Is it possible to psychically feel the effects of sass from sign language? ‘Please spare me just a moment, my good friend, I will be out of reach of your hungry claws in just a moment—just a moment, please.’

Vessel watches as Aqua Regia is quick to put the quill away with a flourish and a small splatter of midnight ink, pushing the paper into II’s hands with the melodic laughter of gold medallions clinking together. It’s childlike, the way the alchemist hunches over II’s desk and continues to push the paper against II’s chest despite it already being in his hands; it’s endearing in a way—it almost looks as though they are holding hands, the giant frame of the alchemist’s hands almost completely overshadowing II’s.

‘It has been lovely speaking with you, my good fellow, thank you for the… exhilarating conversation.’ Aqua Regia signs toward II before facing Vessel, who has been as still as a statue since this whole exchange had started. ‘Thank you for your patience, my king. May the moon love you with her light, and may Sleep kiss you with their grace—yes, yes, good night, good night.’

And without another word, Aqua Regia melts away into the shadows like water. The only indicator that they were ever even in the room was a small puddle of spilled black ink now staining the floor and II’s almost flustered expression as he now looks over the note the mischievous creature had left him. 

“Wh-what…?” II squints his eyes in the darkening room, apparently trying to make sense of Aqua Regia’s note and quite clearly failing. “I’ve always known Aqua Regia to be a creature of wisdom and secrecy, but never of being a little shit— what does this even mean?”

Vessel laughs as he finally breaks away from the doorframe, meandering his way towards his advisor before he flicks his wrist in the direction of the door, a thin tendril reaching out from the darkness to shut the door to II’s study and making quick work of the lock before disappearing just as the alchemist had done mere moments prior. Vessel leans over the back of II’s large chair, taking in the letters and numbers that the Drowned Wisdom was so quick to scribble down.

“C8H11NO2 plus C10H12N2O plus C43H66N12O12S2?” Vessel reads aloud, his six eyes squinting in the darkness just as II’s had done. 

(It’s truly not to the fault of the darkness that steadily blankets the room, Sleep was more than generous in allowing all of their vessels to be able to peer into the darkness with the same clarity of someone reading under the sun; it’s just… Aqua Regia is not known for their… legible script-)

“Dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin.” Vessel ‘translates’, taking a step back from II’s chair as he mentally agrees with II: the alchemist is quite the little shit-

“What does it mean?” II asks again, setting the paper down on top of one of the documents he must’ve been previously reading through. The piles that neatly litter II’s desk have lessened slightly in their amounts, though not by much. 

How long have II and Aqua Regia been chatting?

“It’s a chemical formula.” Vessel explains, slowly making his way so that he would be facing II, now in front of his desk. “Some alchemists say it’s the chemical bonds that will occur in our brains whenever we experience love.”

“...love?” II parrots once more, albeit much quieter this time; he glances back down at the note, the tips of his inked fingers tracing over the sloppy script of the chemical formula with a reverent expression.

“Love.” Vessel repeats, leaning in to place his palms against the cluttered surface of II’s desk. “I… I think it’s time we discussed some things, II.”

There’s a panic that flashes through II’s wide eyes, he looks up towards Vessel but can’t bring the courage to maintain eye contact, and the docile fingers that were tracing over the paper suddenly dig into the parchment, the material loud as it’s crinkled between II’s fingers. Vessel watches with wide eyes as one of his veins — the one that runs horizontally over II’s knuckles and ends towards the tendons that support his wrist, the one that bulges when II swings his claymore a certain way, the one that Vessel just so adores — bulges underneath the sudden exertion and stress.

Vessel is quick to place one of his hands over II’s, worried that his nails might tear through the paper and sear into his own palm with how grey his knuckles have become. The weight of his palm is gentle but firm against the back of II’s hand, a silent order from a king to his subject—loyal to the end, II’s grip relaxes slightly. It’s enough for Vessel.

“Have I… have I done something wrong?” II asks, and the sheer anxiety in his voice is enough to send Vessel’s mind reeling. 

Vessel has never heard his advisor sound so small. Not even when it was time for literal fucking war, and despite Vessel’s elaborate preparations, everyone was scared shitless: the most action III had seen participated in being fistfights between his fellow pickpockets and rogues and that one time when DYWTYLM had mistakenly thought that III was trying to harm Sleep’s sweet prince, whereas IV had only survived drunken tavern brawls and small scuffles with a greedy customer, and Vessel was only ever asked to strategize and prepare and order— not fight. They were ready to lay their lives down for Sleep’s ideologies and Vessel’s dreams, just as the previous III and IV had done before them, but they were terrified.

II was quick to whip them into shape. He improved upon Vessel’s initial strategy with his knowledge of the former king’s castle guards, personally trained his fellow vessels to become more adept at combat, and was even capable enough to employ the military expertise of The Forgotten Embrace, The Tortured Love, and even The Martyr — Ascensionism, Are You Really Okay?, and Granite, as the vessels were allowed to dub them. Deities and monsters of such tremendous military strength that Vessel remembers going to ‘great lengths’ in order to reward his beloved general for his initiation. The young god remembers II had tried his best to employ the additional might of Heaven’s Executioner, The Summoning, but ever since the day the heavens were sliced open and The Apparition was murdered, the demigod has remained determined to pick up the work the fallen deity had left behind, and, knowing that Aqua Regia was close behind Vessel’s lead, The Summoning remained firm in its refusal — and all to whip their forces into shape. Vessel has always credited II with practically taming the untamable, as even after the war was won and Vessel ascended as the newfound king of Dormiveglia, not only were Ascensionism and Are You Really Okay? more than happy to offer themselves to Vessel’s new royal guard, but even the aloof and jaded Granite was willing to make a metaphorical home in II’s shadow. 

Despite the pressure and the stress and the sheer amount of uncertainty that was laid before them, not once did II falter.

So seeing him looking so meek and sounding so fragile does something to Vessel’s heart that he can’t quite comprehend; it’s pitiful, he doesn’t like it, it makes him feel physically ill-

“No.” And Vessel’s voice is so stern that the raw rasp of it surprises the both of them. “...no. No, of course not, II.” Vessel says again, his words more gentle as he presses his palm down against the back of II’s hand more firmly.

“Then…” II trails off, looking so helpless and confused and he stares at the embroidery in his king’s robes, the hidden antlers and eyes and teeth, all the things one might find horrid whereas II finds them to be beautiful and calming. “Then what needs to be discussed, my Euclid?”

Before he can even stop himself, Vessel sighs deeply, and immediately he regrets it with the way II flinches away; his fingers clench harder at the destroyed parchment, and the harsh crinkle of the abused paper rings like alarm bells in Vessel’s head. Determined, Vessel shifts around so that his back is against the edge of the desk, facing II. Carefully maneuvering the stacks of paperwork away from Vessel’s newly claimed section of the desk, the man is quick to hop onto the corner of the structure, twisting his body so that he might still be able to engage II properly. His back, however, remained mostly turned towards the older vessel.

It was a message in its own right, a symbol. As a soldier — hell, even just as a human being with too large of a target hanging over your head, with too little to gain and too much to lose — it’s common knowledge that you don’t turn your back towards those you could not trust. II perhaps knew this better than any of them, living almost the entirety of his life so dedicated to the tides of war and at Vessel’s beck and call. To have his king willingly address him with his back turned slightly, it showed trust— vulnerability; it meant something to II, more than Vessel could try and dissect at this moment.

(Though, not once does Vessel’s hand leave II’s as the young god makes himself comfortable perched on the mahogany corner of II’s desk. While Vessel’s back might be a message in its own right, his hand serves as a reminder—a silent promise.)

“We’ve grown apart.” Vessel admits with a sigh filled with regrets and longing, too tired of this situation to even bother with beating around the bush. II can just barely see the slight mist of Vessel’s numerous eyes behind the shadow of his mask—if not for the soft glow of the moon, II might only see Euclid. But now, with this hint of vulnerability, II realizes he’s speaking with Vessel. “You and I. There’s a chasm between us now, and I fear it grows deeper night by night.”

“Grown apart…?” II stumbles over his words, his blue eyes are wide and panicked as he glances between Vessel and the parchment crinkled between his clammy fingers. “I don’t understand. Is this… is this another alchemy… chemical formula… th-thing?” 

Vessel almost wants to chuckle at II’s almost endearingly lost voice, and he might’ve if it weren’t for the thick tension that’s already grown palpable between them. He remains quiet, calculating as he shifts on the edge of II’s vast desk, turning to better face his advisor as both parties grow increasingly restless.

“No. This is something that I… that I’ve been thinking about for a while now.” Vessel says, his words slow and deliberate as he mentally reads over the script he’s prepared for himself in his head; he can’t fuck this up, they’ve been through too much together for Vessel to fuck things up now. “You address me differently now.”

“Differently?” II is quick to interject, his brain most likely fixating on every little detail Vessel is about to bring up. Vessel doesn’t mind— how could he? The young god has lost count of how many times the two would stay up late in the evenings together when they were still children, the little prince was always so patient whenever II would interrupt him with questions and comments as Vessel worked hard to teach his dear friend how to read both literature and music. It shows II’s enthusiasm for learning, and Vessel would be the biggest hypocrite in all of Eden if he didn’t allow his beloved friend the chance to learn. “I don’t understand, Vess-”

II cuts himself off, and lets the nickname die right on the tip of his tongue; he almost looks guilty about it, as if he’s trying to admonish himself for indulging in a bad habit. Vessel leans in closer, takes II hand in both of his, and takes the time to gently pry the parchment away from the man’s inked fingers. Vessel is gentle as he cradles II’s shadowed hand in between his own, there’s the ghost of a smile as he tries to visibly show II that everything will be okay—everything is okay. II smiles softly in response, Vessel can see the soft shadow of it even as it hides behind the ritualistic mask Sleep had gifted their vessels. 

“That.” Vessel whispers softly to the small space between them, the gentle words barely reaching II’s range of hearing through his mask; he hears Vessel, however, and he continues to hang on to every word his beloved king mutters. Vessel wants to compare the smaller man to a dog sometimes—in moments like these. “You call my name in a different tone—if you even manage to say my name at all.”

Again, II tries to flinch away from Vessel’s grasp on his hand, a guilty flash of hurt haunts those big blue eyes like a ghost Vessel knows too well and dreads all the same. The young god is determined, however, and his blackened hands hold II’s more firmly, keeping the man as close as he possibly can despite the way II looks as though he’s ready to bolt. 

(It was II who wasn’t afraid of the physically jagged scars that crisscrossed over the entirety of his body, but it was Vessel who was no longer afraid of the scarring thoughts that invaded his haunted brain at random intervals throughout the day. They complemented each other like this, made up for each others’ weaknesses with their own strengths like soulmates—II still keeps his mask over his face outside of worship, and Vessel still wears long sleeves.)

“That doesn’t make any sense—of course, I’m going to address you differently, not only are you a literal king now, but you’re a bloody deity too, Vess!”

Vessel closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side in a display of self-indulgence. It feels like it has been fucking aeons since Vessel last heard his favorite nickname for himself said without any silly self-inflicted reprimands or without hearing it partially cut off in favor of addressing him by his full title or something equally as ridiculous. 

“It’s been too long since I’ve last heard you call me that without having to watch you overthink yourself.” Vessel purrs and the sound has II scoffing at his king’s teasing. 

“I call you ‘Vess’ all the time, my king.” II practically pouts, slouching back into his chair with a frustrated groan.

“You used to, yes.” Vessel corrects, and there’s a slight haughtiness to the way he says this that also has II rolling his eyes fondly due to sheer exasperation. The tension that seems to hang thickly in the air between them lightens slightly at the familiarity of their mutual teasing, and Vessel’s own anxieties start to settle down as he watches II’s body language shift towards that of someone interacting with a cherished companion, not of a follower adhering to the wishes of their monarch. “To be perfectly honest with you, I believe my ascension has poisoned your mind with unnecessary worries, my friend.”

The utter force with which II rips his hand away from Vessel’s grasp has the young god grappling with reaffirming his balance so that he wouldn’t tumble off the edge of II’s desk. Sleep’s Second looks furious as he flails about in his desk, the old mahogany structure creaking loudly as II fumes. Vessel remains stunned as he watches II apparently grow sick of being confined to his own chair like a prisoner, the smaller vessel quickly jumping out of his seat in favor of pacing around his study like a restless animal in its cage. Vessel watches, and listens. 

“ Poisoned?! Are you fucking serious? No, no, because of course! Because of course, I’d be the bloody mental one for seeing what roles Sleep has placed for us and trying to follow them to the best of my goddamned abilities!” II vents, the rough sound of the man’s boots stomping against the stone of the floor. 

The threatening sound of it alone is enough for Vessel to slip off the edge of II’s desk, his fists clenched tight as he tries not to allow II’s emotions to overwhelm his own. Vessel continues to watch as II paces around the shadows of his study, the young god himself choosing to awkwardly linger in front of the second vessel’s desk, watching with wide eyes as II continues to have a temper tantrum in the middle of the room. 

“Vessel,” II heaves out a sigh that makes it sound as if he’s pleading, begging for his god to hear his cries — his desires — and Vessel feels very foolish for never having thought that II — meticulously observant, loyal to a fault, beloved II — was battling with his own thoughts, “Sleep has chosen you as their first: you have always been destined for greatness, for glory. Even when we were young and you were teaching me what the fuck a chemical even is, I knew this; I’ve always known this-” 

(Vessel feels that chasm in his core again, a cold and hollow feeling as II continues to speak; he doesn’t look at his king, but Vessel can’t bring himself to demand eye contact, not when the king himself is struggling to even comprehend what II is saying as he alternates between shouting at the moon and scowling at his shadow.)

“You are royalty, Vessel—for fuck’s sake, you’re a bloody god now!” II groans, as if the answer to all of their miscommunications has been laid out in front of him the entire time. “I am a soldier, Vess, I’m your advisor; I’m the stray dog your parents picked up from some forgotten alleyway because they were too busy being utter shitheads to bother themselves with loving you properly-!”

(Vessel knows.)

“And don’t even get me started on that goddamned arranged marriage they insisted on putting you through—that fucking manipulative witch -!”

(Vessel won’t—the memory of it still haunts his heart, still gnaws at the insides of his bitten wrists.)

“I’ve always known that you would be the power that saves whatever hellhole this kingdom was prior to you wearing that mask; your crown,” II mumbles under his breath, and he sounds so painfully close to sobbing right now that Vessel wants nothing more than to clamp a hand over his mouth and whisk him away into the night and simply keep him close even as the sun begins to rise, “Even though Sleep has only ‘kissed’ you so recently and it feels like we all just finished celebrating your ascension fucking yesterday, I-”

(Vessel’s throat is dry, his eyes are misty, and his hands feel achingly empty.)

“You’re Euclid now, Vess; you’re the god of Eden, the king of Dormiveglia, the Kiss of Sleep,” II sniffs, and Vessel risks a calculated step forward, “and I’m just your knight in tattered armor that apparently now has a fucking stamp for his own signature— fancy little shit.”

(Vessel offers an empty chuckle in an attempt to hide the way he’s worrying at his lower lip; it might bleed soon if he doesn’t stop. Vessel doesn’t want to stop.)

“I’m just that stray thing you picked up from the streets, Vess; you’re all I’ve ever known, you’re all I ever want to know.” II turns away from where Vessel is standing, suddenly finding the stained glass of his window pane much more interesting than flaying himself alive, it seems. “I remember the witch they tried to match you off with, hah, she told you it was unnatural how often I could be found in your shadow; said the way I seemed to worship the ground you walked on made me nothing more than some poor begging freak.”

(Vessel remembers, she said a lot of particularly cruel things to II and himself; he’s never thought of hitting a woman before. It was… an experience, an eye-opening experience.)

“I…” II pauses, and he must’ve paused for a long time because Vessel swears he starts to hear his heartbeat howl louder in his ears through his anticipation. “I will always listen to what you have to say, you could preach death and I would simply ask where you’d want me to be buried. You have a beautiful voice, you know. Hypnotizing.” II rolls his shoulders as though he was trying to play off the sheer intensity of his previous statement like a silly joke.

(Vessel knows it’s not just a joke—II’s dedication is unrivaled, and Vessel feels nothing less than honored to know where his devotions lie—if not a touch concerned.)

“II.” Vessel slinks forward, finally finding the courage to creep away from II’s desk, and delicately steps towards where II is currently paused mid-pace in the center of the room. 

The moon is now seated tall in her throne amongst her stars in the night sky, and Vessel admires with wide eyes as her radiance reflects brightly off of II’s mask and official robes — whereas Vessel’s kingly garments were a haunting combination of beautifully embroidered teeth, eyes, antlers, and deep sea elements, the robes of his fellow vessels had Sleep’s motifs divided amongst them: III would decorate himself in silky capes and flowy fabrics that would be embellished head-to-toe with captivating teeth and fangs done in gold and red threads, IV would always gravitate towards the loose hoods and hanging scarves that would be adorned with the distinct stickwork of long antlers and tentacles perfectly done with black and silver string, and II had allowed himself to be swayed towards the heavy coats and smooth leathers that would be decorated with nothing less than threaded perfection in the form of eyes stitched together in blue and grey strands — in such a way that has Vessel struggling to find his breath. He steps in close to the other man, the smaller of the two allowing the deliberate intrusion to his personal space without any ceremonies, and Vessel is quick to reach for one of II’s hands with his own.

“I would never ask such a thing from you, my dear.” Vessel whispers in the lack of space between them, the weight of his claws firm over II’s knuckles. II chuckles lightly, though Vessel knows he’s not laughing at him. “And you are not just a stray beast I happened to find on the streets, II. You are not some mutt that I happen to sic on opposing kingdoms and sometimes like to keep around like some trophy; you are a treasured vessel of Sleep and my closest, dearest confidante.”

(‘You are my everything.’

Vessel keeps it to himself.)

“I know.” II nods, inching closer so that his head might slot itself underneath Vessel’s chin, pushing his face into the luxurious textures of the other man’s robes. “Maybe ‘m reading too many of your poems, Vess. Getting too many flowery ideas—could make a song outta it, heh- ” His voice is muffled by the fabric, but Vessel swears that he can practically feel the vibrations of II’s sentiments through his very bones, heavy and tired.

(II has always been the smallest vessel in Sleep’s close collective, though all four of them were actually much closer together in height before Sleep’s more monstrous blessings would start to take root. Vessel and III grew taller — the fucking bastards — whereas II and IV were able to grow stronger. This doesn’t mean that II doesn’t still scowl whenever III has to obnoxiously make a point of ducking whenever he enters II’s study with nothing but a salacious grin and malicious intentions hidden behind his hood.)

There’s a silence that seems to waft between the both of them—more comfortable than tense, though still quite charged with an emotion that Vessel couldn’t quite wrack his brain to label. Vessel’s body seems to subconsciously curl around II’s smaller frame, further squishing the man into his shoulder and robes while making sure to keep a firm grip on the calloused hand he’s tracing between his claws. Lazily, II’s fingers flex around Vessel’s own, calloused fingertips tracing idly over his god’s blessed skin. 

“I just…” II sighs, adjusting his position so that his chin might relax over Vessel’s collarbone, the other man’s kingly robes now mused and wrinkled with II’s facial imprint. “I bite-”

“And III doesn’t?” Vessel asks, his own voice a dramatic degree of bewildered as II drops his head to muffle his laughter in his king’s robes once again. The smallest bit of tension seems to visibly leave II’s shoulders, and Vessel can’t help the way one of his hands reaches up to cradle softly at the curve of II’s neck, holding his face close to his clavicle. 

“You absolute ass-!” II struggles to find the breath to properly articulate his halfhearted insults, and Vessel, again, can’t help but chuckle low alongside his fellow vessel.

“I know, I know.” Vessel mumbles once II’s giggling has slowed down and quieted to a more manageable degree. His blackened claws play with the fraying hem of II’s mask, and Vessel can feel the way II’s breath pushes at the thin fabric.

(The silence settles over them again, and Vessel notices that the hard line of tension that overtakes II’s shoulders has returned.

Pity.)

“I bite, Vessel.” II repeats himself, lifting his face from Vessel’s clavicle just enough for the young god to hear his follower with no buffer in between them, nothing to distract Vessel or retract from the weight of II’s admissions. “I have always bared my fangs to the world, even when I was young. I might joke and say, ‘oh, it must come with the territory of being just another stray mutt on the streets’ but the fact remains that when push comes to shove, I bite.”

(Vessel once again remains quiet as he listens to the smaller man with a heavy heart. The tips of his fingers have halted their fidgeting with the hem of II’s mask, opting instead to lay flat against the curve of II’s outstretched neck.)

“I have always bitten, you know.” II chuckles, remembering one of the many instances when II had first met Vessel—the shallow imprints of teeth II would leave on a young Vessel’s arms and hands simply because the prince wanted to be close. He’d always been like that, one might argue, wanting to be closer to the things that might cause him harm. “In friendships, in rivalries, in worship, in battle, in… in love.”

(There’s an abyss that Vessel likes to picture in the corner of his mind, a place where Sleep’s influence might be able to call ‘home’. There’s a humming sound towards the back of Vessel’s head, a vibration that feels like it’s coming from just behind the young god’s frame, though Vessel knows better by now. Sleep hums their approval through the mental connection the first vessel shares with his deity, and Vessel knows that it’s because of II’s tendency to ‘bite’, to fight back, that Sleep was able to find that hidden potential hidden away in the older man—a pure diamond in the rough, as they say.)

“Sleep knows of your teeth,” Vessel chooses to mumble into the side of II’s head, his body curving around the man’s smaller frame in such a way that allows Vessel to simply turn his head and press the ivory and blood of his crown into the fabric of II’s hood, “they find your bones to be beautifully sharp and devout: a perfect vessel in every way, a blessing among men.”

II flounders slightly in Vessel’s delicate grip, most likely growing antsy with the praise dripping from Vessel’s lips like tainted ichor. Both he and Vessel know that II could easily break away from the young god’s grip if he truly desired more space between them, but II settles down after a few moments and Vessel simply strokes his claws over the back of II’s neck before laying his palm flat over it once more. Other than the slight blunder, II doesn’t directly respond to Vessel, or to Sleep. However, while he allows one of his hands to remain entrapped between Vessel’s claws, his other hand has found a home at the small of Vessel’s back, his own blackened fingers are now clutching at the fabric with a tight grip.

“I feel honored to know you—not only as Euclid, but as Vessel also.” II admits, quiet in the still air. “To also have the opportunity to know you as Vess? It makes me feel… elated, rapturous, to be able to know you with such… such intimacy; I feel like a man who has just had a warm meal placed in front of him after centuries of nothing, or even just tossed food scraps. I’m starving, Vess, I’ll eat anything.”

(Vessel knows the last bit of II’s ‘poetry’ is meant as a lighthearted joke, but Sleep’s First couldn’t help but hold II tighter, keep him as close as possible.)

“I will gladly bare my teeth to anyone that so much as breathes at you wrong; I’ll bare my fangs to the entire bloody world if that’s what you would ask of me, Vess.” II sighs, his hand fists tighter in the fabric of Vessel’s robes as he pushes his face further into Vessel’s body like a cat. 

He inhales deeply, rubbing his nose against the luxuriously soft material as though he’s trying to imprint the memory of Vessel’s scent into the forefront of his brain; he’s quiet. Vessel leans over the smaller man slightly, butting the sides of his mask against II’s head as a silent return of affection.

“But… I don’t- I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself if I ever bared my teeth at you.” II’s voice is suddenly hushed, a raw whisper underneath his breath that’s only muffled further by the layers of fabric and textures that find themselves wrapped around II’s lower face. Vessel might not have heard II’s wavering voice if it weren’t for Sleep’s blessings to his senses. “Sometimes — early in the dawn, ‘m realizing must be ‘cause Sleep’s already left me by that point — sometimes I find myself thinking about all the ways I might rip myself apart in my devotion to our god, but then sometimes I find myself fearing how I might tear you apart in my love for you-”

II’s breath hitches as he must realize what he’s just confessed to—here and now, practically cradled in the arms of his god while he has a cry on the literal shoulder of divinity; he’s gone completely still, and Vessel can feel the way II flinches when Sleep’s First curls around him with gangly limbs and not enough venom. Vessel delicately slips his claws away from II’s now limp hand, leaving it at II’s side so that Vessel might properly wrap both of his arms around II’s smaller body. With this new leverage, Vessel is quick to forcibly drag II out from where he’s been hiding in his kingly robes, instead choosing to push II’s head into the space directly underneath Vessel’s chin and keeping his beloved advisor square in the center of his chest, allowing II to burrow himself as far into Vessel’s sternum as their mortal constraints would allow, to the point where the young god is almost certain that II might pull away with small rips and holes in his mask from his many necklaces.

It takes a moment for II to lose the tension in his shoulders — once Vessel is satisfied with simply having cradled II in his arms, he starts to caress at the sharp line of II’s jaw, taking the time to idly stroke at II’s cheek every so often; he thinks the audible sobbing started the moment his claws starting thumbing at II’s cheek in such an intimate manner — but II’s demeanor is quick to crumble in the safety of his deity’s arms. The room remained silent aside from II’s quiet bawling and sniffling, until Vessel began to quietly hum a tune that he recalls IV having played on his lute for the lot of them on many shared sleepless nights. They remained immobile like this for what felt like an eternity — II gripping desperately at Vessel’s robes while the young god felt like he was clinging onto II for dear life, the most movement either of them offered the other being II’s shoulders shuddering under the weight of his ideations and Vessel quietly rocking the two of them side to side without a single word — until II suddenly inhales the most quivering breath that Vessel has ever heard from the usually stoic general.

(“Remain watchful, my First, as my Second may be exposed however remains guarded.” a siren-song voice suddenly echoes off every crevice of Vessel’s mind. “May you devour my Second in blessed ways that you deem fit of your divinity and his devotion. Worship with your teeth as they are kissed by the ethereal moon, by my eternal love—worship.”)

“How silly my beloved advisor must be,” Vessel murmurs lightheartedly, partially allowing himself to collapse over the smaller man’s frame, causing him to sputter slightly, “to think his king is not just as ravenous as he must be.”

II doesn’t push Vessel away at the god’s jest like he might’ve been expecting, instead choosing to tighten his hold around Vessel’s waist, easily supporting the taller man’s weight with his strength. 

“I just-” II manages to quietly stutter, and Vessel can feel the way his hands clenched tighter in his robes, “I didn’t think you would be… hungry… like that.”

“We’ve fucked before-”

“I know that!” II fumbles with his hold on Vessel as the young god starts to chortle at II’s sudden bashfulness; it’s enough for Vessel to take pity on the smaller man, straightening his posture and shifting his claws so that they now rest firmly over II’s waist. He keeps them close but still puts enough distance between them for Vessel to be able to gaze down at his advisor’s masked features. “But that was when we thought it was the end of our bloody lives, Vess…” Vessel is delighted to hear the beginnings of a chuckle creep into II’s tone, however exasperated it might initially sound.

“Of course, of course,” Vessel almost purrs, proceeding to rock the two of them side to side in an exaggerated manner, as though they were dancing, “but, my dearest friend, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but… we’re now standing at the top of the world alive and well, no?”

It’s a cherished success, as Vessel is utterly elated to watch as II’s façade starts to crumble, and the man before him starts to laugh; it’s a beautiful sound: piano keys meshed together with the beat of a drum and the melodic strum of a lute, it’s music-

“You’re a fucking ass, Vessel!” II giggles, squirming with the force of his laughter in the young god’s unrelenting hold. “You’re worse than III!” And Vessel can’t help but giggle too, seemingly high off the fact that the tension between them has finally been washed away.

“You love it,” Vessel teases, spinning the both of them underneath the moonlight in a clumsy fashion, “you wouldn’t have remained by my side for so long if you didn’t.”

“I do.” II admits, shaking his head as if he’s still coming to terms with this ‘new’ information. “I love you.”

Vessel grins like a madman, crouching down slightly to encourage direct eye contact with II. Those beautiful oceanic orbs roll dramatically at his antics before ultimately staring deep into Vessel’s without any reservations. It’s an exhilarating feeling, Vessel realizes, if not borderline nostalgic—the two of them finally standing on common ground despite their statuses: there are no longer any differences of divinity, of mortality, or devotion. 

(They are simply two beasts laid together, necks bared and yet their maws still open, dripping, and ready to bite.)

“I love you also.” Vessel admits quietly, his words soft despite his fangs remaining sharp. “I think I always have—ever since you first bit me with those filthy teeth of yours.”

“How rude!” II chortles again, shaking his head a bit harder. “Like your fangs are any better. You practically have a mouth filled with diamonds; I’m surprised you didn’t model your crown after them, or cut your lip more often-” Vessel simply can’t contain himself any longer— not when II’s face is just a scant few centimeters away from Vessel’s own and most certainly not with II’s lips right there-

He kisses him; he leans in close and presses his lips against the outline of II’s beyond his mask. Doesn’t matter, not to Vessel; he can feel the way II’s lips mold so perfectly against his own, even with the thin fabric of Sleep’s veil blocking a direct kiss; it doesn’t matter. II might only be able to feel the impression of their kiss, but Vessel can feel every shudder, every twitch on his bare lips, and isn’t it the duty of the worshiper to prioritize the worshiped? It’s a selfish line of thinking, but Vessel cannot help but think back to his experience with Vore in the gardens, and then having to bear witness to a flustered II having just finished his interaction with an unusually impish Aqua Regia- well, his mind is now supplying his body with images that has his nerves feeling like individual little live wires trapped beneath his skin. 

II’s hands slither away from the small of Vessel’s back, choosing instead to smooth over the bare skin of his god’s chest and rest at his clavicle, a small smile tugging at his lips as Vessel’s numerous necklaces clink together from his motions. The smaller man is quick to lean slightly up and into the offered kiss, his jaws opening and trying to swallow Vessel whole even from behind his own mask. The taste of sweat-soaked fabric has never been sweeter to Vessel’s hungry mind. The abyss in his mind and the heat in his stomach seem to expand and throb simultaneously as sheer desire overtakes the forefront of Vessel’s brain; he may not be able to feel much in terms of visible desire, but Vessel knows that the chemicals in his body are working overtime so that Vessel can properly relish in the way II’s arching into his touch.

“You’re warm.” II comments, breathless, as he pulls away with a more than obvious wet patch soaking the front of his mask. “Are you flustered, my Euclid?” And Vessel has to resist the urge to roll every one of his eyes at II’s teasing, though he can’t quite hold back the way his tongue clicks.

“I may now have ascended, my love, but that doesn’t mean that my body is not still human.” Vessel quips back, delighting in the way II’s pupils visibly expand at the newfound title. However, feeling particularly vulnerable, Vessel leans down once more to press the side of his crown against II’s face with a burdened sigh; he whispers, “I want to sink my fangs so deep into your flesh that my divinity, my adoration, my love, my worship, my name—I want it all to be carved into your very bones like a selfish dog.”

(Vessel will forever remember the full-bodied shudder that wracks through II’s small frame. It’s unfair, truly, how the stoic general before him can still appear so… cute. Not that Vessel would ever admit such a thing aloud, II wouldn’t hesitate to enact a fate worse than death-)

To Vessel’s utter delight, it is II who now proceeds to drag the both of them back to his cluttered desk with firm hands clasped around Vessel’s wrist and robes. Sleep’s Second is quick to push Vessel into his desk chair with a loud protesting creak from the woodwork, his eyes are focused as he continues to push Vessel’s robes to the side, smoothing his calloused palms over Vessel’s stained skin with a sense of deep reverence. The young god allows it all to happen, his arms have fallen loosely over the arms of the chair and his legs have spread enough for II to carefully slot his way in between them.

(Again, Vessel tries very hard not to think too much about how perfectly his beloved fits himself in the space.)

II’s hands grasp firmly at the engraved leather of Vessel’s belt, delicate and careful as he moves to undo it as quickly as possible without somehow damaging the garment. Vessel is aware of II’s venerating ideology towards certain objects — both he and IV share that mindset, that respect for devices that lived, not through a beating heart or working brain, but through sentimental value alone — and, with this in mind, he’s mercifully quick to reach down and aid his advisor in shucking off the rest of the clothes and accessories that once decorated his lower half. It takes a bit of finessing, but they make do.

II leans back as he admires Vessel in this state: leaning backward with his head cocked to the side and his lips parted slightly, his mask slightly askew, his chest heaving, his claws digging into the arms of II’s chair in sheer anticipation, his shadowed body bare except for his crown and kingly robes, and his teeth shining with malicious love as he smiles crookedly at II. Vessel’s body is decorated with the occasional scar — II flushes when he realizes that the vast majority of them, however, have not been collected from the ravages of war, but instead from the passionate battles they’ve all shared while hidden beneath bed sheets. II has always known that while he may have the most extensive collection of physical injuries, Vessel will always have them outmatched in battles of mental blemishes — but his most vicious victory is a scar he’s had to live with since his birth.

Vessel is infertile, II knows, and it’s caused a lot of discourse between him, his family, and the witch he almost had to call a wife. Vessel’s cock is scarred: his testicles have been removed, the length of his shaft is not proportional to the girth of his cock, it curves slightly towards the right side of his body, and his cock looks more akin to an enlarged clitoris than a traditional penis—it’s enough for Vessel to be able to keep his bladder empty and healthy without constant fear of another infection, but all his family could care about was the death of their bloodline. There are small bumps and ridges towards the tip of Vessel’s cock and around the underside, but those are more than likely to simply be the visible healing process of Vessel’s scars, though the way Sleep’s influence has permanently painted his skin with ink and shadows helps to hide the discoloration of Vessel’s scars. Something had gone wrong during his royal circumcision, and, in order to prevent their only son from dying of infection, the doctors did what they could to preserve the baby prince’s masculinity. Now, fully matured and grown, Vessel has learned not to worry himself with such trivial matters; he has the full love and support of his fellow vessels, he’s been kissed by Sleep themselves, and the kingdom that once abandoned him now respects and adores him as both its ruler and one of its gods. Such insecurities simply didn’t apply anymore, he’s learned that now.

(II remembers the first time they had explored each other's bodies—they were still young, it was an accident, the room was cold and Vessel was warm, and a long list of other such reasons that II still thinks about to this day. It was a night of plenty of tears, many heartfelt reassurances, and a lovely first time that II was more than happy to give to his prince.)

“Hey,” Vessel murmurs suddenly, lifting one of his arms and allowing a thin tendril made of shadows and ink to manifest, the appendage now reaching for II’s chin and carefully lifting his head, “it baffles me, you know—how kind you treat me.” Vessel admits, and II’s eyes widen slightly as his brain suddenly recalls all the different experiences Vessel could be referring to.

(He knows which night, Vessel knows too.)

“Of course,” II whispers back, sounding quite perplexed as if he couldn’t fathom treating Vessel any other way, “you have always been my god.”

“You…” Vessel’s eyes narrow slightly as he pauses, the appendage curling tighter around II’s masked chin, though it still touches II like a whisper, “You still underestimate how much I adore you.”

“I don’t-” II cuts himself off, dropping completely to his knees instead of remaining in whatever hunched-over position he was in before, and trailing his palms so that they lie flat over the muscles in Vessel’s thighs. “I-”

“Don’t do that—the floor is hard, you’ll hurt your knees.” Vessel is quick to cut him off this time, leaning over so that he might snatch II’s hands off his thighs and guide the smaller man to straddle him instead. The tentacle Vessel had summoned is quick to disappear back into the shadows of his robe’s sleeve, and Vessel in turn is quick to wrap his claws around II’s slim waist.

It takes another moment of added adjustment before II is comfortably straddling Vessel’s now closed thighs. The young god’s cock stands stiff against II’s core, pressing against the loose fabric of the man’s trousers. II groans at the pressure, and it takes Vessel a moment to realize just how wet the man above him is. 

“You’re hungry.” Vessel whispers, his voice suddenly raw as he watches II’s eyes with rapt attention. 

“So are you,” II says it like it’s an accusation, but Vessel sees no lies in what the other blames him for. 

With a soft chuckle, Vessel runs his hands up II’s thighs and waits, his claws plucking incessantly at the other man’s waistband. II rolls his eyes dramatically again, lifting his hips just enough for Vessel to quickly shimmy the loose fabric of his trousers off his hips and allow them to pool above II’s knees. 

Vessel moans — borderline growls — at the bright shine of II’s slick growing tacky on the inside of his thighs. The sight of II’s pubic hair growing damp and heavy with the weight of II’s arousal is doing things to Vessel’s heart and mind; it doesn’t take long for the hungry god to start exploring II’s lower half with docile claws.

“Look at you.” Vessel shudders with ragged breaths, his fingers dipping in between II’s spread thighs and wasting no time in exploring the wetness there. “Have you grown bigger? You feel bigger-”

II can’t help but laugh as Vessel’s claws stroke and caress every possible inch of his dripping cunt and heavy cock, the ghostly touches over such sensitive areas has II practically squirming in Vessel’s hold. Carefully, Vessel swipes his thumb through the dampness of II’s folds and over the hood of his small clit, delighting in the shivers that suddenly course through II’s writhing form. Overcome with affection, Vessel firmly holds II’s sides before leaning in to kiss and nip at the other man’s stomach.

“Vess!” II cries out, surprised; his hands are reaching for the material of Vessel’s hood, grabbing and pulling at it as Vessel trails his fangs and tongue over the tempting trail of hair that lines II’s stomach.

“My darling advisor,” Vessel groans in between his kisses and nips, there’s a thin trail of drool that shines from the corner of Vessel’s mouth that II can just barely make out from behind the massive silhouette of Vessel’s crown and hood, “my dearest II, if you think that my hunger for you — my love for you — is somehow more pure than the love you hold for me, then you are sorely mistaken.”

II gasps as Vessel’s hips rut slowly up against II’s core, the tip of his cock bumping against the other man’s clit in a way that has both of them gasping for air. Vessel can feel II’s slick arousal stick to the underside of his cock, the warmth and scent of II’s worship driving Vessel to bite harder into II’s flesh.

“Inside-” II stutters, his head dropping against Vessel’s. “Need you inside, Vess, please, just wanna feel you.”

There’s another ink-black tendril that’s manifested somewhere from between Vessel’s legs, slightly thicker and longer than the ones Vessel has summoned in the past—only because Vessel knows that neither one of them are interested in fucking. Right now, Vessel hungers for intimacy and closeness, and II desires much the same thing.

It only took a moment for the cold tentacle to finish with lubing itself up with II’s arousal before it’s carving out a hole for itself in the small space between II’s thighs, writhing in that space until the tapered tip of it catches on II’s hole and quickly squirms inside. II gasps as Sleep’s manifested influence begins to pump slowly in and out of II’s pussy with a series of wet squelches. Invigorated by the beautiful melodies that seem to radiate from II in this very moment, Vessel lifts up II’s tunic and ducks his head underneath the fabric so that he might continue his self-designated duty of decorating II’s sternum in kisses and bitemarks, the man now trailing his teeth and tongue over the underside of II’s small breasts. The chest below his fangs shudders underneath his adoring bites, and Vessel can hear the audible hitch in II’s breath as he ruts his hips harder against II’s core; he can feel the way the tip of his cock catches on II’s clitoral hood with every other thrust, and the mental image of being able to devour his beloved advisor in such a way has Vessel nipping at the man’s skin so hard that blood beads to the surface—it tastes like ambrosia on his tongue.

II is chanting Vessel’s name like a prayer as both his gods relish in the slick intensity of the man’s devotion and worship. In the farthest corners of Vessel’s mind, there’s a series of haunting moans and howls as Sleep basks in II’s love alongside their first.

“VessVessVesselVesselVess-” II sobs as the tendril continues to squirm inside of him and Vessel refuses to slow down as he grinds against II’s slick folds. “Feels so good, feels so full-”

Having worked his way up to the spaces just underneath II’s clavicle, Vessel exhales over his canvas of teeth marks and bruises before pressing a delicate kiss to the battlefield Vessel has made of II’s torso. The young god ducks his head out from the cage of II’s tunic, missing the image of II’s beautiful eyes too much to bear being underneath the fabric for a second longer. The sight of II bouncing on Vessel’s lap, naked from the waist down, eyes closed, and with the bottom half of his mask completely drenched in spit has Vessel’s heart throbbing in human ways.

“I adore you.” Vessel growls, surging up to kiss and gnaw at II’s parted lips through his mask, uncaring of the sheer amounts of saliva that sticks to Vessel’s lips and grows tacky on II’s mask. “I will hunger for you always, II.”

II moans loudly as Vessel growls his declarations into the other man’s lips, his hands gripping at Vessel’s hood tighter as he mindlessly tries to keep him impossibly close. His own hips are frantic as they circle over Vessel’s cock while simultaneously rocking back into Sleep, his pupils are wide and frantic despite his eyes being half-lidded.

(He looks like predator and prey wrapped up into one, and, if he could, Vessel thinks he’d cum right then and there at the thought.)

There’s a pressure at Vessel’s lips, sharp and insistent as II kisses back with just as much passion and desire as the god before him. It takes Vessel a moment to realize that II is biting back; his teeth are dulled from the buffer of his mask and his humanity, but his love is just as brutal. His nips and kisses grow more forceful by the second, and Vessel has to lean back against the chair to properly support the weight of both of them biting at each other like animals; II’s nails are quick to find purchase in Vessel’s collarbones and at the sides of his neck like a choker.

“Vessel, my king, my Euclid, my god-” II whispers under his breath, his nails scratching against Vessel’s blackened skin in irregular, frenzied patterns. Perhaps it was foolish of Vessel to think that he could try to adore and worship II in this way without getting some fight. “Vess.”

II’s teeth are needy as the man gnaws on Vessel’s lower lip, grinding his hips down against Vessel’s cock and rocking back against Sleep’s influence. 

“‘M so close, Vess, but ‘m still so hungry.” II groans against Vessel’s fangs, the spit-slicked fabric of II’s mask getting caught between them from how close they are. II’s frantic voice has Vessel seeing red stars as the smaller man rocks into the young god’s body like a madman. Sleep is whispering something awfully tempting in the farthest reaches of his mind, but Vessel is too absorbed in the one glob of spit that’s pushing past II’s soaked mask to really bother with listening. 

(When did his mask get so soaked? Has he been drooling? Would spit taste sweet-?)

“II-” Vessel gasps, breathless, as II rubs his dripping pussy all over Vessel’s cock and inner thighs in his hunger; his nails dig deeper.

Vessel is helpless to watch as II drags his masked lips over Vessel’s lower jaw and neck, nuzzling at the decorative chains draped over the man’s chest and nipping at them gently. It’s almost like mental whiplash, the way II is now the one tackling Vessel further into the chair and not somehow the other way around; it’s sometimes so easy for the young god to forget who he is dealing with, this isn’t his charming thieving prince, not his sly, all-knowing merchant, not even his god— this is his efficiently brutal general, his most strategic advisor, the man that probably knows Vessel better than he even knows himself.

(Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Vessel idly recalls the words that Vore had spoken to him in the gardens, “to love is to offer yourself up on a golden platter with your stomach bared, ready to be devoured; to desire is to dream that, one day, it will be you who is the one who shall feast…”.

…Ah. Shit.)

Seemingly brought back to reality by II’s hips stuttering to a stop, Vessel now watches with wide eyes as II viciously straightens his posture, practically ripping his hands away from Vessel’s bare neck and chest, before dragging them to his own face, frantically fiddling with the hem of his mask before brutally ripping the material up so that his lips and teeth might be freed from their constraints. There’s a thick glob of drool that seems to pour from the corner of II’s lip, making his chin shiny, and Vessel has to resist the urge to lean over and lick it clean. II’s teeth are yellowed and crooked, his lips are slightly chapped and scabbed around the edges, and he looks beautiful in the full glow of the moon; he looks ethereal, truly.

“It’s as you’ve said, Vess.” II pants, sounding as though he’s completely out of breath, and all Vessel can do is try to catch his own breath and listen. “You’re a god now, love. I suppose it’s my job as your advisor to make sure you’re worshiped like one?”

II offers the young god nothing more than a splitting grin that should be considered as nothing less than predatory, before dipping back down to properly latch his hungry teeth around the hollow of Vessel’s throat, baring down onto the sensitive skin without mercy.

  It’s at this point in time that Vessel realizes that perhaps he’s bitten off a bit more than he could chew.

(But — as II suckles a bruising kiss into the surface of Vessel’s blank canvas of a body, the first of many, no doubt — who’s complaining?)