Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, he wondered just how much Elio foresaw, and how much he really knew. In these possibilities he could see…was it every word they would say? Every action they would take? The future of the universe, laid bare for his gaze.

Down to each and every scene in a play, right?

So then, why did he even bother sending them out together, knowing inevitably what would happen between them!?

“Blade, Blade - mmm…!”

Sunday often found himself contemplating that very question. No matter how they tried to resist each other, no matter how Sunday especially tried to stay professional…it was just useless. There was no force that could keep them from each other.

Elio probably despaired. Sunday knew that was a likely possibility. Blade and Sunday worked perfectly together at this point, a perfect balance of Harmony and Destruction. They knew each other so well, and that made them partnering up so very natural. When they worked together for Elio’s script, they accomplished their goals easily and without much fuss.

There was just the small problem…that they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other.

Like, right now. They were waiting in a secluded closet for a certain guard’s shift to end - Sunday and Elio both preferred leaving the guard alive, to potentially ending his fate - and when Sunday and Blade were alone together like that passing time, they couldn’t stop themselves.

Blade, first - he’d started by kissing his jaw, then down his throat. Blade knew each spot that would make Sunday shudder and moan, he’d mapped out his neck and all erogenous zones perfectly. His hot tongue, for Blade always was as hot as a furnace, pressed against and circled the hollow beneath his ear.

“Blade…we shouldn’t…” Sunday liked to play at having some decorum, some dignity, even though he truly had neither. When Blade touched him, his blood turned to fire in his veins, and he desperately needed a reprieve.

But he still liked to pretend. Pretend he was some upstanding person, even though he had not been that for a long time. Blade huffed against his ear, his hand going down to squeeze his waist.

“Twenty-five minutes…I think this is a better use of such time.” Blade muttered sensually into his ear. Sunday went a little red, pinned against the wall of the closet. Somehow, they had both known this would happen. Of course it would happen! It always did! You didn’t need to be a psychic cat to know that! Yet the literal psychic cat sent them here anyway!

“If…if something goes wrong, or someone checks…” Sunday gasped, as Blade nipped his ear, his wings fluttering. He could feel Blade’s body pressed against his, feel the muscle beneath his clothes, and that scorching, endless heat.

“Trust in the script. No one will come by.” Blade murmured in his ear, his hand clumsily sliding down Sunday’s side, “didn’t you sign a contract, to trust the script always…”

Sunday shivered, as Blade’s hand followed the curve of his waist, sliding down, and then slipping up the bottom of his shirt. He gasped, feeling Blade’s touch on his warm, very vulnerable bare skin. Bandaged and gloved, but still so very stirring.

Oh, yes.

“I-I don’t remember, mmm, this being part of it…!” Sunday managed to stammer, “I don’t think t-this is..oh…”

Blade’s hands were clumsy and lacking in flexibility, but he still brought Sunday so much pleasure. As those scorching hands slipped under his shirt, over his chest, Sunday’s back arched helplessly.

It went without saying. He was very weak to Blade’s touch. He was very weak to Blade’s everything, actually. Blade was perfect for him, and seemed intent on making himself perfect for him. Sunday already felt a throbbing between his legs, and his upper wings twitched, going to cover his face in embarrassment.

Even if he enjoyed it so very much, every single time, it really was so embarrassing. Blade, on the other hand, was completely shameless. He mouthed at Sunday’s throat, again and again, and Sunday knew once again there would be marks. Blade seemed to love leaving marks on his skin.

“The script…is secondary.” Blade murmured against his ear, pressing against him, “all I prioritize…all I live for…is making such a pretty little songbird sing…”

“Blade! How can you even say that so shameless - mmm - !”

Blade had interrupted him with a kiss, hot and deep, that scorching tongue slipping between his lips, deep into his mouth. Sunday relented to it easily, pulling Blade closer. He always wanted Blade closer, always wanted him here, right here.

Ah, he really loved him so, so much.

When the kiss broke, Sunday let out a soft moan - one that hitched upwards and louder, when Blade began kissing along one of his upper wings. It was so sensitive that Sunday slammed his head back with a hitched gasp, frantic at the brush of contact.

“Always so…responsive, Sunday.”

Blade’s voice had a teasing lit, and it just made Sunday more and more embarrassed. Blade bit down lightly on his upper wing, earning another strangled moan. Sunday really felt dizzy. Thoughts of the mission and what was required of them left his head. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but instead moaned loudly when Blade kept running his teeth over his wing.

“S-Sensitive…” Sunday managed, his entire body jumping as Blade’s other hand went up to tease the other wing. Clumsy fingers pinched at it, circling over it, and clumsy though they were, Sunday was immensely pleased. His eyes rolled back in his head at the overwhelming sensations, soft pants coming from his mouth.

His body couldn’t stop squirming as he writhed against the wall, hips undulating and chest heaving. Blade was right. He was horribly responsive. Before falling in love with Blade, he hadn’t experienced any pleasure at all, so here Sunday was so very weak to it.

Again, and again, it just kept building.

“O-Okay…okay…” Sunday panted, Blade’s mouth and hands searing fire over him. “Mmm, Blade, Blade, more…”

Blade seemed to take deep satisfaction in bringing Sunday to such a point. He kissed his wing once more, before kissing down his neck, throat, collar. 

Unfortunately, the obstacle of his shirt was still a formidable hurdle, one that even Blade hadn’t gotten used to overcoming yet. He grunted, tugging at the collar of the fabric.

“Sunday…”

“R-Right, it’s fine…”

Sunday reached up, undoing the buttons himself - unless they were special made, Blade’s hands couldn’t deftly undo buttons, so Sunday was very used to this. Even if it always felt so very sinful to undress for a man’s gaze, well, right now he didn’t really mind.

Blade was self conscious about it, Sunday knew, but whatever emotions the man was feeling didn’t stop him right now. He just continued to kiss and mouth down the expanse of Sunday’s pale chest.

Sparks flew through his body, his wings stretching out more and more as he writhed against the wall uncontrollably. Blade’s hands moved to his hip, gripping it hard and pinning it against the wall to try and keep Sunday at least a little still.

It was a good thing, too, otherwise Sunday’s reactions would have him flying to the floor.

Blade’s tongue circled over his chest, and then one of his nipples - Sunday whined with sheer need, his wings flapping wildly in response. Blade’s tongue circled it over and over, then sucked lightly. Sunday’s hand went to Blade’s hair, as Blade began to kiss down, down, down.

Of course, he knew what would happen next.

For someone who hadn’t done this in hundreds of years, Blade was so good at making Sunday squirm and react. Sometimes Sunday wondered if what he said was true. If all Blade really wanted to live for was to give him pleasure.

To make him sing, as he’d put it.

Sunday was indeed singing, his voice a trill of need, harmonic and musical in nature. His moans and soft cries were always like a small symphony, one just for Blade’s ears. Blade kissed down his navel, and over the downy feathers of his second set of wings. 

Really, how could he not be in Heaven? Blade still had to carefully hold his hip down, or else Sunday would certainly lose it completely. His face was flushed, lips parted, his eyes fluttering as he panted softly.

“Blade…ah, it’s good, it’s good…” Sunday babbled, a bit lost in the sensations - not just of physical pleasure, but of intimacy and love. His heart swelled with love for Blade always, but moments like this, where they could be so close…it always seemed to feel more powerful, more relentless within himself.

“You’re always so good for me…” Sunday continued, his hand going to grip Blade’s hair a little as Blade kissed lower, drawing out giving him the pleasure his body craved.

Of course, Sunday didn’t mind Blade drawing it out. Every moment, every brush of skin, Sunday drank it all down easily. He enjoyed every second, and never wanted it to end. Some might call it teasing, but Sunday would just call it more time being intimate with the man he loved, so, so much.

So while his body yearned for more, his cock hard and throbbing uncontrollably, aching in a way that he’d never felt before meeting Blade, Sunday simply enjoyed every second of it. Every second of need, of desire, of yearning.

All of it just proved how much he loved Blade, so much.

Blade’s teeth and tongue toyed with the button on his pants. Sunday felt embarrassed, wanting to help, but instead, Blade simply undid it with his teeth, so deftly. Sunday did let out a sigh of relief as some of the pressure on his cock was freed, Blade pulling down his pants just enough to let it breathe more.

Sunday always felt a little embarrassed about Blade seeing him naked, or even just his cock, but Blade seemed to feel no shame at all. Or maybe he was just so focused on his task? Sunday could believe that. He felt that tongue, so scorching hot, trail up from the base of his cock to the very tip, and Sunday cried out, slamming his head back.

“Careful.” Blade rumbled, seeming disgruntled that Sunday had nearly hurt himself like that,. Sunday panted, taking in deep breaths as he struggled to compose himself. He felt so very dizzy. So aroused, so turned on, so very excited.

It’s hard to think of anything but Blade.

Which was, of course, the state he really preferred to be in.

“C-Careful…right…” Sunday echoed, mindlessly repeating what Blade had said, “I just, mm, you feel so good, you always feel so good, I love you, I love you so much…”

Sunday was babbling, a little, which he tended to do during sex. His wings fluttered wildly as Blade kissed the tip of his cock just softly, then lapped at it - he knew Blade was tasting the precum, and knew that he enjoyed such a lewd act.

Everything about this was lewd, really. Blade, on his knees before him, the fact that they were in some closet in some office building, the fact that they really were supposed to be working right now, but ah, this was a break, right? They had time.

Somehow, Blade really did always convince him of that.

Sunday squirmed against the wall, whining desperately for more. He didn’t care what Blade did to him, as long as he touched him with those perfect hands, or that perfect tongue. And Blade seemed to just exist to pleasure him in this state, so really, was there any harm in indulging?

Blade’s hand slipped down, as his tongue lapped at the tip of his cock; he squeezed Sunday’s plush thigh, stroking the sensitive skin and making his wings flutter, before reaching up to squeeze his perk ass, kneading the ample flesh.

“A-Ah…” Sunday whined again, wishing he could thrash further. Keeping himself under wraps was entirely impossible…! Blade really demanded too much of him. Feeling him grope and pleasure him was just too much for Sunday in any capacity. Even this was too much for him, his body trembling, his wings fluttering. Stray feathers, both black and white, scattered over the floor of the closet.

Blade didn’t seem care, focused on one thing, and one thing only. He pushed himself downwards, taking more of Sunday’s cock into his mouth, the head slipping past his lips. Sunday gasped, hips aching to thrust into his mouth. Blade’s mouth, like the rest of him, was always so, so warm, and Sunday couldn’t get enough at all…!

Oh, he’s so good, so perfect, I love him, I love him!

Such thoughts tended to be all that could go through his head, when he engaged in such bliss with his lover. Though honestly, he usually thought such things anyway. He loved Blade; his soul and heart and very being burned with such love.

Sunday would never allow himself to be so vulnerable in front of anyone else. Never allow anyone else to pleasure him. And Blade pleasured him so, so well - he bobbed up and down on his cock, over and over, his tongue sliding across the sensitive skin.

When Blade sucked him off, it was as though his entire being was just devoted to making Sunday come; to making him reach that sweet bliss. This was no different. Blade’s mouth took in his cock, deeper, and deeper, his throat swallowing around it -

Fuck. Fuck.

Sunday thrashed against the wall, taking in deep and desperate breaths, desperate to make this last. But he could never make it last. Sunday was entirely too sensitive, and Blade knew how to pleasure his body so well.

“Bl-Blaaade…” Sunday moaned out, hating how his voice sounded when he was in pleasure like this. He sounded like a complete whore, and even saying Blade’s name made it sound risqué and seductive, “Blade I can’t…I’m…”

His dutiful and very eager lover knew what he meant - and rather then slow down or pause, merely doubled down, swallowing deeply around his cock and pumping it in and out of his mouth. Sunday cried out, his upper wings flapping rapidly and uncontrollably, as his orgasm rushed through his body.

Bliss was in his veins, euphoria singing a song through his bloodstream. The rush that went through him was to die for, as he felt himself go rigid, spilling copious amounts of seed into Blade’s hot mouth. Sunday tried to look down at him, but his vision was blurred thanks to the intensity of the sensations, and all he could see was a sea of black hair.

A sea of black hair, and burning, endlessly burning, crimson eyes. They stared at Sunday through those long tresses, with pure desire.

Sunday came down from the high of orgasm, panting and going boneless. Blade was upright again almost immediately, steadily him and propping him against the wall to keep him from falling.

Oh, he’s so beautiful.

Yes. So, so beautiful. His gorgeous lover gazed down at him with hungry eyes, not unlike that of Mara. In his current state, Sunday found that look so insanely appealing. Blade had swallowed down all his release, and only a drop remained on his lips. Yet, he could see that he still craved satisfaction.

“So good to me…” Sunday exhaled, reaching out to wrap his arms around Blade’s neck, “mmm, Blade, let me…bring you pleasure too, you’ve treated me so well…”

Sunday’s hand snaked down his chest - only for Blade to grab his wrist, halting his movements. That grip was gentle, but still firm, as Blade looked down at him.

“No.” Blade spoke the word firmly, “you need not worry about such things.”

Sunday stilled, Suddenly, he felt as though he’d been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water, or doused in a heavy rainfall. The name of those cold drops was, ‘reality.’

Things always went like this. Blade would seduce Sunday into pleasure, something that Sunday greatly enjoyed, but whenever Sunday tried to do the same…whenever he tried to reciprocate, Blade would grow cold and firm, and tell him he didn’t need to concern himself with it.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of his own heavy breathing.

Even after everything, Sunday was quite the coward. Why didn’t Blade want him to touch him? He was afraid of the answer. Was it because of how sheltered he was? Was it because he lacked experience? Did Blade not want him?

No, Blade definitely wanted him - Sunday wasn’t so sheltered that he couldn’t see that. The reactions Blade had when they were together…even someone as self loathing as Sunday could see that Blade wanted him, was excited by his body.

So then, why…?

“Oh.” Sunday should have protested. He should have insisted, because it really wasn’t fair, right? Blade was so good to him, all the time, and Sunday never got the chance to repay him, or even enjoy making him feel good.

But…if Blade was saying no, Sunday didn’t want to push it, or protest at all. Even if he suspected that there might be a troubling reason behind it, he pulled back, looking awkwardly off to the side. The closet feels much smaller, now.

“Okay.” Sunday mumbled the phrase, feeling uncertain and out of place. Quickly, as he regained himself, he started smoothing over his clothes. When Blade saw he could stand on his own, he turned away from Sunday, as if to give him space.

Sunday looked at his back, seeing how tense he was, and once again felt troubled. He did up his buttons, pulled up his pants. Blade had thoroughly cleaned him off, but things still felt awkward between them. Sunday ran his fingers though his hair, trying anxiously and nearly obsessively to make it less of a mess.

Still, still…

I don’t feel like things should be like this between us…

“Blade…” Sunday started, reaching forward to touch Blade’s shoulder. Sunday was a coward, but he indeed could work up enough courage to at least try and help Blade. “Are you sure…you’re feeling alright? If something’s wrong - “

“Nothing is wrong.” Blade told him, voice a little colder than usual. It sounded like rejection, like a man closing themselves off. Sunday felt uneasy. They were supposed to be beyond a distance between them, weren’t they?

Didn’t they know each other, better then anyone else knew them? Sunday’s heart ached, able to tell something was wrong, but not entirely able to confront Blade about it.

“The script…still needs to be followed.” Blade turned back to him; there was still a burning in his gaze, “have you recovered enough?”

“I…yes…but…” Sunday blinked, and then sighed. He just decided to let it go for now. They were in the middle of a mission, after all. Even if it pulled and tugged at Sunday’s heart.

Blade was always like this. Sunday could still remember the first time they’d really chosen to be intimate, so very vivid.

Their relationship was always leaning on that edge; while they had a deep romantic intimacy, and emotional connection to each other, they never had much time for more physical activities.

Sunday, of course, had been raised very properly to believe such actions were sinful. He remembered kissing in that cave, and he remembered when Blade and him had kissed a few times since. Usually, though, it was only kissing.

They had fallen in love before any physical intimacy, really, and now it was expected…but they had gotten to the endpoint of a deep connection before physicality had been involved.

That had changed, one night. It was just the two of them in the base, in Blade’s room. Sunday had been so very shy. He could still remember his own fingers trembling as he undid his own shirt. In that moment, he had been certain Blade wouldn’t be attracted to his body.

When the fabric fell away, Sunday couldn’t look at him, his face red and half covered by wings. Sunday knew he was too skinny, too pale, too frail. His wings were clipped and mutilated, which must surely be an unpleasant sight.

Yet, he’d wanted to show himself to Blade. No one else. Only him, and  he slipped away the fabric regardless.

“I…know I’m too thin.” Sunday swallowed, “I know it must be a bit…unsettling.”

Sunday hadn’t been looking at Blade, far too embarrassed. But then he’d heard the bed shift, and felt Blade’s hand upon his cheek. A scarred thumb rubbed over his bottom lip.

“Sunday, the greatest artisan in the stars would go mad, trying to recreate this form.” Blade told him bluntly, as if it were a fact. Sunday went bright red, but part of him was…really happy at Blade’s words. That thumb stroked over his cheek, “radiance…only you could look upon this and find fault.”

Blade’s praise and reassurance had run over him like the sweetest honey slipping into tea. His entire body shuddered just from the words, and the soft touch of his lover.

“You’re not uncomfortable?” Blade asked, his hand traveling carefully over his jaw, and down his throat. Sunday had felt so dizzy, but nothing about it was uncomfortable.

“I…was nervous you would think…” Sunday had swallowed, “think myself unappealing…but now, I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

Sunday was shy, and hesitant, and had been taught that this was a sinful, terrible thing. Yet he wanted it. Wanted it badly.

Intimacy, with him.

Blade had idly circled over his shoulder and collarbone, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin again and again. Sunday felt his mouth start to go dry.

“Blade…” Sunday’s golden eyes finally peeked out from behind the wings, pleading, “I want you. I do.”

From there, Blade’s eyes had flashed, and he’d pushed Sunday gently on the bed. From that moment, Sunday felt he knew every pleasure. The way that Blade kissed him, his mouth and tongue hot and rough. How his own body responded, his hips moving up and undulating on the bed. Blade had touched him so well, so gently, and yet so powerfully.

Those fingers brushed over his sides and chest, and his mouth, ahh, it had gone down to his neck. Sunday was surprised at how sensitive he was here, and found himself crying out softly.

Embarrassing, but Blade had kissed his ear and told him not to hold back.

Sunday had just gotten more and more excited, his body hearing up more, more, far beyond the limits of the cavern. Everywhere Blade touched lit him up inside, made him shake, tremble, moan. 

“Sunday.” Blade’s voice was deeper, almost like a purr against his ear, as he spoke to him, “you’ve never…done this to yourself, have you?”

At this point, Sunday’s body was riled up enough that he didn’t even think about not answering the question. He just nodded, face red and embarrassed. His breaths were coming out in soft gasps and pants.

“No…I mean, I haven’t, I…my father would have killed me…”

Blade huffed at that, and Sunday knew he was insulting the man in his mind. Really, Sunday should be lighting candles in thanks that Blade had never known him while he was alive. Sunday was certain he would have killed him.

“My hands, they’re…” Blade fell quiet for a moment, so the only noise was Sunday’s heavy breathing, “I cannot touch you in the way you want. But…if you wish, I can teach you how to do it yourself.”

Sunday’s breath hitched; while he wanted Blade’s touch, and his hands, whether they were scarred and frail or not, he understood that the nerve damage at play here made it very difficult for him to display dexterity. It may even hurt him.

“Or…my mouth still works for such things.” Blade went on, stroking Sunday’s hair, “but I would sooner be able to speak to you. It is your choice, however. I only wish for you to feel good, Sunday.”

Sunday should have found that a little alarming - Blade only wished for his pleasure? - but at the time, he’d only thought that Blade was so considerate and careful, because it was Sunday’s first time attempting such things.

Touching himself seemed so taboo. But his body had never been so worked up. Blade had set all his nerves aflame, and they demanded satisfaction. His flesh demanded relief. There was a throbbing beneath his pants that felt impossible to ignore.

Sunday preferred being able to hear Blade’s voice. Especially when his heart was hammering like this. Blade was reassurance incarnate for him, and while it was childish, being talked through would probably help him.

I’m being so ridiculous. Most people touch themselves all the time.

“I’d…rather hear your voice, if you really don’t mind.” Sunday had managed, “it’s…a little embarrassing though.”

Yes. It was. But he was also so aroused, so full of heat and tension. It felt so very ready to snap - Sunday wanted to make it snap. He whimpered softly, the pressure almost unbearable.

“You need not feel embarrassed, Sunday. Shame should be a thing of the past when you are with me.”

Sunday’s heart skipped a beat, and even as aroused as he was, he flustered. Blade was so, so perfect. Sunday took in deep breaths, dizziness rushing over him.

But it felt good. All of it felt good.

Blade did reach for his hand, squeezing it. Sunday could feel his scars, and shuddered in delight at the familiar sensation. Slowly, Blade trailed Sunday’s own hand down over his waist. He felt his body tingle at the sensations.

“Just relax…” Blade urged him again, “always, you are safe with me, Sunday.”

He’s reassuring me so much, over masturbation…it’s quite embarrassing.

Trying to be at least a little proactive, he undid his own pants without needing to be prompted. But this too was quite embarrassing. Sunday had never even fully been naked before Blade before. Once again, he felt shy.

Shy, but still willing to act. He groaned softly as he slipped off his belt, and then his pants. With hesitance, he freed his cock from the layers of clothing, too embarrassed to look at it, instead turning his head to half bury it in the pillow.

Sunday knew, his cock wasn’t exactly impressive. It was quite small and slender. He couldn’t imagine Blade looking at such a thing with lust - at least, not until he heard him purring in his ear. Sunday went scarlet, his wings trying and failing to cover such signs.

“Don’t go too fast.” Blade murmured to him, velvet in his ear, “cup your fingers over it…mmm, you always have been a quick learner, haven’t you?”

“W-What’s that…supposed to mean…”

Sunday had done as he asked, lightly gripping his cock, wrapping his slender fingers around it. It pulsed and throbbed against his touch, a strange hard and hot sensation he’d never felt. His hips jerked just a little, and he felt mortified, yet Blade kissed his ear as if he were doing well.

“When I taught you the sword, you learned the fundamentals quite quickly.” Blade explained himself, “you’re always so receptive to praise and encouragement, Sunday. I found it maddening.”

“M-Maddening…what do you…ahhh…”

Sunday was finding it hard to focus on conversation. As he stroked up and down, feeling the hard skin of his cock, and each rush of pleasure that accompanied it, his thoughts seemed to become fuzzier and fuzzier. His hand yearned to move faster, but he remembered Blade’s advice. So instead, he bit his lip, and kept his slow, casual pace.

Even with this, Blade’s words still struck at him, though.

“The way your wings fluttered whenever I praised you, or said you did well…” Blade’s voice was hot against his ear, and Sunday shuddered, “the way your eyes sparkled whenever you improved…the way you looked to me with such an eager bright look…I felt it would drive me further to madness. You were so very appealing…”

Sunday gasped. Honestly, he didn’t know if Blade was just trying to rile him up or not. Had Blade truly thought those things? His cock throbbed to imagine it. Their training, together…Sunday had always been so very eager to please him, and they had often been close…

Was Blade really thinking about that, back then? Sunday didn’t know, but just the thought was uncontrollably arousing. Without realizing it, his fingers and hand sped up, even though Blade had urged him to go slow.

“Y-You shouldn’t…tease me like that.” Sunday managed, unbearably flustered; but his reaction showed that he was indeed riled by Blade’s words, which seemed to be all he wanted from him.

“I only seek to be honest with you, Sunday.” Blade kissed his jaw softly, and Sunday moaned from the touch; Blade’s lips on him were a thousand times more appealing then his own touch. “You truly are unaware of your appeal…that too is maddening.”

Sunday could never see himself being that appealing, but Blade saying that he was…it was both flustering and exciting. Blade was so stoic, and put together. Sunday loved the idea that he could drive him crazy. That he could send him into madness.

Maybe Sunday just wanted to feel wanted, desired, loved.

He always felt loved when he was around Blade. And here, like this, he felt desired as well. His legs shook and trembled a little, feet skidding a little against the sheets.

While I like the idea of Blade losing control, I seem to be the one truly losing myself.

“I…” Sunday flustered, stammered, then gasped as Blade kissed his ear. A shudder went through his body, and he forgot whatever he was going to say. His breathing picked up, and he desperately wanted to move faster, faster, faster.

“Does imagining that…really give you such excitement, Sunday?”

Ugh, Blade was teasing him…Blade could be a frightful tease when he wished to be. Sunday was red, and his hand was moving faster than he intended. Just imagining Blade looking at him back then, and desiring him, wanting him, even before Sunday had known -

He should have just seduced me. I would have never said no.

Sunday had been so very innocent, and tried to be full of virtue. Even after joining the Hunters where he had stained his hands with sin, purity and properness was something he prioritized. Yet Blade had enraptured him, captivated him from first glance.

How not? Blade was a beautiful man, and those eyes…Sunday loved, loved, loved his eyes, loved how they burned with fire, and seeing them light up with lust, like they were now…it would have been enough for Sunday to forget every lesson he’d ever been taught.

“You should have approached me.” Sunday breathed out, a little delirious from the pleasure he was feeling, from the images in his head, “ah, you should have tried to seduce me, Blade, we could have - could have gotten here so much earlier.”

What did we waste all that time for? Pride? Properness? I don’t even recall.

His heart was racing, blood pumping through his ears, and to other places. His fingers teased the head of his cock, whining softly as he felt clear liquid coming from the head. Ah…

Did I already come, just from that?

But his cock was still throbbing. He didn’t really understand, but his fingers halted for a moment. Blade had looked down as he stopped, then hummed in amusement. Such was embarrassing…!

“You don’t need to stop.” Blade assured him, watching as Sunday’s chest rose and fell, flushed and beautiful to his gaze, “keep going, Sunday. That…it means you’re close.”

Close…close, oh…

Close to an orgasm, Blade meant. Sunday shook and trembled a little, but continued to jerk off his own cock for the first time, moaning at the pleasure. Once he started moaning, he found it very difficult to stop. The sounds echoed around their bedroom, a symphony of pure sin.

Halovians had melodic voices, and he was no exception. Even these sounds of pleasure were like a song, rising and falling with Sunday’s own pleasure. It felt good, really good, and Blade’s eyes on him…

“Blade…” Sunday moaned out. Even if Blade wasn’t the one touching him, he was looking at him, with those loving and captivated eyes. They were pulsing with life and fire, heat and desire, affection and need. Sunday swallowed, and then reached up his free hand to pull Blade closer, kissing him deeply.

Blade grunted against him, seeming surprised at Sunday’s movements. But even kissing Blade felt so good. Especially when he was like this…his hips jerked up into his own touch, again and again.

He wished it was Blade’s. He wished Blade would touch him all over, and pleasure him in every way. He wished he could make Blade feel good, too. More than anything, he wanted to share this feeling with him. His tongue was unexpectedly aggressive as he kissed Blade eagerly, desperate for every taste of him.

Ahh, he’s so good, he always feels so good!

Sunday did have to break the kiss to breathe, however - more like gasp, as his pleasure was rising and rising, his stomach feeling hotter and hotter. It was as though a spring was being wound within it, heated in order to bend…spiraling more and more…

It was so much pressure, and he whined desperately, it felt like too much. Clear, thin liquid was streaming from his cock, wetting his fingers, and he just couldn’t stop.

“Sunday,” Blade’s voice was different than usual, deeper, and deeper still, “you deserve to feel this…don’t try and hold back.”

“Blade…!”

Sunday cried out his name, as he felt his stomach tense, heat scorching within it. He couldn’t take another moment, he was burning, burning, but it felt so good, so good…!

And then it burst from him, all at once. Sunday cried out in euphoria, the pleasure so intense for someone who had never experienced anything like it before. Blade reached down to squeeze his thigh, as seed spilled from the head of his cock, much thicker and more cloying then the liquid that had been seeping out before.

Sunday didn’t doubt that this explosion of pleasure was an orgasm, but he couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about anything. He just cried out, and moaned, and breathed, and felt Blade against him, pressing against him, he could feel his clothed cock pressing against his hip as Blade kissed at his wing, and that practically sent him into a second orgasm.

His hips jerked up violently, and had Blade not firmly pressed his stomach down, he may have gone flying. His wings would not stop flapping, as if they were attempting to take such flight. Feathers were everywhere, and Sunday saw white.

It was a very shameful state to be in. He completely lost control of himself, and couldn’t do anything but moan and jerk, twitching on the bed. When it finally ended, he found himself completely out of breath, slumping back down to the bed.

Oh.

Hot liquid was spilled all over his stomach and fingers, making him even more embarrassed as the high wore off. Blade had seen all of that…he always had wanted Blade to see all of him, but wasn’t this a bit much?

It’s definitely embarrassing…

His wings fluttered anxiously, and went to cover his face, but Blade just leaned over and kissed what skin he could reach. Then, he moved downwards, kissing down his body. Sunday wondered what he was doing, but when he peeked to look, saw that Blade was cleaning up his release with his tongue.

“Blade…” Sunday swallowed, still recovering from the intense pleasure, “is that, ah, is that necessary…”

Isn’t it a little embarrassing?

But Blade had no shame. He merely finished his task, and then looked up at Sunday, eyes heated and drowning in desire. Sunday stilled. Of course. Blade probably was desperate as well, wasn’t he?

“You shouldn’t have to worry about cleaning it up.” Blade finally replied to him, reaching up to clumsily stroke his hair, “I hope that was not…overwhelming.”

The sensations had indeed been intense…and he was still a little embarrassed…but slowly, he shook his head.

“No, it…it was good. I…” Sunday swallowed, “I wasn’t expecting it to feel so good. I feel I made a disgraceful sight, but if you…liked watching…”

Sunday let Blade clean the seed off of his fingers, too, though he didn’t really like using Blade like this. Still, Blade did seem to eagerly enjoy it. Sunday worried just a little.

“I…I want to pleasure you, too.” Sunday spoke dimly, and Blade stilled, his tongue still hot against his fingers. That sudden tension should have been alarming to him, and should have been the first sign that something was wrong, “Blade, mmm, let me…make you feel good.”

Blade’s life had been nothing but suffering and pain. If he couldn’t manually stimulate Sunday with his hands, there was no possibility he’d be able to pleasure himself, so Sunday couldn’t imagine how frustrated he must be.

He hasn’t had anyone else, right?

“...You don’t need to worry about such, Sunday.” Blade told him calmly, which surprised Sunday, “...it’s clear you’re exhausted, and this was your first time feeling such situations…you need not reciprocate.”

Sunday had been feeling rather weak and frail after his intense orgasm; while he wanted to please Blade, he had also wanted to just relax in his arms, feeling him against him. But…

That’s not really fair, is it?

Yet, Sunday knew he shouldn’t push it. If Blade was saying no…Sunday didn’t understand why, but he wouldn’t push it. He just blinked, and at the time he’d dismissed it. Next time, he’d thought.

Even with that thought, reciprocation never came. Blade was insistent about pleasuring him, and very open about it, but would always find some reason to refuse Sunday’s own offers. Why? This latest incident just reminded him…if he’d done something different in their first encounter, would things be easier?

Did I do something wrong, and now he thinks he isn’t desirable? Does he think I don’t want him? Does he think I lack experience, and anything I do would be lacking?

Such paranoid thoughts rushed through his head, and only stopped when he heard Blade’s voice - this time in the present, as they cleaned themselves up within that closet. Blade had addressed him, jolting Sunday out of his reverie.

“Sunday?” His voice was a little sharp - but even when Blade was trying to catch his attention, he was still overall soft with Sunday. Much more soft then he was with anyone else. “We still have the mission to complete. Your worries should not be a distraction.”

But pushing me into a closet to suck me off is a worthwhile distraction?

Sunday pressed his lips together, but he wasn’t angry. He was just…very concerned. Was he doing something wrong? Sunday…really didn’t know what he was doing with Blade. He loved Blade so much, and so always thought that would be enough.

Here, though, he just didn’t know what to do.

“I’m fine.” Sunday assured him, as Blade reached up to touch his cheek, “...our time is almost up. Do you still remember the plan?”

“I don’t forget so easily.” Blade was always very professional when it came to fulfilling their scripts, something that Sunday had always admired from their earlier days working together. “We’ll be separated for a time…but I will return to you.”

Would that they could be together all the time, for every moment - Sunday could tell that was what Blade was thinking. Sunday gave a soft sigh, turning his head to kiss the soft scarred flesh against his face.

“The script is absolute…but still, be careful, Blade.” Sunday’s voice always ached with worry, “I’ll see you.”

With that, and a quick kiss to his cheek, Blade left the closet, leaving Sunday alone with his thoughts. He rubbed the back of his head, knowing what he needed to do next. Focus on the mission, right? He could mess around with Blade all he liked, but the script was still the most important thing to follow.

A few minutes after Blade had left, once Sunday had fully corrected his appearance, he stepped out of the closet, into the hallway of the facility they were infiltrating. It was quite amazing that they hadn’t been heard at all…a miracle of Finality perhaps. Sunday let out a long sigh, and as he walked, he couldn’t help thinking about his…relationship issues.

Just the thought was surreal. He couldn’t have ever imagined having any issues with Blade. He loved Blade with all his heart. They’d gone through so much to be together. Sunday still remembered the months he’d been without him as a void in his life, one he was lucky to have ever overcome.

There was nothing wrong with Blade, Sunday was very stubborn about that. But his lack of explanation for why he didn’t want Sunday giving him pleasure was just alarming to Sunday. No matter what it was, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

Should I be patient? Should I just wait for him to tell me? I’ve been waiting…quite a bit.

Nothing had changed. Was he hurting Blade by acting this way? Ah, he just didn’t know. This was his own fault. He was naive and inexperienced, and didn’t really know what he was doing. Who was he supposed to ask for advice on this?

Sunday couldn’t really think of a single person. It would just humiliate Blade if he talked about this, he knew. Sunday pulled open his phone as he walked, looking through the contacts he did have.

Stelle - no, definitely not. All Stelle ever sent him was weird scams and weird images that she called memes, if he asked her about Blade’s sexuality -

That’s just completely inappropriate!

Silver Wolf also was far too young. She was barely older then his own sister! That was just disgraceful. Completely out of the question. Silver Wolf only ever sent him friend requests for her games, for some sort of invite goal, or whatever she called it. Sunday would never understand. The children of today were beyond him.

Firefly…well, he found himself at ease with Firefly. But she didn’t strike him as the type to be very aware about these things. Honestly, he’d seen how she acted about Stelle, and it was a bit, just a bit…embarrassing. He wasn’t sure she’d give the best advice even if she would try to be earnest.

Dan Heng could not even be in this conversation, and Sunday didn’t think he had much experience either, despite being hundreds of years old…going to Imbibitor Lunae for romantic advice felt like an exercise in futility and self torture. Sunday wasn’t even close to that desperate. Besides, the last thing Dan Heng had sent him had been a copy of an essay he’d written for some sort of magazine, asking Sunday why so many people seemed to disagree with his points or be intimidated. Once Sunday got around to reading it, he knew that would be.

An exhausting conversation.

Sometimes, he really wondered how he’d gotten into this situation in the first place, where Dan Heng was comfortable asking him such things, so bluntly. Wasn't Dan Heng supposed to hate him?

Why did I even give him my number, sometimes it's hard to remember. I don't even know why he really wanted it.

Elio only ever sent him scripts, and that was it. He never replied to any of Sunday’s other inquiries - the phone was solely for sharing the details of his next missions. Elio did know everything, but somehow, he didn’t think that Elio would find fixing his sexual malfunctions with Blade to be a high priority on his list of things that would save the universe.

Blade himself was a non starter, obviously. But Sunday did look at the last thing Blade had sent him. Blade couldn’t text, but he did send him pictures. Today, he’d sent him a picture of a sunrise as seen from space, the light peeking over the planet itself. Sunday did find it beautiful, and while Blade gave him no commentary, he could guess Blade found it pretty, as well.

That really only left…

Kafka.

Kafka had recently sent him a picture of two identical jackets, asking him which looked better. Sunday had thought they looked the same, but he picked one at random just because she would buy both if he didn’t, and he couldn’t have Kafka bankrupting the Hunters with this sort of thing.

Kafka knew Blade, very very well. In fact, Kafka likely knew Blade better then anyone else aside from Sunday himself. Sunday had often seen them being close, before their ill fated mission to that memoria field. After, Blade had kept more a distance, though why, Sunday didn’t really know.

I need to know. I need to do better. It’s good for Blade to have others he’s close to. Is he worrying about me being jealous? There’s no way…

…Well, if he found out that Kafka and Blade had indeed been…intimate…prior to Sunday entering the picture, he might be…just a little jealous. But that was immaturity that Blade didn’t deserve. Sunday had no doubts that Blade loved him.

So, really, Kafka would be the best choice, even if it was still embarrassing. While waiting for his signal, he texted Kafka, properly and with much decorum.

“Miss Kafka, when I finish this mission, would you like to join me for a drink, perhaps? I have something I wish to ask you.”

Sunday was about to pocket his phone, when he saw ellipses quickly pop up, giving him a start, but he still watched carefully.

“Oh? Little dove, aren’t you on a mission with Bladie right now? Does he know you’re texting other people and asking them on dates?”

Sunday made a face. Honestly, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Sunday really wasn’t in the mood to get teased about this. And he wasn’t the type to go out on other dates! He was completely devoted to Blade!

“If you are looking for another dating partner, that cold little dragon that kept looking at you would serve you better then I would, you know.”

Sunday snapped, and began to type feverishly even though Kafka was still typing a second message.

“This isn’t like that, please don’t suggest that sort of thing, Miss Kafka. Have some self respect. I merely wish to discuss something with you, but perhaps I’ve changed my mind.”

Bad idea. Sunday should have known better. But, Kafka surprised him, taking a pause, and then taking time to reply carefully.

“I’m only teasing you, but if it’s serious…of course I’ll give you whatever advice you need, dove. Is it about Bladie? He’s the only thing that would rile you up so much, isn’t he? You really are a good lover, Sun’er. Very, very considerate.”

Was that supposed to make up for accusing him of trying to go on dates with others…Sunday gave a frustrated sigh, rubbing his forehead.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he really found the Stellaron Hunters to be such a handful.

But…Kafka did care about Blade. Sunday didn’t doubt that, even if he doubted other things about this woman, so…he would relent, at least for this. He could trust her to care about Blade, Sunday was certain.

“Once I’m done with this mission, we can decide where to meet. But please be professional, Miss Kafka. I only ask for respect and dignity.”

With that, Sunday put away his phone, focused on the mission. As best as he could be anyway…as ever, his personal demons would always plague him.

If Blade were here, I would feel better.

Wasn’t that always the case? Falling in love was such a difficult thing. It really made you feel as though…half of your heart was somewhere else. And how were you supposed to be at peace like that?

Nevertheless, Sunday persevered. He wasn’t some sort of lost child who couldn’t function without his lover. He just preferred to have him close, that was all!

Very reasonable!

Elio had given him the exact route to take, upon which he wouldn’t find much interference - until it couldn’t be avoided. Sunday slipped with ease into a computer room, finding it rightfully unoccupied.

Sunday really hoped Elio was being honest when he said the guard was merely busy and not disposed of - but sometimes, he did really wonder. Sunday didn’t really doubt Elio per se, but he knew he would stop at nothing for his goals.

Whatever that entailed…lying to them directly? Possible…frightfully possible, really. Sunday tried to put it out of his mind, heading over to the computer. He wasn’t really a hacker, but he was smart enough to place the small memory stick Silver Wolf had given him, sliding it in.

As per usual, an icon of a smug Silver Wolf flashed over the screen. Wasn’t that a little garish? Did she really need to draw this kind of attention with her mark?

I really don’t understand the youth of today.

Sunday, of course, was only a few years older then Silver Wolf. But he had never really felt young. Even as a child, he didn’t feel ‘young.’

Silver Wolf, however, always seemed young to him. Sometimes he found himself worrying for her, being so young and embroiled in the Hunters…

We all are connected by the same desires - our own wishes, and the universe to avoid an end. Whatever she wants so desperately…I hope she can achieve. And I hope to her, it was worth the price.

Wasn’t that all they could really ask for? Sunday watched the loading bar slowly fill up, halfway through…before the hairs on his neck began to rise. Ah.

In a flash, he whirled around, small cherubs flying out to defend him, only for them to be shot down mercilessly by bullets. Sunday clicked his tongue - but really they were only memoria, and Sunday could revive the withered dreams within with his own manipulation.

Still…how grievously rude. Sunday was annoyed, even as he’d known it was coming. A guard stood there, gun freshly fired, pointing it at Sunday without hesitation.

“Y-You…” The guard stammered, then a rush of recognition seemed to go through their gaze, which Sunday was not surprised by, “y-you’re…one of the Stellaron Hunters…”

My reputation does always precede me.

“If you know that much, surely you know enough to realize it is smarter to walk away from this conflict.” Sunday, despite the script, did try to find a more peaceful solution. His voice lulled with persuasion, an undertone of pure harmony, “there’s no need for you to endanger yourself for whatever your boss is asking - “

Sunday’s powers were strong, but they weren’t absolutely, not by a long shot. And even Sunday’s power couldn’t make a new path, one that went against the script. It was just inevitable…

“No way…! The Family wants your head too, don’t they?” The man cocked their gun again, and Sunday tensed, “four billion credits…that’s how much you’re worth…dead, or alive. And that’s just the IPC! Whatever the Family would give me could be worth even more!”

The Family would smile at you in the open, pay you off, and then have you killed a few days later in some accident for ever seeing me.

Sunday had no doubt as to how they operated…but it seemed some people still believed the delusions of Harmony. Sunday narrowed his eyes.

“Y-You’re, you can’t be that dangerous, you’re just a Halovian, and everyone knows Halovians are frail…you don’t even have a weapon.”

That’s because I have no need to wield one, not anymore.

Even like this, Sunday was quite disappointed. He didn’t like seeing lives lost. Fates ended. Contrary to his reputation, Elio didn’t either. Yet, when the man’s finger tensed on the trigger - a scream rang out, but it wasn’t Sunday’s. No, that sound came from their own mouth, as a flurry of red flowers burst through the air, a karmic wind.

Blade was also so graceful in combat, Sunday was eternally mesmerized. How could one not be? People saw him as frightening, but when he was fighting to protect Sunday, all that Halovian could see was beauty in that gaze. For there was nothing more beautiful then the act of protection.

His lover had crashed down from the ceiling vent, descending in graceful strokes of his sword. Before the man’s finger could twitch, Blade had cut it off - along with the hand, the wrist. It spurted blood violently, and thus, the shrieking that Sunday heard.

Disorderly noise. Sunday’s wings twitched, but otherwise he did not move. He’d known Blade would rescue him, after all. One did not need a script to know that.

“Be grateful you still breathe - though I would call such an insult to air.” Blade slashed his sword, the blood spraying off, as if he were insulted to have such a coward’s blood on his weapon, “were I with anyone else, I would have simply torn your head from that neck.”

“Blade, you don’t need to frighten them anymore.” Sunday tilted his head just a little, remarkably nonchalant at this display of violence, “...though I am grateful that you chose a route that at least preserves life.”

“Some don’t deserve it, Sunday.” Blade walked a circle around him, “hurry up. Do as you wish. His screams will draw others near soon enough.”

Sunday sighed, lifting his hand to squeeze Blade’s shoulder, before walking over to stand before the collapsed man. Suddenly, his halo began to stretch and pulse terribly, and a multitude of wings sprouted alongside it.

“Even after given a reprieve, and a chance to avoid staining your hands, you choose death and misery.” Sunday hummed, the air around him seeming to glitch and distort, “...how unfortunate. But rejoice, for I am ever merciful. In this, we find opportunity…”

That kaleidoscope of colour seemed to burst, and shift, like static over an old television. Reality itself seemed to warp and alter, and right now, Sunday hurt to look at, because something was  very very not right about him, and his very existence.

“I believe we just need to give you…a new m e m o r y.”

--

While Sunday was pleased the mission was resolved without death, he still didn’t like using his powers like that. Ahhh, he knew that man would have killed him, and dragged his corpse back - either to the IPC or the Family.

What kind of expression would Robin make, if she saw such a thing?

It was a terrible thing to contemplate. It did give him pause, but it was also selfish. Still, Blade had allowed him to use his powers to instead shatter and reframe the man’s identity…and what he would remember and tell others.

Not something he really liked to do, but it was better then killing. And having Blade’s hands stained with blood, especially.

I do not blame him for it, but there’s much blood on his hands, and anything I can do to alleviate that…I shall.

Sometimes he thought he was too soft for the Hunters. But deep down, he did know that using the powers of Harmony in such a way, even if he thought it just, was also cruel and cold. Most others would look at him with some degree of horror.

Sunday was reflecting on it, as he readied himself for bed, scrolling through his phone absently as he waited for Blade. Kafka…he still hadn’t replied again to her. Silver Wolf had texted him.

“Yo, tumblefluff, got the data, all of it went smooth…but man, what does Elio even need this stuff for? Do you ever wonder about that? I guess I just do whatever as long as I get paid.”

Silver Wolf did indeed do whatever as long as she got paid…Sunday tried not to think like that. She was very young…but Sunday did believe that she wanted to save the universe as well, immature as she was.

But she didn’t question Elio’s orders too much. Sunday read the message, then sighed, flopping back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Between worrying about Blade and his relationship, and having to deal with this sort of mission, he definitely had a bit of a headache.

The bathroom door did open a moment later, though, Blade stepping out alongside a cloud of steam. Ahh…he had not even waited for it to clear in the air, before leaving the bathroom…his hair was still dripping wet, a towel around his waist and another around his shoulders.

Sunday didn’t fail to notice that despite everything, Blade still positioned that towel to cover his scars. It troubled him a little, but he was too tired to say anything.

“Sunday.” Blade, as always, said the name as if it were the most precious word he knew, “...you seem shaken. You did well on the mission, as ever.”

Well, they had accomplished their goal. It all went according to the script. Sunday couldn’t deny it was successful…his eyes ran over Blade’s body, admittedly, quite a bit distracted. While Blade was trying to cover his scars a little, Sunday could still see some of his bare skin as he went to brush out his hair.

Before, Blade hadn’t bothered with such things except when Kafka had pushed him to do so. Now, he did them without prompting. That was an improvement, wasn’t it?

I wish he didn’t look uncomfortable, though.

“I thought you would be a little annoyed.” Sunday confessed, “altering that man’s memory…”

Sunday’s powers of Harmony were truly incredible, despite the fact that he had turned against Xipe before. It had been a question he contemplated often. Never was an answer forthcoming.

“I knew it would upset you to kill him. Elio knew as well.” Blade sounded like he didn’t really care one way or the other. Blade, despite his name and reputation, didn’t like violence. But at this point, when it was to protect Sunday, or any of his companions, he really didn’t hesitate.

But, I don’t see him go into mara anymore. He’s always controlled…purposeful. Restrained. That’s a good thing.

An impressive thing too. Sunday himself had seen how Blade was trained, and that style…if one could truly call it ‘training,’ was not one that inspired discipline and self restraint. It reminded him of how proud he really was of Blade.

Ahh, he really did love him. Was that a terrible thing, when he was so numb to the sight of death?

No. it can never be such a terrible thing.

“...I walk my path alongside the Hunters, and I accept sacrifices on that path.” Sunday spoke quietly, “...but I would still like to save lives where I can. Thank you…for allowing me to do so…”

Of course, he always had much to thank Blade for. Everything? Perhaps. Sunday was more grateful for Blade then he was for anything in the entire universe. A miracle, truly. 

“We bide by the scripts Elio provides…that does not mean we have no autonomy within them.” Blade’s voice was always so reassuring to his ears, “you need not thank me, Sunday. I would never get in the way of your own choices.”

Sunday swallowed, getting to his feet, idly stepping behind Blade. His lover was seated before a mirror, brushing his still wet hair a little, but not looking at his reflection as he did so.

Even now, do you have trouble seeing yourself? I so wish you could see yourself the way I do.

Sunday sat on the edge of the wood, finally catching Blade’s attention. Those attentive, candle eyes flickered over to him, as Sunday reached forward to stroke his chin.

“You seem…distracted.”

Blade was, as ever, concerned for him. Those eyes were so very bright and sharp. The irony was that Sunday’s own worry was only ever for him. Ahh, it was such an endless cycle. Sunday hoped they could find equilibrium.

I’m worried that even after everything, I don’t understand you enough.

He felt young, and foolish, and unable to help Blade. Kafka…hopefully Kafka would be able to assist him.

“Could I brush your hair for you, Blade?” Sunday asked, trailed his fingers up his jaw, over to play with those gradient strands, “it’s so very lovely. And I do have experience.”

Of course, Blade knew that wasn’t what Sunday really wanted to ask. There was a clear hesitance to his words, but Blade was not about to push him anymore then Sunday would push the other. In truth, they were very similar in some ways.

It wasn’t as thought Sunday wasn’t being honest, though. He did love his hair. Blade kept his gaze locked for a moment, before looking away - once again, also away from his own reflection.

“It is only hair.” Blade murmured, sounding a little confused, “…but do as you like.”

Sunday worried sometimes that Blade would always just let him do as he liked, but surely this was harmless. Sunday took the comb from Blade’s own clumsy grip, beginning to carefully comb it through the strands.

Since becoming so close to Sunday, Blade had made somewhat of an effort to groom himself more. Yet Blade really evoked Sunday’s instincts of wanting to take care of him, just a little.

“For hair as long as this, braiding it before bed is smarter.” Sunday informed him, as he let the black tresses flow through his fingers. Blade really was an unfairly attractive man. Sunday had been attracted to him, almost instantly upon seeing him.

Not that I really understood what attraction was.

Besides, his deep attraction to Blade hadn’t really flourished right away. Sunday hadn’t been that desperate. But upon getting to know Blade so, so well…

Even if it’s not enough to help him.

Sunday’s fingers paused for a moment, just a moment. But it was enough for Blade to look over. Sunday said nothing, and continued to take care of his hair.

“That sounds like quite the hassle.” Blade responded dully to Sunday’s suggestion, “but if you would like to see it, you need only ask, Sunday.”

Ah, it really was so embarrassing to hear like that. Blade was relentlessly obedient and earnest towards him.

“It’s not just so I can see it, it truly is practical.” Sunday gave a long sigh, “…I suppose such a look would suit you, though. Very elegant and proper.”

Blade scoffed at that, never believing Sunday when Sunday said he had an elegant demeanor. Even now, Blade still instinctively saw himself as a monster. Sunday sighed, but began to dutifully twine Blade’s hair together, forming it into a braid.

His lover was very compliant, as ever. He wondered if Kafka had ever done this for him…or if Blade would ever have let her.

“Perhaps we should get you some sleeping clothes, as well.” Sunday mused as he worked, and Blade did shift his expression a little at that, into something distasteful.

“…Needing clothes specifically for sleep seems quite redundant. I’ve never understood it.”

Even now, Blade still clung to some tendencies from when he lived in the wild. Sunday understood that much, and thus he shook his head, a little stubbornly.

“There’s nothing wrong with sleeping naked…even when I am with you.” Though it was a little embarrassing…Blade often seduced him deliciously into sex, so it just became more practical. “But you might find it a little more comfortable? I certainly find them far more comfortable.”

Sunday had been raised in a place far from Blade’s own experiences. A gilded cage, one of isolation and horrors, yet pristine sheets and warm beds as well. Sunday had always been given the finest silks for his very proper, very conservative sleepwear.

While that was his upbringing, Blade’s had been very different. He had been raised in a cave of ice, and later within the feral wilds. Back then, he’d only lived off of instinct and impulse, and luxury such as even a bed would have been very foreign to him.

“I doubt I would.” Blade told him bluntly, “even helping you dress into that fabric…it’s far too fine on my skin. Such finery…isn’t meant for me.”

Sunday was still doing his braid, the locks weaving together seamlessly. But did Blade really think he’d agree with that? Such finery…Blade should truly be more spoiled and given more luxuries then anyone else in the universe!

Even he could admit, though, he was possibly being a little biased in thinking such a thing.

“You don’t have to wear silks like I do.” Sunday pointed out, “there’s all sorts of materials, all sorts of different styles. Ms. Kafka…has quite the collection.”

Sunday only knew this because Kafka made him go shopping with her quite often. Apparently, Sunday was the only one among the Hunters who didn’t have a hopeless eye for fashion.

“Though, Bladie has such an eye for elegance. Perhaps that’s why he’s so drawn to you, sweet dove?”

Remembering those words made him scowl just a little. But Blade did have an eye for elegance. He just doubted that was the reason Blade was attracted to him. 

“It all seems ridiculous, just to sleep in.” Blade was quite stubborn, “some things simply escape my comprehension, it seems.”

Well, Sunday would like to see him dressed up in soft loungewear, so lulling to the touch. But Blade was unlikely to see the same appeal.

If he tried it, I’m sure he would like it.

Blade just didn’t give himself nearly enough comforts, or even small luxuries. Sunday finished braiding his hair, tying it off and hanging it over his shoulder, quite satisfied with his work. 

“Mmm, you look so very handsome, Blade.” Sunday tried to praise him, brushing away some of his stray, unruly bangs. Though, Sunday did pause a little, “don’t you want to see?”

Even now, Blade was looking away from the mirror. Away from his own reflection, gaze purposefully averted. Sunday felt a pang in his heart, and played with the end of his braid a little anxiously.

Can he still not handle looking at himself?

“I don’t…need to see, to know you did well.” Blade told him, “…though it is only for practical reasons, you always give your utmost in every task, Sunday.”

“Some would call that being an overachiever.”

And some would also say that wasn’t a compliment. Blade meant it as one, he did not doubt. Despite his unease, he did lean down to kiss Blade’s bare shoulder, feeling him relax just a little from his touch.

Sunday was the only one who could ever bring him such comfort.

“I would instead call it…being reliable.” Blade looked up at him, still not even glancing at his reflection, “…would you like me to help you dress, Sunday?”

Absently, Sunday nodded, getting up and heading to their shared wardrobe. Both of their clothes were stored inside; of course, Blade and Sunday now shared a room, a living space, a home.

But his home did not rely here, exactly. To Sunday, his home was always simply Blade’s arms. So, it was natural to have all of his things around Blade, and their shared living space.

It wasn’t like he treated Blade like a servant at all, but Blade found purpose and ease in making himself useful - in taking care of Sunday. Much like Sunday had just enjoyed brushing his hair, Blade would enjoy helping him undress and dress.

Sometimes he would be seductive in such motions. This wasn’t one of those nights, though. Sunday pulled out a pair of cream and red pyjamas he owned, the source of the red being a series of painted on strawberries. Blade seemed to find the sight amusing.

“My sister sent these to me, long ago.” Sunday explained, ears growing a little pink, “...you don’t have a problem with that, do you? They’re quite comfortable.”

Made from cotton, too. In truth, all of his other sleeping clothes were made from silk, and what Blade had said earlier nagged at him. Perhaps silk was the problem, too fine to the touch. This might made Blade see the comforts in pyjamas more thoroughly.

Though, if he really is more comfortable naked, I can’t really begrudge it. I only worry it’s because he spent so long in those forests and mountains.

Blade didn’t even really like wearing clothes, only putting them on at Kafka or his own’s behest. Sunday sometimes worried if he would walk around the entire ship naked, if Kafka or himself didn’t stop him.

Then again, he remembered Blade refusing to look in the mirror, at himself, at his scars. His heart softened a little.

No, most likely not.

“Your sister…knows what you like, it seems.” Blade took the set of clothes, pausing, “...these are softer than ones you usually wear.”

“Back in Penacony, I owned only the finest silks.” Sunday explained, “I’ve never, ah, I’ve never made such shopping decisions for myself before, so upon being given pay by Elio, I simply stuck with what was familiar.”

Blade gave him a strange look, likely thinking of how Sunday had lived in such luxury - but that it was truly a gilded cage, freedom restricted and his view of the world distorted. Sunday just defaulted to familiarity when buying clothes, even those that had previously been bought for him.

“...It is a little childish.” Blade remarked, “...but you can wear what you like.”

You should, those eyes seem to say. With that, Blade reached forward, slowly undoing Sunday’s clothes, very carefully. Sunday only had to reach up to unbutton any buttons - otherwise, Blade was very proficient.

Very careful, too. Sunday loved the intimacy of it. He loved feeling Blade run his fingers and hands over his body, sliding down his shoulders and arms…Blade was always warm, but he was still damp from the shower, and Sunday could feel that heat radiating off of him.

To dress someone else was an intimacy, truly. Sunday let Blade do as he liked…even if the pyjamas were childish. They were a reminder of his sister, as well. The sister he could never truly see again.

Sunday swallowed at the thought, but said nothing. Blade could have taken the chance to try and seduce him, but he seemed to sense that Sunday was a little on edge, and merely dressed him properly. Once he was done, Sunday turned, taking his hand and stepping backwards to the bed.

Blade came easily, of course. He always relented so easily to Sunday. Sometimes, it was just a little worrying. But it was also a little endearing. Blade was so much larger then him, but relented easily to his movements…so eager and sweet.

Devoted and aching with adoration, adoration I don’t really deserve.

Sunday slipped under the covers; Blade turned off the lights, and then shuffled a little. Sunday knew he was slipping the towels he wore off. Sure enough, when he slipped into bed alongside him, Blade was very naked.

It was like this every night. Sunday wasn’t really surprised, nor was he bothered. The first time, it had been a little shocking, but now he just accepted it. Though, he did worry that Blade would maybe be more comfortable if he wore clothes to sleep…

Blade pressed lightly against him, wrapping him up in his arms protectively. Sunday breathed in his scent, instantly relaxing. As always, Blade smelled like flowers, and nectar, honey, sweetness, all of his favourite things.

He’s using sweet shampoo, too.

Fruity, and vibrant, full of life…Sunday burrowed his face in his still damp hair, wings fluttering lightly. Blade chuckled at his reaction, raising a hand to stroke Sunday’s own hair.

“Mmm…” Blade hummed, after a moment, “...these are indeed…a bit more comfortable to feel…”

Sunday knew he was talking about his clothes, the cotton pressed against him. Aha, he’d been right about him liking the fabric more. Less fine, less luxurious…

I might think of Blade as an elegant man, but he takes much satisfaction in small pleasures.

“I’m glad you approve.” Sunday told him, kissing his cheek. While they had certain issues right now in their relationship…while Sunday was worried about him, and felt inadequate, unable to help him…he never doubted his decision to be with him.

These moments are indeed blessed. Even if things can’t be perfect.

“Sleep well, Blade.” Sunday nuzzled against him. Blade was always so warm. Like a walking furnace. The perfect person to sleep with - really, he was so very lucky, “...if you have nightmares, don’t hesitate to wake me up. I can calm you.”

“I know, Sunday.” Blade kissed his forehead, “...it’s not a concern…but you are quite sweet, aren’t you?”

Sweet. Perhaps. Sweet and superficial…I hope that part isn’t the case.

Despite his worries, Sunday couldn’t do anything less then fall asleep in Blade’s arms - in his embrace, feeling as secure as a bird wrapped up in a nest. Blade would never let anything happen to him.

And Sunday, as well…would never let him be hurt…

--

Sunday had already thought that confiding in Kafka and going to her for advice could be…questionable. Even if they both cared for Blade, well…

Kafka was very difficult to read. Sunday could never tell what she was thinking, or planning, or even what she wanted. When Sunday had asked what her wish to Elio was, she merely laughed him off.

“Isn’t that a little personal, dove? Just because you wear your bleeding heart on your sleeve, doesn’t mean all of us are so forthcoming…”

Blade had bluntly told him when he wanted to die, and Firefly had been easily forthcoming of her wish and deal with Elio, likely sensing that it was something Sunday would approve of. Silver Wolf was similarly evasive, but Sunday didn’t really suspect anything overt there.

Kafka, though. Kafka he could never read, and it unsettled him. But, the one thing he was certain was that she cared for Blade. Not as much as Sunday did, and she wasn’t in love with him, certainly not. But she cared about him.

And in that, they could find some reconciliation and a way to work together, despite their usual differing ideals.

“Mmm? You invited me out, dove, but you’re not saying much. You’re just staring and staring, with those precious golden eyes of yours.”

Sunday snapped out of his thoughts, glancing up. The two of them were sitting at an outdoor cafe, one of Kafka’s choosing, because Sunday still didn’t like making choices for himself.

Kafka, at least, was very good at making choices for others. She even ordered his drink for him, and it was sweet just as he liked, some sort of mocha with too much whipped cream and chocolate syrup on top…

Whatever. He couldn’t taste as well anymore, so he didn’t mind it. It was intense enough that even he could taste a little of it…maybe that’s what Kafka was intending. As always, he really couldn’t read her.

“...You chose an interesting place.” Sunday spoke a little stiffly, as he always did. Sunday was quite the distant and proper person, when it came to most people. Kafka was a coworker…and while this was a personal matter, he didn’t wish to make it more awkward than necessary.

Should I really be talking to her about this? Would Blade’s privacy be violated?

But really, he didn’t feel like he had anyone else to turn to…and he didn’t trust himself to solve the situation. He took a sip of that far too sugary drink; someone else would have coughed at the sweetness, but Sunday just took it in stride. To him, it was mild.

If he needed to drink things like this to properly taste…he was going to have a sugar problem, probably.

“Mmm, Wolfie likes the blended ice drinks they serve here.” Kafka revealed, “...Stelle used to like the espresso. Pure black coffee, can you imagine? I don’t think that child is like that now…”

Kafka’s gaze drifted a little, and Sunday’s wings bristled. The relationship between them seemed so very different now…Sunday couldn’t help but sympathize.

“I don’t know how she likes her coffee. But I’m sure she would still enjoy coming here with you.” Sunday paused, for a moment, “but I suppose it wouldn’t be the same, would it?”

Kafka laughed at that, and Sunday had the keen feeling that if she didn’t laugh here, she’d cry. He had never seen Kafka cry. Not even when Blade was temporarily lost to them. He wondered if he ever would.

“No.” Kafka finally looked away, “...no, it’ll never be the same again. But that’s how it goes sometimes, isn’t it? Life is a very fickle thing.”

Sunday didn’t share in her laughter, but he thought it would be a good idea for Kafka to try and interact with Stelle more. It must have been difficult. As she said, it wasn’t the same. And it would never be the same again. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth pursuing.

That…isn’t what I’m here for, though.

“Very fickle.” Sunday agreed, pausing once more. He was very hesitant about this…that much was clear in his motions, and expression. Still, for Blade, he was also quite determined. Once Sunday made a choice, he always followed through on it.

Even if it took him forever to make such a choice.

“So…you wanted to talk about Bladie, didn’t you?” Kafka leaned across the table a little, her expression back to perfect, blank, and pristine, “mmm, that’s the only person that could rouse you to make such a request.”

Kafka had already known, most likely. Sunday nodded, slowly gaining more resolve. Holding back was just an invitation to waste more time.

“There’s nothing wrong…between the two of us.” Sunday sat up straighter, trying to retain some dignity, “...I…care for Blade very much…”

“I know you do, dove. Why do you think I trust you with him?” Kafka tilted her head, “you’re the only person I would trust with him…you know that, don’t you?”

He’s not exactly yours to give away.

But they had been close before Sunday had stepped into the picture, hadn’t they? So maybe it wasn’t surprising that Kafka saw it that way, although he still gave her a bit of a suspect look at such words.

“...I know you care for him as well.” Sunday continued, trying to keep his composure, “...but, while I don’t waver in my care for him, I worry…I might not be enough in certain ways.”

It was embarrassing to just say it like that. He wasn’t enough. He hated thinking that, as he always wished to be perfect for Blade. Blade deserved perfection.

No. I’m making…an effort to understand. Even seeking someone else out.

Even though it went against all of his instincts, he still did what he knew he had to, for Blade’s sake. He hoped it would end up being enough.

“Certain ways?” Kafka seemed a little thoughtful, sipping at her drink. “Oh, dove, you can’t be so vague…”

It’s embarrassing. Ugh. Ugh…

Sometimes he wondered how he had gotten in this situation, where the only people he could confide in were terrorists wanted across the universe.

He reminded himself that he was, in fact, a terrorist wanted across the universe as well.

“...I think I may have done something wrong, and not realised it.” Sunday looked away, his cheeks burning with a flush, “ah, he never…he’s very enthusiastic, when it comes to…”

Don’t I have a bounty of billions!? Why am I struggling to say something like this!?

“Pleasure…” Sunday finally finished, still unable to look at Kafka, “but…whenever I try and reciprocate…he denies me, and rejects. I…I feel I am doing something wrong..”

Sunday expected Kafka to once again laugh at him. She did not laugh. Instead, she just gave a thoughtful hum, before swirling her straw around her cup. Sunday’s eyes were drawn to it, as the silence went on and on.

Ah. Perhaps I should simply throw myself into a pit.

Laughter would have been one thing, but pity was something he didn’t want to take. Kafka likely thought he was a fool…well, he likely was a fool! He didn’t understand what was going on at all!

“I-If…this isn’t appropriate to discuss - “

“When we had known each other for a while…” Kafka suddenly interrupted him, and Sunday instantly went quiet, because Kafka was the kind of woman you just went silent for, “well, I thought the two of us could have a little fun. You won’t begrudge those thoughts, will you, little dove?”

Somehow…he had suspected, at least a little. His wings fluttered, but he could be mature about this, couldn’t he? Blade and Kafka were both attractive and young…in a way of speaking, and they had an intimacy about them.

It wasn’t strange, and yet, it still made him feel strange.

“I…” Sunday swallowed, “I’m not surprised…the two of you did seem…intimate…”

“Oh…you don’t need to look so crestfallen.” Kafka tried to reassure him, “you see…nothing happened. Nothing at all. Because of the very thing you’re discussing…”

Sunday blinked, then felt a wave of relief. Along with a wave of guilt, for feeling relieved. After all, he should be welcoming Blade being close to others, shouldn’t he? Especially if it had been in the past, it wasn’t like Sunday was entitled to be jealous now…

“Bladie is a very handsome man…he’s the only man who, if he called me in the middle of the night, I would drop everything to run to his side...any other, and I would just hang up and get some more beauty sleep…but don’t get it twisted. I’m not the type of woman for…committed relationships.”

Is that because at any moment, you might have to sever any of us, as you severed Stelle?

Sunday didn’t say that, but he suspected. Instead, he stayed quiet, listening. Though he did wonder...was he included in those Kafka would just hang up on!?

“Still, a little fun…Bladie doesn’t have much joy in his life. Especially before he met you…well, I thought it would be harmless.”

Harmless. Sunday could understand that, though in his view if Blade really yearned for intimacy…

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so harmless.

“When I offered, I thought he seemed eager enough…” Kafka hummed, “but poor little Bladie…he thought only of what I wanted. It was clear he thought I was using him as the sword he named himself after - the same way I would send him against our enemies and use him as our weapon, he thought I would send him to pleasure me, and that would be that.”

It was…indeed similar to how he treated Sunday. His head spun as he thought that perhaps, he had truly made a terrible mistake.

“I wasn’t very interested in that, but he was very insistent in his pleasure being secondary, or not required at all.” Kafka continued, “thanks to that, it didn’t work out…I felt it didn’t bode very well for his future, to be thinking of things in such a way.”

No. It doesn’t.

“I…” Sunday felt a little at a loss. Right. Didn’t it make sense? Blade viewed himself as a tool for others. For protection, for violence…didn’t it make sense that it would flow into this, as well? “...I thought that…”

“You simply weren’t experienced enough to entice him?” Kafka finished, and Sunday flushed further, glancing away in embarrassment, “ahh, I’m sorry, little dove. I’m afraid I know you better then perhaps you would like.”

It was true. Sunday had mostly thought himself the problem. As he was often was prone to doing. Ahh, this wasn’t good…Sunday felt his heart began to race out of panic.

Have I just been reinforcing this for him? Does he believe he only has use bringing me pleasure, and doesn’t deserve it himself? Have I been validating such a belief?

Sunday just wanted Blade to be happy and secure, as much as possible. The thought that he had been dehumanizing him made him very, very alarmed. Kafka seemed to sense this, not that Sunday could hide it at all.

“You don’t need to look so very scared.” Kafka tried to calm him down, reaching forward and picking up his cup, the far too sugary drink still inside. She tipped it up, pressing the rim against Sunday’s lips - taken off guard, Sunday tilted his head back and swallowed.

As mild as it was to him, the taste did distract him.

“All you need to do…is be assertive. Confident.” Kafka brushed her gloved fingers over his chin, before pulling them back slowly, “there’s no doubt that Bladie wants you, so there’s no reason to hesitate, is there?”

“I…” Sunday felt woefully out of his element. Assertive? Confident? Acting like he was desirable? Such a thing felt impossible for him. Sunday was not someone who could be seen as attractive.

‘The most handsome man in Penacony,’ that IPC Ambassador had called him, but Sunday was sure it had only been idle flattery and even mockery.

In the Dreamscape, it might have held a sliver of being true. But since his time on the run…his real body was too thin, too pale, all sorts of things that looked unpleasant to the eye. Sunday didn’t walk seductively, wasn’t the type of man to catch glances on the street…or so he believed.

Whether it was true or not, as long as he believed it, he wasn’t seducing anyone!

“Ahh, Sun’er, you’re so shy.” Kafka sat back, “but around Bladie, you don’t really need to be, do you? All of us know…he adores you fiercely. And no matter what you think of yourself, he does want you. I’m not so sure he felt that way about me at all…but you’re quite the special little dove, aren’t you?”

“I…would never agree with that statement.”

Such an arrogant thing to say.

Still…it sounded like things weren’t going to change…unless Sunday changed them. Which meant he would in fact have to be assertive. He would have to be confident. He swallowed, feeling a little dizzy.

“All of those chosen by Elio are special.” Kafka went on, “you, Bladie, Wolfie, Firefly…Stelle too, of course. Her most of all.” She tilted her head, “and of course, you. You’re quite confident on missions, so perhaps thinking of it like that would help, hmm?”

“It’s not a mission, it’s…” Sunday bit his lip hard, “...to me, it’s far more important than that.”

No, to him…Blade was the most important thing in the universe. He was all he ever desired, needed, craved. Well, maybe Kafka was right. Maybe she had a point. By looking like he didn’t want to seize that treasure so desperately, wasn’t he making Blade doubt his passion?

Blade wants me as I am. He’s told me so before. Sunday felt a little dizzy, I just have to believe him, and trust him.

"Of course." Kafka's gaze softened a little, "I understand...so, hmm, perhaps you'd like a few tips on such a thing, Sun'er...?"

Sunday went even more flushed. Tips? On how to be assertive and confident in the bedroom? From Kafka? That certainly felt like it was ill advised...and yet, Sunday mulled it over a little.

It sounds like...she knows what she's talking about. I can rely on her, can't I?

"...What kind of..." Sunday cleared his throat, "...what kind of tips...would you recommend?"

Kafka gave him a devious smile, and for a moment, he truly felt as though the jaws of Finality were clamping down around him.