Chapter Text
“Can you reproduce this phenomenon?”
Teor asked Wick rather suddenly the night of the same evening. Wick hadn't even gotten to see them for himself, not really, but according to his companions and the fae of the Timmony Woods he'd grown wings of light during their last encounter.
“Why, I'm not sure.” He responded, fidgeting with his staff. He rolled his shoulders, recalling the bindings his father wore beneath his robes. The mutilated wings— real wings— that his father kept hidden away.
Would he grow his own someday? Would he too be forced to crush those limbs until they became frail and mangled?
He didn't quite like the idea of having wings at all. Soft fingers slipped beneath his collar, reaching to feel his shoulder blades. But there were no feathers, no bones pushing through his flesh. Only smooth skin greeted him.
Nausea twisted his gut. Teor seemed to have different thoughts on the matter.
“But can you try this?” He persisted, eyes following Wick’s arm as it snaked back up his collar. “The sooner you understand your abilities— your gifts, the better I can ascertain a means of protecting you.”
His feline nostrils flared, eyes blinking slowly in that way they only seemed to when Wick was nervous.
Wick swallowed dryly.
“Yes, yes I suppose I'll have to try.”
He looked around their campground. They were only resting for a short while, but Tyranny had curled up to doze and Kattigan seemed especially frustrated with a bolt he was carving.
“Maybe without an audience, this time? I'm no stranger to the spotlight as it were, but this… I don't know.”
Teor straightened up. “As you wish, of course. There is a river a short ways away. We can fetch fresh water. Ah, two birds with one stone, yes?”
Wick’s shoulders fell with relief. “Yes, that would be perfect.”
They did a quick round of the camp, consolidating what water they had into Kattigan’s water skin and taking the empty bladders through the thick undergrowth of the woods.
It was strangely silent, what with the undead eliminated. It was still too soon for animals to reclaim the area, and Teor and Wick were left impossibly alone as they approached the river.
Clear water burbled in a steady current. Upstream, a corpse lay half submerged in the blue clay riverbed.
“Oh, darn.” Wick grimaced at the body, water rushing over it in persistent waves, having already carved grooves into the flesh.
“Perhaps we can gather water upstream of it?” He suggested, turning to Teor.
The lion man frowned, the black inner lining of his lips snagging against large pointed teeth. “But there is no way of knowing this is the only body. It is best to assume the whole of it is contaminated.”
“Darn,” Wick repeated.
He approached the body, peering upriver as if the zombies which had long roamed these woods would be spaced evenly along the stream in perfect view of one another. He saw nothing more than the beautiful ferns and mosses and shelf mushrooms which grew from the wet rot abundant nearby.
“It can still be made potable,” Teor continued, passing by him and taking water from several yards ahead. His paws squelched against moss and muck, and yet it seemed of little bother.
Wick watched the ground as he made to follow Teor, attempting to step only on rocks and semi-stable clumps of rotted wood. His slippers were scuffed from hours of walking, and now the suede fabric was darkly colored from the damp.
“We don't have a pot to boil it in,” Wick said, mostly to impress Teor with his knowledge. Yes, even a city slicker like him knew how to clean water.
Teor dipped an open bladder into the stream, rumbling in agreement. “No time to sit and wait, either.”
Once the pouch filled, he corked it, pressing his palm against the bag. He took a deep breath. All at once, his mane fluttered, his eyes glowed a golden hue, and the water…
Well, it appeared unchanged.
Teor handed it to Wick, who grunted at the weight of it.
“This is pure,” he said, with such finality that Wick didn't doubt it.
He repeated this with each of the water skins, and each time Wick watched with eager wonder as Teor proved his impossible connection to the Light.
“Your magic is beautiful,” he said, charmed by the warm color of it, so different from his own harsh white radiance.
Teor's ear flicked. Eventually, he said, “You are too kind.”
He purified the final waterskin and tucked it beneath his cloak. “Now, I showed you mine, you show me yours.”
Ah, right.
Wick didn't know why he suddenly felt so bashful. Everyone had seen the wings only hours ago, it was nothing new to show Teor again. He didn't even know if he could. Maybe they weren't something he could simply summon at will.
“Yes, well, no promises.”
“But you will try,” Teor said. The words were barely raised as a question. If Wick were less sure of their positions, he might have even interpreted them as a command.
“I will,” he agreed, closing his eyes to focus. He opened them again, looking behind himself with some thought.
“I should take off my robes,” he said, moving to do so.
The wings had been ephemeral the first time, but he couldn't get the thought of his father's wings out of his head. Intrusive thoughts of his back splitting open, bloodied white feathers pouring from his torn skin and sluicing through the only set of clothing he had riddled his mind.
Teor reached out, just in time for Wick to drape his stole over his arms.
“Yes, hold these would you?”
He dismantled his carefully arranged wardrobe, placing amice, alb and underclothes carefully into Teor's care.
Once he was bare chested, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“...You undress, and yet you seem to be shy of your body?”
Teor finally seemed to stir awake, barely more than a piece of furniture as Wick had busied himself.
“Shy? No,” Wick said, putting his arms to his sides. It was true, he had no shame regarding his body. It was given to him by the Light after all — quite literally, from the truth of things.
“But I'm really not sure about this, Teor. I've never done this before, not before today. If I… if I just sprout wings, what if they don't go back? Or what if it hurts? Or—”
He dug his fingers into his arms, and found Teor clenching his fists similarly, crumpling Wick’s fine clothing in a tight grip.
“These wings are gifted to you by the Light, are they not? You should wear them with honor.”
Wick bit his lip, nodding.
“Right, well. Just don't be mad at me if I can't spring them out again. Or if I… pass out from blood loss, or something.”
“I will heal your wounds should that come to pass.”
He nodded again.
Wick took a deep breath, forcing his arms to his sides once more. He closed his eyes and pictured the smooth planes of his own back: the mole on his left shoulder, the small dents asymmetrically placed at his lower spine. He imagined, then, feathers folding out from his shoulder blades. First those of a swan, then those of a falcon. A beautiful, white falcon. Did such a thing exist?
He wondered, would he be able to fly? He would have to ask Thimble to teach him how.
If he grew wings and they didn't go back, it didn't matter that he had taken off his clothing, did it? They wouldn't fit if he had giant falcon wings all of a sudden.
“Focus,” Teor chided.
“How did you—?”
Wick peeked with one eye, then shut it again, sighing.
Wings. Wings of feathers, of light, those with which to undeniably bask the world in brightness. A symbol of his heritage perhaps, but still that which caused plants to grow and even fae to revere his deity.
“Wick,” Teor said, and he scrunched his eyes further.
“Yes, yes, I'm focusing.”
He rolled his shoulders, tried to call forth the same physical sensations he felt when he cast magic. Warmth lit up the left side of his face. Whiteness painted the insides of his eyelids.
“Wicander!”
He opened his eyes, the gauze he often saw through as he cast spells muffling his vision. His eyes were glowing.
So too were the river, the trees, the ferns and mushrooms and mosses.
Vegetation furiously bloomed. Ferns curled and twisted and doubled in size. Moss crawled along the forest floor as if reaching towards him. Mushrooms sprouted from nothing, advancing through several stages of life in only moments.
A pale white sheen covered everything. Teor's eyes were squinted, pupils slits. He shielded his face.
“You are doing it,” he said.
Wickander turned— first with his whole body, then realizing that wouldn't work, only turning his head. The wings were not corporeal, made of the same light that glowed through his eyes. It was difficult to see.
“What do they look like?” He asked, immediately regretting the question. “No, that is quite vain, isn't it? It doesn't really matter.”
Still, Teor answered. “You are beautiful.”
Wick turned to look back at him. Heat flushed his face. “The wings, yes. I'm sure they're a sight to behold. That which is holy often is, even to those outside of the faith...”
“Can I touch you?” Teor asked, moving. It was hard for Wick to see as he put something — Wick's clothing— in a side satchel. Wick looked away again to his wings, attempting to make them move.
“You can try, though I doubt they have any physical resistance. You'll probably pass right through—”
A palm pressed suddenly against his chest.
Wickander sputtered.
The hand moved almost immediately, snaking up his chest, his collar, curling over his shoulder down his back. Teor's other hand fell against his bare hip, and Wick shivered.
Soft pawpads stroked the bone of his shoulder blade. Like a ray of light blocked by a figure, the wings flickered in and out of existence where Teor’s paw passed through them.
“It would seem they can not be touched, as you guessed.”
Teor's voice was low. More than that, it was close. He was close.
The light in Wick's eyes flickered. His shoulder felt like it was vibrating from Teor's touch alone.
A line of tingling nerves danced across the skin Teor had touched.
“I confess, there is just something about wings I enjoy too much,” Teor continued, quiet as a confession ought to be. He laughed softly. “Maybe it is a… catlike tendency.”
Wick thought again of Thimble, feeling something twist in his stomach.
Why was he jealous?
He had never once thought Teor was attracted to him. So why did the idea that it was just his wings Teor found beautiful hurt?
The hand on Wick's back moved up his neck and cupped his jaw. It was strange, for a man so enthralled by wings, he wasn't much looking at Wick’s wings at all.
“Can I kiss you, Wickander?”
With a foul concoction of bitter feelings in his throat, Wick said, “I think I would like that.”
The light sputtered out, first from his eyes, then the wings fizzled into sparks that shattered on the forest floor.
Teor tugged him gently forward, and then their lips touched.
Wick had never kissed a human, let alone a lion man. He didn't know what to do with himself. Immediately, his mind swarmed with suggestions, things he'd heard from sinful confessionals and lewd actors at the theater. His hands— he ought to touch Teor, not just stand here like a dope.
He reached out, finding purchase on Teor's pauldrons.
His lips pressed stiffly against Teor's, which rumbled with laughter and curled up in a smirk.
Wick pulled back. “What, what is it?”
Teor's tongue darted out, licking from Wick's chin to his cheek.
“You kiss like a virgin, that is all. I forgot there is much to teach you.”
Wick blushed, smearing the wetness from his face with a palm.
“I kiss like a virgin because I am one, Teor Pridesire, I swore an oath of celibacy and there's nothing wrong with that —!”
“I don't mean to mock you, Wickander.”
Wick turned away, pouting.
“But kissing, this is alright?”
His stomach churned again.
Was it?
“You bring up a good point. M-maybe we should stop.”
He pushed Teor's chest, slipping easily from his hold. Immediately, shivers coursed down his spine.
Teor's tail thwacked the air behind him. His voice was cool as he said, “If that is what you want.”
Wick said nothing as Teor pulled his clothing from his satchel. He said nothing as the lion man stepped forward, rolling his shirt so that hem and collar could carefully pass over his head without mussing his hair. He shivered as Teor's knuckles stroked his sides while he carefully draped the shirt down Wick's body. When they pulled away, they seemed to take all his warmth away with them.
Teor moved to grab the next piece of clothing.
“I want to,” Wick whispered.
Teor's ears twisted to his voice before his eyes met Wick's.
“You want to… what?”
“I want to kiss you.” Wick said. “And… and learn how to kiss better, and maybe other things I was told I shouldn't do, things that would dim my Light. What does it mean if I want to do those things, Teor?”
Teor's eyes softened. He pulled his paws from the bag, stuffing away the rest of Wicander’s clothing.
“It means you wish to experience life, that is all. Is the Light such a cruel thing that it would deny this to you?”
Wick shook his head. No, of course not. The light was good— it had to be. And if Teor was… more experienced than Wick, it meant those who wielded the Light were not punished for ‘experiencing life.’
Teor unclipped his cloak, hooking it onto a low hanging branch. He pulled the bag from his shoulder and looped the strap over the same branch.
Without looking at Wick, he spoke. “If we are to do this, I do not wish to stop at kissing. You deserve to feel all the pleasures I can offer.”
Something squeezed inside of Wick. Was he sure about this? Words he’d been quoting all his life bumbled through his mind. But those had been lies. Was this so wrong? did it matter?
He didn’t know, didn’t want to be the one to decide what a god was supposed to want from him.
“Okay. Then… don't stop.”
Teor looked at him, the black roundness of his pupils blotting out his irises.
“You’re certain?”
Wick gulped.
“Positive.”
Teor pushed him to the ground.
The burble of the river harmonized with the incessant purr in Teor's throat.
He dipped a clawed fingertip into Wick's mouth, opening it.
“Breathe while you can,” he warned.
“Is that a threat?”
Wick gasped sharply as Teor plunged his tongue into his mouth. Human mouths were so small. Wick tangled his fingers into the matted fur of Teor's mane, hanging on for dear life.
Teor wanted to take his time. The reality of their situation, however, made that impractical. Thimble or Kattigan would surely notice how long their little chore had taken. They would come searching soon. Even if the primary dangers of the forest were gone, it was still unwise to stray so long from the group.
He had ten, fifteen minutes max.
He tugged Wicander's thin, sheer undershirt up, knees crunching up mulch and loam as he shifted lower down Wick's body. Dark, petite nipples taunted him on the unmarred surface of Wick's body.
He took one into his mouth, nipping at the surrounding flesh. Wick gasped, arching his back. Fingers caught on Teor's muzzle.
“What are you—! Nnh!”
He licked one nipple and let his other hand roam south. Wickander wore a fine cloth belt and pants that did little to prevent access underneath. He found his prize quickly.
“Tell me, Your Eminence, how much do you already know of sexual pleasure?”
“I— ah, um—” Wick's eyes flickered as Teor groped his cock. “I've never done more than rub against my pillows, but even that I stopped once I learned it — ah— it counted as dimming.”
Teor’s mind provided him with a delicate image of Wicander, head thrown back as he fumbled against his plush bedding. He growled.
“Do you feel dim, Wick?”
He stroked from base to tip, circling his thumb over Wick's cockhead and slipping underneath his foreskin.
Wick's eyes fluttered shut, fully gleaming now. He couldn't answer.
Teor fisted Wicks cock, rolling his own hips against the younger man's leg. They didn't have much time. Not enough time to prep.
Teor considered getting Wicander on his knees, those plump lips around his cock, cum dashing over those intricate tattoos and striking white eyelashes.
He worried that might be too much.
“Turn over,” he instructed, helping Wick do so.
He slipped Wick's pants barely halfway down his thighs. He had a cute bubbly ass and a smattering of pale hair from ass to thighs that contrasted sharply with his otherwise fairly hairless physique.
He'd have to admire it properly another time.
Teor tugged his own cock from it's confines in a practiced movement from equally time-restricted fucks in the barracks of his youth.
He spat into his palm and slicked his cock.
“There is so much to learn,” Teor mused woefully. There was no guarantee Wickander would desire his companionship long enough to truly explore.
“Press your thighs together,” he said, patting Wick's outer thighs.
“Like this?” He asked, voice muffled in the dirt.
He dutifully squeezed his legs together.
Teor tugged him up so that he was on his hands and knees. He wrapped an arm around Wick to hold him up, but also to grasp his cock, pumping it steadily.
“I wish we had more time,” Teor grumbled, rubbing his cock against the tight squeeze of Wick's thighs. “But you will feel good this way, too. Let's see if we can't get those wings to come back, why don't we?”
He canted his hips, fucking the tight warmth. His cock glided across Wicander's perineum, nudging against his balls with each firm thrust.
Wick groaned loudly, loud enough for Teor to worry about interlopers. He stuffed two fingers into Wick's mouth, and light burst from his vision again as he opened his eyes.
“Suck,” Teor ordered. Immediately Wick complied.
Light flickered like reflections on water at Teor's sides as the barely visible facade of angel wings began to take shape.
Teor moved his fist a little faster.
“That’s it, good.”
He kept a steady pace, slicking his fingers over Wickander’s cock.
Teor pulled his fingers from Wick's mouth, finding a gentle hold on his throat, keeping his head held high.
He nuzzled against Wick's neck. For a moment, he indulged his own want, focusing on the back and forth of his own cock, the pleasant warmth and pressure Wick was creating for him.
As he moved to clamp his teeth around Wick's shoulder, he suddenly spoke. The tone of his voice stopped Teor in his tracks.
“I’m sca—ah!” Wick’s fingers scrabbled against the forest floor. His thighs quaked.
“Scared? Of what, your Radiance?”
“It feels close,“ Wick whined, throbbing in Teor’s hand. “I’m not supposed to— this is— wrong…ngh!”
Teor stilled his hand on Wickander’s weeping cock and held his hips steady against Wick’s, as much as he wanted to fuck him without restraint.
Wick made about as much protest at the stillness, gasping and trembling.
“Do you want me to stop?”
The wings flapped, agitated.
“I don’t know…!”
Teor twisted Wick’s face, finding ichor tear streaks running down his cheeks.
He licked a stripe up Wick’s jaw, shushing him. The tears tasted sharp, cold. As much as he wanted to continue, it was a foolish thought.
“I will stop, do not cry.”
He pulled away, cock slipping from between Wick’s thighs. Wick fell to the ground, curling into himself, covering his face. His wings didn’t disappear, casting light across the dark forest.
As much as it pained Teor to do so, he stepped away from Wick, rifling through his bag to find Wick’s clothes.
When he turned back with the garments, Wick had his own cock in his fist.
“I can’t…!”
He shielded his face with the other hand, panting. Blood drooled from his bottom lip, bitten in frustration.
“Do you want to finish?”
Wick made a sound like he was in pain. “I don’t know…!”
Teor dropped Wick’s clothing and settled on the ground above Wick. He grabbed his wrists, first the one he covered his face with, then the other, tugging both to Wick’s chest.
He looked up helplessly at Teor, eyes expressionless beams.
“I will do this for you,” He said, squeezing Wick’s hands. “To you. If it is such a sin, it will be me that sinned, yes?”
“But I—!”
“That, or I toss you into the river. Your desire will shrink into nothing, but it will be painful. What do you want?”
Wick squeezed his eyes shut. “If I choose, it’s no different than doing it myself! It is a sin, a dimming, I shouldn’t have— what if—”
He tumbled into a rapid recitation of some verse from the Candescent Creed’s scriptures, frantic enough that Teor couldn’t understand half the words.
“Choose, Wick.” Teor was already moving to tug the smaller man towards the river.
In the not-so-far distance, Wulfric barked.
They were out of time.
He moved to lift Wick up and fingers clasped his wrist.
“Do it.”
“What?”
“Just do it to me. Not the river, the other option.”
Teor clenched his jaw. He looked out in the direction of their canine tracker.
One minute, max.
He pulled Wick up by the waist, meeting his cock with a hot, wet tongue.
He took the whole thing into his mouth, sweet and salty and already practically there. This would only take a moment.
Hands tugged him closer, pulling tufts of his mane until it hurt.
He sucked, tongue lolling out over Wicander's balls.
“I’m—!” Wick cut off, crying out as sensation overtook him.
Heat filled Teor's mouth and he lapped it up dutifully. He set Wickander back on the ground, stroking his hips as he sucked every last drop from his cock.
“Enough — ah!”
He writhed, oversensitive and overwhelmed beyond physical touch. Teor came up with a gasp of air, hungry to continue.
The patter of paws thumped towards them.
“Dress,” he commanded, shoving Wick's crumpled clothing towards him. They would have to discuss this later.
The light in Wick's eyes faded and the wings finally disappeared. He dressed with fumbling fingers, and both of them were barely decent by the time Wulfric burst from the underbrush.
He was, thankfully, alone.
He panted, barking accusatorially at Teor.
“We are fine,” he said, knowing damn well the dog could smell it on him.
As if to prove it, he pointed his nose, nostrils flexing. He padded closer to Teor, zeroing in on the scent.
Teor shooed him away. “None of that. It's none of your business, or Kattigan's, for that matter. Keep it to yourself, yes?”
Wulfric whined, curious but ultimately a well-trained hound. He probably wouldn't tell Kattigan, not unless he asked some very pointed questions.
Wick stumbled to his feet, and the dog trotted over, prancing around him in such a way that he almost fell.
“Excited to see me?” Wick laughed nervously. “Yes, we're perfectly fine, got the water and everything. Is it, um, time to go?”
Wulfric nudged his outstretched hand, tail wagging.
Teor finished slinging his cloak over his shoulders as Wick laughed, carefully scratching the wolf's ears.
Teor whistled, and both turned to him. He nodded to the wolf. “Lead the way, boy.”
Wulf tugged Wick forward, and Teor's eyes lingered on the man's back as he passed through the first row of trees, swearing he could see the glimmer of feathers in the air.
Chapter Text
Teor was glaring daggers at Wick.
“You alright mate?”
Kattigan hadn't been trying to be particularly sneaky, but he must have been stepping lightly for Teor to jump out of his skin like that.
“Huh?” He growled, ears flicking between Katt and Wick.
“He say something to you?”
“What? Hardly.”
“Wulfric said you were acting strange, but I didn't need him to tell me what I could see for myself.”
They were settling down for the night. Having come out of the woods, they trekked through a long stretch of plains interspersed with farmland and minor villages. They wouldn't come across the King's Road for another day, longer if they couldn't find steeds.
Wick and Tyranny were arguing over the distribution of blankets. Thimble was scouting the outer ring of their campsite to look for wild horses. Kattigan and Wulfric had gone out to hunt for rabbits, and seemingly returned from that endeavor.
Kattigan wordlessly tossed two of the rabbits to Teor, who began the simple process of dressing them.
He was acting strange enough for Kattigan to notice, then?
He looked again towards Wick. What he'd done had been a mistake, there was no doubting that. He would find the right moment to apologize for it eventually. But more than guilt, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Wick because he seemed to be showing no evidence at all of the shame he'd felt during their encounter.
“Is it about your brother?” Katt guessed, causing Teor to whip around.
“What?”
“Is that what's bothering you? Cuz I figured maybe you saw something in that brat that reminded you of Cyd. I didn't know him to be an entitled princess, but what do I know about your little brother?”
Teor tried to imagine anyone comparing the two people. He barked a laugh that caused both Wick and Tyranny to glance over.
“They could not be more different. No, I do not… gaze at Wicander Halovar and worry for Talcydimir. We will kill Casimir, then we will break my brother free. It is simple.”
Kattigan gave him a pointed look. He knew Teor well enough to know he rarely showed his fears openly, knew their circumstances well enough to know that the idea of Cyd dying was a very real possibility.
He knew Teor well enough not to push the matter.
Instead, he said, “So you are gazing at him then? You still like breaking in shiny new toys?”
Teor sputtered, tugging the fur of his rabbit harshly. It snagged against a hind leg, and he carefully looped the skin over the joints.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Katt said, sounding like he meant it. “Good to take pleasure where you can find it. Just don't know if he's gonna break his vows to be a temporary plaything. Military taught us not to get attached to anyone, but he doesn't have those instincts.”
It was Teor's turn to give a pointed look.
Katt ignored it, looking across camp. “Honestly, I figured if he'd break ‘em for anyone, he'd already be doing that acolyte of his.”
“Maybe he is,” Teor chuffed, finishing his rabbit.
“Oh shit, really?”
“No.”
Teor stood, tossing both his finished rabbit, the skin, and the rabbit he had yet to clean into Kattigan's lap.
“Some wild carrots would go nicely with your catch,” he said, loud enough for the other two to hear. “Wicander, lend me a hand foraging in these grasslands, would you?”
“Sure thing, bud,” Kattigan snickered. “I'll send Wulfric after you a little slower this time.”
Teor's ears flattened against his mane. He ignored him.
Wick looked between Teor and Tyranny, who had a severe expression.
“Right, yes, a well rounded meal is always — um…”
“I'll come with,” Tyranny chirped, smiling at Teor with a false sweetness.
Kattigan snorted.
Teor winced. “Of course. The more the merrier.”
They set off, retracing their steps through the thick tall grass, back to where Teor recalled seeing carrot tops.
At his height, he towered above the grass fronds. Tyranny and Wick were a perfect height for seeding grass heads to scratch at their arms and faces.
“I think I'm allergic to this stuff,” Wick grunted, batting away a golden seed pod with a sniffle.
“Yes, well. Hopefully Thimble will find us horses so we can ride above the worst of it.”
Teor didn't like how normal their smalltalk was. Shouldn't Wick be accusing him of taking advantage of him? Tyranny seemed to know something, why stay silent just because she was here? If anything, wouldn't an ally in such a conversation be desired?
As if to remind him that she knew something, the demon was strangely quiet herself.
Carrots be damned, Teor just wanted to turn around.
He ignored that base desire and continued forward.
They found the carrots as quickly as they were upon them, unable to see very far ahead of themselves through the grass. Some of the carrot tops were almost as tall as the grass, flowers falling from the slightest sway of the plants.
“Don't pick the flowering ones, they will be small and bitter.”
“Like Thimble! Ha ha,” Wick said, brightening at his own joke then shrinking a bit when no one laughed with him. He looked between his companions with a wince, then crouched, poking at the small orange and purple bulges of root vegetables bursting through the soil.
Teor walked along the edge of the smattering of dark green plants, seeking a healthy patch of carrots that had not yet blossomed. When he found one, he crouched, digging the carrots out with a small knife and his fingers.
“Boo,”
Tyranny poked her head through the grass beside him.
“Ah,” he said flatly, more to appease her desire to scare him than out of any actual concern.
“Yeah, ha ha. Demon, so scary.”
She crouched beside him, smiling very suddenly then dropping the facade entirely.
“Soooo. Are you gonna apologize, or?”
“I don't recall doing anything to you that would necessitate an apology.” He began to pile his carrots beside himself. A small pyramid of three created a flimsy barrier between him and Tyranny.
“I'm not stupid,” Tyranny hissed, tail thrashing. She jabbed a finger against Teor's arm. “Wick came back with dirt under his nails. Dirt. And it was on his face. And his clothes were wrinkled. Do you think it takes a genius to figure out what happened from there?”
“It was between me and him—”
“So you did make him do something?”
“I—”
“Oh, guys! There you are!”
Wick poked out from another tuft of grass holding a single wilted carrot.
“I just wanted to check and make sure this was what we were looking for. I'm not familiar with the wild variety of carrots, they're quite softer than I thought they'd be, and… rottener?”
Tyranny smiled at him. “That looks perfect, Wick.”
He beamed. “I'll find some more, then!”
He was gone before Teor could even reply.
Tyranny was already glaring at him again.
He sighed. “I did not pressure him into anything. I asked him to try and summon his wings, he wanted privacy to do it. Beyond that… whatever he told you is probably true, he's not much of a liar. But your assumptions are unfair.”
He stopped digging up carrots once there were more than could fit in his bag. He wasn't about to ask Tyranny to carry any.
As they returned to camp, shame curled in his stomach. It wasn't his place to tell Tyranny anything Wick hadn't told her. He'd like a chance to clear the air between them, but if this outing was anything to go by, he wouldn't be getting much of a chance to catch Wicander alone in the near future.
The campfire smouldered and even before Wicander was asleep, Tyranny perched on his chest.
“Is that really necessary, Tyranny?” He asked, adjusting his breathing pattern to accommodate for his slowly deflating lungs.
“Yup!” She said. “Night night. Ever light, ever bright, all that jazz.”
“Good night, Tyranny.”
He supposed he'd be getting a healthy dose of nightmares, accepting his fate rather quickly. It was just something that came with stewarding a demon.
The troubling part was how his body was reacting.
Two private panic attacks and a vague conversation with Tyranny had led him to the conclusion that what he and Teor had done hadn't been wrong, per se. Sex was an act of dimming, yes, but there were also minor verses regarding acts between vowed partners. Sex between married couples was referred to as kindling the flame. Teor had made an oath to Wicander, and what was an oath if not a vow? It wasn't marriage, no, but—”
“Wicky?”
“Don't call me that,” Wick opened his eyes to see Tyranny an inch from his face.
“You're freaking out.”
“Sorry.”
He felt her tail knocking against his knees. Her fingers moved on his chest, a small readjustment of her weight. She smoothed the fabric of his blanket.
As Wicks breathing eased, she flicked a tuft of lint into the grass. “Should I just kill him?”
“What? Who?”
“Teor.”
“Light, no! I mean, killing anyone is bad, to start.”
“But if he —”
“What are you talking about?”
She huffed, sitting up. Wick sat up with her.
“What's wrong?” He asked, insistent.
“You don't usually ask me about alternative readings of proverbs, Wick.”
“It was purely hypothetical,” Wick felt his face flush.
“You wanted to know if it was a sin to hypothetically get down and dirty with someone who ‘isn't exactly in the fold, but if you kinda squint, and this line here about oaths,’ don't treat me like I'm stupid!”
“I don't think you're stupid,” Wickander said immediately, reaching to touch her shoulder. “I asked you because I respect your opinions on these matters.”
“On what matters, Wick? Did he pressure you into doing something? I'll fucking kill him, don't think I won't,”
“Language,” Wick chided, then frowned. “Or, maybe it's not dimming to curse. Light, I'm making up excuses for my own sins and scolding you for yours, I really am a fraud.”
He sighed, trying to shift his weight then stopping when Tyranny's weight on his lap prevented it. “Don't kill him, Teor's a good guy.”
“But he—!”
“I wanted to,” Wick said, whispering. “I wanted to do it. I don't know if what we did was a sin, or— or if the Light really cares. Maybe I dimmed my light, I don't know. But I wanted to do it, and… and we did it, and what's done is done.”
Tyranny clenched her fists against his thighs. He couldn't quite look at her.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be a good example for you and I've gone and ruined it.”
“Why him?” She asked, voice laced with something strange and off-putting. Wick glanced up, reading hurt in her eyes.
“What? I mean it's not like I planned for it to happen, it just sort of… he asked if he could kiss me, and one thing led to another—”
“What if I asked you that, Wick?”
He blinked, not quite absorbing the words.
“I… what?”
“What if I asked to kiss you, Wick?”
“I don't… we have this sort of mentor-mentee thing going, I'm not sure it's a good idea—”
“I've sworn as much of a vow as Teor has, haven't I? Hell, there are papers to prove mine.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“Sure, but we don't all get what we want all the time.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Tyranny's eyes.
“Right, of course not.”
She got up off of Wick's lap.
“I'll let you sleep.”
“Tyranny—”
“Good night, Wick.”
He watched her stomp across the camp, scrubbing at her eyes with a sleeve.
“Wow.”
He twisted to face the sudden noise. Thimble flicked him in the nose.
“Ow!”
“I knew you were a dumbass, but seriously?”
“Thimble, I’m trying to set a professional boundary!”
“With Tyranny, and completely ignoring the fact that Teor is your employee too!”
Wick's heart sank.
Assuming that she'd heard everything, he spoke openly. “What happened between me and Teor was an accident, I didn't plan for it to happen. That's different from just… wooing Tyranny with intention.”
“So it's only a sin if it's on purpose? If I kill you on accident does that mean I'm all good?”
“Well those are two completely different scenarios—”
“No one gives a shit about your stupid rules, shithead!”
Wick gestured helplessly. “Tyranny does! She's an acolyte for Light's sake, it's my job to set her on the right path!”
Thimble threw a grass seed at him, landing remarkably hard against his cheek.
“Ow! Quit it.”
“She likes you, you can't just stomp on a girl's heart like that man!”
“So I'm supposed to… what, have sex with anyone that asks for it just because I… because Teor…”
He blushed, unsure how to phrase it.
“Prude. Cuz you and Teor fucked? No, obviously not.”
He gritted his teeth. “Then what have I done wrong?”
Thimble gestured for Wick to put out his hand, landing on it as he did so. She put her hands on her hips, wings fluttering in rapid irritation, smattering his palms with pixie dust.
“You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But if you want to do something, not doing it is just gonna bite you in the ass later. We don't get second chances.”
“Fine, but shouldn't I get tested first or something? Having multiple partners is a health risk, really, and I haven't even had a proper conversation with Teor about this, I can't just… cheat on him?”
“Che—” Thimble ran her hands down her face. “I can only help you so much, freako. Teor doesn't give a shit about shit like that.”
“Sure, but we should at least talk about it.”
“For sure, but Tyranny—”
Kattigan stumbled past them, grumbling. “I'll talk to her.”
“You?” Wick and Thimble asked incredulously.
“I'm a-fucking-wake, I might as well do it. Noisy motherfuckers….”
He pointed at Wick, glaring. “Go have your chat with Teor, get that over with and I'll have Tyranny feeling right as rain by the time you've picked some flowers and come up with a nice apology, alright?”
“Right,” Wick said automatically, still digesting Kattigan's orders.
“Good man. Thimble, go back to bed. Someone should be getting some rest and it's not gonna be any of us.”
She alighted from Wick's hands, zipping away to wherever she'd decided to curl up for the night. “Don't fuck it up,” was her final word of advice.
Wick watched Kattigan head into the direction Tyranny had fled until the grass obscured him from view.
He got up, making his way towards Teor's bedroll.
Despite the ruckus, Teor appeared to be asleep. Wick was reluctant to wake him. Really, this conversation could at least wait until morning.
“What do you want, Wick?”
“Oh, you're awake.”
Teor opened one eye, then the other, sniffling and wrinkling his snout. He yawned, and for a moment Wicander got a clear view of every one of his teeth.
“I wanted to apologize —” Wick said, at the same time that Teor forced his yawning mouth to shape the word, “Sorry.”
“Oh. You first, I guess? Whatever for?”
Teor scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. Wick knelt before folding his legs underneath himself.
“It could be argued my actions today were of a coercive nature. I did not wish to force myself upon you.”
“You didn't, you're a good man, Teor. You wouldn't do something like that.”
“I did do something like that. Don't absolve me so easily.”
Wick readjusted, folding his legs in front of himself and holding his knees. He lay his chin on his knees, looking at Teor sideways.
“It was thoughtless of both of us.”
Teor shook his head. “I don't ask you to share my blame.”
Wick sighed. In the silence that stretched between them, he thought he could hear Tyranny bickering with Kattigan.
“I liked when you called me beautiful.”
Teor exhaled forcefully.
“Have you ever slept with Thimble?”
He made a strangled sound.
“What? No.”
“I just figured—”
“Why would you think such a thing?”
“You said you liked wings, I just assumed—”
“She is smaller than my finger.”
Wick pondered on that. “I don't see why that would necessarily stop you,”
“Wicander.”
“Yes?”
Teor took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. “I am pleased you seem to be taking this well. But, I made a mistake, and I apologize, whether you think it necessary or not. I want to respect your faith, and today I did not do that.”
“...Alright.”
“You… you were trying to apologize too, for something?”
“Ah, right!”
Wick repositioned himself again, sitting to face Teor more directly. “As your employer, my actions today were an abuse of power.”
“An abuse of… power.”
“Yes.”
“Because you… have power over me?”
Wick took a moment to look Teor up and down. “In some ways.”
“In very few ways.”
“There is a class difference —”
“An age difference.”
“A wealth disparity —”
“I'm twice your size and weight.”
“I'm a mighty cleric—”
“I could crush you with two fingers.”
Wick wilted.
Teor smirked. “Do you wish to have power over me? Is that attractive to you?”
Wick gaped. “Attractive? I thought we were done with all that.”
Teor hummed thoughtfully. “We ought to be. You are my employer, and a man with a vow of celibacy.”
“A broken vow,” Wicander muttered.
“Does it count if there is no penetration?”
Wick tilted his head, frowning.
“I jest. Listen, let us call it even, today was a mistake. We will simply move past this, go back to how things were.”
“Before we kissed.”
“Yes, before that.”
Wick's frown deepened.
“Tyranny was upset.”
“I noticed.”
“Did you?”
“She wants me dead, I think.”
“She's exaggerating.”
“Is she?”
“Well, maybe.”
Wick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I think she… likes me.”
Teor shook his head incredulously. “You only now— oh yes, does she now?”
“I think she was jealous of you for being my first.”
“There are many firsts, I did not take all of them.”
“Would you be okay if I… pursued that?”
Teor blinked. “Pursued Tyranny?”
“I don't want to— I don't know what we are, really. If you had some kind of monogamous feelings about us or something I didn't want to step on that—”
“Wickander, are you sure you even want to have sex again? You don't have to suddenly change for the people around you.”
“I…”
Wick bit his lip, licking the wound still left from their escapade.
“I don't know about sex. But kissing, maybe. Courtship. Even just holding her hand with new intent, that feels exciting to me.”
“Even though you are her boss.”
Wick blanched. “It's wrong, isn't it?”
“You worry too much.”
Teor flopped into his bedding, putting an arm over his eyes.
“Whatever you do, be certain it is what Wicander Halovar wants to do. Don't worry about what I want, or what Tyranny wants.”
“That sounds rather selfish.”
“Good. Be selfish. I'm going back to sleep. “
Wick stood back up. “Well, alright then. Goodnight Teor.”
“Goodnight, Wicander.”
He took a few steps back to his own bedroll before remembering.
“Oh, one last question, Teor.”
He peeked out from beneath his arm.
“Do you know if you've ever contracted any sexually transmissible diseases?”
Alquimia Sun 14 Dec 2025 05:25AM UTC
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SaltySapphic on Chapter 1 Tue 16 Dec 2025 05:21AM UTC
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SaltySapphic on Chapter 2 Tue 16 Dec 2025 05:38AM UTC
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