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since the beginning of the cosmos, energy has been culminating.
amidst the universe figuring out its genesis and terminus and destiny inbetween, power started its collection, its spread along the universe. its vitality, its quality, a multiple definition state of unfettered energy that allowed everything else that came after it to /go/. this was chaos, entropy, endless force, practically magic. (and then later, actual magic, once it started breathing its perpetual motion of dynamism into life itself.)
and this fuel of the galaxy, the propellant that kept all of creation's vehicle on its star-studded road at a nice constant expansion, was slumped in an armchair with an omni-dimensional head splitter in its hand.
the host, eternal vessel of energy since before eternity was a concept people understood, shaper of magic, all that, had a bit of a problem.
the problem was that he'd done a funny little party trick back on roulxe that involved snatching all of the dormant energy in the surrounding area out of the air, mixing it with all of the energy inside of him, plus some he didn't have, then sending it all back out into the atmosphere, and ended up causing both an explosion that was one atom away from being radioactive and a lot of trouble for himself.
the firsts weren't all that happy, seeing as he'd strained a good lot of their universe pretty badly. and generally, when the firsts weren't happy, he didn't get to be either. so, goodbye, some of his blood, some of his memories, one of his favorite fingers, and, devastatingly, his sense of taste.
apparently it was an equal trade. (if a little erratic.)
the solution, according to the host, was alcohol. lots and lots of it. myriad firewater. oceans of tipple. as much alcohol as he could get his hands on.
the solution wasn't working out so well.
court sighed, setting the deep glass on the windowsill and stretching himself out. the pawn (2186) murmured at him from the holographic screen, but even noreek fabula in a shimmering skirt was drowned out by his groan of discomfort.
those bastards above, not to mention maheen's little desert army, had really left a lasting effect on him. the effect, unfortunately, was a stab wound in his side with an aversion to healing.
court swore, then swore again.
"oh, i'm a journalist," declared the on-screen fabula, met with the host's soft utterance of "arschloch."
he was sick of this. he needed a break from the cosmos. he needed a stronger drink. he needed—
the door slid open. stoker.
(he could see him without really looking, could feel the air displaced by flaming energy, yevkar and lida magic alike. court's heart skipped a single beat.)
"did you know," came that particular lilt, shot through with the smallest of south gloxnob accents just enough to produce the silhouette of a drawl. "that if you leave an entire cellular toaster just lounging around in an engine, it's going to get—to put it in mechanical terms—real fucked up?"
court rolled around a drag's worth of liqueur on his tongue, then swallowed. "i rater think i did, liebling. vhy, has sometink happened?"
he turned his head to look, to rest partially infatuated gaze on that green-lipped smile. stoker sighed, stretching his arms out above him and kicking off his boots.
"a /lot/ of things happened, and one of them included a damn cellular toaster. i really, really hate that cat." stoker rolled his eyes, ruby iris scraping across impeccable eyeliner. "supposedly it's not his fault, buuut..."
"but it is," finished the host, offering an equally cocky grin.
"so, if he finds any sort of surprise in his breakfast tomorrow, well. you know who /didn't/ do it, riiiight?" the sorcerer had sidled over to him now, and with a faint invitation of his hands had plopped firmly upon his lap.
"oh, but of course. i couldn't /ever/ imagine you doing somezing so devious." court clicked his tongue, positioning the other properly in order to see the screen.
stoker laughed, the sort of laugh that thrust court even further out of a bad temper. "good to know. say, what're you watching tonight? all you've done lately is stare at the holo-screen..."
court waved a dismissive hand, silver nail gesturing towards fuce faul's ludicrous tie. "old tomfoolery of a repfilm. you know, some say it's a biography... but fabula's, eh, busen vas much bigger zan ze actual telilah yael's. same horns, zough."
"the pawn, hm? yeah, you showed me that... the one where the static comes out of the dude's mouth?"
"much more gruesome vhen it actually happened."
stoker shuddered, leaning into the eternal's chest. "poor fellow..."
together, in silence for a few seconds, they watched fuce faul dig into a synthetic cheeseburger.
that was unbearable.
breaking the silence was the demigod (who had really only recently come to terms with it), kissing softly at the host's jawline. "it's just... you seem tired, court."
the eternal made a vague sound that only indicated he was listening.
stoker shifted in his lap, taking pointed face between his hands in order to make eye contact. "court."
"...stoker."
"my immortal."
"mhm?"
the yevkar rolled his eyes again, throwing his arms over magenta-robed shoulders. "c'mon. look at you. ever since roulxe you've been so..."
silence, language only in pursing of faintly blue lips and definitely blue brows.
court laughed, harsh and dry. "oh, liebling, leave it alone. all i need's a, a, a veek, or so..."
he wouldn't say it, couldn't say it, not quite yet, but every word from stoker's mouth set another fire raging in his chest. it was warmth, and it was euphoria, burning off his ennui and affliction and discontent.
damn him.
stoker pouted, as he did. if those scarlet eyes were any bigger, court might die right here in his armchair and dissipate back into the universe. "tell me what's wrong? ...please?"
it was the 'please' that got him.
court tapped his tongue on the roof of his mouth, trailing a finger behind stoker's ear and then down to his hands, slowly bringing green fingers up to his shoulders.
"it's not a... pleasant feelink. all ze, ah, combustink. it makes me..." he shifted his shoulderblades, feeling the muscle practically creak. "mm. tense."
the yevkar squeezed at the flesh above the clavicle vertebrae, gracing the bones. "here?"
court, against his better judgement, let out the smallest of euphoric sounds. "j...ja."
stoker raised his eyebrows, sliding his hands down robed back to press over shoulderblades. court gripped the fabric of his trousers hard enough to pale tanned knuckles, pressing his body up against the yevkar.
"is that... good?" queried stoker, curiously thumbing at eternal spine. he wasn't used to that sort of reaction, and it was clear his interest was piqued.
"/lovely/. stop it." court pushed the demigod off his lap, rather rudely, and sidled over to the mattress. "i'm just so awfully tired, supernova, and maybe ve'd bot better just... lie down and schlafen wie ein murmeltier. long day, i can tell—and you'll haff to tell me about zat toaster—"
"/court/!"
the host had found a decanter of brandy, and was eyeing it the same way a child eyes a cookie jar. he was doing his best to ignore stoker, even with—no, especially with—the harsh concern seeping through that south gloxnob accent.
he was being a fool, he knew. stubborn, too. but his heart was sitting too unsteadily on the fence overlooking sheer adoration for him to play any other game—
he felt yevkar hands on his shoulderblades again, and he fell face-first off the fence.
"it's /me/, court. i get that there are things you don't want to talk about, and i'll wait until you do, but... you know i was in trouble back there, with tal'int. you can say you only started the process all you want, but i /know/ you saved me. i just..." stoker's voice was soft, hardly audible through the film.
court swallowed, first his tongue and then his pride.
"let me help you?" stoker continued. "maybe we can start with--" and an excrucatingly slow drag was made with a pointer finger down court's spine—"this?"
he was drowning in an ocean of bitter fondness, regretful devotion that forced the air from his lungs. "...nerve endings are more sensitive over dokrin bones to, ah, avoid fracture."
"really?" the yevkar, taking the lead for once, undid the belt of court's robe and tossed it aside.
"supposedly, as ze adult grows and ages, ze sensitivity increases for better—mngh—protection, and sometimes results in a series of, uh, extremely responsive zones if properly matured, /oh/—"
before they knew it, court was sitting on his knees upon the bed and stoker's hands were pressed along his back, green fingers kneading teal-painted flesh.
"and you were just going to keep this from me?" chaudfroid laughed, high and delighted, pressing a gentle kiss along tanned shoulders.
"i zought you'd figure it out eventually?" offered court, knowing it was pathetic to even try.
"here i was, thinking you were shoving your wrist in my mouth so often to shut me up..." reminded of that, stoker took bare forearm to his lips in eagerness.
"mngh, verdammt—you /are/ good at zat, aren't you? easy now, schatz..."
with a little re-positioning, they found their stride, and court felt his heart melting away with every squeeze of the mechanic's hands.
stoker warmed to it much too quickly, and a quick transition from shoulderblades to collarbone made all that cosmic energy present itself in synesthesiac fractals of fuschia on the host's vision.
"how's that tension?" murmured the yevkar, and court responded only with a groan.
a thumb dragged up his back, right where it dipped to make room for spinal column, stopping over each vertebra—court could feel decades of evolution filling his mind with unimaginable euphoria. his pants tightened, and he slumped backwards into stoker's arms.
"...you weren't kidding." stoker laughed again, leaning forward to press his lips on now-teal collarbone. court, seizing his opportunity and superior strength, pulled the yevkar forward to kiss behind green ear.
laughter left the both of them, trickling out into the atmosphere. laughter, of course, quite quickly turned to blatant whimpering as the host remembered he could wrap his tongue around the other's earlobe.
"hey, hey, this is supposed to be for /you/—" stoker frantically pressed his thumbs right into eternal clavicle.
"ohh, but i just couldn't let ze opportunity to repay you pass me by..." it is easier than it looks to take advantage of another species' erogenous zones, reads several guides, pamphlets, and supermarket commercials throughout the galaxy. court, leaving what were practically hickeys along the pointed tip of the yevkars' ear, agreed.
they rolled around on the bed for a few moments, grabbing at each other intermittently, and the host found it surprisingly easy to ignore the pain in him when he was clutching the pyromancer.
"...stoker?"
a laugh. "court."
"starlight."
louder, reaching up to play at painted tailbone. "mhm?"
"...i love you."
stoker smiled up at him, and the slow blue flush creeping in on zaftig cheeks melted off every last piece of court's suffering. "i love you too."
they held themselves in the moment for almost too long, breathing in passion with gaze held between ruby-bright and onyx-dark eyes. court could feel himself changing even more, more than the first time he said it and more than the last. more, ever-shifting, the energy of the cosmos taking on a new shape as it softened to let glowing flames envelop him in the form of yevkar lips.
then, they let themselves free, the sensation still lingering in their chests but the silence broken by a muttered "take your hand off my ear" and lips suddenly smashed together.
since the beginning of the cosmos, energy has been culminating.
the host, eternal vessel of energy since before eternity was a concept people understood, shaper of magic, all that, had found a bit of a solution.
(a non-alcoholic one, anyway.)
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