Archive of Our Own

Everything begins when Mydei finds a pouch of candies on his desk.

“Huh.”

The packaging is simple - about two handfuls of candy are wrapped in a translucent fabric sachet; a saccharine smell wafts out from between the thin cloth, as some of the pieces have long since clumped together and melted slightly. Evidently, the candy was freshly made to order, the bag stamped with the familiar insignia of a local street stall Mydei vaguely recalls passing by before.

All in all, rather unsuspecting.

Mydeimos squints at the tag tacked onto the bag - it’s clear the paper was stuck on as an afterthought, a hurried scrawl blotting ink across it.

hv fun pretty boy, the tag reads. u deserve a break wit some candy. one sure to make u feel just like me. let ur inner animal out!

The message, barely as coherent as the writing is legible, ends off with a signature - one of Cipher’s (and Bartholos, too, it seems), a quick doodle of an impishly grinning cat stuck next to it. One of her coins sits idly next to the pouch, its silvery grin leering back at him.

At least Mydeimos knows the candy isn’t placed with malicious intent - the girl and the phantom attached to her hip mean no harm, their sole motive being to spread trickery and make light jokes.

Now that he thinks of it, he realises as he picks up a piece, he should’ve caught on that it was her doing sooner. The candy between his fingers shares a colour with his eyes, a warm amber, with every piece shaped like a blob resembling a feline creature. Many little cats jangle around in the pouch in his hands.

He lowers one into his mouth, taking a tentative bite.

Hm. Maybe Cifera has good taste after all.

The candy has an earthy note to it, with secondary hints of spices like clove and saffron. The main flavour itself hums with an artificial taste of sugar, but it’s to be expected of cheap street snacks like these, the fake tinge quickly being overpowered by honey instead. 

All in all, it’s surprisingly good for its visual quality, or lack thereof. Mydeimos savours the last tastes of it in his mouth, feeling the viscous, honey-like taste coat his throat.

His head begins to itch, a dull buzz on either side of it, as do his bosoms - are they suddenly heavier? - but he pays no heed, turning around to take a nap instead.

And if an appendage curls, peeking from above his posterior to tug the blanket tighter around him, he pays no heed to it.

His teleslate is buzzing to oblivion, as he wakes up to the incessant noise, already ready to launch it into the wall opposite him.

His tail swishes in annoyance, the action almost synchronised with his current vexed state, as he-

Hold on.

His what?

Mydei lurches upright.

In three quick strides, he crosses the room, arms gripping desperately onto the frame of the mirror as he stares at his reflection.

His mirror image stares on impassively, an exact replica of him - but the semblance to what he knows himself to be ends there, at the fiery locks spread around his shoulders and the quiet blaze in his eyes.

What he doesn’t recognise begins here - at the golden horns sprouted from his temples, curling upwards like licks of flames, soaring all the way up as they taper into razor-sharp ends fit to gore an adversary to their brutal demise. Nested snugly below them are a second pair of ears, other than his human pair, deceptively soft and fuzzy to the untrained eye - they fold over in little tucked flaps, dappled with carmine spots. His body seems relatively untampered with - Mydei almost second-guesses himself on the size of his upper half, were his breasts ever so abundant? - but from between his legs curls a long tail, fit with a tasseled end that swishes with every thought Mydei can conjure, an anxious pendulum that ticks and curls around his ankle occasionally.

In simpler words - and yes, there is a word in the Kremnoan dictionary for this - Mydei has turned into a half-cow.

And he’s at a loss for words, or actions, completely rendered speechless as he stares on.

He’s going to track Cipher down personally once all this has settled, and give her a good whack, he thinks, settling on that threat for now as he pulls out his still-buzzing teleslate.

He knows just who to ask for help.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

Hyacine almost drops Ica on his plump face when she takes a preliminary look at Mydei’s predicament.

She quickly rearranges her face so it doesn’t look like she’s been hit face-first by one of Tribbie’s rockets (again, the job of the healer of the Twilight Courtyard is mystifying and has its drawbacks), politely correcting herself with a practiced phrase.

“My apologies, Lord Mydeimos. What seems to-” she can barely hold her surprise, an ill-concealed giggle bubbling out of her, “what seems to trouble you today?”

“Doot,” Ica adds, its tiny wings barely acting as a counterbalance as Ica pushes itself upright.

Ica wonders if Mydeimos is like the creatures in the field, which eat grass and grow fat all day. Ica doesn’t care for their diet. Ica has eaten the same grass, and rolled down the same hills, and even eaten far worse. Ica only cares for their use - to produce better food, like the cold, sweet melting cups of dessert it sneaks from banquets held in the heirs’ honour, or even the flame-grilled slabs, cut fresh from the creatures themselves and plated in sizeable portions.

Ica does not concern itself with food chains. Whatever Ica is hungry for, Ica devours.

Hyacine takes a step forward to assess Mydei’s condition close-up, effectively cutting off Ica’s mental conquest over ‘cows’ right then and there. Ica sulks. Ica was only beginning to imagine how Mydeimos would taste roasted and seasoned.

“Hm,” Mydei grunts as Hyacine prods at his horn gingerly. She stands on her very tippy toes, stretching with great effort, only to barely come up to his shoulders. He bends the rest of the way, allowing her to do her job.

“Nothing hurts,” he provides the information to her usual questions. “It began earlier today. I wasn’t in battle, I didn’t get fed, sold, or sprayed with anything suspicious at the market. I only ate some… right, I was gifted a bag of candies earlier. I ate one, went to sleep, and woke up like this.”

“Lord Mydei,” her eyes flit calculatingly, as she looks up sharply, having drawn a conclusion to whatever has seemingly afflicted him. “Do you happen to have the bag with you right now?”

“Yeah. Would you like one?”

“Doot.”

Ica wants one. Ica doesn’t think it’ll be any different after it. After all, Ica is already an animal, and can’t become any more animalistic. Ica just wants to eat one.

“Ah, no!” Hyacine quickly declines, a polite bow. “Actually, I want one to run some tests to confirm… but Lord Mydeimos, you really should be more careful with what you eat! Especially random gifts - who knows what they can contain?”

“Hm.” Mydei gives it a thought. “You’re certainly right. Thanks to your wisdom, the whole city can rest easy, without doubt or fear.”

“Ah, Lord Mydei,” she flushes, “it’s nothing like that!”

“Nonsense. Praise is due.” Mydei nods solemnly, as if Hyacine had just bestowed the knowledge of the universe upon him, handing her a piece of the candy as if it were a trophy. “You still have not explained why the candies are suspect of…” he trails off, gesturing at his horns and tail, “doing all this, though.”

Hyacine briefly recontemplates her life decisions leading up to her position as the Courtyard’s physician. Maybe she should move away with Ica, and become a stray unicorn in the hills. Even the mountains’ crumbling stones would litter her patients' logbook with less stupid questions.

Then again, half of said logbook is filled with Phainon and Mydei’s separate woes and afflictions. 

Maybe they’re the problem. If they moved to live in the hills as chimeras, her life would certainly be easier.

“Lord Mydeimos,” she begins, taking a shaky breath as she twirls the cat-shaped sweet between her fingers, “candies are easy to spike.”

Mydei blinks once.

“And easier to conceal.”

He blinks again.

Hyacine sighs.

“What I mean is - someone may have infused your candy with a trick spell. Which is why you’re here right now.” She taps her clipboard once, scribbling something in her logbook as she seals the candy in a small vial, to run tests on later. “Do you happen to know who gifted you these?”

“Ah.” He holds up the note and attached coin wordlessly.

Hyacine seems to understand. Her face settles into an expression.

“Alright, if it’s her doing, I don’t think it will last too long,” she consoles. “Get some rest. Do you want a nice hat to cover the- well- you know, from prying eyes?”

“There is no word for ‘embarrassment’ in the Kremnoan dictionary,” Mydei steamrolls the suggestion almost immediately. “The trip back should be of no concern, especially since I came here like this.”

Thank Aquila his ego isn’t bruised, she thinks to herself. At least that’s one less wound to worry about.

Hyacine chooses not to tell him about the shocked gawks from the normal clinic visitors he received as he burst in earlier.

She’s had enough of this back-and-forth now that the root cause is in front of their eyes, she thinks, beginning to shoo him out with a polite curtsey and a pomegranate lollipop, not before making him vow to report to her immediately the next time anything at all changes, and subjecting him to mandated bed rest.

As he leaves, she exhales, shakily settling onto the floor in a pile, her skirt pooling around her legs as she places her head in her hands.

Maybe she should consider a trip to the hills.

“Doot, doot,” Ica says sympathetically, or at least Hyacine thinks it’s out of sympathy, as it settles on her lap in a heavy, fluffy mound.

“You too, Ica,” she parrots half-heartedly, stroking its head softly. “Doot doot.”

Ica has no concept of sympathy. Ica only feels hunger. Ica just wants a lollipop from Hyacine’s pocket. 

Hyacine is comfortable to settle on for the timebeing, though. Ica is rather warm there. Ica likes warmth. So Ica stays.

"Lady Aglaea, please-"

"Hm?"

The woman adorned in golden robes brings a hand up to his cheeks. Her head tilts once; though her eyes reflect a murky aureate hue devoid of any light, like the bottom of a scrying bowl, they instinctively soften, crinkling at their corners.

A singular thread comes to prick at his fingertip, curling around his hand teasingly.

"I don't know where he is, really." She attests to it, the same words uttered an uncountable number of times. But she never really loses her patience with him, thinking of him as a cute yet petulant puppy, pawing at her until he has his way.

"But certainly you knew where he was a while ago! Weren't you the one who explained it to me? His situation?"

"Phainon, as I've told you - I heard of his condition from Cifera."

"But," she continues, dragging the thread away as she turns to take a tentative step, "where would one go if they were afflicted with something? I can offer you this much. The rest is up to you."

Phainon stares blankly. Aglaea can almost sense the loading bar, buffering on his head as he stalls to make sense of her hint.

She lets out a soft titter, fingers coming to cover her mouth demurely.

"I urge you to dwell on it. Maybe you'll find him there."

"And," she waves him goodbye, "even if you don't, love will find its way to give you a little nudge. A hint, perhaps."

As she senses the last of his disappearance, a snowy white head of hair so fresh that she could imagine it herself bobbing and weaving into the city, she lets out an airy sigh.

She doesn't tell him about the group chat with the other Chrysos Heirs, save for him and Mydei.

Her teleslate buzzes faintly, as her mind drifts away from the imagination of a youthful love.

By the time Phainon bursts into the infirmary, Mydeimos has long gone, leaving only stray hairs and a starved Ica in his wake.

He's been gone only a few minutes - but in that time, Hyacine has managed to put herself back together.

That is, until Phainon breaks down the doors.

She sees his infectious grin and titanium locks from a mile away, pseudo-tail wagging as he searches for her like a lost retriever.

As he spots her, he waves, bursting into her quarters.

She mentally regrets not utilising the short interval between his gracing presence and Mydei's departure to file her own two weeks' notice.

Ica flits over, clambering with the aid of its little wings to chew on Phainon's hair. Noodles, it thinks, nosing at the locks with its rounded snout.

"Hey there, Little Ica!"

Ica is far from little, having somehow further ballooned in size since Phainon last saw him - that is to say, from two days ago.

The man had rushed into the clinic, tears rolling down in fat globs from his eyes as he wailed and sobbed, wheeling Mydei in with him. He'd turned to Hyacine, pleading and helpless.

"Our crown prince is bleeding!" he'd exclaimed, holding Mydei's finger up to show off all the gory horrors of a minor nick he'd received chopping carrots for stew. The pinprick had long dried, too, the stains of blotted ichor leaving a crisp golden mark on his finger.

Hyacine had held her tongue, choosing not to remind Phainon of Mydei's regenerative capabilities - of anyone's, really, for such a cut lacking deeply in its magnitude.

She'd given Mydei a band-aid with a design of Fig Stew on it, the little round face covering the last of the tiny scratch.

"Maybe a kiss will make it better," she'd suggested, and Phainon had instantly taken her word for it, diving at Mydei's feet to give him a slobbering kiss on the finger as he looked at him with such pleading, yearning eyes that Hyacine felt herself get sick at the sappiness of it all.

Thankfully, they'd made quick work of that injury, exiting the clinic not long after to leave Hyacine to her actual, legitimate duties as a healer.

A slobbering drool on Phainon's fluffy ends brings him back to the present day. He pays zero heed to the damage being done to his scalp, petting the little unicorn as if it were one of Castorice's hand-sewn plush toys.

"Doot," the unicorn nods affirmatively, nuzzling further into his hair as he pets at just the right spots.

"Hyacine," he nods, greeting her.

Her face twitches once.

"Lord Phainon," pleasantries roll off her tongue easily, as she reconsiders even opening the clinic today. Had she stayed in her quarters, maybe she wouldn't have to be rounding the two of them up like stray sheep by now.

"What brings you here?"

She knows the answer is one big fat Mydeimos, but still asks out of the habit of courtesy.

"So I heard, our dear Mydeimos has been inflicted with something," his eyes sparkle. Oh no. Hyacine does not want to give him a talk on what exactly not to do with Mydei's temporary form.

"Yes, he's been down with a… hex of sorts," Hyacine finishes, teeth grating as she steeples her hands.

"I was wondering if you saw him by any chance?" Phainon asks, eyes wide and innocuous as he brings his finger to his chin in thought.

Sue her for all her money's worth. Run her over with a herd of dromases. Smash her into a million pieces upon Janus' altar. Make Ica trample over her while it carries her entire day's worth of medicinal supplies, Titans, anything is better than her current predicament.

"Huh?" she feigns ignorance, despite being the one to dictate the rest of Mydei's day. "He came in a while ago, but you must've missed his departure. Ah, I'm sorry, Lord Phainon, but my hands are tied!"

Phainon sighs, clearly dejected. Even the strands of hair on the very top of his head wilt and droop with him, like a neglected sprout.

"If it's any consolation," she quickly offers, a sad attempt at wrangling him out, "perhaps he's gone to rest! Or take a relaxing oil bath…"

Phainon's eyes perk up at the prospect of catching Mydeimos mid-shower. Hyacine tries to repel any and all images of it - or even of the two doing Titans know what in there - from her mind.

Think of little Icas, hopping across a fence. Think of little Icas, hopping across a fence. Think of-

Phainon thankfully has the nerve to open his mouth again, dragging her out of her miserable spiral of Mydeimos naked and covered in oil.

"I'll go check the baths now-" really, is that what gets him to be hasty? "-thanks, Hyacine!"

A blur of white and gold scurries away just as quickly as it came.

After this, Hyacine really needs a long soak at the bathhouse, and an oil massage, and- you know what, throw in an entire full-body treatment for good measure.

She books the next day off hurriedly, before anyone else can find her.

The baths are devoid of any citizens at such an off-peak hour. No familiar, raucous laughter ricochets off the tile walls; the surface of the communal water lies untouched. Not a single ripple dares to tarnish the pristine surface. Hazy afternoon sunbeams refract as they penetrates the surface of the pool, turning everything a muted golden under their touch.

The Marmoreal Palace is surprisingly uninhabited for its purpose.

Save for one Mydeimos, that is.

From his position, as he lazes in the water, he bears the very image of a statuette - one whose features not even the most skilled sculptors in all of Okhema could recreate with the finest chisel and mallet. His visage is perfect, a calculatingly drawn stare with a pinpointed focus on the carnation petals floating along the water's surface.

His skin seems to be blessed by the touch of Midas himself. The afternoon sun serves him well, turning every inch of his body an alluring, resplendent hue under its gentle caress.

The sunlight only serves to accentuate his auxiliary parts, a mesmerising painting of crimson and flaxen fur weaving between deep, Styxian horns. The water from the bath trickles down his shoulder, as he focuses on detangling a knot in his hair, forming a miniature waterfall down his sculpted body. The path of the water splits at his bosom, fissuring into little streams that chart their way down the rest of him. Stray droplets cling to his arms and hair, as gravity slowly works its way on them too.

The sight feels almost frozen in time - like a page ripped straight from a book of childhood tales from Aedes Elysiae.

The sunlight, the framing - all of it, every aspect serves to further the narrative held still forever in golden wheat fields.

Phainon numbly thinks to himself - if he were the hero of the story in his dreams, and Mydei the prince, no knight in his position would be able to resist such a beautiful sight waiting for them after a long journey.

(Albeit the fact that his journey was from the infirmary to the bathhouse, and that his rescue mission was merely driven with an unquenchable fervour to find Mydei, to see him in this state, to fuel that selfish desire blazing hungrily within his very core.)

His legs take a step of their own accord, then another.

He crosses the distance in seven quick strides.

Without so much as a second thought, he flings himself into the water, fully clothed. His gauntlets drag him down, garter scraping against his thighs as he flails. The water is thankfully not cold, but the effect still hits him face-first.

"HKS."

A splash of water collides with his cheek.

"What did you go and do that for?"

"Mydei…" Phainon's expression is about as soggy as he is, eyes pleading and filled to the brim with a pathetic sheen. Mydei frankly wants to pick him up by the black collar around his neck, and throw him out of the pool like a disobedient dog in timeout.

"Your getup will disrupt the sanctity of the pool. Get out and get changed."

"But…" Phainon's hand reaches towards Mydei in a sad gesture.

"No." Firm and resounding, Mydei's tongue clicks. "Go."

And so Phainon clambers over the surface of the baths, nearly slipping as he tries to stand. He shakes himself off once like a puppy, as an arc of water sprays everywhere, including on Mydei.

The champagne-haired man frowns, as Phainon's laughter rings about in the empty halls, the sound fading as his footsteps disappear into the distance of the changing rooms.

Phainon returns about two minutes later, a towel wrapped around his lower half chastely.

He casts the towel aside.

It drops rather slowly, almost aggravatingly so, according to Mydei's personal taste.

Phainon slides into the warm water, settling next to Mydei, barely five inches from the other man. It seems Phainon values Mydei's personal space as much as he does.

He does not mind. The concept of personal space has long been forsaken by either.

Dry hands snake their way into amber locks, tangling there as Phainon pulls himself closer. Five inches become three, then one, and then their bodies press flush against each other.

Not an ounce of shame is to be found between the two, as Phainon practically deposits himself into Mydei's lap.

"Mydei," he whines, fingers rubbing soothing circles in Mydei's scalp. One of his hands slowly detangles itself, coming up to brush against the curled horn, and Mydei lets out a low whine.

Phainon pulls back, as if he were struck with a white-hot rod.

"What was that, again?" he prods, repeating the ministration.

"Haikas, you-" Mydei starts, only to have the words torn from his throat as Phainon's hands wrap around his horn, and pull.

Phainon's perverted mind kicks into overdrive. His fingers trace the razor-sharp edge of Mydei's horn, kissing it with his fingertips as he slowly draws a single drop of ichor. His hand closes around the horn, giving it a preliminary pump, before working up to a quick pace.

Mydei lets out a cacophony of whines, each more strained than the last, as his cock miserably hardens under the surface of the water.

Phainon doesn't care, couldn't care less, in fact - about how erratic Mydei's whimpers are, or how his hand shakes with every pump.

To him, everything falls into an orderly symphony when his eyes are drawn to Mydeimos.

"Mydei," Phainon's lips inch closer to Mydei's ear, "oh, Mydei. Do you like it when I do this? Please, Mydei, please tell me how it feels-"

"Deliverer," Mydei barely manages to scrape by, dragging every syllable under his heavy tongue. The words weigh down, as his mind turns to putty. "You sound like a pathetic mess. I can't believe I let you top me."

Phainon scrambles to his knees, propping them on the surface of the carved marble seat on the rim of the pool. From this angle, he barely towers over the other man, lips placed at a perfect height to kiss his forehead, or suckle on his ears.

"You'll let me top you?" he exclaims.

"Down, boy," Mydei tugs his hair, pulling Phainon back into a sitting position.

This time, their legs brush under the surface, like a shy couple playing footsie over a dinner table.

It feels almost domestic.

Until Phainon's hand sneakily creeps south.

Mydei clicks his tongue once.

"Can't even control yourself," he chides, voice dripping with barely concealed lust. "What a helpless little puppy. At least kiss me first."

Phainon can't take it anymore.

With a shove of his arm, he pushes Mydei's head against the outer edge of the pool, capturing his lips swiftly in a kiss.

The force of his attack catches Mydei by surprise. He barely reacts, head hitting the rim with a soft thunk. The blood inside his head roars, a sound that almost has him losing his balance as strong arms grip onto Phainon's shoulders for support.

The kiss they share is nothing chaste, short or clean.

Mydei's teeth drag along Phainon's lower lip, as Phainon pulls away first, gasping for air as his breathing dredges up the ichor in his throat. Mydei shivers, the tiny blond hairs on his neck standing upright as that very same ichor - the one coursing through Phainon's veins, as much as it does in his own - slowly trickles out one ear.

Bloodied, bruised and marred - and yet they can't find it in them to care about it, the worldviews of both selfishly collapsing into nothing outside the other.

Mydei's teeth sink into the corner of a plush lip and tug once, enough to draw blood. Phainon sneers, bloodied lip dribbling onto his chin.

Mydei snarls back in return.

"What are you laughing at?" he says, a hint of tenderness in his eyes.

Phainon's smirk is filled with mirth and a little bit of something imperceptible.

"Nothing, my sweet prince," he says, hand coming up to tug Mydei's chin upward, forcing them eye to eye. "Just how adorable you are like this - with your ears pressed down, face flushing…"

"Shut up," Mydei grumbles, pulling him into another kiss with a tug at his neck. "You're prettier with your mouth shut."

"You think I'm pretty- ah!"

Phainon doesn't even get the chance to finish his smug remark, as Mydei licks into his mouth. Phainon keens, lips parted in an open-mouthed kiss as he scrambles to get the upper hand. His tongue slides against Mydei's, drawing a mewl out from the half-cow, and as he drinks in the sinful sound, he gets an idea.

A devious hand sneaks south, curling around Mydei's tail to give it a testing tug.

Mydei's entire body shakes with a tremor, as he moans.

The sound cuts through the steamy air of the bathhouse, and for a second, the pair freeze - a single thread of instinct holds the two back, fearing being caught in an intimate position like this.

Not that either of them would bear severe consequences (being a heir has its perks, including getting away scot-free with almost anything imaginable) - rather, they're scared for the poor, innocent citizens who could possibly walk into them getting off to each other, while just trying to take a shower.

Then, Mydei shifts under Phainon's thighs, whimpering as his face flushes a deep crimson.

"You-" Mydei begins to threaten, narrowed eyes screaming the message that if you speak a word of this, I will have your head served at the next heirs' banquet, complete with an apple stuffed in your mouth like a poor pig.

Phainon's never felt more turned on in his life.

"Me?" he blinks innocently. Another tug to Mydei's tail earns him the sounds he so desperately craves and searches for, as Mydei whines and writhes underneath him, ears twitching.

A smack of Mydei's ass brings the other man out of his temporary state.

"HKS."

Phainon can't even bother to respond, kneading the soft flesh in his fist as he lets out a content hum.

"Quit groping me," he chides, but Phainon only continues, seemingly invigorated and further encouraged by the warning.

"Haven't you heard?" Phainon says, pushing Mydei to the tiles like he weighs almost nothing. "You should play with your food."

"That's not how the saying goes," Mydei begins to protest, but Phainon pushes him down further, eliciting a soft groan from Mydei.

"And speaking of," Phainon suddenly has a thought, glancing over at their towels. Their clothes and belongings lie on the floor, quickly discarded in a tangled mess of cloth, strewn like ribbons. "I have something to check."

Phainon gently taps Mydei's thigh once; as the other man releases him from his strong hold, Phainon walks over to pick his towel up. From under the mound, he picks up a familiar-looking pouch, giving it a shake as the bow-tied drawstrings dangle in the air.

"Where did you find that?" Mydei flails, arms swiveling to balance himself as he fails to grab the bag from Phainon's grasp.

"Rummaging through your things," Phainon shrugs, as if it were as simple as that. "Now, as I was saying - Mydei, do you remember how long it took for you to turn like this?"

Mydei stares at him, dumbfounded.

"No, I was sleeping for a whole three hours, and where exactly are you going with this train of thought-"

"Then, at least let me ascertain," Phainon pours a handful of candies into his waiting palm at one go, "if I take enough, the effects are sure to take place faster, aren't they?"

Mydei doesn't even have the time to stop him, or knock the damned sweets out of his hand as Phainon downs them in one go.

One second passes, then another. Phainon looks relatively undisturbed, clearly disappointed with the outcome, until-

A pair of snow-white ears, matching Phainon's hair, sprout out of his head with tiny puffs to accentuate the process, with a fluffy tail to match. It wags with a ferocity, so full of fervour that Mydei can only imagine how badly it'll hurt the next morning.

Phainon shakes his hair, slicking it back and diving straight into the water once more without any hesitation.

This time, his hands find Mydei's waist, as his hipbones press flush into Mydei's lower back. The touch slowly makes its way upwards, tracing past every bump and smooth curve of Mydei's abs and stomach, coming up to squeeze at Mydei's breasts.

"Were they this large?" Phainon muses, kissing up Mydei's jaw as he leaves hickeys in his wake. His words drip with lust, and he doesn't even bother with concealing it. "Maybe you're stocking up on milk." He squeezes the breast in his hand once firmly, turning his attention to the sore nipple at its very end as he plays idly with the nub between his fingers. "All for me," he pinches, and as if on cue, Mydei's breast begins to leak, secreting a white fluid.

Phainon's hand quickly drops. His head lolls forward, as he gives Mydei the most disgustingly pleading look Mydei has ever seen from this man - even worse than the time he insisted on buying them ugly matching plush toys from the market, and certainly worse than the time he tried to get Mydei to paint their quarters' walls yellow and purple.

(For the record, Mydei accepted the first, and instantly vetoed the second. The plush chimeras still sit atop the shelves of their taupe-coloured walls, the grey one nesting atop the orange.)

Mydei sighs, predicting the question before it can slip from Phainon's lips.

"May I-"

"Yes, Deliverer," Mydei sighs, giving his own breast a squeeze, "you can suck on them, you oaf-"

Mydei doesn't even get to finish before Phainon latches himself onto him, practically suckling it like a child.

Disgusting, Mydei thinks, watching the wasted drops dribble down Phainon's chin as he slobbers over Mydei. Utterly disgusting, he thinks, tangling his fingers in Phainon's hair and giving him a scratch behind his puppy ears that earns him a satisfactory growl from the back of Phainon's throat.

If it were anyone else in his position, Mydei would have detested the sight.

But it's Phainon down there, it's Phainon touching Mydei and revering him as if he were a statuette, or some masterpiece Phainon couldn't fully immerse himself in without touching, holding, grasping at bits of him as if he were intertwining their fates in knots and braids as he ties the knot of finality with his own shaky hands.

Mydei would be lying if he said he wasn't an accomplice or enabler to Phainon's actions. This, he knows.

He's content in holding Phainon's head up, stroking his ears as Phainon assaults his chest with his mouth, leaving teeth marks and ichor stains as he goes.

The funny thing is - Mydei can choose to heal the traitorous marks on his body narrating the story of his past night's activities - he can do it himself by the next morning, in fact, when he has to pick up yet another conversation with a council of townsfolk and inquisitive housewives at the market.

But he wears the scars of Phainon's teeth and tongue as if they were medals of valour, displayed proudly on his chest; to him, this is no strife or battle, but rather a prize-winning mark, that Phainon owns him in his entirety, that Phainon wants, no, needs him; one could even say his very presence begets Phainon's zest for life.

As Phainon's mouth trails south, bringing Mydei's attention with it, his head dips slowly under the surface of the water.

Mydei taps his nape once - let's take this ashore?

A stream of bubbles exits Phainon's mouth, as he nods excitedly. Please, his eyes seem to convey, as the sunlight refracts in the water, shining on his face like a dim halo.

His head bobs up, as his arms scoop Mydei up, lifting the man onto the rim of the pool as he spreads Mydei's legs wide.

He can't tell if it's the bath water or Mydei's arousal causing this, but Mydei's cock head is almost weeping in front of Phainon's eyes, already half-hard from Phainon's teasing.

"Shut up," Mydei looks away pointedly.

Phainon clambers over him, grabbing Mydei's face with a hand as he straddles Mydei's legs.

"Hm?"

The hand not currently resting on Mydei's chin drops to thumb through his slit, drawing out a loud, unrestrained noise from Mydei, as expected.

What he doesn't see coming, though, is the aforementioned other hand tugging upwards, gripping onto Mydei's horn once more without a warning.

Both hands begin stroking at a tortorous pace, skin dragging roughly against skin and bone alike. In the heat of the moment in a most unexpected location, neither of them carry lube - and so Mydei has to bear the consequence of friction burning against his desire.

Mydei whines, inching backwards from the rough slide. Without any hesitation, Phainon retracts his fist from Mydei's horn, spitting on his palm before resuming his strokes.

"Better?" he cooes, collecting the pre from Mydei's tip to pump his other hand up and down just as smoothly. Mydei recoils from disgust, leaning back into the touch almost immediately, his body betraying him as pleasure and a shameful feeling of being utterly turned on by this filth both consume him alike.

"Hn-" Mydei still protests, incoherent blabbers spilling from his mouth as the slick slide against his cock smooths out. "Deliverer- you- you nasty dog-"

Phainon whines at the degradation as if Mydei's hand has just lashed out against his cheek. Clearly, he takes it a different way, as his dick twitches against Mydei's thigh.

Mydei is reminded of Phainon's girth and size, as the monstrous thing gives another twitch. He takes a hurried glance at it, only to see it painfully hard, already leaking a stream of pre from the angry head.

"What did you call me?" Phainon looks down, his eyes watering over with a pleading want.

Mydei clicks his tongue. "Haikas," he scolds, tugging on Phainon's choker and eliciting a reedy moan from the man sitting atop him, "you really are like a dumb puppy."

Phainon gives another telltale whine, as he begins to rut his hips against Mydei's thigh.

"I am?" Phainon cries, almost bouncing - from this position, it's hard to believe he tops, his hands slicking up and down in tandem with his own rutting. The two men let out a shared moan, foreheads pressed flush against each other's.

Sweat trickles down their shoulders, pressed into the curves of their bodies, as the water replenishes them.

"Mydei, please, tell me how I'm doing, please-" Phainon babbles, gasps punctuating his every thrust as he begs for a drop of Mydei's attention.

Mydei knits his eyebrows together, tangling his hand in Phainon's hair to give it a tug once more.

"Puppy want a treat?" he says ironically, but the twitch of Phainon's cock against his thigh is an instant directive that it's anything but. "My Deliverer wants to know he's been a good boy?"

Phainon lets out a full-bodied whine, back arching as the hand previously around his horn scrabbles for purchase, settling on Mydei's shoulders and upper back. His nails dig in, sharp with their newly clawed endings, leaving marks that are sure to stay until the next day's Entry Hour at their very best.

"Please, Mydei-" he begs, as Mydei twitches, hips shooting upwards.

"Close," Mydei grits out, as the hand drops from his back, returning once more to close around his horn as Phainon's fingers twitch. His cock pumps, as Phainon continues to set a brutal pace.

"Good?" Phainon cries, hands working overtime to jerk Mydei off as he pleases. "Feels good," he buries his head in Mydei's neck, nose nuzzling at his pulse points to find the scent dissipating from there. Mydei smells of something indiscernably warm, of honey-glazed figs and pastures, and Phainon wants nothing more than to bury his nose in Mydei all day.

His teeth - his elongated canines, a development of his new state - dig into Mydei's shoulder, just above his collarbone. Ichor draws out slowly, as Mydei whines from the contact, the golden liquid forming visual cracks and fissures on Mydei's unblemished body.

For a man who picks and chooses every battle scar to heal, his body looks utterly taken apart as of now. Phainon relishes in his role, playing the conqueror - proud of being the only one privy to Mydei's debauched state, littered with marks created by his very own hands.

Mydei gives one shudder, then two.

He comes with a high-pitched whine, semen spilling all over Phainon's stomach and torso in an uncontrollable splatter.

Phainon shows little mercy as he rides Mydei through it, reaching his own climax shortly after with a grunt in Mydei's shoulder. The beginnings of overstimulation creep on Mydei, taking him by surprise as he whines, scrambling to beg Phainon to stop.

"Insatiable- ah," Mydei scolds, shivering all over. "You dirty- hnn, there- disgusting, filthy mutt-"

Phainon's ears perk up. "What was that, princess?"

"Aah?!" The petname catches Mydei by surprise, as his defeated cock twitches once more. "Don't call me th-"

Phainon's thumb traces Mydei's slit, collecting the stray drop of cum. "Oh? What's the matter, princess?" he whispers, voice dropping an octave as Mydei's dick betrays him, twitching in Phainon's palm.

Phainon's eyes darken, the suns fully eclipsed with fervour and lust.

"Why, your pretty cock says you like it, though?"

He gives a single drag of his fist to emphasise this, as Mydei groans.

"Is that it, Mydei?" Phainon drawls. "Have you been fantasising about being my princess all this time?"

"HKS-" Mydei begins to protest, but Phainon shushes him, a finger from the hand from his horn placed softly on Mydei's lips. Mydei flinches at the saliva, but takes it a step further, taking the digit into his mouth as he sucks obediently.

It takes Phainon as much restraint to not cum right then and there, as it would to pull a Titan straight from the sky.

(And he knows from experience, just how much it takes, mind you.)

"You know," Phainon continues on his incoherent tirade, as he begins to lift Mydei's hips with minimal effort, "if I were the hero, and you the princess, awaiting my return at home…"

He lines Mydei's hole up with his tip, as Mydei screeches.

"I would await my return from my conquests every day…"

The tip drags on, catching in the ring of muscle, and Mydei whines.

"I'm not prepared yet-" the golden-haired man protests, but Phainon shushes him gently.

"And I'm not done." Phainon stills Mydei's bouncing leg.

"As I was saying," Phainon momentarily pauses, "we could get married after I return from my adventures, spreading our kingdom's name. And we could consummate our marriage, that very night…"

He begins to slide in, ever so slowly, as Mydei feels the burn of the stretch.

"Haikas, have you lost your mind-?!"

Phainon slides in all at one go, spearing Mydei open atop his cock.

"You take it so well," Phainon cooes, stroking Mydei's back. "Carving yourself open, as if you were just made for me."

What strikes Mydei is the significant lack of lubricant - did his hole automatically wetten itself for Phainon? Mydei didn't know it came with the whole half-cow package.

Phainon begins to thrust, hand shooting out to support Mydei as Mydei's head careens to the side.

"Made for me," Phainon repeats, uttering the same phrase on his tongue until it materialises in Mydei's mind too. Made for him.

Mydei likes the concept of being made entirely for Phainon. His body being Phainon's and only Phainon's to consume, in spar and strife, and in bed alike - he wishes to be tugged along a string by Phainon, day by day, until his waking hours are consumed by Phainon, until his dreams are full of Phainon, until-

"Ah."

He looks down, where Phainon has already ejaculated again, watching the cum drain out of his hole slowly.

"So soon?" he tugs on Phainon's choker. Why is it still on in the baths? "Poor thing, you pathetic dog. Does it feel that good?"

He knows just exactly how to rile Phainon up, just the exact spots and words that make Phainon tick.

Who would blame him for being a little provocative, just to earn Phainon's attention?

He grinds his hips downwards, sinking impossibly further as his ass squeezes against Phainon's own hipbones, pushing Phainon's seed back inside, as if it will miraculously take in Mydei's nonexistent womb.

"Does puppy want to cum again?" Mydei purrs, giving Phainon a scratch behind the ears.

"Shut up," Phainon grumbles, hips snapping into action and taking Mydei by surprise. Phainon lifts Mydei once again, carrying him in his arms as he continues pistoning inside, only to set Mydei down on the frigid marble floor, a few feet away from the rim of the pool. He lets Mydei's head rest down, pushes him down all the way, in fact, until Mydei lies flat on his back, legs spread and hiked all the way up to his chest as his ankles rest on Phainon's shoulders.

A mating press, Mydei realises belatedly, as Phainon drags a particularly long thrust that has him seeing stars. This dog really is going to breed me dry until it takes.

Phainon's tail wags, thumping against the tiles as he practically sits on his heels, awaiting Mydei's next instructions.

"Why did you stop-" Mydei begins to whine, cutting himself off as he gains cognition. A cough rumbles in his throat, as he corrects himself, clicking his tongue as he drags Phainon in further by the scruff of his neck.

Slender fingers close around the black leather strap resting on Phainon's neck, tracing against the sun tattoo as they tug hard.

"Did I say you could stop?"

Phainon cocks his head to the side, tilting forty-five degrees. The resemblance he bears to a samoyed puppy is almost uncanny. Then, he barks, letting out a laugh.

Mydei knits his eyebrows together, narrowing his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive me, Mydei," Phainon begins, eyes trailing downward, "but I can't take you seriously. Not like this."

Mydei's gaze follows where Phainon is staring, as the other man is clearly too entranced with the sight in front of him to explain himself.

He quickly sees the point.

From his vantage point, it's hard to see it - but he barely catches a glimpse of the sight. The slow trickle of the white stream has resumed, trailing down his body as Phainon is helpless to do little more than stare.

The phenomenon makes his swollen nipples vaguely resemble a pair of leaking teats, a subtle nod to his current species. For some reason unknown to Mydei himself, his body has conformed to the morphological structure of a cow, rather than a bull.

Phainon must truly be enjoying this.

A cursory glance at Phainon's cock confirms his theory - it's almost at full mast again, painfully hard and veins throbbing from what little he can see of the base, with the rest of the length being inside Mydei, of course. Said length gives another betraying twitch as Mydei simply raises an eyebrow in silence.

"Are you going to continue?" Mydei prompts, to which Phainon gives out a garbled moan. "Or will I have to work you like a dog to get you to finish?"

Phainon's hips snap up once: a warning for Mydeimos to keep his tongue in check.

And yet the other man continues, tracing his finger against a metaphorical blade to watch the blood drip out, drawing Phainon in closer like a ravenous predator.

He feels himself backed further into the floor, into a corner of a trap Phainon has long set for him.

"Careful, princess," Phainon grits out. "Wouldn't want your pretty hole to be tarnished by our… activities."

There's an air of superiority to Phainon's words, a challenge Mydei sniffs out - one that he firmly refuses to back down from.

But deep inside, Mydei knows Phainon has little bite to his bark. And so he continues teasing.

"Whoever said I was incapable of handling it rough?" Mydei teases, the words rolling off his tongue sugarcoated in a frenetic lust. The sensation settles in between the both of them like a hazy fog, turning the gears in their mind, reducing them to the primal instincts tugging between the both of them currently. How fitting, considering their current forms.

"Do your worst, puppy."

With a final fracture in his composure, Phainon cracks entirely.

Mydei feels his thighs bent impossibly further, hugging his knees as the supple flesh molds in Phainon's hands. What begins as a preliminary thrust or two picks up its pace, slowly morphing into a brutal pistoning as Phainon refuses to yield.

Huffs and whines pepper the air of the foggy, humid baths. Their activities only serve to worsen the heat and moist, as sweat builds up, pooling in ridges of collarbones and junctions where skin meets skin.

The filthy slaps could defile either of their societal standings instantly, a promised decimation of their reputations, a collateral damage so massive it would take even Aglaea's most masterful golden strings and silver tongue days to conduct damage control on, if the both of them are found in their compromising position.

But Phainon never backs down from a challenge, and neither does Mydei - their fatal flaw is the competition that runs astride the ichor in their veins, the very fuel that breeds the fire and drive within them.

And so, Mydei's unyielding desire is matched equally, if not outclassed, by Phainon's own insatiable need. Phainon pants into the side of Mydei's neck as he folds Mydei with ease; in turn, Mydei whines and hitches his thighs further, allowing Phainon an easy access to the deepest crevices of his body.

Phainon's cock drags slowly against the sensitive bundle of nerves, nestled in the very back of Mydei's hole, and Mydei almost screams, nails raking sharp claw marks against Phainon's back.

When Mydei pulls away, the crescents of his nails have collected drips of ichor in them, marring them with a shade of diluted gold.

His cuticle beds, once pristine, now reek with the iron sting of the aureate blood dripping onto them. Phainon hisses as Mydei breaks contact, almost as if the lack of pain sears his skin, and not the crescent marks sealing themselves in his back and shoulders.

"Put them back, Mydei, please," he begs through hazy eyes. "I want your arms around me while I-"

"Quit whining," Mydei says gruffly, as he places his arms back per Phainon's request, shoving his body into Phainon's unceremoniously.

Phainon continues carving his way into Mydei, his train of thoughts never failing to cease its stream out of his mouth. The lack of a bypass filter is clearly evident, as his deepest desires spill like honey, dripping straight from their source.

Mydei more than tolerates this - he knows Phainon is one to yap on and on. He quite enjoys hearing of his deepest fantasies, and so he allows Phainon to indulge in their secrecy, taunting him and pulling him on to drink every last drop of his words.

"Mydei," Phainon whines mid-thrust, pulling his hips back until he's almost entirely out of Mydei. The tip of his dick refuses to budge, as he slams himself all the way back inside with one smooth thrust. "I want to marry you, I really do, please."

"HKS, can it wait for when you're not inseminating me?" Mydei wrinkles his nose.

"So you don't love me?" Phainon pleads, leaving little puppy licks across the bruises littering Mydei's shoulders. Mydei whines with each press of Phainon's tongue, going so far as to keen and roll his head back when Phainon's lips press against a particularly sensitive crook of his neck, granting Phainon access to worsen his ministrations.

"I-" the words catch in Mydei's throat: not because he doesn't love Phainon, but because the vulnerability catches him off-guard. He stumbles, and Phainon takes this as precedence to slow his thrusts, gazing at Mydei with a look that's halfway towards apologetic.

"I'm sorry if that was pressuring," he indicates his sincerity with a subtle nod. The fire in Phainon's eyes begins to extinguish, quelled in apology as Kephale's blazing suns begin their descent, eyes downcast as he awaits Mydei's response.

Mydei never wants to see the shining sun in front of him die.

"For what it's worth, I don't expect-" Phainon begins, and Mydei leans forward, almost toppling the two of them over as he pulls Phainon into a searing kiss.

His tongue is soothing, lapping against Phainon's lips in an acquisition of his territory. Phainon complies, allowing Mydei to make little kitty licks into his mouth. How cute, Phainon thinks, as Mydei strains, still in the mating press as he pushes himself onto Phainon to deepen the kiss.

"Shut up," Mydei scolds as he pulls away. "I love you, I just-" he blinks once, almost as if the machinery in his brain was resetting at the very thought of it. "I find it hard to convey this, sometimes. Nothing to do on your part," he shuts Phainon's negative thoughts down in an instant, before they can begin to set in, reveling in all their parasitic glory.

Mydei pulls them out like weeds, driving the pesky thoughts away almost instantly. He's willing to traverse the gardens of Phainon's mind, keeping any negative thoughts at bay for the rest of their lives, with curt reassurances and even overwhelming physical cues if need be.

"You love me?" Phainon almost scampers then and there, settling into a new sitting position as he holds Mydei carefully. His thrusts resume as Mydei lies back down, consuming any last thoughts Mydei holds.

Mydei's lips part into a pretty 'O', as his head lolls back. Phainon tugs his hips higher, and in turn, Mydei's back arches, coral locks spilling around him in a halo as Phainon thrusts impossibly deeper.

Mydei has the visage of an angel. Phainon can't help but liken him to the imagery of divine perfection, even as Mydei clenches around him, meaningless whines spilling like sin incarnate in his arms.

"I love you," Mydei manages to choke out, as Phainon's thrusts slowly break his mind. "I do, really- ah, there-"

The requisition slips from his tongue simply, and Phainon complies, turning his attention to the spot that just drew that noise.

One more roll of his hips, and Mydei clenches down hard, whimpering as he deposits his head on Phainon's shoulder.

"Feel good?" Phainon's hand instinctively crawls to Mydei's lower stomach, rubbing soothing circles in with every thrust he makes. His own force jackhammers back, thrumming underneath his fingertips. The curve of Mydei's stomach swells with a small bulge - to the untrained eye, it would be unnoticeable, but Phainon's fingers trace against the convex surface, pressing in further.

Mydei's walls tighten with the force of Phainon's gentle push. Every thrust seems to carve into him, impossibly deeper as Phainon shapes Mydei's insides, bending him to his will.

"Phai-" he begins, mindbreak clouding any sense of judgment. "Deliverer…"

Any sentence he even thinks about beginning tapers off into a whine. His mind careens, devoid of any thoughts. It's as if Phainon is filling more than just his hole - no, Phainon is carving his way into every last inch of his body, settling in his mind as a permanent inhabitant.

Nothing much has changed, in Mydei's opinion. Phainon is already his mind's primary occupant, regardless of what situation they're in.

So he allows himself to lie back, losing himself in Phainon's arms knowing he is safe. Phainon's thrusts do not let down, quickening in pace and sloppiness as Phainon rapidly approaches his third orgasm of the afternoon-turned-evening. The sunlight has marginally decreased in intensity, from a searing white-gold to something warmer, honeyed and aurelian in nature as it graces every last square inch of their exposed skin.

Mydei glows in this light, ruby tattoos glowing in a mellow contrast to tan, golden skin. Phainon hoists him up, reveling in his glory as he seats Mydei atop his lap, refusing to pull out in the process.

At once, he slips into Mydei, every last inch burning and searing as Mydei takes it all.

"Good," Phainon cooes, nails scraping the back of Mydei's scalp as he lays the praise on thick. "You take it so well."

Mydei's tail thwacks against Phainon's leg in a silent protest, but he allows Phainon to continue, face flushed a deep red as he ruts in sync to Phainon's motions.

His hips are marred with bruises from Phainon's firm grasp. Phainon's fingers encircle the deeper ones, pressing his thumb and digits into them softly to soothe Mydei.

I'm here, his eyes convey, the burn of the suns softening into a warm glow, similar to the light surrounding the two. It's okay, Mydei, I'm not going anywhere.

I know, Mydei blinks twice in return, his own eyes softening. His eyelids soften, drooping slightly as his pupils dilate, like a cat looking at its favourite toy. In that regard, Phainon is his favourite toy - one he could spend days cuddled up to. He nuzzles into Phainon's hair, feels his nose bury into the powder-blue locks as he takes a deep breath.

Phainon smells of forget-me-nots, of clean soap and something Mydei cannot attribute to anything but pure sunshine.

I believe you, Phainon. For you, I'm a blind fool.

The words never escape his lips, the promise sealed behind lock and key. Mydei takes that key and throws it off the highest cliff he can imagine, sealing his indulgent secret within his body tortorously.

Phainon doesn't need to experience the depth of his faith first-hand, to know just how much Mydei loves him. His actions will suffice.

And so, Mydei brings his hips down once more, grinding against Phainon with delectable friction. The fervour between them reignites, as Phainon feels himself push through.

The last stretch, so to speak. Phainon crosses every last step of it with ease.

His hips move of their own accord, to a rhythm he knows is infallible. Mydei whines with every thrust - a clear mark of Phainon's success in bed - and Phainon continues thrusting, resolute with every swift roll and retraction.

"Deliverer," Mydei begs, an animalistic whine tearing out of his throat. The seconds drag on slowly, as the heat-drenched atmosphere only makes Mydei's last attempts at staying sane even more arduous. "Phainon, please-"

The name slips from his tongue as easily as water. Phainon doesn't notice, however, too busy ramming his hips into the other man to care for the flustered babbles that break away from his lips.

Mydei flushes. He's never lost himself to this extent before.

They've never been on a first-name basis, not on a mutually reciprocated one, at least. For some reason, Mydei sternly refuses to call the other man by his name, swearing by his hard-earned nickname instead, despite the numerous times Phainon calls his name - both long and short forms - across the streets of Okhema.

He can't believe of all the endless possibilities of romantic moments he could've chosen to drop it, this is it. Not subtly, nor meaningfully, no. Of everything, this has to be the first time he calls his boyfriend by his true name - as he's practically ascending on Phainon's dick, prematurely careening down a one-track path to the next cycle of Amphoreus.

Mydei should just dig his own grave before Phainon pounds him into it.

Phainon's tip brushes against Mydei's prostate once more, and he curses Phainon's relentless stamina, feeling Phainon's dick twitch with the promise of a third orgasm inside him. How has he come almost thrice already, when Mydei's barely approaching his first?

"Mydei," Phainon pants, lips pressed against Mydei's cow ears in a desperate attempt to lay some praise on thick. "Mydei, Titans, you feel so good around me, please-"

He can't help himself if he squeezes a little tighter around Phainon at the sound of those words. The double-punch of Phainon singing sweet nothings, combined with the warm breath and barely-cracking voice fanning the sensitive skin of his ears has Mydei's head reeling.

Not once does Phainon's pace falter. Not once do his hips shake, as he gains a newfound determination, pushing Mydei's legs up impossibly further until he's folded like a lawn chair, weighing next to nothing in his Deliverer's arms.

Call it some sick fantasy, but deep down, Mydeimos appreciates being held like this.

His stature is conventionally strong, towering over anyone even remotely close to being considered his capable equal. But in Phainon's arms, he can find the comfort of being truly matched in size and strength, allowing himself to fall back gracefully and truly be treated lavishly like a prince.

Oh, how his Phainon spoils him so.

His hips begin to push downwards in symphony, helping them chase their shared climax. Every press of Phainon's abdomen against him has him reeling, clutching onto the grout between the tiles for dear life as Phainon whittles him down.

"Close," Mydei feels himself breathe for the umpteenth time. This iteration comes with a certain weight, a determination set in his gut.

"I'm close too," comes Phainon's reply, as he pulls back for air and space alike, length almost slipping out of Mydei in the process. A deft thrust back inside has them both crying out sharply.

Mydei feels the sweat from his back almost soak into the tile floor. He fails at maintaining an impassive expression, eyebrows scrunched together as tears trickle down his face.

Despite the position, Phainon forces himself closer, strong hands coming to wipe away every last teardrop. Mydei doesn't need it - honestly, the sizeable dick pressing into him only serves to strengthen the tear flow - but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless, nuzzling his face into Phainon's hand.

"You alright?" Phainon asks, his hands slipping back south to steady the rocking of Mydei's hips.

Mydei grunts noncommittally.

"I will be, if you just let me cu-"

The words stop dead in his throat, halfway out, as Phainon barely awaits his response. His fingers press down, the grip almost iron-like as he punches into Mydei with a strong thrust.

Their rhythm quickly resumes, infallible as it is, waiting for neither's emotions to catch up as they lose themselves in the moment.

The friction is almost maddening, unceasing as their pulls and thrusts only quicken.

"Can I come?" Phainon begs, out of a hazy instinct he doesn't recall having. "Mydei, darling, please-"

"Get on with it already," Mydei admonishes, as his scolding quickly tapers into a whine, "oh, yes, there-"

Unsurprisingly, Phainon comes first.

The force hits Mydei like a semi, as cum spurts out of Phainon's tip, coating his walls in a thick, viscous gush.

Mydei follows not long after, his own feeling catching him by surprise. He comes with a sharp cry, his own semen splattering against his stomach from the way his dick is pressed.

A stray droplet falls on Phainon's toned abs, and Mydei observes its trajectory with barely concealed lust, eyes following the bead's downward trail as it dips into the V of his bones.

Moments pass in silence. Mydei feels the squelch of the liquid, beginning to spill from his hole in a gentle stream.

Phainon pulls out, the action almost rough, and his seed begins to leak from Mydei's spent hole. Before Mydei can react, Phainon takes two fingers, tracing them up the meaty flesh of Mydei's inner thighs to collect any wasted spend before shoving them inside, plugging up the flow.

"Hrk-" Mydei begins to protest, lulled into a quiet comfort as his empty hole flutters around Phainon's fingers once more, full and sated again.

"There, there," Phainon's arms come to catch Mydei, sitting him upright on Phainon's lap comfortably. Mydei's tail tugs on Phainon's waist, binding them closer as Mydei rests his head on Phainon's chest.

"Feel better?" Phainon cooes, pressing feather-light kisses to Mydei's hair and ears. The gesture is full of love, dripping with adoration.

For someone who was imprinting every last kink and vein of his cock inside Mydei mere minutes ago, Phainon is exceedingly gentle with his touch.

"My crown prince," Phainon soothes, rocking a half-asleep Mydeimos in his lap into a complete state of dreaming. "Not even close to Curtain-Fall Hour, and yet you slumber. How tired must you be after today's-"

The tail wrapped snugly around Phainon's torso unbinds itself, if only to give a quick slap on Phainon's mouth.

Shut up, it seems to communicate.

With a warm, dozing son of royalty in his hands, Phainon verily complies.

Mydei's transformation wears off by the next Lucid Hour.

It turns out to be a simple matter, resolving itself before he can even question it.

As for Phainon, however, life is not so easy.

"Just how many did you eat?" Hyacine scolds, hitting his head gently with a metal instrument. She prods at him once to open his mouth, giving his canines a quick scan before she taps his chin, face wrinkling at his morning breath as she indicates for him to close it.

"Um…" Phainon's voice trails off, as he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. His tail - still present - mimics the motion, swishing side to side as his puppy ears droop.

"Don't tell me you ate all of it," Hyacine chastises sternly. "You saw what happened to Lord Mydei with your own two eyes!"

She doesn't spare him a hint of sympathy, dialing up her sternness to the maximum.

(Though, behind that scolding lies a hint of well-meaning and jest she's sure Phainon will pick up on.)

"What kind of a man do you take me for, Hyacine?" Phainon protests. "I wouldn't eat all of it!"

"Just most?" she prompts, eyes narrowing.

"Well…"

"Knew it," she paces across her clinic, propping herself on a nearby seat. "Well, there's no cure I can provide - synthesising an antidote that targets the composition of the candy would take too long, anyways. Just get lots of rest, and you'll be fine by the second-next Action Hour, give or take a few quints." She waves her hand dismissively.

"You promise?" Phainon leaps to his feet, tail wagging at a breakneck speed. "Wait, but I don't want to get rid of my tail…" he sinks just as quickly as he rises.

"It's only natural, Lord Phainon," Hyacine breathes deeply, reassuring him. Only the Titans know she needs some reassurance of her own after this.

"Can I still be around Mydei…?" Phainon asks, eyes watering over with a pleading look Hyacine doesn't have the heart to say no to.

She sighs.

"Yes, it isn't contagious, Lord Phainon," Hyacine says, staring wordlessly at Mydei, as if to let it sink in, indicating his newfound ownership of a life-sized puppy of a man. "Just… refrain from sparring in the streets of Okhema, and maybe go down to a park instead?"

"Park?" Phainon springs up. "Ball?"

"Has he always been like this?" Hyacine notes, scribbling something on her papers.

Mydei sighs, dragging him out of the clinic collar-first. "Thank you for your service," he waves, slamming the door behind the pair as Phainon barely squeaks out a "Bye, Hyaci-".

Hyacine drops to the floor, crumpling in a pile, not even bothering to cover the sweetmeats from her previous visitors and patients with a lid.

Ica sympathetically munches on Hyacine's treats. It knows she won't be able to stomach any of them after all of this.

"Doot," Ica says through a mouthful of the wrapping, not awaiting a response from Hyacine before it continues its ravenous scavenging, taking a bite out of the box itself.

That day, Hyacine signs her own leave-early permit, not even caring to dot her usual smiley face next to it.

Today's day marks her earliest request for leave in the history of the Grove.

For a good reason. One no one outside of the Heirs will ever come to know of.