Archive of Our Own

The bike roared through the Vatican countryside. It was night, and the lights in the front was the only thing illuminating the road Levi was taking. The engine roared through the empty hills, the sound being a barrier against the laughing moon above his head. The moon always laughed in the night, in his dreams, in the eternal nightmares that plagued his mind since he left the sweet ambrosia contained in the syringe. He left the drug after the massacre, after that damn festival, the breaking of the last chain that bounded the Bohemian to his old life. He was two years clean now, but damn if he didn’t miss the numbness of the mind, the sweet emptiness in his soul that the liquid offered, he'd be a liar if he didn't admit to himself that on the hardest nights, when the screams and cries on the shadows of the cheap motel rooms he used as "home" during his temporary stay in European cities became unbearable and kept him from sleeping, didn’t call him back to his old habits. In nights like that, Levi ended up taking up his bike and driving through the roads of whatever city he was staying, until the fatigue in his muscles and the numbing of his mind through the almost lethal speed Levi rode the damn chunk of metal forced him to go back to the motel and die in the bed. This had given Levi his fair share of problems with the law, and some friends in biker gangs that were more welcoming to Levi than most of the civilized world. Levi could have enter a lot of these gangs, but the discipline instilled on him through his service in the Eastern Union Army had put him at odds with the carefree attitude of most of this gangs, leaving him out of them, except for the occasional company in his travels.

Taking breakfast wasn’t something new to Levi, but acquiring the practice of actually going and eating something before going to work was a routine that was hard to instill in his head after years of having that simple right banned from his life. But with time and some… accident in working hours, he ended up taking the habit. Still, his breakfast was almost warlike, full of calories with only a coffee being the most luxury item in them. And the cigarettes, the damn compulsion that Him had teached Levi. Every smoke was a memory, every drag was a prayer to a dead lover, and some part of him laughed at the fact that the Soldier had traded one addiction to other, both still venomous to him, even if one made his veins and his blood the venom, and the other made his lungs the venom. After finishing his smoke and dressing himself with his work uniform, Levi exited the motel room he was using. There wasn’t a lot of jobs a traumatized ex-vet junkie could do, but right now he was employed as a private security in a pawn-shop owned by a kind Voroniyian who was also a veteran of the Second Great War. The work had a decent wage (At least, for the meager pennies Levi normally was paid) and it was mostly chill.

The shift was boring. There wasn’t a lot of clients, and the ones who had come didn’t make any trouble. The night guard was even on time, a miracle of All-Mer by all means, because the north Rondonian that was his co-worker didn’t understand the basic concept of being at work in time. After greeting him, Levi leaved for his bike, wanting to go to his home, take a shower and eat something, but a voice behind him stopped his plans.

- Hey, Levi, wait! – The voice had some gravel, which was a contrast with the goodness instilled in it. Levi turned back to look at the person behind the voice

- Boss –

- Levi, we talked about this, we are brothers in arms, you can use my name –

- Sorry, bo… Artsiom –

- See? That is better. Where are you going, boy? –

- Home – Why the fuck he can’t speak normally?

- Something to do? Do you have any plans for this night, Levi? – The Bohemian looked to the man, thinking about what to say. Was this an invitation to something? A try to being amicable?

- I don’t have any plan for the night, boss – The monotonous and almost military tone in his voice made Artsiom flinch.

- I was thinking about going to the bar and drinking some beers. What do you say сябар, want to join? –

The invitation was a surprised to Levi. It’s not that he wasn’t a stranger to people inviting him to hang up, and yes, his boss was friendly with him, but superiors didn’t invite him to hang somewhere and take some drinks, they shouted orders. Levi forced himself to muster to say something.

-  I don’t have an extra helmet, boss –

Really? That was the best answer he could say? Why the fuck he couldn’t learn to speak like a fucking normal person? Before Levi could continue killing himself over his lack of speech skills, he heard Artsiom laughing, walking to the bike while putting a hand in his shoulder.

- Kid, I rode fucking tanks towards Bremen positions, riding a bike without a helmet is the least hazardous thing I did with a vehicle! –

Levi just nodded silently, walking to the bike, starting the engine while putting the helmet in his head. He and Artsiom took a sit on the bike, and Levi let out a muffled gasp when the Voroniyian hugged him by the waist. The ride to the bar was quick, with Levi listening silently to the tunes hummed by his co-pilot.

The bar was dirty, cheap, with the smoke of the cigarettes of the patrons making a faux-fog. The ambient was full with the sweet, womanly voice of some Abyssinian singer coming from a jukebox, trying to drown out the chit-chat of the people there. The walls were covered in different paintings of a strange style, full of diagonal lines, human figures repeating themselves, and illustrations of weird and interesting futuristic machines and cities. Artsiom guided him to the table, and a small but buff Vatican man took their orders, a glass of Vodka and two tramezzini for the Voroniyian, and a beer and some chips for the Bohemian.

- So, how was work going? –

- Fine, boss –

- Levi… - Artsiom teased him with a voice like he was scolding him.

- Sorry, Artsiom. It’s just… some things are difficult to let go –

- Don’t worry, Levi. I understand. They truly put all that “Follow orders and don’t talk” shit in our head during service, but I would like you to use my name. It’s weird seeing you talk to me as if I still was your officer, boy –

- Sorry, Artsiom –

- Hey, im trying to be your friend, not to scold you –

- W… why? –

- Why im trying to be your friend? – Levi nodded silently, a short, ghostly movement.

- Because, Levi, we are people. We deserve friends, we deserve a second chance – Artsiom looked at Levi, who was looking at the beer chop the small Vatican had put in the table – The war ended, we don’t have an officer screaming in our ear about how we can talk, or to who, or what is… appropriate to do, Levi –

Levi and Artsiom gazed the other in the eye. The Voroniyian was right about what he was saying, but even if it really was true, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done, what he did to everyone around him, and the discipline that surrounded his life. The only breaking he had done about that was running away from the war, and Artsiom didn’t know that, of course he would think that Levi deserved a second chance. But the way Artsiom eyes pierced him stirred something in him. Something that he hadn’t seen since…

- I don’t deserve a second chance, boss – A heavy and tired sigh leaved Artsiom mouth at the “Boss”. The kid was a tough nut to crack.

- Kid, I don’t care what shit you did in the war. Everybody had tough… - Before Artsiom could end his point, Levi interrupted him

- Im a deserter, sir –

Levi brazed himself for the screams, for the hate, even for a punch or a slap, but Artsiom only let a small, short, sad laugh. He didn’t shout him, he didn’t assault him, and Levi didn’t understand why. He was a traitor, he left the war while the rest sacrificed his body and mind for the Eastern Union, for Bohemia, against the imperialist aggression of the Bremen Empire, running away and letting his comrades suffer the consequences of his treason just because… just because he was tired? Traumatized? Then why Artsiom didn’t look angry?

- Kid, how old are you? – Artsiom already know, so why was he asking?

- Twenty years old, sir –

- And the war ended two years ago, right? –

Two years ago, the war ended after the conquest of Prehevil, and two years ago he killed…

- Yes, sir –

- So, you were eighteen when the war ended, but you had told me that you participated since the start, right? Did you lie to me? –

- No, sir –

- Then, you were a Soldatik, right? – The term made Levi flinch. Two years later, it still hurts him.

- Yes… yes, sir –

- Levi, you were a child soldier. There is no coating about it, even if our country decided to give you all another label. You were heroes who fought for the Motherland, but also victims. Im not going to judge you because you deserted… when, exactly? –

- The end of the war, sir –

- The end of the war? –

- Yes… almost some weeks before the official end –

- More to my point, then. Hey, Levi, look me up – Levi made eye contact with Artsiom – I don’t care you were a deserter; you get it? You did your part. We all have skeletons in the closet. Maybe you don’t believe it right now, with the wound being so fresh, but remember it, yes? –

- Yes, Artsiom. –

- Well, enough talk, I didn’t eat a shit –

They both eat in silence, Artsiom eating his little sandwich and Levi his cold, somewhat saggy chips, while drinking the alcohol. And then they ordered more alcohol. And more. The inspirational speech had let them both dried, with gaping wounds they both tried to maintain closed open in front of the other, even if Artsiom looked more well put together with his kind and happy persona than Levi, who looked more and more like the ghosts that haunted the Prehevil orphanage. This was the second time Levi found someone who didn’t judge him for the absolute garbage he was, who had seen him as a person and not a flesh automaton fresh to use as their whims. Artsiom sounded sincere, and he was offering a hand, a hand to feel like someone and not something, even if that someone had died three times, the first time in an old home in Prehevil, with a shotgun, a broken shoulder, and a supposed “paternal” figure that had “kill himself”, the second time in the trenches and the razed buildings and villages and the mud, and the third again in Prehevil, but this time courtesy of a clean shot in the head against a pillar in front of the door that helped him break one of the last chains in his life. Artsiom was trying to get him outside of the mud of the trenches, to stop him from drowning in the dirt and ashes of a dead, lost war, but Levi couldn’t leave those ghosts and those ashes, he could only run from them, put the necessary distance to not be hurt again by the memories. Levi ordered more drinks, trying to drown himself instead in alcohol. Maybe he wasn’t a junkie anymore, but the truth is that he was a scared and scarred coward who needed to dull himself to exist. The alcohol flowed in his mouth, in his veins, while the two continued to talk, more drinks, more lingering gazes. The conversation mutated just as they had mutated in the front-line, and Levi found himself, with each word that was say between them, with each anecdote (Of which Levi didn’t have many while Artsiom looked like he could fill an entire bookshelf with them) craving something. Something he didn’t feel since Prehevil, something he didn’t feel a long time ago, a forbidden craving that only Him and Him only had provided, and now he was sure that Artsiom had identified, by the way he had stolen a chip from his side of the table and how he looked at Levi with that same craving in his eyes.

- Levi, can you drive the bike in this state? –

The house of Artsiom didn’t feel cozier than the motel room, because “home” for the tank driver and the sniper was barren with the shells of artillery, the smell of burnt metal and the iron of the blood in the air, but right now he didn’t care. The Voroniyian hands navigated the bare chest of Levi, desperate and kind at the same time in a way that only hurted Levi, and he drank all that pain because that feel good, because that was what he deserved for what was going to happen, because pieces of shit like him only deserved to suffer when somebody committed the grave sin that was loving them. Levi hands, meanwhile, were busy trying to strip Artsiom, in a motion not so different than when he used to strip prisoners in search of hidden weapons, the difference being that the weapons were already poking in his soul tainted by Gro-Goroth since his childhood, stabbing him through the chest, touching his corrupted, debased anima, more naked than any loss of clothes could ever make him. Artsiom hugged him, pulling Levi close, like he could foresee the future and was trying to stop it, leaving kisses in his neck while whispering sweets words in his ear, words that would never be as sweet at the ones Him told him during the three fatidic nights in the festival and he was drunk in the damage the memories caused him. This was not a night of sex, this was a night of self-harm, a suicide like the ones Levi could never muster the strength to commit, a suicide not of the body but of the soul and the identity, using guilt and hate as the bullets and Artsiom kind and caring soul and body as a rifle, because in the end Levi was a broken miserable person, a black hole of nothingness, the perfect son of the God of Destruction, chewing and mutilating his own self as a repentance for a sin fate committed against him.

He ends up stripping Artsiom, and the surprise when the taller and build up man tells Levi he wants him to be the one above is choked by the irony the Bohemian feels the situation have, of course he is going to enter and debase this man, a physical expression of what he is going to make to his soul and heart. Levi enters the man, and the words of praise and love that leaves the mouth of Artsiom are taken as knifes so he can stab himself in the chest, in the neck, in the lungs and heart, the thrusts an imitation of the stabbing Levi wants to do to himself, and when the Voroniyian praises Sylvian he internally laughs, because the Goddess of Love isn’t here, she was never here, she abandoned Levi when he killed her messiah, her beloved son. Levi transmutes the beautiful sight of the naked Artsiom under him in the ugly and dirty image of the soldiers he killed in the war, replaces the sound of the clapping of meat against meat in the penetration of the metal edge of a infantry knife in the skull of a Bremenite soldier, the gasps and moans into the groans and screams of his victims, because that is more easy than accept the offer that Artsiom makes between moan and moan, because he is a coward and the last time he loved ended up with a flesh hole that wasn’t made for using, because if he dares to enjoy his act he would become a traitor to a doctor he know for three days and ended up loving like a god incarnate. He is the Black Judas, and Artsiom is his All-Mer, offering him salvation. But Levi can’t be saved. This dance continues for some minutes, or hours, time becomes a blur between the exhaustion in the body and the torturing of the mind, and when Levi ends up bottoming in him and diluting himself into liquid sin, he commits a last selfish act, because one more moldy brick in a rotten wall is nothing, and hugs the tired tank driver searching for a warm that he doesn’t deserve, putting his head in a chest to hear an active heart he is denying. From the window in the room, the moon laughs at the boy, because no nightmare he can inflict will hurt Levi as much as Levi hurts himself.

Artsiom woke up in an empty bed. His first action of the day was a yawn and a stretch of his arms in the direction where Levi should had been, and not finding him there surprises him. He gets up off the bed and search the boy through the house, not finding him. Strange, but maybe the boy had leave soon in the morning to go home and bath himself, today was another work day after all, and Levi was committed to the work anyway. He goes to the bathroom, starting the shower while looking himself in the mirror. His mind was somewhat foggy, but he remembers the broad strokes of what happened, and maybe he should seek Levi in the work and apologize to him. It isn’t that he didn’t enjoy the night (He really enjoyed it), but he did come out strong to the boy, and talking it could help in building something better, maybe invite Levi while he can to a date and have a normal time, or at least the most normal they can while doing something illegal in this country. Artsiom showers and brush his teeth, have a slow breakfast so he can think better what to say to the boy, and goes to work. When he arrives in the pawn shop, he expects Levi to be there, surprised to find Finlay there.

- Had a good night, Art? – The North Rondonian looks at him with a smile and an eternal coffee in his hand

- Oh, hey Finlay… have you seen Levi? –

- Yeah boss, he came early and then he leaved – Artsiom looks surprised and confused to Finley

- He… leaved? –

- Yeah boss, something happened last night? –

Finlay looks at Artsiom, who enters the shop. Levi isn’t here, and he walks to the counter, where a folded paper is calling to him. He unfolds the paper, and there is only one thing written in it. Sorry. Artsiom reads the message, not written in the mechanical, military font that Levi normally uses, instead written in a desperate, hurry manner. Finlay calls him, asking what the paper say, but Artsiom can only laugh, a short, sad laugh, folding the paper again, closing his eyes and leaving the paper again in the counter.

Levi races through the countryside, as the coward he is, again running away and leaving behind his comrade to survive the war. The motor of the bike is screaming, with the wind blowing against him, like it is trying to stop him, to make him reconsider what he is doing. But he can’t stay, he can’t do what Artsiom is asking him to do, because only one person could have made that, and Levi killed him to survive a mad festival. He has the money to survive some weeks, and now have to decide if he is going to the northeast and enter Bohemia, or go west and go to continental Rondon. While tracing his totally not escape route, his stomach churns, because obviously Levi had drove hours without eating, and ends up in an inn, looking for something to eat.

The old lady that runs the inn makes Levi uncomfortable, because the nice grandma makes him remember his own grandmother, a husk of a woman that when not immersed in a paranoid attack was a sweet person, at least until his death by a heart attack, because obviously the people who treats him decently ends up dead or he ends up abandoning them. Levi buys a coffee, a cheese sandwich and the lady gifts him a newspaper to read while he eats his breakfast, at this point his lunch and maybe his dinner. The Bohemian takes a sip of his coffee while opening the newspaper, and almost spit it out while reading one of the headings.

Renowed Rondonian war-hero and physician, Daniël Von Dutch, saves princess Elizabeth II!

Levi gulps the coffee at the best of his abilities, and waves off the worried old lady. The heading is like a punch to the gut, and he had to re-read it one, two, ten times, even asking the woman if he isn’t reading it wrong. When he has the confirmation that he didn’t misunderstand the heading, he goes directly to the rest of the news.

Last night, while he was attending an opera in the famous Rondon Royal Theater, Daniël Von Dutch, son-in-law of the deceased physician and aristocrat Eihner Von Dutch was called for an emergency intervention for the princess-soon-to-be-queen of the Kingdom of Rondon, Elizabeth II. The surgery, that normally would last four hours, was made in just one hour. Nobody knows how Dr. Daniël, who also likes to calls himself Daan, was able to pull this off, and rumors says that maybe there was magic involved, but both the Doctor and the Royal Court stay silent on the matter. The doctor is famous after he ended his medical studies in just two years, and there is controversy surrounding his image after the mystery of the death of his wife and his father-in-law…

Levi was astonished about what he was reading, not knowing how to feel. Breathing started being a battle, any air entering his lungs felt like mustard gas, while his heart drummed to the tune of a military march. This couldn’t be. He was dead, and now, all of the sudden, he isn’t? He killed Daan, and it was a clean shot. He couldn’t have survived that, a .303 straight to the head would kill any human being… but Daan wasn’t a human being. Daan was the favorite son of Sylvian and an adept user of the magic of the old god. Maybe he prepared ahead of time, maybe Sylvian decided to save him. But if Daan was alive, why he didn’t wait for Levi outside the tower? Or look out for him? And why could he still feel Daan’s soul inside him, just like the souls of the others participants? His mind was spiraling out of control, thinking a million what if, a million possibilities, and only the gentle touch of the Old Lady were capable of getting Levi out of his mind.

- Are you okay, darling? – Even the voice of the granny was like the one of his grandmother

- Y…yes. I have to go –

Levi drank the coffee in a few gulps, and devoured the sandwich, before going to the bike. If Daan was truly alive, he needed to see it first-hand.

The travel through continental Rondon and the crossing of the Canal to the island proper was long. Levi had to maintain a low profile, staying in short burst in a city only to continue the travel, because he was in enemy land. Rondon betrayed the Eastern Union in the Great Patriotic War and allied with the Bremen Empire, and even if the war was over, he wasn’t comfortable with being noticed in the land of the people who he fought. He arrived in the island when the snow started falling, and by the time he was close to where Daan had told him he lived, Christmas was one week away. Every kilometer, every step closer to the Von Dutch state only made him more or more nervous. Was this really Daan? Was this an imposter? Would Daan hate him because he didn’t kill himself to let him live? Would he even remember him? The questions didn’t leave him, and sleep was more and more far away with each day that passed and closer he got to his objective.

The Von Dutch state was big, and the route between the gates and Daan’s house was long enough to make him drive the bike for almost ten minutes. The snow piled lightly on his shoulder as he turned off the motorcycle engine. The house was in front of him, with the roof full of snow and the lights coming out of the windows. Levi adjusted his clothes around his waist, making sure that the pistol was concealed and easy to access if necessary. The steps toward the door were silent, and he couldn’t stop feeling like a soldier marching straight to his execution. The mansion seems bigger the closer he was to it, blocking the sun, absorbing his vision and trapping him like an unclimbable wall. Then, a sound. One of the doors did a shy, cautious creak, like it was ashamed of the sound, and from the open door, Levi could see him. Dressed in a dark purple duffle coat with a white fur neck, gray winter trousers and gloves, Daan looked at him with a small and tired smile, like the ones he gave him in the festival, drops of nectar timely gifted to him to warm his heart and his body during that three-day nightmare, the light behind him make Daan look like a saint from a church painting. The doctor didn’t spoke, just gazed him, smiled, and then entered again the house, giving Levi his back while making a sign with his hand to make him follow, just like in Termina. Levi couldn’t refuse the order.

The interior of the Von Dutch mansion was warm and cozy. The carpet was clean, the walls were clean and the wallpaper renewed, decorated with classical paintings from across Europa. The status and wealth of the Von Dutch was palpable in every part, in every nook and cranny, a psychological warfare operation to make every person that didn’t have that kind of prestige out of place, the lights were casting an almost golden shine into Daan. He felt out of place, a cockroach entering the silken web of a spider, and the silence only made him more ashamed of his existence, even the fireplace didn’t make a sound. The duo entered the living room, and with a silent gesture, Daan asked for Levi’s leather jacket, leaving it in a coat rack in the corner.

- Coffee, love? –

Daan voice melted Levi, who answered with a nod. He leaved the room, reality crumbling down on the Bohemian. Daan was alive. His smile, his voice, was the same as the one he met in Prehevil, but something about him… something about him was off, maybe it was his stance, maybe it was the way he looked at Levi, maybe the way Daan covered his neck with the fur of his duffle coat. Levi took a seat in a sofa, and silently waited for the medic to come. After some minutes, Daan was back with a teapot full of Coffee and some bread with butter.

- I was waiting you, love. What took you so long? –

- Daan… -

- I waited, Levi –

Levi grabbed the coffee and took a sip. The flavor was strong, with the sweet taste of sugar at the end. He couldn’t muster the strength to see the Rondonian to the eye.

- So…sorry –

- I forgive you, love, but it was so lonely… - Daan takes a sip, and Levi looks at him, needing answers.

- How? –

- How, love? –

- You shouldn’t… I… you shouldn’t be here –

- I shouldn’t be in my house? –

- No… I mean… Daan, I… - He needs to say it; he really needed to say it.

- Levi, love – Daan hand goes directly to Levi knee, and he melts in the touch.

- You are dead –

Daan laughs, and Levi feels the starving when Daan retires his hand of his knee. The laugh feel… off. The medic didn’t laugh much during the festival, but it didn’t sound so… elegant, so refined. It was like a mockery, a reproduction so good but so out of place that ended up as a parody, and still, he craved it.

- Levi, I know about corpses, I would know if I was one –

- I… I… I killed you! I remember it! –

- I would remember you killing me, love –

Levi jumps at the end of that sentence, at that “love”. His hands were trembling, his breathing was a mess, and his mind was crumbling trying to understand what was happening. How could Daan, this Daan, maintain his calm? He was drinking his coffee as nothing, like Levi wasn’t implying that he should be dead, and it only made him feel more fucking crazy.

- I KILLED YOU! I SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD. DON’T YOU REMEMBER?! –

Daan just sighed, and stood from his seat. His walk was slow, moderate, and every step echoed in Levi head like a death sentence. He stopped in front of Levi, so close, so close…

- Levi, love, I don’t know what are you talking about –

He couldn’t bear it anymore. With a quick movement of the hand, Levi pulled out the pistol, aiming it at Daan.

- You are not Daan! –

Daan looked at Levi, laughed, and then grabbed the pistol and leaning on it until the barrel was touching his forehead, in the same place he shot him in Termina.

- This is not a gun, Levi –

- Stop… -

- If you really believe im not Daniël Von Dutch, then do it, Levi. Kill me –

Both the doctor and the soldier looked at each other through the eye. He only had to pull the trigger. He only had to pull the trigger. He only… Levi couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. Levi holstered the pistol in his waist again, and hugged Daan. The Rondonian corresponded the hug, putting Levi head in his chest, and the boy exploded in his chest, crying all the tears that he couldn’t cry since his childhood, while Daan only patted him in the head, whispering something that he couldn’t hear and didn’t matter, because Daan was here, he was hugging him, and the two years without it were so long and lonely…

- You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t – He repeated it, trying to be logical about it, each repetition lower and lower until he wasn’t saying anything.

The dinner was silent. Daan was eating slow, calm, while Levi tried to ignore the rational part of his head telling him the truth, the one still unsure about the truth obviously in front of him. They ended the food quickly, and Daan stood up from his seat, walking to Levi side and offering him his hand.

- You want a separate room, or want to… - Levi nodded without saying anything.

Heroine was the most pleasant thing that Levi ever tasted, and leaving it almost killed him. The nights of withdrawal were rough, like he was thrown into the sulfur pits, his body shivering and his mind hallucinating with the lives and soul inside Levi. If one took that nights, still, it wouldn’t equivalate to a one-billionth fraction of the hurting the withdrawal from Daan’s lips felt to Levi. The kiss was desperate, every molecule of his mouth trying to eat the Rondonian. His hand traced Daan’s chest with need, with desperation, and the Rondonian only gigged while savoring the touching, letting Levi drink every inch of his skin. Levi lowered from his face to his neck, and Daan started gasping, low, measured, and Levi was just frenzied by that. Every sound was a symphony, every gasp and moan a church choir praising the Goddess of love and the second coming of his Messiah. He needed this, he missed this, he was addicted to this. Daan’s hands around Levi, touching, feeling, grasping, felt like the gentle touch of one of Sylvian’s tentacles, enveloping him with all the love he didn’t receive since his childhood. Levi felt Daan moving, and stopped the kissing, only to see the chest-naked Rondonian undress himself from his trousers and underwear, naked, untarnished, with a scar of the Eye of Sylvian somewhat above his pelvis, marking the holiness in which Levi is about to embark.

The pair of lovers look at each other, mouths silent but understanding perfectly what the other want. Levi assaults Daan neck again, and then starts going lower and lower, tracing kisses through Daan neck, chest, and then going lower, between Daan’s legs, right where the holy eucharist is waiting to be eaten and licked. Levi, as any believer would do, comply, eating Daan’s interiors with ruthless abandon, drinking the moans of the Rondonian as the sweet melodies they are. The Doctor’s hands travel to the Bohemian’s hair, grabbing his head and planting him firmly between his legs, Levi’s hands, meanwhile, travels through Daan’s thighs, enjoying every inch of skin they can.

- Le…Love…please…allow me to…to return the favor! –

Daan try to maintain a sultry tone in his voice, but the miracles Levi is working in his nethers makes the whole effort impossible. Still, Levi doesn’t stop or shows an interest in Daan offer, because to him, this is not a night of sex, this is a night of worship, the chance the Old Gods offered to him to repent for his sin, and he is committed to that chance, one lick at the time. The room is full with the screams and moans of Daan, and Levi is sure that a pinkish mist is starting to envelop the place, mutating the lighting until the duo is the only visible thing in it, while Daan’s moans get more and more high in pitch, until Levi hears him moan one last time, and then feels the shaking in his legs, in his hands, in his stomach. He separates himself from between Daan’s legs, and looks at him with a little smile, cleaning his mouth with the backside of his hand. There should be a salty flavor in his mouth, but anything coming from Daan is sweet to him. Daan put his hands in Levi neck and make him lean to him, until they can kiss again, and Levi obliges, he always will oblige to anything Daan ask for him.

He feels the man moves under him, his hands stripping Levi from his pants and his underwear, then moving to his penis to help him enter him, without breaking the kiss, without separating, and when Levi enters in him in his entirety, a muffled moan escapes his mouth. Levi feels the warm, the wetness, the tightness that feels sculpted for him and him alone, a gift from Sylvian which he tries to enjoy slowly, much to Daan’s despair, who begs the boy to be more aggressive, to move harder. Levi obliges, and starts moving faster and harder, every thrust a declaration of love and surrender. The Rondonian embraces him, whispering sweet reclamations in his ear, moving a little to accompany the movements made by the Bohemian. They are a sweating mess, both lovers joined by the pelvis and by an invisible tentacle around them. This endeavor continues for minutes, until Levi eyes close and he bottoms out inside Daan’s, diluting himself in liquid praise. He separates himself again from the Rondonian, and to lie down besides him, his breath a mess, his face and body full of the sweat of the act they committed. Daan’s hugs him, and the last thing Levi can do before falling sleeping is a tired, short, declaration of love.

If there was something that Daan hated about the house, was how the moon was inescapable. His old master shined every night above the house, and the curtains couldn’t do much to stop his gaze. It’s was a provocation and a warning at the same time. And now, being in the balcony, naked, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, he couldn’t hate it more, because it was an eternal memento to who he was. A gust of wind brushed him, and he embraced it, not because he enjoyed feeling the cold wind, but because nakedness and all the things associated with it made him feel real, and not the replacement he was originally made to be. After all, he was born with clothes, fake clothes that in reality were his skin. It was only as he learned and evolved that he discovered people had skin beneath their clothes. The more he learned, the more perfect of a copy that he became, the more conscious he felt about the fact that he was false, a recreation of a person instead of a person, until he ended up becoming an almost perfect copy, and with it came the curse of sentiency and sapiency. The first thing he felt was shame, shame about who he was and what was he made for. The second thing he felt was loneliness, as they both had grown attached to the boy (The original because of the high-stress and apocalyptic context in which he had made his relationship with Levi, and him because of his nature as Daan) and his absence only hurt him. He ended up solving the first thing, praying to Sylvian, who decided to accepted him as his son, even if he really wasn’t and trying to made honor to the man he replaced. The second thing felt like something destined to accompany him the rest of his life, but now, with Levi again at his side, that was solved. The boy presence also helped him with a pet peeve of him: Even if he had become Daan in everything, from the appearance to the mannerism to even the memories, he still didn’t have the soul of Daan, he still was incomplete, and now, with Levi sleeping in his bed, he can solve that.

Levi woke up in the middle of the night with his throat dry. He looked to both sides of the bed, looking from Daan, but in the fuzzy state he was, it was difficult. It wasn’t until his eyes finally adapted to the lack of light and his mind started working again, that he found Daan: He was naked, in the balcony, with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a… soul stone? What was Daan doing with it? Levi followed the movement of the hand which held the stone, from Daan’s side to his neck. He closed his eyes and laid out again in the bed, ignoring the munching sounds coming from Daan’s direction. He heard the steps of the Rondonian coming to the bed, hugging him from the back. Levi rolled to Daan’s side, and looked him directly to the eye.

- Something happened, love? – Levi stared at him in silence, before grabbing him by the chin to give him a little peck in the lips

- Im thirsty –

Daan laughed and got up from the bed, walking to the door while swaying his hips, putting a show for Levi. When the door closed, Levi looked to the roof, thinking about what to do… except there was nothing to do. This was Daan. The Daan he loved, the Daan he couldn’t protect. He didn’t know why the Old Gods decided to gift him again to him, but this time he is going to protect it. He is not going to lose Daan a second time. Daan came back with a glass of water, that Levi gulped in two chugs.

- There? –

- Yeah… thanks –

Daan smiled at him, laying again in the bed, spooning Levi. The boy, finally, sighed a last time, and corresponded the spooning, going back to sleep like nothing has happened.

A child walks through the snow. The kid is a more like a ball of clothes than a human being, and his steps are evidence of this: Clunky, short steps, without any portion of the leg. His direction is clear: The house of his grandma. After walking what to him is the crossing of the whole continent, he ends up in front of the door. The nervous boy knocks the door, and after some minutes, an old lady opens the door. The granny looks at the kid, smiling, and let the kid enter and cleans him of the snow. The little Levi goes directly to the sofa, much to the old lady musing, who goes to a cabinet. She searches through the cabinets, until finally finding what she is looking. Levi looks expectantly the box enveloped in gift paper who is promptly teared apart by the small, gloved hands of the kid. Under the paper is a wooden box, and when Levi opens it, in it’s insides is a small toy, a motorcycle made of tin.

- I know is not the best gift, dear, but this old lady doesn’t have much money left. I wish you enjoy it –

Silent as always, the boy lefts the toy at his side, and goes where his beloved granny is sitting, hugging her with all the strength a six-years old kid can muster.

- So, do you like it? –

The kid nods, still embracing the old lady. This year his mother couldn’t gift him something, and besides his grandma, he doesn’t have more family that could gift him something, and even still, he doesn’t get gifts normally. The kid doesn’t know the motorcycle is a cheap toy, that in three months is going to crumble apart. Right now, he is happy, because he has his Christmas gift, and that is enough, will ever be enough.