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A Certain Kind Of Doom

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Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love

You were doomed but just enough

- Church by Fall Out Boy

Lahabrea usually takes the role of recruiting new members. He finds tiny shards of previous friends and lovers and brings them into the fold. Sometimes they remember. More often than not, they don’t. But none of that matters after Zodiark tempers them. They will serve either way. They are given the same ranks as they had when whole, the same mask, and, in cases of Convocation members, the same title. Many who can stay alive long enough find more parts of their soul. 

Of course, Emet-Selch has always been faster at finding her shards. Lahabrea doesn't care much. They don't need Altima. Until one day, he does find the smallest piece of her. 

He almost tosses it away. He hated her, still does, even. Perhaps it is petty but she had always been praised, especially by Emet-Selch. She had it easy. Lahabrea had been the youngest member to get into the Convocation and he replaced the previous Lahabrea just before the end. That made him not only the youngest but also the newest. And while Lahabrea had been just as smart as the predecessor and more than worthy of his role, he felt like he didn’t get the attention he deserved. 

And all Altima had to do was make a few dumb plants or a single star and Emet-Selch was head over heels for her. They called each other by their real names even. Every time Lahabrea heard ‘ Persephone ’ or ‘ My Hades ’ he thought he would be sick. 

So he almost crushes the tiny fragment between his fingers, before his distorted, lonely mind gets the best of him. He smirks, runs his thumb over the aether of it. And sets up a meeting for a new member introduction. 

-

She's wrong and everyone notices. Just a piece of her soul in a too big pool of aether. Most of her personality belongs to the body. They didn't turn members down.

Her mask fits awkwardly.

"And our newest member, Altima." Lahabrea ends the meeting with that.

Emet-Selch rarely attends these meetings and he wishes he had missed this one too. His chest tightens. Elidibus and Lahabrea are staring at him. He says nothing, face a stoic mask. 

"Welcome," Elidibus says. Most of the time he will say 'welcome back' to Convocation members, but her eyes are empty. She remembers nothing of her past, of the soul fragment she keeps. 

She won't last long. Emet-Selch will probably kill her himself. Yet, she bows, the aether around her already tied to Zodiark. An Ascian is an Ascian and her soul has power no matter how fragmented. 

Elidibus dismisses the meeting and one by one each Ascian disappears. Except Lahabrea and Emet-Selch. Lahabrea stands and Emet-Selch finally moves. He catches Lahabrea by the front of his robes and growls.

"You have my attention. Is that what you wanted?" 

Lahabrea chuckles, eyes narrowed, "Was this all I had to do then?"

There's a bitterness in his tone Emet-Selch had not anticipated. Lahabrea's almost schoolboy crush on Emet-Selch had never mattered back in Amaurot. He would often be rude to Persephone and it drew a rift between the two former friends that never healed. But now Emet-Selch is acutely aware of the pain in Lahabrea's eyes. 

– That Lahabrea and Elidibus are all he has left. 

He had spent so much time alone, sulking, that he never bothered to realize Lahabrea is suffering too. They are both broken despite their whole souls. 

And Emet-Selch wants so badly to remember what it is like to touch someone whole like him. 

He pulls him closer by the collar of his robes, hands tugging off his hood to tangle into his hair. He kisses Lahabrea then, with every ounce of pain and loneliness and hate he has. Lahabrea kisses back, biting his lower lip and shoving his tongue into his mouth. 

Emet-Selch could love him if he tried. But hate and bitterness taste better. Especially on Lahabrea. 

Almost hesitantly, Emet-Selch reaches forward to remove Lahabrea's mask. His fingers slip under it, petting his face. Lahabrea breaks the kiss, panting hard, and just waiting . Emet-Selch plucks the mask from his face, dropping it to the ground before he shoves the other man back roughly. Lahabrea hits the wall with a deep growl, hooking a leg around Emet-Selch's waist. 

"You are impatient as ever I see," Emet-Selch drawls out, nipping his jaw before moving down his neck. 

Lahabrea's head rolls to the side, "I've only wanted this since Amaurot."

He sucks a large bruise onto his neck and Lahabrea jerks his hips forward. "Was it like this in your dreams?" Emet-Selch challenges.

"I saw Altima after she spent nights with you; you are hardly a tender lover." 

"Good thing we won't be making love," Emet-Selch growls. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." The lie of it burns both of them. The taste is bitter and so Lahabrea leans in to kiss Emet-Selch again. The Architect greedily accepts, hands shuffling the other man's robes. How long since either of them touched another? Lahabrea's clawed gauntlets catch on Emet-Selch's coat as he pulls his other leg around the narrow waist hidden under so many infernal layers. 

Emet-Selch does not have enough concentration to magick their clothes away. Finally, though, he manages to tug down Lahabrea's pants and palm his erection. Lahabrea lets out a strangled groan, breaking the kiss to throw his head back. Emet-Selch uses his teeth to tear off one of his gloves, giving an irritated growl at the awkwardness of their position. Lahabrea finds it hilarious and is intent on not helping. If anything he makes it worse by grinding himself against the bulge under Emet-Selch's robes. 

"I will drop you," Emet-Selch warns, voice taunt. He can't hide the way his aether is thick around them, though, pulsing with lust. His eyes practically shine in the darkness. Lahabrea moves his hips again as a challenge. Emet-Selch hisses and tightening his grip on Lahabrea's thigh, moving him up a bit higher. So much for dropping him. 

"Hurry, damn you," Lahabrea pants. Emet-Selch usually finds himself patient in times like this but he's brutally aware they aren't as immortal as he once thought. The Warrior Light has already killed Nabriales and Emet-Selch can already feel Lahabrea slipping from his fingers. 

He's passionate and burning in everything he does. Emet-Selch has no doubt he will get himself killed this way. 

He conjures oil onto his fingers, leaning down to nip at Lahabrea's neck as he works him open. The other man hisses in pleasure, arching his back. Emet-Selch has to use his other hand to keep him still as he adds a second finger. 

"S-stop moving," he growls, low in his throat as his own cock aches , "Or I'll continue without any preparation."

Maybe Emet-Selch will take him on a bed next time. And he hopes there's a next time. 

If anything, his threat only makes Lahabrea grind himself harder against the other man' fingers. Emet-Selch humors him by adding another finger, stroking and scissoring him. Lahabrea grunts, eyes fluttering and Emet-Selch surprises himself by ducking down to kiss him. Lahabrea kisses back and it's strangely chaste until Emet-Selch can't bear it anymore and deepens it. A chuckle rumbles from Lahabrea's throat. 

The laugh makes Emet-Selch pull his fingers out. "Don't start," he growls. 

"Apologies," Lahabrea purrs, tugging up Emet-Selch's thick robes. He watches the Speaker work, swallowing, and after a struggle, he gets the fabric out of the way to pull his cock from his small clothes. He is acutely aware of how Emet-Selch shudders at his touch. 

Lahabrea is not careful with the claws of his gloves and Emet-Selch loves it that way. His grip is tight and rough, tugging Emet-Selch closer. Lahabrea's thumb passes over the head of his cock, giving a slow jerk. Emet-Selch moves Lahabrea up the wall just enough for him to guide Emet-Selch's cock to his entrance. His claws brush Emet-Selch's balls as he lines him up. 

He pushes himself in with one sharp thrust and Lahabrea throws his head back. His aether sparks, a thick fog around them, and Emet-Selch lets his own tangle into it. His aether claws at Lahabrea's, digging in and forcing its way into his soul. Lahabrea let's out a strangled gasp, hips snapping forward. Emet-Selch pauses to adjust Lahabrea's hips, and he at least helps then , angling himself so Emet-Selch can hit his prostate in a way that makes him spit obscenities. 

There's a sense of pride in lowering the Speaker to such things. To hear his language degrade into something long dead and mix with several different languages, tongue tied and babbling close to nonsense. Emet-Selch can't help but chuckle, thrusting harder to draw out the other man's failed attempts at sentence structure. Oh, perhaps he should do this more often. A fairly pleasant way to make Lahabrea shut up .

Of course, Lahabrea knows how to gain an upper hand too. He's only dreamed of this but knows exactly how to twist his aether to stroke Emet-Selch's soul in a way neither had felt for eons .

" Hades ," he breathes, pressing his face to the man's neck, licking and nipping. 

Emet-Selch's pace shudders, almost stops, and he lets out a low hiss. And his soul opens up, blooming for Lahabrea, who's aether flinches back at the sudden flood of emotions. He had not anticipated Emet-Selch to allow this. He pulls back, opens his eyes and Emet-Selch's are squeezed shut, mouth open as he pants.

"Let me in ," Emet-Selch snarls as he feels Lahabrea's soul pull back. He's suddenly very aware Lahabrea has probably never fucked another with such control over their aether, has never merged in body and soul. But Lahabrea cannot tease him by the light creasing and then stop . Emet-Selch projects these emotions, his aether curling around Lahabrea, making his skin sensitive. His hair stands on end and he moans weakly. It's like nothing he had ever felt. 

Too intimate, too much. 

Lahabrea's aether surges forward, hungry and desperate, as he finally let's his walls down. The gasp it draws from Emet-Selch makes his cock twitch between them. Their aether twists together, souls fighting and melding. It's not as kind or sweet as it should have been, as soul melding was in Amaurot. Their emotions and souls are bared to each other, brimming with rage, sadness and loneliness. A longing buried deep and finally exposed. It festers and burns. 

And underneath it all is an adoration and need for companionship neither of them will ever voice aloud. They will never even acknowledge it, even as their aether brushes against it, gripping it and pulling it to the surface. 

Emet-Selch thrusts hard. The combination of sensations making them both rut against each other like animals. His nails dig into Lahabrea's ass as he holds him up but his aether slides across his skin, almost sticky and cold, until it wraps around his cock like a second skin. Lahabrea growls loudly in pleasure, skin prickling from the energy around them. 

"Let me see you," Lahabrea breathes, claws fisting into Emet-Selch's hair and tugging him into a kiss. Emet-Selch's sigil burns bright as he lets it appear and his physical form shudders and blurs around the edges. A flash of a halo and wings, the feelings of gilded claws helping move Lahabrea on his cock. Lahabrea snarls, maintaining eye contact as his own sigil ignites. The aether around his cock tenses and burns as it constantly switches between hot and cold, rolling against him like water. 

Lahabrea's head falls forward, pressing his face into Emet-Selch's neck. It's too much and he cums hard, muffling his cries against Emet-Selch's skin. He shakes in the other man's grasp, body tensing around Emet-Selch's cock. The aether around his cock moves back to not get tainted, allowing Lahabrea to stain his own robes. 

"So rude," Emet-Selch forces out, breathing labored, "Not even a warning." 

"Shove it," Lahabrea hisses, body falling slack as he tries to catch his breath. Emet-Selch doesn't give him the chance, his aether pulling him wide open and forcing his own lust back into Lahabrea's soul. He lets out a strangled growl, surprised and angry that the afterglow had been stolen. 

Emet-Selch thrusts harder then, not even giving a witty remark as he desperately seeks his own release. He doesn't even try to hide the emotions in his aether, instead driving them straight into Lahabrea's soul. 

And it almost hurts when Emet-Selch's aether brushes against the love and inspiration hidden deep within Lahabrea's soul. He almost pulls his own soul back. These are things meant to be said aloud, not shared accidentally during moments of passion and rage. But they are both very aware they would never open up like that. This is as close as they will get to it now. Their time has passed. 

"You think too much," Lahabrea grinds himself roughly against Emet-Selch, drawing a growl from him. "Focus on me . Let go."

Emet-Selch opens his eyes, tugs Lahabrea's head back by his hair and admires the way his skin shines with sweat. He leans down to lick his neck, tracing a line of sweat from his jaw down to his collarbone. Lahabrea moves his hands to grasp Emet-Selch's shoulders, meeting each of his thrusts. Lahabrea's aether grows thick around them again, a dense fog of purple and black. Emet-Selch's pace shudders and grows erratic as he gets close and Lahabrea reaches between them to jerk himself off in time. He breathes out Emet-Selch's name like a mantra. 

It makes him shudder, a curse leaving his lips as he presses himself in to the hilt. Emet-Selch rolls his hips slowly, grinding against Lahabrea's prostate. His muscles tighten around the other man as he quickly approaches his second orgasm. Emet-Selch lets out a sharp snarl, something that could have been Lahabrea's name mixed in as he lets himself finally cum. Emet-Selch's aether trembles as he cuts himself off from making any other noise by biting into Lahabrea's shoulder. The feeling of his cum and aether easily pushes Lahabrea over the edge again. 

And Emet-Selch does drop Lahabrea then. Only to almost collapse onto him as well, sliding down and burying his face into Lahabrea's robes with a weak growl. The two don't speak, but both of their hands find their way into clutching at each other. A desperate and exhausted embrace. Their aether had retreated quickly after they had finished but Lahabrea finds himself giving Emet-Selch a tentative brush with his, checking on him. 

To his surprise, Emet-Selch's aether doesn't wince away, instead he allows the invasion, projecting feelings of irritation, tiredness and, laid bare, out in the open, love. It's brief before Emet-Selch brings his walls back up around his soul, pushing himself upright. He snaps his fingers, cleaning them both up and holds out his hand. 

Lahabrea takes it and their fingers intertwine for longer than necessary. It will only hurt them both in the end and they know it.