Chapter Text
Day 1: Moonlight
The moon has no light of its own. The moon reflects the light of the sun.
It's a load of shit, Altruoix thinks - though he understands the sentiment is one born of ignorance. Most men did not meet the moon.
Most men did not fuck the moon, the celestial body rising, panting, grinning atop him as he watches the sun beneath shudder, blood and plasma bright beneath skin to surge forth, flaring needily as he's ridden, forced down even as he arches atop the third, all darkness and gold and neon galaxies engulfed until they, finally, spill forth beneath the pressure and friction and the gravity slamming Altruoix upon Emet-Selch until they're sealed, the man below practically sobbing as chime and song and words no mortal has heard cacophany from their lips, bodies shuddering and writhing, shapes losing themselves just a bit, fuzzing like watercolors.
Most men were not more.
It wasn't even wrong, Altruoix corrects - he can clearly see where the sun has touched the moon, bruises and teeth and nails scratching long, thin lines across its bone-pale surface. But where the skin is broken, where ichor bubbles forth it glistens from within. Its rhythm dictates the tides of self, the light strengthening as Elidibus finds his footing. His own voice. His own place. A duty to himself .
Though this self tentatively explores, reaches out hands open with peace; there is no one to answer now but Altruoix. Near delirious he watches Elidibus's internal glow with open awe, foam caps bright atop the waves of his abyss. He greets the crash of them with open arms, and as they knock him down breathless Altruoix dully contemplates once again the insanity of his position. He must be losing it, to fall in love with him. With Emet-Selch. With ascians , the most ancient villains of their star.
But perhaps it is not so surprising. They say the full moon drives men mad.
As his hand fists in Elidibus's hair, spilling wild between his fingers and across the pillow, Altruoix cannot help but agree. Their lips catch and tongues scramble, the moon hungry for his light, to collect it and share it for the world to see. The moon does not care what anyone thinks. The moon rises and sets and takes that light over and over and it scatters and it sticks, long strands clinging to skin dampened with their mingled sweat.
Elidibus plucks a piece that's fallen across his shoulder and twirls it around his fingers. If Altruoix has succumbed to lunacy then surely he is red with sunstroke, the blood moon happy to perish here, pliant, in his arms.
You are death. Altruoix knows he is, did not need that confirmation, but unlike that of the battlefield this gentle death merely sends them bleeding silver across the bed, silk against silk and gods if he could only stay like this, forever, far from war with sleep dusting his senses, poppy pollen mingling with the Emissary's lavender.
"Has the Warrior finally been bested?" Elidibus rasps, though his own sleep too is soon assured. Still he acts as though they are not here fading together. A victory.
"If it pleases you to think so." Altruoix has not the energy to argue. He's worshipped the other man all night, sent him spiraling into bliss and anointed, white marking him for his own as Emet-Selch too claimed him, filled him with darkness and power and pleasure, leaving him full and aching and leaking still.
"It does." Elidibus smiles that wide enigmatic smile, that claimed victory staining the sheets below him. It is a testament to them both that such filth may be made beautiful by them, a token of lust, true - but more importantly, love. A lingering remembrance made physical. The sun reflected in the moon's gaze and the moon's body as the sun exalts it.
Who is Altruoix to deny this?
"Good," he says, punctuating the silence and Emet-Selch's soft, wheezy snoring.
"Good."
They set together, tangled in eclipse.