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“It’s just, sometimes I forget what his face looked like,” Cypher admits, staring out at the vast expanse of Valhalla. His voice cracks and a hollow laugh rings through it, and Eygon knows well enough to recognize it as the sound of misery. “Prince Emette was the most important person in my life, and some days I can’t even remember his face.”
“Forgetting is far scarier than remembering,” Eygon nods. He doesn’t know how to tell Cypher the truth: that the face he remembers for Amelia is the one that distorted and became a monster. That he could no longer remember her smile. His voice is quiet. A misery of his own. Instead he asks, “Did you get a chance to tell him? How you felt?”
Cypher grows silent. And then he shakes his head, “No. Not in so many words. Although we were often together and often….” Here, Cypher blushes just a bit, a light almost unnoticeable smattering of red upon his face, “intimate, I knew that no good could come from such a revelation. He was a prince, and I was born a slave. Even if I had become a merchant of some renowned…”
“It would never be enough,” Eygon finishes, like a quiet echo. As a knight, he fared no better with Princess Amelia. Fate was indeed cruel, to draw together souls like theirs, who had no hope of joining.
“Yeah,” Cypher nods, “it would never be enough. How could I place the burden of my feelings upon him? Even if we were to find his soul now, I do not think that I could do it.”
“I know what you mean,” Eygon says. Few would.
At last, Cypher looks over at him. Although the pain is still clear on his brow, it has softened somewhat and he looks at Eygon as if Eygon has truly seen him. And perhaps that he truly sees Eygon in return. His eyes shine with tears, but it is clear that he is willing them not to fall, as if he might have power even in this. As if he might hang on to his one last shred of dignity.
But Eygon doesn’t see it that way—he sees no fault in emotion and no fault in fear. If anything, being with Valkyrie had made that all the more obvious. They needed to grieve, and cry, and allow themselves these moments. So he reaches over to rub his finger along Cypher’s cheekbone. Gentle, he hopes. Encouraging.
Cypher tenses in surprise and then, after a moment, he relents. Eygon watches his expression break, first with tiny cracks and then the whole thing, until he is sobbing openly, tears falling too fast for Eygon to try and wipe them away. Eygon doesn’t try to, anyway. They needed this. Both of them.
Needed to feel human.
Needed to feel seen.
So instead, Eygon moves his hand to Cypher’s chin and tilts it up towards him. He leans down to kiss his lips. Soft, chaste.
Cypher opens his mouth and bids him enter. Cypher’s hands cup his face and draw him in; Eygon follows. Cypher steps backwards, backing himself up into the corner. Eygon follows like a thrall for a moment, kissing and moving one step in front of the other until he shakes his head.
“Not like this,” Eygon presses a hand against Cypher’s bared chest, pulling himself away from the kiss. It’s difficult and he doesn’t want to, but he can feel how Cypher seems to want to climb up him, how Cypher’s hands are pulling at the fastenings of his belts.
Cypher looks like he’s been slapped across the face. “But I thought—” He starts, his brow furrowing, “you kissed me. If the thought of another man is truly so undesirable to you—”
“No, Cypher,” Eygon shakes his head, “not like this. If we are going to do this, I want it to be in a bed. Not on a balcony where anyone could find us.”
“Oh.” Cypher blushes more obviously this time, out of embarrassment, and he looks away, “I apologize, I should not have assumed.”
Eygon wants to say it is a fair assumption. He wants to say it must have been difficult, having to wonder about others’ ill intentions his whole life. But Eygon thinks that would rather ruin the mood. And he doesn’t really know what had been going on during Cypher’s life, or how people had looked upon those relationships. All he knows is the fire growing between them. The way he’s watched Cypher on the battle field; his nimble fingers upon his bow; the potency of his ice magicks.
“To the bedroom, then? If that’s alright with you?”
“Mine is closer,” Cypher nods, and he slides his way out from underneath Eygon to lead the way, apparently just as excited as Eygon is.
Eygon offers his hand. Cypher does not take it.
In fact, Cypher hardly looks back at him until they are alone in his room. And then, as if he were starving, Cypher descends upon him.
Cypher’s hands quickly find buckles and armor falls off piece by piece. Eygon tries to be just as useful, but he’s not quick enough, not deft enough. He’s stripped down to his pants and shirt before he manages to start unbuckling Cypher’s glove. But Cypher is undeterred. He pulls off Eygon’s shirt first. He gasps when he sees all of Eygon’s scars.
“Did you want to carry these?” Cypher asks, running his hand along Eygon’s broad chest and smoothing along a scar there. “Surely as a spirit you could have manifested yourself without them.”
“My scars make me who I am,” Eygon replies, seizing the opportunity to divest Cypher of his glove at last, “I wouldn’t want to exist without them.”
Cypher frowns, clearly concerned as his eyes pass over them. Older scars, like those he earned learning how to fight. And then newer scars, from his death.
Cypher was pristine in comparison. Eygon was sure of it from how he dressed but once he starts to get skin to show from underneath his clothes, his suspicions are confirmed. Cypher is dainty and beautiful, almost delicate looking. For a moment, Eygon tells himself he can’t touch someone so precious as this.
“I can get you hard,” Cypher says, interrupting his thoughts. His hand cups the bulge in his breeches, coaxing it. Cypher is practiced in this. Eygon had been with other men before, too, but his usual way of going about it was to kiss and grind up against his partner until his cock simply couldn’t handle it anymore. Cypher has other ideas. Soon, he is down on his knees in front of Eygon, unfastening his pants.
“No, Cypher, that’s alright,” Eygon shakes his head. He reaches out to touch him, running his fingers through his hair. It’s all too easy to imagine Cypher working him to hardness with his mouth. Eygon forces down the groan that starts to build in his throat. It would be so beautiful, but that isn’t what he wants now. He wants to show Cypher tenderness. He’ll be strong even in the face of this incredible offer.
Eygon helps Cypher up off the floor and then leads him to the bed. He lays Cypher out and leans down to kiss him. The way a knight kisses in a princess in faerie tales, where knights are allowed to kiss princesses.
Cypher melts underneath him. He reaches up and cups his face and kisses back. But it seems he only wants tenderness for so long. His hips move towards him. His free hand trails down Eygon’s chest.
“Please, Eygon,” Cypher insists.
“Okay, okay,” Eygon nods. His hand dips down between Cypher’s legs. But he stops when his fingers brush up against his hole.
“Why are you stopping?” Cypher sits up to watch him, looking for whatever was amiss.
“I can’t take you like this. I need some kind of lubricant. Do you keep oil here?”
“It’s fine,” Cypher shakes his head, “we are only spirits. It does not matter to me.”
“It matters to me,” Eygon replies, a hint of frustration to his tone, “I want to do this right. Do you have anything?”
“No. I used to keep oil for cooking, but…” He shakes his head. He wasn’t doing a lot of eating, in the afterlife.
“I’ll go get some,” Eygon huffs, grabbing his pants. His growing erection makes it difficult to put them on. But he manages to pull them up, and he nearly trips over himself trying to leave the room. It is a short distance to his own room, where his weapons oil sits on his desk. A short distance to retrieve it and bring it back. But he feels like he’s left Cypher alone for a lifetime.
When he returns, Cypher is still splayed out on the bed for him, his cock hard and on display. Eygon swallows thickly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He’s already taking his pants back off as he says this.
Cypher just smiles and shakes his head, “It’s no trouble,” he says.
But it feels like trouble to Eygon.
Eygon settles back between Cypher’s legs and coats Cypher’s hole and then his own fingers. This kind of oil wasn’t the best, but it god the job done. Still, it was the kind of thing knights used when they were desperate. He makes a mental note to himself to find something better, more fit for a man like Cypher.
Not that Cypher seems to mind at all. He just seems happy to be touched, and his body takes Eygon’s single finger like it is nothing.
“Do not fear for me,” Cypher tells him, reaching over to rub his hand along Eygon’s arm reassuringly, “You could easily fill me with your cock and I would thank you for it.”
Now, it is Eygon’s turn to blush, hearing Cypher say such things openly. The words themselves weren’t strange, it was the fact Cypher said them. There were times he was like royalty in his own way, and such coarse language seemed to clash with that. And yet, hearing it now, it seemed totally right, too. This man knew what he wanted. He could hardly fault him for that.
“I could,” Eygon agrees, “but I won’t. I’m going to get you ready.”
Eygon fingers him slowly. He leans down and presses kisses to his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his breast. Kissing and exploring. Easing his finger in deeper. When Cypher sighs against him, happy and relieved, Eygon slides a second finger inside, meeting little tension now.
“You feel so good,” Eygon tells him softly, against his skin.
“Do I?” Cypher asks, his expression a little far away now. Was he thinking of his Prince? Had his Prince fingered him like this, slow and patient? Had he told him how strong he was, how good?
“Yeah, you’re stronger than you look. You’re going to feel so good around me.”
Cypher laughs, self-deprecating, but Eygon swallows it with another kiss. He does not want to hear Cypher berating himself. He does not want Cypher to think that he is less than, because he has this particular skill set. All he wants is for Cypher to understand he is loved.
Eygon is certain Cypher could take him now. There’s enough give, certainly. But he keeps up his work, slowly pulling back his fingers and then pushing it. Spreading them apart inside of him. He curls them and watches Cypher’s full-bodied reaction when he finds that spot inside of him that drives him wild. Eygon smiles down at him.
“How’d you like that?” Eygon asks.
“I did not—hah—I did not expect you to be so certain on how it all worked.”
“’Tis true I loved Princess Amelia with all of my heart…but after she left, I shared my body with others.”
Lonely nights spent close to Lloyd, tender with grief and longing. Lloyd had taught him how to care for another, like this. Lloyd had taught him how tongues and lips can soothe broken and ailing hearts.
Knight Commander, let me show you …
But there was no point in dwelling on the past, now.
“I’ve got you,” Eygon says, letting up for a moment and then pressing down again to watch the waves of pleasure run through Cypher’s body. A sight too beautiful to miss, but he won’t draw it out forever. When he lets up, he asks, “Are you ready?” and Cypher nods.
Eygon settles himself between Cypher’s legs. He rubs his hand along his thigh reassuringly (though it is obvious he doesn’t need it) and then pushes in. As he does he leans down to kiss him again, and he feels Cypher wrapping his legs around his middle, adjusting his angle to better take him. Cypher cups his face and holds it. He cries as Eygon breaches his body, no doubt thinking about his departed Prince. That was just as well, Eygon was happy to be whatever it was that Cypher needed. Happy to be a placeholder for the man Cypher truly wanted.
He keeps one hand for balance, but the other explores Cypher’s chest, feeling just to feel. Touching just to touch. A touch he’d wanted to take a long time ago, if he was being honest. But now he gets the chance. Cypher is just as soft as he’d imagined. He hadn’t seen battle the way Eygon and the other knights had. He had been a merchant and purveyor of fine goods. Truly, a body worthy of meeting a Prince’s hand.
Cypher is warm and tight around him. Eygon can feel him clinging, holding him close. Eygon pulls out only as much as he needs to to give them friction; most of his movements are slow rolls of his hips, taking whatever space he can inside of Cypher’s body.
“I miss him,” Cypher says, pulling Eygon for another kiss. He lingers in it, like he’s trying to drown himself against Eygon’s lips. They are spirits and they have no real need to breathe, anyway. “I miss him so much,” he says, when he pulls away, tears streaming down his face, “It isn’t fair. He shouldn’t have died. It should have been me, I would have taken his place in a heartbeat. He should have lived.”
“I know,” Eygon says, because he does. Because he felt the same way about Amelia. He would have gladly died, to spare her fate. Dying alongside her was the best he could manage, and they still hadn’t ended up together, even in the afterlife.
“Eygon,” Cypher continues, kissing him again, and then crying, and then kissing, and then, “I loved him so much. I should have told him. I should have told him.”
He repeats it like a refrain, as his hips move in sync with Eygon’s. “He knows that you did,” Eygon tells him, with absolute certainty. “He knows.”
Cypher cries harder. His hands wrap around Eygon’s shoulders and he pulls him closer, with a strength Eygon did not expect from him. He cries into Eygon’s shoulder and moves his hips up against Eygon with new intensity, wanting more from him. Eygon gives it to him.
Eygon hardly pulls out, but he grinds Cypher’s hips down into the bed. Deep and intimately connected. As if they might become one, simply by moving together.
“A-Amelia was lucky,” Cypher manages, quiet and against his skin, “to have a knight like you.”
Eygon almost chokes on the praise. He fights back the tears that threaten to come and focuses on Cypher. He pulls him off his shoulder and into another kiss. They drink down each other’s sorrows, so that neither has to drown.
Eygon’s sweat drips down onto Cypher’s perfect body. Cypher is red and so warm beneath him, coiled tight like a spring. Tense and tight. The deeper Eygon gets, the more he seems to like it. His orgasm takes him in waves when Eygon hilts as deep as he can, flush against his ass and pushing insistently against him. Cypher spills over himself and moans the name of his dead Prince, and Eygon holds him close and lets him.
Cypher starts to fade in the aftermath. His hold on Eygon weakens. His eyes start to close and his expression becomes far away but he bids Eygon stay until he’s had his fill. Eygon’s not sure he could will himself to leave the warmth of his body until he’s come. Cypher stays awake with him, blissful and yet almost dreaming. Eygon wouldn’t be surprised if Cypher was imagining that Eygon was his Prince, and that he was letting the man take his fill of him. It would be a nice dream, even if a painful one to wake up from.
Eygon pushes away his own tears and gathers himself. He centers himself in the present, in Cypher. In how it feels to hold him, how he feels underneath him. How pleasurable fucking him has been, how tight Cypher is around his body even now in the afterglow.
When Eygon finally comes inside of Cypher, he feels relief. Relief from sadness, if only momentary. Relief from the crushing weight that he has carried all of this time. He kisses Cypher and slips his tongue into his mouth as he empties his seed into his body. Cypher sighs against him and receives him.
They are two lost souls in this great big confusing world. They have nothing left except for their duty to Valkyrie and to each other.
And now they have this.
Cypher curls up against Eygon and refuses to let him go. Eygon stays buried within him, warm and cared for. Cypher gives pleasure the way Eygon gives devotion, a language all unto its own. Neither wishes to replace the one the other lost, but somewhere in the way their bodies meet they mean to honor them.
Eygon pulls Cypher close. He wraps his arms around him like he might save him from the threatening weight of another day. Like he might hold back the chaos for a bit longer.
Like he might keep his soul tethered to the mortal world, long enough for the sun to rise. Long enough to see tomorrow.