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“I do not see why this had to be a group affair,” Osiris says as they enter the central district’s bathhouse.
It’s bigger by far than the one that Osiris usually frequents by his home, and had been one of the first large public projects completed in the City that wasn’t purely practical. The walls and floors are tiled and decorated with colourful mosaics, and sunlight streams in through the skylights.
“It is good for the people to see us, my friend,” Saint says. His broad hand slaps against Osiris’s back, and then lingers there, just a bit too long to be purely friendly. Osiris clears his throat and tugs his scarf furth up to hide the flush that threatens to creep up his face. Saint’s touch is… electrifying. “They need to see that Vanguard are among them, that we are not setting ourselves apart from those who are not Guardians. Especially now Tower has baths for only Guardians.”
“To be fair, generally the baths in the City really hate it when you show up bloody and occasionally radioactive,” Tallulah says as they enter the changing room.
“They also, as I recall, objected to the fucking,” Lord Shaxx says. “And the occasional drowning.”
“Their loss,” Tallulah says, already pulling off her shirt. Ana drops her bag onto a bench and does the same.
It’s thankfully not too busy at this time of day, and Osiris finds a free spot to sit while he removes his bracers and begins the process of stripping out of his cowl and robes. Normally Sagira would transmat them away, and save a lot of hassle, but it’s generally considered rude for Ghosts to show themselves in the public baths.
“If you are truly uncomfortable, Osiris, you do not need to stay,” Saint says, coming to stand next to him.
Osiris glances up at him as he removes his shirt, watching the way his chest and stomach flex as he moves. It is a tantalising sight. He looks down quickly, focusing on the fastenings of his robes rather more intently than is strictly necessary.
“I am not,” Osiris replies. “I just worry that it will seem strange, so many of us here at once.”
“Does it matter? They are our people. It is important for them to see us, to be reminded that this is not time of Warlords. We are protectors and citizens, just like them.”
“Barring the frequent need for decontamination showers, you mean?” Osiris says dryly.
“And for lube in Guardian bathhouse,” Saint adds, and Osiris looks up just in time to see him grin. “It is important to be able to blow off steam, work off adrenaline.”
“I lived at the Iron Temple, Saint,” Osiris replies. “I know exactly what sort of ‘blowing off’ goes on.”
He is rewarded with the flush of colour down the lights at Saint’s throat, the ones which run down towards his chest, where collarbones would be on a human. For a moment, Osiris is overtaken by the idea of what it would be like to lick the path of them, to run his tongue against the seams of Saint’s body and-
No, his reasons for finding this awkward have nothing to do with modesty. He forces himself to work on his own clothing, even as he can see from the corner of his eye Saint sliding his trousers down over the perfect V of his hips.
Finally he finishes undressing and puts his things into a locker.
“This is why the rest of us wore civilian clothes, Osiris,” Ana says. “Robes and armour take too long.”
“Some of us have appearances to maintain,” Osiris replies, although secretly he does agree with her and wish that he’d worn something a little quicker to change out of.
“It’s the baths. We’re all naked,” Ana replies.
“Entertaining as this is, are we actually going to bathe sometime today?” Shaxx asks.
“Yes, yes,” Saint grumbles. “It is bathing. It is supposed to be relaxing and taken slow.”
“I spent too many years taking it slow waiting for water to heat over a fire, Saint,” Shaxx replies.
“Perhaps you should have left that draughty castle earlier instead of waiting for Lord Felwinter to drag you out,” Osiris says, smirking at his friend. “You know how much he enjoys ‘bathing’ with you.”
“Yes,” Shaxx replies, utterly serious, “he does.”
It is frustratingly hard to fluster or embarrass Lord Shaxx. Osiris sometimes finds himself envious of that supreme self-confidence; far too much of his own mind is often caught up in worry and anxiety.
They head into the shower room, a few of the patrons giving them curious looks, but most as disinterested as they would be towards anyone else. The group splits up, with Shaxx and Tallulah and Saint hopping beneath the standing showers. Osiris grabs a low stool and bucket to wash himself. Ana does the same, striking up conversation with a woman nearby.
Saint joins him a few minutes later. He’s wet from the shower, the water running down over the slick silicon and metal of his body. He looks a little ridiculous when he sits next to him, his large form perched on the tiny stool.
“I did not realise how… extensive your tattoos are,” he says, his voice a warm rumble that makes Osiris shiver when he’s this close. “Are they all… yours?”
“No, I stole them from a Warlord,” Osiris replies dryly. He glances up to offer a small smile, knowing what Saint really means. “Some are. I was risen with a lot of them,” he says, gesturing to some of the black markings around his biceps and shoulders, the oldest ones. “They felt… right, so I have had them extended upon over time.” They reach all the way down his arms to his wrists now, across his chest and back, the black ink accented with points of gold and red. It’s difficult now to pick out which are his by choice, and which are the relics of a life he never lived.
“They look good,” Saint says. His gaze drifts down over them to where they end around his hips.
“I’m glad you approve,” Osiris replies, his own voice warming in response. “I have considered more, extending them lower.”
The flush of colour through the lights that run down Saint’s body is exquisitely lovely. He wonders how much he could get the exo to light up if they were alone together.
“Lower is- I think it would suit you.” Saint sounds a little strained now.
“Come on!” Shaxx booms. “How long does it take?”
Saint hurries to his feet, and Osiris pours water over himself to rinse away the soap quickly before they get left behind.
Not that being left behind together would be a terrible thing.
Saint smiles at him, his hand hovering over his shoulder for a moment without touching before he goes ahead to chat with Tallulah. Shaxx falls into step with Osiris.
“Your shouting is not conducive to relaxation, my friend,” Osiris says.
“And I thought that you and Saint were trying to be private about your intimacies,” Shaxx replies. “You didn’t want people to know yet.”
“We are being private,” Osiris says sharply. This thing between them is… not new exactly; it feels as though it has been building between them for years. Decades. But fledgling still. Delicate.
He wants to enjoy it without having people offer unsolicited opinions, or feeling entitled to know details about his life that he does not wish to share. Which is most details in all honesty. He had never intended to become a public figure.
“Well you’re failing,” Shaxx says. “You’re hardly subtle.” He glances over at Osiris. “Although I have my doubts as to whether you have been subtle about a single thing in your life, Osiris.”
Osiris smirks at him. “Extravagance is an excellent cover for subtlety. Not that I would expect a Titan and a Warlord to understand that.”
“And Warlocks overthink everything and fail to see the obvious,” Shaxx says. “The entire City will know if you and Saint keep staring at each other like the protagonists of those romance novels that Skorri is so fond of.”
“We do not!”
Shaxx gives him a look of great scepticism.
Osiris pushes open the door to the main baths and steps through, Shaxx behind him. It gives him a good view of Saint sinking into one of the pools with a sigh.
“In my defence, who would not stare?” he says.
Shaxx follows his gaze and gives a thoughtful hum. “True. At least in the baths there are likely to be a lot of people staring. He has an excellent arse.”
Shaxx is not wrong. Saint is gorgeous, his body a feat of wondrous engineering, and Osiris is glad that whoever designed his exo form is long dead because he is a terrible, jealous man who doesn’t want anyone to know Saint better than he does.
When they finally- well, Osiris would have been happy to have sex as soon as they’d confessed their mutual interest, but Saint is determined to… to court him. There have been little gifts, messages in the morning when they wake, and at night before they sleep. Sharing lunches in Osiris’s office, or in the garden beneath the Traveller. Walking home together, even though they don’t live particularly close.
It is strange and agonisingly slow to Osiris, who is far more familiar with the casual sexual encounters common at the Iron Temple; the direct statement of interest for the purposes of stress relief, or staving off boredom, or simply because it is desired. Nothing like this slow build of affection, the appreciation.
It should be irritating, dancing around each other like this. And yet Osiris finds himself feeling… cherished.
Saint glances over and smiles at him, and Light, Shaxx is right. He does find himself staring at Saint like he’s the hero in one of Skorri’s romance novels.
Osiris smiles back at him, and then manages somehow to tear himself away. He heads to one of the smaller baths with the hottest water, and perches on the edge for a few moments with his feet in to adjust, and then he sinks into the pool with a sigh. He settles on the tiled ledge that runs around the edge of the bath and tilts his head back, letting the heat soak through him.
It is not as peaceful here as the baths he usually attends; there are more people here, more ambient chatter, and he supposes that the late nights he usually keeps also mean there are fewer people around at the times he does bathe.
He glances around to find the other members of their party. Tallulah and Ana are chatting amicably with a small group. Osiris thinks he recognises a couple of them as people who work for the various factions. Lord Shaxx is deep in conversation with someone who Osiris is certain is a Crucible devotee.
The Crucible has flourished under Shaxx’s command. It had not been so long ago that it was merely an event governed by a tense and informal truce, that had seen more than a few final deaths meted out over the years. Shaxx has turned it into something more like a sporting arena, with its own rules and organisation. Guardians still murder each other there over petty grudges, but he is slowly turning it into a place of training and skill, rather than pure bloodshed.
Finally he looks over at Saint. He’s amassed quite the group of admirers. That isn’t unusual; people flock to him like pigeons. He spends so much time in the City, walking the streets, speaking with people. Even now that the City has grown far beyond the camp it had been when Osiris had first arrived, Saint still seems to know everyone. And everyone knows him.
He makes everyone he speaks to feel important, valuable. Osiris can see it now, the way he laughs, the way his admirers laugh with him. The way a couple of them are so close to him, looking at him with obvious interest. Saint could have his pick of lovers, Guardian or Lightless, most of them doubtless much more pleasing than him and-
He turns away quickly and sinks back into the water. His jaw aches from clenching it.
He is a terrible, jealous man.
He sighs and tries to force himself to relax. Focus on the feeling of the water around him, the sound of it lapping against the tiles, the heat seeping into his skin.
There’s a splash nearby, and Osiris opens one eye to see a small group entering the bath nearby, having an animated conversation. They don’t give him a single glance. In this, at least, he is happy to be overlooked.
“Looks like we came at the right time,” one of them, a young awoken man says. “Good to see Guardian representatives out here with us mere mortals.”
“Oh they’re around all the time,” an exo woman replies. “Just because you don’t recognise anyone out of armour-”
“She’s right,” the older looking human with them says. “Plenty of Guardians around. Saint-14 is always out in the City, talking to people.”
“Wouldn’t mind seeing him out of armour a bit more,” the exo says, and Osiris follows her gaze over to the other pool where Saint is still surrounded by people. He seems to be in his element.
“Absolutely,” the human says. “If I was sixty years younger…”
“You’d have to join the queue,” the awoken man replies. “Think half the City has eyes on him.” They laugh and then, mercifully, move onto other topics.
More people come and go, and it’s definitely getting busier now. Osiris exchanges pleasantries with a couple of people who strike up conversation. It feels awkward and stilted to him, somehow deceptive, but no-one else seems to notice. He is fulfilling his duty and the purpose of this venture at least.
Osiris sinks lower in the water and wonders how long he needs to linger here before it is socially acceptable for him to leave?
More importantly, how long does he need to linger here before he can leave without making Saint feel bad? The man will blame himself if Osiris tells him of his discomfort. He cannot even properly explain it. It isn’t discomfort with the bathing, just at the constant movement and chatter of people in close proximity, the scent of the Arc energy they use to keep the water clean, the sunlight glinting off tile and metal.
And people talking about Saint.
He definitely cannot explain that to the other man.
He is about to leave – he’ll apologise later if anyone asks – when there is a larger movement of water as several people enter.
“Oooh, this great,” Ana says as she settles across from him. Shaxx is next to her, and Tallulah on her other side. And then next to him…
“It is very good after icy plunge pool,” Saint agrees. He gives Osiris a smile as he sits. He is very close. Close enough that Osiris can still feel the way the plunge pool has chilled the metal of his body. The way the heat is creeping into it from the water now.
“That is why I didn't go in,” Ana replies. “Titans,” she adds, rolling her eyes.
“A little cold never harmed anyone,” Shaxx replies. “You wouldn’t have survived at the Iron Temple, would she, Osiris?”
Osiris looks up sharply, dragging his attention away from the sight of Saint’s thigh so close to his own. Shaxx’s gaze is far too knowing.
“I wouldn’t know,” Osiris replies. “I stayed inside near the fire like any reasonable person would.”
“Bah! Warlocks,” Shaxx replies. “Efrideet would agree with me. Get these young hunters up onto the mountain.”
Tallulah pats Shaxx’s arm. “Don’t think lady Efrideet is the exemplar of reasonable you think she is. Besides,” she adds, smirking at the Titan, “my hunters would find somewhere like that a bit too… tame. We prefer the wilds, you know?”
And off they go.
“They will be talking like this for a while,” Saint says, amusement clear in his voice.
“Probably,” Osiris replies. He turns so that he can look at the other man, gaze dragging up the expanse of his chest, the hollow of his throat, and oh, this was a bad idea.
He is lovely.
“You should tell me about Iron Temple sometime,” Saint says.
“You have been there,” Osiris points out. They’d never met but he knows that Saint had visited on behalf of the Speaker, playing emissary to the Iron Lords.
Saint shrugs. It makes drips of water run down his chest, muscles shifting in an extremely enticing way. “I was always guest there. An outsider. You lived there. Studied there.”
“I doubt you want to hear about libraries and studies and freezing rooms,” Osiris replies. For all of the legend and mysticism attached to the place now, most of it had been mundane. The snow and views became less charming when you lived there for years and picked fights with most of the other inhabitants.
“If it is you talking about it, then I do,” Saint says, utterly genuine.
Oh. Osiris feels the flush threatening, and he looks away to stare at the tiles on the opposite wall. Flirting. Courting. Nothing that he is adept at, preferring blunt and straightforward speech. But right now he wishes that he was.
“I would listen to you talk about the City too,” he says impulsively, and stifles a wince at the ridiculousness of what he’s just said. He is capable of so much more eloquence in writing or when he is talking about his research, and yet when it comes to talking to Saint it comes out like… that.
Saint just smiles though, and there is the nudge of a finger against his beneath the water. Osiris tenses for a second, and then tentatively rests his hand on top of Saint’s. Saint has large hands, strong hands, but capable of so much delicacy. Osiris wonders if he would touch him with as much care and gentleness as he does the pigeons that he loves, or if he would be rougher, Titan strength, unbreakable, immovable.
Neither of those is an unpleasant option.
“May I join you?” someone asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before slipping in to join their group. Osiris recognises someone from the Concordat, one of Lysander’s sycophants.
Osiris pulls his hand away from Saint’s immediately, and shifts a little further away from him. There is no sense in giving the Concordat any personal information about himself. He does not know why the Concordat has taken against him with their wild rumours and theories (Golden Age experiment? Really?) or what they hope to gain from it, but it is irritating enough that he wants to spite them in every way he can.
“Such a pleasure to see representatives of the Vanguard walking among us,” the man simpers. Osiris sees Shaxx roll his eyes, and Ana looks bored already.
“Ah, Demetrius,” Saint says, unfailingly polite even now. Of course Saint would know the man’s name. Of course he is able to speak with him politely even when Osiris is struggling to hide his disdain. “You know we are always willing to speak to faction representatives in the Consensus building. I am often around the City and happy to speak to people.” Listening more closely, Saint has taken on a more formal tone, the kind that he uses when dealing with people speaking in particularly acrimonious meetings. Polite, but there is steel beneath it.
Osiris finds himself watching Saint’s mouth when he speaks, remembering the press of it against his lips. He truly is unfairly attractive; the subtle shift of violet lights, the perfect curves and lines of synthetic muscle, the strength inherent in his body. Osiris could stare at him for days and still find something new to admire.
Lord Shaxx clears his throat and Osiris pulls himself away from staring. Of course. Keeping things subtle.
It’s so difficult when he can feel the ripples of water every time Saint moves, can imagine what it would be like to slide into the Titan’s lap and kiss him, feel that strength between his legs and-
The Concordat representative is still talking. Something smug and unpleasant, though he’s missed if there was some kind of point. Saint is somehow still being polite, although even he seems strained now. Ana and Tallulah are having a whispered conversation, and Lord Shaxx looks openly bored.
Surely he must stop talking soon.
“Of course, if you wish to discuss matters in more private surroundings,” Demetrius says, simpering and leaning in closer to Saint, practically leaning across Osiris. He can see Saint’s discomfort warring with his politeness. The thought of this man getting anywhere near Saint is-
Osiris stands up suddenly. Demetrius makes a startled noise which he ignores.
“I’m going,” he says bluntly. “I have more pressing matters I should attend to.” More pressing than sitting here listening to Demetrius attempt to- to seduce Saint. Poorly, might he add.
Saint looks up at him. “I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to keep you away from important work.”
He looks genuinely apologetic, and that is not what Osiris had intended at all. Before he can say anything, something awkward most likely, Shaxx is also pushing himself to his feet. “Good point. The Crucible has matches that I should be organising. Saint?”
“Yes?”
“I had some logistics about supplies and broadcast that I wanted to speak to you about. No time like the present.”
“Of course!” Saint says. “My apologies Demetrius. Please, you can raise issues at next meeting if you feel the need. Or send a message and-”
Shaxx slams a hand down on Saint’s shoulder and starts to steer him away, talking loudly about reinforcing area boundaries. Tallulah and Ana also seem to have taken the opportunity to slip away. Osiris spots them heading into the sauna.
Osiris ignores the startled protests of the Concordat representative and follows after Saint and Shaxx.
He doesn’t even take the time to heave a sigh of relief when he gets back into the changing room. He just dries off quickly, and dresses.
He shouldn’t be in such a foul mood just from this. It’s ridiculous. He has had far more frustrating interactions with the Concordat than this, and yet it’s dug claws into him beyond any of them.
“Osiris?”
He looks up from the fastenings of his robes to see Saint standing there. He’s dressed once more, and that is a great pity in Osiris’s opinion, though he can admire the way his t-shirt clings to his still damp body, pulling tight against his pectorals when he moves.
“Yes?”
“I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Saint says. “I know that you are not one for socialising so much.”
Osiris sighs and shakes his head. “It is not-” He glances over towards the doors. “Walk home with me?”
Saint’s eyes brighten with an eagerness that Osiris hardly feels the offer deserves, but that is gratifying all the same. “Of course. I will meet you outside? I will say goodbye to Lord Shaxx.”
“I will wait,” Osiris agrees.
He heads outside, steps into the cooler, drier air of the City and hovers beneath one of the vine-covered awnings near the entrance until Saint arrives. It is strange to see him walking outside without armour, though Osiris dearly hopes that one day armour will not be seen as necessary or even common. He hopes that one day Saint gets to see his City truly at peace.
His fingers brush against Osiris’s when he steps close, and when they begin to walk, it is with their shoulders nearly touching. Distant enough for plausible deniability, but close enough that it feels like an intimacy.
“You did not make me uncomfortable, Saint,” Osiris says. “I am a man who is often uncomfortable with things that most people find mundane.”
“Still, I should be more considerate,” Saint replies.
Osiris shakes his head. “You are the most considerate man I have ever met.” Too considerate in his opinion. Saint gives too much of himself. He thinks that he would cut parts of his own body away if people asked it of him. Osiris is in many ways the opposite of him; wary, keeping the world at a distance and guarding the truth of himself jealously. “I know what I agreed to do today. There were just factors that I had not taken into consideration.”
“It was busy, yes,” Saint says, and that is far more generous than Osiris deserves.
They’re entering a quieter district now, few enough people around that Osiris does not feel uncomfortable about squeezing Saint’s hand briefly. “That played a part, yes,” Osiris agrees. “But primarily the problem was-” He looks away, tries to come up with some genteel way of explaining it. He settles for bluntness instead, as he usually does. “You are a very handsome man. And I am a very jealous one. And hardly immune to being close to such a handsome man when he is naked and wet.”
Saint stops walking, and Osiris wonders for a dreadful moment if he has pushed too far. If he has somehow misread the weeks of soft looks and gifts, and brief kisses stolen between meetings.
But no, no Saint is smiling, a wondering expression that is far gentler than Osiris deserves for such a confession. He looks around for a moment before leaning in to kiss Osiris quickly. “You are also difficult to resist, Osiris.”
Osiris snorts, rolls his eyes. He knows that he is unusual amongst Guardians for the age he appears; hardly the flower of his youth like most of them. There are plenty who are far more appealing; just look at Lord Shaxx or Andal Brask, or Iron Lord Timur. Saint could have anyone he wanted.
Saint grabs his arm and tugs gently to draw his attention back. His gaze is intense. “No, my bird, you do not get to dismiss this.”
“Saint-”
The exo steps closer to him, very large, very solid. “Seeing you in the baths… sitting next to you… I want very much to touch you. Trace all of those lovely tattoos with my fingers, feel your strength beneath my hands, between my legs… you are lovely, Osiris. If we had been alone or in Guardian bathhouse, I would have been happy to take you there and then.”
His voice has dropped to a low rumble that leaves Osiris’s mouth dry with lust. To hear such words from Saint, such obvious desire...
“My house,” Osiris says, “now. I do not want to wait.” He knows that Saint has been courting him, a gentleman demonstrating a deeper affection than purely physical desire. But right now, Osiris does not care.
Saint grins and leans in to kiss him again. “I also do not wish to wait any longer.”
The walk to Osiris’s house seems painfully slow now, and he can hardly keep himself from looking at Saint walking next to him. Imagining- imagining so many things that he has been forcing down.
Saint is on him as soon as they are inside. He pushes Osiris up against the door and kisses him deeply, the hot press of his mouth making Osiris’s knees feel weak. He cups Saint’s face between his hands, thumb stroking gently against the gouged scar above his eye, a relic of Six Fronts which had not left with future resurrections, and kisses him again and again until he thinks that he will die from lack of breath.
“Bedroom?” Saint asks when they finally part. He presses his forehead against Osiris’s, hands resting against his hips.
“Please,” Osiris replies.
Saint laughs and curls his hand around Osiris’s. He tugs him away from the door and towards the bedroom, dodging neatly around scattered piles of books and ephemera that Osiris has collected and not yet got around to organising. His bed is clear at least, and more than big enough for two – a luxury that he has indulged in after the somewhat spartan living quarters he had held at the Iron Temple. Why bother with more when he had spent more time in Felwinter’s study than his own room?
Saint sits down on the edge of the bed, looking around at the room with curiosity, and Osiris takes the opportunity to shed his robes, leaving just the tunic and trousers. Then he slides onto Saint’s lap, sitting astride him so the exo can feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his cock when it presses against his stomach.
Saint looks at him in wonder for a long moment, and then kisses him again , one hand curling against the back of his neck. The possessiveness of the touch thrills Osiris, and he grinds his hips down against Saint’s, feeling the answering heat there.
Broad hands push up beneath his tunic, and the soft, cool touch of polymer runs over his belly and up towards his ribs. He raises his arms and lets Saint push the tunic off, to be discarded somewhere in the chaos of the room.
Saint’s gaze is greedy as he looks Osiris over, purple optical lights running over the lines of his tattoos, the planes of his body. He splays a hand against Osiris’s chest, thumb stroking against a stark black line. “I always wondered how it must feel to have these done.”
“Painful,” Osiris replies. “More or less depending on the location. But it fades the longer the work goes on. In some cases it can become almost… pleasurable.” And for a Guardian as old as him, who has died more times than he can count, to gunshots and arc spears, to fire and freezing… a few hours of needles is a pain that is easy to rise above.
Saint touches them wonderingly, his fingers gentle but firm as he traces them down to where they dip below the waistband of his trousers. And then follows them.
Osiris gasps when Saint’s hand wraps around his cock and gives it a firm stroke, electric pleasure jolting him and settling to warmth in his belly.
“This is good?” Saint asks.
“Very,” Osiris agrees, before he leans in to kiss Saint once more.
Osiris rocks his hips against Saint’s hand, seeking that delicious pleasure. His grip is strong, and he grasps Osiris’s hip firmly as he teases, learning the shape of his cock, the things that make him shiver and moan, the sensitive points that make him go tense. Osiris presses kisses against Saint’s mouth, his neck, drags his tongue against the scar over his eye, easy one more desperate than the last as he approaches his climax.
He bites down on the soft point of Saint’s throat when he comes, a muffled cry of release and pleasure as he spills over Saint’s hand, feels the dampness soak the fabric of his clothes. Saint holds him through it, strokes a hand down his shuddering back, and Osiris can hear the soft rumble of his body, feel the vented heat of air.
“You are very beautiful,” Saint says. “I could watch you come for a thousand years and never be bored with the sight.
Osiris buries his face against Saint’s neck, mouthing at it to hide the heat that such softness brings to his face. He has heard and spoken so many filthy words with partners in the past, and yet it is this adoration which threatens to make him come apart.
“Maybe you’ll get your wish,” he says eventually, when he feels like he can speak without embarrassing himself with declarations of eternal devotion. Their lives are so long, and Osiris is so much himself, than it seems impossible to imagine a future together. And yet… and yet…
He pulls back from Saint, and stands quickly to shed his soiled clothing. Saint’s eyes roam his body, taking in his full nudity now that they are in the privacy of Osiris’s home and have no need to keep their desire hidden. The heat of his gaze makes Osiris tremble. He has never seen such desire and longing before. Not aimed at him.
He drops to his knees in front of Saint and nudges his legs apart. “I did say I was familiar with blowing off steam, didn’t I?”
Saint laughs, sounding breathless despite not entirely needing breath. “You did. And I said I would very much like to hear about your time at Iron Temple.”
“A demonstration then,” Osiris replies.
He tugs at the waistband of Saint’s pants, and the Titan sheds them quickly. Another piece of clothing lost to the sprawl of Osiris’s existence. Osiris licks his lips at the sight laugh out before him. He is every inch a Titan. Powerful calves and thighs, the plush softness of padded synthskin lending shape to muscle. The gorgeous curve of his cock heavy between his legs.
Saint spreads his legs wider and lets Osiris settle between them, his knees bracketing the Warlock’s body. He feels trapped in the best way.
“You are a work of art,” Osiris says wonderingly as he reaches out to explore a body that had been foreign and forbidden territory only an hour ago. There is a satisfying give beneath his fingers where they press into the soft parts of his thighs, and Saint makes a pleased noise when he grips tightly for a moment.
“If I am then I am grateful to the artist for making something that you find so pleasing.”
Osiris squeezes his thigh again and looks up at Saint with a searing expression. “Don’t talk about them,” he says. “I don’t want you to think about anyone else but me.”
Not for a while at least. Not while they are this close. Some long-dead engineer cannot possibly appreciate Saint the way Osiris does. Let them remain in the ruins of the Golden Age.
Saint laughs and strokes Osiris’s head lightly. “Do not worry. I see only you. I desire only you.”
Fuck.
Osiris wraps his hand around Saint’s cock, feels the girth of it, the way it fills his palm. He gives a lazy stroke, and then leans in to take Saint into his mouth. The exo groans at the first touch of his tongue. He is a little cooler than would be normal for a human, but warms with the heat of Osiris’s mouth, his breath. He sucks at the head, tasting that tang of the soft material that simulates skin, faintly metallic but hardly unpleasant. Sensitive too, if the way Saint shifts and lets out little gasps of breath when he runs his tongue against it is any indication.
He runs his free hand further back, pressing between Saint’s legs, finding sensitive spots to drag out more of those sweet noises. Not quite the same spots as for a human, but someone definitely went to the trouble of ensuring that they could feel similar pleasure.
Saint’s hand curls against the back of his head, and Osiris opens his mouth wider to take more of him in. It stretches his lips wide, a pleasing ache beginning in his jaw as he sucks him. He swears that he will come to know Saint’s cock in every way, and this is an excellent start.
The tip of Saint’s cock touches the back of his throat and then pushes further. There’s that momentary panic, the hardwired reflex of choking, and then he breathes through his nose, relaxes and Saint’s cry as he swallows around him is startled and ecstatic and worth every second of discomfort.
“Osiris…” he moans, and Osiris feels the rhythmic flex of fingers against the back of his neck.
He keeps working Saint’s cock with his mouth, lips and teeth and tongue moving against him, dragging pleasure from him. Saint is so careful, so still, but Osiris can feel the tension mounting in him, winding tighter and tighter until-
There’s the thrust of his hips as he fucks into Osiris’s mouth, and if he could grin, he would. He sucks hard, swallows around the cock in his throat instead, lets Saint use him until he finally comes with a moan that sets Osiris’s body alight. He keeps his mouth around him, swallowing him down until he softens, and then licks him clean with delicate swipes of his tongue.
Eventually he has mercy on his- his lover, and oh, is that not a glorious thing? Saint is his lover. And he is Saint’s in return.
He settles back on his knees, smug and satisfied, watching Saint return to himself. The lights along his throat and chest shift colour, from brightly flushed purple-red to a paler violet. Saint strokes the back of Osiris’s head, down his neck.
“You-”
“Are very good. I know,” Osiris replies, not even bothering to stifle his grin.
“Yes,” Saint replies emphatically. “I do not think I would have survived baths with you if I knew.”
“The next visit to the baths should be interesting then.”
Saint laughs. It is a beautiful sound. He draws Osiris back up into his lap and kisses him thoroughly. Osiris melts against the solidity of his chest, savouring the feeling of such strength being used to cradle and adore him.
“My Phoenix,” Saint says close to his ear. “I knew of very sharp mind, and brave heart. I did not know about filthy and skilled tongue. What other secrets do you hide?”
“I suppose you will have to find out,” Osiris replies against Saint’s mouth. “I am made of many secrets.” He kisses him again hungrily. “Stay the night.”
Stay forever. Be his. Let him be yours.
“Yes,” Saint says, heat in his voice, a matching hunger and eagerness that takes Osiris’s breath away. “Yes, my love.”