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In the silence of his chambers, nothing more than the sound of papers rustling against itself disturbed the soft peace that rested inside. Though there was no candle to light the room, the glow of the universe glistened from the Virtue of Knowledge’s blueberry icing, imitating a kaleidoscope of beautiful azure and cerulean.
Recently, a new research study had been published by the Fount’s very own students and researchers back at the Blueberry Academy. The paper itself — very well done, may he add — is about the molecular compound that makes up their dough, and how the molecules of those ingredients affect how a cookie will interact socially and emotionally with their peers; a topic he has thought about only once in his life. Though, it’s not as if he ever needs to think twice.
He twiddles with the parchment between two fingers, careful not to crease the newly released material as he hums a small tune in the cold, soft air of his study. The Fount, funnily enough, can feel the corner of his lips twitch up into a smile as he reads over the data assembled, gazing at the meticulous handiwork of his experimenters. Truthfully, he could not be more proud of how far his students have come. Both as cookies, and as disciples of knowledge.
To him, the ability to answer what they did not understand was a source of pride. They were hard evidence that he was still fulfilling his duties as a Virtue. To make sure the cookies he adores so dearly never once stop asking why: To watch them reach beyond the stars, while he watches from the quiet of his spire, content with what he has brought for cookiekind.
Yes, that peaceful life is exactly what the Fount of Knowledge has craved. A quiet, serene bliss.
Though, as always, in the silence of his study, he knows that peace is only a temporary friend.
Long pointed ears twitch as he hears the creak of the large sugar stone doors that block off his lounge from the rest of the world slowly creak open From the corner of his eye, he catches a glance of pitch black, adorned with gold accents.
“Recluse,” he starts first, tilting his head over to find himself face to face with the vanilla-scented cookie, “You’ve come.”
For all it is worth, Truthless Recluse is as much of an enigma to the Fount of Knowledge as the cycle of life itself is to a mortal cookie. Despite the Recluse’s sudden appearance into his life all those months ago, he has still struggled to find out who exactly the cookie underneath star-ridden robes is, and why is it that he has come here... Not just to his abode, but to this time.
“I have, my dear songbird,” The Recluse murmurs, the nickname causing the Fount’s face to flush a slight blue. Regardless, he shakes it off, much too used to the terms of endearment that slip off the other’s tongue. “Did you believe I would not?”
“No, no, I did not doubt your arrival, Recluse.” The Fount murmurs gently, looking back at the paper in his hand, “I…suppose I simply got too caught up in my reading, and forgot the passage of time. I apologize.”
In the months following Recluse’s sudden arrival to the spire, they have become much closer than they were at the start. He remembers the other used to be adverse to his presence, shuffling away when he got too close.
Now? Well now it seems as though the other cookie refuses to leave his side, always hovering at his shoulder, looking over at every small action the Virtue takes.
“No, no apologies are needed, my Virtue.” Truthless Recluse hums, a tanned hand reaching over to carefully cup a cheek of blue in calloused palms, tilting the Virtue's head up towards his own. His expression is soft, a look that would have once been foreign to the mage. “Though, if I may ask, what is it that has kept your attention away from me?”
The Fount glances does a once-over of the other’s expression, piercing yellow and azure making his tongue feel like a weight in his mouth, before lifting up the paper in his hand.
“A..study, one conducted by my very own students.” The Fount states, “It is an impressive piece of work, and one that I will be sure to share as I can.”
The Recluse is quiet for a moment, as though watching and listening carefully to every little thing the Virtue says. As he does, his palm traces from a cheek to the neck, ghosting along what it can before clothing covers the rest.
“I see…” Recluse responds in an uninterested tone as he glances over the paper. A part of the Fount wants to get defensive over the work, demand the Recluse treat what has been found and written with respect, but another more understanding part of himself knows it is not the knowledge itself Truthless finds uninteresting, but rather the cookies who made it.
They sit in silence for just a small moment, with Truthless’s fingers pressed against the dough of his neck, feeling his jam pump through his veins. That is, before the taller hermit breaks the contact, instead moving to sit on the plush couch next to his desk.
The Virtue follows his movements, a graceful waltz as the other sets himself down on the soft cushions beside him.
The Fount stares before going back to his reading with a flip of the page. Perhaps the other simply wants to sit with him.
“Bluebird,” Truthless calls out.
Or perhaps not.
“Yes, my Recluse?” The Fount murmurs, once again disrupted from his reading as he glances over at the other cookie.
Recluse stays quiet for a moment, making the teacher question if he had heard the other at all, before gesturing him over with a hand.
“Come here.”
The Fount stares for a moment, unblinking. He’s unsure what the other man is thinking, but he supposes no harm comes from investigating.
Softly, he gets up from his chair, a universal sky cascading down his back in the threads of his hair as he stretches a bit, his body strained from the position he had unconsciously hunched into.
He blatantly ignores the other’s stare raking over his body as he does.
Report in hand, he moves to sit down next to Truthless Recluse on the couch, but the younger cookie stops him before he can, holding a hand to his back.
“No,” Truthless murmurs, his voice quiet, “Sit here.”
Methodically, he watches as the Recluse pats the thigh of his lap, and it does not take long for the Fount to understand exactly what it is the other wants.
Embarrassingly enough, he can feel his face burst into flames.
“I- You wish for me to-?”
“Sit on my lap? Yes.” The hermit interrupts, an overly truthful answer for a cookie with a name such as his. With a glance, he gazes up at his other half before muttering, “Do you not wish to, my Fount?”
The Virtue of Knowledge stares, biting his bottom lip softly as he does. His small snaggletooth catches onto the dough, though he’s careful not to pierce himself with his own teeth.
Even then, silently, he acquiesces, pointed ears downturned and flushed a navy blue as the Fount shuffles his way on top of the other cookie, his back pushed carefully against the hermit’s chest as he sits down on the Recluse’s lap.
He jolts as the other snakes a hand around his waist, almost dropping the report onto the floor as he does. He has little time to regain any sort of stability before the other is hooking a thin finger on the hem of his large collar and pulling it down for easier access to his neck.
The Fount lets out a small noise, shivering at the feeling of a small kiss being placed against his throat, the blonde carefully nuzzling into the junction of his shoulder and resting his head there, unmoving, even as the Fount’s hair tickles across his body.
The Fount can feel his heart pound underneath blue dough, his face feeling much too warm for such a small, insignificant action. Yes, insignificant, that’s all that it is!
He hangs his head low as he repeats the words in his head, gripping tightly onto the document in his hand as he tries to ignore the warm puffs that glide across his throat.
“..You can continue reading your study, my star.” Truthless murmurs, wrapping his other arm along the other’s thin waist, keeping his body held close to his own. The Fount tries his best to ignore the way his body trembles at the deep voice, “I don’t mind.”
Deciding to try and disregard his own flushed cheeks, the Fount clears his throat with a nod. “Y-Yes, of course.”
He shakes his head, deciding to get back on track, lifting the report back up into a comfortable position and carefully beginning to skim over where he had left off.
After a moment of silence, the Virtue can feel himself relax, carefully melting into the hold the other cookie has on him as he reads over the study, noting small details of importance that he’ll be sure to recite in future lectures. Despite how shocked he’d reacted originally, he began to find himself quite comfortable in the other’s embrace.
They stay as such for a few minutes, Truthless holding him close while the Fount once more delves into the knowledge his students have detailed. It warms his heart to know that there truly are cookies out there that can continue to uphold the very thing he has been created to do. Heavens knows what he would do without them all.
Perhaps he would go mad?
The thought makes him chuckle, jostling Truthless. He gives a small grin to the other as a silent apology, only receiving a low noise in response from Truthless, The Fount rolls his eyes playfully at the hermit. ‘What a child this one is.’
He flips the report to the next page, his ear twitching once more as he reads over the conclusions section. Unconsciously, he squirms a bit on Truthless’s lap, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit in as he runs his finger over the black ink.
In doing so, however, something does manage to catch his attention. Specifically, the feeling of something nestled just against his rear, pressing insistently. Had it been there before?
There’s not much time to think before the Recluse is letting out a small groan that has the smaller Virtue tensing. The other suddenly holding onto him in a much tighter fashion.
“Fount…,” Truthless Recluse murmurs, trailing off into a soft noise as he presses his hips suddenly against the Fount’s own.
Oh. Oh dear.
In only a matter of time, the room has gotten significantly warmer than it had been in the last 5 minutes, and the Virtue of Knowledge grips the report tighter as he realizes what exactly was going on.
“Ah- Recluse-“ he tries, moving to glance behind at the cookie who he sits on top of, only to be cut off with a squeak as he feels the other grind up from underneath him, rubbing against a clothed part of him that makes him flush just thinking about it.
“Fount…” Truthless Recluse repeats, nuzzling further into the other’s upper arm as he continues gently rocking into his body. The Fount flounders as he suddenly finds himself as still as a statue, burning hot as he struggles to pay attention to the words in front of him.
He attempts to keep himself calm to little success, especially with the way the other cookie suddenly seems so insistent on grinding up against him. All of a sudden, the words on the papers in front of him are getting harder to read, and he can feel his head spinning.
In an unconscious act, the Virtue rubs his thighs together, trying desperately to rid himself of the wicked throb that wracks his lower body.
“Mm…don’t pay attention to me, my star,” the Recluse groans softly, a hand softly trailing down galaxy-ridden robes from the waist to the hip, then the thigh. It’s not long before tanned hands have found their way to the golden hem of the Fount’s robes, gently playing with the fabric there, rolling it between two fingers, “Carry on.”
A part of him — a very vocal part, apparently — questions just how he’ll be able to “carry on” while the other is currently using his body as a means of pleasure. However, acting against it is a more understanding — more willing to please — part of him that enables him to simply nod his head, as he reads with bated breath, much too…..anxious to move.
Even as he manages to pick up where he had left off on the second to last page, it does not stop the Fount from being hyper aware of every single touch the other lays on him, a trailblazing fire against his soft dough. The inner area between his thighs pulses in a highly distracting manner while well-baked hands trail underneath his robes, teasing up a bare leg and pale thighs. The Fount can only manage to grip the papers in his hands harder, trying to keep himself from falling too far into this rabbit hole of sensation
By the time Truthless has managed to push up the Fount’s robes and reveal the lack of clothing underneath, the other is trembling, gripping onto a report he hasn’t really been reading for the past few minutes.
“Pretty thing, you’re so soft..” Truthless murmurs against flushed dough, gently squeezing a thigh, “Just for me, all for me.”
“Truthless-“ the Fount tries, his body trembling at the sudden nudity. He’s silenced by a small shush against his neck, and a slap on his inner thigh that makes him squeak.
“Don’t you have a report to finish reading?” the Recluse chuckles, gently running his fingers up and down in a soothing motion against the dough he had just hit, slowly moving farther up the smaller man’s thighs.
“It’s difficult to finish reading when someone is being rather distracting…” The Virtue grumbles, only to be cut off with a yelp at the feeling of Truthless pinching some of the dough on his thigh with two fingers. Said cookie only hums, pressing another kiss against the soft pastry underneath him.
“Such a noisy thing, aren’t you, songbird?” Truthless continues, unfazed by the other’s attitude, “Not that I mind. I enjoy it when you sing for me.”
The Fount can feel his body heat up further, and as he tries to squeeze his thighs shut, he’s stopped by a strong hand on them, keeping him spread open.
“Just keep reading, Fount. Don’t mind me,” the Recluse hums, sliding a hand underneath the other’s posterior and picking him up ever so slightly, relishing in the small noise the other lets out at the act.
With the extra space, Truthless Recluse grabs at the fabric of his own robes, pulling them up so they bunch at his waist. A sleek black bodysuit sparkled with stars lay underneath, a complimentary gift of that cookie. No matter. It is what fabric hides that matters.
There, pressing against the cloth, is the evidence of his arousal, throbbing and hot even through the thick layers of his suit and robe. His sweet universe truly knows how to get him worked up, even if the actions themselves are not purposeful.
“W-Wait- Recluse-“ The Fount tries, seeing very well what the other plans to do, but he is quieted with a small shushing noise The other cookie hooks a thumb beneath his body suit and pulls the cloth covering his cock away, releasing himself to the cool air of the Virtue’s private study.
“I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart. Relax.” The Recluse whispers, his voice low and honeyed. He tugs the cookie on top of him closer, positioning his exposed cunt just above his length. The act has the virtue whimpering, even though no contact has been made. Glancing down at his universe’s slicked heat, Truthless chuckles.
“But my, look at you. You’re so wet down here,” he hums, using a free hand to trace up the Fount’s thigh and against his pulsating cunt. He presses a finger against cerulean lips, feeling the slick that lathers the Fount’s dough slip across his fingers, “Just what have you been thinking about, my shameless little Virtue?”
“I- You’re-“ the Fount flounders, unable to properly come up with an answer with his head so scrambled and his body thrumming with need. Spectacularly, he’s still holding the report in his hand, unsure if there’s any way for him to place the thing down naturally without looking impatient. His stuttering elicits a small hum from the cookie underneath him, and he gapes as something hot pushes against him.
The Recluse says nothing, but a soft laugh bubbles from him as the head of his cock begins to carefully penetrate between the lips of the Fount’s pussy and into his opening with little warning, an area the hermit’s body has felt numerous times by now. The Virtue lets out a small whine, his body humming as loud as a group of intoxicated jelly bees as he’s sunk down on the other’s cock, flushing at the knowledge that he’s so wet that there’s little to no resistance on the slide in.
It’s a familiar feeling, being opened up for the cookie that has not only managed to worm his way into his bed, but his heart as well. The thought is a bit silly, but it’s hard to laugh when splitting pleasure runs through his body like some sort of plague.
He shakily holds onto the papers with a singular hand, panting while he moves the other one to grasp at the strong arms holding him close and pushing him down, his nails digging into black sleeves as the Recluse eventually manages to situate himself completely inside, bottoming out.
God, he feels full.
The Fount can already feel his legs trembling, his cunt squeezing unconsciously around the Recluse’s cock as he pants for air. It forces a groan out of the hermit, before he presses a kiss against the other’s neck.
“I-Insatiable man…” the Virtue murmurs, tilting his head to the side at the brush of the Recluse’s lips against his dough, his breathing slightly heavy as he tries to keep himself from letting his eyes close and falling into pleasure. He stares straight ahead, instead, his eyes unfocused as he tries to regulate his breathing. “How…greedy…”
The Recluse only hums, his own breathing slightly heavier as well as his lips ghost against the other’s dough. He moves to grind up, earning a mewl out of the Virtue.
“...I’ve been waiting for you since the morning, my dear,” he confesses with a quiet reverence, as though speaking to some sort of god, basking in the feeling of something wet and warm sheathed around him. “You left the spire early. And you left without telling me.”
His voice grows slightly darker at the end, tightening around the Fount’s waist, punctuating his slight annoyance with a thrust. The act sends a shiver down the Fount’s spine, turning him on more than he would like to admit.
With a small huff, he grips onto the other’s arm tighter, letting out a small groan. “I- I had a lecture, I told you the night before, Recluse.” It’s the truth, really. But the other has never seemed to be too caring for it.
Truthless simply lets out another displeased sound, thrusting up pointedly into the other’s cunt and watches his face twist with pleasure. “You care too much for the cookies of this world,” he grumbles, pressing another kiss against the man’s neck. “They're unimportant, Fount. Don’t you see?”
Leaning up from the other’s neck, he moves to press a kiss against the other’s cheek, grabbing at his jaw to turn his face closer to his. The Fount lets out a small sigh, softly moaning as Truthless continues to grind softly into his tight heat.
Oddly enough, the mention of the cookies the Fount was baked to help flourish seems to always put the other in a somewhat frustrated mood. Because of it, the other rarely lets him leave his side, let alone the spire itself.
It’s as though he’s attempting to protect him from something.
He wonders what that is.
He shakes the thought away – unimportant, he thinks – and, with a breath, removes his hand from the other’s arm and instead cups the other’s tanned cheek in his palm, leaning in to press their lips together, the two of them moaning into each other’s mouths. He can feel the Recluse relax into the intimate touch, whatever frustration that was building inside of him slowly dissipating into nothing.
Dazed, the Fount finds himself turning around so he’s chest to chest with the other cookie, the report having long been abandoned on the other side of the couch as they grind against one another, their bodies moving together softly; wanting, as their lips dance against each other just as desperately.
The Fount’s clawed fingers dig and rake through sunlight hair, trying to pull the other in closer, earning him a groan and a tug against his waist while the Recluse begins to thrust into him in earnest, making him keen.
Even then, he can’t help but grind down, a silent plea for more as the soft tastes of yogurt and vanilla mix together. It’s a bit ridiculous, the way the other cookie manages to ruin him in the simplest ways, pulling his attention away from his duties just to turn around and spear him on his cock.
Truthless’s teeth drag across blueberry skin from lips to throat, nipping against every part he can latch his mouth onto as he begins to stroke his hands up and down the other’s sides, feeling how his bluebird trembles under his touch like a frail animal… Though he knows the Virtue is anything but fragile.
He pounds into slick heat, panting as his movements garner sweet, honey-like sounds from the god on top of him.
“My dear Virtue,” Truthless groans, grasping onto the other’s thighs, and spreading him farther open as he drags himself out of the man’s wanting cunt only to slam back inside with a power that has the Fount grasping onto the other’s shoulders and throwing his head back with a cry. “Do you know how perfect you are for me?”
He lifts the thigh in his hand a bit higher, tilting the other as he attempts to angle himself into that part that has him clawing at his back. He lets out a ragged breath at the other’s soft cry and pulls back from biting down on the other’s throat.
“My beautiful Fount, my everything— my stars and moons,” The Recluse pants out, shifting to massage at his thin hips before latching onto a handful of the other’s ass and making the Fount gasp before more sharp noises are brought out by another powerful thrust, “Won’t you stay with me?”
“Recluse–” the Fount gasps.
“You’re safe here, under my gaze in the spire, you understand that, don’t you?” Truthless croaks, interrupting the Fount’s words. He leans over, tongue gently licking at a pointed ear, forcing out a small gasp from the Fount before it’s traded for a wail of pleasure when the Recluse manages to graze over that spot that turns his vision white.
It’s hard to talk, with the way his jam rushes south as his heart beats in rhythm with the pulsing of his cunt and a vanilla scent envelopes his senses in a way he can’t control. It makes his head spin. He can feel tears fill his vision as he struggles to remember how he even got here.
Thrust after thrust interrupts any train of thought the god could manage, and the Fount tugs weakly at the other’s clothes, his gut burning a hot flame as his eyes roll to the back of his head and he chokes on a moan. “Recluse— Recluse—” he cries, his claws managing to rip at some of the fabric underneath his finger tips.
“Perfect thing, so beautiful while underneath me.” The Recluse huffs, running the other’s robes farther and farther up his torso while his hands roam free, one squeezing at the other’s rear while another gropes at a flat chest.
“Pretty, so pretty,” the Recluse grins, a manic look that isn’t odd to see on the other anymore, “Just for me, all for me.”
Despite the way his head feels like it’s being fried, the Fount can recognize the feeling of being pushed onto the couch, some of the papers previously scattered around now falling onto the floor at the switch of position.
With it, Truthless becomes rougher, throwing the Virtue’s leg over his shoulder as he rails into his plump cunt, single minded in his goal to watch it overflow with his seed and overwhelm all the Virtue’s senses. Yes, that’s exactly what he wants. And he knows his Fount wants it too.
It’s not hard to push more of those syrup-like noises out of the Virtue, since it’s not as though he’s ever necessarily been a quiet cookie. A good, hard thrust is all it takes to get the other to melt in his hands, the Recluse grinning as his cute god scrambles for purchase, his hands grasping at his robes with a gasp and an ensuing cry.
“My, you’re so noisy, bluebird.” Truthless smirks, pushing farther into the tight heat underneath him, watching as his precious little thing chokes out another scream. He looks disheveled, his robes bunched and thrown his hair dripping against the plush cushions like a liquid more than actual icing.
Every part of him looks delicious, from the way tears build in his eyes to how his back arches off the couch with a subconscious grind back into his thrusts.
And oh…
He wants to devour him.
Every delightful sound that spills out of the Fount only spurs Truthless on further, a dangerous look on his face as he watches fat tears pour down the other’s face, barely even able to say anything as he begins to lose his voice. It’s scratchy, and his face burns a beautiful blue that is the same as the jam coursing through his dough. Truthless needs to see more, he must see every part of his beloved Virtue.
He leans down, pressing his lips against the Virtue’s once more as he swallows up his sweet cries with his mouth, a hand raking down shaking hips as he sucks on the Fount’s tongue, smiling at the way the other melts like putty in his hands, unable to do anything more than sit pretty and take it.
Lifting his wrist, Truthless grasps at his flowing hair, watching the way the other lets out a hitching breath as he pulls them forward and bites down on his bottom lip, licking up the blue jam that seeps out. It tastes like tangy blueberries, and he distantly realizes he couldn’t be more obsessed with the flavor. He wrings his fingers through awe-inducing icing, feeling the way it gently lets his hand glide through with little resistance, much too odd to be compared to regular hair.
“Ah- Hah– Recluse–!” the Fount chokes out with a sob, grasping desperately at whatever his hands can manage to hold as a wave of ecstasy rolls through his body like a tidal wave. He must be close. “I- I can’t–”
“So desperate to please, aren’t you?” Truthless chuckles, ramming even harder as he drags one of the Virtue's legs up further to be pressed against his chest, forcing him into something not unlike a mating press. “So desperate to be bred, no?”
“Recluse–! Recluse–!” the Virtue screams out, the lewd sound of dough pounding against dough filling the room as his head is thrown back into the plush cushions of the couch while his legs shake uncontrollably, aquamarine and indigo eyes glazed over with a pale white and blurred by crystal tears, “Please- my Recluse please– I, I need it-”
“You’re so dazzling when you squeal, my lovely songbird,” Truthless laughs, grinding deeper into his tight cavity as he begins to lose some of the sharp rhythm he was keeping, finding himself close to toppling over. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t ever manage to last long with the other when he’s just so easy to ravish.
“Tell me, tell me what you need,” Truthless demands, ramming into a spot that has the god singing up to the heavens, “Go on.”
“Ah, ah, you– ha– you–!” the Fount sobs, his voice coming out like unintelligible blabber. He strains desperately for some attention on his clit, unable to keep himself from looking like a desperate, pathetic whore. “You! I want you– ah–!”
“Beautiful thing..” Truthless grunts out, turning to press a kiss on the other’s forehead before suddenly showing mercy and pressing two fingers against his clit, circling gently with an aggressive rhythm.
It’s all it takes before the Fount lets out a positively filthy noise, loud enough to echo around the cluttered space of his chambers as he squirts all over the other’s throbbing cock, choking on his own sobs and cries as he does. His brain is too far gone to even think properly as he slumps against the couch, twitching and sniffling.
The Fount’s cunt clamps around the Recluse like a vice, punching a soft moan out of the other as he thrusts once, twice, before doubling over on top of him and pressing deep inside, cumming with a force that has the Fount letting out another small keen as his womb is stuffed full with the other’s release.
For a moment, they lay intertwined, heavy breaths being the only sound filling the room as they breathe together — sticky, sweaty, and dazed.
Then, the Virtue lets out a small giggle. It garners the ancient’s attention, who lifts his head to look curiously at the other.
“You’re…impossible, my Recluse,” The Fount hums, his voice shot from his previous screaming. His legs and hips tremble with exhaustion, and even then, he can’t help but lift a hand up to cup the other’s cheek, eyes softening at the way the hermit almost immediately leans into the touch. “Impossible, I say.”
“You enjoy how impossible I am,” the Recluse retorts, earning a snort from the Virtue below.
“I suppose I do,” he concedes, “But you interrupted my reading.”
“You’ve worked yourself to exhaustion today, Fount. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” The hermit murmurs, leaning to press a kiss against the palm on his cheek. “If it was up to me to snap you out of it, so be it.”
The Fount rolls his eyes, both slightly amused and slightly touched. “You simply wanted to bed me,” he teases.
“Perhaps I did, but must I justify my love for you?” Truthless hums and leans over a bit more to capture the other’s mouth in a soft kiss – this one was less hungry, and instead more gentle and adoring..
The Fount sighs into it, letting himself gently relax into the careful gesture as they lay on the couch, entwined once more in a beautiful union.
He lets his eyes flutter shut, the banter and exhaustion quickly catching up to him.
This, he believes, is pure bliss.
--
“My, was there a reason you had to be so rough on me, Recluse?” The Fount grumbles, rubbing at his sore hip while wrapped up in the comfort of his bedsheets, the morning sun shining through stained glass.
“Not necessarily, no.” The ancient hums in amusement, setting down warm food on the nightstand next to the Virtue before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “Perhaps I simply wanted to see you writhe in pleasure, dear.”
“What a horrible man you are. I cannot teach in this state!” The Founts mourns, flopping backwards onto the mattress and wincing at the way his body aches in protest at the sudden action. “I am much too old for this…”
“Hm. Do not worry about your meeting, my star. I’ve cleared out your schedule,” Truthless murmurs, leaning over to press a small kiss on the Fount’s forehead, just above the other’s mark. The statement garners the attention of his partner, who looks up at him with wide eyes.
“You…spoke with the rest of the academy board?” Fount questions in bewilderment.
“Less spoke and more...persuaded.” Truthless replies.
“You threatened them.”
“Perhaps.”
“Recluse, you cannot just-” The Fount stops himself before he can start lecturing the other, letting out a small sigh before glaring at the other, “You truly are a handful.”
“That doesn’t sound like a thank you to me.” Recluse grins.
“I am not going to- bah, just get in the bed and sit with me, you fool.”
“Am I the fool here?” Truthless hums, moving across the bed to slip underneath the covers, letting the silk blankets fall back over the casual clothing the other had lent him as he sits beside him, “Or does that title belong to the man who allowed himself to be ravaged by me?”
“Be quiet, you,” the Fount mumbles, ignoring the other’s snort and grabbing the plate of jellies the other had placed down earlier, using a fork to jab at them. He huffs, shuffling over to the other, who wraps a hand around his waist as he leans his head on the other’s shoulder while he eats.
The two sit in silence, letting the chirping of birds outside the window fill the quiet air while the sun wakes the rest of the world with her rays of light.
It’s a beautiful morning, and there is nothing to do. No responsibilities, and no duties to be fulfilled.
Sure, by tomorrow, his perfectly baked body will have healed from its soreness, and he will once more set out for the academy. But for today, the two will simply bask in each other’s presence for as long as they can, blueberry and vanilla existing as one.
“..Thank you, my Recluse.” The Fount murmurs.
It’s late, but then again, is that truly what he is thanking the other for?
Perhaps not, but today, there will be no questions.
“..It was no issue, my beautiful songbird.”
Simply answers.