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Aether has been staring at the ceiling for what must have been hours, eyes glued to the neon pinks and blues that bleed through the slits of the window. The Flagship's lights hum quietly, flickering every now and then, he notices. He blinks slowly, twice, thrice, and carries his weary gaze to what he can see of the night sky just a little bit beyond the electronic fixtures.
'It's starting again.' He bites the inside of his cheek and lays his palm flat against his rumbling stomach in hopes of quelling it. "Ugh." His face scrunches. "...I should take a walk." He really does not want to be beside Paimon when it begins. First, it will worry her; second, he obviously wants to be alone when taking care of himself.
Carefully, he slips out of her embrace and sits at the edge of the bed. A few rubs on the eyes, a few moments to get his head right, then he's up and tucking her in before taking off.
The false moon shines bright despite the looming fog across the distance. The industrial glow of the Bureau hardly competes with its beauty, too. He halts, weariness escaping his breath. "Columbina..." He worries for her. He is not one for the many religions in Teyvat, but sometimes he does find himself in silence, whispering. Tonight is no different. He has his hands clasped to his chest and though he is unsure of what to say, he speaks through his heart. He wishes for her safety and return. It's not really one would consider as prayer, no. But he assumes the sentiment is the same. And it must be a little silly for him to insert this at the end of all that, but he wonders if she holds the domain over monthly moon cycles too. Aether giggles to himself. What a stupid thought. But still, he silently pleads for her to just get rid of his condition. Matter of fact, he might as well talk to whichever God that will listen.
The night is eerily quiet when he pushes on, occupying himself with memories of his adventures here in Nod-Krai. Everyone seems to be on edge and he's no different. Neither are the plants and dews of this place. He can feel the slight tremors in the earth, the soft slices of the wind. Nothing has felt right since she was gone. Since he arrived. Anything relaxing will help.
A few times he'd ended up wandering to Silvermoon Hall and Columbina had always let him stay there until the thought of Paimon being extremely upset proved too much to ignore. There was one other time too, when he ended up at Flins' lighthouse, although apparently he was not the only guest. The night was spent playing cards with Illuga and Flins, and realizing he should head back to The Flagship lest he wanted to subject himself to the rather romantic tension brewing between the two Lightkeepers. Most nights however, were just spent taking care of his problem on his own in some dense forest where no one could hear him. Aether groans. That seems to be the only option, really, for his feet have already led him under a big tree north of Lempo Isle. This should be a good place to rest until his heat simmers down. He's alone and covered, and it’s fairly quiet. Or so he thinks. The night breeze carries with it a clashing of iron from a distance away. Faint shoutings just beyond this sanctuary and with increasing worry, Aether makes a choice.
Two lightkeepers stand strong against the Wild Hunt and Aether doesn't hesitate to jump in and help, heat be damned. He wields his sword out and flashes a hydro beam, easily clearing a small enemy up. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and uncomfortably crawls down his loins. Despite being a stranger, he and the Lightkeepers efficiently get into a defensive formation as more monsters gather around them. The woman carries with her an electro vision and Aether assumes that should make things a little bit easier. They clash and crash, cutting down as much as they can until their weapons are smoking black and magenta. Aether powers through the turbulence in his core, eventually thinning down the mob into one. A sigh of relief escapes him. Though, maybe a little too soon.
“Rookie, watch out!” The woman screams in horror and Aether flinches.
There is a new portal that opens behind the man who's too occupied by keeping his lantern on the shadows. Aether tries to leap but—!
A loud slash bleeds and rings through his ears and it only takes a second of hesitation for the other Lightkeeper to be struck down. Just a split second of intense abdominal pain, and he’s let a life be taken in front of him. Aether stares in remorse, but finds no more time to spare, the other Lightkeeper thinks so too– they will mourn their dead later.
They prepare for another fight. This might be a long, difficult night. The wind is only getting colder, howling louder. The crows cry and the moon now hides behind an ominous fog. The dead wails a somber tune as the air gets heavier. Breathing doesn’t come easy, but he and the Lightkeeper stand strong, working with as many elements they can together. It is a spark of blues and purples amidst the black dead of night. Despair comes in the realization that they're barely reducing its numbers, and dread settles when his insides turn again, worse this time. It’s coming, he knows. He feels it on the trembling of his thighs, the wobbling of his ankles barely able to keep his fighting posture up, and the slick dripping from within him. But the Wild Hunt isn't dispersing soon. Shit. It would be really nice to have some help. He clenches his jaw. “You–” he musters through the burning in his throat. “You should run for reinforcements.” He holds back a sob. “I’ll take care of this.”
The Lightkeeper hesitates, but ultimately, nods. She runs as fast as her legs can take her, dodging and jumping through claws that reach for her. Aether guides her through her escape, making sure no one can hinder. Though in his moment of haze, a slimy wisp of pink smoke slips through his sword and makes a hard turn for her.
“Watch out!” Aether shouts. He can make it. He reaches out, fingers spread as if to grab whatever that he can. He can make it. Even with the lack of air, he heaves. Even with the vertigo, he sweeps against the winter air. He can reach her– shit! Blood spills– his own. It doesn’t matter, it’s one small cut. He draws his sword. He can save her. He slices through–
Snap.
Aether blinks.
In a split second, he is teleported to a different place. Through his dazed vision, the faint glow of the plants and starlight blur into patches of colours, then hears footsteps approach him. He exhales in defeat. “The Lightkeeper–” his eyes roll and he lets himself fall. He expects to land on the grassy earth, yet there is no hard thud, no soil that embraces him, just an arm around his waist. A body bigger than his.
Huh. What a good scent.
.
Aether violently jolts up, taking a while to realize what has happened. 'It’s real'. No longer is he on the battlefield, but instead in some rickety hut that overlooks the Bureau from afar. This can’t be good, he mutters, hand instinctively conjuring his sword by his side only to feel a fabric underneath him. He looks down and cautiously examines it. He currently rests upon a large white coat, it seems, and– he frowns. Crow-like feathers decorate its collar.
“You look worried. You weren’t out that long.” A familiar haughty voice.
“Dottore. You…” Aether once again finds himself on guard and fighting against the swirling in his stomach. “What have you done to me?”
“Don't be ungrateful, Traveler. I saved you. You really do have a penchant for being reckless.”
“I didn’t ask for help.” Aether furrows. “You sound like you’re about to scold me. Why do you care? Why did you take me again? What happened to that Lightkeeper?”
“My, my. Slow it down a little.” He laughs. “We aren’t going to run out of time.” The Doctor finally turns to him with the usual unnerving smile on his half-masked face. “I am in a good mood tonight and I think you’d appreciate knowing that I did teleport that Lightkeeper to Piramida when I brought you here. She should be safe.”
Aether simply narrows his eyes in reply.
“Don’t look at me like that. That was me being generous. She had no reason to die in that fight. Moreover, you had no business being gravely injured during one of your mundane nightly walks. Heh. You look at me like you think this is some ploy. My offer still stands of course– that has not changed– but this is simply me trying out these new powers that I have acquired. I do not require a ‘thank you’, but you are always welcome to look in awe.”
“...You really love the sound of your own voice.”
“And you seem to love listening. So we make quite a partnership, do we not?” The Doctor laughs again when Aether pouts.
Her safety does put a piece of his mind at ease, but, still he feels all too vulnerable. Even more so when the Doctor moves closer as if he’s examining him. The heat grows worse.
“I jest, obviously. Although I do appreciate one who listens well.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I told you. Currently, you are my most valuable research and you had no reason to be badly injured in that fight. I often check up on your nightly walks just to see what goes on in that sleepy little head of yours. It’s a good thing I caught you when I did, didn’t I?”
“I’m not some lab rat.” Aether frowns. It is always tense being with the Doctor, but somehow the air is weirder tonight, so he does the easy thing and blames it on his condition. He fiddles with his scarf, deciding whether he should bolt or not. Whether he should stab him again or not.
“Calm yourself, Traveler. I do not intend to fight. As I’ve said, I am in quite a mannered mood today. I might even forgive you if you stab me again. Heh. Although I won’t advise you to try lest you want a repeat of that event, just with no mystery man to save you this time.” The threats flow smooth with the air of his voice but knowing Aether, he’s not really one to be that obedient.
"I could try."
The Doctor simply grins at it as if in his eyes, Aether poses no threat. Which might be the truth anyway. Not in his current condition. He'd be better off running away.
Aether knows he can't afford to relax, not even a little. Not that he can. Not when a sinister gaze is so obviously locked on him. But even now as he thinks of it, his body begins its torture. The moment the adrenaline from the fighting disperses, it is replaced by wanton need. His sword unsummons without his control and his palms sweat within his gloves. He stares wide eyed at the sky as he comprehends his situation. It is a crueler fate to be stuck lying on the Doctor’s coat with a scent so strong and seductive, instead of just suffering a Wild Hunt wound that would heal in a week. Aether turns around slowly, still in shock horror, much to the Doctor’s curiosity, and lies on his side with an arm between his thighs.
“Are you alright, Traveler? I expected you to leave my side the moment you are able. It is my clothes you are dirtying, after all.”
“Then take your stupid coat and leave, I can stay on the ground.” Aether grumbles. Does his best to sound normal.
“Surely you don’t plan on sleeping here. I know you're an adventurer at heart, but succumbing to wherever sleep takes you is a little absurd, is it not?”
Aether feels him inch closer and his face contorts. There is simply nothing that he hates more than feeling himself drip sticky and wet. He bites his lips. The winter night is cold and yet within his body is a tornado of fire and haze. He shivers from within, teeth gnashing, and then, Aether stills. There is a gloved hand on his head and it takes him all his strength to not lean in. It takes him all of his sanity to not desire, so he bites and the Doctor pulls just as quick.
“You’re quite warm.” He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t even sound condescending. He’s just unreadable and it grates on Aether.
This is embarrassing. His fists are curled against the coat and his thighs soaking wet as he rubs them together, face hot and teary he could see his breath vaporize right in front of him. He has not had someone take care of him in years and the mere presence of another man in this time of need drives him to the edge. It just so happens to be the wrong man. Oh, Gods. It could have been anyone. “Please leave.” He buries his head in between the feathers in hopes of making this less mortifying.
“...You seem to be running a fever. Alas, I can manipulate time and do all this, but stopping your fever might prove to be a little bit more dangerous. Who knows what I might change within your body. Viruses are of course, different from–”
“I’m not sick.” Aether snarls. “...I am. Just not like that.” He nuzzles on the wet patch he’s made with his tears. Nothing brings him comfort, his stomach still churns, his emptiness still aches. “You–” He grinds against the coat's harness, head muddled and mouth drooling. He wishes to envelop himself with it, to nest in it. And he does it unknowingly, wrapping it around his body until only his golden hair is sticking out. How bizarre. He feels safe. “You should have left me there. The fight would have dulled my senses. Please, leave.”
“So you can continue rutting on my cloak? I don’t think so.”
Aether whines. Unsure who he wants to stab more: himself or the Doctor.
“You’ve made quite a mess, you know? It’s completely soaked.” The Doctor sighs. “I admit, this is an interesting turn of events and one I would love to watch completely unfold.” He’s smiling now, words arrogant and laced with poison. “Now that I think about it, I have read of this rare condition before but I did not expect you to have it. I thought you just made it a point to touch yourself every month."
Aether freezes.
"Don’t take it the wrong way, of course. I did not want to intrude, but out of curiosity, I did not turn my head either. Although as a man of science, sometimes I simply can’t help but get active in my studies.” He has his leathered palm against Aether’s head again, not to feel his temperature this time, no. He simply caresses, observes, tests. He tests whether Aether would flinch or recoil, and he gets his answers in a small whimper and a head now pressing back against him. Satisfied, he hums. “No doubt, it seems you’d want me to take a rather hands-on approach too–”
Aether lunges. “You talk so damn much.” and bares his teeth.
“Well, you seem to love listening.” the Doctor tilts his head, smile not leaving his face. “Your pupils are dilated, and my, your stomach is flushed. Not from the cold, I imagine?” He raises a knee and Aether rattles. “Barely a touch, Traveler. You’ve already wet my pants.”
“You-! I’m going to kill you.”
“Don’t lie. That’s not really what you want to do to me at this moment.”
“Shut up.” Aether straddles him and his thighs quiver at the slightest friction of another body. His hands press against the Doctor’s shoulders as if to push him to the ground six feet under. He wants to run his sword through him. He wants to bite the exposed part of his neck. He wants to– He desires. His breathing quickens, heart bursting out of his chest, and he finds himself unbuttoning the rest of the Doctor’s shirt, exposing leather straps encircling a rather attractive body. Aether gulps and another whine escapes his mouth when he feels fingers teasing the skin under his belt.
So he replies with his teeth, going straight for the Doctor’s shoulder, making sure it bleeds. He gets a moan and a laugh in return.
“You’re quite the rabid dog, aren’t you?” He raises a hand to Aether’s nape and grabs. “Perhaps your leash needs a yank.” then he pulls him back, observing intently.
Aether looms over him with delirious eyes and blood dripping from his mouth, his untied hair curtaining his face in a sweaty mess. “Take off your mask.” He commands with a broken voice, hoarse from the grip ever so tightening around his throat.
“I don’t like when test subjects demand. But I must admit, seeing you in this state just awakened a deeper interest from within me.” the Doctor's fingers dig into Aether’s skin, leather gloves crunching. “My blood looks quite good on your lips.” With minimal effort, he flips their bodies over until he’s got Aether locked under him. “This is how it will go, Traveler. You will do as you’re told, and if you’re good, I will help you relieve yourself of this pain.” He sets his knee between his thighs, nudging harshly and earning a frustrated sound in response. “Be an obedient little dog. For me. That means, no more biting, no more stabbing.”
Aether struggles and wails, nails clawing on the Doctor’s exposed arm. He doesn't budge above him. He wishes to push him off, to switch their positions. To get in control. To get on his lap and. And what. Aether doesn't answer himself.
“You truly love denying yourself the good things in life. No matter, you will learn in time.” With his free hand, he pulls on the band of Aether's top, pushing it just above his chest. “Stay very still. You've perked up quite well." He lingers on it, fingers twisting and teasing.
Aether squirms, moans when his chest is finally released from its confines and the winter breeze hits him in all the right places.
“There. You’re much better to look at. Wearing naught but my hand around your neck.”
The leather against his skin is rough and almost as cold as the air, but Aether finds himself craving it still. However, hard-headed man that he is, he denies it. Rejects how his body has been searching for this sensation for such a long time. He swallows. Shame has replaced the air in his lungs with how tight the Doctor’s hand is around his throat, he can barely muster anything save for self-pitying noises. He is touched, not entirely against his will, but against his better judgement. He is touched by someone who should not be doing so, and perhaps the real defeat is in knowing that he wants more.
But nothing truly goes easy between the two of them. So he fights back. Maybe to preserve his pride or just to rebel. Just to get a rise out of the Doctor and see how worse he can be treated. Maybe Aether simply wishes to put the man’s newfound patience to the test. He kicks against his leg and he is answered by a grin and a huge body pressing down on him.
“You never know when to behave.” The Doctor takes it as a challenge with a shit-eating grin. “Your body writhes and twists underneath me and yet,” his free hand crawls down to Aether’s crotch. “This here, wants me.”
“You’re deluded—” Aether grinds.
“Hm? What was that?” He presses a finger against the fabric, rubbing in between his folds, then he leans closer with his pierced ear hovering above Aether’s mouth, “Speak louder, Traveler. I can’t hear you.”
“You’re–” A loud moan escapes his mouth when he feels a finger slide down. “You’re delusional.”
“Even through your pants I can feel how wet you are. Heh. Surely, I am not the insane one.” He turns and whispers, “Why must you refuse when your body craves me so?”
If the shame hasn’t killed Aether yet, the neediness will. His thighs squirm, clenching around the hand as if to urge it further, to urge it to take what remains of his clothes and just touch. Though his eyes still refuse to look at the Doctor, his body betrays him with how violently it desires. And of course, this does not go unnoticed. The Doctor wastes no time in ridding him of his pants and inmediately examining just how sensitive he could be. Aether barely catches his breath when his neck is freed, not when he is so quickly entered by a digit, prodding and searching for what makes him tick.
“Desperate and hungry.” The Doctor mocks.
The leather squeaks inside him, but he realises he does not care. “It’s not enough.” He mutters.
“Oh?” He can almost hear the raising of a brow in that tone of voice. “Did you actually think we’re going further than this? Than my fingers?”
Aether’s stomach drops. He’s being toyed with, experimented on. When he finally looks at the Doctor, the expression that hovers above him is blank.
“You look disappointed.” He inserts another, getting Aether to beautifully morph his mortified face into a drooling mess. “Do you know what your body wants? It doesn’t take a genius to do so.” He curls and hits the spot that has him arching his back. “You lie huddled in my coat, legs spread wide open for me, and your body the reddest I’ve seen. And yet you deny–” he pulls his fingers out and slams them back in. “Here’s a little test for you, Traveler. If you can figure out what it is that you truly want from me, then I’ll be sure to save you from your ailment tonight.”
Aether is nauseous. He knows the answer to it. And he’s sure the Doctor is aware of it too. It’s just a matter of pride and guilt. But with how his fingers move inside him already, what is there to lose at this point? He doesn’t hide the disappointment in his face, well, he can’t. Not with how good his body is feeling just from the Doctor’s hand, not with how wet he’s gotten just from fingers alone– fingers so much bigger than his reaching parts of him inside that he could not. He’s not to blame for expecting something more filling. Aether bites his lip. He curses himself. Frustration bubbles up his throat and he swallows the moans wishing to come out. Through teary eyes and a hanging mouth, he observes the Doctor study his body. More. He yearns. He seeks. He needs to be filled, to be satisfied. Aether whimpers. This isn’t enough. The swirling heat in his stomach needs to be quelled and it has been far too long, even for his own liking. Aether is not usually this needy, at least he doesn’t think so, but time and time again, his body moves against his own wishes. He sits up, basking in humiliation when he straddles the Doctor’s lap. There’s nothing else to lose. He quickly unbuckles the black leather belt, whining when he frees an already hard cock from his trousers. He does not look at the Doctor, does not want to, but he doesn’t get a choice when he is forcefully locked into a masked gaze by a hand cupping his jaw.
“Eager, aren’t we? Do you think you deserve this?” The Doctor, with his free hand, leads Aether's own to its length, exhaling a dry laugh when his slender fingers immediately curl around it– he tries, but even with his full hand he cannot hold it fully. “My. You do not disappoint. You truly are a research proving to be worthwhile.”
Aether jerks him and for a moment, he realises the Doctor is just in need as much as him. The assertion of dominance, the condescension, for a short moment, all fade. And he’s now pressed against Aether’s shoulder catching his breath. The mask pokes against his bones so he pulls back and cups his face. It’s tinted peach and Aether’s chest swells. He could be agreeable like this, even a little attractive. His fingers twitch and he finds himself reaching for his mask, lifting slowly in curiosity to see a strong nose, until half lidded eyes are looking at him in menacing horror. It’s blood red and Aether does not look away from his face even when he is pushed hard against the ground, pinned down with his wrists sure to bruise.
The Doctor’s face distorts. “Insolent.” He scoffs. “Do you like what you see?”
First, Aether notices the beauty, then he sees the scars. He does not answer, but he doesn’t look away either.
“You’ve been so disobedient. I fail to see why you deserve anything more. However, it is not in my nature to leave a study unfinished. You are lucky, Traveler. You truly did catch me in a good mood.” he lines himself up in between Aether’s thigh, and with just as much need, he enters. He speaks well, but his body betrays him almost as obviously as Aether’s does. The Doctor wants him. And the Doctor claims him.
He intrudes upon Aether’s small frame, parting him under the starlight, under the false moon that watches them. Aether’s mind goes in a trance when he moves, sliding in and out, hitting the spot, and then, he is brought back by a snap.
“Pay attention, Traveler.”
Aether looks up.
The Doctor grins. “Good. Now you can watch how your body begs for me.” He pushes Aether’s thighs up to his chest, thick hands printing against the back of his knees.
Aether does as he’s told and through clumped lashes, he watches his body completely give itself to the devil. To a god. His toes curl with every thrust, his throat squeals of worship and his mind does not think of anything else. His hands are clenched against the coat he lies on as if he wishes to drown in his scent. In Aether’s world where this condition is so much more common, one would say he has been claimed. And perhaps it is the truth that he does not wish to dwell on.
The Doctor hunches above him, forehead pressed against his. “You will accept me, Aether. Your body already has.”
Aether stills. It takes him a while to realize what he had heard. Then he is pulled back by the heat crawling from his loins up to his head when the Doctor thrusts again. “H-how did you–” He heaves, feeling him deeper inside him, bigger now. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t lie when I said I knew everything about you, Descender.” The Doctor cups his jaw, face smug at Aether’s humiliating pleasure. “From here,” he runs his fingers in between damp locks, brushing, tugging, and then caressing when Aether leans in to the sensation. Softly he traces his swollen lips with his own, chest heavy with satisfaction when Aether not only accepts it, but reciprocates. The kisses they exchange are full of want and intoxicatingly bittered by the biting, the clawing of nails on his naked back, and short legs wrapping around his body. The Doctor pulls back and continues his trail downwards, exhaling a laugh when Aether whines in loss. “To here. What this really wants.” He clutches his chest. If he can have his way, he would take his heart out and keep it within him forever. “I know you fully well, Aether.” His final destination leads him to Aether’s waist, digging and marking as he fucks him into a crying mess. Into submission. Into ownership. “And apparently I am still getting to know you better. You must be honest with yourself, Aether. Why do you choose to deny yourself this? Pleasure. Power. Me.”
Aether doesn’t talk, nor is he given the chance to when the Doctor fills him up so perfectly. Every star, every atom aligning within their bodies in harmony. It disgusts him, scares him. He should not be feeling this good. “More.” Even his voice turns against him now. Everything that comes out of him denounces his beliefs. The breaths he chokes out, the tears he cries. The dripping between his thighs that never seems to stop. The air sounds sloppy, the Doctor is heavy above him, and yet he puts his arms and legs around him to pull him closer, to take him deeper. Grabbing him by his sky coloured hair and biting down his shoulder as he gets his thoughts fucked out of his little brain. Oh. Pleasure and indignity should not make this much of good mix, but being trapped underneath the weight of his body as he drowns in his scent, Aether thinks perhaps it is not a bad thing to be caged and kept by such a cruel God.
“Please.” He begs through broken sobs. “I want to– I want.”
“Good. Tell me, Aether.”
“Your smell.” He inhales and as if in silent agreement, as if he really truly has him figured out, the Doctor flips him over so he can nuzzle on the feathers of this messed up coat. There is no time to catch breaths or even think. They easily get back to the rhythm they were in. He feels himself suck the Doctor in and he bites his lips. Even when it draws blood, he halts himself from speaking of what he knows. What wants to come out from this prodding and pounding is not just wet breaths and heated moans. Not just lascivious whining nor pitiful sniffles—
“Za–” Aether buries his face on the coat. He gulps it back. With his wet, open mouth he chews on the fabric. Aether has always had an affinity for names and knowing who he's with is proving to be a curse tonight. Among other things, this too, does not feel right.
The Doctor does not seem to notice though, perhaps too preoccupied by the ever growing tightness around him. Too taken by the way he slides so smoothly in this little hole as if it’s perfectly crafted for him alone. He shoves Aether’s face on the ground, muscles tightening with his grip as he slaps his hips against skin.
“Would you have me now?” His grin is lop-sided, eyes glinting under the night sky, dazed and needy. “We could be good for each other.”
“Tonight– Just for tonight.” Aether wants to scream his name out loud.
There comes a disappointed sigh so subtle Aether could have missed it were he not peering through the spaces between the Doctor’s fingers just to see his face. But just like a mask, he quickly hides it behind a malicious smile.
“You truly do test my patience.” He lifts Aether up to his chest, angling himself to prod deeper. A hard thrust and then a scream. “Can you feel me move, Aether?” He holds the traveler by the hand and leads it to his stomach. “I’m hitting all the right places in your womb, am I not?”
Aether throws his head back as he rides and grinds against him, his own palm digging against the bulge inside him. “...So full– I. You’re going to–”
“You’re babbling, my little star. Speak clearer.” it is mocking, how he says it, but Aether begs for it all the same.
“I’m so full. Please.” he wails. “Please, god– I need–” He is slammed down to the Doctor’s stuttering thrusts, then lifted back up just to get fucked into a frenzy. “Please.”
“Well done, Aether. So you do know how to beg.”
Aether twists just to wrap an arm around the Doctor’s neck, just to hold onto something while he loses his mind, shaking and screaming his lungs out in overwhelming pleasure. He draws closer, grows needier. So he bites again the shoulder he’s bruised so many times. The Doctor should not feel like this, smell like this, look like this. But in a trance, Aether needs nobody but him. Wants nobody but him. He doesn’t let him go as he quivers on his lap, hot white lightning striking his whole body. He rides on him still even after his orgasm, greedily humping and claiming every inch of skin that he can.
“You’re absolutely delirious.” The Doctor holds him at the back of his head. “And yet come morning, you will reject me again. Ridiculous.”
Aether pushes him onto the ground and straddles his lap. His eyes are dull red, his expression almost somber.
“Again.” He whimpers, tracing the wet of his thighs up to the diamond mark on his chest. “I’m yours.”
“You must be careful of what you swear under the false moon.” He laughs dryly. Still, he kisses him and gently, he lays him down.
Each touch on his body leaves remorse, though there is belonging, too. Completeness, even. It must be deceitful, he thinks. He cannot feel this good. Aether closes his eyes and lets his body guide him, completely surrendering to his disgrace. Oh, but if he is so deplorable, if this is profanity, if this is desecration, why does he feel closer to reverence than penitence? Within the palm of this heretic, Aether lets his sunlight dim. As if an eclipse, he lets the false god of the moon cover him wholly. Claim him fully.
.
Aether is barely conscious when he hears a snap. Vertigo follows, then exhaustion calls to him. His body is sore and sweaty, long golden hair wrapped around him like vines. The warmth that embraces him is comfortable, the scent with it even more so. In his dreams, he is carried by thick arms, and as they walk, a trail of white fabric drags behind as if in matrimony. He is carefully laid down on a bed, eyes fighting against the drowsiness just so he can take a peek at the man by his side. He does not remember anything save for red eyes that stare at him so kindly. It must be a dream, he thinks. Perhaps the eyes are blank. He doesn’t really remember. He is tucked in, and left alone.
There’s a sharp pang in his head when he wakes up, still barely able to remember anything. “Shit.” He murmurs to himself. The room that greets him is familiar, though quieter. The bed however, is not as soft as he remembers. There’s no more electrical humming, nor are the neon lights there to blind him. Ah. It’s morning. The sunlight slips through the slits of the window. He’s back in the Flagship, it seems. Their room, to be specific. On the bedside table sits his adventuring clothes. They smell nice like they’re recently washed. His joints ache when he shifts, he thinks it must have been the fighting that he did last night, and then–
He pauses.
And then what? He can barely recall anything. He took care of his heat… with someone?
“Aether!” Paimon crashes through the door. “AH!” Then she covers her eyes. “Get dressed, geez!” She sounds giddy. “They’re having unlimited breakfast at the bar. Hurry hurry hurry!”
“Alright, alright. Now, please close the door.” He giggles. At least she’s here to lighten the mood. “Oh, and Paimon… was I here the whole night?”
“Mm. No” She turns to give Aether some privacy, but she doesn’t hide her disappointment. "We really need to talk about your nightly walks, you know. I don’t like it when you leave me alone like that! Hmph.”
“Well, I did leave a note.”
“That’s not an excuse! Anyway, no. You apparently had a clash with the Wild Hunt last night. I was sooo worried when that man took you back here–”
“Man?”
“Yeah he was quite weird but he told me about the fight, and that you are always welcome to run back to him.”
“H-how did he look like?” Aether’s chest begins to drum.
“Eh… Brown hair and nothing special. He was wearing winter clothes. The usual, you know. He didn’t even look like a fighter.” Paimon puts her hand on her chin, thinking, but follows up with nothing else.
Aether would be lying if he said that he’s satisfied with this answer, but a part of him does not wish to know more. His body aches, yes, but there is unbearable pain on his waist down to his hips. ‘Let’s leave it there.’ he wishes to say. But when he stands up to finally get dressed, the pain worsens.
“Oh!” Paimon exclaims. “He had really beautiful red eyes though.”
Aether swirls. He looks down on his body and on his hips crawl a marking of blue lines and circles like some sort of digital pattern that glows ever so slightly. He runs to the mirror and his neck is bruised red, waist burning with touch. Under the volume of his hair, just near his nape, is a single crow's feather with a scent so intoxicatingly delicious. Only then does he realise it’s not the feather that smells, it’s him. Specifically, it’s a mixture of his own scent and this.
“Who–” He twists the feather in between his flushed fingers, eyes getting wider the closer he comes to the answer he does not want. He is marked. He is claimed. In his world, this means nobody else can touch him the way his mate can. He could try, but it would simply not feel the same.
‘Oh, you fool.’ He will carry this shame to his grave.