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Nova watched as beams of sunlight passed across the Torchbearer’s face, illuminating him in a golden glow that made his curly brown hair look like the flame he often carried. Moments like these reminded him of before, back in that small period of time when they had the luxury of a leisurely morning, back when the noise of the camp roused them slowly from their slumber.
The city was much quieter than the camp had ever been.
Torch staying was a rarity, saved for either special occasions or nights when Nova had been particularly convincing when down on his knees, their roles keeping them long distance until things could be smoothed out between those inside the walls and those who roamed beyond it. There was so much work to be done, yet Nova didn’t want to wake his sleeping lover from the rest that so frequently evaded them both.
Instead, the Bishop turned his attention to Torch’s tattooed arm from where he rested on the bare chest of the man below. The coloured ink had always fascinated him, even back before his days were dictated by strict schedules and the quiet dismantling of the doctrine that had harmed so many. Nova’s fingertips glided gracefully across the swirled sky, his touch featherlight as he mapped the transition between the colours. His own tattoos had always been jet-black and rigid in their structure, geometric designs that contrasted the freedom of Torch’s choice in markings. He remembered that somewhere in the tree’s trunk hid a failed escape symbol, a mark that Nova knew very well from being held down as it was inked onto his own skin after his first escape attempt all those years ago.
Torch had never shared how it had faded enough to be hidden by the soft brown colours that now covered it, and Nova had never pushed for an answer.
A shiver ran down the Torchbearer’s spine, and Nova’s fingers halted their tracing to see whether he would stir.
“That tickles, Nova.”
“My apologies,” The Bishop chuckled, resuming the motion now that Torch had woken. “I forgot how ticklish your arms were.”
Torch pouted. “No they aren’t.”
“Yes, my love, they are.”
Nova walked his fingertips over the branches, a smile spreading across his lips as he felt Torch tense below him. His inky hand was then swept up by the Torchbearer, their fingers laced together and moved to rest over his heart. Nova had used the steady thump-thump sound to aid his own sleep on many occasions, like the beat of a marching drum below where his ear would rest on Torch’s chest. It was a nice distraction from the unnatural beat of his own heart, how it had slowed and slowed on the stone floor of the tower as red blood leaked from twin stab wounds, never again picking its pace back up to one considered healthy.
The phantom sensation of ivory bone sliding through the layers of his skin made Nova flinch. He tried to cover the sudden discomfort, but Torch had always been able to pick up on every little shift in Nova’s emotions.
“The scars playing up again?” He asked, the hand not intertwined with Nova’s moving to rub gently across the raised flesh at the Bishop’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” winced Nova. “They always do when the seasons change.”
Nova’s recovery had not been easy, especially not during the brief period where Torch was not by his side. It had taken all his strength to stand back up and muster the power to strike Nico down. He had wavered on his feet when passing the robes to the others in the tower, the blood loss making his face look even paler in contrast to the new black paint that wrapped across his lower lip and extended to his ears.
Torch had turned his back in heartbreak, walking away before Nova fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The cotton of his robe had soaked up his blood, sticking to his skin as one of his new Bishops — who had been a medic before she accepted the robe — peeled the fabric away to tend to his injuries. In the fever that followed, Nova had called out for Torch, hot tears streaming down his face as hallucinations of his old tormentors and captors mocked his physical weakness.
The Bishop was unsure which of his new associates had gone behind his back and begged Torch to return, but when the fever broke, Nova felt his icy hands enveloped in warmth, and Torch had made the journey to see him on a regular basis ever since. Nova remembered very little of those few weeks in the private medical ward, but the memory of Torch sobbing and begging for his forgiveness would never fade from his mind. They’d both decided then that they would work together, a promise made to build something in the wreckage of the past that they could become proud of. If he hadn’t been able to break the cycle as Clancy, maybe he could do it as Nova.
“I will manage, as I always do.”
“I have no doubt about that, Nova. I just wish you wouldn’t have to. Maybe if I had pushed harder, found my way inside quicker, stopped you from going up there alone, I—“
“—What has passed, has passed, my love. We both have to live with the consequences of that.”
“I’m so sorry I left you.”
“I know you are, Torch. But you came back to me in the end.”
Torch opened his mouth as if he was planning to refute Nova’s forgiveness, unable to accept that he was deserving of it. A huffed sigh escaped Nova as he pushed forwards, hands moving to cup his lover’s cheeks and shutting the Torchbearer up with a kiss. He melted immediately under the feeling of soft lips against his own, his own hands moving to grasp at Nova’s bare waist as his body seemed to relax into the bedsheets.
It wasn’t a demanding kiss, not like the ones they shared when they would reunite after a few weeks spent apart, but instead it was gentle; almost lazy in the way their lips collided and their bodies writhed against one another, a push and pull as measured as the tide. Still, Nova could feel Torch’s mind racing.
“You’re overthinking.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Maybe I can.”
A familiar hardness had made itself known between Torch’s legs, as if Nova had a special talent for always managing to get him in the mood. The Bishop’s lips separated from his own, moving to mouth at the flushed skin of Torch’s neck, sucking small bruises into the surface in-between small nips and bites; a path etched in devotion and tender affection, paying close attention to the clusters of freckles and the scars that painted an array of colours over the canvas that was the Torchbearer.
Nova disappeared beneath the silk sheets that had shielded them both from the chill of the night air as they slept, now hiding himself from Torch’s view as he positioned himself between the man’s legs that were already spread to accommodate him. Torch grasped the silk in his hand, right above where he could see Nova’s head distorting the crimson waves. It was cruel in a way — Torch always loved to grasp at the strands of Nova’s hair whenever he was being tended to, and now he was denied that luxury. Reason seemed to escape him, barely considering the fact that he could simply toss the sheets aside; the thrill of not being able to see what Nova was doing taking over any logic he had to spare.
He heard the sounds of Nova spitting into his palm, before an icy coldness calmed the feverish heat of his skin. It was undoubtedly Nova’s hand wrapping around him, he’d felt it more than enough times to recognise the slow pumping and wandering thumb that teased the thick vein on the underside of his length. The image of Nova doing as such had been ingrained into his mind, and now Torch was left to cling to those memories as he felt himself be swallowed by a known warmth.
The wet heat of the Bishop’s mouth was accompanied by the sight of Nova’s head bobbing below the covers, hand massaging the base of Torch’s shaft as his tongue could be felt following the vein that had been tended to by his thumb just moments before. A lick across the head drew a sharp moan from Torch, his hips attempting to buck further into the warmth surrounding him before Nova’s free hand kept him pinned to the bed.
The message was non-verbal, but clear as day; No moving, let me do the work while you relax.
Fire coiled in Torch’s gut, sparking tendrils wrapping around the base of his spine and setting his nerves aflame. He could feel Nova take him deeper, although not as deep as he sometimes did when showing off. There was no gagging, but Torch was sure that Nova’s eyes would be shining, tears of pleasure threatening to fall down his still-rosy cheeks. Torch knew he wouldn’t last long, at least not this early in the morning when so much energy had been spent on their passion the night before.
“Y’feel so good, Nova. God, you’ve always had a talent for this.”
A whine vibrated through Torch, a high-pitched confirmation that his words had garnered a reaction from the Bishop under the sheets. The cold hand around Torch’s length retreated, and Nova instead took Torch as far down as possible, swallowing as his throat tensed around the intrusion.
“Fuck, Nov’, I’m—“
It didn’t take much for the elastic tension in Torch’s stomach to snap, his vision growing fuzzy as a wave of relaxation took over his limbs. His legs fell from their bent position, and the hand that had been fisted in the sheets above Nova’s head came to rest by Torch’s side. His chest heaved with panted breaths, waiting for the dark spots to clear from his sight as he felt Nova massage his cramping thighs.
As soon as Torch was deemed sufficiently relaxed, Nova resurfaced with a grin — making a show of swallowing as the red silk draped across his head in a fashion not too dissimilar to that of his robe’s hood. His lips glistened with a mixture of spit and Torch’s release, and his eyelashes were indeed clumped together with unshed tears. The sight was torn from Torch as Nova’s tongue darted out to catch the combined fluids, before the Bishop then opened his mouth in a show of proof that he had in fact devoured the salty fluid that previously coated his tastebuds.
“Holy shit, honey.”
The back of Nova’s hand came up to wipe the wetness from his eyes. “Thank you, my love. Did that do the trick?”
Torch pulled Nova back into his arms. “Yeah, you could say that. Do you uh, need me to—?”
“No need. Just remind me to tell the towerkeepers that our bedsheets require changing.” A second passed before a look of recognition flashed across Torch’s face, causing Nova to giggle. “There you go.”
Nova pressed a quick kiss to Torch’s lips before rolling off of him and out of their unofficially shared bed. “Come on, sleeping beauty. I told you I had something to show you.”
As much as it pained Nova to not indulge further in the thought of spending their morning tangled up in the bedsheets, he had in fact promised to show the Torchbearer something to do with his project to make the city feel less like a concrete prison. Dodging each attempt Torch made to pull him back into bed, Nova dressed himself in his robes, forgoing the ceremonial veil in favour of seeming a little more approachable. He also decided to leave his hood down, on account of the fact that it was a rare sunny day within the city, something that had been occurring more and more since Nova and Torch had reunited.
The sun seemed to break through the smog that often hung over the city streets, and Nova could feel its warmth through the cotton of his robe. It reminded him of Trench, how Her warmth had felt like a blessing after being stuck on that cold island for months, and how for those early days back in the city, Nova had wondered if She’d ever forgive him for what he had to become, how he’d forsaken not just Trench Herself, but the son who She had gifted her flame to as well.
He figured that She was on her way to forgiving him if the city was occasionally permitted to feel Her warmth — or at least, he hoped that was the case.
Nova walked side by side with Torch down the cobbled streets, nodding his head politely to any citizens that passed by. It had taken some adjustment amongst Nova’s district, the sight of the Torchbearer making them uneasy at first, but over time they had come to accept the figure that walked beside their Bishop. Torch had agreed to drop the yellow tape within the city, instead choosing to dress in plain green, with a camo print jacket to cover his arms from Dema’s frequent chill. Nova was thankful that he hadn’t really lost his ability to see Torch’s yellow tape on the occasions they quickly met on the outskirts of the escape tunnels, but exposure to that bright colour for long periods of time often left him with a pounding migraine.
Torch let their fingers brush together as they walked, a gentle reassurance that he was trusting Nova’s guidance towards their destination. He saw where they were headed before long; a small-ish greenhouse that was located in one of the sunnier areas of Nova’s district, large panes of glass showing off the various little pots on the benches inside.
“You’ve been gardening?” Torch asked.
“Yeah,” Nova replied, producing a key from the pocket of his robe as he opened up the greenhouse door. “Thought I might make use of the seeds and shoots from the flowers you gave me, bring a bit of Trench within the walls.”
The change in temperature once both men stepped through the door was obvious, the glass soaking up as much of the sun as it could.
“I thought it would be best to grow them here,” continued Nova, “The quality of the air outside can still be so unpredictable. I’d rather see what is capable of growing here before attempting to move them outside.”
“And all of this came from the flowers I gave you?”
“Pretty much.” Nova delicately traced the petals of a potted primrose, feeling the velvety texture of the little yellow flower. “Thought it would be a nice reminder of you when you’re gone. Plus, I liked how the ivy looked on the towers, so maybe introducing a bit more life into this place isn’t such a bad idea.”
Torch smiled softly, bringing Nova into an embrace and planting a kiss to the crown of his head. “I like that. Another step in making it better than it was.”
“I don’t want to be like him.”
“And you won’t be, Nov’. You won’t be anything like Nico was. You’re trying for one thing, people already think of you as someone they can trust and respect at the same time. This is new for both of us, and I promise I’ll help you in whatever way I can.”
Nova stepped back from the safety of his lover’s arms, just far enough for him to capture Torch’s lips in a soft kiss, a quiet thank you uttered against his plush pink smile.
“Now,” Torch took one of Nova’s hands in his own, “Maybe you can show me what you’re growing.”
Nova’s smile grew wide, his excitement barely contained as he tugged Torch down the rows of potting benches. Almost every inch of surface was covered in pots, all displaying plants in different stages of growth. The Bishop rambled about the optimal conditions each plant would need to truly thrive, and how he’d surprisingly found a book in the old library that gave him enough information to get started.
He described it to Torch, this hand-bound book that featured many of the plants that grew outside the walls; from the seasons they appeared in to the types of soil they grew best in.
“Take hydrangeas for example, they change colour depending on the acidity of the soil. The watercolour drawings in the book show both pink and blue varieties that were found in Trench.”
“Do you know who wrote it?” Torch asked.
“No clue. My best guess is a Bandito who ended up back in the city and snuck it in there knowing that the libraries were often left unchecked by the Bishops. I suppose that they figured the pool of approved literature was so small that it wasn’t worth monitoring. Maybe one day I’ll try and match the handwriting to the FPE records in the city archives, but for now I’ll allow the author their anonymity. They’re probably long gone anyway.”
“Maybe. But they live on through what you’re doing.”
“I suppose you’re right about that.”
They carried on walking further into the greenhouse, passing pots of snapdragons and ranunculus, a soft floral scent filling the air around them. Nova brought them to a halt in front of a potted sunflower, its radiant yellow petals and large seeded centre making it stand out from the other flowers that surrounded it.
“The book also gave meanings to the flowers, y’know?” Mused Nova, reaching to shift the pot into a spot with more sunshine. “Loyalty and adoration. I don’t know whether our mysterious author was the one to decide that, or if it’s based on prior learnings, but this particular plant stood out to me.”
“Why’s that?”
“It reminded me of you.”
Torch couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks, fighting back a grin as a result of the compliment. His eyes scanned the greenhouse, before finding the exact plant he was looking for; a pot of red poppies.
“I don’t know what meaning your book gave these but…” Torch said, placing the pot next to the sunflower.
“Death, mainly.”
“Okay, well, we gave them a different meaning in Trench. To us, we saw them as symbols of remembrance, signs of rebirth and resilience. It’s also red, like you.”
“Like me.” Nova chuckled.
“We also sometimes used them for medicinal purposes, often as pain relief for more serious injuries. Maybe I can check in with the medics in the camp, see if we can work something that might help when your scars are acting up?”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course I would. If things here can’t help, maybe the old-fashioned approach can do something. Besides, one of our medics still has a soft spot for you, she’ll help if I ask.”
Nova placed his hands on Torch’s cheeks, bringing their lips together in a kiss. “Thank you, that’s very sweet. Both for offering to help and for still seeing something positive in me.”
“More than something, Nova. There’s a lot of positivity in you when you know where to look.”
Torch reignited their kiss, pushing Nova towards an empty spot on the potting bench before picking him up and placing him on it. Nova’s hands left Torch’s cheeks, instead choosing to drape his arms across the other man’s shoulders in hopes of pulling him closer. Torch’s own hands settled on Nova’s waist, parting the robe and slipping under his undershirt to feel the cool skin below. Nova gasped into Torch’s mouth, the warm hands on his body leaving trails of sparks as they roamed the skin of his stomach and ghosted across the prominent bones of his hips.
A blackened lip was tugged in between Torch’s teeth, the slightly bitter taste of the darkness now barely registering with how many times Torch had tasted it since they reunited. Nova tangled one of his hands in Torch’s curly brown hair, working to push their mouths closer together, squeezing out every bit of oxygen in the space between them. Their kiss had certainly lost the lazy undertones it held earlier in the morning; now they were both trying to devour each other, spit coating their lips as Torch’s tongue found it’s way into Nova’s mouth.
Nova’s teeth were sharp against Torch’s tongue, a delicious scratch he could never get enough of. He licked over Nova’s canines, before seeking out the muscle of his tongue. They tasted each other for a moment, soft whines and groans breaking the silence of the greenhouse. Before long, they had to pull away — both of them panting for air as the string of spit that connected their lips snapped in two.
Torch wasted no time before he ducked to attack Nova’s neck, trailing kisses along his throat that were punctuated by the occasional bruise sucked into the same darkness that coated his lips and hands. He thought of it as rather useful; being able to cover Nova as much as he wished without fear of someone seeing the after effects, each purple mark expertly disguised against his ink-black skin. He nibbled at Nova’s earlobe, before grazing his teeth at the spot just below that always drove the Bishop crazy.
“Torch, shit, someone’s gonna see.”
“I think we’re well past this thing we have going on being a secret, don’t you.”
“Yes, but, oh my god,” Nova used his leverage on Torch’s hair to pull him away from his neck, finally being able to see how Torch’s hazel-brown pupils were blown wide in desire. “It’s more of a public decency thing. If we start anything here, I can’t promise I’ll be able to stop.”
“True.” Torch sighed. “If we weren’t surrounded by glass right now, I’d be dropping to my knees.”
“I’m surprised that would stop you given some of the things we got up to in the camp.”
Torch smirked. “Eh. I think as Banditos we have less of a stick up our asses about stuff like that. A lack of privacy is kind of expected when all you have are canvas tents.”
“Maybe so.” Nova hopped down from the bench, and placed a far more innocent kiss on Torch’s cheek. “But fortunately, we were granted concrete and soundproof doors here. Perhaps we could cut our visit short and make the most of both our time together and the infrastructure the city has to offer.”
“I find that to be a reasonable request.”
Both men burst into laughter, turning around to leave the humid greenhouse in favour of Nova’s resting quarters once more.
A slight breeze entered the greenhouse as the door opened and two lovers left, gently rustling the leaves and petals of the flowers and plants within.
If it managed to push the heads of the sunflower and poppies closer together, as if they were leaning in for an embrace, maybe it was the way things were meant to be.
Yellow and red, red and yellow. Side by side as they grew under caring hands.
Fate. A reflection.
Something symbolic.