all there in our baby's arms

[notapaladin]

Plotless OTP fluff? Plotless OTP fluff. As always, can also be read on AO3!

Acatl and Teomitl spend time together, and Acatl gently corrects a misconception.

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Noon had passed hours ago by the time Acatl finally stepped out of the temple interior. Staggered, more like; he’d discovered that prolonged periods of stillness and the rainy season did not mix well with his legs ever since the fight against Itzpapalotl, and he’d felt like an old man by the time he’d uncurled himself from the account ledgers. It had rained earlier, cooling the air, but the afternoon sun was deliciously warm as it drenched the world in gold. He was alone for the moment, and so he sat down and closed his eyes, tilting his face up to bask in it.

A breeze caressed his face, stirring a loose strand of hair that had escaped his attempts at confining it. Somewhere below him were the sounds of the city he loved going about its day; further away, a bird warbled. He breathed in, smelling distant fires and the lingering dampness in the air. Later, he would probably be reminded of a hundred things he had to do, but for now? He’d let himself enjoy this.

Footsteps behind him, too hurried. He would know them if he were stone deaf and therefore didn’t bother to open his eyes; there was only one person who walked as though the notion of wasting time was an insult. “Teomitl.”

“There you are.” The voice he loved was warm and sweet as honey; unresistant, he let himself be wrapped in familiar arms and nestled against a well-muscled chest. The cloak over his shoulders wasn’t as warm as the skin pressed against his back. “I missed you.”

“Mm,” he murmured. “I thought the Master of the House of Darts would be too busy to miss me.” The rainy season would end soon, and Teomitl would be going off to his next campaign. Acatl had tried not to dwell on it, with mixed success. Of course Teomitl had gone to war before, but that had been...before. Before soft words and those first careful kisses, when he’d been Acatl-tzin and never just Acatl. Things were different now. Glorious, yes, but different.

Teomitl snorted. “The Master of the House of Darts just spent his morning dealing with fools who couldn’t find their own heads with a map.”

Acatl shifted, turning to nuzzle into the crook of his lover’s neck and reveling in the way he shivered. It hid his smile—this, at least, was one thing that would never change. No matter what, the war council would always fall short of Teomitl’s impatient expectations. He was surprised there’d never been bloodshed. “Hmm. Did you lose your temper?”

There was a sigh, stirring his hair. “No. Barely.”

“Good boy.” It slipped out without thinking. He regretted it immediately, knowing the depth of Teomitl’s pride, but all it got in return was a sharp little hitch of breath and a tightening of his hold. Oh. Teomitl liked hearing that. He filed the knowledge away safely in his mind; it was something to turn over at a later date.

When Teomitl spoke, his voice was soft. “...I thought of you.” A hand uncurled itself and slid over Acatl’s chest, and he shivered at the contact.

Acatl imagined his own reaction to being shoved into a room with the war council. He didn’t really know any of the men on it aside from Teomitl; the temptation to superimpose the faces of Acamapichtli and Quenami over them was probably mean-spirited, but it was hard to resist. All the times he’d come perilously close to punching them in the teeth flashed through his mind; how much worse it would be if he was a warrior, raised and trained for battle? “And that...helped?”

Teomitl’s wandering hand was at his shoulder now, twining a lock of hair around calloused fingers. “You are calm and even-tempered—“

He would not laugh. He would not. Even if...gods, is that how Teomitl sees me? Is that the impression I give? For a moment he really thought he would manage it—his lips twitched, but that was all—and then he remembered how his very first meeting with Quenami, before they’d even exchanged three words, had left him seeing red. It was enough. He broke. “Pfft.” Mirth bubbled up through him, shoulders shaking; his breath came in a drawn-out wheeze and for a moment he had to clench his fists to stop his reflexive slap of the stone under him. Calm! Even-tempered! Another wheeze. Another. He knew his face had to be red, knew he was making noises like a dog choking on a bone, but there was no stopping it. Gods, his face hurt. Me!

By the time he’d gotten his breath back, the set of Teomitl’s knitted brow had shifted from concern to annoyance, though he still kept Acatl loosely in his embrace. “...And you are laughing at me.”

Duality preserve me. “Teomitl.” He sucked in a breath. His lungs complained; he hadn’t laughed that hard in ages. Leaning back against Teomitl’s chest was a better idea. “Teomitl. I have wanted to strangle Quenami with my bare hands every time I’ve seen him, and Acamapichtli only slightly less.” It was better for him to know the truth, after all. The last thing Acatl wanted to be was a paragon.

Teomitl wasn’t pouting, but only because it was unbecoming of a noble warrior. Acatl could hear how hard he wasn’t pouting. “That’s a natural reaction!”

An intense wave of fondness rolled through him, and he couldn’t help but smile. His hand came to rest on Teomitl’s knee, tracing an idle little circle into the thin skin there. “I think you think too well of me.”

“...Impossible,” Teomitl sounded huffy, but then his voice softened. An arm slid around Acatl’s waist, gentle and warm. “Nobody can think too well of you, Acatl.”

Oh. In moments like these, he was firmly reminded that Teomitl loved him. It slid through his veins like a knife, leaving him dizzy with the enormity of it—of this stubborn, quick-tempered man, Master of the House of Darts and heir apparent to the Emperor, opening his heart to him. “Teomitl,” he breathed helplessly.

Teomitl kept talking, words running right over him as though he was afraid of losing momentum if he stopped. “I know you don’t expect recognition, but you have saved the Fifth World three times. Four, if you count my own foolishness.” Acatl felt his lungs expand in a deep breath, felt the way his shoulders stiffened as though preparing for a fight. “And even if you hadn’t, you deserve armfuls of gold and quetzal feathers just for being who you are.”

He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “I don’t—“

His lover’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Yes, you do deserve it. I would give you all the wealth of the Empire if you wanted it.”

It was too easy to picture it—precious feathers and gold for his ears and arms, silver and jade for his hair and ankles, eating naught but the finest delicacies and having his every whim catered to. It made him itch for obsidian knives and the dry dust of Mictlan to cleanse his palate. Even if part of him did want to flaunt Teomitl’s regard just a little whenever Quenami was being particularly arrogant, it was a mean and unworthy and reckless thought, and he’d long since resolved not to listen to it. “I don’t want any of that.”

“I know.” Teomitl sighed into his hair. “Giving you only my heart doesn’t feel like enough.”

Acatl twisted out of his hold; Teomitl made a brief, surprised noise, but in the next moment he was melting into the kiss that was the only answer Acatl could give him. I love you, he thought fiercely. I love you, I love you. Don’t ever say it’s not enough. He slid his hands down Teomitl’s back, feeling the heat of his skin through the cotton; as hot and sweet and right as it was, his mouth was better. I could die like this. If I went to Mictlan tomorrow, I’d be happy.

When Acatl broke away, Teomitl hummed quietly and captured his lips again, sweetly. “Mmm...” His hands settled at Acatl’s hips; the touch was light and innocent, but Acatl still had to tamp down a pulse of desire. Now wasn’t the time.

He pulled back, meeting his lover’s heated gaze. “Your heart is more than I ever thought I could have. I don’t need anything else, Teomitl.”

Teomitl licked his lips, eyes gleaming. Acatl felt his heart skip a beat. “...You’re sure?”

And then the hands at his hips were dragging slowly over his thighs, and he couldn’t suppress a full-body shudder. Oh, you are wicked. He had to close his eyes; knowing Teomitl was fixing him with a hungry stare was hard enough to resist without trying to meet it head-on. Xochiquetzal told me once that I spent too much time with the dead, forgetting what made me alive. If I’d known Teomitl then the way I do now... What laid between them was new enough, and their working lives difficult enough, that there were things they simply hadn’t done—yet. Teomitl’s desire was obvious in each lingering glance they shared across rooms or in crowds; it still flustered him, but whenever they touched Acatl was reminded that, vows or no, he wanted.

He took a shaky breath and risked opening his eyes again. “I am...open to persuasion.”

Teomitl leaned in, opened his mouth to speak, and Acatl trembled—but then someone’s stomach growled, and the moment was gone. Acatl managed to stop his chuckle, but not the accompanying grin.

Teomitl went adorably red around his ears, ducking his head as though he thought that would hide it. “Ah. Lunch first?”

Reluctantly, Acatl pulled away from the warmth of Teomitl’s touch. “...Lunch first.”

And then they would decide how to make the most of their free time.

Notes:

- teomitl has a praise kink, i don't make the rules

- acatl is going to laugh for DAYS over teo thinking he is even-tempered and calm. "oh honey no"

- he will eventually let teo buy him ONE Very Expensive Thing for the express purpose of making quenami swallow his own tongue with suppressed rage