now i don't take pleasure in a man's pain

[notapaladin]

hi….did you know….regicide can actually be SO romantic and is a great way to confess your feelings to your crush? now you do! i had a fucking galaxy-brain idea based around the fact that uh…historically, we do not KNOW how tizoc died, but most historians blame his brother ahuizotl. me looking at the obsblood universe: It’s Free Real Estate.

you do NOT know how hard it was to resist titling this “is this talk of love or regicide?”

on ao3

 

It had been so easy to make it look like an accident. Acatl thought he should probably be concerned about that—after all, if he could exploit this smallest crack in the Revered Speaker’s magical protections others surely could as well, and that would be a risk for Teomitl—but such feelings had fallen by the wayside long ago. Even if he hadn’t despised Tizoc-tzin beyond words for his own personal reasons (that peasant’s daughter burned in his heart like a coal), there was simply no other path left but this. Tizoc’s crimes had piled up like stones, and someone had to bury him under their weight before they broke the Empire’s back. There was only as much justice as he could make.

(One: the clergy of Tlaloc.)

(Two: the ghosts.)

(Three: the Great Temple, cracked open like a ribcage with—with things pouring out of it—)

The Empire wouldn’t hold. Not with a Revered Speaker barely able to channel a glimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s light, a man so callow and craven he was unable to even meet his god face-to-face and beg for his favor. Not with their enemies baying for blood, not with the stars still glinting in the sky at dawn. The boundaries slipped a little further every day, and when the Great Temple’s latest construction had begun to fill with blood and starlight Acatl had known what he had to do to keep them steady.

It was a small spell, a tiny drop of poison. Something barely noticeable. Something that greater and more powerful men, used to magic that lit up the sky, would never think to look for.

(Something that would grant Teomitl the crown he deserved.)

Tizoc’s long-overdue death was approaching fast—a matter of days, the healers said—and Acatl was free to make concerned noises at the right times, to pat Mihmatini’s shoulder when he saw her after another long shift of trying to halt the Revered Speaker’s slow decline (to feel a little bad about how much work it was making for her, but not much), to stand in front of Quenami and Acamapichtli with his face like stone. Yes, of course it was a shame. No, he couldn’t help, there was certainly nothing Mictlantecuhtli could do except hasten the Emperor’s end—oh, Acamapichtli’s spells weren’t having an effect either? How terribly unfortunate.

(Acamapichtli didn’t smile. He didn’t meet his eyes. But in the set of his jaw and the incline of his head, Acatl read Thank you.)

It would be soon. Acatl knew he’d feel it when it happened, and so he didn’t worry himself overmuch with keeping track. So long as he showed a placid face to the world, there was nothing to fear. An unworthy Revered Speaker would be dead and gone, and a far better one would take his place. He knew deep in his bones that Teomitl would be glorious, the radiance of Huitzilopochtli’s favor pulsing under his skin like a bright heartbeat. Time had polished his arrogance into calm authority and honed his edges like a Tarascan bronze knife; when he ascended the throne, the sun would shine brighter than it had even for his grandfather Itzcoatl. The Turquoise-and-Gold Crown would fit perfectly on his head, and Acatl would kneel with his heart full of joy.

(Full of—other emotions, too, which he would not name in daylight. Teomitl didn’t need to be burdened with that knowledge.)

And yet, for all that, the sound of his footsteps hurrying up the temple steps was the same as it had always been. Acatl took a breath and set his reed pen aside; he’d been noting down the names and clans of those lost to Tizoc’s latest folly, a mismanaged attempt at expanding the Great Temple that had come perilously close to cracking a set of very important wards. He could come back to it after he saw what Teomitl wanted. Maybe he misses me, breathed a hopeful part of his mind—it had been a few days since they’d had time to talk—but he quashed that line of thought before it could do any serious damage. He and his former student were friends, nothing else. Friends. If the merest touch settled on his skin like a brand, if he dreamed of something more, that was his own problem.

“Acatl-tzin.”

The entrance curtain shifted, less forcefully than it usually did, and Teomitl stood in the doorway. Backlit, he gleamed with the signs of his rank; his red cloak and loincloth shone like blood, his armbands like the sun, and he’d pulled his hair into a noble’s topknot with a headdress of quetzal feathers. It struck Acatl to the core. For a long moment all he could do was stare, but then he registered Teomitl’s serious expression and recalled himself. I should have known this wouldn’t be a social call. “What’s the matter?”

Teomitl let the curtain fall behind him. As he stepped inside, Acatl reflected that it really was a small room. “I...” His gaze flickered to the floor, briefly, and a muscle worked in his jaw as he met Acatl’s eyes. “I have a question I hope you’d answer for me. Truthfully.”

Acatl swallowed. Something in his chest tightened nearly to the point of pain. Memories—a clasped hand, the heavy heat of a feverish body in his arms, the brush of fingers at a shared meal—zipped through his mind like thrown daggers. For years he’d barely even dared to look at Teomitl for too long, lest his thoughts show on his face. True, Teomitl was smart and observant, but he’d been careful. He forced words out past the hard knot of fear in his throat. “I’ll not lie to you, Teomitl. You know that.”

Teomitl took another step forward. The room was really too small. He made a motion as though to reach for Acatl before visibly drawing himself back, straightening his spine. “I do. But...you understand why I have to ask.”

Acatl held his ground. “I do.” I love you. I love you, and you’ll scorn me for it.

There was a long, slow breath, and another flicker of averted eyes, before Teomitl looked him in the face again. “Are you doing...all this...for the sake of the Fifth World?”

He had to make himself breathe. “I’m...not sure what you mean.”

Teomitl gestured, an angry, stabbing motion. “Tizoc.”

Oh. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. But it was all feeling very, very far away. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands hard enough to draw blood; the pain grounded him enough to speak, though the words felt like they were being torn from his lungs. Don’t. Teomitl, please. “I.” Through supreme effort of will, he managed to keep his gaze focused in the general area of Teomitl’s face. “I don’t believe I ought to answer that. Why do you think I’m involved?”

“Oh, come on! You think I don’t know what even a trace of your magic feels like?!” It came out in an impatient huff. “You’ve taught me too well for that, Acatl-tzin. Quenami even asked me if I was doing it, and had the nerve to remind me that I wouldn’t gain the Southern Hummingbird’s favor that way, as though I’m not well aware of it! But of course, you wouldn’t have to worry about that. I only want to know—is this for the Fifth World, or not?”

He couldn’t speak. I promised never to lie to you. I promised you that. But for this... He could picture Teomitl’s reaction to the truth all too easily—the shock, the avoidance, the way their easy camaraderie would dissolve like mist.

Teomitl’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his cloak by his shoulder; Acatl was too stunned to react as he stepped into his personal space, eyes dark and furious. “Is it, Acatl?!”

He closed his eyes, hating himself for it. Teomitl deserved Mihmatini, who spat in the face of fear; Acatl was too weak even to look at him while he held out his heart to be torn to shreds. My parents were right, after all. I’m a coward. But Teomitl had asked for the truth, and so he would give it to him. “Not—not only for the Fifth World, but for you.”

Silence descended, punctuated only by Teomitl’s harsh breathing and Acatl’s shaky ones. He felt more than heard his heart beat a frenetic tattoo in his chest.

He opened his mouth again—he knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anything was better than this deadly void, and in any case Teomitl was between him and the nearest escape route. “He is a cruel, paranoid craven, and not fit to be Emperor. But you—you are. I know you; you’re brave and intelligent and your heart is so wide when you—when you love, and you’d lead the Empire to greatness. I’d—I would be so proud to serve you in any way you’d have me. I know it doesn’t excuse—“

“Acatl.”

Teomitl’s voice cracked halfway through his name, sounding more than a little desperate; he opened his eyes, and therefore he had a moment to brace himself as Teomitl breathed, “Shut up,” and pulled him into a hard, messy kiss.

The world stopped. There was Teomitl’s mouth on his—hot and wet and definitely with more teeth than Acatl had really imagined would be involved in kissing—and the faint shimmer of Huitzilpochtli’s magic that always accompanied him felt like sunlight on Acatl’s skin. Sunlight through the water, green as jade, some dizzy part of him thought with half a memory of Chalchiuhtlicue, but then Teomitl slid his tongue into his mouth and he forgot how to think entirely. If Teomitl hadn’t still had a deathgrip on his cloak, he might have reeled.

(He hadn’t dreamed about that.)

And then, very suddenly, Teomitl wrenched himself away. His mouth was very red, the working part of Acatl’s brain noted, and his eyes were wide as a deer’s. “I—I’m so sorry. Acatl-tzin, I wasn’t thinking...”

He should probably say something (Gods, I love you), or move (pull him into his arms, never let him go), but he couldn’t make himself do either one. He lived in a new world, one where Teomitl had just kissed him, and it needed some time to settle on its foundations. Teomitl. Life returned to his fingers first, twitching at his sides—then his arms, and he managed to lift a disbelieving hand and trace his own lips, marveling at the way they still tingled, the way he could still feel the impression of that mouth against his own—

Only to realize that Teomitl was stiffly drawing himself up and turning away, turning to leave. Acatl’s voice came back to him in a rush. “Wait! ”

“So you can reject me kindly, is that it?” Teomitl’s voice shook, fists clenching as he fixed his gaze on the wall. Acatl watched as he flushed a deep red. “Scold me about how I shouldn’t have done that, how you have your vows and I have a loving wife and I’m breaking her heart? I’m not, you know. Your sister’s too smart and too relentless for that—she’s been telling me for years I should do something about it.” He snorted bitterly, shaking his head. “Well, I did something about it, and now I get to tell her how badly I’ve misjudged.”

He was walking away. Acatl couldn’t let him; there would never be another chance for him to say this. Shakily, he took what felt like his first breath in a thousand years. “No. That’s—that’s not it at all!”

Teomitl turned in the doorway, one hand at the curtain, and stared at him. The expression on his face shifted slowly from stubborn self-hatred to a sort of wary hope. “...What is it, then?”

He’d always been bad with words. People took what he said poorly, or just ignored him when he said something they disliked. So, in this instance, he decided not to rely on them. Duality, let me not be making a mistake, he prayed. His palms still stung where his nails had cut them, and he dedicated the pain of it to the gods.

(He’d never prayed or sacrificed to Xochipilli in his life. He resolved to start immediately.)

Carefully, he stepped forward. Just as carefully, he reached out and took Teomitl’s unresisting hand in both of his own. It was easiest to meet his eyes if he didn’t look away, and thus he saw them widen at the first touch. It made his heart flip over in his chest; he had to pause for a moment, drawing in another breath, to drink in the sight of Teomitl slowly softening and turning towards him. Oh, I love you. Let me show you.

He’d never kissed anyone in his life, but they were nearly of a height (Teomitl had gotten slightly taller than him since they’d met, which he probably shouldn’t have found appealing—but it had brought some rather interesting thoughts in the night) and so it was easy to lean in, tilt his head a bit so they didn’t bump noses, and brush his lips softly against Teomitl’s own. He kept it light and chaste, but it still sent shockwaves through him. This is what it’s like to kiss Teomitl. This is his mouth, this the shape of his lips and the line of his nose. This is what it feels like when he melts against me.

Because Teomitl was melting, gently tugging his hand free of Acatl’s to slide both arms around him and hold him like something precious and fragile. Fingers tangled lightly in the ends of his hair, weaving through the strands, and it sent a shiver through him. Acatl had had some vague idea of keeping the kiss brief—a way to make certain Teomitl knew of his feelings, nothing more—but Teomitl seemed inclined to linger over it. This one was soft and delicate and as unlike the previous attempt as it was possible to be, but the magic limning Teomitl’s skin still warmed him down to his bones. Helpless, all he could do was hold him close; it seemed the most natural thing in the world to cradle the base of his skull in one hand, burying his fingers in thick, soft hair. Teomitl sighed against his mouth, and he hummed in response.

When they finally parted, Teomitl’s voice was soft with wonder. “All this, for me?”

He thought of Tizoc slowly dying, his bones flaking to ash in the funeral pyre. He thought of his own hands red with the blood of an emperor. He thought of Teomitl crowned in turquoise and gold, with jade and precious feathers at his feet.

(For the first time, he allowed himself a place in the dream. In any way you’d have me, he’d blurted out, and meant it.)

“Always.”

Teomitl kissed him again. It was more careful and yet more passionate than the first time, with the sharp pressure of teeth turned to a simmering promise that lit his blood on fire. And this time, with Acatl knowing it was coming, he could adjust accordingly. His lips parted easily for Teomitl’s tongue, and he surprised himself with the soft, hungry sound that rose up from his throat. A shock ran up his spine when Teomitl’s grip tightened on his hair, and he realized in a rush that he wanted more, wanted to see how strong Teomitl really was.

Teomitl nipped lightly at his lower lip—oh, he liked that too—and pulled away, eyes dark and heated. “...Acatl.” His voice was rough around the edges. “You’ve no idea how much I want you, but...I won’t ask you to break your vows for me.”

My what? It took him a shamefully long time to realize what Teomitl was talking about; when it struck him, he had to smile even as a rush of embarrassed heat pulsed through his veins. “Teomitl.” Feeling suddenly bold, he settled his hands at Teomitl’s hips, pulling him closer. Like this, there was no possible way of hiding his desire. “If I planned to keep my vow of chastity, I would not be doing this.” Looking back, it had probably been a lost cause since the first time Teomitl had smiled at him, but when he’d begun to wake hard and trembling with lust he’d known that if Teomitl were to ask...well.

(He’d sworn his obedience to Tizoc, and look how well he was keeping to that. What was one more oath shattered on the ground so that he could dance amidst the shards?)

Teomitl surged forward to meet him, pressing their bodies together. Their cloaks were no obstacle at all; he could feel the heat of his skin through them, and when the fabric shifted, the bare skin on his own felt like Tlaloc’s lightning in his veins. He made a desperate noise that might have been pleading for a kiss, but Teomitl ignored him and lowered his head to mouth at his throat instead and his knees almost buckled. He was achingly hard already; when Teomitl dug his nails into his shoulderblades, he had to bite his lip to stifle a cry. Anyone could come in. It wasn’t safe here. He kept thinking that—they wouldn’t have much time, it wasn’t safe—but then Teomitl’s teeth scraped lightly over the juncture of neck and collarbone and his ability to think anything flew out the window.

Then he lifted his head—not by much, Acatl could still feel his breath on his skin—and murmured, “Gods, Acatl, can I...?“

It was enough to jar his brain into functioning again. “Not here,” he breathed. “Go change out of all that—“ he wouldn’t mind Teomitl keeping it on, actually, but all the gold and quetzal feathers were the farthest thing from discreet, “—and meet me at home. I’ll—I’ll be waiting for you.”

Teomitl took a shuddering breath and stepped away, passing a hand over his hair. “Gods. Gods. Alright.” The edge of his smile was shy, but radiant as the dawn of the Fifth Sun. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

This time, when he left, Acatl didn’t stop him. He knew they’d see each other again soon.

(Later—much, much later, when they were sweaty and sticky and spent—Teomitl twined a lock of Acatl’s hair through his fingers and grinned wickedly as he asked, “So, how are you dealing with Tizoc, anyway?” Acatl, smiling in return, told him.)

(Teomitl all but tackled him back onto the mat.)