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notapaladinAlso on AO3. Part 2 is here
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Teomitl was in his courtyard. For a long moment, all Acatl could manage to do was stare at him, the image stubbornly refusing to compute in his head. This late at night, this early in the morning, Teomitl should absolutely be at home sleeping off the banquet they’d been forced to attend, instead of sprawled lazily under Acatl’s cedar tree with his eyes gleaming. He was still wearing much of his finery, though he’d had the sense to wash the paint from his face and switch out his gold-hemmed cape for a plainer one. Acatl, still in his own regalia with his skull mask tied to his belt, felt overdressed and off-balance in comparison.
He dragged his eyes up from where they’d settled somewhere around Teomitl’s broad shoulders. “Hello, my student who does not live here.”
Teomitl shrugged carelessly, which didn’t help. There was a faint, hazy smile hovering around the corner of his mouth. “...I wanted to see you.”
“You saw me at the banquet.” It seemed inadequate. They’d both been at the banquet, but there hadn’t been a chance to exchange more than long-suffering nods. Teomitl had been sitting with his brothers, smiling tightly at whatever they’d been saying; once or twice Acatl was sure he’d seen a pleading look thrown his way, but his own irritation at their seating arrangements hadn’t left him with much ability to effect an intervention. Quenami had been particularly annoying with his regrettable tendency to open his mouth and have words come out.
Teomitl waved a dismissive hand. “I saw you sitting between Acamapichtli and Quenami, trying not to knock their heads into the soup bowls. That doesn’t count.” He bit his lip, looking suddenly shy. “I thought you could use some cheering up after that.”
Something fluttered traitorously in his chest. He hadn’t thought Teomitl would notice, never mind care. The boy had his own worries, surely, even if he disliked the other High Priests nearly as much as Acatl did. And here he is, thinking about me. “And you think you can do that?”
Long lashes flickered as Teomitl looked up at him, smug as a well-fed jaguar, and Acatl had to swallow roughly as he nodded at him. “Mm.”
He took a breath, willing himself to stay calm even as the breeze brought the faint scents of the banquet back to him—incense, perfume, spiced food. That hazy smile was back, and it was wreaking serious havoc on his nerves. Sternly, he reminded himself that Teomitl was his student, a youth of imperial blood, a proud young warrior—and that he, Acatl, should absolutely not be noticing the light in his eyes. Besides which, Teomitl really had some gall to invite himself in like that. “...How?”
Teomitl grinned at him, fast and bright and wicked; he was so dazzled by it that he almost missed the rustle of fabric as Teomitl reached under his cloak to pull out a stoppered jar. Expertly, he popped the lid off, and the smell of strong pulque hit Acatl like a fist. “I brought this.”
Acatl stared. For a fleeting moment he wished desperately that he was sitting down, the better to absorb the shock. “...Are you drunk?” It came out in a squawk. ‘Scandalized’ was too mild a word—for a nobleman or a priest to be drunk in public meant death, and even in private the punishments would be severe. How Teomitl had managed to make it all the way to his courtyard undetected was a mystery he didn’t want to solve. And as for why...to cheer me up? Really, Teomitl? Reckless—irresponsible—have I taught you nothing? He firmly tamped down the part of his mind that also seemed to be finding it touching.
It was made more difficult by the fact that Teomitl—who, now that he looked with a discerning eye, was a tad flushed—was frowning at him as though he’d had the nerve to take offense. “I am not! I think...” He studied the jar for a moment. “I might be a little tipsy. But I am not drunk. I think I’d be much more wobbly on my feet if I were drunk.”
He turned his face away, folding his arms across his chest and hating himself for being unable to repress the smile that was making its treacherous way across his lips. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such sincerity. “Hmph. I should confiscate that.”
Teomitl cocked his head like a bird. “Are you going to?” He didn’t sound particularly worried by the prospect.
“...No.” He should. He knew he should. But Teomitl was looking up at him, and he was weak.
And now he was smiling knowingly and raising the jar to his lips. “Oh. Good.”
Knowing it was a bad idea even as he did it, Acatl made a terrible decision. “But if you’re going to drink that, you’ll do it inside.” Where nobody except me will see you, and I’ll never tell.
“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured.
But he didn’t move, and so Acatl crossed the distance between them and held out a hand. “Come on—oh.” Teomitl was hauling himself to his feet with a worrying sway; instinctively Acatl reached to steady him, and for a dizzying moment all his world narrowed to the feel of the man in his arms. He was deliciously warm, muscles like stone under the soft cotton of his cloak, and when he half-leaned against his shoulder the scent of alcohol burned through Acatl’s lungs.
He exhaled, trying to force his head to clear. At least one of them should be sober. Sober and focused and not—not enjoying this, gods. He’s my student. He’s not for me. I have to remember that.
Teomitl seemed determined to make it hard. His voice was a teasing huff in Acatl’s ear. “I can walk, you know. But if you want to carry me, I wouldn’t mind. Just don’t spill the pulque!”
He took a breath, pushing down his sudden awareness of his own heartbeat. “Let’s just go in.”
Teomitl’s assessment of his own state turned out to be surprisingly accurate; though he wouldn’t be making any sudden movements, he was still steady enough on his feet to follow Acatl into the darkness of the house. The moonlight streaming through the window caught the edge of a high cheekbone and the curve of his mouth, and Acatl couldn’t look away from him as he murmured, “You’re right. This is much better.”
And then he sat down on the mat, tugging Acatl down with him before he could pull away. Acatl made a noise he refused—even in the privacy of his own head—to term a squeak as he hit the ground, managing at least to arrange himself into a vaguely dignified sitting position. An objection hovered on the tip of his tongue, only to flee in the next heartbeat along with his thoughts.
Teomitl pressed against him from shoulder to hip, bare skin like a brand where it met Acatl’s. It was just possible to make out the motion of one hand lifting the jar of pulque to his mouth; the sound of his swallowing sounded very loud in the stillness. It was almost a shock when he hummed contentedly and breathed, “I don’t know about you, but I’m happy.”
“You.” He wet his lips and tried again. Teomitl’s fingers were just barely brushing against his thigh, and his veins felt like they were on fire. “I’m sure that’s just the pulque talking.”
Reeds crackled lightly under the weight as Teomitl shifted; it was all the warning he got before a head came to rest on his shoulder and Teomitl’s voice sounded from just under his ear. There was no trace of a slur to it, but the purring drawl was somehow worse. “Maybe it is. Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think it’s because I’m here with you.”
Acatl inhaled, closing his eyes. It didn’t help; the air was full of the mingled scents of alcohol and Teomitl’s skin, and with his eyes shut there was no distraction from how close they were. His blood thrummed relentlessly through his veins. Stop. Stop saying things like that, Teomitl. You make me want what I shouldn’t. “It’s the pulque. Trust me. You’ll regret this in the morning.” He set a hand on Teomitl’s arm, intending to put space between them, but something in his brain seemed to be confused at this very simple objective because he wound up squeezing lightly at his bicep instead. Teomitl really had very nice arms.
“Hmm.” It was a thoughtful sort of sound; when he looked into Teomitl’s face, he found him smirking wickedly. “I might regret drinking. But I won’t regret this.”
He swallowed, dropping his hand. “Regret—what?”
“Getting to see you like this.” Teomitl’s voice was hushed, as though he shared a great secret, but his eyes were alight with what could not be desire. “You are very...very handsome, Acatl-tzin.”
“I am what.” His voice cracked midsentence, making his face flame, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to the pulse-pounding heat of Teomitl’s words in his ears.
There was a hand on his knee, scattering his thoughts. Teomitl lowered his voice to the barest whisper. “You really have no idea what seeing you in your regalia does to me, do you? It’s devastating.”
Empty flattery, came his first reaction, but he knew he was lying to himself even as the words crossed his mind. Teomitl was never anything but honest, and it knocked the air from his lungs. He’s drunk—but that was a lie, too. He knew he should move—should pull away, take the rest of the pulque from Teomitl’s hands, put the boy to bed and make sure he’d be alright in the morning—but he was frozen to the mat. “Ngk,” he said intelligently.
The hand slid slowly, inexorably upwards, scorching a path over his skin. Where fingers curled around to the soft skin of his inner thigh, he could feel callouses where no one had ever touched him before. All awareness of anything else in the room faded away; there was only this hand on him, Teomitl’s solid presence the weight at the center of his world. Then the sloshing of an open jar caught his attention, and he registered that Teomitl was holding it out to him with a hot little smile. “Want some, Acatl-tzin? It’s quite good.”
I shouldn’t. I absolutely should not. But... But there was Teomitl all but draped over him, shamelessly roaming fingers starting to trace a meaningless pattern on his thigh, and his heart was hammering frantically against his ribcage. Only his own reflexively clenched fists were stopping him from—well. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he started touching Teomitl in return, but he knew it was something he wouldn’t come back from. He wasn’t sure it was something he’d want to come back from. I am High Priest of Lord and Lady Death. I am a servant of the gods, a keeper of the boundaries. And I...
Warm hands. A sunny smile. A body that moved like a jaguar through his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep. The knowledge that this was something he could never have, as untouchable as the heavens.
He snatched the jar from Teomitl’s hand and took a swig.
It burned. It burned, and he almost choked, but he made himself swallow anyway. The sensation faded from his mouth and tongue after a moment, but he could still feel it burning on its way down his throat. He took a breath and felt dizzy, but he wasn’t sure if that was the pulque—surely one sip couldn’t affect him so much?—or something within his own head. Tizoc-tzin would have me killed for this, came the thought in his head. Drinking with his young, impressionable brother, even in the privacy of my own home? My head would roll before I even had time to put the jar down. He thought he should probably be more afraid of that, but somehow the fear seemed far away. When he blinked, the world sharpened.
“Do you like it?” Teomitl’s smile was sweet, but his hand was still resting midway up Acatl’s thigh.
He had to clear his throat twice before he could manage words. “I—I do.” Maybe the pulque was hitting him already; his limbs were starting to feel distinctly unreal compared to the anchoring pressure of Teomitl’s hand.
“Good. Oh...” Teomitl tilted his head, eyes sharp. “Hold still.”
He froze.
He stayed frozen as that hand came up, calloused thumb impossibly soft as it brushed against the corner of his mouth. His breath ghosted against it, the only indication that he was in fact still breathing. He could almost taste Teomitl's skin; the boy was smiling at him from entirely too close, voice taking on a teasing lilt as he murmured, “You’ve got something...here.” When he drew back, there was a tiny droplet of pulque clinging to his thumb, and he held Acatl’s gaze as he licked it away.
Duality save me, he thought, but he knew the Duality wasn’t listening. There wasn’t a god that could help him now. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, in his gut, in the first stirrings of shamefully sharp arousal. “Teomitl,” he whispered, wide-eyed. It seemed to be the only thing he could say.
“Doesn’t it taste good, Acatl-tzin?” Teomitl’s tone was almost—almost—innocent, and Acatl might have been fooled if it wasn’t for the wicked smile on his face.
“I...” He’s enjoying this. Taunting me—no, worse. Toying with me. His face burned, and he wrenched his gaze away. Arousal be damned, he wouldn’t throw himself after someone who viewed it as a game. “Hrmph.”
Teomitl didn’t seem to notice his irritation. Strong fingers plucked the jar of pulque out of Acatl’s unresisting hands, and he sloshed it about meditatively to check how much was left. “Hmm. I think I’ll have some more.”
He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see. But he could feel the heat of Teomitl’s body still pressed against his side, all lean and solid and strong. They were so close together that he wasn’t sure which of their heartbeats he was feeling, though his own seemed fit to escape his chest. And then he heard Teomitl swallow, and the satisfied near-moan that escaped him pulsed through Acatl’s veins and straight to his cock.
Against all his better judgement, he looked back. Teomitl still had the jar to his lips, head tilted back as he took another long gulp. Moonlight outlined the curve of his cheekbones and the line of his nose, turning his short hair to black ink where it sank into the strands. A thin trickle of pulque was escaping the seal of his mouth, outlining the curve of his throat as it descended. Acatl felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He must have made a sound, because Teomitl cast him a sly, sideways glance as he lowered the jar and wiped his mouth off on his arm.
“I could feel you staring at my drink. You must be thirsty, Acatl-tzin. Want to finish it off?”
It’s not the jar I’m staring at. Not trusting himself to speak, he grabbed the jar and tossed back a mouthful. It burned less this time, settling in his stomach with an unfamiliar warmth. He decided he liked the taste; it was a realization that made him suddenly glad that Teomitl had already drunk most of it, because if Teomitl kept playing with him like he’d been since arriving he would be deeply, deeply tempted to—drink himself insensate was his first thought, but hard on its heels came a mental image that made him almost dizzy. He could do it. Teomitl had called him handsome, had been touching him like that all evening.
My student. A member of the imperial family. But there were fingers tracing the pattern of his cloak, close enough to press over the line of his hip, and all his very good and moral objections blew away like dust in the wind. If he was going to die anyway—and if Tizoc ever found out about this he would absolutely be very dead—he might as well go all the way.
Acatl took another long swallow of pulque, feeling it burn all the way down his throat, and kissed Teomitl on the mouth.
Teomitl’s reaction was immediate and electrifying. Acatl had very little idea what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter; Teomitl made the kiss hot and open-mouthed and filthy, his moan reverberating into Acatl’s own mouth. Hands slid under Acatl’s cloak, making their way up his chest and leaving fire behind. Gods, yes. Teomitl scraped a thumbnail lightly over one nipple, and he had to break away with a gasp at the new discovery that he liked that.
Teomitl breathed, “Well, that took you long enough,” and Acatl felt something in his head snap.
His muscles knew what he was doing before his brain did; faster than he could think it over, he’d grabbed Teomitl and shoved him down onto the mat, seizing his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Teomitl groaned desperately into it, burying his hands in his hair like a lifeline and scrabbling at the cord holding it back until it spilled over both of them. Now it was his turn to touch, pulling Teomitl’s cloak aside to run his hands over the firm muscles that had been tempting him for months. When he pressed his thumbs in hard enough to bruise just above Teomitl’s hips, he was rewarded with an eager little whine. He likes it like that. Rough, like that. His cock throbbed.
Teomitl made a noise that might have been words; when Acatl left his mouth to devote attention to his jaw instead, moving down over his throat, he panted, “You have no idea—how long—ah!”
Encouraged, he scraped his teeth over the same spot again and felt Teomitl arch under him. It sent a shudder down his own spine, and he had to brace himself for a moment with his fist wrapped around a corner of the mat. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. “You,” he growled against Teomitl’s skin, barely recognizing his own voice, “are trying to drive me mad.”
Teomitl sucked in a shaky breath, but the grin that flashed across his face was the same bright, confident one that had stolen Acatl’s heart. When he shifted under him, grinding just long enough to tease, it was Acatl’s turn to moan, and the grin took on an edge. “Is it working?” His eyes gleamed hungrily, and Acatl’s pulse pounded.
“What do you think?” He was done dreaming and wanting. Teomitl was offering himself on a silver platter, and he was going to take. He grabbed for Teomitl’s rear and hauled their hips together, giving the flesh a thorough squeeze as he reveled in the hard press of Teomitl’s erection against his own. Nails dug into his shoulderblades, the sting making him growl. Gods, yes. Mark me, mark me, make sure I remember this in the morning.
When he rolled his hips, Teomitl shuddered and writhed in his grasp. “Oh—Acatl-tzin.” The sound of his voice—half-wrecked already as he sobbed his name, and Acatl had barely done anything—sent such a wave of desire through him it was almost painful.
“I.” Words were the hardest thing he’d ever managed in his life, but he managed to get out “I want to touch you,” and Teomitl at least must have understood him because he was surging up, kissing him inexpertly but with great enthusiasm as he worked blindly at the knot holding his own loincloth shut.
There was no graceful way to do this in the dark; Teomitl’s knee knocked painfully into his thigh and a crash from behind them let him know one of them had managed to kick over the pulque jar, but none of that mattered when he was exposed to the night air with Teomitl spread out on his cloak like a feast under him, flushed and hard and looking at him with his heart in his eyes. “Like what you see, Acatl-tzin?”
Acatl kissed him again. It was the only possible response. Teomitl moaned into it; spurred on by the response, he cradled the back of Teomitl’s head with one hand to keep him there while he kissed a trail down his neck. The mark he’d left on the other side might bruise in the morning, but Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about that. Far more important were the noises Teomitl was making, wordless little cries turning to gasps when he nipped sharply at the skin.
And then, though clearly no less affected, Teomitl found his equilibrium and slid his hands over Acatl’s chest and down to his stomach. He shivered at the sensation, letting out a sound that turned into a moan against Teomitl’s collarbone when fingers found his cock and wrapped firmly around it. Teomitl’s voice was breathlessly smug in his ear. “Mm, do you like that?”
It was entirely different from the scant times he touched himself, but that didn’t make it any less of a shock to his system. Pleasure built slow with each upstroke, making him shudder and rock into it. It took him a moment to realize Teomitl had even asked a question. “Y—yes...”
Teomitl arched in a motion that dragged their cocks against each other, sending sparks up and down his spine. And that clever hand would—not—stop—working him. “Mmm, good.” His fingers rippled, and Acatl muffled a groan against his neck that made his voice hitch as he breathed, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long.”
He still sounded maddeningly composed, and Acatl snarled at it. “Is that why you came here? Tormenting me all night?” Teasing me. Showing up at my doorstep like that, sharing your pulque, touching me— It made his pulse race, and he rolled up and into Teomitl’s hands to claim his mouth again.
When he broke away—he still hadn’t really gotten the hang of remembering to breathe while they kissed—Teomitl huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh. “Maybe. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d— oh.” Acatl had managed to get a hand between them; now he was putting it to good use. Teomitl’s cock was hot and hard and absolutely perfect in his grip, and when he rolled his thumb over the head his whole body shuddered down to his bones.
“If I’d do this?” He stroked harder, and Teomitl thrust into his fist with an inarticulate noise. “Is this how you like it?” Now it was his turn to be relentless. Teomitl’s own ministrations had slowed a bit with this new pleasure, so he could focus on devoting further attention to his lover’s skin—there was a spot just where neck met collarbone that pulled out the sweetest sounds—while he pumped his cock. I want to feel you fall apart.
When he nipped experimentally at his skin, Teomitl keened and bucked into his grasp, pulling his head down onto his chest. “Yes.” Nails scraped down his back, and he shuddered and redoubled his efforts to hear Teomitl rock into him with desperate little punched-out gasps. He was achingly close, pressure building at the base of his spine, but his lover was more important. He bit down on his collarbone and felt Teomitl jolt, voice cracking with his cry of “Duality, Acatl, don’t stop—“
He sucked in a breath that burned his lungs. “I won’t.” Teomitl was so sweet, so hot, it made his head swim. I want— He had to close his eyes, shuddering. Gods, I want to wreck you.
He’d worked out a rhythm of twisting his wrist just so, and it must have worked; Teomitl surged under him, fingers raking all the way down his spine and catching in the tangles in his loose hair, and came so hard that he had to muffle a scream with a bite to Acatl’s shoulder. It made his nerves sing; for a dizzying moment he saw white, thought he was about to orgasm, and then Teomitl whispered “Acatl” like an obscene prayer and did something with his wrist and the pad of his thumb that sent him over the rest of the way with a groan.
He nearly collapsed onto Teomitl’s chest, catching himself on his elbows and breathing hard. For a long moment, he couldn’t think. The first thought that made its way through the fog and out of his mouth was a breathless, “Fuck,” which seemed entirely unsuited to the enormity of the situation. Teomitl had removed his hand from his cock, but it lingered gently on his hip as a visceral reminder.
“Nghm.” Teomitl still seemed to be searching for words himself, but the lilting hum and the smirk tugging at his lips suggested that that could easily be a possibility, if Acatl wanted.
He wanted. Gods, he wanted. Sex and alcohol still burned through his veins, desire itching to be sated. But even the thought brought an unpleasant twinge with it that let him know in no uncertain terms that he would, at the very least, need to rest first. He breathed out slowly, shaking his head; with space to think, he realized he was oversensitive and a little sore. He hadn’t thought it was possible to come so hard your stomach hurt, but apparently he’d been wrong.
Then again...he’d been wrong about a lot of things tonight. Like the likelihood of Teomitl seducing me. With effort, he found his voice. “We should...clean up.” The sticky mess between them would be unbearably itchy if they didn’t.
“Nghh.” Teomitl did not seem to want to clean up. Or move, for that matter. He let his head fall limply back on the mat, though a hand came up to card through Acatl’s hair. It was a strangely tender gesture. “Later. You wore me out, Acatl-tzin.”
He felt his face flush at the reminder of how he’d acted. Duality, Teomitl would have marks the next morning. So would he, and he could only hope his cloak would hide them. He should apologize, he knew, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. Teomitl came to me. I have nothing to apologize for. “You’ll know better next time, won’t you?” He only realized what he’d said after the words were already out of his mouth, too late to call them back. Next time. Presuming there was a next time, that it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment fluke brought on by pulque and Teomitl’s teasing touches.
Teomitl’s eyes shone soft in the moonlight, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat. Then he spoke, light and teasing. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a jaguar on the mat.”
“Teomitl!” Acatl glared down at him. The love bites on his throat were already darkening, and it sent a possessive thrill through him. I did that. And he liked it. He’d thought he was spent, but if Teomitl kept teasing him... “You enjoy riling me up.”
Teomitl’s grin was sleepily radiant, eyes already fluttering shut. “You like it.”
Irritation drained out of him. He could feel the steady thump of Teomitl’s heartbeat, soothing him to sleep and making something go soft in his chest. I do. Gods help me, I do. He heaved a sigh. Cleanup could wait until later; his own bones felt like solid rock. It was far easier to simply roll off Teomitl, curl around him with his head on his shoulder—yes, that was as comfortable as it looked—and let his eyes drift closed.
In the morning, he knew they’d have to talk about this. In the morning, he knew he’d wake up with a head full of regrets and pain. But for tonight, he slept.
