burn your kingdom down, pt 2 (hope is our gravity)

[notapaladin]

The aftermath, and a night of joy and pleasure amidst the uncertainty.

-

They had to stop kissing, eventually. Not that Acatl wanted to—gods, he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without it, every minute he wasn’t kissing Teomitl now felt like a tragic waste of time—but it turned out that not only was it possible to literally kiss someone breathless, doing so had a disagreeable tendency to suck all the moisture out of your mouth. And then, too, Teomitl was still weak from his injuries; when he arched his back with a groan that mingled pleasure with pain, Acatl pulled away with a murmured apology.

“Hmph,” Teomitl said into his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Acatl set a hand on his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through several layers of bandages. Teomitl was trembling a little, and he didn’t think it was from the lingering heat of their kisses. Gods, he could still feel that mouth on his. “You should eat. Regain your strength.”

“Mmm.” He was frowning as he drew away, but he dutifully returned to picking at his food.

Acatl spent a long moment just watching him, his heart so full that he thought it would burst. He looked like he’d been kissed, hair ruffled and mouth red, and didn’t seem inclined to fix either one of those things. The warm hands currently wrapping up another bite-sized mouthful of fish and peppers in a piece of flatbread had just been on Acatl’s own skin, tracing old scars as though they were something precious. I love you. The words pulsed through him in time with his heartbeat, but even as he started to smile a second, more vicious thought crept in to steal his joy. I love you, and I almost lost you.

Abruptly, not touching Teomitl was absolutely impossible. Before he could think better of it, he shifted closer and put an arm around his lover’s waist.

Teomitl twitched in surprise, a little like a startled hound. For an instant he didn’t seem to know what to do, and then he took a deep breath and slowly—infinitesimally slowly—relaxed until Acatl was rewarded with a solid warmth leaning against his side. He took a shallow breath as a disquieting realization hit him. Has anyone other than Mihmatini ever simply held him? This close, he could see the way his lover’s jaw clenched to fight back a yawn.

“You could sleep.” I’m not going anywhere.

Teomitl made a disgruntled noise. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

Since Teomitl wasn’t looking at him—he was instead determinedly applying himself to his meal as though each bite was a foe to be conquered—he gave into the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m well aware. But I seem to recall you fussing over me when my injuries weren’t nearly so severe, so you can hardly complain if I return the favor. I did tell you I love you, didn’t I?” It came out huffier than he’d intended it to, and for a moment he thought he’d misstepped.

Then Teomitl, turning red, set his plate down and buried his face into the side of Acatl’s neck. His voice came out muffled by his skin. “You did. Your timing is still terrible.”

He couldn’t help but smile into Teomitl’s hair. It was tempting to pet down his side, and so he did—because he could, because now he was allowed . He kept his touch gentle, feeling the way it made him shiver. “I’ll have to keep repeating myself until it isn’t, then.”

“Acatl.”

Even just the sound of his name as a mortified complaint on Teomitl’s lips made his heart melt. Words failed him; all he could do was shift his weight so they both sat a bit more comfortably, Teomitl warm and heavy against him. The frescoes on the walls seemed to gleam a little more brightly. Chicomecoatl’s own luck must be with me, because I surely don’t deserve this.

Teomitl’s breathing turned slow and measured. He was quiet for so long that Acatl thought he’d fallen asleep, and then he murmured, “...Since when have you loved me, anyway?”

Gods. “I don’t know,” he began, but almost immediately he realized it was partially a lie. He might not know when it started, but he knew the first time he’d been sure of it—the first time he’d looked at Teomitl and the realization that his feelings were far from platonic had dropped into his mind like the first rain after the dry season. At the time, he’d been horrified at himself; it seemed ridiculous in hindsight. “I think...certainly when you came to see me after the plague.”

Teomitl drew in a breath. “You remember that?” It didn’t sound as though it pleased him, and Acatl wondered why. Had he really regretted his actions that much?

He flattened his palm against the corded muscle overlaying Teomitl’s ribs, feeling the way it made his lover’s breath catch. “I’ll never forget. You were...you looked...” He shook his head. “Imperial.” Gods, there was no way to describe the emotions that had swamped him on that day. Teomitl had lifted his head and was staring at him, but he kept his eyes on his lover’s discarded plate. “I knew I’d serve you—love you—with my whole heart.”

Teomitl made a soft noise, and when Acatl turned his head their mouths met again. It was soft and sweet, and when Teomitl breathed, “Mm, Acatl...” into the space between them he knew he was lost again.

Gentle, whispered the rational part of his mind. He’s still injured. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from sliding his hand down over the curve of Teomitl’s hip, and when he did that Teomitl made a sound that had him deepening their kiss, burying a hand in Teomitl’s thick hair to pull him closer. He wanted—he needed—more. It quickly turned almost biting, their lips parting for each other’s tongues just briefly enough to be intoxicating, and when Teomitl ran a hand over his chest and caught the edge of a nipple with one nail he gasped at the spark of pleasure.

When they pulled apart, Teomitl didn’t go far. His voice was rough, his eyes were shining, and he was beautiful. “All this time I thought I had no chance, that you were indifferent at best...”

The hand on his chest slid down over his stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t think past the entirely inappropriate surge of lust. Then his words hit him, and he felt his face go hot. “All this—I mean, how long have you...?”

At least he wasn’t the only one; Teomitl actually had to avert his gaze, voice lowering as though he was embarrassed by the answer he gave. “Months.” There was a short huff of laughter. “Sometimes I think it was even from the moment you threw a knife at me—“

He bristled. “I did not throw it at you—“

“—but when Tizoc tried to kill you...that’s when I knew. The idea of losing you...it nearly killed me.” His voice grew softer and softer; when Acatl smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, he trembled. “I think it might have, if he’d succeeded.”

For a long moment, he found himself speechless. Memories flashed crystal-clear through his mind—the ahuizotls charging to his rescue, Teomitl’s hands on his knives for an instant before he handed them over, a cut-off comment that he didn’t look well. The way he’d smiled, as proud as anything, when he’d told him he’d broken out of his rooms to save him. Duality. How must he have been feeling, knowing I might die? But that was a question he already knew the answer to. The same way I felt when he was bleeding in my arms. “...I’m here,” he whispered. “And I won’t leave you.”

Teomitl’s sweet smile made him blush all over again. “I know.”

What else could he do except kiss him? The first brush of soft lips against his made him hope, just for a moment, that he’d succeed in keeping it gentle. The last thing he wanted to do was jostle Teomitl’s still-healing wounds.

Teomitl, it seemed, had other plans. He let Acatl control the pace for the span of a heartbeat before surging up, twisting in Acatl’s arms like a snake to bury both hands in his hair and press him down onto the mat. Stunned, off-balance, he went willingly. The reeds were a little rough even through his cloak, but that came a distant second to the way Teomitl seemed determined to devour him. It was a kiss with teeth, and he let out a breathless moan when a knee nudged his thighs apart.

“We should—“ He cut himself off with a gasp, because Teomitl’s mouth had lowered to his throat and the heat of those lips on his skin sent desire simmering through his veins. “Ah—nnh, Teomitl, we need to figure out what to do about Tizoc-tzin.”

That got Teomitl’s attention, at least. When he lifted his head, his voice was a soft, dark thing, like a jaguar with its claws out. “I said I’d give it a few years, Acatl. But if you want...”

His heart was pounding. It took him a moment to breathe, and then he rasped out, “No.”

“Hm. Alright, then.” Teomitl shifted, bracing himself on the mat, and Acatl realized he was shaking with the effort. It seemed that not even nearly dying had taught him the value of knowing his own limits, and it made something soft unfurl in his chest.

When he pushed himself upright, gently folding them both back into a more-or-less seated position, Teomitl went without trouble. It left him essentially in Acatl’s lap, which wasn’t something he would ever complain about. Teomitl was just so warm. He indulged in holding him for a while before he spoke. “Mihmatini said...that you wanted to kill him for my sake.”

Teomitl inhaled slowly, letting it out in a sigh against his collarbone. His brief burst of energy seemed to have faded. “I did. I do.”

Another tide of emotion nearly swamped him, and he had to stroke Teomitl’s spine in a vain attempt to let it out. I knew that, but gods, to hear it from his lips... “Thank you,” he murmured. “For staying your hand.”

Teomitl’s lips curved in a soft smile against his skin. “I love you,” he said simply.

His heart skipped a beat. He’d seen what Teomitl was like in defense of those he loved. “Knowing that makes me even more grateful, you know. That you haven’t done it yet.” When you could, and I know you could, but you say that you love me...and because of that, Tizoc-tzin keeps his throne another day.

“You asked me not to. As one man to another. I would have honored that, even if you didn’t return my affections.” Teomitl blew out a meditative breath and added, “That...that was why I didn’t tell you before...all that happened.”

Acatl blinked down at him. From this angle, he mostly had a good look at the side of Teomitl’s face, but he thought he saw him turning red. “Hm?”

Oh, he was definitely blushing. It was far more endearing than it had any right to be, especially when he muttered, “I thought you saw me as a child, as someone you could never respect. I wasn’t going to waste my breath if that was true .”

“You.” He took a breath. “You have always been worthy of my respect. And as for the rest of that...” He couldn’t stop a smile. “I think the time for seeing you as anything less than a man has decidedly passed.” To prove it, he slid his fingers up the side of Teomitl’s neck and back down, digging in his nails just enough to wring a full-body shudder out of him.

Teomitl lifted his head. For a moment they locked eyes, his gaze hungry—and then he kissed him. Hard. He seemed to be determined to prove that his injuries were no barrier to this; though he was still leaning against him, a boneless weight in Acatl’s arms, the heat of his mouth and the little sounds he made when Acatl’s nails dug into his back were designed to tempt him to forget that. To lift him up, pull him all the way onto his lap, disregard all thoughts of weakness and recovery in a bid to tear his plain loincloth aside and—

He broke away with a groan, breathing hard, and ruthlessly pushed away the pounding heat of arousal. Now was not the time. Thoughts were slow to trickle back into his mind, but then he remembered what he’d meant by bringing up Tizoc-tzin. “What I was— going to say is that we have to be careful. He already hates me, and with how paranoid he is—if he turns his attention towards you...”

“I’ll handle him.” Teomitl’s smile was brief and sharp. If he hadn’t chosen that moment to lay a hand on Acatl’s chest in a reassuring little pet, it might have made him nervous.

Well. More nervous. The part of his mind that always considered the consequences of his acts felt like a pot of water just about to boil, an unpleasant roiling mass of vows and politics and laws. There was no space for regrets—there would never be space for regrets, not with Teomitl in his arms and in his heart—but he was suddenly far too aware of what they risked. “And we have to be discreet.”

Teomitl hummed, voice taking on a teasing lilt. “So I shouldn’t cover you in gold and jade...?”

He felt himself flush. “Teomitl.”

His lover sighed, stroking his chest in a gentle, meaningless pattern. “I know you’re not one for luxuries. Don’t worry.”

He took a moment to imagine it—jade on his fingers, gold in his hair, beautiful slaves to attend his every whim. It made something squirm hot in his gut. Embarrassment, mostly. But hot on its heels came a surge of desire; yes, it was mortifying to picture himself being treated like a prince, but if Teomitl really wanted to spoil him...well. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d say no. “Nngh. If you—if you must give me gifts, do try and keep them practical.”

“I will.” Teomitl huffed. “We have enough to worry about without Tizoc wondering where half our treasury’s wandered off to—and yes, that was a joke, shush.”

My sister’s been a terrible influence on you, he thought fondly. Then he remembered their newest, greatest worry, and the warmth that had started to bubble up in his chest faded. Even though he still held Teomitl—a small furnace wrapped in sinewy muscle—he felt cold. “...The Smoking Mirror.”

Teomitl frowned thoughtfully. “Mm.”

The room around them was bright with sunlight and frescoes, but he saw none of it. His thoughts drifted back to that warehouse full of blood and carnage, and he swallowed through a throat that felt like ice. Because of me. He set that trap—tried to kill Teomitl—because of me. “I don’t think he’s done with us.”

“...No. We wouldn’t be that lucky.” He made a face. “So what do we do about it?”

Fear wanted to choke him, but he forced it back. His death was not upon him yet, and Teomitl was warm and alive in his arms. All else could be dealt with as it came. But he still struggled to find an answer, and it took a while before he responded. “I think...for now, the best thing to do is wait. The ritual I used—it severs the connection between a soul and any vessel in the Fifth World. Even for a god, it would take some time to come back from that. We’ve got a little space to prepare.”

Teomitl sighed. “If we’re fortunate, it will be another seven years until then.”

It was his turn to make an unhappy noise. “If. In the meantime, I think I’d best make an appointment to speak to Tezcatlipoca’s High Priest. He will know his god best.”

“Ah,” Teomitl said.

Acatl gradually became aware that Teomitl had probably heard that as a dismissal. And, on one hand, it would be prudent of him to make his farewells and leave now, in hopes of catching the man he meant to find as soon as possible. On the other hand, Teomitl was curled against him like he belonged there, and he’d always been weak to the way that he smiled. It was radiant as the dawn, warming him from the inside out, and he wanted to see it again.

One more kiss wouldn’t hurt. He’d stop by the temple of Tezcatlipoca later and see what Cozcatototl had to say.

&

He’d expected to make himself known to Tezcatlipoca’s Fire Priest, be politely turned away, and given a time to speak with the man that was more convenient for him. High Priest for the Dead he might be, but he was the son of peasants; Cozcatototl—the name meant “jewelled bird,” and he carried himself as arrogantly as one—was as nobly born as Quenami. No matter what his god had done, there was no reason to bestir himself on Acatl’s behalf.

And indeed, he had apparently picked a busy day; when he arrived at Tezcatlipoca’s temple, they were doing a fine impression of an overturned anthill. He waited by the gate, watching the chaos, and tried to regulate his breathing.

It was harder than he thought. The Smoking Mirror’s magic wasn’t especially inimical to his—no more than Huitzilopochtli’s or Tlaloc’s was, at any rate—but this was a god who’d decided to hate him personally, and some of that seething animosity was reflected in the gray-black magic that clung to His priests and temple. His chest was too tight; when he moved his head too quickly, black spots danced at the edges of his vision. He was sure he’d had a speech prepared—he’d thought it up during the walk from the Duality House, after taking his leave of Teomitl and Mihmatini—but he couldn’t quite remember what he was going to say.

He half wondered if retracing his steps might help, but that would require straying near the Duality House again. He wasn’t sure he quite trusted himself not to go right back inside. He and Teomitl had kissed until Teomitl’s eyelids had fluttered shut, until he’d breathed Go on, Acatl, you have work to do, and even though his lover was sleeping now it was a terrible temptation just to watch him. And Mihmatini...

His dear, beloved, favorite sister had clasped his hands in hers, beaming, and wished him luck. Right before telling him, so casually, that if he could deal with Teomitl’s sleeping habits he was a far stronger and more patient person than she was. He hadn’t stopped blushing until the entire Duality House compound was out of sight.

“Acatl-tzin?!”

Tezcatlipoca’s Fire Priest bustled up to him. Underneath the black stripes of his paint, the older man looked exhausted. Acatl couldn’t remember his name offhand, but he bowed and hoped that politeness would make up for his lapse of memory. “Good afternoon. I have somewhat pressing questions for your high priest.”

The man didn’t exactly wince, but he nevertheless managed to give the impression that Acatl had asked for something much more difficult than a meeting. “Ah. Wait—wait right here and I’ll fetch him, shall I?”

As he bustled off, Acatl leaned against the gatepost to wait. The stone that should have been warmed by the sun bit into his skin; the logical course would have been to remain upright, but in truth he was glad of the excuse to lean against something. Being with Teomitl, even when the man was recovering from such severe injuries, took an unexpected amount of energy. He wondered, briefly, what he would be like on the mat—and then he flushed, shaking his head as though that would clear out such thoughts, because this was absolutely not the right time or place for him to be imagining that. Focus. Southern Hummingbird blind me, am I so desperate for him that I can’t even focus on the safety of the Fifth World now that I have him?

He didn’t have much time to castigate himself. He’d barely had enough time to scuff some of the dust of the Sacred Precinct off his sandals before he made out Tezcatlipoca’s High Priest nearly running down the steps of the temple. The black and yellow stripes on his face didn’t quite hide the stress in his eyes; even when he slowed down to a stately pace and bowed to the precise degree necessary, his hands twitched as though he’d quite like to clench them into fists.

“Acatl-tzin.”

Acatl bowed back, keeping his eyes on him. “Cozcatototl-tzin. Might we speak privately?”

Was it his imagination, or did Cozacatototl flinch at that? “Of course.”

Then he was turning on his heel and striding off, and Acatl found himself hard-pressed to match his pace as he wove around his scurrying priests and led the way to a richly appointed meeting room. The murals depicted Tezcatlipoca in all His glory; He covered the walls as both the jaguar and the chilling night wind, tearing at the flesh of His sacrifices. The wall opposite the door was almost entirely taken up by a fresco of Him seated between His consorts, all four of His wives greeting Him as supplicants no matter that they were powerful goddesses in Their own rights. Acatl felt vaguely uncomfortable looking at it.

Not that he had much time to study it, because Cozcatototl was calling for refreshments and gesturing for him to be seated on a thick reed mat laid over a black ocelot pelt, so courtesy demanded he at least nod to his host. “Thank you.”

Cozcatototl definitely flinched at that. “It is the least I could do.”

As they sat, Acatl took a moment to study the man across from him. He was younger than him, with the sleek and well-fed look of a man who’d never gone hungry a day in his life. His hair had been matted with blood; amidst the tangles, he spotted the glint of gold and obsidian. Some priests of Tezcatlipoca slashed the backs of their own calves to imitate their patron’s limp; though he’d piously followed suit, he walked straight.

And he kept fidgeting, even when cold cups of maguey sap and a plate of roasted agave worms were set in front of them. It was a far cry from the snappish, offended young man that had insisted his priests had had nothing at all to do with the sorcerer’s knife.

At least the food was good. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. It took a moment—and the accidental demolishing of half the plate—before he realized they’d been sitting in silence, and he still had no idea how to bring up what he’d came for. “Mm.”

Cozcatototl took a breath and braced his hands on his thighs. “Acatl-tzin. I...”

That didn’t sound like the prelude to what in the Fifth World do you want. He set down his cup and frowned. “Yes?”

“I wish to apologize.” It looked like the words actually pained him; if he hadn’t been so clearly striving for dignity, Acatl was sure he’d be wincing.

Well. That was unexpected. “For what?”

“For—“ He made a frustrated stabbing motion with his hand. “I’ve heard you once stopped my patron from taking His place as the Sixth Sun ahead of His proper time. He can be vindictive and easily angered, but I had no idea He would take your previous encounter with Him so personally!”

Acatl blinked at him. Of all the possible reactions Cozcatototl could have to the news of his patron god’s defeat, he hadn’t expected guilt. The world would be a better place if Acamapichtli reacted the same when I faced Tlaloc, he thought sourly. “You...”

He sucked in a hard breath. “If I’d thought of it, I could have warned you. I didn’t—it didn’t even occur to me until after I heard how your little expedition went.”

Blood and carnage painted itself across the inside of his mind, and he suppressed a shudder. No. I left Teomitl safe and sleeping. He is recovering perfectly well, and soon it will be as though he was never wounded at all. “So you know why I’m here.”

Cozcatototl sat back and—for once—met his eyes. “My inaction could have gotten you and the Master of the House of Darts killed. I’m prepared to make whatever restitution you desire.”

From the set of his jaw, Acatl knew he was serious. I’ve misjudged him. The thought sat uneasily in his gut, and so to cover it he shook his head. “The Smoking Mirror has decided to hold a grudge. I came to inquire as to the likelihood of immediate retaliation.”

His face twisted. “We’re trying to appease Him as quickly as possible. But after what you did—I will not ask for details, I don’t want to know—He is...angry.”

“I gathered that,” he said dryly.

“Did you?” Cozcatototl eyed him skeptically, for a moment back to the arrogant noble-born priest Acatl had first met. “Because I feel you may have underestimated His anger somewhat. When Lord Death rages, does He scream in your head?”

He blinked. “...Lord Death does not rage.”

“How fortunate for you.” Cozcatototl sighed. “The Smoking Mirror is wroth, Acatl-tzin. We are doing what we can, but I suggest you ward yourself and your loved ones as well as possible—especially those who have been touched by His rage before.”

There was something in the man’s tone that struck a chord of dread within him. No. There were no witnesses—Mihmatini wouldn’t let anything slip. But Cozcatototl was looking at him as though he knew, and something cold and hard slithered through his stomach. He kept his voice even and willed his hands to remain steady. “I—suppose the Breath of the Precious Twin is what you recommend, at the very least.” His own god would be of no help; Mictlantecuhtli was no protection against anything, unless you really didn’t want to have a pulse anymore. He hated the idea of having Quetzalcoatl’s gaze fixed on him, but with Tezcatlipoca having declared a personal grudge, he’d suffer through it. It’s not just my life at stake.

He wasn’t surprised when the man nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt. Do that, and surround yourselves with light. This is not yet over.”

Great. By force of will, he managed not to grimace. “Thank you for your warning.”

And then he rose and went to follow Cozcatototl’s advice.

&

The Breath of the Precious Twin turned out to be the easiest part. Expensive—even the knowledge that his temple could afford it made him wince to hand over so many quetzal feathers and cotton cloaks—but still the easiest. Setting up additional wards, on the other hand, turned out to be a trial. The Duality House was probably the best-warded complex in Tenochtitlan, but he refused to cower in his sister’s home while he waited for the all-clear from Cozcatototl. The palace, only slightly less protected, was right out. Nothing so commonplace as a threat to his life would induce him to share a roof with the likes of Tizoc and Quenami. To his relief, nobody even suggested it.

That left his temple and his own house, both of which were...well. Nothing impregnated by so much of Mictlantecuhtli’s magic was much inclined to hold onto wards of any sort. They had to work in layers, and it was a long and arduous process. Mixcoatl was first, the blood of two wolves and a jaguar holding down copper-tinged shimmers of magic. It went well enough until one of them bit Ichtaca, laying his hand open to the bone. While he cursed viciously and bound it up, Acatl stepped forward to finish the ritual.

The ward tried to slip off.

I don’t think so.

He felt a bit like cursing himself, but applied himself to the words of the spell with renewed fervor. It took two repetitions, but eventually the magic stuck, and they had a scaffolding upon which to lay more. Xolotl was next; His spell, brief though it was, acted as a bridge for Quetzalcoatl’s clergy to do their work. They approached their rituals with a certain tinge of irritation he found oddly reassuring. At least he wasn’t the only one who objected to the Smoking Mirror’s ill-temper.

The priests of the Duality were the last to lend their strength, and Mihmatini led them. She was resplendent in her full regalia, the blue light of her magic rippling like water, and when it was finished she didn’t even stagger. Her priests looked mildly impressed; Acatl had to beat back a swell of absurd pride.

It took two days to finish all the rituals and clean up afterwards. When all the wards were in place—any more and they’d probably implode under their own weight—he found himself sharing a meal with Mihmatini and Teomitl in his courtyard. He knew not to look at the sky or the walls with his priest-senses; all the layered rituals overlapping would give him, at best, a terrible headache. He focused on his meal instead, acutely conscious of Teomitl by his side. He’d been cautious of taking the spot on the mat next to him, but then Teomitl had looked at him and his legs had folded almost automatically.

Mihmatini had the slightly unfocused look that said she was studying the wards with her own magical senses. She seemed to see something she approved of, because she nodded. “Alright, then.”

He recognized the signs of her gearing up for a fine rage—the furrowed brow, the narrowed eyes. He fought the well-honed urge to make himself as unobtrusive as possible in favor of taking another bite of his grilled frog. Teomitl’s fingers strayed lightly against his calf, and he felt his face go hot.

Finally, she set her own skewer down and took a breath. “Of course, the Smoking Mirror will one day take his place as the Sun. That’s how it should be. That’s what’s right.”

Teomitl lifted his head to study her. After a moment he commented, with the dry fondness of a man who lived with her every day, “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

Another slow, deep breath. Acatl saw her fists clench until her knuckles turned pale. “But I swear to you, if it were possible to wring the neck of a god...”

Teomitl’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you’d have to get in line.”

Against all laws of common sense and basic self-preservation, and while Acatl for his own part was trying very, very hard not to list any of the hundreds of reasons why they shouldn’t be talking like this, Teomitl’s words made her smile. She reached across the mat to pat his hand. “You’d leave me something, wouldn’t you?”

He huffed. “Of course I would.”

Acatl opened his mouth to protest—one did not talk so casually of taking down the vessels of gods, even if it had been done before and especially not if doing it had nearly killed you—but then Teomitl gave his hand a squeeze and what actually came out was a strangled “Gnrkh.”

This smile was softly radiant, and Teomitl’s voice held no hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t take kindly to anyone wishing harm on the people I love. You know that.”

He found his voice somewhere. “Teomitl.” Even if Mihmatini knew, to have it spoken aloud—in front of her—was enough to make him turn crimson. She can’t really—I know she said she was alright with it, that we had her blessing, but—

But then Mihmatini looked between them with fierce eyes and said “Good,” and he felt some of the tension drain away.

The rest of the meal was quiet. He and Mihmatini were drained from the spells they’d been casting, and he wasn’t really up to much conversation; Teomitl had indeed made a full recovery from his wounds with only some impressive new scars to show for it, but he ate with singleminded focus. Once or twice Acatl lifted his head to catch a sideways glance, only for him to quickly look away.

It wasn’t until Mihmatini left, claiming exhaustion, that Teomitl spoke up again. “Acatl?”

He was suddenly very aware that they were alone in his courtyard, that Teomitl was still just barely touching him. The night breeze stirring his hair reminded him viscerally of what it had felt like to have Teomitl’s hands in it. He swallowed, mouth dry; when he licked his lips, he saw Teomitl’s gaze dart towards the movement. “Yes?”

Teomitl drew in a long breath and very carefully did not look at him. It was hard to see in the flickering torchlight, but he thought he was blushing. “Do you want...should I...?”

His face burned, but he took Teomitl’s hand. “Stay with me.” I don’t want to be alone tonight. Not when I could spend it in your arms.

Teomitl nodded a little jerkily—he’s shy, Acatl realized, and bit back a smile at the thought that at least it made two of them—but when they made to rise he sprang to his feet. They stood together for a moment, and Acatl had just enough time to hope he wasn’t somehow going about this the wrong way—

And then he was being kissed, hot and hungry. It was like they’d been separated for months instead of mere days; Teomitl grabbed his hips, pulling him in, and when he caught his lower lip gently between his teeth Acatl let out an entirely involuntary moan.

“Gods, I missed you—“ Their lips were still barely touching, and Teomitl cut himself off with another kiss. The part of Acatl’s brain still capable of rational thought wondered if he, too, wanted to make up for lost time—but then that mouth left his and started to explore his throat, mapping out a sensitive spot just under his jaw, and the sizzling shock of pleasure that sent through him was a reminder that he wanted more.

He dug his fingers into Teomitl’s hair, pulling his head up. His lover’s eyes were wide and dark. “Inside,” he managed, and got another of those jerky nods in response.

They all but stumbled through the entrance curtain to the room where Acatl slept—there was a discordant jangle of bells, but he ignored it. Touching Teomitl was more important. Even their thin cloaks were entirely too much fabric separating him from bare skin; when he went for the knot holding Teomitl’s closed, he was rewarded with a breathless “Thank the gods, I wasn’t sure if you...”

“You didn’t think I’d want to do this?” This was smoothing a hand down the ridges of Teomitl’s spine; this was lowering his mouth to Teomitl’s throat to see whether the spot that had made his nerves sing would have the same effect on his lover. It pulled an intoxicating moan from him, vibrating against Acatl’s lips, and he trembled in return at the surge of desire through his own veins. Experimentally, he scraped his teeth over that same spot and was rewarded with a full-body jolt that pressed their hips together.

Oh. Teomitl was hard already, and the realization made him have to pull back just far enough to breathe. His own blood was racing through his veins straight to his cock, and for a moment he couldn’t think past how much he wanted him.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.” Teomitl’s voice was ragged as he tore at the knot of Acatl’s cloak, sending it cascading to the floor. Then his hands were on Acatl’s shoulders, pressing him back and down, and they fell to the mat together.

And this was new, this was important, and he was suddenly intensely glad he’d followed Cozcatototl’s advice and lit every torch in his possession, because now he could see. Teomitl was all lean muscle and movement, roaming hands sliding over his skin as though he was determined to map every inch by feel. Scars caught the light, and he had a second to think wistfully I want to touch them before he remembered that he could.

So he did. The newest ones first, rough raised lines where the Smoking Mirror’s claws had laid his chest open, and the first brush of his fingers on skin made Teomitl shiver. These could have killed you.

Something in his face must have showed his thoughts, because Teomitl caught his wrist lightly. Slowly, not breaking eye contact, he brought Acatl’s hand up and pressed a kiss to his palm.

Acatl drew in a long breath. When Teomitl let his hand go, he curled his fingers lightly against soft skin for a moment before tracing down his jaw, over the side of his neck—and then, remembering what had gotten a reaction last time, he drew his nails down slowly over the skin. Teomitl swallowed, eyes sliding shut, and breathed his name.

Then he lunged forward to capture his mouth again. Acatl’s back hit the mat with a thump, but he barely noticed; the much more important thing was that Teomitl’s fingers were scrabbling through his hair until they untied the cord holding it back, that his free hand was sliding up the flat plane of his stomach, that when Acatl dug his fingers into the meat of his back it got an appreciative groan and a roll of his hips that left no question how much he was enjoying it.

He was viscerally aware of the heat bracketed between his thighs. All instinct said to wrap his legs around Teomitl’s waist and pull him closer, closer, but he made himself speak instead. “Nn—Teomitl.” Teomitl was mouthing wickedly down the side of his neck, and he bucked helplessly before remembering himself. “What do you want? Tonight?”

Teomitl drew back, eyes heated. He’d wrapped a lock of Acatl’s hair around his fist as though that would hold him in place, and the thought thrilled him. “You.”

He took one breath. Another. He thought fleetingly of all the times he’d dreamed of this—of Teomitl above him, looking down at him so hungrily, of the insistent press of their bodies together. Of how it would feel to have Teomitl inside him. “You can have me.”

“Oh gods.” It came out in a groan.

He must want this as badly as I do. It was a thought that was borne out as truth a moment later, when Teomitl’s hand slid down over his stomach and lower, to palm the bulge in his loincloth. The shock of it made him writhe, but Teomitl didn’t tease for long. He gave him a firm squeeze, and Acatl arched with a gasp. “Ah—“

“You sound so sweet.” His fingers rippled; when Acatl bucked, seeking more friction, he released his hold on his hair to grab for his hip instead, holding him in place. The look in his eyes was pure hunger. “Even better than I imagined.”

Acatl’s mouth went dry. “And how much have you imagined?”

“Everything.”

With that, nothing could have kept his hands from Teomitl’s skin. He flattened both palms against his back, feeling hard muscle ripple as Teomitl shivered, and ran a long and deliberate stroke all the way down his spine to settle at his hips. Teomitl went eagerly, rocking himself forward in a way that sent him rubbing up against Acatl’s cock and his own fingers; the coiling heat in his gut made him groan, and for a moment he thought Gods, I could get off from this alone, but then he remembered the heat in Teomitl’s voice and made himself still, trembling with anticipation, as Teomitl’s fingers went for the knot of his loincloth.

When he hesitated, Acatl wanted to strangle him. “Have you ever...?”

His blood was roaring so loudly in his veins that it was a miracle he could even hear himself speak. “You know I haven’t. And if you ask me if I’m sure, I swear—“

“I wasn’t going to.” There was a brief flicker of a smile, something with too many teeth to be called careless. “But if you want me to fuck you, we need oil or something and I didn’t bring any. I wasn’t expecting to be hauled onto your mat tonight.”

Biting back a spike of irritation, he propped himself up on one elbow only to realize he couldn’t possibly reach the wicker chest with its gourd of oil from this angle. I might have planned this better. “Over there.”

Teomitl’s smirk was wicked, but he was mercifully silent as he retrieved the oil and settled back between Acatl’s thighs. But then he was undoing his loincloth, and the silence took on a different flavor as his gaze slid over his hard cock. Acatl watched, face burning, as he licked his lips. “Oh.” His voice was rough, and Acatl realized with a hard jolt that he liked what he saw.

I’m not that impressive, he wanted to say. But Teomitl was shedding his own loincloth, and all words were failing him. Of course he’d imagined Teomitl naked—had spent a considerable amount of time imagining it, in fact—but the reality exceeded his most fevered dreams. Teomitl’s cock was a glory, flushed and dark and a little bit curved, maybe a little bit larger than his, and suddenly he was desperate to know how it would feel inside him.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl locked eyes with him even as a hand slid up his thigh. “If there’s truth to the idea that your virginity grants you any magical protection—“

“There is not.” He drew a breath and mentally consigned whoever had come up with that rumor to the lowest, most agonizing depths of Mictlan. “And if there was, I can’t say that I’d care.” If either of us could die tomorrow—well. I’ll die having known this, and be happy.

For a moment, Teomitl looked surprised—but then he grinned, hot and bright, and uncorked the gourd to pour a generous helping of oil over his fingers. It dripped onto the floor and over Acatl’s sensitive flesh; when he trembled, Teomitl soothed him with a slow pet to his inner thigh. “Relax for me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

I don’t mind if it hurts, he thought, but then Teomitl was sliding a finger in and he found himself unable to voice it. It was entirely different from this angle, had been so long since he’d even done it for himself that at first his body wasn’t sure if it approved—and then Teomitl’s finger curled against that spot that made him see stars, and he groaned. “I—nnh.”

“Was that good?” Teomitl paused infuriatingly, head tilted, but the question was clearly rhetorical because when Acatl rocked his hips he did it again, sending another spark up his spine.

He sucked in a hard breath. “Yes, gods, keep going—“ Teomitl didn’t need the encouragement; he grabbed Acatl’s knee to keep his legs spread, leaning over him, and worked his way in deeper. He wasn’t close enough to kiss, and that was a travesty, but when Acatl set a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, the hitched moan that escaped was sweeter.

Gods, and like this he could feel the way Teomitl’s breathing shifted. “More?”

“Ah, please...” Teomitl didn’t make him wait, and he was grateful for that; a second finger slid in along the first, and now it was starting to be a proper stretch and he arched helplessly into it, all of his prior embarrassment gone in favor of chasing the building heat licking up his spine. He knew he was making desperate little noises with each thrust, but he didn’t care.

Teomitl rocked against him, grinding their cocks together. “Duality, I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re beautiful.”

“Baseless—hah—flattery—gods, don’t tease...” Because it was teasing; he knew he could come from this, and Teomitl had to know that too, and yet the slick slide of his fingers stayed just on one side of not enough. He bucked his hips and the pace didn’t alter at all.

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “You think you’re ready for me?”

At any other time he might have been offended. Now, any such feeling was effectively drowned out by the need coursing through him. He spread his legs wider, arching to put himself on display. “Past ready.”

Teomitl shifted onto his knees to guide himself in, tension in every line of his body when he breached that ring of muscle. The first thrust had him halfway in; the second had him hilted, flush against Acatl’s hips, and for a moment he braced himself on the mat with his eyes squeezed shut. “Ah...”

Acatl trembled around him. “Don’t.” He’d never felt so full in his life; Teomitl was hot and hard in him, and he needed more like he needed to breathe. He was exquisitely conscious of each small shift of his cock. “Don’t be careful with me.”

Teomitl nodded. Drew his hips back.

And slammed back in hard.

“Oh, fuck.” The words were all but torn out of him; Teomitl was setting a ruthless pace, and there was no time for him to adjust. He didn’t want to adjust; all he wanted, all he needed, was to meet each thrust with a buck of his own hips. For all that, it took a moment until they established a rhythm that did more than frustrate him; it was only when Teomitl ground his hips forward in a rough circle that the stray sparks flashing through him coalesced into a blaze.

It was almost too much; he needed to do something to relieve the building pressure. When he clawed roughly down Teomitl’s back, his lover shuddered and fucked into him harder. “Gods—gods, you feel—ah!” His voice cracked as Acatl squeezed around him, and when Acatl buried a hand in his hair and yanked him down to take a bruising kiss he made an incoherent noise into it. “Mm...”

And he kept moving. Acatl had a fleeting half-thought that Teomitl fucked like the warrior he was, all steady discipline—but he was holding back. He was holding back, and Acatl could feel it in the tension of his back muscles, in the way he clawed at the mat below them instead of Acatl’s hair. Acatl was done with restraint. “Harder,” he panted between each savage thrust. “I want—nngh, I want to feel you tomorrow.”

Teomitl sucked in a noisy breath. “Make sure you feel it for a week—“ He moved to hike Acatl’s leg up over his shoulder, changing the angle, and Acatl’s whole body jolted on his next thrust.

“Ah!” His mind was blank; as Teomitl pounded into him, each push inward striking that spot that made him writhe and buck his hips for more, he became a thing of pure sensation. There was the mat under him, sticking to his sweat-damp skin; there was Teomitl’s hand finally grabbing a fistful of his hair and keening when Acatl did the same to him; there was the stretch of his thigh muscles and the impossible way he molded to fit Teomitl’s cock. He was so close he could almost cry. More—just a little more—

And then Teomitl was wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping him firmly, and he came so hard his legs shook. All else ceased to matter; there was only this bright, blinding ecstasy, only Teomitl snarling in triumph as he flung his head back with an incoherent sob and spilled himself all over their stomachs.

When the aftershocks faded, he realized Teomitl was still hard and making as if to pull out; before he could, Acatl grabbed for his hips to pull him closer. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” In the face of his earthshattering orgasm, he knew it would overwhelm him. The thought only brought a bone-deep satisfaction. For once in my life—I want to be overwhelmed. “You said you’d make me feel it, didn’t you?!”

Teomitl bore down on him, teeth bared. He looked almost feral, which probably shouldn’t have thrilled him so much. “I’ll give you—what you want—“ Each thrust jolted already-overstimulated nerves, made him shudder and whine in a way that might have been deeply humiliating if he’d been able to think that far. But then Teomitl was coming with an inarticulate cry that might have been his name, and—

Duality, he could feel Teomitl’s cock pulse as he spent inside him. He let his legs fall open with a shaky moan, heart hammering away as he caught his breath. It seemed as though he should say something, but the only words that came to mind were varyingly obscene. Even when Teomitl finally pulled out with a sigh, all he could manage was a hitched breath.

It wasn’t until Teomitl was cleaning them up with the aid of a spare rag that he managed to make a sound. “Mm...”

His lover curled up against him, letting Acatl lay his head on his arm. He was still gloriously naked, but Acatl was too tired to appreciate the sight. When he finally broke the easy silence, the teasing edge of his voice was reflected in his eyes. “I hope nothing comes for us in the night. I think you wore me out.”

He tucked his burning face into Teomitl’s shoulder, which was no help whatsoever. As promised, he could still feel how hard he’d been fucked—and it was absurd to think he’d exhaust a trained warrior. “Teomitl.”

“You did!” Teomitl did a very good job of acting innocently outraged that Acatl would disbelieve him, but the note of suppressed amusement in his voice rang through clearly anyway.

It filled his chest with a ridiculous bubble of joy. This is the man I love. “And here I thought you would have a warrior’s stamina,” he huffed, and poked Teomitl’s side to show he didn’t mean it.

It must have worked, because his lover chuckled and nuzzled at his hair. “...I could be persuaded to another round.”

He felt himself flush. “I might need a moment.”

“Mm.” Teomitl’s smile was all sweetness. “Rest. I’ll be here.”

He closed his eyes. A moment’s rest sounded like a wonderful idea.

He woke to the distinct, horrible feeling of the wards snapping. No, not snapping—parting, like a hole in gauzy cotton, to let in what they had been made to stop. It made him nauseous, and when he sat up too quickly his head spun. He barely even noticed the lingering ache in his muscles.

“Something’s coming.” Teomitl was dressed already, tying his sandals one-handed and looking around for anything that would serve as a weapon. By the expression on his face, he was regretting not bringing his sword.

“I know.” He let his fingers rest on the floor for a moment, feeling the faint tinge of underworld magic that had long since permeated his home. It helped a little. Not much—he could still sense the twisting wrongness, the dancing vertigo at the edges of his sight—but a little. It was much darker outside than it had been.

Moving quickly and quietly, he dressed himself and crossed the room to where he kept his favorite knives. He wished he had a sword—or better yet a spear, for the reach it would afford—but knives would do. Three for him and the last two for Teomitl, who accepted them with a nod and a faint wince as he gripped their handles. They threw up faint sparks where they met Huitzilopochtli’s protective magic, but his lover didn’t so much as flinch.

Darker than the shadows cast by the flickering torches, something was moving. Teomitl murmured, “Is that—“ but Acatl held up a hand for silence; any second’s worth of preparation they had was valuable.

He slashed his earlobes and mouthed the words of a spell—not for protection, but to wrap the chill of the grave around his limbs. It was a sickening sensation, turning his skin loose and his bones heavy, leaching all the warmth from the air, but anything that touched him would at least be given pause.

It was all he had time for before the creature slipped into the room.

He supposed it had once been an ashen jaguar. Now it was blurred, almost insubstantial, and he could see the courtyard through its body—but its claws and fangs were razor-sharp obsidian, and those were entirely solid. And it was growling, a low rumble he could feel through the soles of his feet.

Teomitl lunged to meet it. For a moment Acatl thought he’d struck home, but then the jaguar flowed around his blades like smoke and reformed—no. It wasn’t reforming. It had split in half, and now there were two slightly smaller ones.

And the new one was bearing down on him. He met it with a slash of his knives, aiming for its throat, but its momentum carried it under his guard and the strike went wide of his target. Then there was an impact, and a burst of freezing wind threw him off his feet and into the wall. Something cracked, and through the blinding pain he prayed it wasn’t his skull.

I need to get up. I need to... But his body wouldn’t obey him, and all he could manage was a clumsy strike to where he desperately hoped its paw was. His blade passed through the smoke of its body, and the claws raked at his arm. He braced himself for pain—

It didn’t come.

Between one blink and the next, light flooded the room. Teomitl. He’d taken wounds, but as the first jaguar sprang at him he dropped to one knee and let slip his hold on Huitzilopochtli’s magic. By itself it might not have done much, but enough torches were still smoldering in their holders for the magic to feed on, and it eagerly amplified and looped back upon itself. For a moment Teomitl was flat on the ground and outlined in light with a jaguar trying to bite his face off, but then the baking heat of the sun flung it off him and sent it rolling head over tail. The one menacing Acatl froze, cowering, and Acatl heaved himself up for another try at its throat or the soft underside of its jaw.

The jaguar Teomitl had been facing made a noise. It took Acatl a horrified moment to realize that it was trying to speak. “...hhhyouuu...”

Teomitl pushed himself upright, blood streaming down his arm. Even wounded, he could not have looked more like an Emperor if he’d been wearing the Turquoise-and-Gold Crown; magic played over his skin like sunlight through water, and even his blood shimmered. “Silence.”

“You...my reign...”

His face was a mask of fury, eyes glazed over with gold. “How many times must we teach you to stay where you ought to be?!”

And then he struck, and the light dripping down over his knives cleaved the head from its body. As both parts dissolved into mist, another step brought him to the one still frozen within range of Acatl. One more strike put an end to that one too.

Acatl made another try at gaining his feet. This time he made it to his knees, but Teomitl was suddenly by his side with a concerned hand at his shoulder, and he sank back down with a groan as the world spun. His head was a point of vicious agony, but it didn’t feel broken. I hope. Duality preserve me.

Huitzilopochtli’s magic had faded from Teomitl’s skin, but his hands were still wonderfully warm as they ran over his skull to check for injuries. “Acatl!”

“I’m.” He blinked. His vision blurred. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“Don’t move.” Teomitl tilted his head up, frowning as their eyes met. “You might have a concussion. I’ll fetch—“ He cut himself off at the sound of footsteps, head swiveling towards the entrance curtain.

Oh, no. Acatl spared a moment to be thankful that they’d had enough warning to dress; true, neither of them were wearing cloaks, but surely it wasn’t too strange for Teomitl to spend the night at his brother-in-law’s house. They could come up with some explanation for this. No matter that he’d never been a very good liar; he could learn. He’d have to.

Then he saw who’d come to examine the damage to the wards, and he knew they were doomed.

“Ah,” Ichtaca said. “This explains a lot.”

...What? Teomitl’s expression was briefly a mirror of his own, but when Ichtaca asked him for an explanation of what had happened to the wards—no mention of why Teomitl was there, no mention of the marks on their throats or the scratches down Teomitl’s back—it settled into the severe calm of a warrior reporting to his commander. Yes, Tezcatlipoca’s creatures had attacked. Yes, they had dealt with them. No, neither of them seemed to be seriously injured but Acatl-tzin had a head wound that needed to be looked at.

It seemed to take no time at all to summon a priest of Patecatl, who arrived with a caged lizard and a bag of herbs to treat their wounds. Teomitl’s were easy, but then the priest was checking Acatl’s eyes and asking a few pointed questions before pronouncing a clear concussion, “And it was a good thing you summoned us, Teomitl-tzin.” He sighed down at Acatl. “Acatl-tzin, must we really keep meeting like this?”

It’s not as though I tried to get a concussion. But when he tried to speak the words, his tongue didn’t quite obey him.

The priest bowed to them both. “Wake him up every hour or so, Teomitl-tzin.”

“I will.” Teomitl didn’t smile, but when they were finally alone again, he took Acatl’s hand and twined their fingers together. In a voice so soft he almost didn’t hear it, his lover murmured, “I’ll protect you.”

I know you will. He drifted off.

&

Apparently, it had been the fault of the breeze. While he and Teomitl had been...occupied, the night wind had snuffed enough torches to allow passage to the weakest of Tezcatlipoca’s creatures. Such were the words of the priestess of Quetzalcoatl who ran up the steps of his temple the next morning, at any rate, bowing and apologizing profusely for not accounting for the weather.

“It’s hardly your fault, Tochton-tzin,” he said, and meant it.

She blushed, stammered something that he was sure was another apology, and retreated. He didn’t have long to savor his newfound return to the peace and quiet of the temple accounts, however; barely half an hour later, Ichtaca announced that the high priest of Tezcatlipoca wanted to see him, and he sighed as the man parted the curtain. The headache he thought he’d gotten rid of was trying very hard to come back.

“Acatl-tzin!”

There was dried blood under Cozcatototl’s fingernails; fresh wounds striped his shins and forearms. Acatl wondered what else he’d sacrificed. “What do you have for me?”

“Good news.” His smile was tired, but it reached his eyes. “The Smoking Mirror pronounces himself well satisfied with our obeisance. I don’t think he’ll be a problem for you anymore.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. That’s—good.”

Cozcatototl cast a glance over the spread-out accounts around him. There was a brief, sympathetic wince—one high priest to another. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

That left him with Ichtaca, and now that they were alone together the atmosphere was almost too awkward for words. He waited uneasily for Ichtaca to break the silence, but all he did was carefully adjust the loose sheets of their accounts so that they were stacked evenly.

Finally, it was too much for him. “About last night.”

“Is there something about last night that should concern me, Acatl-tzin? Something related to the future of this temple?” Ichtaca looked up, fixing him with a searching gaze. “Unless we are due for some...unwanted Imperial attention, I don’t think there is.”

His face burned. “Ah. No—no, there isn’t. The temple is safe.” The absurd image of the temple sheathed in gold popped into his head, and he bit back an inappropriate smile before Ichtaca could question it. Teomitl probably would, if I didn’t stop him.

When he was finally alone—properly alone—he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. It was time to tell Teomitl the good news.

Of course, actually finding him wasn’t nearly so straightforward. He stopped by the Duality House first; after last night’s unexpected combat, Mihmatini had been apprised of the situation and needed to know they were reasonably safe again. As grateful as she was for the news—and as worried as she was about his health, making him sit and eat something before she let him go—she was less help in figuring out where her husband had gone off to. Acatl eventually tracked him down in his courtyard in the palace, eating lunch and glaring at a codex listing the tribute from one of their vassal cities.

He cleared his throat. “Teomitl?”

“Acatl!” His face lit up, all worries set aside with the carelessly discarded codex. “How are you feeling?”

He debated an edited version of the truth before deciding honesty would serve him better. “...A slight headache. Nothing serious.”

“Oh, good.” He couldn’t seem to meet his eyes, gaze alighting on the walls and floors but nowhere near Acatl’s face.

Acatl bit his lip. Gods. Does he...does he regret last night? Did we take this too far, too quickly? “I, ah.” He groped for words and found none.

Teomitl still seemed fidgety, but the fidgeting was resolving into something with purpose. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for Acatl, but he visibly pulled himself back. And then he said, quiet but devastating, “I missed you.”

Right. They didn’t dare touch here, not with eyes and ears everywhere. Even though he ached with the desire to wrap his arms around him, it would be suicide. And so he responded, in a voice just as soft, “I missed you too. I came to tell you that I had a visit from Cozcatototl-tzin.” At Teomitl’s blank look, he elaborated, “The high priest of Tezcatlipoca. He says he’s managed to propitiate his patron, and so we should be safe.”

“...So it’s over?”

“I think so,” he murmured. “For now.”

Teomitl cast his gaze to the floor. “And...Ichtaca.”

He blushed, and had to swallow before he could find the words—first to figure out what to say, and second to figure out how to say it in the event any spies overheard. “He is...only worried about the safety of our temple and our clergy. He has no other concerns.”

Teomitl visibly relaxed, swaying towards him. Again he looked for a moment as though he wanted to touch, but then he straightened up and smiled. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I did, but,”—but Teomitl looked mildly crestfallen, and that wouldn’t do—“I could use a walk to remind myself that my legs still work, I was going over accounts all morning. Come with me?” Out of the palace, away from prying eyes. He had a vision, brief and impossible, of them holding hands in the crowd.

By the look on Teomitl’s face, he was thinking something along the same lines. “Of course.”

They left the palace in thoughtful silence. Teomitl waited until they were well clear of the compound and hidden in the bustle of the Sacred Precinct before he broke it, leaning over to growl into his ear, “If your legs still work, I must not have satisfied you properly last night.”

He froze midstride, hearing himself make a noise like a tortured parrot. “I—you—“ He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his face was bright red, and could only pray that nobody had noticed his reaction. The Sacred Precinct was always crowded, but there was anonymity in a crowd where everyone was intent on their own lives. When he regained control of his limbs, he stormed ahead without looking back. To say such things in public—I cannot believe...

Teomitl kept pace easily. They didn’t quite touch, but when his fingers hooked into a fold of Acatl’s robe, it arrested his stride. His voice stayed low, a purr meant for his ears only. “If you’re truly offended, you could pay me back in kind. I’d like that.”

The thought of it—of pinning Teomitl down, giving as good as he’d got—sent a rush of heat through him, and he grabbed Teomitl’s arm to haul him close. “You.” His voice shook. “You are a menace, bringing that up here —“ Teomitl flushed, looking like he was about to apologize, but Acatl didn’t give him the chance. Before he could change his mind, he added, “Come home with me.”

Teomitl’s grin was radiant. Wicked—oh, he knew that edge to it now—but radiant. “I was hoping you’d say that .”