it's love and it's decisive pain

[notapaladin]

Acatl's love for Teomitl is doomed, but this is...fine. Really. He knows they can't be together - Teomitl doesn't feel the same way, and even if he did, it would never work out - so he just won't tell him, no matter how badly he wants him. That's the choice he's made in the interest of having a better relationship with all of his family, and he's sticking to it.

Events during a family gathering at Neutemoc's house prompt him to change his mind.

Starring Aztec Family Game Night!

-

Family game night had been Mihmatini’s idea.

Or...well, originally, in much better times, it had been Neutemoc’s idea, but the reinstitution of the event had been all Mihmatini’s. “It’s been nearly three years,” she’d said. “Shouldn’t we try to get together as a family again?”

And Neutemoc had agreed.

Acatl was officially invited on a night when, for once, he had something resembling free time. He’d combed his hair and set out earlier than necessary, hoping to catch Teomitl and Mihmatini on their way. Acatl had thought he should probably warn the man—they could be both boisterous and vicious when all of them played patolli together, and he was sure Teomitl was accustomed to a good deal less graphic language and a great many more serious threats over the game board—but when he actually met him alone on the street near Neutemoc’s house, he found he had bigger problems.

Teomitl had dressed up. This is fine, Acatl told his heart sternly. You are not to escape my ribcage because Teomitl is a handsome young man. It had never worked. It certainly wasn’t working now. They were on a dark, quiet street where the neighbors kept themselves to themselves, and Acatl couldn’t stop staring at his brother-in-law.

There was gold at his wrists and on his fingers—he’d kept himself to a bracelet on each wrist and a minimum of rings, but they still gleamed in the sunlight. His cloak was the red afforded to him as the Master of the House of Darts, but the design had been woven in smaller seashells and arrow symbols instead of the huge ones that proclaimed his station to every passerby. He wore earflares Acatl hadn’t seen on him before, too, and from the way the light shimmered on them he was sure there was magical protection involved.

His sister was nowhere in sight. Before the silence could get too awkward—he was aware he’d been staring, aware he couldn’t stop himself—he asked, “Where’s Mihmatini?” Please be nearby. Surely I’d embarrass myself less with an audience. Unlikelier things had happened.

Teomitl glanced down the street, which didn’t help because even the curve of his neck was a distraction. “She ran on ahead; she said she had to help set up.” Judging by the expression on his face, this was a matter of some mild trepidation.

He couldn’t blame him. “Did she tell you what to expect?”

“...The phrase ‘pack of screaming howler monkeys’ was used.”

He winced, but he couldn’t honestly say it was incorrect. “...Rude, but essentially accurate. At least you’ll only have to deal with three of us; it is much more...vibrant when the rest of the family gathers.” There were four sisters between himself and Mihmatini, and though he rarely spent any time with them—they were all married with their own families and very little time for the older brother who’d so disappointed their parents by joining the priesthood—when they were all together they tended to feed off each other’s shared enthusiasm for patolli, and the end result usually included someone laughing until they cried.

Teomitl actually smiled a little at that. “Which is why I’m wearing things I don’t mind losing.”

His gaze fell to all that finery again. Teomitl’s lip plug was gold as well, a rounded disc with an eagle’s head carved on it. He tried not to focus on the shape of his mouth above it. “We...we play for tokens,” he began. “So you don’t have to worry.” It didn’t stop the sudden mental image of Teomitl throwing his gold and jewels atop his shed cloak, skin gleaming in torchlight. No. Enough of that. He swallowed. “Are those earflares new?”

Oh, no. Teomitl was still smiling, and now the curve of his lips was teasing. “Mm-hmm. Do you like them?”

And he drew closer and tilted his head, the better to show them off. They were also decorated with eagles, but with the whole body of the bird picked out in turquoise chips. Acatl exhaled at the sight. He’d been right about the magic; if he let his eyes drift out of focus, he could just about see the shape of Huitzilopochtli’s flames shimmering over the gold. The earflares’ rims were quite thick, the better to fit even more glyphs on them.

I want to see what they say, came his first conscious thought. He was far too aware of how close they were—too close—but he couldn’t make himself step back. Couldn’t make himself do anything, in fact, except reach up and slowly trace the rims with his thumb, turning them up for a better view. They’d been skillfully done, and he had to lean in close enough that a stray strand of Teomitl’s hair tickled his face. Whatever Teomitl used to keep it clean made him want to nuzzle it.

“Oh,” he breathed, “the carvings are...”

“Protective charms.” There was a faint tremor in Teomitl’s voice, which he might never have picked up normally—but their heads were nearly touching, and the only sounds on the street were their own. Everything was heightened, right down to the feeling of the warm metal against his skin.

It was dark where they stood, the walls of nearby buildings casting them both in shadow. He leaned in, heard Teomitl’s breath hitch, and stopped. We should go. My family is waiting. That would be the good decision, the logical decision.

Instead, his thumb slipped from its slow circling of Teomitl’s earrings to caress his earlobe instead, and it was his turn to feel his own breath catch in his throat. Soft—the skin was astonishingly soft here, marred only by the thin scab of that morning’s bloodletting. It was healing well, but when he drew his thumb over it Teomitl gasped. It didn’t sound pained.

His gaze dropped to his face anyway. Teomitl was staring at him wide-eyed, breathless, and gods, but he wanted to see that face again. So he repeated the motion, a little harder this time, and saw the man draw in a long, deep breath. Oh, you’re sensitive. The knowledge intoxicated him further. He curled his fingers, tracing the shell of Teomitl’s ear as lightly as he dared, and heard Teomitl make a soft noise. A wanting noise.

He could barely think past the pounding of his own blood in his veins. All considerations—they were on a public street, his family was waiting, this was his brother-in-law, the man who he’d told people was like a son to him—felt as far away and inconsequential as the rustling of ants through grass. His fingers trailed achingly slowly down the side of Teomitl’s neck, following the line of his jugular and feeling his pulse thump steadily against his fingertips. His thumb came to rest on the other side, such that he held Teomitl’s throat in the loosest of loose grips.

“Mmhm...” The sound that escaped Teomitl’s lips was barely even audible. He wasn’t pulling away. In fact, he was leaning into it, and Acatl felt himself caught as surely as a jaguar would take a deer.

He felt frozen. If he leaned in, spoke, lifted his other hand, the spell between them would be broken and whatever they were doing would end. Whatever they were—he didn’t think about that. He didn’t think about anything except the soft skin under his fingers, how they were so close that he could feel the warmth rolling off him, how much he wanted to be closer still.

He wasn’t looking at the earflares anymore. He didn’t even remember what they looked like. Teomitl’s eyes were dark and hazy, his lips slightly parted, and all he could think was Yes. Yes, please.

He wanted to taste those lips. It would be easy. It would be so easy.

A pink tongue darted out, and he made a noise of his own. “Gnh.”

“...Acatl.” His name on Teomitl’s tongue, said like that, sent a shiver through him. “...I...”

Approaching footsteps broke through the haze. Someone was coming.

Acatl jerked backwards, heart hammering so frantically in his chest that he wondered for a moment if he might faint. He felt the loss of Teomitl’s skin under his hand as keenly as he might feel the loss of the hand in question, but there was no time for that now. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. It’s fine, we’re fine, nothing happened. He closed his eyes; it was easier to regain his equilibrium if he couldn’t see whatever look of dismayed horror was surely on Teomitl’s face right now.

And of course it was Mihmatini doubling back to pick them up. Of course. Because his life was already going so well. Worse, she sounded so cheerful there was absolutely no way she even suspected what he’d been about to do. (With her husband. That fact bore repeating.) “There you are, Acatl! Come on, the first course will get cold.”

He made himself smile at her. “We’re coming.”

It was a short walk to Neutemoc’s house. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Teomitl until they arrived. No—it was more accurate to say that he didn’t look at him. Looking at him would have been easy; the man drew his eye like a single shaft of sunlight piercing the darkness, all easy, radiant warmth, and if he let himself he could stare for hours. So he very deliberately did not. He couldn’t help being attracted to him, but he could damn well help how he reacted to it.

Aside from that shameful display. He huffed out a breath as he walked, keeping his eyes on the canal flowing beside the street. He’d made his decision long ago, when he’d first realized that familial was absolutely not an appropriate way to describe his feelings towards Teomitl—the man had his own life, and Acatl had his, and he wouldn’t ruin either of them by forcing an unwanted connection. There were simply too many ways it could go wrong, too many reasons why it was a terrible idea. The risks far outweighed any brief benefits.

And then the lights of Neutemoc’s house spilled out into the street, and he had no more time for self-recrimination. Family dinner and game night had begun.

Dinner was, of course, delicious. A trifle awkward at first—it always was, because he could never really be sure of Neutemoc’s welcome truly extending to him as well—but then his brother clapped him on the shoulder and bade them all sit, and the awkwardness passed in time for him to enjoy the food. While Neutemoc still hadn’t remarried, his kitchen slaves were more than capable of putting out an excellent spread of fish, frogs, tamales, peppers, and all the tasty things that made life worth living.

It was not a silent affair; while he’d never been one for much conversation over a meal (he only had one mouth and he was busy putting food in it, thank you) his family had no such concerns. Particularly not the children; Necalli and Mazatl attached themselves to either side of Teomitl as soon as he sat down, ready to bombard him with questions. It was a wonder he even had time to eat, but eat he did—in between happily telling Necalli the less gory details of his last campaign and assuring Mazatl that yes, it was true that his sisters had different sets of jewelry for every day of the week, but she didn’t want to grow up to be like them because they were all very, very mean.

Acatl looked up from his plate at that to meet Mihmatini’s eyes, and they shuddered in unison. Chalchiuhnenetl.

It wasn’t a cloud that lingered for long; Neutemoc asked how things were going at their respective temples, and so of course they had to answer. There wasn’t much to tell; things had been blissfully boring lately, and Acatl would have been more than pleased by that if it hadn’t also left him with far too much free time to think. He’d not wanted to spend much time in his own head since...

His gaze drifted to where Teomitl sat. Well. Since I realized that.

He was suddenly very, very glad that Teomitl sat on the other side of the table between two small children. The man was chuckling fondly at whatever Necalli had just said, and the sight was so endearing it made his heart clench painfully in his chest. Damn you, he thought bitterly, unsure whether he meant the organ in his chest or the man that had caused it to beat so hard. I did not ask for this.

Then Mihmatini asked him how he’d met her predecessor, and he was sufficiently distracted not to think about Teomitl again until the meal was over and they hit a snag in their preparations for the night’s patolli games. Namely, bundling the children off to sleep.

Necalli went easily enough, but Neutemoc had to pause, sigh, and gesture for his daughter to follow when he realized she’d been left behind. “Off to bed with you, Mazatl.”

“I’m not tired,” she whined, and flopped bonelessly against Teomitl’s side.

Teomitl chuckled, patting her head. “Of course you aren’t. But it’s going to get very loud in here in a bit, and you don’t like loud noises, do you?”

She shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”

“Then go to your room.”

She heaved a sigh that came from the depths of her soul (and had definitely been inherited from her father), but obligingly sat up and let Neutemoc carry her to her mat. When they were gone, Teomitl was still looking after them a little wistfully. Finally, he announced, “She’s adorable. I want a dozen children just like her.”

Mihmatini looked up from her cup of maguey sap. “Find more wives to give them to you, then.”

Acatl had never actually seen someone choke on his own spit before. It was not an attractive look, and he wished heartily that it didn’t make him feel so terribly soft. Finally Teomitl spluttered, “Mihmatini!” and she only fixed him with a long and steady look that was slightly ruined by her repressed smile.

“You forget, I’ve spent a lot of time looking after my nieces and nephews. I think two or three little Mazatls are enough from me.”

Teomitl was blushing as he muttered, “Well. That’s...alright. I guess.”

Acatl had to look away, guilt twisting his stomach into a knot. Right. They are married. They love each other still, no matter how rocky things were for a while there. They’ll have a home and children together, a life together. When Teomitl is Revered Speaker, he’ll take even more wives and have the dozens of children he wants from them. That’s how it should be. He’d never look twice at another man, even if...even if back there, I thought...

“I found the board and the pieces. Shall we?”

He’d never been so glad to see Neutemoc, and all but shot to his feet. “Yes, of course.”

They had to play patolli in the receiving room; there simply wasn’t enough floor space in the dining room, and the beans had a tendency to bounce under tables or rugs and be lost for weeks. One time one of them had actually sprouted. But this time the board was set up properly, and everyone had their own painted pieces, and the first throws of the beans to begin the game set the starting rounds firmly in Neutemoc’s favor.

Until, that was, Acatl’s luck turned. Neutemoc was getting cocky, always a mistake in games of chance, and so he didn’t notice when one of his pieces was removed from play until he looked down at the board again. Immediately his brother’s head snapped up, fixing him with a savage glare. “You.”

He felt a broad and—alright—mildly evil grin split his face. It had been far, far too long since he’d indulged in the no-holds-barred ruthlessness of games with family he was on good terms with. “Should have paid more attention to all your pieces.”

It was Mihmatini’s turn, but since she wasn’t in position to take their pieces yet Neutemoc snarled, “You’re a bastard.”

He huffed, “Are you insulting our parents?!”

“I’m not so sure you weren’t left on our doorstep!”

“Aunt Miyahuatl attended my birth!”

“Hmph—oh, look.” Neutemoc’s turn had come around again, and he turned a mirror of Acatl’s own grin back at him as the piece he’d just set down was plucked from the board.

Acatl blinked down at it. “How the hell—“

“You were distracted.” Neutemoc’s grin only widened, and he had to fight the desire to pick up the nearest cushion and beat him around the head with it. They’d done that plenty of times as children, but then it hadn’t been cushions. There’d been no chance of affording those.

“What’s it feel like to play?” Teomitl muttered. He’d gotten a few of his own pieces onto the mat earlier, but they hadn’t stayed there for long. While Acatl thought his siblings probably weren’t ganging up against him on purpose, the effect was the same. His luck had not improved at all since then.

Mihmatini nudged him. “Throw the beans again, maybe you’ll find out.”

He threw. He threw again. And then he was back in the game and he was laughing, and Acatl felt his heart skip several beats in a row. Gods, how he shone in the torchlight. How easy it would be to reach out, take his hand, pull him close—

No. He wrenched his gaze and his focus back to the mat. Not here. And besides...besides, I made my choice. I refuse to be selfish in this.

There was patolli to play.

In the end, each of them won a single game. This naturally necessitated a tiebreaker round, which was tense and hard-fought until Mihmatini, looking immensely pleased with herself, swept the board of all her opposition and sat back to gloat until Teomitl, highly disgruntled, threw a cushion at her. While he’d initially been surprised and more than a bit taken aback at how quickly the three of them degenerated into barely-serious insults and threats of murder, by the time the night wound down he was laughing with the rest of them even if he clearly didn’t dare join in. It warmed Acatl’s heart and fully made up for all the tokens he’d given away on his bets each time Teomitl’s face had lit up like that.

Since it was far, far too late for them to make their way home to the Sacred Precinct, Neutemoc insisted on them staying the night. Acatl turned down the offer of a room and bedded down in the courtyard instead; the air was warm, he was warmer, and he wanted the breeze. (Well, he wanted an ice bath. But he would settle for a breeze.)

He sprawled out on his back under one of the trees, staring at the stars through the thin canopy of leaves. Usually, counting them helped him sleep when he really couldn’t; this time, sleep wouldn’t come.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened earlier. Not the flashes of emotion that had struck him during dinner, but what had happened before they arrived. What could have kept on happening, if Mihmatini hadn’t shown up.

I didn’t do anything wrong, Acatl told himself. He hadn’t. Teomitl had new earflares. Acatl had admired the earflares. He hadn’t broken his vows, hadn’t done anything that would cast shame upon Teomitl’s marriage. They’d only touched. That was all.

But the skin under his fingers had been so soft, and Teomitl had been melting into his touch and looking at him like...like...

Like he wanted me to kiss him. The thought felt like lightning striking the core of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut with an involuntary gasp. He’d seen a cunning version of that look before on women who were clearly hoping he’d make a move on them, priest or no; he’d never in his life seen it like that. Flushed and soft and spellbound, as though the only thing Teomitl had been dreaming of was the moment where their mouths would meet.

And he wanted it. Even now, in his brother’s courtyard, with Teomitl and Mihmatini no doubt wrapped in each other’s arms a few rooms away, he wanted it. He rolled over onto his side and dug his nails into his palms, hoping the pain would center him. It didn’t. The thoughts kept on coming, each one like a hammer blow, and all he could do was reel as they hit home.

I desire him.

I love him.

I can’t tell him.

Because that was the cold, hard truth of it all. He loved Teomitl, and letting him know that would destroy too much he held dear. The peace in his life he’d just started to find would vanish. Happy evenings with his family would turn cold and awkward. Mihmatini—gods, his sister would never forgive him. No, having him in his life like this would have to be enough. They’d meet for dinner, they’d be friends, but Teomitl would build his life as Master of the House of Darts—as Revered Speaker—with Mihmatini by his side, and Acatl would go to his mat alone and it would be fine. It had to be fine. Safety. Security. This is the choice I’m making.

Distant voices intruded, and he shuddered all over again as he heard Mihmatini’s wry, teasing comment of, “I love you, but you do snore.”

“I know.” That was Teomitl, sounding terribly fond. “I’ll go sleep in the courtyard with Acatl.”

“Please.” She said something else, then, but it was too soft for Acatl to catch. Whatever it was, it made Teomitl cough, and she giggled sweetly.

He barely dared to breathe. Even facing away from them, he was far too aware of Teomitl’s footsteps; the man was trying to be stealthy, but he’d always been terrible at that. He felt it, too, when those footsteps stopped near him and—quietly—rolled out a mat. Reeds crunched softly as Teomitl sat down—no, laid down, there was the rustle of cloth as his cloak spread out. They were so close that once again Acatl thought he could feel the warmth of his body.

Silence. Soft breathing. Another, extended rustle as Teomitl rolled over.

And then, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear it, “...Tonight was wonderful. I loved it. I love you.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins. He’d never been more awake in his life; it was only sheer force of will that kept his eyes from shooting open. His heart and his breath both caught, and for a long and irrational moment he wasn’t sure either of them was functioning. No—there was his heartbeat roaring back to life, pounding so fast and hard that his throat squeezed with the effort of it. His lungs were next, a hitched pause that felt so much more momentous than it sounded.

I love you.

He’d made his choice, but now he faced a new one. He could keep his eyes shut, force himself to relax, pretend he’d never heard that confession. In the morning, nothing would happen. Their lives would continue on as before. That would be the safe option.

Or he could turn over, look Teomitl in the eyes, and speak to him as one man to another.

Love meant pain. Loving a man like Teomitl...well. It probably meant even more pain. Teomitl wasn’t an easy man to love. He was stubborn, abrasive, proud, and tended not to listen to the people around him when he thought he knew best. But then, wasn’t Acatl the same? Less proud, he thought, but Acamapichtli called me self-righteous and gods, how I wish he’d been entirely wrong. Teomitl didn’t seem to mind, and he couldn’t possibly be unaware of Acatl’s flaws. No, he saw them. And he loved Acatl anyway. He loved him, flaws and all, risks and all. How could Acatl not do the same?

For once in his life—no. Even to think that would imply he saw an end to it, and Acatl would not back down from this. He would do this, and he would keep doing this, because the risks did not outweigh the benefits.

He took a long, slow breath, stretched out his limbs, and turned over to meet Teomitl’s gaze. For a moment Teomitl just looked stunned, but then the horror asserted itself—Acatl could see every shift of his expression as he registered that yes, he’d said that out loud and yes, Acatl had heard it.

Before he could run away, Acatl grabbed his hand hard enough to hurt.

Teomitl’s eyes went wide. “Acatl,” he began, “I...”

“I wanted to kiss you in the street today,” he blurted out, which was absolutely not what he’d planned to say. (Not that he’d had a plan at all, but I love you too seemed like a decent starting point.) “Tonight was—I lost so much on the games because I couldn’t stop staring at you, every time you laughed, you’re like sunlight—“

“Acatl.” Teomitl’s voice held more than a tinge of desperation. “Shut up.”

He shut up.

Teomitl’s gaze bored into his; as he leaned in, they drew so close that he could feel warm breath wafting across his own lips. His voice was low and serious as the grave. “If you keep talking, I am going to kiss you. Right here in the middle of your brother’s courtyard.”

It was dark. They were under a tree. They were perfectly capable of being quiet. He sucked in a hard breath, feeling his heart hammer frantically in his chest, and breathed, “What are you waiting for?”

Teomitl didn’t make him wait any longer. Their mouths finally met, and it was sweet and hot and something Acatl felt in his spine. Perfect, he thought, and then he wasn’t thinking anything, because he had a hand on Teomitl’s bare back and Teomitl had one buried in his hair and it didn’t matter that he’d never kissed anyone before, because Teomitl was more than skilled enough to make up for any deficiencies in his own technique. That pretty golden lip plug didn’t get in the way at all. More. I want more of this.

The position was awkward, both of them lying on their sides, but then he rolled away to free his trapped arm and Teomitl followed and oh, that was much better, with Teomitl half on top of him and the red of his cloak blending into the night. When they pulled away to breathe, he panted, “We should—“ Get inside, he meant to say. Find somewhere secluded. But it was difficult to get any of that out when Teomitl was kissing him midsentence, nipping at his bottom lip and sighing in pleasure when he slid his hands down his back. The skin was deliciously soft here too, and unscarred.

Teomitl’s fingers slid down his side to the curve of his hip, and even if he hadn’t been able to feel the evidence of his arousal he could pick it up just fine from the roughness in his voice. “Gods, I want you so much.”

“Not here,” he gasped. Even the thought sent a cold spike of fear through his chest. No—not entirely fear. Some part of him, even though he knew better, wanted to see how quiet they could really be.

Someone cleared their throat across the courtyard. They both froze.

It was Mihmatini, talking to a slave in a voice that carried. “No, the room’s wonderful. I’m just a bit warm, so I’m going to sleep in the courtyard. But you know I snore, so I can’t blame the men if they want to take my room instead.”

Teomitl slumped, his head tucking into the crook of Acatl’s neck as though it belonged there permanently. “She doesn’t snore,” he whispered.

He felt an absurd urge to laugh. “I know.”

“She talks in her sleep, which is worse.”

“I know.” But she was also heading their way, so he nudged Teomitl off him and rolled over so by the time she got there, it would look like they were simply dozing. I have the best sister in the world.

“I heard that.”

The best sister in the world was currently giving her husband a very unimpressed look. He was pushing himself upright, flushed with embarrassment—but not, Acatl realized, guilt. Nor the shifty eyes of one who was trying to keep a secret. “It is worse. You’ve said so yourself.”

“About you,” she said dryly. “Acatl, if you can put up with that without strangling him, I’d be very appreciative.”

Teomitl huffed, climbing to his feet and gathering his mat. “Lies and slander.”

And then she grinned at him, and winked. He felt his face go hot. It was one thing to know that she knew, and to have it be something they never spoke about. It was entirely different to do such things with her blessing. To kiss Teomitl, to hold him in his arms, and know that he wouldn’t break his sister’s heart in doing so—that he could have Teomitl, and his family, and not have to give up happiness with either.

Teomitl paused a few feet away, turning to look back over his shoulder. It was impossible to miss the hope in his voice. “Coming, Acatl?”

Another decision. Another chance to say no, he wouldn’t do this, there were lines he wouldn’t cross. He’d taken vows, hadn’t he? Vows of chastity, of celibacy. His virginity was something he’d managed to hold onto all his life, and if he and Teomitl had the privacy of a room with walls and a closed entrance-curtain, he’d fling it away in a heartbeat. There’d be no going back from that.

He rose, pulling a hand through his hair, and followed Teomitl inside.