[Elibe]
Fire Emblem Kink Meme
Elibe
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He didn't see their bodies, still holding hands. He didn't understand what Uther of Ostia had ordered. Raven glared. Ostia would never be accused of subtlety, but the ox had brains, it seemed. “I'll lick you clean if it will shut you up.”
As he thought, just the idea of it stirred Ostia, but the vocal boy was getting far too clever now that the immediate physical rush had passed. “Some other day.”
“You seem to think there will be other days.”
He could see Ostia trying. Meanness, Raven was pretty certain, didn't fit Hector of Ostia very comfortably. But he was trying to be mean, because he had grasped that Raven would not respond well to anything. Better be mean and defensive than leave himself open to be torn at by carrion eaters. “I think you're just the kind of whore to satisfy that want on whatever day it comes along.”
Raven smiled grimly. This was how the mighty fell. He would destroy Ostia so easily. Soon not even his friends would recognize him. “You'll have to do better than that.”
Ostia began seeing to his own mess. He couldn't meet Raven's eyes, and Raven knew just from his expression that he was going to say something so vicious that even considering it was hurting Ostia. “I gave you my word no harm would come to the monk. That doesn't mean he couldn't take your place, Red.”
Hate embraced Raven in her icy shrouds. His lungs froze, his blood chilled him. The cool clarity gave him such marvelous control. His sword was within reach, and Ostia was squatting on his haunches, his hands occupied with towel. Raven almost felt at ease when the murderous feeling swept over him. He could admit to himself that he hadn't been looking forward to ruining Hector until this moment. “Do you honestly think you're the first lord who has threatened Lucius' sanctity?”
Something in his voice must have gotten through to Ostia, because the boy went rigid, staring at him. “I-”
“If you dare suggest he looks more attractive, or has a more delightful seeming than a woman, or that he would enjoy sinning, you won't leave this room alive. I've heard so many-”
“I was being stupid, Red. That's not what I really meant,” Ostia interrupted. “I-I don't know. I was just trying to threaten you. I really wouldn't do anything to your monk.”
“He's not mine.”
“He's your friend,” said Ostia the ever possessive.
What do you know about it, Raven wanted to spit. But he remembered Lord Eliwood, and held his tongue. He watched Ostia with feline intensity as the other man finished cleaning, and shook out the cloth in distaste. Blood and semen smeared the towel and made it only worthy for the rag bag. Well, at least the castle servants didn't have to deal with that mess on the sheets.
When they arrived at Serra's door, she was not amused. Well, at first she had thought it was only Lord Hector, and she had begun by dripping outlandish insinuations about how he had come to ravish her. Then Raven had pushed open the door a little wider, letting the light of her candles properly illuminate the scene, and Serra had first shrieked that Lord Hector was dripping blood, second, that he had brought bandits to her door, and third, by the blessed Saint, the bandit was the one who had made Priscilla cry herself to sleep, and Serra had no use for nasty mean people.
Ostia bore it all with a stoicism that suggested this was a normal volume for Serra, though he risked a glance in Raven's direction when Priscilla was mentioned. Raven hoped that this was dramatization on Serra's part. Priscilla shouldn't be crying for him. She was worse than Lucius. At least the monk had the excuse that there was nothing better for him than the mercenary life-He was wrong, of course. Lucius should be safely behind the walls of some Eliminean seminary, studying dusty texts and learning how to help the countless number of worthy people he was born to help. But he was right that neither of them had the money to ensure his proper place and rise in station. But Priscilla shouldn't be here. She should be home with her parents, and falling in love with useless Etrurian nobles, as befit her place in the Caerleon household. She shouldn't be crying over Raven.
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“We're sorry for disturbing your rest,” Raven cut in, not smiling, or making any crack about beauty sleep, though Serra had left quite a few openings. It was important not to let Ostia make a second hash of excuses this evening. “But I cut O-Lord Hector pretty badly in our practice fight, and he pounded my ribs pretty heavily. Could you please heal us before we have to march tomorrow?”
Serra's mental cart obviously had gone far before the horse, as Raven's reasonable, almost contrite tone pulled all of her assumptions to a screeching halt. She opened her mouth once or twice. Then she smiled sweetly, “Well, since you asked soooooooooo nicely, Mercenary Raven,” she shot Hector a glare. “You should be more like that.”
Ostia managed to choke back his anger at this unfairness. “He sliced up my face!”
“And then he apologized. That's a mark of breeding, that is. But what does a rough lout like you know about such things?”
“He didn't apologize!”
“I'm sorry, my lord. I assumed you meant-” familiar bitterness flooded Raven's tongue, but he loved every moment as Ostia sunk in the quagmire of the cleric's esteem. It was petty and vindictive and utterly wonderful.
Serra practically beamed. “Mercenary Raven, there was no need for that,” she reached for a healing staff, and frowned as the knob began to glow. “No, really, no need-Lord Hector! What did you do to him! Half of the bones in his left hand are cracked. Is this any way to treat your subordinates?”
Ostia glared at Raven, and received nothing but a blank wall of tiredness in return. Then, slowly, the mobile face showed the light of dawning retribution. “The next time this happens, I'll be much more careful with him, Sister. We know our limits now, and promise only to exert ourselves in pleasant exercise. Isn't that right, Red?”
Bile mixed with the bitterness. Raven did not want to make this concession, however minor. “We'll have to see.”
“Oh really, this is a house of Earth and Sky-well! A room of Earth and Sky, and anyway, I am a sainted cleric,” Serra waved her staff indignantly, the blue waves of healing magic washing unevenly over Raven's cuts and bruises. “You can't just run in here and ask for healing while making plans to beat each other up again.”
“Training is important, Sister,” Ostia must have been half exhausted because his expression was not so much innocent or earnest as sly. Or he was just terrible at hiding anything. Actually, yes, he was completely incapable at it. No wonder Ostia had gotten them into this mess.
“It's just wrong! Blood is abhored by the blessed saint herself! You're being impossibly naughty,” Serra giggled a little at that.
The old studies and catechism leaped unbidden to Raven's mouth. “'Blood is but a manifestation of guilt. The permanency of the stain shows us the contamination of sin.' But Bishop Franz of Bern argued that the Saint was dealing only in metaphor when she wrote that. Blood isn't abhorent, Sister.”
Both of them stared. Ostia broke the silence. “Just who are you, Red?”
An idiot who had spent far too many hours trying to beat Lucius at his lessons when they were twelve and fourteen. He would be as bad as Ostia at this rate. Raven turned on a cold glare. “I told you: A mercenary. Thank you for the healing, Sister.”
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He left the room, hearing Serra say, still loudly, “Well that was strange! Is he Ilian? I can't imaaaaagine a proper seminary would stand for his uncouth profession among them, but they are so barbaric in Ilia. Oh, Lord Hector, allow me to see to your wounds more personally, please!”
After some rumbling protestations, Ostia managed to extract himself from the healer's room. Raven tried to turn a corner before Ostia could see him, but for some reason, the guest floor of Castle Caelin had been laid out by a very efficient and straight forward thinking architect, and there were no convenient side passages on this level.
“Red!”
Raven considered speeding up, but the staircase was too far away. He stopped, turned, and watched Ostia to jog to him. Ostia looked down at him, obviously uncertain and uncomfortable. “We will be doing this again. Won't we?”
Ostia was caught like trout on a line. Raven sneered in his victory. “If I want to. I don't see any particular reason. You're barely worth killing. And you're a shitty kisser.”
Ostia followed all of Raven's expectations magnificently, pushing Raven against the wall, practically spearing him on a set of ornamental spears in his hurry to get at Raven's mouth and prove him completely wrong. Raven had the glory riddled fool in the palm of his hand, and Ostia didn't even know it.
If only he didn't have a mouth that could melt a glacier, let alone Raven's more solid senses. Raven moaned, hating how weak this made him and loving how intensely Hector tried to ensnare him. But Ostia was well and truly Raven's, for whatever daft glimmer Ostia had constructed for Hector's own fantasies. Raven made his plans to crush Hector, and deliver the remains back to Uther as he shamelessly clutched at Otsia's broad shoulders.
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