[ There is a simple solution to this, isn't there? Sunday's thought of it both unconsciously and as the outline for something he'd only ever thought of as an impossibility before. But being here has opened any number of possibilities and those sleepless nights have offered a chance to consider how so many of them center around Hades, who now looks at him and says what has been echoing around his own thoughts.
A feeling comes with it that might take Sunday a moment to put the right words to, but if it wasn't already echoed then it's compounded through the hand extended in that tender gesture before the other man continues. He knows what this is, doesn't he? There is no need to name it again when it'd already occurred to him in the void where it was only them. It has not changed. It's here and it was long before that, too, in what Hades tells him and how Sunday knows there's no hesitation needed. ]
I don't need to think for long to know it seems unfair to ask Charon to move. [ A weak joke, maybe a little wavering from the sentiment still gripping him, and Charon does not seem particularly perturbed by the thought. ] And I do not want any of this to be undone either.
[ But there is far more to be said, and Sunday's not looked away from Hades when his answer cannot be left there. Charon will have to wait when Sunday moves the hand beneath his chin to the side of his face to lean into Hades' palm, his own hand now overlapping the back of the other man's. ]
I miss you as well whenever we are apart. And after missing so many others in my life for so long I do not wish to count you among them any longer, though I've found myself afraid of saying so for no reasons which seem justified if... when you feel the same. What I found most distressing about what happened on the train was not so much that everything was out of our control but that there was a chance it would only ever be a possibility. The same for the market before if I'd realized it then, but I have now. I do not want a life without this or without you, Hades.
[ Hearing Sunday call him by his name like that makes warmth constrict around his ribs, an ache that hits him more poignantly here than it did even on the train. Perhaps because this is more real, more familiar, Sunday sitting in a place Hades had begrudgingly begun to consider his home.
Ah, but his home isn’t a place, is it? It is a person. This person, his hand over Hades’ own. Looking back, he’s not certain when the trajectory of his relationship with Sunday began to change – perhaps as far back as the moment their bond was forged – but what he does know now is that Sunday is an indelible, undeniable part of his life. A man for whom he would move mountains or pull down the stars. ]
The market?
[ Oh, that seems like an age ago, with all that they have been through since. Lifetimes lived in the span of mere hours. If that’s true, then he imagines that the both of them have been on the same path, falling for each other hard and fast, and willfully ignorant of that fact. ]
Stars… what incredible fools we are. I cannot believe I have to thank this wretched place for anything, but I suppose without it, I would not have found you.
[ He brushes his thumb along Sunday’s cheek, painting a soft arc over his skin. ]
I would not have realized that I am in love with you.
[ To that question Sunday nods, much as the market feels like the moment that the fragments of everything he'd not placed together finally became a full picture. One he'd looked at for only an instant while pretending to himself that would be enough - and no wonder that whatever it was on the train drew upon that.
Because it's something else they'd experienced together without knowing it and as Hades proclaims them both fools, Sunday cannot help a slight laugh. A real one, one lighter and a little lightheaded too from what's close to joy over so much overlap. Overlap long enough that maybe they should have done something about it much before now, but - when he thinks about it later, Sunday will be certain he would not change anything.
Especially now with what follows as his gaze hasn't wavered from Hades where he'd already been hanging on every word. Possibly a bit too much when it takes an additional moment for what Hades says to sink in, but when it does Sunday has to blink a few times to compose himself when emotion threatens to overtake him as his eyes mist. From nothing but joy as even without their bond he would've known every word was the truth; it's a testament to how they've come to know each other. ]
And I with you.
[ It's not quite the proper three word phrase, not yet, but it might as well be. That might take a minute to be said by Sunday, but it's still felt and meant every bit as much as he turns to brush his lips briefly against what he can reach of Hades' palm before continuing. ]
No matter what else happens while we're here or what came before this, I will be grateful that all of it led me to you. Even with so many other regrets, that could and will never be one of them when you are a bright light amidst everything else.
[ Sunday may not say the l-word directly back to him, but he doesn’t need to. Even without the confirmation, which is still beautiful to hear, Hades can feel it, an outpouring of affection and warmth that sings through the bond that they’ve long stopped trying to close off. They are wrapped up in each other, always, and he would not have it any other way.
Apologies to Charon if it disturbs her dozing on Sunday’s lap, but Hades leans in to press his lips to Sunday’s, soft and warm and lingering. A confirmation that everything Sunday has said is something he feels too, and deeply.
When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far, keeping close as if caught in Sunday’s orbit, unable or unwilling to put any more distance between them. ]
I’ve no idea what our time here could bring, or how long it might last, I… want this. More than I have ever wanted anything for myself in lifetimes.
[ His mouth curves into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if laughing at some private joke. Their first real conversation truly feels like it was forever ago, back when they were different people. Back before either of them had remembered how to live, learned how to love. ]
I cannot imagine this is quite what either of us had in mind for our second chances, but I cannot say I mind it.
[ As Sunday leans forward to help close that space by angling more towards Hades he's vaguely aware of Charon jumping down with a quiet complaint when his focus is on returning that kiss and moving his hands to either side of Hades' jaw to keep him there.
It was true that moment beneath the mistletoe brought into focus that he did want this and Hades both beyond any idle thought. The feeling echoes back into focus again with what he'd not recognized then: that it was like coming home, and now far less like a concept than it is a reality. He is home when Hades is there.
When that kiss breaks he's quick to press another to the corner of the other man's mouth as if just one couldn't be enough even if they have all the time for more. Later, however, since he doesn't want to interfere with what's being said. Especially not when that smile lights up that beloved face and Sunday traces the line of it along Hades' bottom lip, unable to resist a smile of his own. ]
And you shall have it when you and I both want this. I cannot remember the last time I wanted something for myself either, and perhaps that makes it all the more fitting that we've found each other.
[ There is much to think back on when it comes to the state he'd been after first arriving: numb in the aftermath of everything, and from grief and everything long before. He'd held onto hope like a lifeline while stumbling his way forward, and Sunday remembers thinking Hades was a light in that darkness. Which - ]
Even without any second chances, I had not dreamed of anything like this being a possibility. And it makes it all the better, I think, to know that you understand this and everything else and have never once looked away.
[ Thinking back on it, meeting Sunday had laid the foundation that his entire experience here in the Diadem has been built upon. They were all but strangers, and yet they looked at each other and understood, opened up in ways neither of them thought possible. It softened his edges considerably, perhaps opened him up to letting other people in as well. Without Sunday, he would still be alone. There would be no Jack, no Livio, no fondness felt for Alisaie nor tacit understanding with Estinien.
He owes this man so much and more. The least he could give him is his heart. ]
You have only ever taken me as I am, how could I not do the same for you?
[ His fingers slide into Sunday's hair, Hades leaning in to bring their foreheads together. He might never tire of sharing this sort of closeness with Sunday, every point of contact another mote of warmth, each precious and savored and treasured. ]
Come to bed, my dove. I think I should very much like to fall asleep with you in my arms, tonight and every night.
[ Hades is right in what he points out. Sunday knows this, and yet the urge to protest it somehow persists. Of course he would take Hades as he is while wondering whether the same was possible for himself. Not when there's everything that he's done when the weight of it is something that'll never fully leave, but it's made that much lighter by finding that understanding.
That's part of what makes it so meaningful, isn't it? That they found in each other all these things they would've said were impossible for them to have only to have found them anyway, offered by the only other person who knows what it means. The only real revelation here is that he had not realized he loves Hades for that and everything else far sooner.
All of those thoughts likely sent a tremor of some kind through their bond, but Sunday cannot bring himself to mind. There is no need to hide anything when they have this.
It's yet another layer of realization which causes affection to wrap itself around his heart even further and especially so when combined with what's said. A request he holds dear like each and every touch as he pulls back enough to press a soft kiss to Hades' forehead, then he stands up after carefully untangling from the other man. A momentary pause before resuming the same again, first with holding out his hands for Hades to take to their destination. ]
Come on then, my heart. For that tonight and for all those nights yet to come.
[ He does feel that ripple through their bond, and he might find it concerning if he weren't so adept at picking out Sunday's emotions by now. It's simply that they're both feeling too much, two very lonely souls who no longer need to be alone, and it would be silly to expect their bond to persist in the same low hum of background noise that it usually does.
It might be overwhelming if Hades didn't have such a yawning void in his own heart that has only just begun to fill. If he did not find himself perpetually hungry for Sunday's affection, his attention, his touch.
His hands find Sunday's own with hardly any prompting, drawn to them as if magnetized, and Hades rises to his feet to guide Sunday to the bed. A thought occurs once they're there, that Sunday is his to hold, to kiss, as he pleases. They are alone and safe in these four walls, free from any doubts. They both want this.
Hades climbs atop the mattress, tugging Sunday with him, pulling him close so that he can kiss him. A real kiss this time, achingly warm and wanting, lips parting. ]
[ It isn't far to the bed, hand in hand as they are, and as Hades moves onto it Sunday follows even before he's beckoned to it - though that he is, even despite everything which was already a confirmation in and of itself before this, is another small thrill.
So is that they reach for each other almost in tandem to again close the space between them before their lips meet. And that - is a different kiss, one which takes no time to decipher when it matches the same want like a second heartbeat. The same for how it ignites it in him further yet. For so long he'd been convinced this was something he did not deserve and even more so after everything, much as they've already said to each other indirectly and otherwise.
Sunday wastes no time in moving one hand from where it'd come to rest on Hades' chest while they settled to pull him forward and closer still to deepen the kiss further without hesitation at that invitation, his own lips parted in return. A continuation of what was started so many times before, but this time with no market and no landing on a train floor abruptly.
Like the void it still just the two of them, but far more: a reality, with this and nothing else more important than each other as he slides a hand into Hades' hair. ]
[ Sunday opens up to him so sweetly, lips parting in response to Hades’ own urging, the hand on his chest solid and warm. No doubt Sunday can feel the eager tattoo of his heart as they dive into each other without hesitation, the walls of their own making finally lowered completely.
Hades licks into Sunday’s mouth to taste him, to indulge, slow and sweet, but no less wanting. Now that they’ve started this, he doesn’t know if he can stop. He doesn’t know if he wants to stop. The idea of having all of Sunday, heart and body, makes heat rush through him, buzzing under his skin and rippling through their bond.
There are fingers in his hair, a questing touch that has him breathing out a sigh for Sunday to drink down. Oh, there are a great many things he has not let himself want in a very long time, and this is one of them. If he were to bed someone because he wanted to for the first time in ten thousand years, then it would have to be this man, wouldn’t it? The one he adores above all others. ]
Sunday… [ Breathed out between kisses, like he can’t be parted from the velvet heat of Sunday’s mouth for long, lest he cease to draw breath himself. ] Tell me what you want.
[ This is a shared adoration even before their bond all but doubles it and the warmth between them as he yields to it, slow moving but with no less insistence building in a plea for it not to end. That sigh is all Sunday needs to run his hand through Hades' hair again in search of what other reactions might come.
And the way his name is said threatens to dizzy him further, and Sunday continues to interrupt with kisses to match as if being parted for even a second would be far too much. It takes a moment for what the other man says to sink in during which he catches his breath when that's no request to be overlooked in the outpouring of affection they've held back for so long. ]
I... [ This is where he could overthink this as so often happens with almost everything. But not now when there's no need to - not now when he knows with complete certainty. ] I want you, Hades. All of you, in whatever way that means.
[ Don't stop, he thinks consciously this time, though whether it's his own or an echo of Hades' he couldn't say. A truth, another want transformed from thought to feeling though Sunday follows up what he's said (aloud) by brushing his lips against Hades' without turning it into another kiss - for now - when another slightly more specific thought follows quickly. ]
I want to touch you. [ To begin with as Sunday notices at some point he'd wound his other hand into Hades' clothing, convenient now to gently tug once at the fabric as a request to move it out of the way, if granted. ] And for you to tell me what you want, too.
[ He always delights in hearing Sunday say his name, each and every instance is something special to be cherished, but stars above, to hear him say it like that turns his blood molten. Hades has long forgotten what it is to be wanted, to be loved. Sunday reminds him with such ease, how could he not give him everything? His heart, his body, his soul.
Their bond doesn’t allow them to read each other’s thoughts, and he’s no telepath like Sunday, yet he can feel that sentiment with such certainty – don’t stop – it might very well have come with him. They have scarce begun and already their bond is looping back on itself, feeding this affection and desire, and it will only increase. Hades doesn’t seem to mind. He’d drown in Sunday if he could. Perhaps he will. ]
Yes.
[ His hand finds Sunday’s wrist, guiding him away from where his fingers have curled in the light fabric of his sleep shirt under the hem of the garment, to let skin meet skin. ]
I want you, my beloved dove. I want your touch, your body, your mouth all over me. I am yours.
[ They are simple requests they've both made and yet they're all encompassing with affection he won't take for granted. Once more a matching sense of joy in that as Hades relocates his hand and Sunday lets a smile be swallowed up by another kiss as he leans into it for that mutual wanting ever heightening. ]
I think I can manage that so long as you promise the same in return.
[ Far less of a hypothetical than he's phrased it, either way, when there's nothing that'd keep him from fulfilling those wishes. It's with ease then that Sunday moves that hand, slowly trailing it up Hades' side to skim along skin beneath the fabric. Acquaintance through touch alone for time being since he moves next to press kiss after kiss along Hades' jaw with adoration brimming over.
This, too, won't entirely do it even with stopping to worry a small mark where neck and shoulder meet before fabric gets in the way. Sunday moves his hand back to Hades' waist to rest his hand on the other man's hip and reluctantly withdraws his hand tangled up in the other man's hair, though not without making a note of that for later. Both now find the shirt hem again but this time to pause for a question murmured against skin. ]
[ He just laughs, breathless. Despite how he'd phrased it, Sunday isn't asking a great hardship of him. In fact, he'd like nothing more than to have his hands, his mouth, all over this man — though Sunday is most certainly beating him to the punch. Every kiss along his jaw is like a mote of fire, painted across fair skin already flushing with want. He angles his head to give Sunday free reign of his throat, and that little sigh makes a comeback, coaxed out of him by attentive lips leaving a faint mark on the slope of his neck and shoulder.
Perfection, he thinks. And in the next second, he thinks he wouldn't mind it if Sunday marked him more, his signature writ across Hades' body by lips and teeth and tongue.
Perhaps the feedback loop they've started, desire singing through their bond, is making his imagination run wild. More likely, though, is the possibility that he's just now realizing how absolutely starved for affection he is. Real affection, not something he played at for the sake of assuming a mortal role.
He feels the loss of Sunday's hands on him quite keenly, though when that touch settles on the hem of his shirt, he can't help but smile, anticipation abuzz in the pit of his stomach. ]
Please do. Undress me... every ilm is yours to explore.
[ He doesn't wear much to bed — a simple shirt and light pair of trousers, but already the fabric feels stifling. ]
[ No sooner is that permission granted does Sunday move to take it, and not without one last brush of lips to Hades' neck. For now, since that sigh is filed away with each reaction held like a treasure worth seeking again and again - as he means to.
Later, since now Sunday pushes up the shirt to remove it slowly, intent upon running fingertips along each inch of skin revealed as a promise until he's removed it entirely. Even the two seconds (if that) it takes to shrug off the robe he'd forgotten he'd put on over his own shirt and pajama pants is too long for them to be parted with that pull to be close again.
A quiet call to be answered even if Sunday's lost track of which of them it's from when everything doubles back and over itself. Even as his gaze tracks over everything revealed in a way much different from before as Sunday maps everything with his hands to match earlier touch to sight now, a small interlude no less from desire than anything else, it's present and begging him not to wait.
The thought that it's also been far too long for anything like this lingers somewhere in his own mind along with wondering if it's something he could ever claim happened. If it did, it was nothing comparable as Sunday once more trails a hand along Hades' jawline in some fondness which can't be quantified into words.
Better, then, to press a light kiss to that barely started mark, though rather than resuming it Sunday moves lower to one shoulder to begin another path and testing lips, tongue, and teeth as he goes for what reactions he might uncover as he goes. And with a light scrape of teeth against a collarbone, he reaches for one of Hades' hands, wherever it is, to move it to his waist beneath his own shirt with a murmured please. ]
[ Sunday takes his sweet time with undressing him, exploring every ilm as Hades said he could, as is his right as the man Hades holds dear above all others. It’s a tortuously slow affair, even for an immortal possessed of an immortal’s patience, but he revels in every moment. Every touch against warm skin, fingertips ghosting along the edges of the scar carved into his torso in a way that sends a pleasant thrill down his spine. They will have to explore more of that later.
They’re parted for mere seconds, scant moments that it takes Sunday to shrug off his own robe, but stars if it doesn’t feel like too long. The urge to snap back together is only tempered by the way Sunday looks at him, such affection in gold eyes it's like to steal his breath away.
At last, Sunday leans back in, presses to the warmth of Hades’ bare chest, to resume his explorations. His beloved is possessed of a clever mouth, he knows this, but to have it set on him in such a way is thrilling. The light scrape of teeth, the attentive pass of his tongue, the soft press of lips, it all comes together in a symphony of sensation that makes him hot all over, the low rumble of a groan spilling past his lips.
His hand goes where guided, fingertips grazing the skin just under Sunday’s shirt. That please, for all its softness, hits him like a levinbolt. Sunday could ask anything of him and he’d fold in an instant, but he is especially eager to fulfill this request, to see them both laid bare for each other. He is not quite so slow in his efforts, hiking Sunday’s sleep shirt up and gently tugging it off over his head to be discarded and forgotten. His arms circle Sunday’s shoulders, pulling him on top of him as he lists backwards, his own back hitting the mattress, snow-colored hair fanning out against the pillow.
Sunday is so warm. So perfect, pressed skin to skin, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. Like this, it’s impossible to hide his arousal – not that he would want to. He’s so hard he aches.
His head dips, looking for that wonderful, terrible mouth again to claim it in a searing kiss. ]
[ There's a fleeting temptation to believe this slow and deliberate affection is something he could keep up forever if he could. Even then it would be only a mere fraction of what Hades deserves. It's that thought which keeps Sunday moving along as if this constellation of marks left behind for Hades to find later won't be complete until it conveys as much, until impatience might overtake them both when it edges ever closer.
And until his own request serves as an interruption in only a brief pause as he's helped free of his shirt, though his gaze is no less heated as he refocuses as they tangle together again with matching arousal for which this new closeness demands more. All the more reason to spend that split second studying the sight of Hades beneath him in one more sight to memorize before their mouths meet again and he moves a hand into Hades' hair once more.
If that groan earlier threatened to erase his thoughts then this kiss all but sets them ablaze for the same effect as he returns it insistently as his own patience thins that much more. Impossible for it to not as they hold each other close as if no one and nothing else matters.
Whatever he'd planned by way of continuing to slowly explore will have to wait for another time. Without breaking the kiss past turning it into one after another, and without pulling away as much as possible, Sunday moves his own hand down the length of Hades' torso. A shameless excuse to again touch as much as possible before letting that hand rest on the other man's waist for a bit of balance while shifting to slot one of his thighs between Hades' own.
And to hold them both in place as he cants his hips forward to meet Hades' in a slow roll. Something meant to be a deliberate motion as all the rest - but an idea just as quickly derailed when that added bit of contact and friction drags a noise out of Sunday that's somewhere between a moan and a sigh. No reason to delay before repeating it again, either, this time with insistence even if the pace is no faster. ]
[ There will be time, at least. Time enough to explore each other more thoroughly, to map one another until they know each other’s bodies as well as their own. Already Sunday has stumbled upon something Hades quite likes – those fingers sliding back into his hair earning him an appreciative murmur. Sunday has clearly noticed he likes that and has continued to do it, and Hades has no objections whatsoever.
Right now, Hades burns too hot, too eager, to not want to take this further faster. Denied for so long, mostly by his own doing, and now that the flood gates have opened, he can’t help to stem the tide. He hungers for this man in a way he has not felt for anyone in tens of thousands of years. This is his world, his person, and he wants to experience him to the fullest.
Sunday’s touch is electric, the pass of his hand trailing southward making anticipation coil tight in the pit of his stomach, though he could not truly anticipate his beloved’s next move, it seems. Sunday rocks his hips, a friction so sweet that Hades can’t help but moan in concert with him. It feels at once so good and nowhere near enough, and then he just does it again. ]
Stars, Sunday… [ His voice is breathless, tight with desire. ] You are going to drive me mad.
[ He doesn’t make that sound like a bad thing, but still. Hades drags his hands down the expanse of Sunday’s back, following the curve of his spine until he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Sunday’s trousers and underthings both. ]
You’ll let me see all of you, won’t you? Let me see how much you want me, my dove.
[ The desire in the other man's voice has him tightening his grip on the other man's waist momentarily even as what's said gets a breathless laugh from Sunday. It's tempting to roll his hips again, but that would be driving them both mad when it was nowhere near enough. Something else for another time when there's that ever increasing want driving them ever closer when there's nothing he wants to do than put that into whatever Hades desires.
The hands moving along his back make it impossible to not arch slightly into that added attention of a touch which leaves warmth in where they've passed over - a simple touch which contains so much and leaves him wanting more every bit as everything else has. A touch that's one of many he might've denied himself of once, a thought Sunday can't begin to fathom that now.
Or won't be able to later since his thoughts are nowhere except where Hades' hands have stopped too soon from where he wants them to go. Only fair since he did the same seconds ago, really, as he trails fingertips along the line of the other man's hip but also towards the waistband of his beloved's last remaining layers. A pause meant to be momentary this time rather than teasing so he can say something else first before removing them. ]
You can see to start with, but I want you to do more than only that.
[ Now it's his turn to not keep desire out of his voice, his words - an underline to everything Hades can feel in more ways than one given Sunday's just as hard even before that desire pulls on their bond, too. There's no hesitation in his request as he keeps his gaze upon Hades. ]
[ They have done a fair job at navigating their connection thus far, but it’s becoming apparent that when desire is thrown into the mix, it’s going to be a different sort of animal to wrangle. They both want each other fiercely, and it’s becoming difficult to tell where the fire that scorches under Hades’ skin ends and the heat roiling out from Sunday begins. It’s enough to nearly make him dizzy, all of his focus going toward the sweet sensation of Sunday’s hands on him instead of bothering to pick out whose feelings are who’s.
It hardly matters, does it? How could anything in the world matter more than this? The sweetest request he has ever heard has just reached his ears, robbing the air from his lungs with a breathless and enthusiastic, ]
Yes.
[ He needs hardly exert any effort at all to reverse their positions, to pin Sunday beneath him atop the sheets. Hades spares only a moment to look, to admire his beloved dove beneath him, how beautiful he looks, flushed and wanting and half-bare.
That last thing will not last much longer. Hades’ hands find Sunday’s waistband again, and he slips his pajama pants and underwear off as one, tossing them aside without looking where they fall. Softly glowing gold eyes rove over Sunday’s body, passing over his every curve from his toes to the hard line of his cock to his face like a physical force. It takes a great effort of will not to swoop back in immediately, to lean back so Hades can remove his own trousers and underthings, and when he finally settles himself over Sunday again, they are both bare, too-warm skin to too-warm skin.
Hades braces himself with one elbow against the mattress while his other hand dips between them to draw his fingers up the underside of Sunday’s eager length. ]
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A feeling comes with it that might take Sunday a moment to put the right words to, but if it wasn't already echoed then it's compounded through the hand extended in that tender gesture before the other man continues. He knows what this is, doesn't he? There is no need to name it again when it'd already occurred to him in the void where it was only them. It has not changed. It's here and it was long before that, too, in what Hades tells him and how Sunday knows there's no hesitation needed. ]
I don't need to think for long to know it seems unfair to ask Charon to move. [ A weak joke, maybe a little wavering from the sentiment still gripping him, and Charon does not seem particularly perturbed by the thought. ] And I do not want any of this to be undone either.
[ But there is far more to be said, and Sunday's not looked away from Hades when his answer cannot be left there. Charon will have to wait when Sunday moves the hand beneath his chin to the side of his face to lean into Hades' palm, his own hand now overlapping the back of the other man's. ]
I miss you as well whenever we are apart. And after missing so many others in my life for so long I do not wish to count you among them any longer, though I've found myself afraid of saying so for no reasons which seem justified if... when you feel the same. What I found most distressing about what happened on the train was not so much that everything was out of our control but that there was a chance it would only ever be a possibility. The same for the market before if I'd realized it then, but I have now. I do not want a life without this or without you, Hades.
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Ah, but his home isn’t a place, is it? It is a person. This person, his hand over Hades’ own. Looking back, he’s not certain when the trajectory of his relationship with Sunday began to change – perhaps as far back as the moment their bond was forged – but what he does know now is that Sunday is an indelible, undeniable part of his life. A man for whom he would move mountains or pull down the stars. ]
The market?
[ Oh, that seems like an age ago, with all that they have been through since. Lifetimes lived in the span of mere hours. If that’s true, then he imagines that the both of them have been on the same path, falling for each other hard and fast, and willfully ignorant of that fact. ]
Stars… what incredible fools we are. I cannot believe I have to thank this wretched place for anything, but I suppose without it, I would not have found you.
[ He brushes his thumb along Sunday’s cheek, painting a soft arc over his skin. ]
I would not have realized that I am in love with you.
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Because it's something else they'd experienced together without knowing it and as Hades proclaims them both fools, Sunday cannot help a slight laugh. A real one, one lighter and a little lightheaded too from what's close to joy over so much overlap. Overlap long enough that maybe they should have done something about it much before now, but - when he thinks about it later, Sunday will be certain he would not change anything.
Especially now with what follows as his gaze hasn't wavered from Hades where he'd already been hanging on every word. Possibly a bit too much when it takes an additional moment for what Hades says to sink in, but when it does Sunday has to blink a few times to compose himself when emotion threatens to overtake him as his eyes mist. From nothing but joy as even without their bond he would've known every word was the truth; it's a testament to how they've come to know each other. ]
And I with you.
[ It's not quite the proper three word phrase, not yet, but it might as well be. That might take a minute to be said by Sunday, but it's still felt and meant every bit as much as he turns to brush his lips briefly against what he can reach of Hades' palm before continuing. ]
No matter what else happens while we're here or what came before this, I will be grateful that all of it led me to you. Even with so many other regrets, that could and will never be one of them when you are a bright light amidst everything else.
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Apologies to Charon if it disturbs her dozing on Sunday’s lap, but Hades leans in to press his lips to Sunday’s, soft and warm and lingering. A confirmation that everything Sunday has said is something he feels too, and deeply.
When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far, keeping close as if caught in Sunday’s orbit, unable or unwilling to put any more distance between them. ]
I’ve no idea what our time here could bring, or how long it might last, I… want this. More than I have ever wanted anything for myself in lifetimes.
[ His mouth curves into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as if laughing at some private joke. Their first real conversation truly feels like it was forever ago, back when they were different people. Back before either of them had remembered how to live, learned how to love. ]
I cannot imagine this is quite what either of us had in mind for our second chances, but I cannot say I mind it.
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It was true that moment beneath the mistletoe brought into focus that he did want this and Hades both beyond any idle thought. The feeling echoes back into focus again with what he'd not recognized then: that it was like coming home, and now far less like a concept than it is a reality. He is home when Hades is there.
When that kiss breaks he's quick to press another to the corner of the other man's mouth as if just one couldn't be enough even if they have all the time for more. Later, however, since he doesn't want to interfere with what's being said. Especially not when that smile lights up that beloved face and Sunday traces the line of it along Hades' bottom lip, unable to resist a smile of his own. ]
And you shall have it when you and I both want this. I cannot remember the last time I wanted something for myself either, and perhaps that makes it all the more fitting that we've found each other.
[ There is much to think back on when it comes to the state he'd been after first arriving: numb in the aftermath of everything, and from grief and everything long before. He'd held onto hope like a lifeline while stumbling his way forward, and Sunday remembers thinking Hades was a light in that darkness. Which - ]
Even without any second chances, I had not dreamed of anything like this being a possibility. And it makes it all the better, I think, to know that you understand this and everything else and have never once looked away.
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He owes this man so much and more. The least he could give him is his heart. ]
You have only ever taken me as I am, how could I not do the same for you?
[ His fingers slide into Sunday's hair, Hades leaning in to bring their foreheads together. He might never tire of sharing this sort of closeness with Sunday, every point of contact another mote of warmth, each precious and savored and treasured. ]
Come to bed, my dove. I think I should very much like to fall asleep with you in my arms, tonight and every night.
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That's part of what makes it so meaningful, isn't it? That they found in each other all these things they would've said were impossible for them to have only to have found them anyway, offered by the only other person who knows what it means. The only real revelation here is that he had not realized he loves Hades for that and everything else far sooner.
All of those thoughts likely sent a tremor of some kind through their bond, but Sunday cannot bring himself to mind. There is no need to hide anything when they have this.
It's yet another layer of realization which causes affection to wrap itself around his heart even further and especially so when combined with what's said. A request he holds dear like each and every touch as he pulls back enough to press a soft kiss to Hades' forehead, then he stands up after carefully untangling from the other man. A momentary pause before resuming the same again, first with holding out his hands for Hades to take to their destination. ]
Come on then, my heart. For that tonight and for all those nights yet to come.
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It might be overwhelming if Hades didn't have such a yawning void in his own heart that has only just begun to fill. If he did not find himself perpetually hungry for Sunday's affection, his attention, his touch.
His hands find Sunday's own with hardly any prompting, drawn to them as if magnetized, and Hades rises to his feet to guide Sunday to the bed. A thought occurs once they're there, that Sunday is his to hold, to kiss, as he pleases. They are alone and safe in these four walls, free from any doubts. They both want this.
Hades climbs atop the mattress, tugging Sunday with him, pulling him close so that he can kiss him. A real kiss this time, achingly warm and wanting, lips parting. ]
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So is that they reach for each other almost in tandem to again close the space between them before their lips meet. And that - is a different kiss, one which takes no time to decipher when it matches the same want like a second heartbeat. The same for how it ignites it in him further yet. For so long he'd been convinced this was something he did not deserve and even more so after everything, much as they've already said to each other indirectly and otherwise.
Sunday wastes no time in moving one hand from where it'd come to rest on Hades' chest while they settled to pull him forward and closer still to deepen the kiss further without hesitation at that invitation, his own lips parted in return. A continuation of what was started so many times before, but this time with no market and no landing on a train floor abruptly.
Like the void it still just the two of them, but far more: a reality, with this and nothing else more important than each other as he slides a hand into Hades' hair. ]
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Hades licks into Sunday’s mouth to taste him, to indulge, slow and sweet, but no less wanting. Now that they’ve started this, he doesn’t know if he can stop. He doesn’t know if he wants to stop. The idea of having all of Sunday, heart and body, makes heat rush through him, buzzing under his skin and rippling through their bond.
There are fingers in his hair, a questing touch that has him breathing out a sigh for Sunday to drink down. Oh, there are a great many things he has not let himself want in a very long time, and this is one of them. If he were to bed someone because he wanted to for the first time in ten thousand years, then it would have to be this man, wouldn’t it? The one he adores above all others. ]
Sunday… [ Breathed out between kisses, like he can’t be parted from the velvet heat of Sunday’s mouth for long, lest he cease to draw breath himself. ] Tell me what you want.
[ If this is too much, too soon, he can stop. ]
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And the way his name is said threatens to dizzy him further, and Sunday continues to interrupt with kisses to match as if being parted for even a second would be far too much. It takes a moment for what the other man says to sink in during which he catches his breath when that's no request to be overlooked in the outpouring of affection they've held back for so long. ]
I... [ This is where he could overthink this as so often happens with almost everything. But not now when there's no need to - not now when he knows with complete certainty. ] I want you, Hades. All of you, in whatever way that means.
[ Don't stop, he thinks consciously this time, though whether it's his own or an echo of Hades' he couldn't say. A truth, another want transformed from thought to feeling though Sunday follows up what he's said (aloud) by brushing his lips against Hades' without turning it into another kiss - for now - when another slightly more specific thought follows quickly. ]
I want to touch you. [ To begin with as Sunday notices at some point he'd wound his other hand into Hades' clothing, convenient now to gently tug once at the fabric as a request to move it out of the way, if granted. ] And for you to tell me what you want, too.
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Their bond doesn’t allow them to read each other’s thoughts, and he’s no telepath like Sunday, yet he can feel that sentiment with such certainty – don’t stop – it might very well have come with him. They have scarce begun and already their bond is looping back on itself, feeding this affection and desire, and it will only increase. Hades doesn’t seem to mind. He’d drown in Sunday if he could. Perhaps he will. ]
Yes.
[ His hand finds Sunday’s wrist, guiding him away from where his fingers have curled in the light fabric of his sleep shirt under the hem of the garment, to let skin meet skin. ]
I want you, my beloved dove. I want your touch, your body, your mouth all over me. I am yours.
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I think I can manage that so long as you promise the same in return.
[ Far less of a hypothetical than he's phrased it, either way, when there's nothing that'd keep him from fulfilling those wishes. It's with ease then that Sunday moves that hand, slowly trailing it up Hades' side to skim along skin beneath the fabric. Acquaintance through touch alone for time being since he moves next to press kiss after kiss along Hades' jaw with adoration brimming over.
This, too, won't entirely do it even with stopping to worry a small mark where neck and shoulder meet before fabric gets in the way. Sunday moves his hand back to Hades' waist to rest his hand on the other man's hip and reluctantly withdraws his hand tangled up in the other man's hair, though not without making a note of that for later. Both now find the shirt hem again but this time to pause for a question murmured against skin. ]
May I take this off? I want to see all of you.
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Perfection, he thinks. And in the next second, he thinks he wouldn't mind it if Sunday marked him more, his signature writ across Hades' body by lips and teeth and tongue.
Perhaps the feedback loop they've started, desire singing through their bond, is making his imagination run wild. More likely, though, is the possibility that he's just now realizing how absolutely starved for affection he is. Real affection, not something he played at for the sake of assuming a mortal role.
He feels the loss of Sunday's hands on him quite keenly, though when that touch settles on the hem of his shirt, he can't help but smile, anticipation abuzz in the pit of his stomach. ]
Please do. Undress me... every ilm is yours to explore.
[ He doesn't wear much to bed — a simple shirt and light pair of trousers, but already the fabric feels stifling. ]
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Later, since now Sunday pushes up the shirt to remove it slowly, intent upon running fingertips along each inch of skin revealed as a promise until he's removed it entirely. Even the two seconds (if that) it takes to shrug off the robe he'd forgotten he'd put on over his own shirt and pajama pants is too long for them to be parted with that pull to be close again.
A quiet call to be answered even if Sunday's lost track of which of them it's from when everything doubles back and over itself. Even as his gaze tracks over everything revealed in a way much different from before as Sunday maps everything with his hands to match earlier touch to sight now, a small interlude no less from desire than anything else, it's present and begging him not to wait.
The thought that it's also been far too long for anything like this lingers somewhere in his own mind along with wondering if it's something he could ever claim happened. If it did, it was nothing comparable as Sunday once more trails a hand along Hades' jawline in some fondness which can't be quantified into words.
Better, then, to press a light kiss to that barely started mark, though rather than resuming it Sunday moves lower to one shoulder to begin another path and testing lips, tongue, and teeth as he goes for what reactions he might uncover as he goes. And with a light scrape of teeth against a collarbone, he reaches for one of Hades' hands, wherever it is, to move it to his waist beneath his own shirt with a murmured please. ]
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They’re parted for mere seconds, scant moments that it takes Sunday to shrug off his own robe, but stars if it doesn’t feel like too long. The urge to snap back together is only tempered by the way Sunday looks at him, such affection in gold eyes it's like to steal his breath away.
At last, Sunday leans back in, presses to the warmth of Hades’ bare chest, to resume his explorations. His beloved is possessed of a clever mouth, he knows this, but to have it set on him in such a way is thrilling. The light scrape of teeth, the attentive pass of his tongue, the soft press of lips, it all comes together in a symphony of sensation that makes him hot all over, the low rumble of a groan spilling past his lips.
His hand goes where guided, fingertips grazing the skin just under Sunday’s shirt. That please, for all its softness, hits him like a levinbolt. Sunday could ask anything of him and he’d fold in an instant, but he is especially eager to fulfill this request, to see them both laid bare for each other. He is not quite so slow in his efforts, hiking Sunday’s sleep shirt up and gently tugging it off over his head to be discarded and forgotten. His arms circle Sunday’s shoulders, pulling him on top of him as he lists backwards, his own back hitting the mattress, snow-colored hair fanning out against the pillow.
Sunday is so warm. So perfect, pressed skin to skin, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. Like this, it’s impossible to hide his arousal – not that he would want to. He’s so hard he aches.
His head dips, looking for that wonderful, terrible mouth again to claim it in a searing kiss. ]
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And until his own request serves as an interruption in only a brief pause as he's helped free of his shirt, though his gaze is no less heated as he refocuses as they tangle together again with matching arousal for which this new closeness demands more. All the more reason to spend that split second studying the sight of Hades beneath him in one more sight to memorize before their mouths meet again and he moves a hand into Hades' hair once more.
If that groan earlier threatened to erase his thoughts then this kiss all but sets them ablaze for the same effect as he returns it insistently as his own patience thins that much more. Impossible for it to not as they hold each other close as if no one and nothing else matters.
Whatever he'd planned by way of continuing to slowly explore will have to wait for another time. Without breaking the kiss past turning it into one after another, and without pulling away as much as possible, Sunday moves his own hand down the length of Hades' torso. A shameless excuse to again touch as much as possible before letting that hand rest on the other man's waist for a bit of balance while shifting to slot one of his thighs between Hades' own.
And to hold them both in place as he cants his hips forward to meet Hades' in a slow roll. Something meant to be a deliberate motion as all the rest - but an idea just as quickly derailed when that added bit of contact and friction drags a noise out of Sunday that's somewhere between a moan and a sigh. No reason to delay before repeating it again, either, this time with insistence even if the pace is no faster. ]
guess we should mark this as NSFW now huh
Right now, Hades burns too hot, too eager, to not want to take this further faster. Denied for so long, mostly by his own doing, and now that the flood gates have opened, he can’t help to stem the tide. He hungers for this man in a way he has not felt for anyone in tens of thousands of years. This is his world, his person, and he wants to experience him to the fullest.
Sunday’s touch is electric, the pass of his hand trailing southward making anticipation coil tight in the pit of his stomach, though he could not truly anticipate his beloved’s next move, it seems. Sunday rocks his hips, a friction so sweet that Hades can’t help but moan in concert with him. It feels at once so good and nowhere near enough, and then he just does it again. ]
Stars, Sunday… [ His voice is breathless, tight with desire. ] You are going to drive me mad.
[ He doesn’t make that sound like a bad thing, but still. Hades drags his hands down the expanse of Sunday’s back, following the curve of his spine until he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Sunday’s trousers and underthings both. ]
You’ll let me see all of you, won’t you? Let me see how much you want me, my dove.
WHOOPS i meant to put that on my last tag
The hands moving along his back make it impossible to not arch slightly into that added attention of a touch which leaves warmth in where they've passed over - a simple touch which contains so much and leaves him wanting more every bit as everything else has. A touch that's one of many he might've denied himself of once, a thought Sunday can't begin to fathom that now.
Or won't be able to later since his thoughts are nowhere except where Hades' hands have stopped too soon from where he wants them to go. Only fair since he did the same seconds ago, really, as he trails fingertips along the line of the other man's hip but also towards the waistband of his beloved's last remaining layers. A pause meant to be momentary this time rather than teasing so he can say something else first before removing them. ]
You can see to start with, but I want you to do more than only that.
[ Now it's his turn to not keep desire out of his voice, his words - an underline to everything Hades can feel in more ways than one given Sunday's just as hard even before that desire pulls on their bond, too. There's no hesitation in his request as he keeps his gaze upon Hades. ]
Touch me, my heart. I want you to touch me.
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It hardly matters, does it? How could anything in the world matter more than this? The sweetest request he has ever heard has just reached his ears, robbing the air from his lungs with a breathless and enthusiastic, ]
Yes.
[ He needs hardly exert any effort at all to reverse their positions, to pin Sunday beneath him atop the sheets. Hades spares only a moment to look, to admire his beloved dove beneath him, how beautiful he looks, flushed and wanting and half-bare.
That last thing will not last much longer. Hades’ hands find Sunday’s waistband again, and he slips his pajama pants and underwear off as one, tossing them aside without looking where they fall. Softly glowing gold eyes rove over Sunday’s body, passing over his every curve from his toes to the hard line of his cock to his face like a physical force. It takes a great effort of will not to swoop back in immediately, to lean back so Hades can remove his own trousers and underthings, and when he finally settles himself over Sunday again, they are both bare, too-warm skin to too-warm skin.
Hades braces himself with one elbow against the mattress while his other hand dips between them to draw his fingers up the underside of Sunday’s eager length. ]
You are gorgeous. Utter perfection.