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The first time Hesperos travels to Amaurot to deliver his reports personally, it is with genuine questions and concerns regarding Asphodelos.
The second and third times are flimsy excuses, and by the fourth time Lahabrea calls him out on it.
“Why do you not use a familiar to make these deliveries?” the Speaker questions. “I know you have that bizarrely-dressed winged rat.”
The implication that Lahabrea paid enough attention to know his personal familiar tickles him. Hesperos shakes his head, smiling. “In all truth, I simply enjoy the fresh air. Worry not, I am more than confident in the abilities of my warders to maintain the concepts until my return.”
Lahabrea harrumphs, gesturing to an empty spot on his desk. Hesperos's robes swish lightly as he moves forward.
He spies a framed photo of a younger Erichthonios on display. He can’t help the small smile; for as much as the boy believed his father despised him, Hesperos knew better. If only there was some way to convince him…
“How does he fare?”
Hesperos blinks, jostled from his memories. He glances up to see Lahabrea regarding him expectantly.
“My son,” Lahabrea elaborates, gesturing mildly to the picture. “He is under your care, is he not?”
“Yes,” Hesperos answers, embarrassed at his response time. “He is well. I am impressed by his sense of responsibility. Even if his capacity for magic hinders him, he throws himself into his duties with more dedication than anyone.” He shrugs. “Not to mention his shackle magic being a head and shoulders above his peers.”
Lahabrea takes all of this information in unflinchingly. Hesperos thinks that he appreciates it – otherwise, why would he ask? – but he gives no other indication of his approval. As he goes back to his work, Hesperos sighs silently.
The excuse has run its course; the carriage has turned back into a pumpkin, and it’s back to the cold prison of Pandaemonium for him. Oh well. Seeing Lahabrea, if only in these brief moments, made the journey worthwhile. He would endure much and more for but a mere glimpse. Bowing, he turns to leave.
He doesn’t see Lahabrea’s molten eyes on him as he walks out.
Lahabrea corners him in a hallway, alone.
The Speaker stands a head shorter, but his presence alone boxes Hesperos in. The keyward presses against the wall, fingers crooked at his sides.
Lahabrea’s eyes bore into him. “What do you want?” he asks. “To ruin me?”
Hesperos gapes at him, floundering. “What? No–”
“You wish to take what little I have left,” Lahabrea interrupts. “Until I am nothing.”
“I wish to love you,” Hesperos asserts firmly, even if more to defend his intentions than to confess his love. “I wish to know you.”
“You ask for too much.” Lahabrea reaches out, gripping a fistful of the keyward’s silver hair. “I have no more love to give anyone.”
Hesperos winces at the pain, baring his teeth. He feels like a trapped animal; a concept in his own cage. “I never asked for your love. I would be content with nothing but your attention.”
Lahabrea doesn’t seem to hear him.
“My duty is to the star,” Lahabrea mumbles, as if trying to convince himself. He leans in, close enough that his nose rests lightly on Hesperos’s bare neck. A trembling breath takes in the keyward’s scent. “Creation help me.” Such a broken prayer – as if Hesperos is tormenting him.
In lieu of creation’s will, Hesperos takes action. Hands press strong and gentle into Lahabrea’s shoulders, pushing him back. “This is distressing you,” he says by way of apology, gazing worriedly into Lahabrea’s eyes.
Something sparks in those ruby depths.
Then, all at once, Lahabrea is on him. Fists yanking the front of his robes, he devours Hesperos’s mouth like a starving animal. He tastes like smoke, as if something is smoldering in his throat. Hesperos wants to pull away, take some time to piece together Lahabrea’s ever-shifting puzzle with these new pieces – but he can’t. Lahabrea has him trapped in a burning whirlwind of desire.
It’s all he can do to hold on.
Hesperos sits at the foot of Lahabrea’s desk, head resting in his lap. Aged fingers run through his hair. The motion calms them both; Hesperos might be nearly lulled to slumber were he not determined to commit this moment to memory.
Plush pillows cushion his knees. Lahabrea insisted, citing that they were both far too old to be kneeling on the hard marble floor. Hesperos feels a little like a spoiled pet, which is by no means unwelcome. In fact, it still feels like he’s dreaming.
“Hesperos.”
The keyward stirs, lashes fluttering. “Hm?”
Lahabrea is staring firmly ahead. “This is as much as I can give you.”
Hesperos takes in more air on his next breath, waking himself from his hibernative state. “Then I will be content with my lot,” he answers easily. “But truth be told, I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
“Oh?” Lahabrea looks down at him, brow cocked challengingly.
The sight could be unnerving to anyone else, but Hesperos is far too relaxed. Lahabrea’s fingers are still on his scalp, hair threaded through them. “Shall I speak freely, then?”
A nod. “You have my permission.”
“It seems to me that you want more,” Hesperos says evenly, as if in the debate hall. “But something is holding you back. I don’t know what, yet. Mayhaps you perceive it as a betrayal to Athena.”
Lahabrea stiffens.
Perhaps he’s said too much. “Forgive my impertinence.”
“No,” Lahabrea sighs, shaking his head. “No, I gave you permission.” His fingers curl in Hesperos’s locks. “You are perceptive, Keyward. But my heart is not yours to know.”
Hesperos tilts his head back. “Will you tell me?”
Lahabrea doesn’t reply right away. His fingers move again, caressing Hesperos’s head.
“It’s a long journey back to Elpis,” he says finally. “Stay the night.”
They dine and drink wine, a rather copious amount in Lahabrea’s case. They sit close to each other, shoulders touching, and Lahabrea’s hand keeps brushing his in a way that Hesperos thinks might be on purpose.
Lahabrea keeps opening his mouth and closing it again. After this happens, he takes a big drink of wine. The cycle repeats frequently. It doesn’t seem to be helping until they retire to bed. Hesperos wonders if perhaps he should take a spare room – propriety’s sake, and all – but Lahabrea drags him into his bed, fully clothed.
Any other time this might catch his skin aflame, but Lahabrea is very drunk now. Hesperos refuses to take advantage of him in this state. He tries to tuck the Speaker into bed, but Lahabrea rolls on top of him.
“Listen to me,” Lahabrea says, alcohol on his breath. “I have something to tell you, damn it.”
Hesperos wills his heart to slow, preparing himself for the ensuing conversation. If Lahabrea needed to drink himself near into a stupor to tell him this… “I’m listening.”
“Are you? Good.” Lahabrea leans over to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “I like you. But I shouldn’t.”
“No?” Hesperos replies mildly. The news doesn’t exactly surprise him. “Why not?”
“I’m Lahabrea! ” he moans, clearly distressed. “Lahabrea devoted himself to the star! ”
“One can be dedicated to the star and still have a personal life,” Hesperos points out. “It does not diminish your accomplishments in anyone’s eyes.”
“No…” Lahabrea shakes his head, worn hands rubbing at his face. “I tore that part of me away. I haven’t the slightest inkling why I’m feeling this way again. I should not be. I told myself, after her , I wouldn’t make the same mistake again…”
Rage flashes over Hesperos’s features. He shoves Lahabrea off before rolling on top of him, pinning down his arms and legs. Loose silver hair falls around his face as he scowls.
“I. Am not. Athena,” he snarls every word.
Lahabrea softens, features slack. “I know. I knew it when you pushed me away. She never paid any mind to my discomfort…not like you, who has never asked me for more than I have given. You who love me pure and true.”
He pries an arm free to cup Hesperos’s cheek. One honeyed eye is pricking with tears, and he rubs the pad of his thumb over a high cheekbone. It’s clearly meant to be a soothing gesture – an attempt to stop the keyward’s tears – but Hesperos’s eyes water even more.
“I want to love you in return,” Lahabrea admits quietly, voice low and rough with regret. “Despite everything. I only wish I could give you more than this battered, broken thing I am now.”
“Even battered and broken as you say,” Hesperos says, hand resting over Lahabrea’s, eyes closed in devotion, “I love you more than all else.”
Lahabrea whispers his name with raw affection, arms looping around his shoulders to pull him down in an embrace.