Chapter Text
When the topic of soulmates was brought up casually at dinner one night, Constantina Guru just smiled and waved away any questions with her high collared dress and elegant fingers that clutched her wine glass just a hair too tightly.
Later though—when the two of them were alone and she’d polished off another bottle of wine by herself—she’d unbuttoned her collar and revealed a messy, jagged name tattooed sideways along her sternum. It didn’t look like a normal signature; looked almost like a kids, like the person who’d written it barely knew Common. However, her fingers still touched it tenderly along her dark skin, touched it with more love than Emery had ever seen her have for Mr. Guru. Gabriel Coal, it said, her fingertips tracing the letters slowly—thick black lines with swirls of gray smoke curling through each jagged point—breath shuddering in her lungs as she’d turned her sapphire eyes to look at the lizardfolk and smiled a sad, sad smile.
“I never got to meet him, you know; I never even got the chance.” She turned her eyes back to the mirror and stared at her reflection, reaching forward and almost touching the glass right over the messy scrawl. “Remy saw me when I was sixteen and he wanted me…didn’t give me much of a choice. How could my father say no, anyway? He’d always known my soulmate was probably some country boy and he never liked that, never wanted me to taint the bloodline with some nobody's blood.” She pulled her fingers away from the glass and pressed her hand back against her sternum, tears spilling from her eyes and messing up her makeup.
The lizardfolk pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it her way, the human turning to stare at it for a second, and then another, before taking it and dabbing her eyes gently. “Now, here I am; his wife of almost thirty years, practically the queen of Agwé and I’m moaning over some country bumpkin I’ll never get to meet. You probably think I’m pathetic, don’t you?” Her laugh was bitter and it didn’t sound right coming from her lips, Constantina turning her gaze away from the mirror as she slowly buttoned her collar back up.
Emery had always liked her, liked her ever since they’d met over two years ago—since he’d been tasked with watching over her shortly afterwards. He’d never been much of a fighter and hadn’t yet earned the right to the Baron’s power; he always figured the boss had done it so she’d have someone to spend time with, to stop her from killing herself. There was the added benefit of knowing the lizardfolk wouldn’t try to fuck her—as all of her bodyguards had tried to do in the past, though none had succeeded or, at least, none had lived long enough to talk about it, and Constantina certainly wasn’t telling—as uninterested in the opposite sex as he was.
Even if he didn’t find her attractive, he knew she was beautiful, drop dead gorgeous in fact; even in her mid-fifties. She had long, long beautiful red and silver hair that she always asked him to brush for her, had a pretty laugh and a delicate, wry sense of humor that would brighten up a room if she cracked a joke—would make it even brighter if she gave them a smile. She didn’t smile often, though, and only when Mr. Guru wasn’t with them, wasn’t watching her like a hawk with his burning, judgemental brown eyes that always looked more dead than alive. When he was, her back was straight and the lines around her eyes tense, growing deeper and deeper with every word the other human said to her.
Emery had noticed that his boss loved to poke fun at her looks; at her face, her clothing, her makeup, at everything about her like she’d never be good enough. The lizardfolk knew, knew with every ounce of his being that they weren’t soulmates. Even before he’d seen the straight, thin signature across Mr. Guru’s forearm when he’d pulled up his sleeves for a little game of golf one day; a name that looked nothing like his wife's.
Even before now as he watched that jagged G disappear under her collar, the last button threading through her dress as she stood, walking over to her bed and sitting along the sheets.
Emery turned away, eyes tracing along the bookshelf next to him and reaching upwards, running a single claw along the book titles. “I don’t…” He frowned to himself, mind flying to that morning after his daily bath, to another crushing disappointment when he’d checked his hide and no words had appeared overnight—his skin remaining unmarked as it had been since the day he was born.
“I don’ find ya pathetic…” he half-lied—because he didn’t find her pathetic for crying over her soulmate or for bemoaning being married to Mr. Guru. But, in this moment, he hated her, but only a little bit, for not running and searching for her Gabriel Coal when she knew he was out there—cause he couldn’t say the truth. So he only said, “Hell I might even envy ya a lil’…” and a pad of his fingertip caressed along the edges of the wood and stayed focused away from her gaze, trying not to let her see the tears forming in his eyes.
“Why the hell would you envy me?” Her voice sounded pained, so agonized that he glanced in her direction and the woman was bent at the waist with a hand touching her sternum—touching the words hidden from view, the ones he longed to have with every part of his body. She took a long gasping breath, clutching at the fabric of her dress before looking in his direction and freezing.
Emery could only imagine what he looked like, he could feel the tears starting to slip from the corner of his eyes and he turned away from her, furiously wiping them away. “I…I jus’ want my own, wish I had one.” He wanted one so much, so much that it kept him awake at night and haunted his dreams when he managed to sleep—dreams of a pair of warm, warm hands running across his body, holding him tight with strong, strong arms that pulled him close and never let him go—he wanted it so much it drove him mad. His hands brushed down the front of his dress shirt, fussing with the edges of his waistband and curling his toes inside his shoes, trying to distract himself from the pain burning a hole through his chest. “Don’ know if I jus’ never had one or if they died before I was born.”
The lizardfolk turned around and started pacing along the patterned rug that covered the room from wall to wall, making several passes before he stopped at the foot of the bed. “Jus’ wish I knew...” He turned to look at her, at the tears in her eyes—and he wished he cared, wished he could bring himself to at least pat her on the back, but he just couldn’t dig up the motivation to give a shit cause she had a name and hadn’t searched, hadn’t fought, hadn’t done anything to get away in the twenty plus years she’d been married—before he crossed his arms over his chest and dragged his gaze to the floor, to his shoes.
The black around his feet felt wrong and out of place on his body; he wished Mr. Guru would just let him wear purple, just so he could feel a fraction more comfortable, more like himself. Except, that was probably why he didn’t let him, playing with every person around him like they were all little toys in his big old doll house of a world. Emery glanced at the vanity to his right—at the reflection of his sad, sad yellow eyes—and his own face was almost too much to bear, his lips frowning back at himself before he turned his gaze to Constantina.
“Jus’ be glad ya have one.”
Two weeks later, her mark disappeared, making the woman gasp in pain and bend over the dining table, clutching at her chest. Mr. Guru scoffed at her, “Don’ be unsightly now, my dear,” before continuing his meal and his conversation, acting as if she didn’t exist like he did most of the time. She managed to pull herself together, but Emery could see the deep, echoing pain behind her eyes; her palm still pressed against her sternum and clutching the pink fabric of her dress.
That night, Constantina was laid out on her back across the bed she slept in alone—that she’d slept in alone for over twenty years. “They say that you feel the pain they feel when they die,” she was crying, she’d been crying since the moment they’d been alone and the tears didn’t seem close to stopping, “it felt…awful, like my chest was on fire.” Her sapphire eyes had turned to his, flowing and flowing like a waterfall with salty tears and Emery couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to.
“I always hoped that I’d get the chance to meet him, at least once.”
The next day they found her body, flattened like a pancake against the stone walkway—down, down, down—three stories beneath her balcony window.
At the wake, at the funeral, as he watched them bury her in the ground; all day, Emery stared down at Constantina’s softly, smiling face and wondered if maybe it was a blessing. Maybe it was a gift not knowing whether they were alive or dead, whether he’d ever had a soulmate to begin with.
He wondered and wondered, turning the thought over and over in his mind until he laid his head down to sleep that night and dreamed—dreamed of warm, warm hands that caressed his scalp and down along his shoulders, dreamed of strong, strong arms that wrapped around his chest and held him so tight he could barely breathe—then woke up gasping for air and threw himself out of the bed.
Emery yanked off his night clothes, stripped down till he was naked and then stared into his bedroom mirror, turning this way and that, eyes combing over his body and looking for a name. He looked along his shoulders, down his arms, his stomach, his hips, his legs and all eight toes—looked over every inch of hide and only screamed and cried when there was no name to be found. He collapsed onto his knees, hands covering his eyes and sobbed, sobbed for so long it made him sick; made him throw up into the trash can next to his door and sob some more.
Then he crawled back into his bed, so exhausted that he nearly passed out the moment his head hit the pillow and decided that no, no it wasn’t a gift, it wasn’t a fucking blessing.
Mr. Guru had another bride by the end of the month.
~~~
The first time Gideon saw the signature, he’d been eight years old and had stepped on a sharp rock, slicing the bottom of his left foot.
He yelped loudly, planting his ass on the ground and yanking his bare foot up as much as he could to see the damage. He saw the cut immediately, a long line sliced across his red skin with blood dripping down and mixing with the mud clinging to his heels.
What he didn’t expect to find was the black and purple lines that crawled across his foot from top to bottom—toes to heels, end to end—taking up all the space his skin had. He blinked a few times before looking around for any water, only seeing the horse’s trough, but luckily there was a bucket next to it. The little genasi hopped, hopped, hopped on one foot, trying not to step on another rock and accidentally fuck up the other one; leaning against the trough on his left elbow. He ducked down, scooping up the bucket and filling it to the rim with water before setting it back on the ground and shoving his foot inside.
It changed from clear to red and brown within seconds but when he pulled his toes back out, the lines were more visible, most of the mud gone. Emery Savoie, it read, but Gideon didn’t really understood the words. It kinda looked like a name, not one he had ever heard of before—or even knew how to say, the letters a little messy like another kid had snuck into his room and drawn on his skin while he was sleeping—but most importantly…why the hell was it on his foot? When had it gotten there?
He never really looked at the bottom of his feet before, why would he? What would be the point in looking, they never changed and he had so much to do—his father putting him to work the moment he’d learned how to walk, “farm ain’t gonna take care of itself, boy” he would say before shoving a pitchfork in his son’s hands and walking off—and it’s not like he usually ran around barefoot anyway, just sliding on his boots and going about his day. It's just…it had rained the night before and the idea of jumping around in puddles and getting mud between his toes and just being a kid had been too tempting to resist. Then he’d fucked up and stepped on a stone—looked at the bottom of his foot for the first time ever and would ya look at that?
Later that night, with a makeshift bandage made of old sheets wrapped around his cut and his Pop's scolding voice still echoing in his ears, he asked.
“Why I gotta name on my foot?”
His Pop glanced down at him from his seat at the dining table, his steely gray stare burning a hole through the boy’s head even from the corner of his father’s eye. He stared for a moment, then turned back to his dinner plate, stabbing his fork through a sliced up potato and shoving the thing in his mouth. They sat in silence for a minute, Gideon glancing back at his own food and pushing around the sliced up meat and carrots with the points of his fork as he waited—having learned that his father was the type of man that spoke rarely, kept his words and feelings to himself, so he’d need to be patient, even if every part of his body needed to know.
Then, his Pop suddenly tossed his utensils down on the old wooden table and reached up to unbutton his collar.
Just three little wooden circles, one at a time, but the genasi had never seen them unbuttoned before and the sight made his breath stop in his lungs—large rough hands pulling the collar apart and a beautiful, curling signature was just under his Adams apple. Constantina Guru, the letters were black with a light pink shimmering from the shadows of the words, drifting down sideways across his sternum. The older man leaned forward a moment to let his son look closer, but shifted back a few seconds later when Gideon’s hand rose up without his permission to touch it.
“Somethin’ to do wit’ soulmate nonsense.” As the word ‘soulmate’ spilled from his mouth, it sounded more bitter than the genasi had ever heard from his father’s mouth; like it burned as it fell out of his throat. The human leaned down and locked eyes with his son, pointing a finger in his face with a thin, nasty scowl across his lips. “Don’ believe it, kid! That shit’s just gonna get ya heart broken, it don’t fuckin’ matter.”
His Pop suddenly jumped up from his seat, walking over to his liquor cabinet and swinging open the door. He paused for a moment, looking over his options before reaching in and grabbing a bottle of whiskey before making his way back to the table.
Once he planted his ass in his seat and opened the bottle’s cork, he kept rambling with that scowl still in place, “Shit don’ mean nothin’, ya think Constantina’s your mama?” Gideon couldn’t help but wince at the anger, the bitterness, the rage behind that name; like it was the cause of all the evil and the pain in the world. Or at least his Pop’s.
The old man huffed a sullen laugh, not even bothering to pour the whiskey in a glass as he took a few long drags straight from the bottle, the seconds passing slowly with each gulp. Then he slammed it back on the table when he was done, some of the light brown liquid spilling over his fingers as a gruff, rattling exhale stumbled from his lips and he kept talking.
“Knew I’d never meet a lady wit’ a fancy ass name like this in the country, so I ran off in the middle of the night; ‘bout sixteen years old, tryin’ to go find her.” He paused to take another long draw and the genasi resting his head on his crossed arms, staring up at his father as the man spilled his heart. “Spent a couple good years searchin’. Her last name was Demonté at the time, with a fancy ass name like that I knew I’d find her eventually and I did. Found her in a town called Agwé, couple months’ travel from here—innkeeper told me she was a noble’s daughter.” He laughed another bitter laugh, tears starting to slip down his cheeks, though Gideon could tell his Pop didn’t even notice—eyes miles away and years in the past.
Quick as lightning, those gray eyes looked down at him; amazement in his gaze and salty tears clouding his pupils, spilling down his cheeks like a waterfall. “A nobles daughter, ya believe that? My soulmate was high society and…” his hands rose up, those rough, callused fingers rubbing his eyes, “...and I didn’t fuckin’ care, jus’ wanted her.” His Pop’s fingers shifted up to his temples as he slumped back in his chair, hand falling away with watery eyes trailed up towards the ceiling and he sighed, lost in his memories. “Never even got to talk to her, but I saw her, fuck if I didn’t know right then that she was made for me.”
For the first time since he’d started talking, his father’s face softened and a sad, sad smile curled on his lips. “Just about the prettiest thang I ever did see; had this long, long ass fuckin red hair done up all beautiful in a braid with pretty, pink ribbons. She had the most gorgeous tan skin with a big ol’ poofy white dress on, gettin’ all dirty from the stone it was draggin’ along and she was fussin’ with it. Saw her from across this wide fuckin’ town square…”
Those gray eyes trailed down and locked with Gideon’s, his mouth twisting into a dark, feral grin as he chuckled a manic laugh that sent chills down the child’s spine. “And, ya know what she was doin’?” He leaned forward, head rocking side to side as his grin grew wider and wider, “Wonder why she was wearin’ a big ol’ white poofy dress?”
His gaze suddenly ripped away and he knocked back the last of the whiskey, flinging the bottle across the room and making the glass shatter against the kitchen wall. The genasi curled in on himself at the noise and almost whimpered as his father turned towards him, lunging forward and grabbing his collar. He yanked the boy up close, so close he could smell the whiskey on his father’s breath, the eight year old’s chair clattering to the ground behind him and laying on its side a few feet away.
“She was gettin’ married! Married to someone other than me!” His Pop’s shoulders started shaking violently and sobs were yanked from his throat as his fist shook his son back and forth in his grip. “She was supposed to be mine, but she didn’t wait for me, probably never even looked for me! She ain’t never even bothered to meet me!”
Then the hand let go, dropping Gideon to the ground and he scrambled backwards, scooting until his back hit the kitchen cabinets. His Pop practically collapsed across the dining table, like a puppet with no strings, sobbing loudly into his arms as his body shook with each of his breaths. “I didn’t do shit to stop it, neither,” his voice was muffled against his skin, dark brown hair blocking his face as the sobs wretched from his chest, “just fuckin’ stood there and watched her...watched her till they walked off…” his words trailed away and then there was nothing left but tears, the human’s body hanging off the table like a wet sock.
The genasi could only pull his knees up to his chest and watch his father crumble in front of him, the distant throbbing in his foot reminding him of the name scrawled across it. He glanced down at the bandaged appendage, remembering the name “Emery Savoie” tattooed along the bottom and his finger traced the edges of the dirty, old sheets—lost in his thoughts as the sound of tears falling slipped into the background.
The name sounded fancy to him and, while that made a hint of fear slowly creep up his spine, a part of him wondered—one that was braver than that fear, that grew bigger, that grew stronger at the thought of someone out there made for him. A part of him that filled his chest with a warmth that was hotter than the fire flowing through his veins as he stared down at his foot and wondered, would they be pretty? Would they be the prettiest thang he ever did see? Would he know, right away, that they were made for him?
His soulmate, his; he’d never had things that were, and had always been, just his. His clothes hand-me-downs, his furniture hand-me-downs, everything else shared between him and his Pop—animals, chores, the house, the food, eventually even the fucking farm would just be another hand-me-down, nothing ever just his. But now there was someone out there, waiting for him and made just for Gideon Coal.
He looked up at his Pop—the man still sobbing, falling to his knees with his head in his hands and his heart somewhere in a town named Agwé—and he thought and wondered and worried.
Would his Emery wait for him?
Later, when he laid in bed and curled up beneath the sheets, his thoughts filled the image of a fancy kid, in a fancy town somewhere out there waiting for him; he dreamed. He dreamed of walking by big bugs with see-through wings, of fish crashing into green covered water, of tall, tall trees with leaves that shook and shivered in the breeze. He dreamed of walking and walking and walking until he got to a run down building filled with adults drinking, of races of people he’d never seen before, working and working and working in a kitchen, over pots of stew and pans of meat, smelling things he’d never smelled and tasting things he’d never tasted. And when he woke up the next morning, he didn’t really remember what he’d dreamt about but he felt empty and tired and really, really hungry.
He and his Pop never talked about soulmates again.
~~~
Every time Kremy bathed, he’d look; no matter how many years had passed or how many times he’d been disappointed again and again and again.
Every time he ran a cloth across his scales he would look over every inch of his skin—along his shoulders, down his arms, his stomach, his hips, his legs and all eight toes. He’d look and look, searching for those black lines that spelled a name that would mean something to him, that would call out to his soul more than any other name could.
Would they be thick and blocky, letters closer to squares like he’d seen across his Ma’s wrist? Letters that hadn’t meant much in the long run, when his father had skipped town before he’d ever met him; finding out they were expecting another kid and abandoning the wife and child he’d already had.
Would they be thin and curly; dancing like water across his emerald scales like the letters that’d wrapped around his Memaw’s ankle? The name of his Papi, a man who he’d met only once as a baby before he’d died—his hand still wrapped tightly in his Memaw’s like they’d done since they were children.
Would his skin stay blank, with miles and miles of empty hide across his body like his brother’s? Like the man who’d drank and laughed and cried when he thought none of them could hear? The man who’d told his little brother, “shit don’ matter, Emery, none of that shit fuckin’ matters; its better ya learn it now,” when Kremy was just barely older than a hatchling, before his brother had walked out the door like their father—leavin’ their Ma and Memaw and him to pick up the pieces left behind.
Would it just drive him mad, mad like his dreams tried to do, every night that he laid down his head to sleep—dreams no longer filled with warm hands and strong arms, no, no, no, just nightmares of darkness, and a terrifying blackness, and a sweltering heat, and soul-wrenching sobs that echoed and bounced off metal walls, that begged and pleaded for him, sobbing for him, chanting his former name over and over and over “Emery, Emery, Emery” calling and calling and calling for him, but Kremy couldn’t see through the blackness, could only scream into the darkness, just cry back “Where are ya? I c’ain’t find ya, jus’ tell me where ya are and I’ll save ya, I swear! Jus’ tell me!” until he woke up with the sound of a train whistle echoing in his ears, sobbing and screaming, clawing at his chest and his mind already forgetting the nightmare that filled him with so much pain, but he tried to remember it because someone needed him and how would he find them, help them if he didn’t remember, but he was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, so he’d forget and do it all over again the next night and the next night and the next night—would it all drive him mad?
Every day he searched and searched and searched—hoping beyond hope that one day he’d spot that name and smile and feel like there was finally someone for him, someone who’d love him no matter what? Someone that would stay by his side until the day he finally died, like his Memaw and Papi had, that wouldn’t go and leave him alone. That wouldn’t abandon him like everyone else in his life had done with a smile on their face, whether they meant to or not.
When Kremy would step out of the bath, he would wipe down every inch of his skin with a towel and check just one more time; along his shoulders, down his arms, his stomach, his hips, his legs and all eight toes. He’d look and look and like the hundred—the thousand, the million, the billion—times before and his skin would be clear. No writing to be seen, thick or thin, blocky or curly; just long empty scales over every inch of his body.
Kremy would cry a few silent tears, allowing himself that much, but stop and wipe his cheeks dry like the rest of his skin. Then he’d walk over to his bed and slowly—methodically—put on every inch of his suit.
His undershirt, his shorts, buttoning up his dress shirt and strapping on his pants. He’d slide the socks on his feet and button up his shoes, would run his belt through the loops and drape his jacket across his shoulders. He’d make sure to put on his cuff links, tie on his bow tie, then open his compact and put on his mustache just right. He’d set his top hat on his head and smirk into the little mirror, checking his teeth and staring into his eyes.
His reflection would stare back with sad, empty yellow eyes—lonely, lonely eyes that made him think of sapphires bathed in salty tears—and the smirk would slip away. He’d shut the compact, tucking it away in one of his many pockets before he’d scoop up his cane and walk out the door; walk off to be another one of Mr. Guru’s little toys, his little pets. Shrouded in his black monkey suit that he still wished was purple every fucking day, the purple he’d constantly worn before he’d signed away everything he had—his life, his soul, even his own fucking name.
He walked out shrouded in his fake cloth armor with every inch of his hide covered, keeping his little secret safe and hidden away.
~~~
When Gideon was eighteen, he realized he’d never written down his name before.
“Whaddya mean, it ain’t just there?”
The girl next to him—Cynthia? Cassandra? He couldn’t remember, didn’t bother even trying to care since it wasn’t Emery—looked at him like he was an idiot and scoffed under her breath. Her soulmate’s name was written down the line of her spine, Ernest Fay; pretty simple, probably as human as she was and, if she was lucky, close by.
“It’s your signature, dumbass,” she flipped over on her back, her small breasts arching with her spine towards the ceiling as she made herself comfortable, “if ya don’t write it down, they’ll never see it.” She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, arching an eyebrow at his confused expression, “Don’t tell me you’ve never written your name down before?”
The genasi huffed loudly, rolling out of the bed and quickly starting to gather his clothes, “Yeah I’ve fuckin’ written my name!” He hadn’t and he suddenly realized he didn’t know how, his Pop had never showed him. Gideon had never asked and never bothered to care—like he didn’t bother to care about a lot of things—but maybe his father should have bothered. Except, the genasi already had an idea of why he hadn’t.
He rode home on his old mare, Dolly, that night; the brown and white spotted horse trotting easily along the dirt road that led back to their farm. The whole way his mind raced, trying desperately to figure out how to spell his own fucking name.
It started with a G obviously, that part was easy. The second would be an I cause of the eh sound, then the next letter would probably be a D cause of the deh sound. Okay, he was doing good, this was good, he was making progress—three letters G-I-D, but what was the rest? E probably, but Common was weird, what if it was another I? Maybe it was an O, but that didn’t sound right either, didn’t really make sense when he thought about it more. E it was then; G-I-D-E, but what was the rest? Gid-E-in? In?
Gidein…that kinda seemed right…except he’d read the word rein before, was looking down at one right now and that was R-E-I-N so that didn’t actually make sense.
By the time he made it back home, he still hadn’t figured out the second to last letter—it had to end in N right? So what came before the N?—so he’d moved on to his last name when his brain had started hurting. Coal…it had seemed easier at first; except did it start with a K or a C? Did it have one O or two? He really hated words, hated reading—that’s why he’d never really tried to learn—but he really wished he didn’t right now. He really, really wished he was a nerd like some of the folk he saw in the village, just sitting around and reading books.
His Pop was leaving the barn when he rode up that final stretch of road and Gideon frowned at his father, spine stretching straight and glaring down at the older man. Those steel gray eyes stared right back with an eyebrow cocked up and he yawned into his hand before lazily tossing a pitchfork off next to the barn.
“The fuck…” He stopped as another yawn stretched his jaw wide, the human waving a hand in front of his face when flies buzzed up close before he narrowed his gaze at his son, “the fuck ya lookin’ at, brat?”
The teen hopped down from the horse, quickly grabbing her reins before she could wander off—free spirit, Dolly was, one without any sense when it came to coyotes—and he angrily poked his Pop in his chest, narrowing his gaze right back. “Why ya ain’t ever teach me how to write my name?”
The elder Coal just snorted at him as his hand slapped away his son’s before absentmindedly scratching his chest, right over his sternum; where Gideon knew the name Constantina Guru was still etched into his skin. Those three buttons were still done up, as they’d been for the past ten years and would for the next couple dozen or so if his Pop had anything to say about it.
“I only ever wrote my name down twice. Back when I was a kid and when I bought this here farm; why the fuck ya need to know how to write yours?” His hand reached up and popped the back of his son’s head, the teen hissing loudly in pain as he rubbed his fingers at the stinging flesh. “Your just gonna fuckin’ get it when I finally kick the bucket, ain’t no need to be signin’ no paperwork.” His Pop about-faced and started marching towards their home, long legs already moving quickly to take him across the hundred feet to their back door.
“Hold up, Pop!” Gideon lunged forward to grab the human’s suspenders, but came up short, Dolly refusing to budge from her spot and give him that extra inch. The older man’s back swiftly retreated across the yard and his son called out as the man opened the door leading inside, “Don’t ya think this is over now!”
The human spared him a single glance over his shoulder with a scowl on his face and flashed him the finger before disappearing into their home. The teen scoffed loudly at his Pop’s stubbornness—at least he didn’t have to wonder if he’d gotten his from the other, non-existent parent in his life—staring at the closed door for a minute before turning around and heading towards the barn. He yanked Dolly along behind him the whole way, loudly cursing stubborn old bastards as he crossed through the doors and headed to her stall.
Before he went to sleep, he sat on his bed with an old flier pressed against his thigh and the only quill they had in his hand. Gideon glanced down at the bottle of ink next to him, slightly runny from the water he’d added to make it wet again, but it’d still managed to mark up the paper when he’d tried it out. He had stabbed through it—and his thigh—a few times, but he’d started getting the hang of it after a little bit of practice. Now he was staring down at the thing and he was suddenly scared, anxiety rushing up his spine as he looked at the paper.
Would it work even if he spelled his name wrong?
What if his soulmate thought he was someone else or he spelled it wrong and the world just didn’t recognize it? Would they never get one if he fucked it up? They didn’t have one now, if…that girl was to be believed, so maybe having a weird looking name wouldn’t be too bad? Fuck, he hadn’t thought about it till now, but what if they thought he was just a kid? What if they thought he was some four year old and not an almost full grown man, it's not like his signature would say otherwise…
Gideon dropped his head in his hands and ignored the flier falling to the floor with the quill, running his hands through his hair before his gaze focused on his feet. He slowly reached down and unbuttoned his left boot, yanking off his sock and looking at the bottom of his foot, balanced on his right knee.
The signature had only gotten more elegant and beautiful with time—Emery Savoie, such a fuckin’ pretty ass name—the E big and grand, curling across the entirety of his heel like it knew it owned the place. The S slithered across the palm of his foot like a snake and took up just as much space; even the last e going all the way to his pinky toe, taking every bit of room the name could.
He wondered what they were like; were they a boy or a girl, did they like to dance, did they know how to cook, were they tall or were they short? He wondered if they were pretty, if they wouldn’t be ‘the prettiest thang he ever did see’? Honestly, if they were his…it wouldn’t really matter if they were or not, he’d love them no matter what they looked like; but he could at least hope they’d look beautiful or handsome or just plain pretty.
His pointer finger rubbed along his red skin, caressing the black and purple letters, tracing them with a calloused pad and he frowned. Their name really did sound mighty fancy…would they wait for him, want him? Would they run off and get married like his Pop’s had, before he met them—before they knew they were his...that he was their’s?
His foot slipped off his knee, thumping to the old wooden floorboards and he stared at the flier that had slipped to the ground. He reached down, carefully picking it up at the corner and holding it between both of his hands, thumbs rubbing against the scribbled and stabbed paper. He took a long deep breath, grabbing the quill off the floor and taking a moment to wipe it clean on his bed sheets. He dipped the needle point in the ink, tapping the excess on the side of the jar and then held it over the paper—his chest tightening as he held his breath.
He wouldn’t find out unless he tried.
The point inched closer but hadn’t touched the page when Gideon stopped, head whipping around as a high pitched sound flooded the air. His face scrunched up in confusion, setting everything to the side as walked the few steps over to the window and pushed it open, glancing around at the farm below, but not seeing anything strange.
It didn’t make sense; he’d heard that sound before, when he and his Pop went into the big city to trade wheat and livestock at those big markets. But it didn’t make sense hearing it now, out in the country and miles away from any tracks.
The sound tore through the air again—louder this time, closer this time—and he turned to head out into the hallway, grabbing his sock and shoe, hopping on one foot as he put them on and jogged down the stairs. He wracked his brain for a reason, for some sort of explanation because it didn’t make sense, didn’t make sense that he was hearing a fucking train whistle.
~~~
When Kremy finally left the service of one Remy Guru, he thought—once, twice, a few dozen times—about being Emery Savoie again. He thought about taking back the name that he’d signed away, that he’d given up—for power, for recognition, for an afterlife filled with fun and sex and dancing, an existence that always sounded so much better than the life he had now—but what was the point? For over a decade he’d signed every contract, every bill, every piece of paperwork with Kremy Lecroux—he was Kremy. He wasn’t Emery anymore and hadn’t been for a decade now.
And if he did have a soulmate out there—someone with his name tattooed across their skin, someone that was his and his alone, someone who needed to hurry up and write their name down already—they knew him as Kremy Lecroux and he didn’t need to keep switching it up; it was confusing enough as is.
He chose to leave Agwé for a little while—not forever, never forever—long enough to get the heat off his back and make sure Mr. Guru wouldn’t drag him into an early grave for going on the lam. He traveled for a bit, hired a few thugs here and there to watch his back, but every one seemed to either be too stupid or not stupid enough for his tastes. Either not smart enough to follow orders right and keep their mouths shut when there were guards around. Or they’d be too smart to keep accepting the IOUs he’d pass their way, catching on pretty fast that he had no intention of fulfilling them, but still not smart enough to avoid getting busted by the guards when he set them up, when he betrayed them—because no, no, no, he’d never let them betray him first, that just wouldn’t do, no one was allowed to betray Kremy Lecroux.
It wasn’t all business, he let himself have the occasional night of fun; drinking and rolling in the hay with whatever tall, handsome man managed to catch his interest. At first, he’d been a little less cautious about the men he took to his bed…until one tried to stab him during his afterglow—worst pillow talk of his life, fellas these days had no class—before the man failed and just tried to just run off with his coin. He’d failed again after a Kremy had suggested he stop where he was and got his throat slit, but from then on, the lizardfolk had decided to be more selective with his bed mates, usually just deciding that a quick fuck wasn’t worth the trouble. Only occasionally taking a tumble when he was sure he could leave right after—get fucked, have an orgasm and be on his way once they’d passed out—and if he could get away with their coin, all the better, they shouldn’t have trusted him anyway.
Except…except with Gideon Coal.
When he saw the genasi for the first time, his thoughts had been somewhere along the lines of "I could climb him like a tree…” and the other man had seemed just as interested as him.
Kremy had been at the bar for an hour, only a few seats away and the larger man had been eyeing him since he’d walked in. The lizardfolk watched him back from the corner of his eye, sipping on a glass of scotch with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and enjoying the attention coming his way. He could see those black eyes from where he was sitting, see their appraising look and he sent his own right back, trailing over that tall muscular form and mostly liking what he saw—about ninety percent of it, maybe ninety five, and not because he wasn’t a hunk, not because he wasn’t exactly his type.
The genasi looked a little malnourished, like he hadn’t eaten properly in a long time. Kremy tried to ignore the intense need he felt building in his chest to cook for the bastard, to pet his hair and hand feed him spoonful after spoonful of his gumbo, to give the man a little more meat on his bones. The clothes on his back, his hair and beard were messy and unkempt; shirt and pants covered in more stains than not, his fiery hair in a wild, burning disarray that curled up and around in all sorts of directions.
And his eyes…his eyes had something haunted behind those charcoal orbs, something dark and festering like a wound left untreated; the manacles on his forearms telling a story—a dark painful story—without needing words. All of it should have been enough of a warning for him to stay away, to dismiss the other man’s interest and find some other, healthier lay for the night.
Except…except the lizardfolk still couldn’t help, but feel drawn to him, couldn’t tear his eyes away from those broad shoulders and that cute, crooked grin. He’d never been a man that made many well thought out choices in his life—one to take a thousand chances just in case one of them worked out.
So, when Gideon eagerly stumbled over the moment the barstool next to Kremy’s was open and they talked and talked for over an hour, about everything and nothing at the same time. When their bodies inched closer and closer like they were being pulled in, like they couldn’t stop it, even if they’d actually wanted to. When a broad, warm hand caressed his thigh and those black eyes looked into his with a touch more desperation then would be socially acceptable, that should have set off all the warning bells in his head, but didn’t. When all that happened and the lizardfolk didn’t get up and leave, even covered that hand with his own—he thought to himself fuck it, decide to take a chance and just hope it worked out in his favor.
Luckily enough, it did.
In more ways than one, oh he’d gotten lucky that night for sure; pounded hard into the mattress on his back until he couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. With his legs high in the air and hands around his ankles, screaming out and begging for mercy, but loving every second after when it didn’t come. When they’d finished that first round and the warlock had been sprawled out across the bed panting, he’d silently wondered, for just a moment, if maybe he shouldn’t kick the other man out once he’d managed to catch his breath—even if his chest had ached at the thought, even if his dick had wanted to go another round or two or three.
Except…except he hadn’t gotten the chance because warm lips had moved between his legs and started licking along his stretched, swollen hole; tongue curling deep inside him and sucking on the sensitive flesh. His dick had quickly started getting interested again and wasn’t really into the idea of saying no, so why would he?
So, he’d flipped over onto his stomach and let himself get eaten out—fuck, the sounds the genasi had made, moaning like the warlock was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, humming like he wanted to stay there with his arms wrapped around the other man’s thighs and never stop—had gotten nice and clean, then fucked silly a second time, on his belly with his body pressed flat into the mattress.
He’d gotten another good, thorough clean after he’d filled up with hot, hot come a second time, which was really only polite of the man; such a good, eager, hungry man. Kremy’s mind had reminded him, over and over, that he was the one and done type of guy—had always been, never caring to stay in his lovers arms through the mornings or afternoons or evenings, wanting that fuck and them out of his life just as fast cause they always had a name somewhere. Gideon probably did too, even if that mark was well hidden, even if the lizardfolk hadn’t found it yet, hadn’t wanted to, had actively not looked—that he’d need to kick the man out, just in case. Just in case, so he could keep himself, his shit and his heart safe, but he’d found himself letting the man stay through the night and into the morning.
Staying for longer than he’d let anyone else stay, since the first time he’d taken someone to bed and hadn’t stayed the night—since that first time he’d laid down after losing his virginity, saw someone else's name on that guys skin and thought to himself “why bother with me? Why? There’s someone out there waitin’ for you, lookin’ for you, but you’re too busy fuckin’ me to find ‘em.” before he’d snuck out into the night and never looked back. Then fell into bed after bed, hoping in the back of his mind that this time his name would be on the this guys skin and just being disappointed over and over and over-
That night he’d dreamed of red skin and warm, warm hands that pet along his scales, touching him with more reverence then he’d seen priests and clerics have for their gods. Dreamed of strong, strong arms that wrapped around his back and hips and held him up without any effort as he got fucked within an inch of his life.
When he woke up and all of his shit was still there and so was Gideon, the man snoring loudly from where he was laid out on his back. The lizardfolk lifted himself up on his elbows, his body stretched out next to the other man’s and tucked into his side, so much closer than he’d ever been with anyone else. Fuck if the man wasn’t comfortable to lay against and damn if his body hadn’t gotten a workout, his limbs hardly wanting to move from where they were tucked along that red skin.
The first thought he had was “holy shit” because he’d never been fucked by a fire genasi before and goddamn if he hadn’t been missing out. It’d been strange and borderline painful at first—that cock so fucking hot pressing into his ass and going and going and going, until it’d nearly bottomed out—but it’d been a good kinda pain and it had been only a touch warmer then the genasi’s fingers. Then, once the big guy had started actually moving, everything else had just faded away and he’d had the ride of a lifetime.
Now, pressed against Gideon’s side, he realized he didn’t regret letting the other man stay the night at all. Fuck he was so goddamned warm, Kremy had never felt so comfortable in his entire life and had never slept so good, all nice and cozy along the larger man’s side.
He was starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t keep the man around for a little while longer, if he shouldn’t pay for another night—or two—so they could stay in bed and see how many times the genasi could make him come. Because he was already starting to crave that cock again, starting to feel so empty inside and none of his previous lover’s had ever made him feel like this; ever made him want like this.
His hand reached out and caressed over the ruby red skin of the other man’s stomach, his claws catching slightly on the hair of that dark brown happy trail and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking; mine, I want him to be mine. It was a dangerous thought, this whole situation was starting to get dangerous for reasons other than the threat to himself and his belongings.
Except…except his hand still ran along that hairy chest and he couldn’t help but frown at the feeling of every one of Gideon’s ribs poking through his skin. His stomach was curved more inwards than it should’ve been for a guy his size and his skin a little too taunt around his muscles. The warlock quietly debated why it fucking mattered to him whether or not his casual fuck was well fed, but he still felt a strange need to fatten the fucker up. “Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” his Memaw’s voice said, echoing in the back of his mind and he grimaced.
It slowly softened as he wondered what the genasi would look like, all nice and healthy—with more meat on his bones and enough calories to make those muscles even bigger, those arms and thighs even wider—he’d probably look even more delicious than he did now and wasn’t that a nice thought.
His dick certainly liked the idea, Kremy quietly humming to himself as he trailed his fingers down between the other man’s legs and wrapped them around his cock; giving it a few nice, slow strokes and smirking as he watched it come back to life. He straddled those wide hips and ground his used hole back against that hard cock, using his own slick to make it good and wet before sinking down on it, making the man beneath him moan loudly as he woke up.
The lizardfolk was still stretched out—fuck if his asshole hadn’t been given a thorough workout by Gideon’s thick cock all night long—still sore from how good of a fucking he’d gotten and from how hot that dick was inside of him. But damn if he didn’t want more, if the choice to send the man on his way wasn’t getting harder and harder to make as those fingers wrapped around his hips and picked him up, like he weighed nothing at all. Kremy was a lizardfolk, smaller than normal, but still hundreds of pounds and his new lover didn’t seem bothered by the weight at all—the genasi holding him nice and steady, practically drilling that dick into him.
He didn’t kick Gideon out, didn’t end up leaving that morning like he’d originally planned. Or that afternoon, or that evening, finally walking out of that inn the next morning, after having to go and pay for a second night. The innkeeper only giving him a put-upon stare when he did and the lizardfolk could only grin back as he’d dropped the coin in the man’s hand.
Except…except he hadn’t walked out alone, having decided to take the other man with him some time around his sixth or seventh orgasm—and the genasi had only followed behind without a single complaint.
~~~
One of the first things that Gideon did when he was free; after running and running and running until he couldn’t anymore. Until he was falling on his knees and trying to take in as much fresh air around him as he could, for the first time in a long time.
One of the first things he did was flip over onto his back and reach down for his left boot, unbuttoning it and tossing it away. He ripped off his sock and just stared at the bottom of his foot; still gasping for air and sobbing as tears of relief spilled down his cheeks, tracing his finger along the black and purple lines across his heel.
It looked so different and so much curlier than it used to be, the letters practically impossible to read. The E didn’t really look like an E anymore, closer to a K than anything else, but maybe that’s how fancy folk wrote? He vaguely remembered hearing—a long time ago, fuck he didn’t even know how long it’d been—that there were different ways of writing words in Common that nobles liked to use, but he couldn’t bother even trying to remember what it was called.
The S didn’t really look like an S anymore either, kinda like an L, but he was just so fucking relieved the name was still there that he didn’t really care. So relieved that he hadn’t just not noticed them dying during all those years of pain and torture and starvation—years and years of sobbing their name, over and over and over, trying to make sure he remembered it, make sure that if he forgot everything else, if there was nothing left of Gideon Coal then he would at least have the name of his Emery—so relieved that the name was still tattooed across his foot, that his soulmate was still alive and hopefully waiting for him. The genasi quietly, selfishly prayed that they hadn’t gone off and gotten married—hadn’t found happiness in someone other than him, even without his name on them.
He laid there on his back, surrounded by grass and trees and flowers, under a beautiful blue sky for the first time in years and just cried like a little baby. Cried for the soulmate he hadn’t met, but still loved with every inch of his heart and quietly prayed, quietly hoped they’d wait just a little longer for him to find them. But for right now, he just wanted to sleep and he did, curling onto his side with the sun on his skin and happiness in his heart—a heavy, heavy weight off his shoulders.
Gideon wandered around for a while, floating through towns and taverns and inns; mostly sleeping in the dirt, but sometimes scrounging up enough coin to rent a bed. He usually just spent all his money on drinks, trying to quiet those nightmares that crawled through his mind every time he tried to sleep; when he wasn’t so exhausted that he just passed out wherever he ended up.
It was two years of wandering, two years of asking around about an Emery Savoie and getting nothing but no’s and confused faces. Two years of holding a quill above paper, but never being able to sign his name—so scared he’d fuck it up, so terrified that they’d throw him away the moment they realized he was just some country boy. Two years of falling into random people's beds trying to feel something and just ending up emptier and emptier every night. Two years of praying and hoping and begging the world to just let him find them.
Two years before he saw him.
Kremy Lecroux was the prettiest lizardfolk—the prettiest thang—he’d ever laid eyes on, all done up in a dark purple, pinstripe suit with the brightest, shiniest golden eyes he’d ever seen. Those emerald green scales gleamed and shone under the firelight and the smirk he’d sent Gideon’s way—because there was no way he was being subtle about his…appreciation—had made his breath catch in his lungs.
The moment the man had walked through the inn doors the genasi couldn’t look away, eyes following every step he’d taken to the bar before sitting down and ordering a glass of scotch. It’d been almost an hour—the barstool next to him still taken by a tabaxi and Gideon was going to throw the fucker out of the inn if he didn’t fucking move—and the larger man could see every appreciative glance the object of his affection had sent his way.
The genasi had suddenly been very aware of how dirty he’d been, how thin he’d been, how tired he’d looked; it’d made him nervous, a little self-conscious but he hadn’t been about to let that stop him. He’d never let it stop him in the past, so why would it now?
So, he’d saddled up to the other man the moment the barstool next to him was—finally—free, slapped on a charming grin and fucking hoped he’d get a chance to touch those scales. To feel that body wrapped around his cock and maybe get a second, a third and a fourth round to really show off.
They’d talked—and flirted, fuck if the smaller man wasn’t a fucking flirt—for a while and they’d moved closer and closer until Gideon’s arm had been draped across the back of the other man’s chair and the lizardfolk’s knee had been pressed against his own. They’d talked so long that the genasi hadn’t noticed his ale was warm until he’d gone for a sip and grimaced; the warlock’s scotch had gotten watery from the ice melting and he’d frowned at the taste, pushing the glass to the side before turning back to Gideon. They’d talked more, flirted more, gotten even closer until they were almost breathing the same air and he’d run his palm along Kremy’s—not his Emery, but he couldn’t bring himself to care—thigh, after trying for an hour to build up the courage.
He’d stared into those eyes and hoped the other man would want him, would look past the dirt and the stains and just give him a chance—the larger man quickly realizing how desperately he’d wanted, needed that chance. He’d watched those slitted eyes glance down, staring at his fingers crawling along those suit pants and held his breath as a clawed hand had slowly covered his own. The lizardfolk had pulled their hands up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the genasi’s palm, whispering into his skin that “I rented a room upstairs…” his heart fluttering in his chest just like Kremy’s eyelids did as he’d smirked, “hear the beds are mighty comfy, if ya don’ mind helpin’ me test ‘em out?”
Gideon had nodded eagerly and followed behind the other man like a duckling, only a step or two behind him all the way to the room. Oh, did they ever test it out; not only had the lizardfolk looked pretty, the sounds he’d made were even prettier. Begging for more—Faster, he’d hollered and Gideon sped up his thrusts. Harder, he’d cried and Gideon had grabbed the headboard and thrown his weight behind his hips. Deeper, he’d sobbed and Gideon had changed the angle just so, getting that last inch inside. Fucking that sweet, sweet ass until the only words left were please, please, please—screaming in pleasure at the top of his lungs with his feet up in the air and large red hands wrapped around his ankles.
There’d been a moment where Kremy had glanced at the door, as they’d both laid sprawled out on the bed and Gideon would’ve normally been happy to run out as soon as he could. Instead, he’d crawled between the lizardfolk’s legs and ate out his pretty swollen hole, cleaning up the mess he’d left behind and trying to distract him, trying to keep the other man from kicking him out for just a little while longer.
He succeeded; the smaller man rolling over and settling on his knees before pulling his tail out of the way to give him more room to work. Which he’d started back up without hesitation, diving in and running his hands over every inch of those scales—silently begging, “let me stay, let me stay, let me stay so I can make you feel so fuckin’ good”.
It was really fucking late, or really fucking early, by the time he’d collapsed on the bed next to Kremy. His body had been exhausted from the long and vigorous workout but he’d had a huge grin on his face and he’d tried to hide it behind his hands—the lizardfolk stretched out along his side and almost immediately slipping into sleep. To be fair, the man had come three times versus Gideon’s two, so he couldn’t blame him and it only made his grin stretch wider.
As he settled in to sleep too, a rush of anxiety filled his mind as it flooded with the image of waking up alone and getting yelled at by the innkeeper “to get the fuck out”. Then another of him getting shoved out of the bed by impatient clawed hands, tossed out of the room on his ass and sent away packing.
The man wasn’t Emery, wasn’t the person he’d been looking for, but, as he pulled the scaley body a little closer, he couldn’t help feeling things. The genasi wanted to wrap himself around the smaller man, hold that body tight against his chest and never let go—make sure those scales wouldn’t ever feel cold, make sure no one else could ever touch him, no one but Gideon. He wanted to pin the man down and fuck him again, pound that sweet, delicious hole and make him feel so fucking good that his dick couldn’t come without the genasi’s cock inside of him.
It’d been a little scary, even for him, and his eyes had trailed down towards his left foot, hidden beneath the covers with his leg trapped between the other man’s thighs.
He looked at that signature everyday, every night—had run his thumb across those black and purple lines a hundred thousand times. He knew it better than he knew his own reflection at this point and when he thought about it…maybe that E really did look like a K and that S a little closer to an L…
Kremy had said his last name was Lecroux and the genasi wondered if that meant something. If these feelings meant something or if this was all just wishful thinking, the insane mental ramblings of a lonely, lonely man that was getting tired of searching. Well…he hadn’t been until tonight, until he’d looked up and saw the prettiest thang he ever did see...
When he dreamed that night, it was of a cold scaley body that twisted and wreathed underneath him, that arched their back and took everything he gave, only demanding more. And when he opened his eyes, that same body was sitting on his cock and staring down at him with the prettiest golden eyes he’d ever seen.
He got that third and fourth and even a fifth—and sixth and seventh and—round to prove himself. To prove what exactly, he didn’t know. But it was apparently enough because when Kremy left that inn the morning after they’d woken up the first time, Gideon was with him; just a step behind and slightly to the right.
~~~
Kremy didn’t think about it until it’d been almost ten months; sitting with his leg crossed over the other, back pressed against his lover's chest as he idly wrote their next shopping list in his notebook. Hungry fuck that the genasi was, feeding him was a full time job and the lizardfolk couldn’t help, but love it being his—keeping the man nice and healthy, making sure that stomach never curved in, skin never went taunt and thin, keeping those arms wide and strong, those thighs thick and solid—and then a thought crossed his mind. He blinked and his quill froze above the page, a drop of ink spilling across it and soaking into the white paper.
“Ah fuck,” he quickly sat up, pulling out his pounce and sprinkling the powder across the page, blowing away the excess as he assessed the damage. Gid—still hovering between consciousness and sleep—sluggishly followed after him, curling his hand around the smaller man’s waist and humming in concern.
“All good, darlin’?”
The lizardfolk lazily waved his hand at the other man, leaning back and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek—shoving that face away when he tried for more even as the warlock chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, all good jus’…” Kremy’s smile slipped away as he sighed, setting down the quill and rubbing his temples while staring at the book in his hand. “Jus’ had a silly thought and got distracted.”
When he glanced behind him, the genasi was watching with a raised brow before he fell backwards against the tree they’d been lounging on, arms outstretched and waiting. The warlock smiled and tipped back into his embrace, enjoying the feeling of a warm hand petting across the scales of his scalp and the fingers running up his side. There was a moment of silence, nails starting to slowly scratch at his hide, tracing the bones of his brow when he felt a voice rumble from the chest beneath him.
“What were ya thinkin’ ‘bout?” Kremy tensed slightly, before forcing his body to relax and shoving more his snout under the larger man’s chin. He slid the fingers of his left hand into his lover’s hair and scratched the skin of his scalp lightly; hoping to distract him, but knowing better than to think he’d succeed. And succeed he didn’t, Gid’s hand running up along his back and reaching to cup his jaw—gently pulling him away, but only far enough to look into his eyes.
“Hey, is all good, ya don’ gotta answer.” He pressed a soft kiss to a pair of scaly lips and the smaller man sighed into it, eagerly sharing a few more before they broke apart. Black eyes stared back at him, the hand on his jaw gliding up and those fingers pet across the scales of his cheek, a thumb tracing the edge of his mouth. “I was jus’ curious.”
“Yeah,” His gaze stayed locked with the other man’s, the hand in his hair slowly trailing down and stroking a clawed thumb across his cheek. The lizardfolk smiled softly and shifted forward, pressing another kiss to his lover’s lips before he continued, “yeah I know…really was jus’ a silly thought; don’ matter none.”
“Mmk, if ya say so…” The genasi still looked curious, but he leaned back against the tree again, sighing softly in contentment and closing his eyes; his head moving to rest on top of the warlock’s. Kremy tried to move slowly, gently closing his notebook and tucking it into his jacket before he pressed himself as close to the other man as he could. He glanced back out at the water in front of them, a long curling river that reflected the setting sunlight high above their heads and echoed soft, trickling sounds through the air.
They've been traveling together, been together, for a year now; Gid easily falling into the role of bodyguard that he’d been “hired” to do. If one could count it as being hired, both slipping into the simple excuse to stay with one another though, if the genasi was getting “paid”, it was almost exclusively in sex and alcohol—not that the man complained…much, his lover could be such a whiny bitch sometimes. Though Kremy wouldn’t call him a bitch out loud, he didn’t need to cause the man to throw a tantrum, he had enough on his own.
The lizardfolk found that he enjoyed the other man’s company far better than he’d expected, for more than just the sex and protection. He was nice to talk to, nice to be around and especially fun when they did things together that were of questionable legality. And wasn’t that just fucking amazing, when Kremy had asked Gid if he'd been interested in a little breaking and entering and the other man had just grinned. Had eagerly jumped at the chance, the warlock’s heart twisting in his chest something awful as he’d grinned back and quickly told his lover the plan.
That silly thought; the more he rolled it around in his head, the sillier it became because why did it matter anymore? They hadn’t talked about soulmate shit, it’d never come up in conversation and the lizardfolk hadn’t been interested in bringing it up. He suspected that the genasi had one, if the way he almost religiously kept his socks on since the first time they’d had sex outside of that inn—and every other time after—meant anything. But Gid had never brought it up and didn’t seem to be looking for whoever it was, content and happy with what was happening between the two of them.
Just as content and happy as Kremy was and fuck if the warlock wasn’t glad, so deliriously happy to be chosen over whoever that person was. While a tiny part of him felt guilty—thoughts filled with waterfalls of salty tears that spilled from sapphire eyes—they were different, they were…were in love.
Their relationship was nothing like Constantina and Mr. Guru and the lizardfolk didn’t fucking care about the person whose name was on the his lover’s feet—quietly, silently hoping that they’d wake up one day and that name would be gone. That that faceless nobody would just die overnight, not because he wanted the genasi to be in pain, but because Kremy couldn’t stand that thought that someone existed that could take Gid away from him, that could tempt his lover away with promise of completion—he’d never claimed to be a kind man, a selfless man and certainly didn’t want to be one.
He loved being selfish, loved stealing, loved killing for his own gain and his own wants because nobody but him and Gid mattered, no one else, especially not some fucking faceless nobody—one that he wanted to just fucking die, why the fuck wouldn’t they just die already?—the genasi was his now and if the man’s soulmate hadn’t gotten to him first, then they didn’t fucking deserve him.
They couldn’t possibly love him the way Kremy loved him, need him the way Kremy needed him—no matter what fate or destiny fucking decided.
So, when the lizardfolk suddenly realized he hadn’t looked over his body—along his shoulders, down his arms, his stomach, his hips, his legs and all eight toes—in nearly ten months, it had been just a little startling. But he hadn’t lied, it really was a silly thought, because he didn’t fucking want a soulmate anymore.
He snuggled into his lover’s body and the larger man hummed softly, pulling Kremy closer against his chest and pressing a small kiss into his scalp. The warlock smiled against the skin of his throat, pressing a soft kiss of his own to the genasi’s collarbone and just enjoyed the warmth radiating from the other man.
He didn’t want anyone else, couldn’t even think about wanting anyone else, ever again. Why would he? Why would he want some random fucking soulmate when he had Gideon Coal?