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It's been so long since he was Torchbearer; or, at least it feels that way.
High on the cliffs or low in the valleys, Josh walks alone. The lack of responsibilities--the lack of purpose--haunts him like a shadow, silently following him wherever he goes. He can stand in the warmth of the brilliant sun, and he can hide away in the darkest of caves, but that shadow is always there, even when it's invisible to the naked eye.
No one would stop him from carrying a torch to light his way when the light begins to dip below the cliffs, but he can't bear it. He leaves his torch at camp, even though it's fruitless--Josh can't leave his past behind in any way that will heal him, and he knows it.
To say he is lost in thought on his travels would be a mistake. His pace is steady and slow, but on the inside, he is desperate to escape the memories of... everything, really. His life as the Torchbearer. Finding Clancy. Rescuing Clancy, over and over, from the cruel grip of the city. Good Day, Dema, and all that it entailed. Voldsøy. The tower, the final confrontation. Clancy.
Josh wishes he were lost from thought; that the story of Trench and Dema and that endless conflict between them would fall behind to the point where he could no longer see his way back to it.
It's always on the horizon.
He still returns to camp, usually around sunset, disappearing into his tent without a word to anyone. They let him, because once, he was the prince of his people, the one who would guide the chosen into destroying Dema for good. He isn't anymore. They're being patient with him, at least for now.
Give him time, he hears the banditos whisper to one another when they think he isn't listening. He'll come around again. And, maybe that's true--god knows everything in this terrible, beautiful world is a cycle--but that time has not come, not yet. Not for Josh.
There will be a new Torchbearer. Someone will wake up one morning with the ability to project, just as he once did. They will find their chosen, their Clancy, and guide them into escaping the city. They will try, as many have tried before, to destroy Dema. It's happened before.
Despite everything, it's happened before, and despite everything, Josh still believes that cycle will end someday. It's been circling around for as long as anyone can remember, and he may not live to see it collapse--but they were so close. They were so close. They will learn from their failures, and they will end the cycle. He has to believe that.
It's hard to believe in much of anything when he finds himself on the cliffs where he saw Clancy for the first time, fleeing from Nico. A few years have passed since then, Josh knows, but the wound of it feels so fresh, so real, that he nearly doubles over.
They hadn't known each other, yet Josh knew from the moment their eyes met, even as far apart as they were, that he would be the one. Every Torchbearer had their chosen, and Clancy was his. With his title stripped, his powers gone, and his lover as good as dead, what does he have left?
He can't bear to look down into the valley any longer. Tilting his head upward, Josh stares at the sky, instead, turning orange and gold as the sun grows nearer to setting. It's so beautiful, it always is, and it never would have before, but now it just feels wrong. Everything's wrong without--
"You know, I hardly recognized you without it."
It's always a risk to be out late in Trench, especially alone. There are predators abound--mountain lions, coyotes, even wild dogs--that wouldn't hesitate but a moment to sink claws and teeth into flesh if given the opportunity. Josh knows this, has operated on this rule for years.
Though he isn't the predator he was expecting, Nova looks like one. A mere few yards away, he sits on a boulder, shadowed by one of the few trees able to survive the bright midday sunshine that scorches the cliffs. It's all too easy to imagine him stalking Josh here, knowing he was alone, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
Nova isn't pouncing now, though. Cloaked in red, black smeared up to his bottom lip, he simply tilts his head in Josh's direction. "So often did he see you with your face lit by flame that you look almost lifeless without it. Like a plant that has gone dormant in the winter; only the elements necessary for survival remain. Am I correct?"
There's no way Josh can answer that. He's not even sure he can speak at all--his mouth is open, but no words are coming out. He should be screaming at Nova, or attacking him, or running from him. Instead, he remains motionless, grasping for some kind of response.
"What do you want?" he manages finally. It sounds weak even to him. "Why are you here?"
Nova smiles at him; Josh feels sick. "For you, of course." He gestures with one hand, a simple movement that nearly makes Josh jump out of his skin no matter the lack of violence within it. Some part of him will always see those crimson robes and react accordingly. "Sit by me."
Against his better judgment, Josh does. Nova makes no move to grab him, or strike him, or even touch him, so he really must just be here to talk, right? Maybe there's some information that Josh can pry out of him. The banditos haven't been back to the city since Nico fell, and anything that might clue them in on what's going on under the new bishops' rule is sorely needed. He doesn't know.
It's... strange, to be sitting here next to Nova like this. Josh never could have imagined doing so with Nico; hell, he can hardly imagine Nico in Trench at all, save for the time he chased Clancy down on his white stallion. Josh sees no sign of that stallion now. Did Nova walk here?
The realization that he must have taken the tunnels, that he knows them like the back of his hand because Clancy knew them like the back of his hand, hits Josh like a slap to the face.
Nothing that he taught Clancy--nothing that he showed him, nothing that they did together in any context--will ever be sacred again. It belongs to the bishops now.
"I wanted you by my side," Nova tells him. "Not when I climbed that tower, but when I came back down. I wanted you there."
Hoarsely, Josh says, "I was."
Nova shakes his head, the look he casts towards him almost pitiful. "Not in the way I wanted you to be."
"It's-" He feels like he's choking, like his throat is closing up. "I couldn't be-"
"One of my bishops," Nova finishes for him. He seems to have no trouble voicing it. "Serving as a member of the council by my side."
Josh swallows. "Yeah."
"Why not?"
"What?"
"Why not?" Nova's eyes gleam in the amber light of the setting sun. "We could have united the banditos and the Demans. Could have made a new society together, a better one. Nico was dead," he says fiercely, one hand clenched into a fist at his side. "I killed him. Everything was perfect, and I offered you a place beside me, and you refused."
Josh knows he would do well to choose his next words carefully, but lying to Clancy has never been one of his strong suits. Voice soft, he says, "I couldn't. The banditos wouldn't accept a new council. They needed me."
Nova doesn't lash out, doesn't slam that clenched fist into the side of Josh's jaw. He sounds eerily calm when he speaks. "So did I."
Josh knows there's nothing he can say to make it better, so he doesn't say anything at all. Nova is right: Clancy did need him, has always needed him just as fiercely as his Torchbearer needed him in return, but in the end his loyalty belonged to the banditos--to the cause--because it had to. He didn't have any other choice.
Didn't he?
The silence stretches on. Josh should leave; he should get up and disappear into the cliffs and valleys that are meant to be home, far away from Nova and whatever his intentions may be. He should report this encounter to the other banditos, immediately, and he should turn in for the night in his tent.
He's stuck on the first step. He's stuck here, because the cliffs and valleys that are meant to be home never truly were. Clancy was his home, and now...
"You could come back with me," Josh says aloud, even as he knows it's ridiculous.
"No." Nova's voice is firm. "You and I know they would never welcome me back."
"Maybe I could-"
"No," he repeats. "This is the way it has to be. You were never going to join the council, and I was never going to liberate the city. We made our choices."
"Then why come here?" Josh hates how his voice trembles. "Why follow me? Why talk to me when you could just-"
When you could just as easily kill me, he tries to say, but the words don't come out, and this time, it isn't even his fault. This time, his voice dies because Nova has grabbed the front of his coat and yanked him into his space, pressing their mouths together in an instant.
Kissing Clancy used to be grounding--not just for Clancy himself, often left shaken by the things he'd witnessed in the city, but for Josh, too. In the midst of chaos, in a world torn in two, they found comfort in one another. They stabilized one another.
This is not stability. This is Nova pulling so tightly at the collar of Josh's coat that it takes his breath away. This is Josh grasping wildly at Nova's cloak, his trembling only increasing as their mouths move together. This is a war between what is right and what is wrong, and it has been going for centuries, for millennia, and it will keep going forever.
Josh knows he shouldn't be doing this, even as some vulnerable part of him still desperately wants Clancy to be in there somewhere. Wanting isn't the same as believing, but it's all he's got.
More than once, he pulls back for air, tries to communicate aloud why this is a bad idea and why they shouldn't. Each time, Nova just drags him back in, and eventually Josh gives up. He knows he can't stop this; he knows they both want this.
He doesn't know when they moved to the ground, but they have, because he can feel the rock against his back, the short grass tickling at his exposed skin. Nova is towering over him, knees on either side of Josh's hips, that terrible crimson cloak still wreathed around him like smoke. He's beautiful, and despite everything, Josh can't bring himself to hate him.
Nova's only pulled back to yank down the zipper of Josh's coat, and Josh shudders with a mixture of cold and wanting. Desperately, he reaches for Nova, perhaps to push back his cloak or even pull it away from him--to get rid of a symbol so hated by his people, to get back something resembling the man he once loved.
But Nova shuffles forward, pins his hands down by his sides. Josh struggles for a moment, mostly for the sake of feeling Nova's strength, then relents. The bishop is in control of this--all of this--and they both know it.
Before, their roles were reversed, in a way; it would have been a mistake to describe Josh's treatment of Clancy in private moments like these as dominance, but taking the lead was only natural. He was the Torchbearer, destined to guide the chosen into ending Dema. He had no reservations against guiding him into other things, and besides, Clancy wanted guidance. He wanted Torchbearer to take care of him, and Torchbearer wanted to do that for him.
Taking care of Clancy in that way--taking him apart so tenderly before putting him back together again--was an honor he never took for granted. Josh is not religious, but even then he knew those moments were the closest he would ever get to God.
This is not holiness, this is not tenderness, and this is not Clancy. This is Nova, and while guilt washes over Josh as he squirms under him, the want outweighs it. This is Nova, and he still wants him.
Nova wants him, too, if the way he hurriedly shucks Josh's shirt off is any indication. The ground is rocky underneath; Josh gasps at the rough feeling of gravel against his back, scratching at him even through his coat, which lies beneath him.
One of Nova's hands has come to rest on his hip, holding him still firmly. His other hand rises--not where Josh needs it, but to his head, cupping his chin equally firmly. If not for the wild look in his eyes, Josh might think he were steady as stone, as calm as the valleys.
But those eyes, so terribly familiar, reveal the truth. Nova is only as steady as the cliffs--seemingly solid, but crumbling. One misstep could lead to a landslide. Josh hates that he wants to see it happen.
For a few short seconds, Nova just stays there, holding Josh where he lays. The moment of mercy passes, then, and he pushes Josh's chin up 'til he's baring his throat. It's a kind of submission--of vulnerability--that Josh hasn't experienced in a long time, and it sends a bolt of electricity down his spine.
It's an extremely dangerous way to be, with the king of the bishops above him, even though his grip isn't that tight; that is, Josh could probably wrestle himself free if he wanted to.
He doesn't want to.
Almost delicately, Nova traces a line down Josh's throat, like a surgeon drawing the line for an incision. Josh tilts his chin up higher, and is rewarded with a squeeze to his hip. He can feel Nova's breath on his skin, tantalizingly close; Josh half expects him to sink in his teeth and never let go.
Nova kisses him instead. It's warm and soft and wet, open-mouthed and reverent, all up and down his neck. Josh can't help the gasp that escapes him, but Nova ignores it in favor of lavishing the hollow of Josh's throat with his tongue, teeth grazing but never sinking in. His free hand moves up, resting on Josh's stomach, just above the waist of his pants.
As much as Josh is trying to be quiet, a plea for more nearly slips from him. He bites down on his bottom lip, hard, fiercely trying not to falter. After a few moments, Nova leans back again, his expression still stony but for his eyes, even as the hand not on Josh's midsection rises to cover his throat.
Nova's not restricting his airway, not really, but the mere touch makes Josh's chest tight. He never did this with Clancy, nor did Clancy do it for him; this is entirely Nova's design. Still, the urge to be good weighs in, and Josh only swallows heavily.
When Nova's lips part to speak, Josh expects his voice to be deep, rasping--like Nico's once was, though Nova's predecessor is long dead. Instead, he's met with something soft, almost gentle, more like Clancy's voice than anything he's heard since the tower fell. It makes his heart stop and start and stop, puttering in his chest like an old engine.
"Say please."
"Please," Josh says immediately, then repeats it. He's shaking. "Please. Please, Clancy."
Nova's hand tightens around his throat, and Josh can't breathe. "I'm not Clancy; you know that by now. But you still want me, don't you?"
He does, he does, he does. He can't speak, doesn't know if Nova wants him to, but he nods his head rapidly, as much as he can within the bishop's hold. Another heartbeat that feels like an eternity passes, and Nova loosens his grip. Nonetheless, Josh is gasping for air by the time Nova finally gets a hand in his pants.
It's all so much.
Once, many cycles ago, when Josh was less experienced with life in Trench, he got caught in a thunderstorm. It was late summer, and the oppressive heat had turned humid with the dark clouds overhead. He had expected it to rain, but when the sky cracked above him, he knew he had underestimated the ferocity that it would unleash. Within a few short minutes, he was swept up in the roaring thunder, the flashing lightning, and the absolute onslaught of rain. Water came down on him in sheets, forcing him to seek shelter under an overhang.
It was swift, and powerful, and overwhelming. This is what Nova is like. This is the way that Nova touches him.
Most of his talk from here on out is wordless, punctuated by occasional sound. He mutters something unintelligible when he shucks Josh's pants down to his thighs, hums almost soothingly when he opens him up, grunts as he breaches him. Some anxious, almost frantic part of Josh only quiets when he does.
Though brief, Nova does allow him a moment to adjust. They're both breathing heavily, trembling with want or exertion or both. Josh can't bear to do this; he's sure he'll die if he stops.
One of Nova's hands has drifted back to his hip again, his fingers curled over the bone almost possessively. The other hand is on Josh's neck, then his face, brushing away something wet. Josh hadn't even realized he was crying.
"Beautiful," Nova murmurs. Josh whimpers at the praise, and Nova's hand goes back to his throat. He's not going to kill him; Josh knows that by now. He almost wishes he would. It'd be an easier fate.
Nova had prepped him quickly, rushing like he'd been waiting to get inside Josh for weeks, months. Maybe he had. Whatever the case, he's settled and still within him now. A restlessness is building in Josh's chest, however, and he shifts, then squirms, writhing as he tries to get something more, faster, harder.
Nova's fingernails dig into his hip sharply, holding him in place. Josh hates how it makes him burn.
"Patience," Nova says, something like a smile on his face. It looks wrong. Josh wants to ask him what the fuck he's waiting for, but then he's cutting off his air supply again, and he has to concentrate on not rolling his eyes into the back of his head.
After what feels like forever, the bishop finally begins to move. It starts slow, a quiet rhythm, but gradually builds up into something heavier. Intermittently, Josh has to remember to breathe when Nova allows it. He hasn't felt this full, this wanted in ages.
If Josh had allowed himself to imagine this, after Clancy was gone--the inklings came, particularly late at night, alone in the tent they had once shared--he would not have thought it so intimate. In those forbidden thoughts, Nova was always rough, and taking, and cruel. He may be those things now, but even still, there is something stabilizing in the way he holds him down. There is care in the way he adjusts his grip, and in the way he shifts Josh's hips for a more comfortable angle. There is closeness in the way they face one another.
He's so familiar. Nova has the same dark, close-cropped hair that Clancy did; the same lips, the same hands. If Josh closes his eyes, he can imagine it's Clancy that's doing this. Maybe he approached him one night after dinner with a proposition and a shy smile on his face. Maybe they spent hours before this just kissing, soft and malleable, relishing the security and comfort they always were able to find with one another. Maybe Clancy would want this just as badly as Josh; maybe they'd fall apart together, so vulnerable yet safe together.
But, no. Josh knows the hand on his hip is stained black, and he knows the face above him is smeared the same. It's less dark than Nico's was, more smudged, and it starts lower on his face and wrists, but in the end it doesn't matter. He's still Nova, and he's still a bishop.
Josh's eyes snap open again when Nova finds that perfect spot, sending stars into his vision. He makes an inhuman noise, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, and it's entirely unmuffled. Both of Nova's hands are on his hips now, holding him just right so that each swift push forward hits him deeper, exactly where he needs it. The low groans Nova's making are a clear indicator that this is what he needs, too.
The closer they both get to the precipice, in fact, the further Nova seems to be from control. His power over Josh remains as firm as ever--it's his control over himself that is slipping. No longer does he appear steady and unaffected, as with each movement he seems to go faster, chasing the inevitable.
His robe finally slips off his head, just past his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice, nor care.
Only as Nova slows his pace, as he drags each push and pull out to something agonizingly slow, does Josh realize that he's begging. He can feel the tears on his face, both from how good and overwhelming it all is, and from his own guilt and shame.
"Pleasepleaseplease- please, I-"
"Torchbearer." Nova rocks back, then forward again. It's so good, but it's not enough. "Say my name."
He doesn't have it in him to correct him. Head, heart, and body aching, Josh pleads for the boy he once loved, the one he still loves so much that it's killing him. "Clancy."
For half a second, Nova hesitates. Josh clenches, which makes Nova hiss and pick up the pace again, rapidly turning rough and heavy. "Try again. Say my name."
It sticks in his throat, comes out in a single breath. It feels like betrayal. "Nova-"
But again, the bishop denies him, shaking his head and making Josh's skin burn from how hard he's pressing his fingernails into his hips. "Say my name. What's my name?"
He punctuates it with a brutal thrust. Josh nearly screams, but his throat hurts and he's nearly there, and all he can do is gasp. "Blurryface. Blurry, please."
One final groan escapes the bishop as he fills him, holding their hips flush. Nothing will ever be as it once was, but when Blurryface's voice cracks, he sounds exactly like Clancy. "Josh."
That's all it takes. Untouched between them, Josh falls apart. His heartbeat is pounding so hard in his head that it feels like waves smashing against the shore; no, like the rumble of that thunderstorm, fierce and ever-present at first, but slowly quieting as it moves on. The aftershocks leave him shaking.
Through the mess of it, he can feel lips pressed to his forehead, light and gentle as a breeze, sweeping the storm away. Josh's eyes are shut, and he's afraid to open them, but he knows he isn't alone, not yet.
He has no idea how long they stay there, still connected even as the chill seeps in, as pleasure turns to discomfort. When Nova--Blurryface--pulls away, it's nearly silent. Josh swallows down a whimper, a plea for him to stay.
"I wanted you to show me," comes Blurryface's whisper, so soft over the crickets chirping and the distant bubbling of the creek that Josh can scarcely hear him.
He's cold again. When he finally surrenders to the temperature and opens his eyes, Blurryface is gone, leaving nothing behind but for the ache in Josh's hips and the mess he made of him. The night has fallen, and it's dark, though never so dark as the pain in Josh's chest. He sits up, trembling, wrapping his soiled coat around himself as he stares blankly at the ground in front of him.
He was wrong; Blurryface left him one last thing. There's a sunflower at his feet, wilted and half pressed, but deliberate. He would gift them to Clancy long ago, back when their love was young, and it was the only thing he could give him. In the oppressive darkness of the city, Clancy kept them at his beside, because it was a promise that his Torchbearer would return.
Drawing his knees to his chest, Josh presses his face into them, and he silently sobs.