A Bitter Homecoming

Context on who these two are can be found at this link.

Ambrose is sent off to war with the Cohort, and Penthos is given away in marriage to a minor noble back at home to become his infantilized doll. Both are miserable.

And then one day, there's his Ambry knocking at the door. He cant answer the door, so spouse does, and tries to send ambry away

And Ambry insists "this is my house."

The husband firmly tries to deny it. saying it's his house, thank you very much. that "The only ones who live here are me and my precious boy."

"I grew up here. I've as much right."

"This was the Adrastis house, you can't have. They only had one son." 

"And his cavalier."

"There's no way my precious has a cavalier. Where were you during the wedding, hm? For my moving it? And he most certainly doesn't have need of one! He's not a warrior by any means."

"Sent away to the Cohort on much the same logic." He looks down at the ruin of what used to be his sword hand.

A skeptical brow raises, looking over the man on his doorstep. “And do you have any proof of any part of your tale? If not, I really must insist you leave.”

"I have the sword I carried for him. He'd know me in an instant." He fumbles in his bag. "Here, here, the title paper."

“Well? Let’s see it.” He’s an inpatient ass, even moreso to someone who claims to know his darling boy.

He passes the paper over. Somewhat anxious the man might just rip it up.

He has half a mind to do just that. To call the whole thing a forgery and be done with the matter. But it does look official. “The seal is right…. How do I know it’s real though?”

"What more proof do you need? It's a covenant signed in blood."

Yes yes fine. You said he would know you?”

"At a glance."

“Let’s prove it then.” He steps aside, though reluctant, and lets the cavalier enter. “If my darling can name you properly himself, I suppose I’ll have to believe you.” He pointed doesn’t give back the title paper.

Ambrose trails behind him, feeling rather like a dog, or a servant.

“Darling! Someone says you know him.” Penthos looks up, bewildered, eye wide. He’s sitting strapped into his chair. The wheels have been modified, the push-bars removed. He’s dressed even frillier than he ever had before his marriage too, and while still pretty, Pen now looks even more like a sick child.

Ambrose gasps at the sight of him. "Pen!"

“Ambry!!” He’s delighted, eye lighting up, squirming in the chair, trying to stand, before giving up and reaching for his cav.

Ambrose reaches for him instantly. One-handed, now.

Just before they clasp together, Pen’s husband moves, scooting the chair back and stepping between them. “Sweets, can you tell me what his full name is?”

Penthos’s face and heart drop. He visibly wilts and says very quietly. “Ambrose Epta, the Seventh.” His husband looks at the paper, and back to Ambrose, finally sighing and folding the title up before slipping it in his pocket. “Yes, fine! He identified you.” 

"So, you know I am who I claim to be. You know I've a claim to this house."

“A claim to live in it, not to the house or the name itself.”

"No. I've no power to displace you." Even though you make me want to.

He grins, a cruel thing. “No, you do not. I however, as head of the household, do have power to petition for your removal from post, if you prove to be unworth your trouble.” Pen’s blood freezes at that. He just got Ambrose back he can’t lose him again.

"I'll be no trouble." Ambrose promises.

“Good. I suppose we’ll have to find somewhere for you to sleep…. Things got redecorated a while ago.” A hand falls to rest possessively in Pen’s hair. “Had to make space for his playroom, you know how it is.”

"His lab's expanded again?"

He laughs, petting Penthos’ head. “Lab? Oh no, not at all. I took down that dangerous mess of a junk room first thing! I do mean his playroom. Full of all the things a young boy needs.”

Ambrose gives him a funny look. "I suppose."

“He can show you next time if he wants. It might even do him some good to have a playmate other than just me.” Not that he’ll be sharing Pen’s holes. That ass and mouth belong to him alone. But he’ll not deny his baby boy another friend at a tea party, or some such game.

"I think I'd like that."

Pen shivers, feeling his stomach curdle. He doesn’t want Ambrose to see him like that. Bundled into even more babyish clothes and left on the ground with legs that won’t support him. Surrounded by toys and dolls and everything one would expect to find in a nursery, or a toddler’s room. But Ambrose, it seems, just wants to be beside him.

Finally, his husband steps back, letting them touch, embrace as much as they can with Pen buckled into his chair. He clutches the mangled hand, trying not to cry and failing. “What happened?”

"A Blood of Eden landmine happened. I was hoping to disarm it."

“Oh Ambry….” The tears are thick and heavy now, as Pen presses Ambrose’s hand remains to his face, willing it to grow back. To heal. There's a twitch of the flesh, and Ambrose gasps.

His husband hears and looks over. Grabs Pen by the ear and pulls. “You know better than that, sweetheart.” Penthos cries out, letting go of Ambry’s hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to!”

"You didn't hurt me." Ambrose assures.

“He knows he’s not supposed to do that. It’s not appropriate for such an innocent boy.” He finally lets go though. Pen sniffles, looking up at them. “I r- really didn’t meAn too!” he hiccups.

"He didn't mean any harm! Only to help!"

“I shouldn’t have— At all, I’m sorry! It won’t happen again I promise!” Pen’s fully sobbing, clutching at himself, at his husband’s trousers. He knows he’ll be in mor trouble if he tries to reach again for Ambrose. He looks at Ambrose, unamused. “He shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

It hurts Ambrose viscerally to see Pen like this. Something is wrong here, very wrong.

“My sincerest apologies for his misbehavior. Over two years since I started taking care of him and he still doesn’t seem to understand all his limitations.” He’s apologizing to Ambrose, not the man sobbing in his wheelchair. “You know you’ll have to atone for that, young man.” He says to Pen, stern, face stoney. Penthos just nods, miserable. He knows it will be a painful night in their marital bed.

"It was only a touch of necromancy!" Ambrose insists.

“The proper amount for him is no necromancy. He’s lucky he’s been allowed to keep that horrid eyeball.” He pets through Pen’s hair again. “Not that you can rightly call it an eyeball, can you baby. No, it’s just a glob of slow rotting cells, isn’t it?”

Ambrose's stomach twists in disgust. Not at the thought of Pen's eyeball, but at how the man speaks to him.

Pen shakes his head, meek and slow. “Not an eyeball anymore. Thank you for letting me keep it in stasis.” He hates anyone else seeing him be treated this way. For it to be Ambrose? Pen wants to hurl. 

“You’re welcome baby. But that’s an awful big word for you, isn’t it? Try again.” He wants to curl into a tiny ball and disappear. “Thank you for letting me keep my ball of cells from dying.” 

“There we go sweetness! Good job.”

"I need to go clean up." He's going to throw up if he watches this any longer. He's a coward. "Then we can... go play, right?" He tries hesitantly.

The man smiles at Ambrose, pleased. “What do you think, honey? Are you up for playtime, or do you need a nap?” If Pen cannot have time alone with his Ambry within the next 20 minutes, he’s going to break something. Potentially one of his own fingers. “Playtime please.” He nods. “Playtime it is. But if you get too cranky your friend will have to tell me and I’ll put you down to sleep for a nap.”

"Of course." Ambrose lies smoothly. He goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face, trying desperately for sanity.

Penthos looks up at his husband, pleading. “Can I go without it? Just this once?” “You know what happens when you aren’t wearing on baby. And he’ll see you in one eventually There’s no point in putting it off.” He says, already pushing Pen in his chair toward the playroom, which, of course, has a changing mat ready.

Ambrose, of course, reappears at perfectly the wrong moment. Penthos is on his back, trying not to wriggle unhappily, knowing it’ll make life harder, as his legs are held up. His husband is situating a diaper under him, setting down his legs and situating them properly to do up the diaper.

“There we are baby. Nice and safe from leaking.” He gives Pen a pat on the padded behind. He yelps and tries to stand, go get away, despite knowing it won’t work.

Ambrose doesn't dare show his disapproval, though it's there. Of course he's seen Ambrose have accidents before. Bathed him after them. Didn't require this.

“Can we please have our playtime now? Me and Ambry?” He needs to be alone with his cav and he needs it immediately His husband chuckles and gives him another pat to the padded bum. “I suppose so. He can yell for me if you need.

"I promise." Ambrose says. And reaches his arms out for Pen as soon as they're alone.

Penthos reaches back, clinging to Ambrose. Melting into his arms, face burning as his diaper crinkles with each motion. “I thought you dead!”

"It was a near thing that I wasn't, in the end. A near thing and some Cohort necromancy."

“They shouldn’t have sent you in the first place, not without me!”

"No. They never should have. Told me you didn't want to go."

“Didn’t want to— Ambry I wasn’t given a choice. One day you just vanished, and I had no idea how or why. I was alone again.”

"No, I would have never left you alone if they gave me a choice!"

Pen has to hold back a sob he’s so glad to hear it. “Less than a month later I was told I was to marry. And I didn’t have you to help bear it.”

"They made you, didn't they?"

“Wheeled down the aisle in my chair, I didn’t have a choice.” He gets redder.

"And he's... well he's not..."

“He’s not…..? He’s not what, Amb?”

"Do you love him?"

He recoils, disgusted. “King undying no.

"Then I'll say what I thought. He doesn't seem good to you."

Pen buries his face in Ambrose’s chest, biting back a sob. He can’t let his husband hear.

Ambrose rocks him silently, lips to his hair. "You're alright..."

“I’m not! He—“ Pen breaks off. He doesn’t know that he can admit what all Dardanos has done to him.

"You will be. It will be."

It certainly doesn’t feel it. Even with Ambrose home now. It feels like he’s being fucked and treated like a damn child by a husband he never wanted.

"Didn't I swear to always take care of you? And I've done a terrible job."

“Not like you asked to leave. It just happened and I didn’t know.”

"No. I begged to stay, even."

“We both did then.”

"But I'm here now."

Pen smiles, the second he has done uncoerced since Ambrose was taken from him. (The first when seeing him the first time again.) “You are! And even if we don’t have much power I still have you back. Which is power itself, to me.”

"You have power. You always do."

“Not allowed to use it. I get punished every time I try.” And for half the other things I do.

"He has no right."

“Legally, he has every right. He’s my husband and keeper now, Ambry. I can’t do anything.”

"No. I don't suppose you can, legally."

He shakes his head, burrowing closer, legs dragging behind. “Best I can manage is keeping you herewith me.” And it itself sounds like imprisonment.

"I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else, not with you here."

"Really? You wouldn't want to be somewhere with a proper necromancer? One who isn't stuck like this?" He gestures to himself, the whole rotten lot of him, weak and without autonomy.

"I wouldn't want any necromancer but the one I've got." He pauses. "Has he a cavalier?"

"I doubt it. I haven't seen one and we've been married for most of the time you've been gone." Penthos is glad of it, to be honest. It's one less person to see his shame. One less person to add to it.

Ambry has the distinct look that a plan is starting to come to mind. He buries it with a kiss to Pen's temple.

Oh, how he's missed that. Pen gives himself a few moments more to bask in the warm comfort of his Ambrose, before pulling away with a scowl. "We ought to at least start on a puzzle or something, otherwise he'll throw a fit when he comes in and sees us." He crawls his way to the shelf, legs dragging limp and useless behind him, looking for something not entirely asinine.

"Do you need help?" Ambrose asks quietly.

“No!” He snaps, biting and raw. Almost immediately Pen goes pale, eye widening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— I just— I can do it, it’s fine.”

"Of course." Ambrose says, and smiles.

“I.. I can do it. I’m used to it by now, I can handle it. I can handle getting a fucking puzzle.”

"Of course you can. No doubt of that."

Somehow it hurts more, seeing Ambrose so reassuring. Even moreso after he ‘misbehaved’ and spoke inappropriately. If Dardenos were in here, Pen would be getting a mighty spanking. “I’m not going to break.”

"It would take well more than this to break you."

And for the first time in Ambrose’s life, he gets to hear Pen say: “I’m not a helpless baby, okay.”

Ambrose's spine stiffens, and he takes it. Like he'd take anything from Pen. "No. You're a man who could snap my neck with the power in your little finger."

He… is he? It doesn’t feel like he is. Doesn’t feel like he actually has the power to do anything but lash out and throw a tantrum. But, no… that can’t be right. “I… I am, aren’t I?” He stares at his hands, blinking as if he’s never seen them before. “It doesn’t feel like it anymore. I don’t even know if I could at this point.”

"Necromancy doesn't just disappear."

“If I don’t know how to use it anymore….” That’s not quite right though. “But he does let me keep my ey- my rot mass stable.”

Ambrose winces at the wording. "So, you are using it!"

“I suppose so.” Penthos hugs the puzzle box tight to his chest, squishing layers of poofy fabric. “The same way I breathe, without thinking.”

"Exactly. You don't even have to think to do it."

“I’m ….scared.” He won’t meet Ambrose’s eyes.

"Don't be. There's nothing to fear."

His eye flits to the door, cracked open just slightly. “Yes there is. I’m already in trouble from before.”

"He hurts you.”

Of course he does. Pen thinks. Instead he just nods, looking down, wishing he could move his legs, wanting to curl them closed. It’s obvious that the hurting extends beyond physical pain.

Ambrose plots several deaths for the man. A duel would be pleasant. But a duel between a necromancer and a cavalier with nothing left for a sword hand? Useless. Poison would be a better choice.

“He is my husband, I suppose I was going to have to give him an heir at some point…”

Ambrose winces. "You what?"

Pen looks at him a little funny, like he’s being daft. “An heir. I would have had to produce one at some point.” He grows a little quiet, embarrassed. “That’s the only thing I’ve been allowed to- you know- for. He wanted to collect a sample. To send to the vatwombs.”

"Is there a child in some vatwomb?"

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me either way.” Pen’s on the verge of tears again. “Probably? He’s been so smug about it the last few times it’s been spoken of.”

I'll take care of the child, too. Ambrose thinks but doesn't say. And starts plotting a particularly painful poison.

“I hope there isn’t one. I fear what he’d do with an actual child in the house. He’s already far too interested in making me his stupid precious baby.”

"Which is totally unsuited to you."

“Is it though? He latched onto me because I was pretty and weak and needy and I liked being it. You know I was.” It feels in some ways like this was the natural conclusion, even if he despises it now.

"And it was an act; we all knew it."

Finally, Pen looks at him again. “And you liked me anyway?”

"Did. Do. Very much."

A horrible thought occurs then, one that Penthos feels guilty for almost immediately. Still, he has to ask. “You didn’t- don’t like me because of that act, right? Because of how it’s real now?”

"Not a bit. In part, because of the power you could wield over me, even."

He sighs, relieved, and the tiniest smile cracks on his face. “Really?”

"Certainly. I love to watch your power."

“I miss it. My lab, and my research and—“ He breaks off, hearing footsteps in the hall and shoving the puzzle box at Ambrose. “Here! Get it dumped out and we’ll start, in case he comes in.”

Ambrose dumps out the puzzle. Jumbles up the pieces to make it look like they're just having a hard time picking through for the edges.

He stops outside, hovering at the door, watching them for a few minutes. Making sure Ambrose doesn’t do anything too forward, and Pen behaves. He hears Ambrose's laughter. High and childish, and if he knew him, he'd know it was fake. Pen looks at him sideways, out the corner of his eye, but keeps rooting through the jumble of pieces, rambling nonsense about the day and the weather. Waiting for his husband to move along. Ambrose gives him a smile. His real smile, covert and cheeky. Like they're children again, stealing sweets. Finally, he continues on down the hall, humming a children’s tune, paying no mind to the way Pen stiffens on the ground in response to the song.

Ambrose notices. Can't miss it. His mind is made up. "Is your med cupboard still in the same place?"

“Yes, but I have no idea if it’s still full. I haven’t been allowed inside since the wedding, and he’s thrown out so much of my stuff, including medications.”

"Bastard." He says, very quietly, under his breath. And offers that night to make dinner. The picture of a good cavalier.

Dardenos smiles, giving Pen a squeeze. “Your little friend is going to prove useful after all, eh? What’s the point in multiple servants when he can do it all!”

"Indeed." Ambrose agrees with a tight smile and thinks of the weight of the pill bottle in his pocket.

He turns the chair, wheeling Pen away. “Say that you, baby.” 

“Thank you, Ambrose.”

Dardenos smiles again, ruffling his hair they get further away from Ambrose. “We just have some things to do before dinner, don’t worry your little head, Epta.”

The look on Penthos’ face is sheer disgusted horror.

"I'll get dinner together, don't you worry." He promises, stiff with horror.

He’s entirely ignoring Ambrose by this point, greedy eyes locked on Pen, squirming in the straps on his wheelchair. Rolling his baby down the hall to the bedroom. They share one, with Pen wrapped up tight in his pjs and almost swaddled in a blanket before being tucked in against him.

“I’m sorry, really.” Pen pleads, as they get closer to the door, eye growing wider.

“I don’t think you are, princeling. Not yet anyway.” He leans in close as he unlocks their room. “You’ve been naughty today, and naughty boys get disciplined.” And fucked, Dardenos thinks. But that’s not appropriate for your young ears at this point.

Ambrose does his best with dinner. Really, he does. A soup, one that Penthos will like. One savoury enough to cover the taste of additions.

While he cooks, Penthos is being wheeled in and the door locked behind them. Is being lifted and set on the bed, his chair moved too far to reach on his own. He’s being stripped down to almost nothing, just the stockings and poofy shorts he was dressed in this morning. Pen’s legs are limp, they bend and move, but not of Penthos’ violation, only when an outside hand lifts and shifts them. An outside hand like the ones belonging to his husband, separating them easily.

“You’re lucky little boys don’t use that thing between your legs, or I’d be caning that for your insolence earlier today.” As it is, Dardenos still rolls him over. Still runs his creaky old hands over Pen’s bare back. “One switch strike for each transgression, I think, and then we move downward.”

There’s no point in arguing, or pleading, or crying. Not that this stops Pen from doing all three, trying to wriggle away, only to be caught by the waistband of his shorts. His husband yanks him back into place, and doles out the prescribed punishment, Pen near screaming with each hit.

“See? You can take it baby. Take what you’re given.” ‘What he’s given’ is immediately including dragging down the trousers, and the diaper, revealing a round, pale ass.

Ambrose leans against the counter in the kitchen, humming a Cohort song to himself. Feeling thoroughly sick imagining that man with Pen.

He’s opening weeping now, as Sevner’s fingers dip between his cheeks, prodding at his hole.

“Such a good doll for me, lying there and taking it.” He pulls back, to slick his digits, before sinking then back in. Even years later, he’s still entranced by how he has to fight to get them inside.

Pen can't even squirm away, too overwhelmed with pain and distress. He presses his face into the pillow, wishing it could all just be over.

He never stretches his doll more than the bare minimum, it wouldn't do to have a loose, broken in baby cunt.

Penthos screams when his husband presses inside, tears overflowing, streaming down his face. Enough that they seep through the mess of muck crusting his eyepatch to his face, letting salty fluid run down both cheeks. All he can do is lie there and take it as he's violated. Dardenos doesn't even try to make it feel good, only ever using him for his own pleasure. Pen barely remembers the last time he's cum. Probably some insignificant wank the day Ambrose got sent away. Perhaps he'd though his cavalier handsome in his uniform.

Either way, it's over fairly quickly. Dardenos pumps into him and leaves his mess behind, wrapping him up in a new diaper and replacing his clothes, covering the new raised welt lines on Pen's back.

When he's put back into his chair, Pen hisses in pain, his ass sore and his back raw, both pressed hard against the rigid chair as he's strapped in securely.

Darden just laughs, giving him a pat on the cheek and checking the buckles. "You should have thought of that before you were naughty, Penny." He leans in and forces Pen into a sloppy, wet kiss, one that has Penthos freezing under his touch. "You're still my pretty baby though. You just need some correcting sometimes." The door unlocks and he starts wheeling them out, toward the kitchen. "I wonder if your friend would be interested at all in helping discipline you...."

Pen shudders and shakes his head weakly. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't even if you tried to order him to.

Ambrose meets them at the door to the dining room with something enigmatically like a smile.

“Sorry about that, he got a bit fussy.” He ruffles Pen’s hair, pushing him down harder against the chair, making him hiss in pain again. “Dinner smells lovey, don’t you think baby?”

Pen whimpers, barely audible, and nods. It smells like something they had growing up together. It smells like home. Real home, not this mockery Dardenos has trapped him in. “Smells perfect.”

"I'll make you a drink to start." It'll make him less likely to notice any off taste.

His eye lights up darting between Ambrose and Dardenos. It’s been years since he was allowed any alcohol. It’s been nothing but juice and water and milk, the horrid thing, since his wedding.

Dardenos smiles, a crooked, gnarled thing. “Oh, my baby did have good taste in servants. That would be delightful.”

Ambrose can't resist showing off his skills a little, mixing cocktails.

He’s thoroughly impressed, getting Pen situated at the table before settling in himself to watch. “And where did you learn that trick? Certainly not in your time with my precious.”

"Entertaining friends." He smiles, really a smirk.

“Mmh, so you had time for yourself outside of just taking care of Penny? He seems to take up all of mine.” It’s sickly sweet, saccharine in tone. He doesn’t want to be doing anything else, but it’s clear he wants Penthos to feel bad about it.

"We made sure I could find time." Ambrose tops off the cocktail with something sparkling.

Dardenos reaches for it, grabby like a misbehaved toddler. “Well, I thank you kindly for doing so!”

Of course he likes a drink. That'll make this all easier.

He should know better by now but… “Might I have one as well?”

"Of course." He mixes Pen's much lighter on alcohol.

“Don’t. He’s not allowed it and he knows that.” Half of his drink is gone already, and Dardenos has no qualms about intercepting the one intended for Pen to take himself. “Alcohol isn’t appropriate for you. It’s not good for little ones.”

Ambrose smiles stiffly. "Of course. I'll make him one without the alcohol.”

He mulls it over, taking another drink. “I suppose that’ll work. I’m watching you though… so don’t think you can sneak my baby boy any hooch.”

It’s certainly not what Pen wanted but it’s better than nothing.

Ambrose doesn't try anything. He'll make a proper drink later. To celebrate.

“Ah, you’ve got to put it in one of his cups. You’ll know them when you see them.” He is referring, of course, to a collection of sippy cups in the cupboard, which have accumulated despite Penthos’ best efforts at protest.

No need to make trouble now. Not when they're so close. Ambrose does as he's told. Once again.

He hides his disappointment when Ambrose hands him a sippy cup. Somehow that hurts more than his husband shoving into him mostly dry did.

“Food, then? I expect you won’t be drinking while you plate.”

"No, of course not." Wouldn't do to mix up the plates. He lays out plates of soup.

“Thank you, Ambry.” He pulls the plate closer and internally celebrates having a normal spoon for the first time in what feels like forever.

Ambrose takes a sip of his own strong and spicy soup. And waits.

Dardenos takes a sip, making a face as he does. “Rather spicy, is it not?” Another sip, smaller this time, and he washes it down with a gulp of his drink. “You ought to know that isn’t suitable. It’ll be too much for Penny and it’s certainly not to my taste.” Something is lingering at the back of his throat.

"Might have put a bit much chili." He agrees.

Before his husband can try to take it away, Penthos shoves a large spoonful into his mouth, savoring proper flavor. It takes true willpower to not moan from how good the soup tastes, but he manages. “I like it!”

"Thank you, Pen." Knew you'd like it better than he would.

“Well, I have half a mind to have something else made.” Sevner says, even as he takes another spoonful. His eyes are watering, and he’s turning a rather unpleasant red.

They have just to wait, now. He's sprung the trap already.

Pen eats greedily, too entranced by Ambrose being back, by having real food and being able to eat it with a proper spoon, not the bland mush and child utensils he’s been stuck with. It makes the blasted sippy cup almost bearable.

Each bite Dardenos takes, on the other hand, only makes him look more ill. It’s impossible for Pen to tell if it’s too spicy for him, or if there’s something else going on, but either way the old man is getting worse. Wheezing now. But by the way Ambrose is watching him, it's not just the spice. It gets to be too much, far too much, and Darden retches. One hand going to his throat, the other reaching out to Penthos. “Help me… baby- You need to—“

"Necromancy could save him." Ambrose allows.

Pen takes another bite, not looking at his husband. “He’s a necromancer.”

"It might be a bit beyond him by now."

“He says I’m not to use necromancy. That it’s not appropriate for little boys.” He reaches over and takes Dardenos’ drink, looking at Ambrose for confirmation it’s safe.

Ambrose nods, confirming there's nothing in the drink but what's supposed to be there.

Pen takes a deep pull from the pilfered beverage, and sighs happily. “Oh, I’ve missed that…”

Dardenos gurgles unhappily, groping toward Pen, toward his only hope of salvation as he suffers. Ambrose hopes it lasts. And then that it's over quick, for Pen's sake.

“Ambrose, darling, would you be so kind as to move my chair, it’s a bit close to something nasty, and I can’t do so myself.” He gestures to the wheels, lacking pushbars. “I would much rather be seated next to you, anyhow.”

Ambrose swings the chair around in a confident move, even one-handed. Brings the chair close to his. Penthos leans his head against Ambry, sighing contented as he continues eating. “Thank you.”

Entirely ignored, Dardenos chokes on his own vomit, caught in his closed throat, only a small trickle of bile wheezing out into his tainted soup bowl.

"I remember how you liked this soup." Ambry says.

“It was delicious as a kid and it’s even the better now. You’ve gotten better at cooking, Bry.”

"Had a go at making something out of Cohort rations. That'll skill you up quick."

“Oh yes! How was your time with the Cohort.” Apart from the hand, of course.

"I made some friends from other Houses. Otherwise, quite miserable."

Penthos frowns. He’d known on some level that war wasn’t a fun time, but it aches all the same to see his boy hurt. When he speaks, it’s quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you here, Ambry. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.”

"It wasn't your fault, none of it. You bore your own ordeal."

“I just- If I’d been better. More important, not as sick, smarter, something. They might not have taken you away.” I might not have been married off to that filth.

"I'm back, now. Going nowhere."

“No, you aren’t. Even without your hand, I’d die before letting you go again.”

"Without being banned from necromancy, you've even a chance to help fix it."

His eye lights up in wonder. “I have, haven’t I?”

"And I'm not going back. My necromancer needs me."

“I always have. I likely always will.” The especially now goes unsaid.

 

"You shouldn't have to cope without me."

“Well now I won’t have to.” He finishes the stolen drink, and eats more soup, happy and warm inside.

"Do you want a better drink?"

“I really shouldn’t, but… Would you?” He wants to celebrate.

"I'll make it how you like it." Ambrose is pleased as punch to get the cocktail shaker back out.

Pen giggles, watching him all giddy. “You know how I like it. It hasn’t changed I promise.”

"Strong and sweet and a little fizzy."

“Perfect!”

"We've plenty to celebrate. Us together again."

“That shriveled ballsack dead. Lots of things.”

"I told you it would all be alright."

“I should have believed you. Will you forgive me?”

"There's nothing to forgive. I already have.”

Pen smiles, entirely pleased, and finishes his soup, unable to take his eyes off of Ambrose.

"So, shall we say he choked?"

“I do believe it’s the most accurate.” He had choked on his own throat, on the vomit trapped in it.

"What a tragedy that is, I'm sure."

“Oh yes, the adult sized baby supply store will mourn his loss deeply.” Pen rose his eyes.

"Lord Undying, he had some particular tastes."

He gestures to himself, referencing the clothes, the weakness, the frailty. “Yes, and it seems I fit them to a T.”

"You've gotten worse. He's made you worse."

Penthos nods, unhappy. “And meeker.” That much is obvious.

"I looked through your med cabinet to find what I needed. Wasn't much left there."

“It was all ‘unnecessary and inappropriate for a child’. Most got tossed out and what was kept was only dispensed by him.” It’s been hell.

"Unnecessary? You need that stuff!"

Pan makes a long suffering, exhausted face. “Not according to the infinite wisdom of my late husband.”

"Well. I'll have to see about replenishing the stash."

“Before we do that, might I request some assistance?” Penthos needs to get this disgusting eyepatch off his face.

"You can ask anything of me, Pen."

“My ey- my cell mass— My eyeball has been…. neglected.”

"Will you let me have a look?"

“Please.” He doesn’t think he can do it without Amby’s help.

Ambrose tugs at his eyepatch. "Fuck. It's stuck. This will hurt."

“It’s not come off in near two years, I’m not surprised it’s stuck.” He braces himself in his chair, for once, grateful he’s strapped in.

"I'm going to rip it now. Shout for me to stop if you need to." He gives it a sharp tug.

Pen’s hands tighten into pained claws on the arms of his chair, sucking in air through clenched jaws. Tears have sprung up, filling his eye, but he refuses to shout. Refuses to call for respite.

The fabric tears with the removal, and Ambrose winces to see what's underneath. "Oh, Pen."

He hasn’t seen it since the last time he was allowed to clean under the patch. That had been only a few months into the marriage. Pen has no idea what level of disgusting, yellow and green puss has dried and crusted into his eye socket, around the outside of the eye. Bits of ripped eyepatch are stuck in the crust buildup, leaving fibers cemented against his face. A gummy film is filling the bits not yet hardened into crusty debris. The whole thing looks somewhat infected, and incredibly painful.

“What’s it look like?”

"Terribly inflamed. Probably infected, have you had a fever?"

“I don’t think so? It’s hard to tell, everything has been so much worse than it used to be.”

Ambrose puts a hand on Pen's forehead. "You are a touch warm, but that might be excitement."

He sighs, leaning into the touch. “It used to feel nice, taking off the patch. My eye could breathe. It’s not breathing now.”

"Does the air hurt it?"

“No, not at all… I just- I used to be able to feel the air on it, you know? Get a cool breeze in the socket. Now it’s just… nothing.”

"I'll get some saline to rinse it down, if you like."

“Would you? I don’t think I can look at it yet… He hated it so much.” Likely they’ll have to pick bits of crusted serous and purulence out until it’s clear again, but saline is a good starting point.

"Well, he was a fool. It's a beautiful piece of work." Ambrose goes to fetch a bottle of clean solution -- the stuff doesn't come cheap.

While he’s gone, Penthos picks at his shorts. A style he’d loved for so long, and now all he can think about is how much more it made that bastard want him. Pen near vomits when he realizes he’s still leaking his late husbands spend into the diaper. He has to grip the hands of his chair tight and focus on the smell of Ambrose’s soup to keep it down.

Ambrose returns shortly with a saline bottle. "This might be easier if you were lying down."

“Please. I need to- I can’t be here.” Not this close to his corpse, not sitting in a humiliatingly cum-soiled diaper, strapped into a wheelchair he can’t even roll himself. It’ll make Penthos scream and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop once he starts.

"Do you still have your bed?"

Pen nods. “It’s in a spare bedroom now. He wanted something bigger for the master suite.” And what Dardenos had picked was awful, an ugly, thick angular thing. It didn’t match the rest of the manor at all.

"I'm going to push you now. Show me the way."

It takes longer than it should to get there, and before the door gets pushed open, Pen has to stop, tugging on Ambry’s sleeve to get his attention. “I need to warn you. Before we go in. It’s…. it doesn’t look quite like my room used to. It’s different.”

"He redecorated, did he?"

“In a way.”

"I promise not to look at you different."

Pen nods, pushing the door open and hoping it’s true. Inside is the same furniture, the same lacy canopies and curtains that Penthos has always had. The same pillows, even. But the rest has been made to look like a nursery. The walls painted and decorated, a childish rug. What looks almost like a large crib, tucked away in a corner. “He wasn’t always satisfied with the playroom, or his own bed.” Pen’s voice is small, fragile, and awfully scared of rejection.

"At least he hasn't messed with your bed. The rest can be salvaged."

“Said he didn’t need to. That it was pretty enough on its own.”

"And it's yours, so you'll have some comfort. And me too, if you wouldn't mind my sleeping beside you."

Please! I’ll never let you leave! But what Pen actually says is much more controlled. “I’d rather appreciate it. I don’t want to be alone.”

"I've gotten unused to sleeping alone. No, I don't mean it like that." It still makes Pen giggle. "Not to say I was some chaste anchorite."

“Oh, of course not. I don’t know if you’d have survived that.”

"I'd have lost all will to live, my dear."

He laughs again. “You realize you just admitted you couldn’t live without dick.”

"What would be the use?"

“I haven’t orgasmed in almost a year and a half.” He shrugs. “I managed.”

"What a crying waste."

“Looks like even the creeps only wanted to use me. Nothing more.” Pen starts pulling at the straps, trying to get them undone. He wants out of his chair and out of his clothes and out of this damned come filled diaper. He wants to feel clean again.

"Do you want a bath? Get that man off your skin?"

He about cries in relief. “Please, Ambry I- Stay with me?”

"I wouldn't go anywhere.'

“I’ll need help, into the tub.”

"Of course, you're not feeling well."

He shakes his head. “Ambry… It’s not just my not feeling well. I physically cannot stand to get in and out of the tub. Things have changed while you’ve been gone.”

"Then I'll help you. It's what I'm for." Pen reaches for him, needing more than anything to hold someone he loves. Ambrose meets him halfway. Scoops him up half out of the wheelchair.

“Thank you. Truly.” If he were a braver man Penthos might kiss him now. He has never been a brave man though, and the most he can bring himself to do is tuck his face tight to Ambrose’s chest, breathing his smell in deep.

Ambrose kisses the top of his head. Like it's a compromise of what he really wants to do.

He basks there for a moment, not wanting to break the soft silence, nor the magic of the moment. Unfortunately, reality comes knocking in the form of shifting fluid. “Ambry, I need my pants off and I need you to not be mad when you see what’s under them.”

"I'll be a consummate professional." He promises, and lifts Ambry to the bed to start undressing him.

“And I need you to— to remember he’s already dead.” Pen helps as much as he can, before giving up and just not getting in Ambrose’s way. It's a struggle. A less professional cav would dare to say something. He doesn't. He’d forgotten about how badly the welted lines on his back have raised, red and angry. That, however, is nothing compared to the mess of cum and sweat and a touch of blood that waits in the diaper.

"I'm going to get you in the bath." Ambrose says, very calmly. "And then I'm going to throw this away."

“Okay. Promise you’ll be back soon though?” Pen doesn’t want him to leave at all, but he knows it’s necessary.

"I promise." He practically runs to finish what he promised.

He’s cold, without Ambrose there, and somehow feels as if he’s done something horribly wrong. Not been good enough, not worthy enough, even though Penthos has no idea in what.

But Ambrose is back just then, like a breath of fresh air. "Let's get you in the bath while it's filling." Another nod, and Pen’s arms raise to reach for him, hoping contact will help drive away the yawning pit inside.

Ambrose doesn't even bother with the wheelchair, just lifts him into his arms. Still able to, even with a mangled hand.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” It feels childish to ask, makes Pen hate himself, especially in this mockery of a bedroom, but he needs to be sure.

"Couldn't be." Ambrose promises.

“Swear?”

"On our oath."

That settles him, letting Pen relax into Ambrose’s arms, playing with the seam of his cav’s shirt. “Alright then.”

"I'm spitting furious, but I've had my revenge."

“He deserved worse.” The smallest voice in his heart whispers that despite Ambrose’s promise, he is secretly furious at Pen. It’s absurd and Penthos stuffs it down, burying it under the warm hands, and solid chest that hold him.

"I wished he had a cav, so I might have dueled them."

He doesn't have the heart to say it's good he didn't have one. That Ambrose wouldn't have been able to win with his hand like that. "Dangerous... I wouldn't want to risk you like that Ambry. What if you hadn't won? Then I'd be truly alone."

"You're right. I'm not much use now."

“That’s not what I meant at all, and you know it.”

"You didn't have to mean it."

“It’s not what I said either. And what of me? Would I not also be a useless thing now?”

"You could never be."

"Don't be silly. I'm a broken toy with no master, who can't even trust himself to do the one thing he was worth." Pen presses his cheek closer to Ambrose. "And you could never be useless to me."

"But you really are right I'd not be much good in a duel."

"I just worry. I worried back before, too. I always do. Much as I love watching you, I'm always concerned."

"I'm glad they ended up bringing me home.”

His head shoots up, looking worried. "Was that a risk? That you wouldn't have come back? They wouldn't have sent you back out after your injury, would they?"

"Some, they leave to resettle on the colony worlds. Easier. Cheaper."

"But what of their lives back home? Their friends, their families?"

"We're lucky if we have someone with enough influence for the Cohort to not want to upset them."

"And I suppose that was me.... Even married off as an undesirable last resort noble, my name still had just enough influence to bring you home."

"It did, and I'm ever so grateful."

"I am too. Seems I wasn't as worthless as his doll as I thought I was."

"You could never be worthless. Not to me."

“Well then, we’re in agreement.”

"We're together now. Nothing else matters."

Penthos smiles, impossibly happy. Especially now that he's in a tub of hot water, getting clean. "And we'll never apart."

"Never. Not again, not once."

He starts washing himself, marveling at being able to do so mostly for himself, getting his hair clean, his torso, his lower legs. It's not until he reaches the bits of him that would require lifting himself up that he falters. "I... I can't clean myself out. I don't-" He doesn't even know what he wants Ambrose to do.

"You want me to wash you out?"

"I want every trace of him gone."

"I'm going to have to touch you." Ambrose says carefully.

He nods. “I know. I promise I do.” He can’t promise he won’t panic but… “I know you’re not him. You don’t feel the same. Smell the same.”

"I won't hurt you."

“No, you won’t. You won’t take advantage either.”

"Absolutely not. Turn over."

A shiver goes down Pen's spine, making some small, shameful part of him almost wish Ambrose would take advantage. He turns, gripping the rim of the tub, and looking back at Ambry. "See? Already different, he never told me to, he just made it happen."

Ambrose's fingers ghost over him, oh so gentle. Another shiver, and Penthos has to force himself to relax. It's not the same, it's not. He's safe here. Safe with Ambrose. Ambrose's hand is cold, even despite the warm water. Cold and tender. It's so vastly different from the gnarled, clammy hands his late husband had. Even still, Pen can feel the way his stomach clenches.

"Almost done." Ambrose promises.

He bites his tongue to stop from whining, willing himself to breathe.

"There." Ambrose touches his back with his ruined hand and pulls his fingers away. "We're done."

Pen sucks in a shuddering, wet breath. "He's gone? You got it all out?"

"All gone."

"Thank you- Thank- I- Thank you-!" He says, hiccupping through tears. Once he finishes, and the tub drains, no part of that bastard will touch him again.

"Just lie back and soak for a bit, and we'll get you out."

He nods, still hiccupping a tad, as the tears stem. "Can... can I have something of yours to sleep in? I... I don't want anything he touched or saw me in."

Ambrose nods. "Nightshirt, or just a shirt?"

"Just a shirt, I think..." Something that smells like you.

Ambrose finds him a shirt when he gets him out of the tub. One he'd worn a fair lot on deployment.

It's perfect, nothing at all like anything Dardenos would have allowed in the house, let alone allowed Penthos to wear. Just plain khaki, worn soft and thin by wear.

Pen has to hold himself back from kissing all over Ambrose's face, happily wriggling into the shirt. "Tomorrow, we'll have to do some shopping."

"I've missed you. We'll have a day out."

"A day out, and a day of flames." Everything he chose is getting burned.

"Well deserved, both of them."

"I want to get rid of everything he liked. I want to get something new that only we chose. Something he'd never let me be seen in."

"You should. Wear whatever you like."

A whole new look. It's scary to think about. He's loved this his whole life, but it's far too heavy now. Too charged with his greedy hands. "You'll help me find something, yes?"

"Of course. We'll find you something lovely."

Something you like me in. Pen things. He doesn't know how to go about finding a new way of dress. "Thank you dear."

"We'll have a lovely day finding something."

“You’ll get some peace. I doubt you had much time for such frivolities out there.”

"Barely time to change my clothes."

“How horrid!” Pen pets through Ambrose’s hair, cooing softly at him. “We’ll get you some things too, don’t you worry.”

"I'd love that."

“Make my darling cavalier all pretty. Make you the dashing, shiny young thing you are.”

"A nice thing to have on your arm."

“Mhm…. make everyone else jealous of what a perfect cav I have.”

"Will you rebuild me?"

Pen is confused for a moment, before it connects that Ambrose means his hand. “I’ll most certainly try. If you wish.”

"Don't like to be missing my sword hand."

“Then your sword hand I will attempt to return to you.” He lies down, comfortable. “Perhaps after we clean some of this disgusting eyeball crusts?”

"Of course." He leaves for a moment and comes back with a handful of clean gauze and saline solution and lacy bandage material.

It’s cruel, to make Ambrose wait, to make him clean Pen’s eye and socket with the mangled remains of what once was a skilled sword hand. But Penthos can’t bring himself to feel entirely sorry. He doesn’t trust his ability to fix it properly, not without being able to at least fully feel his little battery. And Ambrose doesn't even let himself think of it being cruel. He simply sets to his work. The saline is heaven, even as each hard clump of crust pulling away wants to make Penthos scream.

Ambrose sees the wince on his face. Wants to kiss it better. He refuses to let Ambrose stop, even as each now excavation grows more painful in his tender socket. When they’re halfway through, Pen is gasping in air, tears streaming.

"Do you need a break?"

Yes! He wants to scream, wants to beg. I can’t take it anymore! But instead he shakes his head. “Keep going.”

"My brave man."

Is he? Or is this simply a pain he can control? Can take without memories of roving, aged hands? Either way, Pen smiles weakly.

"We're almost done. I promise."

“You take such good care of me.” Pen coos.

"We're done." He pulls his hands away.

Finally, after years, Penthos can feel the cool air on his eyeball again. It’s enough to bring fresh tears to both eyes. “Thank you. Oh Ambry, you’ve no idea how much it means.”

"Does it feel better?"

“Immeasurably so.”

"Looks better. Still sore."

“I can leave it out, right? You won’t- It’s okay?” Logically, Penthos knows he’d not have gone to this extent to clean him, if he were disgusted, but years of being told it’s nothing but a morbid, unsightly ball of rot have made him wary. “I’ll wear the veil when we go out tomorrow, but-“

"Let it breathe. Perhaps some fresh air will help soothe it."

“And you won’t be repulsed?”

"I've seen it plenty. Seen it when it was fresh."

That much is true, even if Ambrose hasn’t right answered his question. In any case, Pen nods, placated enough to relax. “It needs to breathe. It’s been needing to since my honeymoon ended.”

"And I won't be repulsed. Swear."

Pen bonks his forehead into Ambrose, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

"Of course." No part of you could repulse me.

He takes Ambrose’s hand, the mangled one. Gives it a tight squeeze as he focuses. It’s been long enough; Pen’s not entirely confident in his actions. He has to try though. Has to fix what he couldn’t prevent. Ambrose winces. Tries to hide the wince.

Penthos stops immediately, pulling his hands away. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

"No! Not your fault. It's tender, that's all."

“Are you sure?” Slowly, he reaches out a hand again, wrapping thin fingers around Ambrose, impossibly gentle.

"I'm sure. I like your touch."

His other hand comes to wrap around Ambrose’s as well, covering it as best he can. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

"I trust you."

I’m glad you do. Pen thinks, closing his eye and trying to focus on the thanergey around them both, on the ball of it in his skull, finally given enough room for it to breathe and grow again.

Ambrose closes his eyes, stiff as a board. Lets what will happen happen.

He breathes, and with each exhale another wave of energy flows through Ambrose’s hand, sparking at nerve endings, at terminal ends, at muscles and flesh.

Ambrose breathes out relief. Yes, it hurts. But hurts so good.

Skin wriggles, muscles jumping with each wave, jolting as new flesh grows, as muscle and ligament knit back together, as nerves and vessels reconnect. Ambrose gasps. Pained, orgasmic.

When Pen opens his eye, the hand within his own is mostly whole, and Ambrose himself looks enraptured.

I think I might come in my pants if you keep doing that. "That was..."

“Test it out! How’s it feel?” Penthos is grinning, utterly giddy at his work.

Ambrose wriggles his fingers. "Wonderful. Sensitive."

He shifts. holding their hands up to each other, palms together. “And you’re only missing a fingernail now!”

"I don't mind a fingernail. Can go on well enough without it."

“I could get you a metal one made. All shiny and new.”

"Silver. To match our House colours."

Pen beams. “Exactly!”

"I'll wear green silk and show off."

“Mmmmh, you’ll wear green silk and look perfect.”

"A trophy for you to show around."

“Aw Ambry, you know you’re more than just a trophy to me, don’t you?”

"Yet I'd be happy to be."

He’s spent the last two years all but a trophy for his ex-husband, Pen won’t let Ambrose diminish himself to nothing but that. “You’re so much more.”

"Let me be your arm candy, as well as more."

And how can Penthos deny him that? “If you insist.”

"I've wasted my looks in the Cohort."

“You mean to say they weren’t falling all over themselves to be with you?” He doesn’t believe that for a moment.

"Maybe the other soldiers. Top brass doesn't care about a pretty face."

That’s certainly not what all the bodice rippers they read as teens led Pen to believe. “And the civilians?”

"Oh, they like the allure of a uniform."

“None of them were up to snuff then?” Pen likes the allure of Ambrose in his uniform as well, but he’d never admit it.

"I had a few dalliances. Not one that mattered."

That makes him smile wider. “You’re home now, there’s plenty of places for you to show off here.”

"How pretty we'll look together."

“Untouchable and wanted by everyone” 

"Both of us. A feast."

"The most delectable they've ever seen, and utterly unattainable.... Yes that sounds perfect." No one else is going to touch him again.

"Off the market completely, in your case."

Pen barely holds back a frown. "Are you looking, then?"

"Hardly. I have you back."

"Then the market is closed for us both, is it not?"

"Indeed. Look, but don't touch."

Pen tugs him down, into the bed alongside him. "Precisely. They know they aren't worthy."

"It'll be new for me. Being unattainable."

 

"I think you might enjoy it, even if you get tired of not having a bed companion."

"Will you let me sleep beside you?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Pen doesn't know if he could handle being alone right now.

"Then I won't have to feel lonely."

You'll want to wet your dick eventually.... He thinks, but nods, and smiles at his lovely, lovely boy. "No, you won't, will you?"

"A worthy trade."

"I've missed having you here. My Cavalier. Mine. Even if I hadn't been thrust into wedding that horrid creature, it would have been torture for you to be gone so long."

"And I missed you horridly."

"Come closer, would you? I want to be held while we sleep."

Ambrose shifts to right flush against him, the length of their bodies pressed together.

Perfect. He hums happily and shoves his face against Ambrose. “Never letting you go…”

"Don't ever. Keep me right here."

“S’ a dangerous game to play… You’ll never sleep another way again..”

"I'd better not. This is lovely."

It truly is. Penthos finds himself slipping off to sleep far, far faster than he has in years. Likely since he was a child, and they were last allowed to share a bed. It’s a magical thing, to not be worried about waking up in the middle of the night to the pain of someone ramming into you. Here, he’s utterly safe and relaxed, surrounded by Ambrose entirely. It’s all Pen can smell, can feel. Ambrose struggles to fall asleep, and it's not just because of Pen's proximity.

Pen doesn’t know there’s anything amiss, peacefully sleeping pressed against his boy. A faint smile plays across his unconscious face, overjoyed even in slumber. Ambrose presses a kiss to his sleeping cheek. To the corner of his mouth. Don't wake up.

He doesn’t, only murmurs incomprehensibly and nuzzles closer. Ambrose doesn't dare take further liberty. Just savours that. Pen’s hand curls tighter into Ambrose’s shirt, clutching as close as he can.

Ambrose's hand runs up and down his back. His whole body relaxes further, going a softer limpness in Ambry’s arms. Pen is finally, finally in total peace.

It's the same dream that kept Ambrose going in the Cohort, made real. And it will continue to be real as long as they live. There’s nothing in the universe that could tear Penthos from him now, not even the Necrolord Prime himself. Ambrose would give his own life not to be parted from Pen, but Penthos would not let that come to pass. He would hear that voice tell him this is the natural order of things, would hear it’s necessary and proper, and Penthos Adrastis would reach across the river and tear Ambrose free of chthonic shackles. Would drag his cavalier back to life kicking and screaming if he had to, like a birth. Ambrose finally let himself sleep. Nestled in the safety and warmth of his necromancer. It is, without a doubt, the best night’s sleep Penthos has had in over a decade. Ambrose in the end manages to sleep even longer than Penthos.

He wakes, yawning, still pressed tight to Ambrose, for once not repulsed with himself or the situation. Pen stretches as best he can, and settles in to watch Ambry sleep. It’s not as if he can go anywhere on his own anyhow, and he does so adore how peaceful and pretty his cav is while unconscious.

Layers of exhaustion and age seem fallen from his face. Penthos wishes he had a way to banish that exhaustion, those premature years, from him. Wishes he had the ability to soothe it all away, to allow Ambrose his carefree innocence back. He leans forward, stretching, and presses a kiss to the corner of Ambry’s mouth. Begging everything and everyone, King Undying included, that Ambrose won’t wake up to catch him. Ambrose makes a sleepy sound. His eyelids flutter. Pen retreats, returning to his comfortable lounging against Ambry’s side. The picture of sleepy innocence.

Ambry sniffs, smiles "Nice dream..."

“Yeah?” Sleepy Ambry is adorable, and Pen can’t believe he gets to see him every morning from now till forever. 

"Dreamed you kissed me...."

”Oh.” He can’t mean that, can he? But he doesn't seem fully awake enough to be lying. “That must have been a crazy dream, then.” Why else would you wish I kissed you?

"Have it often." Then he seems to startle properly awake. "Oh, Pen, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate."

He gives Ambrose a strange look. “Seems closer to a nightmare, no?” There’s no possible way he means that. Pen would rather give him an out than let him continue a cruel joke.

"It's no nightmare."

So, he truly wants to be cruel? Penthos’ face shifts closer to hurt. “I don’t know why you say these things.”

"Because it's true. You needn't think on it if you hate the idea."

He ducks his head, trying not to flush, somewhere between mild humiliation and embarrassed want.

"I know it's not seemly. I'm taking liberties."

“Yes, you are.” Pen’s voice is quiet, unsure of itself.

"You'd have every right to cast me aside."

“I just got you back, Ambry… You know I wouldn’t do that.” Even if you’ve decided to tease.

"Thank you. For letting me stay."

“It’s your home as well. Maybe not in name, but you’ve been mine for all our lives, I’d not have that end now.”

"You're right. Just a little slip of mine."

“You had a whole wing, I’ll see to it that you get that back

"I won't be far from you if I can help it."

“Even still…” Finally recomposed, Pen looks at him. “I want you to have a space to call your own.”

"And I appreciate that greatly."

He nods. "Then we'll set your wing back up, and... and rebuild my laboratory.:

"And have whatever we want, won't we?"

"And have whatever we want," Pen agrees.

I want you. But he doesn't dare say it.

Penthos stretches, as much as he can, and tries, like every morning, to wiggle his toes. Not much of anything. Just the same pins and needles pain alongside crackles of numbness. "I suppose we ought to get dressed, no?"

"We ought to. Will you need help?"

"Actually, I- I was wondering if I might wear something of yours...?" He doesn't want to be in all the pretty little things he liked.

"Of course. I don't suppose my clothes are still around, but I can lend you something from what I had packed."

He thinks, and sighs. "If there's anything left here it'll be packed away in storage somewhere, King Undying only knows."

"Then you'll have to have something quite plain."

"A blank canvas to find my new style on." Pen says, putting on a smile.

Ambrose gives him a white shirt, and fatigue trousers — clean and pressed, at least. The shirt is easy enough for Pen to wriggle into, smiling at the fact it smells of Ambrose, his bag, the faint hint of his natural thalergy. As for the fatigues... They're the longest trousers Penthos has worn in years. He wishes he could feel the fabric on his skin. "I'll need help with these, I'm afraid. Rolling them up as well as getting them on my properly, and then into my chair."

Ambrose doesn't even need to speak as he moves to help

"Thank you." He settles into the chair comfortably. Far more at ease here, with Ambrose and in something more than either short boyish shorts or a skirt. "I think, however, one of the first purchases we make will be a new wheelchair. One I can push myself."

"Yes. I don't mind pushing you, but it's demeaning not to have an option."

"I'd still like one with handles, of course." He'd not take the job away from Ambrose entirely. "You're right, though. I hate being entirely at everyone else's mercy, not able to choose where I go..."

"You're a grown man. You deserve the choice."

It's impossible to articulate properly how deeply Penthos has needed to hear that. How many more times he will likely continue to need to hear it. "Yes."

"You deserve to go where you want and ask me to push you only when you wish it."

"I'll likely still wish it rather often." I trust you.

"And I'm far happier with that duty than warfare."

"That’s not saying much, Ambry. The alternative is war." 

"You'd be surprised. Some like it."

"Do they? I suppose there could be an appeal, finding out if your stratagems work in practicality or not... But it seems remarkably unhelpful in the long run. All that wasted death."

"You're a necromancer. Surely you know some are in love with death."

"Yes but... if you aren't using the death then what's the point! That's not art, or beauty, it's just refuse."

"They like to inflict the death."

He makes a disgusted, frustrated noise. "Throwing away all that thanergy for what? Fleeting pleasure? It's gluttonous."

"It is! A waste of good soldiers too!"

"A waste in general." Pen shakes himself, and smiles, looking up at Ambrose. "How about we waste some money, instead?"

"Perfect. I want a cup of coffee, first."

"Oh... that sounds lovely. That'll be our first stop then." Penthos doesn't bother asking about shoes. He doesn't need them in the chair, and if he wants to buy some, he'd rather not have to deal with taking the old ones off. It's nice, actually, to have nothing constricting his feet. They've gotten even paler and look a tad silly poking out of the cuffed ends of Ambrose's fatigues.

It charms Ambrose, truth be told. "The old favourite?"

He lights up, smiles spreading wide across his face. "Please! It's been ages."

Ambrose happily wheels him to the coffee shop in question.

"Do you want the same thing you always used to get? I know I do. Their lattes have been haunting me in my sleep." Pen rambles as he digs around, pulling out a wallet bag. It had been disgracefully easy to find the thing. Dardenos couldn't even manage to hide it properly.

"I do. Won't you order? It's only proper."

He looks up at Ambrose, confused for a moment, before remembering. “Oh! Oh I- Yes. Sorry. I uh… I had forgotten I could.”

"It would be more fitting than if I did."

Pen nods slowly. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll order for us then.”

"Thank you, Pen. It's sweet of you."

“No, no, you’re right. It’s only proper.” When they get to the counter, Penthos gives the barista a dazzling smile, and places their order, adding a chocolate pastry as well. “To share.”

Ambrose grins. This feels better than he could have imagined. Their pastry is handed over and he tilts his head back, smiling up at Ambrose. “The window seat? Or would you rather be able to see the whole cafe?”

"We'll sit by the window."

It really is a lovely coffee shop, comfortable and warm. He feels rather like a cat in a window box, watching passersby. When their drink order is called up, Pen nods toward the counter. “Grab those for us?”

Ambrose hurries to do exactly that.

He takes a long pull from the cup and almost moans in delight when he breaks into the pastry and finds it flakey and near perfect. “Too long by far!”

"I suppose he told you sweets would fit your teeth, or some crap."

“And that caffeine was even worse for me. At least ‘good boys get sweet treats sometimes’.” The huff he lets out is pure derision.

"You on caffeine is fun. And it makes you feel better sometimes!"

Another sip, this one far more socially polite. “My argument precisely!”

"You got one of your noxious concoctions?"

“Why don’t you take a sip and find out~?” He says, holding the cup out to him.”

Ambrose takes a sip, and nearly spits it out. "That tastes like the death of flowers."

Pen giggles, taking it back. “It’s just perfect.”

"Of course you'd like that. No accounting for taste."

“I have plenty of taste!” I like you. He thinks, finally turning to the pasty. and taking a bite. “For instance, this is heavenly.”

"That I can agree with. It absolutely is."

“You did perfectly, suggesting we come.”

"We deserved a treat, after last night."

“We certainly did!”

"We'll have a perfect day today."

He smiles around his cup. “That we will!”

Ambrose wants to kiss him. So bad it makes his teeth hurt.

Pen so dearly wants to devour him, bones and all, utterly in love. When Penthos finishes his coffee he sets it down, peeling apart the last bits of his half the pasty. “A new chair next, and then…. well anywhere,”

"And then, some clothes that fit."

“Clothes that fit, furniture that actually matches the house, lab equipment… So many things to acquire.”

"It's lucky we've got the money."

He waves his hand dismissively. “That’ll not be an issue lest either of us falls into gambling.”

"Tried it. Wasn't much of a temptation."

“Oh?” Now he’s curious.

"Gambled my Cohort wages, a few times, on cards."

“Did you win!” Pen asks, fascinated.

"Some of the time. Not enough to get addicted."

“Responsible of you to stop, then.

"Sometimes a game of cards was the best thing to pass the time."

“Better than sitting and watching some atrocity.”

"There's a surprising lot of time spent simply waiting for things."

“Really?” He’s surprised and pushes the rest of the pastry toward Ambry. “I would have thought the opposite. You ought to write a book.”

"Perhaps I will. A tell-all." He gets a smear of chocolate on his nose.

Pen giggles, leaning forward to wipe it off with a thumb. “I’ll be right at the top of the buyers list.’”

"You can have all the stories for free."

“Oh I’m sure. But is it so bad I wish to hold your stories?”

"No. It's lovely."

“Then I’ll send it for up binding, after it’s done.”

"I'll get started tonight."

Pen smiles, licking the chocolate off his thumb. Pretending this isn’t what he’s been dreaming of for ages.

"Have you thought about what you'd like for clothes?"

“I think I ought to step more visibly into my title, no? Now that I’m without that crushing paternal constriction, I should be showing the world just how important we are.”

"You're right. You ought to flaunt it."

“Both of us. You have to look just as proper, since we’ll not be seen apart again.”

"I do! A jewel in your crown."

“Gilded and glittering, my dear.” He re-situates himself and their belongings, before looking Ambrose over. “Well, whenever you’re ready.”

"Ready when you are. Do you want an arm?"

He’s silent a long moment, looking as Ambrose. “I still can’t use my legs, Ambry. It’ll be months of work before I can, if then.”

"Ah. It's that bad."

“When I say I have not been able or allowed to walk since a week or so after my wedding, I mean it.”

"And I believe you. I apologize for my careless words."

“No, no need to apologize.” Pen shakes his head, trying again to wiggle his toes. “You weren’t allowed the chance to witness it; you can’t be blamed for being unaware.”

"I was careless. Let's go."

Something in that hurts more than if it had been malicious. “Really, it’s alright.”

Ambrose makes a face as if he's forgotten it. He hasn't.

As they exit the cafe, he looks up, seeing the bottom of Ambrose’s chin. “A new chair, and then…. clothes for you first? Or for me?”

"For you, first."

“For me, then.” He looks a tad closer. “Also, you missed a spot shaving.”

"Ah. I'm still getting used to the new hand."

It’s cute. He doesn’t dare say so though. “I could have helped. Maybe. I may not have had to shave before but….”

"Tomorrow, I'll take you up on that."

“Good. Tomorrow we’ll both be back in the attire that we deserve anyway. We ought to look the part in all respects, no?”

"Absolutely. You'll get me looking ship-shape."

“Utterly dazzling.” But first, a new wheelchair. It takes longer than either would like to get there, and once inside Penthos wants to groan. “They’re so unbecoming. What happened to style? To regal dignity?”

"They simply didn't take that into account. We'll dress up whatever you get."

He sighs, and points at one of the less ugly options. “Perhaps we’ll try that one first? See how it feels?” No matter what, modifications will have to be made, but if the chair itself is uncomfortable he refuses to use it.

"Perfect." This time, Ambrose lifts him without being asked.

Pen smiles at him, and settles into the chair, seeing how it fits, how it feels. He can reach the handles well enough, and it’s not entirely evil feeling on his back. “It’ll do, I think.”

"We'll get it dressed up when we get home."

“Naturally.” He does a little spin with the chair, and grins up at Ambry. “How do I look?”

"Much better, now you can sit up properly and push yourself."

“My arms are going to get so tired so fast.”

"You'll build strength quite quickly, I'm sure."

That makes him so a light pink. “What, all muscular arms and the rest of me still a limp doll?”

"You'll get the rest of your strength back too."

“Hah-! There wasn’t much there to begin with!”

"It's always worth working on."

“Yes…. Especially after—“ Pen cuts himself off, biting the words. Chewing them down. “I don’t want to be utterly defenseless.”

"I'll teach you your way around a knife."

“One like your dagger?” He’s loved the smaller, secondary blade Ambrose uses in combat since he was a child. If he hadn’t needed scalpel precision, Penthos likely would have pilfered it to use on his eye.

"Exactly like. Lighter and quicker than a rapier. And not a badge of office."

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a rapier anyhow. They take such skill!” But he adores watching them in use.

"And not a skill you have to learn."

Pen shakes his head, smiling. “No, certainly not. No more than you would need to learn necromancy.”

"And I'm grateful I don't have to."

It’s a little humorous to imagine. “You’d end up with constructs sticking through your toes, I fear.”

Ambrose shivers. "And that sounds especially awful."

“It happens to us all, my dear.” A pause. “Well, not that specifically. But some form or another of necromantic mishap.”

"What was your worst, do you think?"

What was his worst…. “The day, before I had my lab, that our dining room got full of mucous-ey meat and it took hours to clear it out because I couldn’t figure out how to properly undo it? Or that one evening with the horse?”

"Oh, agreed, that was absolutely awful."

“You know…. most people would say what I did to my eye is the worst mishap.”

"But that wasn't a mishap! You meant to do exactly what you did!"

Penthos shakes his head mildly. “We know that, but everyone else seems disinclined to believe me. Believe I would ‘give up’ one of my pretty eyes, half of my sight, for my work. Especially when it looks so ghastly to most.”

"But it worked, it worked brilliantly!"

“And I made myself unsightly as a trade, in the eyes of most all the marriage mart.”

"That might almost be a bonus."

An amused snort. “Now? Certainly. Back before? Oh Ambry, it was infuriating having no one look my way, apart from creeps and pervs.” Of course he ended up married off to one of them anyhow.

"I can only imagine. You certainly don't belong on the marriage circuit."

“If he had been a good man I might have learned to enjoy the partnership. Instead, I’m like this, more of an invalid than ever.”

"He was a terrible man, and a user." But I can't say I'm not glad to have you back alone.

I dreamt for years of you touching me where he did. “And now he’s gone.”

"And you're free. To choose."

“I’ll not be choosing any of them.” The only hands he’ll ever let touch him again are Ambry’s.

"Even better. Just us, then?"

Pen nods, smiling again. “Just us.”

"It'll be lovely."

“It really truly will.” He only has a slight bit of guilt at forcing Ambrose to join his reclusive life.

Ambrose doesn't seem to feel disadvantaged at all. In truth, he's only sad he won't have Pen, not really. Penthos sighs to himself, allowing a moment of wallowing, before shaking free of it. “Clothes, yes?”

"Mm. Have you thought about what you want?"

“Trousers. Definitely trousers.” He refuses to don those childish shorts again, not after everything done to him in them. “Something more…. regal? perhaps? for the top. A double breast maybe? I’m not opposed to ruffles still, but I would prefer to look more mature. My age, my title. In short, something worthy of the properly matured Viscount I am.”

"A double breast would look lovely on you, I think."

“And of course you’ll match. The same dignified cut, but a tad less layabout, I suppose.” He points them toward one of the higher end stores, intending on only the best for the pair of them.

"Be much smarter than uniform, certainly.'

Pen smiles. “If I have it my way, the only time you’ll be in uniform at all is if it’s absolutely required, and even then, you’ll be in dress uniform.” Even if he does look just dashing in the other…. That’s something to think and fantasize about on his own time.

"Ah, yes, much more fitting for your cavalier."

“Much more fitting for Ambrose Epta, my left hand and second lung, yes.”

"Yours, and don't you doubt it." He sets himself to helping Pen pick options.

They look over garment cuts and styles, finding ones that suit his wishes, before moving on to the fabrics themselves. “Greens and silver accenting is obvious, and the most natural choice. I think a nice striking black as well, perhaps?” A vast departure from the creams and pastels he’s worn the rest of his life.

"You'll look very regal in that."

He nods, indicting the fabrics in question to their attendant. “That and the two deep charcoals, as well.” Turning fully back to Ambrose he asks, “Were you wanting the same? Or do you prefer a different scheme? We can do anything, so long as it compliments. And of course, is suitable for the garments themselves.”

"Wouldn't you like your cavalier in white? Show off how tidy I can be."

“Would you prefer to be in white?” Penthos will be happy either way.

"Yes, I think so. Reminds me of sparring outfits."

“Then white you’ll be in.” Pen smiles at him, thrilled to be indulged in dressing Ambrose like a doll. Turning back to the attendant, he points out the fabrics he wants Ambry’s clothes made in. “And the same green as my own for the accents, yes. Silver hardware, of course, and trim.” After thinking for a moment he adds, “With the house seal and name on the label inside, if you please. Yes, for the both of us, of course he’s getting my seal as well.”

Ambrose smiles. Honestly, he doesn't mind being dressed like a doll either. Honestly, he likes it.

“It’s just our measurements that you need now then, yes?” Upon confirmation, Pen looks to Ambrose. “You’d best go first. I’ll need to be moved to a stool for half of mine, and you’ll need to hold me so they can measure my legs after.”

Ambrose nods. Stands stiff like a good little soldier.

“Oh, Ambry you can relax, honest. Just a tailoring, same as when we were younger, yeah?” A playful glint enters his eye, and Pen stifles a giggle. “Or- What is it they say? At ease? Is that what I should tell you too?”

Ambrose shifts. Relaxes. Almost, on instinct, shifts into proper at-ease stance, but realises that's not what Pen means at all.

That makes him fail at holding it back, the giggles bubbling out. “I’m teasing, Amb. You can relax properly, it’s alright. I’m not your… what was it you had? A sergeant? A general? I’m not your commander, anyhow. Not like that.”

Ambrose fails at holding him back. "I'm sorry. Practice."

“Hey…. no…” The laughter dries up, a sad, uncomfortable pit opening in Pen’s chest. “It’s okay. I just- I didn’t mean…”

"It's alright. Might just take me some time to know I'm not there."

Penthos nods, somber. “Like me in the tub. I won’t rush it, I swear.”

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

“You needn’t thank me. It’s basic decency, isn’t it?”

"Something sorely lacking these days."

“Well then our house will be a bastion of it. Take a deep breath for me Ambry, you’re here, with me. We’re getting fitted for new clothes and then we’ll go do something else fun. Furniture, or lab equipment, or ice cream.”

"I wouldn't mind any of that, I have to say."

“Mm, Furniture first, perhaps? And we’ll see how we feel after that. I want you to have a proper bedroom again.”

"I certainly can't say I don't want that." Though I'd rather sleep with you.

Penthos’ eyes flicker to the attendant taking Ambrose’s measurements, a tad worried. He is still technically a married man, seeing as no one knows his husband is dead. And neither of them have been subtle about their positions as adept and cavalier. The attendant just keeps staring at his work though, dutifully marking down numbers and moving his tape. “Of course, you’ll still be welcome throughout the rest of the house. I just want to restore your space to how it was before. You deserve that much, at least.”

"I didn't think you'd confine me to my room, not for a moment."

Another glance at the attendant, who’s dutifully ignoring everything but his work. “That’s good to know, but I did mean moreso... overnights.”

"I'm at your service, night or day."

Well, that sounds like he’s being used for sex. If they weren’t in public Penthos might laugh. And Ambrose smirks, knowing exactly how it sounds. Almost wishing it was true.

“Be that as it may, you’ll still have space to yourself if you desire it.” Pen only allows himself the quickest of fantasies. Of Ambrose on his knees half clothed. Of him servicing Penthos whenever he wishes. It’s cruel, to wish such servitude on anyone he cares about, after Pen spent years in the same denigrating situation. But Ambrose would serve so prettily, wouldn't he? Of course he would. Beautiful and fucked out and waiting for his next order. Utterly debauched and entirely for Penthos’s pleasure alone.

Ambrose looks at Penthos with a flicker of heat, as if the innuendo has him thinking quite the same thing.

The attendant saves them both a scandal, straightening up and declaring he has everything he needs from Ambrose. “Ah, I- I’ll need a stool, then. So, you can get mine.” He hopes his voice doesn’t betray what he’s been thinking of. Ambrose moves to help him without even a word.

The first half of his measurements go by rather fast, even if their attendant is trying and failing to suppress some frustration at the awkward way of doing things. The second half is much stranger. “Ambrose. you’ll have to hold me, under the arms. He has to get proper leg measurements.”

Ambrose doesn't laugh, pulling him up. Just does it like a good soldier, straight-faced.

Frankly, the lack of laughter is a miracle. They do look ridiculous, even though it works. Before long Pen is being deposited back into his chair, and they’re being given an estimate on how long before their new closet’s worth of clothes will be ready. “Yes, just have them delivered. There’s no need to wait for a servant to leave them with, you can just least the parcel by the front door. Yes, I’m sure.”

Ambrose is ready to step up and speak if he has to, ready to take over for Pen any minute. And Pen appreciates it. Really, he does! There’s a visceral joy in being allowed to make all the decisions. To give the orders. Of being the one the shop keeps and the sales attendants look to first to give them directions. Once everything is sorted, Pen turns back to Ambrose. “It should all be delivered in a few weeks. Paid extra to expedite, I want us in proper attire sooner than later.” I want to stop looking like what he liked.

"Are you aiming for the dinner party circuit?"

King Undying he’d honestly forgotten about that. “I… hadn’t intended on it, but I suppose we should…. I’ve been even more a recluse these past few years than we ever were before.”

"Let's go out. Show off."

“Once we don’t look all a mess, we will, I promise.”

"Maybe you'll even like it."

Now, with no pressure to find a match, and Ambrose having promised to not go chasing new conquests…. “I might at that.”

"Showing me off."

“Making everyone green with envy.”

"As green as the frills on that lovely cravat."

“You liked that one, did you?” Perhaps it’ll end up being worn more often than others.

"I did. Brought out the colour of your eye."

When they emerge back into the sun, Penthos freezes. “He’s still there, isn’t he? In the dining hall.”

"I didn't know what you'd want done with him."

“We need to at least hide him before there are delivery men in our house tonight.”

"I wish you could just decompose him."

It would be satisfying to watch. “You want me to do that in our dining room? Where we eat. I would rather not have liquified—“ Rapist. He can’t make the word come through, choking on it. “Liquified— Liquified him in our floors.”

"No. I'd take him outside."

“That… That would be lovely.”

"We'll throw what's left in the lake."

“There won’t be much left.” Pen says, dripping disdain and fury.

"Good. Even better."

The desire for ice cream has soured, and he has to take a few moments to collect himself before speaking again. “If you’d like... we can do just that right now.”

"I'd love that. Clear the air in the place."

“Would you push me home?” His hands are shaking too badly to do it himself.

I'd carry you home if you as much as asked. "Of course."

“Thank you.” His voice is small, unsteady. So far from how he wants it to be. The whole way home, Penthos tries to pull himself together, to stop the tremors. He mostly succeeds. Ambrose is steady. Because he forces himself to be.

“Do you- Do you want to bring him outside first? Or did you want me to follow you in?”

"Wait for me out here. Get some sunshine."

He nods, secretly thankful he won’t be in the house with that slime again. “Around back, less obvious what we’re doing.”

"And a lovely view to go with it."

“In the shade by the lake, what better place to liquify a corpse?”

"You just go around, and I'll meet you there."

Another nod, and Penthos swallows as he wheels around the large house, trying to focus on the trees, on the slight breeze. Ambrose is gone for what starts to seem like a long time. He reappears dragging the body. A tiny part of Pen internally sighs at the blood trail, but mostly he’s at war with himself over being relieved to see Ambry, vs being physically disgusted to see Dardenos, even dead.

"Here he is, the bastard."

He wants to vomit, he wants to leave, he wants to- Penthos wheels closer, not wanting to touch him, but knowing he'll have to. "Just toss him in the dirt, I suppose."

Ambrose does. Like a sack of refuse.

"I suppose I'll have to touch him." He's loath to do so, but if Penthos wants to liquify him properly he'll have to.

"Only one more time."

Pen touches him with two fingers, as if making too much contact will contaminate himself. His eye shuts, and Pen reaches for Ambrose with the other hand, needing to feel something other than just the dead clammy flesh of his abuser. Ambrose reaches out with his reconstructed hand, and clasps Pen's tight. It'll be a tad harder now, making sure only one hand channels power, but Penthos doesn't dare let go of Ambry's hand. When he opens his eye, necrosis is spreading out from the two fingers pinching cold skin.

"Good." Ambrose encourages. "You're doing good."

Nails dig in, and the rot spreads further still, desquamifying, sloughing off in a putrid, liquefactive mess of necrotic meat.

"It's beautiful." Ambrose says, hushed.

"It is...." At least he's good for something, even if it's postmortem. The whole arm is nothing but wet pulp, a squelching, stinking thing, peeling away in thick glops of necrobiotic red, held up only by rotting bone, and the last stringy tendrils of ligament.

"Does he have any family? Anyone who will care?"

"He had a niece, I think. She refused to talk to him though. It was just me..." His blood turns to ice. "And.... and possible a vat baby."

"One step at a time. We'll handle that when we come to it."

Pen nods, and tightens both grips again. The rot is spreading further still, half the torso gone in a wet, purulent puddle that smells like sour milk and old stale life. Ambrose pulls a face at the smell. In any other circumstance, Pen might laugh, poke fun at him. But now, he only presses onward, watching as the rest of his torso is consumed, is utterly annihilated into a creeping sprawl of total thanergy. When it reaches his intestines, the scent of feces and blood is expelled, along with mucosal sicksmell, making Pen’s nose wrinkle as well.

"It's a nasty thing, isn't it? But well deserved."

“Perhaps the first time he’s gotten anything close to what he deserved.” The bastard is nothing more than fuel now, as his skin rots off in layers, chunks of wet flesh sliding away, his eyes, now looking oh so similar to Penthos’ own creation, before they too, melt away to nothing.

"Did you manage to gather any thanergy from his death, or this?" Nevermind that that is a specialty of the Second.

Pen shakes his head. “I don’t know that I’d want it even if I knew how.”

"No. It seems it would be tainted, doesn't it?"

“Exactly… I fear it would contaminate everything.” That he would contaminate everything else.

"Not even a waste, then."

As he watches the last of the flesh and tissue melt off the man, Penthos smiles. “No, not a waste at all.” Bones are the only remaining thing, and with another push of energy, they too, begin to properly decay, rotting from the inside, the marrow turning putrid and painfully soft, leaking out the porous white hard casing until even that begins to crack and flake away to nothing. Ambrose is watching now as if hypnotized. As if thoroughly enjoying the sight. The last bits of bone held pinched between Pen’s fingers crumble to dust, and Penthos, possessed by some petty, spiteful spirit, spits on the patch of sodden ground where the last vestiges his late husband are seeping into the soil. Ambrose laughs in delight at the sight.

“If I thought I could without missing, I’d piss on the damn spot.”

"And it would be deserved."

“That it would.” Something in his chest unclenches, letting Penthos breath clearly and fully for the first time in over a year.

"He's gone now. Really gone."

“Well, apart from any mess left behind.”

"You don't have to worry about mess."

A thin smile cracks across his face. “No, I suppose I don’t… and the house will be ready for our delivery once we get rid of the old furniture.”

"Still think we ought to have a bonfire."

“Yes, oh it’ll be lovely.”

"Let's get you inside while I set it up."

“Aw, I don’t get to stay out here and watch~?”

"You want to watch me drag furniture around? Very well."

I want to watch you get all sweaty. Of course, Penthos doesn’t say that, instead wheeling off to the side and getting comfortable, settling in to watch the show.

And it's quite a show. Ambrose sweaty, muscles straining.

“All pretty and warm, too.”

"Just perfect. Do we have marshmallows?"

He nods, excited. “Yes! I wheedled my way into them a few months ago.”

"I'll run and fetch them."

“They should be easy enough to find in the pantry. He didn’t bother hiding anything I couldn’t reach.”

Ambrose returns with the marshmallows, and some chocolate and biscuits from a higher shelf

Pen only gets happier, making grabby hands. “You get the fire going, I’ll hold onto those.”

Ambrose douses the furniture in gasoline, and tosses a match

The blaze is utterly glorious, if a tad noxious smelling. A bright, hot tower of flame, all the horrid fixtures of the recently departed following him out.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Ambrose slumps to sit on the ground.

“It’s perfect. The most beautiful gift.”

He gets back up to hunt for some sticks to spear marshmallows.

“I can toast my own, right?”

"Of course. I won't even say be careful. I'll count on you to heal a burn."

“I’d heal yours too.”

"Thank you, sweetheart." The endearment slips out.

His movements stutter to a halt, shocked. “If that’s a jest, it’s a poor one.” Hurtful, too.

"I didn't mean any jest. Can I not be sweet?"

“You can…” but we know you’d never call me as such the way I wish you would.

"Didn't mean it any kind of way." You'd hate the way I did mean it.

Pen looks over at him, a tad suspicious. “…….Alright. If you say so, I believe you.”

Ambrose smiles, sunshine-bright. "Good."

He’s still not quite trusting it isn’t the base of some trick, or mockery, but Penthos nods, opening up the marshmallows and eating one raw, before they have a chance to toast them.

Ambrose grabs two to spear on a stick.

“You got me a stick as well, yes?”

"Of course. Here." He passes it over.

Pen takes the stick, putting two of his own marshmallows on it. “How chivalrous.” He jests, sticking the sugar in the fire with a giddy expression.

"For you? Always."

“Well, I would hope as much.” The marshmallows catch fire, smoldering black and bubbling, as Pen grins at them. He pulls them out of the flames and holds them in front of Ambrose. “Blow em out, would you?”

Ambrose does, a matching smirk on his face.

And oh, how that sends a shiver straight to his stomach. “They’re perfect Amb, thank you.” He grasps the bubbled and black charred outside, and pulls it up off the soft inner core.

Penthos smiles, eating the first mallow straight off the stick as he watches. Ambrose is more patient with his, more cautious. Brownish them golden instead of burning them.

“Ooh, yours look lovely as well. Do you want my crisp crusts? Or should I toss them back into the fire?”

"I'll eat them." Ambrose says quickly. "Wouldn't do to waste."

“It’s not as if we don’t have enough. But, if you insist~” Pen holds up the marshmallow skin. “Open up, then.”

Ambrose opens his mouth, perfectly obedient.

It’s placed on Ambry’s tongue like communion. Like a loving brand. Penthos’ fingers, still sugar sticky, brush along Ambrose’s cheek and under his chin, gently shutting his mouth around the burnt treat.

Ambrose closes his mouth in compliance, and bliss spreads across his face.

“Such a lovely boy.” For me He thinks but doesn’t dare add.

Ambrose comes very close to groaning.

One sticky finger ghosts over Ambrose's lip, before Pen collects himself and pulls his hand away entirely. "Ah, well, you'll have plenty more as I continue to toast them."

"Could even content myself with your leavings."

"I'd not want to deprive you. You deserve them as you wish them, and with chocolate and biscuts besides."

"Careful, or I'll end up gorging myself."

Gorge yourself, then. So long as it’s with me. Instead of saying it, Pen smiles indulgently. “A few proper s’mores won’t kill you.”

"No. They might well work resurrection on me."

“My poor, poor cav, desolate and deprived of your needs for so long.”

"We certainly didn't get treats often."

“Well now that you’re home, there’s no restriction of treats in the slightest.” Pen wants to give him everything he could ever want till he bursts. Ambrose is grinning. A child's joy. It’s infectious, bringing a brighter smile to Penthos’ face as well. “Go on then, indulge. You’re more than allowed, Ambry.”

"Pass me some more chocolate, will you?"

If Pen had it his way, he’d be spending hours out here, making treats exactly as Ambrose wants, and feeding them to him by hand, as he sits beautifully as Pen’s feet. Instead he just nods, and hands over the chocolate bar, unable to tear his eyes away from the infectious grin Ambrose wears.

When Ambrose bites into the chocolate, his expression is pure delight.

“You look like a kid on holiday.”

"Feel like one." Ambrose agrees, chewing on a marshmallow.

“The fake wood smells atrocious as it melts, but the fire is pretty.” He does feel bad about Ambrose being resigned to either stand or sit on the ground, though. “Are you… comfortable?”

"I don't mind the ground much."

“Are you… eh… sure?”

"We're a bit short on chairs."

Be brave, Penthos. You’re the Viscount Adrastis, you survived the last two years, you can survive this. “I don’t mind sharing. …..If you don’t mind, that is.”

"Sit on your lap, do you mean?"

There’s silence for a long moment. Uncomfortably long, before, voice wavering: “Yes. I do.”

Ambrose grins once more. And climbs, ever so carefully, into his lap.

Pen’s arms settle around Ambrose, shifting him so he’s sideways in his lap. “More comfortable?”

"Oh, much. This is lovely."

“Even with my thin legs?” He can’t feel much more than a faint pressure from Ambrose’s weight.

"You're not too bony to be comfortable."

Pen smiles at him, trying to fight the urge to bury his face in Ambry’s arm. “That’s nice to hear. I feared I’d gotten too skinny to be even somewhat enjoyed.” By anyone other than him anyhow.

"You're plenty enjoyable. I'm sure." He adds the last bit hastily.

“You are still a person, Ambry. You can enjoy my company.”

"I do enjoy you. Very much."

“I’m glad. I would have been saddened to find that had changed while you were away.”

"Absence makes the heart grow only fonder."

“Then I suppose our hearts want to link atria. I’ve missed you so much.”

"I've missed you so much it left me dizzy."

“Nothing was the same without you…. Just an empty wing and a gaping void.”

"Every time they wanted to send me out with another necromancer, I thought of you."

He’s unbearably touched, and unspeakably jealous. “Wanted? Did you have a choice, then?”

"I tried to. Never the same one twice, that at least I could arrange."

“Why not more than once, were they all horrid?”

"No. I was horrid, rather. But I already belong to someone."

Penthos giggles. “You scared them all off?” He tries to ignore the way his heart tap dances at being proclaimed Ambrose’s owner. Tries even harder to will his prick not to respond to that tap dancing.

"I did. Got a reputation for being difficult."

“My beastly behaved little cavalier, mh?” Pen gives in, and runs a hand through Ambry’s hair. “But always so well behaved for me.”

"For you alone, you must know."

“Oh really? I can’t imagine your commanding officers appreciated that.”

"Not a bit. They struggled over what should be done about me."

“And still they kept you for mode than two years… I suppose they thought you were trying to get sent home?”

"Absolutely they did, and not even wrongly."

“I hope you weren’t punished for it….” The thought of his Ambry, alone and hurting, simply for wanting to be back with him… It makes him ache.

He waves a hand. "I could take it."

“You shouldn’t have had too.” Part of him is scared to ask, but he had to know. “What… that is to say- what did— What did you have to ‘take.’?”

"Usually just censor. A whipping, a few times."

The hand that had been in Ambrose’s hair trails down the back of his neck, following his spine. “Did it scar?”

"Just a little."

“Later, will you let me see?” Let me get rid of them for you?

"Yes. Of course." Anything.

“Thank you.” It feels too heavy, like they’ve strayed too far from the sweet joy of flames. Pen holds up another marshmallow, offering.

Ambrose takes it, spears it. Lets the joy return to his face.

“You’re home now. Right where you belong.”

"And it's ours again."

“It will be forevermore.” He touches their roasting sticks together, before shoving his into the flames. It's like a toast. Surely, that was the meaning. It's like a kiss. It’s a heavy relief. “It always hurt, with him. I don’t- I won’t do that to you. I won’t.”

"Oh, that won't hurt me. I know plenty of ways to make sure."

Taking a chance of it, Pen presses his forehead to Ambrose’s shoulder, breathing him in, steadying himself. “Swear?”

"Absolutely. I swear."

Part of him wants to scream, to cry and demand to know why it had to hurt when it was him. But Penthos knows he’d get no answer. Not from the dust in the ground, not from the house, not from the Necrolord himself. Instead, he just clings closer to Ambrose. “Thank you.”

"I'll make sure it's lovely."

Finally, Pen meets his gaze. “Well, it’ll be with you. That makes it lovely already.”

"You know I've got the experience to make it so. Regrettably."

“No.” He shakes his head, knocking Ambrose. “I don’t care about that. It’s going to be lovely because it’s with you.”

"Oh, you're sweet." Tears prickle his eyes again.

“I’m telling the truth, is what I am.”

"And I love to hear it."

Too scared to kiss, as he wants too, with the impending delivery, Pen sticks a piece of chocolate in each of their mouths. “You’ll hear it far more often in the future.”

"The future sounds lovely."

“Now that I know you feel the same? I’m sure it will be.”

"How long have you felt it?"

He looks down, embarrassed. “Since we were kids. I always loved you then… and when you started growing into your looks…. becoming the handsome charming cavalier… The beautiful rakish man I lived with but could never be with. Well….”

"And here I was, wanting you so desperately, all that time."

“You didn’t say anything.” Pen fights the urge to smack him. “All those years of you going off and having gobs of sex, coming home at horrid hours to me in a mood. Years of me complaining about no one wanting me in any of the ways a young man wishes to be wanted. And you thought nothing of it?!”

"I didn't dare let myself think anything of it!"

“You didn’t bother to ask, either.” He huffs.

"You'd have had every right to dismiss me from your service for daring to presume."

Penthos levels an entirely unimpressed look at him. “You could have asked in alternate words.”

"Perhaps I'm a coward."

“Perhaps so.” There’s a long moment before Pen caves. “Perhaps we both are.”

"You undo me so."

“As if you hadn’t undone me the moment you signed into my service.”

"You loved me even then?"

“I have loved you since the moment I knew you, Ambrose Epta. I think I shall continue to do so long after we both have gone to dust.”

"I loved you before I knew what the word meant."

Penthos is utterly lost for words, his breath gone, his heart only beating for Ambrose at this point. All he can do is stare, awestruck, wondering how he managed to wind up with such a perfect cavalier.

"Tried to bury it in so many other bodies. Didn't work."

“You mean to say that all that… All that fucking was because you couldn’t fuck me?” Boiling, jealous, possessive need coils deep in his chest.

"Not to say I didn't have fun, but... Yes."

“If I were a worse man….” He’s not even sure what exactly he’d do. Just that there are visions of violence, bloody carnage flashing through his mind. Snippets of using his influence for all the wrong reasons.

"Oh, but you'd never."

That only upsets him more. “Wouldn’t I? I might have changed while you were gone, Ambry. Then what would you do.” Changed in a way other than becoming more pathetic. He thinks.

"Then I'd help you do it, wouldn't I, my love?"

“And if I wanted to keep you here, locked inside with me where no one ever saw either of us again?” Pen wouldn’t. It’s far too close to what his late husband did to him, but that little horrible voice deep inside is screaming to never let Ambrose out of his sight again.

"Well, I'd have to get used to the house."

“You’d just-? Let yourself be caged and kenneled in?”

"I'd hate it. But I'd do it."

“Simply because it was me….” It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling.

"Simply because you told me."

One of Penthos’ hands slides up, coming to rest at the junction of platysma and trapezius, thumb brushing Ambrose’s clavicle. The thought of how pretty he would look in a collar flashes through Pen’s mind for an instant, before being chased away. “I won’t. I would never…. I swear.”

"And I trust you." Ambrose promises.

“I’ve not earned it.” And he hasn’t. Not in the slightest.

"Yet I do, anyway."

Isn’t that just beautiful. Beautiful and terrible and Pen has never been able to tell the difference. “I fear you would walk into the fire before us if I commanded it.”

"I think I just might."

Ambrose is just perfect. Doing absolutely everything Pen could ever want of him. A calm, careful cav. In his element, the domestic angel. He comes up next to Ambrose, peering at all his work. “It’s perfect.”

"Copied the layout of your old bedroom a little

“I adore it. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

"It suits me as long as it suits you."

“I think it will suit for quite some time.” He glances behind, looking at the deliverymen. “Be a dear and get them to leave, mh?”

Ambrose sweeps to hurry them away, looking content in his domain.

Once Penthos is sure they’re alone, he pulls Ambrose down into a bruising kiss. “I haven’t the faintest how anyone thought your place on the Front.”

"Oh, no. I was completely ill-suited."

“Anyone should have seen your place is here.” The hand not holding Ambrose’s shirt-collar slides down, taking a greedy hold of his ass.

"Who would keep the home for you elsewise?"

That hand gives a pleased, appreciative squeeze, and Pen grins, almost lecherous. “Who else indeed. You were made to be here, keeping my home at my side.”

"I'll keep it lovely for you. Just as you like it."

“Mmh, just as we deserve.”

"You do deserve someone to keep a home for you."

“Lock the door to our home, yeah?” Pen lets go, and gives Ambrose’s ass a small pat. “Then get the pair of us into bed and I’ll have the other thing I deserve.” Ambrose rushes to follow the order. He doesn’t do a thing to help, just watches his cav scramble to obey, pleased as punch at the state of their little world.

Ambrose rolls Pen to the side of the bed, then leans over him. "Lift you?"

“Yes, dear.” It’s never going to get old, how easily Ambrose can move him around. Ambrose lifts him gently, gracefully, and still in one go Pen giggles, any vestiges of attempted sternness fading entirely. “Sweeping my off my feet~”

"In preparation for you to ravish me."

“I will, won’t I?” He kisses Ambrose, soft but hungry. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do most of the work once I’m in you. At least until my legs eventually get strength back.”

"It'll be a lovely treat once you get the strength back."

Pen smiles, eyes dark, predatory. “Once I have the strength back I think we’ll not be leaving this bed for quite some time.”

"I look forward to it. To being your toy."

“Oh Ambry, you already are, aren’t you?”

"I already am. Your little toy."

“Perfectly molded for me, perfectly made.” As he speaks, Pen starts working at stripping Ambrose, wanting him bare.

Ambrose starts working at Pen's clothes.

The shirts are gone first, easy and quickly thrown off the side of the bed. Pen wastes no time in getting his hands on Ambry’s chest, tracing over the faintest scar, only visible to them, really. They who know it’s there. Penthos had done good work, and his hands fit oh so perfectly against Ambry. So perfectly he could almost cry.

"Yours." Ambry reminds him. "You made that bit."

“Made it the way you always were meant to be.” He tweaks a nipple, smiling. “Rather proud of my work on you as well.”

"It's lovely work. Even have feeling in my nipples."

“I had hoped you did… Wasn’t able to properly test it back then.” Pen leans in and latches his mouth around one, biting and sucking at him.

Ambrose lets out a shaky moan.

When Penthos lets up, there’s a bruised and sensitive ring around the nub. “Glad to have the chance to rectify that lapse now.”

"You've all the chances you like."

His smile widens, just as predatory. “I think I’d like to see the rest of you first.”

Ambrose happily steps out of his trousers, kicking them away across the ground.

“So perfect for me… You follow orders but better when they come from me, don’t you, love?” Penthos gets himself as out of his own trousers as he can alone, before giving up.

"I love them when they come from you. Let me help you."

“Of course you do. It’s how we belong.” Pen happily does what he can to assist Ambrose in divesting him of his bottoms, leaving the pair of them nude entire. Penthos can’t take his eyes off of him. “Lord Undying you’re gorgeous.”

"You like what you see? Thank you." He arches, showing off.

“I’ve liked what I see since the first time I got a peek of you. You’ve only grown into yourself more since then.” Penthos grabs for his hips, pulling Ambrose closer without warning.

Ambry gasps and laughs in delight. "Oh, yes. More of that."

He yanks Ambrose into a deep. bruising kiss, not pulling back until he grows dizzy from lack of air. Even then, Pen lets his hands rove down, grasping his ass in full, kneading hands. “More I can do.”

"That's it. You get the idea of just what to do."

“I have a lot of ideas on what to do to you.” The hands get more intimate, delving further, one finger brushing over Ambry’s asshole, the other hand slipping around the front, circling his member.

He groans. "Show me."

“Tell me where first, I said I wouldn’t hurt you.” And he intends to mean it.

"Right there where you've the fingers of your right hand. But you can play with my arse too if you like."

He nods, leaning in, to mouth at Ambry’s clavicle. “So if I do this-“ Two fingers sink into Ambrose’s warm cunt, palm pressing on his prick as he does. “It’s alright?”

"It's utterly fantastic, please keep that up."

“Its so much easier, like this… You open up just beautifully….” His fingers spread, scissoring apart and delving deeper, exploring every inch that Ambrose offers.

Ambrose's head falls to rest against Pen's shoulder. "I've dreamed of this."

“You’ve not been alone in those dreams.” His fingers begin pumping in earnest, fucking into Ambrose with perpetually chilled fingers. “It’s like you were made for me to do this.”

"I was. Made just for this."

“Made for me” Pen intones, chewing at Ambrose’s neck.

"I was. I was." It's almost a sob, almost a plea.

“And now you’ll fall apart for me, again and again. On my fingers, on my cock, on anything I decide you should.”

"I will. Whatever you want to give me."

Penthos shudders in lust at that. Oh, if he were a worse man…… “Whatever I say. Whatever I tell you to fuck yourself stupid on…” His fingers crook inside Ambrose, driving deeper.

"Anything you say. Anything."

“Are you close enough? If I tell you to cum now, can you? Or doss my pretty cav need more?” It’s a tad mean, but Pen does genuinely want to know. Hopes he’s doing this right. Hopes he’s making Ambrose feel good, especially after so many years of both of them wanting this.

"One more finger, and I can come for you."

His finger sinks in, without preamble or resistance, and Pen half bites back a pleased groan. “Utterly resplendent.” All three of them move, shifting and spreading and pressing deeper, Penthos’ palm a constant pressure against Ambrose’s prick, lovely and adorable as it is.

Ambrose comes with his legs shaking, full-body and almost violent.

“There we go…” It’s a beautiful sight, one Pen thought he’d never properly get to see. “You’re a vision, darling. My beautiful, perfect boy.”

"All yours. Do you want to fuck me?"

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for near a decade Ambry. Today is not the day that desire fades.” His prick is aching hard.

"Lie back, so I might straddle you." He's so wet. Practically dripping.

Pen shimmies down in bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows, his prick standing to attention and almost weeping. He won’t let go of Ambrose though, now soaked hand moving to hold his waist.

Ambrose maneuvers himself to straddle Pen. Stays there a moment, teasing, before he sinks down on him.

A moan punches out of Penthos, strangled and pleased, as his empty hand flies to clutch at his cav. “Fuck!” He’s never felt anything like this before and is utterly overwhelmed.

"Nice, is it?" His voice is hitched up.

“Never want this feeling to end.”

"You'll like — you'll like the end too."

His grip on Ambrose tightens, eye screwing shut as he pants.

Ambrose starts moving his hips, up and down, the way Pen might fuck him if he had the muscle.

And— “Oh hell-“ Pen’s not going to last long, especially not with Ambrose moving.

"That's it, lovely."

Penthos really does only last a few minutes more, before his hips twitch up, and he’s scrabbling at Ambrose in warning. “I- Ambry, I’m going to- I—“

"Come for me. In me."

“Won’t that- Isn’t it-“ He’s concerned, but he can’t stop himself, spilling into Ambrose with a wail, nails scratching red lines into his hips.

"There you go, my love. Doesn't it feel good?"

Pen nods, whimpering as his cock throbs, leaking more and more into Ambrose. It feels as if the last two years of not being allowed or able to get any relief have all caught up and are fighting to escape now.

"Oh, yes, he kept you pent up, didn't he?"

His voice cracks when he answers. “‘Little boys ought not to play with that, it’s not appropriate’ he’d always say.” Not that it stopped him from fucking into me whenever he wanted.

"My poor dear. I'll take care of that for you as much as you'd like."

Pen whines, burying his face against Ambrose’s chest, overwhelmed with love, and deeply embarrassed. “M’sorry it was so fast… Wanted to make you feel properly good.”

"You can, still, if you'd like to bring me off again. It's sweet you liked it so much."

“Tell me how you want it?” He’s still burning red, but he wants so dearly to please Ambrose. To prove he’s worth it. Worth all this.

"Gentle, this time. I'm still sensitive. Put your fingers back in me, and rub me..." He guides his fingers to the spot.

Pen shivers, eyes growing darker with lust as he feels himself all over Ambrose’s walls, as his own spend slicks the way to where Ambry puts him. “Like this?”

"Yes! Just like that!" He grinds down into the hand.

He’d said to be gentle, and Pen is, but he can’t help pressing his thumb to Ambry’s prick, rubbing circles in tandem with his fingers massaging inside.

Ambrose groans shakily. Sounds like he might cry in pleasure.

“Gorgeous….”

"You like me like this?" He sounds pleading, desperate.

“I like you every way, but this is- Well it’s perfection.”

"I love you." Ambrose says, his voice shaky.

“I love you too. Every atom of you, every speck.”

"I'll love you to the end of my days."

Another kiss, as Pen finally reaches deep enough, and makes contact with Ambrose’s cervix for the second time today. “My dearest darling, it would be my honor and pleasure to hurt you in any and every way you desire, for as long as you wish. You need only tell me and speak again if it ever truly becomes too much.”

"We ought to have... some word to say when I really mean it. I might like to beg and be denied relief."

He nods, probing around with his energy, getting a proper mental picture of the damage he’s caused. It’s stunning. Frankly, Pen is a might bit surprised he hadn’t torn his boy in two. “Yes…. I want to hurt you as you wish, but I’ll not be doing any hurting of that sort.”

"You'd not like to go too far. To be like—" he trails off. He might have said Dardenos. He might have said your father.

“No. Never. I refuse. I’m… I’m not sure I’d even be able to play at that, not properly. Not for a long while.” Certainly not as predator. The damage inside Ambrose is being slowly knit back together, slowly reversed.

"I wouldn't like to make you do anything you wouldn't like." He sighs in relief at the easing of the pain.

Pen smiles, kissing him again, still a bit in awe he can, and pushes a little more energy and focus toward healing his cav. “I know. You never have, and I doubt that would have changed now.”

"No. I want to take care of you. I so enjoy it."

“A beautiful dichotomy, that. Wanting to take care of me. Wanting me to tear you apart.”

"Wanting anything, so long as it's you."

“Anything, you say?” He says half teasing. “A dangerous privilege to give anyone, let along someone who holds you in contract.” The last bit of Ambry’s insides knits together, and Pen smiles.

"You'd never really hurt me. Not without repairing me."

“And not without making sure you thoroughly enjoyed it.” Another kiss, and this time, Pen lays down curling on Ambrose’s chest. “You did enjoy it, right?”

"Oh, Pen. It was wonderful."

“Even with how badly I tore you?”

"It did sting rather a lot. And still I loved it."

He traces nonsense shapes in Ambrose’s chest hair and smiles faintly. “It seemed it did a fair bit more than just ‘sting’.”

"It hurt terribly. And I loved it."

“Then you’ll get quite a bit more, mh? Anything to keep my perfect pe— My perfect bot happy.”

"And I've so much to show you."

“I can’t wait.” It’s so earnest, sincere and excited. Penthos truly can’t wait to see everything Ambry wants him too. To give him everything he desires.

"I find myself quite liking the idea of being a teacher."

Pen smiles, utterly enamored. “I quite like the idea as well.”

"All my whoring coming in useful for something."

“Oh yes. Useful indeed.”

"I can almost say it was all for you. Not that I was selfish."

“I suppose that perhaps, in this one department, now I understand the facts, I could be charitable and say: Everything you do, is and always has been for me. Such is the case since you signed and the contract was sealed. Such will continue to be the case until our dual ends.”

"It's true. It will always be true."

“Mh, my perfect cav… Taught himself all that just for me. And I’ll bet no one else has fist fucked your cervix before.”

"They were too scared to touch it."

Pen nuzzles closer against his chest, thrilled. “My poor, neglected boy… Needing more than anyone would give you.” He’ll not tell anyone, but his heart jumps at the fact he’s taken a form of Ambrose’s virginity, even now so long after he began sleeping around.

Ambrose nods and nuzzles the top of his head with his lips.

“I’ll give you everything you need and more, I swear it.”

"And I trust that you will. Every piece I need."

“Every piece indeed. And it’ll be an utter joy to discover what all you can do, and how far we can push beyond.”

"I'd like to find out what my body can do with no... conventional limits."

Pen grins, finger circling a nipple in lax, lazy absentmindedness. “You intend to make me get my practice in, fixing you up every time we fuck, mh?”

"Yes. It felt nice, the fixing."

“I thought you’d want to be awake for that bit.” In truth, it had felt a violation to do any of it without Ambrose watching. “You’d have been all sad if you woke up in perfect order.”

"I would. I'd have missed all that nice relief. It feels so good, when pain goes away. You must know."

He levels a glance at Ambrose, a mite confused. “I must know?”

"You're always in pain. Surely you've felt relief."

“Not while conscious, certainly.” Not in any way that truly helped. A slight ease, sure, but his very blood burns through the rest of his health, eating it to nothing. Penthos isn’t sure if he has the capacity for relief.

"Oh, my sweet love." Ambrose looks stricken.

He shrugs, nuzzling closer. “I’m quite used to it by now.”

"I'm here now. If that helps at all."

“You have always been the balm on my aching spirit, dear.”

"And I intend always to be such."

“It wasn’t his fault, in this case. The pain has been there, in flux, as long as I can remember.” He simply added to it, when his appetite showed its face.

"But he certainly didn't help."

He leans forward, balancing as best he can, and pulls Ambrose into a deep kiss, far deeper than their morning breath should dictate. But it’s Ambrose, and Pen couldn’t care in the slightest, not truly.

"There's a good morning right there."

“Then we shall do so every morning. At least once.”

"Oh, more, I hope."

Pen kisses him again, and sets his tea aside, pulling himself closer. Running a hand down Ambrose’s front. “More indeed.”

"Oh, eager, aren't you?"

“Of course, I am. A lifetime without and now I have you, here in my bed.”

"And anywhere else you'd like. Will you eat?"

He grins, ahead of the words coming out of his mouth. "You'll have to teach me how you like it, but it would be my honor."

"Oh. Oh, certainly." He sprawls out properly onto the bed.

"In terms of actual sustenance, yes I'd eat that as well, but you've laid such a feast before me... I think I ought to devour that first." He shifts, forcing his legs to fall behind him, letting himself lie between Ambrose's thighs. Those will also have to be taken care of, at least somewhat today.

Ambrose drops a hand to stroke his hair. "Certainly, my sweet."

Pen presses a line of kisses up his thigh, following the femoral until he reaches the vee of hair, adorable and softer than Pen had anticipated. "You're not to make fun of me if I don't do this right."

"I'm not so cruel. I'd never. You've used your mouth before?"

"Once, but I bit him, and he didn't bother to try again." Or to get anything to force my mouth open, which was a blessing.

"That's my boy."

And oh, how Penthos glows at that. "I couldn't do anything about the rest, but I made damn well sure he knew if that disgusting thing was going anywhere near me again it was getting chewed off."

"I'd want nothing else from you. But the act isn't so fundamentally different."

“Well, I doubt you’re intending on shoving something into my throat, and I don’t intend on maiming your sex.”

"No, I won't, and I appreciate that."

Pen huffs a laugh, and presses a kiss to Ambry’s hair, to his nub, nestled within it. “All of this is so nice. I miss mine.” That had been a mind numbingly horrid process, Dardenos shaving plucking or waxing away all the body hair he could find.

"You'll feel better once it grows back."

“I’ll feel better after a lot of things…” But first on that agenda is this. Pen presses forward, nosing at Ambrose, gently licking into him, as if afraid to hurt the man.

"That's it. You can see the spot..."

He nods, pushing deeper, letting his nose press against Ambrose’s clit as he licks further. Pen wants to taste everything.

"Good boy. That's it. Like that."

The words don’t revolt the way they did coming from him. Instead, they only serve to make the hungry fire in Pen’s gut burn brighter. He near whines into Ambrose, and wraps hands around warm thighs, pulling Ambry closer to him. Penthos can’t smell anything but him, can’t taste anything but sex and sweat and slick and Ambrose. It’s bliss.

Ambrose puts a hand on the back of his head, guiding him to just where he wants him. He groans in happiness and speeds up, lavishing every possible attention on his Ambrose.

"Yes, suck me, that's it..." His eyes roll.

Pen does, oh how he does, redoubling his efforts, intent on nothing more than Ambrose's pleasure. It's not hard to get Ambrose melting, writhing, grabbing his hair. He hums against the dripping flesh, caught with the sudden, wild though that if Ambrose did have a prick in the same way Dardenos did, Pen wouldn't rightly mind having it between his lips. The realization only makes him lap more vigorously, sucking at Ambry's beautiful cock. Makes him look up at Ambrose though long eyelashes, overjoyed to see the effect he's having on his cav.

"You love this." Ambrose groans in realization.

It's not as if Penthos can speak, but the moan he lets out against Ambry's sexwet core is more than answer in the affirmative. Certainly, when Pen is gazing up at him with utter, all-consuming love in his eye.

"Keep it up. Getting close."

Another enthusiastic noise. A further press toward Ambrose. He could use the new trick they discovered last night, but Penthos wants to pull one orgasm from him entirely on his own first. Prove to himself he can do it. He hopes he can anyhow, Pen is pressed flush to Ambry, and it’s hard to breathe, each inhale a heavy miasma of musk and sweat and sex. He can’t get enough of it, but he’s also running out of air. As long as he comes before I pass out, it’s alright…

Ambrose comes, this time, with a shout.

Penthos beams. “Darling you’ve utterly read my mind.”

"Make a pretty adornment. And it didn't even get in my eyes."

“I’d have cleaned those out, I’m not that cruel.” His plan from earlier trickles back into his mind and Pen has to stifle a giggle. “Although it might make your job today a tad more uncomfortable, despite how gorgeous you look.”

"What's to be my job today?"

“As much as I want to keep you here, curled in bed with me, I must ask that you get me a deer. Preferably a strong young one. We’re going to slaughter it here, together, mh?”

"You want me to go hunting for you?"

He nods, smiling. “I suppose trapping is more accurate. I’ll need to kill the thing myself, but yes.”

"Oh, you do spoil me."

“If it works out the way I hope, I’ll be able to spoil you another way too~”

"I'll have to get washed and changed."

Pen kisses him, careful to mind the still drying ropes of spend on Ambry’s face. “Not entirely washed though, no?”

"You want me to go out hunting all marked up?"

“You did beg for me to show everyone you’re mine.” Pen shrugs. If Ambrose really really doesn’t want to, he’ll wipe it off with a damp towel himself, but if Ambry does want to play….

"And I'll be going out alone."

He gestures at the chair. “Well it’s not as if I can follow you through the woods.”

"So there's no problem at all for me to go out like this.,"

“No problem in the slightest. Unless of course, you’re ashamed of it. Unless you find the proof of my adoration and ownership humiliating.” It feels a tad silly to be saying such things this early in the morning, but it’s Ambrose and Pen wants him in unspeakable ways. Has wanted him for years.

"Not a bit. Simply don't want to drag trouble to our door."

“If anyone does see anything they’ll likely think you had a forest romp with someone. I’m out of the question, of course, because of the chair.”

"Let them think. I'll know."

Penthos nods, extremely pleased. “Yes, you will. And each time it shifts or pulls as you move, it’ll be a lovely reminder of me.”

"As if I'll not be thinking of you the whole time I'm gone."

“Mm, you will, won’t you. Especially when you know you’ll get to watch me gut your catch.”

"I will. And I'll do good for you, I promise."

Pen runs a hand through his hair, smile soft and fond and loving. “I know you will. You always do.”

"And you know I've missed the hunt. I shall head out early."

“Might we eat something real before you leave?”

"How do you feel about eggs?"

Pen smiles wider. "Perfection. Shall I take care of our toast?"

"That would be sweet of you."

"Help me into the chair, and we can get started." It's going to be a good day, Penthos decides. A lovely start, a good breakfast with his Ambry, and by the end of the day he should have at least enough use of his legs to fuck Ambrose the way he wants to, along with getting in and out of the chair himself.

Ambrose can't resist pulling Penthos into a hug as he helps him to the chair.

Oh! An even better day. Pen hugs back as tightly as he can. "You know I love you, yes?"

"And you know I adore you beyond reason."

"Then I suppose we're just as we should be." He doesn't want to let go. Wouldn't ever let go if he had the choice, but Penthos' stomach lets out a rumble, and he goes a tad pink in embarrassment.

"Do you still take your eggs as you did?""

"Yes. Although it's been a long while since I was allowed cheese in them." He frowns. To think such a small thing was outside his control.

"Ridiculous. Cheese on eggs is delicious."

"It's it just!" He exclaims. Things are okay now. They have to be. They will be.

"I'll need the fuel for the hunt. Eggs and toast with jam, I think."

"Yes, that sounds perfect." Pen starts heading for the kitchen. "I think we might even have that jam you liked best. It'll likely be in the back of the icebox, but..."

"I'll dig it back out and put it in pride of place, as it deserves."

"As you deserve."

"My place in our home."

Penthos looks at him for a moment, before, “is our home not also a place of pride? Of honor?”

"It is! A place I'm justly proud of."

He nods, satisfied. “Then we’d best get on feeding you, mh?”

"Want me to push you, or want to wheel yourself?"

The stubborn part of him wants to insist he push himself, but Pen knows he doesn't need to. Knows Ambrose will see him just the same as he always has, no matter if he needs help. If he wants help, or not. "Push please."

Ambrose saunters over to do so with a grin, and it doesn't make it feel dirty.

It makes Penthos feel better. Seeing the easy way Ambrose moves to care for him. It’s almost like before. Almost like their respective horrors had never happened.

Ambrose is using the new hand almost as easily as the old.

“You’re…. Well it’s nice. You’re you. I think I was terrified you’d be entirely changed. Especially that first day, when you were so…” Obedient isn’t quite right. Ambrose obeys Pen, and always has. “Subservient? I feared my Ambrose was gone for good.” Blown away with your hand.

"I had bits of my spirit broken for me."

“Oh darling…” It breaks his heart.

"Bolstered back up by the sight of you."

“We’ll patch your spirit back up, I’m sure of it.” One of Pen’s hands reaches back, and rests over Ambrose’s. Gently tracing the missing fingernail. “We’ll get this patched up and protected as well.

"Of course. I trust you."

Something there feels a bit off, but Pen chalks it up to needing food. “Nice silver replacement nail. However, you want it made.”

"I want it sharp. Cutting.”

“Then sharp and vicious it will be.” The thought of it running along Pen’s skin in bed makes him shiver, wanting, in a way he hadn’t let himself consider in so long.

"Always useful to have another potential weapon."

“And it’ll be gorgeous.” He gasps in delight. “Almost like a wedding ring!”

"Would you really give me a ring?"

“Would… Would you like one?”