Feo felt his chest tighten at Lucius’s words, the weight of them sinking deeper than he wanted to admit. We’re all broken—that hit harder than it should have. His mind recoiled. He had never thought of it that way. He always saw himself as the one piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit, the part that was just too out of sync with the rest. But Lucius... Lucius made it sound like a damn strength.

It didn’t make sense. The things that he’d done, the things that had been done to him... none of it felt fixable. How could something so twisted, so fragmented, ever be whole again? And yet, Lucius wasn’t backing down. He kept talking, pushing against that invisible wall Feo had put up. It was infuriating how much it affected him.

"Broken..." Feo muttered under his breath. Broken was too kind of a word for what I am. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. Couldn’t tell Lucius just how fucked up he really was. That wasn't something you just tossed out in casual conversation. He looked at his hands, trying to steady himself, trying not to think about the damn buzzing at the edges of his mind.

And then Lucius was closer, his hand landing on Feo's knee. It was warm, grounding, but it didn’t stop the flood of thoughts that were still swirling around Feo's head. I shouldn’t be here, he thought again, but this time, the words felt wrong in his head, like they didn’t belong.

The sigh that escaped him was quiet. Feo swallowed hard and tried not to show how much he hated the words that Lucius had just spoken—letting someone in. The idea felt foreign to him, like a rope thrown into a chasm, just out of reach. He wasn’t supposed to need anyone, wasn’t supposed to want someone to get that close. Yet, here Lucius was, somehow slipping past all his defenses with nothing but a few words and a stupid kiss.

And yet, despite it all, there was a nagging pull, a hunger to just give in and let Lucius in. But Feo was terrified of what that would mean. He knew better than to trust that feeling. Trusting meant getting hurt.

"I didn’t ask for this," Feo whispered. His voice was barely above a breath, trembling with the weight of the confession. His eyes stayed focused on the ground, on his hands, on anything but Lucius. "Didn’t ask for any of it. Not... not for you to... to..." He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The feeling was there, lodged between them like an unspoken truth.

When Lucius spoke again, something about the tone of his voice shifted, softened. He wasn’t scolding or demanding, just... talking. Like they were actually on the same page, despite everything. Feo wanted to laugh, wanted to tell Lucius just how ridiculous this all was. How the hell do you fix this?

But there was Lucius, sitting there, wings unfurled, as if they were both just... existing. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Lucius wasn’t expecting anything from him. He wasn’t pressuring him, wasn’t looking for Feo to suddenly spill everything. It was just... presence. And that wasn’t something Feo was used to.

"You think... you think you're the only one who doesn’t get it?" Feo finally managed to meet Lucius’s gaze, though his own was shaky. "You’re not, okay? I don’t get it either. I don’t get... any of it. But you... you're still here. And I don’t know why. You shouldn’t be."

Feo’s heart raced in his chest. He was fighting everything inside of him, every instinct telling him to shut down, to pull back. But Lucius wasn’t letting him.

"I’m not... ready for this. For you." Feo’s voice cracked, and it sounded almost like a plea, though he didn’t mean it to. He hated the feeling. But it was there, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

And in the midst of everything, Feo’s mind still clung to that taste—Lucius's blood. The sharp, metallic flavor lingered like a poison in the back of his throat. He was supposed to be repulsed by it. He should be. But instead, it was... something else. Something darker that Feo couldn’t outrun. The pull to sink deeper, to just let it consume him, gnawed at him.

And Lucius said something that entirely did not help.

"I'd probably have done the same thing."

Feo’s eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at Lucius. The sudden surge of heat rushed to his cheeks, and his heart seemed to stutter in his chest. Wait, what?

"T-the same thing?" he asked, voice almost breaking. His fingers clenched into fists, his entire body stiffening as the question tumbled out before he could stop it. "You would have bit me?"

His stomach twisted, the thought of Lucius doing... that... leaving him reeling. The sheer absurdity of it made his mind spin. Feo had been flustered before—hell, he’d been overwhelmed a million times, but this was different. Lucius had just made a casual comment about biting him, as if it were something that made sense. As if it was just another damn thing in a day full of things that made no sense.

He was freaking out—suddenly acutely aware of every tiny movement he made, every shaky breath, as if Lucius might somehow see straight through him, might figure out just how much he couldn’t handle the thought of any of this.

His eyes flicked from Lucius’s face to his own hands, trying to keep it together. But it wasn’t working. The idea of Lucius—Lucius, who was still sitting so damn close to him—actually biting him... It sent a wave of heat through him that he couldn't explain. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t... gross. It was... something else. Something that terrified him and left him feeling like his insides were on fire.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Instead, his gaze darted back to Lucius, waiting for a response, the realization slowly dawning on him that this might be the first time in a long time he didn’t know how to handle himself.

"You would have bitten me?" The question felt so damn dumb as soon as it left his mouth, but the vulnerability of it hung between them, the tension almost unbearable.

He couldn’t stop the way his mind spiraled. What the hell did Lucius mean? Why would he...

Maybe Feo was thinking of it wrong. Maybe Lucius meant something else. Maybe Feo didn't understand his words.

Maybe a small part of Feo hoped he had understood correctly.

Feo’s entire body went rigid the second Lucius said those words. His breath hitched so sharply it almost hurt, his lungs seizing up like they had suddenly forgotten how to work.

Oh no. Oh, absolutely not. No way in hell.

Heat shot up his spine, pooling in his chest and exploding outward until it reached every inch of his body. His wings reacted violently, every last feather standing on end, a dark, shuddering display of his absolute, undeniable fluster. The motion sent a rush of air swirling around them, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat that had settled under his skin, making his head spin.

Lucius had teased him. Lucius had suggested something more. Deliberate. Less panicked.

Feo’s mind went blank.

Completely, utterly blank.

No thoughts. Head empty. Just the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears and the overwhelming awareness of every inch of his body suddenly being way, way too hot. His form shuddered as his body flickered at the edges, glitching and shifting in tiny bursts that he had zero control over. His fingers twitched against his knee, nails flickering between claws and back again, and his lips parted slightly, but he had no words.

Lucius’s hand had brushed against his knee—again—and this time, Feo felt it like a shockwave, like it had weight. Like it carried the promise of something.

His breath shook. His entire soul shook.

"Y-you—" His voice cracked—cracked—and it only made everything so much worse. His throat felt tight, like he was trying to swallow around gravel, and his entire body burned with a heat so intense he swore he was going to combust. He pressed a trembling hand to his face, covering his mouth as if that would help, as if that would fix whatever was happening to him.

But it didn’t.

It did nothing.

And then—before he could stop himself, before he could even register what was happening—his mind betrayed him.

A thought slipped in, unbidden, unrestrained, and all-consuming. Deliberate. Less panicked. Feo could see it so clearly, too clearly—Lucius leaning in slowly this time, no urgency, no desperation, just something controlled, something intentional. His sapphire eyes half-lidded, darkened with something knowing, something unchallenged. He could feel it, the imagined warmth of Lucius’s breath ghosting over his lips, the way he would hover for just a second, teasing, before pressing in firmly, lips soft and warm and deliberate.

Feo’s own breath hitched at the thought, heat coiling tight and low in his stomach.

And—fuck—how would he taste?

The blood had been one thing—a sharp, shocking tang that had snapped him back into reality. But this—the idea of something slower, something lingering—would be different. Feo could feel it, the imagined press of Lucius’s mouth against his, but this time there was no panic, no accident. This time, Lucius would kiss him because he wanted to, because he meant to, because he knew exactly what he was doing.

And what if he deepened it?

A sharp, startled noise almost escaped him, but Feo clenched his jaw hard, throat bobbing as he tried to force the thought away.

But it was too late.

His imagination had already run with it, and now he could feel it—Lucius tilting his head, pressing in closer, parting his lips just enough to taste him, to invite him deeper. Feo could see it, the way his hands would snap up without thinking, gripping Lucius’s waist, pulling him flush against his body because he couldn’t help himself. And—oh, gods, what if Lucius let him? What if Lucius pressed in even further? What if his fingers tangled in Feo’s hair, pulling him into it, making it deeper?

A violent shudder tore through Feo’s form, his entire body glitching so badly that for a split second, he barely looked like he existed in this plane of reality at all. His breathing was coming in short, uneven bursts, and he knew—he knew—his face was probably so red that it was a miracle he hadn’t exploded on the spot.

Lucius had no idea what he had just done to him.

Feo couldn’t look at him.

Couldn’t meet his eyes.

Couldn’t risk it.

Because if Lucius was even slightly amused, if he was even a little bit teasing—Feo was going to die.

Instead, with great effort, he managed to choke out—barely above a whisper—

"T-the same thing—? You would’ve bit me?"

And then, before he could embarrass himself any further, before he could melt into the ground and cease to exist, he curled forward, shoving his burning face into his hands, wings trembling from sheer mortification.

Deep down, a part of Lucius wondered what it really would be like. Not that he had gone... that far. Ever. Which sounded really dumb for him, he knew that. But that didn't mean that Feo had to know about that at all. That particular fact felt like far less of an important thing to tell and one that he could slip in nonchalantly later and watch the reaction.

Feo was really entertaining to watch. Even when he was angry, when he was flustered--it was interesting. There was always something more in the way he moved, it was never just what he showed on the outside. There was always something on the inside that he was hiding behind the mask he tried to wear, fix and rematch on a daily basis.

Tried being keyword. Lucius was picking and prying at the mask with every single he did at this point.

Feo sucked in a sharp breath, but it did absolutely nothing to cool the fire burning under his skin. If anything, it only made it worse. The sensation of Lucius’s teeth against his knuckles sent a violent shudder through him, his entire body tensing as another wave of heat crashed over him, scorching and unrelenting.

His wings twitched, feathers fluffing even further, standing on end like he was caught in a trap. Except this wasn't fear. No, this was something else entirely—something heady and overwhelming, something that clawed at the edges of his control and made his thoughts spiral into places he really shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Gods, Lucius was hot. Unfairly hot.

Everything was boiling.

And he knew it. That was the worst part. Lucius knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every second of watching Feo fall apart.

Feo was already burning, already dizzy from the heat rushing through his veins, but then Lucius looked at him—his sapphire eyes glinting with amusement, with something smug and teasing and absolutely devastating. The same kind of look he had worn before every reckless, insane idea that had somehow, against all odds, actually worked.

Feo felt his throat tighten, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he tried—tried—to say something. Anything.

But nothing came out.

He was stuck, frozen in place, locked in the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Lucius was still right there, his lips hovering against his skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. The weight of it sent another violent shudder down Feo’s spine, heat pooling low in his stomach, curling tight and unbearable.

He needed to get a grip. He needed to get a grip.

Lucius was just teasing him. That was all this was. Just another stupid, reckless move meant to pull him out of his own head.

But it was working too well.

Another shaky breath escaped him, his fingers twitching where they still rested in Lucius’s grasp. His lips parted, another half-formed thought struggling to escape, but all that came out was a weak, stammering mess.

“I— y-you— I—”

Nope. No words. His brain had officially stopped functioning.

Feo let out a strangled, embarrassed noise and collapsed.

Not literally, but he might as well have. His wings folded in tight around himself, his entire body curling as if that would somehow make him disappear, somehow hide him from the unbearable, suffocating intensity of Lucius.

But he couldn’t hide. Lucius was still watching. Still smiling. Still completely and utterly victorious.

Feo groaned, squeezing his eyes closed as another shaky, breathless laugh escaped him—helpless and embarrassed and just a little bit desperate.

He was so screwed.

"H-h-hhot," he managed to grind out.

Nice job, Sherlock. Observation of the century.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. Lucius was sprawled across his legs like he belonged there, radiating heat, wearing that impossibly smug grin that made Feo’s entire body ache. His wings curled around them, but it did nothing to shield him, nothing to lessen the intensity of this. Lucius was right there, looking at him with those impossibly blue eyes, all teasing and knowing and so goddamn attractive it was criminal.

And then—then he had to go and say that.

“I am hot.”

Feo shuddered. His body betrayed him before his brain could even catch up. His claws flickered in and out, fingers twitching at his sides as something deep in his gut twisted violently. He made a sound—half gasp, half whimper, entirely pathetic.

He wanted to—Gods—he just wanted. The thought hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

Lucius was so close, so casual, so effortlessly enticing in a way that Feo didn’t know how to handle. He smelled good, the warmth of his body pressing against Feo’s legs, his breath still ghosting over his skin where he’d kissed his hand just moments ago. Feo could feel it—the heat pooling low in his stomach, the way his body ached to move, to close the distance, to act.

His hand twitched. Just do it.

Lucius’s lips were right there. All he had to do was lean in. Just a little. Just enough to feel, to taste, to lose himself—

His whole body locked up.

No. No, no, no, bad idea. Terrible idea. His pulse hammered against his ribs, his breath sharp and uneven. He was teetering on the edge of something, and if he fell—if he gave in—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself.

Lucius was still watching him. Smirking, preening. He knew.

Feo nearly groaned.

“I— y-you—” His voice cracked so violently that he winced. His fangs caught on his lower lip as he bit down, hard, trying desperately to get himself under control.

Feo was losing his goddamn mind.

His skin was burning, his wings trembling at his sides. The tension in his body wound so tight he thought he might snap apart at the seams. He needed to move, needed to do something before he embarrassed himself further—

He let out a strangled, broken noise that sounded a lot like he was drowning, tipping his head back as nervous, stuttering giggles bubbled past his lips.

“You’re so—so—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His fangs flashed in the sunlight as another breathless, wrecked laugh escaped him.

Feo squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against his face as if that would somehow stop the spiraling chaos inside him. It didn’t. If anything, it made him more aware of the heat pulsing through his skin, the deep, aching thrumming in his chest, in his stomach, in lower places he was trying very hard not to acknowledge right now.

He needed to cool down. He desperately needed to cool down.

His wings twitched, then jerked open so suddenly that they sent a sharp gust of wind through the space around them. The dark feathers flared, spread wide, then snapped shut. A second later, they opened again—this time with less control, flapping in short, frantic bursts that kicked up dust and sent stray leaves tumbling.

It wasn’t helping.

Lucius was still there, draped over him like a goddamn heat source, still watching, still smirking.

Feo let out a weak, strangled noise, his wings flaring open and slamming shut again, creating another sharp gust of air. His hands trembled where they pressed against his face, his entire body caught in the throes of something far too much for him to handle.

He flapped his wings again, harder this time. The sudden rush of air whipped at their hair, dirt and dust flying around them in a swirling motion. His movements were erratic, desperate, anything to chase away the inferno raging beneath his skin.

But nothing was working.

Lucius wasn’t moving. Wasn’t helping. He was making it worse, just sitting there, looking far too smug, far too pleased with himself.

"Freyja," he growled, not daring to look back down at Lucius.