Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

!!!NOTICE!!!

Hi all, I can't apologise enough for the wait on the second chapter for this, as of the 7/8/25, a re-edit of the first chapter will be published, things have been rewritten for a smoother read and a better transition into the long awaited second chapter.

Chapter Text

Two months.

Two months of wedded bliss to the sweetest man he'd ever known—far lovelier than an abomination like Cellbit deserved.

It didn't seem like a long time to him at first, but on Quesadilla Island, time seemed to move at a dizzying pace. The constant threat of the Federation loomed over them, made worse by the frequent kidnappings and mysterious disappearances of players, leaving those remaining paranoid and uncertain of how long they might have together.

To stave off the looming despair, they began to take any excuse for a celebration, each minute happy moment memorialized and painted with the extravagance only the terminally bored and those constantly in danger could manage.

It started with the first islanders and their Eggs. Fragile creatures still trapped within milky white shells, each child a near carbon copy of the others, save for the unique accessory adorning each to tell them apart. They were foisted onto the players in a clear effort to control the new population.

You couldn't get into trouble if there was a vulnerable child who relied on you for its very survival. So much time had to go into gathering resources for the Egg quests that the new parents hardly had time to sleep, let alone rebel against the powers that be.

What was meant to be only a week-long experiment quickly spiraled out of control when the "Mother Dragon" failed to return for her children. The Islanders grew more attached. Children began developing personalities, unable to help taking after their adopted caregivers. It was almost ideal, until the Eggs started dying—from neglect, abuse, and accidents. They were so unbearably fragile for dragons, even ones still nestled in their Eggs.

The first permanent deaths had been within days: Trump to neglect when his father had been locked out of the world, and then Tilin and Juanaflippa to other Islanders' careless hands. Those two had only lasted twelve miserable days. Even Juanaflippa's miraculous third chance, granted by a trial of their peers that no other Parent had been given for their egg, hadn't spared the bespectacled child more than another few hours among the living.

He would know—Roier had tried, begging for Bobby's second chance, hope flooding his heart only to be cruelly dashed as he was permitted one last sunset with his child and not a moment more. His husband had suffered more than most. Roier had all but adopted Quackity's tiny Tilin, and the death had cut him to the quick, making him more cautious and overprotective of Bobby.

Cellbit remembered fondly that when he and his friends had first arrived, one of the richest residents had been his Guapito, the Mexican having gathered and stockpiled enough resources to supply his son with anything his spoiled little heart desired.

Not everyone remembered the date the Federation had first presented them in the adoption center as just a temporary job, each egg stuck in its own little glass cage, like toys on a shelf waiting to be taken home. But enough remembered and celebrated it that it became a tradition. They didn't know when the eggs would hatch or if they even could, but they would make whatever time they did have left count.

Cellbit and Roier had, of course, jumped on the bandwagon. Their first anniversary hadn't been anything special, just staying up late into the night, curled together in a truly outrageous mountain of pillows and blankets. Scented candles filled the room with the smell of autumn , as they passed a poorly written bodice ripper between them, each reading a chapter aloud , the sound of laughter and muffled kisses filling the air.

Truthfully, it had been little different from their usual date nights. Neither of them minded, not with little Pomme's birthday the same day. They were far more concerned with making sure the kids had a good time.

This time, Roier had woken him with a series of fluttering kisses, scattered lovingly all over his face. Long red lacquered nails had carded through his hair, untangling the knots that had sprung up overnight. Plump lips whispered sweet nothings into the shell of his furry ears.

Cellbit had gone to bed the night before, thinking that Roier might have forgotten the upcoming anniversary or simply chosen not to plan anything. But of course, his darling Guapito wouldn't forget. He'd delivered plenty of romantic words and promises, sweet venom-laced kisses leaving Cellbit's tongue numb and his cheeks red.

Roier had run out the castle door, blowing kisses and winking all but one of his many eyes as he slapped a hand on the waystone. His body dissolved in a shower of lavender sparks before they could even sit down together for a nice breakfast of coffee and toast. Cellbit was left breathless, his heart racing, promises of a night to themselves ringing in his ears.

The disgraced detective had wandered off to the occult rooms, a fresh coffee—thick as mud and hotter than his husband—in hand, as prepared as he could be for the day's tasks.

The knowledge room needed maintenance, a necessary evil as the inscriptions wore away at a rapid pace, an annoying side effect of knowledge being an ever-changing and evolving medium, leaving the room unstable. If it wasn't refreshed on a precise schedule, the Entity would start to spill out, wreaking havoc in its wake.

He needed to repaint the arcane symbols carved into the marble pillars with a mix of mica powder, honey, and a slurry of the jelly surrounding the brain—the more sentient and intelligent the creature, the better. Unfortunately, Cellbit had to satisfy himself with the aggressive mobs roaming the island for that particular ingredient, or his own if he'd needed to respawn recently enough.

There were precious few options while he was stuck in such a tight-knit community. Hunting and harvesting his loved ones like that were mostly a thing of the past, and the numerous Federation workers were more trouble than they were worth for now.

He could have asked the Islanders, scavenged any of the many bodies lying abandoned as respawns awoke the player safe in their bed. But having a body laid out on his kitchen counter ready for processing was a temptation he could scarcely afford with his nerves already stretched like spider's silk.

Cellbit had only brought himself to try that once, one of Charlie's many duplicates left tantalizingly close to his castle, softening his resolve.

The skull had given in after a few blows with a satisfying crack amid the squelching of flesh. The precious cerebrospinal fluid flowed into the waiting bowl, chunks of bones and brain picked out and set aside by Cellbit's practiced claws, movements precise, almost clinical as the sweet iron tang flooded his mind.

Sharp eyes, like chips of ice, had flicked over the cadaver. Slimecicle was a surprisingly well-built man, strong muscles under a thin fat cap , visible even with the unpleasant slimy film that covered his body , with pecs that outclassed plenty of the others on the island.

Cellbit's mouth had watered, hands steady despite the shaking of his shoulders as his iron knife slid easily into the hybrid's gut, slitting him from groin to gullet and exposing a cavity bursting with tender organs, each ripe for the picking and still faintly warm.

While Cellbit preferred the meat, he wasn't opposed to a good helping of offal. Desperation had driven him to eat far worse than liver or kidney. He had learned his lessons well as Bad's charge, turning meager scraps of fallen opponents into decent meals, foraging herbs adding flavor and much-needed nutrients to their food, but couldn't cover the smell or taste of carrion when their hunts had failed.

Cellbit remembered hesitating over what to do with the heart. They made such useful ingredients for his rituals, but eating them, taking their power into himself, was a tempting thought. It had been such a rare treat when he was young and wild, mowing down strangers in the aptly named Hunger Games.

He thought back, almost fondly, on being fed strips of the raw and bloody meat from Bad's claws. It had been tough, teeth grinding into the sinew as the demon watched on, eyes alight with something like pride. Not that either of them would admit it.

Slimecicle's body had been strange. The longer it sat out on the butcher's slab, the less human it became. Muscles devolved into a gooey mess, his insides a gelatinous slurry stinking of slime. If Cellbit had been starving or less determined to be a better man, it might not have stopped him. But years of therapy and a darling new husband had stayed his hand, and being a stubborn bastard had certainly helped.

It helped more that even he, willing to eat most things, couldn't stomach the smell coming from the rapidly decaying puddle of slime .

The memory of having to dispose of that mess still stung. The cerebral fluid hadn't been salvageable, and he was left empty-handed and hungry. Thoughts of finding one of the more accident-prone or sparring islanders and taking his pound of flesh from them swirled, red hot and heady.

He had broken free from that train of thought—the guilt wouldn't be worth his few moments of joy, and he refused to relapse.

A few cups of coffee, so dark and thick he almost had to chew each bitter mouthful, had sorted out his craving for blood, or at least taken the edge off enough that he could finish up and dispose of Slime's remains and go find a replacement before the knowledge room collapsed under the strain of its own weight.

That had been a few weeks ago. The mixture he had now, swirling around in a quartz bowl, had been made with pig brains. He hadn't had time to ask Roier to hunt down a smart enough mob or trade for one with Dapper, so he made do with what he could.

Pigs were frighteningly intelligent creatures, perfect for disposing of unwanted bodies. Cellbit in his younger and wilder days might have made use of them, but there often wasn't enough left of his prey to bother with disposing of. And even if there had been, Cellbit preferred to hoard his prey, making use of every part just as Bad had taught him.

That had been before prison, before Pac and the endless hours of therapy. After that, his cooking skills had been put into storage and packed away, unable to bring himself to devote the time and care to meals when anything made without the special ingredient tasted bland and unfulfilling.

He banished the thoughts with a grunt, squatting down low on his haunches to better examine the last of this particular pillar's carvings. He mixed the foul paint idly as he calculated how much he would need to finish the job. More paint had faded since he'd checked the room the night before.

With brush in hand, he went about filling in carvings, easily falling into a meditative state as he went until his communicator buzzed angrily on his wrist, breaking his concentration and drawing him out of his head back into reality.

Cellbit brought up the holo screen with an absent flick of his wrist, the paintbrush in his hand splattering glittering paint across the floor.

[Roier] is bleeding. [Roier] was slain by [Jaiden] [Roier] was slain by [Jaiden]

His heart sped up, beating painfully in his chest, a cacophony of possibilities racing through his mind.

Roier went down so rarely that Cellbit was stunned, locked in place for a moment as his thoughts spun wildly, taking precious seconds to catch up with him. Cellbit had no idea where his husband was at the moment, but a glance at the map had settled his racing pulse. Roier was back at Bobby's Castle, where he must have reset his spawn that morning.

Looking around for Jaiden, he spotted her up on the wall by Phil's house with Chayanne and, oddly enough, BadBoy and Dapper milling around him. Another few seconds of searching showed Philza himself and Tallulah to be halfway down the wall, working on the girl's garden project between la France and Foolish's perpetually in-progress Titan.

Cellbit let out a relieved breath as no warning sounded. Phil and Bad remained idle. If it had been an impostor, the two paranoid elders would have sprung into action. It was just Jaiden—no monsters or Federation workers in the guise of loved ones, familiar faces twisted in a sickening grin.

His husband must have been sparring with her again. It was fine , good even! Jaiden got her ass kicked on a frighteningly frequent basis—she could do with the practice. But just to be sure, he fired off a message, fingers flying across the hardlight screen.

[Cellbit] Guapito? Jaiden, kick your ass finally?

[Jaiden] I GOT HIM GOOD!!

[Roier] I'm sorry, Gatinho, she owns me now :(

[Cellbit] Jaiden, I'm afraid we'll have to settle up a custody agreement for joint ownership. I have a prior claim on the disputed asset.

[Jaiden] Bring it on. Meet me at my office tomorrow.

[Cellbit] Since when do you have an office?

Roier butted in, soothing away his worries. His beloved could handle himself, obviously, but the worry was always there. With the assurance that everything was fine and a time and meeting place set up for his custody battle with Jaiden, he went back to filling in the last few carvings before his paint dried and became unusable, glancing over to his comm screen occasionally as messages rolled in from the other Islanders taking Roier apart for his loss to the Bluebird.

Etoiles offered a 1v1 to sharpen Roier's skills if he was being taken down so easily by a non-combatant.

Cellbit snorted at the cascade of foul curses that followed the offer. He would pay good money to see that fight, chewing on his bottom lip and imagining Roier stripped down to his workout gear, all sweaty and swinging his bastard orc sword around.

Maybe he could arrange a weekly fight club for the more martially inclined Islanders to train those wanting to sharpen their skills. Cellbit himself was dangerously out of practice, able to defend himself when pushed to it and full of adrenaline, but his years out of prison and the subsequent recovery had blunted his carefully honed edges. And he certainly hadn't been the most skilled person when it came to parkour—chasing down his prey and moving through the treetops? Sure. Jumping platforms and moving obstacles? Not so much.

He shuffled that thought away for another time, swiping the brush across one final glyph. Standing with a soft groan and leaning back on his tiptoes, his back arched and popped, the disks settling back into place as he stretched it out. The quartz bowl, now empty bar a thin film of paint, disappeared into his inventory in preparation for the final step, his hands splattered with the glittering mixture saving him from having to paint it on himself.

Cellbit made his way into the center of the room, anchoring himself with feet planted firmly and shoulders squared as he dipped within himself, searching out the spark of magic burning in his soul, teasing out a tendril of the ephemeral energy. His eyes flickered between a glowing electric blue and gleaming gold, a thin blue mist floating up out of his hands, dispersing into the air and becoming golden as it filled the room. It swirled around the pillars, sinking into the glyphs and lighting them up, triggering a heavy thrum that rang in his ears.

It took barely a moment for the room and its Entity to connect with his gentle probing, drawing from his mind and taking what it needed—not an offering of blood or death or mania as the others demanded, but of himself to bring the room back into reality.

Time passed around him somehow slower than molasses and faster than an avalanche at the same time. Gradually, the draw tapered off from a flood into a trickle, leaving Cellbit pleasantly tired and satisfied with his day's work. And it had been a day—this always took longer than he thought it would. It had been mid-morning when he started, and now, as he zapped up into the ritual room, he could see the sunset's orange light flooding the room, painting the blackstone in fiery hues, revealing the tiny flecks of gold embedded deep in its surface.

He took a moment to wish Bobby a silent good evening, as was tradition before taking a glance at his communicator for the first time in what turned out to be hours, confirming the day had passed him by. At some point, he must have muted it because the chat had been filled with chatter from hours ago, and a private message from his husband blinked up at him from the screen.

Roier whispers to you: Dinner tonight, Gatinho?

That was from a few hours ago. How had he not seen this? Cellbit shook his head, clearing the last taint of magic clouding his thoughts in cotton. He needed to pay better attention to these things—he had a terrible habit of not paying chat its due diligence. The only message he ever saw regularly was the designated teleport danger message, and only because he had Max rig a special alarm for whenever it detected T's outside of words. His communicator literally screamed—Roier's scream, as high-pitched as he could make it in his falsetto Melissa voice but still Roier enough to ping in Cellbit's mind no matter what mental rabbit he was chasing through the warrens of his mind.

With a curse muttered under his breath, he tapped out a response.

You whispered to Roier : Absolutely, what time, Amor?

Roier's reply was almost instant, like he'd been sitting around waiting for Cellbit's answer. In all honesty, he likely had. Dinner took a decent chunk of time to cook, and unless Roier had already started cooking, they would be having a late supper. Regardless, it would be good to have a fresh-cooked meal for their anniversary rather than whatever he had lying around in the kitchen that he normally subsisted on—mostly avocado toast and potatoes from Phil and Chayanne's massive potato farm that spanned the entire length of the wall.

He didn't have time for anything more advanced on a day-to-day basis. Maybe he should set aside some time one weekend to cook for his family. The "chicken" soup that Bad had served him still lingered on his mind and tongue. He was sorely tempted to see if Bad had any duck left over—the demon was worse than him when it came to hoarding meat.

Part of Cellbit was desperate to provide a proper meal for his husband and Richarlyson, not that he would. That part of himself he would keep away from his beloved and child. Roier knew about his past, about everything Cellbit could remember, but he wouldn't push that lifestyle on anyone and kept himself as far from it as possible.

Bad's soup had been a rare treat served up to him while he was sick and too out of his mind with fever-fueled delirium to notice until after the first bite had been shoved down his protesting throat. But it was worth every bit of gluten-free pasta and criminally under-seasoned vegetables mixed through.

In his opinion, being a psychotic murderer and escaped convict was enough of a stretch for his Guapito to handle, even if he had been forgiven for the unfortunate business with Roier's abuelo. Senile old bastard that he was, coming into Cellbit's home and threatening to take his beloved away. He burned at the memory, simmering in a puddle of blackened rage that threatened to boil over and spill out in another outburst.

He took a deep breath, swallowing down the sour mouthful of hate. It wouldn't do to get himself worked up about something already done and forgiven—it would just make him spiral into rage and rui n.

Roier's response was blinking at him tauntingly when he glanced back over.

Roier whispers to you: An hour?

Fuck, that was soon. Really soon. But it gave him enough time to get cleaned up and scrub the spell residue from his body and hopefully wash his hair. It had fluffed up into a puffball from the static energy spinning around the room—by far his least favorite part of performing his rituals. He always came out looking like a dandelion.

You whispered to Roier : Perfect, I'll see you soon, Guapito.

He shot off his last reply as he headed for the master bedroom, bumping the door open with the slightest tap of his foot, still trailing glittering gold sparkles in his wake. The communicator he was willing to get magic gunk all over—his door? Not so much. He was inordinately fond of the hulking monstrosity and had no desire for it to gain accidental sentience from an errant touch or thought. The bathtub coming to life once was enough for him to learn his lesson.

And that lesson was waiting for him as he crossed into the bathroom. The sink was already full, just as he'd left it that morning when setting up his ritual preparations. The copper basin was filled with saltwater fresh from the ocean with all its fishy goodness and a splash of Moonwater—snow from the highest mountaintop he could find, melted in a silver bowl with time alone and left out under the full moon to charge. The resulting mix was a strong enough neutralizer to clean the magic taint from his hands and nullify its less-than-desirable side effects so his drains couldn't come to life after he flushed the water away.

With careful hands, Cellbit stripped off his clothes—everything, even his goggles and comm, unlatching the device lock with a hiss and dropping them into the waiting wooden box along with the quartz bowl and paintbrush. Not his normal laundry hamper, as everything would have to be decontaminated later. He already had his spare goggles and communicator sitting out on the bed with a change of clothes. He would have to swap those out for something nicer for dinner, but his focus slid to the task at hand. Best not get distracted riffling through his wardrobe just yet.

Cellbit washed his hands with practiced efficiency , the gold lifting and clouding the water for a second before being eaten away and dissolved, leaving the water perfectly clean. He scraped under his nails and scrubbed around his wedding ring, making sure to remove every trace of the mixture he could catch before lifting his hands and letting them dry in the air, the saltwater stinging the tiny papercuts along his fingers.

The shower was his next stop. He paused a moment to glance with undisguised longing at his massive tub—he would usually take a long soak after a ritual, another jar of sea and moon water sitting beside the tub ready to be added to his bathwater to nullify any lasting contaminants.

Unfortunately, Cellbit was on a tight schedule. His husband had given him a time, and Cellbit was not going to miss it just for a nice bath. If dinner went well, he could always tempt Roier to join him in the tub to unwind together after what he hoped would be a romantic evening. The spider could hardly ever refuse such an offer.

Hot water sprayed out of the showerhead in a heavy fall, steam pouring out and clouding the room. Cellbit stuck a hand under the spray, humming in appreciation of the stinging burn as it scalded his skin just like he liked it. He slipped in, taking the jar of cleansing water with him and dipping a washcloth into the mix to scrub at his body and face, removing the last traces of excess magic and grime.

The rest of his shower passed mindlessly. Normally, he would be overthinking everything, mind screaming and twisting around thoughts, theories, and a plan for the future. But he'd been left blissfully empty, a side effect of resealing the knowledge room, leaving his thoughts subdued and near silent as he scrubbed Roier's shampoo through his hair, willfully choking himself with the scent of pomegranates.

His shower unfortunately, lasted only twenty minutes, far shorter than he would prefer and certainly what he would consider an almost rush job. There was a good reason Foolish had to install an infinitely regenerating hot water system in the castle—both Cellbit and Roier were honest about being greedy sluts for long, boiling showers, and neither was pleased if the hot water ran out. Foolish had learned that the hard way since the Dragon Tower only had cold water plumbing.

Leo and Foolish didn't mind since they both bathed in the ocean when needed, or if they wanted something fancy, at Bad's or Vegetta's place. Cellbit heard no end of complaints from his beloved at that, having gotten covered in glitter and craft glue from helping his baby sister with an art-based daily task and needing a shower, only to find the water freezing. He had to warp away, soaking wet and butt naked, to his other adopted father's fortified tower to make use of his extravagant steam room.

The memory still made him laugh. Leo had snapped a picture of Roier shooting webs around the bathroom, clogging every faucet in frustration, before storming out in a furious huff and posting it up in Dapper's subway on the bulletin board for everyone to see. Rather than being embarrassed about the picture of his bare ass and drowned rat hairdo, Roier had taken a copy to Casulonas and put it up with a scoreboard. Of course, Cellbit had rated it a 20/10—it was his husband after all, and any rating he'd seen under at least a nine, Cellbit had scratched out with vicious glee, not bothering with a pen but making use of his claws.

He reached for a towel. They were, as always, decadently fluffy and now embroidered at the bottom right corner with a tiny symbol for heat courtesy of Papa Foolish. They'd been delivered after Roier's return from his last molt—the first one Cellbit had been around to experience.

Cellbit had complained to the demi-god about BadBoy's ridiculous self-heating towels, and Foolish had admitted rather smugly that, of course, he already knew about them—he had made the overindulgent things himself, trading them for some rare creature or other that Leo had demanded on a whim from Dapper's seemingly never-ending menagerie.

He and Bad couldn't just give each other nice things but had to trade, bicker, or barter for them. Cellbit should have expected it, really—Foolish had been the one to repair his bedspread after he'd ripped up the sheets in his sick haze. Whatever enchantments the Demigod had woven into the threads had mended the fabric , the temporary stitches holding the shorn edges together eventually melting away, leaving the sheets looking like they had never been damaged .

Roier had been pleased with that addition, admitting he had planned to add something similar himself—he just hadn't had the time to sit with his papa and get to work. Roier already knew how to embroider, and beautifully at that. The spiderwebs on all his outfits were sewn by his own skilled hand. But Foolish was an immortal creature and worked lightning fast, not needing to do more than prick his fingers to enchant the threads, whereas his husband had to spend days preparing his. Still, it was the fastest he had ever seen someone mortal produce enchanted thread. It should take months, not days, but he supposed that producing your own fibers sped up the process considerably .

The towel warmed up with nothing more than the brush of his thumb across the picked-out threads and a spark, driving away the chill that had settled into his bones as soon as he stepped out of the water. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to linger and enjoy the feeling. He dried himself off with quick hands and tied the towel around his waist to ward off further chill. Autumn's claws sank firmly into the castle grounds, leaving the air cold even at midday.

On the way out of the room, he remembered to crack a window, letting the steam out, and to dump a handful of salt and iron dust over his shed clothing and to empty the last jar of neutralizing water down the shower drain just in case. That should keep any lingering energy contained until he had time to see to them properly. Cellbit didn't think he would have much free time after dinner, and waking up to his coat strangling him again was not how he wanted to have his morning go.

The "Times Cellbit accidentally made something come to life and try to kill him" scoreboard did not need any more tally marks.

The clothes he had laid out that morning were standard fare. Like most of the Islanders, he had duplicates of the same outfit for ease—there wasn't much point in having too many options when one death would send you back to whatever outfit you considered the truest part of yourself. Great for not waking up naked unless you got fucked up about it and started respawning with, say, a bloody prison jumpsuit.

He ended up buried in the back of his sizable closet, an odd experience for him since that was more Bad's thing, as he riffled through his options. He settled on a black button-up and silvery vest combination. He considered a tie, running his fingers over the soft silk, but shoved it back on the rack. He liked dressing up, but there was no point in getting too dolled up when there was a good chance Roier would make his signature Poco Loco chicken over anything that would be served at a typically romantic dinner. Which would be fine—Cellbit liked his cooking. It just ran the gamut from edible to concerning.

To be fair, so did his. They both ate some weird shit. Cellbit just enjoyed fancier foods, where he had seen Roier eat handfuls of bugs rather than wait for dinner to finish. The man would eat anything. Part of Cellbit wanted to test if that extended to his preferred meats—the spider was no stranger to the taste of hybrid blood. He enjoyed scraping sharp chelicerae over Cellbit's soft furry belly and lapping up the spilled blood when they got a little more frisky.

There was a damn good reason the bed sheets were such a dark red after all, and it wasn't just that they both loved the color.

He dug up a set of charcoal dress pants out from under the piles of practical pocket-filled cargo pants, brushing a hand fondly over his wedding suit where it hung right at the back of the closet with Roier's. They needed to decide what to do with these things sooner rather than later, but framing them seemed audacious. Cutting them up into keepsakes was their best bet, but it was a little too soon to butcher the beautiful fabrics for pillows and mementos just yet.

Cellbit slipped on his chosen outfit, straightening out the cuffs with a sharp jerk. He glanced at the spare communicator sitting on his bed, noting that he only had ten minutes before dinner. It was a good thing he shaved last night because he wouldn't have time to bother with that. The comm snapped around his wrist, leather stiff and uncomfortable with newness and missing any of the charming little scuffs and carvings his normal model boasted. Cellbit paused for a brief moment to consider carving them in, but it would have been a waste of his last precious few minutes.

The goggles glinted at him tauntingly, laid out waiting. The leather on those would be painfully hard against his ears, a discomfort he didn't want to deal with tonight when he was looking to enjoy himself as much as possible. So he left them on the bed, brushing hands over his fluffy ears to smooth out the fur into something more presentable. Roier had seen them before, plenty of times, but it was rare for Cellbit to forgo the mask entirely, preferring to hide any hint of his hybrid nature. On a whim, he snagged the base of his tail and pulled it out from where it was carefully pinned against his leg, deciding to go au naturel for just tonight. The long fur puffed up into a feathery fall. His love always liked to pet the furry appendages, and it was nice ... he could treat himself a little. No one else was around to see. Richas was off with Pac, and everyone else knew better than to disturb them on their anniversary lest they get another eyeful of Roier prancing around in whatever skimpy stripper's outfit he'd pulled from Melissa's wardrobe this time. The man had no shame, and they were lucky he didn't strut around naked more often. The number of nudists on this island was weirdly high, and the number of them that came from the same "Family" was even more so.

Roier claimed to have inherited his nudist streak from Foolish, the shark totem often wore little more than a diaphanous loincloth and elaborate jewelry, but Roier had been adopted by Vegetta before the two builders had been paired as Leo's parents, Foolish having chosen to embrace his new son when their relationship went from co-parents to lovers.

Cellbit made his way down the stairs to the dining room, spotting Roier already waiting for him from the landing. His Guapito was breathtaking; the man had foregone dressing up for a casual look, leaving Cellbit feeling slightly overdressed as Roier sprawled out on a lavishly cushioned dining chair.

The table was laden with heavy pewter candelabras, a golden glow cast from the beeswax candles, reflecting off the glossy hardwood and the three silver domed serving dishes.

He sniffed the air, his interest piqued as the smell of food failed to flood his senses. Bright eyes flicked over the table, lingering on the serving domes. They had been laid out like that to prevent Cellbit from guessing the meal before Roier's big reveal. Honestly, that could mean anything from a five-course restaurant-quality dinner to literal worms or takeout, but the bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket off to the side gave him hope that it would be more to his taste.

"Hola Guapito!" he called out, leaning over the banister and waving down to Roier, whose head snapped up to take in his appearance. Roier jumped up and clapped his approval like he'd just finished watching his favorite performer live, catcalling loud enough that it made Cellbit's ears flick back at the high-pitched whistling. Fucking ouch, but that's what he got for leaving the stupid things unpinned.

Roier's dark eyes caught the flick of his furry ears, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sauntered forward, leaving his chair pulled out behind him.

He met Cellbit at the bottom of the staircase, arm held out in a debonair gesture. Cellbit flushed and took the offer, slotting his arm into the crook of Roier's elbow, enjoying the way his muscles tensed. His husband liked to show off, and now was no different—smirking as he made the muscles jump. "You happy to see me, Gatinho?"

"Always, but you didn't dress up this time?" Not that Roier wasn't gorgeous—his red and blue Spider-Man hoodie left off for once and flung over the back of his chair, leaving Roier in a black singlet and his ever-present blue jeans. He looked comfortable and content, a sight that melted Cellbit's heart. So few people felt truly safe around the former criminal that it meant more to him than words could express.

"Não não, I was too busy," Roier waved him off. Cellbit considered digging into the obvious deflection—Roier rarely missed a chance to dress up—but his brain was still pleasantly stretched out from the ritual, so the normal fervent need to investigate was dimmed enough that he could ignore it.

"Too busy getting beaten up by Jaiden?" he asked, poking at his beloved and looking for a weak point to dig his claws into.

"Hey, cabrón! She got me once," his husband whined back.

"And? I didn't see any death messages from her. You only got one round?" Cellbit couldn't help but dig once he found the weak link, burrowing his way under Roier's usually thick skin and searching for the weak points with uncanny precision.

"Mhhh, something like that. Now move it, your food's gonna get cold," Roier dragged him over to the table, insisting on pulling out his chair and seating him first, pushing the chair in with ease as Cellbit sat, leaving the detective sandwiched between the table and his husband. Roier was a warm wall of solid muscle behind him, and a wet kiss dropped between his ears with an overdramatic "Mwa!" for effect.

Cellbit melted, heart fluttering. He couldn't help how it raced for the simple, sweet gestures—coffee in bed, gentle kisses, and doors opened for him. These were silly little things under their grander displays of affection, but the honesty in them meant more than the world.

Roier gave him one more feather-light kiss, more sincere and soft, before sliding into the seat across from him so they sat corner to corner, close enough for their knees to brush and hands to tangle under the table.

"Hungry, pendejo?"

His stomach gave a traitorous little rumble. Ah, yes, he may have forgotten to eat again. The look of fond exasperation on Roier's face told him it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"You didn't eat today, did you?" He had not. Cellbit had been far too focused on his projects, as usual, to worry about his body's needs.

"I had coffee!... ahm, right after you left…" he admitted hesitantly, waiting for the inevitable exasperated sigh that was sure to follow.

"Man, one of these days you're going to starve to death. Who's going to feed you, hmmm? I can't keep bothering Forever for avocado toast," Roier teased, giving his hand a firm squeeze, reminding him that they were just playing.

"Well… it looks like you, Guapito," he laughed, tapping a pointed painted nail—nothing fancy like Roier's blood red and gold, just a flat matte black and significantly sharper—against the closest silver dome, relishing in the clear sharp "tink tink tink." It sounded like real silver, his sensitive ears picking up on the subtle difference in sounds . Of course, his husband went with the classy choice.

"No, this is special anniversary food. I'm not cooking for you after this unless you ask really pretty," Roier purred, stretching out his words as Cellbit bit into his bottom lip. He could work with that. Part of him wished he'd taken the time to put on a little makeup—it would have made his efforts so much more effective. He didn't wear it often, not like Roier, who liked his eyeliner a little too much, the dramatic darling, or his Melissa face. Cellbit swore he could swipe a claw through that mask and leave a dent—a real shame since the makeup Roier wore around the home was lovely, highlighting his already stunning features. But it was just a part of the persona to cake it on.

"Are you going to get on with it, love, or should I just starve to death?" A real possibility he was heading towards at a startling rate, with the way his stomach clenched painfully around the dregs of his morning coffee.

"Tch! If anyone is going to die, it's me with how you stock this place. The only thing you ever give me is coffee."

"It's good coffee!" he cried out, almost launching out of his chair in defense of his beloved home-grown beans.

"Cellboo, I could choke on your brew, and there are other things I'd rather choke on from you," Roier leered, leaning in to nip at his jaw, distracting Cellbit from his oncoming rant about the many benefits of his specialty blend.

¡Ay! No. None of that," Cellbit rebuffed, poking a bony finger into the swell of his husband's chest to push him away. "Food first."

"First? So you have plans for later? How do you know I didn't plan something more, Cellbo?" His eyes were sparkling—all eight of them open wide, like glittering black jewels scattered across the arch of his sculpted cheekbones.

Cellbit flushed again, his ears pinning back. Truthfully, he had assumed dinner was the surprise. It was already an extravagance they rarely indulged in, but then again, he hadn't thought Roier had dinner planned in the first place.

At most, he was planning on teaming up with Roier to borrow Forever's projector—not that he needed it, he had more than one of his own, but it was the principle—and maybe a little treat for his husband. He wasn't in the mood for anything erotic himself, but helping Roier find his pleasure was another matter entirely.

"Have you got more planned, Roier? Gone all out tonight, mi amor? I feel so spoiled."

"Cabrón, you haven't seen spoiled yet," Roier hissed, snapping his chelicerae together so they clacked threateningly. He pushed one of the covered platters toward Cellbit, yanking off the covering to reveal a steaming plate of bones, cut into three-inch-long chunks and halved. The roasted marrow was still bubbling under the smattering of seasonings, arranged in a sunburst around a pile of crunchy bread piled high for dipping. The smell wafted up, tickling his sensitive nose with a myriad of delicious smells, making his mouth water. The bones were expertly cleaned and cut, with no broken shards or rough edges in sight.

"Guapito, did you do this?" he gasped, snagging a spoon and prodding at one of the beautifully cut bones, watching as the jelly jiggled. This was more than he expected but exactly as he hoped—something decadent and fancy. So distracted was he by the offering that he almost missed the smirk that crossed his husband's lips as he stood, dragging the ice bucket over and pulling out the bottle. Roier inspected the label, humming to himself before holding it out over his arm like a well-trained sommelier.

"Mhhh, sorta. Chayanne did most of it. I just did what he told me to. The little dude commands his kitchen like a fucking general. Did you know Phil made him a whole other room to cook in?" Cellbit had not known that, not that he could have—he couldn't name a single time he'd been further in Phil's bunker than the main room when babysitting the Elytrian's well-behaved kids. Chayanne's involvement made a fair few things clear: one, why Roier had been hanging out at Phil's with a bunch of others, and two, why the food smelled so delicious. Still, it would have been amazing even if Roier had served him beetles and bread.

"That's why you were up on Phil's wall with the others? You got bored and 1v1'd Jaiden?"

"Something like that, love. Now shut up and eat your weird bone goo. I know you like that fancy restaurant shit." Cellbit lifted an eyebrow in faux disbelief.

"So do you. Do I need to bring up Foolish dropping off pounds of roe for you?"

"Hey! No, that's not fancy—he was fishing and didn't want it to go to waste! Leo hates catfish and wouldn't touch it."

"Guapito, my love, light of my life, I watched you eat fistfuls of that shit. You didn't even want crackers." He had indeed watched his husband dive hands-first into the belly of a six-foot catfish, likely from around Fit's base, tearing out its guts and all but crawling in to get at the golden orange eggs with a fervent determination. Cellbit had been too distracted by the juices running down his beloved's hands and lips to want any for himself. The clean-up had been plenty of fun, his barbed tongue serving as the best method of stripping away the sticky fishy residue.

"So? I've seen you make blood sausage with BadBoy. You drank the pig's blood, Cellbitch. I had to go get you more." Ah, yes, he had forgotten about that. Dapper had demanded to try some, and the spiced blood was hot and irresistible, but that had been before they got together, before Bobby had passed.

"Eh, and you still married me, so who's the nasty one?" Cellbit taunted, flicking out his long tongue, the barbs catching on his lips as he teased his mate.

"Still you, Gatinho. When was the last time you bathed?"

"Literally not even an hour ago!" he screeched, ears flattening and tail lashing. Roier loved to poke at him about his smell despite the absurdly long baths they took together. He knew exactly when Cellbit bathed, as they did it together more often than not, but they both knew it wasn't his human smell the spider was picking up on.

Cellbit was a cat hybrid and a male one at that—stinking came with the territory, literally. He might not spray things anymore outside of marking the tightly enforced boundary of his forest every week or so, but a hint of something distinctly musky and male followed him everywhere. Only the other hybrids ever complained—not the bird ones, their sense of smell was worse than that of normal humans.

"Stinky bitch, you should shower more. Now, you want a drink before your bones get cold?" Cellbit huffed, grabbing the bottle and muttering under his breath as he examined the label for himself. The wine wasn't Federation swill or one of Pierre's new age bottles. This had come from the best vintner on the island. The bottle was made of thick green glass with Vegetta's branding of a gold-fringed purple satin bow around the bottle's thickest point. The label read "Mulberry Wine" in Vegetta's curling script. It was something unique and exotic. Roier knew how he liked his wines, and this was a rare treat indeed.

"You raid your daddy's cellar for this?"

"No, I made it myself. What do you think, Cellbitch? Is that my ribbon?"

He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, spilling out of his lips. Roier was such a petty bitch, snapping playfully at every opening Cellbit gave him, happily sharpening their claws on each other in a love language all their own.

"No, I'm sorry, love. Will you pour?"

Roier humphed and turned his nose up, stretching his neck and showing off his jawline, making Cellbit stare, eyes tracing over the crisp line in appreciation.

"I was going to pour anyway. Don't get your panties in a twist, gato," as if Cellbit wore the panties in this relationship. His boxers were far more comfortable than the lacy monstrosities Roier toted around.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He held up his hands placatingly. At the rate they were going, dinner was never going to get eaten—they would just end up in the bedroom with Cellbit's face buried between Roier's plump thighs for his meal.

"That's what I thought, pendejo," he laughed, unable to help the bright and airy sound at the face Roier made, twisting up his lips in the imitation of a duck and making kissy noises at him. The bottle was cradled in one hand as Roier held out his other, flexing his fingers and materializing a blade—not his normal hand-and-a-half orc sword Espadoier Supremoier—this blade was long and slender as a needle, the blade like liquid mercury with a carved poppy made of petrified redwood hanging from its pommel. It looked like the examples Cellbit had seen of a soul sabre.

"That's new. Where did you get that?" he asked, eyes zeroed in on the flash of the blade and the charm swinging under it.

"It's Tallulah's. Pomme wanted to show me how to properly open this , but I didn't have the right sword, so she asked Tallulah for hers. Just for tonight—I'll drop it back to her in the morning." His ears perked up at that. "The proper way"? Roier hinted, teeth flashing in a cocky grin as the flat of the soul sabre was brought up to rest against the neck of the bottle, Roier pointing it away from them both and over a clear portion of the table.

Cellbit sat forward in anticipation. Bless the French and their many ridiculous things—he adored a good sabering. Something about the danger of broken glass in his drink and the blade adding a unique flavor to the experience.

Roier wielded the sword like an extension of his arm. For all he was used to a heavier weapon, he ran the blade along the neck to gather momentum before the final shearing sweep, popping the lip of the bottle off in one clean swipe.

The heavy chunk of glass and cork broke off and bounced across the table with a dribble of wine so rich and dark a purple he mistook it for black at first. The smell was crisp and heady, almost like mulled wine but without the spices—a promising sign from the bottle's first breath. Roier flicked off the blade and let it fall back into his inventory, taking the bottle by the neck and swirling the contents, speeding up the breathing. The bottle was set to the side for a moment as Roier dug through the ice, pulling out two chilled wine glasses and setting them on either side of the bottle. With a snap, another bottle identical to the first was dragged out of his inventory and shoved into the ice.

His husband came prepared for a long and luxurious night. How could Cellbit not reward him after all that effort? Between the two of them, they would undoubtedly need that second bottle.

His spider shook off his hands—big, strong, and solid—flicking melted ice water over the table and grabbed the open bottle again, pouring out a generous glass for the two of them. Cellbit almost snatched his glass, the stem pinched between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his nose and swirling the contents, admiring how the colors spread out across the bulb of the glass. The wine had opened up in the short time it had been exposed to the air, the scent clarifying as it oxygenated—still strong and sweet with a hint of citrus and rose under the potent mulberry.

"This is darling, Roier. How deep in Vegetta's stores did you have to dig?"

"Eh, not far. It was an experiment and not to his taste. You know he prefers whites, and Foolish doesn't do the froo-froo fancy drinks unless it's with a good meal, but his vodka's damn good if you want to get blackout, though."

"Ah, I remember that. We don't talk about that, please, Guapito, please. My head hurts just thinking about it."

"Tsk, then you shouldn't have challenged Papi to a drinking contest."

"But I almost had him!"

"No, you didn't. No, shush," Roier teased, grabbing a cracker and scooping up a generous chunk of bone marrow to shove unceremoniously into Cellbit's protesting mouth. It added to the already too-high number of people who had force-fed him lately , but he allowed this with more grace than he'd ever offered BadBoy, letting the jelly spread over his tongue—buttery and slightly sweet with a hint of what he thought might be roasted nuts and cardamom.

Cellbit hummed, rolling the taste over his tongue as he eyed the bones, trying to discern their source. It wasn't beef—the bones were too small for an animal of that size and there was no waxy aftertaste—so not sheep, leaving pork as the likely offering . A good choice and arguably the best option available to them for a meal like this.

"Mhhhh, we should pay Chayanne to cook for us more. Do you think he would do weekly meals?" Cellbit muttered around a second biscuit just as heaped as the first, watching Roier as he scooped his own much lighter portion into his mouth.

"Not like this one—it's for special occasions—but maybe we could bribe him for something done in bulk? Philza won't take him into dungeons anymore, but I'm bored and could take him to a few. You can watch Tallulah—I know you think she's adorable."

"Who doesn't? She's so well-behaved. Richas could learn a thing or two from her." And that was true—his son was too wild and willful for a fragile little egg on only one life, going where he pleased whenever he pleased.

"¡Ay!, you know he won't—too wild like his pai, Cellbit," he snorted, taking a few more bites.

Between them, the appetizer was polished off in minutes, the wine going down just as easily. The last bite Roier offered him, dangling from his fingers. Cellbit snapped it up between sharp teeth, threatening the younger man's fingers, letting his tongue flash out to swipe away the last bits of gooey half-cooled residue. Roier's fingers flashed out to catch his bottom lip in a sharp pinch, not pleased with his taunt.

"You want to skip the meal and head straight to the surprise, gato?" And he was tempted, so very close to sinking into Roier's strong arms, letting the fire in his eyes consume him , but the bone marrow had woken a more familiar hunger, his hindbrain hissing at the thought of missing out on this meal for silly carnal pursuits.

"No, mi vida, I want to see what else you had Chay prepare for us." His voice was muffled by the fingers nearly sliding into his mouth. Roier let him go, but not before dragging him forward and laying a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his pouting mouth, making Cellbit melt into a little puddle of fuzzy goo.

"Spoiled gato, so domesticated now. How would you survive in the wild, hmmm?"

"I wouldn't need to. I have you to take care of me," he purred, giving those teasing fingers one last flick of his barbed tongue as they were pulled away .

Finally, he got a reaction from his better half—a pretty flush dusting across his cheeks. Cellbit swallowed down a smirk, practically preening at having gotten a rise out of his handsome husband.

Cellbit's internal celebration was cut short when Roier pulled the cloche from the next dish, wine glasses freshly topped up, revealing a deep plate of rice coated in a thick stew-like sauce. A smorgasbord full of half a dozen shredded meats and chunks of chorizo floated in its glossy pool. It took him a moment to recognize the dish when he finally separated the smell of stewed cassava under all the meat and spices.

Roier had served him Maniçoba, a dish that took at least a week to make since the cassava leaves had to be soaked and stewed for the full seven days to remove the toxins, leaving a delicious edible mess as a base for as many kinds of meat as the chef wanted to add.

Cellbit grabbed the bowl, uncaring of the heat stinging his palms. Not a thought was spared for elegance as he dove in with all the gusto of a starving man. Roier must have been working on this and experimenting with Chayanne for ages—he'd never seen the little half-Mexican egg make anything so undoubtedly Portuguese in his culinary adventures, but it had come out perfectly.

The Maniçoba was unforgettable, the best version he'd ever tasted, thick with sausage chunks floating around against a medley of shredded meats. The taste of roasted nuts was present in every bite, standing out amidst the taste of bay and chorizo. He rolled a chunk of meat around on his tongue, digging in and dissecting the flavors. Something familiar pinged in his mind at the taste—it was odd. He knew this dish well, and it certainly didn't have roasted nuts in it. The taste was coming from the meat itself, the same taste present in the dish of roasted bone marrow.

This time, Roier let him eat without interference, watching each mouthful with eager eyes, finishing his portion long before Cellbit was even halfway through his despite how fast Cellbit was demolishing his bowl. It wasn't until the last few morsels were scraped from the bowl that something started to buzz under his skin, better than any shot of triple-strength coffee.

"Roier…" he hummed, unease settling in his gut.

"Yes, Cellbo?" Roier hummed, lifting a finely sculpted eyebrow.

He swallowed around the last mouthful, tongue sliding over his teeth to clear away the final saucy residue as he worked up his courage. "What… what meat was that? It's not pork, is it?" He asked, almost choking on his question and the heady mix of hope and dread.

"Took you long enough, culero," Roier's eyes danced with mirth—just the human set. His spider eyes were shut tight, preventing overstimulation despite having made a brief appearance earlier.

"…Roier, what—who?" he swallowed around the lump in his throat. It wasn't a relapse, he told himself. He killed no one for this, didn't hunt a friend down and devour them from the calf down, damaging them forever. It was like Bad's soup—it was fine. Roier wouldn't have done permanent harm to an Islander for this. Not unless he was angling for revenge, and there had been no death message for Spreen—Cellbit was sure of that.

"You really want to know, Cellbitty?" His husband teased, knowing that calling him a kitty would rile him up.

"Yes. I really want to know. Will you tell me, love?" he changed tactics, angling for something sweeter in his tone, catching Roier hook, line, and sinker.

His husband stood, pushing back the heavy ornate chair like it weighed nothing and clearing away the now-empty platters, leaving the single still-untouched dome off to the side. In the newly cleared space, he set down a forest green gift box that materialized between his hands. It wasn't small by a long shot—nearly three feet across with a pretty red silk ribbon tied around it.

Cellbit hesitated, dragging the box closer at Roier's encouraging nod. It weighed a ton and had no lid or visible seam, leaving Cellbit to bring a shaking hand up to the ribbon, letting a sharpened claw tease at the fabric. Roier gave him the time he needed, having sat back beside him, sipping at his third glass of wine, staining his lips purple.

With a flick of his painted claw, the ribbon snapped, falling away neatly and exposing the lid of the box that had been hidden under it. Cellbit lifted it away with a faint tremble running through his hands, revealing stacks of neatly wrapped parcels in brown butcher paper, each wrapped with yellow twine and stamped with an orange wax seal. The image of a duck pool float was imprinted on the surface. A tall stock pot was pushed into the corner of the box and kept closed with lashings of yellow twine and that same wax seal , and six single pint-sized plastic containers filled with what he could see was blood , wrapped the same way as the stock pot .

Each package was labeled , neat blocky writing almost militant in style that he recognized as Chayanne's on each package. Cellbit grabbed one of the topmost packages, reading the label: 'blood sausage'. He slid his thumb claw under the wax seal, popping it off with a snap and the fizzling pop of a broken enchantment. The paper came away easily, exposing just what the tag had promised—a heavy coil of fat black sausages smelling strongly of the usual spices but with more of that haunting note of roasted nuts.

"Roier, what?" His question was interrupted by Roier's hands covering his and lowering the package.

"You don't want to open all of those. Chay worked so hard on adding the preservation enchantment." He nodded in understanding, at least of that. He still had no idea who he'd been eating, but the rest of the packages were labeled similarly—every cut of meat you could take from someone laid out before him, and the accompanying organs as well as a sneaky little package of chorizo. A peek over the stock pot revealed just that—about four liters of a brown stock so crystal clear it must have been filtered and strained a dozen times. A gentle knock against the side of the pot proved it to be more than just a liquid. The stock wobbled like heavy-set jelly—whatever bones this had started as had been boiled down into its purest essence.

"This is for me?" His voice pitched so high it was almost a shriek. A gift box of every cut he could think of? Spoiled, spoiled beyond his wildest dreams.

"No, it's for Leo. Of course it's for you, stupid," Roier's hand lashed out, smacking him gently upside the head, snapping him out of his spiral.

"But I still don't know who it is!" he cried, indignant, his ears flattening against his head.

"Not very smart for a detective, hmmm? Can't you guess?" He couldn't. The taste was distinctively human for the most part, with underlying flavors that betrayed its true nature. Hybrids always tasted just different enough that Cellbit could pick them out from a blind taste test with ease.

Cellbit had sampled his fair share of hybrids. Some of them even resided with him on the island, but the meat he was savoring didn't match any of his known flavor profiles, which left Bad, Pac, and Quackity off his potential dinner list.

"Won't you tell me?" Cellbit almost begged, eager to know who was gracing his plate so he could give them their due acknowledgment.

"No. If you can't guess before dessert is finished , I'll tell you," Roier bargained, steepling his fingers in front of him, lips pursed in a ridiculous duck bill. Cellbit huffed and curled in on himself, bottom lip popping out in a pout.

It was a challenge he couldn't help but take up as Roier refreshed his glass with the last of the first bottle of wine, simply popping the second open without the ceremony of a sabering.

"And if I get it before?" he prompted.

"Mhhh. If my Gatinho is smart enough, I have a special reward for him," the promise of a reward and a challenge set Cellbit's heart racing in excitement. His husband was truly spoiling him and making his gift seem silly in comparison.

"Done." He agreed readily, uncurling from his sulk. There was no loss if he couldn't get it, so instead of wasting time, he started running down the list of possibilities. Roier was pulling the last dome closer and serving them a single dish of Mangonada sorbet, artfully arranged balls of frozen blended mango topped with the bright red chamoy sauce, a delicate sprinkling of chili powder and a smattering of thin, dried chunks of crumbled meat, not quite as crisp as bacon but deliciously savory, providing a much-needed oomph to the sweet sorbet.

This time he let Roier feed him, accepting tiny mouthfuls of the cold dessert—sweet but light and crisp, the perfect finish after the heavy earlier dishes. He took up a spoon and offered Roier a bite to match each of his, unsatisfied with leaving his husband to miss out on such a treat, humming in appreciation of the spicy tartness.

The list of possibilities for his meal was slowly pared down . It was a hybrid. It wasn't fishy at all in taste or texture, or avian—the meat was rich brown and solid, lacking the pinkish hue of avian meat or the flaky texture that aquatic hybrids so often had.

Cellbit rolled a chunk of meat against his palate, relishing in the tender morsel, a flood of earthy, roasted nuts washing over his tongue, reminding Cellbit of the oddly sweet taste of bugs. He swallowed with a hum, racking his brain for any possible insect hybrids on the island. It wasn't quite a match, more like roasted spider than cricket.

Realization struck him like a lightning bolt. Hadn't Roier described the taste of his shed exoskeleton in painstaking detail? The flavor was unmistakable now that he knew what to look for, greedily gobbling down another bite of rich meat, the halcyon haze of the Mind rooms' thrall snapping like overworked thread.

Roier.

Roier had eaten from the same plates as him, hadn't so much as blinked, even though they were eating the same scrumptious meal. To his knowledge, Roier had never eaten a person, but he had eaten parts of himself. Cellbit knew that Roier consumed his old exoskeleton after each shed—he even enjoyed the taste, not needing to consume it for energy when he had access to ready-made food but choosing to for the pleasure of it.

He shouldn't have been surprised at the revelation. Roier was a spider, and they were known cannibals. Proper cannibals, too, not just man-eaters—spiders ate their husbands, after all.

It would explain the strange death message in chat, and the meat was fresh—even with Chayanne's preservation enchantments, he could tell. Butchered today, if he had to guess.

Roier's death at Jaiden's hands hadn't been the two of them sparring; it had been a cover so that Cellbit wouldn't go running to investigate. Anyone else downing his husband would have drawn him in to watch or rescue, but not Jaiden, never Jaiden.

She was one of the few islanders he trusted to have Roier's best interests at heart.

It explained Bad's presence. Roier had already shown that he'd accepted help with tonight's event, unusual in itself , but Bad would be the only person willing to show Chayanne, and likely Dapper, if he hadn't already been taught , how to break down a humanoid body for disposal. That was easy, but preparing it for consumption took proper training. It would have been a good lesson for them. Cellbit just wished he'd been able to get Richas in on it. Oh well, he could show his boy himself. Maybe Forever would let Cellbit use him as an example?

Cellbit enjoyed one last spoonful of the dessert, the bowl still about half full . He could always draw it out, but the smirk on Roier's lips was all the encouragement he needed to end the game before time ran out.

"Roier."

"Yes, Gatinho?"

"It's you, Roier. I've been eating you," he stated confidently, ears pricked high and tail held straight out behind him.

Roier beamed at him, like he'd just laid the answers to the universe at his feet, all those sharp teeth on display—unlike Cellbit, who only sported sharpened canines, every one of Roier's teeth was a fang with his chelicerae peeking out at the corners of his smile. Cellbit's heart sped up. Those didn't make an appearance all too often, just when his lover was feeling spidery, but he'd seen them plenty tonight.

"Well done, Gatinho. You got it on the first try." Roier snapped his fingers and the table setting dissolved—all the silver domes and the half-eaten meal rising in a miniature hurricane of pixels and disappearing into Roier's waiting inventory. The box with his gift remained, still taking up a decent chunk of the table. "Ready for your surprise?"

"Almost." He rooted around in his inventory, tapping through backpack after backpack until he reached the little blue box and set it out between them, barely bigger than his hand. "Your gift first." He nudged it forward until it was between Roier's hands, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips.

"¡Ay!, A gift for me? Gatito tonto, gracias, mi amor," Roier took the box, sparing no consideration for the crisp wrapping as he shredded it, letting the paper fall wherever it may, revealing the black jeweler's box beneath.

"Of course!... We didn't do this last month, but it felt special to do something to surprise you." And it was—he was so glad he'd taken the time to make this gift. If he had nothing to give his husband after receiving a gift like tonight's, he might have just died on the spot from shame.

The spider hummed and flicked open the little black box, revealing the carefully wrought bracelet within, sized perfectly so it would sit snug against Roier's wrist without aggravating the spinnerets between wrist and palm. He lifted it from the box, letting it dangle between thumb and forefinger, the tiny ender pearl in the center glowing faintly, pulsing in time with the heart beating out of Cellbit's chest, framed delicately between three bone beads on either side carved with tiny enchants and blessings.

"What's this?" Roier asked, tilting his head to examine the bracelet closely. Cellbit reached forward to gently take both the bracelet and Roier's dominant hand, turning the wrist so he could slip it on. A double tap and a burst of energy over the knot holding the string together made the accessory tighten , sitting perfectly in place. He turned his husband's hand again and brought it up to his mouth, placing the ghost of a kiss across his knuckles.

"It's me, my heart for my heart," he murmured against Roier's warm hand, the pulsing light speeding up to match his heartbeat, betraying his anxiety. Roier's eyes flitted between his and the tiny ender pearl, narrowing in consideration before softening around the edges. He slipped his hand out of Cellbit's and reached up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing through the five o'clock shadow taking over his face. Maybe he should have shaved again after all, but those long, well-manicured nails scratching through the new growth sent Cellbit over the edge, a stuttering purr starting up in his chest and spilling out. He could choose to be ashamed of his purr, but this was his Roier, the one person who deserved the vulnerable parts of himself that he so diligently hid.

"That's your heartbeat?" His husband was so smart —a single fluttering touch to the pulse racing under his skin compared to the flashing glow was enough for the Mexican to figure out exactly what he had been given .

"Sim, my heart is right where it belongs, in your hands," he murmured, eyes sliding half closed as Roier stroked against the crest of his cheek.

"It won't hurt you if it ever breaks, will it?" Roier asked, eyes hooded with concern.

"No, it's just a visual link—it can't hurt me at all," he reassured, leaning into the warm touch of his best beloved.

There was no response, not for a long, agonizing minute, until Roier dragged him forward, locking them together in a searing kiss, sending Cellbit's heart racing, the bead on Roier's wrist beating in time with Cellbit's racing heart, a flashing beacon of his love.

The kiss didn't last long. Cellbit broke it with a contented sigh, tilting forward, resting his forehead against Roier's, letting his eyes slide closed and losing himself in the feeling of Roier's soft lips. There was no fight to this, no venom or claws, just the comforting touch of their perfect match.

Cellbit pulled away first with herculean effort, his tongue peeking out to taste the wine stain left behind on Roier's lips, his heart running wild as he relished the serendipity of it all—coming to the island, meeting his child, his lover, all the friends he never would have thought to make on his own.

"Where's my reward, Guapito?" he whispered, voice low and husky with emotion.

"God, you're impatient. Here, let me get it." The spider pulled back fully to root around in his pockets, the true pockets, not the dimensional fold of his inventory, bringing out a single gold coin.

"That's it? A coin?" He couldn't smother the surprise and indignation. How was this a surprise?

"More than a coin, a game. You like those, Cellbo." He shouldn't have underestimated his husband—of course, it would be a game, all sense of disappointment disappearing in a flash.

"I do, I do! What are the rules?" Cellbit leaned forward, almost nose to nose with the Mexican and half a second away from climbing into his lap if the game wasn't explained immediately. It didn't matter what kind of game—he'd learned better than to underestimate the man before him. His games were always more than satisfying.

"Simple game, Hide and Seek. Coin toss for who plays the Hunter , and if the Hider can make it to dawn, they win. Loser gets a bite taken out of them at the end. How's that sound, Gatinho?" Roier explained, calm and cool with the barest hint of a mocking smile. It sounded good, it sounded so fucking good—an opportunity to hunt his husband? And to maybe take a bite right from the source? More than the little nips and bites he'd allowed himself so far, overwhelming him with delight.

"Yes, yes, sounds perfect, mi vida." Roier smacked his cheek with another noisy kiss, rolling the coin across his knuckles, making use of those long, dexterous fingers to show off before flicking it up into the air, calling "heads" in a calm, even voice.

"I call tails!" Cellbit scrambled to answer, choosing to ignore how Roier's smile turned just a little mean, lips curling at the edges and the faint pitter-patter of chaos that tapped at the back door of his brain. It wasn't his element or Roier's, but a coin toss so close to its source? Of course, it would draw the eye of the Entity toward them.

The spider snatched the coin as it spun in the air, slamming it down on the table with a thump that echoed through the room , hand held over it, covering the results as he made taunting little wiggles with his eyebrows and pulled a dozen silly faces while Cellbit impatiently squirmed in his chair. He wanted to go now, now, now—the hunter in his blood rising up despite his full stomach.

"Show me, show me!" he whined, ears dropping low and teeth chattering. Of course, Roier would try to draw it out, ever the showman.

With a nasty smile that made Cellbit shiver in anticipation, Roier pulled back his hand, revealing the gleaming gold coin sitting innocently on his opulent table, the results sending the cat hybrid's heart racing.

"Heads, Gatinho."

 

Chapter Text

Heads.

Cellbit's stomach swooped, not with dread but with a sharp thrill that made his tail lash behind him. His ears flattened against his skull, but the grin spreading across his face was absolutely feral.

"Oh you absolute bastard," he breathed, trying for offended, only for it to come out delighted.

Roier's black eyes glimmered in the candlelight as he plucked the coin from the table, tucking it away before Cellbit could snatch it for inspection. His smile was all teeth, every single one a fang, sharp and promising. "I hunt," he purred, voice dropping into something dark and sultry. "You hide."

Realization trickled in at the corner of his mind.

The coin had barely spun. Roier had called it too fast, too confidently. The weight had been wrong when it flickered through the air.

The flicker of Choas that he had ignored.

"You cheated," Cellbit accused, but he was already pushing back from the table, heart racing in his chest. "You rigged it, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Roier stood, rolling his shoulders, and the movement was liquid grace, all coiled muscle and predatory intent. "Does it matter, Gatinho? You were going to run either way."

He wasn't wrong. Cellbit's hindbrain was already screaming at him to move, even as the detective in him catalogued every detail. Roier had planned this. Spent weeks on it, probably. The dinner, the timing, the coin, all of it orchestrated down to the last detail. And fuck, that was hot.

"How long do I have?" His claws scraped against the table edge, leaving thin grooves in the polished wood.

"Five minutes." Roier's chelicerae flexed, venom beading at the tips and catching the candlelight like drops of liquid silver. "Make it to dawn and you win." A pause, weighted with dark promise. "But when I catch you, you're mine."

When. Not if.

"Confident," Cellbit shot back, already edging toward the door. His tail was doing that stupid excited twitch it did when he was about to do something reckless. "What makes you think you can keep me all night even if you do catch me?"

"Because I know you, mi amor. Every habit, every trick, every desperate gambit you'll try when you're bleeding and running out of options." Roier's eyes gleamed. "Now run."

Cellbit ran.

He hit the dining room door at full speed, boots skidding on the polished floor as he took the corner too fast. His tail helped him balance, swinging out like a counterweight as he grabbed the doorframe and used it to slingshot himself forward. Behind him, Roier's laughter echoed through the castle, rich and dark and absolutely delighted.

Five minutes. Maybe. Probably less, knowing his husband's tendency toward creative interpretations of "fair."

Cellbit's mind spun as he ran. The forest was his best bet. He'd mapped every game trail, every hollow, every den within three miles of the castle during his investigations. Home advantage. He could use that.

Unless Roier had predicted exactly that and prepared accordingly.

Which he absolutely had.

"Fuck," Cellbit muttered, shouldering through the castle doors and diving into the autumn night. The cold air hit him like a slap, sharp and biting. He sucked in a breath and vaulted the bridge railing rather than waste time with stairs.

He landed hard, rolled to absorb the impact, and came up running. His night vision was sharp, picking out roots and branches easily. The forest loomed ahead, dark and inviting and probably full of whatever nightmare scenario Roier had cooked up.

Cellbit grinned and ran faster.

The ground was soft beneath his feet, the loamy earth of autumn giving way with each pounding step. His ears swiveled constantly, tracking every sound. An owl hooted somewhere to his left. The wind rustled through dying leaves. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears.

Nothing from Roier yet. That was almost worse than hearing him.

He'd barely made it fifty yards into the treeline when something dropped on him from above.

Cellbit threw himself sideways on pure instinct, fast, but not fast enough. Claws raked across his shoulder, tearing through his vest and shirt to score the skin beneath. The pain was sharp and bright and perfect, shocking a gasp out of him.

He rolled away and scrambled behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark. Blood was running warm down his arm. Not deep, not dangerous, just enough to sting and make his heart race even faster. He could smell it, sharp and copper bright.

Even on a full stomach, the smell made his mouth water.

"You know," he called out, breathless and giddy, "I'm starting to think you've been planning this for a while."

"Weeks." Roier's voice came from a different direction than expected. Cellbit's ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint him, but there was nothing. Just shadows. "Since last month. Had to coordinate with Chayanne, Bad, even got Foolish to help with the preparations."

"Foolish knows?" Cellbit yelped, genuinely scandalized. "Oh my god, he's never going to let me live this down."

"Probably not." There was amusement in Roier's voice, warm and fond. "Now are you going to keep hiding behind that tree, or are you going to run?"

"I'm thinking about my options!"

"You have three seconds."

"That's not fair!"

"One."

Cellbit bolted.

He heard Roier's laugh behind him, felt the whisper of claws missing his back by inches. His forebrain was trying to map the traps, predict the patterns, but it kept getting drowned out by the sheer exhilaration of it all.

This was what he needed. What some messed up part of him had been craving since prison, since the games, since he'd first learned that pain and pleasure could mix until you couldn't tell them apart. Since he'd learned what it meant to be prey.

The river. That was still his best option. He angled toward the sound of rushing water, weaving between trees, jumping over roots. Behind him, he could hear Roier keeping pace. Not gaining, but not falling behind either. Just there. A constant presence at his back.

The vest was slowing him down. Cellbit grabbed at the buttons as he ran, fumbling them open with clumsy fingers. The fabric caught on his shoulders and he had to slow, had to pull, wasting precious seconds before it finally came free. He let it drop, feeling lighter immediately.

"You're heading for the river, Gatinho!" Roier called out. "Bold choice!"

"You got a better idea?" Cellbit shouted back.

"Several! But I want to see what you do first!"

That smug bastard. Cellbit pushed harder, legs burning, lungs screaming. The sound of water was getting louder. Close. So close.

His boot caught on something.

Spider silk, nearly invisible in the darkness. The moment his weight hit it, the web contracted like a snare, yanking his leg out from under him. Cellbit went down hard, air exploding from his lungs as his chest hit the ground.

"No, fuck, fuck!" He clawed at the silk, but it just stuck to his fingers, tacky and strong. The more he struggled, the more tangled he became.

"Trap number one." Roier's voice came from above. Cellbit looked up to find his husband perched on a low branch, looking absurdly smug. All eight eyes were open now, glittering in the moonlight filtering through the canopy. "I laid them this morning. Twenty seven in total. You've found one."

"Twenty seven?" Cellbit wheezed, still struggling with the web. His fingers were thoroughly gummed up now, the silk clinging to his skin like glue. "When did you even have time?"

"I'm very motivated." Roier dropped from the branch, landing in a crouch beside him. The impact barely made a sound. "And you sleep like the dead when you're exhausted."

"You trapped the whole forest while I was asleep?" Despite everything, Cellbit felt a rush of genuine admiration. That was dedication. That was planning on a scale that made his heart sing even as his instincts screamed.

"Not the whole forest. Just the parts I knew you'd run to." Roier's hand came up to cup Cellbit's face, thumb dragging through the dirt on his cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle given the circumstances. "I wanted tonight to be perfect."

Cellbit's chest did something complicated. "You're insane."

"You married me."

"Worst decision of my life," Cellbit shot back, but he was grinning again. His heart hadn't stopped racing since the coin flip. Every nerve was alive, singing with adrenaline and anticipation.

Roier's claws flicked out, slicing through the web around Cellbit's ankle with surgical precision. The silk fell away like cut string. "Get up. Run some more. We've got hours until dawn."

Cellbit stared. "You're just letting me go?"

"Where's the fun in ending it here?" Roier stood, offering a hand. His smile was all teeth. "Besides, you haven't even tried the river yet"

Oh, that smug bastard. Cellbit grabbed Roier's hand, let himself be pulled upright, and immediately grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it in his husband's face.

Roier reeled back, sputtering, and Cellbit bolted.

"THAT'S CHEATING!"

"YOU RIGGED THE COIN!" Cellbit screamed back, crashing through the underbrush. He could hear Roier behind him, cursing in Spanish, and he laughed so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.

God, this was fun. Terrifying and painful and absolutely fun.

The trees thinned ahead and suddenly he was bursting out onto the riverbank. The water rushed past, dark and cold and offering escape. Cellbit didn't hesitate, just threw himself in.

The current grabbed him immediately, cold enough to shock the breath from his lungs. He kicked hard, broke the surface gasping, and let the river carry him downstream. His waterlogged clothes dragged at him, the button up plastering to his skin, but he was grinning like a maniac. He'd done it. He'd broken his scent trail, put distance between them.

Something snagged his ankle underwater.

Spider silk. Of course. Of course Roier had thought of this.

Cellbit had time to suck in one breath before he was yanked under. He thrashed, trying to kick free, but the silk just tightened. He was being hauled backward through the water like a fish on a line, completely helpless.

When he broke the surface again, coughing and choking, he was on the opposite bank. Roier stood over him, completely dry, holding what looked like a rope made of silk.

"How?" Cellbit wheezed.

"Web line." Roier held up the silk, which disappeared into the water in a taut line. "I strung it across the river this morning. You swam right into it." He looked so proud of himself. So absolutely delighted with his own cleverness.

"That's actually really clever," Cellbit admitted between coughs. Water streamed from his hair, his ears, his clothes. "I hate it."

"I know." Roier crouched down, planting a foot on Cellbit's chest. Not hard, just enough pressure to keep him pinned. The wet shirt clung to Cellbit's skin, translucent now, and Roier's eyes tracked over him with obvious appreciation. "Did you really think water would stop a spider?"

"I thought it was worth a try." Cellbit's hand crept up, wrapping around Roier's ankle. The spider hybrid's skin was warm even through his jeans. "But I'm starting to realize you've thought of everything."

"Not everything." Roier's expression softened slightly. "You've surprised me tonight already. I'm hoping for more."

"Yeah?" Cellbit's fingers tightened on that ankle. "How about this?"

He yanked.

Roier went down with a startled yelp, and they both went sprawling in the mud. Cellbit rolled, trying to get leverage, but Roier was faster. Within seconds Cellbit was face down in the wet earth again, Roier's weight pressing him into the riverbank.

"Nice try, Gatinho." Roier's hand fisted in his hair, yanking his head up out of the mud. His breath was hot against Cellbit's ear. "But you'll have to do better than that."

Cellbit spat out mud and grit. "I'm just getting started."

"Good." Roier's teeth found the back of his neck, biting down. Not breaking skin, just pressure and the promise of what could come. His chelicerae pressed against Cellbit's nape, and the detective could feel them flexing, could feel the threat of venom. "Because so am I."

He released Cellbit suddenly, standing and stepping back. Cellbit lay there for a moment, panting, mud smeared across half his face. The ghost of a bite mark on the back of his neck throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"Up. We're not even close to done." Roier's voice was rough now, heavy with something dark and wanting.

Cellbit climbed to his feet, swaying. He was soaked, muddy, bleeding from the shoulder wound. His nice shirt was ruined, torn and filthy. He should have been miserable.

Instead, he felt alive.

"You want me to keep running?" he asked, breathless.

"I want you to try." Roier's smile was sharp. All eight eyes were fixed on him with predatory focus. "I want to see how long you last before you beg me to catch you."

"I'm not going to beg."

"We'll see."

Cellbit ran.

The next hour was a blur of adrenaline and pain and the constant game of cat and mouse. Or rather, cat and spider. Roier would attack, Cellbit would dodge or fight back, and the cycle would repeat. Sometimes Cellbit got away clean. Sometimes he didn't.

He found trap number five when he tried to climb a tree, thinking height might give him an advantage. The branches were covered in nearly invisible silk that glued his hands in place the moment he touched them. Cellbit dangled there, cursing, as Roier appeared below.

"Comfortable up there?" His husband looked up at him with that infuriatingly handsome grin.

"Fuck off," Cellbit growled, struggling to free himself. The silk was impossibly strong, stretching but not breaking no matter how hard he pulled.

"Ask nicely and maybe I'll help."

"I'd rather die."

"Suit yourself." Roier sat down at the base of the tree, pulling out what looked like a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. "I packed snacks. Want some?"

“Are you eating right now?” He jerked against the silk, as if the sheer absurdity might set him free.

"I'm hungry. Chasing you is hard work." Roier unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Ham and cheese, from the smell of it. "You've got until I finish this to get down. Otherwise I'm coming up there."

That smug bastard. Cellbit redoubled his efforts, finally managing to tear one hand free by sacrificing some skin in the process. He used his claws to cut through the silk on the other hand, then dropped from the tree.

Roier was already moving. Cellbit hit the ground and rolled, came up running, and heard Roier's delighted laugh behind him.

"That's my Cellbit!"

His lungs were burning now. The constant running, the adrenaline, it was all taking its toll. The shoulder wound throbbed with every movement, and he could feel blood trickling down his arm inside his ruined shirt. The fabric clung to him, cold and wet and restrictive.

Cellbit grabbed at the buttons again as he ran, this time managing to tear the shirt open completely. He shrugged out of it, letting it fall. The air was freezing against his bare torso but at least he could move freely now.

A web shot past his ear, so close he felt the whisper of it. Another one caught his tail and he yelped, spinning to claw it away before it could anchor. Roier was right behind him, close enough that Cellbit could see the venom dripping from his chelicerae.

"Getting tired, Gatinho?" Roier's voice was rough, breathless. He was enjoying this just as much as Cellbit was.

"Never," Cellbit lied, and dove through a gap in the underbrush that was almost too small for him.

Thorns tore at his skin as he forced his way through. He felt them catch on his pants, his exposed skin, leaving thin lines of fire across his ribs and back. But he made it through, stumbling out the other side.

Roier simply vaulted over the entire bush, landing in front of him.

Cellbit skidded to a stop, too close, and Roier's claws came up. They caught him across the chest, four parallel lines that burned. Not deep, carefully controlled, but enough to make Cellbit gasp.

"Caught you," Roier purred.

"Not yet," Cellbit shot back, and kicked him in the shin.

Roier's eyes widened in surprise and Cellbit used the moment to dart past him, ignoring the way his chest was burning, the way blood was running warm down his naked stomach.

The second hour was worse. Cellbit was tiring, the blood loss and constant adrenaline taking their toll. His movements were getting sloppy, reactions slowing. Roier took advantage of it, landing more hits, each one precise and calculated.

Claws across his back, tearing through the skin between his shoulder blades. Teeth in his good shoulder, pumping venom that made everything hypersensitive, every touch magnified. A web across his chest that slammed him into a tree hard enough that he heard something crack.

But through it all, Cellbit kept getting up. Kept running. Kept fighting.

Because that's what he did. He survived. He would make Roier work for this.

Trap number twelve caught him around the thighs, yanking his legs together mid stride. He went down face first, couldn't get his hands up in time, and ate dirt for the umpteenth that night.

"Ow," he groaned into the ground. His nose hurt. His ribs hurt. Everything hurt.

"You okay?" Roier was there immediately, rolling him over with gentle hands to check for damage. The contrast between predator and concerned husband was dizzying.

"I'm fine. Just having fun eating dirt." Cellbit spat soil and blood. He'd bitten his tongue at some point.

"Smartass." But Roier's hands were gentle as they checked Cellbit's nose, making sure nothing was broken. His claws were retracted, his touch careful. "Colors?"

"Still green. Very green. Keep going." Cellbit's voice was rough, hoarse from running and gasping and laughing.

"You sure? You're slowing down."

"I'm pacing myself," Cellbit lied. They both knew it was a lie. His body was reaching its limits.

Roier's expression said he didn't believe that for a second, but he cut the web anyway with a quick slash of his claws. "Five more minutes. Then we take a break."

"I don't need a break."

"I do. You're heavier than you look when I have to carry you." Roier's smile was teasing but there was real concern in his eyes.

"You're not carrying me!" Cellbit protested, but his legs were shaking when he tried to stand.

"We'll see."

Turned out, Roier was right. Four minutes later, Cellbit's legs gave out entirely. He went down hard, couldn't get back up, and just lay there gasping. His chest heaved, ribs screaming with each breath. He was more out of shape than he thought.

Roier gathered him up like he weighed nothing, cradling him against his chest. Cellbit wanted to protest but he honestly didn't have the breath for it.

"Break time," Roier said firmly, carrying him over to a fallen log.

"This is humiliating," Cellbit mumbled against Roier's shoulder. His husband was so warm, so solid. It would be easy to just sink into that warmth and stay there.

"This is me taking care of you." Roier settled them both against the log, arranging Cellbit in his lap. "Drink."

A water bottle appeared in his hand, pixels lighting up the air for a moment, Cellbit drank gratefully, not realizing how truly thirsty he'd been until the fresh water hit his tongue. It was cool and clean and he drained half the bottle before coming up for air.

"You're doing so well," Roier murmured, one hand petting through Cellbit's filthy, matted hair. His claws were gentle, carefully working out tangles and bits of leaf. "Two hours, Gatinho. You've lasted two whole hours and made me work for every second."

"Not done yet," Cellbit mumbled. His eyes were trying to close. The exhaustion was hitting him all at once now that he'd stopped moving, Roier's warmth soaking into his bones.

"I know. But you're allowed to rest." Roier's other hand came up, carefully checking each wound. His shoulder was still bleeding sluggishly. The scratches across his chest had mostly clotted. His back was probably a mess but nothing felt too deep.

The venom from the bite was wearing off, leaving a pleasant buzzing numbness in its wake. Cellbit's head felt fuzzy, thoughts slow and thick as honey.

"How many traps left?" he asked, just to have something to focus on besides how comfortable he was.

"Fifteen. You've been doing well avoiding them." Roier's fingers found a knot in Cellbit's shoulder and worked at it gently. "Better than I expected, honestly."

"I'm full of surprises." Cellbit's tail twitched where it was draped over Roier's knee.

"You are." Roier's voice was soft, fond. "Ready to keep going?"

Cellbit tested his legs. They held, barely. His head swam when he stood but he managed to stay upright. "Yeah. One more round."

"That's my stubborn boy." Roier kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his lips. Soft and sweet and achingly gentle. "You get thirty seconds this time."

"That's not fair!"

"Twenty nine. Twenty eight."

Cellbit ran.

The final hour was brutal. Cellbit was running on pure spite at this point, his body screaming at him to just give up. But he couldn't. Not when Roier was right there, pushing him, testing him, driving him to his absolute limits.

He stopped trying to escape and started trying to just survive. Every trap he avoided was a victory. Every hit he dodged was a win. He wasn't going to make it to dawn, he knew that now. But he could make it as long as possible.

Trap number seventeen caught him by surprise, a web net that dropped from above and wrapped him up like a fly. He hit the ground hard, completely immobilized, and could only watch as Roier approached.

"Got you," his husband said softly. All eight eyes were glowing in the darkness.

"Not yet. Dawn hasn't come." Cellbit struggled against the webbing but it was useless. He was wrapped too tightly.

"True." Roier knelt beside him, claws slicing through just enough of the web to free Cellbit's arms. "But I could keep you here. Pin you down and make you wait for it."

The threat sent a shiver down Cellbit's spine. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Roier's hand came up to cup his face. "You'd look so pretty all wrapped up for me. Unable to move, unable to run."

Cellbit's breath caught. For a moment he was tempted to just give in, to let Roier keep him like this. But something stubborn in him refused.

"Make me," he spat, mud speckled ears pinned back.

Roier's smile was slow and dangerous as he cut away the rest of the webbing. "Run."

Cellbit ran.

He lost count of the traps somewhere around number nineteen. Lost count of the wounds somewhere after that. Everything was pain and adrenaline and the constant, driving need to keep moving.

His shirt was long gone. His pants were torn and filthy. Blood and mud and leaf matter covered his skin. He was pretty sure he'd lost an earring somewhere along with his pride.

But he kept going.

Trap number twenty three, maybe twenty four, was the worst. A web across a gap between two trees that he didn't see until he was already committed to the jump. He hit it full force and it gave, stretching, before snapping him back like a rubber band. He slammed into a tree trunk so hard he saw stars.

Roier was there before he hit the ground, catching him.

"Okay, that one was too much," his husband said, sounding genuinely worried. "I didn't account for your momentum. Are you hurt?"

Cellbit blinked slowly, trying to get his eyes to focus. Everything was swimming. "M'fine. Jus' let me... minute..."

"We're taking a longer break." Roier's voice was firm. He carried Cellbit over to a patch of soft moss and laid him down carefully. "Don't move. I need to check you over properly."

Cellbit wanted to protest but his body had other ideas. He just lay there, chest heaving, while Roier's hands moved over him with professional efficiency. Checking his ribs, his spine, his head.

"Nothing broken," Roier announced after a few minutes. "But you've got a nasty bump on your head. How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three. I'm fine, Roier. Keep going."

"You've got a concussion."

"Mild one. I've had worse." Cellbit tried to sit up and the world tilted alarmingly to the left. Roier pushed him back down.

"We're done."

"No!" Cellbit grabbed at Roier's shirt, clinging. "No, I can keep going. I can make it longer. Don't stop now, please."

"Gatinho—"

"Please." His voice cracked. "I need this. Need to know I can. Please."

Roier stared down at him for a long moment. Then his expression softened. "Fifteen more minutes. And then we're done whether you like it or not, I'm not letting you hurt yourself for this."

"Okay. Okay, yes." Cellbit struggled to sit up. The world spun but he managed it.

"Can you even run?"

Cellbit stood. His legs shook but they held. "Watch me."

He made it maybe ten yards before his legs gave out again. This time Roier was there to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Stubborn idiot," Roier said, but it came out fond. "Alright. New game. I'm going to carry you, and you're going to try to get away. If you can manage it, I'll let you run some more."

"That's not fair, you're stronger than me."

"Life's not fair, Gatinho. Now hold on."

Roier adjusted his grip, slinging Cellbit over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Cellbit immediately started struggling, using his claws to dig into Roier's back, trying to wriggle free. But Roier's grip was iron.

"That's it, fight me," Roier encouraged, starting to walk. Each step jostled Cellbit, making his various injuries protest. "Show me you've still got some fight left."

Cellbit grabbed a fistful of Roier's hair and yanked. His husband yelped but didn't drop him. Instead he slapped Cellbit's ass hard enough to sting.

"Play nice or I'll web you up right now."

"You started it!" But Cellbit was laughing, exhausted and punch drunk and absolutely giddy with it all.

They wrestled like that for a few minutes, Roier walking through the forest while Cellbit struggled and fought and tried every dirty trick he could think of. Biting, scratching, hair pulling, all of it. Roier took it with good humor, occasionally retaliating with a well placed smack or a nip of his own.

Finally Cellbit's energy gave out. He went limp over Roier's shoulder, panting.

"Done?" Roier asked.

"For now."

"Good boy." Roier adjusted his grip, sliding Cellbit down until he could cradle him properly. "Because we're here."

Cellbit blinked as Roier stopped walking. The dense forest parted into a small clearing, sunlight pooling in a soft gold ring across the grass. And in the center of it sat… a nest.

Not a rough bundle of branches. This was crafted with intention. Silk stretched in gentle, sweeping layers, each one anchored between low stones and woven through with blankets and cushions in warm burgundies and muted golds. It looked like a bed built by something that understood comfort on a primal level. The kind of place meant to hold two bodies close.

Cellbit opened his mouth, then closed it again. “What… is that?”

“This,” Roier said, voice softening, “is where I was always going to bring you. Once I caught you.”

He stepped closer, still cradling Cellbit, and the silk glimmered faintly under the light. The nest was shaped almost like a bowl, deep enough to curl into and high enough to feel sheltered. It looked unfairly inviting.

Roier’s arms tightened just a little. “I wanted somewhere warm for after. Somewhere you could actually rest. Foolish helped me put it together this morning.”

Cellbit’s chest tightened in a way that made thinking difficult. “You made me a nest,” he said, dazed.

“I made us a nest.” Roier shifted his grip and carried him inside. The structure yielded under their weight, silk and blankets molding around them like it was alive, like it had been waiting. “You always push yourself until you fall apart. I wanted a place to hold you when you finally did.”

Inside, the world felt quieter. The cocoon of fabric hugged the edges of their bodies, soft enough that Cellbit could feel his muscles unclench without his permission. Roier reached for something tucked beside them, an old picnic basket, the woven kind with a hinged lid and a patterned cloth tucked inside.

Cellbit swallowed. The nest smelled faintly of clean cotton and the forest. Roier folded him closer, one hand settling at the small of his back.

“This is ridiculous,” Cellbit whispered, though his fingers had already curled gently into Roier’s shirt.

Roier kissed his temple. “Maybe. But you’re staying until you stop shaking.”"You really did think of everything," Cellbit said, voice rough with emotion.

"I tried." Roier settled them both into the nest, arranging pillows until Cellbit was comfortable. "Now let me take care of you."

Cellbit let himself relax into the softness, let Roier fuss over him. His husband started with the worst wounds, pulling supplies from the basket with practiced efficiency. A clean cloth appeared first, dampened with water that smelled faintly of herbs.

"This will sting," Roier warned, and then pressed the cloth to the shoulder gash.

Cellbit hissed through his teeth but held still. The water was cold and sharp, cutting through the dried blood and dirt. Roier worked methodically, cleaning the wound with gentle hands despite the way Cellbit's muscles jumped under his touch.

"Sorry, sorry," Roier murmured, dabbing at the edges. "Almost done with this one."

Once the shoulder was clean, Roier reached back into the basket and produced a small jar. The salve inside was pale gold, thick as honey, and smelled of chamomile and something else Cellbit couldn't quite place.

"Foolish made it," Roier explained, scooping some onto his fingers. "Has regeneration properties. Should help with the pain too."

The salve was cool against Cellbit's burning skin, and within moments he could feel it working. The sharp ache dulled to a manageable throb, and the wound itself seemed to tighten, beginning the process of knitting back together.

"That's good," Cellbit breathed. "Really good."

"Told you." Roier's smile was soft as he moved to the chest scratches next. "Now hold still. These are going to take a minute."

He cleaned each line with the same careful attention, wiping away blood and forest debris. The scratches weren't as deep as the shoulder wound, but there were four of them, parallel tracks that ran from Cellbit's collarbone down to his ribs.

"You got me good," Cellbit observed, watching Roier work.

"I was aiming for your shirt. You moved." Roier's claws were retracted completely now, his touch nothing but gentle as he applied salve to each scratch. "I would never hurt you more than you could take."

"I know." And he did. Even in the heat of the hunt, even when Roier's eyes had been all predator and teeth, Cellbit had never once felt unsafe. Pushed to his limits, yes. Challenged and hurt and driven to the edge of what he could endure. But never unsafe.

The back wounds were harder. Cellbit had to turn, had to lie on his stomach while Roier assessed the damage. He felt his husband's fingers ghost over his spine, mapping out each injury with clinical precision.

"How bad?" Cellbit asked, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not terrible. Mostly shallow cuts from the thorns. A few deeper scratches where I got you." Roier's touch was feather light as he began cleaning. "The worst is between your shoulder blades. That one's going to scar."

"Good." Cellbit turned his head so he could see Roier out of one eye. "I want to remember tonight."

Roier's hands stilled for just a moment. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the nape of Cellbit's neck, right over where he'd bitten earlier. "You're going to be the death of me, Gatinho."

"Not if you're the death of me first." But Cellbit was smiling as he said it.

The cleaning continued in comfortable silence. Roier found every scrape, every bruise, every little injury Cellbit had accumulated during the hunt. Some Cellbit hadn't even noticed, like the deep scratch on his hip from when he'd squeezed through that gap in the underbrush, or the rope burn on his ankle from the web line in the river.

Each wound got the same treatment. Cleaned, treated with salve, checked for any sign of serious damage. By the time Roier was done, Cellbit felt like he was made of honey and herbs, everything warm and slow and pleasantly numb.

"Better?" Roier asked, finally setting aside his supplies.

"Much." Cellbit rolled back over, wincing only a little at the pull of healing skin. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. We're not done." Roier reached back into the basket and pulled out something that made Cellbit's breath catch.

It was a needle, long and slender, the metal gleamed like moonlight, and threaded through its eye was silk that seemed to shimmer with its own internal light. Not quite silver, not quite gold, something in between that hurt to look at directly.

"What is that for?" Cellbit asked, mouth dry.

"Healing sigils," Roier confirmed. "I'm going to embroider them into your skin around the worst wounds. They'll help you heal faster and..." He paused, looking almost shy. "You'll wear my work until they close."

Cellbit's heart did something complicated in his chest. "That's…going to take longer to heal than just using a potion"

“I know.” Roier steadied his hand. “but I want you to really feel this."

Cellbit’s throat tightened. words escaping him.

The first pierce was sharp but bearable. Roier's stitches were small and precise, the needle sliding through skin with practiced ease. The thread settled beneath the surface, warm and alive, pulsing with soft light.

Cellbit watched, mesmerized, as the first pattern took shape. It was a spiral, starting at the center of the wound and radiating outward in ever widening circles. Each stitch formed part of a larger whole, flowing runes that he recognized from his occult studies.

"Protection," he murmured, reading the symbols as they appeared.

"And healing." Roier's concentration was absolute, his eyes fixed on his work. "And this." Another symbol joined the pattern, one that made Cellbit's breath catch.

"That's for bonding."

"Mhm." Roier didn't look up, just kept stitching. "So you carry a piece of me until it heals. So you remember you're mine."

The possessiveness should have rankled. Instead it made something warm bloom in Cellbit's chest, spreading out like the spiral on his shoulder.

The shoulder pattern took ten minutes to complete. When Roier finally tied off the thread and bit it clean with his teeth, the wound was framed by glowing spirals that pulsed gently in time with Cellbit's heartbeat.

"Beautiful," Cellbit breathed.

"You're beautiful." Roier's smile was soft as he moved to the chest scratches. "Now hold still. These ones are going to be different."

Different was an understatement. Instead of spirals, Roier stitched delicate webs across each scratch. Not realistic spider webs, but stylized ones, geometric and perfect. Each line connected to the next in impossible patterns that seemed to shift when Cellbit looked at them directly.

"These are for pain management," Roier explained as he worked. "Should help with the ache while they heal."

He was right. As each web took shape, the burning in Cellbit's chest faded. Not gone, but muted, pushed to the background where it couldn't distract him.

The back wounds were the most complex. Cellbit had to turn again, had to lie still while Roier worked. These patterns were larger, more intricate. Knotwork that wove between the scratches, connecting them all into a single continuous design.

"What do these do?" Cellbit asked, trying to see over his shoulder.

"Regeneration." Roier's hands were steady despite how long he'd been working. "These are the deepest wounds. They need the strongest magic."

The stitching took longer this time. Cellbit felt himself starting to drift, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. The gentle pull and pierce of the needle was almost soothing now, rhythmic and familiar.

"Stay with me a little longer," Roier murmured. "Almost done."

Cellbit hummed, not quite asleep but not fully awake either. He was floating somewhere in between, warm and safe and utterly content.

Finally, finally, Roier tied off the last thread.

"Done," he announced softly. "You can look if you want."

Cellbit managed to shift enough to catch his reflection in a small mirror Roier produced. His shoulder was decorated with that beautiful spiral, still pulsing with soft light. His chest bore those geometric webs, perfectly symmetrical across all four scratches. And when he twisted, he could see the intricate knotwork across his back, flowing from wound to wound in an unbroken pattern.

"It's perfect," he said, voice thick with emotion. "You're perfect."

"Says the man who just ran for almost four hours straight while bleeding." Roier set aside the needle and supplies, then pulled Cellbit close. "Now sleep. You've more than earned it."

"Wait." Cellbit grabbed weakly at Roier's shirt. "You said when you caught me, I was yours. What about..." He gestured vaguely between them, too exhausted to be more specific.

Roier's expression went dark and hungry for just a moment before softening again. "Gatinho, you can barely keep your eyes open."

"Don't care. Want you." Cellbit pulled himself up enough to kiss Roier, messy and desperate. "Please. Need to know you want me like this. All broken and bloody."

"Fuck." Roier kissed him back, careful of Cellbit's split lip. "Of course I want you. I always want you. But you're exhausted."

"Then make it quick." Cellbit's hands were clumsy on Roier's shirt, trying to pull him closer. "Please, Roier. Need this. Need you."

Roier caught Cellbit's hands, pinning them gently to the pillows. "Okay. Okay, mi amor. But let me do the work. You just lie there and let me take care of you."

"Yes. Yes, okay." Cellbit went pliant immediately, letting Roier arrange him how he wanted.

Roier kissed him again, deeper this time, tongue sliding past Cellbit's teeth. His hands moved over Cellbit's body, careful of the injuries, mapping out every unmarked patch of skin.

"You were so good tonight," Roier murmured against Cellbit's lips. "So strong. So brave. You lasted so much longer than I thought you would."

"Keep talking," Cellbit gasped. Roier's hand had found its way to his waistband, teasing.

"You made me chase you. Made me work for it. Every time I thought I had you, you'd surprise me again." Roier's hand slipped lower, working open Cellbit's belt with practiced ease. "I'm so proud of you."

The praise washed over Cellbit like warm water. His ruined pants were worked off, leaving him bare. Roier's hand wrapped around him, warm and sure, and Cellbit's hips jerked up into the touch.

"That's it," Roier praised. "Let me see you. Let me take care of you."

It didn't take long. Cellbit was wound so tight, had been on edge for hours. Roier's hand, his voice, the weight of him pressing close, it was all too much. He came with a broken cry, spilling over Roier's hand and stomach.

"Beautiful," Roier murmured, working him through it. "You're so beautiful like this. All soft and sated for me."

Cellbit couldn't even form words, just made a soft sound as Roier wiped his hand clean on a cloth from the basket and then started working on his own pants. He watched through heavy lidded eyes as Roier stripped, revealing all that gorgeous golden brown skin marked with old scars and new scratches from Cellbit's claws.

"Come here," Cellbit managed, reaching for him with weak hands.

Roier settled over him, careful not to put weight on any of the injuries. Then he was grinding against Cellbit's hip, chasing his own pleasure with single minded focus.

"Mine," Roier gasped, one hand fisted in the blankets beside Cellbit's head. "All mine. You're all mine."

"Yours," Cellbit agreed breathlessly, watching Roier come apart above him. "Always yours."

It only took a few more rolls of Roier's hips before he was cuming too, gasping Cellbit's name into the dawn air like a prayer. He collapsed beside Cellbit, careful not to jostle him, both of them breathing hard.

They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath. The nest cradled them in its soft embrace, the silk walls blocking out everything but the slowly brightening sky visible through the gap at the top.

"How long until dawn?" Cellbit asked eventually, voice slurred with exhaustion.

Roier glanced at his communicator. "A few hours. You almost made it."

"Almost." Cellbit felt his eyes closing despite his best efforts. "That's good enough, right?"

"More than good enough." Roier pulled a blanket over them both, tucking it around Cellbit's shoulders. "You were perfect. Everything about tonight was perfect."

"Except the part where I face planted into that tree."

"Even that." Roier pressed a kiss to Cellbit's forehead. "Especially that, because it meant I got to catch you and carry you here."

Cellbit hummed, too tired to argue. Sleep was pulling at him, heavy and insistent.

"Before you sleep," Roier said softly. "I want to show you something."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin, holding it where Cellbit could see. Both sides showed heads, just as Cellbit had suspected.

"Knew it," he mumbled, though he couldn't muster any real indignation.

"I needed this," Roier said quietly, turning the coin over in his fingers. "Needed to prove that you're safe with me. Even when it's dark. Even when I'm hunting you. You're safe."

"I know." Cellbit reached up with one shaking hand to cup Roier's face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "Always knew. Love you."

"Love you too." Roier pressed a kiss to Cellbit's palm, then his wrist, then the inside of his elbow. "Now sleep. I've got you."

Cellbit let his eyes close, finally letting the exhaustion take him. The last thing he was aware of was Roier wrapping around him protectively, warm and solid and safe.

Safe. He was safe.

 

Morning came with coffee and terrible romance novels.

"...and his burning desire could no longer be contained, his manhood throbbing with—"

"That's awful," Cellbit croaked, voice rough with sleep and screaming.

"You're awake!" Roier set the book aside immediately, all his attention focusing on Cellbit. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hunted through a forest all night and slept outside naked." Cellbit tried to sit up and his body immediately protested. Everything hurt. His ribs, his shoulder, his back, all of it announcing their displeasure at being moved.

"That's because you did." Roier helped him sit up carefully, propping him against a pile of pillows. The nest was even more comfortable in daylight, the silk catching the morning sun and throwing it around in soft golden patterns. "Here, drink this."

Coffee appeared in his hands, steam rising from the surface. It was already prepared exactly how he liked it, thick enough to chew and hot enough to burn, with just a hint of cinnamon.

Cellbit took a grateful sip and felt more human immediately. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine." Roier settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders pressed together. "You slept for about six hours. I would have let you go longer, but I know you hate sleeping past sunrise."

"Thank you." Cellbit took another sip, examining the glowing sigils on his skin over the rim of his mug. They were already starting to fade as the wounds healed beneath them. By tomorrow they'd probably be gone entirely, leaving only faint scars as proof that this had happened.

"You were amazing last night," Roier said softly. "Three hours and forty seven minutes. You made me work for every second."

"Yeah?" Cellbit couldn't quite keep the pleased note out of his voice. "I felt like I could have gone longer if I hadn't hit that tree."

"You did more than enough." Roier kissed his temple, careful and gentle. "I'm so proud of you. You pushed yourself exactly as far as you needed to and no further. That's hard to do."

Cellbit hummed, not sure what to say to that. He'd certainly felt like he was pushing too far at several points during the night. But Roier was right; he'd stopped before he did any permanent damage. That was progress.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Cellbit drinking his coffee while Roier picked up his book again. The morning was peaceful, birds singing in the trees around their clearing, the air warming as the sun rose higher.

"Roier?" Cellbit said eventually.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For all of this." He gestured vaguely at the nest, at his healing wounds, at the coffee in his hands. "The dinner, the hunt, the nest. All of it. You really did make it perfect."

"You deserved perfect." Roier set his book aside and pulled Cellbit close, mindful of the injuries. "You always deserve perfect. And I'm going to keep trying to give it to you."

"You don't have to try. You already do." Cellbit pressed a kiss to Roier's jaw, then his chin, then finally his lips. Soft and sweet and full of contentment.

They stayed like that for a while, trading lazy kisses and quiet words. Roier eventually coaxed Cellbit into eating something, producing pastries from the basket that were still somehow warm despite being hours old. Chayanne's work again, probably. The little egg was worryingly good at preservation magic.

"So," Cellbit said around a mouthful of chocolate croissant. "You mentioned something last night. About next month."

Roier's smile went sharp and anticipatory. "I did. Next month, you get to hunt me."

"And what makes you think I'll be any less thorough than you were?" Cellbit's own smile matched his husband's, all teeth and dark promise.

"Oh, I'm counting on you being worse." Roier's eyes gleamed. "I want to see what that brilliant detective brain of yours comes up with. I want you to make me scared."

"Careful what you wish for, mi vida." Cellbit set aside his coffee and croissant, using his freed hands to pull Roier closer. "You have no idea what you're in for."

"Can't wait to find out." Roier kissed him again, harder this time, with teeth and the promise of future games.

Outside the nest, the island continued on. Inside, they had everything they needed.

Each other. Safety. Home.

And the promise of next month's hunt already simmering between them, dark and delicious and theirs alone.

 

They stayed in the nest for another hour before Cellbit's restlessness got the better of him. The healing salve had done its job well; while he was still sore and covered in slowly fading embroidery, he could move without too much discomfort.

"We should probably head back," Roier said reluctantly, watching Cellbit test his mobility by stretching carefully. "Richas is going to be back from Pac's place this afternoon, and I'd rather not explain why you look like you got in a fight with a very attractive thornbush."

"A thornbush?" Cellbit laughed, wincing when it pulled at the scratches on his chest. "Is that what we're calling you now?"

"Would you prefer 'devastatingly handsome spider who definitely won the hunt'?"

"I prefer 'smug bastard who rigged the coin.'" But Cellbit was smiling as he said it, pulling on his ruined pants with a grimace. His shirt was a lost cause, torn beyond repair and probably somewhere in the river by now. "I'm going to have to sneak back into the castle shirtless."

"I'll give you my hoodie." Roier stripped off his Spider-Man hoodie and handed it over. "There. Now you just look like you borrowed my clothes. Very normal. Very innocent."

The hoodie swallowed Cellbit whole, hanging off his smaller frame like a dress. He had to roll the sleeves up three times just to free his hands. "I look ridiculous."

"You look adorable." Roier was grinning at him, all eight eyes open and sparkling with amusement. "Like a little kitten who got into his owner's closet."

"I'm going to bite you."

"Promise?"

Cellbit tried to look stern and failed miserably, dissolving into laughter that made his ribs ache. "You're impossible."

"You married me," Roier pointed out again, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

They made their way back through the forest slowly, Roier keeping pace with Cellbit's more cautious movements. In daylight, Cellbit could see just how thorough Roier's preparations had been. There were web traps everywhere, each one carefully placed and camouflaged. He counted at least five that he'd somehow avoided during the hunt.

"You really did trap the entire forest," he marveled.

"Just the parts I thought you'd use." Roier pointed out various traps as they passed, explaining his reasoning for each placement. "This one was for if you tried to double back toward the castle. That one was for if you went for the river again. And those three were placed specifically because I know you like to use that game trail."

"You really do know me too well."

"I know you exactly the right amount." Roier slung an arm around Cellbit's shoulders, careful of the wounds. "Which is why next month is going to be interesting. I know your tricks, but you know mine now too."

"Oh, I'm not using your tricks." Cellbit's smile was sharp. "I'm going to come up with entirely new ones."

"I look forward to it."

They reached the castle as the sun was climbing toward noon. The bridge was exactly as Cellbit had left it, and for a moment he could almost see himself from last night, vaulting over the railing in his desperation to run.

"Worth it?" Roier asked softly, like he could read Cellbit's thoughts.

"Every second." Cellbit turned to face his husband properly, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. "Thank you for giving me this. For knowing what I needed even when I didn't."

"Always." Roier leaned down to kiss him, sweet and lingering. "Now let's get you cleaned up properly before Richas gets home. I don't think 'Papa went feral in the woods' is an explanation our son needs to hear."

"Probably not yet" Cellbit agreed, laughing.

They made their way inside, Roier supporting Cellbit up the stairs to their bedroom. The castle was quiet, peaceful in the late morning light. Their home. Their sanctuary.

Roier drew a bath, adding salts and oils that would help with the remaining aches. He helped Cellbit strip off the borrowed hoodie and ruined pants, then guided him into the water with gentle hands.

"Stay," Cellbit said, catching Roier's wrist before he could leave. "Please."

"Always," Roier said again, and stripped down to join him.

They soaked together, Cellbit leaning back against Roier's chest while his husband's hands moved over him in soothing strokes. The water was hot enough to sting, exactly how Cellbit liked it, and slowly his muscles began to unknot.

"I love you," Cellbit said quietly. "I know I don't say it enough, but I do. So much."

"I know." Roier pressed a kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears. "I love you too. Always have, always will."

They stayed in the bath until the water started to cool, then reluctantly dragged themselves out. Roier had clean clothes laid out for both of them, soft and comfortable things that wouldn't irritate Cellbit's healing wounds.

By the time Richarlyson came home that afternoon, bouncing through the door with stories about his time with Pac, Cellbit was curled up on the couch with a book and Roier was in the kitchen pretending to make dinner.

Their son took one look at Cellbit's visible injuries, the fading embroidery on his skin, and gave them both a knowing look that was far too old for his age.

"You two had your anniversary hunt, didn't you?" a sign popped up between them, block letters somehow sounding disapointed.

Cellbit and Roier exchanged guilty looks.

"Maybe," Roier admitted.disappointed

Richas sighed, sounding exactly like Pac in that moment. "Just tell me Papa won."

"I lasted almost four hours," Cellbit said proudly.

"So Pai won." Richas shook his head, but he was smiling. "You two are so weird."

"You love us anyway," Roier said, ruffling their son's Mooshroom hat as he passed.

"Yeah, yeah." But Richas was still chittering excitedly as he settled on the couch next to Cellbit, carefully avoiding his injuries. "Tell me about it? The parts that aren't gross, I mean."

So Cellbit did, leaving out the more intimate details but sharing the hunt itself. The traps, the chase, the constant back and forth between them. Richas listened with rapt attention, asking questions about strategy and trap placement.

"Next time I want to help Pai set up," he declared when Cellbit finished. "I have ideas."

"Absolutely not," Cellbit said immediately, even as Roier laughed.

"We'll see," Roier said, winking at their son. "We'll see."

As the afternoon faded into evening, Cellbit found himself watching his family with a sense of deep contentment. His husband in the kitchen, actually cooking this time, humming some pop song under his breath. His son curled up against his side, rambling about his adventures with Pac.

This was everything he'd never thought he'd have. Love, family, home. Safety.

And in a month, he'd get to chase Roier through the forest and make his husband remember exactly why Cellbit had been feared once upon a time.