Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What happens to a man after the first million cycles of futile resistance towards his tragic destiny? According to the calculations of the simulator, not much should have deviated from usual. 

He will suffer the heart-wrenching and unfathomable pain of loss again and again. He will alter major events and subjects with his choices. He will inevitably make the same mistakes. Some decisions will continue to be destructive enough for myself to have to interfere: complete the flame-chase journey for subject ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ to properly reset. All of which he is unaware of until the near end of a cycle. 

However, a small bug in NeiKos49’s code began to show as early as cycle #108,643. Soon after subject ‘Phainon’ is forced to bury his beloved Aedes Elysiae, he immediately gains awareness that the true Era Nova will never occur in that lifetime. Additionally through an unknown mechanism, he gains access to subject ‘Khaslana’ and its memories through the occasional idle glitch or dream. 

Starting cycle #1,000,001, this bug became a core feature of NeiKos49. Surpassing a mere glitch or dream to become a fully conscious awareness in most cycles (an exception every few thousand iterations or so). The effects on subject ‘Phainon’ due to this bug have made my observations infinitely more amusing.

Some cycles, the weight is too much to bear for his fragile heart: he isolates, completes his overarching task without truly living as subject ‘Phainon’, and “resets” even before reaching the Vortex of Genesis. Others, his hatred burns so fiercely that when he makes it to the final scene, he gives me an earful and a half about his displeasure towards me and willingness to push forth. He has even attempted to kill me on occasion, but soon found out that is not possible through his various means. 

During cycle #1,111,111, another interesting development occurred. As if he had another awakening that he, within the confines of the simulator, has complete free will. An excerpt of our conversation proceeded as such:

“If the outcome is inevitable, then why not silence your searing rage and embrace your fate with dignity?”

“Do you really care about the answer when you ask me every time?” 

“...”

“Let me rephrase since you’ve suddenly decided to be mute,” Phainon bites, “why do you think I still keep going?”

“Based on the facts that you have no other choice and on your prior answers, I still think you seek vengeance from the very first cycle.” 

“Haha,” an extremely bitter laugh, “That’s your perception of me after all these centuries of endless cycles.” Stated, not a question.

“Am I wrong?”

“When you phrase it like that, you make it sound as though my only motivation is hatred for all the wrong that has occurred in my lives. While I’m driven by my fury, I’m not fueled by the emotions you wish to inflict on me. What carries me is passion. For my youth in Aedes Elysiae and the lingering scent of wheat. For my time in the Grove and Okhema where I learned how to become a better Deliverer. For my companions who I’ve gotten to know deeply: those who bear the flamechase journey each and every cycle, no matter which demise befalls them.”

“Vengeance is a passionate emotion in itself: equally fueled by hatred and the desire to destroy. It is not different for you, especially considering your fate.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lycurgus. But, I guess I cannot fault you for what you’ve lacked all your life. I endure because I love. Even when the final cycle occurs, be it millions or billions more from now, my answer in essence will always be that simple.”

How naive, I first thought when Phainon declared such. His journey has led him down a path that is nothing but endless suffering: a breeding ground for humanity’s darkest feelings to emerge and fester. And the most interest he has shown previously is with one particular subject, who I don’t think I need to name explicitly; he had yet to brave any path outlined by Mnestia beyond mere platonic interactions.

Once cycle  #1,111,112 passed its typical starting point, I suppose Phainon wanted to prove any prior unspoken notion of such love. However, the way in which he decided to do so is… intriguing. At best. In various occurrences (all mostly separate), he has embarked on a quest to “romance” (quite the loose word in context) most of his closest companions. 

This is where you, dear onlooker, finally come into play.

Become a nymph on the wall, witnessing his romantic endeavours from the best seat in the house, as the nameless hero who has yet to commence their own destiny, and whose existence has no matter in these kinds of affairs.

Though I must warn, viewer discretion is advised due to some of the intimate settings Phainon has decided to entangle himself in. 

Chapter Text

It is currently the Month of Freedom, Light Calendar Year 49XX, Cycle 1,200,XXX.

On this particular day, Phainon is just… so, so, so bored. The kind of boredom he has rarely felt since his childhood in Aedes Elysiae. There is quite literally nothing on his schedule (he blew through his few tasks yesterday) other than his bidaily baths. 

He has so much spare time, in fact, that he can scroll through his teleslate whilst in bed for over a quint without interruption. Surely the World Wound Web could give him ideas on what else to do other than converse, spar, or appraise. 

Then a long awaited notification passes his screen.

Phainon opens a “private” browser for that one blog secretly penned by a longtime companion of his. His heart leaps with joy as there is finally a new writing, rather than a cute chimera or flower post. The last one still has him quite tickled - a work clearly inspired by Mydei and his’ very public encounters. Phainon wonders who’s the inspiration for this work. Especially for something as steamily titled: “Divine Lovers in the Past, Unrealized in the Present”.

But as he traverses the passage, Phainon’s eagerness transitions into horror. Castorice - yes, that sweet, quiet woman behind this- must truly wish to succumb to her permanent role as Death earlier than expected. 

While most readers may assume this work is about Cerces and Mnestia (which is already out there considering it's romanticizing THE TITANS), Phainon knows it’s about a current demigod and the next bearer of Reason’s coreflame. The exchange of near flirtatious insults. The shade. The unintentional compliments when in discussion with others. It reads like Lady Aglaea and Professor Anaxa to the letter. Either one would strike Castorice down if they read this. Or maybe just Anaxa; Aglaea definitely already knows, but fortunately seems to find things like this amusing enough to not interfere. 

Perhaps Phainon seeks his own premature demise as well; the thought he just had would make any other rational person gasp. But over time, he has surely lost enough sanity and sensibility to indulge an impulsive thought here and there. 

In previous cycles, once Phainon’s heart becomes too attached to a certain someone again, he pursues someone different. Anaxa has been one of his more frequented pursuits: any interaction guaranteed to have no true strings attached. 

Aglaea, on the other hand, is a much, much more rare venture. Not because there’s anything wrong with her - she's undeniably the most beautiful woman in all of Amphoreus and literally the demigod of Romance -  but due to their typical type of bond. Curiosity and sympathy got the best of Phainon in one cycle long ago. The resulting pleasure was so mind-breaking that he now has to “remind” himself of it every few ten-thousand cycles. Just to make sure the memories are accurate. 

But never has he thought to combine experiences. Particularly with these two fuses ready to explode on each other.

Even after innumerable interactions with Aglaea and Anaxa, Phainon still hasn’t fully figured out why they act like older divorcees around each other. “Ideological differences” his ass! There has to be something beyond that since they seem far too familiar with each other - every lifetime, no less. Maybe this could finally be the cycle where he gets anything more than a hint. 

Yes, this will be the quest Phainon will embark on today! For science! For curiosity! Or whatever cause can justify just how dumb this idea is! 

Now, how does he go about this…

The force of Phainon’s heart thundering may kill him long before anything or anyone else gets the chance to. In part due to excitement; in part due to remembering that his plan, at best, is foolishly bold. 

Of course, he chose the least suspicious location: the Upper Level (Hero’s) Bath. While distrusting of Okhema, Phainon knows Anaxa likes secluded and quiet areas for any intimate endeavors. Aglaea is much easier to work with in this regard: not due to location, but due to her pastime of entertaining guests mid-bath.

Since he’s in charge of arrangements, Phainon confirmed absolute privacy and refreshments (hot teas for Aglaea and himself, ‘Fizzy Wasabi Vinegar’ for Anaxa, plain water, salt-infused water, small bites) for this unusual booking. Oh, the look on the attendants’ faces were priceless when he finally told them who the other planned guests were.

The Deliverer told Aglaea to arrive at First Quint of Parting Hour for a bath together, leaving the option to come with bathing garments ambiguous. He messaged Anaxa to arrive before the Second Quint, leaving the purpose of their bath completely unnamed. Obviously, Phainon didn’t tell either of them that they would be sharing his time: he’s far too curious about their raw reactions. 

After giving Aglaea some presumed moments of tranquility, Phainon takes a deep breath and makes his way up. With hands that are definitely not shaky in the slightest, he undoes the robe and properly hangs it. Nudity is quite the minor spectacle across Amphoreus, so he doesn’t mind baring himself in this private setting. He goes to dip into the left side of the bath area, where Aglaea rests beside a modified triclinium closest to the main walkway. Not quite knowing how much space to give her, Phainon sits by the wall. 

Unfortunately, this viewpoint doesn’t help the fluttering in his stomach. The level of the water causes the (subjectively) second best bust of Amphoreus to peek out just a little.

By the time Phainon remembers to lift his gaze, Aglaea has directed her unfocused one towards him. Oops. Attempting to ignore the heat rising to his face, he starts a conversation.

“Lady Aglaea, I’m so glad we could meet up this evening! It’s been a while since we’ve hung out.” The demigod’s delighted expression doesn’t quell the Deliverer’s apprehension. Not one bit. 

“It has been quite some time indeed, Phainon. You can forgo my title, as I have done so with yours. We are simply companions here, yes?” Blinking dumbly, the snow-haired man simply nods. “As such, I will let you know upfront that I sense your nervousness. What troubles you?” 

Although the words sound akin to genuine concern, the glint in hazy green irises say otherwise. Phainon deeply respects the woman so he won’t make any comparisons, but at times, her chilling visage does cause a true tremble throughout him. And he can’t even lie! She somehow always knows when he does. The Deliverer chooses his words carefully.

“Thank you for asking, but I promise it’s not anything major. I’m just a little tense.” 

“Because you typically share your baths with Mydei and no one else?” That almost sounds like a tease coming from her. His face burns again.

“Well- uhm- you could say that-”

“Or is it because you are awaiting our third guest?”  Whatever excuse Phainon tried to make turns into a series of sputters, choking on nothing else but shock. Of course Aglaea would know. Why wouldn’t she? The demigod seems uncharacteristically cheerful as she waits for the Deliverer to collect himself.

“Haha! I thought I was being clever,” Phainon idiotically laughs his fear off. 

“As we grow closer, I scarcely need my threads to see through you, Phainon. Nothing to do with your cleverness; I simply have an advantage.” The snow-haired man deflates a little with a sigh.

“Should I alter our arrangements, then?”

“If I were not in the mood to entertain you, I would have put an end to this a few quints ago. How about we enjoy some tea while it’s fresh?” A question with finality to it. 

“That sounds agreeable.” He didn’t really have the option to disagree.

“Do I need to cover myself at all?” Not trying to make any more of a fool himself, Phainon does his best to keep his voice steady.

“Ofcoursenot!” Too quick. Aglaea covers her mouth politely but the man already knows she's laughing at him. Oh well, this is probably the best reaction he could’ve gotten from her; he can handle a little humiliation in return.

The demigod is the first to rise. By the Titans, Aglaea is as fine as Phainon vaguely remembers. Her breasts are full and heavy, somehow hanging above her last set of ribs. Her hips are the type only found in women who are some years beyond both mental and physical maturity. When she turns, her supple buttocks rock gently against the slight ripples of muscle and age in her hamstrings. And - oh, great, he’s already getting hard. 

Phainon decides to stand before he’s fully erect just from eyeing. It’s not like Aglaea can directly see him anyway; she probably sensed his simmering arousal the moment he walked in. Still, he grabs a spare decorative towel on the triclinium to cover himself as he sits on the further end. Reluctantly, he turns his gaze to the woman already sipping on her tea. Once she notices, she winks at him.

“You can come closer; I won't bite.” Phainon quickly finds interest in his own cup and doesn’t move. A laugh audibly spills from Aglaea this time around. At least she’s getting a kick out of this. 

The atmosphere was not as awkward as Phainon anticipated. They sip on their teas during a gentle pause of silence. Soon, they manage to complete the typical round of ‘catching up’ before moving onto an actual conversation. The light air would dissipate as soon as footsteps mark their last guest’s arrival.

“What is that woman doing here?” The first words to leave Anaxa’s mouth. Phainon whips his head back to Aglaea, whose pleasant expression has shifted into neutrality. Though, amusement is still faint in her eyes.

“Anaxagoras. It has been a long while since I have spoken to you in person. I am just as shocked to sense your presence, as you are to see me.” A chill runs through Phainon despite the warm water licking his legs. Once the sound of his heart pounding becomes too loud amidst the thick silence, he accepts his fate with open arms.

“Anaxa! I’m glad you could j-”

“Professor A-na-xa-go-ras, to you.” The lightly robed man crosses his arms as he turns towards Phainon. A constant tap of his foot indicates he’s far less enthused about this arrangement. 

“But I’m no longer your student?”

“You might as well be; you’ve put yourself into a position where you need to explain. Now. I won’t repeat myself.” He glances at Aglaea for aid but she quickly closes her eyes with a hum. This really was a dumb idea. Phainon sighs.

“Let me do us all a favor by evoking pathos upfront.” Phainon pulls out his true secret weapons: the puppy eyes and a sincere hand over his chest. “It’s very clear that you two don’t get along, and I have reason to suspect the truth of the matter goes beyond ideology. That being said, my goal is not to dig into your history. Instead, I wish to reconcile you guys through an agreeable medium, if it helps to mend your rift even slightly. I apologize for deceiving you, Prof Anaxa-”

“Anaxagoras.”

“-but I knew you wouldn’t have agreed if I had told you my plan outright.” He nearly pouts. “I hope I have not greatly offended you.” Slight conflict on Anaxa’s face means this is not an immediate lost cause. However, Phainon keeps his remorseful look up just in case. The slender man soon unlocks his arms, using a freed hand to pinch his brow/eyepatch.

“I don’t recall ever teaching you pathos through the means of facial and bodily manipulation.” The hand drops as he looks dead at Phainon. “That acting must be a borrowed trait from that witch next to you. –At least your words still have warmth behind them.”

To Phainon’s surprise, Anaxa strolls over to the area where the other set of robes hang. He continues to speak as he strips.

“You’ve stated that you have reason to suspect our relation is more complex than what is obvious. Go on, then.” Phainon barely gets to marvel over Anaxa’s form (again) as the man walks by his end. A hand motion signals him to scoot. He does so without much thought, moving close to the center to give his companions equal space. Then he quickly realizes what physical position he just put himself in. Another breath is heaved as Anaxa looks at him expectantly, drink being parted from hand.

“If I’m being frank, my rationale is not truly based on logic nor hard evidence.”

“Clearly.”

“It’s just - the way you interact with each other. You two act like you’re divorced or something!” It slips before he could think about a proper way to phrase it. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s already too late. 

Phainon could nearly hear the “...” in the air. Mildly terrified, he looks straight ahead. Yet the weight of two stares burn angrily on his cheeks.

His bottom nearly flies from his seat as an icy hand touches his shoulder. It feels as though his face is pulled by threads to turn to the culprit.

“Dear, I think you have been influenced by all the nonsense you have read recently," she says slowly. Thanatos, answer Phainon’s unspoken pleas! Choking on bath water can’t be too painful…

“I disagree.” Anaxa interjects, causing Phainon to turn his head. “I believe all that sparring must have knocked out his ability to be rational.” Anaxa is… also moving closer? A less icy, but still cold, hand lands on the exposed part of his leg. 

“The cause was not up for argument.” 

“You claim to know me well but not expect a debate? Perhaps it truly has been too long since our last meeting. I might have to thank the Titans for such a blessing.” 

“You should thank the Titans that I still let you look upon me in the first place.” 

“Uhm hey, I’m still here-” Phainon meekly interrupts.

“Quiet, Phainon.” Calmly commanded by the duo. His lips immediately zip. A chill begins to caress his ear, though it is spoken loud enough for both men to hear.

“Since you brought attention to yourself, I wish to ask: are you certain that you had no intent of learning the history behind Anaxagoras and myself tonight?” 

“There is a common saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’. Your sheer audacity has you toeing the line of death,” Anaxa follows up. Although they have yet to bed each other in this life, the sage’s fingertips traces Phainon’s leg in the same manner that always riles him up. For some reason, he feels like he’s walked himself into his own trap. 

…That’s exactly what he has done, hasn’t he? 

“I’m starting to feel like you two are in cahoots, heh.” Aglaea’s thumb rubs distractingly on his shoulder.

“Answer her question directly, Phainon.” 

“Can I plead Talanton’s rule of silence?”

“I fear that will only worsen your situation. Because if you have nothing more to say, then we must make our own assumptions.” The demigod’s fingertips slide up to feel his collarbone and neck. “Imagine our perspective: a longtime companion invites you to a secluded bath during the Hour where most people begin to return home.”

“But without your knowledge, he also invites someone that you wished stayed in the past. In an effort to minimize early conflict, he tells you to arrive last while he tells the other to arrive first. He even goes out of way to order specialties to appeal to both parties. All which leaves himself wide open.” A tattooed hand travels further up, under the makeshift modesty towel. His eyes hone in on the area despite the fact he’s receiving a tag-team scolding people dream of.

“During the time where the host has centered himself, a certain follower of Romance searches through her teleslate for a number collecting cobwebs. Her message is sent without issue since she only reaches out when there is a common goal that can be agreed upon.”

“I prefer to say common battle; our goals will never align. The core reason for disliking each other so strongly is truly that simplistic, and our mutual disregard dates back sooner than you may think. However, rumors and speculation are much more interesting than bare facts to the youth, are they not?”

“We will not blame you for being curious. It is natural that someone such as yourself find interest in their older or guiding peers’ less discussed matters. The urge to act on your curiosity in such a manner, however, will not be as easily forgiven. Has no one ever taught you that you should use caution when throwing yourself into long-standing affairs?” 

“You truly are a man cursed by Mnestia, Phainon. I mean so in every way possible. It is a good thing, then, that desire can root from both Reason and Romance. Now that we have unraveled your intentions, make your choice in which stem you wish to pull from. There will be no hard feelings from the unchosen party - such has already been agreed upon. —I will plainly state that you don’t have to choose either of us if we have misread your cues.”

Phainon, for once, is rendered absolutely speechless. He had not envisioned his night ending up anything like this. 

He doesn’t quite know what he was expecting. To be honest, he didn't think he'd actually succeed. Maybe Phainon should really learn to think more before he acts sometimes, especially after all these cycles. Alas, such a trait is an undeniable part of his charm, isn’t it? So, of course, he speaks without thinking too deeply, taking a glance at both figures as he asks:

“Why do I have to choose if I’m equally interested in both of you?” Their hands freeze. Was that the worst answer choice?

…

“Every time I speak to you at length, something bold comes out of that smart mouth of yours.”

“…Is that no?” Aglaea presses herself into Phainon; her coldness somehow still burns his bare flesh. 

“Not quite. Are you willing to act on your offer to be an ‘agreeable medium’ for the great cause of lessening our rift then?” How dare she use his phrasing against him! Still, Phainon’s re-hardening cock throbs at the thought. He’s never been in the center - or in a threesome at all- but it sounds like the best of both worlds to him. He’ll allow it just for this one cycle (that’s the exact thing he told himself before his first time with Aglaea and look where that got him). 

“I’m fine with that.” 

“Is this arrangement agreeable to you, Anaxagoras?”

“Is this not what we predicted?” HOW MANY STEPS WERE THEY AHEAD OF HIM? 

“Then, do we have permission to continue, Phainon?  All you have to do now is say yes or no whenever prompted.” Something tingles in familiarity at the gentle command.

“Yes,” he decides not to hold any sort of defiance for once. 

No more words are exchanged as two sets of hands grasp at him, more emboldened. His chin is tilted to share a heated exchange of kissing with Aglaea; Anaxa snatches off the towel that already failed to restrain his cock. Battling two sources of stimulation, Phainon’s fried brain tries to figure out what to do with his eyes and hands.

He decides to cast his gaze downward once he’s freed from Aglaea’s sweet lips, favoring to watch the sage’s softer color palette move down from the triclinium. When on his knees, Anaxa is an even prettier sight. 

Anaxa must’ve untied his hair at some point, letting it flow past his shoulders. Phainon loosely cards a hand through it, which the scholar doesn’t acknowledge. The stray pieces in the front frames his pale face beautifully; his skin glowing like (the now foreign concept of) the moon. Cyan irises with joy-tinted pupils trail down the rest of his back, containing a slight wince at the spine that juts out a little too much. Fortunately, the rest of Anaxa’s slender frame is more filled: though his view now is limited, Phainon has seen the man’s nude form enough to draw that conclusion. His longing gaze is interrupted as cold fingers encase his erection.

He waits patiently as Anaxa inspects him (he knows the scholar is measuring if its worth the effort). Seemingly satisfied, the sage suddenly swallows close to his entire length in one go. Since Phainon had yet to be defiled by another in this lifetime, his body is still quite sensitive. A loud, caught-off-guard moan echoes throughout the bath area. The noise doesn’t deter Anaxa at all, who begins to blow and stroke him like his life depends on it. Knowing how Aglaea operates behind closed doors, it probably does.

Speaking of said woman, she’s been touching all over him in the meantime. In a careful yet clearly testing manner. Gentle squeezes over his throat and his  pulse points. Golden nails lightly scratching his back. A light circling before a slow pinch of his nipples that sends his blood coarsing south. No complaints from Phainon in order to pass her unspoken test. 

With his free hand, he tries to return some of the action. Trying to remember how soft her skin through touch alone. Even aiming to earn a quiet moan or two from Aglaea. He gets in a few squeezes and rolls of her closest breast and hardened nipple. The demigod seems to tolerate his exploration for a moment, before her hand intertwines his to stop him. She squeezes it and lets go. Then she turns to Anaxa.

“Should we all not be on the seating together?”

“If you wanted to move, woman, you could just say so,” the sage replies after a loud ‘fwop’ from releasing Phainon from his mouth. 

Having “no” say, the casual warrior body is moved to lie in a horizontal position by the pair. Anaxa resettles between his legs, continue to work at him as if there was no interruption. 

Aglaea settles by his head, spreading her legs with no hesitation. Phainon wishes he could see more from this angle, but he won’t dare ruin his chance to eat a glistening pussy. He locks his arms delicately around her legs and tilts his head back more. His tongue swipes a curious first test. Of course, she has a human taste to her, but there’s something lingering that makes him want to dive in until he drowns. 

With haste, he recalls how to pleasure Aglaea the way that she likes. In turn, she rewards him with more touches and a breathy sound here and there. 

For a few minutes, all that can be heard is the slick sound of intimate areas being stimulated and the moans of pleasure (much louder from Phainon than the at-odds-duo). The snow-haired man feels hotter and hotter inside as reaches climax. As expected, he is the first to finish out of all three, not even warning Anaxa as he shoots his volcanic load down his throat. He knows better than to do so. He also knows better to think his role a middle-man is done.

The pair seem kind enough to let him catch his breath for a few seconds. Though that includes Aglaea closing her legs and Anaxa letting his cock go again, both wound Phainon deeply (not really, he’s just being dramatic).

“Time for our exchange; I hope you took notes,” Anaxa suddenly says into his ear. Wait when did he get by there?!

Phainon must’ve closed his eyes for a little as he was cooling down. The demigod and sage have fully switched positions. However, they both mirror each other: hovering menacingly over the central figure in kneeling stances. Before he could even question anything, his hefty frame is flipped like a skewer into a table-top position. Seriously, how do these two keep maneuvering him so easily when he probably weighs more than both of them combined (an exaggeration, but his point still stands)?! 

The thought leaves quickly as a rush of either fear or excitement (they feel similar at this point) shoots through the Deliverer: Aglaea grinds against him. If this is anything like previous lifetimes, he’s in deep trouble.

“Woman,” Anaxa starts, “surely you don’t intend to penetrate Phainon.”

“Does the concept make you envious?” Envious?

“I thought this practice was forbidden in Okhema, amongst other places.”

“In the city where I reside? Hilarious. Although, some cities that we have hidden in have opened up enough to use this practice as a punishment. I have heard that variety of sentencing has helped officers meet their quotas far sooner.” Wait, there was so much going on in that sentence. Phainon has no idea what to hone in on first, especially with his sex-scrambled heads. 

“Hold on-” Titans his voice already sounds ran through and he hasn’t even taken the full brunt of sex yet. “Cities you’ve hidden in?” 

Desire can root from both Reason and Romance… HE KNEW IT!

“Does that mean you two used to - MMPH??”  The tip of a warm cock is shoved into his mouth. Phainon accepts, but not without guilting with his puppy eyes, blinking them to be extra wet. It seems to stir no sympathy from Anaxa this time. 

“Silence is golden, Phainon” one blasphemer scolds, though, a light smile grace his aged features. Phainon hears Aglaea chuckling from behind him. 

“Remember, Deliverer, you are now the only other person alive to know of my acts,” the other blasphemer threatens, not needing to finish her sentence. He whines around Anaxa’s erection. Most horrid fates are still much more desirable than being in Aglaea’s fury for even a second. Phainon isn't dumb enough to fuck around and find out, in any lifetime for that matter. 

“Good,” she replies chillingly to his otherwise silence, hand near petting close to his backside. “With your vow of silence confirmed, are you ready for me, dear?” Knowing the Romance demigod works miracles of her own, he simply gives her a shaky thumbs up. “Understood.”

While she’s preparing (not in the conventional sense), Phainon starts slowly bobbing his head on Anaxa’s cock. He knows the sage likes a good show, utilizing his tongue and noisiness to please. A tight grip is nestled into his hair, though he unfortunately can’t feel it much due to the fluffy volume. It’s just enough to keep his head steady, eagerly letting himself be used.

As the base of Anaxa’s length hits the back of Phainon’s throat, Aglaea sheathes easily into him with enough strength to nearly topple him. The dizzying pleasure from both ends would’ve been enough to make him finish if he hadn’t already done so once. Instead, a loud groan of both content and complaint is muffled in between their bodies. The pair gives him the whole of twelve seconds before resuming their individually brutal paces.

Phainon has felt like a lot of things, but never like a damn saw. Forwards: Anaxa’s erection shoved deeper into his mouth. Backwards: woven strap sliding into him until his ass slaps Aglaea's hips. Repeat until all his points are worn down to mush. He will probably be bruised for weeks to come. Yet he truly has no regrets.

He’s in near bliss as oxygen feels more sacred. As actual tears prick his eyes. As his holes are stretched and filled to the point of madness. His pleasure builds up again, straining in his cock that won’t get touched again any time soon. Phainon does his best to hold out until his companions also reach their first climax.

The wait for one wouldn’t be long. Phainon looks up just in time to catch Anaxa’s features contort beautifully as his mouth parts a silent moan. To his disappointment, the sage pries his mouth off in order to shoot little ropes onto his face. A rarely given kiss is planted on his sweaty forehead once Anaxa comes down enough. He must’ve done a good job.

He would bask in the silent praise for moment, but the continuous pounding of his bottom recaptures his attention. Presumably sensing Anaxa’s climax, Aglaea shifts her angle. Now hitting that one bundle of nerves in Phainon with accuracy that would intimidate the most precise scholars. Being freed from one end, the man leans forward to release his cries of pleasure into Anaxa’s legs. Somehow the makes the pleasure worse, even more intense and unescapable.

For a moment, Phainon thinks he might not make it to Aglaea’s orgasm. Within that same moment, fortuitously, the demigod’s pace starts to stutter and lag in between thrusts. A longer moan comes from the woman as she buries into Phainon with twitching legs. Perhaps his deliriousness is starting to get him; he almost feels like he’s been creamed inside of, especially as she pulls away with some resistance.

The sensation is enough to draw a weaker second climax from him, spend falling to who knows where. One blink. Two. The world starts to fade around him. But his soul is deeply satiated. He will definitely have to try this again in another few thousands cycles, just to remind himself of this feeling.

When Phainon comes to, he realizes he’s back in bed. Oddly similar to the position he was in earlier in the day.

The only thing stopping him from thinking that was an extremely odd erotic dream is the fact he is wearing brand new night clothes. Must be courtesy of Aglaea. He will make sure to get something nice for her, and Anaxa, early in the day tomorrow to avoid any speculation.

At present, he pats around to find his teleslate. There are messages from two different people.

Anaxa: I cannot believe you, did you not consider what would happen to me if you passed out too quickly?! Otherwise, message me as soon as you wake. I will not hesitate to take you to Hyacine’s clinic or personally bring over any replenishers, if needed.

Aglaea: Thank you for always adding something of interest to my long days. I truly enjoyed catching up with unexpected guests, and would not mind do so again in the far future. Please message me when you rise so I can confirm you are in good condition and are not in need of recovery items. Additionally, make sure to keep our little secret to yourself. *Aglaea in bath emoticon*

Already exhausted again just from reading the texts, he sends the same “I’m all good. Just sore. No need to worry!" to both before flopping back on bed. Well, at least he won’t be bored for a good while after today. 

Chapter Text

It is currently the Month of Balance, Light Calendar Year 49XX, Cycle #1,112,XXX.

How many times can one romance the same person in a dating game before they tire of the same choice? If one were to ask Phainon, his answer would be cheerfully simple: “Never!” 

In Cycle #1,111,112, Phainon finally decided to fully light Mnestia’s spark under a certain Kremnoan and himself (even if the true depth was never explicitly stated). And hasn’t stopped since. He doesn’t know how he managed all those other lifetimes without this new level of companionship. Probably due to the continuously horrendous state of his mental condition, but he won’t dive into that during a good mood.

Minus his overarching goal of avenging his beloved hometown and all of Amphoreus, building his companionship with Mydeimos is one of the few things Phainon looks forward to each cycle. 

The initial stages where they were “opposed”. The sense of rivalry with a budding friendship over time. The later stages of visits during Parting and Curtain Fall Hours, tormenting each other in ways unseen by the public eye. The final stages where neither will confirm nor deny what they are, instead, only promising something in the next life. Unfortunately, Phainon would be the only one who could actually follow through; Mydei, even inconsistently coded within the same cycle at times, will never directly remember the past life.

Good mood, Phainon!

Suffice to say, there is something near addicting that has drawn him to Mydeimos for over a thousand cycles. The word is on the tip of his tongue every time. It shows in Mydei’s actions. And, shamelessly, Phainon is well aware that the word is on every poor bystander’s mind when they see one or both men. Like one is just compelled to reference the other, even if a topic doesn’t relate. 

So, in the midst of mid-cycle boredom, Phainon has decided to declare such once and for all! Though, of course, never in a sentimental way - it would draw away from whatever unlabelled thing they have going on. With Mydei, “something that’s already shown need not be stated” - or however he’d phrase it. 

It’s not like anyone else will remember but Phainon …unless this happens to be the one miracle cycle - which will be very unfortunate, to say the least. Why? Because his boyish and admittedly stupid plan will certainly be the laugh of the century; something that he could never live down even in the Era Nova. 

During the Fifth Quint of Lucid Hour in this month, a Kremnoan warrior can be found sitting with a small group of children, adults, and a curious chimera in the Garden of Life. Here, Mydei acts upon one of his titles of honor: Kremnos Archaic Language Mentor. Golden fingertips run across etched words; a deep voice perfectly enunciates each syllable, then translates and explains grammatics. His crowd listens intently. Whether it’s to use the language as a fun “secret” code, or to learn it out of genuine interest, Mydeimos still teaches with sincerity no matter the reason. 

Phainon watches longingly from afar, surprised he hasn’t been caught yet. Though, that works in his favor. He circles around the perimeter. As he approaches, he puts a finger on his lips to signal the crowd not to show any reaction. He bends down as quietly as possible, then slaps his bare hands onto sun-warmed shoulders. 

“What do you want, Deliverer ?” While his voice is level and his shoulders unmoved, Phainon knows Mydei’s startled by the way he states the title. The snow-haired man’s smile only grows, feigning interest in writing he secretly already knows how to read. 

“I heard you were teaching again, Mydei.” A long finger points to a word. A golden gaze follows. “What does that say?” Cyan eyes twinkle as a lowly uttered “HKS” comes from the warrior. 

“You should shut up and sit down like everyone else if you would like to know.” The rudeness is only directed towards Phainon. 

“Aw, but you know I can’t hang around for long. Won’t you make an exception for your old comrade?” Most people wouldn’t use irritation as a means of flirtation, but this is the backbone of their companionship. Always a tactic that works suspiciously well with Mydei. 

“No.” 

“Please~” He moves to crouch in front of Mydei, far closer than the rest of the crowd. Which puts him in position to segway if the Kremnoan goes along with his plan. Phainon keeps his face puppy-like despite the sign of success: a groan from the gorgeous man.

“I will translate the phrase in full so that the word is not ambiguous. ‘Ah, how I long for the sanguine honey brew.’ The word you pointed out has context-reliant definitions. ‘Want’ is the most common translation but the word itself carries a stronger meaning, which is why I used the term ‘long’.”

“May I ask what the other interpretations are?” Mydei glares at him for a moment. As if he knows he’s being set up. But how could Phainon know the different meanings if he has yet to be taught the ancient script?  Said man blinks innocently at the warrior. Another sigh.

“Desire. Wish. Love-”

“-is what I feel so strongly, Mydei!” Phainon interjects distressed, grabbing Mydei’s left gauntleted hand as his crouching position becomes a kneel. Oh Titans, how he wished he could photograph this moment. Mydei’s feline eyes have shifted into pure owlishness; even his posture indicates his shock. “Oh wait, hold on, I almost forgot something important.”

With gauntlet still awkwardly held up in one hand, Phainon uses his spare to reach into his pants pocket. Perhaps too stunned, Mydei doesn’t move a single muscle to escape his fate as Phainon searches. The snow-haired man clears his throat and looks back up dramatically, hitting the “play” button on his teleslate. 

“O Mydeimos,” he starts in time with the first beat of music. 

“ I cannot hold back any longer! The Hour always part us far too soon in the day! I m-mu, ” he has to stop himself from laughing, “ must wait impatiently to be pummeled by those weighty hands, to see a scowl filled with warmth. I too strongly miss my golden gaze in his absence. I know you feel the same; my heart tells me so. So why must we stay separated, when we can be one from henceforth. What do you say, or act, dearest Mydeimos?” 

By the time he’s done, Phainon can feel his heart beat angrily in his throat and chest. He cannot tell if it is due to excitement or genuine fear (again, indistinguishable). To the point where he struggles to breathe properly. 

Mydeimos' returning gaze is unreadable, yet something heavy swirls in his eyes. His bronze skin gives a much clearer reaction: flushed as red as his markings. Phainon avidly watches his hefty chest rise, then fall. A deafening silence - other than the low-volume music he forgot to turn off - hangs through the garden; a weight of at least a dozen stares burn alongside Kephale’s light. A golden gauntlet is still in a loose grip, giving Mydei the option to have stopped the declaration at any point in time.

Then it’s snatched away as Mydei rises. Oh, this is a glorious angle of the warrior, but Phainon has a suspicion he won’t be able to enjoy it much longer. 

“Phainon.” Titans, his name has only been that scary sounding out of an authority figure’s mouth. “Perhaps in another life, you will live on to be Deliverer.” A crack of gauntlets. “In this present life, I shall personally see the end of it.”

“Does that mean death do us part?”

“Run.” Phainon doesn’t hesitate, springing up with a boisterous laugh as Mydei swings at him. Of course, the man clearly missed on purpose, giving Phainon enough time to draw his sword from his back.

A loud clash echoes throughout Okhema. The pair descend from the Garden via the platform, fight the whole way down and past the viewing area, through the Court of Seasons, and so forth. Whenever they reach an area with easily destructible items, they switch back to an on-foot chase. No words are audibly exchanged the entire duration, for the talking is done when their weapons clash. 

‘Where in Amphoreus did you find such audacity? What. were. you. thinking?’

‘I missed you. - Had to let you know.’

Their spar continues to the openings of Mamoreal Market. As usual, no clear winner is in sight, even as the following crowd cheers on.

“Come on, Phainon! You know best how to woo a Kremnoan!”

“Teach our Deliverer to be more serious, Mydei!”

However, something that is in sight is Aglaea. …Lady Aglaea?! Oh no, they’re hurling right towards her too!

Phainon immediately drops his weapon and tries to slow before they crash. In a series of unfortunate events: it drops, he trips as he breaks his speed, he falls. Gently, he lands into something both cold and soft. …Does this world truly despise him so?

“Phainon.” Oh Titans, have mercy. He uses his body weight to propel himself back up. Neither acknowledge his landing point, which is probably for the best. While some women - or even some foolish men - would dream of this scenario (even if it ended in death), Phainon, firmly viewing this woman with a near parental respect, is absolutely mortified. 

“L-lady Aglaea!” She simply holds up her hand. He stops in his tracks. At least her threads could confirm that WAS NOT the place he wished to land; the jagged ground was far more preferable. Her chilling unfocused gaze then shifts behind him. Where Mydei is surely just as horrified as Phainon is. 

“Mydeimos.” Also lacking his title. 

“L-lady Aglaea.” Her hand comes up again.  

“I need not hear a word from you, Mydei. I thought you knew better than to follow, but I know the weight of fault is not carried on your shoulders.” She looks back towards Phainon’s general direction, menacingly. “Would you like to explain yourself?”

“Nothing I can say will level with the commotion I caused.” Aglaea frowns at him. 

“Do not say what you think I wish to hear. We both know there is no proper rationale. Tell me the order of events.” Phainon sighs sheepishly, putting a hand to the back of his head.

“I might have, uh, interrupted Mydei’s mentoring session with a love proposal. Not a genuine one! I would never disrespect Mnestia in such a way. My method of delivery was clearly comedic.” Aglaea keeps staring. Phainon rambles. 

“Obviously, Mydei was not too happy with my foolery. Our fight started at the Garden of Life and somehow we ended up all the way here. We made sure not to clash indoors!” Her gaze finally turns to somewhere in between the pair. 

“You two realise you have attracted quite the crowd?” Phainon doesn’t dare take the bait to glance. Instead, he hears fading footsteps and conversations: order quickly restored.

“Yes, Lady Aglaea,” they say in unison. They look at each other briefly before redirecting their gazes to the shorter figure.

“And you realise someone, or their property, could have been seriously damaged due to your actions?”

“Yes, Lady Aglaea.”

“Then that is the most important matter aside since no harm fell to anyone or anything.” Her posture relaxes. That’s it? To his shock, she smiles a little before her features return to stone. 

“Your foolery when combined knows no bounds, but I will not even attempt to stop your various duels. The aftermath via the World Wound Web and Word-of-Mouth will suffice as proper recourse. How about you two burn off your rampant energy elsewhere, and out of the public eye?” Phainon blushes at the implication but nods.

“Thank you for your grace, Aglaea,” he says with true gratitude.

“Go, before I change my mind.” The two men thank her again and quickly gather their items. They soon head out of the central area, towards a distant direction. Under her breath, Aglaea sighs, “So ignorantly in love, those youth.” 

The pair’s destination is a high rooftop that watches over central Okhema. Where no one can see; where only few others know of. It is a place they routinely visit during Parting Hour, but their showcase of excess energy has brought them here early. It has everything “companions” might need: a romantic viewpoint, emergency spare clothes, thin blankets on rotation, amphorae full of water or dried snacks, smaller pottery containing oil or salts, the works. 

As soon as one of Mydei’s gauntlets dropped to the ground (one always stays on), Phainon rushes him. They stand with minimal distance, mouths greedily locked. In their defense, they haven’t made out since the prior day: long overdue.

“My… deimos,” Phainon whispers in between kisses. Wrapping an arm to his waist to fully get his attention.

“Mm?”

“Since we were interrupted earlier, do you want to have another competition?”  The haze in golden irises refocus as the man pulls back slightly.

“Now?”

“Mhm~” the Deliverer’s arms fall to Mydei’s (unfortunately) covered ass. Phainon gives it a good squeeze just to let him know the competition is on topic. “Let’s see who can mount the other first! But it only counts if the other is fully bent over~” A puzzled expression crosses Mydei, yet as always, he goes with his whims.

“The reward?”

“Do I even need to say, based on the winner’s position?” According to the warrior’s chuckle, he supposes not. “I’ll even give you a head start,” Phainon states cockily, turning his back to his opponent.

Of course, Phainon doesn’t expect Mydei to play fair. The Kremnoan already knows his weak point: a spot where a joyful sun has settled. He bends to the choker, licking and kissing the marking peeking out between gaps. It turns everything below into putty. Fortunately, he doesn’t fully fall into a compromising position, just bending at the knees. Seeing he won’t budge further, Mydei simply wraps him with the bare arm from behind.

A gold-tipped hand plays at the hem of the v-necked undershirt - both of their more complicated clothes and armor already tossed aside. Another hand joins to run over a fit abdomen.

After Phainon makes a quick hum of consent, his shirt is quickly pulled overhead and thrown with the other garments. The warrior’s bared hand touches appreciatively over the carving of the Deliverer’s muscles.

“Our training has done you well.”

“Your cooking has a lot to do with my form, too.” He doesn’t need to see Mydei’s face to know he flushed at the remark.

“Mm.” The typical response from a man who doesn’t like accepting compliments. 

Once he’s done feeling up Phainon’s pecs and abs, his hands descend. Mydei also presses up against him; a thick erection is clearly felt through  the two layers of fabric (neither wear undergarments if they’re in pants). Phainon’s erection throbs in return. He grinds his ass back even though he plans to win this “competition”. He savors the low groan coming from Mydei, who impatiently tugs the top of his slacks.

“Let me help you,” Phainon turns his head back with a wink. He slides his hands under his companion’s, freeing the inner mechanism. They soon fall with ease. He manages to step out of them without fully bending (his thighs make such a task difficult), blindly tossing them into the growing pile. 

As he does all this, Phainon hears the rustle of fabric behind him. He tries not to let the swirl of excitement overly cloud his mind. Soon, Mydei is pressed back into him, the heat of his bare body sinking into his bones. 

“You are still holding up?”

“Mhm~” Phainon happily hums. 

“Alright.” Phainon hears the sound of spit, but foolishly doesn’t think much of it. Two hands settle back onto his waist. The contrast between cool metal and warm skin near drives him insane. But that sensation becomes a hindsight as something forces its way through his legs.

“Mydei?! O-oh,” The yelp of the man’s name turns into a moan as the spit-slickened dick rubs his inner thighs and the underside of his balls. A small chuckle comes from Mydei, whose palm wraps around Phainon’s drooling cock. Using the pre-spend to coat the strokes into something more comfortable. “Hah- I didn’t think you’d be into the inverse of what we typically do.”

“You have the legs of a feminine warrior. Why would I not be?” Coming from a Kremnoan, Phainon knows Mydei means his thighs are full and strong, even with more delicate framing. He simply laughs at the rare compliment, letting Mydei and himself enjoy this for a few more moments. 

Time stays a concept in moments like these. While their lips are back on each other. As Mydei’s hand strokes him with familiarity. The world stilled except for the slow thrusts and breathy pants. A scary thought emerges: he may just get off like this and submit. No can do! When they part again, Phainon comments.

“Wouldn’t oil make the glide easier? It may be time to collect some.” As he turns his head, Mydei looks at him suspiciously. Perhaps because he didn’t specify who would benefit most from the use of lubrication.

Time for the eyes. Phainon bats his powdery eyelashes, which causes the warrior to sigh. With a sharp mind clearly dulled by sex, the Kremnoan pulls away without any argument.

The taller man watches Mydei (honestly, moreso that muscular ass he’s about to sink into) walk to the nearby set up of supplies. Phainon waits until the second he’s about to stand back up to mirror their prior position. The victorious man settles his aching cock on top of the curve of his rear. Mydei remains frozen underneath him, like he can’t believe he fell for the easiest trick in the book. 

“HKS.” Hissed with wounded pride. A gaze of melted gold turns to stare back into a clouded sky. 

“You want to hand that little bottle up to me, darling?” 

“Call me another pet name and I’ll snatch off that deceitful tongue of yours.” Phainon wants to ask if he could bite it off in a kiss instead, but he does actually want to enter Mydei and not spar with him again. At his silence, the warrior does as asked with a notable blush on his face.

“Thank you~” the snow-haired man gloats. He signals Mydei to fully finish getting up so they could proceed.

Although a tad awkward, Phainon could prepare his spoils like this. It’s not like he’s become completely unadjusted again, given their more consistent schedules this month. One slickened finger. Two. Curl here, stretch there. All routine for both. He gently drops the bottle to the side after he pours the rest of what he needs into his palm.

The more exciting part comes when he oils his shaft and tip generously, sliding any excess on his hand over Mydei’s girth. Another life, he’ll let the warrior sheath into him again. This one, he plans to take a willing Mydei until time forces them apart. 

“Deep breath for me,” he airily states. Head dizzy from merely thinking about the warmth and tightness he’s about to be greeted by.

“Mm.” Mydei must still be a little embarrassed. How cute. All will be forgiven as soon as Phainon sinks into him and bottoms out. “Mmm…” The rare moan from Mydei sounds like music to his ears. 

During this pause for settling, Phainon lightly secures Mydei with a forearm around his chest, hand over his heart. Despite the thick layer of tissue and their current position, he can feel it slowly and steadily beat into his palm. Is it due to his “immortality”? A feeling of safety? The trust deep enough to allow his weak spot to press into the bottom of Phainon’s own heart? 

Before he can get too sentimental, Phainon starts his search for the best pace for both of them. A needy sound comes from himself, more than just from pleasure. His hands move to run along Mydei’s body, genuinely appreciative of every touch.

As a proper pounding pace gets worked up to, the snow-haired man takes in everything. Burning the shape of Mydei’s patterned back and arms into his eyelids. Accepting the golden fingertips sinking into his skin for support. Listening to the ‘smack, smack, smack’ of both the thrusts and Mydei’s arm stroking himself. Savoring any breathy groan or strangled noise from his companion before it's taken over by his volume.

Phainon leans even further periodically to whisper sweet-nothings near red-tipped ears. To kiss upon his beloved’s sculpted body.

His favorite moment is when he can feel Mydei lock up. Especially when it’s accompanied by a

“Phainon, mmm!” One arm stays by his streaked waist, a hand comes over his heart again. Still steady through Mydei’s release, if not only a touch fainter once he comes down. 

Phainon stays like this as he moans loudly during his own climax, a mix of Mydeimos’ name in full and the sounds of his love. He soon pulls out, accustomed to the splattering sound, simply resting upon the support of Mydei’s frame.

Their heavy breathing in unison is the only sound carried into midday winds.

As expected, a “random” encounter turns into the rest of the day spending time with each other. Seeing as it was too early for their first bath (aka suspicious), they simply fill the time napping, sparring, and chatting after a quick form of clean up.

After their first bath, the pair cook and eat dinner within the confines of Phainon’s home (it was closer). They bully each other again for another quint or two. Back to the baths for a quick rinse and soak.

After the companions retire to bed, Phainon finally checks his teleslate. Mydei is fast asleep beside him, which is probably for the best due to what he immediately sees.

The Okheman Times

Top Post: [Video] Phainon comedically declares his love for Mydei, the Kremnoan Detachment’s Crown Prince. No one is surprised. The men proceed to fight around the city. Again, no one is surprised. 

• Top Comment: This is the most homoerotic friendship Amphoreus has seen since - actually, this may be the most homoerotic friendship in all of documented history. 
  • Top Response: Friendship? 

Oh, Mydei is going to kill Phainon for real this time when he wakes up!

Oh well. It was definitely worth it. 

He makes the crystal-clear screenshot of Mydei’s shock his new home screen. Phainon then throws his teleslate aside.

The clingy man wraps his arms around Mydei, snuggling into him with pure bliss. Cyan eyes soon close, the image of his content companion guiding him into a peaceful dream.