It really should be enough, and on some level Zerxus knows that it's a good thing that Steve is choosing to focus on stitching.
The problem is, pain and pleasure have gone hand in hand for a very long time now, and his body doesn't register any sort of dissonance. Far more urgent, right now, is how gentle Steve is being. Even with a clumsy jab here, a rough pull there - it's so easy for him to feel.
"Maybe not." His hand has settled on Steve's other hip, now, and he keeps it there. "Still don't think I'm wrong."
Steve is going to have a whole, if quiet, identity crisis at some point about the ways he's not actually sadistic, if the responses he keeps getting are like this. At least once he's able to untangle out what's driving his reactions -- and it's not pain or blood.
Now is not eventually on that one.
"You should give me an example of him being kind so I can compare." You should keep talking about your husband while Steve finishes getting a damn grip on himself. And/or finishes this clean up job.
He won't be insisting on distance or that Zerxus stop touching him though. He didn't work that hard to convince the man to do it for that.
He thinks he's leaving it with that remark. Means to. What comes out of him is a different train of thought coming in, without his permission. "This is my fault."
Steve makes no attempt to evade eye-contact, meaning that there is something of the thought translated into his expression and eyes. He doesn't verbally argue, though. The stronger grip helps that.
Because he's still not going to spell out what he sees as his options, or the deliberation and damn near math equations that determine which one is coming out on top at any given moment. A lot of the weight is very much coming from 'don't sacrifice your entire world for one person' - most of it - some of it is absolutely that he said that aloud and to Zerxus.
Doesn't mean he's not paying attention to what feels like the direct cost of protecting his soul, in the form of things like 'I need you to let me care' and 'don't pull away'.
"You should go back and tell me something about your husband while I finish trying to clean this up."
Edited (Just fixing a word, IGNORE THIS SAGE DAMN.) 2024-10-31 17:00 (UTC)
It takes an immense amount of will and focus to clench his hands harder, but Zerxus has quite a lot of both.
"The problem is..." His voice is still weak and rasping, but his eyes are blazing. "Now you're reminding me of myself. That - is the sort of thing that gets you..."
Well.
Just look at him, Captain.
"He told me you would be safe. I agreed. My choice, my cost. Mine." It matters, that Steve doesn't feel guilty for someone else's actions; it also matters that Zerxus can take full ownership of something decent. He would happily suffer so, so much more than this for that.
Steve exhales hard through his nose when Zerxus' hands tighten and tenses up against them. Not to get away or discomfort but more just a wave of... wanting more of it.
He uses the hand without the needle and swats Zerxus' gently on the forearm.
"Stop that. I don't need to untangle why a half-dead demon covered in blood in hell is turning me on." Well. At some point... Steve often breaks to uncomfortable honesty and truth. "What you did was stupid, but I'm not gonna argue with it - but only on the grounds that you got to make a decision for yourself and that probably was worth it."
It does not make him feel less like it was his fault, here. Leverage. Almost immediately. He hates it. He also can't do anything about it.
"Yeah, I know. Sadly for you and luckily for me, the body was given to me with the ability to survive falling out of buildings and the shield. Very thoughtful present, incredibly useful, but it doesn't have much to do with me."
He does finish doing what he can to clean up, though, and puts the needle and thread aside. "I'll grant you it's pretty attractive to most people, though it's probably better without the blood."
There's some humor in there. Some truth too, but mostly humor, related to the ease of brushing off the compliment but not being an arrogant dick. "Do you have a running water in here?"
Neither of them are in the bodies they were born with, and it hits him in a way that he doesn't quite process - not yet, not through the haze of pain and dizziness and desire and nostalgia.
It will hit him later. For now he just murmurs, "It's yours now. You've maintained it. That counts."
Then he has a question to answer coherently, which takes a moment, but then, "Yes. I can - I can probably - "
He absolutely cannot stand up and walk over there on his own.
"All right." He pushes back and off Zerxus' lap and stands. "I'm gonna assume you want to be upright and the illusion of not being carried to bed." Yeah, it'd be awkward, but he could.
Instead he lets the man have some pride, drags one of Zerxus' arms across his shoulders, holds it there and then pulls Zerxus to stand and moves him toward his bed. He doesn't need help with that, not even consciousness. He really does just figure that Zerxus would protest to a bridal carry, and slung over Steve's shoulder would hurt.
Once he's got Zerxus down, he goes looking for running water and soap to clean up with, and some kind of container, a cloth and a towel to take back with him to clean Zerxus up.
He staggers a bit on the way, but leaning heavily on Steve does get him there; he even stays put once he's laying down, which says a lot about just how wrung out he is.
It's not hard to find the water, in part because it starts running before Steve even gets there; he can just follow his ears, and find a sinfully decadent bathroom. There's a basin sitting right next to the faucet, a stack of washcloths, and glass jars of soap.
Steve washes up - his hands and face, anyway. He wholly forgets that his thighs are exposed and have blood on them, thanks to how... rattled? he is by the water turning on.
He is not a fan and he doesn't believe in coincidences.
He still gets the basin filled, turns the water very firmly off and grabs a towel, couple of wash cloths and a jar of soap before going back to the bed. Where he sets the towels on the bed up by Zerxus' head and then climbs back on top of him with the basin. Similar position as the chair, knees on either side of Zerxus' hips.
Then he puts the thing down, carefully in reach but out of the way of being spilled as long as someone uses some sense here.
"Your water turned on before I got to it," he says, mildly. "It was very helpful."
In a vague and floaty sort of way, Zerxus is extremely amused by a position Steve definitely does not need to be in anymore. He'd comment on it, too, except now he has to groan about his god's bullshit instead.
"He could clean this up with a snap of his fingers."
Asmodeus isn't being helpful, he's being manipulative. To what end, though, he really isn't sure.
"Mm," Steve... acknowledges. Not really more than a faint sound, while he gets the cloth wet and then soap onto it. He hadn't been delusional enough to think they weren't observed or listened to before - the devil's palace, in hell - and he isn't exactly afraid of that, now.
He is however acutely, consciously, aware of it. Something in the immediacy, probably. That makes him a little more physically tense and has him using way fewer words for the moment and more aware of what comes out of his mouth.
Overall, that's probably a good thing.
Meanwhile: "You're supposed to be telling me about your husband." He still wants to know. And even more wants Zerxus talking.
He can hear that new layer of caution, and it's a relief; it's hard to explain just how pervasive a god is in their own domain, even if he's allowed.
(Of course, how well this man, who Zerxus has already classified as a paladin in his head, will stick to that - )
"He was an eld - ri - dammit - " Turns out eldritch is fucking hard to enunciate when you're dizzy with blood loss. "Spellsword. Half wizard, half fighter."
Steve frowns slightly at the struggle and stumble over that single word, thinks about taking Zerxus' pulse and then realizes he doesn't know what his pulse would or should be, so that's useless information.
"That sounds like a heck of a combination - and a heck of a guy to pull it off." Powerful but it seems like something that would require someone be pretty... balanced. At least versatile.
He doesn't want to go back to questions, but he needs to. He's nearly finished clean up at least . "Do you know if you're still losing blood?"
He doesn't allow himself to dwell on these details, most days; it feels like something too precious to touch, when everything can so easily be taken from him. But his mind is still drifting, and he's staring up into eyes with no hatred in them at all. His voice is raw and tender, bleeding wistful pride and boundless affection.
"I don't - think so?" It doesn't feel like he's actively getting worse, anymore. "Just. Haven't felt this weak since..."
The Calamity, probably. Has it been a century, yet, since Exandria was shuttered to them? Since he lost the stars?
Steve can pretty readily sense the discomfort the topic of his husband, but hasn't forgotten that there was a comparison to him that prompted it being discussed.
Or, well, being a topic he latched onto as distraction.
He'll file that one, keep track of anything else that comes up, circle back. For now he's just relieved.
"Okay. Ask me what my middle name is." Get this balance zeroed out again. "Then I'll get this dumped out and you water and we can go to bed. If it's just blood loss both will help but it's gonna take some time for you." Apparently. Because trading healing for Steve's safety was a thing.
Even now, more relaxed than he's been in centuries, there's an urge to be contrary.Following orders has been engraved into his bone marrow; he's always reluctant to do it when he doesn't have to. Even in a case like this, coming from a place of compassion.
The noise Steve makes is completely undignified. It is the result of trying not to laugh, and succeeding - but only by suffocating it, which in turn makes him choke and then snort.
"Blue."
Yeah, he sees what you did.
"See if you can get under the covers," he adds, while he grabs the bowl. "I'll be back in about 90 seconds."
Not like he put shoes or most of his clothes back on.
He actually grins. It's a jagged slash of a smile, not helped by the blood staining his teeth, but there's something genuinely warm and playful there, something he'd have sworn was lost before today.
Especially at Steve's answer. One more thing in common. (One more coincidence, which he may or may not realise later.)
It's strange, but even with the blood stained teeth and the sharpness of that grin, it is the first time Steve's looked at him and seen someone at least mostly human. Not quite and not just because of the horns, but even having had his hands coated in the guy's blood, still having it in a on his legs, he seems almost human in that specific moment.
Enough so for Steve to pause, and tilt his head slightly and study Zerxus on his way out the door.
He doesn't comment on that, just shakes his head slightly. "Except under the covers." The guy can walk into the room he can at least get the bedding out from under him.
Then Steve walks out to dump the blood water. He'll be back fast unless something hellish waylays him. He doesn't expect it to this time, at least. Because the Devil is 'helping' with... the situation he created.
Zerxus does comply, at least, shuffling himself as gingerly as can while he pulls the blanket up and over him. (It's sinfully soft, because of course it is.) By the time Steve returns he looks downright comfortable, which says a lot considering - everything.
"Nothing strange?" He doesn't know what would be strange, but frankly nothing about this day has made sense so far. For all he knows Asmodeus has turned the bathroom into a greenhouse.
Steve shakes his head. "Nothing I noticed, anyway. Any trouble with getting settled?" He is going to absolutely lose his mind trying to paying this much attention to not just what he says but what is and isn't a fucking question.
Maybe it'll turn second nature.
He crawls onto the mattress and even under the blanket. He's at least mostly naked and in a lower level of hell -- but it's still hell.
No hesitation or outward complaining, at least. No shyness or discomfort, either. "I should probably have removed more of your clothes first." ...That sounds bad, but it's not innuendo. It's just a fretty kind of worry and realization.
Zerxus doesn't question sharing the blanket; he even makes it easier, helping Steve spread it over the both of them. It's been simple convenience, often enough, for everything from best friends to strained allies.
But he absolutely cannot hear that second part without quirking an eyebrow. "Well - "
Then, between one moment and the next, the remaining shreds of his armour are just gone. It would be very easy for Zerxus to take credit for that if he wasn't left baffled and blinking.
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The problem is, pain and pleasure have gone hand in hand for a very long time now, and his body doesn't register any sort of dissonance. Far more urgent, right now, is how gentle Steve is being. Even with a clumsy jab here, a rough pull there - it's so easy for him to feel.
"Maybe not." His hand has settled on Steve's other hip, now, and he keeps it there. "Still don't think I'm wrong."
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Now is not eventually on that one.
"You should give me an example of him being kind so I can compare." You should keep talking about your husband while Steve finishes getting a damn grip on himself. And/or finishes this clean up job.
He won't be insisting on distance or that Zerxus stop touching him though. He didn't work that hard to convince the man to do it for that.
He thinks he's leaving it with that remark. Means to. What comes out of him is a different train of thought coming in, without his permission. "This is my fault."
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Then his gaze locks right back onto Steve's, and his hands tighten properly even though it must be costing him.
"Nothing he does is your fault. Nothing I do is your fault."
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Steve makes no attempt to evade eye-contact, meaning that there is something of the thought translated into his expression and eyes. He doesn't verbally argue, though. The stronger grip helps that.
Because he's still not going to spell out what he sees as his options, or the deliberation and damn near math equations that determine which one is coming out on top at any given moment. A lot of the weight is very much coming from 'don't sacrifice your entire world for one person' - most of it - some of it is absolutely that he said that aloud and to Zerxus.
Doesn't mean he's not paying attention to what feels like the direct cost of protecting his soul, in the form of things like 'I need you to let me care' and 'don't pull away'.
"You should go back and tell me something about your husband while I finish trying to clean this up."
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"The problem is..." His voice is still weak and rasping, but his eyes are blazing. "Now you're reminding me of myself. That - is the sort of thing that gets you..."
Well.
Just look at him, Captain.
"He told me you would be safe. I agreed. My choice, my cost. Mine." It matters, that Steve doesn't feel guilty for someone else's actions; it also matters that Zerxus can take full ownership of something decent. He would happily suffer so, so much more than this for that.
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He uses the hand without the needle and swats Zerxus' gently on the forearm.
"Stop that. I don't need to untangle why a half-dead demon covered in blood in hell is turning me on." Well. At some point... Steve often breaks to uncomfortable honesty and truth. "What you did was stupid, but I'm not gonna argue with it - but only on the grounds that you got to make a decision for yourself and that probably was worth it."
It does not make him feel less like it was his fault, here. Leverage. Almost immediately. He hates it. He also can't do anything about it.
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"Usually how my decisions go." Stupid but worth it. "If it helps, you're also very handsome covered in blood."
His grip does lighten, though he doesn't let go.
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He does finish doing what he can to clean up, though, and puts the needle and thread aside. "I'll grant you it's pretty attractive to most people, though it's probably better without the blood."
There's some humor in there. Some truth too, but mostly humor, related to the ease of brushing off the compliment but not being an arrogant dick. "Do you have a running water in here?"
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It will hit him later. For now he just murmurs, "It's yours now. You've maintained it. That counts."
Then he has a question to answer coherently, which takes a moment, but then, "Yes. I can - I can probably - "
He absolutely cannot stand up and walk over there on his own.
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Instead he lets the man have some pride, drags one of Zerxus' arms across his shoulders, holds it there and then pulls Zerxus to stand and moves him toward his bed. He doesn't need help with that, not even consciousness. He really does just figure that Zerxus would protest to a bridal carry, and slung over Steve's shoulder would hurt.
Once he's got Zerxus down, he goes looking for running water and soap to clean up with, and some kind of container, a cloth and a towel to take back with him to clean Zerxus up.
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It's not hard to find the water, in part because it starts running before Steve even gets there; he can just follow his ears, and find a sinfully decadent bathroom. There's a basin sitting right next to the faucet, a stack of washcloths, and glass jars of soap.
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He is not a fan and he doesn't believe in coincidences.
He still gets the basin filled, turns the water very firmly off and grabs a towel, couple of wash cloths and a jar of soap before going back to the bed. Where he sets the towels on the bed up by Zerxus' head and then climbs back on top of him with the basin. Similar position as the chair, knees on either side of Zerxus' hips.
Then he puts the thing down, carefully in reach but out of the way of being spilled as long as someone uses some sense here.
"Your water turned on before I got to it," he says, mildly. "It was very helpful."
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"He could clean this up with a snap of his fingers."
Asmodeus isn't being helpful, he's being manipulative. To what end, though, he really isn't sure.
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He is however acutely, consciously, aware of it. Something in the immediacy, probably. That makes him a little more physically tense and has him using way fewer words for the moment and more aware of what comes out of his mouth.
Overall, that's probably a good thing.
Meanwhile: "You're supposed to be telling me about your husband." He still wants to know. And even more wants Zerxus talking.
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(Of course, how well this man, who Zerxus has already classified as a paladin in his head, will stick to that - )
"He was an eld - ri - dammit - " Turns out eldritch is fucking hard to enunciate when you're dizzy with blood loss. "Spellsword. Half wizard, half fighter."
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"That sounds like a heck of a combination - and a heck of a guy to pull it off." Powerful but it seems like something that would require someone be pretty... balanced. At least versatile.
He doesn't want to go back to questions, but he needs to. He's nearly finished clean up at least . "Do you know if you're still losing blood?"
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He doesn't allow himself to dwell on these details, most days; it feels like something too precious to touch, when everything can so easily be taken from him. But his mind is still drifting, and he's staring up into eyes with no hatred in them at all. His voice is raw and tender, bleeding wistful pride and boundless affection.
"I don't - think so?" It doesn't feel like he's actively getting worse, anymore. "Just. Haven't felt this weak since..."
The Calamity, probably. Has it been a century, yet, since Exandria was shuttered to them? Since he lost the stars?
"A long time."
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Or, well, being a topic he latched onto as distraction.
He'll file that one, keep track of anything else that comes up, circle back. For now he's just relieved.
"Okay. Ask me what my middle name is." Get this balance zeroed out again. "Then I'll get this dumped out and you water and we can go to bed. If it's just blood loss both will help but it's gonna take some time for you." Apparently. Because trading healing for Steve's safety was a thing.
This fucking idiot.
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Well, he can stay within the spirit of things.
"What's your favourite color?"
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"Blue."
Yeah, he sees what you did.
"See if you can get under the covers," he adds, while he grabs the bowl. "I'll be back in about 90 seconds."
Not like he put shoes or most of his clothes back on.
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Especially at Steve's answer. One more thing in common. (One more coincidence, which he may or may not realise later.)
"Don't rush. I'm not going anywhere."
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Enough so for Steve to pause, and tilt his head slightly and study Zerxus on his way out the door.
He doesn't comment on that, just shakes his head slightly. "Except under the covers." The guy can walk into the room he can at least get the bedding out from under him.
Then Steve walks out to dump the blood water. He'll be back fast unless something hellish waylays him. He doesn't expect it to this time, at least. Because the Devil is 'helping' with... the situation he created.
What is going on here.
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Zerxus does comply, at least, shuffling himself as gingerly as can while he pulls the blanket up and over him. (It's sinfully soft, because of course it is.) By the time Steve returns he looks downright comfortable, which says a lot considering - everything.
"Nothing strange?" He doesn't know what would be strange, but frankly nothing about this day has made sense so far. For all he knows Asmodeus has turned the bathroom into a greenhouse.
(He has not.)
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Maybe it'll turn second nature.
He crawls onto the mattress and even under the blanket. He's at least mostly naked and in a lower level of hell -- but it's still hell.
No hesitation or outward complaining, at least. No shyness or discomfort, either. "I should probably have removed more of your clothes first." ...That sounds bad, but it's not innuendo. It's just a fretty kind of worry and realization.
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But he absolutely cannot hear that second part without quirking an eyebrow. "Well - "
Then, between one moment and the next, the remaining shreds of his armour are just gone. It would be very easy for Zerxus to take credit for that if he wasn't left baffled and blinking.
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