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.
Steve was reaching toward Zerxus and the remains of his clothing, at least the stuff around his chest, and then it's just not there. He very reasonably looks under the blanket and confirms that, yep. He is now in bed with a totally naked man.
Steve is not bad with words. Steve is, arguably not just articulate but capable of eloquence (of a particular style, anyway).
What comes out of his mouth in response here? "Uh." His hand gets forgotten on Zerxus' chest, and he'll notice the jewelry soon enough, but. "That was...." Abrupt? Potentially helpful? A clue? "Sure something."
He's going to need a minute. Or at least half of one.
His heart is pounding in his chest, which means he either isn't faking this response or is very, very good at doing it.
"I - that wasn't - I didn't - "
You could try to be suavely mysterious. I'm working so hard on your behalf.
Steve will have absolutely no context for the strangled sound of sheer, indignant annoyance. That means Zerxus can't even focus on shouting at the devil - not because it's an extremely stupid thing to do, because that's never stopped him before, but because it leaves Steve in the dark, maybe thinking it's something he did.
"I'm sorry. He's playing with you." And Zerxus, obviously, but that much is a given.
Steve pretty much sits through the racing heart and stammering, and through the silence followed by what is a decidedly offended noise.
He even keeps his mouth shut through the apology, but then his eyebrows grow up. "I don't think I'm who he's playing with," he pretty much drawls. Why the drawl?
Because that's such a stupid apology, verbalized statement, and also: fits the whole making fucking deals to keep him safe. And he's generally, overall, annoyed (though in fairness, most of that's directed at Zerxus because he's who is right there and it's pretty shallow irritation). "At least not as any kinda primary objective."
"...Yes. Always." He doesn't even sound resigned, just - matter of fact. "But I signed up for - "
It's a good thing he's laying down, because the dizziness hits him fast; his breath fails and his vision swims. Apparently the blood loss is still a factor, and getting this worked up, talking this fast, sure didn't help.
So he's still horribly vulnerable and entirely naked. Perfect.
Steve frowns when Zerxus breaks off. He's still worried. He's worried enough to come back from being irritated. He is not worried enough not to take advantage of an opportunity the presents itself.
He pushes himself carefully back under his blanket, leaves his hand settled on Zerxus chest, and actually drops his ankle over one of Zerxus's. All of it with some weight and meant to signal 'stay down', but is also innately protective.
"My dad died when I was a couple of months old. Left my mom having to work to keep a roof over our heads, more than most women did at the time. One of her friends had a son about my age, so she helped out in taking care of me. We grew up like brothers - even shared a place when we were of age. He joined the military before I did; I wasn't physically fit enough, but I was bound and determined."
There should be a pause for reply there but he isn't giving Zerxus an opening. He isn't going to not talk over or through any interjections that happen, either.
"I made it in because I was a good fit for that experiment I mentioned. He ended up serving under me. Only guy I ever lost. The son of a bitch was pulling the same shit from the time we were in diapers until the day he died. He never stopped feeling like having decided to sign up for war or follow me that shit that was happening was somehow acceptable. Never stopped trying to get between me and my fights, either."
There's a pointed pause there. "It's not less annoying coming from a guy I've known a day. Cut the shit."
It's that weight, more than anything, that shuts him up. No one has tried to protect him since -
As his gaze softens, and his limbs relax, it seems like he's really listening; like it's really getting through.
In a way, it is. When Zerxus speaks, it's soft and solemn; he's careful with it, keeping the words slow but steady. "Sounds like he couldn't let go of how things used to be. Or didn't want to, because he couldn't bear the idea of doing that and losing you. It's a very human way to live, and to die."
Things change all at once, and this time it isn't the devil's fault.
Suddenly, Zerxus is wreathed in flame. It doesn't burn Steve, but it's not a comfortable heat - like it's just on the edge between licking his skin and searing him to the bone. His eyes have become depthless voids, blazing with an unholy radiance, and there's a resonant growl to his voice that disguises any weakness in it.
"Comparing us is an insult." To Steve's fallen brother, but if the opposite implication gets him angry then that's better. "You made a choice to follow him into war. You fell here, into hell, and you are in bed with a devil."
Granted, that devil is very much trembling beneath Steve's hand. Maybe that's why he reaches up to clasp it, squeezing almost painfully.
"We're in my domain. I'll protect you whether you fucking like it or not."
Between the fire against his skin (and discomfort of it), the change in Zerxus' eyes and growl that Steve comes damn close to just straight up punching the guy in the face. That is a display designed to get a reaction and it is effective.
Steve's only got one response to adrenaline - maybe one and a half - and it's not flight.
Fortunately (mostly for himself, here) he's reckless, but doesn't have a hair trigger. A couple of deep breaths and his shoulders relax back again.
"You're more than welcome to protect me. Because at least with me, as far as it can go, your decisions are yours. What you don't get to do is tell me what I feel about what's going on or what comes out of your mouth, or what I say in response to it. Those are mine. Turning into a bonfire with a sore throat isn't going to make me decide you 'deserve' the shit that's happening anymore than reminding me you chose will. Maybe try the wings next time. Those were fairly intimidating."
Pissed? Yeah. Also 'bonfire with a sore throat' like he hadn't had a moment of very real fear, there. Intense real fear, even.
Yet... he's still in physical contact, not fighting the grip, just leaving his hand in place over Zerxus' heart.
You cannot exist in the Hells without recognising fear, and you cannot be of the Hells without reveling in it. A part of Zerxus always does.
The rest thrills instead at the defiance, and the deepest core of him basks in the point black refusal to rise to violence.
It makes a striking and deeply disconcerting picture; those eyes, hallow flames of fury except his expression is downright tender. The flames, too, are suddenly more of a caress than a thread.
Finally, he heaves a ragged sigh and lets all of it go - all of it save that tight grip on Steve's hand.
"It's not about deserving." His voice sounds human again, raspy with both pain and exhaustion, but he's enunciating with the same steady strength; it must be costing him. "This is just - my life, it's been my life for centuries." There's no use in wasting outrage or horror over it, especially not -
"You're still human. You're still whole, even if it doesn't feel like it." His voice shudders, by the end of that.
More than Zerxus expression. More than the hand gripping his. More than the clarity of what life is and how long it has been that way, more even than the exhaustion in Zerxus' voice and how much this has all cost him....
The word still is what not only registers (it all registers), hits Steve like being kicked in the teeth. It's the word that echos in his head, and stays that way.
Steve is absolutely not angry, anymore.
He is pretty devastated.
"I feel plenty whole," he says, softly, braces himself up with the hand Zerxus isn't holding and slowly, thoroughly and with a whole lot of emotional warmth and sweetness, kisses him.
Not a move he'd normally make but he's not normally in hell, or in bed with naked people.
Zerxus couldn't say what he expected, but it sure wasn't this. The sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a whimper stunned and yearning, and he stiffens for half a heartbeat before surrendering into the moment.
It's weak and it's selfish, but he plain doesn't have the strength to resist something like this: tenderness without manipulation, affection without cruelty, all in the wake of anger. It's dizzying in a way that has very little to do with blood loss, and for the moment he lets himself just sink into the sensation of it; shield-calloused fingers tangled in his, the taste of a mortal man who isn't afraid, the intimacy of two bodies utterly vulnerable side by side.
Adrift in those sensations he barely feels like himself at all, and it's a little bit like bliss. It's not quite enough to drown out the smug chuckle in the back of his head, but he ignores it anyway.
Of course, when the moment ends and he can speak again what he says is, "That was a horrible idea."
This is undermined just slightly by how breathless he sounds, and the fact that he hasn't drawn away even a little.
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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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Steve is not bad with words. Steve is, arguably not just articulate but capable of eloquence (of a particular style, anyway).
What comes out of his mouth in response here? "Uh." His hand gets forgotten on Zerxus' chest, and he'll notice the jewelry soon enough, but. "That was...." Abrupt? Potentially helpful? A clue? "Sure something."
He's going to need a minute. Or at least half of one.
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"I - that wasn't - I didn't - "
You could try to be suavely mysterious. I'm working so hard on your behalf.
Steve will have absolutely no context for the strangled sound of sheer, indignant annoyance. That means Zerxus can't even focus on shouting at the devil - not because it's an extremely stupid thing to do, because that's never stopped him before, but because it leaves Steve in the dark, maybe thinking it's something he did.
"I'm sorry. He's playing with you." And Zerxus, obviously, but that much is a given.
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He even keeps his mouth shut through the apology, but then his eyebrows grow up. "I don't think I'm who he's playing with," he pretty much drawls. Why the drawl?
Because that's such a stupid apology, verbalized statement, and also: fits the whole making fucking deals to keep him safe. And he's generally, overall, annoyed (though in fairness, most of that's directed at Zerxus because he's who is right there and it's pretty shallow irritation). "At least not as any kinda primary objective."
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It's a good thing he's laying down, because the dizziness hits him fast; his breath fails and his vision swims. Apparently the blood loss is still a factor, and getting this worked up, talking this fast, sure didn't help.
So he's still horribly vulnerable and entirely naked. Perfect.
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He pushes himself carefully back under his blanket, leaves his hand settled on Zerxus chest, and actually drops his ankle over one of Zerxus's. All of it with some weight and meant to signal 'stay down', but is also innately protective.
"My dad died when I was a couple of months old. Left my mom having to work to keep a roof over our heads, more than most women did at the time. One of her friends had a son about my age, so she helped out in taking care of me. We grew up like brothers - even shared a place when we were of age. He joined the military before I did; I wasn't physically fit enough, but I was bound and determined."
There should be a pause for reply there but he isn't giving Zerxus an opening. He isn't going to not talk over or through any interjections that happen, either.
"I made it in because I was a good fit for that experiment I mentioned. He ended up serving under me. Only guy I ever lost. The son of a bitch was pulling the same shit from the time we were in diapers until the day he died. He never stopped feeling like having decided to sign up for war or follow me that shit that was happening was somehow acceptable. Never stopped trying to get between me and my fights, either."
There's a pointed pause there. "It's not less annoying coming from a guy I've known a day. Cut the shit."
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As his gaze softens, and his limbs relax, it seems like he's really listening; like it's really getting through.
In a way, it is. When Zerxus speaks, it's soft and solemn; he's careful with it, keeping the words slow but steady. "Sounds like he couldn't let go of how things used to be. Or didn't want to, because he couldn't bear the idea of doing that and losing you. It's a very human way to live, and to die."
Things change all at once, and this time it isn't the devil's fault.
Suddenly, Zerxus is wreathed in flame. It doesn't burn Steve, but it's not a comfortable heat - like it's just on the edge between licking his skin and searing him to the bone. His eyes have become depthless voids, blazing with an unholy radiance, and there's a resonant growl to his voice that disguises any weakness in it.
"Comparing us is an insult." To Steve's fallen brother, but if the opposite implication gets him angry then that's better. "You made a choice to follow him into war. You fell here, into hell, and you are in bed with a devil."
Granted, that devil is very much trembling beneath Steve's hand. Maybe that's why he reaches up to clasp it, squeezing almost painfully.
"We're in my domain. I'll protect you whether you fucking like it or not."
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Steve's only got one response to adrenaline - maybe one and a half - and it's not flight.
Fortunately (mostly for himself, here) he's reckless, but doesn't have a hair trigger. A couple of deep breaths and his shoulders relax back again.
"You're more than welcome to protect me. Because at least with me, as far as it can go, your decisions are yours. What you don't get to do is tell me what I feel about what's going on or what comes out of your mouth, or what I say in response to it. Those are mine. Turning into a bonfire with a sore throat isn't going to make me decide you 'deserve' the shit that's happening anymore than reminding me you chose will. Maybe try the wings next time. Those were fairly intimidating."
Pissed? Yeah. Also 'bonfire with a sore throat' like he hadn't had a moment of very real fear, there. Intense real fear, even.
Yet... he's still in physical contact, not fighting the grip, just leaving his hand in place over Zerxus' heart.
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The rest thrills instead at the defiance, and the deepest core of him basks in the point black refusal to rise to violence.
It makes a striking and deeply disconcerting picture; those eyes, hallow flames of fury except his expression is downright tender. The flames, too, are suddenly more of a caress than a thread.
Finally, he heaves a ragged sigh and lets all of it go - all of it save that tight grip on Steve's hand.
"It's not about deserving." His voice sounds human again, raspy with both pain and exhaustion, but he's enunciating with the same steady strength; it must be costing him. "This is just - my life, it's been my life for centuries." There's no use in wasting outrage or horror over it, especially not -
"You're still human. You're still whole, even if it doesn't feel like it." His voice shudders, by the end of that.
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More than Zerxus expression. More than the hand gripping his. More than the clarity of what life is and how long it has been that way, more even than the exhaustion in Zerxus' voice and how much this has all cost him....
The word still is what not only registers (it all registers), hits Steve like being kicked in the teeth. It's the word that echos in his head, and stays that way.
Steve is absolutely not angry, anymore.
He is pretty devastated.
"I feel plenty whole," he says, softly, braces himself up with the hand Zerxus isn't holding and slowly, thoroughly and with a whole lot of emotional warmth and sweetness, kisses him.
Not a move he'd normally make but he's not normally in hell, or in bed with naked people.
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It's weak and it's selfish, but he plain doesn't have the strength to resist something like this: tenderness without manipulation, affection without cruelty, all in the wake of anger. It's dizzying in a way that has very little to do with blood loss, and for the moment he lets himself just sink into the sensation of it; shield-calloused fingers tangled in his, the taste of a mortal man who isn't afraid, the intimacy of two bodies utterly vulnerable side by side.
Adrift in those sensations he barely feels like himself at all, and it's a little bit like bliss. It's not quite enough to drown out the smug chuckle in the back of his head, but he ignores it anyway.
Of course, when the moment ends and he can speak again what he says is, "That was a horrible idea."
This is undermined just slightly by how breathless he sounds, and the fact that he hasn't drawn away even a little.
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