#Saw Lord Mictlan's final form | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

notapaladin · 4 years ago

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tell the world that we finally got it all right

Instead of asking Acatl’s permission to court Mihmatini at the end of SotU, Teomitl asks Acatl’s permission to court him. When Acatl accepts, he finds himself falling in love over fierce determination, infectious smiles, and eminently practical gifts.

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“I still have to get your permission to court you, after all.”

Acatl was absolutely sure he could not have heard right. Maybe he’d hit his head in the fighting and was just now realizing it. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and this was a dream. Maybe he was dead. But the city spread out below him was still lit by torches for the funeral vigils, and there was none of the acrid smell of Mictlan in his nose. He stared out at the light reflecting on the canals, felt a breeze ruffle his cloak, and tried to form words. “You want to what,” he managed, through numb lips that didn’t seem to be attached to the rest of him.

Teomitl was still looking at him, and still smiling like the dawn. “You heard me.”

He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth.

Now, it wasn’t unheard of for priests to marry; they were not allowed children, and were still prohibited from unions that could result in them, but for two men or two women to marry was an acknowledged...well, not precisely a loophole in the vows, but certainly a long-established and permissible bending. His own mentor’s husband had died before Acatl had met him, but the man had worn the single red-wrapped braid of a married priest until his own death. Still, it was one thing to know in theory that it could happen, and another for it to be happening to him. He was High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli. He dealt with rituals, and his temple, and the bodies of the dead. He did not—had never even thought he might, no matter his most secret desires—deal with the bodies of the living. And now Teomitl, the bright and beautiful youngest brother of the Revered Speaker, was casually bringing up the idea of courting him as though it didn’t turn his world upside down.

He took a breath. Good, he could still do that and not feel like he might faint. “...Why?!”

Alright, that sounded more like a strangled parrot, but Teomitl didn’t seem to mind. His gaze softened when their eyes met. “You’re brave. Intelligent. Patient. Considerate. A diligent and honest and honorable man, and I don’t meet very many of those.” Then he grinned, sharp. “And you’re very, very handsome, which doesn’t hurt.”

Acatl heard himself make a sound that wasn’t connected to any kind of word. His face felt like it was on fire.

“...That,” Teomitl added matter-of-factly, “was the short version. I can come up with the longer version once I’ve had a bit more sleep.”

He thinks all that of me—wait, he thinks I’m handsome? Me? Me?! An objection reared up from the stunned blankness of his mind. “I thought you were interested in my sister.” Yes, that made sense. Mihmatini was beautiful and strong, after all, and Teomitl should be interested in her. Not in him, a man of no great looks or fame or physical prowess.

Teomitl looked almost embarrassed at that. Almost. “...Your sister is very pretty, and I’m very impressed by her magic. But she’s not you.”

And it’s you I want, he didn’t say, but Acatl could feel the shape of the words between them. He willed his heart to dislodge itself from his throat. Yes, part of him was...was interested, he couldn’t lie about that, but there were more considerations at hand than just his feelings. There had to be. “And you still want me to teach you the magic of living blood.”

Now Teomitl actually looked embarrassed. Acatl wished he didn’t find it endearing. “You...are all those things I just mentioned. I know I need—that is, if you want to teach me, I want to learn from you. It’s just that...in addition...well.”

In addition, he wanted to court him. Acatl swallowed a few times until he thought he could speak without being half-choked by the shock of it. “...I’ll think about it. When this evening is over.”

There were still vigils to stand, after all. Teomitl seemed to relax at that, surprisingly; Acatl wondered if he was as nervous as he was at the idea of courting someone. If he was, it showed only in the new set of his shoulders. “Right. Let’s go, then.”

They went.

Unfortunately for Acatl’s peace of mind, the chants for the souls of the dead were something he could recite in his sleep, and so they provided absolutely no distractions. His head still felt like it was spinning, like any moment he might fall over and need Teomitl’s strong arms to hold him up. And he does have very nice arms, came a particularly traitorous thought from the back of his mind. He sternly told it to shut up. True, Teomitl was an attractive young man—he was sworn to Lord Death but he was neither dead nor blind, and had definitely noticed rippling muscles and that bold, warm smile—but that didn’t make marriage a good idea.

Even if he was brave and bold and honest. Even if he’d made arrangements for that old woman, Mazatl’s grandmother, to be provided for. Even if that smile had made an answering one curve at his own lips. Even if Acatl, as a High Priest, was surely a worthy match for a youth of imperial blood.

Even if…

When he finally went to his mat cold and alone as he always did—it had never bothered him until then, until someone had asked to share it—he closed his eyes and saw Teomitl’s smile on the inside of his lids. He thought of magic like sunlight, skilled and confident hands, a determination to live up to a dead mother’s valor that had led him to Tlalocan by his side. And he knew what answer he’d be giving Teomitl in the morning.

“Yes,” he’d say, “you can court me.”

Teomitl did not, surprisingly, fling himself into Acatl’s arms when he told him the good news, but he looked very much as though he wanted to. Acatl felt himself blush all over again at being the source of all the joy in his face, moreso when he bowed and said simply, “You honor me, Acatl-tzin.”

They were alone in the courtyard of Teomitl’s rooms at the palace. If they’d been a man and a maid, they would have had a chaperone; Acatl was intensely thankful that they weren’t and didn’t. If he’d had an audience for what he did next—what, in fact, he’d been thinking of doing since waking up that morning—he might have actually died.

He stepped forward, reached out, and took Teomitl’s hand lightly in his own. It was calloused and warm and fit perfectly against his, and he never wanted to let go. Teomitl’s head snapped up and his lips parted and Acatl thought oh no but resolutely ignored it long enough to say, “If you’re serious about courting me, shouldn’t you be calling me Acatl?”

Teomitl’s throat worked as he swallowed. “...Alright. Acatl.” Gods, he was flushed and a little stunned and it was...he was…

Lovely. Acatl met his eyes and felt a little like he had in Tlalocan—like he should be drowning, except somehow he was still breathing air. He was suddenly very aware that there was, technically, nothing separating them from a kiss. With difficulty, he forced that awareness down and made himself continue with what he’d planned on saying. “I’ve thought it over, and if we’re going to do this properly, we need to set some rules.”

Teomitl’s expression changed, and he held himself a little straighter—a warrior, not a young lover. Some part of Acatl’s brain applauded his choice. “Name them.”

Acatl had to look away, though he kept his hold on Teomitl’s hand. He’d come up with the rules that morning and had felt very smart then, but now the words seemed to be slow in coming. “You can’t give me anything worth more than two cotton cloaks.”

“That’s hardly anything at all!”

“It’s quite a lot for the average person, and I don’t have any use for needless luxury. Practical gifts only.” When Teomitl—pouting slightly—nodded, he continued, “While I’m giving you lessons in magic, I am your teacher, not your lover, and I expect you to take those lessons seriously. No flirting until we’ve put our supplies away.” He’d decided after considerable thought that he wouldn’t mind flirting in general, but there had to be limits for safety’s sake if nothing else. Heightened emotions and sharp objects didn’t mix well, even before you added magic.

That got a mildly incredulous look. “Of course.”

Huh. I’d thought he’d put up more of a fight about that. “No parading our relationship around at the palace until we’re—if we’re married, I won’t have your standing damaged by association with me—”

Teomitl choked, fingers tightening around Acatl’s to the point of pain. “Damaged by association—Acatl!” And now he was glaring at him, though there were no threatening jade ripples in his eyes.

Acatl blinked back at him. “...You have to have noticed Tizoc-tzin hates me.”

He grimaced, waving a hand. “Tizoc has fine qualities, but the ability to see past his own nose is not one of them. You are wonderful, Acatl, and anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t someone whose opinions I care about.”

Acatl’s blush returned with reinforcements. “I. Uh.” Then he shook himself, tried to gather his thoughts again, and came up with, “When Axayacatl-tzin dies, Tizoc-tzin will almost certainly be Emperor, and then he’ll be the one who decides whether you can marry at all. Please, Teomitl. Don’t antagonize him.”

Teomitl sighed. “...Very well. Though really, I think you sell yourself far too short. I did promise you the long list of reasons why I want to court you, didn’t I?”

“...That’s not necessary.” Mostly because he was pretty sure he’d spontaneously combust if one was produced, and he was starting to suspect that Teomitl was the sort to fulfill his promises to the letter.

Teomitl still didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. “If you say so. What else?”

He drew in a slow breath. Here was a rule he’d wrestled with, but it seemed fair enough. “...Absolutely no public displays of…” He gestured with his free hand, since it didn’t seem like Teomitl was going to let his other one go anytime soon. “Affection.”

He watched as Teomitl’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and therefore saw the exact moment he spotted the gap Acatl had left in his words. “Hmm.” Then he took a half-step forward and tilted his face up, meeting Acatl’s gaze head-on. “We aren’t in public right now.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, the words still made his skin warm in a way he couldn’t blame on the sun. ��No,” he agreed. “We aren’t.” And he’d known they weren’t, but having the knowledge laid out so plainly in front of him was a different beast entirely. He couldn’t tear himself away from the warmth of Teomitl’s eyes or that of the hand in his. Almost unconsciously, his gaze fell to the fullness of his lips. He’d never been kissed before, but he was very willing to try.

A pink tongue slipped out to moisten lightly-parted lips, and Acatl’s blood roared so that he almost missed Teomitl breathing a question into the air between them. “Can I kiss you, then?”

He swallowed hard. One kiss, whispered his mind. You can afford one kiss and still keep your self-control, still comport yourself with the dignity of a High Priest. But Teomitl was so close, so warm, and his mouth looked so terribly, terribly soft and tempting. He might take that one kiss—it was an impropriety allowed for a courting couple, surely—but he didn’t know if he’d want to stop.

So he stepped back and pulled his hand away, fighting back an urge to smooth his unruffled hair. His heart was still thumping erratically inside his chest. “...Maybe later. After we’ve seen if I can teach you anything at all about magic.”

It would have been easier if Teomitl was a terrible pupil. If he was rude or impatient or disrespectful, if he dismissed the very real risks of working the magic of living blood. Then Acatl could have looked at him, shaken his head, and declared that they would not suit—that his heart would be remaining safely ensconced in his chest, thank you, and not held out tenderly on a platter for someone else to tear apart. Of course he wouldn’t have been happy about it, but it would have been easier. He was used to being alone. He was half expecting it, anyway; surely a proud young warrior of imperial blood wouldn’t be willing to lower himself for so long, especially not in front of someone he wanted to court.

And so of course, Teomitl proved all his expectations false. While it was blazingly clear that he could be rude, impatient, disrespectful, and generally as abrasive as the rough side of an adobe wall, it was also just as clear that he was trying to temper all those bad habits. Not very successfully sometimes—there were times when he made comments that, if Acatl had been a much sterner teacher, would absolutely have earned a slap—but there was effort being made there. And it was equally clear that he was approaching his lessons with the sober and careful air of a man who was determined to learn, and who wouldn’t let himself be distracted for long even if he found himself visibly and adorably flustered each time they brushed hands. It was a reaction Acatl couldn’t blame him for; their lessons necessitated that they touch frequently, and frankly he wasn’t the only one affected. Teomitl was simply…

Well.

He was nothing like Payaxin. Payaxin had been eager and enthusiastic, each new lesson a grand adventure; Teomitl was eager, true, but his eagerness was tempered by a grave and intense determination to get each spell right, and the way his brow knit when the magic spiked out of his control or fizzled prematurely made Acatl long to smooth it for him—an impulse he most certainly had not had with his last apprentice. Then again...well, he hadn’t been courting Payaxin, and he was rapidly discovering that some things were very, very different when his apprentice was also the man who made it clear he wanted to marry him.

The man who greeted him with a smile and tucked errant locks of hair behind his ear. The man who he was not only allowed but encouraged to look at when he stretched like a young jaguar—though when he did that, Acatl couldn’t have torn his eyes away whether he’d been allowed or not. The man who not only listened to his lectures on spellcraft but made serious, well-reasoned suggestions for improvement. The man whose laugh made him want to grin back, joy sitting new and unfamiliar in his chest.

They still hadn’t kissed. It had been a month, and they hadn’t kissed. Oh, they were growing closer in other ways—after each lesson they would sit and talk or sometimes go out to the markets for more supplies, and Acatl would learn that Teomitl disliked monkeys, loved the color green, and enjoyed both watching and playing tlachtli, though he refused to bet on the results. Sometimes he would share the better stories of his childhood, and Teomitl would smile and share some of his own. Every time they touched, his heart rolled over like an otter in a stream. Yes, they were definitely courting.

But after that first day, Teomitl hadn’t asked to kiss him again. He was being as respectful and courteous as Acatl could wish for, and at this rate it was going to drive him mad. He heard his voice, watched his lips move, and thought Do it. Grant me permission to want you.

But he didn’t.

Granted, at the moment Acatl thought this they were winding down a lesson, and it was probably difficult for most people to work up the desire to kiss someone when you were actively bleeding. Acatl wouldn’t know. He’d woken up thinking about the sinuous curve of Teomitl’s spine and the dip where his shoulder met his bicep, and the images hadn’t left even while he was paying his devotions to his gods. He’d thought he could probably have driven the knife into his chest and not felt it.

Presumably, Teomitl was more easily distracted. He was currently trying to wrap a bandage around his bleeding forearm one-handed and doing a terrible job of it. As it slipped again, he swore and muttered, “Oh, come on—”

Acatl stepped forward and willed his hands not to shake. “Let me?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d patched Teomitl up after a lesson, but every time—no matter the nature of the wound—the sensation of warm, bare skin at his fingertips sent a shockwave through him. At first he’d dealt with it by being as careful and professional as possible, but…

He’d been so good. He’d denied himself so much. And Teomitl said he wanted to court him; surely it was alright to thrill over the feeling of his skin under his hands. So when Teomitl, leaned over, looking put-upon but trusting, he let his fingers trail over the sturdy bones of his offered wrist for a moment before pressing a fresh pad of dayflower to the short cut a few inches above it. Teomitl’s shiver had nothing to do with pain.

“...Acatl-tzin.” Acatl had heard his name spoken thousands of times, but never like that.

Against his better judgement, he lifted his head to meet Teomitl’s eyes, and the warmth in them struck him to the core. It was a good thing he could wrap and bind wounds in his sleep, because there was no possibility of him being able to tear his gaze away. Teomitl was gazing at him so softly, so—yes, he could think the word, longingly—that it felt like his chest had been hollowed out and refilled with warm honey and butterflies. He drew in a long, aching breath. Teomitl, he thought, and couldn’t bring himself to say the name aloud. They were much closer than he’d realized.

Teomitl licked his lips. “I…”

I could kiss you. He could. Teomitl was right there. And he was catching his bottom lip hesitantly between his teeth, which frankly made Acatl want to bite it for him. He could do it, too; all he would have to do was lean in.

“Can I…?” He barely recognized his own voice, never mind whatever he was actually saying, but it must have reached Teomitl’s ears anyway, because he tilted his face up, a flower towards the sun, in the clearest invitation Acatl had ever seen.

He lowered his head, feeling warm breath tickle his lips...and stopped. He couldn’t make himself close the distance, couldn’t make himself presume that far.

Teomitl whispered his name again. “Acatl.”

Yes, he thought. Yes. Call me by my name when you’re about to kiss me.

They were so close.

“My lords!”

The slave who’d burst into the courtyard looked terrified—as well he should, because Teomitl was glaring not just daggers but all manner of weaponry at him. Still, he held his composure admirably as he continued, “Tizoc-tzin and the Revered Speaker request your presence at once. Both of you.”

Acatl could cheerfully have committed regicide in that moment. He took a deep breath and stepped back, letting go of Teomitl’s arm with a pang. For a long moment, he had to stand with his eyes shut and his hands on the handles of his knives, praying for calm. It almost worked.

Then Teomitl muttered, “Surprised it took them this long,” and his equanimity vanished.

Irritation rose with a nasty, sick feeling of betrayal hot on its heels as he spun to glare at his betrothed. “Excuse me?”

Teomitl had the grace to look sheepish. “Ah. I. Uh. From what I’ve heard—of course they don’t talk to me about it—Tizoc has been trying to turn Axayacatl against you, except I don’t think he’s gotten that far since nobody’s actually forbidden me from seeing you, and it’s not like we’ve been doing anything that would give them cause to think—you won’t even accept gifts from me—anyway. I’m sure Axayacatl will continue being reasonable.”

“You could have warned me,” he snapped.

Teomitl bristled. “I was going to!”

The slave cleared his throat hesitantly. “Ah, my lords?”

Teomitl waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll be there soon. Leave us.” When the slave’s footfalls had died away, he fixed his gaze on the ground. “I didn’t think you’d care,” he gritted out, and Acatl had to strain to hear it. The breath he drew sounded like it pained him. “You didn’t seem particularly enthused about this whole thing in the first place.”

He wondered, distantly, if the sharp pain in his chest was how it felt when your heart broke. “Teomitl.” Further words failed him, so instead of relying on them, he reached out and squeezed Teomitl’s hand hard. You little fool, how could you think I don’t care? Can’t you see my heart in my eyes when I look at you?

Teomitl jolted, twisting so that for a moment Acatl thought he’d pull away—but then his head snapped up, and he fixed him with a glare through suspiciously shiny eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

Ah. Evidently Teomitl couldn’t see his heart in his eyes. He inhaled, thought back over his actions of the past month, and had to admit that...well. Perhaps he had been a bit too hesitant. If Teomitl wanted him—and he clearly did—he would be twice and thrice a fool for denying himself what he wanted in return. His lips almost ached where they’d gone unkissed. “You are wrong.” His voice was low and even, and he was proud of himself for that. “I care very, very much. I would never have agreed to any of this if I didn’t. You are brave and honest and smart and yes, sometimes you infuriate me, but getting to know you has been the most…” He shook his head, unable to come up with the right words, and settled for the simple truth. “You make me feel alive.”

Teomitl looked stunned. There was joy leaking around the edges of his expression, but his face clearly couldn’t decide whether to start beaming yet or not. “...Truly?”

“I will never lie to you.” His heart was strangely steady; now that he’d said what needed to be said, it seemed his body had decided there was no need to panic. Besides, from the look on Teomitl’s face, his betrothed needed him to be the calm one, and that felt right. He couldn’t do much for him in this world of imperial politics, but he could do that. “Let’s see what your brothers have to say about us, hm?”

“...Alright,” Teomitl whispered back.

They held hands the entire walk there, discretion be damned.

It was quite a trek, which unfortunately gave Acatl ample time to regret his earlier display of confidence. I’ve never met Axayacatl-tzin, but Tizoc-tzin hates priests in general and me in particular. I can’t see this ending well. Even if Axayacatl-tzin approves, there will be a rift there, and it will be my fault. I’ll tear another family apart, just by existing.

When they arrived, laying their sandals neatly by the door, the audience chamber was empty of other petitioners. There was only them—and, at the far side, Axayacatl and Tizoc. The Revered Speaker sat beside a golden screen, not behind it, and when they knelt he bade them rise with a wave of his hand. He looked pale and shrunken, the skin stretched tight over the planes of his skull, but his eyes were clear. “So, you’re the man Our youngest brother intends to marry. The High Priest for the Dead. Cicuacen Acatl, wasn’t it?” His voice was a phlegmy-sounding rasp that made Acatl wince.

“Yes, my lord.” He kept his eyes lowered. They weren’t holding hands anymore, but he was acutely aware of Teomitl’s presence besides him.

He was also aware of the way Tizoc was glaring at both of them. No—at him. The glare was definitely aimed at him. “You see, my lord brother? Look at this—at this priest, who thinks he can meddle in the affairs of our family.”

“Tizoc—” Teomitl began.

“I see the priest,” Axayacatl said dryly.

Tizoc turned the edge of that glare on his own brother, gesturing between Acatl and Teomitl as though they’d committed some great crime. Acatl supposed that by his standards, maybe they had. “Then you must understand why this...travesty cannot be allowed to continue.”

“It’s been a month, and if We had not seen it for Ourselves We wouldn’t have known they were courting at all. They have been most admirably discreet. In fact…” He leaned forward, peered at Acatl for a moment, and nodded firmly. “This is the first time We have met him. Hardly the actions of a man seeking his own power and glory.”

Temporarily stymied, Tizoc changed his battle tactics. “Teomitl, you can’t possibly be serious about lowering yourself to—”

“I am,” Teomitl snarled.

With all three brothers in the same room, the resemblance was so obvious that Acatl couldn’t imagine how it had taken him so long to spot it. But where Tizoc’s anger was a sick, vicious thing, the snapping of a wounded dog’s jaws, Teomitl’s rage shone like the gold of a jaguar’s coat. It made him want to kneel again, but instead he took a long breath and thought Oh. That’s the sort of man I’m marrying.

“You want to marry him? To bring him into our family? That—that peasant’s son?!”

Axayacatl didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “That peasant’s son is still the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli. Regardless of his origins, that makes him more than a fit match for Our youngest brother. I daresay his age may even make him a steadying influence, which We think Is sorely needed.”

“But he—”

Axayacatl ignored him. “Teomitl. You’re sure you want this man for a husband?”

“I do.” There was no hesitation at all.

“My lord,” Tizoc said. He sounded horrified.

The Revered Speaker continued to ignore him. All his attention was on Teomitl, who he favored with a smile even as he sank back on his throne. He had to clear his throat several times before speaking. “You have my blessing. You’re both dismissed.”

Tizoc’s eyes narrowed, fists clenching before, with something like a spasm, he made them relax. He looked as though he might have quite liked to tear Acatl limb from limb. Acatl remembered the sham of Neutemoc’s trial, remembered the way Tizoc had sneered at him, and felt the shadow of his own rage stir in his breast. Stir...and then subside, because Axayacatl was coughing and looked pained and he remembered with slowly rising dread that a man’s blessing meant nothing if he died the day after giving it.

But they’d been dismissed, and so at least Acatl wouldn’t show fear in front of his enemies.

They stepped into the next courtyard, and he realized he was shaking like the reed he’d been named for. Teomitl was steady and tense and immovable by his side, unaffected by how close they’d come to a disaster. He almost couldn’t breathe, never mind think. I knew this would happen. I knew Tizoc-tzin was going to oppose us. Now Axayacatl-tzin is dying and Tizoc will be next in line and when he’s crowned—when he’s crowned…

“...Acatl?” Teomitl’s voice held the careful, wary note of a man who wasn’t sure of his partner’s emotional state and didn’t want to see it get worse.

He didn’t bother to soften the blow. “I told you this would happen.”

Teomitl sucked in a breath and met his eyes. “Acatl—”

But now that the floodgates had been opened, he couldn’t stop. “Tizoc-tzin hates us. You for marrying beneath you, and me for having the temerity to rise above my station in life. You heard him—I may be the High Priest for the Dead, but to him I’ll never be anything more than the son of peasants. And you saw how Axayacatl-tzin looked; it will only be a matter of time until the council’s voted in Tizoc-tzin to replace him. He’ll never allow us to—” To live together. To be married. To be happy. I was a fool to think otherwise. He didn’t get a chance to say any of that, because Teomitl stepped into his personal space and grabbed his arms so that he couldn’t twist away.

Teomitl’s eyes burned, and his voice when he spoke was a growl like a jaguar’s. “I don’t care what he’ll allow,” he snarled.

And then he kissed him. Hard.

When he’d imagined his first kiss, he’d pictured something sweet and careful, something that slid against him like warm water. This...was not that. This was messy and rough, Teomitl’s tongue licking into his mouth and his fingers digging hard into his biceps, anchoring him to the earth as surely as the foundations of the Great Temple, and while his body had absolutely no complaints whatsoever his mind scrambled to catch up. He wasn’t sure what he ought to be doing with his own tongue, for starters.

Teomitl drew away, mouth red and wet. “I’m going to marry you. I swear, I don’t care if Tizoc is next to become the Revered Speaker, if he tries to separate us—”

Acatl kissed him back. It was the only possible outlet for the feelings raging within him, and he put into that kiss all he couldn’t say into words. I want you on my mat and in my life. I want to tie our cloaks together. I want to wake up next to you every morning. If you say you won’t let us be parted, I want to trust you...no, want doesn’t enter into it. I’m going to trust you. His arms slid around Teomitl’s waist and yanked them together, that lean body hard as stone against him, and he had to pull away for a heartbeat to breathe before sealing his mouth over Teomitl’s again. I might...gods, I might love you. Either way, I am never letting you go.

When they broke apart, chests heaving, he breathed, “Axayacatl-tzin has given his blessing. Let’s marry before we lose it.”

Teomitl stared at him, eyes wide. Then he sighed out, “Duality, I love you,” and all Acatl could do was kiss him again.

The first courting gift was not delivered to Acatl’s house, but to the temple; three palace slaves arrived early one bright morning to hand over a silver plate embossed with owls and spiders. Acatl, who had expected something pretty and impractical despite trusting Teomitl’s word of honor that all his gifts would serve a purpose, couldn’t even be upset at the expense. A trifle embarrassed, admittedly, but not as much as he probably should have been. It shone like a mirror, so clear and unblemished that he could see his face in it.

It wasn’t a terrible face, he supposed, but he really couldn’t understand what Teomitl saw that made him call him handsome.

Anyway, after he properly expressed his appreciation for that—really, he’d meant to only give his thanks, but Teomitl had beamed like the sun and then he’d had to kiss him—more gifts began to arrive. Jade hearts, magically imbued knives, warm cloaks for the dry season and straw cloaks for the rainy season. Things that would be useful for his priests, if not the kind of soaringly romantic jewels and flowers that a man in love was supposed to give his intended. Each time he took inventory of whatever Teomitl had sent him this time, he felt himself melt with the sheer rightness of it; the knowledge that he was being courted by a good man settled in his chest like a sleeping hound.

He wasn’t the only one. Ichtaca had begun to smile every time he saw Acatl, which might have been a touching reassurance that he was doing a good job if he didn’t strongly suspect it was more due to his choice in marriage partners. When a finely carved heart of celestial turquoise was delivered one morning—and where Teomitl had gotten his hands on that, Acatl couldn’t even begin to guess—Ichtaca announced it in the same tone a man might use for the birth of a new child.

He lifted his head from the ledgers he was reviewing. Gods, nobody had warned him that the life of a High Priest involved so much paperwork. When he shook out his writing hand, he thought he could have throttled Ceyaxochitl with the other. “That will be useful for when we need to track creatures from the heavens, at least.”

“Indeed.” Ichtaca hummed his approval. After a moment, he added, “Teomitl-tzin is...very generous.”

More generous than you know. Oh, their lessons still continued and Teomitl had kept those strictly and scrupulously professional—gods, Acatl admired him so much—but when their tools were set aside it was a very different story. Then they were free, and Teomitl spared no effort in showing him how much he wanted him. Acatl’s face burned in memory of how heated some of those kisses had gotten. “You think highly of him, don’t you.” The thought filled him with some measure of relief; it would have been a terrible thing to have a husband his Fire Priest disapproved of.

“A High Priest should have a husband,” Ichtaca said simply. “And Teomitl-tzin has shown himself to be considerate and kind. You’ve chosen very well, Acatl-tzin.”

He found himself smiling. I have. Gods, I have. “Thank you.”

And then of course, because he couldn’t have nice things for long, Ichtaca continued, “Oh, but I actually came to tell you that the Guardian is here for you. She’s awaiting you in the receiving room.”

Grimacing, he got to his feet. Ceyaxochitl never brought good news with her. He only hoped it wasn’t another senseless murder or room full of blood. Or another god in the Fifth World. Please, please let it not be that. “...I’ll go and speak with her, then.”

Delaying the advent of trouble didn’t make it better when it finally arrived, after all.

The Temple of Mictlantecuhtli’s receiving room, much like the rest of the complex, wasn’t especially ornate, but it had walls and a ceiling with a skylight, so it fulfilled its function. At present, it also had the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct waiting for him with a slight frown on her lined face.

She neither rose nor bowed. “Acatl.”

He inclined his head politely. “What news do you have for me?”

“Ocelocueitl is dead,” she said bluntly.

It took him a moment to place the name—it meant “ocelot skirt” or “jaguar skirt” and had been astonishingly popular among the young men of his calmecac days—but then he remembered the old priest of Huitzilopochtli and took a deep breath. Well, he told himself, you knew she would bring bad news. It’s only the shape of it that’s a surprise. “...I see.” He hadn’t known the old man well, but that didn’t make his death any less an upheaval. He didn’t really want to think of what it would mean at the palace.

Ceyaxochitl wasn’t giving him a chance to ignore it. “Tizoc-tzin has already appointed his successor, young Quenami. His father and uncles are all Eagle Knights, and his grandfather was Master of the House of Darkness.” A noble, then. She set her walking stick across her lap and met his eyes. “You should be prepared.”

He grimaced and had to swallow down the old familiar tide of bitterness accompanying the mental snarl of I didn’t ask for this! No, he hadn’t. But now that it was put in front of him, he would do his job to the best of his abilities. Still… “You knew I was ill-suited for politics when you put me forth for this position,” he muttered.

She was smiling. That was never a good sign. “Ah. But your husband isn’t, is he?”

The blush felt like it was spreading all the way down to his toes. He opened his mouth, made a slightly strangled noise, and tried again. “My—he’s not—” There were rituals. Ceremonies. Knots to be tied and incense to be offered, and he and Teomitl hadn’t done any of that no matter how much every one of the man’s sunny smiles and glorious kisses made him yearn for it.

She made a little humming noise, unrepentant. “Your intended, then. I admit, this isn’t what I meant when I said a close relationship with him would be to all of our benefits, but I can’t complain about the outcome. Good for you.”

“I…” It was entirely possible that he was never going to stop blushing. His face might be stuck like this for the rest of his life. Teomitl would just have to marry a tomato.

For a moment she seemed to be considering patting his hand sympathetically, but clearly thought better of it. “A word of advice from someone who’s been there—yes, Guardians can and do marry, wipe that shocked look off your face, you look like a concussed deer—is that everyone will fall over themselves to give you advice. Ignore them.”

He swallowed back the first, second, and third questions that sprung to mind and settled on, “I suppose you’re going to say that your advice is best.” Strangely, her meddling did make him feel a bit better; anything was preferable to thinking about his marriage and what came afterwards in front of her.

She shrugged. “My husband and I were married for ten years until his death. We never went to bed angry with each other, and we managed that by talking. If you keep your words bottled up inside, they fester and rot. That’s all I have for you, and I hope you take it to heart.”

He closed his eyes and remembered how he’d thought, so foolishly, that Teomitl could read the secret language of his heart when he didn’t let it show. No, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “...Thank you.” He made to rise, and Ceyaxochitl didn’t stop him. “I ought to see to Ocelocueitl’s funeral as soon as possible.”

“Mm. Bring Teomitl with you.”

He stiffened. “I don’t need his protection.” Teomitl was strong, brave, and making great strides with his magic, but he was High Priest for the Dead and could take care of himself. He wouldn’t marry the man just to hide behind his shield.

Ceyaxochitl hummed noncommittally. “...Maybe. Maybe not. But you want his company, don’t you?”

He was glad he’d already turned away so that she couldn’t see his face, because he knew she was right. Yes, if he was going into a den of snakes, he wanted Teomitl’s light and warmth by his side.

At least it was a short walk to the palace with a small escort of his priests, though it did require him to change into his formal regalia. He hated his formal regalia. The dry season was cooler than the rainy season, but not cool enough to make the heavy cotton of his cloak comfortable, and the less said about his feathered skull-mask headdress the better. It never fit quite right, and tying it to his belt just made it smack against his hip with every step. He wondered if the bruise would be permanent.

Then he saw Teomitl heading out of the palace gates and promptly forgot all of that. It had been days since they’d been in each other’s company; he’d been busy with the temple, and Teomitl had had his other lessons. The sunlight rippled faintly where it hit the shifting web of magical protections over him, but that wasn’t what made him radiant.

No, that was all due to the way his face lit up when he spotted him. “Acatl!”

An answering smile tugged at his own lips. I love you. He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but he would. One day. “Teomitl.”

Teomitl bounded up to him, gazing at him with such open warmth that he briefly wished they weren’t in public. “What brings you here? Not—not that I didn’t miss you, but I know how busy you are.”

“The High Priest of Huitzilopochtli is dead. I have to collect his body. Ceyaxochitl thought there might be some...trouble...with his successor.” Even saying that last part made his face twist. Politics. Gods, I love my temple and I love Teomitl, but I could happily have gone the rest of my life without thinking of politics. The boundaries are far more important than our petty mortal concerns; is it too much to hope for fellow High Priests who see that?

All at once, Teomitl’s joy vanished, and he was once again the young warrior. When he squared his shoulders, Acatl found himself thinking of his imperial relations and wondering how he might look in turquoise and gold. “Not while I’m here.”

He didn’t know the way to Ocelocueitl’s chambers, but apparently his half-dozen priests did; they swept ahead of him, leaving him and Teomitl nothing to do but follow along in their wake. Acatl found he didn’t mind; it gave them a chance to talk uninterrupted, and when Teomitl took his hand he didn’t pull away.

Teomitl murmured, “I knew this would happen eventually. Ocelocueitl-tzin was old when I was born. Still, I wasn’t expecting it now.”

“Do you know anything about the new one? Quenami?”

He shook his head. “Nothing beyond what sort of family he comes from. You?”

“No.” And that worries me.

He didn’t say it, but apparently Teomitl could read it in his face just fine. “I’ll do my best to stop him from making your work harder.”

“I shouldn’t think you could make it any easier, with all the gifts you’ve been giving me.” There was no heat to it, though he couldn’t help the faint scolding tone that crept in; really, the courting gifts were wonderful, but he was sure it had to be making a dent in the imperial treasury.

“Those were for your temple.” He flashed Acatl a smile like the reflection of the sun on water. “I have a better gift for you. I hope you’ll like it.”

Despite his intentions, he smiled back. By now he was almost accustomed to the sensation of his heart turning somersaults in his chest. “I’m sure I will.”

But then they were ascending a broad set of stairs, and there was a man waiting outside a closed entrance-curtain with the familiar expression of someone who’d been politely-yet- firmly ushered outside while preparations went on. Acatl normally wouldn’t have given him more than a second glance, but that second glance revealed blue face paint, gold in his ears, and a fresh headdress of heron feathers set on top of long and tangled blood-matted hair, so he felt his heart sink.

The man looked them over with the same expression he might have used for something found on the bottoms of his sandals, and then he started to smile. It didn’t improve his looks. “Ah, the famous Acatl and his intended. Your priests have already taken charge.”

He dropped Teomitl’s hand, straightened his back, and wished he was just a handspan or so taller. “You are Quenami?”

“Mm. Such a pleasure to meet you both.” There was an attempt at a bow. Quenami was tall and lanky with a face that put Acatl in mind of some sort of malevolent heron, if herons had hooded eyes and a smile that didn’t reach them. “I look forward to many happy years of working with you.”

Acatl had been in his presence for half a minute and wanted a steam bath. Even his accent set his teeth on edge; it was the rounded, perfectly enunciated one of a man who’d grown up speaking the noble dialect all his life, and it made him want to check the hem of his cloak for field muck. “Indeed.”

Quenami’s smile only widened. “And might I congratulate you, Acatl, on your upcoming nuptials? Such a coup for one of your...humble origins. My lord Tizoc-tzin doesn’t think so, but never fear; I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, perhaps once Teomitl has finally proven himself as a warrior.”

Teomitl stiffened, hackles rising like a dog. Before his valiant, foolish lover could cause a political incident, Acatl laid a hand on his arm and took a deep breath. Quenami’s been High Priest of the Southern Hummingbird less than an hour. I will not punch him in the face. “He’s already proven himself admirably in my eyes, and since I am the one marrying him I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“As you say, Acatl.” And he was still smiling. Gods, Acatl hated him already. “I truly hope you don’t regret it later.”

They watched Quenami walk away. Acatl’s shoulders felt wound tighter than a drawn bowstring. Ah, he thought dully. Ceyaxochitl was right.

Teomitl broke the silence. “...He’ll be a problem, won’t he.”

Acatl nodded. He didn’t yet trust himself to speak. A problem was certainly one way of describing Quenami, but he could think of a whole string of others.

Teomitl sucked in a breath and met his gaze. “I won’t let him touch you.”

“You might not be able to stop him.” Such was the way of the world, after all. Not everything could be planned for. Not everything could be protected against. And Quenami, as High Priest of the Southern Hummingbird, would in all respects be his superior—a man with far more magical strength and noble connections than he could ever hope to have, no matter who he married.

His mouth twisted as though he’d tasted something sour. “I’ll try.”

“...I know you will.” Teomitl looked stubbornly valorous, and it made him want to kiss him. Since he couldn’t, he settled for touching his hand instead and hoped that his eyes spoke for him.

Apparently it worked, because his gaze softened. “I was actually on my way to give you a proper courting gift when we ran into each other, you know. I might as well hand it over now.” From the back of his belt, he pulled out a sheathed knife. The sheath wasn’t anything special, just dark leather, but when Teomitl pulled it out an inch or so the blade gleamed with a bright, metallic sheen. Copper? But copper made mediocre knives at best—

No, he realized in shock. Not copper. “This is…” As Teomitl pressed it into his hands, he almost dropped it in shock. Tarascan bronze. Expensive beyond the dreams of even some nobles, bronze wasn’t nearly as sharp as obsidian or flint, but it was so durable that you could throw it off the top of the Great Temple without making so much as a dent. And Teomitl was giving it to him.

“You deserve it.” Teomitl said it like it was a natural law. The sky was blue, water was wet, and he, Acatl, deserved a knife worth a king’s ransom.

He swallowed. He couldn’t form words. “...You know, I think I recall asking you to keep your courting gifts within a certain budget.” Well, not helpful words, at any rate. He could have kicked himself.

Especially because Teomitl was drawing back, brow knit with concern. “Do you not like it?”

“I do.” He inhaled, staring down at the knife. When he drew it out, the sunlight made the blade look like fire made solid. He didn’t need to test the edge to know it would be lethally sharp. A knife. He could have gotten me jewels or precious feathers or garlands of flowers, or beads to be braided into my hair like he’s always saying he wants to do for me. But instead he gave me a precious blade that can last forever, so that whenever I am armed I’ll think of him.

Inside the room, his priests were beginning to chant. He needed to be there. Grimacing at himself, he sheathed the blade and met Teomitl’s eyes again. “I love it. This is...gods, Teomitl, this is perfect. But I have a funeral to prepare.”

“Go. I’ll be waiting for you later.” His voice went soft. “I know how important your work is, and I’ll be the last one to keep you from it.”

Ah, he was in love. That was the feeling like a flood rising within him, the rich warmth that spread out to the tips of his fingers and made his blood sing. I love you. I love you, I love you. You’re growing so patient and diligent and good for me; how could I not love you? When you take your place in your brother’s court, your smoke and mist will fill the world. But it was too much to say, so instead he stepped forward, tilted Teomitl’s face up with a gentle finger under his chin, and pressed the briefest kiss to his lips.

When he drew back, Teomitl’s eyes were wide. Acatl had to smile at him. “I’ll come find you after this is done.”

Then he went inside Ocelocueitl’s chambers and joined his priests in the first steps of laying the old man to rest. And if his face was still a little flushed, that wasn’t any of their business.

They were married on the first day of the rainy season. It was a date that had taken some planning and a surprising amount of arguing between the royal calendar priests and the matchmakers from his calpulli clan, each of whom had a different opinion on the most auspicious day to make a good match between his Six Reed and Teomitl’s Ten Rabbit, but eventually they’d settled on the closest of their choices. Teomitl had warned him that Tizoc was still seething, but once they were married, there was nothing he could do about it.

That wasn’t the only logistical hurdle they had to overcome. He’d never imagined that so many people would have an opinion on where a High Priest married to a youth of imperial blood ought to live, but apparently they did and felt compelled to share them with him. At length. Even Mihmatini asked if he was going to move into the palace, and he’d shuddered so hard at the idea—gods, there was nothing, not even Teomitl’s love, that would induce him to share a roof with the other High Priests no matter how far away his rooms were—that she’d never asked again. When he put the question to Teomitl himself, the man surprised him yet again.

“I’ll move in with you, of course,” he said, and Acatl had been so overwhelmed with fondness that all he could do was kiss him.

Then there had been endless supplies that needed to be prepared—maize and beans and wild game for the feasting tables, flowers and feathers for decoration, entirely new cloaks and loincloths that needed to be woven. At least he hadn’t been expected to have an opinion on those. No, his function as the one marrying in was to wait patiently until the day before his wedding, when the first banquet was held. There was rich food, but he barely tasted it. There was tobacco, but he barely smelled it. There were fine gifts, but he barely saw them even when the Revered Speaker of Texcoco brought in a caged quetzal bird. All his awareness was on the fact that he was sharing the same mat as Teomitl, who smiled at him sidelong and, when a lull in the festivities permitted it, leaned over to whisper, “I can’t wait.”

He shivered, warm from more than just the hearth fire, and moved the hand nearest him so that just the sides of their pinkies touched. Neither can I.

And after the banquet ended in the small hours of the morning, his cousins descended to scrub him within an inch of his life while his uncle—his father’s eldest brother, taking the place his own father would have—recited what felt like the world’s longest speech on his responsibilities as a husband. After that came the rings of crimson parrot and pink spoonbill feathers pasted onto his arms, and then he was forced to hold very, very still as his face was adorned with glittering bands of pyrite flakes. He suddenly understood, intimately, why maidens were expected to spend the time before their wedding in prayer and contemplation; there would be no chance of him getting comfortable sleep that night. Still, at least he managed a doze.

He had a feeling he would need his energy for after the ceremony.

When night fell again and he was dressed in a variation of his formal regalia—a necklace of silver owls at his throat, jade flares in his ears, absolutely no skull-mask in sight—he was escorted outside to find his siblings waiting for him. Neutemoc was sporting the full garb of a Jaguar Knight; though his helmet was fashioned in a perpetual snarl, the face looking out from between its jaws was calm and set. Acatl found he wasn’t sure what to say to him.

Luckily, Neutemoc broke the silence before it could get awkward. “I never thought this day would come.”

“Neither did I.” He’d imagined contentment in a job well done. He’d imagined the security of knowing his place in the world. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Teomitl.

“...Our parents…” Neutemoc began, and then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how they’d react. What matters is that you’re getting married. If Teomitl isn’t a good husband to you…”

He thought of bronze knives and baskets of good, sturdy cotton cloth. He thought of a drawn sword and a sweet, bold smile. “He will be.”

“He’d better.” That was Mihmatini, resplendent in a bright red skirt and heavily embroidered blouse. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the deadly serious expression on her face; she looked as though she was going to a war, rather than a wedding.

Acatl smiled despite himself. Even though he was perfectly capable of handling his problems like an adult—he’d keep Ceyaxochitl’s words in his heart, for one—there was something deeply reassuring about the knowledge that his siblings stood in his corner.

“Come on, Acatl-tzin.”

Unlike him, Ichtaca was dressed in his full regalia, with stripes of black paint across his face and a cloak embroidered with spiders. He was smiling as he stepped forward to escort Acatl to the litter currently being supported by six strong men; it had been decorated with hanging curtains and a canopy of feathers, and Acatl had secretly thought it was far too much of an expense. Still, given that he wasn’t a maiden to be carried on a matchmaker’s back and of course he wouldn’t be walking to his own wedding, it would have to do.

He settled himself in the chair, closed his eyes, and—for what felt like the first time in a century—let out a long sigh of relief. Soon. Soon...I’ll be married. Teomitl will be my husband. We’ll be shields and swords in each other’s hands, and nothing and no one will part us in this life. He thought of Huei and how marriages could crumble, allowing himself a moment’s fear, and then he thought of Teomitl facing down his own brother’s rage and shook his head decisively. I won’t let that happen to us. Neither will he.

He had faith in that.

The trip to the palace gates passed in a haze. No matter how calm he was, his nerves apparently hadn’t gotten the memo; they were all but buzzing under his skin, and he had to clench his fists very hard and mentally recite prayers to his patrons until his heart and lungs remembered how to work properly again. Except then he was newly aware of the itch where the feathers had been glued on his arms, and that was somehow worse than pain would have been. Pain was an offering to the gods. Itching was just an annoyance.

But then there was torchlight penetrating the curtains, and his litter was being set down gently. As the curtains parted, Neutemoc and Ichtaca took one hand each to help him to his feet. He barely noticed them.

Ahead of him was the Revered Speaker’s grandest dining hall, and standing in the doorway was Teomitl in all his finery. He’d never seen the man in so much gold; it glimmered at his neck, his wrists, his ankles. The rings on his fingers were turquoise and jade, and his earrings were formed in the shape of eagles’ heads from which dangled golden flowers. The orange-and-black scorpion cloak he wore almost looked dull in comparison.

He took Acatl’s breath away.

“Acatl-tzin.” His voice was barely even a whisper. “You look…”

He cracked a smile. “Ridiculous?” He felt ridiculous. Traditional they might be, but wedding adornments really didn’t suit him.

But Teomitl looked awestruck, so he supposed he was wrong. “Incredible.”

Now Acatl was blushing, so to cover it—and to push down the sudden, fierce desire to kiss him—he cleared his throat and muttered, “Come on. Let’s get married.”

Incense had been burning for hours, but the torchlight still reflected brightly off gold dishes and the jewelry of the invited dignitaries. Acatl kept his gaze resolutely forward; all the guests had been at last night’s banquet, and it was none of his business what they thought of him dressed for his wedding. Teomitl enjoyed the view, and that was enough to light a hot little coal in his heart. Together they stepped up to the wedding mat past the fire that had been lit, and took their seats on either side of it.

The speeches began. Axayacatl gave the first one, mercifully short, but then it was his uncle’s turn, and after that one of Teomitl’s innumerable paternal relations started talking in a voice like a thousand droning bees. Then another one. Then another one. Grass grew. The waters rose. The Fifth Sun burnt out and nobody noticed. Acatl’s sole anchor to reality came when Teomitl reached over and took his hand.

It was a relief when Teomitl’s elder sister, standing in for his mother, knelt and laid their new cloaks and loincloths before them. Their old cloaks were removed, and the new—blue and green as the lake for Teomitl, gray and black as the dancing shadows on the wall for Acatl—were knotted over their shoulders. Acatl’s fingers shook, and he balled his hands into fists to stop them.

When the corners of each cloak were tied together, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. This is it. We’re married.

The rest were formalities, really—washing his mouth out, eating four bites of tamale, feeding four more bites to Teomitl who took them with trembling hands. The rest of the guests would feast, but not them. No, they were married now, and so they were being escorted to Teomitl’s chambers. As they walked, he felt the pull of his husband’s—his husband’s!—cloak as though it was attached to his heart instead.

And then they were alone. For the next four days, they would not be disturbed; at the end of that, unless something truly catastrophic happened between them in the interim, they would rejoin society as a married couple, and Acatl would wear a slender braid wrapped with red ribbon in his hair for the rest of his life.

But first, there was this. Their wedding night. He’d thought about it with increasing heat over the past few months, but thinking about it meant little when it was actually here. Acatl found himself swallowing down a spike of nerves. It will be fine. Teomitl loves me. Everything else can be dealt with. “So,” he said awkwardly. “Well.”

The look on Teomitl’s face said he felt the same way, which was a little reassuring. “Well,” he echoed. And then, slowly, he started to smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time, you know.”

“...Have you.” He swallowed again, feeling his skin heat. His heartbeat suddenly sounded very loud in his own ears.

“Mm-hmm.” His husband stepped forward into his space, gazing up at him. His smile took on a teasing, hungry edge that made the memories of past kisses tingle against Acatl’s own lips. “I had a very...illuminating talk with a priest of Xochipilli to prepare myself. Did you?”

He hadn’t. It had seemed entirely too embarrassing to discuss with a stranger, and besides he was perfectly aware of the basic mechanics. But now Teomitl was looking at him and smiling like that, and there was a thick new sleeping mat just in the corner of his vision, and it was occurring to him that there may have been some gaps in his knowledge. “...I did not.”

“Well.” Teomitl set a hand on his chest over his heart and slowly—achingly slowly—started to slide it downwards. His eyes were molten. “Would you like it if I taught you some things for a change?”

He let his hands come to rest at Teomitl’s hips, suddenly exquisitely aware of the space between them. “Yes,” he whispered. His lips were dry. He licked them and watched Teomitl’s eyes follow the motion. “Yes, please.”

Teomitl kissed him, long and sweet. They made it to the mat together somehow, with his hands in Acatl’s hair and his own hands at Teomitl’s waist, and rolled until all Acatl’s feather decorations came loose with the movement. When they stopped Teomitl lay on top of him, so close their noses brushed, and smiled like the dawn. “Gods,” he breathed, “look at you.”

Acatl drew in a long breath. The air still smelled of incense, even here. “I’d rather look at you,” he whispered back. “Every day for the rest of my life. I love you, you know.” It slipped out so easily, between one breath and the next, that he knew it for the truth.

“Oh, Acatl.” On his husband’s lips, his name sounded like a prayer.

There was very little talking after that.

POSTSCRIPT: meeting the family

They were sitting in the open courtyard of Neutemoc’s home under the eyes of half a dozen slaves, servants, and whoever else happened to be passing by, so there was no impropriety in the gesture—but still, when Teomitl leaned back against his chest and beamed up at him, Acatl had to fight a blush. “Mazatl and Necalli are adorable,” his intended informed him. “I want a dozen of them.”

Acatl found himself smiling indulgently. He was allowed to curve an arm about Teomitl’s waist, and so he did. “And how many wives will you take for that?”

Teomitl jerked back, red all the way up his ears. “I—uh. Um, that is...”

Gods, he made his stone heart want to melt. “I wouldn’t mind.” He thought about the way Teomitl had roughhoused affectionately with Necalli and endured Mazatl’s endless curiosity. No, he wouldn’t mind his husband taking other spouses at all.

“I do!” Teomitl huffed. At least he was looking Acatl in the face again, eyes shining with conviction. “Acatl, you have to know I’d never marry anyone you didn’t want me to—I would never want to make you unhappy or let you feel like you’re anywhere but first in my heart.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But when you decide you want children of your own, I will be honored beyond measure to help you raise them.” He knew that his legal and social status would be more like a favored uncle than anything else, but he also knew Teomitl. Any children of his would be theirs.

“...Well.” Teomitl took a deep breath and relaxed back against him, starting to smile once more. This one held a teasing slant he knew well. “You don’t have to start worrying yet. I think I want you all to myself for at least a year or two.”

Then he was blushing in earnest, and Teomitl was chuckling, and the world around them was spun gold and honey.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #teocatl #mihmatini #neutemoc #ceyaxochitl #ichtaca #quenami #tizoc #axayacatl #paladin writes stuff

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