[ Usually, he's glued to his phone — awaiting some message or other from his husband. The attentiveness of a domesticated animal possesses him, eager for acknowledgement and praise and attention after a long day apart ( they're never far apart in Saltburnt, using the estate as an extension of their honeymooning ).
Shanks texts, Set reviews it, and he doesn't even bother responding through the phone. He simply goes to locate the man, budgie shrilling in annoyance upon his shoulder as he sweeps into their shared bedroom and all but dives into Shanks's chest, hands smoothing up his body to cradle his jaw. ]
I hope they attack on command. It would bring me the utmost joy to sic a peafowl or two upon someone who was befouling your name.
[ He drapes over Shanks, all red hair and loose day robe, stroking the man's face with easy, loose adoration. ]
( shanks is freshly bathed — after having spent the early afternoon in the sweltering english heat attempting to wrangle peacocks out of trees and into their temporary enclosure at the zoo with their other, more endangered brethren — his hair still damp and curling loosely at the ends, his skin scrubbed smooth and smelling faintly of sea salt and coconut. a towel hangs around his neck as he sits at the foot of the bed wearing only a loose pair of lounge pants, the tv softly playing old reruns of top gear.
the bird alerts him to set's entrance before he sees that curtain of red round the corner, and shanks welcomes him with a bright laugh and open arms, falling back onto the mattress under the weight of set's hands. )
We've got two months to train them. ( playfully, turning his face to press a kiss into the palm of set's hand, brushing a length of red hair behind his ear. )
More than happy, my love. ( a warm, reverent smile spreads across his face, slow and sweet as honey. ) Alive. ( whole, in a way he hasn't felt for a long, long time; the thick fog of an unnamed, unspoken grief lifted enough that the world has finally begun to come into focus, with set always as his focal point. ) Are you happy?
( question begets question, though not without distraction: shanks' bare hand slipping under the hem of set's robe, gently sliding the silken fabric over his shoulder. )
[ Set's angry, hostile little budgie flutters off his shoulder as he tumbles down upon his shower-damp partner, wings fluttering against Shanks's face in protest before it launches itself over to the headboard to glower at the two of them. Set's false arm is warmed from the sun, dark material far less articulate and giving than the flesh of his body, but determined to touch Shanks with readiness. ]
I am.
[ He's always been in conflict: at once elusive and delicate in his words and phrases, diplomatic to the point where people walked away thinking they'd obtained what they wanted, only for him to wriggle out an alternative that served his people's needs moreso. And direct, blunt as a weapon against another's skull.
I am, is true. He's senselessly happy, deliriously content. He feels beloved, after all. The center of someone's world, and that someone is his adoring husband. He lowers his weight across Shanks, sprawling atop him to better push his face against his strong chest — a cat bunting against someone for affection. His robe pools around one elbow, proving his own nakedness below. ]
I have obtained a celebratory gift for you, too. It's too big for these grounds, so will you settle for a preview?
( shanks has learned to pay the bird no mind — attempting to shoo it away is only ever an invitation for his fingers to be bitten. still, somehow, the opinion and temperament of the bird holds more sway in their household than their own family's, estranged or otherwise strained as they are. but for now, at least, it seems the little budgie has no real objections to shanks' wandering hands: one gloved in leather to conceal his artificial appendage, smooth and cool to the touch, a unique weight upon set's back; the other sea-worn and warm, brushing up the back of set's thigh. )
Good. ( pushing up onto an elbow to meet set's lips, indulgent and soft despite the insistent tug at the belt of set's robe. ) Can it wait? I haven't finished my afternoon treat.
( besides, no gift could possibly be better than the man in his arms. shanks has never wanted for much, even with his entire family trying to convince him he should want too much. everything. he never could understand the entitlement. set, for him, is more than enough. )
But, I'm proud of it. [ Petulance drips from his tone.
Shanks indulges him more often than not, so it grates a little when he doesn't immediately get his way. Spoiled, and rotten for it in the way that an animal well-fed on treats and love can be. Even as hands begin to wander his body, he sticks to what he wants; to show Shanks what he's had purchased for him would be one more feather in his cap, something to be smug and satisfied over. Yet, as he feels his robe being tugged apart, his own sense of what he wants begins to rapidly, irrevocably, become tied up in his husband's wants and needs. It's a sickness, and he's pleased to be infected with it.
Quieted by the kiss, he reaches down to part his robe around Shanks's body, leaving it to drape like a curtain around him — long and pale and naked below, he arches his spine and pushes his hips forward to flaunt himself to Shanks. ]
( a silent laugh crests across shanks' face, a devastatingly fond smile tugging at his lips. it would be easy, of course, to give in without a second thought, to say of course, darling, what was i thinking, let me see it now — but it wouldn't be nearly as fun. and as much as shanks loves to see set preen over a job well done (or, in this case, a gift well given), there's something uniquely satisfying (and, indeed, somewhat arousing) about being on the receiving end of his wife's indignation.
this isn't new, though. it's been true long before they were ever even romantically involved. so it isn't with any condescension that shanks replies — )
The luckiest. ( — because he means it quite honestly, smittenly, a fool in love with every range of set's temperament.
his honeyed gaze drags slowly over set's form, drinking in the tone of muscle, the soft peak of nipples, the familiar weight of his hips and the smooth shaft of set's cock pressed against his belly — a sight shanks hasn't tired of and never will, so long as there is still air in his lungs. the hot pull in his gut draws him closer, nearly upright, until he lists to one side, toppling set onto his back, curtains of red hair and silk robe pooling beneath him. shanks bends at the waist, his tongue hot against the ridge of a nipple, sucking it between his teeth playfully, a lazy smirk on his face when he glances up, gloved hand planted on the underside of set's thigh, the flesh of his thumb teasing the head of set's cock. )
[ Traitorously, some part of his hazy, happy mind thinks: Don't smile at me like that, and he doesn't know why. Digging his heels in never made anyone happy, it wasn't appealing and it never earned him the affection and love he'd always craved. Once he'd stopped being so disobedient, everything had become easier — his duties to his family, the weight of his career. Except, that it wasn't easier. It was just mindless. It pleased them, to see him molded to their design and no one was more pleased than Osiris, who would praise him, through word and contact alike.
Everyone had been happy.
And then, he'd run away with Shanks. Taken an opportunity for what it was, to break free of his family and rush into the grasp of someone else; someone he wanted to make as deliriously happy as his family, without the sickly-sweet attentions of his elder brother. The worrisome weight of his scrutiny, the backhanded way he'd compliment and console and press his presence in around Set when he was home among them — Shanks was liberating. The strains are smoothed away, with him. Under him, even. With a warm mouth on his body, leading him to arch urgently into the soft bite of teeth. To roll his stomach and hips soft against the questing hand.
]
If I did, you would know it.
[ He would make Shanks stop, is what he means. He has no problem being physically demonstrative in his denial. Below him, his hair spreads like liquid wildfire across their sheets, his expression rosy and alight with an eagerness for more. His hands reaching down, to card through Shanks's hair and caress his face, to draw him in for a kiss even as he shifts his hold to try, with an edge of desperation, to align Shanks's cock with his body — still open, still wet from earlier — and guide him inside. He should just live there, connected forever. ]
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no subject
Shanks texts, Set reviews it, and he doesn't even bother responding through the phone. He simply goes to locate the man, budgie shrilling in annoyance upon his shoulder as he sweeps into their shared bedroom and all but dives into Shanks's chest, hands smoothing up his body to cradle his jaw. ]
I hope they attack on command. It would bring me the utmost joy to sic a peafowl or two upon someone who was befouling your name.
[ He drapes over Shanks, all red hair and loose day robe, stroking the man's face with easy, loose adoration. ]
— are you happy, my darling?
no subject
the bird alerts him to set's entrance before he sees that curtain of red round the corner, and shanks welcomes him with a bright laugh and open arms, falling back onto the mattress under the weight of set's hands. )
We've got two months to train them. ( playfully, turning his face to press a kiss into the palm of set's hand, brushing a length of red hair behind his ear. )
More than happy, my love. ( a warm, reverent smile spreads across his face, slow and sweet as honey. ) Alive. ( whole, in a way he hasn't felt for a long, long time; the thick fog of an unnamed, unspoken grief lifted enough that the world has finally begun to come into focus, with set always as his focal point. ) Are you happy?
( question begets question, though not without distraction: shanks' bare hand slipping under the hem of set's robe, gently sliding the silken fabric over his shoulder. )
no subject
I am.
[ He's always been in conflict: at once elusive and delicate in his words and phrases, diplomatic to the point where people walked away thinking they'd obtained what they wanted, only for him to wriggle out an alternative that served his people's needs moreso. And direct, blunt as a weapon against another's skull.
I am, is true. He's senselessly happy, deliriously content. He feels beloved, after all. The center of someone's world, and that someone is his adoring husband. He lowers his weight across Shanks, sprawling atop him to better push his face against his strong chest — a cat bunting against someone for affection. His robe pools around one elbow, proving his own nakedness below. ]
I have obtained a celebratory gift for you, too. It's too big for these grounds, so will you settle for a preview?
no subject
Good. ( pushing up onto an elbow to meet set's lips, indulgent and soft despite the insistent tug at the belt of set's robe. ) Can it wait? I haven't finished my afternoon treat.
( besides, no gift could possibly be better than the man in his arms. shanks has never wanted for much, even with his entire family trying to convince him he should want too much. everything. he never could understand the entitlement. set, for him, is more than enough. )
no subject
Shanks indulges him more often than not, so it grates a little when he doesn't immediately get his way. Spoiled, and rotten for it in the way that an animal well-fed on treats and love can be. Even as hands begin to wander his body, he sticks to what he wants; to show Shanks what he's had purchased for him would be one more feather in his cap, something to be smug and satisfied over. Yet, as he feels his robe being tugged apart, his own sense of what he wants begins to rapidly, irrevocably, become tied up in his husband's wants and needs. It's a sickness, and he's pleased to be infected with it.
Quieted by the kiss, he reaches down to part his robe around Shanks's body, leaving it to drape like a curtain around him — long and pale and naked below, he arches his spine and pushes his hips forward to flaunt himself to Shanks. ]
You're lucky I came to bed for this.
no subject
this isn't new, though. it's been true long before they were ever even romantically involved. so it isn't with any condescension that shanks replies — )
The luckiest. ( — because he means it quite honestly, smittenly, a fool in love with every range of set's temperament.
his honeyed gaze drags slowly over set's form, drinking in the tone of muscle, the soft peak of nipples, the familiar weight of his hips and the smooth shaft of set's cock pressed against his belly — a sight shanks hasn't tired of and never will, so long as there is still air in his lungs. the hot pull in his gut draws him closer, nearly upright, until he lists to one side, toppling set onto his back, curtains of red hair and silk robe pooling beneath him. shanks bends at the waist, his tongue hot against the ridge of a nipple, sucking it between his teeth playfully, a lazy smirk on his face when he glances up, gloved hand planted on the underside of set's thigh, the flesh of his thumb teasing the head of set's cock. )
Do you want me to stop?
( he will, if set says so. )
8)
Everyone had been happy.
And then, he'd run away with Shanks. Taken an opportunity for what it was, to break free of his family and rush into the grasp of someone else; someone he wanted to make as deliriously happy as his family, without the sickly-sweet attentions of his elder brother. The worrisome weight of his scrutiny, the backhanded way he'd compliment and console and press his presence in around Set when he was home among them — Shanks was liberating. The strains are smoothed away, with him. Under him, even. With a warm mouth on his body, leading him to arch urgently into the soft bite of teeth. To roll his stomach and hips soft against the questing hand.
If I did, you would know it.
[ He would make Shanks stop, is what he means. He has no problem being physically demonstrative in his denial. Below him, his hair spreads like liquid wildfire across their sheets, his expression rosy and alight with an eagerness for more. His hands reaching down, to card through Shanks's hair and caress his face, to draw him in for a kiss even as he shifts his hold to try, with an edge of desperation, to align Shanks's cock with his body — still open, still wet from earlier — and guide him inside. He should just live there, connected forever. ]