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He is tired in more ways than one when he arrives in Solution Nine.
Yawning, tilting his head from side to side in an attempt to stretch out the aching muscles in his shoulders, Mikha drags his steps as he makes his way from the aetheryte shard to the Tyrant’s apartment block. Wearily, he buzzes the door, and is greeted by a surprised Leo dressed in nothing but a pair of bright red pyjama pants. His hair is loose about his face, softening his appearance, and he smiles.
“Mikha? I wasn’t expecting you for another week.” He doesn’t hesitate to let him in, and Mikha nods his thanks, smiling wearily as he passes the Tyrant in the doorway and drops his backpack on the floor.
“Change of plans. I hope it’s alright—” He is interrupted by Leo picking him up and hugging him tightly, and Mikha relaxes into the hold, wrapping his legs around his waist and burying his face in his collarbone.
“I’m always happy to see you, kitten,” Leo rumbles, and pushes his back up against a wall. He leans in for a kiss, capturing Mikha’s lips with expert grace, and despite his exhaustion and dark mood, Mikha hums into the kiss. Perhaps he can pretend for long enough to—
The Tyrant instantly realises something is not right, because he pulls back, looking down at Mikha in concern. “Mikha? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.” Lifting his head, he tries to kiss Leo again.
“Wait.” Leo carries him over to the couch and sits down, pulling Mikha onto his lap so he’s nestled against his chest. It’s impossible for Mikha not to notice that even just from a brief kiss, the Tyrant’s cock is already swelling in his pyjamas, and he pushes aside his fatigue and grinds down against him. “Stop for a moment,” Leo says.
“Don’t you want this?” He turns bleary eyes up to the Tyrant, and is surprised to see a worried frown creasing his brow.
“What’s wrong?” Leo asks again, and shakes his head when Mikha looks away. “Come on, baby.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his face and hiding once more in Leo’s neck. “I know it’s been over a week since I was here, but I think I need a minute to get in the mood before we have sex.”
“Oh, hells,” the Tyrant curses. “You do know that’s not the only reason I like having you here, right?” He takes Mikha by the shoulders and coaxes him to sit upright, staring him dead in the eye. That stern gaze pins him, pale lilac eyes searching his face for understanding.
“Sorry,” Mikha says again, his voice small. “It’s just been a really tough few days.” To his shame, he can feel his chest tightening and his throat closing as tears threaten to well up in his eyes. He squirms out of Leo’s grasp and stands, facing away from him as he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. It would likely be easier to pretend he’s fine and just let the Tyrant fuck him, sleep it off and be gone in the morning so he doesn’t burden him with his terrible mood, but he doesn’t think he can keep the act up.
“Kitten,” Leo murmurs, and the pet name is said not with desire, but with affection. Mikha hears him stand and approach, and he turns to bury his face in Leo’s stomach as his lover wraps his arms around his shoulders. He breathes in his scent, for once not feeling that irresistible pulse of arousal at the rich musk filling his nostrils. Instead it is a comfort, and he sighs as tension starts to leave his shoulders.
“Thanks,” he mumbles into warm skin. He finds himself kneading gently at the Tyrant’s hips, and his chest vibrates with a low purr.
“Want a bath?” Leo asks. “You’re pretty tense.”
“Actually…” Mikha lifts his head and peers up. “That’d be really nice.” He can’t remember the last time he had a good long soak in a hot bath, and it suddenly sounds like the most appealing thing in the world.
He’s never used the large bath in the Tyrant’s apartment, and as he lowers himself down into steaming water, he wonders why. The tension in his muscles instantly starts to fade, and he looks up at Leo with a relaxed smile on his face.
“Room for one more?” Leo asks, tying his hair back and pushing his sweatpants down over his hips. Mikha shifts forward, letting Leo slide in behind him, and with a sigh of relief, he leans back against his lover’s broad chest.
“This is perfect,” he groans, resting his hands on Leo’s knees under the water. There’s a faint scent of something herbal, a scent he’s never encountered before, and it clears his head and makes him want to fall asleep. He tilts his head and nuzzles the Tyrant’s cheek, enjoying the rough scrape of stubble against his face. His lover has always been clean shaven, and a warm feeling grows in Mikha’s chest from seeing him at his most relaxed.
There’s no need for words, and Mikha starts purring again as Leo massages his shoulders, finding all the knots that are making him tense and kneading at them until they release. He almost falls asleep after that, but is nudged awake by a hand coaxing him to sit upright.
“Tilt your head back for me, baby,” Leo murmurs, and scoops handfuls of water over his hair to soak it. He gently rubs soap through, stroking his scalp and scratching at the base of his ears, and Mikha almost moans with how good it feels.
“Up you get,” his lover says once he’s all clean, pressing a kiss against a damp ear. “Come on.”
Mikha grumbles as he pushes himself to his feet, shivering in the comparatively cool air of the bathroom. He steps out of the tub and Leo wraps him in a towel before rubbing his hair mostly dry with another one. Mikha beams up at him, a silly smile on his face, and watches as Leo starts drying himself. For a while there he’d forgotten why he was in such a terrible mood, but as soon as he thinks about it, the dark thoughts start to creep back in. His face falls, and Leo notices immediately.
“Need me to help you get dry?” he asks, wrapping his towel around his waist. Mikha, clutching the towel around his shoulders, shakes his head and slowly starts to dry off. It’s the most tedious part of bathing, and Mikha often finds himself sitting on his bed in just a towel, reading a book or listening to an orchestrion while the water evaporates off his skin rather than spending the effort to do it himself.
Leo finishes first, and he hangs his towel up before wandering bare-ass naked into the living room. Mikha watches him go, tilting his head and admiring the way his muscles in his back and ass move as he walks. His cock twitches, just a little, and he glances down at himself, wondering if he should follow his lover and see if he can tackle him to the bed.
“I’ve only got leftover soup,” the Tyrant calls from the living room. “Will that be alright?”
Mikha blinks. He hurriedly finishes getting dry and follows Leo out to the living room, where he finds him pulling on a pair of underwear. “Soup?”
“Dinner,” Leo explains. “You look like you haven’t been eating properly. I made soup last night and there’s leftovers.”
“What?” Mikha can’t reconcile the mental image of the Tyrant standing in his kitchen making soup.
Sighing, Leo walks over to him and leans down to brush damp hair off his forehead. “When did you last eat a proper meal?” he asks quietly.
“Day before yesterday, maybe?” Mikha has to think about it. He definitely had some curry at the meyhane in Radz-at-Han, but after that he was out in Thavnair for a couple of days. He had meant to stop in at Svarna for a decent meal, but had never got around to it and had instead been subsisting on whatever food he found in his backpack. It’s not the first time he’s been too distracted and forgotten to eat properly, and his stomach chooses this moment to rumble loudly.
“Dammit, Mikha,” Leo mutters. “Put something comfortable on and sit down while I reheat this.”
Mikha grimaces. “Um. I don’t have any clean clothes with me.” He rubs his face. Normally he would have stopped at an inn to do laundry first, but he’d come straight here without even thinking about it. He cringes at the thought of pulling dirty clothes on over his clean body, and curses his lack of foresight.
The Tyrant chuckles, a soft huff of amusement. “You left some of your underwear here last time,” he says, going to his dresser and pulling open a drawer. He tosses a scrap of black fabric at Mikha. “I washed it with my clothes. And you can borrow something of mine for now. I’ll do laundry in the morning.”
Mikha doesn’t want to admit how cosy he feels wearing a pair of Leo’s sweatpants and an old hoodie, made soft from years of wear. The sweatpants are several fulms too long for him, and he patiently rolls the cuffs up until he can walk without tripping over them. There's no hole for his tail, and he refuses to have it shoved down one of the legs, so he pulls the drawstring as tight as he can to stop them slipping down from where they sit precariously low on his hips beneath his tail. The hoodie, no doubt a good fit on Leo, hangs almost to his knees, and Leo looks at him and laughs.
“Shut up,” Mikha says, hitching the pants up and flopping on the couch. “Not my fault you’re stupidly tall.” He can smell Leo's scent upon these clothes, surrounding him in a haze of comfort, and he curls up with his tail wrapped around him and his face buried in warm, soft fabric.
“And I seem to have the shortest Hhetsarro in the world as my boyfriend,” the Tyrant counters.
“Stop bullying me.” Mikha closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting the soothing scent of Leo’s clothes wash over him. He thinks he might fall asleep, listening to his boyfriend working in the kitchen, the sound of a pot bubbling, the faint clink of crockery. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt quite so comfortable; not just physically, but in his mind. It’s been a long time since someone took care of him, and the kindness makes tears well up for just a moment behind his closed eyes. He smiles and wipes his face.
Forcing his eyes open, he watches Leo, admiring the curve of his waist, the thick muscles in his back and shoulders. His hair is loose once more and Mikha wants to bury his hands in it, comb it off his face, feel the silver strands sliding through his fingers. He’s still wearing only underwear and Mikha lets his eyes glide from his head all the way down to his toes, stopping for a long moment to appreciate the firm roundness of his ass before tracking down over his strong thighs.
“I can feel you watching me,” the Tyrant murmurs as he bends over to get bowls out of a cupboard.
“Appreciating the view,” Mikha says, unashamedly enjoying himself and grinning as his lover brings their food over to the couch.
“You want to watch anything?” he asks, sitting down next to Mikha and picking up the holoscreen remote. “I was just going to watch some old matches.”
Mikha shakes his head. “Put on anything you like; I’ll probably fall asleep after I’ve had something to eat.”
The soup is good; despite it having the same hint of chemicals that everything in Solution Nine has thanks most of the ingredients being artificially grown. Mikha imagines taking Leo out of this place and into Etheirys, showing him what real food is like. Glancing at him sitting on his left, he wonders how he might cope with the rich flavours of Turali food, and smiles inwardly. Chemical aftertaste aside, the soup is tasty, hot and filling with a rich, meaty flavour, and Mikha eats every last bite.
“Thanks,” he says, putting his empty bowl on the coffee table and leaning against the Tyrant. An arm slides around his shoulders and pulls him close, and he snuggles in as Leo turns his attention to the Arcadion match on the screen. Curling his legs up to his body and wrapping his tail around himself, he dozes off to the sounds of the Metem announcing the next match in the background.
When he wakes up, he’s in bed and the room is dark. Stretching his arms and legs out, he realises that the solid heat behind him is the Tyrant, fast asleep with his arm around his waist. He vaguely recalls being carried to bed, having the oversized sweatpants and hoodie removed before he was tucked in and aggressively cuddled, and he smiles, a low purr starting to vibrate in his chest as he rolls over in Leo’s arms and buries his face in his chest.
~
He wakes again gasping for breath, his legs tangled in the sheets, sweat soaking the pillow beneath his head. Panicking as he tries to free himself from the constriction of the bedclothes, he thrashes and grunts until a soothing hand starts rubbing his back.
“Peace, it was a dream,” Leo murmurs, and Mikha turns to him as a sob breaks free. Strong arms envelop him as he buries his face in Leo’s chest, trying to calm his breathing as tears seep from his closed eyes. He inhales deeply, letting the soothing scent of his lover wash over him, and his heart rate starts to slow down.
The Tyrant sits up and switches on the bedside lamp, and Mikha blinks in the sudden light. It pushes away the tendrils of the dream and he sighs in relief, taking the glass of water Leo hands him and draining it.
“That seemed bad,” Leo says, running his fingers through Mikha’s hair and scratching his scalp.
“I was right back there again,” Mikha says, his voice cracking. “The Final Days… when they hit Thavnair.” He wipes his face. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen. And I hope to never see it again.” He closes his eyes and memories flash across his mind’s eye: the child turning into a blasphemy and being killed right before his father’s eyes. The terror in Mehvan’s eyes when the blasphemy grabbed her at the Font of Maya and hurled her and her baby into the deep, dark water. Her lifeless body floating…
“Come here.” Leo’s voice is a low rumble and Mikha gratefully curls into his arms again, focusing on the warmth of his skin and the solidity of his presence. “Thavnair—is that where you came from last night? Did something happen?”
Mikha nods. “I went to Palaka’s Stand to talk to some folks. There was a couple there—they lost all three of their children. The mother lost all but one of her siblings and both her parents. The father… he was all that was left of his family. Three people left out of almost a dozen! It’s been so long since the Final Days and their grief is still as fresh as if it was only yesterday. How do you even begin mourning when so many of your loved ones are lost all at once? How do you come to grips with your own survival when so many perished?” He presses his forehead against Leo’s sternum. “I did all I could but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t save enough of them.”
“Mikha…”
“I did all I could.”
“Of course you did. I doubt anyone could have done more.”
Mikha is quiet, breathing slowly and deeply, letting the firm embrace of the Tyrant calm him. He shifts closer, climbing onto his lap and wrapping his legs around his waist, and sighs as heat from Leo’s body floods him. “Thank you. Sorry I’m such a mess.”
Leo hums. “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?”
“You could say that.”
“I think you’re doing well, considering.” He sits back and tilts Mikha’s head up with a light touch on his chin. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Mikha stares into his pale eyes, his stern face. He is still surprised to discover more of the Tyrant’s soft side, his warm and loving side, and he smiles up at him as Leo leans in for a gentle kiss. His mouth is soft against Mikha’s, and he moans quietly when their lips part and their tongues slide together.
The kiss is languid, warm but not heated, and Mikha lets Leo shift him down onto his back as he lies next to him, still kissing him. It is a wonderful feeling, to simply revel in a kiss, and Mikha's heart swells with pure happiness. Humming quietly into Leo’s mouth, he slides his hand up into his loose hair, loving how it feels against his fingers, and smiles as he hears Leo’s breath catch.
“Fuck, I could kiss you forever,” Leo groans, shifting to lie above him, propping himself up on an elbow as he strokes Mikha’s face before delving back into their endless kiss. Mikha’s cock is hard, throbbing with his heartbeat, but all he cares about now is the slick slide of lips and tongue, the taste of Leo’s breath, the rich musky scent of him surrounding him in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He can feel the increasing heat of Leo’s cock against him, but his lover seems content to ignore it and concentrate on the kiss.
They part for breath, gasping, gazing at one another. “You’ve the most incredible eyes,” Leo says. “I could get lost in them.” They kiss again, for long, blissful minutes, until they're both breathing heavily. Leo's hips are grinding slowly against his leg, and Mikha gasps at the hard, hot length of him.
“Do you want,” he begins, and Leo shakes his head.
“I just want to make you feel good tonight,” he murmurs. “But if you want sex…” He kisses his neck, giving him a gentle bite that won’t leave a mark. “Are you in the mood?”
“Gods, always,” Mikha pleads.
Leo sits up and looks down at him. “I meant what I said earlier,” he says quietly, suddenly serious. “I need you to understand that you never owe me sex, and I never expect it from you.” His gaze is intense, searching Mikha’s face for any hint that he’s pretending.
Mikha thinks for a moment, cataloguing how he feels. He’s still tired, but instead of feeling it at a bone-deep level, wanting to curl up and hide from the world for a week, this feels more like simple sleepiness. The nightmare has fled, his memories are fading, and he shifts his hips as his body thrums from having a beautiful mostly naked man atop him, lavishing him with affection.
“Aye, I want this,” he says, his voice firm and his gaze fixed on Leo’s eyes.
Leo nods. “Next question, kitten. How do you feel about having restraints around your wrists?” He leans over him, each hand holding one of Mikha’s wrists to the mattress.
Desire flares through Mikha’s body, making his hips buck up involuntarily and a moan fall from his lips. “Fuck. Please.” He is suddenly breathless, and the Tyrant hums approval.
“Good.” Letting him go, he reaches down the side of the bed and pulls a strap from beneath the mattress. There’s another one on the other side, and Mikha watches as his arms are positioned out to either side of him and his wrists tied down. “See how that feels.”
Mikha tests the bonds even as he trembles with the sudden surge of lust rolling through him, pulsing with each beat of his heart. He has a limited range of movement, enough that he’s not completely immobilised but cannot move very far.
“If you need me to untie you, simply say so,” Leo says, and Mikha notices that he is sounding a little breathless himself. “Got it?”
Mikha nods, licking his lip, and tugs on the bonds. Each pull against the restraints sends a pulse of need through him. “I’m—not going to last long like this,” he gasps.
“That’s alright.” Leo shifts down the bed and takes hold of the waistband of his underwear. “Lift your hips for me.” He slides Mikha's underwear off in one smooth movement, tossing it aside and leaving him bare naked on the bed. And then—he does nothing. He sits back, straddling Mikha’s lower legs, his own cock obscenely pushing out the front of his underwear, and stares at him.
“Fuck,” Mikha groans as that lilac gaze tracks all over his body. He feels more exposed than he ever has before, with his legs trapped by the Tyrant’s weight and his wrists held out to each side of him.
“You’ve got the most beautiful body, did you know that?” Leo tilts his head, admiring, and Mikha squirms against the restraints, loving how each movement is pulled up short. “I could watch you for hours.” He wraps his hands around Mikha’s hips, strong fingers digging into his muscles.
“I’m so small,” Mikha counters, turning his face to the side. Much as he loves the size difference between them, he’s spent his entire life being considered short amongst an already short race, and sometimes when he is with the Tyrant he feels it keenly.
“Yes. You are.” Leo strokes his hips, tracing the shape of his muscles, drawing a line down each side towards his cock. “You’re perfect.” He leans down and kisses Mikha’s stomach, nuzzling the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. “I wouldn’t want you even an ilm taller.”
“Glad to—glad to hear it,” Mikha gasps, yanking at his restraints when the Tyrant places a soft kiss against the head of his cock. “Ah, fuck.” He cranes his neck to look down, to watch as Leo traces around the head with the tip of his tongue, collecting shining drops of precome as they slip out of him.
“When you’re not here, I think about you all the time,” Leo continues, pausing to take just the crown into his mouth and suck gently. “I don’t know if it’s the—the bond, or what, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about your legs, your strong thighs.” He swallows his cock down to the base and pulls off again all in one smooth movement, and Mikha moans, pulling hard at the ties around his wrists, loving the jolt of arousal that floods him when he reaches the limit of the restraints. “Your cute tummy.” He kisses his stomach again, and Mikha tries not to laugh at the ticklish touch. “Your gorgeous pecs, just begging for me to bite them.” He does just that, biting down hard enough that he’ll likely leave a bruise.
“What else?” Mikha breathes.
“Your beautiful face.” Leo kisses him, firm and insistent, and Mikha’s mouth falls open as his tongue delves inside, twining around his own as they both moan into the kiss. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.” He kisses him again and for long minutes there is nothing but the slick slide of lips and tongue, soft noises of pleasure, and Mikha basks in it.
Leo breaks away with a gasp. “I love your ears,” he says, shifting to straddle his hips and leaning over to nuzzle his ears. “I just want to pet them all the time.” He rubs the fur at the base of each ear, making Mikha purr. “And fuck, I love it when you purr.”
Mikha’s eyes fly open. “You know, Hhetsarro aren’t actually cats,” he begins, and Leo bursts out laughing.
“I know, kitten. But you’ve got some of the most wonderful cat-like attributes, and I fucking love it.” He kisses his ear again. “I love it when you bite me, when you dig those sharp teeth in.”
“I can bite you again, if you want,” Mikha offers.
“Hmm. Maybe later.” The Tyrant sits up again and looks down at his cock, lying hard and hot against his stomach. His own is standing firm out from his body, still covered by his underwear, and he tugs at the waistband, pulling it down and letting it sit just below his balls. “I love your cock, too. Love feeling it in my hand, love it in my mouth.” He takes hold of his own cock, stroking himself slowly, and Mikha’s eyes widen at the sight. Leo hums in pleasure and a bead of liquid pulses out of the head, dripping down onto Mikha’s stomach.
“The question, kitten,” Leo pants, “is do you want me to suck you off, jerk you off, or fuck you?” He lets himself go and takes hold of Mikha’s cock instead, stroking him firmly. “What would make you feel good tonight?”
Mikha considers. Much as he’d love to have the Tyrant’s cock buried in him, he’s not sure he wants to deal with the resulting discomfort and mess tonight. “Your—your mouth,” he says. “Want your mouth on me.”
“As you wish,” Leo says, and pushes Mikha’s legs up over his shoulders. Holding tightly to his thighs to stop him moving, he slides his mouth down over Mikha’s cock, sounding enraptured as he takes him all the way in. Mikha groans as the fire blazing within him is stoked to new heights, and he yanks at his wrists, wanting not to free himself but to again feel the limits of his movements. He squeezes his thighs around Leo’s face, gasping at the scrape of stubble against the soft skin of his inner thighs.
Already he’s on the verge of coming, and he pulls harder at his restraints as pure need floods him, waves of desire pulsing through his body. He arches his back, his mouth open in a silent scream, his cock sliding down the Tyrant’s throat as his lover swallows around him, and the squeeze of his muscles drags Mikha right to the edge.
Leo pulls off, panting, a wide smile on his face as he looks up at Mikha. “I want you to come down my throat,” he murmurs, and tilts his head to rub his cheek against Mikha’s thigh. Mikha is beyond words and he nods desperately, revelling in the rough scratch against his leg, the firm grip of the Tyrant’s hands on him holding him still, the hot desire in his lover’s eyes as he brings him to the brink.
“Next time,” Leo says, sounding breathless, “I’ll tie you down and fuck you. I want you at my mercy, kitten.” He dives down again, sucking his cock down into his throat, pressing his nose against the black curls at the base as he swallows, and Mikha loses it. Pulling so hard at his restraints that one tears free, he cries out as his body convulses, pleasure ripping through him as he spills down the Tyrant’s throat.
His arms trembling, Mikha drops his hand to Leo’s head, combing through his hair as his legs fall to the bed. “That was,” he starts, but can’t find the words, and a laugh bubbles out of him.
Leo shifts to his knees, wiping a stray drop of come from his lips as he admires the mess he’s made of Mikha. “How did you get your hand free?” he asks, looking perplexed. He picks up the restraint that had snapped and stares at it, then Mikha, with raised eyebrows.
“Dunno,” Mikha replies, his voice slurred. He tugs his other hand, but no longer possesses the strength needed to free himself. He smiles up at Leo as he unties him, and immediately wraps his arms and legs around him to pull him down for a kiss.
“Kitten, I know I said I just wanted to make you feel good,” Leo murmurs, his voice rough, “but I might die if I don’t come soon. You smell so fucking good right now.” He licks Mikha’s neck, breathing hard, and Mikha gathers his strength and rolls them. Perching atop Leo’s thighs, he gazes down at his gorgeous boyfriend, admiring the sight.
“Touch yourself,” he says, feeling bold. He looks down at Leo’s cock, firm against his stomach, and sits back on his heels. “I want to watch.”
The Tyrant doesn’t need to be asked twice. He shifts up the bed so he’s reclining against the headboard, then wraps a hand around himself, sliding the other hand down to cup his balls. Mikha stares shamelessly, feeling breathless at the sight as Leo strokes himself quickly, firmly, dragging the pad of his thumb over the head with each stroke and smearing precome down his shaft.
“Will you last?” Mikha asks, stroking his hips and feeling the play of muscles beneath his hands.
“No,” Leo gasps. “Already close.”
“You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you?” Mikha breathes. “It really gets you going.”
“It’s so fucking hot.” Leo’s head falls back as he moans. “Love having you fall apart around me. Love the noises you make. Love how you smell when you’re turned on.”
“I want to see you come.” Mikha’s face is hot, and despite the lassitude filling him thanks to his recent intense orgasm, watching Leo touch himself is almost enough to get him going again.
“Fuck,” Leo grunts, stroking faster. “You’ll see it really soon.” He bites his lower lip and hums, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as he gets close to his peak.
“Do you do this a lot when I’m gone?” Mikha asks. “Because I do. Every damn night. I touch myself while thinking about you fucking me, and it’s embarrassing how quickly I come. Sometimes I fuck myself with that toy I told you about, pretending it’s you, and it just makes me come harder.”
“Oh, hells.” A long, low moan falls from Leo’s mouth as his hips buck and he spills, decorating his torso with streaks of come. Mikha watches in awe as he strokes himself through it, the last of his release seeping out with each tug of his hand, until he lets himself go and relaxes.
“That was—” Mikha starts, but any further words are cut off by Leo grabbing him and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s warm and languid, both of them still breathing heavily, and Mikha smiles into it.
“Clean up, then sleep,” Leo says, pulling away from the kiss and pressing their foreheads together. Mikha nods and kisses his nose, tracing the sharp angle of the bridge, then climbs off him to grab a washcloth.
~
He wakes in the morning and stretches, enjoying the burn in his arms and legs. He feels wonderful; after they cleaned up and slid back under the blankets, he and Leo had both fallen asleep almost instantly, and the remainder of the night had been undisturbed by nightmares. Sitting up, Mikha looks around for his boyfriend. The bed next to him is still faintly warm, but there’s no sign of Leo in the quiet apartment. He stands and yawns, rubbing his ears as he goes to the bathroom, and when he comes out Leo is in the living room sitting on the couch, two cups of takeaway coffee on the table before him along with several paper bags of what smells like food.
“Oh, thank the Twelve,” Mikha mumbles, grabbing his underwear off the floor and pulling it on. “You have no idea how badly I’m addicted to that stuff.” He sits next to Leo and picks up a cup, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip.
“What, they can’t make good coffee in Eorzea? I thought the food there was all better than ours.”
“Food, yes. Coffee, no.” He picks up one of the paper bags and finds sweet pastries; he takes a bite of one and smiles. “Oh! I need to wash my clothes!” He glances around to see where he left his backpack.
“Already in the wash,” Leo says. “They’ll be ready for you to wear in an hour or so.”
“How very… domestic of you,” Mikha replies, gaping at him. He finds himself surprised to see this side of the Tyrant, feared champion of the Arcadion: dressed in light athletic wear, his hair loose, his face still unshaven, fetching them coffee and breakfast and putting Mikha’s filthy clothes in the wash while he slept.
“You understand that the whole deal with the Arcadion is that we put on personas and act to a storyline, yes?” Leo replies, looking quizzically at Mikha. “I’m not actually a tyrant. The Xtremes aren’t actually—well, no, their personas don’t stray too far from reality. Vamp Fatale is quite lovely once you get to know her. And I do laundry.” He takes a long pull of his coffee. “I was unbeatable, though. Until you came along.”
“Sorry to knock you off your throne,” Mikha says, not meaning a word of it.
“It was necessary,” Leo says, and sighs. “I do wish it hadn’t had to end like that. The President was a good man, and he cared for his fighters like we were his family.” He stares at the pastry in his hand for a long moment before taking a bite, and Mikha puts a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Leo puts his hand over Mikha’s and squeezes it. “I’m glad you were able to do your part.”
They are quiet for a moment, then Mikha turns to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask. That whole scene you did on the street—taking out Vamp and the Xtremes before leaping dramatically off your car and giving us a speech—how much of that was real?”
“Oh, most of it,” Leo admits. “The history of the Arcadion, that was all true. And it isn’t the done thing to take Arcadion feuds onto the streets. But it was all planned. We needed to introduce the Tyrant, give you the history, and declare you to be the true heel.”
Mikha snorts. “Were you trying to make me angry so I’d fight harder?”
“Yes.” Leo gives him a wink and that ridiculous finger guns gesture, and Mikha laughs. “Worked, didn’t it? It was quite the battle.”
“I certainly enjoyed it,” Mikha replies, thinking back to the battle. “I particularly liked it when you turned into a big, beefy behemoth man with that huge bulge at your crotch.”
Leo snorts. “And now you know how accurate that was,” he says, a smug grin on his face.
“Didn’t like it when you threw the arena at me,” Mikha continues, ignoring his comment. “That hurt.”
“And yet here you are, perfectly fine.”
“Only because I’m an incredibly talented healer.” He puts his empty coffee down and investigates the other paper bags on the coffee table, delighted when he finds something that looks and smells cheesy. “Sorry I’ve interrupted your plans for the day, by the way. I can head off once my clothes are ready.”
Leo shakes his head. “Or, you can come join me at the Arcadion this afternoon,” he counters. “Yaana is taking on the Xtremes, and there are a couple of newer competitors having matches afterwards. I can get us private seats. And if you like, we can go shopping for some new clothes for you before that—I noticed you didn’t have much besides the basics.”
Mikha beams at him. Clothes shopping and a match at the Arcadion with his boyfriend? “It’s a date.”