.gif)
Indulge in a little Practical Gothicism...
Penthos Adrastis
Adept of the Seventh House, necomancer to cavalier Ambrose Epta.
Penthos Adrastis gets his name from the ancient greek Penthos which is 'grief'. Adrastis comes from Adrastos the leader of the Seven against Thebes, who's name means 'should not run' or 'unescapable.'This, of course, makes Penthos 'Grief the unescapable', an accurate name for a living exquisite corpse.
One eye is slowly liquifying. Decomposing into wet putrefaction inside his skull, cultivating the decay. In constant agony, the only thing stopping it from rotting away his brain is necromancy, holding it in stasis, allowing it to exist in a frozen bubble of living death.
He periodically lets it advance, trying to tweak the decomposition just right so as to have a permenant battery of thalergy to draw from.
The preservation of the corpse and the stasis of soul, prolonging the space between life and death and between death and decay.
^ Ambrose Epta, gallant yet rakish Cavalier, a duelist, and enough a rake that people are like "you must be a shit cav" but he's actually decent. He makes an exception on his Behaviour for Pen.
Meaning & History
From the Late Latin name Ambrosius, which was derived from the Greek name Ἀμβρόσιος (Ambrosios) meaning "immortal". Saint Ambrose was a 4th-century theologian and bishop of Milan, who is considered a Doctor of the Church. Due to the saint, the name came into general use in Christian Europe, though it was never particularly common in England.
More information on the world and lore of the Locked Tomb series can be found here
The pair of them are horridly codependent, and though Epta is seen often enough having daliances, to seperate the two would be akin to amputating a limb. Remove ambrose from him and you may as well take his leg, his good eye, his left lung.
Viciously jealous, Penthos sabotages every relationship of Amborse'. Driving away every bed parter that lasts more than two encounters. Pen is 'hopelessly' longing and pining for his Cav, thinking he only ever spends any time with him out of duty. Desperate for Ambrose to love him back. He makes his condition worse to get Ambry to pay more attention to him, spend more time with him.
Pen does play up the 'innocent, fragile, feeble' image, infantilizing himself to some extant because he wants people (specifically Ambrose) to pay attention to him, to care for him.
And then he gets confused by why almost no one approaches him with adult intentions, apart from creeps.
"Seven for beauty that blossoms and dies"
The Seventh House, The Joy of the Emperor, The Rose Unblown is the seventh planet to be reborn in the Nine Houses System. Victim to a hereditary blood-born cancer, The Seventh has developed an obsession with the beauty of death. The house hopes to "perfect" their illness and harness the thanergy present within their own bodies to become more powerful.
The Seventh House embody the particular beauty only found in dying things. They are the rose hanging lush with decay, the vines that pull down walls of stone, the bloom of color in a terminal patient’s cheeks. They draw out moments of beauty, preserving people, places, and times in amber for later dissection and delectation.
As you can see to the left, when Penthos doesn't have on his eye patch in public, he wears a veil, so as not to disturb those with weaker consitutions.
Of course, on the Seventh, it's not seen as grotesque. Not to other adepts, at least. No, it's seen as a beautiful bit of necromantic experimentation, of necromantic art.
Just as the slow decay and degredation of the body from illness is seen as beautiful, so too is Penthos' decomposing eyeball, a teeny, but infinate supply of thanargy.
In the event of the pair achieving lyctorhood, Penthos is under the impression that it will be, as The Unwanted Guest purports, "like swallowing a diamond." He thinks that he will simply swallow Ambrose's soul whole, that he would be carrying him around inside his heart. Keeping him close, keeping them together. Instead, he finds, immediately after ascending, that he was entirely wrong. He did not swallow Ambrose whole, but chewed and digested him down to the molecule. When he tries to pry Ambrose back out of him, all he can do is pry himself apart on a cellular level. Blasting apart into so much bloody pulp.
And thus ends a lyctor.
At least until God puts him back together. When he comes to, it is sobbing, wailing, screaming to give him back! Give Ambrose back.
But he can't. You cannot undigest a soul. Cannot undo metabolisis.
No matter how hard he tries to vomit out Ambrose's soul it won't come. He tries to pick out his marrow. His organs. His cavalier but there is no cavalier anymore.
There is only him. Penthose Ambrose.
Grief Immortal.
It should, then, be no surprise that Penthos Ambrose the First, Saint of Love, tenth lyctor to serve the Emperor Undying, defects to Blood of Eden the first chance he gets.
They want a pet lyctor, and while the assertation is made multiple times over the course of Nona the Ninth that you cannot leash a lyctor any more than you can leash a thermonuclear bomb, when that bomb slips the collar on himself and hand you both leash and detonation codes....
He does so because he feels like a monster. No, he knows he's a monster. He took something lovely and loved and beautiful and he ate him till there was nothing left. Of course he deserves this. He is the type of guilt-striken to climb into one of the burning cages himself, just to let the flames lick over him in penance. It doesn't kill him, it can't, but he doesn't care. He just wants it to hurt.
Where Cytherea the first said she was "the vengeance of the ten billion," Penthos the first is the grief of the ten. The grief of each lyctor, undying, imortal, unescapable. The Saint of Love is each and every saint's neverending grief, haunting them, god, and the universe.
Because of what he lost.
Because you cannot undo loved.
Sleep At Your Feet
Ambrose is a bit of a rake. Penthos is not amused... Ok maybe he's a little amused.
Penthos Adrastis:
It's been a frankly awful day and here Penthos finds himself, standing with a hand on the bookcase for stability, waiting for Abrose to get home. Again. He was supposed to be back hours ago but he's late. Again. If it weren't Epta, Pen would be getting worried. Even knowing he can look after himself, he's still worried. Of course the worry is more for what he'll do without his Ambrose than anything else. He looks at the clock, looks at the door, and decides to sit, chair pointed toward the entry. Adrastis want's to catch him coming back in, and that won't have nearly the same effect if he's passed out on the ground when it happens.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose sneaks home well past dark, with his shirt improperly fastened. He was saying a proper goodbye to a lovely Cohort officer of his acquaintance, that's is. He sneaks back in walking on his toes to keep quiet, with no rapier, no badge of office at his hip. Scruffy and undignified and alone. His curls are messy like they've been pulled.
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos flicks on the light, arms folded, looking quite cross. He'd left the blood to dry that trickled out of his nose earlier that evening, wanting to make Ambrose guilty for leaving him alone. "Well aren't you a sight. The picture of a Seventh Cavalier, aren't you?"
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose's heart does pang at the sight of that blood, just about instantly. "You ought to be asleep." He says, instantly. "It's late."
Penthos Adrastis:
"What, like I was going to put myself to bed? All on my own? Come now Epta, you know better than that. You know I need help." He doesn't, of course. Hadn't when he was younger, and certainly doesn't now, but it doesn't matter. Pen would make himself need help if it meant that Ambrose would be the one doing the helping.
Ambrose Epta:
"And there wasn't anybody to help you?" He sounds, now, just as he had been prompted to sound. Worried, angry at some unspecified someone. "Come here, come here, let me clean your face."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos rises, his instability there, but exaggerated just slightly, pushing him into Epta's arms. "There isn't anyone else, not anyone who's allowed to." But they both know that. They also both know Penthos has refused to have any sort of nurse.
Ambrose Epta:
"You ought to get some extra help, for when I'm out." He scoops an arm around Penthos's, under his arms. "Can you walk to the bathroom?"
Penthos Adrastis:
He can. He usually can, and today has only been bad because of situations, rather than his body betraying him, even so he looks up at Ambrose, batting his eye and gazing through thich lashes. "Help me there?"
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose scoops Penthos into his arms without further consideration. Sets him down on the edge of the bath in the bathroom down the corridor. Dampens a cloth, too, and uses it to wipe at the dried blood on Penthos's face.
Penthos Adrastis:
"What were you doing out so late? Coming back so disheveled." Pen is pretty sure he knows, but on the off chance it was something important, he should cut his lovely cavalier some slack.
Ambrose Epta:
"Paying my respects to the Cohort. I've got a... friend who's shipping off-planet tomorrow. If things had shaken out differently, I might have gone with him."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos jolts. "They wouldn't! Not on your own! Why would they have not informed me of that possibility?" If Ambrose is being sent out, he'll certainly not be going alone, even if having Pen alongside him would likely dimmish his success.
Ambrose Epta:
"They wouldn't. Not bound to you, and they wouldn't send you unless you wanted to go. They never do, with a decently-born necromancer. You don't want to go, do you?"
Penthos Adrastis:
He would love all those eyes on him, truly, but- "No. No I think not." Not when he could have Ambrose all to himself here. Well, he should be Penthos' alone.
Ambrose Epta:
"Good. Good." Ambrose's touch is gentle. "Nosebleed? Were you working too hard at your studies?"
Penthos Adrastis:
"Of course. It's not like there's anything else for me to do all day. Not with no other duties to occupy my time." He's made a bit of progress as well, the little pocket of decay he's cultivated in the corpse coming along wonderfully.
Ambrose Epta:
"You'll have to show me what you've come up with. In the morning. Oh no, in the morning I'll be..." He rubs his head, thinking of the prospect of the hangover he'll end up with.
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen snickers a little. "Consequences, conseqeuences~" He should have known better. Especially when he has such a lovely little thing here at home waiting for him, no alcohol required.
Ambrose Epta:
"Indeed. The worthy consequences of good brandy." He groans in anticipation of future pain. "How've you been feeling?"
Penthos Adrastis:
"Same as always, sick and tired. It's been hurting more lately, the eye." He knows that's partially his fault, letting it liquify more before halting the decay again, but he knows he can get more of a microbiome in there, more thalergy to harvest from, more living decay.
Ambrose Epta:
"You really should make sure there's someone to put you to bed if I'm not around. You need the sleep. Here, I'll read to you, if you like."
Penthos Adrastis:
Why in all the worlds would Pen get someone to put him to bed, to care for him, when he can stay 'helpless' and force Ambrose to do it.
Ambrose Epta:
But Ambrose looks so genuine, now. So concerned.
Penthos Adrastis:
"I would love you to, Ambry, you know that. I always do."
Ambrose Epta:
"Come on, then." He offers his arm to be leaned on.
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos leans far more of his weight on him than needed, making Ambrose hold him more.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose half-carries him to bed. Helps him out of his clothes and into a nightshirt, tucks the pillows up for him. "There you are."
Penthos Adrastis:
This is always one of his favorite parts of the day. Having Ambrose undress him, even in such a chaste manner, having him be set gently into bed. Pen relishes in it, spends far too long thinking of other ways to be undressed, to be tossed to these sheets. "Thank you. What's the story for tonight? What will my darling cavalier choose for me?"
Ambrose Epta:
He almost flushes. "How does a tawdry romance sound? There's a handsome necromancer with a sword."
Penthos Adrastis:
"You know I always love a nice, long sword. That sounds perfect." Pen lets his hand trail along Ambrose' arm, salacious.
Ambrose Epta:
The hairs stand up on Ambrose's skin. Oh, he must be reading too much into it. The touch, the tone. It must be innocent. He starts to read.
Penthos Adrastis:
He almost frowns, but Adrastis is far too used to this rejection by now. He's not sure why he keeps trying, honestly. Well, that's a lie, he keeps trying because he's been hopelessly in love with Ambrose since they met as kids, and he'll be damned before he lets him get away.
Ambrose Epta:
But Ambrose didn't quite pull away. Ignored him, rather, like he was still too drunk to even perceive the flirtation.
Penthos Adrastis:
When Ambrose gets to a particularly saucy bit, Penthos has to lean forward, smirk quirking his lips. "Well that's just impossible, isn't it? There's no way a sword fits there."
Ambrose Epta:
"No way." Ambrose agrees. "It would hurt awfully. No, I've never brought my sword to bed, but..."
Penthos Adrastis:
"But?" Oh this he needs to hear. "I'm sure some bed partner would enjoy it being there." Pen knows he would.
Ambrose Epta:
"Some have asked." He admits. "My position can be quite the aphrodisiac. But I don't imagine it would work quite like that."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Your position? Being a cavalier to a half rate adept of low nobility?" Penthos tries not to laugh. "Although I suppose many have dreams of bedding a cavalier no matter their standing."
Ambrose Epta:
"It's exactly that. And they don't see low nobility, just that I belong to a noble."
Penthos Adrastis:
That warms him quite a bit. Belong to a noble. To him. "Yes, you do." Pen preens.
Ambrose Epta:
"The idea of sworn service, at that... that I gave away my life."
Penthos Adrastis:
"They should know better than to try to make you theirs, then." Perhaps he needs something more visible, something Ambrose' bedpartners can't remove.
Ambrose Epta:
"They ask all kinds of dirty things about you. If you use necromancy to make me... do things."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oh do they?” Pen is almost giddy at the thought. “What kind of things Rose? Tell me, you must!”
Ambrose Epta:
"They think you'd puppet my body to make me pleasure you. Like some sort of... sexual marionette."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oooo do you think I could? I bet I could, with a little time to figure it out.” Of course there’s a glaring error there. “But that makes no sense, you’re not dead.”
Ambrose Epta:
"You could, probably, if you could move my blood around, get my muscles to fire..."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Do you wanna try?” Penthos is pretty sure they could get it to work. What a sight that would be, Ambrose making him shake at his command. Pen can’t decide, would it be more attractive if Ambrose wanted to be puppeteered or if he were fighting it every step of the way.
Ambrose Epta:
"I'd try. It might be fun, mightn't it?"
Penthos Adrastis:
Of course, Ambrose only acquiesces out of duty, pity, perhaps. Best to keep those fantasies to himself, and offer a more acceptable choice of testing ground. “It really might. Oh! I could make you walk into the lake!”
Ambrose Epta:
"But you'd pull me out, wouldn't you? Wouldn't let me drown?"
Penthos Adrastis
“Ambry I don’t know what I would do without you. Obviously I’d pull you back out.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Good. Good. In the morning, we should try it." His heart is still quick, with fear mixed with anticipation. "It's probably some sort of a heresy, so we should definitely try it."
Penthos Adrastis:
That makes him laugh. “Some sort of a heresy! Yes! oh that’ll be delightful.” His gaze falls back to the book and the laugh subsides into small giggles, smothered by salacious curiosity. “You said they ask ‘all kinds of things’ about me. That was one, what else do they ask about? It’s pertaining to me, I must know.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, they ask if you like me on my knees for you, but that's so pedestrian . And the usual comments that you must like me better cold."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen pouts. “How boring! And here I was hoping for something else fun. ” What would the point of Ambrose be without him being himself? That’s the only point. The only bit that makes Ambrose worth it all.
Ambrose Epta:
"Never slept with a necro, most of them. Or a cav. The whole idea of both fascinates them. And oh, they have such set ideas."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Well that’s nothing new, they all seem to have decided they know what hens behind locked adept doors. I suppose they all think I order you about, giving no mind to your needs?” Really, as if he doesn’t want Ambrose to hold him down and tear him apart. If it wouldn’t damage the delicate balance of decay he’s cultivated, Pen would want him to fuck the liquifying eye too.
Ambrose Epta:
"They do think so. That you must use me for your lusts."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Surprised they think me well enough to have those. Don’t we all turn celibate monks once we get frail enough?” It’s a tad bitter, even though he knows he makes it worse. Makes himself worse. All to get more of Ambrose’ attention.
Ambrose Epta:
"Well, some of them think that. Many seem to have settled on the idea of the depraved and powerful. That corpse-lust is universal."
Penthos Adrastis:
“And still they all want you, my lovely, gallant, brilliant rake of a cav.” If he weren’t so blindingly jealous, he would be prouder.
Ambrose Epta:
"Some of them seem to think they'd be saving me from you."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos starts, surprised. “Saving you?”
Ambrose Epta:
"From your indecent attentions. Demands on me."
Penthos Adrastis:
“What indecent attentions?” He’s been very careful to keep his fantasies to himself, not letting anyone know, including Ambrose. “What demands!?”
Ambrose Epta:
"That's what I tell them! They let their lurid imaginations run away with them! You don't make any such demands."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Of course I don’t.” Even if he really really really wants to. “Don’t know that anyone does, least not here on Seven.
Ambrose Epta:
"Seems a perversion of the Third, if any such, to force a cavalier to your bed."
Penthos Adrastis:
“And of course no one ever thinks it goes the other way round. Honestly, it’s not like you all don’t carry around large weapons constantly!”
Ambrose Epta:
"Nobody ever thinks it might be the other way." He sounds rather too delighted by the idea.
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos thinks for a long moment. “I don’t know it could be, for most, could it…. Most of us don’t actually need s physical weapon.” Please his brain screams. Please! Come, take me! Ravish me! Make me yours, require me do your bid! He doesn’t say it though. Never does. Too terrified of losing Ambrose the way he has him now.
Ambrose Epta:
"That makes it all the more exciting, doesn't it? You're not helpless. You could fight back."
Penthos Adrastis:
“I suppose you’re right.” If he thinks about either scenario either way for too long though, his nose starts bleeding again.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose leans in to wipe a faint trickle of blood with his fingers. "Exciting, isn't it?"
Penthos Adrastis:
When he finally gets the voice to speak it’s quiet, uncharacteristically subservient. “Yes. It is.”
Ambrose Epta:
"The second thought, is it, that gets you like this? Being taken advantage of?"
Penthos Adrastis:
It’s suddenly too much. He loves it, loves all of it, but— if Ambrose doesn’t like him back…. well then not only has he made a fool of himself, but he’s ruined the relation ship he does have with Ambry. He turns over, curling under the covers.
Ambrose Epta:
"Ah. I should leave you to sleep, shouldn't I?" Ambrose sounds guilty
Penthos Adrastis:
“I guess… Can we read more? Tomorrow? I really liked tonight.” It’s painful, to draw back, but he’s terrified of a blatant rejection.
Ambrose Epta:
"Of course. The book is just getting delicious, too."
Penthos Adrastis:
“I’m sure it is. It all is…..” He touches fingertips with Ambrose, and lets himself be tucked in. “Thank you.”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose takes a bit of daring, clutches it to his chest. Kisses Penthos's forehead. "Sleep well."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen almost swoons then and there. As it is, he turns a brilliant pink, all the more noticeable for how pale he is. A flustered squeak and a nod. “You too Rose!”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose barely sleeps. In the morning, he goes only as far as the training grounds. Not to meet anyone.
Penthos Adrastis:
Once he leaves, Penthos can’t shove his hand down under the covers fast enough, pretending it’s Ambrose’s. Pretending to feel his callouses, his fingers. It’s never real enough. Hr falls into a fitful sleep soon after, waking up the next morning horribly tired.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose is at the breakfast table already, glowing with sweat and exertion. "You look pale."
Penthos Adrastis:
“You look sweaty. What else is new.” It’s flat, with a raised brow. He hasn’t put on his eyepatch yet, not when it’s just the two of them, and a servant in the other wing.
Ambrose Epta:
"Are you feeling alright? Sit, I'll get you something to eat." He smiles. "It's training sweat, I promise."
Penthos Adrastis:
“I’m tired, but overall alright, I think. Doesn’t seem to be worse than usual at least.” He sits more than hy to be waited on by his Ambry.
Ambrose Epta:
Who fetches him some tea, and bread and butter and ham, with nothing but smiles.
Penthos Adrastis:
“Did you know you’re a godsend?” He digs in, making a monstrosity of a sandwich, tea included by way of dipping.
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, but I do always reciate hearing it. Especially from you."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Truly, though, I think God, the Emperor Undying, King Everlasting, the Necrolord Prime, made and sent you to me, specifically because of you lovely you are.” Ok he may be laying it on a bit thick, but he’s not exactly lying either.
Ambrose Epta:
And Ambrose blushes because of it. Like the delicate rose he isn't.
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos hadn’t known how hungry he’d been. Not until he realized he’d forgotten dinner the night before, too caught up in his work and his anger to bother with pesky things like eating.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose watches him eat with an almost clinical eye. Worried about blood sugar.
Penthos Adrastis:
Most would hate the smothering, the fussing and mother-hening. But all Pen feels is glee. Ambrose’ full attention is on him, and it’s beautiful. He’s more then hy to pretend he needs more help than he does, if it means Ambry helps more. “I haven’t grown another head, have I?”
Ambrose Epta:
"No. I was making sure you weren't going to come over dizzy. You're eating like I've been starving you."
Penthos Adrastis:
“No, just forgot supper yesterday. This is really good!”
Ambrose Epta:
"Ah, I should have come home to make sure you'd eaten, at least. I could have pushed my date later."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Yes, you should have,” he doesn’t try to hide the petulance, pouting a bit. You could have not gone on your date at all. “Abandoning your adept for some nobody. It’s cruel!” Teasing, if still a bit upset.
Ambrose Epta:
"It's alright. I won't see him again, most likely."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Even more of a reason to not have left me.” Which isn’t fair, not when he knows Epta’s date is being deployed, but he doesn’t care.
Ambrose Epta:
" We ought to have a dinner out some time."
Penthos Adrastis:
Adrastis light up. “We should! Oh we haven’t gone out for anything other than duties in ages Rose! It’s so boring being shut up in here all the time.”
Ambrose Epta:
"What if we go out tonight? I'll make things up to you, I won't even flirt."
Penthos Adrastis:
Ambrose can flirt all he likes, so long as it’s only with him. “You’d better not! I’ll not be trotted out so you have something interesting for your potential conquests to gawk at.” Even if he does so adore those eyes on him. Marveling at his twofold beauty.
Ambrose Epta:
"I'll keep my eyes and my words to myself. Bring my most charming stories, all of that."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Good. Dinner then. Someplace fun!” He nods, definitive, pleased. “It’s obvious why so many like you.”
Ambrose Epta:
"I can charm when I try." As if it isn't an easy act for him. One that's become as good as natural.
Penthos Adrastis:
He just never tries with me, Penthos supposes. “And I can tell them all about how you nearly broke you nose on you own rapier as a kid. Drag out the baby pictures.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, and ruin all my mystique, wouldn't you? And I'd deserve it."
Penthos Adrastis:
"You would! Leaving your poor, helpless, frail little necromancer all alone!" Drama is dripping off his tongue, a hand flung up over his forehead as he leans back, trying not to giggle.
Ambrose Epta:
"You know I'd come home if you called for me. If you needed me."
Penthos Adrastis:
I shouln't have to call though, he thinks. You should just always be here. What he says is "I know Ambry. I always need you, though."
Ambrose Epta:
"I should spend more time at home. You're not looking well. Worse than usual, I mean." And he doesn't think about how it correlates so well with him spending more time away.
Penthos Adrastis:
It's absolutely because of how often Ambrose is away. Adrastis has been making himself worse in hopes it would draw him back, but he hadn't, it hasn't and now he's sicker than before with nothing to show for it but even easier bruising and more frequent nosebleeds.
Ambrose Epta:
"Isn't there anything I can?" Ambrose asks, half despairing.
Penthos Adrastis:
"I think you'd know better than me at this point. I can stop the decay, but beyond that you're the better healer." Penthos shrugs, affecting nonchalance, as if this isn't exactly what he's wanted for weeks.
Ambrose Epta:
"Have you checked your blood counts? Surely."
Penthos Adrastis:
“…….No.” It’s only half sheepish.
Ambrose Epta:
"You must. You've been bleeding and bruising and..."
Penthos Adrastis:
He shakes his head. He knows he’s worse, but not by how much.
Ambrose Epta:
"You don't want to?" Ambrose says it gently.
Penthos Adrastis:
“Not on my own. Need you there Ambry, you know that.” He can and has done it himself before. Hundreds if not thousands of times, but he wants Ambrose’ hands on him.
Ambrose Epta:
"I'll be there. Even hold your hand."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Can’t hold my hand if you’re taking the blood…” But he’s eased.
Ambrose Epta:
"I can hold your hand after, can't I?"
Penthos Adrastis:
“Please do. I like when you hold me.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Your lab, then, shall we?"
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen scarfs the last little bit of his sandwich and nods. "We shall." Waits for Ambrose' arm to lean on to stand.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose gives it, of course. Patient and courteous and careful.
Penthos Adrastis:
Once again he leans more on him than he strictly needs to, nuzzling against his bicep as they walk.
Ambrose Epta:
And Ambrose isn't pushing him away. Is allowing it, he himself thinks, more than he perhaps ought to.
Penthos Adrastis:
When they get to his lab, Penthos is loath to let go, wishes he could just crawl up into him. "How much do we need this time?"
Ambrose Epta:
"Shouldn't be too much. Do you think you can give me two vials?"
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen would give it all if Ambrose asked. He nods. "Could probably do three, if you need."
Ambrose Epta:
"Give me three. Won't hurt to have a spare."
Penthos Adrastis:
He nods again, extending his arm, pulling up the loose, poofy sleeve of his nightshirt, exposing the vein. The arm is covered in bruises, he's never been good about watching his limbs, knocking them into all sorts of things, bruising easily.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose presses two fingers against a vein, ting to bring it up. "You always have lovely veins, at least."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Guess the blood cancer didn't fuck that up at least. Makes it easy to find." He honestly loves when blood gets taken, loves feeling Ambrose' hands on his arm, loves watching him insert the needle.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose is so intent, as he works. So very diligent. Careful. He always promises it won't hurt, his voice silk-satin. Like he might say when...
Penthos Adrastis:
Like he might say when guiding someone through intimacy for the first time. Like he might say as he opens them up, slides into them. It makes Pen shiver in want, heartrate speeding up.
Ambrose Epta :
But Ambry penetrates him with the needle instead, sure and steady. "There we go. Good."
Penthos Adrastis :
Any praise in that tone of voice makes Penthos have to beg his cock to not rise, excited. Even still it twitches in his underwear, dangerous with no trousers between them, only thin underpants and the bottom of his nightshirt.
Ambrose Epta :
"There you go. Done! Want me to kiss it better?" And he's not quite properly teasing.
Penthos Adrastis :
"Yes, actually." Today, Pen decides, he can be a bit selfish.
Ambrose Epta :
Ambrose brings Pen's arm to his mouth, and kisses the place his needle marked the skin.
Penthos Adrastis :
He has the prick heal over, leaving it mostly unscathed when Ambrose pulls back. "Look, it worked."
Ambrose Epta :
And Ambrose laughs. "It always impresses me how you do that."
Penthos Adrastis :
"What, even all these years later?" It's not like he hasn't seen Penthos do some variation of this since they were kids.
Ambrose Epta:
"It gets more impressive as we grow. Quicker, cleaner, fancier."
Penthos Adrastis:
That makes Penthos smile wide, crooked and pale, but wide. Showing off headstone teeth. “Well it would be rather disappointing to us all if I regressed.”
Ambrose Epta:
"I'd be tremendously worried if you did. Let's have a look at this blood now." He sets it up to process.
Penthos Adrastis:
He is genuinely interested in what Ambrose will find, after having not done his bloods in at least a week, and having certainly worked himself far too hard, hard enough to get sicker. “What happens if they’re bad?”
Ambrose Epta:
"We'll see what taking care of you need, and we'll do it. Might have to rest for a while."
Penthos Adrastis:
“I won’t on my own. I refuse to be shut up in that room without anyone and don’t suggest the maid, or a nurse, because you know I hate them seeing me in the nude.” He wants Rose, wants to be kept and cared for by him and him alone.
Ambrose Epta:
"Then I'll stay by you. I'll have to train, but you can sleep when I do, and I'll be there when you wake."
Penthos Adrastis:
“ Or, you could help me down to the training grounds to watch.” He wheedles, looking as plaintive and innocent as possible. “I’ll be good and stay in the wheelchair the whole time if I need to, promise!”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose flushes up at the very idea. "Oh, I won't be as good if I'm trying to impress. But certainly."
Penthos Adrastis:
“You know you don’t need to try to impress me, Amb, I just want to watch! It’s been ages.” And Penthos is desperate to see his cav get all sweaty and wild looking. Swinging his sword, all that glorious footwork….. If he’s lucky, he might even get to watch a shirt come off.
Ambrose Epta:
"Then we'll do that. Whether you're tr: ed inside or not. You'll get some nice fresh air." He frowns, though, looking at the blood results.
Penthos Adrastis:
“It is rather nice out now. Not as repugnant as last time you tried to get me out.” It had been horridly sunny and even being outside had made his eyes hurt. Not the mention the sunburn.
Ambrose Epta:
"The sun is good for you. In controlled amounts." Ambrose insists.
Penthos Adrastis:
“I turned pink Amb! Pink! And not a cute pink either! I looked like a boilt creature, and the peeling! I was loosing skin in sheets!” It had been downright agony, and done even more damage to his skincare routine.
Ambrose Epta:
"I suppose a burn can be a terrible thing indeed." He shakes his head in the direction of the blood he squints at.
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen huffs a sigh. "It wasn't even a real burn! It was that stupid in between thing, not near enough to be pretty. Intolerable, truly."
Ambrose Epta:
"Well, we'll make sure you don't burn. I don't like what I'm seeing here, you know."
Penthos Adrastis:
He frowns, even if only for appearances. "What? What's wrong with it this time?"
Ambrose Epta:
"Well, you're terribly anemic. No wonder you're bruising so."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Oh. Have I not always been? Did it just get worse? The blood has been thinner, with my nose...."
Ambrose Epta:
"You're always a little, but it's worse, and your platelets..."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Those are important huh." Well, he certainly got what he wanted, worse. He kicks his feet, hoping it looks like idle fidgiting, and not supressed glee.
Ambrose Epta:
There's clear worry on Ambrose's face, creasing his brow and darkening his eyes. "Yes, you'll have to rest at least. Eat well."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Yeah yeah, I know the drill. " Pen looks up at him. "Is that why I've been so hungry?"
Ambrose Epta:
"It must be. Even more so if you've been overdoing it on your work."
Penthos Adrastis:
Adrastis puts on a show of grumbling. “It’s not like I have anything else to be doing, and I am making progress. You know that.” But he’s glad of it. Glad it means he’ll get forced to rest and therefore have his Ambrose within calling distance twenty four seven for the time being.
Ambrose Epta:
"I know! But you can't destroy yourself for your progress, it simply won't do."
Penthos Adrastis:
I’m destroying myself for you! For you to look at me! Touch me! Hold me! It’s all for you. You must have noticed by now that I get markedly worse every time you get more serious about someone. Every time you blow me off to hook up. It’s not for progress, love, it’s just you. But Penthos Adrastis is many things, foremost at the moment being ‘coward’ so he says none of that. Instead what comes out is: “I know, I’m sorry.”
Ambrose Epta:
"It's alright. We'll take care of you. We'll see you right. Doesn't look so much like a progression of the cancer, more so evidence of neglect. That's fixable."
Penthos Adrastis:
Damn he hadn’t hid it well enough. “That’s good, right? Means you can fix me up?”
Ambrose Epta:
"Mm. I can, and I intend to. Not going to let such a pesky trouble defeat me."
Penthos Adrastis:
Perfect. “Oh they wouldn’t dare! Such pests tremble at your might!”
Ambrose Epta:
"They had better. No, I'll see you right, you'll see. How do you feel ? Terrible?"
Penthos Adrastis:
Now that he’s thinking about it in more depth, it’s all so damned painful. “Atrocious, Rose, it’s so…… tiring.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Let's get you to bed. We'll get you a clean nightshirt, and you can rest a little before lunch. I'll even read more."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Alright… before actual bedtime can we do a bath? I’ll behave all day, just want to get the yuck of the day off before you tuck me in all proper tonight.” If he’s lucky (or messy enough), Ambrose might even get in with him, or at least shed some clothing to not get soaked.
Ambrose Epta:
"Of course. It'll help steady your temperature, too. I'm rather shocked you don't have a fever."
Penthos Adrastis:
Really the only reason he doesn’t is because he hadn’t let himself. They’re nasty things, making him all sweaty and ruining the pretty things he puts on every day. “It is strange, I suppose I’m just lucky.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Let's hope that luck holds. Or I'd have to find ways to cool you."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oh? And what sort of ways would that be?” He’s terribly curious.
Ambrose Epta:
"Put a fan on you, sponge you down if your temperature stays up."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos nods. That sounds kind of nice, actually. Maybe he will let the fever run a little bit. If Ambrose isn’t being attentive enough at least.
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen cums with a whimpering cry, overcome with want, surrounded by Ambrose, and loving it.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose raises his hand to his lips, and licks a broad stripe across his come-covered palm.
Penthos Adrastis:
He shivers, eyes wide and lustdark, staring at that tongue. “You don’t know what you do to me, Ambry.”
Ambrose Epta:
" You don't know how beautiful you look. And taste."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen has a slight inkling of how he looks, spread out over the bed, pale and fragile and a rainbow of bruising, ripped shirt making him look ravished, a blush pinking his cheeks, with such lovely decay in that one eye, half hidden under sweaty locks of raven hair. He knows he’s always been pretty, does so much to emphasize it. A pretty corpse is a better corpse, after all. But Ambrose is right, he has no idea how he tastes. “Let’s rectify that then, let me taste.”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose holds out come-smeared fingers. "Go on, then. Give it a lick."
Penthos Adrastis:
His tongue runs up those fingers slow, curling to press against as much of them as he can, drawing his own spend into his mouth. When he pulls back he looks like he’s tasting a fine cheese, trying to access a flavor profile. “You’re right.”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose smiles. "And your mouth..."
Penthos Adrastis:
“What about it?” He wants to hear every little thing Ambrose has ever liked or wanted of him.
Ambrose Epta:
"I want to feel it on my prick."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos licks his lips, staring at his crotch. “I- I want that too. I haven’t… before though. So I probably won’t be much good.”
Ambrose Epta:
"It's alright. I'll show you how."
Penthos Adrastis:
He nods, crawling his way toward Ambrose, eye locked on his target.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose sits back, spreads his legs.
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen opens his trousers, pulling out his prick, and falls to his elbows, marveling at it, at him. “You’re gorgeous, Ambry….”
Ambrose Epta:
"Put it in your mouth. Go on, lovely."
Penthos Adrastis:
Plush lips wrap around him, wide eye looking up, for approval, for guidance.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose's hand comes to rest on the back of his head. "Open your mouth a little wider."
Penthos Adrastis:
He does, wanting to make it good for Ambrose.
Ambrose Epta:
"Good boy. That's it. Just suck."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen tries, sucking, letting his tongue explore over the lovely cock in his mouth. He does taste just delicious.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose rests a hand on his head. "That's a good boy."
Penthos Adrastis:
He hums in contentment, in pride, letting his head move lazily under Ambrose’s hand.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose groans in pleasure. "Little more..."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos isn’t sure if he means a little deeper, a little more tongue, or a little more suction, so he does all three. Eye rolling back a bit as he sinks down.
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, fuck, that's good, yeah, I'm going to..." He comes on his tongue before he can finish his sentence.
Penthos Adrastis:
He swallows down as much as he can, but chokes, pulling off with the rest dribbling down his chin, mixed with spit. "You taste... even better."
Ambrose Epta:
"You're sweet." Ambrose gropes for a handkerchief to wipe Pen's face up.
Penthos Adrastis:
"I'm telling the truth. You're lovely."
Ambrose Epta:
"And you're rather good, for a first time."
Penthos Adrastis:
Oh Pen's eye sparkles in adoration. "Really?"
Ambrose Epta:
"I'll teach you to be even better. You'll make a quick study. You always do."
Penthos Adrastis:
It shouldn't sting, but some part of him is hurt by 'even better,' never mind the fact Amb had just told him he was good for it being his first time. "Thanks." Is all he can manage, lips a little swollen, eye trying not to water.
Ambrose Epta:
"Ah, I don't mean to be harsh, I don't mean it that way at all."
Penthos Adrastis:
"I know, you never do. No one ever does."
Ambrose Epta:
"But they are?" Ambrose finishes.
Penthos Adrastis:
"I can always do better." He's only a little bitter about it. "I know you don't mean it that way, though."
Ambrose Epta:
"I don't. I mean, I want to do this with you again and again."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen cracks a salacious smile at that. "Ohhhhh I see now. You just want a pretty little thing to suck you off when you get bored~" Obviously teasing, especially when long nails walk their way up Ambrose's leg. "Agan and again, huh."
Ambrose Epta:
"I don't even need to be bored to want a pretty little thing to suck me off."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Mmn, so you’d rather I just be free for you to use? On my knees for you 24/7? My, my, what would the rest of the Seventh think?”
Ambrose Epta:
"They'd be jealous, wouldn't they?"
Penthos Adrastis:
“Of whom? Me, for getting the privilege of your prick? You, for having turned your adept into a fleshlight? I think they’d more likely start spouting off all of that crud about duty and imbalance again.”
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, surely. They wouldn't say the same if it was the other way."
Penthos Adrastis:
He hums, thinking. “I might still get that lecture on imbalanced duties and a slap on the wrist. But that’s likely it.” His head falls to rest against Epta’s thigh, warm and solid.
Ambrose Epta:
"I wouldn't even get a lecture. I'd get cloying sympathy. " His hand drops to play with Pen's hair.
Penthos Adrastis:
“Another necromancer taking advantage of their swornsword… They’d not even take you away from me. Just look at you different.”
Ambrose Epta:
"It happens, but nobody talks of it."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Ambrose I don’t think I could properly take advantage of you if I wanted. I mean- Look at us.”
Ambrose Epta:
"You're right. I'm gagging for it."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen shoves at him, laughing. “That’s not my point and you know it!”
Ambrose Epta:
"I know what you meant. But there's other factors, too."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oh?”
Ambrose Epta:
"It would be hard to abuse me if I wanted it."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oh.” And here he had thought… “What eh… what kind of abuse, Rose?”
Ambrose Epta:
"You could fuck me, cut me, use my body for your experiments."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos’ face heats up, turning a lovely pink. “I- That’s— Oh Amb, I—“
Ambrose Epta:
"You like that idea, don't you?"
Penthos Adrastis:
“Yes,” comes out in a breathy rush, as if scared to admit it. “Want to make you afraid, and kiss you anyway.”
Ambrose Epta:
"What would you do with me? Tell me."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Oh so many options….. I want to open you up- no. I’ll preserve you like this….. living corpse set up all perfect for me… Could even put you on display! It’s hurt something awful, and I’ll kiss every little spot as it trembles. Let you back free all slow, maybe just parts of you at first….. Fuck you while you still can’t move…….” Pen takes a deep breath, presses a flushed kiss to his leg. “I do want to open you up though. Implant the loveliest little kernel of decay in you, see how it spreads. More mundane things too, things even regular boring people could get up too, but that seems a given.”
Ambrose Epta:
"It sounds wonderful." Ambrose finds himself saying. "Being at your mercy..."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen pulls himself up, pats him on the cheek. “Ambrose dear, don’t you know? You always have been.”
Ambrose Epta:
"And yet you never took advantage of it. Yet."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Nothing wrong with giving that mercy. Even if I really should have punished you proper for leaving me alone, frail and weak and utterly helpless.”
Ambrose Epta:
"I would have deserved it, too." He bends near in half to press his lips to Pen's forehead. "Oh, you're warm now."
Penthos Adrastis:
He’d almost forgotten he let the fever start. No wonder he’s a little faint. ..
Ambrose Epta:
"Why don't I... stay the night here?"
Penthos Adrastis:
“Please. Ambry, you have no clue how long I’ve wanted ti hear you say those words.”
Ambrose Epta:
"I'll sleep the night here. Be right here if you need me."
Penthos Adrastis:
Pen doesn’t even try to hide the relieved sigh, the way he tucks himself close to his side. The way he clings. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. ”
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose kisses him again. And he tastes come and fever-sweat and it's good, it's good.
Penthos Adrastis:
He does slip into a lightly fevered sleep, tucked up into Ambrose the way he’s missed for more than a decade. When he wakes he’ll have to pull the fever back down, smother it till the embers die, but- well…. For now they can just rest.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose lies awake for a little while. Partially in worry, partially savouring his circumstances.
Penthos Adrastis:
It’s late, quiet, when Penthos opens his eye. Sweaty and warm, disgusting, even pressed close to Ambrose. He focuses, and forces the fever down, muting each pyrogen release, and feeling his nose bleed for the effort. Digs deeper, superior, to the hypothalamus, forcing back down the temperature, sweat turning bloody and painful, choking on it.
Ambrose Epta:
It's a moment before the coughing wakes Ambrose, but not more than a moment. He turns over on his side, facing him. "Pen?"
Penthos Adrastis:
He can only cough red, both eyes leaking liquid crimson, everything staining his perfect pretty torn nightshirt.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose sits up sharply. "Come here. Come here."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos manages to sit, leans forward to do as told, and hacks up a horrid glob of red phlegm, directly onto Ambrose.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose cradles him to his shoulder, not caring for a moment about all the blood smearing. Patting a hand up his spine, steadily and on the edge of painfully hard.
Penthos Adrastis:
He tries to stabilize himself, and another gush of blood rushes from him, staining the pair. Penthos groans and nuzzles into his shoulder, clutching Ambrose’s shirt.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose's hand rubs the spot he was hammering the same hand against it. "That's it."
Penthos Adrastis:
Finally it subsides into shudders, trembles and red, coppery sweat bleeding through fabric. Pen tries to speak, and what comes is a red pool of saliva, tongue failing him.
Ambrose Epta:
"Oh, Pen." Ambrose sounds somewhere between dis: ointed and grieving. "Tell me you overdid it today, and you weren't doing necromancy in the middle of the night ."
Penthos Adrastis:
He looks horribly sheepish, averting his eye, still slowly weeping red. The silence stretches on between them.
Ambrose Epta:
"Right. You'll have to get up and let me clean you up."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Hurts.” It’s quiet, pathetic, feeble and weak. Penthos clings, long nails curling tighter into Ambrose’ shirt.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose softens, as if he'd ever been truly firm. "Your chest?"
Penthos Adrastis:
“Everything.” And it has never been more accurate. He pushed it too far, did far too much. And now he can feel it all teetering on the edge of autolysis.
Ambrose Epta:
"I'm going to run you a bath, alright? You'll feel better when you're clean."
Penthos Adrastis:
He can only nod, not wanting to let go. When his fingers are finally peeled free, red prints are left behind.
Ambrose Epta:
"Just you rest, I'll only be a moment." Ambrose as good as runs through the steps of switching on the bath.
Penthos Adrastis:
It is a different sort of agony, this time. A dull ache deep in him, as if a hand had been gently disarticulated and pulled away from the body, with all the vasculature intact, stretching. Pen finds himself whimpering, still sweating blood, though slower now. He can’t tell if it’s due to recovery or due to a lack of the stuff to lose.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose re: ears in the doorway. "Come on now. I'll carry you."
Penthos Adrastis:
“Thank…. you… My gallant savior…” He feels a bit like he’ll pass out.
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose gathers him up, bloody clothing and all. Rests Pen's head against his shoulder, like he knows it's a risk.
Penthos Adrastis:
“Never have… to worry about anything when you’re here….”
Ambrose Epta:
"No. You don't. I'll take care of you." He promises.
Penthos Adrastis:
When they get to the bathroom, Pen has to thump on his shoulder, gesture frantically to the toilet, so he can throw up bloody stomach bile into plumbing, rather than down Ambrose’s front.
Ambrose Epta:
It's a near thing, and a messy thing. Ambrose winces, in more sympathy than disgust. "Poor thing."
Penthos Adrastis:
"Was... was getting rid of the fever..."
Ambrose Epta:
"Did it work?" He has to ask.
Penthos Adrastis:
He's pretty sure it did, but.... "Check f'r yourself."
Ambrose Epta:
Ambrose puts a hand against Pen's face. "It does seem so."
Penthos Adrastis:
That makes Pen grin, wide and bloody, teeth stained a bright red. "See? 'M a good necromancer...." As if there had ever been a question of this.
Ambrose Epta:
"You are. Very good, I'd never doubt it."
Penthos Adrastis:
Penthos only smiles wider, as if this one sentence has made him h: ier than any other praise ever has. Blood slowly oozes from orifices, and the putrefying eyeball is beginning to waver, leaking serous and such as well.
Ambrose Epta:
"But you've overdone it quite awfully. Into the bath with you, come on."
Penthos Adrastis:
The water is an instant pleasure, even as uncomfortable as it is being in wet clothes. "Better than.. any nurse..."