Chapter Text
Three years went by, uneventfully. Oberon found himself roaming the forest, which was nothing new, but now he frequently visited the spots where Tsiehta had previously called him. Just in case he had forgotten the ritual. Even though the Feywild never put a visitor in the same place twice. It provided some routine for him, a semblance that maybe—just maybe—he was bringing Tsiehta closer to him.
It didn’t, of course. Tsiehta was the one that decided when they met.
The instant he felt the pull on his chest, Oberon was there.
The mortal in front of him was the worst of them all. Tsiehta sat on the grass, staring at the blades in front of him. When he lifted his head to greet Oberon, the archfey could have cried. He looked so tired. However bad the bags under his eyes were before, was nothing in comparison to this. There was a dullness in his eyes that Oberon despised, and although he smiled when he saw the archfey, there was no true joy in it.
“Hey.” Tsiehta stood up, letting the flowers fall to the ground. “You up for another round?”
Oberon looked him up and down, his chest seizing. He wore three layers of incredibly thick black clothing. His hair was in the same half bun Oberon remembered, and it was still the same length it had been. The archfey missed the time when he had worn fingerless gloves, or even when his clothes weren’t so dreadfully heavy.
“Oberon?” Tsiehta asked, bringing Oberon back to the present. He quirked a brow, smile turning teasing, but there was still only a shadow of the humor that had once danced across the man’s beautiful face. “Finally not attracted to me, huh?”
Oberon swallowed and stepped forward, taking the mortal into his arms. He pressed a kiss to Tsiehta’s forehead, ignoring the small surprised sound the man made. He sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to keep it together. He only had one chance to provide Tsiehta with even a small moment of bliss. He was not going to ruin it.
“Never, my love,” he whispered, against Tsiehta’s hair. “Never.”
Tsiehta made another contemplative sound. “Huh. That’s a new one.”
Oberon blinked hard enough to keep his eyes from watering, then breathed in deeply. In a flash, they were both gone.
“Do you believe the mortal ever developed romantic feelings for you?”
Oberon’s gaze unfocused. He thought of Tsiehta’s body pressed against his. The hot breath against his skin. How Tsiehta trembled under his hands and cried out with pleasure. He thought of how Tsiehta’s smile used to make his whole face light up. How his eyes used to crinkle with his laughter. He remembered how that sadness that always simmered under the mortal rose and rose until it finally crashed, leaving nothing but a numb and apathetic husk of the lively and passionate mortal Oberon met years ago in its wake.
Oberon thought of how he would give up everything if it meant Tsiehta felt happy one more time.
His eyes focused on Titania. His jaw clenched.
“No.”
When they arrived at Oberon’s house, the archfey immediately pulled the mortal into a slow and loving kiss. Tsiehta hummed, seeming to appreciate the gesture, and easily kissed Oberon back. He let the archfey run his hands over his body, slide under his robes, and slowly begin undressing him.
“Well aren’t you sweet,” Tsiehta chuckled. He brought a hand up to rub at Oberon’s head, nails gently scratching at his scalp.
It took all of Oberon’s fey capabilities not to start sobbing once he saw the mortal’s bare body. He had never received an explanation for Tsiehta’s tattoos, but he could never forget the miserable look in the mortal’s eyes when he had stared at his fresh tattoos three years ago. The small patches of unmarked skin left on the mortal’s body were covered now. Willing his hands not to tremble, his fingers brushed against Tsiehta’s navel, where a new dagger, blade long and thin, was inked on him. It looked as though it had been there for a while.
“What do these mean?” he asked, voice steady, unlike his racing mind.
Tsiehta hummed, shrugging and gently tugging at Oberon’s hair. “That’s not exactly a sexy topic of conversation, I’m afraid.”
“I would like to know,” he murmured. He sank to his knees, kissing the black tattoo, eyes closing just for a moment. “Please.”
The King of the Seelie. On his knees. Begging a mortal to speak to him. There wasn’t a lower point in his entire existence that Oberon had been brought down to. And he couldn’t bring himself to care in the slightest.
Oberon heard Tsiehta tsk, and opened his eyes when the mortal pulled on his hair again. Tsiehta was looking down at him, and Obeorn hated the hollowness in his face, even as the mortal nodded and his lips turned into a small smile.
“Alright. But can it wait until after we’re done?” Tsiehta pouted exaggeratedly, tilting his head to the side. “I’d rather do the fun stuff first.”
Oberon couldn’t help but smile slightly, leading the mortal’s hand to his mouth and kissing his palm. “Of course.” He still loved him after all. No matter how little of the mortal he fell in love with was left, it was still him. Oberon wondered if he would still love him centuries later, when Tsiehta was gone from his plane and nothing but a memory in the archfey’s mind. He didn’t need to contemplate very hard; it was an easy question.
Still on his knees with Tsiehta’s hand on his face, Oberon leaned forward and took the mortal’s cock into his mouth. The soft sweetness of Tsiehta’s surprised moan was enough to have Oberon close his eyes in an attempt to absorb himself in the feeling of Tsiehta in his mouth and the sound of his pleasure. If he closed his eyes and lost himself in the taste of Tsiehta’s cock and the mortal’s black nails slowly scraping at his scalp, he could pretend that nothing had changed since the first time he met the mortal. That there was still that light in the mortal he had humiliatingly and desperately fallen in love with. For the first time, the archfey wished the Feywild experienced time like the mortal realm. It would bring him just a little closer to understanding what the mortal had experienced while he was away from Oberon.
Tsiehta hummed quietly, apparently content with Oberon’s actions. The archfey pushed down the part of him that wished the mortal would take from him like he’d had before, and instead took the Tsiehta deeper in his mouth, enjoying the surprised gasp it elicited from his partner. He loved the heat the mortal hadn’t stopped emanating after all these years, and he ran his hands over Tsiehta’s thighs to savor the warmth. He gently scratched his nails against the sensitive skin and opened his eyes to watch Tsiehta when the mortal hissed at the motion. The mortal looked so relaxed, with his head tilted back and mouth open as he sighed. He appeared like he was enjoying himself, fingers carefully twisting in Oberon’s hair and his cock throbbing and hardening in the archfey’s mouth. Still, Oberon wondered how much of that emptiness he had seen in the mortal forced him to act as if everything was fine, when in reality it was anything but.
Oberon did not allow himself to wander down that path of thought. Tsiehta would never tell him otherwise and so he would only do what he knew. The mortal was here. Oberon had to enjoy him while he could.
He let his eyes close again, the taste of Tsiehta’s salty precum slowly spilling over his tongue focusing his senses. Fey could not consume like mortals could, but Oberon would greedily take anything the man above him had to offer him.
Oberon did not feel embarrassed by the obscene wet sounds he made as he sucked Tsiehta’s cock into his mouth like it was what he was created to do. The mortal moaned softly when Oberon’s teeth scraped against a pulsing vein, and Oberon reveled in the gentle tremors through Tsiehta’s thighs that he could feel under his palms. He liked pleasuring the mortal. Maybe more than he had ever enjoyed servicing any creature. It was quite a feat to surpass the Queen of the archfey, but Oberon was becoming less and less surprised whenever Tsiehta did something that by all means should be impossible.
It wasn’t until his own dick was hard and hot in his pants, and Oberon had reached a hand down to palm himself through his robes, that Tsiehta appeared to take any initiative. Unfortunately, it was him pulling at Oberon’s hair until the archfey reluctantly let the mortal’s firm cock fall from his mouth.
“Surely you don’t want to cum like that?” the mortal panted through parted lips, tilting his head.
Oberon, who was rather preoccupied with staring in worship at Tsiehta’s beautiful leaking cock and wishing he was still tasting it, forced himself to turn his gaze up. “Whatever you would like,” he murmured with lips slicked with spit and precum. He could feel a trail of the unsanitary combination running down the side of his mouth, but couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than making Tsiehta feel as good as possible. In truth, being devoted on a servitude level made the archfey feel more aroused than anything else.
Tsiehta didn’t appear to know what to do with Oberon’s statement, still carefully combing his fingers through the archfey’s hair. It made Oberon’s eyes shut again and he leaned into the touch, nuzzling the mortal’s warm palm and practically purring like a lowly fey creature. “I’m ok with anything,” he heard the mortal say. “Whatever you want. You’re the one getting me out of here, after all.”
Oberon wondered, with a painful twisting in his chest, whether the mortal would care for him at all if he hadn’t offered to assist him again. If Tsiehta thought of him as Oberon did him, and wished fate had not dealt them such an unfortunate hand. But, as Oberon recalled the desperation and sorrow that the mortal had been drowning in the last time they met, he didn’t think Tsiehta had much time to dwell on anything that he wasn’t forced to. And Oberon wasn’t going to make him. He wasn’t Tsiehta’s god. Tsiehta didn’t belong to anyone, despite what his god believed, much less Oberon.
Truthfully, as much as Oberon may have wished it wasn’t so, he belonged to the mortal. Tsietha didn’t need a contract to bind the King of the Archfey to him. Oberon had shackled himself without so much as a pause to wonder if it was wise to pursue something he could never have. There were countless upon countless tales of mortals coming to the Feywild and falling for a fae who, more often than not, only saw them as a passing fantasy. Perhaps the fae returned the emotions, but it was not in a fae’s nature to be brought low by a mortal due to something as inconsequential as attachment to the trespasser. Mortals were meant to be used, tricked and exploited into servitude for amusement and nothing more.
Not this, Oberon thought as he stood, taking Tsiehta’s face into his hands and feeling the line of mortal’s jaw and the softness of his hair brushing against the archfey’s knuckles. This was not fae. This was foolish. Oberon was a fool, and as he stared into Tsiehta’s black eyes and felt nothing but love, the kind that had lost hundreds of mortals their souls to fae and thousands their lives to the world, the King of the Archfey may as well have been a mortal jester. Loving Titania wasn’t like this, and Obeorn loved her enough that he hoped she would never have to feel this way.
He kissed Tsiehta, allowing the mortal to taste himself on the archfey’s tongue. See ? He wanted to say as he pulled Tsiehta’s naked body against his still clothed chest. See what you’ve done? What you have brought me to? You can taste it, it’s all there. It’s for you. As is everything else. Take it.
The mortal’s mouth opened against Oberon’s persistent lips, pressing back against Oberon’s hands as he moaned softly, arms wrapping around the archfey’s neck. Oberon wondered if he could taste the archfey’s love in his mouth like he could himself, if Oberon’s love was as tangible and real as the mortal’s taste. Oberon believed it was. It was the most solid thing Oberon had ever felt inside himself. The only thing he knew would never change, no matter how malleable fae were. How much of him was fey now, really? What had Tsiehta left him, after tearing him apart and filling him with a love akin to the worship Oberon had heard the mortals speak of? It was a pointless contemplation. It wouldn’t change the reality of the tug in Oberon’s chest and the yearning in a soul he wasn’t sure he had.
He needed to stop losing himself in thought and self wallowing pity. Oberon needed to hold Tsiehta and feel it in his being, before the mortal slipped away from him again like water through his fingers.
“I love you” , he murmured against Tsiehta’s lips. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to say it, because he could never truly bare himself to Tsiehta (or anyone) no matter how much he wanted to.
Tsiehta hummed, sending soft vibrations through the archfey’s body, and pulled away from Oberon with a smile that held barely a trace of the delight Oberon had once seen painted all over his beautiful face. “Do you have a kink for me not understanding you or something?”
Oberon didn’t say anything, but forced himself to smile, bringing Tsiehta into another slow kiss and wondering if he could taste the life the mortal once held if he kissed him deep enough. “Are you certain you have no preference for what we do?”
Tsiehta shrugged, arms falling from around Oberon’s shoulders to untie the archfey’s clothes. “No. You fucking me always goes pretty well, though.” He smirked, a brow raising as Oberon allowed him to push the first layer of fabric off his body. “That sound good?”
Oberon wished Tsiehta would call him “baby” again. Maybe the mortal had forgotten the endearment. It had been three mortal years, and Oberon was the one who constantly replayed the sound falling from Tsiehta’s perfect lips night after night.
Odeon swallowed, letting the last of his garments fall to the ground. Then he reached up, stroking his thumb over Tsiehta’s cheekbone. He felt so sharp. “Yes, my love.”
Tsiehta’s eyes flickered with something Oberon couldn’t properly comprehend, gone too fast. Whatever it was, the mortal didn’t dwell on it, settling his hands on Oberon’s waist and leading the archfey back to the bed. He sat down, looking up at the archfey expectantly. “How do you want to do this?”
There was so little true enthusiasm in the mortal’s words, despite his enticing tone and the spread of his legs that made Oberon’s cock pulse with desire. He felt this was more of a chore to the mortal than it had ever been. A task to complete, to pass the time and get him to his goal. Oberon felt used, in a way, but he felt sorrow more so. Was there anything the mortal delighted in anymore?
He wanted to once again say “anything you would like”, but given Tsiehta’s lack of initiative, Oberon believed they would be caught in a perpetual loop of desire to please and no particular inclination to be indulged. So, Oberon wrapped a hand around Tsiehta’s stiff cock and nudged the mortal back, until he was spread out on the bed with the archfey looming over him.
“Would you like lube to prepare yourself?” Oberon offered as he stroked the mortal’s dick, observing how Tsiehta delightfully shivered with pleasure.
Tsiehta took a moment to respond, likely lost in sensation, before he opened his eyes and bit his lip briefly. “You can do it, if you want.”
Oberon blinked, hand stilling and making Tsiehta’s cock twitch. The mortal quietly groaned underneath him, shifting but offering no audible protest or encouragement. The archfey remembered himself and sat up, pushing the mortal’s legs open further as he settled between them. “You are always full of surprises.”
Tsiehta snickered, and the achingly almost familiar sound made Oberon’s heart seize. “That’s not the only thing I’m full of.”
Oberon ducked his head, hiding his smile and the sudden burning in his eyes. He pulled himself together, taking a quiet and shuddering breath that Tsiehta couldn’t have heard. He brought a bottle of lubrication into existence with a twist of his hand and poured the warm substance over his hand, feeling the smooth mixture rush over his fingers. His free hand settling in Tsiehta’s thigh, Oberon watched the mortal’s face as he readied a finger over his entrance. “May I begin?”
Tsiehta snorted, once again shifting on the bed. “Yeah, you’re good.”
Oberon didn’t think he could ever be “good” again. As he pressed a finger into the mortal and felt Tsiehta’s hot body clench around him, watching his face scrunch up and his sharp white teeth bite into his plump bottom lip, Oberon didn’t think being good (in terms of being an archfey or otherwise) could be possible, when this mortal had ruined him so utterly. It wasn’t fair, but injustice seemed to be something Tsiehta was subjected to in spades, and Oberon had no right to complain when he had asked for this again and again.
Tsiehta opened up easily under Oberon’s gentle prodding and stretching, and the archfey could add another finger soon after the first. Even having the mortal’s heat only around his fingers made Oberon’s cock stiffen with pleasure. It felt so good to feel the tightness of Tsiehta’s body loosen around his administrations. As he carefully scissored his fingers and Tsiehta whimpered and writhed under him, Oberon swelled with satisfaction. He was the one making Tsiehta’s eyes squeeze and his mouth open as he breathed heavily. He wanted to overwhelm the mortal’s body with pleasure until he was crying and shaking with it and begging Oberon to stop and keep going all at once. Oberon would love nothing more than to make the mortal cum over and over from his cock, fingers, mouth, anything and everything, and reduce the mortal to nothing but a quivering mess of bliss and cum staining his skin like his tattoos did. But Oberon knew Tsiehta would not allow himself to stay in the archfey’s bed for so long, and so Oberon simply enjoyed the present feeling of preparing the mortal’s body to take his cock and scream with pleasure.
Oberon watched the sword design on Tsiehta’s stomach ripple as the mortal twisted underneath him, and the archfey pushed his fingers deeper inside the mortal to hear him moan loudly once more.
“You’re always so beautiful,” Oberon muttered, reverent.
Tsiehta made a sound between a huff and a whine, squinting at Oberon with something incredulous and impatient. “I’m good now,” he said after a moment. “You can fuck me.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Oberon let his fingers slip out of the mortal and immediately missed the tight warmth around him.
Tsiehta huffed properly, shaking his head. Oberon wasn’t quite sure what this dismissive attitude was for, but he wanted to remedy it quickly. He spread the leftover lubrication over his dick, which was achingly firm and flushed at this point, and positioned himself over Tsiehta. His hands on either side of the mortal’s head, he gazed down at the man questioningly. “Are you ready?”
Tsiehta frowned, shifting under Oberon, and the archfey could see his hands picking at the sheets. “I already told you I was. Come on.”
Oberon was admittedly disappointed at Tsiehta’s lack of eagerness, replaced with cursory impatience. Still, regardless of Tsiehta’s indifference, Oberon knew he could make his body feel good all the same. He could at least give Tsiehta a pleasurable experience, even if it was not something the mortal craved as he once did.
Oberon allowed himself to sink into the mortal’s pliant body, and was pleased when Tsiehta’s hands went to Oberon’s shoulders, digging his nails in as he hissed.
“Fuck.” Tsiehta pressed his face into Oberon’s neck and the archfey could feel his trembling breath pleasantly wash over his skin.
The feeling of being inside Tsiehta, something Oberon had been dreaming about almost constantly for the past three mortal years, was overwhelming. Tsiehta’s heated flesh pressed against Oberon’s own form as his cock pulsed deep inside the mortal made the archfey groan roughly, closing his eyes to further lose himself in the sensation. “You’re so fucking good,” he growled into Tsiehta’s ear, sealing his mouth over the spot underneath the mortal’s ear and nipping, causing Tsiehta to whimper before he could properly respond.
“Fuck,” Tsiehta repeated, sucking air thorugh his teeth as he dug his nails harder into Oberon’s back. “Why do you always make your cock so fucking big?”
Oberon chuckled, tongue smoothing over the small indent his teeth had made in Tsiehta’s purple skin. “No one’s complained yet. Least of all you, if my nearly limitless memory serves.”
“Hey—” The beginning of Tsiehta’s protest was cut off as Oberon suddenly snapped his hips forward.
The archfey grinned, pulling back to watch Tsiehta’s face contort into pleasure. “Beautiful,” he murmured over Tsiehta’s gasping. He barely switched to Sylvan in time for his next words. “ I love you .”
Tsiehta’s chest heaved as he gasped, looking up at Oberon through narrowed eyes with his mouth hanging open. “Fuck, what happened to asking?”
Oberon laughed softly, kissing Tsiehta’s neck and shifting his hips to purposefully make the mortal whine again. “I thought you said you were ok with anything.”
Tsiehta’s hands dug into Oberon, sending lovely spikes of painful pleasure down the archfey’s back. “You’re such a dick,” he groaned out, scowling adorably.
“On the contrary.” Oberon pulled back just to thrust into Tsiehta again, hungrily watching the mortal writhe with sensation. “I simply want to make you feel good, my love.” He leaned back down, murmuring into the mortal’s ear. “You can trust me to do that.”
Truthfully, he didn’t want to keep hearing Tsiehta’s unenthused statements of his readiness for Oberon. The archfey wanted to pleasure the mortal. He knew how to do that with or without Tsiehta’s surliness.
Before Tsiehta could respond with anything, Oberon quickly began fucking into the mortal, one hand going to grip over his decorated hip to hold him in place as he settled on a rhythm. It felt so good to be inside Tsiehta, to feel his soft heat welcome Oberon’s cock inside him and make the archfey moan with pleasure. It felt even better to watch Tsiehta arch into Oberon’s touch and hear him whine and cry out as the archfey fucked him. Running over the memory of Tsiehta’s body like a well worn stone under river water was nothing like the real thing, no matter how vivid of a memory Oberon had. The heat of Tsiehta’s skin as Oberon tightened his grip on the mortal’s hip could never be replicated with the same warmth in the archfey’s imagination. He could never replace the mortal’s whines or breaths against Oberon’s skin with those of fifty different fae. It would never feel the same, to sink into a body with nothing but the intention to bring the one underneath him to the very peaks of ecstasy. Pleasuring never felt so selfless as it did when he was with Tsiehta.
Maybe that was because it wasn’t about Oberon anymore. Not that he was certain it ever really had been. But now, feeling Tsiehta tighten around him and feeling his moan course over Oberon’s ear, Oberon couldn’t care less if he came at all. He wanted Tsiehta to forget everything else. If only for a moment, he wished for Tsiehta to feel nothing but pleasure. It was the one thing Oberon could do for him and he was going to put all the love he held into it (it was the only outlet he had, after all).
“Fuck, Oberon.” Tsiehta moaned loudly, shaking underneath the archfey. The sound made Oberon hot with arousal, the archfey feeling like he was starved and stuffed all at once.
Oberon groaned, lifting himself up to grip Tsiehta’s hips with both hands. “You’re so fucking good, Tsiehta,” he panted. He fucked into the mortal’s body harder with his grip keeping Tsiehta’s body in place. A delighted grin spread over his face as Tsiehta cried out, back arching. “Lovely.”
He loved how Tsiehta was unable to respond, too lost in the throes of his own pleasure to formulate a coherent sentence. Oberon felt incredibly satisfied and his eyes eagerly raked over Tsiehta’s body, watching the man’s tattoos move and twist along with his tensing muscles. “You were made to be pleasured, my love. You deserve it.”
He didn’t want Tsiehta to answer, didn’t want the euphoric fog currently clouding the mortal’s mind to clear enough for him to even think. Determined, Oberon picked up the pace, leaning down and sinking his teeth into Tsiehta’s shoulder. The taste of the mortal’s sweat bloomed in his mouth and Oberon groaned in unison with Tsiehta’s pleasured cries. He loved this. The feeling of Tsiehta pressed against him, his hot body around Oberon’s throbbing cock, the illusion that for this moment Tsiehta belonged to Oberon as much as Oberon did him. This was the fantasy—the vice—that he would happily drown in. Oberon would accept Tsiehta as many times as the mortal offered himself, no matter how much it hurt the archfey in the end. It was worth it, to make the man he loved feel something akin to peace for even a second.
Fae could not lie, but Oberon could pretend this would last forever. As he had every time he had found Tsiehta in his bed and in his arms.
But it didn’t. All too soon, lost in the joy and bliss of having Tsiehta with him and filling the man with pleasure, Oberon was pulled out of his debauchery when Tsiehta’s moans raised in pitch and his hands scrambled at the expanse of Oberon’s back.
“I’m gonna cum.” His hips sloppily tried to meet Oberon’s thrusts but was foiled by the archfey’s tight grip still holding him in place, making the mortal whine pathetically. “Fuck, Oberon, please.”
Pushing down the tight sadness suddenly seizing in his chest, Oberon buried his face in Tsiehta’s neck, breathing in the smell of his sweat and need. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” he purred, thrusting at that spot inside Tsiehta that made the mortal shout and arch. “Do it again.”
Much to Oberon’s joy, the mortal obeyed. “Please Oberon, please please please fuck—” The mortal dissolved into a litany of pleas and obscenities that made Oberon grin and fuck into the mortal harder, careful to hit the angle inside Tsietha that would make him scream.
“Cum for me, my love,” Oberon ordered when he saw Tsiehta was trying to form a sentence but was too absorbed in his haze to get the words out. One of his hands let go of Tsiehta’s hip to wrap around the mortal’s aching cock, which only made Tsiehta cry out and tremble. Oberon loved every second of it. He barely had to stroke Tsiehta’s dick three times before the mortal was cumming with a wanton wail, convulsing under Oberon with his hands raking down the archfey’s back. Basking in the sight of Tsiehta brought to near tears by his orgasm and the mortal’s cum spilling all over Oberon’s hand and his own stomach with overwhelming eroticism and Tsiehta tightening around him as he came, Oberon let himself follow Tsiehta over the edge with one final thrust into the mortal’s body, cumming deep inside Tsiehta with a low groan, curling inwards with the force of his orgasm.
The white pleasure overtook Oberon’s vision for a moment, leaving him swimming in a sea of euphoria. He tilted forward, face pressed to Tsiehta’s neck as he rode out his orgasm, feeling the mortal still trembling underneath him, which only made Oberon moan again. The mortal was too much, in every possible way.
He didn’t even realize he was still inside Tsiehta, or, at least, he didn’t think it needed remedying until Tsiehta was pushing at Oberon’s shoulder while the archfey was still enjoying his post-orgasm haze. “Off,” the mortal ordered, his voice still wrecked and breathless.
Oberon obeyed despite his disappointment, lifting himself up and out of the mortal. He got distracted watching his cum spill out of Tsiehta, the sight enough to render the archfey stupid with reverence.
“Hey.” Tsiehta snapped his fingers in front of Oberon’s face, effectively bringing the archfey back to the present. He looked amused as Oberon dumbly met his gaze, dark lips curling into a smirk. “Glad to know you’ll always be good at that.”
Oberon smiled, though he did not feel much joy at the reminder that he was going to have to let Tsiehta go again, not knowing when (or if ) he was going to see him again. He lay back down beside Tsiehta, settling an arm over the mortal’s waist and pulling him close. He was happy when Tsiehta did not immediately protest or move away, as it meant he would have a few moments more with the love he could never chase. Tsiehta allowed himself to be adjusted, head settling on Oberon’s shoulder and his tail gently brushing over the archfey’s leg. Oberon looked down, admiring Tsiehta’s body and the cum still stained on the mortal’s stomach. Unfortunately, his quiet worship was dashed when he focused on the tattoos laid out in front of him, and the question he had asked before.
“What do your tattoos represent?”
Tsiehta groaned in an amused faux annoyance. “Damn,” he complained, opening his eyes to shoot a smile at the archfey above him and lift his head up. “I was hoping you would forget.” He traced a hand over Oberon’s chest, teasingly scratching over the archfey’s skin as if to make Oberon forget himself.
Oberon could not find it within himself to play along with Tsiehta’s humor. He simply stared into Tsiehta’s eyes and spoke again. “I would like to know.”
Tsiehta sighed, head falling back down, this time beside Oberon rather than on top of him. “Well.” His fingers traced his collarbone, fingertips brushing over the wave and rope design that had appeared after their second encounter. “Seven of them are from when I’ve died before.”
Fae did not really need to blink and so Oberon did not, allowing his eyes to widen as he stared at Tsiehta’s casual profile. Maybe he had not heard the mortal correctly. “What?” he breathed out, very eloquently.
“From when I’ve died.” Tsiehta’s head lolled to the side so he could meet Oberon’s aghast gaze, not a trace of hesitation or discomfort on his gorgeous face. As if he was stating the weather as opposed to bringing Oberon’s already ruined world crashing down around his ears. “I’ve died seven times before.” He turned away from Oberon, lifting a hand and bringing it back down in a meaningless gesture. “Remember Jhakor, my god?”
Oberon could barely nod, head spinning faster than he could keep up with, although Tsiehta did not look to see him do so.
“He brings me back when I die. So.” Tsiehta pointed to his neck, once again outlining the wave and rope pattern. “I give myself tattoos to represent them. Since Jhakor won’t let me have scars.”
Oberon still didn’t believe he was hearing Tsiehta properly. He must be understanding him incorrectly. There was no way what he was hearing coming from Tsiehta’s mouth was the truth. It couldn’t be. It was too awful to be real, there had to be some sort of explanation for it.
“What…” Oberon could hardly get the word out, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “What are those seven?”
Tsiehta barely glanced at him before he sat up, beginning to point out tattoos. “They’re the most detailed ones with the most obvious symbols. I figured they deserved special attention. More so than the others, which are just regular injuries.”
“Regular injuries”. As if there was anything regular about what Tsiehta was saying.
“I think you met me when I had these two,” Tsiehta was contemplating, fingers tapping on his forearms with the dagger patterns, and then the large swirling design on the left side of his chest. “Then I think I got this one.” He tapped the bottle on the right side of his torso. “These two.” The rope and waves again. “Then these.” He reached down, touching the flames that had been fresh when he’d come to Oberon in tears the fourth time.
Oberon’s stomach dropped. He understood now why Tsiehta had been so distraught when he called him that last time. He must have died, just days before. That was what he had meant when he’d cried “I can’t take anymore” in that broken voice that had haunted Oberon these past three years. He had died. Mortals were not supposed to die. Tsiehta shouldn’t have been able to “take” any of this. It wasn’t possible.
Heartbroken, Oberon realized what the knife on Tsiehta’s stomach meant, and reached out to touch the design before he could think better of it. Some drying cum stuck to his fingers but he did not care in the slightest. “You got this after you last saw me?”
Tsiehta appeared mildly surprised at Oberon’s quick movement, but he nodded, hand settling over Oberon’s. “Yeah. Pretty sure our last time was a year or so before I ran out of space. This was about a year and a half later I think.” He tapped on the knife tattoo, his smile only distressing Oberon even more. He had been completely distraught the last time Oberon had seen him, devastated at the idea of dying again, and it had happened anyways. How could he be so casual about this? Tsiehta had been so broken when he’d appeared that fourth time, Oberon had thought he couldn’t possibly suffer any more. But this, this flippant acceptance of suffering and death of all things, was worse. The concept of “running out of space” to mark his own pain was quite possibly the most disheartening thing Oberon had ever heard, but Tsiehta thought nothing of it.
Oberon stared at Tsiehta for a long moment, brain in as many pieces as his heart. “Mortals aren’t supposed to die,” he finally managed.
Tsiehta only shrugged, patting Oberon’s hand before getting off the bed. “Ones who follow gods do.”
“How old were you when you first died?”
“Eighteen. That’s when I started following Jhakor too. Died about a month later.” He looked down at himself and then back at Oberon, gesturing towards his cum stained stomach. “Think you can help me out here?”
Oberon thoughtlessly waved a hand to comply, still stuck gaping at Tsiehta and trying to understand what he was hearing. It was no wonder the Tsiehta in front of him was nothing like the one he’d met six years ago, Oberon helplessly thought as Tsiehta began dressing himself and preparing to go, even though Oberon wanted to beg him to stay (he would have done so if it wasn’t for his absolute certainty that Tsiehta would deny him once again).
Tsiehta was dying. Again and again. Every time he left Oberon, he died. That would break any mortal—it should have broken Tsiehta beyond all repair. Tsiehta should not be standing in front of him right now, casually asking to be sent back to the mortal plane without a care in the world. He should be dead, really and truly dead, or have a mind and soul so shattered he was nothing more than a useless body.
Oberon wanted him to stay, he wanted to protect him from whatever awful trials the terrible Jhakor was putting him through. But when Tsiehta looked at him with that dead-eyes stare and anticipatory expression, Oberon realized there was nothing he could do. Tsiehta had accepted his fate long ago. He shouldn’t have, he should be living the best and happiest life any one mortal could have, without death or pain or tattoos that labeled him a being born to suffer through any amount of agony the world could force him through. But the life Oberon sent him back to (despite every piece of his being screaming at him not to) was a life Oberon could not comprehend, and one no mortal should be able to endure.
But of course it would be Tsiehta, Oberon thought, alone in his house with his head in his hands. The mortal who could bring the King of the Archfey to his knees would be the same one who could serve a god who never let him rest and brought him to death and beyond more than half a dozen times.
Oberon dragged his hands over his face and started to cry. Pathetically and humiliatingly, tears streamed down the archfey’s face and he heaved great sobs that no one would hear.
He wept, because he knew that Tsiehta never would. And that was enough to break the archfey.
Later, he forced himself to ponder a thought that only brought him to his knees with grief again. The Tsiehta Obeorn had met six years ago had been full of life and fire, a stubbornness and determination in him that Obeorn had never seen in any mortal. That Tsiehta had been enough to make Oberon fall in love with him without so much as a thought otherwise.
That Tsiehta, the one Oberon had revered for his delight and tenacity, had lived through three years of a nightmare no mortal should have even been able to comprehend.
Who could Tsiehta have been if he had never gone through that in the first place? Would he have been even more stubborn, full of even more fire and life and delight with simply being himself?
Oberon didn’t know. He wouldn’t ever know. He mourned that Tsiehta. Just as he mourned each of the five he had met.
But he never stopped loving him.
“You slept with this mortal five times.”
Oberon lifted his chin up, staring at the Court. He hardly cared for their verdict anymore. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to talk about Tsiehta. They didn’t deserve to hear about him anyways. “Yes.”
“Was there ever another occasion in which he called you to have sex with him?”
“No.”
Queen Titania had the final question, as she always did.
“The last time you slept with him, did he give any inclination that he was going to overthrow the divinity? That he would need your help with his task?”
Oberon thought about the final time he had seen Tsiehta. When the mortal had called him, with his husband and friend and those five fairy dragons.
He remembered the hard set of Tsiehta’s face. How that hollowness in his eyes Oberon remembered had fractured, and was replaced with something much worse. Something harder, but that could break at any moment.
He thought about how Tsiehta told him he was going to kill the gods.
Oberon met Queen Titania’s eyes and replied without flinching. She should have chosen her question more carefully.
“No.”
They labeled him a “conflict of interest” and he was exiled from the Court for the foreseeable future.
All of Faekind heard of his demotion, and subsequent gentle relocation from being allowed to roam the forests to a designated area of land where the Court could “keep an eye on him”. It was the biggest scandal the Seelie had seen in eons, and Oberon knew the whole Feywild had heard and formulated their own opinions about the disgraced King of the Archfey and how his improper uncontracted mortal lover had become the sole divinity in all the realms.
He had to concede their judgment of him as a liability.
After all, the first thing he was going to do once they left him unattended was find Tsiehta’s husband and figure out how to bring Tsiehta back.
His reputation was ruined by Tsiehta being a god, of course. But, more importantly, he had meant it when he told himself he would do anything to make Tsiehta happy.
Even if that meant leaving the Feywild, his home, his domain, where he belonged as much as it belonged to him, behind forever.
Oberon wouldn’t think twice about it.