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The steps leading to Augustine’s room were the worst part of it, if Mercymorn was being honest. Yes, arguing with John had been bothersome and frustrating, and discussing the issue beforehand with Augustine was ear numbing, having to listen to his drivelous voice. And confronting Augustine now, with the fruits of her labor, or lack of, would be cathartic, because at least it would be easy to instigate a fight with the ungrateful oaf.
But the walk from point A to point B, all the way to his room knowing that she failed, and she’d have to tell him that she failed, and that she’d suffer the indignity of a big fat “I told you so” before the fight. That was the true horror of the situation. There was a certain amount of anxiety that was unavoidable, despite how long she’d been dealing with these stupid situations. Her head sped up and her throat felt like knots, and eventually she gave up on slowing it on her own and manually activated the process with necromancy, bringing her heart rate down to normal and relaxing her muscles. If Augustine noticed he would no doubt jab her for it, but she doubted he would. He could barely tell femur from humerus, let alone realize she’d slightly altered her adrenal gland.
Seeing no point in knocking, Mercymorn opened his door, letting it slam behind her as she walked inside. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, apparently in the process of dressing down from his pompous outfit of the day. His tie was hung loosely around his collar, and the top few buttons of said shirt were undone, revealing the slightest bit of his chest. His waistcoat had been discarded to a nearby chair, which made Mercymorn cringe at the mess, and a bit of the fringe from his hair had escaped his styling, now brushing against his forehead.
He had a cigarette in mouth, of course he did, the carton sitting on the bed next to him. There was surprise in his eyes as she trounced inside, huffing at the cold.
“For the love of- knock next time, Joy.” His voice was as perfectly molded as his face, but she could see and hear the nerves in them. Even if he’d protested the idea, it would still have probably been very nice if it had worked.
“Maybe you should lock your door, you cretin.” She responded, taking his complaint as an invitation to move further inside. His hawkish eyes watched her as she went, and he took a long drag of his cigarette, dramatic bastard, before exhaling right at her.
“Euugh!” Mercymorn groaned, trying to fan away the smoke from her face. He looked annoyingly pleased with himself.
“Let’s not beat around the bush like we usually do. What did John say?” The amusement was gone, and his eyes were serious.
“What do you think he said?” She snapped. “He refused to listen to my suggestions, because of course he refused. He made some bullshit argument about the importance that his people knew him, or why it was imperative that the cohort knew the strength of the god emperor.”
Augustine hummed gravely and stood up from his perch, pacing at full height before he stopped suddenly and turned to her.
“He would have listened to me.”
“Well then you should have been the one who went and talked to him you idiot! But no, you were too busy complaining about this plan in the first place, because you can’t stand when I have a better idea than you!” Mercymorn’s hands were wringing in front of her, the rather common urge to strangle Augustine and arrange his stomach with his throat so tempting.
“You’ve never had a better idea than me, my dear. You’re not clever enough.” He huffed, stamping out his cigarette against his ashtray. For a few moments she just glared at him, but he didn’t return her eyes. He was just staring down into the ashtray, arms crossed. She was getting ready to just leave and not bother, when he spoke.
“He’s getting worse.”
That stopped Mercymorn in her tracks, and she looked at him, one eyebrow raised in question.
“At acting. At thinking. At everything. I still don’t understand the cohort in its current form. Why an invasion force, why an army?” Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seems the only thing he’s still truly good at is being damned paranoid.”
He was right, she knew, but it wasn’t a thought she wanted to face. All the time they had spent together, John’s loyal disciples, his hands and his gestures. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
“But why is he paranoid at this point?”
That genuinely seemed to stump Augustine, and he visually sorted through the options in his head, one hand running through his hair. The smell of cigarettes was nauseating, and she was getting tired of waiting. Standing firm, she spoke.
“What is God afraid of?”
It was Augustine’s turn to stop in his tracks, head whipping to look at her and eyes wide. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped himself, opened again, stopped a second time, and finally answered.
“What are you suggesting, Joy?”
She took a deep breath, facing the one thing that neither of them wanted to face.
“What if he didn’t really put down A.L.?” And then, “What if he couldn’t put down A.L.?”
Augustine’s brow furrow and his nose scrunched, and she could see the worry in his eyes, the first life she’d seen in those cinerious irises in at least a decade.
“No.” He said, but it wasn’t firm in the slightest. “No, he wouldn’t lie to us about this. Not after what we went through to convince him in the first place.”
“Then what is the explanation? Where does the power come from? Why all the choices he’s made? It doesn’t add up!”
“But we don’t know that for sure.” He plopped himself back down on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled together.
“Then, there’s only one way to know for sure.” She said, her voice coming down from borderline hysterical to cool. Even. Unemotional.
Augustine met her eyes then, and she could see he knew what she meant. The expression sat there for a long time, mouth pressed into a thin line, until without warning he spoke.
“We have to open the tomb.”
--
They stayed there and argued for what felt like ages, about what exactly they could do to manage their heist. But, as usual, they couldn’t agree. Enough circling passed that they both mutually agreed to drop it wordlessly, knowing they wouldn’t make any progress at this rate.
Mercymorn was sitting on one of his chairs now, their conversation lingering over both of them like the smoke from Augustine’s stupid cigarettes, of which he’d gone through half his entire pack. They sat in silence for a while as her insides churned and her throat burned. For the second time of the visit, Mercymorn was about to get up and leave, when Augustine’s voice stopped her.
“You’re anxious.” He said simply.
“Well of course I’m anxious, you ignoramus!” She barked, forgetting her attempt at hiding it earlier. To her surprise Augustine didn’t react to it. His eyes were trained on her, an expression on his features that for a long moment she feared was pity. She was about to explode again at this, until he sighed.
“Come here, Joy.”
Her eyebrows raised in surprise, because she recognized that tone. It wasn’t one he used very often, hardly at all even. She knew it, and she hated it, because Mercymorn got up from the chair she’d been perched on and approached Augustine, her heels clicking with each slow step.
“You miserable ass.”
And without another word she climbed up onto the bed and straddled Augustine. He leaned back to make room for her, his mouth turning into a glib smirk.
“That’s not what your eyes are saying.”
His hands found their way to her hips, and she truly despised the way her heart fluttered at his touch. It had been a long long time since they’d had to do this. Mercymorn took the liberty of kicking off her heels and settling into him, feeling a bit of triumph at his exhalation of breath. She knew the man too well, knew the subtle ways to move that would drive him mad.
The room was suddenly far warmer than she remembered it being moments ago, which did wonders to her. Those stupid hands of his were always warm, and having them pressed firmly on her hips was going right to her head. In recompense, Mercymorn wrapped her arms around Augustine’s neck, one hand going to play with the hair at the back of his neck. Her touch sent a shiver down his spine, which she felt more than she saw, and he hummed in satisfaction when she shifted herself to straddle one of his thighs.
“I didn’t even have to tell you.” He chuckled, and she made a unique noise of disgust saved only for this specific scenario. That hand on his neck slipped up to thread through his hair, and he leaned into it. Then she gripped hard and yanked, which earned a grunt of surprise and a barely suppressed moan.
His eyes slowly fluttered open to meet hers, and she could see the fire now properly.
“You’re going to pay for that one.”
“Am I now?”
He grinned fully, in that stupid charming face of his that he usually didn’t mean. He leaned down and pressed a kiss into her the skin of her neck, and she gasped as she turned her head to give him access. Only, another kiss didn’t come. He had pulled back, and instead of a charming smile, he was the picture of smug pleasure. Her expression soured.
“I hate you.” She ground out through her teeth.
“I know you do, my Joy.” And then Augustine kissed her properly.
She folded immediately, feeling altogether hungry in that unique way only he could make her. The only one who truly knew her, the only one who understood her down to the core, enough that he knew sex would help her calm down with only a single question and look.
The kiss was the opposite of nice, all teeth and tongue and fighting. It was how they did things, and she melted for him. His tongue pushed in to swirl and explore against hers, muffled moans driving her as mad as the taste of his cigarettes. Apparently not satisfied with only her hips now, Augustine had migrated his hands to squeeze her viciously from behind. He pulled away for just a moment and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Your ass is divine.” He groaned, desperation clear on his face. Any other day she would have slapped him for it, but she was too far gone into her own pathetic depravity to reprimand him, and the little symbol of affection was affecting her more than she wanted to admit.
“You incredulous, vile man.” She settled for, her voice no more than a weak cry, and shaky enough to prove the lack of conviction behind it. Augustine grinned.
“How vile do you want me to be?” And oh, she was gone.
Not keen on waiting for an answer, Augustine removed a hand from her bottom, with apparently incredible effort, and ran it up the back of her dress. Her robe had already been removed while they debated their plan, and his calloused fingers were brushing against bare skin now, giving little circles around the small of her back. It elicited a groan that she wasn’t able to suppress, and Augustine chuckled at the sound.
“Answer me this time, how much am I allowed to hurt you? How much should I make it go away?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“As much as you can.”
He groaned in mutual satisfaction, before learning back to allot her space to move, and patted the space beside him. What Augustine wanted was painfully obvious, and humiliating enough that Mercymorn almost refused the request.
But, they were both too deep for that now.
She twisted her body down, laying across his lap with her back facing upwards, and her arms resting on the place he’d identified for her. Before she could even say anything to reprimand or annoy him, one of his hands had snuck under the hem of her dress, freely touching her bare thighs and sending a shiver of sensitivity through her. He noticed, damn him, and his other hand came to gently cup her chin towards his gaze.
“Patience, my girl.” Augustine said, voice dripping with triumph. “You’ll get yours as soon as I’ve decided you deserve it. Understand?” And while he spoke his hand pulled the hem of her dress up, bunching it over at the hip and exposing her ass to him.
“Deplorable bastard.” She bit back, and Augustine’s brow raised, almost in sympathy.
WACK
Mercymorn yelped at the sudden stinging sensation, one free hand slapping over her mouth to cover the sound. But of course, Augustine heard her, and he cooed in false sympathy, hand gently rubbing her ass where he’d stuck her. This wasn’t the first time that Augustine had spanked her, no, but it did not make it any less undignifying.
“That’s no way to talk to me. Not when I’m the one helping you. Now, I believe I’ve asked you a question, one that you’ve yet to answer. Do. You. Understand?”
His hand left its soothing and raised in the air, a silent threat should she decide to fight him further. And that’s exactly what they both wanted.
“Choke on your own tongue, you insipid worm.”
WACK
Another whimper from her lips as she jerked in reaction, thighs quivering and hands shaking. God she hated how good this felt.
“You asked for that one. My dear, if you want this to progress anywhere in the next myriad, I suggest you speak up and do what I say. For your own sake, if not my sanity.”
She was prevented from answering when his hand made contact with her ass again, and she cried out fully this time, not prepared to keep it in. Her hands gripped hard into the sheets, white knuckling in them as she could practically feel Augustine’s horrid eyes on her.
“Fine.” She croaked. “Yes, I understand how to play the game. Now get to it already, stop with the ridiculous charade.”
Augustine sighed audibly above her, hand once again soothing where he’d hit her.
“Oh, but we both know you want it to last. You want me to make it drag out, until the last inch of your sanity bouts with itself over me, your Saint of Patience. You want to feel like this. You want me to take over, you want to be humiliated. And you’re all the more beautiful for it, my girl.”
Mercymorn did her best to pretend that him calling her beautiful did not affect her, and she was confident that Augustine hadn’t noticed. Though, it did not ease the pit in her stomach at the feeling.
“Just get to it already!” She groaned, her hips starting to move without her prompting, seeking something to soothe the ache getting louder and louder between her legs. Augustine hummed agreeably at this, leaning down close to her before whispering to her.
“As you wish.”
Then his hand came down again, with a fury in its strength he hadn’t held before. Before she could react in any way other than crying out to him, he struck again. And again. And again. Whatever proclivity for teasing he had was gone, and Augustine was only devoted to giving her the pain she was asking for. She cried out to him, to their lord, to the river itself, begging for it and its satisfaction. And it was answered in turn, with brutal stinging slaps that left her bereft with need.
Mercymorn had lost count of how many times his hand had stuck her, or how many times she’d dropped her pride for him, but eventually the stinging came to a cease. Finally able to catch her breath, she practically felt herself deflate in his lap. The room was now drained of any chill she’d originally felt, and she could feel the tremors in her chest with each breath. Augustine, for his part, seemed in control of himself, one hand soothing her in the way he had previously, only now implementing necromancy, in an apparent attempt to lessen her pain after the fact. He wasn’t all that good at it, but she appreciated the gesture.
“You’ve done very well for me, love.” He whispered, and she hated that her heart fluttered at his praise. “I think you’re more than deserving of a finish by this point. Are you prepared for that?”
It did take her a minute to catch her breath, and apparently a nonverbal nod wasn’t enough for him.
“Please.” She gasped, her hips grinding into his leg in a futile attempt at finding friction.
Augustine hummed in that knowing way he did, and the hand on her ass gave a little affirmative squeeze.
“I can still help make it go away, if you let me. Make it hurt. Make you forget.”
This caught her attention, as she had assumed this juvenile physical punishment he loved so much was his intention on that front. Mercymorn, however, did not have the brain power to put that into words at the moment. Instead, she looked up towards him and keened. He took it as a yes, good man, and quickly removed her undergarment from being in the way.
Two fingers were brushing over her slit without a second though, and Mercymorn gasped at his touch. She suspected that even the slightest of sensations would have been able to elicit such a noise from her at this point, and mentally she prepared herself for Augustine to push inside. Only, he didn’t.
Before she could berate him though, she saw the movement in his freehand out of the corner of her eye. And then, she heard the metallic clicking of that stupid lighter of his.
The absolute gall! He was smoking a goddamn cigarette! While she was across his lap! She was about to yell at him for the offense, when Augustine’s fingers plunged inside of her. All that escaped her mouth was a loud and desperate moan, the ache finally being satiated and filled. Her hips betrayed her frustration and began bucking, seeking movement and friction, and Augustine slowly obeyed this wish.
Cursing him one thousand times over, Mercymorn was still trying to tell him to stop smoking like the degenerate he was, when something she wasn’t expecting happened. While his two fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ movement to bring her closer to orgasm, Augustine removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled. Then, with little warning, he pressed the cigarette into the small of her back.
Mercymorn wailed at the burning contact, every muscle attached to her nervous system tensing and screaming and shaking. It hurt far worse than any of his hand strikes had, and Mercymorn suspected directly that John might even be able to hear her voice at this volume.
Her Lyctoral healing kicked in, and in moments whatever brutal burn he’d pressed into her was gone, no doubt more than a little red circle, very slightly irritated. The memory of that burn was still trapped in her brain, running circles around her.
“I told you.” Augustine whispered, with no small amount of gentle ease. “I could make it go away. Was it too much?”
The thought of him stopping made everything else go away, and Mercymorn did not hesitate.
“Don’t you dare stop, you disgusting reprobate.”
And he didn’t. Augustine continued his work, fingers bringing her ever closer to the edge, while he would smoke one of his remaining cigarettes, and then put it out on her back. It was always a different spot, always a new sensation, and always it made everything go away but the two of them. His fingers were speeding up now, apparently on his last cigarette, and determined to give her everything he had, Augustine’s fingers dug in deep, and that final cigarette pressed down against the base of her neck. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she finished, everything quivering in a mix of pain and pleasure. It was like nothing they had ever done before, and Mercymorn came harder than she had in the last two thousand years.
Eventually she fell back down from her high, panting and shaking in his lap like a little wreck. Before she truly realized what was happening, Augustine deposited her to his side, laying her the proper direction for his bed on her stomach. The only indication that he had at any point left, was the dipping in the bed as he returned. More than likely to clean his hands, or something of the sort.
“You were very good for me, my dear.” He whispered, hands going to work soothing as they had before. Again, Augustine was not as adept at anatomy as she was, but the way he touched her made her feel warm. Safe. He was the only one she truly felt safe with anymore. He leaned down to kiss her, over all the spots he’d burned, no doubt obvious by little red welts that would be gone by tomorrow.
When she felt sane enough to move again, Mercymorn rolled onto her side and faced him. His hair was fully free from his styling now, down in a way she rarely saw, and the effects of her were clear on him. Two more buttons had been undone, enough that she could see the rise and fall of his chest, and his belt was gone as well. And finally, Mercymorn noticed, Augustine appeared to be painfully hard.
The bulge was obvious enough in itself, but every time he shifted and moved, there was a little wince at the moment. He was trying to mask his arousal, the way he masked everything else.
“You need release.” Mercymorn said, plainly.
Augustine looked sheepish at the words, as if it was not completely obvious, he was practically begging for it. Or rather, his body was. The man himself appeared to be caught on pointless conventions.
“You don’t have to do anything.” He said, laying on his back now, taking a huff of breath. “I didn’t do that expecting repayment, I did it because you needed it.”
“Yes.” She replied. “I did need it, and as I direct your attention back to my statement, you imbecile, you need release. I don’t have to do anything, but I’m going to. Now stop being a drag and take off your trousers.”
As he looked at her, his eyes had returned to that empty, sparkless glare he usually had, and she half expected him to demand that she leave. But after a moment his face softened into a smile.
“Far be it from me to deny you when you’re on the warpath.” He chuckled, and removed his trousers in a quick, clean movement. “Especially the warpath that happens to assist me.”
“One day I’ll get you to stop talking like an absolute twat.”
He laughed again, and Mercymorn shut him up by ripping the dress off of her body, tossing it to join the pile of clothes growing on his floor. She watched, with no small enjoyment, as his eyes raced to capture everything they could. Her legs, her chest, her abdomen. She very much enjoyed that malleable look in his eyes.
With little fanfare, Mercymorn wrestled his boxers down, exposing his erect length to the room. Augustine made no complaint of course, she’d seen it plenty of times before, and instead went about removing his shirt. They were both naked now, wanting and needy. She decided not to make him wait any longer, throwing a leg over him to straddle just above his cock.
“You’re beautiful, my dear.” He breathed out, hands going to hold her at the sides.
“Cut your inane praise already.” She grumbled, not truly meaning it. He grinned that stupid grin of his in response.
“Oh come now. Am I meant not to enjoy this? The Saint of Joy, keening for my hand and my cock like a whore? Shall I call the publishers of those skin mags? Tell them ‘Lo, the Second Saint of the King Udying is the biggest masochist in the nine houses, and secretly likes calling the far more attractive First Saint of the King Undying daddy.’ Bet they’d get a kick out of that.”
“Oh shut it, you fiend. We both know that you’re the bigger masochist, and I only called you that once by accident. ”
Deciding not to partake in his drivel anymore, Mercymorn chose to shut him up for the second time by lowering herself down onto his length. Augustine hissed out a groan of pleasure, his grip growing tight on her hips.
“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say in response, which pleased Mercymorn greatly.
“Don’t act so high and mighty.” She sighed, feeling him start to fill her as she moved down. Thank god she was still wet as the river. “I could rip your ribcage open and devour your heart, and you’d thank me for it.”
Augustine did not have a response for this, instead only closed his eyes and began to thrust his hips upwards, seeking more of her. He wouldn’t take long, she could already tell by the desperate, uneven sense in his motion.
She rode him fully, threading a hand through his hair and yanking him up to her chest, supporting his back with one of the extra nearby pillows. He met her challenge wonderfully, and didn’t say a word before taking one of her nipples in his mouth, tongue making small practiced circles that pulled a moan from her mouth.
“Oh, you awful, disgraceful thing.” She moaned, feeling herself get close as well. Augustine was starting to whimper, the sex becoming too much, and she knew he was going to finish any second.
Augustine thrusted and thrusted, hands almost a death grip on her ass, and shoved his face into the crook of her neck.
“Mercymorn!” He cried, and all at once they both came. It was hot, sweaty, powerful, and god did it feel good. They poured every ounce of themselves into their counterpart, panting and moaning and crying out to no one. It felt like ages, their hips still driving the remnants of their satisfaction, before finally they collapsed.
Augustine fell to his side, which sent Mercymorn sprawling beside him, but without the will to complain. They laid like that for a while, heavy breath filling the air as clarity entered their minds and lust was exercised from their body.
She would have been content to fall asleep like that, dealing with the fallout of their impulsive sex in the morning. Augustine spoke before she could.
“We’re going to need to figure something out eventually, you know.”
She frowned, unhappy they were returning to the subject they’d fucked to avoid in the first place.
“Of course I know. But clearly we can’t agree on anything.”
He hummed in agreement, moving to wrap an arm around her. She, automatically, moved to face away from him, enjoying the grounding sensation. He pressed his forehead to her neck, which sent another shiver down her spine.
“We’ll make it work. Somehow. We have to.”
Little did either of them know, they’d planted the seed of their deception that same moment, bodies entwined and minds hungry.