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The battle with Chaos had been going so well. They’d had him at Death’s door at last, the Goat about to deal the killing blow, when an overwhelming pressure halted them both. The appearance of three more gods sent the Goat running, the Lamb thrown over his shoulder. They’d been so close. Leshy was almost dead, one out of four Bishops nearly finished off once and for all, and the Goat could tell the Lamb was pissed.
Before they could complain, the Goat had told them to look back, grimacing. Their eyes widened. The other three Bishops had begun devouring Leshy’s heart, absorbing its power into their own. Already, a transformation was beginning – one the Goat didn’t stick around to see. His legs were a blur, hooves pounding against the ground as he carried the Lamb back home.
By the time they’d made it back to the temple, rushing past alarmed followers and slamming the doors behind them, the Goat was breathing heavily. He didn’t expressly need to breathe, but the sight had set his instincts into overdrive. I won’t let them take you.
“What were you thinking? We could have had him, we-” The Lamb’s inbound lecture was cut off by a rattling of chains. The chain bindings their God had placed on their arms wrapped around them suddenly, and the Goat had only a moment to brace himself before they were reduced to a red smear, torn apart by the constricting metal and summoned to their Lord’s side. Of course, with their death, his own was only seconds behind. Ichor filled his lungs, his insides melting as if devoured by a massive spider. The rest of him followed suit, succumbing to stygian darkness.
The Goat simply did not exist while not summoned. The sudden call of his summoning, the sound of the Lamb’s bell and voice, were the first thing he remembered upon each revival. Each time he’d stick his hand out through the darkness and into the light, be pulled forth, and-
“Alright, what’d I miss? How long has it been?” The Goat paused. “Shit. Are you alright?”
The Lamb had summoned him from their standing mirror in their study, now sitting on the edge of their hardly-used bed. They looked terrible. Their eyes were sunken in with exhaustion, the bags under them twice as dark as they had been a moment ago, from his perspective. Their chains were rattling as they trembled, and his own bell gently jingled in response to theirs – it was the Relic that he was born from, after all. In a way, the bell was him. He was meant to be a perfect copy, and yet their messing up of the Relic’s ritual had created him. Now, he bore half their soul.
As a result, they rarely ever felt emotions like this so intensely. All snark, all irritation or anything was completely abandoned at the sight of their friend in so much pain. He kneeled by their bed, looking up at them. They wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Lamb. C’mon. I know Death was probably pissed-”
“I will not subject you to a repeat of what he said to me,” the Lamb cut him off abruptly, voice quavering for a moment. They cleared their throat and winced, touching their scar beneath the cold manacle around their neck. “It was not pleasant. Rest assured, I have been informed how badly I have ruined everything.”
“Yeah, no. That’s stupid as hell,” he growled. “Don’t listen to him. You know better.”
“I know better,” they echoed dryly. The Lamb still wouldn’t look at him. He winced, processing his own words a moment later. And whatever happened to dropping the snark, moron? “Do I really?”
“Lamb, I-”
“We could have prevented this. We could have destroyed the heart of Chaos before the other Bishops ever had a chance, but you ran. You, who swore to do the fighting. You, who swore I need never fear anything again. You, who never backs down from a challenge.” Their black eyes blazed with a red light when they finally met his. “Do you know better?”
“It doesn’t matter if I die, I can just-”
“My death is also impermanent. No amount of suffering should ever have dissuaded you from finishing the fight. You let your emotions cloud your judgement, the very thing you once mocked me for, the very thing my Lord mocks me for.” The Lamb’s voice cracked and rasped as it raised. They couldn’t speak at this volume and energy, with their neck permanently damaged as it was. It was hard to understand them. “What have you done? Do you have any idea how much the Lands will suffer now, with three empowered Bishops at the head? Do you-”
“I was scared, okay!?” The Goat’s blood was boiling. Adrenaline set his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. “Fuck me for caring, I guess! God forbid I try to keep my promise and protect you!”
“You have accomplished the exact opposite. I am in more danger now than I ever would have been without your help.” They rose from the bed now, the Goat rising to meet them, staring each other down. “Can you even comprehend-”
“Can you stop with your stupid, pompous attitude for five seconds?” He growled. “Do you even know- did you even- you think I was afraid they’d kill you!? They didn’t kill your fancy God, did they? Look where that got him!”
“They-” The Lamb faltered.
“Three Gods, Lamb! Maybe four, if they were planning to save Leshy! The same four Gods that, oh I don’t know, imprisoned Death Himself for a millenium!?” His eyes stung. “Maybe, just maybe I was afraid they’d put you down there, that I’d never see you again, that you’d suffer in an empty void for eternity because I was too proud, because I had to finish the fight, because I never think with my head, and always listen to my stupid heart, and...”
The Goat raised their arms, then let them fall to their sides limply. “I dunno. Whatever. I’m over it.”
“...I do not believe you are,” the Lamb said softly. Their rare display of anger had faded away to nothing, leaving only fear and regret. “I am sorry.”
“I’m over it. I already told you.” The Goat crossed their arms, pointedly looking away. They didn’t want to think about this anymore. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. They don’t... whatever. “You don’t understand. It is what it is. I’m not gonna make you.”
“Goat.” The Lamb put a hand on his arm, slowly pulling it away from his chest. Their hand slipped down the length of it, fingers brushing against his wrist until they locked with his own. “I am sorry. I have grown unused to feelings like this, with you borrowing half of my soul. I used that as a way to justify hurting you. I... had not considered imprisonment a possibility.”
“It's been on my mind since we first scouted Chaos' temple,” he grunted. “What would stop them? You’re not Death, after all. You’re just borrowing his power, and I...”
“You feared desperately for me,” the Lamb finished. “I can feel the strength of it now. I had dismissed it as irrational before, admittedly.”
Egh. WIsh you wouldn’t do that. The Lamb didn’t typically read minds, per se. It was a difficult, voluntary action that they could be caught in the act of by extremely observant followers. Emotions, however, could not be ignored. There was no voluntary action to it. They simply felt the emotions of others, whether they wanted to or not.
“I’m always scared for you, Lamb.” The Goat finally uncrossed their arms. “How can I not be? Look at yourself. Look at everything you’ve been tasked with. It’s terrifying.”
The Lamb’s other hand hovered for a moment, before joining the first to enclose his hand completely. “Why?”
“What? That’s a stupid question, what do you mean why?” He snorted.
“Why do you care so much?” The Lamb’s eyes were growing tired and hollow again. He could see redness in the whites now that he was close. It was not the eerie red light of their power any longer. How long were they here, crying on their own? “I brought you into this world, with nothing to call your own. You have no world to return to, you are not even real, in a sense. I created you to suffer for me. Why do you care?”
“...I do have something to call my own.”
Ah, to hell with it. It’s now or never. I’m not chancing them being imprisoned for eternity before I can say anything.
“I’ve got you, Lamb. I’ll always have you, yeah? I promised I’d make sure of it.”
They blinked slowly. “That hardly counts. I would not say I have my Lord, and we are bound in a similar contract of mutual benefit.”
“Okay, wow, no. Not the same thing. Not at all.” Admittedly, the Lamb did love their God, even if it was one-sided and quite obviously unhealthy. That’s something to unpack another day, or- across many, many other days. “Lamb, do you seriously- I’m being as obvious as I can, here. C’mon. Work with me.”
“I do not follow?” They tilted their head to one side, in the way they usually did when they smiled. He’d grown used to their little quirks over the past few years of being around them. Little things that had annoyed him now seemed endearing – a finger scratching under a manacle went from an annoying risk of flaring up a scar to a sign they were nervous, a flicked ear went from a random movement to a sign of annoyance or discomfort, and so on.
The Goat had spent long hours watching them. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off them. It was hard to, when one spent years dedicating their entire being to another, in all ways but romantic.
No longer.
“I love you, Lamb. God, how hard is it to understand that? I love you. More than anything or anyone, more than the life you gave me, more than- you know. You get it.”
The Lamb stared, their mouth still open slightly in the beginning of a sentence. They tried to speak, and to the Goat’s amazement...
The Lamb began laughing.
Immediately, heat rushed to the Goat’s face, red tinging it all the way to the eartips. Of course. Of course they’d...
Their laugh interrupted his spiraling. Their laugh.
Their laugh.
He’d been trying to get them to laugh for years. Since the day he discovered the most he could get was a soft, quiet bleating chuckle or an exhale and a smile, he’d told them it was his mission to hear them laugh. They’d told him good luck.
And this was what brought it on. His heartfelt confession and worry for their safety.
And I’m the asshole?
He couldn’t stay mad, listening to it. His face burned brighter. It was like listening to someone trying to roll a wagon wheel that’d been left in a swamp for years, rusty and squeaky and barely even a sound. It was less laugh and more air trying to force itself through a tiny opening in quick, strained bursts. It was kind of pathetic, and somehow extremely endearing.
“Lamb, that’s... fucking adorable, oh my God.” He couldn’t stop his own laugh from escaping. Hells, it was contagious. They were doubled over, their rattling chains nearly drowning out the sound. It took minutes for the two of them to calm down, ending in the Goat helping them sit back down on the side of the bed, with the Lamb patting the spot next to them as they cleared their throat. He left a respectable few inches between them, to be safe. They tugged on his cloak until he moved close enough to brush together.
“Pardon me.” The Lamb’s voice was still tinged with laughter, albeit much more strained sounding. He passed them an abandoned cup of cold tea from their bedside table, and they drank gratefully until their voice could return to some level of normalcy. “I... was not expecting that, to say the very least.”
“I can tell,” he said dryly, though he made sure they could see his smile.
“...I hate my laugh,” the Lamb said. “Hated, really. Hated until moments ago, when you turned redder than my cloak at the sound of it. I fear I may come around on it yet. I used to love singing and laughing – my voice was beautiful, you know. Like bells, I was told. I lost it all when my neck refused to heal properly.”
“I think you may’ve mentioned the singing part before. It must’ve been incredible.” He stared off into the wall, trying not to fidget. The confession is out there. If they just keep moving on like it never happened, I’ll just have to accept that.
“I believe I will be fine with laughing in your presence, over time.” When he looked at them again, they were beaming. Their hand moved back to his own. He could feel their heart racing to match his. “...For how long, Goat?”
“How long what- oh. Uh...” He tried to think back to when he’d first accepted the feeling as love and not just interest or infatuation. “Like a year. Probably. Maybe more, if I assume it took me months to catch up and realize it. Maybe years.”
“And you did not say anything?” The Lamb turned their upper half to face him, brow creasing. “You could have told me.”
“You have your God to worry about. Aren’t you like, saving yourself for him, or whatever?” He grumbled.
“Do the gods strike you as a particularly monogamous sort?” The Lamb raised an eyebrow. “More importantly, do you believe me to be a virgin?”
“I guess not, but I dunno, maybe you aren’t?” He suddenly felt extremely stupid, the wall abruptly much more interesting than their face. “I dunno, forgive me for thinking you wouldn’t have time to screw around while running for your life.”
Their hand trailed slowly up his arm. He breathed in sharply as it lighted on his chin, turning his head back to look at them. “I am in no way against sharing my love.”
“Oh,” was all he could think to say, trapped in their gaze. Their deep charcoal eyes seemed to suck his own into them. “So, uh. Do uh. Do we kiss now?”
“I would like that.”
The Goat let the Lamb take the lead, closing his eyes. They gently pulled him in until his lips met the softness of their own, fitting together as perfectly as their halved souls. Their touch sang through his nerves, ringing out along his arms and legs and spine until he was sure his guard hairs were standing on end. It felt like an eternity before the Lamb finally pulled back, though he wished they never would.
“Everything you ever dreamed of?” They asked.
“You could say that. Not that you need to ask, you could probably feel it comin’ off me there like a damn tidal wave.”
“Yes,” they said, cupping his cheek in their hand. “I could. I daresay that, combined with my own, I may have almost drowned in it.”
It was strangely thrilling, to have direct confirmation that they felt the same way. Of course, the kiss was as direct as one could get, but the words were a soothing balm over the burning fire of his anxiety.
The Goat abruptly cleared their throat. “You, uh. You should go reassure the kids that you’re alright.”
“Please do not call our Flock kids. Many of them are quite firmly middle aged.”
“Oh, it’s our Flock now, is it? Nah. Keep ‘em. No way in hell am I accepting that responsibility.”
“...You only just called them ‘the kids,’ love.” They poked his nose teasingly.
That one simple word sent another wave of electricity through him. How many times have I dreamed about this? Proverbially dreamed. He did not sleep, for lack of need, and fear of what he would find when he closed his eyes. Memories of a disemboweling that never occurred made the scar along his abdomen burn. He’d spent hours, if not days of his life gently brushing wool from the sleeping Lamb’s eyes or soothing them as they whimpered in the throes of similar nightmares.
They also did not need to sleep, and thus had not been for months now, the nightmares growing too terrible. They could still feel tired, but they could rest just fine while awake, or so they claimed.
He could soothe that pain, now. They were his, now.
“I assume you do not wish for this to end, regardless.” The Lamb moved their hand from his face to his cloak, slowly undoing it. “Please do tell me if I am wrong, though?”
“No, you’re- you’re good. This is good.” Unsure of how to proceed, he fumbled a bit trying to find the clasps to their own cloak. It was a bit awkward, trying to work around each other. The Lamb managed to take his purple cloak off first, as their own crimson one was far more complicated. He busied himself stripping out of his pants, hopping around awkwardly on one hoof as he tried to get the last leg off. “Gah, I only wear these stupid things because you made me.”
“It would be quite impolite of you to be nude beneath your cloak. You do not have dense wool to cover your unmentionables.” The soft fwump of cloth against the wooden floor punctuated their words, and the Goat stood dumbfounded, staring.
They’d known the Lamb was well-proportioned, of course. Small breasts were far from an issue for him – far more practical when one was not only frequently engaged in combat, but also desired to be androgynous. There was a soft curve to their waist, slipping out into just slightly wider hips. Slim, svelte, beautiful. Their cream-white wool covered their torso, stopping just before the shoulders and thighs, naturally grown underclothes. At times, the Lamb wore a vest regardless of this, and regardless of their penchant to keep their cloak closed firmly around them at all times, favoring the Crown as hands rather than their own.
“It is not as though you have not seen me bare before.” The Lamb raised an eyebrow at him again. One of their ears flicked. Embarrassment? “You need not stare so hungrily.”
“Sorry for finding you beautiful, I guess. Ungrateful wretch.” He grinned, golden fang glinting in the soft lantern light. The curtains were long since closed by the Lamb’s Crown-formed hands, after all. Their eyes fell to the tooth. ‘Tacky thing’ in three, two...
“Tacky thing,” the Lamb chided. “Midas was quite furious about that little theft, you know.”
“Ah, the statue wasn’t using it. It looks better on me.” The Goat stood proudly with their hands on their hips. “Adds a certain flare to my smile. It comes back with me now, so it’s pretty much considered part of me. No going back now.”
“Lord give me patience, I should never have committed to this partnership.” Their eyes twinkled, slowly trailing along his own form in unconcealed appreciation. The Goat was of a surprisingly similar build to them, although with a bit less curve and a bit more tone. He was willing to bet that the Lamb was squishier than he was, more body fat in place of where his muscles grew tougher. Exercise doesn’t matter when you’re undead. Being created for combat, though? Useful thing. They’re the words and I’m the, uh, fist.
The Goat was thrown from their thoughts as the Lamb suddenly lifted them in a bridal carry, depositing them on their back on the bed. “Uh, wow. Hi?”
“Hello.” They leaned in over him, the soft light tingeing their dark grey skin a warm brown hue. They planted a soft kiss on his lips, then jaw, then neck, sending a shiver through him each time.
He may be the one in charge of all the heavy lifting in combat, but he had a feeling that dynamic was about to be flipped on its head. “Thanks for putting up with my uh, awkward slowness. Obviously, as a living weapon created only years ago, I have no experience with this.”
“I had assumed,” the Lamb murmured. “There is no rush, my love. Place your faith in me.”
“Ew, don’t use your weird catchphrase in the bedroom,” he snorted. “Save that for the followers. I’m above that now, thank you very much.”
“Above placing trust in your partner, hm?” Partner. His heart quickened. They slowly trailed a finger down his chest, stopping just above his scar. “So uncouth.”
The Goat snorted again.
“Uncouth? Re-ally?” His voice caught a bit as the Lamb suddenly buried their face in the crook between his head and shoulder, mouthing over his neck. Stray strands of wool tickled his face and jaw, though sneezing was the least of his worries. A hand was trailing down to his thigh, thumb rubbing in circles on the inner edge of it. He could feel his body eagerly responding to the touch. “Damn, Lamb...”
“You must forgive me if I lose myself. I am feeling our combined lust for one another, after all.”
Oh, hell. How can they even think? Their face traveled down from his neck, planting little kisses along his collarbone, his sternum, and just above his scar. They kissed on one side of it, carefully avoiding it in favor of placing their lips against his abdomen. He felt his back curve slightly in response, and they slipped a hand in under the small of it, brushing against the bandages he’d left on. They were careful of the chains wrapped around their arms all the while, expertly avoiding pressing the metal into him too firmly. Wish this thing didn’t still bleed. Damn scars and... fake execution wounds. Bullshit. Wish you didn’t have to be chained like this. Stupid God-damned God of Death. Literally gods-damned.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, my love?” The Lamb tilted their head slightly from where they’d been about to brush their lips along his bandage. It was a simultaneously adorable and extremely arousing sight, to see their head so far down with their round eyes peeking up at him. Their eyelids hooded at the resulting flood of feeling to his groin, no doubt sent to them in the form of his desire. “Never mind.”
Slowly, the hand on his back moved back to his inner thigh, then carefully cupped his balls. He quavered on his inhale, their thumb tracing along the fluff that ran over the seam. He didn’t have any points of comparison, but he’d always assumed he was a fair size. The way it felt in their hand confirmed that theory quite handily. Fuckin’- handily. Hah.
“Fuck, Lamb...” The Goat was pulled out of his inane thoughts by the Lamb’s soft lips pressing into his sheathe, brushing against the tip of his dick, an inch or so coaxed out by their careful attentiveness.
“Is this standard for goats? It is quite an odd shape.” They gently poked his sheathe with a finger. “Convenient, to not have it dangling about during combat the way the rest of the package had been.”
“You really find the most profoundly unsexy things to say in the sexiest situations, don’t you? Is this what I have to look forward to for eternity?” He grumbled. “Anyways, no clue. Never seen anyone’s dick but my own, never seen any goat but myself. Obviously.”
“Just curious.” The Lamb murmured into the soft fluff of his thigh before moving leftwards and planting a kiss where shaft and balls met. He couldn’t hold back a soft moan at that – and why should I, anyway? Let them know they’re doin’ a good job.
Their cropped tail wagged a little bit in response. “Holy hell, you’re adorable. Gods, Lamb. Stop that. I’m gonna die.”
“Then the last and first thing you see shall have to be me, hm? Such a shame.” They spoke in a far more sultry tone than he was used to. His member jumped in response, most of it having escaped the sheathe. His own tail, much more demonic and donkey-like, swished a bit, curling around their arm for a moment before quickly releasing its grip. Don’t wanna be another chain.
“I, uh. Wouldn’t mind coming back to a naked Lamb every now and then.” He nearly stuttered as the Lamb took his length in one soft hand, oh-so-slowly stroking it. It was all free from the sheathe at last, a respectable six inches or so, not that he’d ever had a reason to measure.
All but the knot at the end, of course. A special surprise for them later.
Oh, hell. We’re really doing this, aren’t we? This is real. Fuck. Shit, okay. Wow.
“I’m not dreaming, right?”
The Lamb chuckled, the beginning of it a very soft bleat. “I am flattered you think of me as dream-like.”
Their thumb rubbed over his tip as they kissed along his shaft, their breath warm and wet against him. He couldn’t feel emotions like they could, but he could safely surmise they were intensely aroused, if their flushed face was any indication. He felt hot all the way to his chest and eartips.
Whatever he was planning to say next was cut off by a soft, moaned ‘fuck!’ as their mouth enveloped the tip of his cock, tongue cushioning an inch or so of the length below it. Experimentally, he put a hand on their head, their Crown floating off to the side to let him gently rub at their head wool. He didn’t dare push them down, not when he was enjoying the comfort of the slow pace, and they knew that. They trusted him. They trusted each other.
“God, we’re partners now. Fucking... I love you, Lamb. I- shit. God. I’ve wanted this for so long, I...” Inelegant words got his point across all the same, the Lamb’s tail wagging again, their eyes meeting his at a tilt as they bobbed along his cock, taking another half inch on every few downward motions. “Fuck, you’re incredible- fucking- shit, Lamb. God. You’re so soft, and warm, and- God.”
They purred a little at his words, sending vibrations through his length that made him reflexively jerk his hips up, clenching his jaw. They stopped a moment later, and though it hadn’t been an unpleasant feeling, it was a bit of a jump from the soft, tight throat he’d been sheathed within.
For quite some time, the Goat hadn’t even known that sheep could purr. It’d happened quite suddenly one day – the Lamb had been terribly stressed after another death and tirade from their God, exhausted and leaning their head against his shoulder on the floor of their study. As they’d begun to doze off, he’d heard a rumbling sound coming from them, almost like rocks grinding together. He hadn’t wanted to tell them, in case they stopped. It was less and less rare from that point on, and always when the two of them were alone together.
“Oh, I’m a moron. You’ve felt this way for a long time too, haven’t you?” He groaned. The Lamb pulled back a bit and smiled, tip still resting on their tongue. “Fuck. How long could we have been doing this? How many years could- if I’d just- that’s hilarious. I’m an idiot.”
“My idiot now,” they cooed, sending fire through his veins with the barest effort. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone. They were normally so formal, so pompous and obnoxious in a way that he admittedly loved, but in that moment they weren’t. In that moment, he’d been treated to a glimpse of the self-proclaimed fireball of a ewe they’d been in the past. The fiery spirit and far more natural, feminine-tinged tone that remained when their effort to keep neutrality dropped.
He could feel whatever remained of his resolve turn to jelly as he gripped their horns and shoved down. He would’ve felt guiltier if either of them had any need to breathe, but as it stood, he needed them. All of them. He wasn’t willing to wait any longer.
The thrusting started off uneven and frantic, fueled by fervor and passion and a need to bury himself home in his partner’s mouth. The Lamb’s eyes had widened at the first impact of his hips smushing against their muzzle, but hooded back down again as they relaxed their throat, gag reflex unneeded for an undead vessel with minimal biological function. A hand gripped each of his thighs as he settled into a steadier rhythm, greatly enjoying the wet sound of his dick thrusting in and out of them.
“Fffucking... God, I can’t fucking- God!” His own eyes were beginning to hood over and roll back as he gave himself over to pleasure, their tongue attempting to swirl around him, slicking his shaft with strings of saliva that connected their lips to his abdomen. When his eyes opened again, it was to see them staring steadily back at him, mirroring his own lust-fogged expression. “Lamb, I- Lamb! Lamb, I can’t- I need-”
The Lamb suddenly tapped his thigh rapidly, and it took several seconds for his addled brain to process that they wanted him to let go. He almost growled as he obeyed, letting them pull off with a wet pop that was definitely intentionally exaggerated on their part. His dick twitched and throbbed, bouncing slightly as he balled up the bedsheets in his hands. They were both panting.
“I’m sorry, love. My throat wasn’t agreeing with that any longer.” They rubbed at their scar, and all irritation burned away like the morning dew. He sat up, wincing a little as muscles untensed that he hadn’t even been aware were tensed.
“Shit, you alright? I can get you more tea, sorry. Shouldn’t’ve been so rough on you, dammit, I’m such an asshole-”
The Lamb cut him off from spiraling again by pressing their mouth against his and pinning him against the pillows. In contrast to their first kiss, this one was full of ravenous hunger, rising the longer it went on. He could taste himself on them, their tongue pushing its way into his mouth and swirling with his own, teeth clacking together for a moment in the desperate need to be closer. They pulled back their tongue only to gently suck at his bottom lip and bite, their herbivorous teeth too blunt to draw blood. By the time the Lamb leaned back, their eyes were tinged with red light again.
Hunger.
“If you rise so much as an inch from this bed I will pin you to the floor and ride you until you put a fucking baby in me,” the Lamb’s words were a hoarse growl, already lining his dick up with one hand, the other pressing his chest down into the mattress.
It was perhaps possible that the Lamb had lost their grip on themself, lost in the combined lust of two lovers drowning in the throes of their first night of passion.
The Goat had never been harder in his life.
“Yes, uh, sir? Ma’am? My Lord?” He stammered.
“I do not care. You are mine all the same.” They dropped their hips and his dick sank home, burying itself nearly halfway into them in one go. He barely had brainpower left to process the questions of did that hurt? Are they okay? before they were lifting up and dropping down again. He would hope that was a no, then.
“Holy fuck, Lamb, you’re- fuck!” He experimentally raised a hand to their hip, expecting them to push it back down, but some of the dominance had apparently softened with the satisfaction of achieving their goal. They allowed him to put one hand on their waist and the other on their rear, soft wool puffing up between his fingers as he held firmly onto them, their hips clapping down against him. He’d been right in his guess – the Lamb was far more soft, far more supple than him. His fingers sank in, drawing another satisfied moan from both of them. In a matter of minutes from when they’d begun, they were taking it all.
The Lamb was insatiable. Their eyes were two chunks of smoldering charcoal, burning with light against the soft black of their usual shade. They leaned down until their head wool was swaying against his face, mouths less than an inch apart, breathing and moaning into each other’s faces and getting drunk off the absolute euphoria. The scent was intoxicating. His Lamb was intoxicating.
My Lamb. Fucking hell, my Lamb. They’re mine.
Admittedly, he'd almost preferred the slower pacing. This was far from how he'd envisioned his first time with them would go, though he'd never factored for the twofold lust the Lamb would experience. It was a bit overwhelming. A rational part of his brain told him that something was wrong. The primal instinct in him devoured it before the thought could set in.
They stopped to adjust their position, spreading their legs out a bit more, knees planted a little further up the bed, leaning fully over him to drive their hips into his as fast as they could. The soft impact of wool against his thighs, the sound of their moans mixing with his own borderline whimpers of need, the warmth of them leaking against him, the sound of their chains frantically rattling from the need to take him, it was all too much.
“Lamb, I can’t, Lamb- I- fuck, Lamb! I’m gonna cum, fucking- I can’t- I need you, I love you, I fucking love you-” He rambled in a craze, high off his lust. He could feel a rising tension in his core, could feel his knot pushing against his sheath until it popped free.
“Give me everything, my love.” Their voice was barely hanging on to coherence, most semblance of their usual soft tones dried up in favor of the raspy dregs that remained. “Give me EVERYTHING.”
They slammed their hips down, grinding firmly against his knot. The fire in his veins demanded he let go, his vision was fuzzy around the edges, he needed release, but he wanted to wait and ensure his Lamb was bred.
Finally, his knot slipped in with a muffled pop, and the Lamb moaned into his mouth, kissing him again. He whimpered and bucked his hips, his head spinning as stars exploded in his vision, lightheaded and barely conscious of anything but the most intense euphoria he’d felt in his entire existence. Rope after rope of his seed was shot deep into the Lamb’s core, filling their womb with every twitch and throb of his cock, knot locking it all in place, locking them in place. He was vaguely aware of breathless, incoherent praises being whispered into his ear, both of them trembling in the aftershock of climax, mouth hanging open as he struggled for breath he did not need. It felt as if he’d been struck by lightning and all that remained of him was his connection to his Lamb.
As the minutes passed and he gradually became aware of the world again, he could feel the Lamb wrapped around him, still locked in place as the swelling in his knot slowly came down from its high with him. Their head was nestled into his neck again, and he absently trailed his hand up to the back of it, rubbing at the soft wool. Mine.
The Goat had expected to hear purring again, to hear the sounds of their partner basking in the afterglow. The Lamb was trembling still, but that seemed natural – they themself were still shuddering.
The Lamb was not purring.
The Lamb was sobbing.
Immediately, he sobered. Did I do something wrong? Fuck, I hurt them, didn’t I? Shit, shit, shit-
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. It’s alright. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Shit, I’m sorry, Lamb. I’m sorry,” he tried to comfort them, but it only seemed to get worse. His neck was wet with tears and mucus. They’d clearly been crying for a bit, at least. He realized he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out of it. I’ve had worse on my skin and this is not the time to be prissy.
The stark horror of his partner’s tears had snapped him right out of even the absolute barest dream of lust, his knot finally slipping free with a wet pop that should have been satisfying, with a small stream of his cum that should have been arousing. Instead, he was sitting up, cradling the Lamb into his chest, pressing his face into the top of their head and kissing them there, making comforting cooing sounds.
The Lamb wasn’t calming down. They were getting worse. Their chains were pressing hard against him, muting the typical sound of their rattling, their body wracked with sobs, jerking forward with every wet, struggling breath. He sent out his Crown in its organic serpent form to yank one of the balled-up blankets closer, wrapping it around them. They were speaking, but it was completely incoherent, their throat wrecked by strain and a years-old memory of decapitation.
All he could do was wait.
He’d never felt more powerless.
The Lamb retched against him. They were panicking. He realized with a jolt he was making it worse by thinking like that. They can feel what you feel. Breathe. Center yourself.
You swore to protect them. Keep your promise.
“Lamb. Try and breathe for me, okay? Focus on me. Listen to me breathe. Feel my chest rise and fall.” He slowly stroked the back of their head with one hand, the other keeping them in his embrace. “Can you do that for me?”
Gods, I’m terrible at comforting people. I’m built for making their insides outsides, not healing them.
“I can’t- I can’t breathe, I-” Their voice was small, weak, marred by sobs. All confident ambiguity and pretense was gone. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“You can, Lamb. You can. Just try, okay?” He forced himself to breathe in a steady rhythm. It didn’t feel like the right time to remind them they didn’t need air. Deep, full breaths lifted their head and carried it back down, all against the warmth of his fur and cashmere. “C’mon. I know you can do it. Trust me, okay? Can you trust me?”
“I...” They swallowed back another gag, taking in a long, shaky breath. Then another, then another.
“That’s good, Lamby. You’re doing so good,” he praised, kissing them on the forehead. He moved the hand on their head to gently scritch behind one of their ears. “Can you keep doing that for me? Steady, even breaths. Nice and slow.”
The Lamb stopped attempting to speak, focusing on swallowing back mucus and bile. The painful pressure of their chain links against him eased little by little, and their breaths gradually became steadier. Very gradually.
“That’s it, Lamb. That’s it,” he spoke slowly. “I love you, okay? I love you, Lamb. You’re beautiful.”
For some reason, that made them worse. They started breathing faster again, choking on a sob. Shit, okay, calm. Calm. Calm yourself, if you want them to calm.
“Shh. Breathe, Lamb.” He thumbed over their ear, brushing it along the length of it. It was soft. Warm. All of them was, really. “Breathe for me, my love.”
The words felt strange coming from his sharper, rough-edged voice. He could almost swear he heard them give a weak snort in response. He smiled and pressed another kiss to their forehead.
The tension was easing. Slowly, carefully easing. It was a delicate balance. He had to ensure he didn’t think too hard, lest he make them panic with his own emotions. It was terrifying.
They gave another jerking sob against him, shit, c’mon. Focus. Breathe.
They sat wordlessly together, the Lamb still trembling against him, but breathing. Breathing slow, breathing steady. They had to stop to sniff every few breaths, but it was a definite improvement.
“That’s good, Lamb. You’re doing fantastic.”
“...I-” They coughed, cutting themself off.
They started crying again. The pain on their scar must have been terrible, after all the strain.
The Goat didn’t let themself panic this time. They pressed their lips to the Lamb’s forehead and held them there, brushing along their wool with both hands. After a moment, they started gently teasing knots out of the wool with their claws.
The Lamb began to calm again. It was difficult to maintain, but he was willing to put everything into it.
He would give the Lamb anything and everything, without hesitation. They were his, and he was theirs now. They had always been in this together, but this was so much more.
His Lamb’s breathing had finally stabilized. They stopped trembling. Their arms slowly adjusted to more comfortably wrap around his shoulders, nuzzling their face into his neck again.
“You need anything?” He whispered.
“Time,” was all they said, and so the two of them continued to sit in silence for another while – how long it was, he couldn’t be sure. He had more important things to focus on. The most important thing was currently wrapped around him.
It felt as if an hour may have passed before they spoke again.
“My whole life, all I’ve wanted was a family.”
He didn’t say anything. They’d staunchly avoided talking about their past in any detail in the years he’d known them. He wasn’t about to talk over them now.
“When I was old enough to form memories, I had something vaguely adjacent to one. I was looked after, despite the danger of keeping me. It only lasted until I was six.”
Again, he waited. They drew in a shaky breath.
“The family looking after me died to give me time to escape. I lived on the run for a decade or so after that, from town to town, home to home, family to family, person to person. I never stayed long, not wanting anyone else to die because of me. My earliest memories were the knowledge that I was a blight.”
They stopped to readjust, voice still lost in its old, original form when they spoke again.
“There was a pretty price on my head, you know. By the time I was old enough to walk, I was the last lamb. The Lamb. I learned that a lamb was a horrible, horrible thing to be. I learned that people would kill, maim, torture, steal, anything to get their hands on me, and the fortune promised in return for my head.
“And so they did. A trail of death followed in my wake. I was seen as cursed. A monster. The beast, the harbinger, the herald of Death. Where I walked, Death Himself followed. Fitting, then, that I’d...”
They trailed off. It was several minutes before they spoke again.
“Fitting that I’d make use of that superstition. Make use of the price on my head. The wool of the last lamb was a valuable thing, after all. The body of the last lamb, a priceless thing. It is terribly easy to take advantage of one who has never learned to be a person.”
They laughed a hoarse, sardonic laugh.
“I had thought I could power through the memories with you. For the most part I could. I've never felt safer than when I'm in your arms, but the mind cares not for such bravado.”
The Goat swallowed. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. All he could do was try to contain his dread. Every forceful action he'd taken that night suddenly felt like another knife he'd driven into their chest. A horrible thought stabbed through his own.
Was it all a mask, then? Was it all just another mask they learned to wear to survive? Do they hate this, too?
“You couldn't have known. I can feel you panicking. I won't lie and say I'll be alright, but... I handled myself better than expected. With you, it felt real. I felt real, if only for a moment. None of this is your fault. It was more by coercion and honeyed words than by force that I was coaxed into such things in the past, anyway.”
“That doesn't-”
They pointedly talked over his immediate attempt to speak, evidently unwilling to entertain the topic any longer.
“Pine was different. Pine saw me as more than a price, more than the last of my kind, more than a pathetic girl born into nothing. He saw me, sees me as a person. That was new to me. I’d never been anything but the Lamb. He tried to offer me a name, but I refused. It felt wrong. I did not deserve one.”
Pine, of course, was the Lamb’s first follower. The Goat had known the two of them had had history, and that the crow had sheltered them for some time, but he wasn’t sure of how deep that history ran.
“He was the closest thing I had to a parental figure, before I met Ratau, and yet he never acted like one. He was more like an older sibling, or a very close friend. I loved him like family, and it was mutual. A beautiful thing, really. The first true love I’d ever experienced. The first relationship of any kind with no strings attached to it.
“He taught me how to be a person, not just the Lamb. Taught me to enjoy theater, music, singing... he made me who I am, I think, and Ratau helped smooth over any stray hairs still sticking out.”
The Lamb slowly squirmed down to lay beside the Goat instead of on top of him. He wrapped his arm around their back, and they laid their head on his steadily rising and falling chest, voice vibrating softly into it.
“That love of the arts is obvious in me, though. I always love being theatrical – the opportunity to be someone I’m not. It was that love that got me killed. A festival. We’d met for the first time at one, back when I needed to steal to survive. He saved me from being caught by a guard that looked too closely beyond my hood. He never once hesitated to kill to protect me. It was terrifying, at first, then somehow comforting. I had been followed by Death all my life, after all. Having it dealt for me was new.
“He forbade me from ever going to a festival again. I didn’t listen, of course – I was young, headstrong, still a blazing fireball despite the circumstance. I was sure I wouldn’t be caught, I-”
They tried to continue, but broke into tears. The Goat brushed his hand gently against their face, soothing them with soft words until they calmed down after several minutes. It took several more for them to muster the courage to speak again.
“I was wrong. A beautiful woman offered me flowers I could not otherwise afford, free of charge. I had thought it was a random act of kindness, a brief moment of light in my otherwise dark life. It was a mark. She had seen past my hood, and marked me with the bouquet. I never even had a chance to fight back when the guards found me. It was over in an instant.
“I still remember the cold stone against my face, the blood of my kind crusted into it and digging against my skin. I still hear the sound of my own vertebrae severing. I experience it all again any time I lay my head to rest at night, until you comfort me and ease my sleep. Pine used to have to do the same. He’d lose hours of sleep over it. I felt terrible.”
“I don’t need to sleep, so I don’t mind,” he said softly.
“I know, my love. I know.” They laughed, but it was humorless. Empty as the void their God was imprisoned within. “I do not know what I would do without you any longer. It’s... too much to bear alone.
“I only accepted the weight of the Crown to protect Pine’s life, and so my kind would not die with me. Selfish reasons and a fear of a final end. That was all. No revenge, no valiant mission. You know the rest.”
The Lamb took several minutes to breathe. For a moment, he thought they were done speaking.
“All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was a family. I was born the last of my kind, forever on the run. I could not have had children when I myself was never safe. I was given new life, and yet that life was an incomplete one. My organs need not function. They would only impede my purpose as the Vessel of my Lord.”
The pieces clicked into place moments before the Lamb spoke. The reason they’d broken down. The reason they called the Flock their children. The reason they were so caring, so nurturing.
“I am barren, my love. Why would a weapon need a working womb? It would be foolish to allow your Vessel to bear a child. It would be foolish to give your enemy leverage by creating such a blatant vulnerability. A hostage waiting to be taken, a distraction from duty. Even if I were physically capable, I would be morally unable.”
They slowly tilted their head up to look at him. Their smile nearly made him shiver. It was cold. Their face felt devoid of life.
“I will never have a family. It would be foolish to dream of such things. I will never have children, I will never raise young, I will never-” The Lamb took in another shaky breath. “I will never have your kids, Goat. I want it more than anything. It will never happen, because what I want has never mattered. You are the one, single, selfish allowance I have been given across decades of suffering. You are my heart, my love, my very soul. I want you to know that.”
Slowly, carefully, he turned himself to face them beneath the disheveled covers.
He couldn’t think of what to say. What could he say? He hadn't wanted children himself, of course, but this was bigger than that. They were more important. The most important.
So he did not speak.
The Goat pulled his soul close to his chest, and let himself weep for them.
The two of them cried together, safe in each other’s arms. They cried for the life they had been given. They cried for the life they could never have. They cried for the love they shared. They cried for the love they could never share.
Long, agonizing decades of burden were lifted the smallest amount at last. It was all he could ever hope for, to soothe their pain.
It was the promise he made to them. A promise he would keep with his final, dying breath.
“I love you, Lamb.”