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English
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Published:
2025-08-25
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1,874
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1/1
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16
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there's no denying

Summary:

"Darling..." Vere begins, and against the window light, Ais realises that his red hair has faded to copper and bronze.

He catches himself before the fox notices. "What," smoke spills from his mouth, dips to the cobblestone like his fucking mood, "want me to hold your hand?"

-

Ais finds himself caught between a clinic wall and a hard place.

Notes:

this bastard being fwb with vere and friendly with kuras has exhibited greed only documented in the bible and i'm so mad at him for that.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“That will be all, Ais.”

Kuras makes his presence known with a warm hand at the back. Firm fingers press into a knot, long growing since the afternoon like a hollowed-out tree doesn’t. This close, the doctor drowns out the enduring din from Ocudeus, a thick blanket no less welcome than Princess’ weight as she dips into bed by him.

Bed, blankets, Ais’ eyelids dip.

Kuras senses his change in energy as he always does, “I have exercised my self-indulgence for today-” when he removes his hold, the touch stays like a brand, “-thank you again.”

His eyes flutter shut, the knot is back, “Sick of me already? Or worried someone misses me.”

“The sun, maybe.” Kuras fires back. He still hasn’t left his side, sulphur lingers in the space between them, as minuscule as it may be. When Ais spares a look, the man meets his gaze, eyes still twinkling and miraculously not weighed down with languor like his own.

Ais turns away first and Kuras lets him. The clinic needs to close after all. The silver of his jewellery catches against warm clinic light as he shambles towards the cot. Sheets are changed and burned, the front door is locked, the bloodied tools are sterilised. All that’s left is a smoke in the alley behind them before he mirrors discarded cigarette butts and buries himself into Eridia’s cobblestone streets.

Comfortable silence enables quick work, and quick work allows a consistent routine. Consistency is predictable, and predictability is better than waking up coated in someone else’s blood in this forsaken city.

Consistency is quickly halted when Ais reaches for the door and Kuras stops him.

Ais knows he demands attention, wanted or not, drives a wide berth between himself and a crowd – it’s why he has to pause and belatedly realise the ring on Kuras’ hand fills the gap on his own, their fingers barely brushing against the handle to the back door.

“For your smoke break,” Kuras says to break the silence, and yes, the doctor did make him empty his pockets of the pilfered cigarettes before the day began.

Ais blinks at him, maybe still dazed by exhaustion or confusion, “Not a smoke break if the shift is over.”

“Then consider it a parting gift,” he replies. The weight of the box feels final, crumpled in his other hand as Kuras opens the door for him. The new moon spares them the usual muck driven into the alley, hidden as it is within the deep shadows of the buildings around them. Ais’ nose twitches; it doesn’t spare them the smell of spilled alcohol and spice.

Kuras’ hand moves again, trailing from his throat to his waist, innocently brushing away leftover dust. His gaze pierces him, as warm as it is, yellow where Ais is used to red, searching where he is used to emptiness. If his cheeks have grown hot, then both men make an effort not to comment on it.

The doctor’s mouth twitches as he leaves. From here Ais can see him cast a look throughout the alley before settling again on him, “Thank you again for your service Ais, farewell.”

The door shuts, but the lights inside remain on, the shadows begin to curl and boil around him.

Ais closes his eyes, muscle memory leading one cigar and a lighter to his mouth. The din has returned, but the presence behind him is sure to drown them out. He caught the glint of his eyes as Kuras opened the door, jewel-bright and ever waiting.

“Thought you hated this place, Vere.”

Outside of the clinic, the air clings to them, damp and oppressive. Even in the early dawn, it had been like this, patients muttered about smelling a thunderstorm in the next hours, clouds rolling and leaving the streets bleak. No one wanted to get caught in the rain after all.

Vere still hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved from his post at the wall behind him, but the shadows at Ais’ feet bite and nip at the clinic’s boundary. His back has gotten colder, the knot aches like a reminder. What was it that the sparrow told him? About how, when meeting Vere, they felt frozen in a beast’s open maw.

Ais turns, still not looking to his side, but slipping from the window’s sight at the wall just beside it. The shadows draw back, still morphing in his periphery - still angry - as Vere’s silhouette exits the void that had formed seconds ago. The fox slinks towards him, ears folded back and tail bristled, but expression still unreadable. Common sense tells him to stay still, vestiges from their first meeting when he was fresh from the Seaspring and Vere still holding himself like a captive god. 6 years is not long enough to break a habit, it seems.

He hasn’t spoken, but his lips curl with distaste, needle eyes flicker between the cigarette, his throat, his waist. Ah, that was it, he’s looking where he saw Kuras touch him.

Ais takes another drag before he speaks. Ocudeus’ presence is dulled, but regardless, he sees a vision of his body clamped between fangs, “Thought it was below you to get possessive-”

He barely gets the words out before Vere’s hand slams into the brick beside him, the sound of claws by his head unpleasant, but Ais’ blood thrills at it. Vere’s eyes grow wide and flat before he reasserts himself, giving him a pleasant smile as they ignore his tail thrashing between them.

“Who am I to judge the dreck you like to associate yourself with?” he spits out that word, dreck, like it’s the Wet Wick’s finest, but his smile remains. Ais’ gaze spills from the Monster before him to the direction of the bar, he’s due to pay Leander a visit. Vere shifts, his eyes return to him, “Did you have fun with him? Given that you reek, he must have been all over you. I’m almost jealous.”

Ais strangles down a sigh, exhaustion still gnaws at him, he’s going to say the wrong thing inevitably. Another pull from the cigarette to placate his twitching brow, more smoke trickles from his mouth, “Tell me about your day, seems like you enjoy playing house.”

The scraping of claw against brick increases, his ear pricks in pain, “Boring.”

“Better now that I’m in it?” Ais says. Another glance away, another drag, Vere’s scoff draws him back in like the tide.

“Darling…” he begins, and against the window light, Ais realises that his red hair has faded to copper and bronze. Strands tumble down his shoulder as the fox tilts his head. The sparrow said it reminded them of blood; in this lighting, it reminds him of molten gold.

Vere is still playing. Despite his flattened ears and raised hackles, there’s a pout on his lips that Ais stares at for too long. He’s too tired for this. “What,” smoke spills from his mouth, dribbles to the cobblestone like his fucking mood, “want me to hold your hand?”

The fox hums noncommittally, eyes still resting on where Kuras’ finger brushed along his throat. Ais wants his teeth there. Vere had rolled his eyes when he told him about the help at Kuras’ clinic, face splitting into a grin with innuendo after innuendo until even that got boring. He had made his true feelings known regardless, carved it into Ais’ skin and pressed it into his jaw until it threatened to break.

When Kuras saw the damage - and through the lie - he only smiled and offered to apply a healing ointment.

Ais’ jaw aches, Vere’s smile drops.

If he is taken by surprise by the thigh shoved between his legs and hand pulling at the base of his head, he doesn't admit it. Vere noses along the junction of his neck and shoulder like a lover, remaining hand toying at his belt as the shadows around them jump. The cigarette falls from Ais’ hand, extinguished in a puddle.

“Only so long in the human world and you’ve gotten yourself wrapped between 3 being much, much bigger than you,” Vere sighs, resting his cheek against his chest, “maybe someone should teach you a lesson about waltzing into webs.”

In the rare chance that he stays the night, he sleeps like this, curled on him and blissfully vulnerable. Ais gets the sense it may be a while until he sees him this prone again.

The grip on his hair tightens, Vere’s thigh presses tantalising where he knows it will draw much worse than a hiss out of him. Ais’ arms fly out to mirror him, one at the base of his skull, the other pulling him closer by the waist. The fox drums his fingers against his chest, playing with his necklace like they both aren’t inches from ripping each other apart. Ais’ heart thunders in thrilled anticipation.

“Didn’t take you as someone willing to give me advice,” he drawls. Vere presses closer, and Ais loosens the death grip on his hair, hot breath at his collar and fangs deliciously close to a vein. The external jugular, Kuras had identified, blood growing hotter and moving southward as Ais waits.

A quick fuck would do him some good, loosen that all-suffering knot at his back, dull everything around them until it’s just him and Vere. He flexes his thigh and Ais shudders, head dropping only to be viciously corrected as he continues his ministrations. The hand at his neck drops entirely, thumb looping through Vere’s belt to draw him closer, cling to him, keep him there. He is the body at Vere’s jaw, and he wants to be mauled.

Vere hums again. Ais’s eyes have fluttered shut. He knows he looks like a wreck already, and the bastard hasn’t even kissed him.

“I could offer you the world if you asked nicely,” if the feeling of Vere’s lips mouthing every word against his skin isn’t torture, Ais doesn’t know what is, “I could have worshippers at your feet and your name eternalised in this shithole.”

Cold coats them, him, as Vere withdraws. Ais swallows.

“Vere-”

Said man, fox, Monster, conniving fucking bastard, flashes a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you’re a big boy now, aren’t you Ais? You can manage on your own.”

The words echo unnaturally, the shadows return to stagnancy and within them Vere disappears. Even the light has gone out with him.

The light-

Ais snaps his attention back to the clinic, all exhaustion gone from him. The clinic’s lights are off, have been off since he doesn’t know fucking when. What he does know is that the closest candles are by the door, nestled between curtains and awkwardly close to the glass.

He punches brick before registering it, knuckles erupting in pain and thudding in time with his back. The air around him chills as he considers his hand, slacks still tight, it’s going to rain soon, he’ll need an excuse for the bruised fingers.

Ais growls, fumbling in his pockets for the packet of cigarettes and swearing when his hands come out empty. He’s going to strangle Vere the next time he sees him. His fingers twitch, green lilies flash in his mind.

Fuck this, he’s going to Leander.

Notes:

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