Work Text:
“Scylla, Scylla, Scylla…”
The tranquil silence in the God-King’s private chambers breaks as Remus speaks, the syllables gently, with a light, well-thought rhythm falling off his lips. As his voice dies away, he stops, staring ahead, moveless.
His words seemingly come out of nowhere—he has been quietly composing inside, leaning over his cypress desk where under the flickering light of a candle, sheets of music are all around him in a messy order that creation and ideas bring with themselves. A slight frown, and a shallow breath, then:
“Scylla, Scylla, Scylla…” He repeats, slower this time—but with even more precise lilts and more rhythmic intonations.
It almost sounds like one of his songs.
As if a name could be a hymn or an ode (adored, cherished, and heartfelt) it falls lightly, yet, with utter belief and worship from soft lips that have spoken orders to seek a paradise and sung melodies that challenged fate and stole princes’ and kings’ hearts—or just one’s.
One heart, they certainly did.
Scylla turns; he has been standing outside on the balcony. The silver beam of the moon shines over the dim lights of the Capitolium, giving the golden city a blueish undertone that reminds much more of the cold colours of waters that Scylla had known.
They are at peace. For now. Scylla wishes it would last forever and a dream that’s too big to not come with a cost could be fulfilled entirely. For an eternity.
‘How could a dream be so enormous that not even the Golden God-King of all is able to conquer it…?’ Scylla decides: if there is a person—let it be a God, a Sovereign, anyone—who can, then it’s none other than Remus.
The thought of loyalties bites like acid, yet… Somewhere deep, Scylla believes: his heart may be treacherous, but the Golden King’s vision and greatness can be the ray of sunlight that dries up the spilt blood on this land—a God who is so good that he can bring unity and equity, building a better world that may welcome a new Sovereign one day.
‘A delusional dreamer,’ crawling like a worm, the thought eats up on his mind… In the past, Scylla would have never even considered an alliance with a conqueror who could have been just another one that wanted a land which had not been his; yet, here they are. In private. A dragon-born, dragon-blood wearing a body and a face that is—even if only most part—human.
Before his thoughts could spiral—whirlpool-like, similar to the deepest sea’s dangerous waves, pulling anything and everything alive downwards until there’s no more air, just the darkest of blues and unforgiving, endless water—his name is chanted again.
“Scylla, Scylla, Scylla…”
With even more devotion—the warmth and longing unmistakable this time—Remus repeats one more time.
Scylla’s heart swells; the silky curtains at the balcony door float with the gentle breeze—the fabric still allows him to see the tiny light of a candle and the bent-over silhouette of the man whose songs and dreams could even break the ice that filled up his chest. Where once mostly anger and spite, encapsulated in chilly power and pride, existed towards the world that has robbed his kin and destroyed what was rightfully theirs, now there is… There is…
Warmth.
Something that Scylla only truly learnt after bathing in the light of Remus’ heart. With music, with words, with touches, with kindness, with… Sincere, bright, gentle, raw, heartfelt ways of love.
The sound of a deep, resigned sigh interrupts Scylla’s thoughts: his King (because they may be equals but something in Scylla likes the possessive word and the respect to address Remus by his title in his mind) now looks down at his too-white-looking music sheets, his head hanging, resting in his hands, his shoulders slumped. He’s almost a pathetic sight.
It’s no alien for the Dragon-King that the oh-so-majestic and well-respected King of this land has many quirks and strange habits when creation hits—and it comes with highs and lows. Scylla had learnt it’s better to leave Remus to his own devices when the claws of inspiration drag his mind onto a different land to fight strange beasts until something beautiful and unique is born.
They spent the evening together with delicious food and fine wine; they did until Scylla noticed that Remus had stopped hearing his words and the God-King was just staring deep into his eyes. Way too deep to consider it normal—even with vishap standards. Having learnt from experience, seeing the almost unnatural gleaming and life in the person’s eyes that he loves (maybe, Scylla would never outright confess it like this, plainly, with only words, but he knows—and he only hopes that Remus does, too) the God-King was left to fight his sheets until his hands are stained with black marks from the ink and that fire in his soul is lessened enough that he can eventually sleep.
Rest isn’t something Remus gets a lot—and not many (or any) may know about this in his kingdom, but Scylla.
Hiding behind an image that his nation needs (Remus’ words, not his) while shedding tears for their suffering… Having a heart almost too big for a single person has been the blessing and the curse that his Love has been living with, Scylla thinks.
‘What if it’s too big…?’ Scylla fears.
Having seen the defeated form of Remus now and deciding that his previous excuse of ‘wanting some fresh air’ which let his King work in peace has expired now, Scylla swipes away the curtains and steps into the dimly lit room. He may be able to walk as quietly that the famed Harmots, who are easily too busy to lick Remus’ boots, may get startled by his appearance, giving Scylla an option to watch their reaction with a purposefully badly hidden smile—but he can be considerate when he wishes to be.
(He may or may not have accidentally walked out of Remus’ chambers just last week, coming up behind, when Harmost Boethius had a so-called emergency meeting with the King—one that indeed prematurely after Scylla’s interference… What a shame, really.)
Making a little noise with the fabric to announce his action, Scylla witnesses the wonderful sight that is Remus when he looks at him for the first time—if they spend even just a single minute apart, then meeting again qualifies this way for the God-King. It always has.
His fingers a little dirty from a smeared mark of ink, his sheets almost empty, Remus’ golden gaze darts up and meets Scylla’s deep blue: like liquid that gets heated, the God-King’s irises slowly change form, gleaming unnaturally—for a human.
But Remus is so much more.
Scylla believes no other but he is privy to the sight that Remuria’s King’s eyes can glow in an intense amber colour—but that is when they are skin to skin, united, the air heavy, only their panting and noises of pleasure or a name worship-like whispered, breaking the silence.
Their gazes intertwine and lock; Scylla may be angered by the fact deep down that he cannot control this change in his body, but he can feel how this action gives his irises a violet, then a pink hue—he does not see himself in a mirror now, but witnessing Remus’ expression (in awe, fascinated as he has been since the first day) speaks on its own.
Attentive, his God-King rises from his desk and closes the distance between them while never, not even for a moment, does he break the connection they share. Nothing but they exist in the world they are now in: and this is comfort and pleasure. Intimate and calm. Heated, yet familiar.
If there are some unwritten, undiscovered rules of mother nature, then one has to be about the gravitation they share—Scylla thinks, he could spend his whole life in the Capitolium, but no time would be enough for him to understand how and why could Remus enchant him with his music at the first time… But now, he is here nevertheless. By Remus’ side—and he feels he belongs.
If he is having a spell cast on him and it’s magic (akin to what the vishap younglings can be scared with, so they behave and fear going near the land of humans for their sake) that had cursed him and has been pulling him towards the God-King…
‘Then be it.’
Scylla hasn’t believed for a long time now in the tales their elders speak—but he hasn’t either in the past, not even when he only was the ‘little one’ himself. Now, with warmth pooling in his belly, his heart beating just a little faster, and his eyes adjusting as he takes in the majestic sight of Remus who only wears a single layer of fabric that wraps around him in a toga… If he is in love, then, Scylla thinks, this has to be it.
“Scylla, Scylla… Scylla,” Remus whispers while he stops, his face only inches away—and it is still too much, too far away. His eyes shine bright; his words say worship but his gaze tells it ten-folds more. Raising a hand, even with the little light of the candle in the room it is visible as his lightly bronze-toned skin moves over the lean muscles unhidden by fabric at his shoulder—Scylla knows the God-King’s body, every part, and if he wouldn’t want to break their connection, he would run his gaze through the man he loves.
Before he knows it, a hand cups his cheek and an arm sneaks around his waist, prompting him to pull closer—Scylla happily complies. A thumb lightly runs on the soft skin under his eyes where the faintest of scales shine, pearl-like, melted into the milky colour—and Scylla slightly leans into the touch.
“My dearest King, did the wine we had before make you forget other words tonight?” He starts, teasing lightly but politely (because it is a way to hide worry and concern), without any menace in his voice.
Sometimes, he would like to understand Remus’ mind… And sometimes the sheer, unfiltered love and pure, untainted, heartfelt adoration is too much to bear. Scylla doesn’t fear Remus’ love, he just may be too weak to be loved unconditionally. With all that warmth…
Remus is the Sun.
And sometimes, what Scylla does fear is that all the love and care the God-King has for everyone (but especially for Scylla) will burn—not him, but Remus.
With the new Sovereign not reborn yet, it may be the most treacherous thought he could have, but Scylla would die for or die with Remus if he had to—tonight, he does not dare to think of what the future may hold for the two of them.
His light joke doesn’t go through: maybe, he is still not adept enough at this, or, maybe, Remus is just too occupied with studying him.
The God-King leans back—their gazes still connected—only to take in the sight of the silver-infused dark blue fabric’s contrast that he got made for Scylla. Remus smiles, only to himself, only a little—Scylla has learnt to decipher this one as one of the most genuine ones he could ever witness on his King.
“Scylla…” Remus says his name one more time, tasting the word while he straightens his back, his gaze now cast downwards with the feeling of being elevated for anyone that’s under the liquid golden warmth—and it’s only for one person, ever.
“Radiating beauty and fearlessness,” Remus states now, fascinated, his eyes growing just a little wider as if he just discovered something new.
Not wanting to interrupt him, Scylla only makes a noise of interest while he also allows himself to slide an arm over; his hand finds the perfect angle of the steep slope of the V-shape at Remus’ side, going under the toga with a smooth motion until his fingers touch the firmer part of the back at the spine. This is not his original body, but Scylla has learnt to use it well enough that he feels and sees the light pleasure and contentment his touch could give—the sight fills him up with the same.
“The meaning of your name,” Remus explains. “Some ancient texts I read through this week mentioned it again—but when we had dinner and I looked at you, I felt these words were too… Shallow.” His disappointment being clear, with a sigh, now the God-King breaks his gaze away.
If there is one thing Scylla wouldn’t like to ever see on Remus then it is sadness. Cupping the hand that lays on his cheek, he raises his right from Remus’ back to his King’s chin, prompting him to look up. Scylla would never want to have anyone to gaze down on him—except one. This right is given to Remus (at least while he’s in this human-like body).
His actions speak loud enough on their own: more explanation is needed. Scylla doesn’t ask—he doesn’t have to. Since the first time they met, Remus has always been keen on letting him in and explaining everything and anything, knowing when and what to explore in more detail—knowing it well enough that it felt like he could read the Dragon-King’s mind. Now, Scylla knows that it has only been that Remus cared: he adored him enough to pay attention to the smallest of details and to learn about him. To learn it all.
“One day…” Remus starts, his golden gaze finding Scylla’s one more time, “I vow to you, my beloved Scylla, that one day I will compose music that will sing your glory better than how any ancient words could ever describe.”
It’s a promise: a dream, but one that only hasn’t come true yet. Remus is an enigma and when he talks like this, Scylla believes he can do everything he sets his mind to.
Remus is the Sun—and Remus is Scylla’s Sun.
The fingers of the hand on Scylla’s waist move and maybe without realising it, Remus pulls him closer until the sharpness of their hip bones touches, only a few layers of thin fabric between them. More warmth pools in Scylla’s lower belly, crawling downwards, and a raw, feral kind of need washes over him.
There aren’t many occasions when he calls his Love by his real name (because what if it should be saved for the right occasions when he really needs to say it, instead of using it all the time…?), not with the intent he has now, but tonight must be one of those times.
“Remus,” Scylla says, the word falling from his lips like a hymn he would only sing like this for one person.
Golden eyes shine on him, waiting—
“I believe you.”
—and golden eyes widen, glow, and spill warmth at Scylla that fills up the depths of his soul.
Before he knows it, Remus leans a little closer—and Scylla meets him halfway without missing a beat. Like their alliance: an extended hand and an offer of peace, met with acceptance–except their love now is music that’s sung parallel.
The God-King’s lips taste like the sweet wine they had before… And it also feels like love and adoration that even the greatest composer cannot put into words or music. Not yet—because as he opens his mouth and lets a tongue slide into his own, Scylla knows that with Remus, it’s only a matter of time to make dreams come true.