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The ride home had been quiet, and unlike their typical shared silences, this one held a grim weight. The sinner drove his executioner to the site of his just punishment. He opened the car door for the other, then that of the house, an attentive escort to his tense, stalking doom. The dogs were quietly told to stay on the first floor, and when they arrived at the stairs, he let Eles lead.

He was, to his own bemusement and wonder, scared of Eles.

And even worse, it wasn’t even the fear of whatever punishment he was about to receive, as was only reasonable! No, he was afraid that Eles would still be upset tomorrow, the next day. And it would be easy to explain and reason that he was a senshi. That he could be strong and so incredibly fast. That he could Mirrorwalk away from trouble. And when he couldn’t, he had other ways to escape. But even worse than Eles still being upset after punishments were rendered, was the fear, after having seen and been touched by the intensity of his boy’s rage for the care of him…

What if next time he didn’t care at all?

Given the choice between a** and hammer, Malory let himself briefly appreciate the former, remember the flex of it as Ebon had danced, then fixated on the latter. He'd really picked up a literal hammer. How could Malory ever be silly enough to think Eles would like any other person and talk about such things in metaphors rather than stunning truth.

And still he didn't find himself hesitating, pulled along as willingly with a hammer swinging in menace as he'd followed the tug of his shirt earlier.

The request for tequila was obeyed with a prompt turn and quiet, rapid steps. Tonight he would wait as needed, but didn't dare leave the other waiting. Within a few minutes, he found Eles again, a bottle of Ocho in one hand, two snifters in the other.

Staring at Eles, Malory realized he had yet to say anything to the other since making his choice. And that it felt wrong to do so, at least before being given permission. It was probably for the best, really. He'd noticed that dog s**t shuffle earlier.

Jumping at the sound of the hammer hitting the floor, Malory ended up biting his lip harder than he usually liked in keeping his typical brand of drama quiet. But it was the hour of his punishment, a little better extra on top was fine. Appropriate maybe, even if it was self inflicted. But maybe all of this could be named as such.

Still obedient, he sat on command, then poured on command. The glasses each a near precise equal to the other, and gazing down on his own, Malory began to tally all he'd had to drink at the club with a quiet, growing dismay.

Malory watched Eles down his drink and come up from it with an expression that was pleased, the lines of his body shifting for it. The tension began to take a new, softer shape. Sipping from his own glass, Malory knew that he was still in for it. Would maybe even feel let down if Eles changed his mind. But it was good if his boy was a little more relaxed, a little less upset

Obedient, he raised his arms and watched the jersey dropped on the floor with a mournful look. He'd thought it was cute. Even considered getting it modified later to add Aphelion across the back. Maybe he still would though, for when he wanted to be a specific flavor of irritating.

The reminder that Eles had been stripping on a stage above him was a low burning but sweet piece of torture, something he still couldn't act on. Couldn't touch the painted featters. Couldn't press his face against the indent left by that garter. He gave a silent sigh for the hardships he was already facing and laid down.

Staring up at the boy kneeling above him, Malory spared a thought to wonder how long Eles would withhold his voice this time.

That barely there brush of fingers was so, so gentle and it’d be such a tender little intimacy were it not for the counterpoint that was the hammer, waiting within easy reach. Though he still found it to be sweet; Eles had a way of looking at him that made Malory feel sticky from the inside out. Like choking on a throatful of molasses.

And then the touch changed, and Malory realized what was happening, what his punishment would be and he had to hold in the chagrin, the bitter laugh that wanted to burble up and get him in even worse trouble with Eles. He hadn’t even realized he was Faustite yet, and still he wanted those ribs. Probably considered them his no matter who he turned out to be in the end. And he was right. But oh, his boy was so greedy.

Having found his ribs, Eles brought a hand to Malory’s face, another little intimacy brought short and this time with a belt and a whispered word that granted him the edge of the boy’s forgiveness. And it was this that Malory held onto as the hammer was so carefully aimed, then lifted. His heart began to jump in his chest and he had to look away from the hand and the hammer and his chest. It was better to look at Eles to see what-

His yell, muted by the belt, was a ragged and immediately strained thing, followed by several quieter, shorter bursts of sound. Malory’s chest was heaving rapidly, nostrils flaring with the quick pants that helped deliver a small stab at his side with every movement. Tears rapidly filled his eyes, began sliding down cheeks that were brightly flushed in contrast to skin that had paled even further.

There was a very rational part of Malory that knew this was not a good thing, a necessary thing, or something that should be allowed. Ever. But that part of him had always been so passive, a thing to take into consideration or easily ignore, no more than safety signs on a wall. There was another part of him that, despite the pain, despite the well of odd desperation for this to matter, to mark him up and mark him out, that this had dug…

There was a part of him steadily cataloging what his body was doing. His hips lifting like so, his torso trying to rise, to sit up despite the pain it caused. He noted his breathing. There was a part that wanted him to look into one of the bedroom’s many mirrors and check his expression, but that wasn’t allowed. If his eyes were to be open, then they would be open and watching Eles, and Eles alone. If he wanted to see himself in this moment, it had to be through the eyes of the other boy.

Was it enough? Was Eles okay? Was he forgiven?

s**t s**t s**t, it really ******** hurt!

There was warmth, even a sort of praise in Eles’s gaze. And he didn’t tell Malory that he was good, but Malory felt the declaration anyway. He was being good. He was doing what was needed. This meant something, to both of them. Thinking so, believing it, made it easier to rein in his breathing, the rapid-deep rise and fall of (knives) his chest evening out under the trace of Eles’s fingertips. That hand was so much more confident this time, and quick, too.

It didn’t make what came any less painful and after the outcry behind his gag came the sobs that wracked his whole body and punished him for each and every one. Malory was awash in pain, bathed and drowned in it. He could barely keep track of Eles’s expression anymore, it was all a blur above him, but he caught the words, spoken aloud and whole, with the clarion honesty he sometimes held.

He was forgiven. And he had been granted something that maybe cost both of them something a little terrible, but maybe it was worth it, as long as it stayed precious between them, as long as it meant something. Vaguely, he wondered if this was what a baptism was meant to be, and if he too, was now reborn.

“I’m sorry.” And for once in his life he truly was. “Thank you for caring about me.”

After a moment, Malory raised a shaking hand to Eles, palm out and expectant.

The pain was a hazy rhythm of sharp throb pull, and Malory’s eyes, glassy with tears, blinked and fought to focus until he could see Eles clearly again. Oh, he was crying too. Felt it with him, too. The sight didn’t ease the pain for a single ******** second, but it made Malory a little more comfortable in it. He always liked it when they shared.

Eles spoke of what it could mean, for Malory specifically, weaving a thin, tiny blanket of how this moment, this pain was his. To use and control. But it was nothing to the grace of knowing that it was theirs. He focused on the hand in his own, the fingers slipping through his hair, and still it did nothing to lessen the pain, but he did find himself settling into it, taking in the knives at each side with every breath and vaguely daring them to stab deeper and further into him.

Dazed and so much slower than usual, he didn’t realize what Eles was talking about until his fingers touched flesh that felt different. Ah yes…he’d asked that earlier hadn’t he? “You…” Oh, it hurt so much and differently to talk. Every word was going to cost him now, wasn’t it? “Did it…yourself?” His chest hitched and shuddered against the new spike of pain, the shifting of the rhythm. “It’s good. It was all…really good.”

Malory swallowed and swallowed again, “Wanted you.” Which he nearly always did. “Badly. But different.” It was important that Eles knew, the appreciation hadn’t been part of an act.

Malory wasn’t sorry at all for the bruises or anything else he left on Eles. Not even for making it harder to play the role. Ebon had managed to be above and beyond reach, even as fingers slid down his boot, grazed along the garters. The contact just made the gap clearer, the wanting and destined lack of fulfillment all the more apparent. But it had felt good to want and be left wanting. It was something he’d always liked to play around with, but this had been, as he’d said with such broken emphasis, different.

And seeing Eles as Ebon, stalking that stage and performing rhythmic feats on the pole, commanding both attention and desire with his body and its dance, Malory had felt proud too. “Felt like,” and oh god the small cough that followed brought fresh tears to his eyes. Belatedly, Malory realized he’d have to give that shitty doctor a call. But it could wait. Maybe until morning. Let tonight be a vigil of some kind.

“Like,” he finally continued, “...couldn’t take it…you for. Granted.”