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˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚
Fluffy masses of cotton soft amaranth decorate oily streaks of fiery orange and golden-yellow above the city of Vesuvia. The sun hangs low in the far distance, it's reflections of amber dancing across settling aquamarine.
The usually bustling streets have now quieted to a trickle. Signs exclaiming the news of freshly baked bread and home remedies droop with gravity as their owners begin their nightly routine.
"Apologizes for keeping ye out fer so long. Time slipped by quicker than I thought."
You let out a small huff of strain as you shift the bags in your hands, attempting to maintain a comfortable balance with the hefty weight.
"Ah, it's fine Acherea, this was the last of ours needs for today. We thank you for your help."
The shopkeeper waves a bandaged hand at you with a toothy grin.
"Tis no worry. Now ye two travel safely, been some wolves out and about and they may just take ye for a juicy snack!"
A swift bark cuts through the air from besides Muriel, causing Acherea to startle before releasing a raspy laugh.
"I say Inanna's got us covered." Muriel smiles, to which his furry companion finds his gaze and wags her tail in agreement.
Turning your attention back to the shopkeeper, the three of you say your goodbyes to the gruff old man and commence your journey home.
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"Not too far 'Nanna!" Your voice carries with the wind that follows the wolf dashing in front of the cart—she's far enough to keep from the path of its voyage but plenty close in sight so she can frolic freely in the tall, dry grass. You watch the fluffy void dance about, her occasional nips at the blades without pause, the way her large tail whips about with every sharp and bouncy movement. A chuckle makes its way through your nose when a bee lands on her snout and she sneezes, scaring the fluff away. A moment later however, Inanna finally stills and looks back at you. Confusion washes over you, a brow raised. But then you follow her brown eyes and realize the issue.
Muriel stands beside you, twisting his hands on the wooden handles that jot out from the cart and you can't help but notice the subtle stitching of his brows that shadow a glint of discomfort. It isn't until Inanna starts trotting over to inspect her father that you put two and two together
"Let's switch."
The bags of chicken feed have now swung over to face Muriel where you lightly nudge his elbow with the top. His head turns over to you, quizzical; he appears caught off guard by your offer, followed with a wash of concern that flushes his features.
"Are your arms and back hurting? Just add it to the cart, that way you won't have to carry any more."
Ooff course.
You snort at his response, something that leaves Muriel furthermore puzzled.
"You're asking if I'm tired?" You tilt your head down lightly, questioningly.
"Yes. I saw the way you strained at the stall, and now you're asking to switch." He speaks in a matter of fact tone tinted with the lingering confoundment.
"True," A sigh hoffs past your lips and you can't help but smile goofily.
"But love, I mean I push the cart the rest of the way, and you carry the feed instead."
Muriel blinks a couple times, realization dawning on him, and in real time you watch a blush readily creep up his tanned cheeks— faint but certainty present. He glances between the cart filled with various items, from bags of bread to small slabs of wood and metal wiring. This brief game of hesitant only goes on for another hair when Muriel lets out a closed mouth sigh.
Triumphantly you nick your head up but you simmer down as Muriel settles the carts legs. The second he releases it, an air of relief fumes up his worn body. Now you're unsure if you want to burden him with another hefty task, however he's quick to extend his thick arms towards you, awaiting the knitted material. He watches you patiently, obedient as Inanna for your next instructions. So, despite the voice in the back of your head now contemplating the switch, you lean over and plant the bags down.
To your dismay, the cart is, unsurprisingly, five times heavier than the seeds. You notably strain, muscles burning worse than the previous endeavor that was the chicken feed. Muriel shoots you yet another look of concern, but you're not about to have him convince you two to switch back. So you shoot him an easygoing smile despite the fact that you were having to hold your breathe.
'My gods, I thought I'd gotten stronger…but it's for Muriel.'
"Now then! Let's haul our asses home. I am in desperate need of a bath." Puffing out your chest you make your way forward, Inanna by your side as if trotting along would help.
Muriels lips tug into a weary yet thankful smile; he makes sure to keep close to you as well, the two serving as guardians, ready to jump into action should you loose your hold. Even if you wouldn't admit it…you appreciated their care.
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"AUUHHHHGGHHhhh!"
Finally you've arrived home. Sure, It was a measly 7 minute walk of distance, so no big deal. Unless you too were hauling a huge cart that weighs as much— if not more —than your husband.
The chicken feed is carefully plopped onto the flattened grass next to the chicken coop as you park, to which Muriel then shifts his much needed attention to you.
"Are you okay {-—-}?" He asks, lowering to your level with a hand already rested upon your back for support. You had squatted down beside the cart after releasing the handles, the backs of your hands flopped atop the earth as if your arms had fallen off with it.
The warmth of his palm is very welcoming to your aching muscle, howbeit, you understood you cannot remain this way for long, at least not outdoors.
So, with a pained grunt, you support yourself to raise to the sky with the lingering Muriel beside you.
"I'll be okay after a nice meal and a warm bath."
You lean your full weight against the cart handle, only for the earth to call you back down to it. Thankfully, Muriel manages to catch you by the arm just as you're about to kiss the ground.
"No more pushing the heavy carts for you." Muriel mumbles out sympathetically as he helps you stand to your feet.
You let out a strained attempt at a laugh, knowing he was very correct.
"One day I'll be able to haul them around like you, just you wait."
Muriel scoffs playfully at your words.
"Just be careful for now, okay? I can't have you wearing out on me."
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Once the two of you— or, sorry, once Muriel— as the man refused to have you do any more heavy lifting —finished putting away your days journey, dinner was gobbled up in no time and before you knew it you were naked.
"Hm, should we wait for it to heat up a little longer?" You asked with a hip jutted to the side, staring at the large, wooden bathing tub filled a couple inches from the top. It'd been sitting by the hearth for approximately 5 minutes now, so as to reach the perfect, steamy temperature for the nice soak you both equally crave.
Muriel stands awkwardly to your side, his bath shawl barely hanging onto his hunky shoulders.
Nadia had some extras made for you and him to wear at home, meanwhile the pair you'd adorned the first time in her bathouse lives at her palace for the occasions you two visit. Why have two pairs, one purely for visiting a good friend? Well, one: they were exceedingly comfy for bath robes, and two: who could resist a swimming pool sized bath? Well…its not like yours is much different.
Your bath was custom made with the help of Nadia's royal artisans, though you and Muriel produced the wood. It weighs a hefty 390 pounds, stretching out 8 feet on all sides, just large enough to slot your bodies in together, and comfortably at that.
You glance over to the taller man, neck craning a pinch to properly gander at him. There you find his features illuminating in the fires glow, prompting the corner of your lip to quirk up. Muriel has bathed many of times with you, it was something of an occasional ritual if you both so pleased. And yet, every time without fail, those sun-kissed cheeks bloom the faintest, most polite red. You speculate it has something to do with you being so shamelessly nude so close to him.
"I think it's ready now." Is what he answers with while leaning forward to swipe a hand through the water, distracting himself from your cheeky gaze. You hum out a small tune of excitement and are the first to, literally, dip your toes in.
Rising steam swirls around your bare form as you lower yourself into the water. Gradually, it envelops your aching bones, surrounding you like a big warm blanket, and the sigh that escapes your lips is almost erotic.
"Ohhh yeahhh…this is what I needed."
As you melt within the h2o, Muriel anchors in right after you— he's careful to keep his mass in mind so he doesn't force the water to gush over. He learned his lesson the last time he nearly flooded the bathroom…
With his settlement, a low, pleased noise flows out of him, relief seeping out of every crevice of his being. You crack an eye open to peak at him.
His entire body— excluding his head —is submerged all the way up to his neck causing his form to contort below. Tired eyes are now shut, so comfortable you consider he might just fall asleep right here and now. This whole sight warms your chest, eyes crinkling upwards.
"Don't fall asleep on me, I'm not sure I could lift you up if you were to drown."
You nudge yourself closer to his body, leaning into the side of his warmth as you sling an arm onto the side of the bath and behind his shoulders.
Muriel exhales with a smile and his dark lashes flutter to allow those special greens to peak through.
"You could if you truly needed to, I believe it."
You watch as he blinks, opening both eyes to look between you two. The realization of your close— naked — proximity dawns on him and he's quick to turn his gaze afar, as if that'll hide the fluctuation of his pupils when he snagged an accidental peak at your bare chest.
All you can do is hum out in amusement.
Playing into his game of ignorance, you bring your hand up out of the water to pinch your nose and abruptly dunk your head down without warning. This mildly startles Muriel, his staggered expression evidence when you pull back up. You slick your hair back with your hands, smoothing out the excess water and strands away from your now damp face.
"What? It's more efficient than using the ewer." You state with a tilt of your head finding him staring. He's smiling with nothing but malice, but you simply can't resist teasing him.
"Perhaps to you, but I'd rather stick with it."
Playfully you roll your eyes at him as you glide across the water to the other side of the tub. There you find an array of colorful soaps, only a handful of options, but nonetheless many to choose from. The smallest hair soap, barely the size of your palm now, is the one chosen for tonight.
When you turn back to Muriel, your met with his body pointed in the opposite direction, back completely to you. You almost chuckle at his immediate obedience.
As much as you'd like to dunk his head in the water as well, you opt for retrieving the ewer and filling it up to start poring over his head. You hold a hand right below his hairline while tilting the pitcher forward, preventing any water from cascading into his eyes, those of which he has peacefully shut.
Cedar carries through the warm air, rising with the steam dancing around the two of you. Nearby moonlight rays seep in through a window, heeding the low talk between you and your beloved.
Eventually, his dusky locks have been lathered enough so you dip the ewer into the now sudsy bath and trickle it over his head. Your eyes follow the stream, enthralled by the pattern it creates down his muscles, dipping into the grooves of his scars.
You slid a hand down, running your fingertips across them while visually tracing the outline of a particular gash below his left shoulder blade.
To say you don't ever pay mind to them would be misleading. They're apart of Muriel, and lots of them cannot be ignored. However, you have these moments where you really notice them, but you never say anything. You never gawk, you never ask where one you've not seen before originates without him starting that conversation, if ever. Because you'd rather jump into a pit of flesh-eating plague beetles than spontaneously ask "Hey what horrible thing did Lucio throw at you in the Coliseum to cause this?"
"[N____]?" That soft, languid call seizes you out of your thoughts.
"Sorry," You breathe out, a meek smile to your voice.
You spill one more cup of water over him, assuring that every ounce of soap has run off his scalp. Not a second later, you curve forward and place your hands upon his broad shoulders.
"Just admiring you."
You then peck at his crown and pull back, but not without a quick rub of his deltoid. You don't need to see his face to know he's brighter than a red cardinal. And to that you discretely beam.
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Hinges groan under the weight of you settling your body.
'That's a little concerning.' You mentally note looking down at the bed. Your nose mildly scrunches, a pang of annoyance at possibly needing to fix the bed in the future. However, this quickly dissipates when the mattress you glare at dips in a significant amount opposite to you.
'I'll worry about it later'
Filing away that potential issue, you flop your body over to face Muriel with a smile, watching as he settles in and throws the cover over himself.
Innana meanwhile plops down at the foot of the bed, right below your feet specifically. She settles her fluffy snoot along her outstretched paws, looking over between the two of you before yawning wide and blinking her droopy eyes.
It takes 1.5 seconds for him to sling a beefy arm over you and pull your entire body against his own. As he settles, though, you feel him tense up. For a moment you lay confused, until you realize. He'd squeezed you, oh so lightly, a sweet but firm touch of affection, but then he recalled your sore state and how he could possibly harm you if not careful. So, consequently, he eases up, much to your disappointment.
Nonetheless, the weight is very welcome, soothing out the ache from today's hard work. Okay— yeah, you are a little tender, but who told him he couldn't still crush you in his arms?
"It's okay Muriel, you will not hurt me. And besides you're already quite comfy." You mumble into his chest. He takes notice of the muffle of your voice and carefully leans back a little, giving you room to breathe. Not that you'd mind suffocating in his boo—chest.
"Am I?" He smiles shyly down at you, features lax.
You raise your forehead to very lightly tap it against his exposed chest, not a care for the thick hair that tickles your brow.
"As I said, very."
The muscles beneath you tense at the hum of your voice vibrating against his flesh and you can't help but shake with mirth.
"Well…you are too. Even more so."
His hand comes up between your bodies, taking your own. It's saddening to avert from his tender gaze, but you do it anyways to find the fingers tangled in yours.
Every little detail meets your eyes: the coarse texture of his calloused palms, the immense difference in size compared to yours— he can cage your entire closed fist in one hand alone. And then, you turn his hand over.
Tiny small scars decorate his flesh. A couple emboss his individual digits, but the most are a few deeper indents across the knuckles and tendons.
You're reminded of your brief inspection of the ones covering his back, jagged and rough, born of a time you're very grateful Inanna helped him out of.
You don't realize how long you've been observing his hands until you go to smooth a thumb over a raised spot and he flinches, to which you immediately look up in concern.
"Sorry— did that hurt?"
The second you say this, you feel it's a rather dumb question, but then again, there are few he has here and there that, to this day, agitate his deep tissue.
His eyes avert and those thick brows tense, but lack in malice— a little caught off guard. His hand shifts in yours, remaining nonetheless.
"No. Not really." Though his voice stays low and soft, there's a hidden veil of tension over it, a cut and dry response you've heard many times before.
Breathing out, your thumb caresses down until it finds a smoother scar, and it's there you decide to get comfortable. You shimmy against him, slotting further into his embrace as if you were puzzle pieces meant to go together.
His eyes widen, cheeks rosy as a pink Cameilla.
"W-What are you doing?" His words deliver with a mild tremor. It's amusing how easily you can fluster this man, despite how long you've been a pair.
You angle the tip of your finger to start outlining a particular line running across the bottom half of his middle finger; a small scar that you may not notice from a distance, but is nonetheless present.
"Tracing your beauty marks."
Muriel instantly recoils at your choice of words.
"I would not exactly call them …beautiful.." He blinks slowly, as if trying to dispel a turbulent thought.
At this you crane your neck up can far as you can to peek at him without disrupting your snug position. His eyes meet yours before flicking over to where your hands meet, to where you're gently holding him.
For a moment the two of you sit there in silence. He almost completely avoids your prolonged contact, growing pinker by the minute. All it does is ripen your soft smile.
"If that's so, then how come I see them that way?"
Your thumb brushes down over his wrist where the most intense of his past lay.
The click of those wretched chains echo through your mind, as if reliving the moment. Flashes of their release, the sight of Muriel's baffled shock that melted into relief, something he never thought he'd experience. And of course, the moment he tossed them, leaving them to rust into the earth forever far away from his body.
The man now raises his other hand up to look down at it. His eyes travel between his two wrists, eyes saddening as if connecting to your psyche and revisiting the memories himself.
"Do they still hurt?"
He blinks, falling into silence once more, as if unsure.
"Sometimes."
Your attention fall solely to those scars. They're the only ones you've witnessed the creation of— or at least the birth of their reveal, exposed for any to espy.
Muriel observes the shift in your touch, how you've eased your grip to carry his weight like hes something precious. You hold him, trace your flesh along his jagged and battered body as if his history of slaughter is a mere whisper in the wind, as if the blood that forever coats his hands, the gore matted in his myrrh scented hair, and the crimson coating his armor that shines in the sun…was nothing. It's as if, you see it as nothing but the past, a time not forgotten, but simply was.
He understands 'the past is the past', after all, he will never have to fight no man nor beast ever again. Never will his hands hold the frail, tensed skull of a human less than twice his size and twist it until it popped. Never again will he be subjected to bash the head of a weakened fox until it's eyes shot. And never again will he need to watch the life drain from the eyes of that one boy he had no choice but to execute.
Despite all that however, you don't treat him like a fragile bomb waiting to be set off. You hold him gently knowing his scares, his haunted memories; you hold him how he should be, as a human being.
Even before Lucio's defeat and the victory of Vesuvias freedom from the plague, Muriel's known you love him. But…there's these moments every once and a while, moments where the realization washes over him all over again. He's reminded of the time you two truly met, and how, with little hesitation, you'd patched him up and cleaned the red off his body. Or the horrifying event at the masquerade when his mask slipped and he was recognized as the monster he once was. The scene of you following after him and comforting his woes replays like a record of love when he doubts himself.
You love him, yes. But you, love, him.
"Muriel?"
A sniffle cuts through the air. Those tender, forest-green eyes are now puffy and blurred at the waterline, his thin lips are quivering as much as the bulky arms encasing you. Sympathy and understanding tugs at the corners of your lips.
Fingers still curled into his, you reach up and cup the side of his soft face where his facial hair tickles your palm, to that he leans into your warmth.
"S-sorry." He mumbles out, breathing shaky. His lashes flutter from the blinks that attempt to dispel the tears that persist on forming.
Your brows scrunch in.
"You don't need to be, my love." You scooch up to press a heartfelt kiss to his quivering mouth. It's brief, lasting a mere second, but it's enough for his shoulders to relax and a sigh to shudder out.
"Am I?" Those greens read to be a little unsure of something as his head dips down, averting back to your connection.
Mildly perplexed but intrigued you hum out: "Are you what?". Your thumb caresses the tall, jagged line stretching up the left side of his face.
He sniffles lightly, blinking.
"Am I truly...your love? You wholeheartedly view me that way?" With that, Muriels eyes met yours sincerely, desperate.
You almost scoff at the query, only managing to hold it back for Muriels sake. Oh, this man.
"Does Innana love rolling around in the dirt and frolicking in fields?" You quirk an eyebrow up playfully.
For a moment Muriel stares in confusion, trying to figure out what you were getting at. But soon his lips twitch up and he mumbles out.
"Well..yes?"
You can't help the snicker that escapes your sinuses. With a sigh, you drag your hand down from his cheek further back to brush the tips of your fingers through his still damp locks.
"What I'm getting at is, I adore you wholly. Every version of you, every mark."
The ridges of his neck smooths against your palm as it runs across, tracing the halo of affliction; although he tenses at the feeling, he's locked onto you.
"Every tell of your past, I love. Because it's you, and I love you, Muriel." Lips brush against the cicatrix along his throat— you feel his adam's apple bob in surprise underneath your touch, and then relax. Before you can even pull back, you feel something creep up the side of your face.
A thumb swipes over your cheek as watery, doting pools of moss lock onto yours. His thin mouth shivers uncontrollably, on the edge of bursting out a cry. Then, they part.
"Can I—kiss you?"
So hushed and so blissfully in love…oh, you don't know how you can survive this.
Mirroring his action, the fingers that cup the side of his jaw run up through his temple, coursing through the strands there.
"You always can, my love."
Muriel needs no more conformation before he taps his forehead to yours and plants his lips so tenderly against your mouth. The second you connect, a tear rolls down his cheek, something he ignores so he can stay latched onto you. His arms tighten around you in a passionately thankful embrace, giving no sign of release anytime soon.
But as much as you'd like to stay, you break from his , heart fluttering at the quiet whine that breaks from his throat.
"I'm not going anywhere." You whisper breathlessly. Muriel sits there, curious until he feels it. Head tucked beneath his chin, your lips meet his Adam's apple, right atop the raised skin that curses him, all while holding his wrist between your chests.
"Not when I have this beautiful man in front of me."
˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🌿:✧˚