The curse was elegant in its simplicity. If Acatl hadn’t been so annoyed by it, he might have found it admirable. For the next week, he would be compelled to speak the honest truth of his heart, and there was no cure. He would have to live with the consequences of his speech.
So all he had to do was not talk to anyone for five days. Easy. He could manage that.
Except of course, because the fates were tormenting him, Teomitl all but sprinted into the temple an hour later, out of breath and talking a mile a minute. “Acatl! What’s this about a truth spell? Are you alright? Have you found who cursed you?”
He bit his lip hard, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t keep the words in. “No, but I’m fine. I’m just glad they were aiming for me and not you. If you were hit with a truth spell, you’d probably cause seven diplomatic incidents in the first five minutes.”
Teomitl looked about to argue, but then he paused and frowned skeptically at him. “Are you sure you’re cursed?”
“Rude!” he huffed. “I love you madly, but if you don’t learn some tact before your brother dies we’re all going to be in trouble.”
Teomitl didn’t appear to have heard him. He was staring at Acatl like a stunned rabbit, mouth slightly open. Acatl tried not to think about the curve of his lower lip until the man spoke, drawing his attention right back to it. “You...love me?”
“...Fuck.” His face felt like it was on fire. He’d never meant to say that. Teomitl was a dozen years younger than him, married to his sister, and due to become the next Emperor of the Mexica. Acatl had taken vows of celibacy. He’d long since accepted he didn’t have a chance; gods, he was lucky to still be in Teomitl’s life at all. Please don’t ask me to elaborate, he prayed.
Too late. Teomitl was stalking closer, and when he took Acatl’s hand in both of his own Acatl couldn’t pull away. Not when the man looked at him like that, as though he was on the edge of everything he’d ever wanted but wasn’t sure it was for him to have. “You love me,” he repeated. “As a man?”
He might once have at least contemplated his answer—if nothing else, his vanishingly unlikely dreams of confessing had involved more picturesque surroundings than his weedy, dusty courtyard—but with Teomitl looking so hopeful all he could say was, “Yes.”
And then he didn’t need to worry about saying anything else, because Teomitl was kissing him.
Obsidian & Blood, Acatl/Teomitl
The curse was elegant in its simplicity. If Acatl hadn’t been so annoyed by it, he might have found it admirable. For the next week, he would be compelled to speak the honest truth of his heart, and there was no cure. He would have to live with the consequences of his speech.
So all he had to do was not talk to anyone for five days. Easy. He could manage that.
Except of course, because the fates were tormenting him, Teomitl all but sprinted into the temple an hour later, out of breath and talking a mile a minute. “Acatl! What’s this about a truth spell? Are you alright? Have you found who cursed you?”
He bit his lip hard, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t keep the words in. “No, but I’m fine. I’m just glad they were aiming for me and not you. If you were hit with a truth spell, you’d probably cause seven diplomatic incidents in the first five minutes.”
Teomitl looked about to argue, but then he paused and frowned skeptically at him. “Are you sure you’re cursed?”
“Rude!” he huffed. “I love you madly, but if you don’t learn some tact before your brother dies we’re all going to be in trouble.”
Teomitl didn’t appear to have heard him. He was staring at Acatl like a stunned rabbit, mouth slightly open. Acatl tried not to think about the curve of his lower lip until the man spoke, drawing his attention right back to it. “You...love me?”
“...Fuck.” His face felt like it was on fire. He’d never meant to say that. Teomitl was a dozen years younger than him, married to his sister, and due to become the next Emperor of the Mexica. Acatl had taken vows of celibacy. He’d long since accepted he didn’t have a chance; gods, he was lucky to still be in Teomitl’s life at all. Please don’t ask me to elaborate, he prayed.
Too late. Teomitl was stalking closer, and when he took Acatl’s hand in both of his own Acatl couldn’t pull away. Not when the man looked at him like that, as though he was on the edge of everything he’d ever wanted but wasn’t sure it was for him to have. “You love me,” he repeated. “As a man?”
He might once have at least contemplated his answer—if nothing else, his vanishingly unlikely dreams of confessing had involved more picturesque surroundings than his weedy, dusty courtyard—but with Teomitl looking so hopeful all he could say was, “Yes.”
And then he didn’t need to worry about saying anything else, because Teomitl was kissing him.