Mihmatini loves her husband. Unfortunately, so does her brother.
And equally unfortunately, it’s clear that her husband loves him back. Oh, they haven’t told her any of this. But when one man turns an army around for another, she can connect the dots. Teomitl looks at her brother as though he set the sun in the sky, positively gushing over him whenever he gets the chance. By the Duality, he was willing to kill the Emperor for him. That’s not even considering Acatl himself, whose dour face turns fond whenever they’re in the same room. Who was willing to break vows when Teomitl made it clear it was necessary. It’s positively embarrassing.
Most women would be jealous. Or angry. Or both. She...well, she won’t lie and say it doesn’t annoy her a little—really, she’s not sure which of them has worse taste—but what’s worse than watching her husband’s distracted glances or her brother’s lingering smiles is knowing for a fact that it’s going to continue on exactly like this forever if she doesn’t do something.
And it will have to be her, because for all their flaws, these are men that love her. Teomitl has made it clear in a thousand ways that he’ll never break her heart again, and she doesn’t have to ask Acatl to know he’d move mountains for her. Men like that don’t snap and act on their simmering sexual-romantic tension unprompted, even when it’s so thick she could cut it with a knife.
One night, they’re eating dinner together, just the three of them in a loose triangle around the table. After the third time Teomitl’s fingers “accidentally” brush Acatl’s hand while passing a side dish and the fourth time Acatl smiles at him, her fraying patience snaps.
“Acatl. Teomitl,” she says very evenly.
Her brother blinks at her, probably warned by the tension in her voice. “What’s the matter?”
She considers subtlety—I don’t care what you do on your mat, or Both of you should be happy—but discards it. They’re not quick on the uptake in this area. So what she actually says is, “I have no problem sharing my husband, and if you two don’t start kissing instead of hovering around each other like a pair of courting hummingbirds, I am going to scream.”
Teomitl’s jaw drops. Acatl makes a choking noise. Neither of them appear to be breathing.
“Now,” she continues, “I am going to get up and take a walk around the Sacred Precinct. You have an hour to do—something, I don’t care what, as long as your clothes are back on by the time I return. I said I don’t mind sharing but I draw the line at seeing my brother naked. There’s a gourd full of avocado oil in Teomitl’s bedchambers. Have fun.”
And then she gets up, brushes crumbs from her skirt, and leaves. She’s almost out of earshot before she catches Teomitl’s stunned whisper of, “What the fuck did I just hear,” and it’s too much.
Obsidian & Blood, Mihmatini/Acatl/Teomitl
Mihmatini loves her husband. Unfortunately, so does her brother.
And equally unfortunately, it’s clear that her husband loves him back. Oh, they haven’t told her any of this. But when one man turns an army around for another, she can connect the dots. Teomitl looks at her brother as though he set the sun in the sky, positively gushing over him whenever he gets the chance. By the Duality, he was willing to kill the Emperor for him. That’s not even considering Acatl himself, whose dour face turns fond whenever they’re in the same room. Who was willing to break vows when Teomitl made it clear it was necessary. It’s positively embarrassing.
Most women would be jealous. Or angry. Or both. She...well, she won’t lie and say it doesn’t annoy her a little—really, she’s not sure which of them has worse taste—but what’s worse than watching her husband’s distracted glances or her brother’s lingering smiles is knowing for a fact that it’s going to continue on exactly like this forever if she doesn’t do something.
And it will have to be her, because for all their flaws, these are men that love her. Teomitl has made it clear in a thousand ways that he’ll never break her heart again, and she doesn’t have to ask Acatl to know he’d move mountains for her. Men like that don’t snap and act on their simmering sexual-romantic tension unprompted, even when it’s so thick she could cut it with a knife.
One night, they’re eating dinner together, just the three of them in a loose triangle around the table. After the third time Teomitl’s fingers “accidentally” brush Acatl’s hand while passing a side dish and the fourth time Acatl smiles at him, her fraying patience snaps.
“Acatl. Teomitl,” she says very evenly.
Her brother blinks at her, probably warned by the tension in her voice. “What’s the matter?”
She considers subtlety—I don’t care what you do on your mat, or Both of you should be happy—but discards it. They’re not quick on the uptake in this area. So what she actually says is, “I have no problem sharing my husband, and if you two don’t start kissing instead of hovering around each other like a pair of courting hummingbirds, I am going to scream.”
Teomitl’s jaw drops. Acatl makes a choking noise. Neither of them appear to be breathing.
“Now,” she continues, “I am going to get up and take a walk around the Sacred Precinct. You have an hour to do—something, I don’t care what, as long as your clothes are back on by the time I return. I said I don’t mind sharing but I draw the line at seeing my brother naked. There’s a gourd full of avocado oil in Teomitl’s bedchambers. Have fun.”
And then she gets up, brushes crumbs from her skirt, and leaves. She’s almost out of earshot before she catches Teomitl’s stunned whisper of, “What the fuck did I just hear,” and it’s too much.
She bursts out into giggles.