Goddamn, it’s nice to be out of the apartment.

Between the overload of chaos in the Realm of the Dead he brings home with him every night and the smog of things unsaid between he and Tovah, the air in the shabby, cramped space has become suffocating. He feels like he’s got one limb in a snare and none of his usual relaxation methods seem to be working.

The booze feels dull and flat in his veins, the drugs tepid and somehow leaving his senses more electric. Even jerking off in the privacy of his own shower feels somehow like a betrayal, his subconscious too tightly wired at the thought of the person in the next room to want to snap without her help.

It’s a bit pathetic. The only man in existence who’s fallen into a relationship and career rut while still being single and self-employed.

The Coronation party couldn’t have had better timing.

Determined to stop feeling sorry for himself, he’d ordered the rodents to guard the house, told his roommate not to wait up, and vowed to not return to the flat until at least three very bad mistakes were made.

He’d then sent word to the only person in the castle he knew, preemptively knowing a late night bitch fest with his bestie was bound to happen. Thea’d be a breath of air - all color and light with zero complications and a soft place for his tired empathy to rest and recharge.

She’d sent a reply about needing time to prep and Kane had lingered for what seemed like days after the speeches were done for a glimpse of her. But when he failed to catch hide nor hair of her, he’d migrated inevitably towards the open bars. A few familiar faces who didn’t hate the sight of him spared a friendly greeting, but most of the guests gave him the characteristic wide berth.

He didn’t mind, he was used to it. The buffets and bars were well stocked and gave him plenty to do. The mood was high, and soon so was Kane, sucking up the crowd’s joyful energy and radiating it back to them.

From one grouping came the sharp zing of lust, and curious, Kane looked towards it in passing. Expecting to see a happy, inebriated couple getting handsy, he slowed his step just enough to revel in the sensation. It’s an emotion he’s intimately familiar with; an old friend he can recognize for miles. He’s learned as of late, to greet it with casual indifference lest it take a crippling hold and refuse to grant him back control of his own free will. They are like old war comrades now; been through much but sometimes it’s too painful to linger in each other’s presence for long.

So he’s surprised when the tendril of lust drags soft fingers down his arm and curls around his wrist suggestively.

Lust for him.

He peers, interest peaked, into the gathering, squinting to match a body with the emotion. But all the faces are blurred in the darkness and not a single one volunteers up any outward signal to betray their secret longing. As suddenly as it appeared, the lust wanes back into the shadows.

Kane shrugs and strides on. It paints a pretty picture of himself, and he smiles freely, relishing in the feeling of actually being wanted for a change.

After a few more drinks and another hour, he at least finds Thea. She looks as incandescent as he’d imagined she would be. He feels like a slob beside her, hair gelled up and clean shaven as he is. His button down and jeans are intact and freshly laundered and he’s wearing the nice masculine deodorant he’d splurged on, but somehow he’s coming across as more of Thea’s primped up head groom then respected equal and all-powerful Lieutenant of Death.

She’s got a boy toy waiting in the wings to flirt (his pining is strong enough to have Kane wrinkling his nose at the potency), so he pisses off to another drink table, wishing her the best of luck and secretly hoping she doesn’t come up to their room tonight due to being preoccupied with better activities. He knows it’s unlikely, since her unrequited love for another is as all consuming as his own, but he’s a good friend and wishes it for her nonetheless.

Eventually, when he’s reached a level of drunk that’s satisfactory (somewhere between trimmed hedges spinning and feeling reckless), Kane steps out of the whirlwind of festivities, pausing to lean on a stone wall and light a cigarette.

Now that he’s come to a stop, he’s aware of the way the cotton of his shirt sticks to his damp sides and with a huff, pops open the top couple of buttons and rolls up his sleeves. He’s now wishing like hell he’d done away with the attempt at pomp and circumstance and just worn his standard worn t-shirt.

The courtyard starts to fuzz at the edges in his vision, but the constant tide of happy and joy and ecstasy is like refreshing balm to his tired soul and he can’t bear to leave it just yet. He instead tilts his head back against the cold stones, taking long slow puffs of his smoke and closing his eyes to wallow in the emotional celebration.

The lust hits him hard- hard enough that his stomach clenches and his next exhale goes a bit stuttery at the end. It’s got fingers stroking at his neck, following the droplets of sweat into his collar and Kane tilts his head into it.

He refuses to open his eyes, lost to the heady sensation of phantom fingers playing along the outline of his lounging form. It’s potent, growing stronger with each step the stranger takes in his direction. Enough that the tell-tale bulge in his jeans is not longer something he can control or hide.

“I can feel you objectifying me across the entire courtyard,” he calls softly, taking another drag and exhaling it on a sigh.

“You gonna come say hi or what? I swear I don’t bite.”

When Kane finally opens his eyes, the green there is too shiny.

“Unless you ask nicely,” he grins wickedly.