Danmachi: Exception

The lights were on at home. Through the window, shadows danced across drawn curtains - Quet was definitely back. Cyrus paused at the door, listening. The distant hum of running water confirmed his earlier guess about her being out with Demeter. She always showered after their drinking sessions, claiming it helped clear her head.

He slipped inside, the familiar scent of coconut and vanilla greeting him. His boots came off first, followed by the rest of his clothes. The events at the Hostess of Fertility had left a weight on his shoulders that even the night air hadn't fully dispelled.

Their bedroom welcomed him with its usual comfort - their shared space marked by small signs of cohabitation.

Cyrus settled onto their bed, mind drifting to tomorrow's possibilities. Quet had that look earlier - the one that meant she was plotting something. With Quet, even the simplest plans had a way of becoming adventures.

The shower stopped. Footsteps padded down the hall, accompanied by soft humming - some old song she claimed was sacred to the sun gods. Cyrus kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, though his other senses remained sharply aware of her approach.

"Mi sol." Her voice carried the slight lilt it always had after drinking. "Still awake?"

He turned his head and immediately regretted his decision to look. She stood in the doorway wearing black lace that left little to imagination. The material clung to curves in ways that defied his ability to form coherent thoughts. A few water droplets still traced paths down her skin, catching the lamplight.

"Your face." She laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "¿Te gusta lo que ves?"

"That's not fair," he managed. "You know I don't understand spanish."

"Then perhaps it's time for a lesson." She crossed to the bed, each step a reminder that she was, first and foremost, a goddess. The mattress dipped as she straddled his waist, coconut and vanilla flooding his senses. "Repeat after me: Me vuelves loco."

"Me vuelves loco," he echoed.

"Good." Her fingers traced patterns on his chest. "It means 'you drive me crazy.' Now try: Eres hermosa."

"Eres hermosa."

"'You are beautiful.'" Her smile turned playful.

His hands found her hips, steadying her as she swayed slightly. "How much did you and Demeter drink?"

"Enough to make the stars dance." She leaned forward, bracing herself on his chest. "Your turn was more exciting than mine, I think. The little bird at the Hostess told me there was almost a fight?"

"Bete Loga running his mouth about Bell." His jaw tightened at the memory. "Someone needed to shut him up."

"Mm. My brave champion, defending the weak." Her fingers moved to his face, tracing his frown. "Tell me everything."

He did, watching her expression shift from amusement to anger to pride as he recounted the evening's events. When he finished, she sat back, considering.

"The Sword Princess interests you," she said finally.

"Not really. I'm just curious about her story. There's something familiar in the way she carries herself."

"The weight of destiny." Quet nodded, suddenly serious despite the alcohol. "I've seen it before. In you, when you first arrived." Her free hand cupped his cheek. "Though you wear it better, mi amor."

The way she said endearment slipped out so naturally he almost missed it. Almost. "What does that one mean?"

"Hm?" Her eyes widened slightly, realizing what she'd said.

"Mi amor," he repeated carefully. "What does it mean?"

She studied him for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in her emerald eyes. Then she smiled, soft and genuine in a way that made his chest ache. "That's a lesson for another night, I think." She shifted, settling more comfortably against him. "For now, let's continue with the basics. Repeat: Eres mi todo."

Cyrus wrapped his arms around her waist, steadying her swaying form. "Eres mi todo," he repeated, the foreign words rolling off his tongue.

"Perfect pronunciation." Her breath tickled his ear. "You're a natural."

"What does it mean?"

Her teeth grazed his earlobe. "You are my everything."

The simple translation carried more weight than the alcohol in her system should have allowed. Something shifted in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his chest while she nuzzled closer, her body radiating warmth against his.

"Quet."

"Mm?"

"Look at me."

She pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Even through the slight haze of alcohol, her emerald eyes held that familiar spark of divine intelligence. The same look she'd worn when choosing him. When she'd declared him worthy of her blessing.

"Mi sol?" Her head tilted, blonde hair spilling over one shoulder.

"Earlier. Mi amor." His thumb traced her bottom lip. "You meant it."

Color bloomed across her cheeks. For all her usual confidence, certain moments still caught her off guard. "Perhaps."

"That's not an answer."

"No?" She shifted, trying to distract him with a roll of her hips. "What would you prefer?"

He caught her waist, holding her still. "The truth."

"Cruel man." She pouted, though the effect was somewhat ruined by her smile. "Using my own teachings against me."

"I learned from the best."

"Flatterer." Her fingers found his hair, toying with the dark strands. "Yes. I meant it. Happy now?"

Instead of answering, he pulled her down into a kiss. She tasted of sweet wine and something uniquely her - sunlight and spice and power barely contained in mortal form. Her lips parted on a soft sound of surprise that quickly turned to pleasure as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally broke apart, her eyes had darkened to forest green. "I should drink with Demeter more often if this is the result."

"I prefer you sober."

"Oh?" Her teeth found his ear again. "And why is that?"

"Because then you'll remember every detail of what happens next."

She shivered against him, her usual composure cracking further. "Bold words from someone who still hasn't mastered basic Spanish."

"Then teach me." His hands slid lower, drawing another shiver. "What's Spanish for 'I want you'?"

"Te deseo," she breathed.

"Te deseo," he repeated, letting his voice drop to the tone that never failed to make her pulse jump. "What else?"

"Bésame." She pressed closer, chasing his warmth. "It means kiss me."

He obliged, trailing kisses down her throat. Each one drew soft sounds from her lips - half Spanish, half divine language he still couldn't comprehend. Her fingers tightened in his hair as he found a particularly sensitive spot.

"More lessons?" he murmured against her skin.

"You're impossible." She tugged his hair, forcing him to look at her. "Mi sol. My sun. My light. My-" She broke off as his hands wandered again. "You're distracting me."

"Good." He rolled them, pinning her beneath him. The black lace stood out stark against her white skin. "Keep talking."

"Demanding." But her eyes sparked with approval. She'd always enjoyed when he took control. "Eres perfecto. You are perfect. Eres mío." Her nails scraped lightly down his back. "You are mine."

"Yours," he agreed, catching her hands and pinning them above her head. "What else?"

She arched against him, testing his grip. "Te necesito. I need you. Te quiero. I want you. Te-" Her breath hitched as his free hand slid under the lace. "Te amo."

"And that one?"

Instead of answering, she surged up to kiss him. Her usual grace had abandoned her, replaced by something rawer. More desperate. He could taste the words she wouldn't translate, feel them in the way she moved against him.

Cyrus tightened his grip on Quet's wrists, pinning her more firmly to the bed. Despite the alcohol in her system, her strength was nothing to sneer at. Her pulse pounded visibly in the hollow of her throat.

"Answer me," he murmured, releasing one wrist to trace the frantic rhythm with his thumb.

She shuddered beneath him, suppressing a moan. "Nnngh... Te amo. It means...I love you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than any physical weight.

His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with a mixture of lust and something more primal. He released her wrists to cup her face instead, thumbs brushing her cheekbones gently.

"Say it again."

"¿P-por qué?" Her breath came in short pants now, a pretty flush spreading down her neck to the exposed curves of her breasts. "You know I didn't mean-"

"I know you did." His voice was low, almost dangerous. "Say it again, Quet."

Her lips parted on a shaky exhale. "Te...te amo."

The words were barely audible, but they set his blood on fire nonetheless. Releasing her face, he gripped her hips instead, fingers digging into soft skin.

"Again."

She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. "¡Maldito seas! I said it. I said-aaah!"

Her protest dissolved into a moan as he slid one hand lower, teasing along the edge. He didn't touch where she most wanted him to - not yet. Instead, he traced idle patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh while his other hand toyed with one of the bows adorning her top.

"I'm waiting." His tone made it clear he wouldn't be moving until he heard those words again.

"Joder," she hissed through gritted teeth. But after another long moment, she relented. "Te amo. Te amo, mi sol. There. I said it."

"Good girl." He rewarded her compliance with a feather-light touch along her collarbone before sitting back on his heels.

She blinked up at him, chest heaving with shallow breaths. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, dark blonde strands clinging to flushed skin. The dazed look in her eyes sent heat straight to his core.

"You're drunk." He spoke the words softly, almost regretfully. His hands flexed unconsciously where they still gripped her hips.

She should have been indignant, or at the very least argumentative. Instead, she just bit her lower lip and nodded. A silent acknowledgment of truth.

He groaned low in his throat before releasing her and shoving his hands through his own hair in frustration. This hadn't been part of the plan - taking advantage of a drunken goddess whose inhibitions were already compromised.

Quet made a noise of protest at the sudden loss of contact. "¿Qué pasa?"

"You know what happens next," he said roughly.

Her eyes widened slightly in the dim light.

"And you're drunk."

The protest died on her lips. After a long moment, she simply nodded again. Understanding.

He stood up, dragging a hand roughly down his face. "I... I need a shower."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room before she could respond.

The shower spray beat down on him, hot and unforgiving. It did nothing to cool the fire raging in his veins.

He'd almost... Fuck.

Gripping the edge of the shower, he bowed his head under the water. The sound of it hitting the tiles drowned out everything else.

Almost.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep denying himself. Denying her. And it wasn't just about sex - though that played a significant role. It went deeper than that.

She was getting under his skin in ways that nothing and no one else ever had.

Turning off the water, he gripped the door and stepped out. The fogged mirror showed his face in soft focus.

He caught his own gaze, eyes narrowed.

"And what exactly are you going to do about it?" he asked himself.

What indeed.