though i was a lot of things [Final Fantasy XIV; Hades/Hythlodaeus; Mature]

[sodomhipped]

Title: though i was a lot of things [or read on Ao3]

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing: Hades/Hythlodaeus

Rating: Mature

Series: beneath these same stars

Warning: None

Tags: pre-canon, canon compliant, the world unsundered, worldbuilding, arguments, foot fetish, masturbation, you can skip the sex at the end if you just want the lore/worldbuilding

Author's Note: I meant to finish this for the first anniversary of “the stars are ravenous.” Obviously, that did not happen.

This story occurs after “the stars are ravenous” but before Hades ascends to the Convocation. Unfortunately, this means that a different person is serving as Emet-Selch at this time, who is referred to throughout the story as Emet-Selch.

Summary:

Instead, he thinks about how Hades will be waiting at home for him. Ordinarily, they would arrive at approximately the same time, but today he knows Hades left early because Emet-Selch, Hades' superior, had told him so in the very office where Hades works.

This means Hythlodaeus has twenty minutes to figure out how to break the news.

『Or, Hythlodaeus recommends Hades to the Convocation—without Hades' knowledge.』

---

There are three train stops between the office of Emet-Selch and the building Hythlodaeus calls home. The train is so efficient that it takes less time than it would take to walk to the nearest aetheryte, totaling twenty minutes from starting point to destination.

The trains always run smoothly, but today, in particular, Amaurot seems to slip away through the window more rapidly than usual. Hythlodaeus’ typical habit is to read the news during his commute, both morning and evening, but he cannot seem to focus on the headlines.

Instead, he thinks about how Hades will be waiting at home for him. Ordinarily, they would arrive at approximately the same time, but today he knows Hades left early because Emet-Selch, Hades' superior, had told him so in the very office where Hades works.

This means Hythlodaeus has twenty minutes to figure out how to break the news.

The current Emet-Selch is amongst the oldest of their kind, at least as far as Hythlodaeus knows. He wears the ages he has weathered visibly. His thin hair is pure white over his red mask, wrinkles that speak of vast experience line the lower half of his face, and he hunches whenever he is not in motion, as if his body needs whatever moment of rest it can gather. It is also common knowledge that he has not returned to the star for lack of a suitable successor to his office.

“Hythlodaeus,” he greets, rising slowly from the chair at his desk. “Please take a seat.”

Hythlodaeus nods and does so. “Good afternoon, Emet-Selch. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Apologies for calling you here with so little notice or explanation, Chief Architect,” Emet-Selch answers.

“I was surprised you requested to speak with me.”

“Indeed,” Emet-Selch agrees. “At my age, I’m afraid a little intrigue is all one can hope for in regards to excitement.”

“A matter relating to a concept, I suppose?”

“Not exactly,” Emet-Selch says. He settles back into his chair, as slowly as he rose. “Do you know how long I have served the Third Seat?”

“I’m afraid not,” Hythlodaeus says politely, which is strictly true.

Emet-Selch peers at him over the expanse of his desk. His gaze is so piercing that Hythlodaeus has no doubt he is looking into his very soul, weighing the composition of his aether, and casting judgment. He wonders if Emet-Selch’s soul sight is different than his own—after all one can only assume that the members of the Convocation are exceptional beings.

“Your name came up in a discussion with the Convocation. It would seem that you’ve shown great skill and ability, becoming the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect while still so young.”

A knot begins to form in Hythlodaeus’ chest. His expression, even below the mask, must show it.

Emet-Selch continues, unbothered, “One member called attention to the fact that not only do you possess soul sight, but at a far greater ability than most. I took it upon myself to do my research: you earned excellent marks at Akadaemia, and they say you are also quite canny with the work at the Bureau of the Architect. Indeed, I have heard nothing but praise from all corners. So tell me: what goals do you have to serve the star beyond your current role?”

Hythlodaeus feels his palms begin to sweat. It was a mistake to assume this conversation would pertain to his work when it clearly is leading somewhere unanticipated—and unwanted.

He clears his throat, delicately, and answers, “I am fortunate to serve as the Chief of the Bureau currently, a function that I imagine will occupy me for a great deal of time yet.”

Emet-Selch folds his hands together, resting them on his desk. He sits there a moment, regarding Hythlodaeus from behind his mask. Hythlodaeus cannot help but shift in his seat under the scrutiny.

“I am old,” Emet-Selch says, baldly. His voice is more shrewd than before, casting aside the tinny ring of age in favor of familiar authority. “And the Seat of Emet-Selch needs a successor, one who has integrity as well as the exact skills and abilities you’ve ably demonstrated.”

“Oh no,” Hythlodaeus says. A nervous laugh catches behind his teeth. “I am flattered. Incredibly, impossibly flattered—but I could not leave my current assignment yet. I’ve barely begun my work there.”

“I know you have been the Chief of the Bureau only a short time, but the Convocation is the highest calling of our star, so I am certain all would understand why you accepted this position. How could they object when there are so few of us with the ability to perceive souls? Especially at the level required by the position of Emet-Selch.”

“That might be so,” Hythlodaeus casts about for a further excuse, “but I am quite abysmal at manipulating aether! I really would be no use at all to the Convocation.”

Emet-Selch waves one hand dismissively. “A secondary requirement—easily offset by your other qualities.”

“I—” Hythlodaeus stops himself, at a loss. Emet-Selch regards him coolly, waiting. When he finally finds words again, Hythlodaeus doesn’t mean to say what he does: “Have you considered Hades?”

This seems to catch Emet-Selch off guard. His mouth pinches together and he presses a thoughtful hand to his chin.

“Hades?” he asks. “I know of him. He is a reliable enough worker, I suppose, but…”

Hythlodaeus knows that Hades has no interest in developing his career further than his current duties. Which is to say, he knows he shouldn’t bring his name to his superior’s attention, but he has already committed that trespass, so he continues and it is all entirely true, “His abilities outstrip mine by malms in every respect. He is my equal in soul sight and can, in addition, manipulate aether with fearsome skill. There is also the benefit that he is already familiar with the work of your office.”

“I did not know this,” Emet-Selch says, thoughtfully. “He has never mentioned his qualifications.”

“Has he not?” Hythlodaeus asks, feeling nervous again. “Then I suppose it is up to me to bridge that unhappy gap. I could speak with him once I return home—I could suggest that he speak with you, perhaps.”

Emet-Selch sits back in his seat, the chair squeaking in protest. He says nothing, but draws in a thoughtful breath. Hythlodaeus waits, sitting across from him, hands smoothing his robes even though they are not wrinkled.

Finally, Emet-Selch says, “I asked you before if you knew how long I have served Etheirys as Emet-Selch. The answer is this: too long. I have lived as many as three lifetimes of the average Amaurotine, with no viable successors. At this point, I expend more aether on maintaining my body to the state you see before you than attending to the souls of our people. In short, I have little left to offer the Convocation or our people—and so it is time for me to pass my responsibilities to someone younger.”

Hythlodaeus nods, not knowing what to say.

Emet-Selch continues, not appearing to mind the lack of response. “Then it would seem we have not one possible candidate but instead two. And if your friend is as you say, I believe he would be the revitalization the Third Seat so badly needs.”

“He is the best man I know,” Hythlodaeus says, without a doubt in his mind.

“Then I will send for him the day after tomorrow,” Emet-Selch says, and he gives Hythlodaeus a private smile. “But you can tell him the news tonight; I sent him home earlier this afternoon, so you should have ample time to inform him that he may be proud to consider himself the newest candidate to the Convocation of Fourteen. And, if all goes well, he may replace me as Emet-Selch before three moons pass.”

“You want me to tell him?”

“Of course,” Emet-Selch says, smiling broadly. Hythlodaeus does not know him well, but he would swear there’s a hint of mischief in his expression. “This is an occasion for young men to celebrate. I will discuss the details with Hades and assess him myself. These are mere formalities if your recommendation holds true.”

Hythlodaeus’ train inevitably comes to a stop, and the remaining walk to Hades’ apartment is far too short.

To make matters worse, Hades is in an unusually affectionate mood when Hythlodaeus arrives. He greets Hythlodaeus at the door, removing Hythlodaeus’ mask with gentle hands and pressing a kiss to the newly exposed skin between his temple and his eye. He barely gives Hythlodaeus room to remove his sandals.

“How was your meeting?” Hades asks, slipping his hands around Hythlodaeus’ waist. “No doubt that the Honorable Emet-Selch wished to laud the accomplishments of the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect in person.”

“You aren’t entirely wrong,” Hythlodaeus says, feeling the creeping nerves under his skin turn to ice.

“If not that, then perhaps the Convocation requires something of the Bureau?” Hades wonders aloud. “Though one would expect the summons from the Seat of Lahabrea rather than Emet-Selch?”

“No, nothing like that,” Hythlodaeus says. He tries to defer, “Perhaps we should speak of this later in the evening? After supper?”

Hades presses a kiss to Hythlodaeus’ neck, a known weakness. He says, accusation in his voice, “You are so cruel that you want me to burn with curiosity all night. It must be good news if the Convocation took notice of you.”

Hades’ hands still, then tighten in the fabric of Hythlodaeus’ robes. His eyes widen. “Do not tell me they are attempting to recruit you?”

Hythlodaeus gives him a weak smile. “Indeed.”

“By the star, Hythlodaeus,” Hades says, dumb-struck. “It was a matter of time until you gained such accolades. So tell me: Should I offer my congratulations? Do I have the honor of addressing the newest member of the Convocation?”

“That is not the case, so please do not,” Hythlodaeus says. He extricates himself from Hades’ embrace and catches himself beginning to pace. It takes some effort to stand firm and look Hades in the eye. There’s a temptation to lie. He might at least pretend to be unaware—or not have instigated the situation, even if by accidental slip of the tongue. But he cannot truly fathom telling Hades anything other than the truth. And so he takes a steadying breath and says, “I have wronged you.”

Hades’ brow pinches. “What do you mean?”

“As you rightly guessed, the Convocation did want to consider me to be Emet-Selch’s successor, but I refused.” Hythlodaeus hesitates before adding, “And I informed them that I knew of a candidate better suited to the position than myself.”

“Excuse me? You did what?” Hades says in disbelief. “And who might this vaunted candidate be? I know for a fact they couldn’t hope to find anyone half as talented as yourself in aetherial vision. Ergo, they will settle for someone inferior? Who? Charon? Tychon? Or, heavens forbid, perhaps that useless Manasses?”

“What's wrong with Manasses?” Hythlodaeus asks, buying for time.

“What's wrong with Manasses?” Hades echoes in a horrified tone, predictably. “Manasses can barely make out the general composition of a soul, never mind discern their substance or color with any margin of error. And then there's his personality.”

“Well, I did suggest that they should look at qualities beyond than the mere ability of soul sight.”

Hades starts to say something before cutting himself off with a disgusted noise. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing.”

Hythlodaeus continues, “I truly do not believe I am the appropriate candidate for the role. As you know, I am quite without talent when it comes to the actual manipulation of aether.”

“A minor thing,” Hades says, waving a hand, “and they’d be fools to dismiss you from consideration for that.”

Hythlodaeus places his hand on Hades’ shoulder. Hades turns to look at him and the look in his eyes is so offended—on Hythlodaeus’ behalf—that it strikes Hythlodaeus’ heart.

“My friend,” Hythlodaeus begins, then hesitates. “I appreciate that you think so highly of me. And I hope that you can forgive me for my judgment. I gave them the name of the individual I have admired the longest; I gave them your name.”

The words hang between them. There is no relief in having the truth aired. Instead, each second that passes stokes Hythlodaeus’ anxiety until his nerves buzz against his skull and in his ears as he waits for Hades’ reaction.

“You did not even consult me,” Hades replies, dully.

“Hades,” Hythlodaeus says, trying to impress his sincerity into his next words, “I truly apologize for overstepping. Emet-Selch’s proposal took me by surprise and I spoke without thinking—but only because I truly believe that the Convocation could hope for no better candidate than yourself.”

“Do not try to flatter me,” Hades says, arms crossed and as angry as Hythlodaeus has ever seen him. “I do not wish for advancement at your expense.”

Hythlodaeus shifts his hand to curl around the nape of Hades’ neck. “I tell you true: I do not want the position and I believe that you are more than deserving of consideration.”

Hades sits heavily on the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. His face, already pensive, wrinkles in thought.

Hythlodaeus curls up next to him and gives him a moment to consider. He is relieved that the conversation is no longer deteriorating. He may yet rectify the issue and save their evening.

When he feels like he’s let Hades simmer long enough, he slides his legs over Hades’ lap. His robe rides up to expose his lower legs, and Hades drops a palm against his calf seemingly without thinking. Then Hythlodaeus leans close to press his lips to Hades’ throat. He moves the hair away from his nape to do so, his fingers stroking against the skin.

“Do not try to distract me; it will not work,” Hades says, though his eyes linger on the bare expanse of Hythlodaeus’ ankle.

“What’s done is done,” Hythlodaeus answers. “And although I am sorry to put you in this position, the choice is now yours as to what you shall tell Emet-Selch.”

Hades looks at him, expression dour. “Do not be mistaken that I will let this go so easily.”

“I would never dream of it,” Hythlodaeus answers. “Of course, I am willing to atone however you see fit—”

Hades makes a humming noise, pulling Hythlodaeus’ feet closer, proprietary. He gives the distinct impression that he is no longer listening to what Hythlodaeus has to say.

Even so, Hythlodaeus continues, “—although I do truly believe you are the best possible candidate for the Seat of Emet-Selch. Far better than myself—or Manasses.”

“Enough,” Hades says. “I don’t want to talk about this further.”

“As you wish, love. Is there anything I can do to distract you?”

Hades kneads the ball of Hythlodaeus’ foot, thumbs digging into the meat in a way that sends a tingling sensation along the length of Hythlodaeus’ calf. He still looks pensive, but the irritation is fading. And when Hades puts a hand to his sternum, pushing gently, Hythlodaeus allows himself to fall back on the sofa so that he’s lying with his feet still in Hades’ grasp.

This is something Hades wants occasionally, and Hythlodaeus is usually happy to provide him with anything he wants. However, this particular thing is rare, almost like Hades is embarrassed about it.

Hythlodaeus wriggles his toes in Hades’ grip to entice him to continue. “Go ahead,” he says. “Did I not offer distraction?”

“So you did,” Hades agrees. He scoops up Hythlodaeus’ right foot, dragging one thumb from the base to the top of his largest toe. His mouth follows, lips pressing against the arch before opening so he can lave his tongue along the same path his thumb did. When Hades speaks, Hythlodaeus can feel the warmth of his breath against his sole, “You frustrate me intensely, my dearest friend.”

“I am lucky you bear it so well,” Hythlodaeus agrees.

“Indeed,” Hades says. “Have I told you before how elegant the curve of your ankle is?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice before.”

“It is a fortunate thing your robes hide such beautiful indecency from all other than myself,” Hades mutters, and Hythlodaeus cannot tell if he’s being serious or not.

But it doesn’t matter whether or not he is, Hythlodaeus supposes. Hades eyes are locked on his feet, and the want in his bare expression is genuine. Hythlodaeus squirms as Hades nips the bony protrusion of the ball of his foot.

“Be kind,” Hythlodaeus gasps, and grips the sofa’s cushions with both hands.

“Should I?” Hades wonders aloud, holding Hythlodaeus firmly in his possession. For a moment, Hythlodaeus worries that Hades’ anger will not be so easy to appease, but after a pause, Hades concedes. “Perhaps. You are so conciliatory after all.”

“Thank you, my friend. Would you like me to do anything for you?”

Hades drags Hythlodaeus’ other foot so that it lies flat against the hard line of his cock, which is apparent even through the thick fabric of his robe. He says, “I will do the work. All I ask of you is to allow me the use of your lovely self.”

“You have me,” Hythlodaeus promises. “Always.”

There is an attractive flush across Hades’ nose and cheeks as he takes what he wants—he mouths at Hythlodaeus’ foot while he works himself under his robe with a hand. They will have to discuss the Convocation later, but for now, Hythlodaeus enjoys the view of such a complicated and wonderful man so fully losing himself in what Hythlodaeus has to offer.

After a while, they lie on the couch pressed together, stripped down to their skin with legs intertwined. Hades is lost in thought, so Hythlodaeus lets him ruminate in silence, tracing imaginary designs into his chest with light fingertips.

Hythlodaeus wonders why, despite being the best of their generation, Hades has always had so little desire for advancement. Without much effort, he surpasses their peers’ best attempts. Hythlodaeus will have to ask one day, when he thinks he might be able to coax a real answer out of Hades, but he does not think that day will be today.

“Do not think I’ve forgotten,” Hades says, interrupting Hythlodaeus’ thoughts. “You should have spoken to me before anyone else, especially because this is so serious a matter.”

“I am aware,” Hythlodaeus says, “and happy to do what I can to make up for my infraction.”

Hades makes a cross noise, but pulls Hythlodaeus most closely against him, “And you shall. I suspect it will take a great deal to placate me.”

“Hold me to my word,” Hythlodaeus offers, pressing a kiss to the flesh over Hades’ heart.