Knowing You

for Kinktober2023 by Annika Sage Ellis

contains: oral sex/rimming, hand-jobs, cis/trans, angel/demon

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Justice felt it as soon as he woke up. A crashing wave of loathing, guilt, rage, and regret, emanating from somewhere very close. He sighed up at the ceiling, chest crushed from more than the intense feeling alone, because this could mean only one thing. Pride was having a bad day.

In truth, Justice felt it all the time. Even in his best moments, a sliver of pain ran underneath Pride every day, so slight that Justice could almost ignore it. But there were also days like these—days where his pain was so encompassing, it was nearly tangible. A thick fog of suffering, hanging so heavy in the air, it wasn’t uncommon for Pride to stay locked in his room all day, stewing in it. Sometimes multiple days.

There was very little Justice could do for him. Offering him help outright was a lost cause, guaranteeing a venomous refusal. Pride didn’t want to be pitied, he didn’t want to admit he needed the help—because he did, no matter what he claimed. Justice had to get creative with his assistance to avoid Pride shutting down even harder. He whittled down a list, and discovered reliable three options that would help him feel better. And luckily for Justice, he could use one right now.

He pulled his locs out of his night cap and paced down the hall for breakfast. When he passed Pride’s room, the weight of his pain was almost overwhelming. Justice set his jaw and continued past, determined to brighten the day for him.

After a quick breakfast, he risked knocking on the bedroom door. No response, but that was typical. Justice pushed the door open, as quietly as he could.

The lights were off. The blinds on the windows were shut tightly, only the barest sliver of the morning able to creep in. A lump in the middle of the bed, buried under blankets and discarded clothes, was the most legible shape. Justice snuck inside, shutting the door behind him.

Pride didn’t move. Not when the door shut, not when Justice sat down on the bed, not even when he folded back the covers to see his face. He had his face crushed into a pillow, loose hair tangled up in an inky rat’s nest. Justice stroked his head anyway.

The thick cloud of pain hit him with even more potency, sitting right next to the source. It made him want to curl into a ball too, guilt and hatred crushing his ribs in an iron fist. At least Justice had the solace of knowing the feelings weren’t truly his—he couldn’t imagine how Pride felt.

“Hi,” Justice said, softly. “My Pride and joy.”

He didn’t move. Justice skipped ahead to the good part in case he came on too strong.

“It’s wash day today,” he continued. “If you’re out of bed when I get out of the shower, I would really appreciate your help.”

A heartbeat passed. Pride shifted on the pillow, poking one dull red eye out from his melancholy. Justice almost sighed in relief.

“The usual help, you know?”

Pride nodded slightly, rustling the pillowcase.

“Okay, I’ll look for you when I’m out.”

Justice leaned down to kiss his temple and stood up to leave. As he opened the door, he turned around like he’d forgotten something. “Oh, and I made too much for breakfast this morning. You can have the extra if you want.”

Pride didn’t respond, but the pillowcase rustled again. Justice slipped out, finally letting himself breathe deeply to release the tension. Then, he left for the shower, hoping the pain would lessen before he got out.

It was a balancing act, trying to comfort Pride. He had to be coaxed into it. Justice had to let him feel like he was needed without directly saying so. Wash day was a perfect opportunity—if he needed Pride’s help with his hair, then he was important. If he was given something to do that made him feel significant, it was a near-immediate cure to any of his poor moods.

But again, he had to be careful. If Justice outright stated that he made Pride breakfast on purpose, instead of “accidentally” making extra, then he would feel coddled. Despite how much he wanted affection on an average day, showering Pride with unprompted adoration during one of these spells made him retreat deeper into his gloom. Justice learned that the hard way—when his hugs were slapped away and offers to help were refused on principle.

And as the hot water poured over his head, down his shoulders, and splattered on the floor, Justice fought the instinct to make all his previous mistakes. Pain radiated from beyond the bathroom walls, and all he wanted to do was hold Pride. To curl up in bed with him, kiss him dozens of times, and promise to love him to the end of the Earth. It crushed a piece of his heart every time he felt Pride suffering, and forced himself to hold back.

The only thing that soothed him was the knowledge that this was helping. That Pride needed him to be careful for a few hours, to hold off smothering him, so he could feel confident enough to ask for affection on his own again. And that was more important to him than indulging in his instincts.

Justice took a bit longer in the shower than usual, to give Pride a little more time. Once he was out, though, he dried his hair the quick way. After ten minutes with a microfiber towel and blow-drier, he was ready for the main event. Hopefully Pride was too.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and plucked two bottles from his half of the bathroom cabinets—jojoba oil and a rosewater moisturizing spray. The cool air of the outside world rushed against his warm body, and he padded into the living room with bated breath.

To his relief, Pride was there. He sat on the couch, picking his nails, hair still a mess, but he was out. Justice couldn’t help smiling, even as the cloud of pain struck him face-first.

“Thank you,” he said. “I really like having your help for this.”

“Sure,” Pride mumbled, rubbing his nose.

Justice handed him the bottles and sat down on the floor. Pride dabbed his palm with the oil, and smoothed it onto his locs one at a time. Minute after minute passed, Justice paying close attention to the haze in the air. Pride didn’t say a word the whole time, barely made a sound. But the anguish slowly fizzled, growing softer at the edges. It didn’t disappear, but Justice felt his chest lighten, no longer clouded with Pride’s pain as well as his own.

Once each loc had been oiled, Pride sprayed his head with a cloud of rosewater, then went over each one again with the oil to seal in the moisture. Then, as part of their routine, he dabbed some of the oil on Justice’s scalp and gave him a massage.

After a morning of worry, Justice let himself relax. He had no choice, really, Pride’s fingers soothing him whether he liked it or not. Firm circles loosened his scalp, releasing tightness he didn’t realize was there. He sighed involuntarily, savoring the feeling.

“I’m awesome at this,” Pride said.

“Yes,” Justice agreed. “You’re wonderful.”

“I bet I could do a full-body massage.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. How hard could it be if I’m already awesome at this kind?”

“It has to be more complicated than that.”

“All I’m doing right now is moving my fingers around and it rules. Why wouldn’t I be great at other kinds of massages too?”

Justice caught himself in the middle of a retort. This was an opportunity to use a second option to make Pride feel better.

“Do you want to prove it?” he asked.

Pride slowed to a stop. “Right now?”

“I’m already not wearing much. Besides, I’m curious now.”

Even in his subdued state, Pride got off the couch fast. He took the bottles with him, and Justice had to chase him down to put them away.

The second thing that reliably made Pride feel better was to let him win some kind of competition. Even if it was a fake contest, where the only prize was a feeling of correctness, or a manufactured argument about nonsense, he loved winning. Justice tried to avoid using this method as often as he could, because when Pride won at something, he got smug. In this case, even if Pride did end up proving he was as good at full-body massages as scalp massages, Justice might have to put up with his gloating, but he would also get a free massage. The pros outweighed the cons, this time.

They ended up in Justice’s room, with Pride brandishing a bottle of body lotion instead of haircare products. Justice laid face-down on the bed, hair tied up and off his back, and towel discarded for the sake of “authenticity.” He just rolled with it.

“Okay,” Pride said. He slapped his hands together wetly.

“Please don’t get lotion everywhere,” Justice told him.

“I got this, trust me.”

That sentence had never ended in anything but panic, but Justice swallowed his anecdotes. Pride slid lotion-y hands up his back, gliding over his clean skin. He dug his palms into his shoulders, and he grunted, muscle straining against the pressure. From there, Pride worked his way down, rubbing and sinking his hands into his back. Lower and lower, he massaged in small circles, all the way to his glutes.

“Watch it,” Justice warned, with absolutely no bite.

“It’s part of your body, isn’t it?” Pride responded, squeezing him there for something other than massage purposes.

Justice chuckled into his arms instead of responding, and Pride worked his way back up again. For a while, that’s all he did. Up and down, driving his palms and fingers into the soft skin and taut muscle, enough to make Justice grunt and breathe deep. The lotion made his hands smooth and frictionless, rolling over his back with ease.

There was a gap between Pride and a professional, surely, but Justice melted into the mattress under his touch. The gradual loosening of his muscles was proof of his efforts, turning his centuries-old battle-ready body into a pile of mush. Pride wandered farther down his back, giving his lower body the same attention his shoulders received. He released a breath into the pillow, eyes shut.

“’S nice,” he mumbled, giving Pride the win for this challenge.

Pride responded by crawling over to kiss his neck. “You’re nice too.”

Justice smiled a little. Maybe it was his lack of concentration, but the constant wave of suffering seemed to be gone now. Pride only radiated his usual sliver of discomfort. And though Justice wished he could alleviate every last drop, this was more than acceptable. His ideas worked to put Pride in a better mood, which was all that mattered.

Pride didn’t have any plans to stop. On the contrary, he dug in a bit more on his waist and glutes, soft caresses becoming firm grabs. Justice shifted in place, not uncomfortable, but wondering what he was up to. It was only when a slick tongue slipped between his ass did Justice remember the third option that never failed to cheer Pride up:

Sex. Having a lot of sex.

Justice pressed a shocked gasp into the pillow, tensing all his loosened muscles. Pride gripped and spread his ass licking a wide stripe up his crack.

“P-Pride?” he stammered.

He paused, kissing the inside of one of his cheeks. “You look really good right now. I want to.”

Justice whimpered a little. His body was mush, his mind buzzed, and he was way too hard to refuse. He nodded into the pillow and Pride promptly made him moan into it.

The tip of his tongue pressed against the edge of his hole, drawing tiny circles around the rim. His hands kneaded his ass while he licked, keeping up the illusion of a massage. Justice breathed hard, tingling all over. Pride pulled his ass apart, tugging with his thumbs, and licked him widely again. As badly as Justice wanted to muffle himself, he turned his head so Pride would be sure to hear him gasp.

Sex itself wasn’t the key to improving his mood. There were plenty of situations where he would refuse it. What the real solution was, why it really worked, was being wanted. As badly as Pride wanted to be important, Pride wanted to be wanted. Being desired was important to him. And Justice knew the best way to do that.

 “Pride?” he breathed, shuddering through his wandering tongue. “M-more?”

The bed shifted as Pride changed position. Justice lifted his hips when he tried to wiggle a hand underneath, and moaned when it grasped his cock. Pride tongued his hole and stroked him lightly, just enough to move his foreskin back and forth. Justice leaned on his arms to make sure he had room, shaking all the while.

Like the massage, Pride’s work melted him. He flushed hot from head to toe, panting and moaning breathily at everything that was done to him. Pride pressed his tongue in tighter and tighter circles, expanding back out when he couldn’t go any farther. The hand over his cock teased his tip, making him whine loud.

“Pride, I—” he managed. “I really, really feel s-so good.”

He responded by licking him widely again, and stroking him hard. Justice keened, faintly wishing he was better at non-scripted dirty talk, not that it seemed to matter. Pride rewarded him for every sound he made—wordless, broken, begging, anything. He gave until Justice squirmed, trying to rock against his tongue and into his hand at the same time.

“I’m c-close,” he gasped. “It’s—I’m g-gonna come for you—!”

Justice barely finished the sentence before he came, jerking forward and shuddering into the pillow. Pride kissed all over his ass, stroking him through his orgasm, until he was spent. Dizzy from the attention, Justice didn’t realize Pride left the room until he came back. He rolled Justice onto his back and kissed him, with a minty-fresh mouth.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re hot.”

Justice giggled weakly, kissing him back. When his eyes focused, he saw Pride had combed his hair, too, and tied it back in his usual style.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

Pride softened, pressing their heads together. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

And that was all the reward Justice needed.

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