Hastur stood in silence before the narrow bed, the underground chamber lit only by a low, amber glow embedded into the stone walls. The light did not flicker. It never did. It pulsed instead—slow, steady, like a heartbeat that belonged to the place itself.
Ellios lay motionless.
His breathing was shallow but even, chest rising and falling with a rhythm that anchored Hastur's attention whether he wished it or not. The man looked smaller here, stripped of the immaculate suits, the controlled posture, the careful distance he wore like armor. His hair had fallen across his forehead, lips slightly parted, lashes resting against pale skin.
Sleeping.
Unaware.
Hastur's fingers curled at his side.
He did not need to remember how this had happened. The memory replayed itself without permission, sharp and immediate.
They had been sitting across from each other at the café, sunlight cutting through glass and steel, a place too mundane for the tension that had gathered between them.
Ellios's hands had been folded tightly together, knuckles pale, his gaze flicking away far too often.
Hastur had leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on him.
"Why," he had asked calmly, "do you think we should keep our distance?"
Ellios had gone very still.
Then he looked down.
That single motion—head bowing, shoulders tensing—had irritated Hastur more than anger ever could.
"Because of our status," Ellios had answered quietly.
Status.
The word echoed again now, sour and sharp.
Hastur remembered the way something twisted in his chest at that moment, something unfamiliar and deeply unpleasant. Distance.
Hierarchy. Rules. Ellios had wrapped himself in them like armor.
Honestly he should have accepted it. The are many means of deceit and ways to hurt the soul.
The scene had continued, deceptively normal.
Hastur had reached out, his finger brushing the rim of Ellios's coffee cup, dipping just enough to disturb the surface. The power he infused was delicate, nearly invisible—a whisper rather than a command.
Ellios hadn't noticed. He had been too busy trying to hold himself together.
He drank.
Moments later, his eyes had unfocused, body slumping forward. Hastur had caught him effortlessly, the café around them blurring as he folded space itself and stepped away from the human world. A power too much for his sealed human body.
The memory faded, and the underground chamber returned.
Hastur exhaled slowly.
The moment Ellios had spoken of distance, something inside him had recoiled—not pain, not fear, but a possessive irritation so sharp it had surprised him. Like a thing he owned trying to slip its leash.
My private property wants to run.
The thought had surfaced unfiltered, instinctive, and that alone had disturbed him. He had always been honest about what humans were to him—resources, tools, entertainment. He did not deceive himself with softer words.
So why did this feel different?
He turned slightly, pacing once around the platform, golden eyes never leaving Ellios.
Dan's voice crept into his thoughts uninvited.
They had been standing in an alley washed in neon light, the club's music pulsing faintly through brick and concrete. Dan had leaned against the wall, cigarette glowing red as he watched Hastur with amusement that bordered on insolence.
"You care too much," Dan had said lazily.
Hastur had not looked at him. "You mistake observation for attachment."
Dan had laughed, smoke curling from his lips. "In one week, you've said his name more times than you've said mine in a decade."
Silence.
"You wait for his calls," Dan continued. "You wonder what he's doing. You replay his expressions. That's possessiveness, Hastur. And attachment."
"You had do well to shut up," Hastur had replied coldly.
Dan had tilted his head. "You can reject it all you want. Doesn't change what it is."
The memory shattered.
Hastur stopped pacing.
He doesn't like what he can't control. He likes total control.
His usually emotionless face had hardened, anger threading through his composure as he looked down at Ellios again. Why had he wanted to run? Why had he chosen distance when everything about him—his body, his reactions, his heartbeat—had spoken of something else?
Hastur stepped closer.
He knelt slowly beside the platform, movements controlled, deliberate. For a moment, he simply watched Ellios sleep, memorizing details he had no need to remember: the slight crease between his brows, the faint shadow beneath his eyes, the way his lips parted just enough with each breath.
Then, almost against his will,
Hastur reached out.
His fingers brushed Ellios's cheek.
Warmth spread instantly, not just across his skin but deeper, into something that did not have a name. Ellios shifted faintly, leaning unconsciously into the touch, trusting even in sleep.
The sensation made Hastur's breath still.
His thumb traced the edge of Ellios's mouth, stopping just short of contact with his lips. The urge to claim—to mark, to ensure Ellios would never again speak of distance—rose sharply, possessive and unrestrained.
Those lips.
That neck.
The vulnerable line of his throat.
All of it felt like it belonged to him in a way he could not justify, only feel. Some part of his body started to harden, to possess the sleeping human as his.
Mine.
The word surfaced again, heavy and undeniable.
Hastur withdrew his hand abruptly, straightening as if the contact had burned him. He took a step back, then another, forcing space between them.
It's impossible for him to be sexually attracted to humans just as it's impossible for humans to be attracted to uncivilized gorrilas. Now why is Ellios the exception.
This was unacceptable.
He did not lose control. He did not hesitate. He did not feel compelled by a human's presence. Whatever this was—this fixation, this irritation, this pull—it required understanding before it grew further. And control.
Now that he thinks about it. Why did he want this human on his side since day one. Obsessed with having his name on his heart. Pleased whenever he caught his reactions to his presence.
He needs assistance although it angers him.
And he know exactly who to call. Honestly since he was sealed, he stopped associating himself with higher dimensional beings for they're as unpredictable as he is.
And he also has many enemies who he can't deal with in this state thus decide to bide his time before confronting them. But he really didn't want whatever this is.
He enjoyed when that Sleeping sibling of his and that black pharaoh crash and he come to humanity as saviour. Those gratitude feelings, truly, he enjoyed them. Only to twist them in his games on his dimensions.
But these feelings of possessiveness, he doesn't need them.
Thus he decide to call The god of desires