“Let us resume when you muster up your courage, shall we, Kirin?” The words followed him as he scurried up the clefts in the wall, hurrying so as to escape even though he knew it was futile. It would not be a grand matter to be followed up. But the words did give him some confidence he may not be, even while they stoked a new rage within him - it was likely simply his body repurposing the passionate fires that had just been lit in his chest. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, his breath coming rapidly, and as he reached the top, reached the blackness of his familiar cell, he scrambled out of the hole and over to his wretched bed, finding it for the first time not so terrible, laying his sore frame down as he attempted to calm his frantic mind and nerves.

　　He’d gotten too excited - it was shameful how easily he had been stimulated. Since when was he so sensitive? Ah, right. The isolation. That sort of complete absence of stimuli was bound to increase susceptibility to it. This rationale was hardly comforting. He could still feel the heat trailing over his skin where Angeles’ hands were touching, could feel a sweet ache between his thighs from the dissatisfaction he was left with. Closing his eyes to it was worse, for there, like a phantom, that Adonis waited for him, watching in his mind’s eye, those golden eyes stripping him of shame and hesitation, daring him to dive into the depths of temptation all over again. The mere thought was enough to make him mad with frustration, both at how easily his body had been stirred and how weak it was for him to run away. Wait, that wasn’t it. Resisting temptation was a strong act. Yet, right now it felt terribly cowardly. He didn’t want to consider why, for too much time and he was sure to understand the puzzlement. Instead, why had it even happened in the first place?

　　Vaguely, he could remember how bored he was not so very long ago, before he found the loose brick in the ground. He would likely have accepted any distraction then. Perhaps that was the motivating factor behind the other man’s actions, if he had been imprisoned there for so long. But, wait, that didn’t make any sense. Even an immortal needs food. There was no escape from that chamber, other than the one Kirin had dug up. How had that creature stayed alive for so long without sustenance?

　　It was too much. Too soon. And he couldn’t focus his thoughts, his body still throbbing with need and desire. His mind had been worn away by the time in isolation, and this was all just an overload. He needed to shut it down and think calmly, clearly. He did not hear anything from the chamber below. He took that as a good sign. Somehow, after some time, he managed to sleep again, the throes he had been plunged into subsiding. And this time, it was blissfully without dreams.

　　Angeles never climbed up the passage to Kirin’s cell. After several days, or what Kirin was reasonably sure were days, passed, he was becoming more confident that he would not. And he had thought through much of the actions. He had decided that sudden exposure to food and flesh likely caused a bit of poor judgment for both Angeles and himself, and that what had happened could be chalked up to an unfortunate series of events. And, when left to contemplation, he couldn’t help but admit it wasn’t so very terrible. Part of him had festered on a sense of regret, a morbid curiosity that begged the question, what if he had stayed? And then, after a few feedings in him, Kirin was feeling more healed and of a sound mind, the cobwebs of his inactivity cleared out. He was willing to indulge in his curiosity once more.

　　“Oi, Angeles?” he called down the shaft. No sound returned up to him. “Are you still there?” The faint glow had not changed, and by now, he was reasonably sure it was not all some twisted fantasy of his own mind’s imaginations. It relieved him that he wasn’t that masochistic.

　　After some minutes of silence, the man himself moved out into the dim glow at the bottom of the hole, looking upwards. His expression was placid, unreadable, and his voice sounded disinterested when he spoke, “I have no care to raise my voice at you. Come down if you seek my audience.”

　　“Agree to stay away if I do?” It was worth a shot. A part of him regretted the words immediately - but wasn’t that what he wanted?

　　The man at the bottom just walked away. Kirin sighed. He had decided, some time ago, that the threat of being devoured by that man was not much worse than his current state of doing absolutely nothing. So, in a way, he had accepted the dangers, even though part of him was still rather terrified of the true extent of them. He knew next to nothing, after all, about the other. This time, his hands were not so injured that he fell, and when he climbed down, he made it to the bottom with mostly ease. Unsurprisingly, as he turned around, he was faced with the impressive form of his fellow prisoner. With both on feet, the difference in size was more apparent. Kirin had never been a tall man, but he was passing on average, usually a few inches taller than most women. This Angeles put that average to shame. He had to be a foot taller, which made it incredibly uncomfortable for Kirin, who had to look up to meet his eyes, facing that golden gaze that pierced right into him.

　　Before he could feel strange, he calmed his blood. It was a practice he had mastered as a child, a way to achieve a sense of focus even under stress. His own gaze turned cold, critical, and he was almost sure he could sense amusement in the expression of the other.

　　“I don’t barter or beg,” Angeles said, his voice as smooth as silk and ever appealing to the ears. “I have no reason to take, when you are so willing to give.”

　　His confidence made Kirin scoff, though it felt like an act of bravado more than anything else. “As if,” the smaller man stated with a forced confidence of his own, but it was enough that Angeles moved out of the way. Though not without a knowing smirk that prickled the skin on the back of Kirin’s neck, irking him to the extreme. But the man walked away and alighted himself onto the side of his coffin, dangling his legs over the edge. It occurred to Kirin once more that he was shirtless, but his pants seemed in good condition. Another odd fact. Then again, he had abandoned his own shirt the last time he had come here. It was a good thing that he rarely felt the cold.

　　The memory of it drew his gaze to the pool on the far end, and, as if reading his train of thought, Angeles spoke in a nonchalant way, “If you wish to wash off yourself, I will not disturb you. If you are not a servant, that state must be most unpleasant.”

　　There was not much point in arguing the fact, though some part of him bristled at the implication that he was filthy. He was. That couldn’t be denied. And he also very much wanted to be rid of it. However, there was no privacy to be had here, and he expected that if he requested it, he would simply be laughed at. This creature did not seem keen to give very much of anything. The assurance that he would not be disturbed would have to be enough.