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“Betrayal!” Scar cries. “I can’t believe I have been betrayed in such a cruel manner! Oh Cub, you rapscallion, this whole time it was your hole!”
For the past ten minutes, Cub has been attentively listening to a tirade about poorly made or possibly intentionally trapped Nether passageways, while sorting the items he’s going to need for the next section to color-coordinated boxes. He makes a vague gesture, does not confirm or deny. “Who can say. There’s a lot of holes in the hub.”
Scar is not even fully dressed yet; he ran downstairs right after the respawn. Cub imagines there is still smoke rising from his ruffled hair, even though it is of course freshly regenerated and wholly unburned. “But why would you leave a hole in the floor? A floor is supposed to be a solid surface! You're supposed to walk on it! That's the whole point.”
“It’s to teach caution, Scar. The Nether is a dangerous place.”
Scar’s expression of fake outrage morphs seamlessly to a thin smile that has an edge of (likely not quite as fake) desperation. He flops down on a chest. “I lost everything, Cub! Even my good pants.”
“Aww, man.” Cub turns his back, shuffles through his woodstuff. “That’s tough.” Repeats it under his breath; twice, for good measure.
Scar mumbles something to himself.
Cub makes a mental note that he will need to go get more crimson wood soon.
"Hey, Cub," says Scar.
"What is it?"
“You owe me.”
Cub hides his smile. He closes the lid of the chest with a small thud. “You think so?”
"Yes I do, Cub. Oh, I do indeed!" Scar has stood up. "You have caused me damage both physical and emotional, and—and it can’t go unpunished. I demand compensation!"
"I don’t know, Scar," Cub says.
“I demand it! I am entitled to it, actually.”
“You got nothing on me, Scar,” says Cub. “Nothing on me!”
They argue back and forth. Cub keeps up with the reluctance—immune to guilt, as he tends to be when it comes to pranks—but it is just play. He knows already how the negotiation is going to end.
He would gift Scar new gear, if he would ask. Of course; in a heartbeat. But that is not what Scar is asking.
Scar is pacing around the basement now. Animated, loud, ridiculous. If he is not careful, he will fall to water and then the drowned will get him. As funny as that would be, Cub decides to cut to the chase. He stops Scar with a hand against his chest.
“Scar,” he says. “Scar. How about this. I will not admit to any damages, but I can help with the emotional pain. How about we’ll try to replace that horrific memory about the Nether hub with a better one?”
Scar squints at him; he does not yet know what the play is. “How would you do that?”
Cub does not care to be subtle, because with subtlety, it is always a coin toss if Scar will get it or not. With business, words are not even necessary most of the time, but with personal matters, Scar can be a little—he is in his head a lot, and if he’s not paying attention, coaxing won’t do, he needs to be yanked out of there. Cub leans closer and moves his hand up Scar’s neck until his thumb is brushing Scar’s cheek (and directing his gaze to Cub’s eyes). His other hand pulls Scar closer from the hip. “Give you a pleasant memory to focus on.”
“Oh!” Scar’s throat moves against the base of Cub’s palm as he swallows. “That—I suppose I can accept that. But—” He pretends reluctance. He is smiling, though, and putting his own hand on Cub’s arm. “It better be a great memory. Me and my pants, I could tell you stories, Cub, the places we’ve be—mmh.”
Cub holds Scar tightly against him. His fingers trace the shell of Scar’s pointed ear, pulling at it gently. “So it’s a deal.”
“Yes,” Scar breathes. His eyes gleam in the low light of the basement, and his lips are slightly parted, as if he expects Cub to kiss him.
Cub does kiss him. Lightly, even though Scar would be eager for more—and then he takes a step back. “Good,” he says. “Meet me at sundown at your portal.”
“Cub!” Scar is affronted. There is a nice flush on his cheeks. Fresh from respawn and yet disheveled from the thought of his death and from Cub’s touch, that is nice too. “That’s not—” He thinks. “I thought I’d get the memory now!”
Cub shakes his head. “No mention of the time frame in the agreement, Scar. You should be more careful with what you agree on. But good things come to those who wait; it won’t be long.”
He spends the rest of the day carving a tunnel through basalt, and thinking of Scar, half naked and agitated and beautiful despite or exactly because of how ridiculous he is, and he thinks he might need to break a few more holes to the hub’s floor.
The sun disappears behind the horizon and beyond the mountains. The moon is rising. Cub waits for Scar at the portal, and they go through together.
"Why are we going to the Nether, Cub?" Scar asks. He is not concerned—he would walk after Cub to a lava lake and only start to worry when his face is already melting—but he is definitely curious. "Should I have brought weapons?"
He has brought nothing with him except the clothes on his back. “The clothes' in this case is not even his usual formal robe, just a pair of light pants and a shirt he has not bothered to tie up, since he would assume he will not be wearing it for long.
"No," Cub says, offering him a hand. "Allow me to explain. This is psychologically sound reasoning, this is actual science, Scar, just hear me out.” He leads Scar through the narrow, unsteady paths towards the hub. Somewhere above them, he hears the squelch of a magma cube, and further away, the wail of a ghast. “You died in the Nether.”
"Going up in flames, in the most horrible agony you can ever imagine thinking about my pants I'll never wear again, that is correct."
“Exactly,” says Cub. “Exactly. So to erase that torturous memory from your mind, we need to create new, pleasurable associations with this generally rather not-pleasurable dimension."
Scar nods, thoughtful. “Those are some big words, Cub.”
“That’s why it will work. Can’t be wrong when I have science backing me up.”
They lace their fingers together.
They enter a tunnel leading to the Library: a piece of the world preceding them, floating in a sea of illusionary stars. Both of them have visited it before, but neither one has had a chance to truly spend time here yet, to explore the tomes, to learn the impossible sky.
Cub stops under the grand tree that is the crux of the spell that binds the Library together. He pulls Scar closer and kisses him. Cub has been charring his fingers with lava all day, he knows his breath carries a whiff of burned things which is not ideal for the occasion, but Scar leans in nonetheless, closing his eyes and kissing back with shameless passion. His lips are so soft, even for this elf form, that he must have died again since morning, but it cannot have been anything too tragic so Cub does not bring it up.
He makes a ponderous sound as he pulls back and turns them so Scar’s back is against the tree. “No permanent damage on the mouth,” he says. “I promised emotional healing, Scar, but you won’t mind if I also do a physical inspection? There could be lingering damage.”
“Oh, no. Inspect away.” Scar spreads his arms. His eyes are bright. Laughter in his voice. “Just make sure to check everywhere.”
Cub kisses him again. “I’ll be thorough,” he promises. His hands cup Scar’s face. He swallows Scar’s laugh, every little curl of it, and it spreads warmth all the way to the bottom of his stomach. Kissing Scar is like that: happiness.
He takes his time. The night is long in the overworld and forever in the Library. He has Scar lie down between the roots of the tree, on soft, turquoise-tinted grass, and kisses his neck, his chest, unlaces his shirt and eventually pulls it over his head before moving to caress his belly. With his other hand, Cub brushes a few stray strands of hair off Scar’s face.
The stars twinkle, and it is quiet, quiet in the hub, except for a low, steady hum of magic and Scar's contented sigh.
"This is nice." Scar’s voice is soft, slurred. His eyes are half shut and he relaxes against the ground that adapts to him subtly so that there is minimal discomfort. The Library is glad to receive him. "Your hands are nice, Cub. But.” Alertness returns to him, as he turns his head to catch Cub’s eyes. “Could be nicer. I’ll give an example: You could be more naked.”
Cub does not respond right away. He continues planting kisses on Scar’s skin and touching him with only fingertips, light and slow. Above the waistline for now; there is no hurry tonight. Eventually he shakes off his coat, then his shirt, and Scar smiles.
"What if someone passes through?" he asks. Again, not worried, just curious.
"The magic of the Library will hide us," Cub answers, dead certain.
It is the tone he uses when he has decided something works the way he envisions, completely independent of the true state of affairs, so Scar quirks an eyebrow. He does not inquire further, however, since Cub’s thumbs slip below the waistband of his pants and what has been a relaxing, languorous event takes a sudden shift closer to something heated.
Cub undresses Scar completely, takes off his own clothes with a pace that could almost be described as sluggish, and then returns to what he has been doing: Going through every inch of Scar’s body, with his lips and fingers, brushing and kissing and licking away any speck of the Nether's corruption that might linger.
(There is none. The respawn is perfect, of course; but Cub imagines Scar’s skin burning and puts out the fire, soothes him so well he can do nothing but lie there when the tree whispers to them secrets they are not yet ancient enough to hear, and the warm darkness where the Library floats cradles them in its embrace.)
After finishing off by pressing soft kisses to the soles of his feet, Cub climbs on top of Scar and his lips, once more, find Scar's mouth; relaxed now, slack as the rest of him. They kiss slow, deep. Cub slides his hands along Scar’s arms until their fingers entwine once more, their bodies flush together.
Cub feels Scar’s erection pressing against his belly, and he shifts so that their cocks are touching, both hard, on top of one another, and when Cub moves Scar sighs to his mouth.
There is no desperation here. No brightly burning passion, no threat of the world ending; they could lie like this for days and be content, the only indication of Scar’s sliver of impatience the curling of his fingers. His grip of Cub’s hands tightens and he lifts his hips just to get that little bit more of the pressure. He makes a small noise that Cub catches from his lips.
Everything is still, save for the two bodies moving under the grand tree. Little by little, their breathing gets more labored. The dry air of the Library absorbs the sweat from their skin; this is the Nether, after all, and while the temperature of the Library is pleasant, water does not survive long here unless it is bound to the confines of flesh. Cub’s hair falls to his eyes and he ducks his head to the curve of Scar's neck, nibbling at the hot skin. Scar gasps to his ear.
It is not efficient, no. The friction of their cocks sliding against one another not firm enough, not consistent enough to raise them to the climax; but at this particular moment this is all that Cub desires. Scar his love, completely bared, completely his, as completely touching him as possible without breaking all the barriers that make them separate. He can feel every hair that stands on Scar’s skin. He can feel the rapid, steady beat of both of their hearts.
Cub opens his eyes (he has closed them to feel Scar’s pulse where their wrists are pressed together; he has closed them because for a moment he believes he is touching every Scar he has ever held). Scar’s hair fans around his head. The grass is the color of deep infinity around them. The books rustle once. The branches of the tree, the leaves, are unnaturally still, but there is a wind in the Library, he knows. An invisible, intangible, unobservable current. It breezes through him.
"Cub," Scar says, and Cub lowers his head, catches Scar’s eyes. Beautiful, he thinks. He might cry.
They curl up to one another. Hands untangled, they touch, kiss, every familiar place just to confirm there is no lingering ill feel; and there is none.
The ending almost an afterthought: lying side by side, both their heads between the other's legs, they suck each other to completion. They crawl deeper to the roots of the tree, then, Scar’s head against Cub’s chest. They listen to the heartbeat of the universe.