The Demon Lord and his Hero

By the time the year had come to its end, Artemus brought news that renewed Syryn's hopes for this timeline. The first horn had been found and destroyed.

Traxdart's minions were found close to the underground relics of a long-dead Dwarven city where the first horn lay buried amongst piles of rusting Armor. The mage hunters suffered a casualty in the process but they had prevailed over the demons. Now the demonic emperor had become aware that the humans too were looking for the bizarre horns.

Things were more or less normal at the manor. Salem never mentioned his mark again, and Syryn never asked about it. And after that one episode, the older boy never initiated another close encounter with his dark-haired friend. That is until they started spending more time working together in the alchemy chamber.

3 drops of mercury went into the bubbling liquid in Salem's cauldron when he heard Syryn make a strangled sound. His focus was disrupted so he decided he might as well find out what was the matter with Syryn's potion.

Salem turned down the flame under his cauldron. His potion was safe for another 5 minutes so long as he returned back to it without delay. The taller boy approached his alchemist friend and peered into the cauldron that contained a transparent layer of jelly splattered on every inch of the inside surface.

"That's no good," he remarked with a click of his tongue.

"Very observant, how insightful. No wonder you're an alchemist." Syryn's irritation only served to improve Salem's mood. It wasn't often that the dark-haired genius made mistakes like this.

"What failed potion was this supposed to be?" Salem stooped over the cauldron and took a cautionary sniff before swiping a long finger down the lip of the cauldron. Rubbing the jelly between the pads of his fingers, Salem turned to speak to Syryn and noticed how the younger man's eyes were glued to his hand.

Oh.

This was interesting.

"Syryn, let's restart the potion. I'll make sure you aren't distracted this time around."

The dark-haired boy nodded, mind still wrapped up in thoughts. "I'll clean this up then," he replied.

Syryn hefted the cauldron off his stove and carried it out for a thorough scrubbing. It was enough time for the older boy to cook up his hydrophobic dye. Salem poured the contents of his cauldron into a small wooden bucket and sealed it shut. It was almost time for Syryn to appear.

"Done with yours?" Syryn asked. The younger boy had an apron on and it absorbed the water droplets that clung to the surface of his now cleaned cauldron. He placed it over the stove and surveyed the ingredients left on his working counter. There was enough for another round. With Salem helping him, Syryn was confident that the second time would be a sure success. His mind had been all over the place what with Red informing him of the child's desire to hunt some prey at night.

Salem's casual inspection of the mess he'd made had only added to Syryn's troubles. The older boy had a sensuality to his every move and it affected Syryn on a physical level. He was stressed out living as a hormonal teen in a house with Salem, a walking pheromone dispenser whose beautiful accent the younger male still could not get used to.

"Done. I'll be right over," there it was, attractive as ever.

Salem favoured loose garments that hid much of his slender but artistically muscled body. His elven martial arts practise in the mornings were evidenced by the strong musculature that was tight but lean under the billowing clothing he wore. To the outsider, the blonde was a convincing case of a scholarly alchemist who couldn't truss a chicken if his life depended on it. Lies. Syryn had become aware of the strength hiding beneath that calm exterior - a maelstrom whirling dangerously under a cover of layered clothes. Syryn pinched himself and turned back to the block of fat that needed to be weighed.

A pile of de-husked nuts was then chopped into little pieces. The alchemist slid the nuts to the side when he felt the presence of his blonde friend behind him. Salem was tall enough that he could peer down from behind Syryn's shoulder despite bending slightly to place his hands on the counter on either side of Syryn's waist.

"Your wrist movement isn't gentle enough." His breath grazed the shell of Syryn's ear. "You'll hurt yourself if you put so much tension into your knife-hand."

And whose fault was it? The younger boy bit his tongue and blinked down at the empty chopping board. Stiffly, he reached out to place a few stems of some plant, the nomenclature of which escaped his memory. Fire swe- he almost had it. Fire- Salem's distinct clove and sweet orange scent snatched the thought away and stuffed it in a corner where a few dirty thoughts were beating to death his hope for a successful potion.

"Fire Swells don't like to be kept waiting. Once you've removed them from the soil, degradation is promptly triggered," Salem reminded him in a tone that was honeyed and low.

Syryn swallowed thickly and wished his left-hand luck because there was a strong probability of amputation if Salem kept up whatever he was doing. Fire swell stems lined up like soldiers, his knife went down on the red stems with practised ease. Syryn was relieved to find that his hands knew what to do even when his brain was compromised.

"Salem, this isn't the sort of help I had envisioned."

"Do you hate it?" the half replied after a pause.

"No. But I don't have enough ingredients for after another failed potion."

"It won't fail," Salem replied with easy confidence.

One of Syryn's brain cells immediately stepped up to tell him that Salem's arrogance was an insult to how distracting Syryn too could be. Screw the potion! It cried. Kill it. Let it explode again! And he agreed with the idiot brain cell. Syryn would do his utmost to ruin the potion. He had earned his title as a bastard and would wear it like a badge.

"Syryn, that's not how you strip a rubbelum. Are we forgetting basic ingredient knowledge?" The older alchemist chided like a teacher. Seduction was fine and all but Salem could not tolerate sloppy work.

That stung the younger alchemist. The mishandling of the rubbelum was deliberate on his part but it hurt his pride as a professional. Gritting his teeth, Syryn vowed to hijack the potion through subtler means.

"It's your fault for distracting me," he petulantly replied.

When the younger boy had to place a white powder on the scale, he was forced to lean forward and reach out to grab some stones. Salem took the opportunity to slip a thumb past the shirt that was riding up the younger boy's waistband. A small tremor shook Syryn's hand but he valiantly carried through the task. Even without Syryn's purposeful meddling, the potion looked to be moving further away from successful completion.

"Wrong. Weigh it again but with the appropriate stone," Salem whispered huskily. This time, a tongue slipped out to lick the ear lobe that was turning pink from Salem's hot breaths. Syryn bit his lip to stifle the little moan that nearly escaped. It was getting harder to pretend he wasn't affected by the blonde's actions. The younger boy could not understand how Salem was so unerringly catching his little 'mistakes' as if he wasn't already preoccupied with lighting a flame under him.

"Careful there," Salem firmly caught Syryn's naughty hand over the cauldron before he could release the white powder into it. "Bone chalk always goes after the wet ingredients," he then lightly bit Syryn's ear lobe like it was a punishment for what the younger boy had almost done. Syryn gasped and leaned back into Salem's broad chest. His skin was getting hot, bringing a rosy pink tinge to it.

"Syryn, I'm starting to believe you're sabotaging your own potion." He kissed the younger boy's neck while his hand drifted higher past Syryn's ribs. It was a gentle brush of his fingers against the skin but it left a flash of heat in its trail. The dark-haired boy shuddered under the torturous ministration of his lips and fingers.

"Why- why would-" Syryn's words were cut off by another hand that caressed his inner thighs through the thin cotton fabric. The touch electrified every single nerve in his body.

"I want to stain your thighs with kisses," Salem murmured against the tender spot on the neck where a pulse throbbed.

It was all over. Syryn was undone.

"Salem please," he begged, breath ragged.

"I'll give you what you want if you finish the potion perfectly," the alchemist lazily replied, nose nuzzling against dark hair. "I won't monitor you any longer so pay attention Syryn."

How could he pay attention when Salem's hand was circling so close to his erection, tantalising him with a reward that fogged Syryn's thought process.

"You rotten little-" Syryn began but it seemed he was to be interrupted by his torturer every single time.

"Save the dirty talk for after you're done. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep, Syryn. If that potion doesn't turn out perfect, you get nothing. And that hurts the both of us." Salem was going to be the death of him.

Syryn shut his eyes and took in a few deep fortifying breaths. What had it been like to work under pressure? This was a different sort of pressure altogether but the principle was the same. He had to ignore his sensory feedback and focus on the task.

His vision zeroed in on the ingredients. The liquid base was already inside with a few other ingredients. Syryn added everything in order of their sequence, ensuring that not a single extra iota of material was accidentally slipped in.

"Very good," Salem praised. The older boy was breathing harder and Syryn could tell it was a consequence of the actions that he had carried out with speedy expertise. "Your competency never fails to turn me on."

"You're one to talk," Syryn replied. He had been distracted to no end when Salem had but rubbed the jelly between his fingers.

The rest of the process proceeded smoothly. Syryn was hyperfocused on his task and refused to allow Salem to distract him further. He nearly had a close call though when the blonde pressed up against him, making it known to Syryn that Salem was definitely hard.

"It's done." Syryn breathed a sigh of relief and shut the cauldron with its convex lid. He was abruptly jerked around by hands on his waist that pinned him to the flat edge of the counter. It dug painfully into his flesh but Syryn couldn't give a shit about it because Salem was suddenly taking up all his oxygen in a kiss that was ravenous and urgent.

The older boy skillfully manoeuvred them away from the cauldron and lifted Syryn onto the counter, lips still joined and a tiny dribble of saliva leaking from the edge of Syryn's mouth. His legs went around Salem's waist and they were pressed tight, heat in their loins ratcheting up with every second that passed by.

"And what have we here?" Red's bored voice cut into their bubble-like rain on a sunny picnic.

"Fuck off Red," Syryn made a rude gesture at the brat who had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Now, now, don't behead the messenger. I'm just here to tell you that Artemus is home."

Syryn suddenly had a terrible headache.

"In fact, he's heading this way even as we speak."

Salem's arms were like iron bands around Syryn's waist. Amber brown eyes were half-lidded and watching Syryn with intent. The younger boy had the crazy notion that he was a wife whose husband was about to catch him red-handed with his lover. Where in that fucked up equation would be put, Rowan?!!

"Let go," He fearfully begged the blonde. It was obvious that Artemus would not take this well.

"No. What are you afraid of?" Salem's voice was low but in a menacing way. "What is Artemus to you?"

"Shit," Syryn cursed at himself and looked to the door where Red was leaning, smugly examining his neatly trimmed fingernails.

"Please Salem," He could use violence to get out of the vice-like arms holding him in place but that would lead to even more complications. Why the hell was Salem so strong?! Syryn bemoaned the alchemist's stubbornness.

The blonde's eyes darkened but he freed Syryn from what had been the longest minute of his life. Giving thanks to Artemus for gifting him a house that was a hundredfold bigger than his own cowardly heart, Syryn sprang away to the window and jumped out of it leaving two stunned boys behind him.