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“Are you in need of comfort, Marc Spector?”“Oh—shit…!” His avatar startles as Khonshu appears in the hotel room, whipping around to face him. “Fuck…” Marc breathes, sagging when he catches sight of him. “Don’t scare me like that… shit…”Khonshu cocks his head. “I did not mean to. You are usually more alert.” He steps further into the space, glancing momentarily at the bloody clothing strewn across the floor. Marc is standing near the bed, leaning heavily against the side table, top stripped bare as one arm clutches a stained wad of cloth and gauze against his side, his face pinched in discomfort. Even without the state of him, though, Khonshu would know of his pain. Because he can feel it.He can feel every fiber of Marc, the split skin on his knuckles, the bruises on his ribs and knees, the ache in his muscles, the roar in his mind. It was a good fight today, a fight in Khonshu’s name, and so he asks, again, “Are you in need of comfort?”Marc blinks at him, face slipping somewhere halfway between disbelief and humor. “Comfort? Yeah, sure, read me a bedtime story, that sounds peachy.” He laughs wryly, averting his gaze towards the late noon sun filtering in through the window. Khonshu catches the slight wince he makes at the movement.“That is not what I meant,” he chides. “Do you require the comfort of pleasure, Marc Spector?” he clarifies, as if speaking to a child. “Of bliss?”Marc freezes, his brows tightening, and he glances at Khonshu warily. “What…what? Like a quick barracks fuck? Dull the pain with some sex and call it a day?” He gestures mockingly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “That doesn’t really seem like your style, Khonshu. What are you trying to get at here?”Khonshu huffs. “I am simply offering my services as your god.”“You’re not—“ Marc sighs. “Nevermind. I—No. No. I’m not interested in some weird, friends with benefits, worship, bird dick… thing or whatever it is. I’ll be… fine.” He grimaces as he moves towards the bathroom, bones shifting uncomfortably. Khonshu does not correct him on the reality, on what it would be. He feels the ache there instead—for soothing, for release—but his powers are limited in the day (as they are both acutely aware), and he cannot offer the usual blessings of his healing armor in the absence of the moon. But Marc Spector wants to be calmed, to be held, to be filled with something other than pain. It is his natural state. It is not a matter of if he will accept, but when. Khonshu tilts his head in amusement, his consciousness stretching imperceptibly outwards to test something. He sees Marc’s shoulders tighten, and the man shivers, glancing back. Khonshu’s head gestures in offering. Knowing. Marc shakes his head, and slams the bathroom door shut behind him.Khonshu remains, waiting for him. When Marc returns, the sun has moved further across the sky, but it is still long until nightfall. He has fully bandaged his wound, the stain smaller and flesh taut, but he does not look better. His dark eyes are sunken and tired, a sheen of clammy sweat sticking to his skin, and Khonshu grimaces at the knot of torment lodged deep in his mind. He does not like seeing his avatar like this. Marc Spector is a human worthy of his service, prideful but loyal, and Khonshu wants nothing more than to preserve him in that state, in his perfection.He stays still as Marc settles on the bed with a soft groan, eyes closing for a moment.“So you gonna leave soon, or what?” he asks after a moment.Khonshu shifts, stepping closer, and leans against his staff. “I shall not abandon you in this condition,” he states plainly. “You are worthy of my attentions. You are worthy of care.”Something in Marc’s chest swells at those words, but he does not show it, simply raising a brow. “And what do those ‘attentions’ entail, exactly? Because no offense, but I’m not really looking for a bone up my ass.”Khonshu chuckles, deep and warm. “Our ways are not like humans, Marc Spector. You need not worry.”“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Marc presses, “what would I be agreeing to?”Khonshu stares at him for a moment, wondering what he is truly seeking, truly wanting to know. He looks into his mind, into his core, and then says, simply: “Peace.”It is a simple word, a meaningless one, but he gives it such an absoluteness that it reverberates through Marc, making his skin buzz. Marc licks his lips, skepticism waning beneath an intense bloom of longing, bitter and hopeful, and finally, he nods.“Ok,” he whispers. “Yeah.”Khonshu chuckles in satisfaction. “Then stand, my avatar, and we may begin.”Marc gets unsteadily to his feet, hand squeezing down on his side as Khonshu approaches him. He looks uncertain, his heart beating at a rabbit’s pace. “Turn,” Khonshu commands, “and let me touch you.”Marc swallows dryly but does as he says, pivoting slowly to face the bed. Khonshu lays his staff across the mattress, soundless, and then steps closer, pressing himself against Marc’s back. The man tenses under the touch, but Khonshu simply mutters soothing reassurances into his ear, soft and deep, as he leans closer, clawed hands sliding over Marc’s chest and ribs and smoothing down the expanse of his torso. A wave of warmth follows his movements, and Marc shudders.When Khonshu’s fingers begin to slip beneath the sides of Marc’s waistband, the man stiffens, hands springing up to hold Khonshu’s wrists in place.“Wait wait wait,” he mutters, already sounding breathless. “What do I do for—” He swallows. “What do I do for you?”Khonshu huffs at the gesture. “You must listen better, Marc Spector. I said our ways are not like that of humans, and yet you still expect them to be. This body is one of prayer and perception, bound and holy, but there is nothing beneath, nothing there to touch as you are wont to do. But…” his thumbs hook thoughtfully around the waist of Marc’s pants, and the man’s breath hitches, “it is not wholly dissimilar.” He whispers it like there is no air left in the room to draw, and Marc shakes. “After all…” Khonshu continues, “I am already inside you. I have been since the day we were bound.”Marc lets out something breathy, and vocal, and loud as Khonshu slowly slides his pants and boxers down the sides of his legs, claws dragging lightly against his skin. “There we are,” he encourages, straightening when the clothing has pooled at his avatar’s feet. Marc’s knees tremble where he stands, as if it is a fight to stay upright, and Khonshu hums thoughtfully at the sight. “Come,” he says, “let us sit.”Marc nods, distractedly, and lets himself be guided, kicking his clothes to the side as he goes, until he is sitting with his back to the bed, but not quite leaning against it. Khonshu steps back and watches him for a moment, taking in the light rise and fall of his chest, the tanned bronze of his skin and its bruises and scrapes, the blush painting his cheeks and chest, and dipping down towards the hard line of his cock, already flushed and heady.It is a nice sight, a bare one, but it is the vulnerability, the openness, of Marc’s mind that coils into Khonshu like a vice. He can almost taste it, the hunger for touch, the need to be needed. It is lovely.He shifts the currents with a thought and the air curls around Marc’s cock softly, pulling against the skin. Marc hisses, head lolling forward with a choked off grunt as invisible pressure sings along his nerve endings. Khonshu circles behind him, slowly, watching, before sinking a clawed hand gently into Marc’s hair, and pulling him back. Marc gasps at the movement, the line of his neck bobbing, eyes closed and brows furrowed deep as his eyelashes shiver against the planes of his cheeks. The sight makes the tendrils of Khonshu’s throat vibrate, whispering like reeds.“What a beautiful specimen,” he mutters. “What a beautiful avatar I have.”Marc inhales breathily, his face twisting and mind melting beneath the words. Khonshu combs his fingers over his scalp, rhythmically, carefully, pulling away pieces of anguish like stray spiderwebs.And then, without warning, he goes further, sinking down, and in, past skin and bone and muscle, and digging into Marc’s soul. It is a tangle there, as it has always been, a rough expanse and a small room, the fullness of it not wholly his own. Khonshu smooths against it, feeling it ease beneath him, giving. He continues pressing, patient, until with a distant, hitched, moan, Marc’s walls fall and Khonshu’s presence penetrates into the center of his being.It is a more profound experience, he knows, than any form of human intimacy can offer. Here, Khonshu slips between memories and emotions, weaving through the heat of Marc’s actuality, alive and solid and squeezing against the intrusion of a foreign being, of a god’s weight.But Khonshu does not stop. Instead his claws dig deeper, into the very marrow of Marc’s consciousness, into his grief, his body, butting against the rough edges and squeezing around the very essence of him. And then, when it is within his grasp, pure and desperate and tangible, Khonshu twists, pulls, and stretches Marc across the stars. In the physical world, Marc’s body gasps, spasming violently, eyes wide and unseeing. His soul crests into the infinite, into time, weaving between the asteroid belts of galaxies and dipping into suns. Khonshu follows him through it, his hold strong, compressing his avatar’s edges as he expands within him; sparks of matter and light pushing to the tips of his fingers; split starscapes settling beneath the flesh of his stomach.Khonshu is within him, around him, beside him, ever present between the folds of his brain and the vibration of his blood, accelerating at the speed of light, moonlight, and leaving burning craters of touch in his wake.And then, he stops.Khonshu’s fingers soothe against Marc’s skin, down the edges of his shoulders, and press against his heaving chest. He brings him back to the physical, to the heat of tissue and bone. Marc trembles, cheeks wet, throat squeezing around nothing as Khonshu grazes the tips of his talons against his sternum. But he is warm, and lax, his pain sunk under the weight of euphoria.Khonshu hums, satisfied. “There you are,” he croons, beak hooking around his shoulder, one hand reaching between them to slide up the bumps of Marc’s spine. The man shivers weakly at the touch. “I am here, Marc Spector,” Khonshu assures, letting his voice pour through him like a balm. “And I will always be here. To protect you,” his hand slides down his thigh, “and to assuage your pain,” he takes Marc’s cock in hand, and presses against his ear. “For as long as you serve me, I swear these things to you.” His wrist flicks up, and Marc spills against himself with a hoarse whisper, curling down towards his knees as his body jolts, and shakes, and shudders.Khonshu works him through it, attentive, present, marveling in the taught strain of muscle along the side of his jaw, and the overwhelming relief of a blank mind. When he finally pulls his hand away (though, really, it is only the idea of it, the manifestation, he has no real form here), Marc sags back against his chest, eyes straining to stay open, breath shallow.“Rest, my avatar,” Khonshu coaxes, caressing the edges of his mind, carefully. “Rest.”Marc slips from consciousness, pulled down by a soundless current, and Khonshu continues to pet through his hair gently, cradling his form against him like a treasure.“You are worthy of care, Marc Spector,” he murmurs in the silence. “You are worthy of me.”