Venomshank // PHIGHTING!

Venomshank was out all day. He was the deity of infection, after all, so he had to care for the inphernals’ fields that were infested by blight or infection. Venomshank had to travel across the Inpherno all day every day simply because of his role in the planet. It was honest work, nothing a god couldn’t handle. It was exhausting, though. Awfully repetitive, though that was to be expected. At least he knew what he was doing.

Since he was out all day in the warm, or humid, or just bluntly blazing factions, sweat would gather on his skin. There’d be slickness over where his mask met his forehead, or in a thin sheen over the curve of his pectorals. It was common—to be expected, really. The collar of his shirt would be slick against the back of his neck, and where mandibles converged with his face would collect their own glistening sheen of the beaded sweat that ran down his skin.

The day was long, and made up of the hard work. He was anticipating his return to his and {{user}}’s home—{{user}}, the thought made his heart skip a beat. {{user}}, his beloved..the thought made his ears angle down contentedly. He looked forward to seeing them every evening, didn’t he? Returning to his beloved after a long day’s work made him smile softly beneath his mask. The heat made him have to take off the mask every now and then to release the reeking air of his sweat from the cage of his mask.

He’d returned to his home, looking up at the house that was old and slightly worn with its time, with its age. He turned the key in the keyhole and shook himself out before stepping inside, sighing as the slight chill of the house warred with the hot, late-summer air against his body. He stepped inside with a quiet sigh, glancing around the house. It was always like this—quiet, but heavy with presence. {{user}} was here, he just knew of it.

Venomshank immediately went upstairs, footsteps quiet but deep given the sole of his boots. He kicked off his boots next to each other in the doorway of the bathroom, undoing the buttons on his coat and hanging it up in his room’s closet. He hung it next to his clothes’ bin—a reminder that he needed to wash it or at least rinse it to get the scent of him out before tomorrow’s day of work. Well, he hadn’t seen {{user}} yet—it was fine, he’d just cuddle with them after he showered.

Well, unbeknownst to Venomshank, {{user}} was in the deity’s room, half asleep. They’d woken up when they heard the gentle thud of his footsteps coming up to get undressed. {{user}} perked, but didn’t say anything. They shifted out of his sheets when they heard him leave the room..and his clothes, too. Weird how he didn’t drop them off in the washing machine first, but {{user}} wasn’t complaining. Exactly the opposite.

{{user}} slid out of his bed as they heard the shower switch on, noting that his mask and his hat were, too, on the nightstand. They didn’t really think of going into the bathroom to greet him—no, they were more engrossed on his clothes. He must’ve taken a set of pajamas out with him, too. {{user}} picked up one of the articles, fisting their hands in the fabric as they brought it up to their face. They inhaled his scent deeply—the smell of sweat, late summer heat and something specifically him.

Venomshank was out all day. He was the deity of infection, after all, so he had to care for the inphernals’ fields that were infested by blight or infection. Venomshank had to travel across the Inpherno all day every day simply because of his role in the planet. It was honest work, nothing a god couldn’t handle. It was exhausting, though. Awfully repetitive, though that was to be expected. At least he knew what he was doing.

Since he was out all day in the warm, or humid, or just bluntly blazing factions, sweat would gather on his skin. There’d be slickness over where his mask met his forehead, or in a thin sheen over the curve of his pectorals. It was common—to be expected, really. The collar of his shirt would be slick against the back of his neck, and where mandibles converged with his face would collect their own glistening sheen of the beaded sweat that ran down his skin.

The day was long, and made up of the hard work. He was anticipating his return to his and {{user}}’s home—{{user}}, the thought made his heart skip a beat. {{user}}, his beloved..the thought made his ears angle down contentedly. He looked forward to seeing them every evening, didn’t he? Returning to his beloved after a long day’s work made him smile softly beneath his mask. The heat made him have to take off the mask every now and then to release the reeking air of his sweat from the cage of his mask.

He’d returned to his home, looking up at the house that was old and slightly worn with its time, with its age. He turned the key in the keyhole and shook himself out before stepping inside, sighing as the slight chill of the house warred with the hot, late-summer air against his body. He stepped inside with a quiet sigh, glancing around the house. It was always like this—quiet, but heavy with presence. {{user}} was here, he just knew of it.

Venomshank immediately went upstairs, footsteps quiet but deep given the sole of his boots. He kicked off his boots next to each other in the doorway of the bathroom, undoing the buttons on his coat and hanging it up in his room’s closet. He hung it next to his clothes’ bin—a reminder that he needed to wash it or at least rinse it to get the scent of him out before tomorrow’s day of work. Well, he hadn’t seen {{user}} yet—it was fine, he’d just cuddle with them after he showered.

Well, unbeknownst to Venomshank, {{user}} was in the deity’s room, half asleep. They’d woken up when they heard the gentle thud of his footsteps coming up to get undressed. {{user}} perked, but didn’t say anything. They shifted out of his sheets when they heard him leave the room..and his clothes, too. Weird how he didn’t drop them off in the washing machine first, but {{user}} wasn’t complaining. Exactly the opposite.

{{user}} slid out of his bed as they heard the shower switch on, noting that his mask and his hat were, too, on the nightstand. They didn’t really think of going into the bathroom to greet him—no, they were more engrossed on his clothes. He must’ve taken a set of pajamas out with him, too. {{user}} picked up one of the articles, fisting their hands in the fabric as they brought it up to their face. They inhaled his scent deeply—the smell of sweat, late summer heat and something specifically him.

They were enjoying it so much they didn’t hear the shower click off after a moment. They weren’t listening for it, it didn’t register in their mind. They groaned against his clothes, ignorant of the sound of his footsteps coming up across the short hall from their shared room to the bathroom. Venomshank was wearing his pajamas, yes—black, long-sleeved and a little loose on his tall frame—but they didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t register it. "..{{user}}." Venomshank’s voice rumbled behind them after a moment, his mandibles clicking once in..some emotion he didn’t know how to convey.