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"Accept that it's gold, or I'm punching you in the dick."
"You like this dick too much to dare," he taunted.
I leaned forward, my lips so close to his, almost touching when I said, "Try me, Wynvail van Khama."
A shudder went through his soul, and he blinked. "Fine, I have a heart of tarnished, scuffed and dented gold."
I'd take it. That was progress.
"What was that, just then?" I asked, sliding my arms around his shoulders, the two of us knee to knee on the carpet in the middle of the room.
"Nothing," he replied too fast.
"Wyn."
He groaned. "I should never have told you that name was my weakness." Definitely not. But he made me equally weak when he called me honey; I thought I'd never hear that name again, so it meant the whole damn world. "Fine. I presumed you'd keep calling me Locke."
"That monster fucked you up as badly as he did Wane and Harvey. You're not a monster; he is, and you don't deserve to be tarred with the same name."
His throat bobbed. "I like Van Khama."
"Good. It's sticking. Now accept that you're not a monster or an abomination, and we can go snuggle in bed. And I don't have to punch you in the dick."
He snorted, hands skimming my hips. "It's not as easy as that."
"I know. But it's true." I chewed my bottom lip. "If you won't accept that Cronus creating you doesn’t make you that A word I hate, then will you accept that being reborn, being saved by Hades and Persephone, erased all that? You're a goddamn miracle, Wyn. A gift."3
He sighed, thumbs stroking circles on my hips. "I'm not a monster. Happy?"
"Not until you believe it," I murmured and kissed him. "And the other word?"
He groaned. "Do I have to, honey?"
"Words have power, Wyn. How do you think they burrowed into your head and tricked you into thinking they were true? The more you say something, the more real it becomes. Tell me you're not an abomination."
Gods, I hated saying it. It felt like blood and poison in my mouth. He flinched when Wane called him that in the tunnels, and I hadn't forgotten it. That word was covered in thorns, and they bit deeper into his skin every day. Maybe every minute.
"Only because I can feel how twisted up you are," he muttered, not looking pleased. "I'm not an abomination."
He bit out the word, rage in his voice even as sickly, oily shame pumped into his soul.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of," I breathed. "Certainly not being created. You don't have to keep feeling guilt just for existing. If you want to feel guilty for something, give yourself a hard time for ruining the couch."
He smirked.
"Hey! It's covered in your cum; don't fucking smirk."
His smirk became a grin. Smug bastard.4 "If you expect me to regret that, you're sorely mistaken."
"Hm." I gave him a fake scowl. "Fine, then you're replacing it—with something you choose for you."
He stiffened.
"This house is full of things for me, Wyn. But I'm not living here alone. I'm with you, and Wane, and Em, and Harvey, and Kai, and Verena. This is long term now; we're staying. So get something for yourself, and make this place yours, too."
"Only if everyone else does," he muttered, but he was agreeing so I kissed his cheek.
"Deal. Can we go shower and sleep now?"
