After Artem had finished hunting down the New Mortals, there were only three gods left.
The first was Prifma, of course, though he quickly gave Iustitia the role of Patriarch so he could avoid the scrutiny that came with his divinity. The second was D E A T H, who was currently wandering her own demesne as a result of a ‘curiosity-fueled consensual voring’ on the part of the god-eaters (as described in their own clearly uncomfortable words), and was set to return in a few kalpas.
The last was Carnalis.
Carnalis, the God of Sex, had gone into seclusion well before the uprising. In one sense, he was Prifma before Prifma became Prifma, although Prifma never closed himself off so severely.
He also never allowed himself to live in squalor. Not that splendor was necessary of course, prior to her consumption, D E A T H lived in an expansive sewer system beneath the continent.
However, Carnalis lived in a burrow in the ground near the Palatium, hidden by some bushes and, occasionally, the mass of one of the completely normal crocodiles that lived in the Lacus.
The burrow wasn’t bad, per se. It was certainly much cooler than Domum outside, and was very well carved—Carnalis had done something to the walls and the ground so that the dirt didn’t come off on Prifma’s fingers or the soles of his feet. But, well, the more ‘Prifma’ was in the burrow, the more uncomfortable it got.
Carnalis was already a scavenger, taking whatever trash the god-eaters had and re-purposing it for his own ends. Which, fine. In an attempt to accommodate him, Prifma had become more mindful of his waste. Anything that could be reused was cleaned and bundled up to leave outside of Carnalis’s burrow. He was prepared to see his old clothes gathered in Carnalis’s home. Not his old furniture, not his old sketches, and certainly not his old, half-used crockery.
Carnalis would have had to hunt for these things.
It was uncomfortable. It was obsessive. And it bordered on worship.
Prifma understood. Carnalis was something of a proto-Prifma—an intelligent recluse exiled for arbitrary reasons—but where Prifma had gone on to build a new world—wholly by accident, mind—fortune had not offered Carnalis the same opportunities. Instead of being bitter about it, he admired the little god who came after him, but that admiration quickly swelled into something else.
Which, fine. Prifma didn’t mind a stalker, but he was a god. Obsession of a certain breed—worship—gave him power as a god. And a god receiving that level of attention from another god? There was a reason why Prifma was in such a hurry to transfer his authority to Iustitia. He wasn’t quite sure how to navigate his new life as a double god, but he figured it would be fine if he just kept his mouth shut. And with all this extra free-time he had why not (eat Divitiae’s ass) pay Carnalis a proper visit more often?
Prifma was prepared to see all of his things in a stranger’s house. He was even prepared for the little shrines built into niches in the walls (he could even draw power from them if he wanted, but he never would).
He was not prepared to see Carnalis “in his element”.
He was splayed on his back, his long white hair spread around him. He was wearing a sweater Prifma had specifically made for him, a cropped white knit cardigan with black trim, and as Prifma imagined when he made it, he looked wonderful in it. However, it looked like some of the buttons had come loose, but Carnalis, in a burst of creativity, had replaced them with sky-blue enamel pins. How charming—though Prifma also knew that, even though he was alone down here, he still preened himself to perfection, in the hopes that he might some day leave his burrow and enter society as fashionably conscious as his idol.
The problem, so to speak, was that Prifma, on a whim, had decided to make another version of the same sweater for himself. He wore it out until he could wear it no more, and then a bit more after some repairs, but after a certain point he simply had to let the sweater go, and so he did.
At the moment, Carnalis had it draped over his face, breathing in the lingering scent while his long fingers buried themselves in the slick bright-blue folds of his dripping cunt.
See? Obsession. At least when Prifma masturbated to Divitiae’s sweaty hoodie or kalasiris, Divitiae was there to watch him do it.
But on a more serious note, that certainly explained the exile. The Old God’s had exiled Prifma for something as harmless as his scoliosis, he couldn’t imagine how boorishly they would respond to their new God of Desire possessing a cunt as beautiful as this. If he was Carnalis, he would have fled too.
But he wasn’t Carnalis. He was Prifma, and he was in the presence of a new color (such a vibrant blue! It would put even Artem’s porcelain to shame) and someone’s pussy. It was a dangerous combination.
Prifma licks his lips and crouches between Carnalis’s legs, watching as he brings himself to completion. His form certainly left something to be desired. There was no doubt that he was enjoying himself, brusquely cramming his fingers inside, but there was no grace, no tease, no…desire. Just pure animal instinct.
It was a shame really, but it made sense given how early Carnalis exiled himself and how little contact he had with others. He never had time to grow into his element, even gestures like this didn’t come naturally to him.
Above him, Carnalis’s breath hitches and his hips stutter, reaching up to bury his fingers deep, all the way to the last knuckle. A bit of slick squirts out, running down his thigh. Before he can stop himself, Prifma reaches out and swipes it up with his finger.
Carnalis jumps at the contact and yanks his fingers out so he can bat Prifma’s hand away, his other hand ripping the cardigan off his face.
…This is the first time they’ve ever actually laid eyes on each other, and Prifma’s fucking pissed.
Carnalis was older than him. Much older than him. But he looked as fresh and young as Divitiae, or Instrumenta even. Prifma wasn’t wizened by any means, but between the two of them it was clear which one of them was the Patriarch.
“P-P-P-Prifma!” Carnalis finally says, scrambling backwards on his bed so he can press himself against the wall.
“…Carnalis,” Prifma says with a slight tip of his head.
“T-To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Prifma says nothing. Carnalis watches the mattress dip as Prifma raises one knee, and then the other, and then crawls all the way up so that he’s between Carnalis’s legs again. Unable to last under such a strong gaze, he turns his head away and covers his crotch with the used cardigan, but Prifma pulls his wrist away.
“There’s no need to be ashamed. If you had told me about this earlier, we would’ve been the best of friends.”
Prifma pulls back the front portion of his hair into a quick bun and tucks whatever remains behind his ear.
“R-really, Patriarch,” Carnalis says. “You don’t have to disgrace yourself like this—“
“It’s hardly a disgrace. Do be quiet now.”
Before Carnalis can make any further objections, Prifma ducks his head down and swipes his tongue over Carnalis’s blue folds for a quick taste, then dives even deeper for another broad swipe that has Carnalis’s hips rising with the motion. Prifma’s mouth spreads into a grin as he holds Carnalis there, balancing the end of his clit on the tip of his tongue, then he sucks Carnalis in, hollowing his cheeks as he vacuums him up.
Carnalis whines, his voice echoing throughout the burrow as he has his first proper orgasm, and then another, and then another slipped in between the first two.
“Good?” Prifma asks after he pulls away.
Carnalis nods eagerly, his chest heaving as he slowly rides back down.
“Good,” Prifma says, his grin mischievous.
He had two open weeks in his schedule and he was going to use that time to acquaint his tongue with everything Carnalis could possibly offer.