I jolted awake, cheek stuck to the surface of the kitchen table. A sticky trail of drool mapped my journey into unconsciousness.

A damp patch bloomed across the front of my pajama bottoms. Gods! A full-blown wet dream. And I was married! To a real person! What if Levi saw this? The awkwardness of explaining a medieval king's gentle yet ultimately enthusiastic… visit. No, no, no. That conversation could never happen. I scrambled to my feet. My sleep-soaked clothes were shed in a frantic heap and shoved into the washing machine. I needed to be smarter than this. Evidence had to be erased. I flung open the drawers, grabbing an assortment of clothes, anything to bulk out the incriminating load. With trembling fingers, I slammed the washing machine door shut and started the cycle.

I threw myself into the shower. Maybe, just maybe, the deluge could drown both my conscious self and that surprisingly virile medieval version lurking in my subconscious. As the water pounded against my scalp, the burning question resurfaced, insistent and unsettling: why these dreams? What was the underlying cause of this bizarre historical erotica playing out in my sleep? It couldn't be purely base desire, could it? Was it about power dynamics? My own evolving relationship with Levi? Or was my brain just a deeply weird storyteller with a penchant for medieval romance… with a twist?

And the self-recriminations continued to mount. Because even in the fantastical realm of my subconscious, my less-than-stellar personality traits persisted. That same impulsive streak, that undeniable craving for attention… manifesting as secret, potentially treasonous correspondence with the royal Levi?What on earth was I thinking, engaging in clandestine letter-writing in a medieval court? The sheer audacity! What if I were to slip back into that dream, fully embrace that Consort role, with all its illicit power and stolen moments? The political machinations, the inevitable social fallout, the vicious whispers and outright insults from the scorned nobility… could I even handle that level of drama and hostility?

I emerged from the shower, the lingering heat a temporary balm to my troubled thoughts. Glancing at the clock, a jolt of disbelief shot through me. Nearly dinner time? Twelve hours? The fuck? I knew I was a deep sleeper, but this was bordering on hibernation. As I hastily dressed, Levi strolled into the master bedroom. He moved with his usual quiet grace, stopping behind me to gently press his nose into my still-damp hair. “You smell incredibly nice, my Pulla,” he murmured, his breath warm against my scalp, the familiar endearment sending a wave of… complicated feelings through me.

A strange dissonance settled within me. Levi's familiar touch, his gentle ministrations, usually a source of comfort, now felt… charged. Not unpleasant, but definitely… off. Bizarre. Like a familiar melody played slightly out of tune. He draped a soft towel over my damp hair, and he began to dry it.

“How was your day, Levi?” I asked, perhaps a touch too brightly, desperately trying to steer his attention away from my potentially betraying aura of… weirdness.

“The usual delightful chaos, my Pulla,” he sighed dramatically, a glint of dark amusement in his eyes. “I spent a considerable amount of time savoring my ice cream while crafting a series of particularly cutting, and I believe, rather original insults aimed at our now former Minister of Health. Apparently, the imbecile harbored the delusion that a simple resignation and a hasty attempt to flee the country would somehow liberate him from my… displeasure.” He finished drying my hair, his gaze now direct. “Alas for him, our diligent authorities have already unearthed the requisite, shall we say, compelling evidence for a thorough investigation, and have also thoughtfully arranged certain… impediments to his swift ‘departure’ via air or sea.”

Focus, Raphael, focus. Don't let the lingering echoes of royal nookie betray you. Just act normal. Nod. Make appropriate noises of sympathy for the soon-to-be-very-unhappy ex-minister. Don't fidget. Don't blush. Definitely don't start craving pink oil. Just… be present.

“Oh? Is that so?” I replied, trying to sound appropriately concerned and engaged, while internally giving myself a mental high-five for the successful deflection. “So… this ministerial vacancy… it won’t, you know, throw a spanner in the works of the currency change or the upcoming presidential election?”

Good job, Raphael. You are a master of subtle misdirection.

“Heavens, no, my sweet Pulla,” Levi chuckled. “Since we are, presidentially challenged at the moment, the members of the cabinet will engage in their usual charming display of parliamentary procedure – namely, shouting, flinging documents, and engaging in minor projectile warfare with writing implements – until a consensus, or at least a temporary truce, is reached regarding a new appointment. It is their little sandbox to play in, not my direct concern. I anticipate a new victim… er, minister… will be selected before the weekend commences, assuming they manage to exhaust their collective lung capacity and stationery supplies.”

“I’m certainly not shedding any tears over his departure,” I said with a touch of genuine satisfaction. “Now, how about we banish these political unpleasantries with some dinner, hm? I was thinking of ordering something for myself… and perhaps a small portion of mashed potatoes for you? You did mention you were… considering venturing into the world of non-ice-cream based sustenance.”

Nailed it, Raphael. Smooth as silk. No one would ever suspect the medieval royal rumble that just concluded in your subconscious.

Levi’s smile warmed his entire face. “Dinner does sound rather appealing, my dear Pulla. As for the… culinary experimentation… perhaps we can postpone that grand adventure until a slightly less turbulent time, hm? Just a little while longer, perhaps. But yes,” he agreed, leaning down to press a tender kiss to my cheek, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let us indeed have dinner.”

Crisis averted. For now. The mashed potato proposition remains on the table, a small victory in the ongoing war against Levi's monochromatic diet. Focus on the present. Dinner.

...

We settled onto the couch in the living room, the comfortable silence punctuated by the soft tapping of my fingers on my phone as I placed our dinner order. Then I saw it. A crinkle at the corner of Levi’s right eye. No, gods, please no. The thought of having to explain the medieval royal romance that had just played out in my subconscious, culminating in… well, shameful clothes washing, was enough to send a fresh wave of mortification through me.

“Hm…” Levi murmured. “I detect a… new topography around your eyes, my Pulla. A previously absent wrinkle beneath one, and a certain… shall we say, puffiness above. Did my dearest shed a tear during my absence?”

The man was a bloodhound for emotional distress. No. I had literally been unconscious for half the day, traversing the bizarre landscape of my subconscious where he was a surprisingly tender medieval monarch. Stop. Think. Say something plausible.

“Ah, no,” I said, trying for a casual tone that felt about as convincing as a chocolate teapot. “You know how it is when you leave for work. The silence becomes… oppressive. So, I simply indulged in a slightly extended morning slumber.”

“Ah… so my dearest Pulla found himself… unoccupied in my absence,” Levi mused, his gaze still a touch too probing for my comfort. “I comprehend. As you know, I did take the liberty of contacting that construction firm regarding the conversion of your current bedroom into a professional recording studio. However,” he added, his tone shifting to one of thoughtful consideration, “if you cherish your personal sanctuary and prefer to maintain its current function, we could certainly utilize the guest room for your creative endeavors instead.”

Play it cool. Guest room. Yes. Guest room is fine. Less… personal. Less likely to be imbued with the lingering… essence… of dream-Levi. Just agree. Quickly. Before he notices the faint tremor in your hands or the way you keep subtly shifting on the couch.

“Well, you know how it is,” I said, trying to sound practical and decisive. “We don’t exactly have a revolving door of houseguests, do we? So, yes, converting the guest room makes perfect sense. Plus,” I added, gesturing vaguely around the living room, “we do have… a considerable amount of clothing between us, and you know my penchant for collecting… unique trinkets. So, yes. Keeping my bedroom is definitely the more logical solution.”

Bravo, Raphael. A performance worthy of an award. Smooth, logical, and utterly devoid of any lingering medieval lust. The real Levi is right here. Focus on his perfectly normal, non-kingly demeanor.

“Hm… I understand perfectly, my Pulla,” Levi murmured, his warm hand cupping my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin as he leaned in for a kiss.

And that’s when the full-blown dissonance hit. His familiar touch, felt… wrong. Alien. A confusing wave of… aversion washed over me. I didn’t want to kiss him.

“L-Levi,” I stammered, “I… I don’t feel quite myself this evening. Could we… perhaps wait until after dinner?”

He withdrew his hand. “Of course, my dear Pulla. We can wait, or indeed, refrain entirely from anything that does not bring you comfort. But dearest…” His brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine. “Is everything truly alright? You were quite distressed after that nightmare this morning. Did perhaps another unpleasant dream visit you during your extended slumber?”

He’s so attuned… which makes lying to him feel ten times worse. Another bad dream? Technically, yes. A bad dream involving… him. Sort of. But definitely one that has left me feeling deeply weird and internally conflicted. How do I even begin to explain that? ‘Oh, you see, I had this incredibly vivid dream where you were a medieval king and, despite a rather awkward start, we ended up having surprisingly tender sex, and now your real-life kisses feel… off.’ Yeah, that’ll go over well.

“Not really a nightmare, no,” I hedged. “Just… feeling a little off, I suppose.”

“Is that so?” Levi murmured, his brow still creased as he reached out, his hand pressing against my forehead to gauge my temperature.

Why, did you choose physical illness as your flimsy excuse? You absolute moron!

“Hm… your temperature is indeed a fraction elevated,” Levi murmured, his brows knitted. Fuck. It wasn't fever causing this flushed face and lingering fatigue; it was the sheer mortification of a grown man experiencing a vivid medieval sex dream and the subsequent laundry incident. He then gently placed his fingers on my throat, applying a light pressure. “No swelling of the lymph nodes… your throat seems perfectly clear…”

Gods… please, any divine intervention would be welcome right now. Perhaps a sudden, urgent phone call? A meteor strike narrowly missing the living room?

“Perhaps a few cough drops, those with a generous dose of vitamin C, would suffice for now,” Levi suggested, his tone still laced with a hint of suspicion. “No need to resort to more… aggressive interventions, it would seem. At least, not yet. Do inform me immediately, my dear Pulla, should any other… unusual symptoms manifest.”

He's practically prescribing placebos because even he can't find anything genuinely wrong. He knows something is off.

“Levi…” I said softly, placing my hand over his. “I’m truly alright, okay? I just… slept a very long time. My brain feels a bit… foggy, that’s all it is.” I reached for the remote, my movements a little too abrupt, and flicked on the television, the sudden noise filling the slightly tense silence. “Let’s just… watch something while we wait for dinner, hm?”

That was a blatant deflection. Too quick. Too obvious. Fuck you, impulsive

real Raphael. You absolute idiot.

“Hm…” Levi murmured, his gaze unwavering as he tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his bare abdomen, his expression unreadable for a drawn-out moment. “You are, quite obviously, being less than forthcoming with me, my dear Pulla. However,” he continued, his voice softening slightly, “while I could certainly employ my… persuasive talents to extract the truth, I will refrain. For now. I choose to remain… willfully ignorant, and patiently await the moment when you feel ready and comfortable to share whatever it is that troubles you, Raphael.”

“Thank you, Levi,” I said, the relief washing over me in a small wave. “I appreciate you… not pressing. I promise, I will tell you everything when I feel… ready.”

He offered no verbal response. A fragile truce had been declared. The local news channel was dominated by a stark red banner scrolling across the bottom, a bold, urgent message imploring citizens to expedite the digitization of their finances amidst the ongoing currency reforms.

The doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of our much-needed distraction. A silent battle of rock, paper, scissors ensued. Predictably, Levi’s strategic prowess or perhaps my sheer awkwardness secured his victory. With a sigh of mock resignation, I retrieved the fragrant bags from the front door, the aroma momentarily eclipsing the lingering scent of… well, never mind. I returned to the living room to find Levi sprawled languidly on the couch, his usual sharp focus dulled by profound boredom as he passively watched the ongoing financial news.

...

Levi lay sprawled on the plush couch, his silken robe askew, a cup of bland mush precariously balanced on his pectoral muscle. Beside him, I was equally unrefined, shamelessly devouring a hamburger.

“Gods, Levi,” I exclaimed, a genuine laugh bubbling up. “What in the actual hell are you doing balancing your mush… on your pecs?”

Levi glanced down at his chest. “My dear Raphael,” he replied with a shrug, not even bothering to look at me. “At this moment, the arduous journey to a horizontal surface we designate as a ‘table,’ or even the complex motor skills required to accurately guide a utensil to my oral cavity, appear to be tasks of insurmountable effort. I am, for the time being, merely engaging in the efficient intake of necessary sustenance.”

Honestly, the man is such a dramatic creature, even in his laziness. But… it's also kind of endearing. At least he's finally relaxed. Just try not to picture medieval Levi doing… whatever it was he was doing… with quite the same level of 'efficient intake'.

“You are truly embracing your inner caveman at this moment, aren’t you?” I said, shaking my head but unable to suppress a fond chuckle.

“Please,” Levi countered without missing a beat, still focused on the news. “You are the one devouring that… slab of crimson flesh with such primal ferocity, one might assume you haven’t encountered a carbohydrate molecule since the dawn of time.”

“Well,” I said, a playful glint in my eyes, “at least I’m not relying on my pecs as a makeshift plate, Levi.”

“That, my dear Raphael,” Levi retorted, a smug smile finally gracing his lips as he glanced down at his plate, “is because you lack the necessary… anatomical architecture for such a feat.”

Asshole. But a lovable one, most of the time. My pecs are more decorative than functional. Still, the audacity! But yeah, that little smirk… it's hard to stay annoyed.

“Levi,” I groaned, surveying the battlefield that was now my lap and hands, smeared with rogue tomato juice and glistening grease. “I officially require another shower to de-grease and de-tomato myself.” I grabbed a handful of wet wipes, performing a cursory clean-up before tossing the soiled tissues onto the discarded food packaging. Levi was just opening his mouth, undoubtedly ready with another witty and —likely accurate— retort, when the chime of the doorbell cut him off.

A cold dread coiled in my stomach. It was one hundred percent a minister, and my money was on the persistent, boundary-challenged Minister Shaw. Levi had explicitly told him not to come this morning.

“I am going to incinerate Ascaria, Raphael,” Levi stated, his voice dangerously low and devoid of any playful tone.

“Just… unleash your most scathing verbal arsenal, Levi, darling, and try to refrain from any actions that might destabilize the entire nation, alright?” I muttered, wiping at a stubborn grease stain on my shirt. “Shit… I’m a mess, and you’re practically indecent…”

“My state of dress is irrelevant,” Levi snapped, his eyes blazing with icy indignation. “I explicitly instructed that insufferable leech not to darken my doorstep. This egregious disregard for my direct command is entirely his problem. Bring that vermin here, Raphael.”

From balancing mush on his pecs to full-blown royal fury in zero point five seconds. Gotta love the man's versatility.

I opened the front door to reveal a visibly haggard Minister Shaw. Good lord, the man looked like he’d aged ten years in the mere two weeks since our last… unpleasant encounter. His eyes were bloodshot, and his shoulders slumped with an air of utter defeat.

“Just a friendly heads-up, Minister,” I said, my tone devoid of any warmth. “Levi is currently… underdressed and rather incandescent with rage. So, you know… brace yourself.” I offered a nonchalant shrug. After his little stunt with the listening devices, my empathy reserves for Minister Shaw were decidedly depleted.

“Shaw!” Levi’s voice boomed from the living room, the sheer force of it propelling the already nervous minister forward. I followed at a more leisurely pace, settling onto the plush couch, perfectly positioned for optimal drama viewing. The scene unfolding before me was almost comical. Levi hadn’t bothered to adjust his attire. He remained sprawled on the couch in his underwear and loosely draped black silk robe, the picture of casual dominance. Minister Shaw, stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief, darting between Levi’s semi-naked form and his own impending doom.

“L-Levi…” he stammered, his gaze fixated on Levi’s chest. Yep. This was going to be good.

“What in the blazes is wrong with every single one of you?” Levi drawled, his gaze still fixed on the television screen, as if the ongoing news report was far more engaging.

“Levi… perhaps… perhaps you would be more comfortable… if you were to… to put on something more… appropriate?” Shaw stammered, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

“Oh, I assure you, Minister,” Levi replied, his voice smooth, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he finally turned his gaze to Shaw. “I can certainly remove everything, if that would make you feel more… at ease.” He then returned his attention to the television.

Pure, unadulterated Levi pettiness.

“No, no, please, don’t trouble yourself,” Shaw said, his hands fluttering nervously in front of him as if warding off the very idea of Levi disrobing further. “I just… Uh… Regarding the former Minister of Health… the news reports mentioned his resignation, and then the subsequent police presence at his residence… They even apprehended him attempting to flee at the airport… Did you… have any… involvement in that?”

“Indeed,” Levi replied, his tone utterly devoid of any pretense of innocence. “My exceptionally efficient secretary, of course, was instrumental in meticulously gathering the rather… compelling evidence. And thanks to your commendable decision to remain silent on certain… matters, we have successfully excised yet another festering boil from the body politic.” Levi’s gaze flickered towards Shaw. “A valuable lesson, wouldn’t you agree, Minister?”

Oh, the subtle art of veiled threats. He's not even raising his voice, but the message is crystal clear.

“So… that was what you were alluding to this morning…” Shaw ventured. “About ensuring the Minister of Health wouldn’t… dispose of any incriminating evidence before the authorities could intervene…”

“Indeed, Minister,” Levi confirmed, a hint of dry amusement in his tone. “How… perceptive of you to finally piece together the puzzle once the entire picture has already been assembled. Now then,” he continued, his gaze sharpening, all traces of amusement vanishing, “spare us both any further belated deductions. Speak plainly. What is the purpose of this unscheduled and, might I add, unwelcome visit?”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from NovelBin. Please report it.

Minister Shaw inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself for a plunge into icy water. “Levi,” he began, his voice regaining a sliver of its former authority, “the nationwide collection of the old currency is… progressing, with significant logistical hurdles. Our push for citizen digitization is also underway. However,” he continued, his tone becoming increasingly urgent, “the sheer scale of the operation, coupled with the impending presidential election, is creating a financial strain that threatens to bankrupt the national treasury. We… we desperately need to find a solution.”

“Nonsense,” Levi retorted, his voice sharp. “According to my projections, a complete fiscal collapse is statistically improbable. Furthermore, you utter imbecile, it requires a minimal level of cognitive function to comprehend that simultaneously executing a nationwide currency recall and navigating the financial complexities of a presidential election will, naturally, place a strain on the national reserves. The logical course of action, which I assumed was self-evident even to you, is to allow the election cycle to exert its… economic influence. Nationwide rallies, increased public spending fueled by the introduction of the new currency…” Levi paused, a manic grin spreading across his face. “Shaw… Shaw… tell me you haven’t been engaging in clandestine financial dealings with other sovereign nations. Tell me you haven't incurred… external debt?”

Shaw recoiled visibly, stumbling backward as Levi’s manic grin widened, revealing a flash of teeth. “No! Absolutely not! Never!” The denial tumbled out of his mouth in a panicked rush. Oh, thank the merciful heavens. If Shaw had indeed been foolish enough to incur international debt, Levi’s current fury would likely have escalated to levels involving actual fire and brimstone.

Levi rose fluidly from the plush cushions, his black silk robe whispering around him as he moved with a grace towards the visibly shaken Minister Shaw. He stopped just inches away, his presence radiating an almost palpable aura of controlled menace. “Shhh… Calm yourself, Minister, hmm?” He tilted his head. “Tell me truthfully, Shaw. Did you, in your infinite wisdom, indebt our nation to foreign powers? Hm? Be a good little vermin for me, and confess your transgressions, if any.”

“No! I did not! I swear on everything I hold dear, I did not incur any external debt!” Minister Shaw blurted out, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and desperation. “I… I was doing the calculations today, after the cabinet meeting, and the numbers simply don’t align. There’s a significant… discrepancy.”

Levi closed his eyes, taking a slow breath, then lifted his gaze heavenward as if seeking divine intervention. “You… you do comprehend that we are currently within the designated period for land and building tax remittances, yes? You utter buffoon. You neglected to incorporate that substantial revenue stream into your panicked calculations, didn’t you? Ugh…”

Gods… witnessing this level of sheer incompetence was likely shaving years off Levi’s life expectancy. At least Shaw hadn’t plunged the nation into international debt; that was a bullet narrowly dodged.

“Right, the taxes. Yes, of course,” Shaw stammered, attempting a weak smile. “It’s just… with the looming specter of the presidential election and the rather… pressing matter of the nationwide currency digitization… my team and I have been operating under immense pressure. I wished to bring this potential… discrepancy to your attention with utmost urgency, before it could escalate into a full-blown fiscal emergency. I was simply endeavoring to be… proactive.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods… sweet merciful Gods… Shaw, I implore you, seek professional help. Schedule an appointment with a reputable psychiatrist. Perhaps explore the therapeutic benefits of prescription cannabis. Your perpetually frantic state is not only exhausting to witness but was, in this instance, mere moments away from costing you what little dignity you still possess.”

“Levi,” I said, a genuine chuckle escaping me, “did you just… prescribe cannabis to a government minister?”

“Precisely, my dear Raphael,” Levi replied, a hint of a wry smile finally breaking through his exasperation. “The man’s internal metronome appears to be permanently stuck in overdrive. I could hear his frantic heartbeat echoing from the hallway. A touch of carefully regulated tetrahydrocannabinol might just be the only thing capable of coaxing him into a state resembling rational thought.”

A loud chuckle rumbled in my chest. Gods… was Levi actually exhibiting… consideration? Or perhaps a rare display of mercy towards the perpetually flustered minister?

“W-weed? Your… Levi… are you suggesting I… partake in illicit substances?” Shaw stammered, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and apprehension.

“I specifically said prescription cannabis, you utter simpleton,” Levi corrected, his tone laced with exasperated clarity. “It ceases to be an ‘illicit substance’ when administered under medical supervision for legitimate health reasons. Unlike, might I add, the socially acceptable yet equally detrimental addictions many responsible adults develop to nicotine or alcohol as coping mechanisms. Honestly, Shaw, get a grip. We haven’t even commenced the printing and nationwide distribution of the new currency, and you’re already exhibiting the physiological symptoms of a chronic cardiac arrhythmia.”

My God! Levi was… displaying a semblance of consideration towards another human being. I might actually shed a tear. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, this perpetually flustered minister had, against all odds, managed to exert a minuscule positive influence on my husband. A truly monumental occasion.

“Raphael, you… you understand, don’t you? This… this isn’t exactly standard protocol for managing stress, is it?” Shaw pleaded.

“Shaw,” I said, meeting his gaze, “you know what? Levi, in his own… unique way, was actually being sincere with you. While you certainly don’t have to explore cannabis if it makes you uncomfortable, please, for your own well-being, consider seeking professional help. Honestly, even in the short time since I last saw you, you look like you’ve aged considerably. Take care of yourself, Minister.”

Levi settled back onto the plush cushions, his earlier fury having morphed into a weary resignation.

“Well… I… I appreciate both of your… concerns. Perhaps a… a check-up wouldn’t hurt. But the election… the currency… it’s all so pressing,” Shaw mumbled, still looking rather overwhelmed.

“Enough,” Levi stated, his voice firm, brooking no further argument. “Go. Retrieve a bottle of decent scotch from the reserve in the glass cabinet and then depart. Furthermore, Shaw,” Levi added, his gaze sharp and unwavering, “let this serve as an unambiguous warning. The next time you choose to disregard my explicit instructions and appear unannounced at my residence, I shall greet you in a state of even greater… informality. Consider it a deterrent.”

“Thank you… for the scotch…” Shaw mumbled, clutching the bottle as if it were a lifeline. “But… I must inquire… is this… your standard attire for official cabinet meetings, Levi?”

“That cabinet,” Levi stated, his gaze still glued to the television, “certainly doesn’t warrant any semblance of decorum, considering we just excised a particularly putrid minister from our ranks this very morning. Furthermore, Shaw,” he added, his eyes flicking briefly towards the flustered minister, a hint of amusement dancing in them, “my current state of… undress might be precisely the dose of unexpected liberation your tightly wound existence requires. Now, cease your blatant ogling and remove yourself from my sight.”

The sheer multifaceted brilliance of Levi never ceased to amaze me. He could simultaneously deliver insults, issue threats, and offer mental health advice, all while clad in little more than his underwear and utterly engrossed in the news. What a truly singular individual.

“I-I wasn’t looking, okay?” Shaw stammered, his face flushing a rather unbecoming shade of red. I couldn’t help but cackle. The poor man was a walking, talking embodiment of anxiety.

Levi finally lifted his glacial gaze to meet Shaw's flustered eyes, and in that piercing stare, the message seemed to fully penetrate the minister's anxious mind. Shaw mumbled a hasty farewell, and then practically fled from our home, the bottle of scotch clutched tightly in his hand like a talisman against further semi-naked pronouncements.

“Levi,” I said, shaking my head with a fond chuckle, “your utter lack of shame has likely inflicted one of two outcomes upon poor Minister Shaw: either a sudden, unexpected bisexual awakening, or a deep-seated psychological scar that will require years of intensive therapy to unpack.”

“Well,” Levi purred, a smugly satisfied expression spreading across his face as he playfully patted his chest, “the man was rather fixated, wasn’t he? Clearly captivated by the sheer architectural marvel of these… plate-balancing structures.”

“Oh, you utterly shameless, incorrigible man,” I said, shaking my head in a mixture of bewilderment and genuine amusement. “Using your… ‘caveman attire’ as some sort of psychological power play?”

“Ah,” Levi purred, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “the next time Minister Shaw dares to darken our doorstep uninvited, he shall witness the true glory of authentic ‘caveman attire.’ Prepare yourself for a truly… primal display.”

“Wait, are you actually contemplating… fully exposing yourself to the Minister?” My eyebrows hit my hairline.

“My dearest Raphael,” Levi replied, a perfectly logical yet utterly shameless expression on his face, “this is our domicile, is it not? Furthermore, the man has already been privy to a rather… significant portion of my structural integrity. Why not offer a more comprehensive view? It’s not as if my recalcitrant frontal lobe has suddenly decided to bestow upon me the burdensome sensation of shame.”

“Please, do not start flashing government officials – or anyone, for that matter! And are you suddenly embracing exhibitionism as a hobby?” I asked, my voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Raphael,” Levi replied, his tone utterly matter-of-fact, “as I believe I articulated with considerable clarity some time ago, I possess absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever regarding anything remotely sexual. You are welcome to inscribe your initials upon my very epidermis should the inclination strike you.”

The sheer essence of Levi was reaching critical mass once more.

“No, I am not about to take a sharp implement to your skin. Please stop the dramatic pronouncements, Levi.”

“Ah, well then,” Levi said, a playful gleam returning to his eyes, “I have another proposition. What about a collar? You’ve adorned one before, but I have yet to experience the… sensation. It is surely high time I enlightened you to the exquisite power you unknowingly possess.”

Oh… Just like that unforgettable afternoon when he knelt before me, utterly submissive, just to capture that single photograph of me wearing that ridiculous crown… Ah, Levi… you magnificent lion. You possess an uncanny ability to dangle precisely the right kind of carrot in front of this particular rabbit.

“Alright,” I said, a thrill of anticipation coursing through me. “I’m in. Teach me.”

“Hm,” Levi mused, a playful smirk dancing on his lips, “while the natural oils from your… recent culinary endeavors might indeed offer a certain… lubrication, I believe it is time we both indulged in a thorough cleansing. Consider it… preparing the canvas for our artistic endeavors.”

“Oh, you magnificent bastard,” I said, rising from the couch with a newfound spring in my step. “Twenty minutes, Levi. Consider that the countdown until you find yourself wearing precisely what you suggested.” With a playful toss of my head, I turned and headed towards the bathroom, a genuine smile gracing my lips.

...

But… but the dream… No. That unsettling dissonance, was surfacing again. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to kiss Levi, didn’t want to engage in any intimacy with him… The thought felt… wrong.

A cold knot tightened in the pit of my stomach. The desire vanished. Just moments ago, I had been engaging in playful banter with Levi, eagerly agreeing to his suggestion. Why was this sudden shift occurring? I sank onto the edge of the bed, a dull throbbing starting behind my eyes, like a migraine triggered by the sudden stress and confusion.

Levi entered the master bedroom, his playful demeanor softening as he observed me sitting stiffly. He approached cautiously, reaching out a hand, perhaps intending a comforting touch to my forehead or cheek. I swatted his away before contact could be made. Shit. What in God's name had I just done?

“Raphael?” His usually smooth brow was furrowed, not in anger, but in genuine confusion. I remained silent, my throat tight. I couldn't bring myself to voice a refusal, not after my earlier eagerness. But my body was screaming a different answer, a resounding no. The throbbing in my head intensified. A wave of nausea washed over me.

“Dearest?” Levi asked, his usual playful energy replaced by a palpable calmness. I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his. My face, I knew, must reflect the turmoil within – a morbid pallor, and eyes wide with a visceral sense of dread that I couldn't explain.

Levi’s brow furrowed deeper, his confusion evident, but he took a step back from the edge of the bed. “Raphael,” he said, his voice gentle and reassuring, “there is absolutely nothing wrong with changing your mind. There is nothing wrong with rejecting me, with saying ‘no’ even after you’ve said ‘yes.’ You look to be in utter distress. Please, tell me what’s happening.”

Intellectually, a part of me still wanted him. Yet, my actions spoke a different truth. It felt as though my throat was choked with shards of glass, each attempted syllable an agonizing climb up a mountain.

“Would you prefer that I leave the room?”

Oh, Levi… even after my abrupt and rude rejection, even after I had physically pushed him away...

“I… am s-sorry…” I choked out, the words catching in my throat. My stomach cramped so sharply I folded at the waist. Levi moved to the stereo system across the bedroom, pressed a button, and a soft, calming melody began to weave its way through the tense silence.

Firmly, he took my wrists and guided me to lie down on the bed. I tried to pull away, to curl into myself. But he didn't allow it. Instead, he settled behind me, spooning my body. “Shh… Just focus on your breathing, dearest,” he murmured calmly. He released my wrists, and then, his warm hand settled on my aching stomach, beginning a circular rub.

“I… I honestly do not… know what came over me…” I managed to whisper.

“Dearest, it is alright. Truly. I will not press you to explain anything you’re not ready to share. However, if there is anything within my capabilities to alleviate this, to take care of whatever is troubling you, please, tell me.”

“Okay…” I began, taking a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m going to explain. This will likely obliterate the last remaining vestige of my pride, so please… be prepared. And Levi,” I added, my voice firm despite the tremor within, “if you so much as utter a single jest, I swear I will hunt down and eradicate every single one of your concealed snack stashes throughout this entire house.” I paused, gathering my courage. “I had a wet dream. It was about you. But… you were a king. And then I woke up. My… my pajamas were soiled. It felt utterly ridiculous. I feel deeply ashamed, and… and frankly, it felt strangely disloyal to… to the you who is actually here.”

Levi remained silent for a long moment, his hand still gently tracing circles on my stomach, seemingly processing the weight of my confession. Finally, he spoke, his voice thoughtful. “Hm… the shame you feel over a dream… that is the part that doesn’t quite align for me.”

“Because it was a wet dream, Levi,” I emphasized, a flush creeping up my neck. “I am a grown man.”

“No,” Levi corrected. “That is not what I meant. Why do you feel… that you were somehow being disloyal… because of a dream? A dream, something your subconscious conjured without your conscious control?”

Logically, it makes no sense. It was just a dream. My subconscious running wild. But the feeling… it was so real. More… traditionally… romantic? And then there’s my Levi, who threatens nudity as a deterrent and hoards snacks like a squirrel. I love him, fiercely. But the dream… it stirred something else. A different kind of longing, maybe?

“I… I think…” I began hesitantly, trying to articulate the tangled mess of feelings in my head, “it was… a more idealized version of you in the dream. That’s why it felt disloyal. As if I’m secretly expecting you to be someone different than who you are. Or… as if I’m not entirely content with the reality of us.”

Levi absorbed my words for a long moment.

“Is that not… normal, Raphael? Do partners always experience unwavering contentment with every facet of their spouses? Your moral compass shatters into a million pieces practically every time I open my mouth. And in return, I occasionally find myself fantasizing about the two of us unleashing a glorious symphony of hell upon this pale blue dot. But… that doesn’t negate the fundamental contentment I feel in our life together. Isn’t it… obvious that we cannot possibly be everything the other might, in some abstract sense, desire?”

He… he has a point. Contentment isn't about constant, breathless adoration. It's about the underlying foundation, the acceptance of the whole messy, contradictory package.

“Perhaps…” I mused, considering his words, “perhaps it’s simply a gentle nudge, reminding us that even within relationship that is unique as ours, there are still uncharted territories, unexplored avenues for connection and intimacy.”

“Indeed, my dearest,” Levi purred, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. “Just as your head spun with whenever I so much as smiled politely at my employees. But the fundamental truth remains, doesn't it? Neither of us can truly alter the core of who we are. You will forever be tethered to your unwavering moral compass, and I… well, I will continue my delightful dance along the amoral spectrum. Even your occasional enjoyment of my less-than-charitable remarks doesn't diminish your inherent goodness. Ah, Raphael, what a truly stimulating pillow talk this has become.”

“You logical asshole,” I muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Why must you always be right?”

“Hm…” Levi hummed thoughtfully, his hand ceasing its gentle rubbing as he shifted slightly behind me. “My dearest Raphael, while I am a divorced man, I rather suspect your romantic history predates mine by a considerable margin. Therefore, the more pertinent questions regarding relationship dynamics should perhaps be directed at your experienced self. Were your previous… entanglements, shall we say, somewhat less than nurturing? Did you perhaps find yourself unable to express your innermost thoughts and feelings with complete openness?”

He, the amoral wonder, is somehow creating a safer space for me than anyone before him. The irony is almost… comical.

It had been years – easily over two – since that particular brand of unpleasantness had even flickered in my consciousness. Let’s revisit the romantic misadventures of a younger Raphael, a thespian of… debatable talent, who foolishly entangled himself with another denizen of the entertainment industry. We shall christen that particular specimen of human garbage… Z. Gods, I was an insufferable attention seeker back then, even more so than now, if you can believe it. And Z? Z was not amused by my penchant for the spotlight. I thrived under the camera’s gaze; Z seethed with jealousy. Then, one glorious day, the simmering resentment boiled over. Z’s fist connected with my jaw. Fear not, my response was swift and targeted – a well-aimed kick to his nether regions. Self-preservation has always been a strong suit. But… Levi’s quiet observation now echoed with a chilling resonance. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the younger, more flamboyant Raphael had indeed struggled to express his authentic self, constantly navigating the volatile terrain of Z’s insecurity and my own craving for validation.

I recounted the story. As the details spilled out, Levi remained quiet, a stillness settling over him that I rarely witnessed. I could sense a shift, a subtle hardening in his demeanor. It wasn't anger directed at me, but something else… a protective possessiveness, a primal urge perhaps, beginning to simmer beneath the surface.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was a dangerous whisper. “Do you require a consultant villain, dearest?”

Oh, Levi. Leave it to him to process my trauma through the lens of… well, villainy. Part of me wants to laugh. But there’s also a strange comfort in his offer. A dark, twisted comfort, perhaps, but comfort nonetheless.

“Is that your new career aspiration now?”

“My dearest,” Levi murmured, his breath tickling my ear, “I already offer my… unique brand of consultation to the very fabric of this nation. Why not extend my expertise to matters concerning my beloved husband?”

Part of me is genuinely disturbed by the offer. The other part… the part that has seen him in action, the part that knows his loyalty is as fierce as his amorality… that part is almost… intrigued. Terrified, but intrigued. Gods, what has this man done to me?

“Alright, indulge my morbid curiosity,” I said, a shiver tracing its way down my spine despite the warmth of his body against mine. “Hypothetically speaking, what exactly would your ‘consultation’ entail?”

“Ah,” Levi murmured. “That, my dear, depends entirely on your specific needs and desires. I pride myself on being an exceptionally tailored consultant. However, since you ask about that particular… individual… if you were to entrust this matter to your husband, I would ensure that every single cell within his physical form, that insignificant collection of squishy meat and brittle bones he so carelessly inhabits, would reverberate with the agonizing echo of your name. No celestial intervention, no divine mercy. Only the terror of your name imprinted upon his very being.”

Well. That escalated quickly. That's my Levi. Utterly terrifying and yet… a strange sense of possessive warmth coils in my chest. He would. He absolutely would. And the devotion in that threat… it's almost… romantic?

“My curiosity is piqued,” I admitted, a slight tremor of apprehension mixing with the intrigue. “But… perhaps the details can wait for another occasion? Gods, Levi. This entire conversation has been a rollercoaster. It started with my mortifying wet dream, morphed into surprisingly insightful pillow talk, and has now somehow landed us in a discussion about your potential career as a consultant villain.”

Levi chuckled softly, a low purr rumbling in his chest. “A delightful tapestry woven with threads of embarrassment, unexpected profundity, and the occasional descent into delightful darkness. On a completely unrelated note,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “don’t you think I would be a remarkably effective consultant villain myself?”

Effective? He'd be terrifyingly effective. Ruthless, brilliant, and with absolutely no moral compass to get in the way. He'd probably have a network of informants that would make national intelligence agencies weep with envy, and his methods… gods, his methods would likely involve things I don't even want to imagine. And yet… there's a certain undeniable allure to the thought. He'd be my villain.

Gods. Has it finally happened? Has my proximity to Levi, finally corroded my own supposedly steadfast moral compass? Am I actually… aroused by the prospect of him being a "consultant villain"? Raphael, both of you, are absolute pigs.

“Only if I get to be your morally conflicted but ultimately indispensable sidekick,” I said with wry smile.

“A sidekick, you say?” Levi chuckled. “Oh, no, my dearest Raphael. Never a sidekick. You are my equal. Picture it: we would begin our days with a delightful breakfast at the pinnacle of our magnificent tower, our hands intertwined. Then, with my own… unique professional ethics, we would delve into the many delicious puzzles our discerning clientele would undoubtedly present.”

The man was practically vibrating with a leonine purr right against my ear, and a shiver, not entirely unpleasant, traced its way down my spine.

“Levi,” I said, a playful warning in my voice, though a smile tugged at my lips, “stop that infernal purring. I can practically feel the gears of your wicked mind turning.”

“But my dearest Raphael,” Levi said, his purr deepening, “you were just indulging in a rather… intimate fantasy involving a sovereign doppelganger of mine. Surely, you can’t begrudge me a little harmless amusement at the delightful ruin we could potentially unleash upon the world?”

The manipulative bastard had a point.

“Enough with the seductive whispers of villainy, Levi,” I said, a tired but fond smile in my voice. “Let’s just… sleep.”

“Hm…” Levi murmured, a hint of disappointment in his tone. He placed his warm hand over my eyes. “While I am admittedly wounded that my persuasive charms have failed to fully convert you to the dark side this evening, my little Pulla…” he paused, a note of confident anticipation entering his voice, “rest assured, that day will come. And when it does, the annals of this pale blue dot will forever bear witness to our glorious dynasty of utter ruin.”

The gentle weight of his hand across my eyes, coupled with the solid warmth of his embrace, was already beginning to pull me under. This treacherous body of mine, it seemed, was finding a strange sort of solace in his darkly alluring villainy. I could only hope that with the dawn, my moral compass would reboot itself and come back online, fully operational and ready to judge Levi's amoral tendencies once more.