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The museum’s bigger than Ezreal expected. He’s never thought of Noxus as being some bastion of culture and certainly not the sort of place to have an interest in the artifacts of the past - besides military ones, maybe, that they can use to encourage their children to be soldiers.
He’s not lost. He’s definitely not lost. He passed up accepting one of those maps of the wings at the reception desk because who needs a map for a place like this and there is no way that Ezreal’s doubting that decision now.
The columns are nice anyway. Fine example of Shuriman reliefs carved into them too. Maybe–
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The loud, antagonistic question interrupts his musings and when Ezreal turns slowly, he sees the last person he would’ve expected (or wanted) to meet.
Talon.
Of course.
Of course it’s fucking Talon. It’s too much to ask that he could just visit a fucking museum in Noxus in peace without running into the one Noxian he hates above all others.
“I’m visiting,” he answers, then jabs his finger in Talon’s direction. “What are you doing here? Looking for something to steal?”
Typical. Like Talon would even know what’s worth stealing. He’d probably just go for the jewelry and leave all the really good old stuff that collectors love behind.
“No. I’m guarding it. I’m supposed to keep out suspicious people.” Talon’s gaze rakes over Ezreal, vivid crimson eyes taking him in scornfully and the curl of his lips is maddeningly familiar.
(There was a time that whenever Talon smirked like that, Ezreal kissed him just to feel the smirk soften into a surprised smile under the pressure of his mouth but the time for kisses is long past over.)
“You’re looking pretty suspicious. Even if you’re too pathetic to be a real threat, you still might decide Noxus doesn’t deserve to have such treasures,” Talon informs Ezreal.
The short, sharp laugh that leaves Ezreal’s lips is followed by a disdainful toss of his head as Ezreal starts to walk right past Talon. Fuck him. He isn’t going to stay here and trade taunts with Talon. He’s over Talon.
“Whatever. Guess it’s a good thing they demoted you to a guard. You’d probably get yourself killed if you tried to keep going on missions after you lost your touch,” Ezreal mocks as he passes by, fluttering his fingers in goodbye. Maybe it isn’t nice to rub the fact that Talon had been captured by the Demacians in his face but Talon’s a Noxian. Ezreal has wasted too much time being nice to him already.
There’s no time for him to react when Talon grabs him and slams him into the wall. One second he’s walking, the next he’s pinned and staring into those familiar crimson eyes. Ezreal used to love Talon’s decisiveness, how quickly action followed thought but now, all he can think is that Talon has no right to manhandle him.
“What, can’t come up with a smart remark so you’re just resorting to violence? Typical,” he snarls and azure power sparks around his gauntlet. He’s not sure if he’s going to shoot Talon or just shift out of his grasp but he’s not going to stand for this. He’s not Talon’s to hold, he’s not Talon’s to –
Talon’s mouth smashes down brutally against his and Ezreal’s thoughts falter before vanishing entirely. Instinct takes over and he bites back out of outrage (how dare he, how dare he, does Talon really think that Ezreal is just going to melt and pretend nothing happened?) but Talon’s laugh vibrates through him and Ezreal remembers too late that Talon likes being hurt. Too late, too late, it’s too late to make amends, too late to go back to what they were, but Talon’s blood is on his tongue and Talon’s tongue in his mouth and Ezreal’s hands are in Talon’s hair now, yanking viciously at the dark locks.“
You’re a terrible guard,” he tries to tell Talon but with Talon kissing him, it just turns into muffled sounds that sound far too much like moaning.
“I hate you,” he tries to say but with Talon’s body pressed up against his, Ezreal’s remembering just how good sex with him was when they were both angry.
“You fucking Noxian,” he tries to hiss but Talon’s weight against his is so familiar and Ezreal’s furious that his body’s responding to the pressure of Talon’s body against his but all the anger in the world doesn’t stop him from getting hard.
When Talon pulls his mouth away, Ezreal’s panting and dark-eyed, lips swollen and slick with spit. Talon’s always had a way of rendering him breathless, ruthless and sure in a way that was as erotic as it was Noxian. He can’t find any of the hateful words he muttered against Talon’s mouth, not when Talon gives him that smirk and then drops to his knees.
“Talon–” It’s meant to be a warning, a complaint, but when Talon unzips his trousers and kisses Ezreal’s cock through his boxer-briefs, it turns into a plea instead. Ezreal grabs Talon’s hair again and pulls hard, hate and hurt mingling in an odd ache in his chest.
How can Talon do this? Is this all Talon ever fucking wanted from him? Is this all Ezreal was ever good for in Talon’s eyes?
Part of him wants to just close his eyes and enjoy it, tell himself that Talon’s the one that’s desperate and demeaning himself. The rest of him remembers the contempt in Talon’s eyes and aches to think of Talon knowing he can have Ezreal anytime he wants even if Ezreal hates him. He shifts away and tucks himself back in with shaking hands, staring at Talon’s bowed back. On his knees, facing the wall, Talon almost looks like he’s awaiting execution.
Ezreal obliges and kills Talon with his words.
“I don’t want you anymore.”