AN: This was written for suteki renahh desu, who I secrelty idolize. It's my understanding that she's going through a hard time at the moment (though I could be wrong but that's what it currently states on her profile), so I thought I'd write a little Ronove/Battler for her. I sincerely hope that she feels better soon!
Everything truly was useless.
No matter what he did, no one would appreciate him. No one could. Battler was alone in this world, this Purgatorio, and no matter how hard he tried, no one ever thought highly of him.
That was his standpoint on the matter, anyway.
The time between his move and hers was spent reflecting; the utter hopelessness of his situation bearing down on him nonstop. While he had hope that he would one day save his family, not being able to see them outside the game was... depressing. He missed not being mauled during conversation.
The only one who didn't mindlessly slaughter him was the butler, Ronove. That was his saving grace. When he wasn't being downright flirtatious, he was pleasant company. Sometimes, he spoke too much, using big words that he didn't fully understand. But, over time, Battler got used to it.
After all, there was an effective way to stop him from talking. It never failed him. One brush of lips and the butler was a stuttering wreck—the sight was almost sickeningly endearing to him. At first, Battler only did it to cease the insufferable butler's tangents. It was quite obvious there was some sort of crush directed towards him, and he was willing to take advantage of that.
Once it became apparent that he truly was alone in Purgatorio, save Ronove, a strange form of attachment budded in his heart. The kisses they shared gradually became more honest, more passionate. Ronove had taken note of this and questioned Battler about it one day.
Battler didn't know how to explain it. How could he explain it? That he was the only one in this damned meta-world that cared about him, and that realization spurred his feelings? No, he felt that this was much deeper than the simple longing for another. That was as far as he got, for he startlingly began to cry during his repsonse, his cheeks flaring red.
It was useless, all useless. His situation was useless and his confused feelings were useless.
Before he could further abuse himself interally, he was wrapped in a warm embrace. Ronove was gentle, cradling Battler with such care that he felt himself snap, clutching the butler's shoulders and sobbing quietly into his collar.
And he held him. He held him for so long.
It was then when Battler realized the extent of his feelings.
He had fallen for this man. He had fallen for the only one in this twisted world who showed him any sort of affection.
The next brush of lips was tentative, almost shy. The kiss they shared was heated, Battler bringing his hands up to cup Ronove's jaw and diving his tongue into the other man's mouth. Their bodies were flush against each other, their individual need for each other growing apparent.
Clothes evaporated between them, the sensation of flesh on flesh overwhelming. Ronove, the more pent-up of the two, took Battler first—and then vice-versa, once it was clear that one go was not nearly enough. That day, the men held each other, both fully aware of the dangers their bond could bring.
They clung to each other. And came to see that maybe, just maybe, not all of it was useless.