113 » bloody teeth in my mouth when i smiled

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[It was a surprise to hear that stuffy old Zhongli had started a new research venture down in the Lental region, but Childe didn't think much of it, really. He'd honestly figured that he would just drop by for old time's sake. Sure, they both made their names and careers alongside each other, but after Zhongli earned his doctorate and Childe moved on to greener, better-paying pastures... well, they hadn't exactly kept in touch. He was planning nothing more than a short visit. He was planning to just be in and out. He'd say something nice and encouraging to Zhongli's new assistants, and then he'd be on to the next gig, the next award ceremony.

Instead, he keeps staying. He keeps putting off his departure, day after day. Childe's made a comfortable life for himself, staying down at the research camp with Zhongli and the twins. In the mornings, he helps prepare the things Aether needs for his exploratory ventures; in the afternoons, he helps Lumine processes the data from the photographs and plays with the Pokémon, who have all grown a little fat and indolent owing to Zhongli's general, well-meaning neglect of them.

It doesn't pay as well as it should, considering Childe's credentials and the fact that he might fairly be considered the world's most prominent contemporary Pokémon photographer, but Zhongli is an old friend, and the money's gotten old, really. Childe doesn't need any more money. He needs something fresh, and new, and maybe a little too young, but — eh, it's hardly a crime, now is it?

Something fresh and new takes the form of Aether, who is resting after a hard day of work in the Voluca Island volcanoes. He's lying on the bed in his room, scrolling through his camera, evidently reviewing the day's shots. Childe smiles; he has fond memories of doing the same, back when his camera wasn't half-smartphone and the film still needed to be developed in a darkroom.]

How's it going, comrade?

[Smiling, Childe makes his appearance, leaning in the doorway to Aether's room as he tips his head just so in the fledgling photographer's direction.]

Professor Zhongli showed me the photo you took of those two Volcarona today... Really great work!

Comments

[ironwind]

[Ajax "Childe" Tartaglia almost singlehandedly carved out the field that Aether is currently working in.

That would weigh on Aether a lot more if the man weren't currently wearing a pink apron and a stupid, simpering smile on his face, clearly having come to his room to call him down for dinner.

It wasn't as simple as meeting his idol. Idols are cute girls like Barbara or rock stars like Xinyan; Childe is a photographer, that's all, and sure, Aether is also a photographer, but his parasocial relationship with the man professionally known as Childe never amounted to anything more than admiring the work of a master in the field. Lumine's been teasing the both of them, he knows that; Lumine's told Childe that Aether used to keep the man's photographs on his bedroom wall growing up, which is true, but not as impactful as she's making it out to be. He just liked the photos. He tells himself that he just liked the photos.

He wishes it didn't feel so... so exhilarating when Childe says that he likes Aether's photos, too.]

Oh... that was okay. I think it needs a little editing before it gets published. Just to fix the lighting issues...

[His heart is racing in his chest, and he doesn't like it. Suddenly, Aether realizes that he's nervous, and not in a bad way. He's crawling with anticipation. He already knows — he has an inkling of what Childe really wants.]

I'm fine. Just tired. Is dinner ready?

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Sure is. Or it will be in fifteen minutes or so.

[Coming closer, Childe steps into Aether's room. It's impersonal, he notes; there's nothing on the walls, no particular decorations, nothing to indicate that it belongs to Aether save the boy's watch sitting on the bedside table. That's not surprising, of course, given that this room isn't really his; Aether arrived at the research camp only two weeks before Childe himself was called in. Still, it's a shame, he thinks. It wouldn't hurt for the fledgling photographer to loosen up a little, make himself at home. They'll both be staying here for at least the next six months, and Lumine's already settled in; she's got books and a potted plant in her room. A place for her Audino to sleep.]

You're too hard on yourself, buddy. It's okay to accept a compliment every once in a while, you know.

[He settles on the edge of Aether's mattress, although the brush of his apron against his knees abruptly reminds him that he's still wearing it. Smiling reflexively, self-deprecating towards himself if no one else, Childe reaches around his back and undoes the apron strings, crumpling the fabric up in his lap once it's off his shoulders. Stays like that, for a minute: gentle and loving and responsible, just a man come to care for his young protégé.

Childe maintains that polite distance for just another moment before he leans in and gently brushes a stray hair out of Aether's eyes.]

We're having stew tonight. You like that?

[ironwind]

[It's not as though Childe does anything special. He tells himself that Childe hasn't done anything special. And yet, even so, the sight of the man's arms flexing as he reaches around his back to untie his apron — the gentle roll of his shoulders, the slight bob of his Adam's apple in his throat when he stretches just subtly while taking the stupid apron off — all of it makes something in Aether's mouth water, and he wishes desperately that it didn't. If only his heart could stop racing every time Childe leans closer, leans in. If only he was less of a goddamned fool.

He thinks — he has the sneaking suspicion — that he's only being used. And yet, even knowing this, he lets a small sound escape his throat when Childe's fingers brush through his bangs. It sounds too much like a Liepard's purr.]

You've got a lot of nerve pretending that you just want to make sure I've eaten.

[His voice is dangerously light and feather-soft.]

Did you ask about dinner like that because you want me to say that I like it?

[He sets his phone down on the mattress, careful and deliberate. He rises to a sitting position, his hungry mouth nipping at Childe's fingers.]

You want me to say that I like it a lot?

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[At that remark, Childe only smiles, leaning closer until the weight of his body is resting in Aether's lap, and his arm is pinning the boy to his bed, sealing off all hope of escape.]

You really have such a dirty mind.

[Well — he can't deny that there's a little element of truth to what Aether's accusing him of. He can't deny that he came here for this, to be able to sit astride and straddle the lithe little body underneath his, or that they've been doing this nearly every day, and at the most inopportune moments ever since Childe's arrival. If they're filthy, they're mutually so. Corrupted down to the marrow, sin creeping all the way into their bones.

A lifetime ago, he might have felt some guilt about it. Some sense of innocence was valuable to him, once upon a time, when he cared about virtue and fragile dreams. But he's spent too long at the top of his world. He's grown bored and disinterested in the accolades, the awards, the smiles, the applause. This, right now, with a boy who is every inch a mirror of his past self — this resonates so much more in his teeth and his tongue than the endless dance of photography receptions and gallery openings.

When Aether opens his mouth to welcome Childe's fingers past his lips, the man seizes upon the opportunity, thrusting his fingers (clean, of course; he just finished preparing dinner) into the young photographer's mouth, slipping and sliding against his eager tongue.]

Not nearly as dirty as this mouth of yours, though, huh?

[He shifts his weight, hungrier now, and letting it bubble to the surface. His thighs are weighing Aether down, holding him to the bed, and when he settles, he lets himself be heavy. He's learned by now that Aether — not unlike a wild Pokémon, maybe — likes to be captured.]

Or this body. Remind me: which of us got caught masturbating in the other's room again?

[Professor Zhongli must be just downstairs, poring over his research; Lumine must be helping him sort the day's photographs and put everything in its proper place. And here Childe and Aether sit together, too quiet, each eyeing the other with the intensity of a battle. It's all well and good. They won't be quiet for long.]

You wanted me that bad? And only a day after we'd met, too. You're such a needy slut.

[ironwind]

[Childe's body is heavy on top of his own, but Aether likes that. He likes a lot of the things that Childe has taught him, that he's learned ever since he came here. Be conscious of your surroundings. Timing is everything. It's easier to get fucked silly if you just relax.

Feels better, too, if you stop worrying about how you look and just let yourself go.

It's true. It was his fault. He was the one who got caught jerking himself to the lingering scent of Ajax's hair against his pillow, but it wasn't as though — well — maybe there's no point making excuses for it. He did do it, he'll admit to that, but at the time, it had been less about Childe himself and more about Aether's own needs. He's young, he's in his teens, he's hormonal, and he suspects the Professor and Lumine are getting a little too close for comfort (not physically, but emotionally, and he's being left out of the picture) — so when the closest thing he's ever had to an idol stepped off the plane and turned out to be more attractive than Aether had ever even thought to imagine...

How was he supposed to resist?]

You like that I'm a needy slut.

[What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to think? He'd never even imagined that the legendary photographer Tartaglia was a young man only a few years older than he was. A young, handsome man, with tawny ginger hair and piercing blue eyes and — and Aether had just wanted to be fucked, really, more out of a twisted instinct than genuine desire. Ajax's personality wouldn't have made too much of a difference. Aether's just at that age where he fantasizes easily and could do anything with anyone.

But Childe was kind, and he was patient, and he smiled easily — and it had only taken a day for Aether to decide that he wanted the man physically. He'd really only thought, that time, that he'd just jerk one out and move on with his day. That he'd just indulge himself in the fantasy of physical attraction, and then roll on over to the NEO-ONE and go off to do his work for the rest of the night.

Instead, Childe had come in, paused only briefly to take in the sight of Aether bent over his pillow and rocking into his own hand — and then he'd smiled like a Nickit with prey in its mouth, and locked the door behind him.

Tempted and tamed now, talking around the fingers in his mouth, Aether slowly lifts his tongue, using it to tease and tantalize Ajax's clean fingertips. He sucks gently, nips a little bit; he knows by now that that's just what Childe likes. The hunger in the boy's movements belies the way he'd like to have more than just Childe's fingers past his lips.]

You're the one who taught me to do things like this...

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[Aether really is such a dream come true.

Childe's eyes darken; something indescribable inside of him burns with hidden need. It isn't as though he doesn't know that this is dangerous, or that this could end up with him in a jail cell, counting out his paces as he prowls the bars of his cage. It's just that the reckless desire seems to outweigh the risks — that the temptation of this boy, barely legal and irresistible for it, is quickly destroying Ajax's capacity for reason. He's done everything right, so far. He's a perfect son to his parents, a perfect brother to his siblings. He's the most renowned, most successful photographer in his field of research.

Why shouldn't he do something bad just once?

So Childe swallows with unbridled lust as he looks over the soft pink tongue that's working between his fingertips, tickling his digits until Aether's slipped his lips past one knuckle and is sucking gently on Childe's middle finger, promising attention for something else later. Promising anything Childe could want. The older man can't help but shiver as he thinks of the things he's already made Aether do, on his knees and behind the kitchen counter, with the boy's own twin sister well within earshot.

He's living a dream right now, getting any damn fantasy of his fulfilled by an ethereally beautiful boy on a near-deserted set of islands, and despite all the luck he's had throughout the years, all the perfect shots he's captured and all the gorgeous vistas he's seen, he thinks this might be the one thing he's truly grateful.

And doesn't that make him sick?

Sick as a stuffed Miltank, maybe; sick as a bloodthirsty criminal; sick as the wet abyss of the deep blue sea. His breath slowly starts to come quicker as he watches Aether lavish his fingers with attention, and then he decides that the wet, warm sensation at his hands isn't enough. He needs something else. He needs more, and isn't it just perfect that Aether's already proven that he'll give Ajax everything he needs?

Growling softly in his throat, Childe loses his patience, removing his fingers from Aether's mouth so that he can stuff them down his student's sweatpants, using all that wet slick to get him nice and hard if he isn't already.]

That's right. And I'll teach you even more tonight.

[His fingers form a ring, cinching loosely as he pumps Aether with thorough persistence; his mind is racing as he settles on all the filthy things he wants to do, though he hasn't forgotten that they only have a few minutes for a quickie before he drags his sweet paramour down for some delicious soup.]

Say... tell me that you love me, sunshine.