138 » can't seem to stop being so hard on myself

[ironwind]

[Sure, maybe Aether can't say he's only human, but he does have needs. He has human flaws. It's nothing that he can't put off, or which would ever take precedence over more important things, but his days aren't always packed with peril and danger. Paimon isn't always hovering over his shoulder. And... occasionally... it's fair to say that he isn't always an entirely selfless person.

He's not ashamed of the act itself, but sometimes he's ashamed of how he goes about it. Long ago, when it was just him and Lumine hurtling through the nebulous darkness of different worlds and times and spaces, and he could get a moment to himself, anyone would do — he would fumble his belt loose in the sparse minutes he had to bathe without her and jerk himself to vague and unspecific thoughts of someone's hand on his cock, someone's mouth teasing his thighs. Always men (which felt like some kind of error in his design) and mostly faceless. It didn't matter who it was. He just wanted the fantasy, and after that, he just wanted to come. Once he was done, he'd clean himself up, put himself away, zip up his pants again and get back to being who he was supposed to be.

Now, here, in Teyvat, anyone will do, but in an even uglier kind of way. Aether hates it about himself. The problem with growing closer to others is that it's made his needs more specific: generally speaking, he'll pick anyone, anyone he knows, furiously get off to the thought of them, and then have to act as if he's never done anything blameless the next time he sees them.

It started, he thinks, in Mondstadt; yes, surely it's all Kaeya's fault, the way that man carried on, touching and teasing and whispering in that breathy voice of his — but then later, after the Stormterror problem had been dealt with, the heat of Diluc's palms on his shoulders had lingered in ways Aether couldn't forget, and the first time he'd come to the thought of one of his companions it was to the fantasy of Diluc slamming him against one of the luxurious beds in the Dawn Winery and fucking him with that furious fervor that came over him while dispatching his enemies. Later on, in Liyue, Zhongli's deep voice sent tingles through him that he just couldn't stop thinking about as he fingered himself quietly in the wilds of Mt. Hulao; even Childe lit some sort of flame in his waking fantasies, the thought of him grasping Aether's waist with just one of those clawed Foul Legacy hands. On the Alcor, Kazuha had shared a drink with him beneath the stars and spoke of effortlessly lovely things, and though Aether had gone back to his cabin on the ship afterward, he'd jerked himself to the thought of what other pretty things Kazuha could do with his lips, and —

The guilt eats at him in waves.

Doesn't stop him from doing it, though.

Today, he's booked a room at the Wangshu Inn, and of course, normally he'd never be so careless. Normally, he'd remember the promise that Xiao made to him. But what emboldens him is the fact that Verr Goldet implies — with a touch of dismay — that Xiao won't be around. He doesn't quite catch the explanation; demon activity somewhere, perhaps, or some other adepti business? The inn is suspiciously devoid of customers for once, too: he and Paimon are to be given the luxury of separate rooms for the price of one, and that... that is what makes him a touch too bold.

He thinks of Xiao as he palms himself, because the air at the Wangshu Inn always makes him think of Xiao: crisp and tranquil, with just a hint of something acerbic in the whiplash whirling of the wind. He'll feel awful about it later, but the fantasy is this: maybe Xiao, with his inwardly servile nature, wouldn't refuse him anything. Maybe Xiao would submit. Oh, the way the adeptus would look between his legs with those catlike yellow eyes — maybe he'd tuck one of those long strands of hair behind his ear before lowering his mouth, and his shoulders would flex, all cordlike muscle underneath that tight white top —

Aether isn't terribly loud, all things considered. His voice is soft and fragile; his moans and gasps aren't loud enough to wake Paimon in the next room, deep sleeper that she is. But then, an adeptus only needs a whisper, a voice in the dark...]

Mmngh — ngh, yes, right — there — ah, Xiao —

Comments

[lemniscatus]

( ah, xiao--a sound that whispers at him across the wind, the gasp of it almost like someone losing their breath, and who else would call for him, at this hour? when he'd made the promise, more of a vow than anything else, he'd told the traveler precisely what to do: to call for him, however soft, however loud, and he would be there, and he would save him from whatever struggle plagued him, or bring him whatever he needed to be content. a promise that, truth be told, he hasn't made for anyone else except, of course, the one who freed him; but then again, morax hadn't needed him to promise anything except his loyalty to the city, which, of course, xiao had taken as his loyalty to the creature himself. perhaps that is his folly, in the end--overzealous, trying desperately to be part of something other than the agony and guilt that engulfs the hours he spends hunting demons and their shadows, trying to find a place for himself in two lives that are already so full of other, more pleasant things that they brim with them, spill over the sides like bubbles of foam or milk.

but that voice--it haunts him, the sweet melody of it, and true to his vow, he comes when he's beckoned.

it isn't that he has to leave something too terrible behind, after all, as he's fallen into the hours of the night where he's left to simply monitor for signs of disturbance, rather than dealing with them outright; the meeting earlier with ganyu had been short and succinct, and he even feels, dare he say it, a perverse sense of relief that the traveler is actually calling for him, instead of being left to his own devices. many nights he's closed his eyes and listened for the hum of that voice over the currents of the breeze--and many nights he's been disappointed, both in the lack of it and in his own desire to hear it call for him. what could aether possibly need? what can he help with, now?

the place that he warps to isn't anywhere he expects aether to be: with some surprise, he recognizes the dark corners and lacquer-polished wood furniture inside a room at the wangshu inn, the candles dim, the covers splayed out and messy. perhaps the traveler is plagued with nightmares, too: perhaps all he needs is a comforting hand to brush back the way his bangs stick to his forehead in a nervous sweat, a friend to sit at the bedside and soothe him back to rest. he considers it, even as he meticulously takes in the details of the room--yes, aether is in bed and yes, he's sweaty, beads of it at his temple, running down to his jaw. a step forward, pivoted out of the pocket of space that he emerges from, finds the floor creaking beneath his weight: a voice, quiet but warm, pleased with itself: )

You have called for me, traveler?

( --but all wrong, when he takes another step and sees where aether's hands dip down, where the fabric's been pulled away and he's left there, clutching at himself, his fingers tight around the hard length of his--

abrupt, and so unlike himself, he scrambles backwards, and it's clumsy: his heart hammers in his chest, and he feels just as embarrassed of his own misinterpretation as of the fact that he wants to watch this very human occurrence, as though it's something that he's pictured, maybe, or no, it's just--curiosity, for the sake of knowledge, or--what is he--

a swallow. he steadies himself but stands there, at a distance, his arms tense at his sides, like he can't quite fight the urge to launch forward to the bed anyway, but manners dictate he stay where he is, like an animal yearning to be beckoned but not trusting that it will be. )

[ironwind]

[Really, if Aether saw the adeptus at all before he heard him, he would feel bad. He would feel terrible, to see Xiao saunter forward, somewhat birdlike in his puffed chest and quiet pride, all innocent intentions, expecting some mundane request or perhaps a grand adventure. Instead, he finds the sin of it, the shame of it, the sweat and the secrecy and the terrible truth that Teyvat's wayward traveler is only a man with ordinary human lusts after all. If Aether knew what Xiao wanted, he would have to feel like a monster — yet another demon to be banished.

As it is, however, he doesn't even hear Xiao's first remark, that harmlessly curious question, so full of hope and ingenuity. He only hears Xiao once the adeptus has stumbled back in surprise, and then Aether jolts up in the bed where he was curled onto his side, expecting a wild animal or an enemy perhaps, only to find —]

Wha — Xiao?!

[The traveler doesn't yell, of course. He hisses. His voice pitches up into a scandalized whisper. He's terribly close but he doesn't finish, the movements of his wrist over his cock ceasing immediately once he realizes that the man he's been fantasizing about is in his room,]

I...

[There's nothing he can do to hide the slick wetness between his legs, the rosy red flush of his erection. Somehow his body manages to find more color for his cheeks and his ears as he blushes a furiously embarrassed color. Somehow his traitorous erection has not yet stopped jutting up between his thighs. He brings one hand over his mouth as he stammers, as if to preserve some sense of modesty despite the fact that he's only clad in the inn-provided silk pajamas, and his pants have been rolled down to his knees.]

I can explain.

[No, he can't. There's nothing to explain.]

[lemniscatus]

( it feels only natural--and yes, he knows that this is wrong in the way that it is wrong, in some respects, to bathe with others that one has no intention of bedding, something that has changed over the years and years that he has been alive, as though humanity has lost some of that natural camaraderie that comes from communal baths, even between the genders--that his gaze will follow, of course, aether's movements, and that his gaze will be drawn, guiltily, to where the sheets bunch up around his--well, it feels natural, yes, but also impolite to even be thinking of it, to be wondering how it feels to be so tense, like that, to be teetering over the edge of some kind of release. he's no stranger to that feeling--to the weight that falls off his shoulders with battle, when the field clears and there is nothing left but those small, wispy trails of dark energy, when he's able to look up and see fireflies, instead of monsters.

but this sort of release? it isn't something that he's thought about often, or something that he has even thought to pursue, except in those moments where it becomes inevitable. the body wants, craves, needs what it needs, but humans seek it out greedily, at times, as though desperate for one last connection, for something warm and weak to flutter over them like a thin, well-worn blanket.

his gloved hand reaches to steady himself: it touches the smooth, lacquered surface of one of the side tables. the vase on it rattles. he takes in a breath: then another, and another still, and forces his eyes out of aether's lap. )

There is no need. ( he's never felt like this--so, well, embarrassed, that it forces heat up the back of his neck, makes him fidget in discomfort. frowning, he forces himself to stand upright again, to take a step forward and then stop there, still a safe distance from the bed, like he doesn't want to crowd him. ) This is a natural occurrence. I did not mean to interrupt.

( --which is the truth, of course, and where he should force himself away, disappear into the smoke and excuse himself from this personal moment that he has intruded on. but he's--greedy, in some ways, desperate for recognition or to be something of use to the traveler, though his face doesn't betray this, stays smooth as a mask. )

May I assist?

( said by anyone else, it would be ridiculous, even teasing, or some sort of insult. said by xiao: it is determined and earnest. )

[ironwind]

[May I assist, Xiao asks, and it's at that moment that Aether decides reality has collapsed in on itself, and he now lives in a world of his own pornographic creation.

Because: there's no way. What are the odds that the very same person he wanted between his legs is now, in fact, offering to slip into his sheets and offer him everything he's been dreaming of? And the flush that rises to Xiao's face, adds some life to his untouchable porcelain skin — it only drives Aether's fantasies to even more unspeakable lengths. Natural, Xiao calls it, when he had every other right to sniff disdainfully and chalk this all up to pathetic mortal lust. Aether feels like he's won some sort of lottery.]

You... you want to? [He's never felt so dumbfounded, so stupid. The red of his cheeks only rivals the red of his leaking cock. He moves hastily to clarify, just in case Xiao misreads his wide-eyed bewilderment for something closer to horror:] Because I — I think I'd like that.

[He'd more than like that. He thinks that Xiao might like that too, though before this, he'd never thought to lure the adeptus into his bed. The traveler isn't stupid: he has at least some sense of how much Xiao likes him, although Aether is under the impression that it's just because he's useful, or sensible, or makes the pain from his karmic bonds go away. But to actually be with him, to spend a night with him...]

But I wouldn't want you to... feel pressured or anything...

[The way his hand curls around himself, greedily keeping his arousal on the edge, says more than his words possibly can.]

[lemniscatus]

( that, at least, earns a scoff, something soft and minute: )

You do not pressure me into anything.

( because he shouldn't be able to, right? this is a point of pride for him, however misplaced it may be; even if the traveler calls for him, asks for help or wants assistance in ways that are not exactly what he'd intended when he'd made the offer, even then, the ability to show up or to keep him waiting is purely his own. the decision to offer himself like this, too, is his own--while he isn't entirely certain of aether's mortality, there is much of him that smells and talks and acts like a human, the way that they get wrapped up in their emotions, the way the traveler feels for people, feels for things, despite being not being something native to the land. there are parts of him that resonate with this city, and the cities beyond; that is what makes him so fascinating, at times, and what makes him, in the same breath, seemingly untouchable.

so to be invited in, like this? even if the look that aether gives, at first, is one of abject horror--he brushes that off easily, forgets it as quickly as he closes his eyes, steadies his gaze before opening them again. this is not something that comes easily to him--this is not the same as being summoned to a battlefield, where his hands might find his spear and drive it, without thinking, into the face of the first enemy he sees.

this is, to put it plainly, sheer intimacy: something that he's terrible at.

but the movements, at least, are the same. he stalks his way forward to clear the space between himself and the side of the bed, reaches down a deft hand to draw the covers back, fully, to let them fold at the end of the bed, exposing the slender length of aether's legs, the dip of his waist, the line of his arm down to where his hand grips at himself, holding it firmly as though to maintain the shape. unabashed, his gaze falls down the length of aether's body, calculating; and then a knee dips into the bed, and then his weight presses into it, and then he's sitting there, poised on folded legs, one hand braced over aether's closest knee while the other dips down to shadow his hand.

his palms feel like they're sweating, but it's hidden, beneath the cool silk of his gloves. )

What have you imagined? ( the glow of his gaze moves up, finds aether's face, settles on it almost longingly. ) Tell me of it.

[ironwind]

[Xiao moves like he's in battle, which means that Aether sees none of the internal strife, the inner struggle. What he sees is the yaksha prowling forward, feline and predatory, calculating, unhesitating. And maybe he's only guilty of seeing what he wants to see — but what he sees makes his whole body snap to attention. Makes something like hunger and salt hit him like a blow to the back of his teeth where his saliva starts to pool in his mouth.

Xiao moves, and Aether finds himself desirous beyond all reason; he swallows down his greed, but can't hide the pang of avarice that crosses his features, all the same.]

I... I was thinking of you, just now.

[Well — that much is clear from the way he called Xiao's name. (How could he have forgotten? Stupid, so stupid —) Shivering slightly, the traveler allows his sullied fingers to rest lightly atop Xiao's armored knuckles, applying just the barest hint of pressure to guide his hand. An up-and-down motion, he means to suggest. It's probably Xiao's first time doing this, and he isn't going to ask for too much too soon; he's not so lost in his fantasies as to think that Xiao has any idea how to go about this at all.

But to guide him, to anchor him —]

I was thinking of the way you'd look... if you used your mouth to pleasure me.

[lemniscatus]

( there's a wandering nature to his gaze, to the way his eyes flicker, glance up at the headboard and then at the pillows that rest beneath aether's golden hair; his eyes move like a hummingbird, impossible to pin down, impossible to stop for fear of losing the thread of life entirely. a drop, then, his gaze traveling along aether's chest, then up again to his neck and then, for a long moment, to the shape of his mouth as he says the words. then, briefly, to where his hand is encouraged. he knows better than to ask if he should, or worse, to ask for permission--the body language, for now, is all that he needs to proceed. it would be worse to ask for help; that would come with implications that he doesn't want to have questioned. things like do you know what you're doing or have you ever done this before--things that he would be loathe to admit to the traveler for fear of losing face.

aether's hand feels so soft, atop his knuckles, a heat that permeates through the material of his glove; at first, he thinks his grip is likely too hard, the instinct to squeeze in around the shape of his polearm making it a small jerk of pressure before he loosens. then, idly, he lets his palm give up the length of aether's cock and back down again; he's easily instructed, at least, can follow orders readily and willingly.

it's the rest of it that makes him uncertain. )

You've had others do this to you before.

( it doesn't sound particularly angry, or even annoyed--it doesn't even sound as though he's jealous, though he can feel a small thread of that work into his chest in worry. no, a creature such as he should not feel something like that, something wickedly human and decidedly useless--he is here to serve his purpose, not to wrap his own heart around his actions as though it could feel anything at all.

steadily, his hand works: up and down, from tip to base, a firm, even pressure that rolls together with the rhythm.

he tries it again, questioning: )

You would enjoy it? My mouth on your body. ( but that's such a stupid question, that's what aether just said--clamoring for control over himself, he squeezes a little too hard over the wet head of aether's cock. ) My mouth, between your legs.

[ironwind]

[Too much happens in the span of a few seconds. The first thing that Aether registers is relief as his arousal returns to him; he closes his eyes, breathing out slowly through his mouth. Xiao's touch is cool past his gloves, and the difference in temperature feels good against Aether's too-heated, too-tense cock.

The second thing he realizes, dimly, is that despite Xiao's outward composure, he is hiding some kind of hesitance. Aether knows the yaksha well enough to know that there's a problem. Is it jealousy that plagues him, then? It doesn't feel like that — perhaps Xiao is beyond flimsy mortal worries like envy, though even adepti cannot transcend loneliness — but it's not something that Aether can ignore, either. It's not something that will be fixed by hollow platitudes like Aether pulling him close and promising to be the only one for him, and so the traveler doesn't reach out to fix it, not in that way. But it's insecurity, maybe; it's uncertainty. It's something that might be fixed if Aether gave them both more stable ground to stand on.]

I would. [Aether breathes in, shivers on the intake. Breathes out, and thinks about the pressure of Xiao's hand on his cock.] I would enjoy it. Gods, Xiao —

[Xiao, servant of the gods, might have something to say about whispering lascivious prayers to the gods in the dead of the night, but Aether only reaches out, rests his hand on one of Xiao's muscled arms. Urges him closer, with another hand placed on the bare nape of his neck. The look of heated desire on Aether's face betrays nothing of the traveler's past, says nothing about any others who may or may not have shared his bed — but it promises this, at least: his desire for Xiao, in the moment, is entirely real.]

Here — kiss me. [Because they're doing this in all the wrong ways; because it will be easier to move through things like putting Xiao's mouth on his body if he's had Xiao's mouth on his lips, first.] I'll show you how I feel.

[The kiss, should Xiao accept it, is soft and slow and indulgent. Open-mouthed and full of hunger, the way Xiao found him.]

[lemniscatus]

( it's situations like this, he thinks, that betray his fondness for the traveler--because he doesn't just lay there, weak and limp to the ministrations; he doesn't just beg for it like he doesn't already deserve the attention simply by being himself, by being fractured and beautiful and strange in all the best ways. instead, he braces a hand against xiao's neck and his skin screams in ticklish protest, a shiver that goes down his spine that he can't stop; his focus is so solely on the shape of aether's cock in his palm that he only realizes he's being encouraged upward when it's too late. he can't just crouch himself back down between aether's thighs like an animal guarding its kill; his spine arches, pivoting himself up along aether's body before he can stop himself.

this, in fact, is the more terrifying part. aether says kiss me like it should be so easy, and faltering, he doesn't know how to protest. kissing is not something particularly prominent, in the dealings he's seen between other lovers in liyue--it's not something that others seem to value or spend much time on. instead, it's the junction between lovers that is the focus; but then, why not kissing too? aether's mouth is such a pretty curve, the way he smiles, or laughs, or teases when he's feeling playful.

his gaze zeroes in on aether's mouth for a moment, before awkwardly, his chin tilts down. their lips meet, and the kiss is--well, it--it's just--

it's overwhelming. aether's mouth is soft and warm, an indulgent sort of kiss that pulls at him, that asks things of him that he doesn't understand and yet that he wants to give, anyway. fervent, inspired, his hand works diligently between them, jerking aether's cock with determination; his lips part, surrendering his mouth to aether's tongue, to the heat of his passion. if he's clumsy about it, he doesn't want to hear it.

this isn't the same as mouthing his wet lips along the shape of aether's cock, but this is what aether asked for, isn't it? and why is this kiss so distracting? why can't he move away from it? he's locked in place, weight landed comfortably on one palm while the other hand moves between them, and he doesn't seem intent on stopping unless aether stops him himself. )

[ironwind]

[Aether moves slow, sweet — impossibly attentive. He caresses Xiao's tongue with his own, cradles it between his lips, sucks ever so gently, keeps him locked in a dance for more. His movements are luxuriously indulgent, as if they have all the time in the world to do this with each other. As if Xiao doesn't have other duties. As if he only needs to surrender himself to desire, and then fall back into having that desire sated.

One of the traveler's arms slips round Xiao's deliciously narrow waist, then slides up the line of his spine. Aether's fingers tease the open hole of the back of his shirt, coy and playful, stroking the planes of his shoulderblades down to the plunge of his lower back. If Xiao is locked in place, then that's all the better — this close, the traveler can feel his every breath and shudder, the stiffness of his muscles, the flex of the column of his throat when, however involuntarily, he swallows on the taste of Aether's mouth.

The yaksha is doing his best to please the traveler, and, indeed, it's tempting to let himself go, lie back, and cum into Xiao's eager palm. Still, Aether doesn't want that. He wants Xiao's mouth, that's what he told himself, and one of the nasty little things about Aether is that when he wants something, he isn't often dissuaded from seizing whatever it is he means to seize.

At length, he finally pulls back because he himself needs breath, chest heaving. With a smirk, he offers this:]

...You really are lovely.

[Mischievously, Aether pulls back on the gap in Xiao's top until it slips off his finger and snaps back between his shoulder blades. Like a teenage boy snapping a girl's bra strap... ah, but the yaksha probably wouldn't know anything about that.]

Take this off. [An encouraging nuzzle to top it all off. He knows how to get what he wants.] I want to see you. All of you.

[lemniscatus]

( what a terrifying thing, to break away from a kiss. it feels as though this is what it would be like to be overcome with the effects of liquor, to be heady from the drink and too dizzy with it to really understand anything else; there's a haziness to the room, as though his concentration is marred by aether's touch, as though his mouth pulls him in a direction that he can't see past, can't turn to ward off any sort of impending danger. a frustration, then, just a sliver of it, at the pit of his stomach, because: what good is he, really, if he isn't protecting? if he can't keep this precious thing beneath him, sprawled out in all his golden hues, safe from anything that might come to harm him? aether's mouth is so hot that his own lips feel warm, when they separate--he can taste him on his tongue, soft, like the distant memory of things better left forgotten.

dazed, he blinks, hardens, focuses his eyes in on aether's face--it's there that he feels the snap at his shoulder blades, though what the purpose of it must be, he doesn't know. surely this must be something that brings aether some measure of joy, because his face looks like that of a kitten, one that's gotten a particular string tangled up in their claws or a delicious fish in their jaw. with anyone else, he would snap that hand away, immediately fold his arms in and sulk about it with indignation; with aether, he simply wonders if there's some other way to bring him joy by measure of his clothing. something else that he might like?

for now, aether seems to like only for him to remove the thing he snapped: peculiar, but then, humans and those like them, they have their desires that don't make any sense. reluctant, xiao's hand presses up, rubs over the head of aether's cock as though with the promise of returning, and he shifts his weight upward, just enough to peel out of the top that aether requested gone. it feels--wrong, like he's exposing every little bit of him that's weak, all the soft parts on the inside that could be wrecked with a blade or snapped with an arrow. still, he sheds it all, leaves himself bare and naked from the waist up, and looks--almost sheepish, when his gaze returns to aether, as though sizing him up there, waiting for his reaction. )

There is not much to see. ( deprecating? maybe. but also just the obvious truth, in his eyes. )

[ironwind]

[The dazed look in Xiao's eyes — almost shy — floods Aether with more greed than he knows what to do with, but then there's everything else to consume, too. Perhaps Xiao doesn't know it, the way that he, inhuman, is being betrayed by his body, mostly human; even if what flows through the yaksha's body is not blood but adeptal energies and corruption, there's a slight flush on his cheeks now, a glassy, lusty glaze to the impossibly piercing intensity of his eyes.

The traveler feels base hunger stir in his body somewhere deeper than his heart.]

There's so much to see.

[Xiao's self-deprecation makes Aether want to surge forward, so he does. His hands slot into the curves and lines of the adeptus's body, exploring the planes of his toned stomach, his chest, his tattooed biceps; his mouth finds Xiao's again, claiming that harsh tongue of his for another long few dizzy moments, before he decides that he's had his fill and that he wants to suck at Xiao's neck instead, where his high collar usually hides the delicate flutter of his pulse. It's not quite like wanting to claim Xiao, but it's about wanting to worship him; Aether's hands touch his back, trace his beautiful shoulder blades up to his spine, and the traveler sighs with need, his cock still aching and unsated.]

So much to do. [He's close enough now for his breathy, soft voice to tickle Xiao's ears.] Tell me, Xiao. What do you want to do to me right now?

[One of Aether's fingers traces the hem of Xiao's trousers, but doesn't ask for more just yet. He hungers, though. He wants, and maybe it shows in the glint of his sly golden eyes — and who would have thought, really, that the vaunted, ever-helpful Traveler could be this supple, this wanting?]

I'll do anything you ask — absolutely anything...

[lemniscatus]

( hands have never touched him like this, as though wanting to slide some sort of reverence over his skin, as though looking not for weakness, but for pleasure, for some sort of give beneath the taut muscles and carefully-etched lines of ink over his skin--he's never been quite so overwhelmed with it as he is now, where aether comes in close and he can smell him, the sweet, almost lonely scent of dark skies and prickling stars and a distance that even he won't be able to clear, no matter how much he might want to try.

aether is the traveler, and a traveler moves from place to place in search of further knowledge; xiao is a guardian, and xiao stays, buckled under by the impending release of all that makes him up and all that he is. someday, aether will disappear into the stars, and someday, he might, too: going separate directions, moving further apart. in this moment, it feels as though that might never come to pass; and maybe this is what humans crave about intimacy, and maybe this is what they're always seeking out. aether's mouth closes over his neck and pulls and his whole body floods with heat; his hands, awkward, grapple for aether's supple waist, clenching over it to keep him near.

it's always been shameful, to long for something that he shouldn't have--after all, he'd longed for freedom for quite some time, had longed for death, had longed for all kinds of things that he'd thought would never really be is. there is a greed to wanting the traveler's attention and there is a greed to keeping it, to not even being strong enough to let it go; he indulges in the way that aether makes him feel alive, and he indulges in the strange sensation of being touched and kissed and rubbed against, indulges in it and sighs out a breath that sounds more submitting than agitated. what do you want to do to me right now? there's not enough time to start listing the options.

he goes with what he knows. his hand, bare now, moves down between them, finds the head of aether's cock still tight between their bodies, and runs his thumb over it, takes the head carefully between his fingertips and strokes down. )

I want to make you call out my name. ( isn't that what he's always wanted? a selfish desire to be desired, wanted, needed by aether, in the best and worst ways? ) I want to make you tremble.

[ironwind]

Okay. [Aether listens, patient and unjudgmental.] Okay.

[And is that it, then — is that the way Xiao wants this, wants to be accepted and needed? Is that the way that indulgence takes shape: with a quiet whisper, gentle kisses — the unquestioning acquiescence to a wish that, in the end, is more selfless than selfish?

Aether leans closer, kisses Xiao again. He's been told before that he smells like flowers, that he carries the aura of the stars. The yaksha, for his part, smells of grass and something equal parts smoky and floral — it's incense, the traveler realizes after a moment, and then, humming in thoughtful contemplation, he resolves to leave his own scent on Xiao by the time dawn breaks.

The traveler parts from the kiss; his thumb brushes over Xiao's bottom lip, admiring the way it sits in his handsome face, complements the sharp, piercing edge of his catlike eyes. Then, as always, Aether gets what he wants.]

Suck.

[A single word has never sounded so impossibly lewd as it does in Aether's mouth. His voice, normally so feather-light and innocent, deepens into something dark and rich and too-knowing. That thumb brushing over Xiao's lips suddenly feels quietly, patiently insistent.

He hasn't reacted much to the fingers skirting over the head of his cock, though he's still hard. The hand thumbing over Xiao's mouth, fingering his jawline — it slips up the side of his head, cradles his hair against his face. Slips to the crown of his head, nestles in his scalp.]

Just — mm. You just have to wrap your lips around it. I like to swallow until I'm used to the taste. Then you move back and forth... up and down. If you stick your tongue out a little before it goes into your mouth, you'll be less likely to gag. It feels even better if you move your tongue in circles while you're bobbing your head, but it can be hard to manage so much at once. Don't push yourself.

[A stroke for the strand of hair that runs down Xiao's ear, affectionate and fond, accompanies these instructions — so like an older brother's gentle guidance, and yet, in a manner most twisted, not at all.]

And you'll want to watch your teeth, with most people... [A little laugh, tinged by something that sounds a little like self-deprecation, in the traveler's own way.] But I don't mind it a little rough.

[lemniscatus]

( he's never quite felt so mesmerized--even with morax's hands touching his head, giving him the silent judgment of a job well done, or to comfort him in times of pain, even finding the approval he sought after given to him easily, without trouble, nothing has ever come quite so close to the way that aether's attention makes him feel drunk, dizzy and hungry and desperate for it. the little touches and the gentle kisses and the wandering, lazy weight of his thumb at his lip--he takes it all in stride, takes it and gobbles it up with greed, feels his gaze go heavy and lidded and his hand, careful, stalls between them; looking at aether's face so close makes him feel so absurdly contented and yet so ferally determined at the same time, as though he wants to stretch this moment out for as long as possible, as though he wants to remember as much of it as he can.

and in the same way, then, he's entirely overwhelmed. aether's instructions sound so filthy that it twists something up in his stomach that he doesn't really understand, makes him feel hot beneath his skin, and his breath, panting, curves over aether's skin like that of a beast biding its time until attack. it's hard to understand. there are so many things that he has to do, so many things to be careful of, things to do, things not to do--how is he going to remember all of this and make sure the traveler enjoys himself? frustrated, his brows knit together, but he's not one to avoid something difficult, not one to give up before even trying. with a short, solemn nod, he takes his mission and accepts it--takes it and stretches his body back, laying it towards the mattress.

in some perverse way, it almost looks like he's prostrating himself for approval, like he's laying his body out so flat that he would permit aether to step all over him, if he wanted--his arms hook over aether's hips, pulling himself in close, and his eyes narrow, taking in the sight of aether's cock as though he's calculating the best way to approach it all, how best to implement aether's instructions. tongue out first, then, he can do that: his lips part, tongue sloping down over his lower lip before he lifts his head and finds, first, the tip, fitting his lips over it and swallowing, as instructed. or--was he not supposed to do that, yet? the taste doesn't bother him, and the texture of it isn't off-putting; his upper teeth are bared for one small moment before he remembers to fit his lip over them.

another swallow. the head of aether's cock fits snugly between his lips; pointed, his gaze jerks up, looks at aether once before he looks back down again, as though not wanting to be caught without proper concentration. a little further--and then he slides up again, and down again, a test of his own movement, finding it not quite as clumsy as he'd imagined it might be. so this is--this is achievable. aether will like it.

aether will like it? sharp, his eyes dart up again from beneath heavy lashes, gauging. )

[ironwind]

[There it is.

There it is — what Aether wanted from the start. Something like avaricious pride is roaring victorious in a corner of his heart, triumphant at the thought that he really gets to have Xiao like this, really gets to see Xiao like this. Aether's breath catches and his stomach shudders a little as the handsome yaksha moves his lips, his tongue, his teeth — Xiao's movements are slow and clumsy, but earnest, and the traveler can tell he'll learn quickly, can tell that this might be dangerous for him, down the line. If Xiao ever learns that he can make Aether quiver and call his name every night, that he can slip into the traveler's bedroom anytime he's in Liyue — if Xiao ever learns that it will feel just as good to claim him as it does to please him — that will be dangerous.

Aether is many things, but he's not the sort to resist pleasure when it's offered to him. The smug satisfaction that seizes him when someone recognizes his name or his face or knows him by his countless good deeds — that's the source of the smirk that spreads over his lips as he sinks into the pleasure Xiao is offering him. He lets out a long sigh, sinks into the pillows, and Xiao's mouth feels even better than he thought it would. So good. He's self-aware enough to know there's something vile in it, too — in taking full advantage of a man who has always made it clear that he doesn't mind being used, even as he tries, fruitlessly, to delineate boundaries between himself and those who use him.

Aether knows it's vile, so he tries to apologize in other ways. Lavishes Xiao in the attention and the praise that he's aching for. He murmurs faint, encouraging things, carding his fingers through Xiao's scalp, blatantly admiring the bright green underlayer that's normally hidden by Xiao's darker green locks.]

That's it... That's right. That feels good, Xiao...

[Aether likes it. Xiao's arms feel warm and secure around his hips, and he sinks into the feeling, shivering slightly as the dull, throbbing ache between his legs begins to knot into something thicker and hotter in his belly. His thighs shift slightly against Xiao's shoulders; the break of his voice turns into a whimper.]

I — mmm, you're so — so good, like that — Xiao —

[lemniscatus]

( there's a comical edge to it, in some ways, because he doesn't even quite realize what he's doing: focus has to be given to the task, and the task, per aether's instructions, needs to be executed in a particular way with a particular set of rules. he remembers all the rules. they play in his head, now, one after the other, dutifully reminding himself as his head works up and down, as his hand reaches in, hard fingers clutched over aether's hip, thumb running the crease of his pelvis and thigh. aether likes it. he's praising him, anyway, encouraging him, which is good: but that only means he has to continue his focus. he can't give up now, and the time to be sloppy is long done away with: he needs to be improving, or it isn't worth it.

and he is improving. he listens, ears always keen to the sound of aether's voice, listens and adjusts where he hears his breath hitch, or avoids where silence has stretched a little too long, learning where it is that feels good and how to make it feel good. aether's praise, at first, sounds balanced and warm, but the more he continues, the more breathy it sounds; curious, xiao's eyes flicker up, watch aether pointedly as he works, and there's a beauty to the way that aether's expressions change, the way he seems to fall out of habit, too. it feels genuine.

this is genuine pleasure. he's not sure he's ever seen something quite like this.

rapt, his eyes stay, watching aether from beneath his bangs--both of his hands move, and now that he has a little confidence, it's just his head bobbing, not needing the wrap of his fingers to meet where he can't quite go. his arms loop around the back of aether's thighs, hands that squeeze and grip at those supple legs, holding them, bending them, pressing them against his shoulders in encouragement.

is it wrong, to be like this? he wants to see aether's face break into some finality of pleasure that's only caused by him--he wants to hear his name, the gift of his freedom, fall from aether's lips again like that. it feels like he never wants to hear him say anything else but it again. )

[ironwind]

[Aether is the one being pleasured. By certain views, then, that means he's the one with all the power in this dynamic; by certain views, the way he has one hand lightly resting in Xiao's scalp ought to exude kingly radiance, and Xiao, on his knees, is once again playing the role of loyal servant. And maybe it should be that way — but if it is, Aether's never felt more weak in the knees than he does right now, being watched by Xiao's falcon-gold eyes. The yaksha's gaze is rapt with attention, long-lashed and piercing, like that of a beast prowling the night waiting for a chance to strike. And if that's the case, well — doesn't that make Aether his prey?

The traveler moans, whimpers; Xiao has learned so, so quickly in the span of mere minutes, and there's so much power in him, such a sense of feral conquest. A shameful part of Aether tends to cringe away as he's getting close, but even as he pulls his hips back on reflex, Xiao's hands grip tight against his thighs and press him into those tightly muscled shoulders he likes so much. It's enough to make him mewl and moan, enough to make him squirm...]

Xiao —

[A shudder, a shiver, and isn't that good? Doesn't Xiao like it when Aether calls his name? But he needs to give Xiao proper warning, he needs to, has to, it's his first time —]

I need to — I c-can't — nngh, I'm — ah, coming —

[He's so full of embarrassment, being so closely watched, that he can't help but throw one hand over his face as he comes; toes curling, cock twitching, he's a mess, and he doesn't know if he can bear the thought of Xiao seeing him in such ecstasy, tongue lolling slightly, gasping for air. But when his wrist falls slightly to the side and he blinks his teary golden eyes open, he already knows: Xiao's been watching. Xiao's always watching his every move.]