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138 » can't seem to stop being so hard on myself
[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 —
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 —
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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 —
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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. )
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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.]