Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Diluc paces along the floor in his hotel room. It’s too warm in here for his liking, a bit stuffier than he would prepare, the room much smaller than any he used to enjoy.

And it’s either this, or being outside in the cold. The wind is howling hard enough to rattle the windows, so it’s not a hard choice.

He tugs at his gloves, wiping sweat from his nose, the mask nearly falling off. He can only hope that the informant he paid for is arriving soon.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Come on in.”

The handle turns, Diluc’s heart pounding.

The door opens, revealing a black glove, but the hall is too dark for the being within to be seen. There’s a tense moment before the man walks in, and Diluc’s brow quirks.

“How old are you?”

“19, you?”

Diluc crosses his arms, doing nothing to pull his hood down. “Older than you.”

“You’re lowering the pitch of your voice on purpose,” the man says, pulling his own hood back. He tugs his arm out of his sleeve, grabbing the back of his capelet, pulling it over his head, and tossing it onto the bed. “Nice to meet you. Let’s skip the names, okay?”

Diluc holds up a hand, staving the eager grinning ginger off. “We don’t need to do anything except discuss where these camps are.”

“Oh, I know.” The man’s smile is getting creepy, lips too taut, grin too wide. They don’t match the dead look in his eyes.

Diluc tells himself that there’s a man in there. A soul. Someone who needs love.

“It’s just, you know. I want to help out.”

The candles in the room begin to flicker, reacting to the emotions of the hooded man, whose eyes seem to bore out from the shadows.

The revealed man swallows hard, his grin hiding for the time being, though he has to work to keep his face in position, muscles along his cheeks twitching. “Partner?”

“I’m not that injured,” Childe complains, shirtless, chest pressing against the back of the chair before him. He gives a little “hmph” when his nipple hits the wood.

“Apologies,” Diluc says, voice as gruff as ever. His hands, working salves along the wounds on Childe, become even more gentle than they already were.

“You’re fine,” Childe says, teeth grit as his back arches again. “That stuff’s cold.”

The sigh that emits from the redhead ruffles the hair on the back of his neck, warm. Childe’s eyes widen.

“They did a number on you,” Diluc says, finishing up some of the stitches he had left hanging for a moment.

He’s doing a patchwork job, Childe thinks, but beggars can’t be choosers after all. “Yeah, I guess so. Any thoughts on how to deal with them?”

“Thoughts?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to go to the camp, right? Are we burning it? That thing on your belt must be hard to use. We could always charge right in, or we could freeze them slowly. I know how to use the snow to our advantage.”

Throughout his speech, Diluc’s breathing becomes more erratic, the candlelight flickering faster. Until the man’s temper boils over, his fingers sliding up through the back of Childe’s hair, gripping tight and tugging him back to glare down at him.

The fires in the room go out, bathing Childe’s face in blues and greys.

He looks up, into fiery red eyes, which glimmer for a moment with their own light.

“Do you ever shut up?” Diluc’s voice is a low growl, and outside of the room the floorboards creak, no doubt another Fatui wandering, doing rounds.

So he only grabbed me to shut me up. If someone came in, he could pretend I’m his hostage, and they might spare my life. Childe’s eyes widen, lips parting. You’re protecting an enemy. “You’re hot from this angle.”

Diluc lets out some aggravated sound, the feet outside the room pattering off to go bother someone else. He releases Childe’s head, scratching the back of Childe’s hair quickly to relieve the tension he must have caused.

Childe looks forward once more, letting out an involuntary sigh. It’s been...so long, since anyone has given him any sort of contact.

And much longer than that since anyone has truly cared for how he feels.

The best treatment, coming from an enemy.

“I do believe you can put your shirt back on,” Diluc says, lying back on the bed. His legs are crossed, a book in his lap. The fireplace is roaring, affording them plenty of heat, which is good since night is creeping ever closer.

Outside of the room, the hotel is alive with sounds of people roaming. Most of them are fetching dinner, or just coming back from a day of shopping. They’ll drop off their wares, and then head out to enjoy the city’s nightlife.

“I could,” Childe says, “but my heart is still racing from the feeling of your hand on my head.” He sighs, standing, to look down at the man. His nose wrinkles. “But your shoes in bed are killing me.”

Diluc glares up at him, doing his damnedst to angle himself unflatteringly.

Childe’s eyes flash as his head tilts, no light within them but a certain hunger palpable.

Diluc breathes deep, setting the book down on his lap. He stares at the man for a moment, at the scars forming across skinny ribs, at the newer injuries.

His eyes trail from pecs down, down, down, brow quirking.

“You’re a pretty sight,” Diluc says, uncrossing his legs, crossing them the other way. “But the shoes stay on.”

Childe peers over at Diluc, watching the way his lips move as he whispers the words on the page.

“So how come we’re enemies?”

It’s not, perhaps, what he meant to say. Childe can almost feel the momentary cold in the room, like all of the heat has been sucked out.

Diluc sets the book down, sighing, and turns to face him. His mouth opens as his tongue works around his teeth, and it’s then that Childe realizes all of the heat hasn’t left the room, it’s just centered around the man before him, as if he’s a tornado on fire, as if he’s burning through all of it.

Childe lies flat on the bed, his stomach pressing it down every time he breathes. He closes his eyes, only barely able to feel Diluc’s breath on his forehead. Desperate to feel more, to move closer, to feel something that isn’t pain, or injuries, or punishments.

“We’re enemies because they found you first,” Diluc finally says, regretting it a moment later. It’s obvious, in the way he grabs his own nose in frustration, and how he sighs. He sits up, grimaces, and lies back, making sounds from the pain he’s in that have Childe biting his knuckle, eyes wide.

“You okay?”

“I’m injured,” Diluc admits, surprising even himself. Trusting someone is foolish, and he’s sure he wouldn’t normally do something so ridiculous.

But he can’t help it, here.

He’s desperate for someone. Desperate for human contact.

His eyes flit over to Childe’s, burning, heavy.

“Tartaglia? How old are you?”

“I promise,” the man says, laughing. “I’m 19.”

“I’m in my twenties,” Diluc says. “Why are you here?”

“Because,” the man says, and this time, he isn’t laughing. His eyes are vacant, sucking in all of the emotion around him.

It’s a long moment during which Diluc guards his heart.

He could fall into those eyes a bit too easily.

“They took my brother,” Childe says. “Or, they started to. They were talking about recruiting him.”

“Do they know?”

“No. Or maybe. Hell if I know. The Harbingers haven’t gotten him yet,” Childe whispers.

The fire crackles exceptionally loudly.

It’s fine. The rest of their words are quiet.

“That’s why I want to kill these camps. Will you help me?”

“I’m surprised you won’t do it yourself.”

“Can’t. Everything in there is Cryo based, and I’m Hydro. If I use my Delusion, I won’t have the energy to get out. I’m not scared or anything.”

“But if you die, they’ll take your brother anyways.”

“Exactly. ‘Fighting runs in your blood’.” Childe shakes his head, lip peeled back, mocking the words of his bosses.

Diluc watches him, recognizing that same streak of rebellion. Childe looks to him, for a moment his expression exactly mirroring that which Diluc used to see in the mirror, before he and Kaeya and Jean would sneak out to take down camps which moved too close to home.

“I’ll help you,” Diluc promises.

“I know,” Childe says. “I’m just scared we’ll get caught.”

It’s a lot for him to admit.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Diluc promises.

“ ‘I’ll keep you safe’ ,” Childe reiterates, “ ‘as long as I break your back first.’” He lets out a low gasp, rocking forward, face pressed into the bed.

“Shh,” Diluc whispers, holding his position as the floorboards outside the inn creak. His hips are tense, thighs trembling with pleasure.

Never one to waste time, one warm hand slides up Childe’s back, pressing the man even further into the blankets. Diluc is careful to avoid the bandages, skipping over his ruined shoulders to his pretty neck. He trails one gloved finger up, sliding all of them through course ginger hair, dry from a long winter.

He grips, hard, and Childe lets out a low moan when his head is pulled back.

They freeze again, Diluc grinning, open-mouthed.

The noises outside the room pause, the person turning back.

Diluc flexes, wriggling his dick inside of Childe, laughing in his head. He mastered the art of being quiet a long time ago, and masturbating on this trip has only made him better at it.

Childe isn’t so lucky. He gasps again, quieter, biting his own knuckle to try and stem the sound.

Diluc stops flexing, giving Childe’s thigh a hard squeeze.

The footsteps hurry away, and the moment they do, Childe lets out a long, low moan.

Diluc chuckles low, a villainous sound, sliding his hand from Childe’s leg, around his hip, over the v-line he observed earlier, down to grip his cock. He squeezes once, hard enough, pumping, and Childe cums all over his hand. The man lets out a shaky, entranced breath, relief shuddering through his body.

“You...bastard.”

Diluc releases his hair, stroking Childe’s head.

The man grins at him over his freckled shoulder. “You nearly gave up our positions.”

“It’s fine. As long as it’s only you making noises, it won’t seem suspicious. After all, a man has every right to pleasure himself in his own room, surely.” Diluc gives a small grin, his strokes along Childe’s cock slow, and light.

The man sighs, sinking further into the bed, eyes closing in pleasure. “Good work.”

“I try,” Diluc whispers. He wants to press himself to the man’s back, but he doesn’t dare, not with all the injuries Childe is suffering.

He lets out a long sigh, pulling his hips back before pushing them in again. Even the feeling of Childe’s ass against his pelvis is enough to send him pleasure, just the bare minimum feeling of another human against him.

Childe lets out a mischievous chuckle of his own, clenching, and Diluc’s head is thrown back.

The ginger, somehow full of energy, lifts himself to his elbows. While Diluc is counting to ten and holding back a moan, Childe pulls off of his dick, all the way to the tip, before rocking back.

Diluc bites his lip, grinning at this brand of revenge.

Childe pulls off again, but it’s already too late for Diluc. His fingers settle on Childe’s hips.

Childe rocks back, slamming their bodies together. Diluc bends over, dick sliding deep into Childe’s ass. The moan he lets out is nothing short of poetry, cum filling his informant. He gasps, the sound music to Childe’s ears, fingers gripping tight.

“I think you left marks on my hips,” Childe says, pulling his shirt on.

Diluc glances over, in time to see pink fingerprints peeking out from the under the man’s pants. “Apologies.”

“I didn’t say I minded.”

“Don’t let anyone see that.”

“I have fangirls,” Childe says easily enough. “I’ll tell anyone who asks that it was one of the ladies. And any one of those women would be happy to say they slept with me. I mean, they say it anyways, so.”

“Do you ever indulge them?”

“Jealous?” Childe grins over at him, winking. He still hasn’t gotten a good enough look at Diluc’s face.

The man is an expert at wearing his mask at all times, and at using the lighting to his advantage.

“Not quite, but be safe.” Diluc stares at the man for a moment. He never did get to kiss those lips, or stroke his face.

And Childe isn’t escaping the Fatui. He’ll go back. He’ll be whipped again.

“You know. I can take out your boss.”

“Thanks, but I already threatened to, so, you know.” If you do it now, they’ll come after me.

“Do you have an alibi for tonight?”

“Yeah. You. Everyone thinks you’re a female prostitute. I’m totally fine if you are by the way,” Childe adds. “I don’t think I ever bothered to ask that question, I was a bit caught up in trying to get you to sleep with me.”

“I’m surprised you can be attracted to someone in a mask.”

“You have a nice voice,” Childe admits. “And I could tell just from how you moved that you were sexy. And I was right. Nice dick,” he says, letting out a sigh as he tries to bend over to adjust his shoe. “Good thing I don’t have to sit tonight.”

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Diluc says, adjusting his glove. He revels in the indignant way Childe gasps. “Let’s head out. We have work to do.”

“You know,” he murmurs, finally getting a chance to lean close to Childe’s ear. “You could always run away with me.”

The ear he’s peering at turns a curious shade of red.

Diluc hadn’t intended on seducing someone out of the Fatui, but he doesn’t quite mind it, either.

It’s not a half bad idea.

“I can’t,” Childe says. “Sorry, but I don’t fit in with you.”

Diluc frowns.

“You’re...a bit too good for me,” Childe admits. He reaches up, grabbing the branch above where they’re crouching, and uses it to pull himself away from the warmth he just wants to sink into.

Diluc is left in the snow, watching through the trees as Childe moves slowly, farther away from him, while they walk around the camp.

He can see far in the dark, but normally, it doesn’t hurt so bad.

The camp is beneath them.

Or rather, the ashes of it.

Childe stands, his shashka reverting to a bow. He nocks it, cold wind whipping his brows as he looks around.

You never know when there might be an extra one hiding in the trees.

Diluc rises slowly, grunting a bit. It’s only when he manages to stand, pulling his hand from his stomach, that Childe can see the blood on the glove.

Childe rushes forward to help, gasping.

Diluc’s hand shoots out. His palm presses to Childe’s shoulder, holding the man back.

An arrow flies between them, cutting the bottom of Diluc’s arm.

The man doesn’t even flinch, but Childe lets out a quiet roar. He sucks in a breath, thankful the snow muffles the sound, and shoots off into the trees.

The Fatui in the distance lets out a cry. His body quivers, shaking with each arrow that pierces him, one after another flitting from Childe’s angry fingers, and he is dead before he hits the ground.

Childe drops his bow, which dematerializes beside him. He surges forward, brushing Diluc’s unsteady hand off of his own shoulder. “Let me closer,” he whispers fervently. Grabbing the man’s shirt, ripping the fabric to see the wound.

“It’s not deep,” Diluc says, pressing cloth to it.

But in the cold, the bleeding doesn’t stop easily.

The wind warns them of the incomers. Diluc is on the ground, groaning, unable to catch his breath properly. “Get up,” he says, shoving Childe back, not unkindly.

“But,” Childe says.

“It’s too late,” Diluc says, shaking his head. His eyes flash when he looks up to Childe. “Fight me.”

Childe is standing over him, shashkas in hand, when the other two Harbingers arrive.

“Did you get him?”

“He must fall.”

“I got him,” Childe says, regretful eyes turning from Diluc for one moment, as he feigns glancing back at his companions.

He’s grateful that his coat is long enough that they can’t see the fingerprints on his hips. He’s glad the wind is heavy, so they can’t smell the perfume of the man’s fire, which clings to Childe’s skin.

Diluc roars, firing a bird at Childe, who blocks it clumsily. He falls back, though he doesn’t strictly need to, crying out as if in fierce pain.

Diluc leaps to his feet, panting hard. The moonlight shining down creates heavy hollows surrounding his eyes, but his mask remains intact.

He brandishes long, heavy chains from the Delusion on his glove, which flashes in the night.

Childe swallows hard. Please, archons please.

He stops thinking, as one of his bosses attacks the man before him. He’s still on his back, feeling the cold, unmoving ice beneath his hand.

Unable to catch his breath, for the energy coursing through his body.

Archons won’t save him. An archon is trying to kill Diluc.

He has to save him.

Childe rises to his feet.

Diluc is backing up, out of the reach of Signora, leaping out of the way of Scaramouche. He’s desperate, dodging Electro attacks, trying not to be frozen. His chains rip through Signora’s surging ice.

Childe lifts one arm, conjuring a massive whale above them, and drops it onto everyone.

Someone slaps the ice which covers Childe’s face, shattering it. He’s hit once, then twice, then again, more of the ice cracking each time.

Someone’s horrible little claws scrape down his skin, ripping off the pieces, shoving them onto the ground. The person growls, an aggravating sound coming from a body too small to contain the man’s fury.

Childe opens his eyes, groaning, to see Scaramouche above him.

“Be gentle!” La Signora, as angry as she is, was able to burn her way out of the ice eventually. Seems she was able to melt the Balladeer out as well, or perhaps he tunneled a hole. “I can release him myself.”

“He doesn’t deserve pity!” Scaramouche is pissed, the tiny man punching Childe’s cheek again, before Signora gets between them.

“He’s just a kid,” she says, turning to glare down at the youngest Harbinger. Scaramouche is hidden out of sight, unable to see around the fur scarf lining Signora’s neck, dry already from her burning skin.

The ice encasing Childe begins to melt, just from her glaring down at him. In her eyes, he sees something like betrayal.

She knows.

And something, farther in there. Fear. The fear of looking at someone and recognizing them as being the same type of monster as you.

Someone fighting anyone, desperate to save someone they’ve grown attached to.

He wonders who she lost, and if the man also had to run off into the cold.

The ice melts off, and Childe grips his swollen, pink limbs close to his freezing body. He’s in horrible pain.

Scaramouche walks over, yelling more, but no one except the Harbingers bothered to come out this far. “There’s nothing to yell at except the wind,” Childe whispers.

“At least it’s howling back,” Signora mutters.

Childe looks between them to the side of his whale, the shape of the creature still preserved. It likely will be, for some time.

The side of the beast is broken though. There’s a pit there, where the snow doesn’t reach, where it’s been burnt away so thoroughly that even the ground beneath, with dead grass, is turned to ashes.

Signora puts her scarf around his neck, tucking it so that the fur hides the quivering in his jaw. Childe stares past her at the ground, eyes full of longing.

At least one of us got away.

Diluc pants, clutching his hand to his side.

His back slams against a tree and he goes down, sliding to the ground for a few quick breaths.

This isn’t the type of evening he thought he would be having. He planned on finishing up with the two camps he needed to destroy, and then heading back to the hotel. Hiding in his room with Childe for an hour or so more.

And then leaving by morning, heading far out of there.

But now.

Three Harbingers were sent after him. And Childe didn’t have a choice but to attack, though he did it in perhaps the best way.

Diluc grins to himself, staring down at his Delusion. But the grin is quickly lost, exhaustion pressing the sides of his mind. Begging him to sleep.

He forces himself to stand, groaning from the strain of it. Barely making it two steps before he’s gritting his teeth, trying not to let out a horrible sound.

Diluc wakes up on his back, at the center of a hut full of people who want him to succeed.

He takes his time getting to know everyone, building a network of informants and fighters.

But the injury in his side needs a healer, a real one. And he’s not going to be getting better anytime soon.

And the Delusion isn’t just hurting him a little bit, it’s draining him completely, according to them.

With that knowledge in mind, Diluc bids them goodbye.

Before he leaves, he looks back to the snow falling down perpetually. “Hopefully,” he says to Childe, though of course the man won’t be able to hear him, “I’ll see you again.”

His falcon, who spent a few days roaming the woods near him, lets out a resounding caw from his arm. Diluc chuckles at her, turning away from Snezhnaya, and heading home.

Chapter Text

Captain Kaeya Alberich is a man of fine taste, whose sense of humor tends to exist somewhere between the bottom of Cider Lake, and the bowels of the Abyss.

On a good day, he's making dick jokes in Venti's ear while the man tries to have a serious conversation with potential patrons about gigs coming up.

On bad days, Rosaria is feeding him drinks so he learns to shut up once in awhile, which never works because, surprisingly, drunk Kaeya is a lovesick bird who only mopes on the counter of Angel's Share, whining about adoring his family and how cute his friends are.

Today, Kaeya is somewhere between sober, and maliciously tugging his estranged best friend's annoying ponytail until the man is forced to give him some liquor. He's deciding at what angle grabbing those red locks will work best in his favor when the bells on the door of the tavern chime.

Normally, this isn't a big occurrence. People walk in and out all of the damn time, so what does it matter?

But something in the air changes. Some...force. Some eighth sense, beyond Kaeya's self-proclaimed seventh, which lies between his legs.

His nose wrinkles, twitching like a rabbit's, a trait that when they were kids he and Diluc would spend hours sitting in the grass trying to hone. Though now it mostly gets him in trouble because it remains one of the facial expressions he's least aware of.

That eighth sense tells him trouble is behind him, and a moment later, when Kaeya turns enough to see with his good eye, trouble is standing beside him.

Another fucking ginger.

The man is tall, taller than him, with a wide grin and deep blue eyes trained heartily on Diluc. Kaeya winces a bit, rubbing his stomach. Those irises remind him just a bit too much of the fish blasting he did with Klee earlier, and he has to set his mug down.

Clearly, the stranger recognizes the man before him, if the blatant excitement within those glassy eyes is any indicator, or the bouncing the ginger is doing on the balls of his feet. He has to switch from one to the other, the excited grin waning for a moment to one of pure, unadulterated energy.

Oh, no. Kaeya can smell trouble a wheat field away. When he met Klee, the little ball of energy bounding from her mother's side into his burnt arms four years ago, he at once knew she would be what's commonly referred to as a 'problem child'.

When he met Benny, helping to raise the Adventurer's Guild bundled powder keg, he had been wandering town before Crepus opened the tavern. And, dragging Diluc behind him, Kaeya reportedly pointed to the Guild, yelling, "Fire!!"

At the time, the boys were very nearly arrested by the Knights, but all they found when they ran to the doors was a kid a few years younger than them, blinking up with huge green eyes and a missing-tooth grin.

And of course, there's the time that the dragon descended on Mondstadt, bringing with it the Traveler, who may be the savior of Mondstadt but is also a treasure-hungry thief willing to steal from the heart of the cathedral, little punk.

And this. Kaeya hasn't smelled trouble like this since Diluc returned to town.

The ginger's eyes aren't even leaving the man before him, who's intently pouring some drink at the pace of a rich grandparent taking their final breaths. That is to say, not fucking fast enough.

And that gaze! It's trained so intently, not on Diluc's lithe neck or burning red ears or the hint of his sculpted arms, which are barely exposed due to his shirt being pushed to his elbows. They're trained on the man's waist, which is like his least defining feature.

Unless you know him as the Darknight Hero.

Kaeya inwardly groans, though outwardly his eye is shining as if with pleasure. At least some part of his body is excited for whatever fresh horrors are about to greet him.

Either the stranger is some rabid fan who was rescued once and now, like Donna, can't get Diluc out of his mind. And who only knows the man from the back, since Diluc protected him oh so sweetly. And he somehow managed to figure out his real identity, and decided to track the recluse down at his place of business, which makes him worse than the average stalker.

Or, he's some sort of former enemy. And since Kaeya has never seen his man before and he hasn't known Diluc to make any trips out of town recently, the most likely option is that Childe is here to kill.

He fights the urge to sit up straighter, or to grab those curly locks and slam that crooked nose straight into the countertop. Wouldn't want to splatter blood into my drink.

But he does size him up once more.

Let the games begin, bitch.

The man beside him is still bouncing, and Diluc hasn't turned yet. Kaeya has the sudden, horrible mental image of a spark trying to gain the attention of one of Klee's Dodocos.

Maybe Diluc won't even recognize him.

He gives his most sultry grin, stirring his drink to gain the attention of the ginger, whose restless eyes tear from Diluc for one glimmering moment to land on him.

"Hello. You new here?" Kaeya, who has spent years cultivating his looks, his voice, and his body language into a picture of seduction, is horrificially surprised and a bit peeved when Childe's slip back off.

With a noncommittal, "Yup," the ginger stares back at the redhead.

Kaeya feels about to throw up. This bitch. "Excuse me? Where are you from?"

"Oh," the man says, glancing over for less time than Wagner, "not here."

His grin returns as he watches the redhead, whose ponytail swishes as Diluc changes which leg he's putting weight on.

Beside Kaeya, Rosie snorts into her hand, playing it off as a hacking cough.

Childe looks to her, his brows raising. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she says politely.

He gives her a little nod, and then looks back to the bartender, by this time inadvertently boring holes into the man's back.

Kaeya is ready to throw his goddamn stool.

He's not only being ignored.

He's being completely rejected.

For the upright, angry one.

Kaeya's tongue presses into his cheek, and he looks to Diluc, blinking rapidly, to see if the man has noticed.

Of course he has. In the reflection of the bottles before him, Diluc can at least tell someone is standing behind him, staring. He has a vague idea of the shape, though in the dark glass he likely can't make out any features, or true colors.

But his ears are red, and he stretches his shoulder briefly, like he's getting ready to heave someone out of the tavern by one arm.

Last time he did, Rosaria had to fan herself, after seeing the veins on the heir's arm flex.

Kaeya rolls his eye. He's thinking maybe it won't be so bad if a Dodoco goes off in the tavern tonight, figurative or not, but glances up to Crepus' photo on the wall, silently apologizing.

Diluc turns around.

He gives a little gasp, jumping, eyes widening when he sees Childe before him.

It's perhaps the most outward emotion that he's shown in the past four fucking years.

Kaeya's jaw drops, his mouth fully opening. His hand slips off of his mug, nudging Rosie, silently asking his best friend (Diluc's replacement) if she's seeing this shit.

She grunts, just loud enough to let him know that, yes, she does.

Childe giggles, giving a kind smile. Well, he's definitely trying to make it look kind, Kaeya can tell that much.

But it's really anything but, with the scars on his face aligning to make him seem more like a shark who's been beaten off his kill a few too many times.

His knuckles, on the counter, tighten, a hint of hopefulness squinting his eyes at the edges, making him seem almost desperate.

Well, to Kaeya's rejected, pouting visage, that is.

Diluc sets the drink he's been preparing down, letting it go as the Captain snatches it up, drinking loudly.

Kaeya downs it in one go, setting the drink down loudly. Slamming it, really. Hoping to get the attention of the man whose drink he technically just stole, or of the man who, you know, doesn't let him drink.

"That was juice," Rosie whispers into Kaeya's ear.

Kaeya's tongue presses to his teeth, and he starts running mental calculations of how many Dodocos he has in his inventory, and how hard it would be to stash one in the Sisters' Chambers tomorrow morning.

"You're here," is the first thing that Diluc says aloud. It's breathy, and his gaze is pointed, and Kaeya immediately curls his lip.

The Captain would be running away in embarrassment if not for the fact that watching this is akin to watching a Fatui very slowly slide down an icy mountainside.

Not that he knows, intimately, what that looks like.

The ginger laughs, loudly enough to call attention to himself, to give Diluc's face time to snap back to it's typical facade of uncaring neutrality. "Hello. I'm going by Childe," he says stately, which of course is just the most roundabout way of saying a name and not giving it, ever.

Kaeya, who likes to live by Fair Folk rules and thus despises anyone who beats him at them, bites his lip to keep quiet. His fingernails are doing a number on the leather palms of his glove.

"Childe," Diluc repeats, and then he grins, and it's such a sharp look that Kaeya flinches back, nearly falling out of his chair.

He blinks once, wiping his eye with his knuckles quickly, then leaning over to see closer.

Yup, Diluc is grinning.

Kaeya's side is pressed against Rosaria's, who's breathing steadily because, honestly, with Diluc here there's nothing for her to fear.

Kaeya is busy thinking that that is the EXACT reason they need to be in fear, but whatever.

Diluc grips the counter, firmly, leaning forward. His eyes are glittering with power, and here, in Mondstadt, in Angel’s Share, his Vision burning on his side, he is in his element.

But Childe, the fucking maniac not only smiles brighter, his eyes crinkling determinedly now, he stands even taller, holding the edge of the counter on the opposite side to Diluc, and gives a little excited bounce, just once.

His mother must have the biggest balls in his fucking town, Kaeya muses, looking the man up and down to try and determine which country kicked him out. Not his father, or he wouldn’t be suicidal.

Snezhnaya, he realizes, grimacing at the tattered red cloak, the trim of those heavy boots, which no doubt could break a man’s bones just from stomping on them good, once.

Kaeya sighs low, using his ankle to push his stool closer to Rosaria’s, sitting properly on it once more. He pouts, wondering where the damn bard is. He could easily throw that hardy, immortal bastard between him and whatever fight is about to break out.

Diluc and Childe are definitely enemies. Diluc leans in, his voice low. “How have you been?”

Elsewhere in the bar, Charles is busy escorting out anyone who isn’t affiliated with the Winery. Anyone who isn’t covering for the Darknight Hero, who’s likely about to find himself quite busy.

“Good thing Eula and Amber aren’t here,” he mutters to Rosaria, nodding over to the patrons leaving.

She frowns. “Why?”

“The only thing straight about that couple is their edge, ironically.”

She snorts into her cup, a sound which momentarily grab Childe’s attention, as he looks to ensure she isn’t choking.

When the ginger glances back, Diluc folds his arms slowly, leaning over the counter.

Which is fine, except that his cleavage is showing through the top of his shirt.

Kaeya’s eye widens as he witnesses an absolute scandal. He was sure, when Diluc came in earlier, that the man wasn’t flaunting about like a whore.

But sometime between “Good evening, assholes,” and the “Well?” he says to Childe now, he managed to lose his cravat, and unbutton the top few safety measures of his shirt, revealing creamy skin and a sea of freckles.

Childe is busy taking in the sight, one of those deadly toes of his boots tapping happily on the floor, softly, so as not to damage the wood. He looks up to Diluc’s eyes, a well-trained puppy who for a moment lowers his chin, swallowing hard.

“I’ve been well,” Childe responds, lifting his chin. “Got in a lot of fights, you know.”

For a moment there, Kaeya was almost thinking they were lovers or some shit. He breathes a sigh of relief, as Diluc being lovers with some brat from Snezhnaya would be bad for the Captain’s heart. Kaeya presses a hand to it anyways, lifting his glass to his lips, only to realize it’s very nearly almost empty.

Dammit, Diluc, stop posturing and come refill this.

That must be what the redhead is doing. Clearly, he’s showing off some point on his chest that the ginger thought he had scarred, and the ginger is insulted and disappointed that he didn’t manage to kill the bastard who scorched half his homeland.

Except that means Childe is a fucking Fatui.

Kaeya taps his finger to the mug. He’s not stupid, far from it, and the pieces put themselves together before his very eyes.

Lumine had mentioned meeting a Fatui in Liyue. Or, rather, she mentioned meeting a “ginger son of a bitch” and Paimon mentioned meeting a “egotistical, over-motivated bastard of a greedy bitch and a sore loser,” a nickname Kaeya was only all too happy was not relinquished towards himself.

Ginger. Fatui.

And then of course, she had come in to the tavern one day, pouting, and said that he actually turned out to be a nice guy.

And then, even later, after Inazuma, she said she came across him again, and that he helped her fight in a domain, whatever the fuck that meant.

The problem of course, not being that he’s a good fighter, or that he’s nice or not, or that he’s strong enough to handle a domain and has connections enough to get into Inazuma (or raw strength).

The problem being that that makes this Childe, aka Tartaglia, aka The Eleventh Harbinger.

The asshole who tried to drown Liyue, meaning he’s a threat to Mondstadt. Any Cavalry Captain worth his stirrups has to respond to this call.

And besides that, he’s one of the ones who nearly put Diluc into a grave.

Which means he just became Kaeya’s number one enemy.

In response to Kaeya growing suddenly tense beside her, Rosaria taps her mug three times, their typical signal to ask if someone needs to be ‘dealt’ with.

It’s reserved for the merchant passing through, who mentions in passing that he’s a big rough with his workhorses. Or for some travelers who joke about disciplining their kids. Or for the wayward Fatui who is looking for some trouble around these parts.

Rosaria likes to make New York deposits in the same portion of the forest where Klee keeps her buried treasure, specifically because Klee won’t dig anywhere else, and also because neither will anyone else.

She always puts a little stuffed present on top of their crossed arms, though, just in case someone feels like looking for something they shouldn’t.

So far, this system has worked well.

Kaeya doesn’t tap back three times. It’s not a sure kill yet, because you can’t just get rid of a Harbinger without someone noticing.

If you could, and if there were no consequences to something like that, then Diluc would have taken down the whole organization himself at the age of nine-fucking-teen.

The problem is never the first Harbinger, it’s the scores of ones that like to come after. The ones who crawl out of the woodwork, who stake out the city. It’s the political pressure, and the way they would use the opportunity to wear down Jean in countless meetings. To demand tariffs, taxes, etc. To mess with the Winery’s reputation in a million scandals that other parts of the country couldn’t refute.

For Mondstadt to do anything against the Fatui is for the Fatui to go to war with the Ragnvindrs, openly this time.

But that doesn’t mean Kaeya can’t follow this bastard out of the country, to his next location, let him crawl around for a few weeks, and then dispose of the trash.

It was always his favorite chore as a kid, even if he finds it tedious and aggravating as an adult.

But Childe looks right to Kaeya, finally!, grinning. “Planning on getting rid of me, comrade?”

A moment passes, in which Kaeya stares at Childe, outwardly smiling, but inside just absolutely dead.

That fucking bastardly, he thinks, the cuss words devolving into an ancient language which swears that sound more like curses.

Childe blinks rapidly, like he’s batting his eyelashes. “That’s what your little code was for, right?”

Rosaria makes a sound like a horse huffing, turning towards them. “Interesting accusation from a Fatui. Do you always walk into taverns to cause trouble with a Sister of Ordo Favonius?”

“My, my,” Diluc says.

Kaeya nearly forgot he was here. He’s been so quiet, and he still has that weird grin on his face.

The redhead sets his cheek onto his hand, leaning across the counter, languid like a cat. “You wouldn’t be accusing the Deaconness’ good friend of anything in my tavern, would you?”

Kaeya realizes with a start who this version of Diluc is.

This is the Diluc he used to know.

The one he knew when he was only 17 years old. The one who would grin at a Harbinger, who would bring down the powers around him with hearty smiles, and clever words, and carefully placed, exact power.

He didn’t think anyone existed who could bring this side of Diluc to life again.

It’s...nice to see.

Though it does cement that Childe is, in fact, an enemy. One that Diluc remembers.

“Of course not,” the ginger says, bending over to settle his hand on his chin, directly mimicking rather than mirroring Diluc. They appear, for a moment, to be on two sides of a chess board.

Two kings with too much blood and not enough time on their hands.

Would that make me the Queen? Kaeya shudders at the thought.

Childe opens his legs, straddling the stool like a maniac, rather than sitting on it like a normal man.

Once he’s sitting, Diluc stands up straight, his chest puffed, pretending to wipe a clean cup down.

It’s more for the show of the last drunken patrons, who are barely out the door.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Charles says, closing the opening behind him, and turning the lock from the outside.

He has no wishes to be involved in this.

Kaeya watches the closed door, wistfully.

“Would you like a drink?”

“I would.”

Diluc’s brow quirks, as if to ask the man what he wants.

Childe’s eyes would be twinkling if they could. As is, they merely reflect the tavern’s sconces, curiously dim. “Something red,” he says.

Kaeya’s jaw drops. Should we be witnessing this? Clearly, the Harbinger is referring to blood. Is he threatening Diluc? “Oh, you don’t want something a bit more mature?” Kaeya lifts his own mug, forgetting for a moment there’s hardly anything in it. He tilts the glass, showing the tiny amount of purple liquid in the bottom.

“No,” Childe says with a lithe giggle. Kaeya’s lip curls at the very thought, watching the man’s throat bob. He imagines opening a thin line of blood on it. “Honestly, I’m so impatient I can barely wait for the wine as is.”

He’s admitting to wanting blood. I’ll call the bastard out. “Oh? So if it’s not wine you’re so interested in,” Kaeya says, swirling his glass, “why, the only other red thing in here is the man behind the bar.”

Childe’s eyes widen, and he coughs into his hand, evidently not expecting the verbal assault. Kaeya puffs his chest, mentally preening himself for managing to embarrass the man.

Of course he’s not interested in Diluc. The only other option being that he wants to massacre us all. And then, because Kaeya’s pride is still injured, he sidelongs the Harbinger, who’s clearing his throat. I hope he chokes.

Diluc grunts a bit, setting Childe’s mug before him. “Here. It’s grape.”

“Thank you,” Childe says, perking right up. The man is as beautiful as he remembers. “So tell me, how have you been?”

“Fine,” Diluc says, not giving anything away. He seems about to crawl back into his typical, neutral nature. Kaeya rolls his eye. The only way to get Childe to reveal his hand is by pissing the man off. Diluc should poke fun at him or something!

“What are you hoping to see while here?” Kaeya grins at Childe.

“Oh, ehe, well I wasn’t expecting to be questioned by a Knight so soon,” Childe says, wiping his eye. Lumine warned him about this one, that’s for sure. She did mention how perceptive Kaeya is.

“How do you know I’m a Knight?”

Childe looks at Kaeya, incredulous. “Cavalry Captain Kaeya. You’re easy to spot, comrade,” he says, giggling once. “What with the fur, and the hair, and you really do have a deep gaze.”

“That he is,” Diluc says, responding slowly to the first part of the sentence.

Kaeya stares at the man. Oh archons, is he pouting?

Childe laughs once more, the sound dying off when he looks up to Diluc. He bites his lips, releasing them, licking them. His finger traces the rim of the glass before him.

Diluc loses his patience. “Are you going to drink it, or finger it?”

Childe wraps his hand around the cup. “What do you want me to do with it?”

He’s pretending to flirt to hide his bloodlust, Kaeya thinks. This is a code.

Rosaria rolls her eyes, seeing Kaeya’s fist clench, and looks away from the idiots.

“I thought he would never leave,” Childe says, standing from the stool, rubbing his sore ass. “You need better places to sit.”

“He’ll probably try to kill you,” Diluc says, bending down to put up a wayward glass. He sets it on the countertop, along with some eggnog.

“Oh!” Childe perks up, eyes bright.

“In three weeks.”

“Oh.” Less enthusiastic. It’s no fun to have to wait.

Or to sleep with one eye open.

Diluc braces both hands on the counter, vaulting it, and grabbing the items on top with a sigh. He makes his way to the stairs. “I’ll try to talk him out of his murderous ways.”

“I appreciate it,” Childe says, following behind, twirling a knife on his ever-energetic finger. “I did only come so I could see your pretty face. If I have to fight him to the verge of death every time, you won’t want to see me anymore.”

“You got that right.” Diluc walks across the second story floor, bringing them to a table away from the railing. He sets their drinks, and bread down, and lifts a cover from the tray to reveal crackers, cheese, and meats.

“White people food,” Kaeya would mutter, if he were here, but he’s outside pouting with Rosaria, talking about breaking back in ‘to ensure Diluc’s safety’ while she snorts into her cigarette.

Diluc stands before Childe can decide if he wants to sit or not.

He steps right before the Harbinger, far closer than most people would ever dare to be.

“You smell the same as I remember,” Childe says, breathing in that sweet cinnamon, and hearty cedar, though his limbs are so electric at the moment he can’t possibly stand still. His head tilts as he stares down at Diluc. “I think you shrunk.”

“You grew, bastard.”

Childe grins again, his eyes soft. “Oh, did I?”

“And how’s your back? Can it be pressed on?”

Childe watches Diluc’s eyes. He watches the way the man breathes, slow and steady, the scent as sweet as the juice he’s been drinking all night.

And he recognizes the question for what it is.

“Don’t worry. Mysteriously enough, the bastard who was doing that ended up dying. Suicide, they said.”

“Terrible thing. Sometimes it just gets people in the night,” Diluc says.

Childe can almost smell the blood under the man’s fingernails, and he tells himself that’s the reason his heart is racing. He tries to hide the smile growing on his face, but he’s excited, and blushing, and Diluc is right there before him, and he can’t help it.

“My back isn’t hurt anymore,” Childe says quietly, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

Diluc opens his arms then. “Welcome to Mondstadt.”

“Childe, please remember to breathe.”

“Oh, right.”

The Harbinger clears his throat again, trying to remember how any part of his body works, long enough to press himself forward.

It’s been a long time since anyone has...hugged him.

How long?

I mean, Zhongli and I had a few fun nights, but that could hardly be considered the same as hugging.

“You okay?” Diluc looks up at him, sensing his hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I- I want to. I,” he chuckles, looking away. Biting his lip. Looking back. “It’s been awhile, you know?” He rubs his nose, skipping over the lines in his head about Zhongli. It’s not nice to talk about an ex to the man you had a one night stand with. “Well, Lumine carried me off the battlefield more than once in that domain, but we were covered in blood. Being afraid of dying hardly counts as a moment when you’re hugging, you know? We were just scared is all.”

“I can imagine,” Diluc says, and his voice is as soft as ever.

“But I do want to hug you. As soon as I remember how.”

“You don’t remember how?” Diluc blinks, his pupils swollen up huge. Even in the dim light, Childe is quite sure the man can see perfectly.

He smiles, relaxing, leaning in. “I remember how your eyes looked behind that mask you used to wear. And how your bangs would come down over the front of it.” He reaches up, fingering the strands of hair slipping over the bridge of Diluc’s nose.

The man blushes, heavily. He opens his arms once more.

Childe leans in, happily holding the man about the waist. “I remember. I used to hug my siblings.”

“Very ni – Put Me THEFUCK Down!”

Childe giggles, setting Diluc Ragnvindr, heir to the Dawn Winery, heir to Mondstadt, back down on his own two feet in his own tavern. His giggles turns to laughter, face pressed against the man’s shoulder, which really isn’t that much shorter than his own.

Diluc lets out a long, long sigh, trying to stifle his own laughs. “You’re a glorious bastard,” he says, gentle palm brushing Childe’s bangs from his eyes, clutching the man closer.

But when his arms wrap tight around Childe’s back, over the knotted scars which criss-cross each other, Childe lets out a sigh, leaning against him.

He can feel Diluc’s heart, beating against his own. “Your waist!” He gives it a little squeeze. “It’s so small!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Diluc says, “I’m adorable.”

Childe sucks in a quick breath, pulling away long enough to stare, wide-eyed, into Diluc’s eyes.

The man winks at him, before his face immediately falls into a stoic, battle-ready mask.

“What the-?” Childe leans in, licking his lips, eyes fluttering in his incredulity.

“No one will ever believe you,” Diluc deadpans.

“You said you needed a seat,” Diluc says, resting on the bench. He pats his lap. “Here. It’s warm for you.”

“Ever the flirt,” Childe says. He can’t catch his breath, his giggles rising into the air around them. He walks closer, taking his seat, winding one scarred arm around the back of Diluc’s neck.

The redhead wastes no time pulling him close, pressing the Harbinger’s side to his breasts. His hand grips Childe’s thigh, fingers slipping under the garter.

“It’s been a long time,” Childe says, ever the sad romantic.

“Agreed,” Diluc says, finished prepping one of the crackers, with one hand. He holds it up to Childe, feeding him. “Are you out for good?”

The Fatui shakes his head, and Diluc sighs unhappily.

He looks away, crimson eyes shadowed. Childe can see the bruises forming under them, from sleepless nights. From mornings spent alone in bed.

Silk sheets don’t treat loneliness.

Though he supposes it’s better than crying in a tent, which is what he does.

“I could kill someone new,” Diluc says. “Make it look like an accident. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Childe shakes his head again, biting down thoroughly through the last of the cracker. He gives up on having manners, since he’s already here on the man’s lap, and he can feel Diluc’s erection beginning to respond to the pressure of his thigh against him.

Childe finishes chewing, swallowing noisily, gulping down his glass. He sighs when he sets it down. “No,” he says, “but thanks. I thought about it too. My plan right now, is to track down the Balladeer. The Harbingers are falling, you know.”

Diluc shifts, turning more towards him. Pulling the man closer, more centered on his lap. His erection is growing, and dear archons, it feels bigger than before.

It has been a few years, Childe thinks, trying to control his happy breathing.

Diluc looks up to him, at once exhausted and alive.

He’s going to break me.

“You know,” Childe says, “if you want to defeat the Harbingers,” he trails off, because Diluc’s dick has managed to tent the man’s pants right between Childe’s thighs, and quite frankly, “I don’t remember or care what I was saying. Do you?”

“Something about wanting something red in the tavern?”

“Yeah,” Childe says, and he closes his fist around Diluc’s hair, giving an experimental tug.

The man beneath him comes to life, grinning. Diluc tugs on the garter, pulling Childe closer. Gripping his waist.

“You.”

“Comrade. Should I be worried that talks of murder turn you on?”

Childe moans, and pants all at once, his breath hot on Diluc’s face.

Diluc’s fingers lace through Childe’s garter. He tugs on the strap, pulling Childe down harder.

Diluc lets out a low moan, eyes half closed. His erection is pressing painfully within his pants, begging to be released.

Childe cups the back of the man’s neck, kissing his cheek. His cheekbone. His ear. Grinding on him slowly, his bare dick burning hot against Diluc’s warm stomach. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, pressing kisses down the man’s neck.

Diluc rests his forehead onto Childe’s shoulder, pressing his fingertips into the man’s waist. “I’ve missed you too. I...I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I’m glad you are,” Childe says, lifting his hips, sliding his dick from Diluc’s stomach to trail precum between his breasts.

Diluc smiles up at him, pressing a kiss to Childe’s stomach.

"Did you make it out alright?"

Diluc chuckles, a low sound that fills the second floor with peace. He tugs his shirt off of his shoulder, revealing a scar along his side. "I did. That whale was brilliant," he says, fitting his mouth between scars on Childe's stomach, to lick the sensitive skin there.

"I'm just glad it worked," Childe says, relief filling him. He drops back onto Diluc's lap.

The man pulls back, gentle fingers tracing the tiny white scars on Childe's face, courtesy of Scaramouche's fingernails.

"Oh, you noticed?" Childe laughs it off, remembering how angry the Balladeer was. "He got me good."

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

"No, no," Childe says. When he looks to Diluc, his smile is genuine. "I'm proud I could protect you."

"You saved me," Diluc says. His fingers trace down Childe's nose, feeling the point where Scaramouche broke it back then. "How can I return the favor?"

Childe's eyes glint with excitement.

“You missed me, comrade?” Childe laughs, thankful that Diluc bothered to remove both of their shirts. One is under his hips, and one is protecting his face from the harsh wood of the table.

Diluc pounds into him again, grunting. “I did,” he admits. His fingers tighten in Childe’s hair, his weight settling along Childe’s back, except where the man’s ass curves.

Diluc reaches up, fingers tracing down Childe’s side. Childe’s dick is currently being crushed under him, somewhere against fabric, the precum leaking out destroying the expensive cloth.

It's Diluc's.

And Diluc. The man is a sight to see, lifting his body for one glorious moment to crack his own back.

He’s glistening with sweat, the candlelight just enough to highlight his ivory skin. His nipples are a perfect pink, and his hair is down, tumbling over his shoulders. The ends tangle into Childe’s fingers.

Diluc lies down again, pulling Childe close, warm above him. He presses a hot kiss to Childe’s freckled shoulder.

“Again?”

“Please.”

Diluc reaches down, sliding his dick inside of Childe once more, eliciting another round of moans. The ginger’s legs shake, no longer strong enough to hold him up on their own.

Diluc has him pressed to the table, secure against arms that have nearly doubled since their time apart. “I’ve got you,” he promises, feeling the trembling of the man’s legs. “I’ll please you.”

“I know,” Childe says, the knots on his back healed. Diluc’s nipples slide over his shoulder blades, the man very nearly laying them both onto the table completely, to simply pound him into oblivion.

Childe lets out a low moan, Diluc’s dick flexing within him again.

“I’m glad to be back.”

Diluc holds Childe pressed flush against his body, dick throbbing within him. They’re leaning on the table, in a most interesting display of bodies.

He reaches around the man’s thigh, grabbing Childe’s cock, being careful not to squeeze too tightly.

“Thanks for being gentle,” Childe pants. “Last thing I want is your inhuman strength snapping me.”

Diluc grunts in response, pressed up into Childe, having the time of his life.

“You okay, comrade?”

Diluc nods against Childe’s neck, pounding him in time with his strokes.

Childe’s next sounds are music to Diluc’s ears, low moans that rise in pitch as Childe’s dick begins to pulsate.

He cums, all over Diluc’s hand once more, but Diluc doesn’t stop stroking, turning his energetic strokes into long, slow ones, that force all of the semen out of Childe’s cock and have the man involuntarily bending double.

Diluc’s arm keeps the ginger pressed close to him, and he presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder as the man convulses.

Childe clenches, hard, letting out a sound between a moan and a happy cry.

Diluc cums right then, inside of him, pressing his forehead to Childe’s back, giving his sensitive dick a squeeze that feels tiny but that has the man letting out a groan that is not held back.

“Diluc!”

Childe cums again, warm liquid spreading all over Diluc’s hand, opening his eyes wide in surprise. Diluc presses kisses to his back, dripping praise as his pumps within the man slow. “You did so well. Look at you. You felt so good. And you came a lot.”

It's dripping onto the floor beneath them, a mess Diluc is all too happy to see.

Childe melts against him, panting for air, a big silly grin on his face.

Diluc pulls out of him slowly, turning the man over, pressing kisses to his cheek. Childe’s eyes settle on his, out of focus and resting in bliss.

“You were amazing,” Diluc whispers, pressing a kiss to Childe’s forehead.

“I couldn’t tell if we were fucking or if I died and went to Celestia,” Childe says, mug in hand. He’s lying on his side on the spare bed in the back of Angel’s Share, on silk sheets with birds embroidered in the edges of them.

Diluc’s brows rise. He’s sitting in the chair beside Childe, a stack of books beside him to entertain the man with, a chessboard set up on the nightstand.

Childe is mostly naked, though covered with soft blankets. He’s already been cleaned by Diluc, and kissed all over, and carried to the bed.

When he was initially pressed onto the soft surface, his legs were lifted, Diluc pressing burning lips to the backs of his thighs, in a way that had Childe’s fingers digging into the sheets.

Now Diluc has a self-satisfied smile, watching the way the blanket trembles, Childe’s legs still twitching moments later.

The man couldn’t walk if he wanted to.

“Cause if I went to Celestia,” Childe says, lying down on the bed with a sigh that has Diluc’s dick rising in his pants again, “I could go fight everything in there.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Diluc’s eyes nearly close, his thoughts tumbling violently between the boring this is an enemy, the normal Tartaglia is hot, and the new fighting might make me horny which is definitely not something the man before him needs to know.

But still. The want to pound the man into the bed while Diluc watches all the expressions he didn’t see the first time, is slowly growing.

“You can fight everything there later,” Diluc says, taking his words for their compliment. “For now, is there anything you would like me to read to you? Or would you like to play a game? I have the pieces marked, so call out the grid and I’ll move them for you.”

“You set up this room for injuries, didn’t you?” Childe gives him a self-satisfied smirk, but his eyes are as soft as Diluc as ever seen them. He’s lying on his stomach, comfortable with this man, his shoulders glistening with the ointment Diluc spread on them.

“I did,” Diluc says quietly, chin lifting a bit, insecurities eating him alive.

“It’s a wonderful room,” Childe says, offering no critiques, just the praise that the man must so desperately need. “And it works perfectly for injuries, or for the pleasure that comes from taking your massively oversized dick, or having mine in your inhumanely strong grip.”

Diluc’s eyes widen. “Did I hold you too hard?”

“No,” Childe says. Of course that’s the only part he heard. “I’m complimenting you, Diluc. You’re quite good at pleasuring me.”

Diluc’s chin rises once more, eyes flitting in their uncertainty.

Childe sighs, wondering when the man will take the hint. “Think I could...maybe...come back some time?”

“You’re always welcome,” Diluc says, like he should know by now.

At once, the men smile to each other.

“Oh, why the fuck is he back?” Kaeya grimaces, angrily straddling his stool, getting on it in much the same way Childe did the day before.

Rosaria is already sitting in her spot, looking over at her Captain with a snorting laugh.

“I like it here,” Childe says. “I might stay awhile.”

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Diluc complains, but then he has to run off to make more drinks.

Kaeya looks from the redhead, to Childe, frowning. “And why aren’t you sitting?”

“Oh.” Childe lets out a laugh, stepping from foot to foot, but makes no move to rest on the stools. “I just don’t find these seats comfortable. I prefer redwood, after all.”

Rosaria snorts into her cup, and keeps laughing so hard she has to turn away, gasping for breath.

Across the tavern, Diluc’s ears turn bright red.

Kaeya, who may flirt with every man and woman and every adult in Mondstadt, but who is much too shy to do anything with them, frowns. “Redwood? We don’t even have that tree here.”

“You are so cute,” Childe says, bending over the counter to set his forehead on his hand.

Kaeya frowns, standing to get a better look at the purple bruise on the back of Childe’s neck. It looks like a hickey, but that’s impossible. “I think someone punched you. They missed. Did you get in a fight within Mondstadt?”

Childe looks to him for a moment, eyes glittering. “No.”

It’s just a trick of the light, Kaeya reminds himself, frowning. “I feel like you’re lying.”

“I don’t like lying,” Childe says, reminding Kaeya once more how...Fair Folk esque he truly is.

Kaeya rolls his eye, and turns away. “Whatever.”

But when Diluc turns back, the top button of the man’s shirt is undone.

Kaeya stares at him, open-mouthed, shocked, at a loss for words. “Two days in a row?” His whisper is drowned out by Rosaria’s frantic gulps as she tries to stop laughing.

The bell to the door chimes and Venti rushes in then, energetic as ever. “Hey guys!” He skids to a stop, looking from Kaeya and Rosie, right to Childe, eyes flittering over the bruise on the back of the ginger’s neck.

Childe looks over his shoulder at him. “Hello, bard. I don’t think I’ve made your acquaintance.”

“Looks like you got close to everyone else,” Venti deadpans.

Kaeya frowns, events finally clicking into place. Why Rosaria wouldn’t let him break into Angel’s Share last night. Why she’s laughing. He gasps.

Diluc and Childe are working together on a mission! And they left me out. Assholes.

Dearest Lumine,

I am humbly requesting that you get your ass back to Mondstadt, as cute as it is, and help me with a little problem that I do believe you will be interested in.

See, that Harbinger you left alive? The ginger one?

Yes well, he’s decided that the Ragnvindr Household doesn’t have enough redheads, and has somehow integrated himself. The bastard is at Angel’s Share nearly every night now.

Often, he makes jokes about Diluc, that I can tell are thinly veiled threats.

In addition, he’s definitely fighting things. He has more and more bruises on his neck every day.

Kaeya frowns, staring down at the paper in his hands. Something seems...odd, about what he wrote, but he can’t put his finger on it.

It does seem a bit sexual, when phrased the way he did.

But Diluc hates the Fatui, and Childe nearly murdered him.

Anyways, come quick. Don’t know what the bastard wants, but sure you can figure it out.

Much love,

Captain Pasty Eye

See ya soon!

Chapter Text

Kaeya is a bit surprised to see the Harbinger when next he enters the tavern. His lips quirk, and he looks to Rosaria, his traitor of a friend, who is sitting at the counter nursing a drink.

“My,” he says, sidling up to her.

Rosaria smacks her lips, nail scraping the wooden side of the mug. Just from his tone, she can tell he’s going to be a damn nuisance today, a kitten scrabbling for milk. It would be so nice if she could get him to act like any other self-respecting good boy, who knows when to shut up when she glares at them over Kohl-lined eyes.

But Kaeya wasn’t raised in the woods, nor was he raised in town. He was raised in a manor house, and though it’s been long since he’s been ‘officially’ titled Young Master, he can still conjure up that eau de rich bitch when he feels like it.

At the moment, with his enemy behind him, Childe sitting at the counter as if he belongs there, Kaeya is not pleased. “I’m surprised,” he says, fingers trailing the shiny wood beside her hand, “that the nuns aren’t out here cleansing the place.” Translation being, Get rid of him, what are you waiting for?

“Cleansing of what?” Speak clearly, you bastard, her eyes say, and it’s truly telling that Rosaria is meeting him with both of them, both sparkling under the lamps.

It’s a gorgeous sight, and for a moment Kaeya’s brows lift because how did the archon bless him with such a wonderful best friend. But he’s mad at her, so he forces a conniving smile, as if he’s not mentally cataloguing a list of compliments to hand from his breast to hers in the later hours. “Why dear, can’t you see the leak behind me?”

He means, of course, the Harbinger with the Hydro Vision, who’s “wetting” the premises just by, well, existing. Breathing. Perspirating, which he’s certainly begun doing. Look at him, the poor man is wiping his hands on his pants, and looking away,
narrowly hiding a grin the likes of which would surely be slapped off his face, like a horsefly from a steed’s buttocks.

Kaeya tugs on his glove, looking for a moment so like Diluc that Rosaria snorts a laugh. She thinks vaguely that she should likely regret it, but it’s far too late, even Diluc is looking at her. The laugh must have been loud enough in the short span of time that every patron quieted to take a breath, that there was no hiding it.

“Why, Sir,” she says, “I see no onions behind you.”

Leeks.

Kaeya’s nose twitches, the way it always does when he’s mad and can’t quite hide it within his expression. Years of customer service has, of course, rendered his smile quite saccharine. If Rosaria hadn’t worked with him intimately enough to see the gleam in his pretty little eye, which is practically burning her on a pyre right this moment.

“Did you want to go cooking?” she says, batting her lashes up at him.

The patrons within the bar, coyed for a moment by her beauty, their hearts throbbing in their chests, clear their throats and look away. It’s easier not to listen to the conversation than to explain to their wives, well, anything.

And god forbid Diluc catch one of them with tenting pants.

Not that the man is paying much attention, or behaving much better. Tonight his bracers are cinching his sleeves, and for a moment he appears less like an heir to the largest, and most reputable (arguably, sorry hon) wine industry in Mondstadt, and more like a man who was born and raised to run a tavern late on an evening, to the behest of those around him.

They don’t know quite whether to be glad or sad that he’s there. Certainly, it is always an honor to be looked after by Diluc Ragnvindr. He’s a sweet man, offering to walk home someone who drank a bit too much. Never letting harm come to those who, without him, often find themselves stumbling face first into walls.

No offense to Sir Charles, of course, who spends his evenings rounding up the men within the tavern. It’s just that Diluc lets them drink more, with the exception being Kaeya and Rosaria, who he keeps a rather stern eye over.

But the thing is, is that was the Diluc everyone came to know. The one who returned from wherever he went to (Elzer claims it was ‘business’ and Jean claims it was a ‘vacation’ after his father’s passing, Crepus rest in peace) was a reserved man at best and a bit, er, quiet at worst.

Well, downright stern at worst. Never truly cruel, but definitely had the air about him like he was feeling rather under the weather and didn’t want to partake in typical activities anymore. Sure, he was rumored to show up to lavish parties, and of course he met with businessmen when he had to.

But he was far from the starstruck, smiling child they all used to know. Which the people of Mondstadt supposed could be expected.

They even blamed themselves a little, truth be known. After all, some of the rumors about Diluc were a bit less...lovely.

One was that he had gotten someone pregnant during his time away, and spent time trying to raise the child. Another rumor was that he was secretly some form of vampire, spending his days in the manor house lusting after beautiful women.

Well, the newer rumors had an addendum to that, removing the ‘wo’.

But his personality change these past few days has been self-evident, in everything from his mannerisms to his...outfits. Not that there’s a single eye in Mondstadt complaining, of course, the man is a breath of fresh air underwater, a spot of sun in the middle of the evening, a- you get the point. He’s gorgeous.

It’s terrifying.

Diluc’s black shirt is open, the lacing across the front undone. His hair is held high, and, archons above, it even has two tiny braids, reminiscent of the beloved alchemist (who’s been acting mighty strangely lately, he even smiled this morning!), and he’s mixing his drinks with the air of a man who’s planning to propose.

This of course gets everyone riled up, though their debates about who danced with him the most at the last ball are quickly drowned out by the simple strength of time and drink. The rumor mill, attempting to figure out who it is that has caught his fancy so heavily, soon finds themselves draped over tables, fingers swirling in heavy liquid. Their words turn to slurs by the time Kaeya has stalked into the room, exhausted after an evening of paperwork following a night of the less reputable, and yet more necessary kind of deeds.

Kaeya frowns over at Childe, who’s swinging his legs, watching the bartender whilst pretending not to be. The Captain chooses to ignore Rosaria’s faux request for a meal, instead grabbing the ginger by the back of the neck, as if he is a kitten rather than Kaeya.

Childe makes a choking sound, standing up from the stool. Curiously, his arms do go rather straight, calling into question whether his lineage may include a mixup the likes of Draff’s family line, but that’s considered impolite and thus will be reserved for later in the evening.

Kaeya gives an extra squeeze, his fingertips pressing besides bruises which have clearly blossomed overnight on the fair skin. He scowls at a man who, clearly, gets so little sun. Get a deficiency and die already you overgrown tomcat.

Diluc turns from the back bar then, and in the moment that he gasps, Kaeya releases Childe. “Sorry,” Kaeya says, wiping his hands on his own pants, lip curled. He attempts a smile, though of course with his lip trying to crawl into his nose it’s quite clearly a sneer. “You were sitting on a wasp.”

“That’s quite alright.” Childe can only pinch his lips together, rubbing his ass to keep up the charade, while he tries to count backwards from ten. I cannot get away with hitting the Captain. I cannot get away with hitting the Captain. Diluc will never fuck me again. His ass thuds onto the stool again, without him remembering to check the surface, just in case.

Diluc lets out a sigh so brutal that Rosie watches a thin stream of smoke rise from between his pointed teeth.

Kaeya winks at him, an expression mimicked by Diluc, who first closes one eye before ‘winking’ with the other.

It’s downright offensive, and Kaeya’s jaw drops, his ass against his seat by the time he realizes that Diluc isn’t merely blinking in some odd way.

The redhead merely tosses the trailing end of his ponytail back over his shoulder, haughtily sniffs once, and gets back to work.

Kaeya turns to Rosaria to see if she just saw perhaps the second most blatant form of ‘is Diluc back from the dead?’ only to find her attempting to crawl inside of her glass, peering at it most intently. Her cheek is indented where she’s biting it.
“Looking for buried treasure within your drink?”

“No,” she says, without missing a beat, “your dignity.”

After a few minutes, Kaeya looks over to Childe’s neck, silently appraising his, uh, handiwork. The marks from his fingers are red, and long. He frowns, wondering if perhaps he simply didn’t grip hard enough.

What did Diluc do to the man, press only his fingertips in? And hard enough to make Childe’s neck purple? Kaeya eyes Diluc with open disdain. You need to learn to hold back when you’re fighting people. Though he can’t imagine a fighting stance that involves gripping someone’s neck and not yanking them. Much less some method that Diluc would use. He also can't imagine how Diluc's fingers could have made those marks.

“Can I help you?” The redhead’s lashes flutter, annoyance written clear in the smacking sound his tongue makes, to the tilt of his head, like an owl whose food was stolen.

Kaeya snorts at the thought, mumbling something behind his lifted glass.

Diluc frowns, slapping a towel onto the counter, a clear threat of getting kicked out (of the tavern, which isn’t the worst place Kaeya has been kicked out of, so really this is a challenge to who wants to go how far). “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Kaeya says, grinning as he sets his drink down. “Just wondering. Do you ever hold back?”

The patrons at the counter all go quiet. Except for Childe, who hawks a laugh so loud that for a moment Kaeya thinks this is it, he’s finally going to run out of air and drop dead on the counter. We can bury him in the garden outside Diluc’s window, ass up, so we can kiss it.

“Kaeya,” Diluc says, rubbing his forehead while simultaneously pinching his nose, his one hand doing more work than half of the active Knights in Favonius.

He’s good with his hands, Rosaria thinks, before scolding herself and returning to peer into her drink. She can’t wait to see Venti again. He’s going to love this.

Childe is wheezing, face down on the counter, pounding his fist against the wood. He can’t even manage to get any words out, like ‘those aren’t fingerprints’ and ‘look at what you just said and read it back to yourself, Kaeya’.

Diluc scoffs, sliding his bar towel under the beating hand. “Idiot. You’ll break it.”

“You would have to pay for that,” Kaeya teases the ginger, proud that Diluc is at least standing up for himself against the Fatui.

“Archons,” Rosie says, understanding, of course, that Diluc was referring to Childe’s hand. She heaves a very deep sigh, and the nearby patrons go back to their business, trying to ignore the conspicuous hickeys on Childe’s neck, and the adorable innocence of their Cavalry Captain, which will be forgotten once they’re a few glasses in anyways.

Diluc frowns, because in order to keep Kaeya’s reputation intact, he’s going to have to add extra alcohol to nearly every drink he pours tonight. And it’s not like the Captain will thank him for it.

His eyes flit to Childe, who’s barely lifting his head, cheeks red and nose flushed.

Diluc quirks a smile at that expression, imagining the way Childe’s mouth will open, the sounds he’ll make later. Assuming he stays late again.

“So why are you in Mondstadt? And how long are you staying?” Kaeya leans in close, grinning brightly over at Childe, whose neck is now ringed with hickies and some conspicious finger marks.

Another patron walks by, winking at Childe, who merely glances away. His neck seems to be some sort of ‘sign’ to some of the others, but he’s a bit too inexperienced to know for sure. It takes a moment for him to even remember the question. “Well, Captain. I’ll have you know, I’m here selling toys,” Childe says, managing a smile he’s rather proud of.

Diluc is so glad his back is turned. He has the self control of a monk, but the sexual repression of a nun. He steps to the counter, setting a drink in front of Rosaria. Well, maybe not that nun. She’s waggling her brows to a lady down the bar.

“Toys? So sell them and leave,” Kaeya says. He and Venti managed to sneak a flask in earlier, so he’s a bit buzzed at this point, his cute little button nose rouged.

The bard is behind him, entertaining scores of men who keep requesting raunchy songs. Every few seconds, Diluc has to go over, telling him “not that one” and “nope, not that one either” and a very grumpy “archons, can you please play something that doesn’t involve dicks?”

“Sure,” Venti replies, but he’s getting paid in requests for romantic songs, so he changes the words a bit, to innuendos which have Diluc pinching his nose.

The men requesting the songs, who will surely be returning home empty handed, wink at the ginger at the counter.

Childe rolls his eyes. “It takes a few days to sell. Weeks, at best. And besides, if it’s a good business, I can stay awhile.”

“Hmph.”

“Well that’s not very nice. Come on, are you telling me there’s no toy you want?”

Kaeya’s eye flits over, his flirtatious side mixing unduly with the part of him that fucking hates this Harbinger that clearly fought Diluc and somehow lived to tell the tale. “Well perhaps there is. Your skull, for instance, would be the perfect size for fitting up my-,” he begins.

“I am so sorry for him,” Rosie says, tugging Kaeya’s hair hard enough that the man loses his train of thought. He rocks on his stool, yawns, and turns back to his drink, subdued for the moment.

Childe blinks once, twice, then giggles nervously. One of the men by Venti is waving their drunken fingers at him. Childe waves back, trying to be polite, and verifiably regrets it when the small group of patrons high five each other, triumphant to have earned his attention. “He’s a fiesty one.”

Diluc sighs in Childe’s ear, thrusting one, twice, thrice, dick sliding between his thighs. Childe is pushed up against the second floor railing, shoulder secured against one of the support pillars. Diluc’s bare arm is wrapped around his waist, the veins pulsating as he moans.

Childe’s lips part, eyes watching the wet tip of Diluc’s cock appearing and disappearing. “That,” he pants, as much from anticipation as from hopefulness, “may be the best thing I’ve seen today. Of course comrade, you haven’t taken your shirt off yet.” He chuckles at the compliment, proud of himself for being able to think so well when he’s so desperate.

The gasping behind him heightens. Diluc reaches down, grabbing his ass. “We can do whatever you want,” he says quietly, his voice a pitch lower than usual, a low growl above the sounds of nightlife outside the tavern.

They closed early today, most of the Knights becoming inebriated quite quickly. They praised Diluc for making their drinks strong, and he rolled his eyes and said they needed to use their paychecks on money this week, and that their spouses would thank them.

Besides, it got Kaeya out of the tavern quicker, as the man needs to get home and sober up. And Rosaria silently tapped her glass at some point, indicating she couldn’t look out for the Captain. She has a job to do.

“You’re spoiling me? Is there a reason?” Childe grins to himself, thinking of those silly men waving at him earlier. He’s about to call the redhead out, when the slick tip slides over his hole, teasing him. Childe makes some sort of sound, clutching at the wrist about his waist. Diluc squeezes, his grip on his ass maddening when he doesn’t move closer.

Childe bends farther, practically inviting himself to be fucked, but Diluc is making him wait.

The damn gentleman.

“I’ve been neglecting my duties,” Diluc whispers, lowering Childe slowly, until the man is bent over the railing, staring down dizzyingly at the floor. Diluc’s arm remains wrapped around Childe’s waist, securing him. “I have to work tonight,” he says, hand releasing the man’s ass to press into the small of his back, kneading the tense muscles.

Childe bites back a groan, not wanting to give in too soon. He won’t overlook the chance to be absolutely spoiled, fucked dry, before the spicy man behind him has to vanish into the night. “You...you’re jealous, aren’t you comrade?”

Diluc stops thrusting, his fingers on Childe’s back turning gentle for a moment, barely gliding over the skin. He lets loose a low sigh. Childe waits. “Hm.”

It’s not an answer, but it is what it is. Childe smiles, relaxing in the man’s hold. His own erection brushes against the railing, passing a pleasing shudder through him. “Are you telling me you only want to make this quick?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to,” Diluc answers, through clenched teeth. “But most of Mondstadt is inebriated tonight. They can’t protect themselves.”

Childe smirks to himself, already knowing what Diluc will say, but not wanting to tease the man.

“An unfortunate consequence of my impatience, I fear,” Diluc adds, sliding his warm palm around Childe’s side. He pulls the man back, humping him now, holding the man in place. His thighs tense behind Childe’s, the sensation a promise of things to come, if the ginger wants.

“Don’t worry,” Childe reassures him, arching his back so that his skin slides along Diluc’s pelvis, pushing higher higher, until the man’s dick is caught between his thighs once more. The tip presses against his hole and he smiles, looking over his coat shoulder. Archons, he’s beautiful in this light. Diluc’s ponytail is high, half over his shoulder, his eyes already closing from the sensation. His cheeks are reddened, flushed ruby.

Childe nearly moans at the sight, at the fact he’s bent over in front of this man. He tries to keep his breathing steady. “I’ll take what you’re willing to give me, partner. Though, if you want help tonight, I certainly don’t mind a good fight.”

Diluc’s brow twitches, as he realizes, the mental calculations written quite plainly on his face, that Childe is a man who enjoys fighting. Childe’s fingers tighten on Diluc’s hand, their fingers interlocking, and Diluc’s eyes soften.

He lets out a big smile, so large his dimple shows. He grabs the front of Childe’s shirt, pulling him up, turning the man, pushing his ass against the railing, pinning him to it with his own hips. Their dicks slide against each other now, Diluc’s slick with precum but only barely, Childe’s tip wetting at the moment.

Childe’s eyes widen, his pupils large with excitement. “Yes?” His hands hesitate over Diluc’s chest. The man is so beautiful in the tavern light, both stories lit up. He seems almost not to be real. “May I?”

“Of course.” Diluc dares to let go with one hand, though of course one remains secure around Childe’s waist, keeping him from harm. The railing doesn’t rock, nailed into place. Diluc presses Childe’s wavering hand closer. “Do you want to?”

“Please. I,” Childe swallows hard, wondering exactly what he was about to say there. He grins, desperate to remind himself that this is an exchange between enemies. Friendly enemies. “I want to.”

Diluc makes eye contact, and Childe wonders how he’s never known what red looked like before this moment. His hand is gentle against the back of Childe’s, feeling the man’s skin more than anything else. It’s only once Childe presses his palm to Diluc’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat, that he realizes Diluc cannot possibly feel him in the same way, the burns along the man’s fingertips too thick for simple nerves.

Childe presses harder, and Diluc holds his hand to his chest, their gazes locked. One alive for revenge, one dead from adventure, both grinning. The flickering fires in sconces cast their shadows on the wall.

“Then, would you like me to give you something before we leave?” Diluc’s gaze trails from Childe’s heaving chest, to his lips, to his eyes.

“Just make sure I can walk afters,” Childe says, grinning up at him. “We may have to leave your man-splitter out of it.”

Diluc tilts his head, eyes widening a bit. “That’s perhaps the first time someone has referred to my dick in that way.”

“Well, you do wield a claymore,” Childe says quite easily, opening his legs to straddle the man’s thigh. “Now, please do with me as you will. I’m already leaking all over your pants. Hurry,” he adds with a grin, squeezing the man’s breast, “or I’ll ruin them.”

Diluc glances down, making some sound that’s half-aggravated, half-pleased. Sure enough, precum is sliding down the side of his pants, which remain looped around his hips. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and uses it to wipe the slime line.

Then he licks his finger, keeping eye contact with Childe, and lowers his hand between the man’s legs. “May I?”

Childe’s eyes brighten, a trick of the light, or perhaps his pleasure outweighs his sins. “Please do,” he says, gripping Diluc’s collar tight, so tight it’s leaving a red line along the heir’s neck.

Diluc lets loose one of his legendary, secretive grins. It takes everything within Childe not to press their lips together, or to pray to stay here forever. Diluc pulls Childe away from the ledge, lifting him briefly with one arm. He hobbles over to the wall, Childe laughing all the way, unable to get so much as a word out.

Gently, Diluc sets Childe against the wall, then presses his thigh between the man’s legs until Childe’s laughs turn to a gasp. He grins, wrapping a hand around Childe’s dick, watching the man’s eyes widen. Diluc begins to pump his hand, ever so gently. Childe, already desperate, squeezes his thighs, and Diluc has to control the strength in his hand so he doesn't squeezes too hard.

When the ginger’s eyes half close, Diluc licks his finger again. He reaches under Childe’s leg, pulling the man up, pinning him to the wall. Then his slick finger circles Childe’s eager hole.

“Please,” Childe begs, legs opening in anticipation. Diluc presses against the man even harder, crushing their dicks between them for a moment, and Childe groans. His cheeks are pink, the freckles on his face even more visible than normal. Diluc thinks ever so briefly about kissing him before shooing the thought away.

“I will,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Childe’s ear. It gets him going again, bucking his hips up, both at the feeling of Diluc’s fingers caressing the bottom line of his dick, and at the promise.

Diluc pulls a tiny bottle of lube out of his pocket with one hand, releasing Childe’s dick for a moment to smear a few drops onto both hands.

“Is that enough?”

Diluc pours on some more, then takes Childe’s dick again. The man sucks in a breath, thighs squeezing again. Diluc peers into his eyes, waiting for Childe to be able to look back at him. “Are you sure?” His breath is warm on Childe’s lips.

Childe nods. “Please,” he says.

Diluc reaches under him again, teasing his hole, and slides the very tip of his finger inside of him.

Childe responds happily, back arching again. Diluc grunts, feeling the man’s ass crush his finger. Good thing we moved from the railing. He makes a mental note to check the guest bed’s surroundings for anything dangerous.

Later.

Childe has reached down, hand scrambling, tugging on the end of Diluc's shirt. "May I?"

"Of course," Diluc whispers.

Childe's fingers close around his dick, and give him a mighty squeeze that has Diluc gasping.

“You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” Childe whispers over to him, eyes half open, biting his lip in a grin. Diluc watches as the smile wanes with pleasure, teeth sliding off of the pink flesh.

He slides his finger in further, to his next knuckle. Childe’s moan builds up, releasing. “More,” he gasps.

“More?”

“Please.”

Diluc slides his finger in a bit more.

Childe winds his arms around Diluc’s neck, pulling himself up, abs flexing against the man’s wrist. “Sorry,” he gasps, watching the way his precum slides across the man’s sleeve. His legs are already shaking.

Diluc stops for a moment.

“No, no, keep going,” Childe begs. His chest puffs, hands closing into Diluc’s hair, yanking it down as he presses his hips down on Diluc’s finger, begging for more length inside of him.

Diluc’s eyes grow wide, both from the warm, soft feeling of the man, and from the strength currently clamping his arm, and from the feeling of his hair being tugged. The hand yanking him off is an added pleasure that has him gasping into Childe’s ear, lips grazing the lobe.

He lets out a wicked grin, gripping Childe’s dick just a little harder, remembering the sounds he made all those years ago. Childe groans again, the finger pumping in and out of him making his breaths quick.

Diluc’s dimple shows, as he remembers his earlier fantasy of how Childe might look from the front. This is more amazing than he had hoped.

Granted, Childe is bent over, forehead brushing Diluc’s chin, but the sounds! They’re even better from this angle, tiny gasps and little spurts of air that he can’t hold back.

Diluc is verifiably finger fucking him now, making sure to be gentle. And Childe’s dick is firmly hard under his palm, pulsating, begging for more stimulation.

He must not be used to both areas being worshipped at once.

His hand on Diluc’s dick has basically stopped pulling, opening enough to not harm the man as he trembles with pleasure.

Diluc stops pulsing inside of him for a moment, holding his finger in place. Long enough for Childe to look up at him, brows pushing upwards. Desperate for more. His cheeks are red, eyes watery, smile large. “Take me,” Childe whispers.

Diluc hooks his finger, gently, pulling a few times, like he’s firing a bow made of cotton.

Childe moans, loudly. Loud enough that Diluc’s eyes widen, and he grins, dick throbbing against Childe’s hip. This is positively scandalous.

Childe ducks his head again, curls bouncing onto Diluc’s shoulder, and Diluc presses against him, holding the man close as he fingerfucks him.

There are Knights walking around outside, and other members of the town. If any one of them heard that, they’ll surely look up at the gently glowing windows of the second floor.

Diluc saves this thought for later, not wanting to embarrass his partner.

“If anyone comes in,” Childe manages, voice happily straining, “Then they’ll see, urk, how fucking hot you are.” He reaches up both hands suddenly, grabbing Diluc’s shoulders. Lifting his head, so that he’s staring at the man.

Childe’s eyes are closing, his cheeks flushed red, the way Diluc hoped they would be. No, it’s better in person, better than his imagination.

“You’re beautiful.” His own cock, buried between them, is ready to burst at the slightest squeeze. But pleasuring Childe is all he wants in this moment.

Childe’s legs, which have remained tight for most of this, begin to loosen. He’s close.

Diluc leans in then, saving the rest of Childe’s expressions for later. He kisses the man’s ear. “You’re doing great.”

Childe groans again, and Diluc thanks every archon he can think of that he figured out early on what makes this man happy. The ginger’s hips buckle, thighs squeezing Diluc again. He’s sure he’ll have bruises.

He pulls on the tip of Childe’s dick, and the man cums onto him. Childe’s fingers, tangled in his hair, pull once again, yanking Diluc’s head back, sharply.

He nearly drops the man on accident, gasping for air. His dick releases, cum pouring out in spurts all over Childe’s stomach. Diluc lets out a string of moans, sounds he didn’t know he could make. His thighs tremble, and he prides himself on not dropping the two of them to the floor. Childe convulses against him, gasping for air, squeezing Diluc’s finger. He pants for awhile, and Diluc waits patiently. Childe groans once more, resting his forehead onto Diluc’s shoulder.

“Ready?”

Childe nods against him. Diluc slowly, slowly pulls his finger out. Childe moans again, dick still leaking.

Diluc wraps both arms around him, hugging him close, still carrying him. Childe’s legs wrap around his waist, Diluc’s waning erection pressing against his wet hole. Diluc sighs with pleasure, feeling Childe’s heartbeat in the man’s chest, against his own. "You’re wonderful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Childe’s hair, which is a dangerous game as that’s somehow more intimate than his ear, but so be it.

The ginger gives a happy little sigh, settling onto Diluc’s shoulder.

“Can you walk?” Diluc can only hope he didn’t overdo it, though he supposes he doesn’t know the man’s limits.

Yet.

That puts another thrill through him, and he feels the last of his cum leak out, onto the other man.

Childe snickers, nodding against him.

“I got cum on you,” Childe says, which could be an apology or an observation.

“Good,” Diluc says. His energized eyes roam from Childe’s clothed crotch, cleaned by Diluc himself after they had fun, up the slit in his coat which reveals his stomach, which Diluc also gently washed, to the ring of swollen bruises on Childe’s neck Oops, when did those get there? It must have been when he was given a thighjob, when he was burning with jealousy.

“You don’t seem to mind.”

Diluc shrugs, using a wet towel to rub at the trail remaining on his pants. “I should have removed them. Stain came right out.”

“Heh.” Childe stands, stretching. He groans a bit, though marginally less sexually, though no less satisfying of a sound. Diluc’s dick trembles at the merest notion, and his eyes widen. He stands quickly, wiping his hands on his pants, much as Kaeya had earlier.

“How was it?”

“You did good. You always do good.”

“Hmph.” Diluc is quietly happy, taking the towels, walking to the back, tossing them into the laundry. Some poor maid will have to deal with those tomorrow.

He exits again, appraising his handiwork from the sidelines. He did try to be gentle, but Childe is flushed, and his ginger hair is a mess, and his neck is bruised. Anyone outside of this building will surely notice.

“We’re going to have to sneak out,” Diluc says quietly.

Childe looks up then, brows lifting. “Hm? Why?”

Diluc merely gestures to his own neck.

Childe’s tongue presses into his cheek, and he lets out a huffing sigh. “You left even more hickies than last time, didn’t you?”

Diluc nods, grinning slightly.

“Trying to make it so Kaeya can’t think they’re anything else?”

Diluc rolls his eyes, turning away. His estranged friend isn’t the person he wants to think about right now.

Childe snorts behind him, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, never mind. My bad.”

“I can put ointment on your neck,” Diluc offers, holding out a container in his hand.

“Save it for after the fight,” Childe says without thinking, before his eyes, still unfocused, settle onto Diluc’s forlorn expression. “Oh, well, if you don’t mind. I just don’t want to waste it,” he explains, though he pains him to make a weakness of his, an insecurity, known to anyone.

Even, yes, the man who just felt his insides and cleaned his butt.

Diluc perks up immediately, and Childe’s heart soars with happiness. The redhead crosses over, tilting his own head as he treats the bruises, as gently as a man taking care of a bird.

By the time he’s done, the boom of roaring laughter outside has become quite apparent. Diluc crosses to the window, peering down at a small group gathered at the tables outside, with alcohol brought from who-knows-where.

Oh, we’re going to have a hell of a time escaping the tavern tonight.

And that’s before the jobs they have to do.

“We’ll go out the back door,” Diluc says, putting the curtain back in place to turn away from the window.

“Yeah, about that.” Childe pulls back from the other one, and he must have planned this angle because he arches his back, pretending to crack it, only to grin back at Diluc. “Rosaria and Kaeya are arguing down there.”

“Son of a-,” Diluc starts, then takes a deep, deep, DEEP breath. He actually physically holds his hands out, lifting and lowering them as he breathes, eyes closed.

“You okay?”

When Diluc opens his eyes, Childe is bouncing on his feet again, inches from him, peering down with fascination and a bit too much delight for someone who should be worried. “I’m fine,” Diluc asserts, rolling his neck as he turns away. “Let’s go, they won’t be an issue.”

Chapter Text

Well, Diluc can’t always be right.

That wouldn’t be fair to all of the non perfect human beings in the universe.

“You eating your last words right now?” Childe has his hands on his hips, only further exposing the sheen of cleansing water on his stomach.

Diluc smiles, internally screaming.

As it so happens, Kaeya and Rosaria and Venti are all outside.

Venti, who’s sitting on a table he set up behind the tavern, fixing his shoe. “Oh hi guys!”

Rosaria, who’s smoking while watching them with a smirk.

And Kaeya, whose nose is scrunched up while he stares at Childe, arms crossed. The man’s face is flushed from his earlier attempt at drowning, the wine on his breath fading thanks to Rosaria handing him nothing but water since they left.

The Cavalry Captain’s eye flits up and down Childe, noticing the slick, wet skin but somehow missing the bruising on the man’s neck. “What, you spray trying to pee?”

Childe lifts his leg, his cocky grin sidelong. “Well, I like to mark my territory.”

Diluc’s mouth slowly hangs open, before his years of training kick in and he manages to shut it once more. Slowly, slowly, his gaze slides from Kaeya, whose sluggish mind is wrapping around the words a toddler could comprehend, over to Childe, who snorts with pleasure.

Venti chuckles. “It’s a pee joke,” he says, before he turns and gets a good look at Childe. His green eyes go oh-so-very-wide.

Diluc presses on Childe’s shoulder, pushing him away. “Somethinglikethat. Wehavework, bye.” (‘Something like that, we have work, bye,’ for those who may have troubles).

He leaves Rosaria snickering into her palm, Venti gaping after them, stunned by the hickeys and Kaeya, still trying to figure out the sentence.

“Childe, be careful, you’ll get hurt!”

The ginger doesn’t listen, or doesn’t hear, perhaps completely unused to the very idea of someone giving a damn what happens to him.

He surges forward, the smile on his face at theatrical odds with the horror on Diluc’s, as if the two of them stand on opposing sides of a stage no one bothers to see.

Well, he is a Harbinger.

Those who think of Diluc as being rather stoic, or cold, would assume he would swear under his breath. Would appreciate a small smile at his expense as he fits into the box of their expectations.

Diluc’s lips part before his breath fully puffs out of condensed lungs, ribs tightening as the muscles in his breast flinch. If only he were still clutching Childe close to his heart, safe and sound.

“No.”

It’s a whisper, but somehow it grabs the ginger’s attention. He looks over his shoulder, brows lifting, unconcerned with the demon bearing down on him, more concerned with the admirable man behind him. “You say something?”

The Shielded Mitachurl is crackling with lightning, a result of Childe’s delusion. It’s arms tense, veins bulging with pain and adrenaline as it pulls back to strike.

And then Childe isn’t standing there.

Diluc rears back, narrowly catching the belt of the man who’s leaping over his shoulder. He wouldn’t dare pull a man from combat normally, but he slams Childe down, his other arm wrapping around him to protect his head from connecting with the ground. Diluc’s fingers dig into Childe’s hair, his breath hot on the Harbinger’s cheek.

Diluc lifts enough to see Childe’s eyes, his own wide with anger and excitement.

Childe grins, opening his hand to drop the first arrow, which he had jumped to protect Diluc from. It clatters to the dirt, the head ringing off of a small stone.

Diluc’s eyes flit above Childe’s head, to where the second arrow, the one which nearly turned Childe from an annoying sack of shit to a dead, annoying sack of glitter, is lodged in the grass. When he looks over his shoulder, the hilichurl who shot at them is falling backwards, face wet, the sloppily thrown arrow-in-question already dissipating.

Diluc sets Childe down on the soft grass, not missing how the man’s back arcs under his arm. He files the mental image away for later.

And then he takes two steps, claymore appearing in his hands. Without a cocky word, but with a grin, Diluc swipes at the shielded beast, whose wooden protection crumbles in his paws. A moment later, the mitachurl lets out a strangled cry, before falling to it’s knees, and turning to dust which resembles falling stars.

Childe pulls himself up from the ground, laughing awkwardly. “Well, you’re even stronger with your Vision.”

By the time he turns around, Diluc’s there, hand on his arm, face pushed up towards his. Childe is expecting to be made fun of, the same as any Harbinger would do to him. The same as anyone would act, after watching him throw himself in front of an arrow, rather than trying to shove someone out of the way.

He isn’t expecting cautious eyes and full attention. “Are you hurt?”

All of Childe’s quips about wanting to impress the man, about not wanting to push a wall, die on his lips. It takes a moment for him to remember to breathe. He has to look away, licking his mouth, trying to remember how to speak. “No,” he manages. “I’m alright.”

“You don’t sound alright.” Diluc lets go of his arm, assured the man doesn’t need to be steadied. His gloved knuckles brush Childe’s forehead, before he sighs, biting his glove off.

Childe’s brow quirks.

Diluc reaches up again, naked hand freezing between the two of them.

He stares into Childe’s haunted eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.”

It sounds like a lie.

Diluc lowers his hand. They’re silent for a moment, while the redhead thinks, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. He puts his hair up, glove tucked into his shirt.

Childe swallows. Hard. He can’t think straight, torn somewhere between the adrenaline of the fight, the fear of nearly watching Diluc get shot, the fear of almost being shot, and the elation of being saved and held by the man.

And the underlying, cruel thought that that’s his enemy.

“You should have let him shoot me.”

“Give me a real fight,” Diluc demands, eyes opening just in time to see Childe’s weapon appear in the man’s hand, without the ginger fully thinking about it.

Diluc’s brows raise at him.

“I just...want to see how strong you are,” Childe tries, unsure of his own reasoning. His blood hasn’t stopped pumping.

Diluc finishes messing with his hair. He pulls his coat off, catching the glove as it falls, and tossing it to Childe’s feet.

The ginger nudges it gently with the toe of his boot, looking up to Diluc with a question.

The redhead has a sword in his right hand. His non-dominant. His brow quirks.

Childe giggles. “You sure?”

Diluc just smiles at him, like a man handing over a bouquet to a lover leaning from a window. “Come,” he says quietly. “I’m sure.”

Childe leaps for Diluc, who whirls out of the way. His sword slips to his left hand, arcing down at Childe’s unguarded Achille’s heal.

The man backflips, barely in time, arcing around the blade. His own lashes out to catch Diluc’s side, but the redhead ducks under him, releasing his own sword. Diluc stands on Childe’s other side, catching his hilt, to swipe at the ginger’s neck as the unfortunate Harbinger lands.

Childe drops, squatting low, kicking out as if he’s dancing. He doesn’t move hard enough to break any ankles, unwilling to harm the man beside him.

He expects Diluc to flip up, and readies his blade. But Diluc lifts his shoe, bending his knee. He lets Childe’s boot land against his, and then uses the momentum to push the man back, along the ground.

“Oh fuck!” Childe twists out of the way of the next stomp, rolling to avoid the slashing sword.

Diluc keeps coming, hacking down at the ground, smiling, grass rising in the air around him.

Childe purposefully moves a bit slow, just to see if the man will hurt him.

Diluc narrowly misses his hair, frowning, noticing the movement. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” Childe kicks Diluc’s feet out from under him, sitting on the man with a satisfied smirk.

Diluc stops his sword, held in his right hand. He giggles under Childe, allowing the man to sigh in relief.

“I won,” Childe says.

Diluc says nothing, but licks his lips. As long as Childe smiles, he’s happy.

Of course, he realizes that perhaps this isn’t a great idea.

But wouldn’t it be funny?

If he did like the Harbinger, a little bit?

If, after all this time, he got himself a partner in crime?

If he made life for the Knights a little more confusing, and maybe life for the Fatui while he’s at it?

If he enjoys his life?

Diluc’s grin only grows wider, until he’s laughing, his stomach shaking under Childe. He drops his sword, keeping his arms respectfully open, unable to hold back any glee, and unwilling to.

Childe stares down at him, and wonders how he got so lucky.

Diluc must have seen the look in his eyes, earlier. Must have seen the moment the fight in the woods turned into Childe just wanting to prove himself.

Must have seen Childe turning desperate, wanting to be strong, wanting to be okay. Wanting to survive.

And instead of judging him, or telling him to tone it down, Diluc just turned it into something fun.

He accepted him.

Insanity and all.

Childe stares down at Diluc for a moment, a long moment, until the redhead looks up at him.

“Your eyes hold the stars,” Childe says quietly, watching the way they dance in the crimson pools.

Then he stands, and walks off to grab the drops from the monsters.

“Where have you been staying?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve got a spot.” Childe grins, all proud.

Diluc looks to the sky, breathing in deep. “The fields are sweet tonight.” In truth, he wants to know if Childe is still being hurt. If he’s in danger, or if being a Harbinger with some years to his name has saved him somewhat.

He wants to know if he’ll get through the week without murdering the men who spend time around his ginger partner.

“They are,” Childe says. “It’s almost like they have someone looking out for them.”

Diluc’s brow quirks, and he turns quite pink at the compliment. His tongue presses into his cheek, the man looking out at the city, at a loss for words. There’s too many in his head, swirling around. Words about wanting to hold Childe close to his chest, words about wanting to kiss the man’s forehead, words about asking if the man is alright.

But he’s sure he would only be a bother. So he tilts his head back, unsatisfied and yet content, breathing deep, like a fish out of water.

Childe eyes him, somewhere between hungry and thirsty, but too tired to eat or drink. “Why do you ask?”

“I washed the blankets in that room in the tavern.”

“Thank fuck.” Childe’s weapon, which has been idling on his shoulders, dissipates. “Could I stay there tonight? I don’t feel like walking back anywhere else.”

“Sure, I’ll do laundry for you,” Diluc says, because teasing the man is fun.

Certainly not because teasing Childe means the ginger won’t feel so bad about needing accomodations.

Childe’s jaw drops, and he lets out a string of fanciful words in Snezhnayan that have Diluc chuckling. “You can, Master Fancy.”

“Don’t. Not with the nicknames,” Diluc says. “I have enough of that.”

“Did Paimon give you a nickname yet?”

Diluc rolls his eyes. “No, she’s too enamored.”

Childe’s brow tilts.

“She seems to think I’m a threat towards her.”

“Oh archons,” Childe says. “You’re more of a threat to every enemy in Mondstadt than to a tiny pixie.”

Diluc shrugs.

Childe eyes him, hungry, suddenly full of energy.

“Why didn’t you push me?” Diluc’s words are quiet, unaccusatory, just concerned and curious. He tucks in the blanket on the bed he’s making. The open window carries sounds of the town, which isn’t quite asleep yet, the other taverns bustling with extra customers who are extra drunk.

Somewhere out there in Mondstadt, Diona is cursing Diluc out mightily.

He sneezes.

“Guzzle tights?”

“Yeah sure,” Diluc says, choosing to accept that version of “gesundheit”. Childe is good at butchering things, after all.

“I wanted to see if I could survive getting shot,” Childe says, toweling off. He gave up and took a bath after their little fight, and now his hair is hanging in lank curls around his head, dark brown in the firelight.

Diluc is taking a long, long time to make the bed, his lip caught up between his teeth.

Childe imagines running his finger over the flesh. Imagines biting him, softly. Gently. Imagines his back arching under Diluc’s arm, his shoulders on the soft blankets.

Before he starts showing through his towel, he turns away, pulling it over freckled skin. He admires the wall decorations, the portraits in frames, of Diluc’s friends. None of him, or Kaeya.

Diluc gives him a wry smile over his shoulder, and Childe bursts out snickering. “Okay, you caught me. I just panicked. I didn’t want to shove your nice coat into the mud, and I couldn’t imagine letting you get shot. What if I pushed you, and one of us got hurt?”

“If I thought you were attacking,” Diluc says. He’s sitting on the bed, one leg tucked under the other shin. Like this, he appears so elegant, so graceful.

Childe is struck for a moment, by how interesting this moment is. He falls quiet, staring unabashedly at the beauty before him.

At the long, frizzy, fairy-locked hair, with the tangles all throughout, like wisps have been braiding it.

At the slight break in Diluc’s otherwise perfect, stupid little nose. At the way his eyes narrow when he realizes he’s being watched, but stare back in deft defiance of being perceived.

At the way his lips fight not to lift at the edges, at how they seem to define expectation. Childe watches how they pulse, as Diluc keeps them steady, the muscles rippling to one side, where he bites inside of his cheek, then forces his lips down.

Childe watches all of this, admires the black clothing, the dark against the flames of the fireplace, the leather bracers, the smell wafting within the room along with the sweet savory scent of Mondstadt’s wine, carried in the window.

His towel slips off of his shoulders, grip opening completely.

In front of anyone else, he might be nervous. Shy.

But here, he’s comfortable.

More than comfortable.

Happy.

There’s no butterflies in his stomach. There’s no backflips in his brain.

There’s just a gentle comfort. The feeling of coming home after a warm rain. The scent of soft wind, carrying a bed of flowers laid out by loving hands in the garden outside.

Diluc’s eyes, which have been trained on Childe’s, widen slightly. His lips part, in wet anticipation. His hands open, chest swelling with pride and happiness.

Childe walks forward, settling on the bed beside Diluc. He tugs on a shirt, loose and white, one that’s in Mondstadt’s style, letting it hide just enough of him to be teasing, and not nearly enough of his thighs to prevent the bulge appearing in Diluc’s pants.

But the man doesn’t look at him hungrily. The man looks at him, smiling, honored to be trusted this much.

"Do you want more balm for your bruises?”

Childe’s thinking he wants more bruises, and he’s cursing his body for being too tired. Little does he know, there’s plenty of ways to feel good.

“I do,” he says, smiling. He sits up, cross legged. “So, dear Master Ragnvindr. For tonight, as the tavern bartender, tell me a story of Mondstadt?”

Diluc slicks his fingers through a healthy dose of the balm he pulls from his shirt, already warm from being beside his skin.

Childe is jealous of a container.

“Sure,” Diluc says, with a smile that says he knows this won’t last, and he’ll make the most of it.

His fingers set onto Childe’s skin, soft and gentle.

Sometimes, one doesn’t know how thirsty they have been, until they rise in the midst of sleep, craving the ocean. They may stumble through the house, slamming their toes on some surface that by day will look normal but in the dark grows teeth and arms. They’ll land a palm onto the container which holds their drinks, which for some is an ice box and for some is that space under their bed where time moves differently.

They’ll tug out the drink, press it to their lips, and turn back into the fish their ancestors were, craving the safety of the water, craving the normalcy of nature absorbing them and allowing them to live.

And then they’ll gasp, and stare for a moment into the dark, one with it rather than something within the expanse.

When Diluc’s hand lands on Childe’s neck, with neither lust nor the impatience of a man forced to care, Childe is once again reminded of what love is. Of how it is to be cared for, to be truly cared after.

So it isn’t much of a surprise that his brows rise, and then quake together. That his nose stretches as his lips pull down. That he shudders, and Diluc’s hands lift. That he curls up, and finds himself clutching at the shirt of his enemy.

Diluc, who has never much cared for propriety of titles or stations, waits one moment. “Sir?”

Childe, in a moment of gratitude, whispers, “Hold me. Please. If you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t finish the last sentence before Diluc’s arms are around his back, gentle with the knowledge of the scarred owner that there are knots along that spine, and memories Childe would like to get hit hard enough in the head to forget.

“I’m here,” Diluc says, because what else is there to say when his only offered comfort is that he’s there, in that moment? That in that moment, nothing could reach it’s hand out to harm Childe without being burnt away into the nether?

Diluc cannot protect him from the enemies of his future, and he cannot dive into his past and save him. But he can hold him now.

“Just...hold me,” Childe asks, kicking himself for the pathetic sound. Expecting a laugh, or someone to make fun of it.

When no one does, when Diluc holds him close and murmurs to him, Childe breaks down.

Childe wakes up on his back. There’s an arm around him, hot and heavy. He groans, lifting the arm, only for it to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in.

This is not as gentle as when he was crying earlier.

His lips purse in annoyance, and he looks over, only for his anger to melt away.

Diluc, luckily for him since he was about to have water up the nose, is a very, very pretty sleeper. His hair is around him like a tangled, red halo, whatever that means, but Childe can picture it. And his stupid face is pretty and his stupid lips are pretty and Childe wants to poke them but he doesn’t have permission and it’s not nice to tap people that are asleep and he’s a bad guy but he’s not a monster.

He rolls out from under the arm, which tugs at his arm, and his shirt, and then the back of his hair on accident, the hand reaching for comfort and love in sleep.

Childe rolls back, wincing at the tug on his head. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmurs, watching flickering eyelashes. “Солодких снів!”

Diluc smiles, just a bit, enough that Childe lets out a breath. “You were awake,” he complains, though in truth Diluc is barely conscious, only enough to make sure Childe is okay as he crawls out of bed.

When Childe returns, he pulls a blanket up to Diluc’s waist. Then climbs on top of another one, pulling it around him, the two of them fitting into the bed together without him laying on the other man, trying to be respectful.

He has his eyes squinted shut, his back bent unnaturally, when a raspy, deep, sleepy voice says, “Want to join me?”

Childe moves his ass back so fast Diluc grunts, and then rolls out of bed, landing on the ground with hacking coughs.

“Are you okay?!” Childe sits up, throwing his blankets off, kicking because his feet are tangled.

Diluc, who’s clutching his stomach, looks up with a pout. And then a grin, as he sets one scarred, veiny, hot as fuck hand on the bed and rises, showing more cleavage than that lady who runs Good Hunter and tried to ask Childe on a date.

Childe’s eyes go wide.

“Death by ass, that’s a new one,” Diluc jokes, standing. “Try not to kill me when I return, alright? I’ll cook you breakfast if you’re good.”

Long after the door closes behind him, the redhead walking off to clean himself up, Childe is left sitting on the bed, licking his lips, pondering his life choices and how much he liked seeing a finger wag at him.

The morning light comes in, landing on him, warming his neck. He’s sore, but pleasantly so. It’s better than how he feels after a fight. He feels comforted, like the sun has been on him all evening. Like he slept in a nest.

He lets out a long breath. “The Harbingers can never find out about this.”

His shirt is slipping off of him too, or rather, Diluc’s shirt. Childe jumps up, grabbing a red corset he bought, and tying it on. Or, trying to. Trying very hard to.

Which is how Diluc returns, door opening, dropping his towels to rush over. “What happened?”

Childe lets out a sling of Snezhnayan curses. “I got stuck.”

“How is your arm along your back?”

“I thought it was supposed to be tied in the back!”

Diluc says something under his breath which could very well be ‘sweetheart’ but who knows? Well I do. Venti does. Hehe.

“Is it not?!”

“It’s supposed to be tied in the front and turned.”

“I tried that, it hurt my dick.”

“Why did you put your dick under it?!” It takes a moment for Diluc to imagine how big Childe’s dick must be, to reach the corset, until he realizes it’s slung around the man’s tiny hips. “No wonder,” he mutters, tugging at the knot.

“Don’t cut it please, I just bought this one and I don’t want the nice lady to think I broke it.”

“It’s alright,” Diluc says. “I just have to untie this.”

A moment passes.

“Just fucking cut it.”

Diluc’s knife slices through the cord. “Say no more.” He rips the piece off of Childe, who sucks in a dramatic breath.

Diluc sighs at the end, laughing. “Miss Addy probably has a replacement.”

Childe gasps. “You’ll let me, the Harbinger, over to your house?” His hand lands on his chest, and he blinks rapidly, grinning.

Diluc grins, that smirk he gives, when. Well. “And how do you know where Miss Addy lives, or who she is?”

“Ehe.” Childe’s eyes widen, and he backs up. He finger quirks in Diluc’s direction. “Is that the smile you give people when you’re going to kill them?”

Diluc holds up the corset before him, tugging on the red string. His dimple shows.

Chapter Text

“Okay so I may have done some research on you,” Childe admits, licking his lips. His grin is wide, tantalizing in the morning sun, “after the fact. You know, since I told everyone you were my prostitute, I figured it was only fair for me to learn your name.”

Can’t argue with that. Diluc mentally kicks himself, wondering if he really forgot to at least give his one night stand a pseudonym. But back then, when he was on his revenge arc, he didn’t care much for bothering with such things. “May I?” Diluc lifts the corset, and his brows.

“Yes, of course.” Childe steps closer, raising his arms. He swallows hard when Diluc winds his arms around his waist, pulling the corset. But of course, his dick is already tall from the excitement of being tangled up earlier, white lines pushed into soft pink flesh from where the ribbons of the corset got tied around him.

Diluc holds the clothing in place with one hand, a move which has Childe’s heart pounding in his chest so loud he’s sure the redhead can hear it. “My name. And my house,” he says, tightening the corset a bit tighter than strictly necessary. “And the names of my family members.”

Childe’s eyes go wide. “What can I say? I did a thorough job.” Childe glances back, enamored with the way the sunlight shades across Diluc’s skin. He’s never seen him in the daytime like this, in a soft morning light. It annoys him, somehow. Who looks that good after just rolling out of bed? “I thought it fitting to learn a bit about the man who I stuck my neck out for.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Your name,” Childe says, counting on his fingers, “your job, and your family members.”

Diluc cinches the corset, making Childe gasp, before he loosens it with deft fingers, teasing the man. He ties it regularly, sighing. “Please leave them out of your plans,” he adds, quietly. “We may be getting along well now, but mark my words.” He steps back, dropping his hands.

Childe feigns a stretch. “Let me guess, ‘if you hurt my family, I’ll kill you’. I get it, I’ve heard it all before.”

Childe turns to see bright red eyes, bright with pain. “If you go after my family,” Diluc says quietly, “then we’re enemies.”

His brows are creased, everything in his stance begging Childe not to do this.

He looks like someone begging someone to let the hostages to go.

The breeze blows in, getting Diluc’s bangs tangled in his lips. His lips are wet, glossed over with honey balm.

“I understand,” Childe says, forcing his trembling force to be steady.

Diluc’s gaze drops open. His worry is palpable. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” Childe laughs, a lifeless sound that flops between them like a dead fish. “I wouldn’t hurt your family,” he says, seriously. “I was almost insulted, comrade,” he says, crossing his arms, “hearing your words. As if I would hurt the family of the man I could have died protecting.”

Diluc watches him, torn, clearly wanting to believe his words.

“But then I got to thinking,” Childe says quietly. “What did you go through, that you would be that afraid of being betrayed?”

Diluc remains quiet, though his eyes fill with a kindred, campfire type of understanding. Childe’s remain gentle.

They’re just two men after all, who have been through a lot for their ages.

Childe crosses his arms, standing with his legs apart, a silly stance when he’s in a shirt and corset, but his dick is sticking out. “Don’t let the Tsaritsa, or anyone else, hear you say we’re anything else.” His eyebrow quirks, grin so wide his teeth are showing, as graceless and vibrant as ever. “You’re persona non grata, you know. Failing to fight you is technically against my contract.”

Diluc flinches, a fraction.

Childe steps back, arms loosening. The energy pulsing off of him doesn’t slow, but his stance is protective, cautious. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Not at all,” Diluc says, his voice dark. “Forgive me, for how harsh my words are. But don’t forget them.”

“I understand,” Childe says easily, giving a grin that’s a bit too forgiving for the subject matter. It’s not as if Diluc’s threats have been idle to all of the Fatui he’s rid the world of.

And it’s not as if Childe merely collects taxes from innocent civilians.

At the end of the day, there’s blood buried under their fingernails. They’re both villains, to someone.

Diluc’s canine slips off of his lip. “Did they punish you?” The question is as swift as a kick.

Childe’s head tilts, eyes wide. He gives a thin-lipped smile, unsure of how he’s supposed to lie to that question. “Say what? Hey um, I think I have to go.” He rushes over to the chair by the fireplace, grabbing his pants. “See I uh,” he says, hopping as he tries to pull them on. “I have some work to do. Personal business, don’t worry. No civilians getting their fingers taxed here!”

He can’t stand the hurt look on Diluc’s face, so he looks away, heart pounding.

“This conversation got dark, didn’t it?” He lets out a laugh that climbs as it dies, a failed mountaineer slipping back down the snow.

But in the privacy of a turned back, his smile falls, cheek pulled tight, freckles popping against rouged cheeks.

But once he pulls his pants on, staring down at the bed they slept together in, Diluc’s words ring through his head.

Childe turns back, frowning a bit. “Did you really mean what you said?”

“I have a duty to protect everyone in Mondstadt,” Diluc says seriously.

“I’m in Mondstadt,” Childe says quietly.

“Now you understand the breadth of my burden.”

Childe’s gaze opens a bit. He swallows, hard.

“You’re one of the people I will protect,” Diluc promises.

It’s too much. Childe’s fingers tremble, and he bunches them under his shirt, so that Diluc doesn’t see. He looks for any distraction, anything to set his mind at ease. Alarm bells are ringing, begging him to run. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t believe them.

His eyes roam fluffy eyelashes, and hidden freckles across Diluc’s nose, and full lips that he’s sure taste sweet. “I want,” he begins, desperate to explain himself.

He can imagine how it would feel to bury himself into Diluc’s chest once more. To melt against him.

But he has a family. And he’s a Harbinger.

Childe’s hand flits subconsciously to his cheek, tracing old scars scratched into his cheek.

His gaze falls to those warm hands, which for once aren’t gloved. Scars lace across the back, a burn on Diluc’s thumb, nicks that look like rings from his pointer’s tip to his second knuckle.

“You have beautiful hands,” Childe says.

Diluc blushes heavily.

Childe is staring at him like the man is lost in his thoughts, and he begins to smirk, gaze becoming focused. His eyes are dark even in the morning light, seeming to absorb the dawn as it pours in the window behind him.

Diluc’s eyes roam from the man’s face to his hips, unabashed. He squints when he sees the tag peeking out from under the seam of the white shirt. “You stole that.” It has the initials ‘DR’ embroidered on it, in red. Of course.

“This?” Childe pinches the end, holding it up. His brows rise, reminding Diluc a bit too much of Kaeya when they were kids.

The redhead crosses his arms, waiting for the barrage of excuses and half-assed lies. This will be entertaining.

“No I didn’t.”

“It has my initials.”

“Oh, no, this is my friend’s.” Childe nods, grabbing his boots to throw on.

Guess we know the answer to ‘fight or flight’, Diluc thinks.

“His name is Royal Dick, but it’s backwards. Like his dick.” Childe glances to the wall, then back to Diluc, eyes squinting.

He doesn’t even believe his own lie. “He’s a bird?”

“Birds have backwards genitals?” Childe, on instinct, just glances down at Diluc, who rears back in offense. “Sorry! Sorry, I just, heheheh, sometimes you look like a bird. Anyways, yeah I borrowed this shirt.” He tugs the collar.

Diluc’s tongue flicks out and Childe sucks in a breath, immediately folding. “Is that alright? It looks good on me, doesn’t it? I’ll buy you another one.”

“Keep it,” Diluc says. “I don’t want your germs on me anyways.”

Childe bawks, leaving Diluc chuckling as he turns away, pulling his gloves on.

“Oh, again?!”

Kaeya slams the tavern door, letting out an exasperated little sigh, his lip curled.

“What?” Childe turns, smiling to glance back at the Captain, with a knowing look. “I even brought a present Captain.” He holds out a hand, indicating the Death After Noon beside him.

“What are you doing here,” Kaeya says, frowning. He snatches up the fragile glass. “Is this a bribe? I can write you up for that.”

“Relax,” Childe says, unable to hold back his chuckling.

Oh, how Kaeya would regret not listening to that sound.

The Captain takes a sip of his drink, spitting it out across the counter. Right onto Diluc, who growls at him.

“Why is this juice?!”

Childe, who’s snickering like an imp, scurries over to the door. He waves, already gripping the handle like his life depends on it. Judging by the way Kaeya’s Vision is pulsating, it does. “Have a good night, boys!”

He’s out the door by the time Kaeya whips around, the closing door showered in a tiny sea of frosty snowflakes.

“Son of a bitch,” the Captain mutters, wiping his tongue on the back of his forearm, wincing at the taste of grape. He turns back, in time to see Diluc, who’s still glaring at him.

The heir hasn’t moved.

“Oh, I’m doing you a favor,” Kaeya says. “Lose your shirt, and you might get a date, and then you can stop working all the time. It’s not like you need to, you know you’re rich right?”

Outside the tavern, in the alley beside the place, laughter breaks out, so loud and raucous it can be heard through the wall.

Diluc sighs.

Charles is in charge of the tavern that night, which is how Diluc gets out of his duties early. Which really means that he’s getting to work early.

He gives Charles instructions to let the ginger in whenever the man returns. Childe has a key to the tavern, the upstairs portion at least, on a ribbon slung around his neck. That way he can stay in that book room, rather than whatever hole he was planning on sleeping in.

Apparently he doesn’t like bunking with the other Fatui. Or, more than likely, Diluc assumes they don’t know a Harbinger is in town.

Either way, Childe will be accounted for, and no doubt waiting at home like a good little boy for a dicking down later.

Which gives Diluc time to go do his job.

Step 1, steal things.

He grunts a bit as he climbs up the wall of the Knights’ Headquarters.

Rosaria is watching Albedo tonight, since he’s going back to Dragonspine. Kaeya is watching Klee, so he’s accounted for.

And Jean should be asleep already. In other words, the coast is clear.

Diluc wastes no time undoing the latches on the second story Cavalry Captain’s office. It never was hard to break into, and it’s not like they bothered to change the locks. He slips inside, padding across to the door. Well, first he drops a few beetles in the drawer. And takes out Kaeya’s scarf and farts on it.

He flips through some of the paperwork, signing Huffman’s name, just to get back at the man for snooping around Angel’s Share during the Stormterror incident.

Once Diluc has had his mischievous fill, he unlocks the door from the inside, closing it gently and relocking it. Then he looks left and right, realizing there literally aren’t enough Knights in Mondstadt for anyone to notice he’s here.

For a moment, he imagines breaking in downstairs, but he can’t bring himself to mess with Jean or Amber, and that only leaves Lisa’s sacred library. His desire to wreak havoc wars briefly with his childish fear of that Sumerian librarian.

Disappointed at how easy this is getting, and using that as an excuse not to learn how it feels to be struck by lightning, he walks across the room to the archives, which is kept separate from the library due to an incident with Benny a few years back.

Diluc uses his old key on this door, which used to be a storage closet for supplies. He opens it, closes it, and sees a shadow moving right in front of him.

In an instant he pounces, slamming the enemy to the ground, where something clatters on the tiles, realizing a moment later that perhaps that’s not quite the kindest thing to do.

“Jesus! Did you even check to see if I’m a Knight?!”

A flame sparks to life over Diluc’s shoulder, giving enough light for him to see Childe clearly.

He didn’t even bother to wear a mask.

The Harbinger squirms under him, pouting. He’s pinned to the floor, wrist caught under Diluc’s hand, his other forearm under Diluc’s. The book he was reading has fallen open, a bit of cor lapis spilling onto the floor.

“I realize that,” Diluc deadpans, releasing his arms. He’s straddling the man, and thanks his archons that he didn’t get kneed. “But you’re not exactly a Knight.”

“I am to my sister,” Childe tries, but he’s met with a warm sigh. Diluc stands, extending a hand which Childe waves off, busying himself with admiring the floating flame from the floor. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry for breaking in,” he says, brushing off imaginary dirt from his arms. He freezes. “Wait a minute! What are you doing here?!”

Diluc pops his collar, moving to squat before the shelves, searching for the right book. His flame flies over to join him, leaving Childe in shades of blue from the window. “I’m a citizen of Mondstadt.”

“I don’t think citizens of Mondstadt are allowed in, or they wouldn’t have guards out front!”

“Those are to keep Fatui out. Not that it’s working,” Diluc mutters.

“Likely story,” Childe complains, lifting the book. Diluc glances down, to see a drawing of the goddamn Darknight Hero on the page Childe is reading.

“Tsk. I can send you to them and see how likely it is.”

“Damn!” Childe is shocked.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Childe crosses his arms, turning his back fully on Diluc, who stubbornly lights a second flame next to the man. “I have cor lapis, thank you. I can see perfectly fine.”

Diluc has half a mind to steal the stone, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Removing those records is crucial to the next part of his plan.

“What’s a ‘Darknight Hero’?”

“An idiot who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut,” Diluc says. He huffs, looking for another row of books, unable to find what he’s searching for.

“The vitriol,” Childe says, staring at him for a moment, snickering.

“Not you,” Diluc amends. “Apologies, I’m still worked up from finding a random person in this room.”

“I mean, to be fair, there’s a lot of people in this building. What if you just tackled a Knight like that? Hey, your mask looks like this guy’s.” He points to the page, like a toddler. Or a teacher.

The thought makes Diluc momentarily glance at the man, who’s shaded on one side by the moon which has peeked out from the clouds to see their mischief, and from the other by his own firelight.

He’s entirely too attractive for his own good, and the nature of their meeting only sets Diluc’s heart beating even warmer. He bites back a smile.

Please stop using your brain. “It doesn’t, mine is made of nicer material,” Diluc says, as haughtily as he can manage. He hopes Childe knows he’s joking.

The laughter tells him he succeeded, and Diluc’s lips curve up happily.

“Come on Diluc, do you not like this story?” He leans in, breathing deep. “You smell amazing.”

He grunts freely, knowing Childe won’t be offended. “I hate the tale.” The floating fire between them finds a lamp, lighting the small wick enough to illuminate the men beneath. “I just farted.”

“Oh, why?” Childe lets out a wheezing laugh when Diluc’s words catch up to him. He covers his mouth, snickering.

Pride swells Diluc’s chest. He angles himself towards Childe more, hoping he looks half as nice in the light. He lets the fires dim a bit. “It sounds stupid.”

“Sounds personal.” Childe’s nose wrinkles on one side.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Diluc looks up to him, trying to appear unamused, but his pursed lips give away how funny he finds this.

Childe snickers quietly, and Diluc nudges him. “Shh, they’ll hear you,” he says, voice soft.

“Sorry, this is just too good. I mean, they’re talking about the man stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He’s my type,” Childe adds.

Diluc pulls another book down, flicking his ponytail to hide his blushing cheek from Childe’s view. “Are you here on official business?” The dates within are wrong. He flips it closed, puts it back.

Childe pretends not to take stock of what the man is grabbing. “I shouldn’t tell you, but yes and no.” He watches Diluc grab another book, of dates which are more recent. Ones from after Lumine arrived in Mondstadt. “The Fatui are looking for someone.”

He has Diluc’s full attention. The man turns to him, the firelights dimming even further.

His eyes are desperate, needing information.

Childe relents. The pain in Diluc’s face is obvious, and Childe can’t let someone he cares about sit in pain. “There’s no use keeping it from you. Lumine knows too, by the way. You know the Sixth Harbinger, the Balladeer?”

“Scaramouche,” Diluc says, his voice serious. “The clone of Ei.”

Childe stares for a moment, shocked. His mind whirrs forward. “Right, Lumine told you.”

Diluc neither confirms nor denies, but Childe sees no other way for the man to have knowledge. Unless it’s something he amassed back in his assassin days.

“Anyways,” Childe says, trying to keep his voice light. Diluc held him when he cried. He will make the man laugh. “He’s missing.”

“Is he here in Mondstadt?” Something flashes in Diluc’s eyes.

“No idea, but there was a sighting in the mountains. I figured he wouldn’t like the cold, so I came down here to have a look around.”

“Hmph. He wouldn’t last long up there.”

“Dragonspine is harsh, and protected,” Childe admits.

“No, his doll gears would get stuck.”

Childe sucks on his teeth. “How do you,” he starts, snickering. “How do you keep a straight face, saying that?”

“Years of practice dealing with annoying business men,” Diluc deadpans.

“Not me though.”

“No.”

“Hmph.” Childe sets his chin on his hand, elbow on his knee. “Everytime I go to Dragonspine, that nun’s always there, watching. The one who’s friends with Captain Doesn’t-Like-Me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

Childe looks over, tilting his head. The dates in the book Diluc is flipping through are very recent. The past few weeks. “Sister Rosaria, friend of Captain Kaeya Alberich.”

“Hm. I know them,” Diluc says, closing the book. He tucks a stolen page into his sleeve.

“Yes. And if not her, then the alchemist guy.”

Diluc rolls his eyes. He’ll have to tip them off, likely through Kaeya, that they’ve been caught. “Please leave them out of it.”

“Of course. It’s not my business how a country protects itself,” Childe says, turning his attention back to his own book, flipping through it to make up for lost time. As if Diluc hasn’t noticed his attention being caught on Diluc’s papers.

As if Diluc isn’t smart enough to grab a piece of paper on flower sales from Donna’s flower shop, rather than something Childe could use. Childe might be trying his hand at chess, but Diluc has more experience playing games.

And he knows what the Fatui teach their recruits.

“So why are you in the old records?” Diluc asks gently. If he can help, he will.

“Looking for information on reasons clone baby would come here. Anything in the last 500 years.”

500 years. That has a bit too much to do with Khaenri’ah. Diluc feels a mental itch start, but he’s managed to avoid information on the place for this long. Can he hold out?

“And what are you finding?” Diluc spots the book he’s looking for. He opens it, eyes scouring reports on the Darknight Hero. He snatches them out of the book, pages ripping, and burns them right then and there, catching the ashes on the remaining pages. He dumps the small pile in his inventory, to get rid of any evidence Lisa could use to track him down.

Not that she would, but she is fond of blackmail. She does like wine. And his garden.

“Fairy tales,” Childe says, sighing. His book slams shut. “It would be easier to go talk to an old timer. Did you get what you need?”

“Yes.”

Childe looks to him with a grin.

Childe stares up at the tops of the shelves for a moment, sitting quietly beside Diluc. “I won’t let him hurt anyone in Mondstadt,” he says finally.

Diluc lets out something which could be construed as a chuckle. His tongue slips out, wetting his lips. “I won’t let him hurt anyone in Mondstadt if I can help it,” he says.

“I was just offering to help,” Childe says, all cocky.

“I can protect the city,” Diluc says. “You need to protect yourself. You never know when a Knight might find you.”

“You wouldn’t turn me in.” Childe leans against him, at first just to bump the man, but he feels muscles and melts, mentally cursing himself.

Diluc leans against him. “If I did, you would surely do the same to me.”

“What fun would that be? I would expect you to come get me out of prison. You get me in, you break me out.”

They’re whispering now, Diluc swallowing hard. He tries not to laugh, but the mental image is too good.

Childe’s not done, sensing he has an opening to make the man smile. “You’d have to come in through the ceiling, unless you want to crawl through the hole I piss in. Are you willing to crawl in my piss to get to me?”

“I would turn into a worm if I had to.”

“I’ve heard even a worm will turn,” Childe murmurs, “but never a worm turning into a man turning into a worm to crawl through piss.”

Diluc’s shoulders are shaking. His hand rises, to hide his smile, but he can’t hide how his cheeks puff.

Childe leans against him further, reveling in the smell of perfume mixing with the incense of Diluc’s fire. “I think worms eat whenever they crawl, so technically speaking you’d be eating my piss.”

Diluc laughs, his smile wide. He throws his head back, laughing silently, the only sound his breathing.

Childe breathes deep, admiring for a moment the man’s head, thrown, his neck extending, scarred and beautiful.

The firelight goes out, and Childe watches him, in the moonlight, eyes roaming over his jaw, to bask in the joy of Diluc’s face, in the curve of his eyes, in the way his lashes catch the tears slipping from his eyes.

Childe sits on Diluc’s lap, legs clasped behind his back.

“I like this corset,” Diluc praises. He presses a fervent kiss to Childe’s neck, where there are no bruises.

“Planning to mark me up some more?”

“No,” Diluc says, licking his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking along Childe’s skin. “Not tonight.”

His arms wind around the man, heart pounding.

This time, Childe only grabbed information on old tales, as he said he would. This time, he was honest.

But that doesn’t mean he will be forever.

But his hand closes on Diluc’s bicep, head settling on his shoulder, fitting against him perfectly. Their heartbeats lift their chests against each other. And for one moment, Diluc wonders why this Harbinger seeks him out for comfort and protection.

Did he truly come to bring down the Balladeer, for no reason?

Or is he repaying an old debt? Coming to protect persona non grata?

It makes sense. If Childe wanted Diluc dead, if he wanted revenge for whatever was done to him when he saved Diluc’s life, he could have done it years ago.

But on the flip side, Diluc was saving Childe’s family.

And that was years ago.

People change, after all. Diluc knows that. He knows people can become people he never imagined they would be.

“I like your kisses,” Childe says quietly.

Diluc thinks that maybe, some people don’t change so much.

Either way. He can handle whatever comes.

If he doesn’t expect Childe not to betray him, then it’s not a betrayal. If, someday, the Tsaritsa demands the worst, it’s alright. He’ll be ready.

He knows he’s strong enough to fight the Harbinger, especially since he knows Childe lost to Lumine. She’s strong, but she told Diluc about his fighting style.

He can win, if he needs to.

And besides. They don’t have to fight to the death.

He presses his hands onto Childe’s waist, avoiding his shoulders, squeezing him close.

“I like your dick too, maybe we could do something with that?”

“Erk. You’re incapable of having warm moments.” Diluc grips Childe’s hip, grinding his erection against the man so the ginger knows he’s teasing.

“I’m just horny,” Childe says, giggling darkly. “Well I mean, I like the hug too, don’t get me wrong.”

Diluc snorts, shoulders shaking with laughter. “If you promise to stay quiet,” he whispers, “I think it would be fun.”

“I promise to try.”

“Nngh, yes,” Childe says, his voice nearly breaking. His back arches with pleasure, shoulders digging against the shelves behind him. His nails are leaving little grooves in the back of Diluc’s neck, cock throbbing against the other man, still relishing the feeling of a large hand gripping the length.

Diluc holds him close, smiling, kissing his head gently. He gave the man a handjob for a bit, while Childe was sitting on his lap. Childe asked for the dick, and Diluc is more than happy to give the dick. He stood, lifting Childe’s thighs, pressing the man to the shelves to slip inside of him.

“More,” Childe gasps. His teeth close on Diluc’s ear.

Diluc’s thighs tense with pleasure, as he pushes higher, hips tilting up against Childe, dick sliding further. He stops again, giving the man time to breathe. “Is this good?”

Childe groans, legs tightening. He bucks his hips, rubbing his dick on his lover, desperate. His teeth release Diluc’s ear, so that he breathes right into it, breath catching as he holds onto Diluc’s waist. His voice is high pitched. “More.”

“More?” Diluc’s voice is low, a red blush covering his cheeks and nose. There’s something special about being trusted with someone’s body like this, in a side room, on a secret mission.

And the noises Childe is making are driving him insane, making Diluc’s cock throb.

Childe gasps again, feeling Diluc flex within him. “Yes. More. Now!”

Diluc smiles, holding Childe close, supporting his weight. He slowly, slowly slides in further, making Childe gasp, and stops again.

“You did get bigger,” Childe says.

“Too big?”

“I like it,” Childe says. Diluc breathes a sigh of relief.

Childe sits back, so they can see each other, chest heaving, eyes bright with happiness. He’s drooling, and he has to swallow, his hair a mussed up mess about his forehead. Childe’s teeth slip off of his bitten lip, leaving it swollen and wet.

Diluc nearly kisses him right then. He reaches between them, massaging Childe’s dick in his hand, not tugging enough to get him fully off, but pleasuring him all the same.

“Do you always carry lube?”

“Sometimes,” Diluc says. “Never know when I might meet you again, so I have to be prepared.”

Childe’s lips part, pleasure coursing through him at the words, and the finger sliding over his slick tip. His swollen cock is throbbing. Diluc removes his hand, hugging him. “You make me sound special.”

“You are special,” Diluc says.

“You say that to all your enemies?” Childe’s tip presses against Diluc’s stomach and his back arches, his nails clawing Diluc’s neck, pulling the man’s head back to see him.

The redhead smiles, eyes catching the moonlight for a moment. His thumb caresses Childe’s side. “No. Just you. You’re special.”

Childe stops moving, staring at him.

Diluc freezes, thighs tensing. “Childe?”

Childe starts crying right then and there.

Diluc pulls out, slowly, carefully. His dick out, he winds his arms around Childe’s waist, holding him up fully, off of the shelves. “Are you okay? Was that too much? Shh, shh.” His heart pounds with fear. “I’ll take you home.”

“No, no. It wasn’t too much.” Childe’s voice is breaking. He covers his eyes with his wrist, clearly embarrassed. “I just...you...I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” Diluc’s mind is whirling, but he can’t figure out what’s wrong. “Did my dick make you feel stupid?”

“No!” Childe laughs, placing both hands on either side of Diluc’s face. “No, no, сонечко. I just,” he gasps, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Sorry, here.” Diluc tugs a handkerchief from archons knows where, handing it over.

Childe wipes his eyes, looking at the red stitching. “It’s embroidered ‘DR’ too,” he says, lip pouting.

“Much be from your friend, Royal Dick.”

Childe sniffles, bursting out with more laughter. He buries his face into Diluc’s neck. “Second day in a row I’ve cried onto you.”

“That’s alright,” Diluc says. He paces, carrying Childe. “There’s nothing wrong with showing emotion.”

“I just...that was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I mean during like, you know. I mean even if it wasn’t, it was really nice.”

“Hm.” Diluc stops pacing. “Should I do the whole, ‘who had the biggest dick’ thing? To make you laugh?”

“Should I?!” Childe leans way back, laughing up at Diluc. “You could have your pick of the crop!”

Neither of them is being remotely quiet anymore. Childe leaps down, dick flopping out of his pants. He stretches, squatting.

“I enjoyed that,” Childe says.

“Me too, моя квіточка."

Childe stares up at Diluc from where he’s grabbing papers that were strewn across the floor, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

Diluc meets his eyes with a grin. “What, did you think I survived in Snezhnaya without knowing the language?”

He ducks and presses his lips to the man’s collar.

“Lick me,” Childe asks quietly. “Or should I say it in Snezhnayan?”

“Don’t let the Knights hear,” Diluc says, laughing softly. He nudges Childe’s shirt open with his cheek, licking from his sternum to his breast, mouth closing on Childe’s nipple.

Childe groans then, and his legs open further. “Yes, yes.” He pushes down, sliding onto Diluc’s dick. His moan rises in the storage room, gaining traction, ending with a raspy gasp, spit dripping over his lips. Diluc’s cock throbs inside of him, full and wet.

Diluc cranes his neck to lick from the base of Childe’s breast up, tongue wet and warm over the man’s nipple.

Childe grinds his dick on him, flexing his muscles to stimulate himself on Diluc. He then begins to ride, holding onto his shoulders to lift and drop his hips.

The dick was good enough the first time, but feeling it reopen him, and then sink deep, is wonderful. Childe can’t hold back his happiness, nor can he stay quiet.

The desperate, high-pitched sounds he’s making in Diluc’s ears are incredible. Diluc’s fingers dig against his ass, holding the man close.

Precum seeps out of Childe’s cock, onto Diluc’s clothes.

Diluc pumps in and out of Childe at a steadier rhythm. “If the Knights find us,” he whispers, “we’re going to the dungeon.”

Childe bites his lip to stay quiet, panting. “Together?” He grins, eyes flashing with the moonlight coming in from outside. “They won’t know what we’re saying down there.”

Diluc giggles. “They know what sex is.”

“Mondstadt Knights? Are you sure?”

Diluc pulls back, unable to stop laughing, pressing a mirthful kiss to the man’s nose. “Shh, you promised.”

Childe lowers his voice. “I’m trying, you’re making it hard – ngh.”

Diluc smirks, licking ever to gently along the very edge of Childe’s nipple, with the tip of his tongue.

“You’re no angel.”

“Angels are made of desire.”

Childe lifts his hips, close to climax, grinding down once more. He gasps in Diluc’s ear, lifting himself up once more. “Please.”

“Yes,” Diluc whispers back, thumb caressing Childe’s spine.

The ginger groans, dropping his hips, then bunnyhopping on Diluc’s cock, desperate. A sound builds in the back of his throat until he cries out. “Yes!” His thighs tighten on Diluc’s waist, trembling. His cock throbs for a moment, but Diluc takes the opportunity to slip a hand between them. He runs his finger from the base to the tip, gentle as ever.

Childe cums all over the man’s vest, and hand, leaving his gloved fingers sticky. He groans in his ear, biting the fabric over his shoulder, gasping noisily. Slowly, slowly, his thighs release, opening even further than before. He lets out another moan, as Diluc’s finger pulls away.

The redhead licks his glove.

“More,” Childe gasps.

“More?”

Childe nods against him a few times, voice high. “Mm-hmm.”

Diluc lifts Childe up against the bookshelves, feeling the man’s tingling body open for him. He pumps in and out of him, whispering in his ear. “You did so well. You feel so good. Your cum tastes wonderful.”

Childe begins whimpering, his breaths a fast symphony for Diluc to hold onto. His fingers slip into Diluc’s hair, holding the man’s head close. His head tilts back, earring scraping against the metal of the shelf.

Diluc smiles, pressing fervent kisses to Childe’s throbbing nipple, the man’s breasts exposed, vulnerable. He glances down, seeing Childe’s own cum smearing all over the moonlit skin of Childe’s exposed stomach. Diluc bites back a moan, pressing up deeper into the man.

“More,” Childe begs, tugging on Diluc’s hair, his go-to for making the man desperate.

Sure enough, Diluc bends against him, chest to chest. Childe can feel the man’s leather armor under his shirt.

“Your nipples must be rockhard right now,” Childe says, slowly coming down from his climax.

“Very,” Diluc says, gasping.

Childe lifts his hips, dropping them onto Diluc, who grabs his thighs and presses into him. Childe presses a kiss to Diluc’s head, and the man cums inside him.

Childe groans, feeling warm cum fill him, making his legs try to crush Diluc’s waist, to no avail. He moans, unable to hold himself up on Diluc’s shoulders any longer. Diluc supports his weight, cock still leaking.

Diluc pants, head buried against Childe’s chest. Slowly, slowly, he keeps thrusting, getting every bit of pleasure out of Childe’s tensing, trembling thighs.

“You’re too good at this,” Childe says, his voice rising in pitch once more.

“I’m glad to be of service,” Diluc whispers. He grunts, feeling the last of his cum enter the man, drained.

“Stay like this, for a moment,” Childe says, winding his arms around Diluc’s neck. He pulls him close.

“Of course.”

A few deep breaths later, Childe is ready to speak.

Which is when they hear people pounding up the stairs.

“Wrong type of pounding,” Childe says, his mind lost in pleasure.

They absolutely cannot be found like this. Diluc pulls out of Childe, supporting the man with one arm, Childe’s limp legs wrapped around him.

He leaves the papers strewn where they are. Diluc rushes for the window, which has been left open. He opens it fully, crawling out and gliding over to the outer wall of the city.

Once on the wall, Diluc ducks so no onlookers can see, Childe beside him. The Harbinger rolls onto his back, a bunch of papers caught in his tight grip. He shoves them into his inventory, gasping happily, still coming down from his climax.

The men pant for a moment, staring at the sky. The moon is bright above them.

“We got cum on that floor,” Childe says, laughing softly.

“Good. I take ‘fuck the Knights’ seriously,” Diluc says.

His dick is throbbing. He struggles trying to fit it back into his pants in a way that doesn’t hurt. There’s cum on his vest, but he doesn’t mind.

Childe evidently doesn’t care if he’s in the open, his dick waving hi to the moon, dripping.

Diluc reaches over, finger trailing along the wet tip. He sucks his finger, then tucks Childe back in as gently as he can. “That’s how you do that without getting a dick caught.”

“You got your dick caught in something,” Childe says.

In this lighting, Childe’s cheeks are bright red, so bright he almost appears feverish. Diluc leans down over him, fingertips trailing up from Childe’s v-line, up his abdomen. The sensitive man moans, legs lifting.

Diluc grins down at him, meeting eyes which sparkle with the stars lost in them.

“It was an accident,” Childe says, his voice whiny.

He’s driving Diluc insane. The man’s heart is pounding, with the excitement of almost being caught, with the happiness of having just cum. With the way Childe is looking up at him, like he’s a hero.

Diluc’s hand closes on Childe’s, holding his slender fingers gently. “Come back with me,” he says, fingers sliding back down towards Childe’s pants.” I’ll treat you to a meal.”

“Yes, Sir,” Childe says, breathy. And trusting.

“I refuse to walk tomorrow,” Childe says, lying back on the bed.

Diluc chuckles, sinking onto the blankets next to him. Childe has a tight grip on his arm.

“We’ll clean up in the morning,” Diluc says. “Rest easy. No one will take you tonight,” he adds, winding an arm under Childe’s neck.

“Try not to get mortally injured,” Childe says, also referencing their first night together. He doesn’t know how accurate his words are. “And I hope when we wake up, the Knights aren’t after us.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

"You came, you saw," Diluc whispers, breaking into a mountain of snickers.

Childe bursts out laughing, "Ow," clutching his stomach and turning on his side.

"Here, water." Diluc holds out a glass for him, chuckling. They got back a short while ago, though how their legs carried them this far, he isn't sure. How Knights didn't spot them, is due to the general incompetence of Ordo Favonius.

The two men crawled upstairs, and to this back room, where Diluc wet a towel for them from a jug by the bed, and cleaned Childe's slick thighs, and sticky stomach.

Diluc's clothes are strewn across the floor. He’s never comfortable being seen naked, but he washed up at the sink and dressed himself in clothes he keeps in the dresser. Coincidentally, they’re all embroidered with the initials of Childe’s mysterious friend.

Diluc smiled as he buttoned his clothes, knowing he’ll never see them without seeing Childe’s bright smile.

"I left my corset," Childe says suddenly, gasping when he stops drinking water. "Shit."

Diluc tugs the crimson clothing from his inventory, handing it over. "I stashed it just in case. And it’s clean."

"You think of everything."

Diluc chuckles. "I try."

“I ripped this off, but maybe next time I’ll have you take it off for me,” Childe says, falling back on the bed, arm over his eyes. He shoots back up. “Wait! I didn’t say that out loud.”

Diluc is drinking water beside him, sitting up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, I mean, I shouldn’t like assume you would want to...be with me. You know?” Childe is staring at his hands, clasped in his lap.

Diluc blinks at him owlishly. “But I like being around you.” His brow creases. “Did someone say I didn’t?”

“No!” Childe devolves into giggles. “Who would?”

“I’ve had issues with it,” Diluc says, pouting sourly. “Donna, for one. Avoid her, if you please, or if you find you can’t, please understand the things she says isn’t true!”

“Oh, one of those. I can always tax her,” Childe offers.

“She’s a Mondstadt citizen, Childe.”

“I meant on my toy sales!” He throws his arms around Diluc’s neck. The man lets him, rocking a bit with the force, lost in his grumpy thoughts as he takes another swig of water. The hug spills droplets onto his shirt, but he likes the feeling.

Childe opens his eyes, content to stay here, when he notices something. “Oh, shit.”

“What? Are you alright?”

“Your neck,” he says, pulling back. “I ripped it up. Hand me that ointment,” Childe says, holding his hand out. “I’ll patch you up.”

The fireplace is off, since it’s a warm night.

"Comrade?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad I went to the Knights tonight."

"Mm. I am delighted to know that."

"I'm glad I came." A pillow pushes into Childe's face, leaving him bursting with laughter. "Comrade, it's funny!"

Diluc reaches over, stealing Childe's pillows to his side. " 'It's funny'," he mimics.

"Give those back!" Childe giggles, tugging on them.

Diluc pretends to snore, loud, obnoxious snores with "wittle wittle wittle wittle," at the end.

Childe gets up close, leaning down towards his ear. "I once fucked a beetle."

"What in the Abyss." Diluc rolls back, staring at him, horrified.

"Just kidding," Childe says, ripping two of the pillows away. He turns over, backing up until his ass rubs onto Diluc's sore cock. "Good night, dear," he says, in a mimicking voice.

Diluc remains quiet.

Childe glances over his shoulder, and Diluc flicks water from his fingertips onto the man, who cries out in laughter.

Childe steals half the blankets kicking his legs out as he flails, while Diluc just watches the show with a smug little grin.

"Comrade!"

"Look, I got you wet."

Childe flips over, kneeling, glaring down.

Diluc lifts an arm, setting it under his own head with a happy smile.

“You know, when you stay here with me, it’s not so lonely.” Childe is lying on his side, clutching a pillow close.

“I’m just here to make sure you don’t go after any of Mondstadt’s citizens.”

“Comrade!! I’m trying to have a moment!”

“Oh,” Diluc says. He gives a little sniff. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Childe laughs. “I’m gonna kick you out of bed.”

“I’ll go sleep with Royal Dick.”

“Let it go! I said I was sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m wearing his clothes too.”

“He gets around town,” Childe says, fluffing his pillow which Diluc already fluffed fifty times before letting him lay on it. “You’re not a royal dick, you’re a royal pain in my as-HAHAHHAHAA.” Childe must be quite tired, because he devolves into a laughing fit, turning on his side.

Eventually, he ends up laughing himself to sleep, falling into slumber with a smile on his face, at home with an enemy.

Diluc stares at the rafters above, thoughts a jumble.

Eventually, he crawls out of bed, locking the door behind him since Childe has the key. He leaves the tavern, dons his mask, and gets to work.

Chapter Text

Mondstadt is dark.

The Knights are busy, of course, looking for the intruder. They’re pouring out into the streets under the city wall where Diluc is perched. They’re not quiet about it either, worriedly speaking in hushed whispers to each other, eyes wide, armor clanking. Some of them are half-dressed, not yet awake, hair hastily thrown into messy buns, bangs clipped out of their eyes.

Diluc spots Huffman, a moment before the man looks up to the wall. The man has coffee in one hand, spilling from it’s container. And eye makeup successfully washed from only one eye. The poor bastard must have run from the mirror, been handed a guilt drink, and rushed outside to communicate with the other Knights.

Diluc ducks under view, army crawling to the far side of the wall. He slips a leg up through the archer’s gap, shimmeying over like a shadow, cloak dragging behind him.

On the far side, he checks the distance, then leaps headfirst. His fingers stretch out, pinky landing on the grass, bending as he rolls, along his arm, up his shoulder, down his back, to land in a run. His momentum carries him forward, until he’s crouched in a bush nearby, staring out across the water.

Anyone doing anything unsavory this evening will be terrified. As the saying goes, ‘a thief has multiple locks on his door’.

Those who are doing illicit dealings, who were planning on robberies, who were going to grab information, will call off their work. They’ll head home, in small groups of two or three at most, grumbling about missed opportunities. They’ll huddle down in a dark room, heavy curtains over the windows, a single candle on the floor. Some will sit in the dark.

The treasure hoarders and Fatui will sit and talk about the things they witnessed that day, trying to discern who the new player in town is. Trying to figure out who it is who could have the Knights so riled up.

And once they learn someone broke into one of the storage rooms at the Knights’ Headquarters, they’ll shrug. They’ll laugh to themselves, assured that there’s no one especially strong in Mondstadt. That even the Knights can be broken into, and the poor bastard who did it probably didn’t even find what they were looking for. That it was a one-time thing, by someone who’s run far away.

The Knights, on the other hand, are pissed. They’ll search every alleyway, and every bush. They’ll climb the roofs and soar down.

Already, Amber is leaping from her apartment window. She knows Klee is with Kaeya, but she’ll head there first, knocking on the glass to his bedroom until he opens it, rubbing sleep from his eye.

She’ll tell him the situation, that someone broke into the Knights’ Headquarters.

“What room?”

“The archives.”

He’ll pretend to take the threat seriously, and some part of him will.

But after she leaves, and once he’s opened Klee’s bedroom door and pulled a chair into the hall. Once he’s sitting, keeping his one eye on her, the mirror at the end of the hall showing him the rest of the apartment, his sword across his legs. Once he can hear a pin drop in the floor below his, he will sit and pray.

For Barbatos to protect one very foolish redhead, who may not have been the one to break in, but who will surely use this opportunity.

Those who are not yet guilty will head home.

Those who have already committed atrocities will assume the Knights are onto them, and will flee the city, running into the hills.

And that is why Diluc planned on getting caught by the Knights tonight. Had Childe not been there, he would have slammed every bookshelf until the silly armored kids with their silly swords came running.

He stares out at the sole bridge leading in and out of Mondstadt.

Watching a lone figure sprint out into the darkness.

Childe opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

His bed is not yet cold, but even the warmth of blankets cannot replace the feeling of a Pyro user beside him.

He pouts, sitting up. “Well I wasn’t expecting to be fucked and abandoned,” he mutters, rubbing his shoulders for some semblance of comfort.

Memories of Zhongli float into his mind. Of a grand night, followed by a sweet smile. The man’s hair spread all across a pillow, and Childe thinking he could get used to this.

Of Childe, hoping for some comfort. Needing a hug, or a caress, or something he couldn’t name.

“Could you buy me this?”

Of sweet memories stained with the knowledge of being used, and trying to be okay with that. Of him giving, and giving, endlessly.

Of a monster trying to apologize for his existence, trying to give everything he can give, because if he can’t give what is his worth in this world? How else could he apologize?

Childe stares at the floor, shivering, until something in his mind snaps.

His eyes grow wide, dark. To look at him would surely be to know the face of one who has seen the Abyss.

But not to understand.

He forces himself to stand, all too used to moving for the sake of moving.

His bones are sore, his body still aching from the fight the night before.

He wets his lips, some archaic knowledge sitting within him that if he wants to work at his best performance, he needs fuel. The water must drink if it wants to have anything to form into weapons.

Like a ghost, like a mechanical man, like someone who’s been beaten into submission but whose eyes retain no spark, just endless pools threatening to drown the enemy, he crosses the room. Puts on his shoes, fingers white as bone, slipping over the lacework.

Tartaglia stands, putting his foot down. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

He only remembers the key around his neck when metal warmed from a night against his chest slips against his sternum.

He blinks, staring down at the endless dark of the first floor, unable to see that far in the dark of the tavern, with the shutters all closed.

In the distance, Tartaglia can hear people yelling. Knights shouting orders.

He blinks, coming back to life. Reaching down, under the shirt embroidered ‘DR’. To lift the key in his fingertips, and stare at it.

A key.

“You’re special,” he hears, once again. Diluc’s words. Diluc’s lips. Diluc’s promise.

A key, in his palm. Pressing on his skin. As real as a weapon.

A key to a place to stay.

To safety.

I could just stay here, he thinks, resting for a moment on blankets made of material he could only dream of having as a kid.

No one would blame him, if he just put his feet back on the bed, and lied down, and went to sleep.

He doesn’t really owe this country anything. And he wouldn’t be doing anything different from the other citizens.

Childe’s stomach knots, telling him he doesn’t deserve this luxury.

But for once, someone has given him a place to hide. Wouldn’t it be nice to enjoy it?

He isn’t expected to fight. He doesn’t need to get more scars. He doesn’t need to exist beyond these four walls.

Some part of him thinks that if he lied back down, Diluc would return.

That the man would embrace him just the same as always. Would appreciate him, just for existing. Would never expect him to put himself in harm’s way. Would never expect him to go do someone else’s job.

Childe slips the key back into his shirt. His hand palms into a fist, and before he can regret it, he stands.

Fighting is all he knows. The scars on his fingers are sliding over each other. The creak between his shoulders is as familiar as a sword in his hand. It’s more easier for Childe to recognize than an embrace.

He drops to his knees before the dresser, pulling open every drawer. As the bottom slides out, metal clangs, the smell of leather hitting his nose. Childe smiles, chuckling low, his lips pulling his cheeks taut, his eyes cutting. His fingertips dance over the layered weapons, over a mace, dirks, daggers, and, at the side of the drawer, a sword.

His hand closes on the lovingly wrapped handle, lifting her from her placement.

Maybe, he was made for fighting. When did I even start to think that way? Maybe he was made for bleeding, or maybe it’s just the type of person he’s become.

Childe presses a kiss to the tip. The sword smells like Diluc, like the nape of his neck. Like the smoke in his hair.

Maybe he never had a choice, since that day he slipped through a snowy forest floor into the Abyss.

But this is who he is now.

And he’ll be damned if a good man is out there, fighting alone.

Diluc lifts hit boot off of the man who’s crawling along the dirt, trying to pull himself up. He’s not running, a fact which is equal parts amusing and annoying to Diluc. Perhaps his mind is too scrambled for him to understand that he is no longer the most dangerous thing around.

Diluc lets him, watching the way the man lifts himself onto his haunches, spitting curses.

But that’s not quite good enough to sate the anger running through the redhead’s veins. He unhooks the chains on his thigh, approaching.

Diluc reaches down, wrapping the chains around the man’s neck, pulling his head up.

“Let me see your face.”

He kneels before him, one one knee, holding the man in place like a dog. Peering through the mask into his eyes.

Some men are redeemable.

Some are petty thieves because they had a bad run in with their government. Some are just hungry, and need help.

Some become treasure hoarders because they think it’s cool.

Some just want money and don’t like the adventurer’s guild.

But there are some bastards who work with the Fatui. Some who use kids to send messages to each other, and when the kids aren’t useful, they send them to El Dottore, to be turned into monsters.

Some of the kids survive it. Some fight their way out, and get turned into Harbingers with red masks and a red earring and blue eyes and pretty freckles.

Childe’s face in his mind, Diluc tightens the chain. His eyes focus on the man’s twisted features. The monster makes a keening sound as his air is cut off, wind pipe slowly crushed. He scrambles for some purchase around the thing at his neck, nails digging into the skin.

The redhead snaps his spine, dropping the man to the ground. A moment later, he’s staring at naught but freshly prepared soil, smoke curling in the air above him.

“Do you ever run out of energy?”

Diluc’s head turns slowly, as if he’s in a play, to stare beside himself. Flames rising from the third ruin guard flicker, reflecting off of his mask.

A man stands beside him, smiling as if enamored.

Childe.

Diluc groans.

“Good job trying to hide your trail, but I am a Harbinger, you know.”

“How did you find me?”

Childe flicks a thumb behind him. “Followed the smoke.”

Diluc glances back sheepishly, appraising three thin trails, leading up from camps he destroyed on the way. He shrugs, giving a little hmph.

Childe crosses his arms, thinking he’s off the hook, only to freeze when Diluc’s eyes settle on him.

Diluc gives that same grin he gave when Childe mentioned Miss Addy. He’s relieved to see Childe is armed. “And you’re supposed to be home, safe in bed,” he exclaims, lifting his sword over his head, to slam it down on the head of the ruin guard who’s trying to stand before him.

After leaving the dead pile of ashes behind, his trail led here, to a small camp which has already been abandoned. The tent is open, blankets strewn about, books and bags absent. The only things left are three ruin guards.

His sword flares to life between his hands, a lover glowing to his caress.

The lights in the ruin guards flicker on, the beasts rising with a mechanical fury that turns the air bitter. Everything smells like rust and blood.

The metal tears under the force of his blunt blade, ripping slowly with a sound like gears grinding. It splits, sparking, as his anger and Vision meld together to melt the armor protecting the ruin guard’s head. The blade lowers, farther and farther, while two fresh ruin guards, paces away, stand.

"That makes five," Childe calls over, hand on his hip, coincidentally pulling his jacket open to show just a little more skin.

"Glad you can count," Diluc says. He grunts, putting some back muscle into his swing. His arms are about to snap his shirt.

Childe swallows, hard.

His claymore tears through the ruin guard’s core in it’s head, rendering it useless even as the light within it strives to fire. It gives a heartless groan, almost like the machine is begging for mercy, then keels over, dragging the sword with it.

Childe’s jaw follows it, as he stares in awe, and wonder.

The light in the enemy sputters once before dying.

The muscles in Diluc’s neck flex, as the man stomps on the beast, bracing his boot against it’s burly chest. The other two are approaching, and there’s no time to waste. He yanks his claymore out of it’s skull, another erotic grunt slipping from a curled
lip.

Childe’s dick hardens. “The bed was cold.”

“I’ll be back soon to warm it,” Diluc says, pulling his claymore over his shoulder as he sizes up the remaining enemies, which have started to screech in protest.

Childe’s starting to understand how the man lifted him clear against the bookshelves earlier. “I would like to help.”

The first ruin guard shoots at Diluc, who’s blocked in by a burm on his left and Childe on his right. He sets his claymore before his face, crouching to block the worst of the blows. They hit his sword full force, pushing it against his forearm, which knocks into his face. His feet dig into the dirt, sliding along, kicking up rocks. He cries out, grateful he kept his face hidden.

When Diluc opens his eyes, looking up to the monster before him, Childe is between them, drawing the attention of the fifth beast. “Silly bastard,” Childe says. He laughs, trying to sound reassuring. “Give me a minute, alright?”

His voice is dark, temper sparked. He leaps through the air, while one of the ruin guards is charging, letting the other shoot freely at his back. At the canisters arc through the air, the Harbinger lands on the fifth, stabbing down into the cracks around it’s neck.

Diluc has been racing forward since before his eyes opened. He leaps from the ground, fire arcing through the air to protect Childe. The capsules explode, raining down sparks onto the enemies, but not the redheads.

The fourth ruin guard lifts it’s hands to clap onto Childe, who’s still wrestling with the fifth. Diluc roars, flinging knives into it’s knees. It’s legs buckle, dropping out from under it. The hands clap uselessly on empty air, reaching up towards a sky that has no answers.

Diluc jumps onto it’s chest, slamming his boots down hard enough to crack the metal within. He swings his claymore over his shoulder like an axe, driving the sharp end through it’s back.

“You’ve got anger issues, friend,” Childe says, over his shoulder. He’s narrowly stabbed at each of the rivets holding the beast’s head. His years of training with a sword paid off, a bit too easily.

“You could say that,” Diluc growls, turning to swing down at the enemy Childe is working on.

Childe leaps back from it, laughing. It’s head disconnects, leaving wires and scrolls of information exposed, which Childe slices clean through. Diluc’s claymore slams on it a moment later, ensuring it’s destruction.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Did that bastard dig under my boot?” Diluc frowns down at his ankle, ripping the boot off, the laces singed from his still-warm gloves.

Childe drops on his knees beside him, pulling a medical kit from his inventory like a practiced medic.

Diluc slips off his sock, sighing when he sees long grooves in his leg.

“Ew, what got you?”

“Human nails are disgusting,” Diluc complains.

“They are pretty gross,” Childe says. “Did you know most bites or scratches from a human will become infected? Fun fact. It’s because of the bacteria in a human mouth.”

“What if I brush my teeth a lot?”

“Nope, it’s naturally occuring. Good for you, bad for guys you bite. Probably a defense mechanism that evolved as people had to adjust to their environments. Possibly something that developed to stave off cannibalism.”

“Stave off?”

“Yeah,” Childe says, dumping Snezhnayan firewater on the cuts.

Diluc lets out a muffled grunt, abdominal muscles clenching. He unbites his lip, yelling, “Ich würde mich lieber ins Knie ficken”.

Childe’s jaw drops and he giggles, screwing the cap back on the bottle to stash it away. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Is that firewater? Kacke!“

“Yeah.”

Diluc breaths deep, giving Childe a smile that just screams ‘this fucking sucks’, in laymen’s terms.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s what I had on hand.”

Diluc nods. “Much appreciated,” he says, but his eyes are twinkling and his cheeks are red and Childe has never seem him look so energetically beautiful.

Childe bites his lip, trying to hold back his laughter so he can keep his hands steady. “Is that sarcasm? It’ll kill everything comrade! It’s good for you, I swear!”

Diluc has eyes like a wild horse at the moment, and the heavy breathing through his nostrils is supporting the mental image.

Childe snickers, bending over the bubbling scratches. “It’s a good thing I poured it on,” he says, dapping at them. “Think you’ll survive?”

“I hope not,” Diluc says, lying flat on his back.

They’re silent for a moment, except for Childe being unable to hold back rounds of laughs. He spreads ointment on the cuts, then pulls out some gauze.

Diluc makes some sound from the back of his throat.

Childe looks over, bandages spread between his hands, utterly done. “Are you complaining about being taken care of?”

“I haven’t had a scratch dressed so thoroughly since I was a child,” Diluc says appraisingly, tilting his leg to admire the dressings. The casual smirk on his lips is driving Childe insane.

“Well, I am used to taking care of my siblings,” Childe says, leaning over quick to swat at Diluc’s hands, and tie off his bandages for him. “There. Was that so bad?”

“No,” he says sweetly. Diluc’s lips purse, as he stares out at Vannessa’s Tree. “Getting help for injuries is something the Knights do.”

“Archons.”

Diluc lets out a long, slow sigh. Something in his gaze just cements, a bit full of longing. The quiet sort of look someone gives when they want things to be different.

Childe watches, awed to silence, as the man sits, one knee up, arm resting casually around it.

Diluc has no need to explain his actions, to Childe or anyone else.

Well, if Kaeya were here he would say, “Yes, I murdered a man on the way here. He’s one of those smoke piles out there. I squeezed his neck until he clawed at his own skin, and then I snapped it. It was easy.”

“I recognized him from the posters. You know the ones? He was wanted in a kidnapping case. They found the kid awhile ago. You were a part of that one, you know?”

“You and Benny brought him back, triumphant, and told me about it over the counter at work. Your eye was silently asking me to do something about the guy who got away.”

“I did it. I didn’t even mean to, but I found him. He was running supplies for the bastard I’m trailing. The one who I suspect is Scaramouche.”

“Does Scaramouche know that he’s got kidnappers working for him? Are all of the Fatui working for the organization, completely knowledgeable of the things they do?”

His brows press up, gaze flicking over to Childe.

That’s the one man he won’t blame. The one who’s a part of it, a willing participant, because it’s either him or one of his siblings.

Under the moonlight, long white scratches are visible on his cheek, the other cast in shadow. Childe’s staring at nothing, lost in his thoughts.

It’s always the worst after a fight, when screams and invisible flames make their appearance. When flashbacks live on as an overlay, a play visible to one specter at a time.

Diluc’s fingernails dig against his glove.

He can’t keep his word tonight, and that frustrates him.

He can’t go back to Childe’s room, can’t lay down beside him. Cannot love him.

Diluc can’t stand the thought of returning, and lying down, pretending like his mind isn’t churning. Of waking up thinking he’s being attacked, thinking he’s fighting that man, only to find that he’s cried out in his sleep and scared Childe.

Diluc’s hand closes on his wrist, guilt nearly bending him double, nearly rendering the whole day nothing more than a dark cloud he can’t quite retain.

He just wants to be a gentle man. To be soft, when he needs to. When he wants to.

The idea of letting Childe down is too much for him to bear at the moment. But he can’t possibly be everything.

Childe wonders what the man feels. If he’s alright. How they could possibly discuss the inner workings of their chests.

He’s grateful that they aren’t closer to each other. That he has no reason to explain the thoughts within him. The screams causing his ears to ring. The gas burning his nose, making his stomach roil.

The feeling of fingers digging into his shoulder. The sensation of his shirt being torn.

Childe stands, holding a hand out to Diluc. He smiles, feeling his teeth slide over his lips, the look pulling his face too far.

He can feel every scar on his back.

Diluc looks up, straight at his eyes. Observing the way Childe seems to absorb the light, as his hand rests on a bloodstained palm, and as he’s hoisted up.

Diluc’s gaze turns solemn, serious, the two of them sharing the look for a good moment, the only people in the vicinity who understand each other.

Childe swallows the blood in his mouth, turning his head away to spit. “Excuse me,” he says, wiping his mouth.

Diluc, who was raised to swallow his problems, feels his heart ache. Childe reads his expression like a book, mistaking nothing.

The men sigh, their fingers releasing one by one. Childe wipes his onto his shirt.

“That’s borrowed?”

“What?” Childe looks up, leaning closer.

“That’s my shirt,” Diluc says.

Childe glances down at the blood stains on the tail, lips pursed. “Seems a good color for it.”

Diluc pouts.

“I’ll wash it,” Childe promises. “Here. A handkerchief.”

Diluc assumes he’ll recognize the embroidery, wiping off his own blood from his glove, courtesy of Childe’s palm. The ginger skips ahead, laughing at the way the wind caresses his face.

Diluc reads the red letter ‘A’ on the handkerchief, glancing up to the man before him, whose arms are out, head tilted back, staring at the spinning stars far above them.

Diluc walks up beside him, handing the cloth over, for Childe to wipe off his own fingers.

“Say, how did you burn that one in half?”

“I was hungry.”

“Hungry?”

“Thinking of marshmallows.”

“Marshmallows! Oh, comrade, I haven’t had those in ages! We should get some.”

Diluc nods along, his heart somewhere in the mist of the clouds. “That would be amenable.”

“Hmm, I can picture it now. We can use your fire to cook them, of course. And my water for when we’re thirsty.”

“Get out of my way. I’m crossing first.”

“You are not. I need to get the coast clear before you can even show your silly little tuft of hair within ten horses of Mondstadt.”

Childe stares at Diluc for a moment, with his lip trying to crawl up into his nostril. “Why do you measure things in horses?”

In response, Diluc flicks his hair again.

“Anyways, move, I have a job to do,” Childe whispers.

Diluc’s eyes catch the moon. “I will throw you into the water,” he says quietly.

Childe opens his mouth with a slick retort.

A moment later, a lone Harbinger soars through the air, falling into the moat around Mond. He splashes a great deal, but the Knights’ attention is taken by the swarm of cryo slimes which seemingly appear from nowhere on the other side of the bridge.

Diluc tucks a vial back into his coat pocket, snickering. Then he takes time to adjust his mussed up ponytail, which SOMEONE took the liberty of tugging on a moment or so prior.

He grips the wall, leaning over the side to stick his tongue out at Childe, who spits a stream of water up at him. Diluc evaporates it, checking over his shoulder to see if the Knights noticed.

They’re on the far bank, yelling at each other about how to reach the cryo slimes, which are hunting some ducks.

Diluc runs across the bridge, staying low. At the end he meets with Childe, staring in shock and apprehension for a moment when he realizes how quickly the man ‘swam’.

“Mondstadt Knights. Not the brightest, eh?” Childe scratches his head, walking through the unguarded gate while Diluc stares in rapt confusion.

The heir practically skips to catch up, using a dance technique to walk faster, seemingly gliding along the cobblestones. “How is your hair perfectly dry?”

Childe’s soft giggle seems to meld into the sounds of annoyed Knights up at Good Hunter ordering rounds of coffee and pastries in order to justify staying awake longer. “Trade secret,” he says.

Diluc grabs his elbow, narrowly pushing the man into the bushes, before Huffman turns from the counter of the restaurant.

Of course, Huffman does see a tuft of bright red hair sticking up, and he’s fairly fucking certain bushes don’t have those.

But he rubs his eyes, and then Kaeya is behind him, greeting him, a sleepy Klee bundled in his arms. Huffman looks back and the red tuft is gone, and with Cavalry Captain’s grin making him rethink his no-children-no-marriage plan of the next few years, Huffman’s worries about the front gate of the city he’s supposed to be protecting promptly melt away.

“Pardon me,” Diluc whispers, “but please refrain from speaking.”

Childe grins as he falls back on his elbows. “I love how you speak.”

Diluc tries to hide the way his heart skips ahead, by pinning Childe to the ground with his forearm. Gently. Ish. “You’re going to get us both caught.”

“Only me. I’m the Harbinger. You, Mister Ragnvindr,” Childe sounds out slowly, his fingers teasing up Diluc’s lapel, “are the pride of the town.”

Diluc tries to stare sternly, but the mirth in his eyes is a dead giveaway, even before his tongue flicks between the corners of his lips, drawing Childe’s heart’s attention to a runway, where it speeds along, dreaming of curves and endless sunlit mornings.

“I’ll be retreating to my own quarters,” Diluc says, assessing the trouble. “Might I ask that you remain within the tavern until my return?”

“You’re asking too much.” Childe falls back on the grass. “What if it burns down, and I stay in it?”

Diluc tugs on his corset. The man is dead weight. “Get up.”

“And it’ll be all your fault, since you told me to stay.”

Diluc’s fingers twist into the lacing, as he leans over the man, staring down at him with thinly veiled anger and amusement, mostly the latter sugaring up any true annoyance. “You could just turn to water like you just did,” he says, mostly guessing, but also verifying a rumor he heard about the Eleventh, a long, long time ago.

Childe grins like a shark, confirming it, his eyes lighting up at the very thought of someone knowing him. “You did your research.”

Diluc is just thinking that perhaps he should stop by Barbara, get his head checked. Because surely, seeing a man beneath him smirking like a devil shouldn’t set his mind hearing bells except for an impending funeral.

But of course, seeing Barbara would mean Jean would find out. His lips twist in a way that has Childe sighing contentedly.

Childe’s brow cocks. “50,000 Mora for your thoughts.”

“Don’t be cheap.”

“I’ll be nice to Kaeya for a night.”

Diluc smiles, laughing between his teeth despite himself, a harsh sound. His tongue roves his lips and Childe forgets how to breathe, choking on spit.

Diluc lifts immediately, until Childe clears his throat, giving a thumbs up.

“I’m thinking,” Diluc says, leaning over him, enjoying the effect he has on the man. He watches Childe’s heart speed up, through the pulse in his neck. “I’m thinking that I don’t want to do anything to get the Knights involved with me even more.”

He hoists Childe up, under his arm, and scurries off.

Diluc opens the door to the tavern’s room.

“Your strength is a damn crime,” Childe mutters.

Diluc chuckles righteously as he makes his way over to the stairs. “I’m quite proud of it.”

It’s a fucking miracle none of the Knights saw them on the way over. They were at the front gate, but a quick throw of a rock and they failed to notice Diluc scurrying past.

Childe is halfway back to life by the time they’re inside. “How did they not notice you walking across the bridge?” He stretches, and Diluc sets him down.

“The incompetance of the Knights is something I will never understand,” Diluc replies.

Childe chuckles, slamming his toe onto something when he walks into the room first. He groans.

Diluc lights the candles in the room with a lift of his fingers, using their glow to find the bed. Good thing too, because he nearly trips over a drawer which has been fully pulled out of his dresser, left in the midst of the floor.

“I see our friend Royal made another donation,” Diluc says, sighing.

“Have a good night,” Childe blurts out.

He nearly flinches a moment later, staring at the floor, hopeful that he didn’t insult Diluc.

Diluc feels nothing but relief. “I will return tomorrow.”

Childe frowns down at his foot, having half a mind to kick the dresser. He walks around it, collapsing on the bed to remove his shoes. “Yeah, yeah, have fun. Say hi to Miss Addy for me.”

He leans out of the way of the bag of Mora that’s thrown at his head, chuckling.

“For food,” Diluc says, flipping him the bird.

“Birdie birdie birdie birdie.” Childe squints as he mocks the man, and the look almost hides the haunted gaze in his eyes.

“Shut up.”

Diluc locks the door to the back room, taking a moment to breathe deep, calming his nerves. His wry smile lowers.

Candles flare to life in a circle around him, the entirety of this floor, and the next, until the building is lit.

He searches the entire tavern, top to bottom, just in case.

Then he tightens his bracers, rage enveloping his body at the mental image of Childe, lying on his side in a barely lit room, staring at ghosts.

Diluc’s shoulders tremble. He exits the tavern by the second floor, locking that door. He leaps down to an empty street, then walks unbothered to the front gate, which isn’t being guarded.

He walks across the bridge, spotting Mages convening on the pathway home.

His gaze hard as a stone, his claymore appears in his hands, the fire nearly consuming him as he strides forward, never breaking his pace. The force and fury of the flames lifts his hair, locks streaming behind him like a righteous war flag.

The Mages spot him and scream, threatening vengeance for their fallen comrades days or weeks prior.

Saying nothing at all, Diluc’s claymore slams into them, destroying their shields, engulfing their bodies.

He walks through a cloud of dust, and towards the hilichurls blocking the path farther down.

By the time Master Diluc Ragnvindr arrives home, his clothes reek of smoke.

“Ate the devil and left no scraps,” Miss Addy mutters, opening the door to let him in, her wrist over her nose. Luckily for him, everyone else is asleep.

Diluc leaves his muddy boots at the door, and his singed gloves on top.

He heads upstairs, his anger burning up his energy, and he collapses into bed, fully clothed. The handkerchief is tucked into an inner pocket of his coat, against his heart.

Childe is back to normal by the time the Angel’s Share chimney is puffing smoke.

He’s been a Fatui for a long time, and he may not like his coworkers, or the idea of being ordered to kill someone he admires. But he’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it.

Besides, he smells bacon.

He dresses, this time stealing a black vest rather than a corset, and heads out of the room.

The tavern is bustling even though only three people are within at this hour, Venti downstairs playing on a lyre already. Childe grips the railing, jumping over and landing easily on the hardwood floor.

He straightens, biting his tongue to grin over at Diluc, who’s holding a glass barely lifted from the counter, so that nothing would spill. “Good morning.”

“Hey comrade,” Childe says, straddling a stool. “Hi Venti.”

“Oh, you seem extra fae-like this morning,” the bard says darkly, moving his drink farther away with a pout.

“Be nice,” Diluc warns. “He’s a guest, the same as you. Only he hasn’t stolen from me yet.”

Venti’s large eyes look Childe up and down. “Ya sure? Looks like he stole half your closet.”

“I look good,” Childe says, tugging on his vest.

“You were right,” Venti grumbles to a blushing Diluc. “He did smell the bacon.”

“You owe me a drink,” the redhead replies, which leaves Venti a giggling, nervous mess.

Someone messes with the front door handle, and then pounds on the door.

“It’s unlocked,” Diluc mutters.

The door swings open, and in stumbles Kaeya, complete with dark circles. He points across the room to Diluc. “You son of a bitch.”

“Morning,” Childe says, lifting his glass towards the man.

“Captain!!” Venti springs up, instantly excited, clearly hoping for someone else to cover the tab.

“Touch my drink and die,” Kaeya snaps, sitting between the Harbinger and a wide-eyed Venti.

“Technically I didn’t last time, you stole mine, but that’s besides the point. I’m on my best behavior today! Don’t have to worry about me.” Childe gives his best cheeky smile, only to be met with Kaeya’s scathing glare.

“You okay?” Childe leans towards Diluc, hoping he has at least one ally if Kaeya goes batshit. Over the man’s shoulders, he signals to Venti, mouthing, “ ‘I’ll buy you a drink’.”

Venti grins, eyes narrow, and toasts him silently, promising to be on his side. After all, Childe is speaking the bard’s most popular language.

“I am not,” Kaeya says, his finger pointing threateningly from the side of his cup right at Diluc.

The redhead has slipped back into his typical, unamused expression which has become so infamous lately in Mondstadt.

“What happened?” Venti sips his drink obnoxiously, making Childe snort, which makes Venti laugh and stop.

Kaeya leans as far back on his stool as he dares, swinging his long legs. “Someone broke into the Knights’ Headquarters, and got bodily fluids all over the floor.”

“They peed on the floor?!” Venti’s jaw drops. If he had been drinking, he likely would have spit it out for theatrical effect.

Childe chokes, bending double over the countertop. Kaeya, thinking nothing of it, pats his back, glaring up at Diluc, who’s turning pink.

“Sure.” Kaeya gives a look that clearly says he had thought Diluc broke in, before thinking Diluc could never do what was found all over the books. “Anyways, I actually had to get involved with this investigation.”

“And what have you found?” Venti.

“That’s top-secret.” Kaeya.

“Hack hack hack.” Childe, who’s making a sound like a drowning seagull trying to summon an ancient god.

“But they got stuff all over our old paperwork,” Kaeya complains. “And it can’t be thrown out.”

“Well that sucks. So it all has to be transcribed?” Venti peers up at Kaeya with big eyes, fighting hard to keep a straight face.

“Yes,” Kaeya says.

Diluc turns around quickly, muttering something about, “needing to get the meat.”

Venti glances over, seeing the nail marks on the back of Diluc’s neck. He wheezes into his hand, eyes wide, unable to stop himself. He tries to turn the laughter into coughing, pounding the table.

Kaeya reaches over, patting his back.

“No that’s not the worst part,” Kaeya says, since Venti is on his blind side and he can’t see where Venti is looking. The bard takes a big drink and Kaeya pulls his hand back. “It’s all top secret, which means only myself, Jean, or Lisa can look at the
paperwork. And I’m not going to make a lady look at that stuff.”

Venti’s cheeks are red from the force of the air sucked into his cheeks, as he tries not to blirt out, “OH MY GOD I KNOW WHO DID IT,” loud enough for Crepus to hear. “So,” he says, sounding like a stuck balloon, “you have to transcribe it?!”

“Yes! I have to hold these disgusting pieces of paperwork,” Kaeya says, pinching his fingers together, “and fucking rewrite everything!!!”

Childe is staring at the counter top, as red as Diluc’s hair. He’s not sure whether to laugh or run.

Diluc slips into the back room, ears red.

“When I find the bastard who did that,” Kaeya says, “I’m circumcising him.”

Childe’s warring smile disappears. “What if he’s already circumcised?”

Diluc starts coughing in the back room.

“You good?” Kaeya calls out to him, craning his neck to see through the open door.

Diluc pushes it mostly shut, holding the door like that while he flips bacon. Only a strip of his red cheeks can be seen. “Yeah,” he calls back.

“Must be hot in there,” Kaeya says.

Venti leans on the counter, pursing his lips. “How do you know,” he says, in his most sweet voice, “it was only one guy?”

Childe shoots Venti a look that says the bard is just about the right size for the oven.

Barbatos, knowing Diluc would never let anyone hurt him, grins like a stepmother with the full inheritance paperwork in her hand, settling his chin onto his palm.

Childe’s grip on his mug turns white knuckled.

Kaeya doesn’t notice shit, too tired from his night staying up, too mentally exhausted at the mere thought of the task he has to do. “Being a Knight is thankless,” he mutters, then lifts his head, calling out loudly, “You better be glad you don’t have to do this shit anymore!”

“I am,” Diluc calls back.

Childe’s eyes go wide.

Kaeya glances over to Childe. “Don’t say anything,” he mutters, acting like he didn’t intend to say that in front of the man, to see his reaction.

Clearly, judging by the way Childe sputters out a, “No, no worries,” he didn’t have a clue.

Childe sort of slumps a bit, a muscle in his jaw working as he wraps his mind around the knowledge.

Kaeya sighs, reassured. If Childe were sent here to assassinate Diluc, or to do anything with the man, he would know his past. At the very least, he would know the man’s a prodigy.

Which means whatever happened last night is due to someone else. Which means Kaeya doesn’t have to fight the silly ginger Harbinger.

Which is kind of disappointing, but it’s fine.

Maybe he can find a different reason later. Kaeya’s hand runs down his face. When I’m more awake.

Venti looks up, taking the stage to get the attention off of Childe, since he is getting a drink out of it. “Wasn’t Klee with you last night?”

“Yeah,” Kaeya says. “I brought her to Sucrose, for obvious reasons. She won’t be allowed in the...Knights...Headquarters.” He looks to Childe, and Diluc, who’s emerged from the back room, serving ham. “Curious food for breakfast. This is something you’d eat if you were up all night.”

Venti’s wide eyes over Childe’s back are telling him ‘I can’t save you from this’.

Childe has talked himself out of worse, he’s confident he can handle this too.

Kaeya’s head tilts as he glances between Diluc and Childe. “Which of you asked for ham for breakfast?”

Childe opens his mouth to fess up, dreading the loss of his balls but hoping he can at least defend his dick. He’s not sure how skilled Kaeya is with a sword, but if the man is most trusted beside the Acting Grand Master, he’s probably terrifying.

“Me,” Diluc blurts out. “I believe I offered.”

The room grows quiet.

Kaeya drops his face into his hand. “Yeah, but there’s no way it was you last night. You've probably never cummed in your life," he mutters under his breath, before lifting his head. "Did you see anything weird?”

“No,” Diluc deadpans.

Kaeya glances over at Childe, pouting. “And you. Where were you?”

“I was here,” Childe says, wondering if this is when he dies. He grips his own garter belt, ready to defend himself.

Kaeya rolls his sleepy eye, turning to Venti. “And you?”

“The Winery. Let’s eat.” Venti's wide gaze stares straight down at his plate, as he works to remember what a 'straight face' looks like. Been a while since he's done anything straight.

“What were you doing there?” Diluc looks right to him.

“Stealing from you,” Venti says easily.

Chapter Text

A piece of paper found on the floor of an apartment in Angel's Share tavern, in Mondstadt.

Dear Zhongli,

Should I even call you that? Do I even have the right to call you by your name?

Dear Rex Lapis.

Dear God.

Dearest Traitor, former light of my life, the one who I respected like a man even though he so clearly is not one.

The one who is so much more, who could have singlehandedly saved his whole city. Who could have fought me and won. Who wouldn’t have had me hold back.

Who could have put me out of my misery, not that I’d let you.

The one who, if he chose to, could have destroyed Snezhnaya.

Who could have arranged for my entire family to move there. You could, couldn’t you?

You’re good at that. At playing dead. At moving people into plain sight, and hiding them away.

Or are you only good at hiding yourself? Are you the only one who knew of this plot, besides the Fatui?

Did Lumine know too? Were you all just in on it?

She looked equally horrified, so I can’t help thinking that you endangered her life for no reason. That the adepti were in pain because of you.

And I get it, I do. You wanted to test the world. You wanted to see if the city was strong enough to exist without you.

Nevermind that it needed the strength of a complete stranger, and the adepti, to manage to bring down something humans have no business fighting.

To see if your children could remain home alone, you brought a seasoned wolf with a taste for humans to an unlocked door. You let it into the cabin, and then sat back and watched as a passing traveler fixed all of your problems for you.

How many soldiers’ lives were lost due to you?

And was it even necessary?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the Tsaritsa got the gnosis, since the alternative is leaving it to someone as cruel as you, Xiangsheng.

But was there really no other option? You couldn’t just sit back, watch the country figure out how to manage itself? Or even make the Fatui the enemies on a smaller scale?

No, you had to raise an entire god and throw it at your people.

I can’t explain to you how cruel that is. How unnecessary. How ridiculous.

And people died, but I suppose as long as it’s none of your precious Vision Holders, you don’t give a damn.

And what of me? I was just...a pawn?

I was honest with you the entire time. You knew what we were planning, because I told you. Hell, I gave you money and told you to get out of the country.

I can’t just go against what my Queen wants of me, Zhongli.

But you knew, the whole time. It was your fucking plan.

You piece of shit.

You took everything from me. My money, which I don’t really care about but goddamn I could have spent it on someone who cares. Someone who needs it, or doesn’t, just someone who looks at me with respect.

You took my respect. You wasted a year of my life. I spent so much time in Liyue, thinking maybe you and I could have a future. How many times did I tell you I wanted to run away from the Fatui? That I was scared for my siblings?

And you...you just...let them hurt me. You didn’t do a damn thing about the job I had to do.

You didn’t even try.

Even god doesn’t care about me.

And now, knowing the position you were in, I just feel used.

Why did you dare to ever tell me you cared about me? How could you bring yourself to kiss my skin, knowing you would turn your back on me?

I didn’t deserve any of it.

I just...thought I could be loved. Thought I had a future. Thought maybe things would be okay, that you were a funeral parlor assistant. Someone the Fatui wouldn’t harm. Someone I could get away with loving.

Someone who wouldn’t get hurt just because I liked you.

Turns out you were never in danger at all.

Diluc frowns down at the piece of paper, flipping it over to check the back. His fingers start burning the page on accident, causing little lines of steam to rise. Embarrassed, he nearly drops it, fumbling with the letter.

“Comrade, are you snooping?”

“No.” Diluc snatches the letter from midair, holding it behind his back. His lips purse like a schoolboy’s, eyes centered on Childe while he tries to think of some excuse.

Childe crosses his arms. “Come on, what is it?”

Diluc flaps the paper a few times, internally wincing once he realizes he really didn’t have any business reading it. “Sorry. I was cleaning. And I came across this on the floor. And I, uh...um...uh...”

“It was interesting wasn’t it.”

“Your handwriting’s pretty,” Diluc mumbles. “I just started looking, and then I forgot I wasn’t supposed to read personal things.”

“To be fair, you probably never had to worry about that growing up.”

Diluc looks up, eyebrow cocked.

Childe giggles, walking closer. His hair is wet, curling from his bath. “Who’s going to scold the Little Prince for reading up in his castle?”

Diluc’s nose twitches. He hands over the paper, pouting.

“Bad nickname?”

“I like it.”

“Awesome. Oh, this old thing?!” Childe shakes the letter, making a disgusted face. “Of all the things you could possibly read, this is probably the worst.” His hand slides down his nose, trying to cover his embarrassment.

The men stand in silence for a moment, before Childe whimpers. He recovers quick, skipping to the bed. He bounces onto it, tilting his head like his thoughts are swinging wildly between extreme violence on whatever enemies lie outside the city walls, and on marching his ass back to Liyue to have a silent argument with the man in question in the letter.

Diluc is impressed the angry man hasn’t thrown the paper into the burning fireplace. Silently, he lifts his first two fingers behind his thigh, lowering them slowly. The crackling fire dies down a bit.

Childe’s eyes flick up, attention drawn. He snorts, bursting into laughter fuelled by his horrible need to prove his existence. To justify his life.

His head tilts back, jaw a fierce cut, for a moment the movement making him seem like a fox whose leg is caught under a fence. Childe turns, looking out the window, and in the one glimmering piece of time between his solemn stare and his cracked open
mouth, Diluc observes a fountain of pain in his eyes.

By the time they’re gazing out at the moors, Childe appears nothing more than the subject of a painting, as empty and engrossed in nothingness as oil on a canvas. Diluc wonders how much is kept under that facade, which seems thick enough to render even Childe unable to measure his inner depths. He must be aware of them, always hearing the call of the void, yet turning his head and filling his ears with laughter, in order to drown out the sounds of death and murmurs of endless silence.
Childe’s mind churns.

Is it okay to ask if he can be loved? Will anyone want him, or is he doomed to loneliness forever? Is he just being dramatic, like his silly coworkers? Does he even have a right to feel the way he does?

Diluc’s heart aches. No man should be left to live like this, taking the battlefield with them wherever they roam. Carrying a sword on his back that is always bloodied, and never cleaned. Walking through the mud, chained down to a past that won’t let him go.

Never one to stand still while someone is in pain, Diluc finds himself stumbling forward.

By the time Childe looks up, his face is enveloped into Diluc’s chest. He turns subtly, so that his nose isn't crushed. Lashes brush against the soft fabric of the redhead’s shirt, and Childe lifts up despite himself, desperate for the love and comfort of the man. Arms wrap around him, warmer even than the sun shining outside, and twice as strong as the wind blowing through the top of the city walls.

“You deserve love,” Diluc says, a bit fiercely, into the man’s ear. He clutches the back of his head, fingers brushed through Childe’s hair, holding him as a man holds another as arrows rain around them. As blood seeps into the grassy ground.
Childe’s brows press up. His eyes open, and he pulls back enough to look up at Diluc, lips parting.

For a moment, he cannot think if he ‘should’ be showing his emotions. He simply feels them, as righteously as a babe screaming for due attention, as naturally as a bird cawing for the morning light.

Tears spring to his eyes, overflowing to stream down his cheeks.

He buries his face into Diluc’s neck, and is held tight.

For a short moment, he remembers the one time he cried in front of Zhongli. The one moment where he deigned to feel, and was met with confusion. With tepid jokes and awkward back pats.

And an invalidating, “well, we all make our choices,” as if he ever had one. As if the soldier being him or his siblings was a fucking choice.

His hands claw into Diluc’s shirt, nearly ripping the fabric, as his sorrow shakes his chest, coming out of his throat in a wail he can’t stop, and can’t see coming until he’s hearing the aftermath.

Diluc, whispering to him. “Let it out. You have every right to feel hurt. They were terrible to you.”

The validation lets him cry.

Diluc holds Childe in his arms for a long time. At some point, the man’s breathing hitches, then turns into some shallow form of steadiness. It rocks every so often, but he is asleep. His grip remains tight, fingernails having dug through Diluc’s shirt into his skin. He welcomes the burn, because this is not one made from cruelty, but one which tells him the man he cares for is alive.

It's terrifying, that Childe can sleep, clutching to him, never letting go. That the man does not relax, even when his mind is supposed to be.

Diluc holds him as if Childe is dying, staring out the window with a deadened expression, hoping for something to sate him. He feels suffocated, not by Childe but by the weight of the sins of the world. By his own inability to save them all. The sinners or their miserable victims.

A breeze blows in, through the glass, making Diluc smile. Of course Barbatos is out there, somewhere, watching. Keeping his children safe.

He’ll get free drinks tonight for it.

Diluc looks down to Childe, pulling one of his arms out from under the man. Carefully, Childe sets down onto his lap. He shudders, and Diluc pats his back, making him cough something airy and course.

Diluc’s brows tighten. This is something he’ll need to speak to Jean about. Or Albedo?

Childe is absolutely the type to get injured and say nothing, just like the other night. Is he also the type to be sick and keep it to himself?

The damn bastard, Diluc thinks, though in truth his lips bent and curl. He tilts his head back, so that his watering eyes don’t get Childe wet, lest it wake the man. Or worse, make his head cold while he rests.

Diluc sits like a praying man, begging the archons to not let Childe be ripped away from him. He swallows hard, hearing the sound of it. Biting his cheek, trying to stop tears from slipping down his cheeks.

His free hand wipes them away, lifting from Childe’s shoulders to do so. For a moment, he cannot feel the ginger’s heartbeat, and the very thought makes it worse, so that he bends over, unable to hold back the cry that’s snaking up through him. It
escapes in a quiet pant.

Childe barely stirs, hand tightening on his shirt.

Diluc grits his teeth. He feels his anger, he tries to live in it, to burn in it, to think only of rendering Childe’s enemies obsolete.

But for a moment, staring down at Childe, his thoughts of anger and sadness take a background stance.

The ginger’s freckles are out in force after his time in Mondstadt’s meadows. His lashes are long, and getting even healthier than a few days prior. His lips are plump and full and burgundy. They look wine-filled. His hair has honey highlights, and he smells like he just emerged from a field of strawberries.

Diluc stares in awe, fingers brushing back some of the hair on Childe’s face.

The man opens swollen, bloodshot eyes, glancing up to Diluc. Rolling onto his back, to stare up at him. His lips quirk into a sleepy smile, hand reaching up to settle onto Diluc’s cheek.

Diluc feels the fires within him reignite. All at once, he wants to win. He doesn’t feel so hopeless.

He thinks, that with this emotion, maybe he can save people. Maybe everything isn’t lost, after all.

Diluc’s hand settles onto Childe’s, holding him close. His other slips under the man’s jaw, rubbing his cheek, and then his sternum.

Childe coughs again, pinching Diluc’s cheek. “I’ll bite you if you cry again and don’t wake me.”

“What gave it away?”

“The soot tracks down your face.” Childe sits up, turning around. He barrels himself against Diluc, nearly pushing the man off of the bed.

Diluc wraps both arms around Childe, holding him fiercely, while Childe clutches himself to him.

Childe breathes once, a gross sound with the snot in his sinuses, right in Diluc’s nose. Then he does it again.

Diluc relinquishes one hand to finding Childe a handkerchief, handing it up without a word.

“Why do you pinch things between your fingers like a fancy aristocrat?”

“I am one,” Diluc says quietly. Then he opens his mouth and chomps.

“Yeowch! Are you biting me?!”

Diluc says nothing, letting his eyes do the talking as he glances towards Childe’s jaw. His mouth remains gently closed on his shoulder.

“I’m dramatic,” Childe grumbles, blowing his nose. “You’re dramatic. Come here, let me wash your face.”

Diluc flinches away from the used handkerchief, letting go. When Childe tries to push the cloth near his face, he stands, arms still wrapped around Childe’s waist.

“Hey!”

Diluc smirks, turning the man upside down. Childe’s arms scrabble around his legs, as the man shrieks.

“I’m not a toddler!”

Satisfied with his win, Diluc sets Childe’s shoulders onto the bed, laying him down slowly. He lets go entirely, straightening, stretching his own arm across his chest.

“You just picked up a grown ass man like how I pick up my siblings! How?!”

Diluc leans over, pressing his pointer finger to Childe’s nose. “Boop.”

Childe’s jaw drops open. “That was the cutest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Diluc smiles, tilting his head. His long, full lashes bat. “No one will ever believe you.”

“You’re a terrifying force of nature,” Childe says, arms crossed behind his head.

They’re walking along the cobblestoned paths of Mondstadt’s city, heading for business around town. Figuring out tax rates. Diluc has a sheaf of papers in his hand, and an amused tilt to his lips. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’m always impressed,” Childe says. “You’re so fun to talk to, but then you’re like insanely strong too!”

More and more people are looking at them. Diluc holds his papers close to his face, fighting the urge to cover himself entirely and stand stock still in the middle of the street until everyone else goes away.

Everyone except Childe, who’s not aggravating, who’s shining under the sun, his arms bare, his gloves barely covering his criss crossing scars. He’s a sight to see, the truth of how an adventurer looks, a sight that has half the people in Mond fanning themselves and the other half giving the first half exhausted looks.

Diluc knows he’s the former. When he looks up the path, near Good Hunter, where Kaeya’s coming down the steps, foot frozen in air above the next, he sees the latter.

Kaeya is frowning, and when he steps down, his arms cross. They tap, like he’s an angry wife who just caught his husband on a drinking binge.

Diluc groans audibly, bringing his hand in front of his face, which really isn’t helping his demeanor.

“Hey, are you okay? You don’t feel sick, do you?”

Childe is sweet as ever, leaning over to peer closely at Diluc’s eyes.

“No,” Diluc murmurs.

Childe looks ahead, noticing Kaeya. His eyes meld into a smile, as he waves high over his head. “Oh, hey Captain!”

“Fucking shoot me with an arrow,” Diluc grumbles.

Luckily, Childe is the only one who hears him. And Childe is on his bestest everest behavior around Sir Captain Kaeya Alberich the fanciest man in Mondstadt, because being nice to Kaeya Judgemental Alberich means Childe gets to be dicked down later by a man with the sweetest smile in all of Teyvat.

“Hiya Captain,” Childe says, skipping over in front of Kaeya. “Whatdya got going on today?”

The town’s jaw drops.

“What could he want with the Captain?”

“Why is Diluc so grumpy today?” Well, that sentence makes Childe’s brow twitch with anger, and Kaeya’s nose wrinkle, but so be it.

“Are Kaeya and Childe a thing, or is Childe with Diluc?”

Thankfully, the only one who hears that is Kaeya. Diluc’s heart is pounding in his ears, and Childe is gritting his jaw so tight in anger that he’s disassociating.

Which is how Kaeya, master of social studies, pops a hip, setting an elbow on his side. He has a conversation with himself until Childe comes to, wild eyes focusing on Kaeya’s before he understands what the man is saying.

Onlookers pull away, creeped out by the unblinking manner in which Childe can stare at their Captain.

Kaeya grits his teeth, quickly dislodging them before anyone can notice. Chest puffed, he leads the gentlemen away. “So, where are you headed off to, Childe.” He nearly sneers the word, but the onlookers swoon when he smiles, so they can’t tell.

Childe wants to bite his head off. He’s really not one who enjoys catty exchanges, or ‘keeping the peace’. If Kaeya doesn’t like him, every instinct in him is screaming to fight the man.

He bats his eyes, rapily. “Oh, not much. Just thought I would accompany my new boss on some errands he has to run.” He stares out from narrowly drawn lashes, trying to hint to Kaeya to shut up and leave him alone, he’s not hurting anyone and he’s not on a Fatui errand so he’s. Not. A. Threat!

Kaeya’s smile grows wider. Childe finds himself thinking that if the Captain didn’t have such chubby cheeks, he might actually scare someone. But with a button nose and sparkling personality, everyone thinks he’s adorable.

About as adorable as a guard dog, Childe thinks, glancing away so he doesn’t start glaring.

“Oh, you’re on official business?”

I’m gonna shove this man into the moat. Childe grins, listening to Diluc clear his throat. The sound takes all of his attention, eyes staring blankly somewhere near the ever-turning windmill overhead.

“He’s just helping me for the day,” Diluc says, standing up for Childe. Out of nowhere.

The ginger turns slowly, staring at the redhead beside him, whose looking to Kaeya, already seeming exhausted from this conversation.

He’s said a sentence, Kaeya thinks, rolling his eye. “Yeah, whatever. Have fun, stay out of trouble.” He waves as he walks off.

Childe stares at the retreating Captain, before turning back to meet Diluc’s patient gaze. For a moment, he sees hurt in the heir’s eyes, as if he’s simply expecting Childe to run off with Kaeya, to go talk to him instead.

Childe smiles broadly at Diluc, fighting the urge to swing his arm into the other man’s elbow. “Come on, boss, show me where we’re going today!”

Diluc’s eyes light up, and he ducks his head, hiding the twin roses blooming on his cheeks. “This way,” he says. “If you please.”

“Oh I do,” Childe says, barely biting back ‘comrade’ while they’re in public.

Childe chews his lip, toe tapping aggravatingly on the cobblestones.

Diluc, who's already quite overstimulated by the regular hubbub in the center, and the bright sunlight in his eyes, and the woman moaning on the other side of Flora, tilts his head. He barely restrains his eye from twitching.

Childe leans up to him, whispering not-subtly-enough, "Can I fight her?"

"Absolutely," Diluc mutters, earning an excited gasp. His elbow slams into Childe's diaphragm, barely holding the Harginger back. "Not."

"Son of a bitch," Childe says, glancing away. He wipes his mouth with his thumb, as if this somehow placates the air around them from the words he just said on a typical town street.

Luckily for him, the onlookers can't hear shit over their loud swallows and throbbing genitals, so it's quite fine. All they see is the working jaw of the pouty ginger assistant, who they assume must be soooo tired from working all day!

"Does Master Diluc work him hard?"

"Yeah I'm sure," Beatrice says, giggling, "look at his neck."

"Well, Master Diluc is good at riding."

"Oh I don't think he's the one riding, do you?"

A slap of a handkerchief against a corset later, the ladies are giggling to themselves among the stands, hung paces away, practically in the bushes. About as subtle as a Snowy Owl among crates.

Childe turns as red as wine, nervously rubbing the hickeys kissed along his neck. They aren't fading as quickly as he had hoped, and he wonders how long it is until Diluc asks about them. Until he starts inquiring why his super-special rich person ointment and cream isn't working like it should be.

Childe can't stand the thought of someone fretting over him. Of them...caring. Even the word flitting through his mind makes him want to talk a long walk off a short pier, and he spotted one on the side of the city so it's not a bad idea.

"Can we please get our flowers to go?"

Childe perks up at the emphasis on the pleading there, eyes dilating large as he grins over at Diluc. He's been ignoring everything else about the conversation, and debated hacking off his ears at the start, the moment Donna opened her mouth. But now he keys right in, leaning against Master Diluc's shoulder.

When he feels the taut muscles in the man's upper arm, Childe melts against him, throwing an arm around his shoulders, as if they're good buddies. Besto friendos, if you will.

He makes extremely not-straight eye contact with Donna, winking once.

Her mouth opens, and she makes a sound like a bird. If the bird was robotic, and it was dead, and it's vocal cords were repurposed into a ruin guard.

Diluc, already at the end of his rope, and overheating with Childe leaning on him, especially when he realizes how firm Childe's chest feels, winces quite visibly. He forces a polite nod to Flora, accepting the bundle she hands him, and paying 2 times the amount owed.

Childe had been digging into his wallet to pay, and needless to say he's shocked when Diluc covers it.

Even more so when Diluc puts an arm around him, steering them away from Donna, who's spluttering on the sidewalk, perhaps like a robotic bird who just got her vocal cords back after they were tossed into the water and mistaken for fishing supplies.

Anyways, she runs off because she's about to unfortunately get a second look at her breakfast, while Childe is sure he's dead. Dead, or body swapped.

"Aren't I supposed to be paying?"

Diluc just gives him a look, confused and perhaps a bit insulted. A look that says 'I own this town, the fuck nani????'

Childe squints and leans in, trying to see if the man is like...mad at him.

Diluc rolls his eyes, covering it up by closing them as he walks up the steps of the center of town. "I'll explain later," he says quietly, then points to Good Hunter. "You hungry?"

“What are you buying here?”

They’re standing outside of the Cathedral, Childe surveying the impressive stack of supplies in Diluc’s arms.

The redhead stares at him, frowning. “You could help me carry things.”

“Oh, I think not. The weight is making your arms flex in your shirt and I’m,” Childe begins, cutting off abruptly when the door opens. He smiles down at Rosaria as if nothing happened.

She scowls up at him, setting a box against his chest, then letting go.

Childe completely fumbles catching it, dropping to his knees to grab the bandages as they slip out. They land on the ground, and he lets out a whiny breath. The door slams shut.

Childe's fingers fumble over the contents, before he pauses, staring at gauze, ointment...and burn cream. His brow tightens and he looks up to Diluc, worry plain on his face as he stands. “Hey, comrade,” he says in a low voice, noticing another citizen walk by, from the back of the cathedral. He waits until they pass. "If you’re in some sort of trouble, I can help.”

Diluc shakes his head, voice low. “They’re not for me,” he says. “Take this please.”

Childe gently retrieves the overabundance of supplies. Diluc has in his other hand the bouquet of flowers he bought, while the heir feigned interest literally anywhere else, Donna moaning for him like she was on their honeymoon already.

His brow lifts as he looks to Diluc for instructions. Solemnly, the man nods, heading to the back of the cathedral.

Childe’s good mood abruptly tumbles, when he looks from the clouds to the rows of headstones. His smile melts down, and Diluc bites back words of regret. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I should have warned you."

"No, it's okay." Childe's hand shoots out, as he manages to balance everything else on one splayed palm, years of watching kids coming to save him. His fingers rest on Diluc's elbow for half a second, before alighting off, a butterfly who can't stay for long. "I need to see this."

That tenderness is almost more than Diluc can handle.

Diluc heads to the back of them, to stand before a halo cross. He bows to one knee, the wind lifting the tailing end of his ponytail.

He says a quick prayer, silently, then sets the flowers before the headstone, rising.

Diluc steps back a few paces, to join Childe, who’s busy reading the name. And...unfortunately, the dates inscribed at the bottom.

“Her father’s name is Alfred,” Diluc says. “You may have seen him walking by earlier, when we stopped to pick up supplies from Rosaria.”

“Yes.”

“Since you know the truth about the nature of my work, I want you to understand why I do it.”

“Don’t tell me this kid,” Childe begins, pointing one crooked finger, thinking for a moment she was harmed by a person. With a name, a face, an address. The lowest box in his grip digs into his hip.

“No,” Diluc says, sighing. He's still crouching, though from this angle the bruises under his eyes are more apparent. “She died of an illness. It was unpreventable, as near as anyone can tell.”

Childe relaxes a bit, though of course not for long.

There’s something terrifying about the morbid realization that anyone can be stolen, at any time, from something so simple as a small cough.

“And?”

Diluc looks to him, watching the tears in his eyes. He stands, reaching out, pulling Childe in to his side. It's a familial hug, almost like one that old teammates would give to each other.

“You said she has a father,” Childe says softly.

“Yes. He’s still alive,” Diluc says. “He returns, nearly each night, to play songs for her.”

Childe’s eyes widen. He looks away, swallowing hard, willing the tears back into his eyes. He sloughs them down his skin, flicking them off of his fingertips, bending the water out of the way.

“You want to protect him," he finally says, surprised by how steady he's able to keep his voice.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"You didn't. This...did." Childe gestures helplessly to the grave.

"I see. Then, yes. I need to remember who I’m protecting.”

A bunch of mourners, Childe thinks. Teucer’s smiling face comes to mind. What would he do, if he ever were in Alfred’s position?

"Are all these graves for them?"

Diluc's eyes linger for a moment too long on one, before he looks away, the apple in his throat bobbing like it's choking him. "No," he says quietly, turning his back to the grave. His fingers adjust his left glove, and Childe remembers the Delusion that used to be strapped there. "It's just...Flora carries the best flowers in Mondstadt. And those were her favorite."

Childe looks to the bouquet, sitting under the headstone. The breeze coming off of Cider Lake is caressing the petals, making them wave. Already, the blooms look terribly lonely, sitting there by themselves. He can see why Alfred comes out here nightly. He can see why Diluc tries to make this barren, cold stretch of land feel a bit more alive.

He turns away, joining the redhead once more, who’s waiting for him by the gate, unwilling to leave without him, but unwilling to be trailed by ghosts any longer.

They were her favorite flowers.

Childe has a smile plastered back on his face by the time they’re in the town center, walking past the fountain.

He spots Alfred at Good Hunter, making brief eye contact, and nodding in a greeting. They had stopped on the way past, but had turned down any food. He dearly regrets it now, his stomach rumbling deep.

Alfred nods back politely, turning to Sara, who’s working tonight. “Miss, are you sure my meal’s taken care of? I would hate to be a burden.”

“Nonsense,” she says, setting a full plate of Sweet Madame before him, along with a frothing drink of something non-alcoholic but sweet as all heck. Childe finds himself sniffing to try and discern what it is. He’ll have to ask Diluc to make it when they get back.

“Your bill’s been covered,” Sara says. “Please enjoy at your leisure.”

Childe stares at Diluc’s back, all the way to Angel’s Share, right up until they enter the side alley, Diluc fumbling with the key at the back door.

“You paid for him. When we stopped by earlier,” Childe says, “you said ‘the usual’ and then just...didn’t leave with any food.”

Diluc gets the key in the lock, struggling to turn it, frowning. “Yes,” he says, dropping the remaining items into Childe’s arms. He fiddles with the lock, whimpering. “Dammit fuck-all. Yes, were you hungry?" He meets Childe's eyes, his wide and sweet. "I can buy you some. Or make you anything."

Childe stares at him, in momentary disbelief. He can't begin to think about this, to process one thing and another. His thumb hooks over his shoulder, pointing in entirely the wrong direction. "Y-you paid for Alfred."

"Yes," Diluc says, nodding, still fumbling with the key.

Childe's fingers reach down impatiently, and he grabs Diluc's hand. He means to be soft about it, but at the moment emotions are pulsating through him, and he isn't sure he knows what being gentle means.

But he tries.

He slips the keys from Diluc's hand, and just...subtly runs his fingertips along the back of Diluc's knuckles. Quickly.

Diluc steps back, taking the boxes once again.

Childe slips the key into the lock. He wanted to treat me? He set me up in this tavern's apartment? “I suppose he doesn’t have to pay his rent either?”

“Why should he?”

“Hm." He's screaming in his head. "I can help out,” Childe says, nonchalantly. He's jiggling the handle, the lock stuck. "Locksmith?"

"No need."

"Window?" Childe's voice is about to crack. I'm included in the group of people he cares about to that extent??

“Hmph.” Diluc grins, finally getting the handle to turn, unlocking the door. “I have it handled.”

Childe snorts, his happiness rising through the air, and when Diluc holds the door open, he walks inside, feeling like a prince.

Diluc raps his knuckles against the wall beside Childe’s door, gently. “Good evening, Sir.”

There’s the sound of someone tripping over his own feet, and then running for the door. Childe whips it open, giving a happy little wave. “Hello, Master,” he jokes. “Come in, I’m going over my inventory.”

Diluc swallows hard, an uncharacteristic shyness coming over him. Earlier, when he was trying to get into the tavern, Childe had seemed so...soft. Vulnerable.

It ignited Diluc’s need to protect someone, and he hasn’t felt the same sense. He’s on fire. “Is that alright?”

“Yes! I’m delighted to have you.”

Diluc preoccupies himself with closing the door, and fiddling with his clothes.

“You dressed up nicely,” Childe says, buttoning his shirt back up. He has knives galore strapped to him. “Here, wanna hold this?”

“Sure.”

He tosses one over, a pretty design with a red stone in the hilt. Small, perfect for concealment.

“I try to take pride in my dress,” Diluc says, finger idly playing with his earring. Childe hears the note of formality, glances up, sees the tint on the man’s cheeks, and smiles to himself, returning to his task. “I don’t suppose you have to go to the Knights’ again?”

“Nope, got everything I needed. You?”

“I got enough for the time being,” Diluc says, eyes tracing the beams of the ceiling. They’re so pretty.

Childe rolls his eyes, chest swelling at the man’s consideration, but frustration threatening to overtake him. “Got any plans tonight?”

“I need to go out and see about possible locations for Scaramouche to be at,” Diluc says, waving a map in Childe’s general direction, gaze fixated on his nails. They look a bit...burnt. “I marked a few spots out for us to check.”

Childe’s gaze drops to Diluc’s garter belt, where the man’s gloves are tucked. His tongue slips out, sliding across his cupid’s bow. “We’re going together?”

“Yes, of course.” Diluc’s brow creases a bit, as he begins to pout.

“Wear a mask. It’ll be harder for you to get away if he catches us, since this is your hometown. He can just track you down later.” Childe pulls on his belt, grunting.

Diluc frowns, looking over, gaze as sharp as a hawk.. “Are you injured?”

“No, you’re gorgeous and I’m distracted,” Childe answers, fingers pointing to the not-as-subtle-as-he’d-hoped growing bulge in his pants.

Diluc’s gaze flicks to his, reflecting his own hunger back.

“That's perfect,” Childe says, groaning a moment later. Diluc slowly, slowly releases his hold on the man’s ass, grinning at the verbal confirmation of his pleasure.

One scarred finger traces down Childe’s spine, refusing to press harder even as Childe gasps, arching his back, forcing his hips up. The backs of his thighs rub on Diluc’s hips as he tries to get closer.

Diluc bends over him, hand sliding around Childe’s waist to settle on his stomach. He pushes his cock in a bit deeper, pressing his hand down low, very, very gently.

Childe whimpers, mouth open, lips dripping spit.

“I haven’t heard you make that sound,” Diluc says, his voice a growl. He presses a kiss to Childe’s shoulder blade, right on the freckles that drive him crazy. The skin is at once more soft than he had imagined, and pleasantly course, the muscles underneath just tense enough to lend sensation against his lips.

Childe is busy trying to remember how to breathe straight, well not straight, but correctly. “Yeah well, you hit a good spot.”

Diluc lifts up, being careful not to hit any injuries on Childe’s back. He tenses his thighs, keeping his hips level as he pushes in again. Childe gasps, feeling his muscles loosen, his frame becoming weak with pleasure. “That’s it. Good...work.”

Diluc’s hand on his stomach lowers, dropping to keep Childe’s thighs in place. He supports the man’s weight, pressing in and out of him with decent rhythm.

The man’s corset is slipping off, and Diluc’s fingers lace through, tugging it until it falls to the bed.

Childe giggles, his voice high with pleasure, rocking along the bed. “I didn’t get my dick stuck this time.”

“We can discuss your issues wearing clothing without tying your genitals, once your injuries have been properly treated.” Diluc’s staring down at the wounds along Childe’s back, which still aren’t fully closed.

“They’re not even that bad,” Childe complains, giving up on being quiet. He lets out a moan, then keeps speaking like nothing happened. “Usually I just cover them with a shirt and call it a day.” He sighs, melting into the bed. Loosening against Diluc's supportive hand. His hands are crossed over his head.

“They could get infected in Mondstadt’s warm climate,” Diluc says, his hand wrapping down to slip along Child e’s dick, feather-light.

The man shudders, and Diluc pauses. “Keep going,” Childe whines. “Just don’t talk about infections when you’re fingering my dick.”

Diluc chuckles. “Very well.” His fingers run down the velvety skin, applying pressure near the base.

Childe’s thighs tense, precum slipping out of him. He whimpers.

Diluc's fingers lift from his thighs and cock to his hips, holding him up. "Mind if we...try another thing?"

The man moans again, falling forward fully onto the bed.

Diluc’s fingers are up to the base, flexing within the man. Childe bites the pillow under him, leg lifting, desperate for more.

Diluc smoothes a hand along his back, pressing gently. Arching him. Pressing in, flexing with his fingers, eliciting moans.

“Di-wuc?”

“Hm?” Diluc stops for a moment, but Childe pouts at him.

“Keep going.”

Diluc resumes, pressing in gently, opening his fingers to stretch the man. Childe lets out a happy cry. “You,” he tries to say, fingers digging into the blankets. “Did you get home safe?”

“Yes. I killed some camps on the way,” Diluc says. Precum drips off of his dick, just from the sensation on his slick fingers, from the expression on Childe’s face, half-buried against the pillow.

“Lots of scorched earth in Springvale today.”

Diluc’s head cocks, his eyes narrowing. He keeps his rhythm in his hand. “I suppose so.”

“Maybe it will rain. Someone can grow something,” Childe says, gasping once more. He smiles, chuckling to himself, the fingers in his hole making him euphoric.

Diluc’s gaze softens momentarily, and his fingers twist. He likes watching Childe arch his back again. He takes some sense of pride in hearing the moan escape from clenched teeth. “A kind thought, that something new can be grown from the destruction I’ve caused.”

“It’s like farming,” Childe says simply, turning on his side so he can stare up at Diluc. His lips are parted, spit pulling on his teeth. Sweat is beginning to show on his bare chest, nipples hard. Diluc bets they're sweet, but if he leans over now for a taste, he'll pound Childe into the bed. And if he does that, when he feels like this, he'll be hooked. “If you destroy the bad things, then the good things can grow.”

“You make me sound more angellic than I am. That being said,” Diluc says, and his voice deepens for a moment. His fingers slip out of the man's hole, leaving Childe pouting up at hm.

Childe makes a whistling sort of sound, pouting up at him. “Hm?”

“I’ve never shown you where I live.” Diluc leans down, lips close to Childe. “Yet you memorized the route?”

Childe lets out a loud laugh, which rumbles his belly. He grabs Diluc's hand, pulling the man on top of him while he turns onto his favorite position, lying on his stomach, legs open. It's partially to avoid eye contact while he thinks of a retort. “Oh come on, comrade! I have to study maps, otherwise I would try to get to Mondstadt and end up back home!”

Diluc’s brow rises. “I gave Miss Addy a bow, and told her to shoot any redheads she sees on sight,” he says, sliding his fingers lovingly along the man's thigh.

“Hurry in,” Childe says, groaning once more. "Come on, I didn't even do anything with the information."

"Don't worry. I just didn't want to scare you." Diluc kneels behind him, hands groping the man gently, unable to get enough of him. The fire is roaring in his belly, trying to claw out. "I want more too," he says quietly.

"Then get into me," Childe says, and for a moment the fireplace crackles, the mood dark and sultry. Diluc's fingers slide along a constellation of freckles, until strands of ginger hair loop around old scars where he almost lost his first knuckle.

"I will," Diluc promises. His hips press against Childe, dick throbbing against the man's hole. For a moment, Childe just smiles to himself.

"Man," he says, "you're fucking huge."

Diluc leans down, running his fingers along Childe's dick. He smiles at the moan he hears, pressing further in, fucking Childe a bit harder than before. That fire within him is crackling, demanding to be listened to, demanding to be felt. Begging for attention, for pleasure, begging to be good enough for somebody.

"So good," Childe says, breathy against his pillow. He moans again, and between that and the way he's flexing on Diluc's cock, it's safe to say the man is close.

"You're taking me so well," the redhead says, his voice tightening. His fingers curve into Childe's hair, and he's the one to let out a moan. He covers it up quick, sliding deeper than before, holding his hips in place for a moment. He squeezes Childe's dick, a bit harder than normal.

The man's throaty moan turns into a happy cry. He gasps, voice lilting high, cock throbbing in Diluc's hand. His body flexes on Diluc's cock, and he gasps, falling onto the bed. Diluc's arm is still holding him in place, pulsing up and down his dick.

Diluc begins his rhythm again, pounding in and out of Childe, matching the movements to his hand job. Childe begins to tremble, pressing up against him.

"Look at you," Diluc says, "taking all of this like a good boy."

"Archons," Childe says. "I might quit the Fatui for this."

Diluc squeezes, hard, on Childe's dick. His fingers dig into the man's hip, and he pounds into him once, twice, three times, four, more. A hard, fast, heavier rhythm than before.

Childe moans like a wild animal, thighs tightening involuntarily, only heightening the feeling. He cries out, cum overflowing onto Diluc's hand. Childe's fingernails dig into the pillowcase, as he releases fully.

Diluc keeps going, pounding into him. "I like that idea, but it's your choice," he says, smiling at the beauty before him, at the moment of pleasure Childe is in. The sight alone brings him over the edge, his cum overflowing inside of Childe, further lubricating him.

And Diluc thinks to himself, that Childe deserves more.

He slows down, becoming more gentle, releasing his hold on Childe's cock. But he keeps pulsating in and out of him, making moans build within Childe's throat.

He’s barely begun a rhythm once more, when Childe’s leg tenses against his. Diluc stops moving immediately. "Too much?"

Childe can hear the faint clatter of armor outside, a Knight walking along the walls. He turns his head, looking around them. “Oh, shit.”

“Hm?” Diluc relaxes, feeling for the first time the sweat slipping down his back, and along his arms. “You okay?”

“We left the window open.”

“I’m sure the Knights would be jealous,” Diluc jokes, rolling his eyes. He holds his place, intent on letting Childe pull off as he wants, or use him as he wants to. He likes the idea.

Childe, who’s lying across the bed, barely visible to the outside world, locks eyes with Huffman. Who, as he patrols the outer wall of Mondstadt, glances wide-eyed at Childe, who in his view is on all fours moaning.

Huffman puts two and two together, and without seeing who Childe is in bed with, quickly turns away. Enters the tower. Locks the door on his way out.

Childe bursts out laughing, and Diluc lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Childe slowly leans forward, off of his dick, collapsing on the bed. His laughter is loud and all encompassing. “He caught us! He totally caught us!”

But when he looks up, expecting to see a blushing, bashful man, he sees a grinning one. “So he did,” Diluc says, chuckling low. He giggles, collapsing on the bed beside Childe, cheeks flushed red. “I should have noticed, I apologize.” His hand rests on Childe’s waist, and he smiles at the man, for a moment softer than he realizes.

Softer than he minds appearing, in the safety of this room.

Childe’s eyes go soft at the treatment, but elation fills him. He turns onto his back, laughing loud and long, feeling the warmth of a safe hand on his skin.

"I got cum on the bed," Childe says.

"Good," Diluc says. "Then I did a good job."

He lifts the towel from the bed, tossing it onto the ground. Then he leans over Childe, who's still lying in place, still undressed, his sweaty chest rising and falling.

The man smiles up to him. "Yes? You filled my ass, you spent me all over the bedsheets. What do you want?"

"Your hickeys are fading," Diluc says, assessing carefully.

Childe's brow lifts up, and he smiles at the thought of, even only in his dreams, being with someone who might actually want him. Someone who isn't ashamed of him.

But then again, no one here knows he's a Harbinger. They just think he's Childe, the assistant.

The thought makes him frown, and a strange tinge of pain enters his heart. He looks up, expecting Diluc to have the same longing expression.

The man is half-panicked, eyes wide. "I'm so sorry," he says quickly.

He's so fucking sweet. It's making me so horny. His dick may be spent but it flicks up. Childe nearly loses his mind, almost turning over, barely stopping himself from sticking his hole in the air to be filled once more. "Diluc," he says, soft but assertive. His voice is so forceful that Diluc's thoughts pause, and he stares down, listening.

Childe reaches up, almost without realizing what he's doing. "May I?"

"Of course," Diluc says, like it's normal for someone to reach up for him.

Childe's hands close on the man's collar. He tugs him down, until they've fallen against each other, limbs tangled.

Diluc had washed Childe thoroughly, gently, with warm water and a soft towel. But Childe feels precum slip off of his dick at the mere proximity of the man. "Archons you're warm," he says, looking Diluc straight in the eyes. "I like being here," he says. "I just...was thinking...I don't normally hide places, you know? Normally, wherever I go, everyone knows I'm there. Everyone knows who I am."

Diluc stares long, and hard, into his eyes. "I understand," he says. He reaches over, but doesn't press his lips to Childe's skin. Doesn't mark him as his.

He winds his arms around the man, and pulls him in, their forms soft against each other for a moment.

Chapter Text

"He definitely saw that."

"Think he enjoyed the show?"

"He just watched me get pounded!"

"He stood there and watched? I can charge him for that," Diluc says, peeling his shirt off, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Childe. The ginger whore falls back on the bed, grin languid, tongue slipping over a canine.

"You'll send him to the dungeon for watching us fuck?"

"No! I'm a businessman," Diluc reminds, "not a Knight." Barely a human-based fraction of a second passes before the man turns back, nose scrunched. "Are you excited by that?"

"No," Childe says, immediately sitting up, hand discreetly covering his erection. "No, I'm not. Of course."

Diluc stares at him for another second. Thunder in the distance claps.

Childe remembers an old song about Scaramouche and tries his very best not to burst out laughing.

"Do I want to know?" Diluc looks over, brow tilted up, grin cocked.

Childe's smile bursts open. "I'll sing it to you."

"He's just a poor boy, from a poor family."

Childe flips over the dough, kneading it out. Diluc hasn’t told him who they’re for, and he’s fairly certain the tavern doesn’t sell anything this delicious. That is, if Kaeya’s consistent, every night complaints have been any indication.

“Beelzebub,” Childe sings, and Diluc’s head shoots up for a quick moment.

The man wipes flour on his cheek, trying to hide the blush developing. There’s something very intense about Childe, some energy he gives off on a regular basis that attracts nearly everyone to him. He’s the type of person to walk into a room, and suddenly everyone feels like they could be god.

And when he’s singing. Archons, when he’s singing, Diluc feels like he felt when he first got his Vision. A little bit high, and a little bit merry, and a little bit terrified.

“Nothing really matters to me.”

It’s not a feeling heroes talk about often, that overarching fear that permeates their existence. The fear of everything ending. The knowledge that it must. That no matter how high they soar, no matter how far out into the stars they reach, always, always they must fall. The inevitability of mortality, if not of them, then of their families, their hopes, their aspirations, or even of their enemies.

That one day, they will look out into the world. And either it will no longer need them, or it will defeat them.

These are Diluc’s thoughts, and so the look on his face is rather pensive. Even after Childe stops singing, staring at the man beside him, the smell of fresh baking ingredients surrounding them and tickling their sinuses, Diluc is lost in his thoughts, bare hands gripping the dough beneath him.

Ajax waits patiently, eyes on him, soaking up the moment. Being human, he has fear of the end. He drowns in these moments any chance he gets.

“So, can we talk about the fact that you melted a ruin guard with your sword?”

Diluc’s wry grin lets his giggling out slowly, as he pulls open the oven, sliding the tray of franzbrotchen in.

“That was the most complicated croissant I’ve ever baked,” Childe lies, daintily cleaning cinnamon from his fingertips.

Diluc’s giggles reach a high pitch, as he closes the door. His hand lifts, nonchalant, fingers spread, and the flames under the oven flare up to evenly bake the goods. “I hope you find the exercise stimulating.”

Childe freezes. “Is this my Fatui pet enrichment plan?”

Diluc bursts out laughing. He heaves, bending to the counter as he tries to begin cleaning up. “I simply took notice that you seem to be an active person,” he says, turning away, straightening his back, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath.

Childe blows a cherry behind him and Diluc’s ears turn red as he tries to hold back his laughs.

“So,” Childe says, crossing his ankles, leaning on the counter. Flour is covering his sides, and his apron, and his boots, and his nose. “Ruin guard? You burnt that fucker, and smashed through it’s goddamn hull. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That is high praise. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of fighters in your time,” Diluc says, turning back. His cheeks are red even through the flour splattered on them from an earlier food-throwing competition. He reaches up, hooking a finger into his cravat, pulling it open.

Childe’s eyes widen, and he swallows hard, looking away quick. “I have, but none like you. Not even close.”

“Charles is the head bartender, but usually I have employees help out in the back. Cleaning, stocking, the such. Though Charles handles most of the freshly brewed items.”

“The tea and the coffee?” Childe swings by with a broom, dustpan rattling between his knees. He has an interesting method of walking which stuns Diluc for a moment.

And the redhead thought he’d seen it all with Kaeya’s...unusual...methods of work. It’s all he can do to not burst out laughing, lest he accidentally insult the man. “Yes, those are freshly made so that the taste is at the highest quality.”

“Interesting. It does make sense. In Snezhnaya, we take the hard ingredients with us, and brew when we get wherever we’re going. Though that’s probably the same in a lot of places.”

“I reckon.” Diluc pours in the coffee grinds, brewing up another batch.

“Half of Mondstadt is nocturnal, hm? The shops are open late, I’ve noticed.”

“Yes, that is very true.”

“I’m used to it from Liyue, but still. It’s so beautiful to see a city lit up with lights.” Childe rests his chin on his broom for a moment, nostalgic.

Diluc’s gaze lingers on him, softening. “I’m glad you think so. The city is open to you, whenever you wish to visit.” His hands slip over the bean bags for a moment, setting them back into their storage containers.

“You’re too kind for saying so. Especially to a Fatui.”

“I said it to a friend.”

Childe’s ears turn quite pink. He disappears down the hall, sweeping all the way, singing for the world to hear.

“I always try to brew the tea strong,” Diluc explains, setting in double the amount of leaves that Childe would have expected. “The people of Mondstadt have come to appreciate it.”

“It uses a lot of product.”

“True, but a businessman can’t beat good quality. And Angel’s Share is known to be of the utmost quality.”

“That’s for sure,” Childe says. “It’s a beautiful place.” He rubs down the counter for the fifth time. The Mondstadt croissants are cooling up on a countertop, out of the way of their busy hands, and out of danger of Diluc’s ponytail, which is flickering wildly behind him.

“Thank you. I’ve worked hard to keep it well run, though I’m afraid Charles deserves most of the credit.”

“Well, then maybe I’ll do something nice for him this week. What does he like?”

“Hmm. He’s a fan of cheese.”

“Cheese?! Oh, comrade. I can do cheese.”

“Very well,” Diluc says, flicking up the lid on the coffee. He changes out the cloth filter, skimming the grinds off of the old one and tossing it to the laundry pile. “You have my permission, and a budget of 50k.”

Childe drops the knife he’s holding, very nearly on himself. Diluc’s hand shoots out, catching it a bacon’s width above the counter, his fingers landing against the handle at just the right angle to twist it, mid-air, up into his grip.

Childe stares at it but Diluc sets it gently down, continuing with his work. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

There’s a moment of cacophony while they work, the hot oven making Childe sweat. Diluc steams two entire buckets of fresh milk, by hand.

Someone’s dinner is cooking, and it smells delicious.

Diluc finishes, snapping the lids onto the buckets. “I believe you wanted to ask me something about the ruin guards last night?”

“Yes, please!”

“Let me run the rest of the ingredients to the cellar, and when I return I would love to hear your thoughts.”

Childe is bouncing on his toes when Diluc returns, dancing in front of the counter he’s working on. He’s restocking the various ingredients used in drinks. Mint leaves (only the best!), apple juice, the creamer, caramel. Diluc dumps fresh ice into the containers behind the bar, closing the door on the insulated cabinets.

“Here,” he says, handing over a cooled towel. Childe takes it, and Diluc sets one on his own neck, letting out a long breath. “Ask anything you would like about last night, within reason of course."

“Alright! You were a sight to see, last night. Especially the way you slammed your weapon into them. And you managed to burn through metal! Now I do want to ask, and tell me if this is rude,” Childe says, cracking his back, unable to hold still, “but was that your Vision, or the effects of your sword?”

“Both,” Diluc responds, clasping his fingers together. He stretches his arms up, far above his head. The buttons on his shirt are holding on for dear life. Childe’s gaze tries to will them to pop. “I’m strong enough to do it on my own, but it takes concentration. The sword is made from material that burns other objects once it heats up, sort of like what a blacksmith would use to make a sword.” His hand curls around an imaginary hilt.

Childe’s eyelashes flutter, like he’s watching an archon move. “So it can melt the metal once you heat it,” he says. “I would hate to be a hilichurl on the other end of that thing.”

“Yes.”

Childe begins to rock, growing restless. “How do you think they even made that?”

Diluc thinks about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I always thought it was iron, but it’s imbued with stronger materials. Iron’s melting point isn’t that hard to reach.”

Childe thinks about that for a moment, vibrating fingers flitting as he fills a container, twists on the cap, slips it under the counter, moves on to the next. “Master Diluc?”

“Yes?” He’s restocking glasses, fast as can be, pulling them out of a storage box. He sets each one down carefully, none of them clanging against each other. They’re very pretty, each one hand-painted.

“The melting point of iron is one of the higher ones.”

“Yes,” Diluc says, grunting in pain as he reaches under the counter.

Childe’s eyes flick to him in concern, but he keeps it to himself. If Diluc wanted to talk about it, he would. The glasses under the counter clang, one after another, as Diluc sets them down. Childe sucks in a breath, talking over the sound. “So, you’re telling me you just...casually burn things at the melting point of iron?”

“No, no.” Diluc sets his hands on his knees, standing. “The sword can though.”

Childe stares at the caramel he’s pouring, watching it overlap like a fine pastry. Diluc Ragnvindr is not the same man he was when they first met.

This Diluc needs no help fighting a Harbinger.

And somehow, that one simple fact has eased the tension out of Childe.

It’s also enough to set his foot wildly batting against the counter frame, shaking the whole thing with the force of an army.

“I’m sorry, your sword is hot enough,” Childe starts, stepping back and walking forward, dancing in place. He crouches, grabbing glasses from the box, rapidly stocking them the way Diluc had before he had to take a break. “To just...BURN THROUGH IRON?!?!?”

“Technically, yes,” Diluc says, restocking mixing spoons, tea spoons, and crackers. “Is that weird?”

“Is that weird?! I mean yeah, but that’s the cool part!”

Diluc glances back at the pitch of the man’s voice, gaze softening.

Once again, Childe has crazy eyes.

Diluc is torn between telling himself to be scared, and working on keeping his pants from tightening further. He settles for adjusting his sleeve.

“How do you do that?! Could I do that? No see, I can’t seem to change the temperature of my water,” Childe says.

Diluc watches him muttering, eyes wide. The man is beautiful, freckles bursting in the sconce light, teeth gnawing on his own thumb.

Diluc longs to slide his own in place, to listen to Childe’s rambling thoughts for the next hour. He has time. He can.

He wants customers to come. His father would love them. Diluc has to make his father proud.

His heart flips within him.

His eyes flit to the clock, willing it to slow. Willing the people of Mondstadt to both show up on time and to somehow walk a little slower. For their footsteps to stall on the cobbestones outside. For them to see their friends on the other side of the door,
for time to give him just a few more moments.

He very nearly reaches out, does in fact, but smiles. “Sorry, could you pass the sugar?”

“Of course,” Childe says, giving him a smile, eyes focused on his plans as he briskly sets the bag into Diluc’s grip, thoughts whirring.

“I wonder if there’s a way to heat it, or if it’ll get colder again. Could I throw boiling water on someone, if I work with you?”

“I would love to try it sometime,” Diluc says, without even thinking.

The front door bursts open, Kaeya sauntering in in all of his glory, with a big grin.

“Good evening,” Diluc says, wiping down the counter. Childe is seated on the other side, the tea, coffee, and alcohol all prepped to perfection.

“My, my, good evening gentlemen,” Kaeya says, slipping onto his stool with the ease of a cat.

“Get all your work done?” Diluc sets a tall glass down, filling it with coffee, tea, and caramel.

“You bet your ass I did,” Kaeya says. “All seventy fucking pages of hell, now transcribed in short hand.”

Childe’s brow furrows, his smile opening. “Wouldn’t that get you in trouble?”

“If they can’t get it,” Kaeya says rapidly, his energy enigmatic and contagious, “they can’t get rid of me.” He giggles, leaning back on his stool, giddy since he’s free from the containment. “God, where is everyone? All the townspeople are coming, don’t worry. They got hung up somehow, everyone ran into their old friend and her mother outside.” He flaps his hand, indicating they’re on the other side of the door.

Sure enough, once Diluc and Childe actually listen, they can hear the busy sounds of people talking outside of the tavern, of laughter rising, of people enjoying their time together.

“They sound rowdy tonight,” Diluc says, his eyes amused if his mouth has stopped following their cues.

“They’re harmless,” Kaeya says, “I promise. You be on your best behavior.” He pokes Childe in the arm, then frowns when he sees his neck. “And let me know who did that. I have time to run on commissions now.”

“I’m afraid our friend beat us to it,” Childe says, pointing in Diluc’s direction.

Kaeya’s brow tilts to the fucking sky, but then the door opens, and half of Mondstadt pours into the tavern.

I love you Dad, but what the actual fuck. There are so many people here. Diluc’s hands move rapidly, trying to fill orders. Already, someone ran off, calling Charles from his bed with his wife, to come enjoy the thrills of a busy night at Angel’s Share.

“There are so many people here,” Kaeya says, eliciting a brief glare from Diluc, who hates being echoed. He’s standing beside the man, coat and scarf resting on Rosaria’s lap. She’s seated on the other side of the line that has formed between her and Childe, which extends through the bar, upstairs, and outside (somehow).

It’s so busy that Diluc needed help, that Diluc got nervous, that the second his hands trembled, Kaeya leapt the counter. Kaeya's sleeves are pushed up, shirt wide open, sweat pouring down his chest. Diluc is practically on fire, his hands moving rapidly. But Kaeya is no slack, his drinks coming out beautifully and practiced, if a bit rusty and unsure.

Kaeya sees Diluc’s unintended glare and bursts out laughing, nervous as hell. The caramel he’s pouring spills.

Childe’s hand whips out, wiping it up with his sleeve before anyone can notice. He smiles widely at the patron Kaeya is serving. “Having a fine evening tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” she says, hand to her chest in greeting.

“Tell me, where is the most beautiful meadow in Mondstadt? I was hoping to take a lady there sometime,” Childe says, thinking only of a nice spot to show Lumine when next she visits. They have to hang out a bit, if they get the time.

“Oh dear, well I would have to say up at Starsnatch Cliff.”

“That is beautiful,” Kaeya agrees.

And by this point, surrounded by three blushing, sweating, beautiful men, the patrons are flushed all the way to their ears. Even more get in line, having heard that Captain Kaeya is serving drinks tonight, and that there’s a cute ginger at the counter.

Half of the farmers are there for Rosaria, but they won’t say so out loud out of respect, reverence, and a healthy dose of fear.

They’re so kind. Thanks, Dad, Diluc thinks, his hands slipping around the counter, rubbing down a spilled drop, mixing in the drink simultaneously. Then he grabs the creamer, slips it on top, and hands it over. “One Love Poem, please enjoy.”

“I’m exhausted.” Kaeya sets his head down on his arms on top of the counter.

Beside him, Childe chuckles, enjoying the sight.

The line has moved down the counter, to it’s more usual spot, which isn’t right in the midst of where Rosie, Kae, Ginger, and Venti all like to sit. Venti is playing tonight too, though with the capacity in the tavern reaching such a point that they’ve opened the back balcony and the side tables, he’s squished along the wall, resting on a stool, playing as loudly as he wants.

Rosie long ago slipped into the back rooms, setting Kaeya’s belongings into the employee’s lounge, along with Childe’s coat. If anyone noticed that Diluc’s coat isn’t hanging on it’s regular hook, they’re smart enough to whisper about it amongst themselves.

“The ginger said he was taking a woman out.”

“Did he really?”

“Yeah, he said he was taking her to a meadow? So if that’s the case, then those hickeys aren’t from Diluc.”

“Does this mean, maybe, they were fucking someone together?”

“Oooh, that’s scandalous! Who could it be?”

Childe feels his ears burning but hides his laughter in a long drink, cracking his neck when he sets the glass down. “How do you feel, comrade?”

“Like that was a lot of work,” Kaeya says.

Charles has taken over for him, redirecting the line.

“He still has lipstick on his jaw,” Kaeya observes.

Childe can’t hide that laughter too well, so he swivels away, in time to watch another patron walk up. She tries to step between Kaeya and Childe but Childe, on instinct, sets an arm out across the Captain’s back.

Their eyes land on each other and Childe pulls his arm back instantly. “Sorry, it’s just, a force of habit.”

“No one’s done that for me in a long time,” Kaeya says, lifting his head from the countertop, and the clean towel Diluc gave to him. “Thanks,” he says, with a little grin.

The woman, blocked from cutting the entire line, huffs behind them.

“Good evening, Donna,” Rosaria drawls, very sarcastically, “were you just leaving?”

“I just came here,” Donna says, curling her lip at the nun.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to,” Kaeya begins.

Diluc quietly lets out a long, “Shhh. I’ll serve her, it’s fine,” he mumbles.

“Wonderful!” The woman surges forward once more, right in-between Kaeya and Childe, crossing the boundary they just set.

Kaeya glares at her like he’s looking for a reason to get her away from Diluc.

“Come over here,” the redhead says, redirecting her over to Childe’s other side, next to the main line. “I’ll take your order, but then you must go outside peacefully.”

“Alright.” She breaks out into a smile.

“Why are you even humoring her?” Kaeya glares into his glass.

Diluc’s eyes appear hurt for one moment, a look Childe interprets a bit too personally. The look someone gives when they’re just trying to keep others safe.

If Diluc were to respond openly to Donna, then the Knights would have to get involved. Which, naturally, means the Captain who’s right there.

Kaeya would have to leave the fun, fill out paperwork, spend time in the Knights’ Headquarters. He would miss out on the revelry of the night, just to do the right thing.

Diluc’s choosing to remain uncomfortable, just for a bit, so that Kaeya won’t be left out.

Childe’s eyes lift to Diluc, the man’s holding his gaze for a moment. As if to say, please, notice the difference between how I treat her and you. You matter to me.

Diluc pulls up a glass, then looks to her impassively. “What will it be?”

“Oh, a Love Poem please.”

Without a word, Diluc begins pouring the tea.

Her eyes drag on his hands for a half a second before Childe feels sick. If Kaeya can try to protect Diluc, and Diluc can try to protect Kaeya, and Rosaria has her hand clenched around her mug, knowing she can’t interfere, then everyone’s hands are tied because the night could only end in Kaeya interfering.

The only third party member here, not affiliated with the Knights, not even a citizen, is the Harbinger.

One more can play at that game.

Childe grins wickedly, smoothing out the edges only a fraction as he looks up to Donna. “So, what are you doing out here?”

“I’m not interested,” she snaps.

“No, no, I’m asking for my brother.”

Her eyes light up for a moment, her head snapping over to him. Childe feels his stomach twist. “I just mean, I’m looking for gifts for him. Do you have any ideas?”

Her nose wrinkles, as if she’s smelling something bad, and she gives a little sniff, turning away.

“She doesn’t want to talk to anyone that isn’t him,” Kaeya says. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Understood,” Childe says.

“I didn’t know you had a brother. I honestly figured you were an orphan.”

Childe laughs. “No, no, I’m not exactly one, I just don’t talk about them much.”

Kaeya’s eye softens. He’s hunched over, practically hiding behind his drink, knowing there’s nothing he can do to alleviate this situation. He also knows the Harbingers are mostly people who no longer have a family. “Do you...ever get to see them?”

“No, I’m afraid we’re quite separated,” Childe says. “I haven’t seen them in some time, but I miss them of course. But it’s not like they’re dead. I’ll see them someday.”

The woman gasps, as if she has been personally offended. She whirls on Childe, her jaw dropping for a moment, reminding him of a fish.

He instinctually pulls back from her, leaning away, looking up, wondering what she could possibly want to do with this conversation.

Her hands have flown to her chest, overlapping one another. She sucks in a breath. “And what does your family think of that?”

Childe’s brow nearly floats to the ceiling. “My...family?”

“To say you wouldn’t see your own family unless they were dead!” Donna rears back like she’s been slapped.

Which, admittedly, did cross Childe’s mind, but he’s holding his temper.

Diluc is staring in shock, and humiliation. He can’t figure out if he should tell her to get lost, or how to fix this.

Kaeya’s nose wrinkles in anger. “Listen,” he says calmly to Donna, trying to descalate. “Some of us are orphans, let’s be more considerate of our words.”

She gasps, as if she’s personally offended by his parental breathing status. Her neck moves unnaturally as she leans in, into Childe’s space, speaking right to the Captain. “And are you proud of that?!”

Kaeya stares at her, stunned.

Childe’s eyebrow slowly lowers, as he bends down between them, to get her attention back on him. It’s like leading a pack of hilichurls into a narrow fissure, to fight them one by one.

Slowly, his head blocks Donna’s view of Kaeya. At first, she looks to him, expecting to stare down someone she clearly sees as being beneath her.

But when she sees the look in his eyes, the anger, and not a single drop of a tear, she flinches back.

He relishes in the momentary lapse of emotion within her eyes. Loves the moment when the angry bitch suddenly looks fearful. She tries to hide it, tries to mask herself once more, tries to pull the anger over the glee she had felt before she realized her onslaught of words wasn’t working to mess up the lives of everyone in the room.

Childe’s head tilts, staring up at her, and Donna becomes suddenly uncomfortably aware of her own throat. For one awful moment, she remembers why dogs are terrifying, even if they’re shorter than humans.

Jumping up is so easy.

And Childe is making her think of that. She leans back.

His lips part, and her attention is pinned to him. His voice is low. “Do you think I murdered my own family?” He blinks a couple of times, hoping she sees the crazy and backs off.

She snorts, puffing her chest out, clearly noticing the look but not wanting to back down. She narrows her eyes at him, ready to argue.

Childe’s voice lowers in pitch and tone, carrying an eery tint to it that can’t be faked. “You must be very brave, to be standing right in front of me then.”

She doesn’t answer. Her pursed brows flatten. Rise, trying to appear intimidating. She shakes her head, pressing her chin higher.

As if she’s the victim here. As if she’s a victim, when Kaeya’s the one she harmed.

A sick feeling slips through Childe.

“Well, are you?” He presses his words further, getting her to crack. “Answer me. Quickly,” he adds, for effect, his brows jumping. He leans forward over the counter, not towards her, hands bracing on the surface as he begins to rise.

As the woman realizes he hasn’t blinked in a horrifying amount of time, her throat apple bobs, and she turns away. She huffs, she puffs.

Diluc’s hands are frozen in place, not making her drink, his lips open, his gaze offended to the utmost.

Donna tries to glare once more at Kaeya, but Childe is standing between them, blocking her view. She flees the scene, the tavern door slamming behind her.

Childe lets the sound in the tavern barely return, Venti’s wavering voice cutting through the quiet room, before breaking out into raucous laughter that almost sounds painful. “Oh, man, did you see the look on her face?!”

Nervous patrons return to their conversations, though nearly all of them revolve around how cruel Donna was to Kaeya, and questions about Kaeya’s life, and answers about how Childe protected their dearest Captain.

“I did,” Kaeya answers, blocking out the sounds of the other patrons. He can’t hear much except for Childe’s laughter. He’s more than a little confused. He wants to laugh, and he can’t help himself from snickering, but that’s not how Knights are supposed to act.

Childe is bent double, slapping his own knee. “I just wanted to scare her a little, show her her logic was off, and boy did it work!”

“It did,” Kaeya says.

Well, Childe isn’t a Knight, so he is within his rights.

Kaeya turns his head away, burying his laughter against his mug, so no one sees and accuses him of being naughty while on the job.

“I think she really bought it,” Childe says, clutching his gut.

From being the tavern counter, Diluc lets out a slow, slow breath. He hands lower the glass and mixer to the counter. “Nice work,” he says.

“Yeah?” Childe looks up, craving the praise as much as he just wants to know he didn’t make a fool of himself for once.

“Yeah,” Diluc says, setting a couple of new glasses down. He begins mixing their drinks, no questions asked. “You defended the Knights well today.”

Childe looks up, stunned.

Around him, the whispers speak praise of this strange traveler from another land.

Childe nearly feels his chest break.

“Are you alright?” Kaeya’s words are quiet, as he leads Childe into the back room, to grab their belongings. He picks up the man’s coat, holding it for a moment between them.

“I’ll be fine.” Childe gives him a big smile, that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Kaeya looks down, frowning. Shy. Embarrassed. “You didn’t have to defend me, you know.”

“Why not? Consider it a diplomatic mission. Only a Harbinger could have safely said anything to her at that moment. And she nearly caused an international catastrophe. The only thing that kept me safe was the interference of a good-natured Captain of the Knights.”

Kaeya hands over Childe’s coat, stunned. “Got everything?”

“Yeah.” Childe smiles to him, then turns on his heel. “Good night, comrade. Please be safe. And don’t worry, these commissions will get done.”

He heads out of the lounge, out the back door of the tavern. He stops walking, taking in a deep breath for a moment.

“Gee, I love the smell of cigarettes.”

“Sorry,” Venti says, dropping his and stamping it out.

“Just give the rest to me! Those are expensive,” Rosaria quips.

“Sorry,” Venti says again. “Anyways, you were pretty intelligent back there. Getting Donna to focus on you.” He leans up towards Childe, grinning.

“What do you mean?” Childe chuckles. “Clearly she was jealous.”

It’s only once the Harbinger has left that Kaeya slaps his pocket.

“You leaving anytime soon?” Diluc calls over to the Captain, wrapping into a handkerchief his bundle of baked goods.

The tavern is closed for the evening, most of the patrons having gone home early. And Charles wanting to get home to finish what he started earlier.

“Yeah,” Kaeya says, walking out of the lounge with a smile. That ginger bastard stole my commission list.

“Try not to die tonight,” he calls, leaving out the front door.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Diluc responds, before walking to the back room to make sure everything is good to be closed down.

Sitting on the table in the room is Tartaglia’s Delusion.

Chapter Text

Diluc walks out the back door of Angel’s Share, with handkerchiefs tied to his belt, and several plates lined up on his arms.

“Look at you, a proper waiter,” Venti says, seated at one of the tables, all grins.

Rosaria is standing on the other side, her knife slipping in circles around her finger.

Kaeya and Childe are staring each other down, closer to the alley. The Captain is grinning, arm crossed over his corset, expression positively wolfish.

Tartaglia looks like he’s suffering with a long-lost little brother, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to beg without words for his treasure back.

“Yes, yes. Eat your meal, and bring the washed plates to me tomorrow.” Diluc sets the party’s dinner down on the table. “Come on you two, don’t let it get cold.”

“Isn’t it already reheated?” Kaeya wanders over, pulling out a chair, languidly sitting back.

You didn’t even have any alcohol, why are you being like this, Diluc thinks, narrowing his eyes down at the man and hoping Khaenri’ahens just happen to be telepathic.

Bite my ass, Kaeya thinks, grinning, able to read his thoughts so plainly on his face it’s like Diluc took a pen and wrote them out for the dear ole Captain.

Rosaria sighs, stabbing her knife into her chicken, then slicing it open. “Thank you, Diluc.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Would you like me to pay you with a song?” Venti grins, all sugary sweet now that he has a full meal before him.

“That won’t be necessary. Consider this payment for your playing earlier. And payment for leaving me alone so that I can close the tavern.”

The translation of this sentence is something like ‘stay in town tonight, stay out of trouble, and let me do my damn job’.

“Ehe. Got it.” With wide eyes, Venti accepts the cut that Rosie slips onto his plate, and begins to eat.

“You’re welcome to join the troublemakers, if you would like,” Diluc offers.

“I have commissions to do,” Childe says, leaning against the corner, his foot up on the stone wall. He holds up a paper, flapping it.

Diluc’s head tilts as he clearly reads ‘Knights of Favonius’ across the top. “Dear god,” the heir mutters, running his hand down his face, then turning away to tear his ponytail out. He scrunches his hair, leaving it down for a moment, feeling the cool breeze on his face.

A blessing from Barbatos, telling him he’ll be safe tonight.

“Good evening, all. Come, Tartaglia. I can’t let the Fatui run their commission amok in Mondstadt. As such, I’ll be your guide tonight.”

“Eh, so be it.” Childe steps off the wall, giving a little smile. He waves kindly to the table of eaters, then heads off into the alleyway, leading Diluc away.

Kaeya watches, his practiced grin disappearing into concern. He looks back to the table, fingers tracing the wood.

“Something wrong?” Rosaria, wiping her mouth.

Venti stays quiet and keeps eating, listening closely.

“Those bruises on his neck,” Kaeya says. “He won’t tell me who did them.”

Rosaria snorts, the juice in her mug splashing out.

Venti carefully holds back any laughter, not wanting to embarrass the Captain. He rocks back and forth, eyes wide.

“Oh? What, you’re not worried? If there’s a serious monster that can hurt a Harbinger, it’s a big concern for us,” Kaeya protests.

“No, I know,” Rosaria says, grinning. “But there are plenty of ways to get those marks on one’s neck.”

“Oh? You’re enlightened?” His fingers curl on the table then, betraying his embarrassment at a lack of information within them. “So you tell me then.”

Rosie lets out a long sigh, trying to figure a way to tease him without disturbing him, since his idea of the bruises is so violent.

Venti perks up. “Didn’t you hear? Huffman saw Childe happily getting laid earlier. Those marks on his neck are probably hickeys.”

“The handprint?!”

“That was from you, Kaeya.” Venti’s look is deadpan, watching the Captain’s gears turn.

Rosaria slips some extra vegetables onto Kaeya’s plate, to help him with the brain fog he apparently acquired after hours of shorthand translating cum-covered paperwork.

“Oh, yeah. Those things are hickeys?!” Kaeya’s hands land on the table, as he pushes his chair to lean back on two of the legs. “What kind of monster left those sucker marks on him? Some new brand of octopus?”

“Didn’t know red octopus lived in this area,” Venti grumbles.

Rosaria shrieks in laughter, bowing her head immediately between her arms, shoulders shaking. She can’t contain the mirthful sounds that escape.

Seeing her, Venti’s attempt at holding in his own laughter becomes difficult. His cheeks turn red, puffing up.

“An octopus, a dolphin,” Kaeya says, pointing at Rosie and then swiveling his finger to the bard, “and a damn puffer fish.”

And that’s how the Captain learns that Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, is thoroughly enjoying his time in Mondstadt.

Diluc slips down the alleyway, acutely aware of where Tartaglia is in relation to himself. He flinches away from the man, being careful not to so much as allow their sleeves to brush as they pass by each other.

His stomach is twisting in knots. Every footfall is a measured calculation. They can’t sound too heavy, lest they call Knights to the barren streets. But neither can they seem too light, or...or what?

Childe knows how soft I can walk. He knows I’m the Darknight Hero. The fuck am I performing for?

And yet, his back remains rigid, even against his better judgement. And he finds himself glancing sidelong at Tartaglia, trying to gauge his mood.

The ginger appears perfectly fine. He’s certainly not agitated, not flexing his hands like Diluc is. He rubs at the bridge of his nose, where freckles are beginning to appear, and glances at the front gate of the city.

The guards there are leaning against the wall, hats pulled down near to their eyes. They appear to be sleeping, in the pace of their breaths as much as their lazy posture.

Diluc is filled with the overwhelming urge to walk over, spur his men on. To wake them up, as if they have any reason to answer to him.

The very idea of it disgusts him, for propriety as much as normalcy’s sake, but he can’t fathom for a moment why the urge hit him. Until, of course, he realizes, and nearly stops dead in the street, but for a lifetime of training spurring him on, so that there’s only a slight lapse in the rhythm of his walk.

Childe’s eyes flit over to Diluc’s boots, watching to see if, perhaps, his friend is limping. He’s not sure if they’re surrounded by enemies, or walking to the Abyss. But he’ll soak up these last few moments of peace, before Diluc reveals the reason for the trembling behind his knuckles.

Childe looks forward to pursuing the cause.

Diluc swallows hard, trying to get past the lump in his throat. He can almost hear a voice behind him, yelling at him to stand up more. To walk forward proudly. To have a full conversation.

Emotions twist within him, making him feel as if he should duck into the Guild for a moment, and hide away in the back rooms until he can breathe again.

The feelings within him are at once his own, and also not. Diluc can tell that he’s afraid of Tartaglia being mad at him. But at the same time, he can so vividly remember the boy who protected him years ago.

He doesn’t truly think the Harbinger would return after so long, and throw him to the dogs.

And yet, Tartaglia’s Delusion is digging against the scars on his stomach, tucked under his shirt.

A Delusion which is just as capable of murdering the average citizen as any other Delusion has ever been. And for a moment, Diluc can smell the smoke.

What’s more, is he has the memories of a brazen man behind him. He has the memories of authority telling him to be perfect. Of being told he must do more, he must act right, he must be correct.

Diluc is afraid, because this is a stolen object unlawfully gained.

Diluc is afraid of getting in trouble.

He thinks it must be the combination of Donna’s visit, and the nature of the weapon against his chilled skin, that’s leading to his roiling emotions. Diluc blocks out the voice in his memories, as he steps up to Donna.

“Good evening,” he says, pushing kind words through the mass of phrases that an aristocrat is supposed to say. His gentle heart beats steady, readying for the coming storm if his words are not well received.

But this Katherine of the Adventurer’s Guild standing before him, and she always receives his words well. This time is no different, as she smiles.

Diluc glances up the street to ensure no wayward Knights are making their rounds. He can’t tell if he’s relived or disappointed to see that no one is there. "Here, please give these according to their labels," he says, handing the handkerchiefs over the counter. Small tags have been tied to each one.

Childe’s eyes assess the writing, reading ‘Razor’, ‘Benny’, ‘Diona’, and the longest title for anyone he’s ever seen. He finds himself leaning over the counter to read it, as Katherine, lovely Katherine whom he blesses in his mind that very moment, very, very slowly lowers her arm, giving him time to read. ‘Fischl, Prinzessin der Verurteilung’.

Are those for kids? Childe’s big eyes swivel to Diluc.

"Certainly," Katherine says. "Will that be all this week?"

This week?? He does this every week?

The redhead is pale. He nods, the movement jolted. His eyes are still burning up the street, watching for the hint of Fatui masks along the rooftops.

Nothing stirs.

Childe’s brow furrows deep. He follows Diluc’s line of sight, even stepping back to curiously peer at the shingles. But there’s nothing there. The wind even carries over to him, and Childe breathes deep but smells nothing except incoming rain.

Katherine blinks, staring straight ahead. “Everything okay, Master?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Make sure the kids are in tonight,” Diluc adds, a key phrase meaning ‘keep the kids close to town, so they don’t get snatched or inujred’.

“Certainly,” she says. “Everyone is already accounted for. Except for you two, I’m assuming?”

“We’ll be heading out,” Diluc says. Childe pops back next to him, offering the lady a smile.

“That makes three tonight,” Katherine says, already thrown back into her work. She sniffles from the humidity as well, wiping her nose. She scribbles something on her paperwork.

Out of his peripheral vision, Diluc watches her scrawl out in the shape of an ‘R’. That’s likely not what’s written, her pen only landing for part of the journey, the true message darting away from Childe’s watchful gaze.

Childe watches her spell in the shape of an R, though in truth she wrote quite a different letter. It takes a moment for him to remember his years of teaching in Mondstadt’s written language, and when they turn away, his mind is still working through the translation.

To Diluc, Childe is just staring sorrowfully, from her moving hand to the blacksmith’s shop, to where Stanley is slumbering under a tree.

He seems...rather subdued.

A bolt of guilt enters Diluc by the chest. He wonders if, in his attempts to stride away from his past, he accidentally brushed Childe aside.

He closes his eyes, swallowing, wondering when he’ll be able to do things correctly.

“Have a good night, gentlemen,” Katherine says.

The walk over the bridge happens in the blink of an eye for Diluc, yet it also feels as if it takes ten years.

For a moment, he’s 15 years old, listening to muttering in his ear. Listening to a laugh while someone tells him how he could have improved his stance. How he could have conversed more readily with the townspeople. How he could have been more.

Knowing, in the pit of his stomach, that he was hiding an injury. Knowing that when he got home, he would have to continue to hide it. Knowing that if anyone noticed, he would receive the best care.

Knowing that he would be lectured on his mistake, on what led to that point. Knowing he would be expected to repeat the same fight he had gone through that very day, until he could handle it without interference. Without dying.

Knowing that, “this is what it takes to be a Knight.”

“Hey, you doing alright?”

Diluc blinks, and he’s back on the damn bridge, just stepping off. He sniffs, glancing back through his memories to ascertain that the guards are, in fact, sleeping. Their eyes are open, watching from under their hats. A good ruse, to be honest.

Diluc sighs, itching his stomach to indicate the placement of the weapon underneath. Even this small movement makes him antsy. It’s out of line with an elegant standard for walking before a city.

He closes his eyes to drown out the sounds of the voice in his memories, swallowing hard. His teeth grit together. “I’m alright. And you? It’s not too cold?”

“It’s chilly tonight,” Childe says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excellent.” Diluc hates the way it sounds tonight. Too...stuffy. Too formal, beside a man whose lips he spends more time staring at than he should. And yet, not nearly enough time, for the ache in his chest.

He begins to walk, hoping the frog in his throat dies.

Childe follows along, quickening his steps to catch up, hands in his pockets. “A commission for a Delusion, huh? Fair trade, Capitain.”

“Forgive him, he’s had a tough day.” Diluc forces himself to look, trying to figure out how angry the Harbinger is. If not for his sake, then at least for Kaeya’s.

Childe smiles at him, with eyes so soft his lashes are almost intermingling. “I’m not mad. How could I be? It was a good move,” he says, breathing in the night air.

Diluc blinks tears from his eyes. He didn’t expect to hear the Captain be complimented.

“That food that you left. Did you mention that was for kids?”

Diluc stiffens, audibly sucking in a breath. “They’re um,” he begins, not knowing how to answer.

“Oh, hold on,” Childe says, stepping before the redhead. With a soft hiss, the handles of his blades settle against his palms. “I see some enemies, and I am awfully antsy.”

Childe makes quick work of that group of hilichurls. And of the next group, which is messing with a poor merchant along the roadside. Diluc hides in the woods behind a tree while the man emphatically declares to Childe that he’s sure he’s going to be fired by the Winery.

At least the pride of Mondstadt is able to calm down by the time Childe’s finished running errands for the merchant.

Childe wanders up the hill into the trees, thumbing over his shoulder towards the retreating merchant. “What do you do to your employees?”

Diluc pouts. “They merely try to uphold the reputation of the Winery.”

“That guy is scared shitless.” Childe crosses his arms. “Answer me seriously, do you beat them?”

“That’s rich coming from a Fatui.”

“That is a worrisome answer,” Childe says, producing a dagger, “and I’m going to kick your ass if-“

“No, I don’t beat my employees. Nor,” Diluc adds, holding up a hand to hold back the onslaught of words heading for him. Childe’s mouth remains open, and for one glorious second he looks so goddamn cute that Diluc entertains the idea of letting them fight just to feel his body close against his own. “Nor do I allow any corporeal punishment within the ranks. He’s fine, he’s just been overdramatic since he was a teenager. Perhaps someone else in my family line was more strict at some point, and his family learned accordingly. I can’t say.”

He forces himself to look Childe in the eyes, once he remembers to. It’s difficult to be as polite as an aristocrat when he’s not so concerned about being perfect. Around Childe, it’s too easy to relax.

“Huh.” Childe’s dagger slips around his finger, as he whirls it while thinking. He walks away, looking back over his shoulder. “I’m not going to fight you. You’d turn me into a walking sausage anyways. Aren’t you coming?” He grabs the sheaf of papers he stuffed under the back of his belt. “We have commissions to do. Or, rather, I do, but you promised to supervise me.” He gives Diluc a strained smile.

“I will accompany you,” Diluc says, sneaking one last glance at the man’s ass, picking his way down the hill.

“Hey,” Childe says quietly, once their boots are crunching along the path once more. “I’m not sure why you’re upset.” He holds the papers to the side, parallel with the river, so that he has an excuse to look away. “But I promise you won’t come into trouble tonight, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Heh.”

“Okay, fine, when we run into trouble, I’ll eat it.”

Diluc adjusts his glove, and his sleeves. He can feel the eyes of the guards on them, from all the way at the gate. “I’m here to keep you out of trouble, yet it seems you want to run headlong into the storm.”

“The storm follows me,” Childe says, a hint of sorrow teasing his tone. He shoves the papers back into his belt, laughing. “At some point, you just gotta learn to live with it.”

“You know, this isn’t what I fucking meant,” Childe says, flipping the weapon in his hand around his fingers.

Diluc, standing behind him, claymore in a dying Ruin Destroyer, feels droplets on his cheek. It reminds him of rain, and for a moment he can see his father standing on the cliff overhead, watching Diluc figure out how to take out a Pyro Abyss Mage.

Back then, the only lights were from the moon. And his Vision, captured far above, in his father’s hand.

“I’ll take him,” Diluc says, surging past the Harbinger. Anger has gripped his heart, and he lets it flare the flames along his blade.

Childe whips his head over to watch as Diluc leaps past him, shock written all over the ginger’s face.

Diluc lifts his claymore high, slamming it against the weak points in the Defense Mechanism’s armor, where the pieces were one riveted together.

The behemoth crumples, attempting to absorb the force of the physical blow, as Diluc’s claymore eats away at it’s side.

Childe jumps back, away from skattering sparks, watching with wide eyes. He barely even said anything worrisome at all, and yet Diluc leapt in without a second thought.

To protect me? Was that to protect me?

His heart is pounding.

Diluc is stepping on the Defense Mechanism, growling. His claymore is slowly burning through the hull, arms quivering with the force of his compression. His hair lifts in the wind, flapping like a flag, brilliant and bright.

Then the moonlight is blotted out.

Childe looks up to see what cloud could possibly be thick enough to throw them into this darkness, only to see a second Defense Mechanism, which has just thrown itself off of the cliff and is heading for his face.

“Get out of the way!”

Panic grips Diluc, but he’s already moving on instinct, his claymore barely beginning to dissipate behind him.

Diluc’s body slams against Childe, knocking the wind out of him. Arms wrap around his back, which Childe lands on, at the mercy of the man who has latched onto him for all they’re worth.

Childe is rolled over and over, before being mercilessly dropped onto the dirt.

He pushes himself up, glancing over to see Diluc facing off with both monsters, claymore held high.

Something in Childe’s back is stinging, and he winces, grunting as he stands.

The second Defense Mechanism has landed before the other one, and is busy trying to get itself aligned with the ground properly, in order to levitate and attack. It seems to run off of the same principle as Paimon, where the machine needs to be some
distance from a surface it becomes relative to, in order to function.

Childe pouts, lifting one hand, dropping his whale onto the two enemies.

“I might need my Delusion for this.”

“I can’t reach it,” Diluc responds, breathless.

He isn’t looking behind him, so he doesn’t see the look of panic on Childe’s face, when he hears the sound of his voice, so strained.

“So be it, then.” Childe is first to leap past him, catching only a glimpse of a pain-ridden face.

He thought he was moving fast, but Diluc pushes off of the ground after him, and yet Diluc’s blade reaches the enemies first. The claymore drags along the dirt, kicking it up into the frontal enemy’s censors.

“Stay back,” Diluc says, his voice low.

Childe skids to a halt, grabbing a tree wildly to keep himself in place.

Diluc’s claymore sizzles, bursting with flame as he swings over his shoulder. He grins for one brutal moment. Then a phoenix leaps from his sword, slamming against both enemies, who are already soaking wet.

The resulting Vaporize effect shorts both of them out, leaving them crumpling to the ground, this time stunned.

Childe rushes in, taking this opportunity to show off his skills in destroying anything and everything, though he takes care to keep his talents limited to the enemies.

Diluc holds his claymore close by, allowing the man to work in close quarters. Childe takes apart one enemy by the time the next one begins to stand.

Diluc walks over, lifting his claymore over his head with both hands. He slams it down, though midway he switches to only one hand, crying out.

The blade slams against the center of the enemy, and the light goes out once more.

Childe doesn’t miss the wince in his movements, or the trembling of the redhead’s hands. He darts over, slipping an arrow into what is basically the spine of the robot, ending it’s life.

Childe and Diluc are left standing in the mud.

Diluc looks up for a moment, his hands held out before him to catch water slipping through the air. “Do the effects from your whale last so long now?”

“No,” Childe says, stepping back, his energy leaving him in a whoosh. His back slams against Diluc’s, the man holding his weight while he rests. His polearm sinks into the ground before him.

The only point of heat in this entire forest is Diluc.

“It’s raining.”

“So are Defense Mechanisms typically lurking around Mondstadt?”

“I’ve only seen them in Dragonspine,” Diluc responds, tossing a knife one-handed into a hilichurl's throat.

“I guess that’s proof Scaramouche really was around Wolvendom,” Childe says, leaping over the hilichurl coming towards him. One of his arrows slips through the back of the enemy’s head.

“Our assessment was correct.”

“‘Our’,” Childe says, scoffing. “You did that alone. I just followed along.” He turns back, shooting at the sizzling hilichurl running across the ruins at them. “There’s so many here tonight. I didn’t notice this many last time.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Huh? Oh yeah I used to come here all the time, my damn Vision requires the talent books nearby.”

Diluc stares at him, jaw dropped. A hilichurl runs at him. Diluc punches it in the face, breaking it’s skull. “And you never thought to say hi???”

“This was before we met,” Childe complains, sticking his tongue out. “I’ve had my Vision for awhile you know.”

“Oh.” Diluc kicks the next one to dust, muttering. "And you don't upgrade it?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Childe languidly shoots at the Samachurl. “I’ve been to Dragonspine quite a lot though. It’s good for ice fishing.”

“And for ending up in one of the missing person ballads,” Diluc says, setting the Samachurl on fire to put it out of it’s misery. “I believe we should head up there soon, for a vacation.”

Childe squints.

“I have business to attend to beforehand.” Diluc adjusts his glove, producing one last piece of paper, walking over to where the ginger is picking up masks.

Childe stares at him, his mouth hanging open again. “Where did you get that?”

Diluc just offers a small smile.

"Impressive."

Diluc's chest swells. “Did you have pets growing up?”

“Sure, a whole pack of dogs.”

He taps the stolen Favonius commission. “Would you like to play fetch?”

Childe reads the words across the top, looking up to Diluc, deadpan. "Woof."

“I fucking hate these things,” Childe says, staring at the pack of Rifthounds. “How did they even get here?”

“Pfft, ask the Abyss,” Diluc says.

“We’re assuming they’re behind it?”

“Why not?” Behind the two men, who are peeking over the hill, lies burnt grass from where Diluc shot a phoenix at a Whopperflower and an Abyss Mage. Amazingly, this stunning display did not wake up the Rifthounds, though nearly singing off one of Childe’s eyebrows. “They seem to be behind half of my headaches.”

“And the other half?”

Diluc gives him a look, still pinching his poor nose to stave off the current one.

“Fatui. Right.” Childe slips down the cliff, tucking his commission sheaf into his inventory for relative safe-keeping. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous pasttime.” Diluc pulls himself over the ledge. “I can handle these enemies. I need to get rid of them.”

“Any special reason we can’t leave them be? I doubt anyone comes into Wolvendom.”

Diluc is crouching, eyes trained on the Rifthounds. “Razor. Bennett. And Prinzessin.”

Childe scrambles over the side, grabbing Diluc’s outstretched hand. Diluc lifts him easily, so that Childe finds himself standing on the grass. “There’s a Princess in Mondstadt?”

He wants to hold that warm hand longer, and likewise, Diluc is remarkably comfortable.

But there’s a job to do.

Diluc's thumb runs across Childe's knuckles, ever so briefly.

“She refers to herself as the Prinzessin,” Diluc says, adjusting his glove once more. Childe’s eyes fall to the motion. He's never been so jealous of a piece of cloth. His eyes flit to Diluc's pants and he rethinks that statement. “It’s after an old storybook.”

“Oh, like the Darknight Hero. Did you hear about that guy?”

Diluc's head tilts, a wry smile finding it's way to his lips once more.

“He’s this amazing man who runs around in a cape and mask-“

Diluc puts two fingers up to his mouth, and lets out the loudest goddamn horse-calling whistle Childe has ever heard.

In the distance, red lights appear close to the ground.

Several Rifthounds lift their heads. There are quite a bit more than they were expecting, hidden in the tall grass.

Diluc and Childe stare at them, side by side, rethinking their life choices.

Childe laughs low. "Don't worry comrade, this is all in a days' work."

Diluc’s teeth grit, as he watches the shambling bodies rise, their mingling howls breaking through the night.

"Or a night," Childe says, firing off a volley of arrows which do nothing except slip harmlessly between ribs.

Seeing the impressive display, Diluc sighs. "How often have you fought them?"

"I avoid them every chance I get."

I used to love being a Captain. I can teach while we fight. "Fuck."

Chapter Text

Childe throws himself into the fray with all the cautious abandon of a man who knows he is doomed to die, and who long ago accepted that his life is nothing more than a tragedy.

His shoulders pull back, an animal call screaming from his throat, hands leveraging the watery spears he’s formed.

Diluc’s head rips back, looking up at the sound, thinking for a brief moment that maybe that’s his bird.

For a moment, he can only watch, horrified.

It’s not that the fight is bad. It’s not that they can’t win, or that their lives are forfeit, or that today in this year is the date on their tombstones.

It’s that he’s watching something he loves throw itself into danger, not only with no regard for safety, but with the breathless passion of a lover before the last battle. With the embroiled hatred of a man who never planned on making this far, and will be damned until he sets his weapons at god’s feet.

Diluc is running before he realizes his feet are moving.

Childe is still arcing through the air, the rain having turned to a wave which surges under him, propelling him forward. It would almost be comical to see, if he were performing a trick at a festival.

Diluc can imagine seeing children clapping their hands at Childe’s display of his skills. And for a moment, the redhead lets out a laugh, his friend’s recklessness contagious.

It’s impossible to see someone so beautiful, and not be infected with a piece of that level of living.

Childe twists on the surge of water, eyes bright, smile wide. A rifthound has leapt high into the air, falling down towards him, far higher than his head. His spear sings out, catching the creature in the neck.

He makes a soft sound, his twirl pausing, back bending as he tries to pull his gut away.

A second rifthound has emerged from a void hole, their long claw surging forward, tapping against his shirt.

Diluc is roaring louder than the beasts, a creature in his own right. His claymore is held over his head, surging with flames which briefly fill Childe’s vision.

For a moment, all is slowed down, as the rain beats onto them. As the dual rifthounds fall, one towards the ground, his neck slashed. And one forward, accepting death with the same cruel look that Childe held, wanting only venegance before it’s slain, or at the same time if Fate so demands.

But Diluc isn’t held by such meager strings. He rips through them, the threads pulling taut, then burning to ashes, leaving mute memories of gods in his wake.

His claymore bears down with the force of an axe, between Childe and the remaining rifthound. There’s more, of course, but Diluc is between them and the man he’s protecting. He cares about nothing else. Not the lightning on the horizon, not the flames on his sleeve.

His sword cuts through flesh, breaking the limb of the beast. The flames cauterize the wound, then destroy the remaining marrow. His swing isn’t finished, pushing through the other side of the limb, fully severing it.

The claw remains embedded in Childe’s side as he falls backwards, still somewhat standing.

Diluc’s wild eyes memorize him for a moment, in case this is the last one the idiot remains alive.

“Try to stay out of the way,” he spits. His foot lands on soft ground, digging into the grass burning under the treated leather of his boot.

Diluc twists to face Childe, wrenching his shoulders with a ragged inhale as he carves the claymore back up from the ground, while his arms are pushed over his head.

Childe frowns at the man. “That’s not a move Anyone should be pulling off.”

“Talk to me when you don’t,” Diluc says, as he turns to face the rifthounds. He successfully chopped across the face of the one who was vying for Childe, but rams against the back of it’s paw at the same time. He cries out, the force of his own movements pressing him against the limb, right at his diaphragm.

A limb lifts above him, bearing down for his head.

A regular person maybe would gasp, hoping it wouldn’t happen. Thinking of the horrorific pain that would occur if Diluc’s head were bashed in right then.

Childe isn’t known for thinking before acting, so he’s already leaping up. His leg extends, intending for his foot to land on Diluc’s shoulders, so that he can propel himself up and block the hit.

His foot lands on air.

Childe sighs, landing with both feet on the still-extended limb of the rifthound who’s missing the other front one. He kicks off of the beast, flipping over the dropping claw of the other one.

His polearm sneaks out while he’s spinning, catching the third beast in the eye.

Childe lands soundly on his feet, looking over his shoulder.

Diluc is laying waste to the rest of the camp, a shadow between the trees, interspersed with bursts of light. Mostly, light which shines from behind thick fur and thicker skin, as he tears through the bellies of the beasts trying to disembowel them.

Childe takes a ragged breath. He’s standing. He tries to turn, to lift his bow.

A searing pain clenches through his stomach.

“It’s fine,” he says, aloud. His eyes are squinted to the pain. Tears jump to them.

He takes in another breath, since that’s the obvious Number 1 step to suddenly being met with crushing weights in his chest.

He stumbles forward.

The beast whose eye he stole roars, coming at him again.

Childe isn’t helpless. He hasn’t survived this many battles by waiting around and letting things hit him.

But damn, if it doesn’t hurt to have to tuck and roll out of the way of something he should be able to conquer.

He groans as he rights himself again, the beast shaking it’s head in confusion.

A second one is coming, which Childe can only vaguely see through red-tinted vision. It’s like the edges of his eyelight is curtained.

“Heh. Well this is unfortunate.”

The beast lifts a bloody stump, trying to rake imaginary claws down at him.

“Your limb is behind you,” Childe says, gritting his teeth. He thinks to leap, but as he begins to move, his knees seem to seize. He throws himself to the ground, landing on his side on the wet grass.

The one-eyed beast beside him is leaping, and this one is smarter than it’s one-limbed cousin, because it’s leaping low, claws skimming the grass before him.

Childe watches like in slow-motion once again.

Almost as if he’s bored, which he is, of the fight and the pain and not knowing what’s going on behind him, where Diluc is getting some stress relief, Childe lifts one arm. He’s clutching a polearm, and this one is a bit more solid than the others, made with water than shines like silver. Or mercury.

It’s long, and the end keeps extending as it grows, as the rifthound leaps down onto him.

It’s claws land on the dirt beside his head, twitching, clutching over his face ever-so-gently, the last of it’s energy leaving it.

The beast glares at him, inches away on the ground.

Childe smiles, turning his wrist. The edge of the polearm, dug through the rifthound’s heart and tapping it’s spine, twists.

The rifthound dissipates before him.

Childe tastes blood.

“I think I’ll just lay here for a moment. This is comfy.”

The other rifthound, the one with one limb, is turning back. It’s eyes are angry, bright with pain.

Diluc leaps over Childe like an angry frog, landing with a wet slap on the ground, splashing mud everywhere. His claymore’s blunt side twacks the ground.

His bird, thrown haphazardly over his back in a position more closely resembling that of a puppet shot from a cannon, twists through the air, it’s head spearing into the rifthound before them.

Even in the rain, the fucker explodes.

Childe pouts. “Showoff.”

Diluc glares over his shoulder, still moving with that animalistic haste.

Childe has a brief, disgusting moment where he wonders how Diluc smells when he’s sweaty. Then he kicks himself mentally. Then he wonders if that’s precum he feels in his pants, or blood.

“You got mud on my face,” Childe says, trying not to glance down, but he only remembers to tell himself not to after he’s already looked.

There’s blood staining his abdomen, and his shirt is cut open. “Damn thing cut right through the corset.”

“Sorry, I’ll aim for your ass next time.”

“Excuse-?!,” Childe begins, only to let out a groan as Diluc forcibly pushes him onto the ground.

He frowns up at the redhead, who looks to him pointedly.

“Go ahead.”

Diluc means to open Childe’s coat, but in his haste, or perhaps because adrenaline is coarsing through him, he ends up ripping every button out.

Childe picks them up off of the wet grass, admiring the way the white shines in the moonlight. “Overkill,” he says.

Diluc is too worked up to apologize, busy flicking medical supplies out of his inventory. Childe had thought he’s a neat man, and perhaps in his head he has a system. But at the moment there’s a roll of bandages on Childe’s ribs, and a sewing kit on his hip.

“Are these mother-of-pearl?”

“Mother of,” Diluc says, like it’s offensive somehow.

Childe flips the button up, catching it. “Real pearl then.”

“Nothing less for you.” Diluc means it as a compliment, but Childe’s brow lifts.

“Good job with taking that limb off.”

Diluc rips open the sewing kit, accidentally breaking the wooden box in half. “Do you want to keep it?”

“Yeah.”

He slips the needle into Childe’s skin, as gentle as ever. His hands may not be the steadiest in the world, but damn if he doesn’t make a clean stitch.

“You can’t be perfect at everything,” Childe complains, giggling to himself. His head feels heavy, so the pain isn’t much of a factor at the moment. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to appear weak in front of such a man.

His hands are clenched into fists, feet tapping erratically. His breaths are shallow and quick.

“If I were perfect,” Diluc says, “we both would have gotten out of this unscathed.”

Childe sits right up, feeling soft pressure on his wound, where Diluc is keeping his blood in his body.

There’s a gash along Diluc’s shirt, at his upper arm. “You’re hurt,” the Harbinger says, falling back on his elbows.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You couldn’t ever,” Childe says seriously. His head begins to loll, and he looks out over the meadow, to the lights of Mondstadt. “Those stupid things. Why do they have to be so, ugh,” he falls back on the grass, “I don’t know, aggravating to fight?”

“Their venom is a real pain,” Diluc says. He’s struggling to push together the folds of Childe’s skin.

“Having a hard time? Those fifty thousand scars are a bitch.”

“I seriously considered burning this shut.”

“Be my guest.”

“The wound wouldn’t heal right. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

Childe stares at the stars, breathing easy. “You know, the nice thing about this venom, is it kind-of conks me out after awhile.”

Diluc’s hand is on his arm in an instant, much too warm.

Childe breathes deep. He smiles, giving Diluc a lascivious grin.

“You are Not falling asleep.”

“Shh, shh, be quiet.”

Diluc shakes him. “Wake the fuck up. Do I need to throw you in a lake?!”

Childe lifts his head, struggling to keep his eyes wide. “Are you taking insults from my book?”

“I’ll take half your pension if you fall asleep on me right now.”

Childe shrugs, up on his elbows. He forces himself to sit up. “That’s what I normally do.”

Watery blood spills from his wound. Diluc, who’s in a race against his own injuries as well as Childe’s, stares at him with an open mouth.

The two men huff and puff, in the spot beside the trees where the rifthounds had been, where wolves used to live.

Childe is actually up against a tree, his eyes threatening to close every so often, until Diluc gives him another half-fierce lecture about falling asleep, and staying awake, and then finally old myths about town in a frantic attempt to keep Childe awake. “Tell me about the ghost of the manor.”

“She’s an old one.”

“Why are they always women?”

“He’s an old one.”

“You’re making this up.”

Diluc drops his face into his hands, chest heaving like he’s been running. He has, but this is the work of the venom, which is making them both faint, and far too warm.

The rain is cooling them, at least. But they’re waiting before they bother trying to sneak past any guards, or something as difficult as walking.

“I’m sorry,” Diluc says.

Childe hears the promise of a king’s resounding speech within those layered tones. He has half a mind to pull Diluc to him, the same way he once saw a buried couple of skeletons.

But the very thought angers him, and this is enough to keep him awake.

Childe focuses his gaze on Diluc, staring at the man. Diluc’s eyes are rimmed with soot from his fire, ashes burnt along his cheeks. Freckles peek out from under them, just barely glimmering from their daytime activities the past few afternoons.

He doesn’t realize his lips have parted until drool is falling into his lap.

Diluc is exhausted, must be, but he looks over. “The ghost used to say he wanted to eat a meal.”

“Right,” Childe says, setting his head against the tree trunk. A story to keep us awake.

“Once upon a time,” Childe says, “there was a man in the woods. And he fell into a very dark hole.”

“This man was wandering for days at a time. He had a wife to get home to. Kids, you know, the whole nine yards.” Childe’s hand flaps in the air between them, as if these vestiges of the man’s life are too far behind him to even find in any tangible form anymore.

Diluc thinks about people living and dying in that span. But he’s an opportunistic, realistic man, who holds survival above much else. His thoughts surge forward, to the man in the woods. Does he have weapons? Is he carrying any he knows how to use? Does he have food? Has he eaten?

“He has an axe,” Childe says.

Diluc thinks thoughts he doesn’t dare to think consciously, which he hopes remain buried with the man’s dead relatives, where emotions belong.

“And he’s okay with it. He turns it over in his hands, but a giant rabbit comes along and chops his head off."

Diluc’s petulant mouth drops open with an audible pop.

Childe closes his, staring over, blinking.

Their fatigue is, as Childe had hoped, instantly forgotten.

Diluc’s eyes are wide with anger. “What do you mean, he dies?”

“I didn’t say he died. I said a rabbit chomped on his head.”

“A rabbit chomped on his head,” Diluc says at the same time, his hand out.

Good, Childe thinks, he’s moving. Get that blood flowing.

“If he dies, that’s between him and god,” Childe says, shrugging.

“He got his head, chopped,” Diluc says, miming with his other hand, “off. Who survives that?”

“Actually, I heard a story once about a chicken.”

“A man is not a chicken. Shall we go to Dragonspine, grab a random Fatui, and test your little theory?”

“Okay Dottore,” Childe lets slip, before he realizes it.

Diluc’s jaw drops again.

“Sorry.” His voice is choked. He clears his throat, looking away.

“You’re so lucky you’re so fucking adorable,” Diluc says. His fingers dig against his nose, trying to claw through his sinuses, but he can’t help the tiny chuckle under his breath.

“Trying to give yourself a lobotomy so you don’t have to hear this?”

“No, please continue your story. Now that the main character is dead.”

“Who said he’s the main character?” Childe has a knife in hand, spinning it around his finger.

“You stole that from Rosaria.”

“She gave it to me.”

Diluc fixes him with a pout, but Childe keeps spinning.

“He’s the man you started the story with,” Diluc says finally, rising to his feet.

“Oh, please,” Childe says, accepting Diluc’s hand, staring for a moment at the blood and dirt on his palm. At his blood, caked into the creases, staining the scars.

He wants to kiss it.

But he also has the urge to go kill something, since the venom is wearing off.

“Hm?” Diluc bends over, swiping a drop from the fallen creatures. “Please what?”

“The ones who start the story never live to see the end,” Childe says, with a shrug as he walks past Diluc, into the shadows of the trees, to see the nest of the rifthounds.

“You can head back and sleep,” Diluc says, though it sounds like a command. He rolls his shoulders as he says it.

The two men laid waste to a hilichurl camp, rather silently. As the venom wears off, their aches become noticable again.

They’re standing on a path in Mondstadt, Diluc half-turned towards the meadows beyond. He looks back at Childe’s groan, though.

“You’re not turning in yet?” How the fuck much energy does this goddamn man have? And can I take that in any other form? Childe’s gaze slips down to Diluc’s hips.

“My eyes are up here, love.”

Childe, who thought it would be a bright idea to hide his lust while he drinks water, promptly spits it directly into Diluc’s face. “What?! Sorry. What?”

Diluc, face wet, grinds his teeth.

“You shouldn’t do that, it’s bad for your teeth.”

Diluc lifts his shirt, wiping his face.

“You shouldn’t do that, it’s bad for my heart.”

Diluc can’t hold back any longer. Laughter bursts out of him, as he turns away, practically dancing for a moment. “Come on, come on,” he says, waving at Childe to catch up.

“Did you just skip?!” The ginger is already running after him.

Diluc looks over his shoulder, eyes bright, hair flowing around him. His chin is held high, their little inside joke making him fluttery inside. “No one will ever believe you.”

“I think we got everything done on Kaeya’s list,” Childe says, reading over the notes before him.

Diluc is standing over the dead body of a Cryo Abyss Mage, which he had too much fun exploding. Sorry, imploding.

He looks back at Childe, who’s sitting up on a ruin, crouched like a bird. “Nice work,” Diluc says.

“That’s an interesting thing to hear with blood stained on your face.”

Diluc ducks his head, wiping frantically at himself with his shirt again.

“Relax.” Childe leaps down, bringing Diluc’s coat with him. He hands it over, Diluc taking the sleeve. “There’s nothing wrong with a little blood. In fact, it looks good contrasted against your skin. Like shadows painted onto you.”

“You can make anything sound pretty,” Diluc says.

“Join the Fatui,” Childe tests out.

Diluc sighs, turning to him fully. He has a spot of red stained across his nose, which Childe finally notices was, once upon a time, broken. There’s only a tiny bend, which considering the amount of money Diluc has for surgery, and the healers’ skill in Teyvat, means it must have absolutely been shattered once.

“You did well fighting today.”

Childe feels shattered, at once.

Diluc glances at Childe’s trembling fingers. “Fighting those rifthounds, I mean. Good work.”

“Thank you,” Childe says, utterly unused to affection in any form. He’s still waiting for the world to drop out under him. It’s like one half of him wants to fall into Diluc’s arms, and the other half is aware that the world will take from him anything he wants to hold onto.

He thinks of the rifthound’s severed arm and resigns himself to never being able to clutch at anything that isn’t a weapon.

“Weapons, after all, are just extensions of oneself. I should be able to,” he says. “Cut anything, I mean.”

“Right off,” Diluc says.

“Right. In theory. But who says I like the easy way out?”

“If you did, we wouldn’t be here,” Diluc says, gesturing over his shoulder as he turns away. “Come on. I’ll make dinner for us.”

“Second dinner?”

“Anything you want.”

Childe settles on something more realistic this time, his tender heart just barely thinking he might get something he wants, if he can just ask for it. “Hm. How’s a meal, and a ghost story sound? And then a good rest.”

“Sounds like a perfect evening to me,” Diluc says.

“Good, but how do you feel about mornings?” Childe points out to where the sky is teasing a slightly lighter shade of blue.

“How about we clean up at the tavern, and go eat at Good Hunter?”

“Sure. Cooking was your idea, I don’t care if you don’t want to.”

“Lovely.” Diluc seems to say it like he’s sighing, like he wasn’t sure if he would be rejected or embraced. He stretches, arms high for a moment, his face relaxed.

He looks more at ease than when the venom was coursing through him.

Childe stares for a moment. Did I do that?

And somehow, when they walk clean through the gates of Mondstadt, Diluc handing over a verbal report to the up-bright-and-early Noelle about the rifthounds, Childe feels like the sun is rising in his chest.

He doesn’t feel burnt. He feels...warm. Alive?

Able to accomplish things.

He eyes the back of Diluc’s hand, brushed with red. With his blood.

“Um,” he says, stepping up beside the man. “Could I request some grape juice at this breakfast, please? Just, while we’re ordering.”

“Oh, certainly,” Noelle says.

“Thank you,” Childe says.

Diluc, beside him, smiles.

The guards at the gate gasp, earning a hushed, “shh,” from Childe.

The ginger looks back at Diluc’s glaring façade. “Ehe.”

Chapter Text

“You’re been hanging out with that damned bard too much,” Diluc says, opening the door with his foot, holding it.

His thoughts are a wellspring from which he cannot escape.

Did I say too much? Was I too kind? Was ‘love’ too far? Does he hate it?

Diluc sets the tray of food on the closest table, absolutely enamored with the fact his hands remain steady. As he walks across the floor, to fetch a couple of drinks, his mind whirring ahead to figure the correct glasses and colors and liquids and exactly how many ice cubes to pour in, how many he needs before his hands melt them, before his nature ruins another masterpiece, he marvels at the fact that his chest is puffed, that his back is straight, that he’s even able to pretend to smile as he leans for one of those glasses.

Childe, of course, being the center of everything falling apart at once, is at home in the tension he feels wafting in waves from the redhead. He leaps onto the stool beside the counter, long legs crossed in red pants.

“Well I don’t thnk Venti’s all too bad,” Childe says.

“No, not at all,” Diluc says.

Childe stares at him, trying to gauge his intent.

Diluc is lost in his thoughts. Wasn’t I fine, a few minutes ago? Weren’t Childe and I fine?

His hands, now, seem almost to flinch, but he takes a breath and mimes turning the glass over, as if there’s any dust in the gleamed surface. As if he didn’t choose the absolute cleanest in the entire bunch.

Childe stares at the glass, a bit peeved. “I know damn well that you clean every glass with an attentiveness best reserved for those guys who build ships in bottles. So,” his finger twirls before them, as if causing ripples on the wooden counter is both possible and plausible, “what’s going on?”

It’s meant less as a challenge and more as a concern. “Was someone outside bothering you? I don’t think Donna’s around, if she was the cause. Did someone in the Adventurer’s Guild hurt your feelings?”

They had stopped in briefly, while Noelle put in their order at Good Hunter. Both men had run into the showers, lost in their own thoughts, dressed in fresh clothes that Childe hadn’t bothered to notice the origin of, he was so busy trying to bathe without getting any of his recent injuries wet.

He didn’t get to see Diluc naked at all, but honestly by that point he was so hungry he couldn’t be bothered to care besides a tiny bit of forlornness and wanting, as they had stepped out into a bright Mondstadt morning.

“I apologize,” Diluc says, his mouth working around the words stuck in throat. “I…don’t know.”

“You were fine all the way up into getting here,” Childe says, looking around, as if for invisible enemies he can stick watery knives into. “Actually, you probably feel safe here. Maybe you’re more relaxed. So has something been bothering you?”

Diluc takes a deep breath, the questions all ramming up in his head one by one, giving him chance to sort through them, like a builder tossing logs.

His eyes unfocus for a moment, somewhere by the bottom edge of the door they came in. “I think I’m going to stick my head into a cannon.”

“Okay buddy,” Childe says, swinging off the stool. “How ‘bout I get the drinks, before you find a creative way to set the glass into your own spine?”

Diluc groans in response, eyes flicking to the meat on the tray on the table.

“Very good,” Childe says, having somehow come around the counter while Diluc was distracted. The only way Diluc knows he didn't come over, is because the gate to the employee’s only section is swinging. Childe takes both glasses. “Go sit down please.”

“Sorry,” Diluc says, ramming food into his mouth, his manners forgotten somewhere in the vestiges of his father saying, ‘when you court someone, please don’t wipe your fingers on your pants.’

Childe is sitting up as straight as an attentive bird, not eating, just watching for a moment.

Diluc wipes his greasy fingers on a handkerchief, shoveling bacon in with one hand, potatoes with the other (on a fork at least, thank Barbatos for forks in this country), and then taking a slurping drink of sunsettia juice.

He pauses for a moment, the mountain of sugar in the bottom of his drink sliding as one mass, like a toppling pyramid, and stares at Childe. “Do you not like it?”

He’s…brimming with energy. His coat is off, and his arms are out, and Childe has been trying for the past few minutes to ignore that apparently he has an arm fetish. There’s scars, and dear god, VEINS, and Childe isn’t sure if he wants to swallow or suck.

“Sorry, what?” He drags his eyes away, torn between the hunger in his stomach and every other thought in his mind. He licks his lips.

Diluc lifts a piece of bacon, his mouth in a thin line, aggravation plain on his face. He holds it up to Childe’s lips. “Eat. Do you like it?”

“I haven’t bitten it yet.” Childe is trying not to burst out laughing, lest he offend his friend.

“Eat.” There’s a bite at the end of the word, and Childe understands why people say Mondstadters sound so angry when they speak.

Trying not to laugh when he opens his mouth, he takes the bacon and tosses it in. “It’s delicious.”

He barely has time to compliment the bite, because Diluc has relinquished one arm for the task of feeding Childe from the ginger’s plate, while the other still shovels food into his own.

Childe takes the fork too, unable to hold back a moutnain of giggles. “I’m fine. Please, stir your juice. You’re going to make me sick eating it like that.”

Diluc sticks one bacon-greased finger into his drink, swirling it, leaving Childe open-mouthed.

"You look like a fish."

"You're not into cannibalism, right?"

They clear the tray, needless to say.

“Sorry,” Diluc says again, swallowing down the rest of his third glass. “I started panicking after we came back to town.”

“Are you okay? I’ve never seen you like that.” Childe is leaning back, legs out, belt undone so he can breathe. He fails at managing a yawn, the whale sound cutting through the room.

Diluc smiles, and this time it’s genuine. But his eyes unfocus, the smile waning. “When we came back in, I saw those same-old Fatui by the Waypoint. I’ve seen them a million times.” His head lolls back, as he mirrors Childe, stretching out under the table, hands in his lap.

“This time was different?”

“No.”

Childe’s brow lifts. “It must be…hard for you…wait if they’re so hard to be around, how on earth have you not killed all of them here?”

Diluc looks over from where his chin is tilted up, throat exposed. “They would send stronger ones.”

“Yeah, and? You’re much stronger than you were when the Harbingers went after you. You could probably take on one or two now.” Childe’s foot taps impatiently, blood thrumming with the idea of him and Diluc running into a fight, side by side, destroying the enemy, leaving blood on the Mondstadt grass. Laughing at their victory, even.

Diluc observes all of this, but his tired mind only registers the excitement slowly. “I would have to explain why I spared one.”

Childe laughs, incredulous, glass in hand. “Explain to who? You don’t answer to anyone.”

“You do,” Diluc says.

The glass slips from Childe’s hand.

Diluc catches it, sets it on the table between them.

Childe’s tongue slides over his own teeth, trying to slice itself open. Trying to let him ground himself at all, but he is a roiling mass of waves that could not be contained within a simple pool.

He sets both hands on the table, taking a deep breath. Then sits back again.

There’s no place in Mondstadt more safe than right here. He might as well think for a bit.

Childe rubs at his own chin. “If I had more energy, I would say let’s go fight some things.”

“We just got home,” Diluc says.

“And clean.” Childe pulls at his shirt, the gifted shirt, then sighs. “How come this has an insignia on the heart?”

“It was sewn in,” Diluc deflects.

“It’s my insignia.”

“Magic,” Diluc offers, brows raising.

“It’s literally the one I shoot creatures with.”

“Do you think of this as your home?”

“You son of a bitch.”

“You can stay here as long as you want.”

“What’s rent?”

“Staying alive.”

“You run a horrible busniess,” Childe says, which is a cheap shot, but all night he’s been saying things to aggravate the man, and Diluc hasn’t risen to any of the occasions.

For the first time though, he gets the chance to glance dead on into Diluc’s eyes after he says it, and all he sees is a flash of pain, a tensing of muscles, and a conscious effort to be kind.

“Here,” Childe corrects, and Diluc reinflates.

“It’s not run at a deficit if you can’t afford a human life.”

“Doctors everywhere would disagree with you.”

Childe is expecting backlash. He can practically hear his own father in his mind, scolding, “Childe,” with that angry tone. He can hear his mother’s pathetic pleading, a sound like a goat before it’s slaughtered. He can hear, for a moment, the laugh of Fatui guards dragging his friend by their hair. He can hear everything.

He opens his eyes, but Diluc is laughing, and the sound comes to him slowly, as if through waves of water.

Childe stares at Diluc the way a drowned corpse begs to be dragged from the lake. The way the ghost lifts from the water, pulled back by the surface tension, their watery hands clutching the side of the boat. The way they lean over, asking the angler to take them home.

The way they hear the low moan of the water’s spirit, the main one, which sounds like a mother demanding her child to stay close.

“I must go,” he says in his mind, but he says it out loud.

Sometimes, people love each other in small ways. They don’t say “I love you.” Like, Childe’s grandfather. He very rarely ever said “I love you.” He would say, “Wear shoes so you don’t step on wasps,” or “You can’t live on cookies,” or “Sure, we can sneak another couple. Here, put these in your pocket.”

“Childe,” Diluc says. “Make sure you put some sunscreen on. It’s going to be a bright day.”

Childe does escape Mondstadt.

Injured or not, he rushes out into the sunlight. He ends up halfway across the bridge, burning in the summer light, gasping for air for the first time in a decade, before he remembers he can walk more slowly.

The birds are chirping, and the flowers are growing.

He spends so much time protecting them, how often does he just…appreciate them? How often does he lay out in the heat, on soft grass, and just enjoy the fields?

But Childe feels the pressing threat of death over his shoulder. Ever since he was young, he’s been forging ahead, trying to keep his head above water.

He’s about to walk all the way to Liyue, exhaustion be damned, and probably collapse partway there, his body be damned, when he nearly walks right past someone.

Childe turns and looks, and there’s a boy standing there, with a bow in his hand, looking over and crying.

Childe’s heart snaps, and all at once his hopeless thoughts are tossed into the nearby river, and he’s running over.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong? My name’s Childe, can I help? Your bow looks like it needs a little TLC.”

The boy, who’s really actually got to be close to being an adult now that Childe really looks, or maybe is if he’s like freshly 18, is still crying. He’s covered in scars, with a criss-crossed chunk taken out of his arm that’s long-since closed up.

“I’m Benny. I just got this bow, but I snapped it.”

He opens his hand, and sure enough, the actual wood of the bow is snapped in half.

Childe’s eyes widen, and he laughs. “Holy shit. I’ve never seen a bow break like this! You know they’re not meant to,” he says, as he crouches. He keeps talking fast, so the boy gets a chance to hear the rest of what he says. “Benny, you’re incredibly strong. We need to get you a bow that can handle your strength!”

The boy, with some tears still leaking from his eyes, pauses. For a moment he freezes, staring at Childe in awe.

Now by this point Childe is, as the poets say, l’exhausted.

He’s fairly certain he technically fell asleep on part of the walk back to the city with Diluc, a skill he picked up ages ago, following his father to the water for ice fishing. And of course, he did sleep rather soundly yesterday. And by this point, the memory of being, you know, a massive problem, has woken him up.

He’s sure if he slept he would only have nightmares anyways.

But even he notices the bird fly overhead, with a rock in it’s talons, which is promptly dropped.

Childe reaches up, catching the rock before it hits Benny. “It just so happens, I have need of wanting to visit the blacksmith. Want to go with me?”

Diluc Ragnvindr is an exhausted man.

For a half a second, or longer, he seriously considers just like, lying down on the wooden floor.

It’s a dreadfully hot day, hot enough that he’s debating walking into the back room and throwing himself into the cooler, if Elzer didn’t tell him a million times never to do so because “humans need oxygen” and “suffocation is a huge risk” and “you’re not a Husky dog”.

Diluc groans, and stands, and lifts the tray, and carries it to the back room. And then he rinses down the dishes, because he might as well. It’s hot, and if he doesn’t, they’ll stink.

And then he dries them just to keep himself awake. And then he puts them away.

And then he makes it halfway through the doorway before remembering that those are the Good Hunter dishes and he just stole them by putting them into his cupboards, and that no one but Charles would notice.

And then Diluc makes a very whiny sound for being a grown adult, but honestly adults deserve to whine just as much as any child, and he turns back and starts pulling the dishes out.

“Children whine because it’s their first time experiencing things,” he says to himself, breaking his own rule about no mumbling. “Adults whine because they know it’s not their last, and they hate experiencing it even while they are.”

But once the plates are arranged on the tray once more, he can kind-of tell himself that they look good.

A nagging, screaming voice in his head says back that they don’t, that they aren’t arranged right, to do it again, that he fucked up, that he’ll never own the family business.

Diluc is too tired for that shit. He leaves the room, very forcibly reciting to himself that Childe was making a joke, that Angel’s Share is fine, and that it’s time for bed.

He heads upstairs, running on autopilot, walking into Childe’s apartment rather than any of the other rooms, which are a floor up (and dusty).

He takes off his shoes as he walks, tossing them beside the bed. He thinks to strip his shirt, since it’s dreadfully hot already, and at least manages to kneel on the bed and tug the window open a crack.

But Diluc Ragnvindr has been ignoring a throbbing pain along his stomach all morning.

He stretches, and flops onto the bed on his back, smiling for a moment. The blankets smell like Childe.

Say what you will about humans and their many silly little deeds, and their silly little worries, and their crazy schemes, and their vacant attempts. But at the end of each waking session, they’re just little animals, who love the scent of ones they adore.

Diluc curls his hand around an edge of the blanket, and falls asleep.

“What the fuck,” Childe says, staring into his apartment. “And emphasis on the ‘FUCK’.”

His loud shout is only barely enough to rouse Diluc, who answers with a sleepy groan.

Childe stalks across the floor, stepping in blood, setting his new gifts down haphazardly, skirting the bow he lies on the wood.

Diluc is laid out on the bed, one thin leg trailing off, his pantleg pushed to his knee. His shirt is tugged up too, revealing angry red cuts along his stomach, and an indentation Childe recognizes all too well.

Childe throws both hands onto his shoulders, pushing him down like he’s doing CPR. “Wake! Up!”

He tugs red locks out of Diluc’s mouth, scowling. “Ugh, you’re more hair than man. Come on! Wake up!”

Diluc lifts two sweaty arms, snatching Childe down on top of him.

Childe, who just bought a new coat and was proudly wearing it, feels the distinct sensation of blood against his newly-healed stomach.

“This coat is white,” he whispers into Diluc’s ear, “and your corpse is going to be if you don’t let me go.”

Diluc opens his arms, blinking rapidly as Childe lifts up, inspecting the damage on the man.

“Of course, you respond to a threat. Can I lift your shirt?”

“Sure.” Diluc grabs a pillow to hug instead.

Childe feels a tang of anger at knowing he’s so easily replaced, and lets a string of cusses slip through his mind as his fingers rub off the worst of the bleeding from the wound. “At least no blood got on my coat. Why did you have my Delusion? And who in their right mind presses a Delusion to their stomach?”

“You,” Diluc says, pouting up at him. Even sleepy and pale with pain, he’s preciously adorable, and Childe fights the urge to fall apart.

“You were hiding this all day?”

Diluc grins.

“You must have been hell to raise.”

Diluc nods.

“I’m closing this up, and then getting changed again, and then I can tell you about my day. Where’s my Delusion?”

Diluc finishes yawning, hand grappling at the tangled blankets. He closes it on something, dragging it back up through the tangled cloth.

“With it’s edges bloody,” Childe announces with a sigh. “I’m just glad it didn’t impale you.” His wry voice does much to mask the anger he feels towards himself. “I’m sorry,” he says, cleaning off the cuts, which are closer to scrapes. “I didn’t realize you were holding this thing on your stomach.”

“Originally I had it against my chest,” Diluc says. “It fell while we were fighting those mechanical things.” He yawns again, stretching, opening the scrape further.

Childe’s nose wrinkles in annoyance. “Oh, so you almost broke your sternum.”

“I need a bath.”

A small whale drops on his head.

“I’m sorry, that was terribly immature of me.”

“Hmph.” Diluc lifts a curtain of hair from his face, frowning over.

“Next time, I’ll drop an eagle on you,” Childe says, all angry grins.

“Fuck you,” Diluc says, but he doesn’t mean it, and he’s so pouty it’s quite obvious he doesn’t.

“Fuck me yourself. Oh wait. You can’t. Because you’re injured! And because you didn’t tell anyone!”

Diluc groans, throwing a pillow at Childe’s head. “I said I’m sorry.”

“’I said I’m sorry’,” Childe mocks. “I’ll write that on your grave, you self-aggrantizing bastard.”

Diluc literally bites his tongue, mouth open, huffing an incredulous laugh.

Childe is momentarily distracted from his anger. He heaves a sigh, trying to sound mad, but Diluc grins in haughty triumph, crossing his legs, one arm tucked behind his head. His hair is a tangled mess, curling fast over his shoulders. He must know he looks good.

“You got weapons?”

“Yes, I did,” Childe says, finishing tying off the bandages, which are so slick with herbs they gave him an issue. “Benny and I went shopping.”

Diluc’s brow rise. He sits up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, excited. “You did? How was it?”

“It went well. We got some good items, and he left the blacksmith’s pretty happy. I relinquished him to Noelle already for some training, and I passed out at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Are you hurt worse than I knew?”

“I actually got healed by an angry girl shouting at someone about alcohol, but I was so tired,” Childe says, yawning, “excuse me I just woke up, I was so tired that it didn’t bug me much.”

Diluc gets a weird feeling then.

The sun’s shining in the window, there’s birds chirping outside. The days are getting longer, already, so it’s almost time to open.

Childe’s profile is stunning. Not stunning in the way a model is, but stunning in the way that the first burst of a campfire is stunning. Stunning in the way that hitting the water when you dive in on the first spring day of swimming is stunning. It’s still cold from winter, the water stays cold forever, but the day is hot and you need a refreshment and you’re torn between the mammalian need for the floods, and the Prometheus desire for the camps on the coastline.

Diluc feels something flicker to life inside of him. He shoves it down, because he recognizes it, and because he knows it’s going to hurt.

He does not turn away.

“That’s Diona. Her father is Draff, a notorious alcoholic,” he says. “I’m glad you made it home safe.”

“Ah,” Childe says, like it’s nothing, but it’s everything, “thanks for letting me go. I just needed to run around for awhile.”

“I can understand that feeling.”

“Oh I bet!” Childe jumps up, grabbing a mop in the corner of the room. Water appears in the bucket. “So tell me, how did everyone handle you just like, running off to gallivant through the woods with me?”

Diluc chuckles, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off, since apparently all he’s done today is bathe, sweat, and bleed. “Which time?”

“Well I meant years ago,” Childe says, “but if you want to talk about last night, then we’ve got to get downstairs where everyone else is.” He’s busy cleaning the blood on the floor.

“Did I drip that everywhere?”

“I thought it was wine. You could say it was watered down.” Childe grins recklessly, at the painful sound Diluc makes.

“I’m going to go drown myself in the bath.”

“Think of me!”

Diluc miscalculates when he opens the door.

Cavalry Captain Kaeya Alberich, second in command (currently) of the Knights of Favonius, does not mistake wine for blood (except when he’s lying).

Diluc, being half-awake, also forgot about the entire part of the conversation where Childe mentioned there being PATRONS in the tavern already. He also is a tad dehydrated, explaining the stuffiness in his ears which prevents him from properly hearing their loud voices.

Which is why he was perfectly willing to walk to the showers half naked. In fact, he was planning on bending in a weird position, scrubbing his sweaty chest and arms while pretending like he’s not getting his bandages wet, and then happily skipping back to Childe to be a nuisance, and to feel light fingertips on his stomach.

With these thoughts in mind, he isn’t quite expecting to open the door and see Kaeya Alberich standing there, in all of his pompous glory (except his coat has been left with Rosie because even with a Cryo Vision it’s too hot for that shit).

Diluc immediately frowns, mostly in embarrassment because there’s other people on the second floor, who any moment will turn and see him standing there half dressed.

Kaeya, of course, takes this facial expression personally. “Euh,” he says, breathing the sound out, lip curled, arms crossing, one leg lifting to the side of the doorframe, as if he didn’t personally come up here, out of his way, barely off shift, just to see where his favorite bartender and least favorite problem is, and then feel his heart nearly beat out of his chest when he saw the blood.

His eye drops to the bandages, then up to Diluc’s face. “Get caught?”

“No,” Diluc says, taking a big step back as a customer’s head turns. He’s lucky this door is tucked beside the piano on the thin landing, otherwise everyone would see him.

Or perhaps he’s unlucky.

Kaeya reaches up one finger, casually pressing the door fully open, to assess the damage in the room and see if the redhead is bleeding out.

Childe is standing awkwardly behind Diluc, clutching the broom with both hands, eyes wide. He hasn’t yet decided what persona to go with when caught in this position.

He settles for a big smile, waving to Kaeya, whose eye looks like a drawn rendition of a monster which Childe saw in an art show in Liyue once, so much hatred is balled up in it.

“Hiya, Captain.”

Kaeya is an informant, or rather, he’s the man informants go to when they don’t want pesky discomforts like arrows in their shins, or a blade in their ribs.

Kaeya was once described by Venti as being a “pretty man, all wrapped up in a package. Like an ice dagger that you gift to someone so that they can commit murder with no evidence.”

“The package would be the evidence,” Diluc had drawled back, before Kaeya launched into a dramatic statement about objectification to which Venti had no response except to slurp so loudly Kaeya couldn’t be heard over the sound.

Diluc at this moment, this hot spring afternoon, is fully expecting for Kaeya to drop a jaw and ask, “Are you guys fucking?”

“Your bandaging looks crisp, so I know you didn’t do it,” he says to Diluc, completely unnecessarily.

Childe tries to repress a laugh and snorts. “Sorry, we got hurt while fighting monsters. Oh!” He snatches some papers from his inventory, each one separate and crinkled and a little bit sprinkled with water, the staple hanging on for dear life into a single sheet, by one arm. “Here, we did your commission.”

Kaeya ends his momentary staring contest with Diluc, accepting the paper. The texture is so much worse than he thought it would be, he nearly winces. “Good work. What did you find?”

“Lots of puppies,” Childe says.

“Rift hounds,” Diluc says, staring at Kaeya in a look that so clearly says ‘go away’.

But Kaeya didn’t when they were kids, and there’s one person he learned to never listen to. “Right. And why didn’t you see a healer? This was a commissioned job.” He leans in, stage-whispering, “No one would have thought about it.”

Because the injury is in the shape of a Delusion, Childe and Diluc think, in various languages and with scattered cusses in different spots.

“He just woke up,” Childe tries.

“I was going to bed,” Diluc says at the same time, referring to himself this morning.

Kaeya bawks at their seeming willingness to lie to his face, tapping the damp pages against his mouth while he thinks. A moment later, he realizes he probably doesn’t want to do that, and stops. “You argue like an old married couple.”

“And you look like an old man’s ballsack. Can you leave?”

Kaeya’s jaw drops. “Un-ne-cessary!! What is this, a ‘roast Kaeya session’?” Diluc gently takes his shoulder, gently as he does everything in the world except murder, and turns Kaeya, parading him out the door. “Put an apple in my mouth,” Kaeya says, loud enough to call attention to him, “and call me a pig!”

Someone in the tavern gasps.

Diluc glances over the railing to where a small child is pointing up at him, shouting, “I came here to check on Lucky, but I’m taking this place down!”

Diona stomps, turning away and running out the front door.

Diluc blinks once or twice, still using Kaeya as a shield so no one sees his body.

People begin leaning to get a better peek and he ducks back into the room, dragging Kaeya with him, then closing the door. “Okay, what the fuck.”

“It’s your own fault. You just dangled meat in front of hungry, starving –“

“What happened to objectifying?”

“-horses.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Childe sniffs from behind them. “Can horses really be cannibals?”

Kaeya and Diluc, simultaneously, flip him the bird.

Childe dissolves into a fit of giggles, turning away as he continues mopping, the warm breeze on his face.

Diluc crosses his arms, staring up at Kaeya like he’s glaring at a bug on his lawn. Without the heels of his boots on, it’s quite the effect. “Are we done?”

Kaeya is thinking how cute a blue bumble bee could be. And how unappreciated. “Yes, silly me for checking on a man who clearly is quite fine.”

“I’ll pay for your dinner.”

Kaeya smiles, not leaving.

“What more do you want?”

“For you to detangle your hair because I know you want to, then put on a shirt,” he says, popping up a second finger, and then a third to count with, “and use the door.”

Diluc, who has absolutely been planning on escaping through other methods to avoid those pesky things called humans, narrows his eyes.

Kaeya’s grin is sickly. “If you go through the window, you might open your stitches.”

“If you were a bee, you would be fed on oleander. And I don’t have stitches.”

“Ooh, I would be expensive and create poison honey! Sure you don’t. Good night!” Kaeya waves, and then he’s gone, blessedly having cooled the entire room in his short time there.

“Damn,” Childe says, after the door has barely closed. “And here I thought he would have said something about you being shirtless and sweaty in a room with me.”

“He’s never going to figure it out.”

“What a pity. Was that Diona shouting at you?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone see you shirtless?”

Diluc pulls the gate away from the fireplace, and begins to climb in.

“NonononoNO WAIT!”

Chapter Text

Childe sighs, peering out of the window, his shoulder leaning up against the wall. “Kaeya’s setting up tables outside. There’s already a bunch of people eating.”

Diluc sighs from somewhere in the room behind him.

“He really likes messing with you, comrade.” Childe snickers, turning around in time to see Diluc, having climbed up onto the fireplace’s mantel, with one hand braced against the ceiling. “What are you doing? I already had to pull you from the chimney.” He opens his arms, showing off his soot-covered fingers.

Making direct eye contact, Diluc blinks once. “Leaving through a trapdoor.”

“Oh, cool!” Childe leaps onto the bed, running over. “There’s a trapdoor in this room?!”

Diluc punches through the wooden plank forming the ceiling between the bedroom and the attic. “Newly installed.”

Childe tries, in vain, to get his dick to comply with any of his requests to calm down. His heart has already decided it’s path, sending so much blood South he’s sure he’s about to get his damn period.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you, comrade.”

He lets his eyes rove over Diluc’s ass while the man lifts one leg to the mantle, hoisting himself to the attic with a grunt.

Diluc gets on his knees, turning back slowly, aware of the bandages on his stomach. “Surely you’ve met a few ceiling-breakers in your time.” He extends a hand down.

Childe scrambles onto the chair, onto the mantle, and thinks against taking Diluc’s arm, because it might hurt him. But Diluc is offering and his arm muscles are there and Childe’s line of thinking very quickly devolves into a fish swimming upstream for some sweet, sweet river action. He winds his arm with Diluc’s, expecting to simply lean against the muscle while he climbs the rest of the way up, since it’s not a terribly difficult climb.

Diluc full-on lifts him up through the hole, weapons, boots, and all, setting him with ease beside himself.

Childe, now on his knees beside a sitting man, lets his jaw drop a bit before laughing. He pulls his feet from the hole. “You never cease to amaze me, comrade.”

Diluc gives a happy grunt for a response, standing. Childe sneaks a glance at his abdomen. To check for injuries. Not to stare at the muscles cording his ribs, or the pretty scars tracing down his sides to tone hips, or-

“Would you like to join me?”

“I am already mentally there,” Childe says, taking a big step so that he’s practically standing on top of Diluc, brimming with that trademark energy, his grin so wide he could be a hammerhead. “Clothes-be-gone.”

Diluc, shy under that gaze, reaches up, sliding his fingers along Childe’s chin playfully for a moment.

Childe turns even more red than he imagined, enough that Diluc chuckles, turning away before he bursts out laughing.

“Now this is a bathtub,” Childe says. He leans against one side, arm braced, lowering himself once more, a bit farther this time. He lets out a happy sigh, legs open, straddling Diluc over the man’s knees. “Though I am curious about the ceiling.”

“I can’t change the ceiling,” Diluc says. His back is to the locked door, the paranoid men having thrown a polearm and then a claymore against it to keep it shut. Just in case.

“You’re rich as,” Childe begins, breaking off into a moan, “hell, rich as – definitely rich enough,” he amends, wriggling his hips to try and get farther down on Diluc’s cock. He lifts his hand, thickening the water he’s trying to use as lube.

“Not to get past the city ordinances,” Diluc says, his hands on Childe’s hips, pressing in and up, not wanting to hurt him.

“You could probably pay to make this whole wall higher.” Childe gets over the largest girth, grinning to himself.

“Why would I make my job harder? It’s bad enough climbing that thing when I’m injured. I -,” Diluc cuts off, groaning. His legs tighten, straightening, as Childe sinks just a bit lower, farther and farther, until he bottoms out.

Diluc moans, and Childe slips a hand down between his own thighs. “May I?”

Diluc pulls him back onto him, so that he can kiss Childe’s shoulders like he always loves to do. “Yes, yes, please.”

Childe’s searching fingers lower, tracing down the center of Diluc’s balls, as gentle as can be. He reaches to the back, drawing his finger back up, leaving Diluc trembling.

“They’re full. Someone’s horny.”

“It’s been a whole day and my body thinks that’s long enough.”

“Your ancestors must have fucked. Just been absolutely ravishing. I’m sure they were getting laid multiple times a day. Hell, you could too,” Childe teases, leaning forward, bracing his arms against the sides of the tub.

Diluc moans again, his dick slowly bent downwards, pressure growing. “I’m sure they, just,” he begins laughing.

Childe eases up, settling once more into the position they had been in. “You alright?”

“I’m so happy,” Diluc says, taking his hand in his own, scarred and burnt. Trembling.

Childe stares for a moment at the shaking palm. “Diluc?” He looks over his shoulder, alarmed. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? I can get off.”

He starts to lift, Diluc’s lips parting, the smallest, “No,” escaping.

Childe pauses. He takes Diluc’s hand, lifting off of his dick, turning around to straddle him. He takes his hand in both of his, staring down at pleading eyes.

His voice is a murmur. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just,” Diluc begins, trailing off. His eyes unfocus, brightening for a moment.

He looks to Childe like the saddest man on Teyvat.

“I’m so happy,” he says.

Childe cups his cheek, turning his face up towards his own. “Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I always lose the moments that mean the most to me,” Diluc says, and his eyes become shadowed again, the light within burning bright for memories of ghosts that no longer cross their paths. His hands settle onto Childe’s thighs, warm and safe.

Childe lowers himself once more, straddling the man, their dicks pressed together between them. “And this?” His eyes narrow. He smiles. “This is a good memory, right? We’re here right now. It doesn’t matter what happens tomorrow. We always have today.”

Diluc stares at the weapon of the Tsaritsa, and promises that someday, he’ll burn that fucking ice castle to the ground.

How dare they turn Childe into this.

“How old were you? When they took you?”

His jaw sets after he says it, like a prayer escaped in the wrong cathedral. Like he’ll be put to death for saying it. But his eyes are burning with righteous fury, begging to know the truth, or to hear it again.

“It’s not as if you don’t know,” Childe says, chuckling. His eyes are screaming in pain, but he’s smiling.

Just like Kaeya, Diluc thinks, wishing he could tuck Childe inside of him. Wishing he could protect him, forever. Wishing he could shield him from everything, burn a path for him to walk ahead.

Wishing he could say farewell to the man, knowing he would live a happy, full life.

He smiles just to think of it.

Childe sees the smile and smiles back, his eyes crinkling, the sorrow within them a living, breathing thing. A man with a purpose. Porpoise?

“I know you researched me,” Childe says. “You must have. I looked you up. I certainly…wanted to learn about you.”

Diluc’s fingers tighten, as if he’s trying to keep Childe there. He swallows hard. Lets go. “Sorry.”

“For what? Reading?” Childe tightens his thighs against Diluc’s, earning a startled gaze. “Or for holding me? Don’t apologize for the second one, and for the first, I’ll tell you what isn’t written on the pages.”

Diluc takes Childe's hand in his own.

"Ready?"

Diluc nods.

He lifts Diluc's hand to his shoulder blade. Diluc’s fingers graze his skin, slipping over the knotted scars he hadn’t known of before. The ones he couldn’t see, under candlelight in a dark tavern. The ones he hasn’t gotten his tongue around.

He licks his lips.

Childe grins at him, as sad as a man watching his flowers die when winter sets in.

Childe takes Diluc’s face, daring for once in his life to demand all of someone’s attention. “I was 14,” he says.

Some piece of anger flickers in Diluc’s eyes, and Childe smiles to see it.

He wonders, briefly, if he should chastise himself. Surely, good people wouldn't smile at anger? Wouldn't breathe deep, hoping to smell the vengeance? Wouldn't be enamored with the very thought of being avenged.

He thinks then, that perhaps Lumine is right. Maybe he is a bad guy. Maybe he’s nothing more than a demon, a monster who roves the mountainsides of Teyvat, looking for things to fight and people to pay him.

But maybe that’s alright.

Because a bad guy gets to enjoy the sight of someone who so clearly feels such stark protection for him.

And when Diluc takes one breath, his brows curling, another, his chest heaving, Childe chuckles low, leaning in. He tucks his forehead close to Diluc’s, close enough to feel the heat from his skin. Close enough to realize the bathtub is turning into a hot tub. Close enough to watch Diluc’s eyes flit from one of his, to the other.

“Take me, please,” he whispers.

The water around Childe erupts. Diluc surges forward, winding his hands around his back, pulling him in.

Childe wonders for a moment if this is how fish feel when they’re taken, when they’re finally caught by a larger fish.

And then, feeling the caress in the fingers on his scars, he wonders if this is how mermaids fuck.

And then his thoughts devolve into escaping moans, as Diluc presses his mouth to Childe’s collarbone, holding him out of the water, hovering near his legs.

Childe squeezes his arms around Diluc, winding his feet under Diluc’s thighs, pulling him in further, closer. He feels that teasing dick against his own.

“Please,” he begs, as Diluc begins sucking under his collarbone, raving his tongue against the skin like he’s waited for this.

Childe wonders how long the man was holding back. But Diluc’s dick taps against his ass and they grin at each other.

Diluc kneels then, bracing one hand on on Childe’s spine between his shoulder blades, and one farther down, lifting the man so that he’s nearly floating in the water.

“May I?”

“Hurry up,” Childe says. He’s holding on but he doesn’t need to, he’s in no danger of falling. "May I?"

"I would enjoy fucking you."

Childe reaches between his thighs, taking Diluc's dick, pressing the tip against his hole. He controls the water nearby, sliding the tip in with ease.

"More," Childe says, legs tightening, loosening.

Diluc obediently presses into him, lips lowering to his collarbone, teeth sinking against soft flesh.

Childe whimpers, tangling his hands into Diluc's hair, pulling his hips down onto Diluc. Following his request, Diluc slides deeper into him. His sharp teeth turn into soft kisses, which flicker down Childe's heaving chest.

Childe rolls his hips onto Diluc's dick, flexing.

Diluc groans, his warm mouth opening over Childe’s nipple. His tongue slips over, and Childe’s head slips back, resting on a towel that Diluc had placed on the end of the tub.

Childe lifts his hips, trying to sink further onto Diluc. He’s already open from their earlier encounter, and from this angle it’s no trouble to tighten his legs, pulling Diluc into him.

Diluc gasps on his tit, lowering the hand across Childe’s back, water momentarily sliding over Childe’s chest until Diluc lifts him higher.

And then Childe is set carefully against the wall of the tub, and Diluc is sliding in and out of him. The redhead glances up, eyes almost fully dilated, tongue flicking over Childe’s nipple like he’s been dying to taste this delicacy. He has.

His fingertips tighten into the skin of Childe’s back, and he holds the ginger steady, flexing his own hips so that he’s fucking Childe. So that Childe is the one gasping in pleasure, opening his legs, begging his own hips to widen.

“More, more!”

And so that Diluc can grin down at him, admiring his handiwork.

Childe tenses, slipping over the side of the tub, holding himself up with his arms.

Diluc pulls back his grip on Childe’s shoulder blades. His free hand drops to Childe’s dick, pumping. He stops pounding, letting his own cock twitch, watching the slight bulge in Childe’s scarred abdomen.

Diluc’s bandages dissolve in the water and the two men stare at the clumps of white stuck to the scrape. It's still red.

The healing wound is quite similar to an imprint of hardened scar tissue, where Childe's delusion rests against his abdomen.

“We match,” Diluc says, tightening his grip as he pumps.

Childe cums, all over his hand, gasping for air despite being far out of the water.

Diluc eases out of him, holding him up as his legs tighten, grinning wryly when thighs tighten against his bruises. “Shh, shh, you did amazing. You did so well.” He flicks his sticky fingers in the water, before they're clean enough to stroke through Childe’s hair. “You did so, so well.”

Childe groans in response, grinning.

Childe holds Diluc on his shoulder, the water rippling slowly around them. He stares at the claymore and polearm against the door, stroking Diluc’s hair. Red strands cling to his own chest, the men entangled.

“Do you think those weapons will hold?”

“I think that if Kaeya comes up here, I’m adding him to the menu,” Diluc says.

“You really are insane. You know that? Clinical.”

Diluc tightens his arms around Childe, pulling him closer, quietly content. And warm.

Very warm, for how hot of a day it is.

Childe lifts his hand, creating a narwhal over them. He yawns, holding him up for a second. Blinks rapidly, tugging a random eyelash out of his eye.

I wish for Diluc’s happiness. He deserves it.

Childe flicks the eyelash. It falls into the water. He picks it up, tossing it out of the bathtub.

He drops the narwhal onto the two of them, cooling himself off.

Childe smirks, pressing his cheek to Diluc’s head, expecting the man to groan or complain or laugh.

Diluc doesn’t move.

Childe’s heart thumps in his chest. He pushes onto Diluc, but the man is solid as stone. “Hey, I can’t lift you. Diluc?”

Childe glances down to the water between them, which is brimming red.

“I’m going to ship you to my mother so that she can give you a stern talking-to, and then we’ll see how well you fare in an argument,” Childe is saying, or something to that effect, in Snezhnayan.

Diluc opens his eyes, not quite sure what he’s witnessing.

They’re in the attic. Must be, because the ceiling is slanted.

Childe is sitting in front of a fireplace, which is a horrible idea because it’s godawful hot up here.

Diluc hears birds chirping, as his tongue slips out to wet his lips. The windows on either end of the attic, the shutters rather, are open, allowing for some airflow.

Childe lifts something, turning to Diluc. Unceremoniously, he dumps ice onto the man’s chest and arms. “Oh,” he says, with a perky little shake of his head, appearing like the haughtiest bard, or most aggravating Cavalry Captain, that Diluc has ever met. “You’re awake.”

Diluc sticks his tongue out at him, but revels in the feeling of the ice. He’s burning up.

“Does that feel good?”

Diluc nods.

“Yeah. I’m sure it does. You know comrade, if you feel dizzy, you should probably tell someone,” Childe says, stirring something in a pot.

Diluc grins. He likes the way that Childe’s jaw curves when the man is angry. “I felt dizzy.”

Childe laughs, a low sound under his breath. If his eyes could fill with light, they’d be beacons, calling every moth in the area. Except it’s the middle of the day still, somehow.

Diluc feels like he’s been in a sauna for too long.

Childe taps the spoon and sets it down. “I got you a gift,” he says, in a tone of voice that says that Diluc isn’t going to like this gift.

Diluc, who very much plans on returning the favor with his fingers coursing down Childe’s thighs, licks his lips again.

“Oh, that’s right. You passed out after we had sex, so you’re probably still horny.” Childe wags his finger at him, eyes wide like a man who’s speaking to a naughty dog.

Diluc reaches out, taking Childe’s wrist gently in his hand. He makes direct eye contact. “Are you harmed?”

“Well you fell asleep on me. And I couldn’t lift you.”

“I’m sorry,” Diluc says, with the smoothest voice, and a little lilt, and his pretty, stupid eyes.

Childe takes his arm back, furiously stirring the pot, removing it from the fire. “Oh I’m sure. It’s alright though, apparently having sex in the tub when your wound wasn’t done bleeding was a dumb idea. Oh, of course, had you taken care of your wound maybe it would have finished bleeding before I managed to finish, but you know, details.” He gives the pot a final, angry slosh, before ladeling some out into a tiny bowl.

Diluc’s cheeks are pink, this time with pleasure rather than fever. His mind is still very much on their moment in the tub, and his cock is trying it’s best to escape from under the blankets.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“You couldn’t lift me?”

“No, your muscles are as dense as your skull.”

Diluc snorts, turning onto his stomach. He remembers then that he’s injured there, but his pride won’t let him move. His tongue presses to the inside of his teeth for a moment while he tries to remember how to breathe.

Pride, too, made him leave the damned Delusion on his belt, tucked against his belly, and then in the skin of his belly, because he wouldn’t just stick it into his inventory.

Did he stare at my muscles?

“How did you get me out?”

“I broke the tub and dragged you across the floor.”

“And into the bed?”

“You got yourself into bed when I turned my back. You,” Childe says, wagging his finger. He tries to say more, then sighs. “Be more careful, Diluc.”

“I will.”

“Good. Here.”

Diluc sniffs the bowl, his nose wrinkling. He buries his face back into the pillows. “Like hell am I eating that.”

“My cock just wilted.”

Diluc lifts up, accepting the bowl. “What is it,” he says, hoping that if he speaks he won’t breathe. Pain ricochets through the tense muscles in his tummy and he sucks in a breath, eyebrows quirking uncontrollably.

“A Liyuean recipe. I made it as bitter as I could.”

Diluc eyes the soup, but Childe reaches out, gently taking the bowl back. He drops in five sugar cubes, mixing them into the hot broth until they dissolve. He hands the bowl back, smiling at Diluc kindly.

“I’m surprised you dug me out of the bathtub.”

“Are you aware of what drowning is, or do rich men not worry about natural disasters?”

Diluc’s sigh is a burst of hot air throughout the room, that has Childe grinning to himself. It’s good to see him breathing like that.

“Ah, listen,” Childe says, rubbing his head. “I’ll get you a new tub.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I insist.”

Diluc smiles. “Very well.” He can’t help it. He’s not used to someone else caring about him. To someone else going out of their way to help him. Not for a business agreement, or because they’re his employee, but just for the hell of it. Just because they felt like it.

It’s too good to be true, and he must reveal the truth.

“What a shame,” Diluc says suddenly, his dreary thoughts catching up to him, as more pain filters through his wound. His eyes slip closed. “You could have rid the Fatui of a major enemy right there.”

He misses the look of regret on Childe’s face, the one that says that Childe would do anything to snatch those words out of his friend’s mouth. To shove them down Dottore’s throat, and make the bastard choke for the things he did to such a beautiful man.

“I’m aware the other Harbingers try to use illicit means for their work,” Childe says. “But I like to think of myself,” no that’s not quite right, but he can’t stop speaking, “as a man,” good start, “who fights fair. I wouldn’t want to go against a sleeping man.” Especially one who was just kissing me.

Diluc falls silent, eyes opening as he thinks.

Childe glances away, hoping he can hide with a quick smile and a ducked head how deep that wound is.

“I…didn’t think you would hurt me,” Diluc says slowly, working his way around the words. “I didn’t…I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” He sits up, sighing.

“The commissions are done,” Childe says curtly, but softens it with a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and he glances back down.

“The medicine was delicious,” Diluc lies.

Childe’s brows lift. He looks straight at the other man, the only bit of straight between the two of them, tongue pressed to his teeth.

“The other Harbingers are dishonorable bastards. They wouldn’t have made it far in Liyue.”

“Are you complimenting me for almost drowning a town?”

Diluc’s a step ahead. “I’m merely appreciating your dedication to your work. And breaking the bathtub to get me out here, that’s also dedication.”

“Okay, okay, okay, I forgive you. Stop complimenting me, save that for when I’m under you.”

Diluc tilts his chin up as Childe stands, silently pleading.

“You just woke up.”

“The medicine was delicious.”

“You’re too good of a liar to keep saying that to my face,” Childe says, leaning close.

He stares into those dark, brilliant eyes. He longs. He pines. He quirks his lips. "You're awake?"

"Awake and asking."

Childe laughs. "You sure?"

"Yes please."

And then he pushes Diluc back onto the bed, climbing on top of him.

“My turn, pretty boy,” Childe mutters, his voice a whole octave lower than normal. His knee presses Diluc’s thigh into the bed, as he slips his fingers under every button, working his shirt off. He pulls it over his shoulders, revealing bite marks on his breast. “See this? This was all you.”

“You’re delicious,” Diluc says quietly, hands lifting to Childe’s thighs, grazing.

Childe tosses his shirt onto the bed, reaching down to tug the blanket off of Diluc. “It’s the middle of summer, how are you more fair than I am?”

“The moon and I are friends,” Diluc begins, under heavily lidded eyes. His cock is already at attention, just waiting for a hand around it.

Childe obliges, gripping tight. “Too hard?”

“Harder.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Diluc gently reaches up. “May I?”

“Yeah, show me.”

Diluc’s fingers wrap around Childe’s hand. He grips a bit tighter than what Childe is, pressing the hand around his cock. Even with that, his hips lift, and he begins to salivate.

Childe watches as Diluc swallows, relishing the movement. He has to stop himself from licking his lips.

His teasing words fall away to the nether, as Diluc retracts his hand, and Childe begins to pump. He squeezes harder than Diluc had, watching as the redhead’s eyes narrow once more, watching as his chin lifts, as he struggles to hold in a moan.

Childe reaches out, finger rubbing Diluc’s throat. He feels the throb of the moan before hearing the low sound, before Diluc is writhing under him.

“There you go. You’re doing great,” Childe says, speeding up, watching as Diluc’s cheeks turn red.

He slows down again, deliberately forcing pressure down onto Diluc’s cock as he lowers his hand to the base, releasing some as he pulls upwards again. He keeps his thumb tucked under the base, stroking his pinky along the bottom of Diluc’s cock.

Diluc, by god, whimpers.

His knees lift involuntarily, bucking Childe to straddle him. And his nails dig into Childe’s thighs, softened from their bath. His eyes are begging for more.

Childe grins, licking his lips in full show. He does it again.

“Childe, please. Let me in you.”

“But you’ve been a naughty boy,” Childe says, leaning over the man. His hand presses onto Diluc’s shoulder, forcing him down into the bed.

Diluc’s hand is clenching Childe’s ass, his other trapped under Childe’s knee. “Let me fuck you.”

“You passed out when you did,” Childe teases. He applies pressure as he pulls up on Diluc’s dick, as the redhead’s mouth opens, saliva clearly visible.

Childe fights the urge to lick him. “And you left bruises all over me,” he says, biting his lip. His own cock is nearly breaking his pants.

And, as hot as Diluc is, he weighs a lot more. There’s no way Childe can keep him pinned down there for much longer.

“Besides,” Childe tries, easing up his pressure as he strokes at a more regular pace. Diluc takes deep breaths. “You’re injured. I should get to treat you. Much as I want you inside of me, pounding me into oblivion, I’m worried for your safety.”

Diluc’s eyes light up.

Smooth as water, Diluc’s hand rises from Childe’s ass to his side. His knee curves around Childe’s thigh, pushing against him as he rises.

Childe’s back sinks against the bed, his hand gripping Diluc’s shoulders, his legs open around Diluc’s thigh.

The blankets fall off, and Diluc’s cock brushes against Childe’s belt, making him swallow hard.

Diluc, panting, sweating, lowering his face close. “Do you want me to pound you?”

“Fuck. Yes. Now.” If he can move that well, he’s fine.

It’s a good thing his shirt is off, because Diluc glances down at Childe’s pants- “Are those mine?”

“Yes.”

-and rips them off. He reaches down to the belt, to the protruding cock, digging his nails into the fabric, careful to miss any flesh, and just pulls, and the fabric tears along the seam.

A cock plops out, full, throbbing.

Diluc ducks his head down, stopping just short of the tip, his breath hot on the end.

Childe quivers. “I didn’t expect this when I woke up,” he says, swallowing hard. “It’s been a long time. Please, uh, I mean, if you want to.”

Diluc opens his mouth and then Childe’s dick just disappears.

He feels the warmth, the wetness, the tongue, and a careening sound falls out of him. Childe’s eyes roll back along with his head, his hands digging into Diluc’s hair.

He’s a head pusher, and presses Diluc’s head, tensing his legs enough that the man can’t actually be moved further onto his cock.

Diluc giggles with glee. His hands push up through the bottom of Childe’s thighs, opening them, and he takes the entire cock down his throat.

Childe actually feels him swallow, then, and he can’t hold back. He cums immediately, deep into Diluc’s throat, feeling his cock pulse in tune with Diluc’s paced swallows.

Childe moans, high-pitched, as he finishes, his legs trying to spread once more.

But the sensation is overwhelming. Diluc licks him, tongue pressing against the base.

Childe feels the last of his cum leave his body, slipping down Diluc’s throat, the tip throbbing against flesh. He doesn’t even know how Diluc is breathing, but he can feel hot breath against his pelvis, so he is.

Diluc chuckles low, the vibrations making Childe cry out again. His thighs tighten, and this time he catches Diluc’s fingers. The man waits patiently, breathing hard against his skin.

When Childe can open his legs once more, muscles giving way to relax, Diluc gets to work. He begins to suckle, which is a sensation Childe wasn’t entirely sure was possible.

His fingers dig into Diluc’s hair, gripping tight.

Diluc is smiling, reaching up to stroke his finger along Childe’s testes, the same as was done to him. He licks then, long and hard up Childe’s dick, but makes sure not to remove his mouth. He swallows once more, ensuring he gets even the tiny bit of excess.

“More,” Childe begs, a soft whimper.

Diluc’s brows rise, but he supposes maybe Childe was edged a bit earlier, even if he did cum.

Out of other options, he reaches around Childe’s thigh, holding his finger out blindly.

Childe releases Diluc’s hair, grabbing the hand with both of his. His mouth is around the finger in an instant.

Though Diluc is the one gratifying him, he finds the sensation of his finger in someone else’s mouth is quite interesting.

When he’s thoroughly soaked, with Childe’s water that seems to be able to double as lube in a way regular water really doesn’t, Diluc pulls his hand back. He slicks his fingers along Childe’s hole, feeling the muscles open.

Childe whimpers. His fingers find Diluc’s hair once more, and then he’s pulling, pulling, and Diluc’s cock is pressed under his weight against the sheets, and Diluc’s fingers are slipping into Childe’s open hole.

Childe flexes around him, moaning. He lifts his hips, wriggling them down. “More. More!”

Diluc obliges, swallowing again, his saliva slipping all over Childe’s cock. He keeps his tongue working the base, as two fingers work into Childe’s hole. Then he hooks them, pulling gently.

Childe’s hips buck, and his foot kicks Diluc squarely in the shoulder.

Diluc was ready, jaw open enough that no teeth catch when he inevitably falls off of Childe’s dick, hands pulling his head up involunatrily.

Childe cries out, knees turning in.

Cum leaks out, a second time!, and slips down his tip.

And then he’s grabbing at Diluc, tugging him closer, begging with his body.

Diluc’s mouth covers Childe’s cock, while he listens to the sounds of euphoria. Childe is trembling, the fingers pressing inside of him stimulating him far past the normal points.

He’s gripping Diluc’s hair, pushing the man onto his cock, pushing into him while Diluc moans in satisfaction. Childe begins pulsing his hips, speeding up, chasing the high until he’s fucking himself on Diluc’s fingers.

Diluc takes the cock like a champion, smiling. When he feels the head twitch, his fingers apply a bit more pressure.

“Diluc!” Childe pants, letting out a long breath. His legs, limp, open.

Diluc lifts his head, slipping his fingers back out.

Childe’s eyes are half-closed, his hands curled up near his chest as the aftershocks leave him quivering. His dick is limp, still throbbing with blood, overstimulated. The bite marks on his chest are stark against his pink skin.

Diluc swallows again. Saliva is dribbling down his chin, tears slipping from his eyes. His cheeks are red, sweaty hair sticking to his face.

“Are you okay?” Childe moans again, panting. “Why are you crying?”

“That was delicious,” Diluc says, moving over him. Lying beside him, taking Childe into his arms. Turning him onto his stomach like he likes. Childe rests his head onto Diluc’s chest, feeling his heartbeat. “You feel amazing.”

Childe swallows hard. “Good tears?”

“Good tears.” Diluc’s hand strokes through Childe’s hair. “You did so well. I’m so proud of you. You came over and over,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Childe’s head.

At once, Childe calms, his fears and insecurities melting away.

Who gives a fuck if they’re enemies? Who gives a fuck if they’re ordered to die tomorrow?

Who gives a fuck if the Fatui win, or if they’re destroyed?

Diluc holds his head close.

For today, they’re lovers. For today, they’re tangled in each other’s arms, the blankets under them soaked. For today, precum is slipping onto Childe’s thigh, thrown over Diluc’s. For today, their heartbeats are pounding like racehorses.

“I really need to put that fire out,” Childe says. “It’s way too hot for that shit.”

Diluc lifts an arm, looks confused for a moment, sets it back on Childe’s shoulder.

Childe puts out the fire, looking concerned at his friend. “Diluc?”

The man, clearly embarrassed, purses his lips and glances over. “Are you alright?”

“You’re so sweet, but I know damn well you just tried to put that fire out,” Childe begins.

Diluc just holds him tight, pressing kisses to his head, stroking his hair. “Aren’t you sleepy? Or do you need a walk?”

“The commissions are done,” Childe says, giggling, basking in the comfort. “But I wouldn’t mind heading out for a bit. Coming along?”

“I’ll come.”

This is what happens when people try to have sex that know at once a lot and a little about each other, Childe thinks, smirking as his legs open while he leans back in his chair.

They know the other's been harmed, but hell if they know their favorite foods. They learn their scars, and how to pleasure them, but fuck if they know what tomorrow brings.

Fuck if we know where Scaramouche is. "Hey, Red, you got any leads on the scrawny-yet-oversized doll?"

"Unfortunately not," Diluc says, pumping his own cock. He's seated across from Childe, face red, veins bulging. In his arms and, well, lower. "I'll have more information soon."

"Can you tell me when?"

"I couldn't reveal my contacts."

"Tsk, tsk. God, you have a beautiful dick."

Diluc's chest swells with pride, and he lets out a low groan. "That being said, my next guess would be the mountains."

"As in, Dragonspine?"

Diluc nods. Even his neck is tinged pink.

"Oh sweet, I go there all the time!"

"You're familiar with the terrain?" Diluc slows his strokes, keeping eye contact.

"Yeah, I know all the best ice fishing spots."

Diluc's gaze softens. "Then I look forward to our trip."

"The best swimming holes."

Diluc's gaze hardens.

"The best places for two people to hide for awhile," Childe says.

Diluc's expression lifts in amusement. "Thinking of ways to destroy Scaramouche?"

"Is that what gets you off?"

"More like...seeing you so excited."

Sure enough, the words are barely out of Diluc's lips before his mouth is opening.

Childe is upon him in an instant, standing over him, one hand stroking his hair. "Hey, hey, shh, you're doing great. You're almost there." He glances down at the thick cock in Diluc's hand, squeezed to being red. "Look at you. You're huge. And throbbing."
He makes eye contact then, leaning in, voice husky with the last of the medicine they both drank once they were done earlier. "Cum for me, Diluc?"

Diluc whimpers, getting closer.

Childe leans down by his ear. "May I?"

"Ngh, what?"

"May I lick it?" Childe smiles wolfishly, moving to look into Diluc's eyes.

His lover, enemy, friend, nods.

Childe drops down. At first, he can't fit it all in his mouth. He settles for gripping the cock in both hands, swirling his tongue over the tip.

And when Diluc cums, he closes his eyes.

"Well, that's one expensive facial," Childe says, laughing to himself as he falls backwards onto the clean sheets of the bed.

Diluc rolls his eyes, gulping down water.

"Most expensive facial in Teyvat, as a matter of fact, ehe," Childe says, drying his face with one of the softest hand towels he's ever felt.

"I apologize," Diluc say.

"Please don't apologize. I like pearls," Childe says, and starts laughing so hard, again, that he bends double, slapping his knee.

Diluc watches him as the sun begins to lower outside, the sky turning those shades she likes to become before orange. A smile plays at his lips, and for one moment, his eyes crinkle. He glances out at the sky, thinking of paintbrush strokes.

"We should go bird watching."

The words leave him in a rush, and it's peculiar, because he tries to keep anyone he knows out of anything he enjoys.

But the excitement on Childe's face is worth a year of pain. Diluc resolves himself to whatever's coming, as Childe stands, and leaps over. "Do you want to?"

Diluc smiles. "Yes, of course. Do you have any preferences?"

"Oh, man. I love birds of prey. And herons I want to see herons. Do you have any of those little fluffy ones? I can never get close enough to get a picture. I have a Kamera, you know."

Childe ducks out the window first, gliding to the ground below. Diluc sticks his head out in time to see Amber chasing Childe down the street. "You can't fly in Mondstadt! You're going to have to pay the fine like everyone else."

And for the first time in a long time, the sun in his hair, Diluc Ragnvindr, in the city of Mondstadt, lets out a real laugh into the open air. For a moment, he swears he can smell the ocean.

Chapter Text

Childe and Diluc climb back down through the hole that Diluc ripped into the ceiling of Childe's room.

"So, are you going to fix that, or should I just call a carpenter?"

“You could always stay in the Winery.”

Childe turns so slowly he looks like a cake in a display window. He looks Diluc down, then up, then forces a laugh, his shoulders jumping.

“Yeah, right. I’d prefer not to sleep in a wine cask-et,” he teases, turning away to lean over the bed. “But thanks anyways.”

Diluc takes a glance at his ass. “The offer remains open to any Fatui who wishes to come near my home.”

“Bite me,” Childe says, glancing out the window. He flicks his wrist, and a moment later rain begins pouring outside.

Huffman is standing on the walkway, alternating between staring at the men and glancing away, when the rain drenches him in one whooshing attack.

He looks up at the whale sitting over Dawn Winery, open-mouthed, and turns away to get a drink.

Outside the front of the tavern, Kaeya looks to the sky, reaching down, feeling around the table.

Rosaria slides a bottle into his grasp.

Kaeya rocks the too-warm liquid down like it’s honey and he’s a bear, and a second later he sputters part of it back out onto the table, chasing it immediately afters with some fruity thing that Venti bought with a coin purse lifted off a drunk Fatui agent.

Venti swirls his finger in the spilled whiskey, Rosaria slapping his hand before he does something unthinkable. He pouts and sinks into his seat.

Kaeya gasps for air, looking back up to the sky. “Well,” he says, looking pained. “That’s inconspicuous.”

Rosaria grimaces, feeling her veil stick to her bare shoulders, weighted by the sudden rain. “Think Jean will notice?”

Kaeya looks to her to speak, noticing a figure over her shoulder, walking rapidly towards them with a sick grin and an angry vice grip on a wet book. Thunder crackles in the distance as Lisa approaches.

“Worse.”

“We’re so fucked,” Childe says, hearing shouting within the tavern, and exclamations of anger over the sudden ‘attack on Mondstadt’.

He looks over his shoulder at Diluc, slowly closing the wooden shutters, just slightly, failing to completely body block the redhead’s view from the downpour. “Ehe.”

Diluc stands with his arms crossed, trying not to smile but failing miserably as a corner of his lips turns up against his will. “Well,” he says, tapping his foot. “At least I don’t hear them summoning the Knights. Would you kindly dismiss your whale?”

“Oh he’s not real,” Childe says, suddenly wide-eyed in his excitement, though his pupils remain as zombified as always. “He’s just an amalgamation of water, just a big ole water mass.”

“You’re an amalgamation of royally fucked if you don’t drop him right this instant,” Diluc says, “and that threat is not coming from me.”

Childe drops the whale.

Unfortunately, Lisa has at that moment raised her arm right in front of Angel’s Share tavern, the most famous tavern in all of Teyvat and the most illustrious place in Mondstadt.

“I’m attacking those stupid Fatui once and for all,” she says under her breath, finger angrily tapping the book she’s still holding.

Kaeya leaps up, nearly taking her arm before the lightning in the sky reminds him that doing so would likely send his body flying against the wall. “Miss Lisa, please, this is all a misunderstanding. It’s supposed to be a demonstration-“

“Oh really?” Her head tilts erratically. There’s lightning in her eyes.

Everyone in this fucking town in crazy, Kaeya thinks, momentarily missing the chaos of Khaenri’ah, because at least then the threats came from an outside source. “Please calm down, it’s just a theatrical thing.”

“Do it outside the city,” Lisa says, her voice stern, and then her lamp attacks the whale, and all at once the giant watery beast falls onto the tavern, and onto her, and onto the other patrons.

The electricity in it promptly knocks out everyone who doesn’t have a Vision strapped to their person.

Which leaves a drenched Kaeya staring at a plump-lipped Lisa, neither of them thinking until then about the consequences of their words and actions.

Rosaria stands, intending to sneak away, turning just in time to see the Grand Master in hot pursuit of her librarian, after their lunch was interrupted.

Rosaria watches, almost as if in slow motion, as Jean’s eyes pan from the unconscious Mondstadtian citizens, to the stunned Knights. Their leader’s expression runs through the five stages of grief.

Venti blinks through his inebriation to stare up at them. Maybe my kids are a bit too free, he thinks, then shrugs and downs the rest of Kaeya’s drink.

“I was just thinking we could sneak out the back window,” Childe says, “and honestly, I still think it’s a good idea.”

He’s peering out the doorway now, at the people on the first floor of the tavern, who are all talking loudly.

He doesn’t need superhearing for Jean’s loud words to come up to the second floor, though he is learning a few new Mondstadian swears to take with him on his journey.

“Should we leave?” Childe turns around in time to see Diluc climbing out the window.

The redhead hooks his other leg over the edge, holding himself up for a moment. “Hurry, climbing the wall is going to be a pain if they come around the building.”

“You were going to leave me to take the blame!” Childe throws a pellet of water at Diluc’s face, catching him in the ear.

The man flinches, lets out the lowest growlish sound known to man, and then laughs as he stumbles away, clutching his head. “I assumed you were proud of your deeds. Don’t you want recognition?”

“Recognition?! I want to live!”

“I was going to climb back up if you didn’t follow.”

“Oh you’d come back?”

“Of course.”

“That’s because it’s your tavern!” Childe throws another water pellet, this one catching Diluc on a bit of exposed neck, so that the man laughs, dancing away.

Diluc flicks his hair up quickly, holding up both hands to catch the next pellet.

What he doesn’t see is the watery boar running at him from behind, but he does hear the creature, and he flips over it, landing on his feet. “I was going to climb back up after teasing you,” he promises. “Leaving you to deal with Lisa’s wrath alone wouldn’t be fair.”

“What about the Grand Master?”

“She’s a softie,” Diluc says, readjusting his gloves as he falls into step beside Childe, “but Lisa would send you back home neutered.”

“What a lovely town you’re from.”

“You dropped a whale on my customers and likely destroyed my roof,” Diluc says, still smiling, tongue pressed on the inside of his cheek, on the side Childe can see.

“They’re lovely people,” Childe says in a high pitched, mocking voice. He sticks his tongue out as Diluc glances up the hill.

All at once, Diluc hits the ground flat, rolling into the bushes next to the road.

Childe stares at him for a moment, open-mouthed at the audacity.

He turns in time to see a very angry, very red, very human bunny running at him, ears flapping. “You! In the grey! Stop right there!”

“Hm?” Childe leans in, thinking he heard wrong.

Diluc whispers from the bushes, “Run, run!”

Childe makes a face at them, looking back up at Amber, who makes a show of stopping on the road. “Man,” she says, “I don’t see anyone else out here. Guess it’s just this random visitor to Mondstadt.”

Behind her, by the gates, he can see a short man with blonde hair standing, watching her.

Childe has a feeling that Lisa is not the biggest threat to his immediate well-being. “I’m completely innocent,” he says to Amber.

“You still have to talk to Jean.”

“Nope, nope, I’m good,” he says, wondering faintly if she’s guessed who left a puddle on her records room floor.

“Oh good, so you’re prepared to pay for reparations?” Amber holds her hand out.

In the distance, the blonde man crosses his arms, squaring his shoulders with them.

Even though he’s on the other side of the bridge, Childe gets the distinct feeling that that man is not human.

He grabs a money bag out of his inventory and sets it into Amber’s hand. “Is this enough?”

She hardly glances at it. “Hmph.”

Childe drops a second. “It’s not like Red can’t afford it.”

“Maybe,” she says, grinning up at him. “But this way I can blame the Fatui for the disturbance, and pressure them for it.”

“Yeah, well tell them the Northland Bank had to pay,” he says, writing out a check. “Here’s for your trouble, have fun getting higher taxes on those assholes.”

“Thank you kindly,” Amber says, turning and skipping away.

Childe glances to the bushes, where Diluc is giggling like a maniac, rolling around on his back.

“I’m amazed you beat so many Fatui camps while being an absolute goofball.”

“I was depressed.”

“Dear god, I’d love to see you manic.” Childe walks over, hands on his thighs, leaning over the bush to peer down at pretty eyes between the interlocking branches. There’s leaves in Diluc’s hair, and grass stains on his white shirt.

Childe grins. “Come on, you have plans today? Things to fight?”

“No, just birds to watch,” Diluc says, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Alright,” Childe says, straightening while he unzips his pants. “Well I have to make this look realistic for our audience, so hold still.”

“I cannot believe you almost relieved yourself on me.”

“Would it kill you to say the word ‘pissed’? Or ‘peed’?” Childe wrinkles his lip, looking over. “I know you’re an aristocrat, but the word won’t actually thin your blood.”

“I can’t take the risk.”

“Yeah, not with your injuries. Maybe if you didn’t go around stealing other peoples’ Delusions, you wouldn’t have a giant gash in your tummy.”

Something in Diluc’s chest shifts.

Not because he’s cared about. Not because he’s seen. Loved. Cared for.

Diluc stares at the stars in the sky. At the multitude. He sighs, leaning back against the tree he’s sitting against, claymore resting on his thighs. “Every star in that sky represents someone who worries after me.”

“Yeah,” Childe says, glancing up. “That’s good.”

Diluc doesn’t know how to ask what’s on his mind, though. Not this time.

And Childe says nothing, looking to the blades of grass before him, which seem to cut into him less deeply than the blade keeping him three feet away.

He glances at the sword on Diluc’s lap, out of the corner of his eyes, and then back to where his fingers are hovering before greenery, unable to bend them.

Childe bites his tongue and looks off to the shiny city. “It’s pretty at night,” he says. “All those lit windows. Somewhere in Snezhnaya,” he says, “my family’s home must be lit like this. They must be dealing with the snow, readying the youngest for bed. It’s been dark for hours there.”

He must talk about them. As if he’s there. As if they’re waiting for him. As if he could return, and walk in the front door, and be welcomed.

As if the last time he saw his father wasn’t with a knife in the man’s hands, pointed towards him.

As if his mother didn’t scream that he’s not even human, that he’s just something that exists.

You can’t say those things to people. You can’t tell anyone.

Because then they’re real. Then they happened.

Then you have to remember that the way home isn’t the same route anymore, that there’s new roads there, and new people kissing your parents’ cheeks, and that the key doesn’t fit in the lock anymore.

And if you say these things out loud, they exist. Then, the friend beside you can’t talk about how he gets to go home to his maid who raised him, to his butler who’s really his older brother, to the family he’s built.

Then, he has to be sad and think about how to pity the lonely soul beside him with the dead eyes.

And besides, he would have another weakness to use against me, Childe thinks.

They walk along the water for a bit, along the streams that lead into Mondstadt, or out of Mondstadt. Childe can hear the water trickling but he’s so lost in his own thoughts that when the ground changes and dips he doesn’t remember to step down right, and nearly falls.

And his legs are fully braced on instinct to catch him, despite how it jarrs his knees to do so.

But Diluc’s got a hand on his arm, holding him up for a few more steps while he gets his footing.

And Childe glances up in time to see concern in those eyes, and looks away.

“You know, when you’re injured on the road, you can’t actually tell anyone.”

“No. They’d go from housing you, to preying on you in your sleep,” Diluc says.

“It’s crazy how people pick their targets. The same person who would rob someone on crutches, or covered in bandages, would gladly share a meal with someone they see themselves being unable to fight.”

“It’s quite the double standard,” Diluc says. “Even in business. If you’re doing well, other businessmen will try to be friendly towards you. It’s when they perceive a fault or weakness that they pounce.”

“So your friends are never your friends,” Childe says. “What are they, then?”

“Hm,” Diluc says, thinking.

“Just people to have lunch with,” Childe says, and he meant to keep this tucked away but sometimes wounds bleed.

“I’ve found that those who wait for your return are decent,” Diluc says.

“Hm?”

“The ones who keep the lights in the windows burning,” Diluc says, the moon reflecting off of his eyes.

Childe stares, the low sound of a mourning call the only thing that, slowly, takes his attention. “What’s that?”

“A nightengale,” Diluc says, pointing across the water. “She’s there.”

“I don’t see her,” Childe says, squinting.

Diluc sidles his arm over Childe’s shoulder, pointing so that Childe can stare down the length.

The bird is tiny for such a sound, a pale blonde color, flitting from one branch to another on a low-hanging tree.

“Why do they sing in the evening?”

“To call their mate home,” Diluc says.

“Hm. More effective than candles,” Childe teases, enjoying the absolutely appalled look Diluc gives him.

“I find both to be rather effective,” Diluc says, adjusting his collar.

“Oh? You bring many lovers here?”

“No,” Diluc says, pouting.

“You know,” Childe says a moment later, “you’ve been showing your cards a lot more lately. I’m enjoying it, comrade. You’re so cute when you’re flustered. Like a little red bird.” He reaches up, poking one of Diluc’s cheeks so it sinks in.

Diluc grins wryly. “I will be getting revenge for that,” he says quietly.

Childe leans in, smirking. “Will you be paying Eula for the copyright for that phrase?”

Chapter Text

Scaramouche is not the one who arrives, that fateful evening.

Neither has Capitano returned to Mondstadt, leaving another dead father in the wake of the Fatui, jumpstarting the revenge arc of a nun which is sure to never end.

Nor has Zhongli come to collect his final penance, likely because he has turned his back on the man who purposefully lost to the Traveler. He sits and looks out at the harbor, and does not concern himself with the affairs of those left in the dust behind him.

Nor is the enemy Dvalin turned cruel, or some dragon sent from far away, some child of demons and alchemical blood, some stagnant piece of anger left to rot.

No, it’s just an Abyss Mage, opening a portal for the Lector it serves. It’s just a pack of Rifthounds nearby, and a runaway kid looking for the parents who aren’t returning.

Timmie, with a bird clutched between his hands, is sprinting from the running hounds.

An Abyss Mage rears out of the bushes besides Diluc and Childe, and either of the men could destroy it without another thought, but Childe is running to save the kid, and Diluc is running to save Childe.

The ice shard hardly slaps, almost helplessly, against the vest Diluc slipped on under his coat. It’s reinforced with metal, made of leather so that when it heats up from his attacks, it’s got layers to work through before it can burn his undershirt into his skin.

Childe is ahead of him, reaching desperately for Timmie, completely airborne, one leg bent at the knee and the other behind him. He’s suspended for a moment like a dancer, before he gets a grip onto Timmie’s shoulder.

Diluc is lifting his leg, running forward, but grunts as the ice slams against the wound he already earned, Delusion-shaped and carved out.

Childe grabs the kid’s vest and yanks, pulling the child offcenter but also pulling himself closer, just enough to land on foot, skidding in the dirt.

The force of the hit pushes Diluc offcenter, his front leg falling awkwardly. He catches his stance, landing heavily on one foot, the back one useless as pain streaks down his thigh. Thank fuck it wasn’t my sciatica. The last thing he needs is an old injury rearing it’s head and finger gunning him as he eats dirt.

As Timmie falls, he falls into Childe’s arms, the Harbinger lifting his shoulders behind the child, shielding him from the incoming claws.

But Diluc is Diluc, and he shifts his weight with the expertise of a trained cavalry captain. His blade appears between ready hands, as he twists his fall, leveraging himself with the length. The edge glints, rising behind him, and his Vision sparks as the claymore erupts with flames.

Childe looks to the sidelines of the path, already predicting what Diluc will do, already knowing what’s needed to get these hounds off of the hunt. He aims for the treeline between the Mage, which he has to ignore for a second, and the incoming hounds. Timmie cannot handle a single ice shard without being ripped to pieces, he is not wearing armor, and a normal cloth vest will be sliced even more easily than human skin. If ice is thrown at an adult, it can cause a concussion. If a sharpened icicle were thrown, pointed end connecting, it could certainly stab into one.

Childe’s knees hardly have time to bend, before he’s kicking off, water appearing into thin air to cover the child before him. And his entire left side, because he doesn’t fancy having to suffer burns. He aims for the soft grasses, knowing he’ll have to duck and roll. But if he lands straight in the bushes, either he or Timmie could be impaled on a thin branch without even knowing.

And humans are so fragile.

Diluc sees Childe grab the kid and knows they’ll get out of the way. The rifthound is bearing on their back, and there is no time to worry. Nor is there a need. Childe’s knees nearly buckle beneath him, and Diluc’s muscles are already swinging, dragging the claymore through the air, exposing his belly to the Mage.

The Abyss bastard shoots again, because of course he does, but the phoenix is off, a perfect arrow, wings tucked so that he graciously spins over Childe’s left shoulder.

The shard misses Diluc’s vest, slipping into the precious, soft bandages. Images of necrosis enter his mind, and a terrible fear. And a terrible anger. It’s amazing how fast humans can feel.

He doesn’t have to think about opening the wings, they open as the rift hound’s arms have lifted, because now he sees only the enemy which has been charging the humans.

There’s three of them, roaring, fanned out over the path.

The wings of the bird open, arms of flame to hold the bearing monsters back. They embrace them, trying to consume, pushing the rifthounds backwards, the pups stumbling and wheeling over themselves midair.

Diluc watches the trees along the path catch fire, as he feels cold pulsing in his stomach. He cannot take a breath, but can only watch the flames leaping from branch, to branch, to branch.

It’s so fast. It’s so fucking fast.

In horror, he hits the dirt.

Childe can’t roll while holding a child small enough to get a concussion from looking at a rock wrong.

He lands on his shoulder, hearing someone cry out. Arm feeling crushed, he looks down, the pain subsiding as he lifts himself to his knees.

The child is crying but he can’t hear that, there’s some horrible crackling sound that’s absolutely deafening, and the singing of the Abyss Mage sounds panicked.

Childe’s eyes are focused on injuries that mean the kid is dying, that require Childe to sacrifice his own head and neck for the sake of triage.

There are no injuries, and the bird is safe between Timmie’s hands.

Childe looks ahead, past Diluc and past the Mage, to a field. Grass. He has to get the child out of the way, and then he can come back for Diluc. He cannot risk crushing the child if he tries to lift them both at the same time.

The air around him is suddenly bright for it being nighttime, and his body twists on instinct, thousands of years of evolution forcing him to look behind him, to recognize that sound, to drink in the sight.

Sparks falling. His head lifts, as if on a string, horror embracing him so thoroughly that when someone screams, he doesn’t know it’s him.

Fire doesn’t look scary as a campfire. It’s something that keeps you alive. Fire in a fireplace is calm, and quiet, and gently sweet.

This is the rage of a fire that seeks to consume, to not be put out.

He looks up and the fire is eating the trees, biting through them, and he doesn’t think ‘destruction’.

He thinks my god, there’s people’s houses next door to this.

And, They’re going to die-.

By the time Childe thinks, -if I don’t do something, he’s already kicking off of the ground. Timmie has become light, thanks to a hefty dose of adrenaline adding to an already-traumatized man’s normally high levels.

He might not be able to handle talking to anyone other than Katherine without trembling afterwards, but he was built for this.

Traveling merchants in their camp down the road are barely waking at the sound of the crash of the rifthounds against trees, drifting back asleep, Childe is sprinting for the field, scouting a pile of rocks that will be safe from the grass.

He drops Timmie and the bird in the midst of them. “Stay low,” covers the kid’s face and the bird in part of Timmie’s vest, and in seconds he’s sprinting back across the ground.

Diluc is already on his feet, eyes crazed, because rift hounds on fire can kill everybody.

He burns through the Abyss Mage’s shield, grabbing it by the throat. He sprints towards the hounds, who are writhing and crying out, still trying to scramble away from Diluc, their wispy tails on fire.

It’s spreading. It’s spreading! Childe feels tears in his vision, but the fire is so hot that his face hurts.

And it doesn’t matter. That sick calm has taken over, and his focus is on getting the people out. His legs wheel towards the tents just beyond the enflamed trees, only a few paces away. Only a few seconds, and they will collapse, and everyone in them will be part of the fuel.

As he runs across the path, he knows this is his last chance at clean air. He takes a deep breath, and in his next he’s screaming.

“Fire! There’s a fucking fire, everyone get the fuck out!”

It’s not the most eloquent way he could have worded it.

The people in the tents wake up, eyes wide, looking around. Did we dream it? Looking at each other. “You hear that?”

“Fire!” His scream sounds like Diluc’s falcon.

The people are up. Scrambling up, tired hands shaking with adrenaline they’re not used to having. Do they grab clothes? Do they get out?

One is entirely focused on freeing the only horse in the group, and another grabs her cat, clutched to her chest. A third doesn’t bother with clothes, while one more, in a tent closest to the fucking flames farther down the path, farthest from Childe, grabs a coat because it’s cold outside.

Diluc aims the Abyss Mage at the rifthounds, because there’s three that he has to take down himself, and then he has to put out these flames.

The Mage shoots ice frantically, trying not to be killed. Ice slams into the rifthounds, melting hot against their fur, burning it, reaching under the fur to their skin where it cannot be removed because it’s boiling water running through the underlayers.

They scream, twisting to find the source of the pain.

Diluc stands in the path, Abyss Mage in one hand, the other fumbling through his inventory. He’s brimming with energy, wanting to run towards the tents, but the hounds lock eyes with him. To run now, to try to help, would be to lead the enemy there.

Would be to force both him and Childe into the encampment, would be to add to the chaos.

Childe reaches the tents. He grabs the door of the first one, ripping at it to open it.

The cloth snags, the woman inside looking up at him, terrified. “It’s real?!”

“It’s real,” he says, loud but calm. She pushes at the cloth, but he can’t open it and neither can she, and then she fumbles with the zipper for a moment while he screams at the others, making as much noise as possible for them to wake their stupid asses up, his frustration mounting because how long does it take to run out a door?!

The flames are coming closer.

The rifthound bears down on Diluc with the vengeful force of an angel, screaming that her packmates have been attacked. She savagely rips at Diluc’s collar, shredding it. Going for his throat, but his knee catches the side of her head enough for him to force his arm between her teeth instead of his head.

She bites and tries to rip his limb off. Her teeth dig into his flesh, pulling blood, ripping muscle. He has a blade in his hand, just like how Childe holds them, and throws fire down her throat as he rips into her mouth.

“Fancy root canal,” he says, a hand gripping the side of her neck, fingers digging against her flesh, burning her even as his glove heats up enough that his skin begins to crackle too.

The rifthound screams, but the next two are coming in, one aiming for his leg.

The woman gets the zipper, and forces the door open just enough to get her body out, and then she runs away from the flames, towards the outside of the forest, where she needs to go.

Childe moves on to the next tent, kicking around boxes, and there’s a woman with her cat running towards him.

The flames reach the first of the tents behind her. He lifts one hand, smothering them back with a wall of water. “Come on!” His voice is a pithy scream. He can’t put all of this out himself.

Diluc’s falcon is flying through the air, already far from the start of the problem, trying to reach Springvale. She screams, the wind carrying her warning call far and wide.

The trained pigeons in Draff’s house suddenly all wake up, crying out, a call which sets a chill into his bones.

He wakes, sober for once since Diona just gave him valberry juice and called it alcoholic. His eyes wide, he slips out of bed, forgoing his coat for a bucket by the door. “Everyone get up, there’s a fire!”

Hearing the pigeons and seeing Draff’s door open, lights turning on in other houses, Diluc’s falcon turns in the air, and heads for the Knights’ Headquarters.

Childe takes the woman’s hand, guiding her forward. “It’ll be okay. It’s gonna be alright, just get away from the forest.”

He doesn’t know how he has the air in his lungs to speak. He didn’t know smoke could be like this.

It’s not to the point where it’s aggressive. The smoke is a baby, learning how to stretch. Exploring the air, slipping into every breath he takes, which is more than normal because he’s helping to lift entire human bodies out of tents and guiding this man, quickly, out of the fucking way of the flames.

He helps a lady who has not bothered to put clothes on over her underwear, which is good because the tree her tent is against is almost at the line and the water he’s frantically throwing over his head isn’t enough to hold a forest fire back.

She sees him and takes his hand, and he guides her over the mud behind him so that she doesn’t fall. Rain pelts his back for a split second, in a gap between tree branches, and he aims her towards the field farther away.

She starts to run there, but turns back.

Childe has a hand guiding a man with a coat out of a tent that’s almost burning, when the woman screams.

Something explodes, so loudly that Childe drags the man with the coat to the tiny clearing, where he figures at least he can make a last stand if their only escape route is blocked.

The woman is staring above them with fear dancing in her eyes.

Not just fear. Flames.

Childe looks up in horror and sees fire licking down the length of the trees…in front of him.

The fire is above him now, trying to block his exit to the sky. Trying to force him to suffocate, to turn into ashes.

He’s thinking about Diluc though, neck craning so he can turn.

Diluc digs his hand into his inventory, grabbing a firework. In desperation, because he knows what he saw on this path, he throws it up.

It lights, and exploding, shooting towards the sky at an angle, and catching in burning branches. Free, the wind carries it high, where it explodes in a panicked frenzy, far above the smoke of the fire, beyond where he can see, begging someone to help.

The tents reach the point of no return, and the inferno begins, heated moisture within the wood shattering entire branches all at once, spreading the flames.

The Abyss Mage lifts his chest, pointing at the rifthound heading towards him. He aims for the eyes but hits the forehead, and the rifthound falls back, writhing as it’s face melts.

The other one heads for Diluc’s leg, but he lifts his hand from the first’s neck, summoning his claymore. He gouges into the third rifthound, leaving no chances for it to be getting up again.

He misses the heart but gains the lung, ripping through one, claymore breaking the creature’s shoulder blade as it erupts through the hound’s back.

It backflips off of his weapon to get away, still floating, though bleeding toxic goo.

The creature has the audacity to snarl at him once more, but Diluc has dropped his claymore to the ground, leaving it there to pick up again in the moment. He slaps a hand against the first rifthound’s eye, burning it to smithereens, encasing them both in fire for a moment, trying to get it to drop his damn arm.

It’s teeth loosen, then sink in, then one arm pins his shoulder. He’s running out of time. If he can’t release his arm, he won’t be able to get out from under it. And at this angle, he can’t manuver his claymore into it’s side without giving it ample time to eat his neck.

He spikes fire throughout it’s mouth on instinct at being trapped, and the beast finally lets go of his arm, which flops over his head, attached but injured.

Diluc gasps for breath under his own fire, blasting the thing with flames again, closing his eyes behind thick lashes. This is exactly why I wear flame-proof mascara.

Shielding his vision, he looks beside himself, to where the Abyss Mage is standing. The creature has a wand in hand, and a burnt neck.

Shaking, the creature looks down at Diluc, and then up at the rifthounds. He lifts his wand and readies an attack.

Diluc makes an absolutely shocked face, grunting as the rifthound, angry again, sets more weight on his pinned arm. Dagger in hand, he tries to knock it’s head away, but it’s fighting with weight at this point.

He loses the advantage of knocking it around with his legs, when the last rifthound, whom the Abyss Mage had been keeping at bay, lunges, jaws snapping.

Diluc tucks his legs under the rifthound above him, and blocks with his good arm and a dagger, so that he can keep the jaws off of him. He sends fire up the creature’s nostrils.

Childe shoves the man with the coat forward, and rushes back to the rest of the tents, where an idiot is trying to grab his stuff, and where other people are scrambling, panicking.

But Childe looks back, back through the worst of it, where the fires are only in the tops of the trees. Back to where he began.

Diluc is on his back, fighting with a rifthound above him and an Abyss Mage dancing in the air, about to strike.

When danger strikes, writers describe someone’s heart constricting. Perhaps that is the logical response. If you cannot stop a tragedy, it makes sense to be terrified of watching it unfold.

But Childe feels his heart open, feels blood rush through his extremities, propelling him forward.

His own family matters more than anyone else’s.

The man with the coat is heading back to the tents, unwilling to leave his friends behind, even while disoriented with the smoke. His tent is in flames. He has no plan, adrenaline is forcing his hands to clench, instincts tell him to run to safety where the others are.

But loyalty, and love, push him to his friends who are lost between patches of fire.

Childe rushes back through the trees, smoke choking him. It’s aged now, and able to strike at his face so that for a moment, he cannot breathe at all. He’s breathing in, and then the air just stops being air that he can consume. It’s not meant for him. It’s an awful feeling, to run when there is no oxygen to enter his lungs.

But adrenaline, that sacred beast, carries his legs forward until he breaks into a pocket of hot air that feels as if it will burn him. His still-expanding lungs try it through his nose, and the air enters, hot and painful. He gasps more than he perhaps should, just in case he won’t get another chance.

It doesn’t hurt when the adrenaline blocks the pain.

That godgiven pocket is just before the treeline ends, just before the dirt path which splits the burning trees.

Fiery shashkas in hand, he bears down on the rift hound’s neck, running like a regular human onto the ground beside Diluc, having no time for pretty leaps, though perhaps he did jump the last second because he can’t remember how he left the trees.

He shoulders into the rifthound, feeling it knock some of that precious air from his furious lungs as his diaphragm constricts with the force against his ribs.

But the rifthound moves, Diluc’s pinned arm loosening.

Childe shields the man’s head with his thigh, falling to one knee, the other leg stretching out of the way of Diluc’s arm. His shashka catches the Abyss Mage’s ice shard, and Childe looks to it not for it’s eyes, but for it’s weakspots.

Electricity crackles, and the icy shield before him shatters, and the lightning sears through the small body’s heart, stunning it. A blade of water, thin as a needle and weak as Childe gasps for air, slips through the heart, preventing it from pulsating the way it’s cells are telling it to.

The Abyss Mage falls, as good as dead, and that leaves the rifthounds.

Diluc carves a dagger, gripping backwards, through the rifthound’s throat, slicing it.

The panicking beast tries to disembowel him, which humans are particularly vulnerable to when they fight, and manages to slip a claw down Diluc’s shin before he kicks it’s knees.

“Sorry, Diluc,” Childe says as he stands, Delusion on his belt crackling.

Diluc isn’t so easily brought down. If he were alone, he would certainly figure out a way to get all of the people out of the burning forest.

But if he were alone, he wouldn’t have been hit with ice shards.

If he were alone, he could drag the rifthounds to the Abyss and burn their ashes before they hit the bottom.

But he’s not alone.

And neither are the rifthounds. Remember?

The Abyss Lector, who was for a moment stunned by the phoenix lifting him clear into the air and dropping him in the dirt behind the hounds, has stood.

He smiles, a notion which Childe can feel as much as see, and bows his legs.

Two rifthounds, and a Lector.

Thunder crackles overhead, but the raging fire is far louder, encroaching on either side, fanning that fear intrinsic to humans, that says that they will not survive.

That drives them to save as many as they can.

Diluc extends one arm, feeling bruises so deep he’s sure it’s barely usable.

He grips the handle of the claymore.

The Lector surges forward, heading for both men. Childe leaps over him, aiming for the armored neck.

Diluc swings as Childe jumps, giving the man enough time to surge past, before slamming the claymore into the Lector’s thorax.

Jean is at home when she gets the news, though the falcon soars past the Adventurer’s Guild, the Knights’ Headquarters, and to Kaeya’s apartment, shrieking before her arrival so that he’s thrown his balcony door open in time, panic on his face. When he heard the explosion of the firework, he put his shoes back on.

“Dead?!” He accepts her on his arm, eyes wide.

Klee, wiping sleep from her eyes, wanders to his open bedroom door. “Kaeya?”

“Stay here, Klee,” he says, the falcon cawing her signal for ‘fire’. “That fucking idiot,” he mutters, which has Klee opening her eyes wide again and again, trying to wake up to see if she heard him right.

He grabs his sword in one hand and her in the other arm, rushing downstairs, banging on the door of his neighbor. “Please watch Klee!!”

Bells are ringing in Mondstadt by then, though the neighbor has the intuition of a grandmother, so she’s already awake and waddling to the door.

She opens it to a sleepy Klee standing calmly, looking up at her with just a bit too much wisdom, like perhaps she’s done this before and would appreciate there not being fiery attacks on her hometown in the wee hours of the morn.

“Oh, come on sweets,” the elderly woman says, guiding the child inside. “Let’s make some muffins.” She knows full well the kid will fall asleep partway through the process, but at least she’ll have something warm and comforting to wake up to.

And besides, Ms. Trebuchet needs some dough to knead, to placate her trembling fingers. She remembers the last time that bell tolled. “Must be a big fire,” she says softly, thinking of red hair and a closed coffin.

Fire laces around the watery Lector, turning the elements circling his body to a boiling, unsustainable temperature.

He screams as he rakes his sharp foot over the area where Diluc’s head should be, slicing through a ribbon of red hair.

Diluc rolls into the oncoming path of the third rifthound, the one which the Abyss Mage had struck, the one whose forehead is boiled and burnt.

The one who watched it’s mother’s throat cut, who was hellbent before creation and now only exists as a puppet of the creature they once were.

Childe’s shashkas smash against each other midair, one perpendicular to the other. As a wave of water forms from the descending rain, his shoulder slams into the wall. Thunder screams overhead again, the fire leaping on the wind, sending burning leaves into his hair. He twists his blades into one polearm facing down, landing onto the rifthound’s head, striking it clear through it’s muddy brain, until the polearm strikes the ancient bedrock underneath the muddy path.

Childe looks to the Lector, his clothes dark, polearm crackling with electricity. Lightning slams into the mountain behind him.

God please let the rain come hard.

Diluc lands under the beast, head tossed to the side, as the Lector looks between them and chooses the one who looks weak.

Barbatos, please let the rain flood us all.

Childe surges forward on the wave of rain, throwing up a watery shield for Diluc, intending to take the Lector headon.

A foolish decision for a human body made of flesh, against a body with an exoskeleton reinforced with armor stronger than most human swords.

But a fool can survive an Abyss. And only a fool can love.

Childe screams, raising his polearm over his shoulder, transforming his single fist into his Foul Legacy form, having no time for the rest of himself. A watery pool forms underneath Diluc, intending to hide his body.

But Diluc didn’t take down Fatui strongholds by succumbing to a little haircut.

He is off of the ground in an instant, thighs propelling him from the dirt in an absolutely inhuman move, aiming his legs for the treeline, his good arm blocking by holding the length of his claymore, burning with anger, to block his head from becoming detached.

He lands safely as the Lector charges, glaring at the beast over his arm, tears streaming from his eyes as the smoke burns his chest. Childe rears over the Lector’s right arm, nearly feeling it tingle into his stomach.

But that’s his Delusion, firing him at the beast, forcing it off balance and towards Diluc.

The Lector twists much like Diluc did earlier, in no hurry to be cleaved by a claymore. Childe soars off into the air, floating, electricity grounding him to the dirt and rocks, to the puddles on the ground.

The smoke is blinding but the Lector is crackling with lightning around his body, screaming in pain. Thunder bursts again. Branches in the distance break clear off.

This water isn’t pure. This water isn’t anything except a means for Childe’s grip.

I never knew how loud a fire was. Childe makes a fist, electricity snaking around the Lector’s body, gripping it.

Get off of him. Enraged at the thought of the Lector looking up and launching himself into the air, Diluc fires off another phoenix, dragging her wings up before she hits the trees in the distance, trying not to kill anyone still left in the woods, praying Barbatos saves them.

Except for the flames licking the middle of the trees, he cannot see the other side of the path. There is too much smoke.

Childe and the Lector slice at each other, the man landing on the dirt, on his feet. Diluc can hardly see his face.

Diluc swings his claymore up over his other shoulder, breathing in as his chest opens. He spits the bile in his throat, wrenching his muscles and forcing the air out of his lungs. He follows his swing with a flip, the claymore protecting his tucked body, ringing down towards the Lector.

In tandom, Childe’s polearm snaps in half, so that he can grip either side and keep the Lector busy blocking his hits, trying to prevent it’s body from being shattered at the seams.

The Lector screams, trying to run from the claymore. Electricity pools underneath them all, Diluc landing on it. Childe couldn’t see him flipping into the fight.

Diluc tries to cry out, but the sound is muted. His muscles fling him back, nearly dazing him.

Good thing it wasn’t a lethal dose, he thinks, looking up.

Fire is living in the branches of the tree over his head. It crumbles.

Childe twists, as he has watched Diluc throw his bird before and is emulating the movement. He rides on a wave rising from the electric water pooling under the Lector, and tries to drown him. The water enters one eye, and the fight is almost over.

Diluc dodges the falling tree, slamming his claymore into the branches as they fall, so that they fly through the heavy smoke roughly at the Lector.

The Lector redirects his arm, throwing Childe in a last-ditch attempt to survive.

Childe lands on the path where the rifthounds had been, turning back. He has to squint, coughing terribly, forcing the rain to sweep the smoke for a moment. He can see a fiery branch knock into the Lector’s head, opening a slit on the armor on it’s neck.

The Lector screams as the smoke closes in again, but they can hear him.

The fire is alive around them, eating everything, and the living animal roars. A terrible beast, making the trees scream, making the grass whistle, making the branches crack as nymphs cry.

The thunder in the distance demands victory, urges them on.

Diluc lands on the grass, rolling into the trees. Burning twigs land on the back of his hand and he lifts his palm, hissing. He runs out from under the trees, flinging fire at the Lector as he reenters the path, closer to the field.

The Lector is trying to run from Childe again, breaking free from the electricity best he can.

Diluc runs past him, unable to see past the burning trees lining the path. The fire is snaking down the trunks from the flaming leaves. As they fall to the grass, it erupts, choked by the heavy smoke. He squints and fires another phoenix at the Lector’s screams, as it rushes him.

Childe falls out of the smoke, landing on the Lector’s head with electricity crackling around his feet. The phoenix, already loose, hits the Lector in the chest, carving down to heat him up, followed by an angry claymore.

The claymore cleaves the beast’s chest into pieces, ripping through the armor with a terrible sound.

Branches in the woods fall, cracking, as trees which were born before these men crumble to the forest floor. Another explosion as the fire screams mercilessly.

The fire is loud, so loud. Sweat is dripping down Childe’s face. He’s crouching on the Lector’s shoulders, a blade under it’s neck, prying it off from it’s body.

Diluc braces his foot against it’s thorax, as it’s arm tries to stab into his side.

He catches it’s arm on the claymore, then reaches around and grabs the Lector’s arm with his hand. He jumps off the ground, remembering the Electricity, but Childe, eyes squinted, feels a foot hit his, and suddenly the men know the other is there.

Childe feels the Lector’s shoulder and knows where it’s arm will be. He flings himself down the beast’s chest, still dangling from it’s head, catching it’s left arm as it tries to ram into Diluc’s back. He kicks once, and the head begins to detach.

He loses his grip, circling his legs around it’s shoulder, dangling upside down between the blade and his enemy’s burning back.

Fuck this fuckthisfuckthisfuckthis.

Diluc curls his knees to his chest, bracing the entirety of his weight on his grip on the claymore stuck in the creature’s chest. He holds it’s right arm back from stabbing into his heart, where the edge of it’s blade carves eulogies into the front of his burning coat. While his enemy’s crossed watery blades struggles between Diluc’s spine and the Abyss’ left arm, he knees the Lector in the fucking face.

It’s neck shatters, the remaining electricity from Childe’s Delusion seeping into it’s spine, rendering it obsolete, so that it’s body seizes.

Diluc knees again, and again, and again, curled up against the chest, suspended in air, screaming as his voice becomes choked. Childe has both hands braced against the Lector’s arm, shielding Diluc’s body with water that’s falling off of him in waves, that’s smothering Childe in the humid smoke, until Childe has to close his eyes. He fits his own shoulder between Diluc’s spine and the trembling blade, feeling it prying around his crossed shashkas, tipping against his shirt.

More trees fall, so quickly it’s hellish to hear, and thunder blasts out, and lightning persists off of the smoke and rain so that it’s hard to tell what’s up or down.

Diluc breaks the creature’s lower jaw, and then it’s cheekbone, and then the Lector’s neck breaks further.

He sucks in a breath of horrible smoke, the wind trying desperately to carry it off of the fight, and throws his weight sideways, to the front of the creature. Still gripping the back of the creature’s bladed arm with one hand, and his claymore backwards with the other, he kicks it’s head, snapping it’s neck completely, severing the connection between brain and body.

The creature falls forward.

Diluc rolls out of his position, bending his own arm as he doesn’t release it’s arm. He lands on his feet, bends to grab his burning claymore, wrestles it from the chest while he coughs raggedly. The thunder is blasting his ears, but still he can hear Childe’s ragged cough.

Diluc kicks in front of him, making sure Childe isn’t in the way, then swings his claymore like an axe, cutting off the bladed arm.

Childe swings his polearm in front of himself, singeing it against Diluc’s claymore. They both back away, and he electrifies the remaining body until it burns.

Diluc staggers backwards, gasping for air, unable to breathe, tripping over a rock. Toxins in his left arm, which has gone numb, seize his legs. He falls onto his back, landing on the grassy field, arms out, coughing where he lies.

Barbatos’ wind pushes the smoke across the path.

The second rifthound, the only one still alive, is staggering. Toxins, ones which are undoubtedly inside of Diluc, rendering his limbs heavy and his breathing ragged, drip out of it’s bloody wounds. It howls.

Childe looks ahead of himself. He spins his blades, facing off with the enraged, wounded beast.

It’s just one, but the smoke here is so hot that he can hardly breathe. And the rifthound can fly. And the smoke keeps forcing his eyes closed.

Even if he waters them, the smoke itself is so hot he can’t fucking breathe.

I didn’t know smoke could be so hot. He doesn’t think he can talk. He vaguely remembers hearing Diluc stumble backwards and fall, and his memories of the field they’re beside tell him that there’s rocks in there. They’re not quite to the spot Timmie was dropped off on, being too close to the burning trees, but still. A rocky field is a rocky field.

The rifthound snarls, pouring out of the smoke ahead of him, so fast Childe is reminded of a horror story he heard once about ancient beasts being brought back to life, to eat everyone they came across. It’s claw catches Childe under his chin, and he slices it off at the base.

Claws reach for his head, but he’s dancing under, taking in a breath as he steps, just as he’s used to doing when he fights.

His chest constricts and he chokes, face falling as his body forces him to bend over, spine tightening all at once.

He throws up before he knows he is, mouth opening to let it out, heaving once, twice, and then he’s catching the claws with a polearm barely brought up to save him, and the rifthound is slamming into his side the way it watched him slam into it’s mother.

He doesn’t have time to pity it, not when it’s an enemy as much as this fire is.

He tries to breathe through his nose and finds that he can’t. His mouth opens and suddenly he can breathe through his nose again, but it’s all smoke, just smoke, and it’s hell raging down his throat, trying to tear the soft flesh apart.

His cells scream, blood vessels in his eyes bursting.

His limbs aren’t moving right. He hits his knees, and finds it’s easier to breathe down here. Though it’s far too late to undo the damage, to steady his breathing. There is no steady in the midst of this fire, not for him.

Of course. Smoke rises.

It’s like he forgot everything he ever learned. No wonder Diluc fell over and likely stayed down. The toxins and the smoke will kill him faster than the fire.

Childe looks over to the side frantically, seeing only smoke illuminated by, and swallowing, the rain. When he feels the loss of heat on his back he knows the rift hound has taken the smoke’s place.

He dives down, face planting in the dirt, twisting with his polearm lifting over his head to avoid the claws trying to pry his spine from his shoulders.

His arm is wrenched back, pulling muscles, the rifthound kicking it out of the way with a snarl rivaling the crashing thunder. It sounds like the shipwreck being torn in half, like the seas swallowing hopes, like the sky splitting from a blade. Trees crumble and the fire screams, a wretched woman clawing to Celestia to tear it apart finger from hand.

His arm is tugged, tugged, the polearm caught on a leg, caught between claws, but if he lets go it might smash into Diluc so he does not even as he is dragged.

He thinks he sees a limb beside him and reaches for it, but his squinted eyes close on their own again, the smoke feeling like it’s burning them. Making them wet isn’t helping, and he wants to scream when they feel as if they will burn along with his lips, and then he hears a terrible sound.

Diluc, letting out a terrified, strangled whimper. One that doesn’t sound like he can make another.

Childe stops breathing. He can imagine what’s happening.

If Diluc is on grass, the fire must be spreading there.

Childe rolls onto his back and lifts one arm, stabbing idly at the rifthound whose open mouth is ready to devour him.

A horrible calm washes over Childe, as his instincts scream that he is going to die, and as the rest of his evolution screams back that he’s not done fighting.

Some animal inside of humans simply doesn’t give up, even when it’s hopeless, once they’re trapped.

No, not just them.

Someone else.

A brilliant whale forms overhead, larger than the ones he’s made before, larger than the one in the Golden House.

God, give me a flood.

And unlike the one in the Golden House, this one is not hollow. It’s fat, swollen with roiling water, heated by that horrible steam and smoke.

Make it horrible.

He thinks of Liyue, of Osial, of drowning mouths, of Dottore laughing in front of torturous, verticle tombs. He thinks of the smell of death, of burning campfires, and then he hears Diluc’s laughter, only in his mind.

It’s not Diluc’s laughter, it’s his own screams.

Lightning strikes at the whale’s very edges, guiding it’s descent as he doesn’t merely drop, but pulls it down towards him.

Childe throws a wave through the awful smoke in the vague direction that he thinks Diluc is in, hoping to shield him or at least to get him out from the worst weight of the whale.

But he can survive crushed ribs as long as the fire doesn’t consume him, as long as the smoke doesn’t burn his lungs to tatters.

The rifthound lands on his spear and keeps clawing for his face, but Childe placed the edge of the spear on his left side, and the blade on the right. He curls around it backwards, holding it with one hand, and lets the beast reach for his neck as the whale falls.

Better him than me, he thinks, red hair flashing through his mind. He opens his eyes, feeling something soft against his face, and sees the scorched, cut strands against his cheek, and the whale drops.

Draff cannot see the whale. All that Draff sees is smoke. Horrible, horrible smoke.

Thunder, lightning.

Kaeya does see the whale. And for a moment, he sees Crepus, waving him on in the smattering of smoke, demanding him to run faster.

To not let another Ragnvindr die.

Childe, coughing, hides under the dying body of the rifthound, which is crushed around him. He shields himself under water and electricity, knowing he can’t protect anyone if he doesn’t worry about himself a little bit.

The whale is loud. Trees are crushed, and just when he thinks it’s loud enough, it gets louder.

For a moment, curled under the dying body, warm toxic blood seeping onto the bare skin of his arm, he’s a child hiding from an angry adult.

The water surges around him, flooding over the path, causing a heap of smoke to rise. Childe hides his face between his arms.

Diluc, who felt the surge of water and feared for his friend, sits up, fire around him.

He simply burns the whale as it drops onto him, the fire taking the place of his hair for a moment. But it puts out the horrible flames which had been creeping across the grass towards him.

Shaking, he stares at the singed, browned, curling blades for a moment.

He couldn’t move to save himself, but he could move the moment he thought Childe was in danger.

Vaguely, he wonders if he remembers that Childe is supposed to be his enemy.

But those scratch marks on his face are crystal clear now, in the haze of the fight, and somewhere in Diluc’s mind he’ll take apart their existence later.

But that whale was Childe’s, and the smoke is thicker than he’s used to, and he falls back onto the grass once more. He keeps trying to get up, to make his abs and arms work. His old scars burn, or perhaps the grass under him is still on fire, he can’t tell. Childe is in the thick of the smoke, where it’s even worse than where he is.

Childe crawls out from underneath the body of the rifthound. His limbs won’t stop shaking, but he covers his face with pieces of his soaked shirt, and army crawls until he reaches wet grass, and then further, until he reaches Diluc.

He grabs the man by the shirt, pressing his fist to Diluc’s chin, and drags both of them away from the heavy smoke, through the grass, to the fresh air along the cliffs.

Beginning to end, the fight only lasts five minutes.

Draff and his crew make it there in absolutely record time, ready to forgo the forest for the sake of digging ditches to save the houses. Ready to form a line to put out the flames as much as possible, but knowing there’s no quick way to do so.

They can hardly hear each other over the thunder and the crackle of the flames, but then the sky falls, and horrible crashes emerge.

Draff grabs his daughter, shielding her from whatever monster of the Abyss is coming for them both, even as she throws up ice to shield everyone in their rescue team.

Water surges around their feet, fleeing the scene, carrying tiny fires and slick branches.

The rescue team stamps them out with shovels, talking over the sounds, unable to see for the smoke which has thickened so terribly.

They arrive with handkerchiefs around her faces, metal shovels in hand reinforced with fire-proof wool handles, first aid kits on their backs. It’s the fire fighting kit Diluc’s great grandfather invented, complete with wool blankets for the survivors.

They tally up everyone from the campsite, who end up scattered in the field Childe send them towards, unable to see each other for all of the smoke. But led back to Draff’s helpers, assorted in order of most smoked to least, and healed by Diona.

The horse ran the farthest, catching up with Draff’s group as they had run up the hill. They keep him far from the smoke, and take the woman with the cat back to Springvale to wait on news, until realizing it’s so damn smoky in Springvale that everyone will need to evacuate for the night.

By then, Elzer has come from the Winery to the town, lantern in hand. A pile of dead hilichurls lie bloodied in the canyon behind him, but they are dragged out of sight by Miss Addy by the time anyone returns.

He leads the survivors and any kids to the Winery, hitching the horse in the barn for the first time in half a decade, staring for a moment at the black steed with a white star on his chest, feeling as if he might turn around and hear Crepus giving urgent but gentle orders.

He can almost see the man, shirt rolled up to his elbows, and for a moment Elzer can only stare at the horse, tears pricking his eyes. He coughs once, and walks forward, and pats his neck. Gives him an apple, and then heads back because there are scared people who just lost their belongings.

“Millie, Hillie, get them clothes and administer first aid. Move the best plants into the room to give them air. Take their old clothes and soak them to get the smoke out. Close all of the windows. When you’re done, fan everyone.”

On his stomach, Childe throws up over the edge of the cliff, coughing and hacking. He’s sobbing for a moment, trembling, clutching Diluc’s shirt.

Diluc is awake, blinking slowly, feeling how sticky his lashes are. The smoke got so hot that his damn mascara is running. He’s just happy to be breathing, to feel an angry fist under his chin.

Childe is cussing him out in another language, something about not escaping sooner, and being an idiot, a ‘stupid little falcon’.

“Eagle.”

And then the ginger is sobbing into the grass, and wretching up globs that Diluc turns his head to see. Yellow is coming up, something that looks like liquid smoke. Diluc reaches over with his good arm and cups Childe’s shoulders. “Cough it up.”

“I am,” Childe tries to say, and loses more. He shudders, his entire body trembling.

Diluc realizes a moment later that he is as well. He pulls the antidote he bought off of Albedo out of his inventory, and bites the lid off, pouring the remainder that doesn’t splash onto his face into the holes in his left arm.

He lets the rest sit on his gums, not bothering to try to swallow it when he needs air more.

Childe lifts up onto his hands, shaking. He crawls over Diluc’s chest, trying to see his arm, squinting. His eyelashes look soaked in soot.

Diluc pinches them to pull them apart more so the man can see, and they come off in clumps.

Tufts of Childe’s hair is burnt off, falling to Diluc’s chest.

But at least they’re alive.

Childe unclips one of the many belts Diluc wears across his abdomen, which are good for claw-catching and also good for medical triage.

He wraps the belt around Diluc’s upper arm, and pulls it tight. Diluc coughs, unable to spatter Childe with the antidote though the arm is right next to him.

Childe glances at his dry arm, then at Diluc in horror and fear. “We need a healer.”

Diluc just nods.

Childe pulls the belt tighter, forcing the buckle, then tightening it. “There’s a lot of blood on the grass.”

“Yeah,” Diluc says. If I were still a Knight, would this have happened?

“I should have used my Delusion sooner,” Childe says, pressing gauze to Diluc’s stomach before realizing it won’t stick with the smoke lingering on them.

If I were still a Knight, Timmie wouldn’t have survived. “Timmie?”

“Alive, hiding in the rocks with a bird,” Childe says. “Everyone got aw-ay,” he begins, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. He looks over to the smothered trees, but the smoke is so heavy he cannot see the other side of the path from here.

His shaking worsens.

“Childe?”

“I don’t know if they made it out.”

As one, the idiots try to rise, sucking in a big breath of air as they were trained to do.

The toxins in them laugh, and they fall back onto the grass, dragging themselves off of each other. Trying to crawl back to help.

When they hear rescuers calling out happily, “Everyone is safe,” they fall back to the grass.

The fire is out. Draff stares at the smoking trees. “Dig a thin line, and get ready to smother any tiny pieces.”

The rescuers fan out in a line, and drawing arm-length from one side of them to the other, a straight line which connects them all. If they have to dig a ditch, this is where it will begin.

Then, at their own paces, they walk into the trees, calling out to one another.

Buckets of water are carried up the hillside, set beside them. When one person’s handkerchief is almost dry, they hurry back, soaking it again before wandering back into the woods.

Between the fire and the heavy rains, the tents are almost a total loss. The campsite was destroyed in a matter of minutes, but there are no bodies in it. Everyone survived.

Brook finds Timmie wandering around the path curving down the hill, wiping his crying eyes and holding a frightened bird. She picks him up, setting him on one hip, calling back to the others before heading for Mondstadt. “Can’t take a bird through all that smoke,” she says matter-of-factly. “You were very brave today.”

“No, it was scary,” Timmie says, and erupts into more tears, so hard that he begins hiccuping partway through, and has to stop to breathe.

“You’re safe,” Brook says. “You did so well. And the pigeons are safe too. They helped you.”

Draff looks up at the sky. “Thank Barbatos for this rain.”

Diluc blinks, looking up at the sky.

“A thunderstorm?”

“No. Just me.”

Childe sits next to him, the lightning the only reflection in otherwise pooled eyes.

It’s like staring down into a well, expecting to see empty sockets at the bottom, only to realize the water has risen from heavy rains since the last time you looked, and that you shouldn’t be able to stare into the skull you’re peering at.

“Childe?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

That how Childe talks in Diluc’s dreams.

But the smile slowly melts off of this one’s face, and the lightning crackles behind him, and Diluc feels a cold creep into his bones, under the skin of his burnt fingers.

“I always end up needing the Fatui to save the people I-,” Childe starts, and then coughs so suddenly Diluc watches the man’s body contort with the force, thinking of those muscles tightening over his spine, wishing not for the first or last time that his powers were good for anything other than destruction.

If only he were Jean. Or Benny.

Kaeya’s ragged eyelid flashes through his mind as the sky turns white again, and Diluc is sitting up, his abdomen groaning as he reaches out to Childe.

But the other man has an arm over his face, stretching across to rest on his knee. He hides himself, hacking into the dark grass beside his far hip, his body saving Diluc from the misery of seeing if not the agony of wondering.

He wipes his closest eye on tattered pieces of his shirt as he turns back. Childe looks down from behind his arm, tears running down the farthest eye, the glassy one filled with corpses.

“It worked,” he says, and though the first word is a haggled mess, his smoked out voice tapers by the end, into only a forced stage whisper fitting a fallen king, and then lip syncing.

Diluc rises to his knees so that childe is looking up at him, setting one hand on the ginger’s cheek, knocking away his arm with the blatant force of the weary.

Nearly collapsing on him. Knees on the slick grass.

The sound of the pounding rain enters his deafened ears, the clap of thunder far away.

Childe smiles. “Don’t fall,” he says.

Diluc's eyes widen in fear, his hands shaking.

Childe is attempting to glare, but it’s the look a fox gives when his paw is stuck in the fence. The last attempt of a caught animal to appear to be someone to be feared.

The spit of smoke falls from Childe’s busted lip to the ground, and a voice emerges.

Those eyes are cold pain.

“After all, the king of Mondstadt has a soft heart.”

Diluc plans to carry Childe home.

First, they check the spot where Timmie would be. No one is there, thankfully, but down the hill they can see Brook.

He gives up on trying to return to the tavern, or on setting up a small red tent to be battered in the ensuing storm, “which, by the way, was definitely not caused by me.”

The voice sounds like his vocal cords are being strangled.

Diluc smiles to hear him still speaking. He wanted to carry Childe back home, wrapped in his arms, all safe.

“I was going to let you humor me.”

“For how long?” Childe sucks in a breath, all lungs, chest heaving. He’s got Diluc’s good arm around his back, Diluc’s torn shin on the outside of them both. He nearly collapses, but they forgo the path, wandering along the edge of the cliff, to beat the smoke on the way back to Diluc’s house.

“As long as it took.”

“For what?”

“That’s for me to know,” Diluc says, trying to keep them both awake. He groans as Childe helps lift his leg over a rock. If ‘helping’ means ‘leans over and drags Diluc across his bony hip’.

“To what end?” Childe grunts, setting Diluc down, which does wonders for the redhead’s confidence. He reaches down to Childe’s waist and singlehandedly lifts him over the remaining rocks.

“My own agenda.”

“Heh.”

The insecurity of it is so familiar to Childe that although his back tenses, he slips into a troubled daze, sagging against his friend.

Like this, they continue to trade off their strength, one gaining a second strangled wind as the other stumbles, their lungs whistling.

There’s no fire to put out, so Kaeya is not needed. The bell stops tolling.

Kaeya looks afterwards at the dirt and mud on the ground. At the scorched spot where bodies lay. At the ashed remains of the rifthounds and the lector, which he can see even if few others know what it is they’re looking at.

“Well, the rain scared everything away,” Draff says, a hand on his hip.

Kaeya is busy wondering how perfectly wet trees lit on fire in the rain.

“I can’t breathe,” Childe says, and then falls to his knees to throw up some more. He hacks, yellowish globs falling from his lungs to the rags Diluc placed under him on the ground. Albedo will need to see how bad it is, to determine what to do.

“Let it out,” Diluc says, cupping his back. “Get it out.”

Miss Addy rushes up the path trailing from the back of Dawn Winery, throwing subtlety out the window so she can drop to her knees. Diluc opens his inventory for her already-reaching hand, and she grabs his first aid kit, dragging it so that half of the supplies fall out, weapons littering the floor in silvery piles.

She tourniquets Diluc’s arm again, and then her and Childe set about trying to stop the bleeding from his stomach wound, where the Delusion weakened him and the ice shard caused a still-bleeding bruise under the skin.

“This will be fun to open,” Miss Addy says drily, while Diluc’s lip curls in disbelief and offense.

“Fun for who?”

But this is the woman who has been taking care of him since he fell out of trees and fought hilichurl camps with a wooden practice sword. So she just looks at him and snips her scissors in the air twice.

Childe hands Diluc a scrap of leather to bite on.

Miss Addy cuts the wound open to push to blood out, and to stop up the inside with a mass of powder sent straight from Sumeru, where it was refined after being produced in mass quantities in Natlan.

“Perfect for blood-setting,” she says, words which Childe and Diluc are quite certain they don’t hear right.

Well, Childe can’t hear much over Diluc’s angry groans, and the man’s skin is so hot that it nearly hurts to work around. But his bitten arm needs treatment, and he has to be given an antidote.

Diluc bites the cap off of the bottle and drinks it down, gasping, dropping the reinforced glass on the wooden floor without it shattering. He reaches for bandages for his leg, to help, holding a smattering of them to a puncture in his shin from a claw. “Better than being disemboweled,” he mutters around the leather.

“Such talent to speak,” Childe says, digging rocks out of the open wounds on Diluc’s arm, settled in from when he was being flung out of the road by Childe’s scooping method.

Diluc throws his head to the side, crying, but quiet.

“Sorry.” Childe’s water washes the wounds clean, while the man rattles off a story. “There was once this place I visited in Sumeru, that had a bunch of mushrooms. I loved it. You’d both like it too.”

“Oh?” Miss Addy fits gauze to Diluc’s stomach, drawing the blood to the cloth so she can stitch the edges of the wound.

“Yeah, they were all glowing and set up really high like trees. You can jump from one to another, too.”

“You can jump from them?” Diluc asks, even though he knows the answer. He looks back, head rolling, then away again, eyes squinting from the pain. Tears mix with his makeup and soot, tracking down his cheeks to rest in his cupid’s bow like a new freckle.

“Yeah, it’s really fun,” Childe says, trying not to cry. He’s only on the first hole in Diluc’s arm, and there are several on either side despite the armor built into the man’s coat, but it’s still terrifying. He’s shaking.

He sets his shoulders, feeling the fear settle around him, a heavy coat.

Childe begins sewing, pressing his ungloved finger into the Sumeru powder, and then pushing it as far into the bloody pool as he can.

Diluc hisses through his nose, sniffling, looking away again. Looking back, fascinated, as Childe draws a bloody finger out.

Childe winces just from the sight, trying to ignore the sensation of the fact that the blood is clotting, and that not all of it is blood, severed skin coming along with it. He stitches down into the hole, closing it, and then moving on to the next, until Diluc’s arm is pockmarked with stitches.

“You’re lucky I worked for a vet for half a year,” he says, leaning over Diluc to get more supplies from the assortment Addy dumped, which Diluc is focused on sorting through.

“Do we have pain meds for him?"

“Yeah, here.”

Miss Addy stays until the bleeding stops. The two of them leave Diluc on the ground, since he’s a bit heavy for either of them to lift when it’s not an immediate emergency.

“Did you give him a blanket?” Miss Addy speaks to Childe for a moment, looking up to the hill where they can vaguely make out figures moving through the smoke.

“The bastard threw it off.”

“I can hear you two,” the bastard says, opening his eyes a bit. “It was too hot.”

“You’re too hot,” Childe says, as smoothly as if he does every morning. He looks to Addy. “Anything more I need to know?”

“You can’t get into the safe,” she says with a sigh.

“The Bank of Snezhnaya says I don’t need to,” he retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

She frowns when she sees the surface. Rummages through her bag, hands him a bottle of pills. “Clear your lungs, at the very least.”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” he says, glancing at the label to see if it’s even something he can take.

He remembers Dottore’s laughing face, having one hand in Foul Legacy form and the rest of his aching teenage body only human, and nearly shudders.

But he is an adult now, and he has done this for a long time. He swallows, and looks to Addy, and though no light reaches his eyes, his smile is kind. “Thank you for everything.”

He’s the one who put the pillow under Diluc’s head, she thinks.

He reads her thoughts as she glances at her friend. “Yeah, but he saved me from getting eaten by a rifthound,” Childe blurts out, smiling again. Let’s get her on their trail early, figure out who brought the bastards all the way from Inazuma to here, cause I don’t remember them being on Mondstadt’s monster repetoire, Scaramouche.

“I see,” Miss Addy says. “I don’t know what that is.”

Sure you don’t. “Of course,” Childe says with a smile, his fingers starting to tremble.

The smoke is still there in the morning.

Of course, Jean got there far earlier, when the guards at the front gate saw the smoke rising over the trees.

By morning, the smell lingers in the market, making townspeople netvous.

But Klee is accounted for and unblamed, and though some remember that old black fire incident from years ago, most shrug it off as a hilichurl thing. Which is to say, they’re very mad about it.

Lining up outside the Knights’ headquarters demanding to know what they’ll do.

Jean stays at the site for a long time, digging into the mud with the toes of her boot, watching the rain pool the blood. She covers it over with mud and grass, looking up to meet Rosaria’s eyes.

She simply points behind her, to where Kaeya is standing.

“Is he at least wearing a mask?”

“Yes, the idiot put one on. Apparently he doesn’t like the idea of suicide-by-smoke.”

“Finally, something he doesn’t pretend to be okay with,” Jean says, and the two of them walk up beside him.

“That was fucking awful,” Childe says, gasping. He’s under a blanket Addy grabbed as she ran out of the house, breathing hard. “What if they didn’t all get out?”

“They did. They’re downstairs.”

“All of them? Even the horse?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Even the lady with the cat?” Childe’s trembling fingers close around Diluc’s sleeve, the fear of having left anyone behind nearly collapsing him.

He watched the smoldering treeline for a long time, as Diluc took the long way back to avoid the worst of the smoke.

“Yes. I saw her when they came in. She had looked terrified, and soaked from the rain, which is far better than being burnt.”

Or smothered, choked to death by a smoke Childe didn’t understand.

“I didn’t know smoke could get so hot,” he says, hands flying to his throat. “Or so blinding. Timmie?!”

Diluc freezes for a half a second, long enough for Childe to see his expression and for his chest to constrict, because he believes there is nothing he can do. He throws up.

“We have to go back.”

"He's fine," Miss Addy snaps at them both. "Diona's already there getting everyone out."

Kaeya is holding a very interesting find between his fingers. He turns back to them, hearing them approach. He’s wearing a mask, a handkerchief over it, frosted though the frost melts a moment later, so that it remains wet.

Jean walks over, in the same getup, green to match her outfit. Rosaria is wearing black outlined with white. She has a finger hooked on Jean’s ear, to keep her mask wet.

“Didn’t know trees grow oil,” Kaeya says drily, showing them the small packet.

“It’s paper, folded over,” Jean narrates, her thoughts given to them aloud.

“Yes.” Kaeya’s voice is soft in the smoke. With one hand, his fingers pry the paper’s folds open, showing the small blot of oil inside.

Rosaria breathes in a bit too fast, coughing. “Did they fall?” She swallows, then tugs her mask down, bending double to get low enough to spit a glob onto the dirt.

Jean’s face creases, forehead and nose wrinkling. “Tied,” her and Kaeya say together, her in question and he in response.

There’s a bit of cord wound around the packet.

“Tied around a tree a bit farther than the others,” Kaeya says, pointing with one boot at the tree which was laden with the danger, which stands farther down the path than the ones which burned.

There’s a visible line between the trees with smoking tops, and the ones with living leaves. The dead are waving at the rest, though the smoke blinds their vision from the terrible sight.

“You got everyone out,” Diluc says.

For the first time, Childe realizes what he’s under. It’s cozy, but the blanket on him costs more than his family home. He stares at Diluc in disbelief. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did.”

“Anyone would have done it.”

Diluc laughs. “Anyone would have run into flaming trees?”

“I didn’t run into them, though I did see you get slammed – are you okay?” He sits up, brow tightening. His eyes are bright, and for a second Diluc feels a nauseous wave of fear, until he realizes it’s just the candlelight in Childe’s eyes.

Childe eyes it warily, waving a hand, drenching the candles, putting them all out. He’s shaking.

Addy rushes back over, carrying lampgrass. “Tunner brought some. He’ll be looking after the horse tonight.”

“I’m alright,” Diluc says, staring at the darkness that is Childe’s eyes, before the lampgrass illuminates the backdrop glow of them again. It’s like looking at stars in an ocean. There’s plenty under there, but their light doesn’t shine into it. Their light is held on the surface, for all on either side of the waves to admire.

“I’m alright,” Diluc says again, sighing.

“We’ll need to stop being stubborn,” Childe says bluntly, pouting as he coughs again. “Call Jean in the morning.”

“Diona’s on the rescue squad,” Addy says, squinting at the path behind the boys, where she can vaguely see three figures standing. Oh good.

Diluc rolls his eyes, grunting some sort of response. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to know I started it.”

“No,” Childe says, breathing again. “I think my nose is shot now, even worse than when I was sick, but,” he says, rubbing under his nose, “I smelled something weird. Oil?”

“Someone planted the packets on the trees,” Kaeya says, looking at the long line of the ones still left to check.

“Tied them on?” Rosaria looks over his shoulder in horror.

“Yup.”

“Who? The Abyss, or,” Jean begins to say, trailing off. Thinking of Childe.

“Or the Fatui,” Rosaria says.

“Or Treasure Hoarders,” Kaeya says, smiling and shrugging his shoulders, suddenly so angry he’s upbeat. “Could be them. Could be anyone in a mask.”

Jean and Rosaria exchange a glance. Jean shakes her head. Best not to get involved.

Count me a fly on the wall for that argument. Rosaria thinks, scratching her cheek through her mask.

Tell me the details, Jean communicates through a sigh, running a hand over her hair, tightening her ponytail. “So, let’s investigate. I doubt the Fatui did it this time, or at least, if they did, we can bet it’s a different Harbinger.”

“You think they were targeted?” Kaeya’s quiet, his back turned to them, uncharacteristically. For a moment, he forgot he’s supposed to emulate how Diluc was, not how he is. He’s gone somber again.

He turns back with a start, trying to smile, forcing it.

“You look constipated,” Rosaria says, unable to help herself.

“It wasn’t me,” Childe says.

“I know,” Diluc says.

“Stop moving,” Addy says, closing the wound still bleeding from his chin.

“Sorry,” Diluc says.

“I can’t believe I thought that was Diluc’s.”

“Sorry,” Childe says.

Diluc sighs, rummaging through his inventory for an umbrella to keep them all dry. His mind feels numb, his chest aching after the lack of fresh air. Need to add provisions against suffocation, he thinks.

That was so fucking awful, Childe thinks. Fuck that, I’m so glad my Vision is water, no offense Diluc. We would be so dead if I didn’t practice that whale.

He looks up to see a kid walking through the smoke. “Hi little one,” he says, smiling.

Diluc hears a hiss, and then Childe is clutching his face, falling backwards from his spot on the ground.

Diluc catches him with one arm to keep him from landing on his back, and calmly looks to Diona, whose arms are crossed to hide the claws on her hands, and Kaeya, whose hands are on his hips. They both look pissed.

“Good evening. How may we help you?”

Rosaria emerges from the smoke, and Diluc manages a smile. Jean walks out behind her.

“Fuck,” Diluc says.

“We’re so fucking dead,” Childe mutters.

Miss Addy laughs at them both.

Chapter Text

It’s 14:00 when Diluc slips into Childe’s quarters.

Of course, the Winery has wings as long as Ajax’s village square - a manor that’s been added onto for a millennia is simply going to eat up room. And it doesn’t help that every window the man looks out of is full of grapes, vines, and sunshine, as far as the eyes can see, until the edges of the map are cresting cliffs, and beyond those rolling hills, which seem to wash like waves onto the wondrous mountains - the first bit of territory that looks remotely like home to Ajax Tartaglia Childe Issue #1 of Diluc’s Remedies…is the evergreen line, snow-sloped and treacherous.

He turns when the handle is pressed, but Diluc’s three steps farther into the room than Childe might have been expecting. The man just bursts out into raucous laughter. “Dude, you’re alive!”

“And you nearly weren’t.” Diluc’s growl is nothing like his hand, which lashes out and grips Childe’s entire waist, lifting the man into the air like he’s nothing more than another sword.

And he is. Maybe. If you try hard enough to ignore the human flesh, and the scent of blood.

Diluc drives Childe’s head and shoulders into the pillows again. “How dare you try to get up.” There’s a harsh bite on his ear, earning a yelp and half-hearted smack against a chest.

“Ow! You know, I’m not a fucken’ dog.”

“You’re whatever I say you are,” Diluc says, and for a half-second Childe’s breath catches. When Diluc’s like this - just a chest in his face, and not the long hair and not the scars and not the insane gap moe that is such a pretty visage for being a vicious, possibly man-eating cannibalistic - yes, Childe knows all the rumors…well, without him being visibly Diluc, he’s just a man in a shirt and a threat and a half for other reasons.

Childe looks up as the first waterdroplets hit his bottom lashes.

“Diluc…” The Diluc Ragnvindr, is crying.

“Shut up.” His wrist, wrapped and bleeding through alarmingly bright-red, rubs his nose like a chapel boy trying to hide his tears.

“This boy needs iron,” Childe’s busy muttering, then gasps like a Fontanian primadonna whose cupcake toppled onto the ground. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You nearly Died! All I can hear is you Screaming.” And then, well, maybe the danger did come back after all. Why? Oh, because Diluc is Diluc and his pretty hand is clamped onto Childe’s throat.

Not exactly pressing down, but his hips are.

“Did you miss me?” Childe’s unsure what to do with this. Yeah, they almost died. Isn’t that normal? A fact of life? People die, swords break, Harbingers don’t get replaced too quickly because it’s super hard to find one, “Surprise-surprise, I’m one of a kind, baby.” Childe fingerguns, with a big grin.

Diluc frowns, tossing the man’s ginger locks under a pillow. “Tch. I shouldn’t have worried about you at all.”

“Are you…bipolar? I’m not discriminating,” Childe amends, scrambling out from under the silk. Though honestly, the very thought of being under that man in this daze is so dangerously enticing, his stomach’s doing fifty flips a minute. “Just…you know, maybe new meds aren’t working? Did you take them?”

Diluc looks over with the most petulant frown ever known to a grown man who isn’t cheating and throwing up ‘cause she cheated back. She sniffs once, wipes his nose again on another bandage farther up his arm. “No.”

“Okay, so let’s go find them.”

“I’m not bipolar.”

“Oh.” That gives him pause. Childe’s gaze flits around the room, wondering if Diluc got into /his/ drugs. They tend more towards the ‘please-let-me-die’ kind, but of course cyanide does degrade and we’ve all heard of the Principle of how that went.

“Maybe you got hit in the head,” Childe mutters, turning away to get dressed, maybe. Take a piss.

Diluc growls again, his hand snatching out for a fistful of hair. Slowly, against all protests he’s currently ignoring, he turns Childe towards him.

Childe just lets him, because he’s a bit too sore all-over to play Fight The Beast, and quite honestly as his eyes are adjusting, he’s starting to line up Mora trinities in them. “Fuck. Gilded walls? Is that a bookshelf made from a tree? And why do you have so many books?”

Books are, of course, mostly made on presses these days, but there’s an exquisite number of them, and they’re all…

…all…

…extremely valuable.

It dawns on Childe then that the man holding him is not just the bane of Snezhnaya’s existence, his old fuckbuddy, a war soldier who just massacred his men, or his greatest - and hottest - enemy…but also a fucking twenty-something-year-old rich-kid who inherited a fortune, and is very, extremely used to not even dressing himself before all of the scars turned him into a wildebeest of a hermit.

“No wonder you have no emotional control. You don’t have a soul!”

“Shut up, ginger.”

Childe’s fingers steeple together like he’s trying to recreate Favonius Cathedral. Or a gallows. “All I’m saying is, shouldn’t you want me dead?”

“If I wanted you dead,” Diluc says, painstakingly laying down another towel, “I would have killed you.”

Childe squints at it, then at him. “Why are you laying down towels? You’re so royal -” you don't need to clean your own room, he thinks. Let alone a towel. It's...silly. The blankets will be washed by someone else, their clothes. Towels are a fool's errand, it must be a rich boy playing at softness.

“Mondstadt has no royalty.” Diluc wonders if Childe likes the color. Soft grey, with a hint of blue.

“-right. You’re so close to royalty, aka the only royalty Mondstadt has, because countries don’t run without kings-”

A long-suffering sigh. “Yes, they do.”

“If the grand Master were a dictator, who would win? You or him?”

Diluc would pinch his nose, but it was recently rebroken. He doesn’t look at Childe for one…two…three…

”All I’m saying is,” Childe gasps out, groaning as he’s pressed forwards again.

He’s on his stomach, of course, his favorite way of taking blame without having to look someone in the eyes for it. Diluc is scowling down at him. “Show me your stupid face.”

“No.” A quick retort.

“You’re hugging yourself like a freshwater maiden,” Diluc complains, tugging again at one arm - his hand nearly encompasses one of those biceps. He really did grow up, some.

“I’m allowed to be chaste!”

Diluc pulls back, giving Childe a chance to breathe. One beat, two.

Then out, turning him over more carefully. Those blue eyes glare up at him. “What were you saying? Just…say it. I’ll finish later.”

Something in Childe dies. For a half-second, he wonders how many laters there will be. Whether one of them will watch their allies shoot their enemy dead, the other falling beside them. “Who are we fighting for?”

“You? A family you can’t extract. Me? Mondstadt.”

“Does the City love you?” Childe’s head drops forward.

“Does your Tsaritsa know your name?”

Childe just glares, for a second so pregnant it could be called omegant. “Okay. You can be rougher now. And I’m going to look you dead in the eyes, so you have to live with what you just said to me.” He’s laughing, but it’s wild.

And Diluc’s smile is ever so soft, because it’s the closest Childe has ever gotten to disparaging the people who did this to him, to a child grown into an adult he was never supposed to be - not alive, not wounded, not rationalizing, not rebelling, not in bed with the enemy.

When Diluc pushes him down this time, one hand on a stomach scraped open by a Vision that’s now on the side table, he does so infinitely more gently.

But only for a moment.

“As I was saying.” Childe struggles just to catch his breath. He doesn’t look in Diluc’s eyes, still. Just…twirls a long strand of hair around his finger, and watches the locks move like a curtain over him.

He’s soft. Not pliable, not faking it. Just genuinely sore, and a bit locked up from fears they don’t talk about. “For a long moment before I woke up, I thought you might take me captive.”

“You are,” Diluc says simply, and for a moment something soft lands on Childe’s cheek. So simple, it seems at once incredibly painful that he hasn’t felt anything so kind in so long.

His life stretches out behind him, a miserable cascade of bloody boots, squelching socks that somehow sound more obscene than everything in his room, and far more respected. How is it better to kill every man in every country he invades, or to risk being killed, to be whipped for daring to slide his hand over a man’s waist, which is what they got him in Snehznaya for…than to invade this man’s country with intent to kill?

If saving a man's waist from the scars along his shoulder blades, cutting off wings, is worth fifty lashes...what would a kiss cost? What is it's value, to the man in the free world, versus the prisoner invading?

Diluc has stopped moving, sensing somehow that there is no consent when one of them is in another country entirely.

Childe sniffs when he comes back. He doesn’t cry, but he does wrap his arms around Diluc’s neck, never the man’s upper back, and for a long moment they fall quiet.

Neither finishes.

It’s dinnertime when Diluc is approached by the ginger again. He’s quieter now, likely locked in the same thoughts, or in whatever justified version he’s manufactured in his head.

“How will you explain away working with me?” Childe sinks into a chair, snickering. “You’re gonna get in a loooot of trouble, once someone finds out who I am.”

“A ginger I took home. Worst they think, is you’re underage. Eat some fucking vegetables.”

“Ew, no,” Childe snaps, just giggling a half-second later. He’s always…like this. Theatrical. Alive.

It makes the fire burning within Diluc that much hotter, and every candle flame on the table flickers to the right at once.

Childe sees it, sitting on the other side. He’s still chewing, and scooches his chair back further, looking around for servants but finding the entire front room devoid of them. “Do you live alone? I read a book like that, some rich guy with no real servants-”

“I have servants,” Diluc explains gently, with so much restraint that Childe has to search the annals of his memory (like a library) to remember that nobles are actually insulted by insinuations they cannot afford a person for every task.

“Whoops, my bad. You’re hiding their faces.”

“Yes. Because they are asleep.” Diluc just gives Childe a look like instead of being a wild, rescued dog, he perhaps is a very stupid mouse.

Childe pouts like one, through most of dinner.

“Do you like your vegetables?”

“Yes.” … … “Thank you. I forgot that part.”

“It’s fine,” said as a cascading sigh. The only recompense is the tiniest glimmer of Diluc’s smile in the candlelight as he turns his head away, readjusts a fork probably used for a specific dish, and enjoys his steak. “Well done.”

“No, actually, this is medium rare.” Childe gestures to his own. “I like mine bloody.”

“No, Childe. Your work. Saving us.”

“… … … Oh.”

Oh.