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1. one bad night, i’ll hold the glass until the glass can hold me down
The first time it happens, Xiao finds Venti draped over the railing at Wangshu. He’s got bottles scattered behind him and a half-full glass in his hands, swirling the dark wine absently. But when his eyes flick up to Xiao, tears gathered along his lashes, Xiao knows the emptiness isn’t from the alcohol.
“Yep. This is who the Anemo Archon truly is. Surprise. Try not to be too rough when you kick me out.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I will not be kicking you out.”
Venti snorts, downing the rest of the glass in one go. He looks at it. Looks at the empty bottle at his elbow. Looks at Xiao. “Got any Mora?”
“I have no need to collect currency.”
“...Of course not. Guess I won’t be getting drunk tonight.”
“Why do you wish to be drunk?”
“Drink enough and you won’t remember anything the next morning. Gets me through shitty nights like this one.”
Xiao shifts his weight. “Is there no other way?”
“Not much else that can distract me ‘til dawn.” Venti pauses. Looks at Xiao from the corner of his eye.
When Venti drags his gaze along Xiao’s body, Xiao burns.
He won’t say he hasn’t thought about it.
What that pretty voice would sound like moaning his name.
How soft that cecilia skin would be beneath his hands.
The way he’d squirm, tremble, whimper as Xiao explores every inch of him.
How those eyes would darken as Xiao drops to his knees, ready to worship.
The bruises he could make bloom along that flawless skin, the way Venti’s voice would pitch up as Xiao sinks his teeth in, the flush of heat that colors Venti pretty pink.
And suddenly, Venti’s in front of him, pressing forward, hands skirting across Xiao’s chest, his arms, growing more confident as Xiao doesn’t pull away.
“Xiao...you think you can keep me busy all night?”
Xiao slides his hand into the back of Venti’s hair, grabbing a handful and pulling. Venti’s head goes back, mouth dropping open, face darkening, eyes glazing over. Throat exposed. Xiao leans in, drags his lips along Venti’s neck, tasting the thready melody of his pulse, heat pooling below his flipping stomach. He follows the curve back up, teeth grazing the soft skin, until he’s close enough to whisper in Venti’s ear:
“I know I can.”
Venti keeps his promise.
When the first rays of sunlight pierce the sky, he sits up. Back to Xiao. Stands. Redresses himself.
Xiao feels himself twitch, growing hard again, as he sees the trail of bruises on Venti’s neck, nestled between his thighs, pressed into his hips, punctuated by neat bite marks.
They disappear beneath Venti’s layers, none the wiser.
Venti angles his hat, still not looking at Xiao.
“It can’t be anything more than this.”
“I know.”
Venti’s silent.
And then he looks at Xiao, just briefly, something hidden in his eyes. “Thank you.”
And he’s gone.
Xiao reaches beneath the covers, wrapping a hand around himself.
He thinks about the way Venti arched against him, the way he squeezed around Xiao as his mouth hung open, the sweet little sounds he made as he came all over his own stomach, making such a mess of that tiny little waist.
He thinks about the way Venti begged for Xiao to fuck him until he screamed, how he put Xiao’s hands in his hair and said “pull as hard as you want, baby,” how he shivered and shook as Xiao pulled out, cum leaking down his thighs, how he pleaded as Xiao sucked his way down his throat, his chest, his voice pitching up just the way Xiao imagined it would as he bit down, how he was dripping wet before Xiao even touched his cock.
He thinks about the way Venti loomed over him, hand in his hair, fucking into his mouth slowly, sweetly, telling him “you’re so good, Xiao, so good, so good for me, taking me so well, oh, if you could just see the way your pretty little mouth is stretched around my cock,” how he moaned as Xiao swallowed around him, as his tip hit the back of Xiao’s throat.
How Xiao came untouched just from that.
Xiao takes as much of himself as he can in one hand, squeezing.
It’s nowhere near the same.
Fuck.
2. and one bad night, i’ll spill and spill until my feet begin to drown
The second time it happens, Venti seeks him out.
It’s a breezy spring day, just before the sun disappears below the horizon, two months after the first time (not that Xiao’s counting, of course. He’s not. That would be ridiculous).
There’s a gust of wind and then Venti’s feet slip into the water next to Xiao, soundlessly. There’s something different in the way he holds himself, this time, something in his voice. Something hidden in his eyes, just like when he left.
“Again?”
Venti looks away, face not quite blank. “...Sorry.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Oh.”
He’s hesitant. Feet shuffling through the water. Shoes held behind his back, hanging off two fingers.
Xiao sits up straighter, knees falling to either side.
Venti stops just next to Xiao, looking around.
“Would you prefer to go somewhere else?”
“I-I don’t mind. It’s pretty here.”
“And no one else is ever here.”
“Aren’t...aren’t these pools sacred or something? Would it really be okay to…” Venti trails off, cheeks pink.
Cute.
…
Fuck.
“Once. Not anymore. The humans who dwelled here are long since gone. And…” He pulls Venti down into his lap, hips canting up without permission, his already hardening cock grinding against Venti’s ass. Venti shudders, exhaling softly, eyes slipping half shut, hands coming up to rest against Xiao’s chest. “These pools were said to be made by the love between two gods. So I don’t think they’ll mind if we indulge ourselves.”
“Okay…”
Venti’s less desperate about it. He takes his time—his lips meet Xiao’s gently, pulling back just a little bit before brushing against them again. And Xiao drinks in every little noise, every hum, every sigh. Drags his hands up Venti’s thighs, revels in the way he shudders. Pulls their hips flush against each other.
Too many layers.
Venti must think the same thing.
He takes each piece of clothing off slowly. Pulls the ribbon at his neck and lets his cape fall behind him. Hangs his hat on a low branch. Unlaces his corset. Unbuttons his shirt excruciatingly slow. But eventually it slips off his shoulders and Xiao detaches his mouth from Venti’s to kiss his way along Venti’s jaw, down his throat.
Venti’s hand comes up to Xiao’s hair—but it doesn’t pull, it doesn’t grab. It just rests there, tangles between the strands lightly. He does use it to bring Xiao’s mouth back to his, though.
He takes Xiao’s hand in his other, guiding it to the band of his shorts.
Oh.
Xiao pulls off his gloves, dropping them off to the side, and then goes back to Venti’s hips.
He slips his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulls Venti’s shorts and tights down at the same time, pushes them over the curve of his perky little ass, dick springing free and smearing beads of pre-cum over his bare stomach.
Gods.
It takes a bit more fumbling, but he gets the rest off, an entirely naked Venti straddling his lap.
“Your turn.”
Xiao loses himself in the feel of Venti’s mouth against his, his hands against Xiao’s skin, the surety as Venti removes every layer. He only saw Xiao take his clothes off once, but he does it all flawlessly—no stuttering, no pausing, no pulling back, confused.
Before he knows it, Xiao’s sliding into the shallow water below, hands roving over Venti’s perfect body, skin just as soft, just as smooth, as he remembers.
There’s no begging this time, no pleading, no bruising grips, no dirty talk. Just Venti’s soft “touch me.”
When Venti’s ready, pushing himself down on Xiao’s cock slowly, he whimpers into Xiao’s mouth. Then they’re just sharing breath, foreheads pressed together, Venti’s eyes shut. Xiao rubs a hand along Venti’s side, murmuring soft words he doesn’t remember, pumps Venti gently, thumbing his slit, until Venti rocks forward.
He’s surprisingly quiet.
But the way he whispers Xiao’s name, chanting it like a prayer, alights something in Xiao’s chest that burns hotter than the first time.
And Xiao remembers thinking: oh no.
When Venti finally comes, it’s the loudest he’s been all night. But it’s still just a bit quieter than his normal speaking voice. Feels like a whisper compared to the echoes still ringing in Xiao’s mind.
Venti keeps rolling his hips, arms slung around Xiao’s shoulders, and when he whispers in Xiao’s ear: “come for me, Xiao—”
Well.
How could Xiao deny him?
Venti shudders, a low moan hidden into Xiao’s neck. “Good boy.”
Oh.
Oh no.
They stay like that—Venti wrapped around Xiao, Xiao still sheathed in Venti, Xiao’s hands (hesitantly) spread over Venti’s back—and when Venti moves, giggles, as Xiao gets hard in him, they do it all over again.
Venti, sighing against Xiao’s lips, whispers: “This goes both ways, you know. If you ever need a distraction...just call out to me.”
“...Okay.”
Venti’s arms tighten around Xiao and he buries his face into Xiao’s neck, breathing softly.
Just like before, Venti pulls away with the rising sun.
He bites his lip, not looking at Xiao, palms resting on Xiao’s chest (one over his heart, Xiao thinks but doesn’t say), and rises up until Xiao slips out of him. He reaches up, grabs his clothes, holds them close, and says: “Thank you.”
And then he’s gone.
3. one bad night, i’ll hear you calling me to help you not pass out
The third time, it’s Xiao who looks to Venti.
The voices are screaming at him, the hatred pulling at his skin, roiling along his veins.
His vision blurs. Darkens.
Damn it.
“Venti. Venti, please. Please, I need—”
And then there are soft hands on him, sweet, soft words in his ear, soft kisses along his jaw.
The voices get quieter.
“I’m here, Xiao. I’m here. What do you need?”
“I need. To not think.”
Hands carding through his hair. “Okay. I can do that for you. Do you trust me?”
He shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
He has no reason to.
A distant god turned the occasional no-strings-attached fuck.
He shouldn’t.
“Yes.”
“Let me make you feel good.”
Xiao shudders, closes his eyes, leans into Venti’s touch. “Okay.”
He, truly, loses himself in the feeling, this time. He doesn’t know when they went back to Wangshu, but Xiao’s suddenly on his back, in a bed, Venti’s deft hands stripping him in what seems like seconds. He wonders if this is what Venti feels like when Xiao touches him, when Xiao’s mouth is on him, when he sank into the warm, wet of Xiao’s throat.
Venti takes him in all the way, not hesitating for a single second, and Xiao doesn’t last long at all.
And then Venti’s kissing over his body again, trailing bruises down Xiao’s hips, decorating his inner thighs, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin.
“So good, Xiao, so good. You’re doing so well. Don’t worry, baby, just lay back and I’ll take care of you.”
Venti’s slick fingers circle his entrance, Venti mouthing at his cock, kissing along it, sucking, dragging the flat of his tongue up and swirling around his head. Xiao doesn’t realize when Venti’s finger slips in until it’s already there, pumping in and out.
“Oh, you’re so cute like this. That’s right, don’t hide your noises. Let me hear. Show me how good you feel. Good boy, such a good boy.”
Fuck.
“Oh, you like that? Then be a good boy and relax for me,” is the only warning he gets. Venti adds a second finger, spreading them out, rubbing against Xiao’s walls.
Oh, he can see why Venti likes this so much.
This shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
And then—
Xiao arches back, vision going white, arcs of fire racing through him, up, muscles shaking.
“There it is.”
He can’t even form words. Doesn’t try. It’s almost overwhelming. The amount of pleasure wracking through his body as Venti rubs his fingers against that one spot over and over and over and over—
He curls forward, sheets ripping under his nails, letting out one of the lewdest moans he’s ever heard. If he was in a more composed state of mind, he’d be more embarrassed but—
Venti slips a third finger in.
He skirts around that one spot, thankfully. Just the drag of Venti’s fingers in him is almost too much.
“I’m not done with you yet. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you won’t be able to think a single damn thought, baby.”
Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fuck—
Xiao’s stomach flips and just won’t stop. He feels so hot, burning, electrified, lighter than air, like a melted puddle of slime all at once.
He loses count after the fourth time he comes.
Venti’s relentless.
(“So good for me, Xiao, you’re taking my cock so well, so good, you feel so good, so tight, gods, I could fuck you all day, just look at your cute little ass spread open for me, so shameless, such a little slut for me, aren’t you? You like that? You like it when I fuck you senseless? A-ah~ such a good boy for me, so good, I’ll definitely have to reward you for your cute little sounds, won’t I?”)
But he makes good on his promise.
Xiao truly can’t think of anything but the feel of Venti pounding into him from every angle, the slick feel of cum dripping down his thighs, spreading over his stomach, the burst of heat every time Venti sinks in deep and fills him up again and again.
A couple hours before sunrise, Venti pulls out, panting, dripping sweat, rubs a hand along Xiao’s side. Presses a gentle kiss to his lips. His cheek. “You okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
Xiao shakes his head.
“Can you use your words?”
“A. Lot. Hn.”
Venti presses kisses to his cheekbones, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth. “A little overwhelmed?”
Xiao nods.
“You’re okay, though?”
Xiao nods.
“Good, good. You did so well. So well.”
Xiao shudders, cock twitching.
Venti laughs, not unkind. “You really like that, huh?” There’s something light in his eyes, something bright, something—
Xiao looks away, face hot.
Venti peppers him with kisses, giggling. “Hm. You need anything?”
When Xiao shakes his head, Venti pulls away, disappears from sight, but quickly returns with a wet washcloth.
When Venti wipes him down, gently, small smile on his face, Xiao has to close his eyes.
Is this what Venti felt like that first time? When Xiao cleaned him up afterwards, more tenderly than he meant to, hoping Venti didn’t notice the way his hands shook.
Was his chest this warm?
His mind this peaceful?
Did his heart and lungs relax like this?
Did he feel like he could finally take in a clear breath of air for the first time?
No, no.
It can’t be anything more than this, he said.
Venti falls into bed next to him, movements getting sluggish, wrapping Xiao in his arms and pulling him close.
When Venti wakes up, sun high in the sky, he wakes up alone.
4. you and i
The fourth time is an accident.
Venti lands on the balcony railing with a bottle in his hands. They pass it back and forth as the stars come to life one by one, talking about nothing.
It must be different than what he had before, because when Xiao really focuses (why...is it so hard to focus…) he notices Venti swaying, words slurring, eyelids heavy.
He feels...fuzzy. Top heavy. He starts swaying with Venti. Hah. It feels funny.
“You...laughing. Xiao, you laughed.”
“Oh. Did I?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure. You did.” Venti takes a long drink. “You have. A nice laugh. You should. More often.”
“Nice? I...nice?”
“Yeah…”
If Xiao was sober, maybe, he would’ve noticed the way Venti says it. The way he trails off. The way he looks at Xiao, some mix of sad, breathless, scared, and…
But he’s not. He’s most definitely not sober. Huh.
“I...never been drunk. Before.”
“Never?”
“Never. It’s...weird.”
Venti laughs.
Oh.
Venti’s laugh is nice.
Xiao likes Venti’s laugh.
Yeah.
He really likes Venti’s laugh.
He wants Venti to keep laughing like. Probably forever. Venti should always be laughing. He shouldn’t ever be sad. “You. Should not be sad.”
“But I’m not sad—”
“Ever. Ever. You shouldn’t ever be sad. I don’t. Like it when you’re sad. I like it when you smile.”
“Xiao. You...talk so different when you’re drunk,” Venti half-giggles. “You sound like. A normal person, maybe. Not some...stuffy adeptus.”
Oh…
“Oh…”
Venti’s mouth opens and closes like fish. Xiao just stares at it. But then Venti settles on: “I didn’t...say it was bad...the-the way you talk...normally...is good, too.”
And Xiao remembers thinking: oh no.
“Oh.”
Venti’s face...is so pretty when he blushes.
Venti’s so pretty always, actually, Xiao has just decided.
“Pretty.”
“Hm?”
“You’re...pretty.”
Ah.
Such a pretty pink.
“You’re pretty.”
Xiao...tries to stand. Is very unsuccessful. So instead, he crawls over to Venti, this short distance. “I am?”
“Yeah...really…” Venti swallows, eyes flicking down, “really pretty…”
He doesn’t remember who leans in first.
But he remembers thinking: oh no.
He doesn’t remember how they get to his room.
But he remembers thinking: oh no.
He doesn’t remember the way Venti undresses him, almost reverent.
But he remembers thinking: oh no.
He doesn’t remember how Xiao takes them both in his hand, Venti’s wrapping around his, fingers intertwining, how they trade soft breaths and soft kisses and soft words.
But he remembers thinking: oh no.
He remembers waking up in the morning, relaxed, warm. Tangled together with Venti. He remembers reaching out, brushing a finger along Venti’s cheek. He remembers the way his heart stuttered.
Oh.
Oh no.
When Venti wakes up, he wakes up alone.
5. divine but not devout
He doesn’t see Venti for a while after that.
The seasons change and summer turns to fall. His balcony becomes littered with golden leaves. But there’s no breeze that ruffles through his hair, no footsteps on the railing, no Venti waiting for him when the sun goes down.
Fuck.
He knew this was going to happen. He knew that first time. He said he knew it could never be more but—
Venti just. Makes it so easy. What’s not to like?
And it’s almost like Venti hears him. Reads his mind. “Xiao—”
It’s different this time.
Venti’s face is streaked with tears, more spilling over every second, breath hitching, eyes wide.
The sun’s still up.
“What’s wrong?” He reaches up, lets Venti fall into his arms, holds him close. “Venti, what happened?”
He’s talking too quiet, too fast, mumbling too much, for Xiao to catch all of it. But he hears enough.
Gnosis.
Stolen.
Someone stole his Gnosis.
Someone stole his Gnosis.
“I need a distraction. Please. Please, I need to stop thinking about it, I need to stop—” he chokes on a sob.
In an instant, they’re in Xiao’s room.
He lays Venti down, gently, presses kisses to his lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead, jaw. Anywhere he can reach. Wipes away his tears. He prays Venti can’t feel the way his hands shake. The way his heart pounds. Can’t feel the pure reverence in the way Xiao touches him, undresses him.
But the moment Xiao’s hand touches his chest, Venti pulls back, sits up, shakes his head. “I can’t. I can’t.” He presses against the headboard, breath getting faster. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
Xiao backs away, puts good distance between them. “Do not apologize. Please.” And then: “Is there anything I can do?”
Venti presses the back of his hand to his mouth, trying and failing to stop the sobs wracking his body.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It hurts, it hurts so much to see Venti in this much pain. Hurts that he can’t do anything—
“Hold me. Tell me a story. Sing me a song. Anything. Please. Just don’t touch my chest.”
Xiao lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”
So he gathers Venti in his arms, cards his hand through Venti’s hair, leans back against the headboard.
He tells Venti stories about five friends, about kind smiles, about glaze lilies and grilled ticker fish and bitter qingxin. He tells him about the waters atop Mt. Aocang, the shenanigans the mighty adepti have gotten into, the face Morax made when Guizhong successfully pranked him. He tells him about a river of stars, about heroes and triumphs and battles won.
He tells Venti about a boy with golden wings, who was young and kind and innocent and gentle.
He doesn’t tell Venti what happened to that boy.
But, he thinks, Venti realizes anyway.
Halfway through a story of the day Bosacius got his Vision and couldn’t stop shocking everyone within five feet, Venti’s breath evens out. And when Xiao looks down—
Good.
Good.
He cups Venti’s face, presses a kiss to his forehead.
And then he, careful to not wake Venti, slides down, pulling the covers over the both of them.
With the steady rhythm of Venti breathing in his arms, Xiao, too, falls deep into sleep.
+1. every night my teeth are falling out
When he wakes up, it’s to a midday sun.
He blinks.
Venti’s already awake, staring at him.
“Good morning.”
Venti’s voice is soft but raspy: “Good morning.”
“How are you feeling?”
Venti opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it: “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Xiao runs a hand through Venti’s hair, heart fluttering at the way Venti leans into it, sighs, eyes slipping shut. “Anything I can do?”
He doesn’t expect Venti to say: “You’re too good for me, Xiao.”
What?
“That is not—”
“It’s true.”
“No.” Venti doesn’t flinch away or grimace or glare. He just opens his eyes, staring at Xiao with an unreadable expression. “It is not true.”
And then his lip begins to tremble. His eyelids flutter. He starts to shake.
“Venti?”
“I want it to be more, Xiao. I told you it couldn’t be, but I want it to be. I’m scared, though. I’m so scared.”
Oh.
Venti looks away, starts to pull back, but Xiao surges forward, catching Venti’s lips with his own. It’s messy and desperate and could barely be considered a kiss. “Me too. Me too.”
He doesn’t miss the way Venti’s breath catches. “Y-you do? Even though I can’t always stay? Even though I’m lazy and annoying and drink all the time?”
“Yes. Yes.” He kisses Venti again, better this time. And, this time, he prays Venti can feel everything he pours into it.
And Venti kisses back with just as much.