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In which Kaeya Alberich was never sent to Mondstadt to become Khaenri’ah’s last hope.
Everyone has heard about the First Harbinger’s son. Rumor has it that he plucked the boy up from the front steps of Zapolyarny Palace almost two decades ago, but no one has ever seen him make a public appearance. The Tsaritsa seems to take a liking to this child, having Lord Pierro keep a boy for this long. The Harbingers have mixed feelings about him. Gossipping agents and personnel perhaps have gotten a glimpse of him as he wandered through the halls or ran errands on behalf of The Jester.
Is that a Vision he wields? Or a Delusion? Is he a spy or an important asset? No one seemed to know, and no one dared to ask.
But there was in fact one thing they could agree on.
That the First Harbinger’s son is absolutely beautiful.
Tartaglia takes the son’s lovelock into his hands and runs it through his fingers, pulling it to his nose to inhale his scent. Like frost invading his nostrils and the essence of azaleas wafting between each strand of hair. Being close to Pierro’s own feels like a felony of the highest order–to indulge in such bliss, taking in the sight of the bare, enticing body below him.
He dips down to take those lips into his own as he brings a hand to a wet, glistening mound.
He hears a gasp, a hand comes to grasp his bicep as legs close in on his hand.
“Shhh, let me worship you properly, Kaeya,” he whispers as he dips his fingers into a tight heat.
The exhale he receives is long and heavy, feeling the boy go limp. He then maps out the expanse of Kaeya’s body with featherlight kisses and small praises. His tongue runs along a hardened nipple, sucking on it as he hears small sighs emit from the man above. Tartaglia looks up to see a debauched face contorted in pleasure as he moves on to the next nipple, circling Kaeya’s clit in smooth, languid strokes with his thumb.
Tartaglia always hated classical music, thinking that it was such a bore to listen to, he found himself enamored in the way Kaeya’s throat sang every moan and mewl he could possibly muster. Easily beating Snezhnaya’s Own Philharmonic. He could already dream of this man’s voice lost in pleasure, greedily taking in his cock, begging for more, making a mess of himself. Just an ethereal mess.
He could mistake this feeling with the Heavens, Celestia, even. Call it sacrilege but Tartaglia has never been the one to deny himself such temptations. He would rather call himself a sinner to luxuriate in Kaeya than stay prim and proper for the sake of the Archons.
But the Eleventh Harbinger takes it slow, stretching Kaeya open with his fingers and getting excited with how drenched Pierro’s son had become. Could he ever be so lucky to land a man like him in his bedroom, nonetheless worship this body?
He withdraws his fingers and licks them, grinning down at Kaeya’s face, flushed deep red in the low light.
Tartaglia then finds Kaeya’s wrists and pins them above his head, “Keep your legs wide open for me now.”
Tartaglia kisses him deeply, not caring if it got sloppy. He nips Kaeya’s lips as if asking permission to enter, and once granted, he slips his tongue inside. Just a fraction of how the Harbinger’s son tastes, and an animalistic part of him wants more. Grabbing the man’s slim waist, he could feel himself almost lose his composure.
Once he gets to see more.
He pulls away from Kaeya, who desperately tries to catch his breath, lowering himself to face Kaeya’s folds, shiny and moist with slick. Like a meal only the richest can eat.
So he drags Kaeya’s hips to the edge of the bed while he rests with his knees firmly planted on the floor, and licks a long stripe along his entrance.
He dives in without another word, sucking and slurping anything the man gives him. He could get drunk on his fluids, already intoxicated with his presence. Nothing would ever compare with the sweet, tangy taste of Kaeya’s pussy. He could compare it to the wide selection of desserts he’s tried in Fontaine, but those pastries would never transcend this taste.
A world of its own. A delicacy only few could enjoy. Perhaps it’s being such a shut-in from the world that Kaeya is perfectly saved for a lucky man like Tartaglia.
His nose nuzzles his clit and a hand grabs his orange locks. Tartaglia hums.
Whatever Kaeya wants, he will give.
He brings his tongue to flick the nub, suckling on it and reveling into the sounds that came after. Call the Harbinger a greedy man, but he wants more of that sound. He wants it to fill the room to the brim, so loud that even the thick walls of Zapolyarny palace couldn’t sustain it. Make sure that the other agents and Harbingers know that Kaeya is his and his alone to worship.
Of course, it is only the thrill of being discovered in such a depraved manner that fills him with excitement. Who knows what the First Harbinger would do to him if he ever finds out that his Eleventh has carnal desires for his son?
If enjoying Kaeya is a crime, he would gladly be executed for it.
Tartaglia brings a thumb to keep Kaeya’s clit company as he weaponizes his tongue to slide into Kaeya’s walls. They clamp down with the intrusion, just as they did his fingers, and he gets hard thinking about how he would feel impaled on his cock. He hasn’t touched himself once this session, but soon his patience will be rewarded once Kaeya feels as if he’s a God.
“Ajax,” Kaeya croaks between pants and moans, “Ajax I’m going to come.”
He hums and smiles in those folds. He wants to be showered in that liquid, like Holy Water bestowed onto him for being such a faithful follower. He inserts his fingers inside him again and mouths at his clit, egging him on.
Kaeya’s moans get louder with every thrust of his fingers and lap of his tongue. He grips the beddings into his fists, almost tearing them with sheer force. A boiling, brewing, and hot sensation pools in Kaeya’s lower abdomen. His back arches and his toes curl, the sensation almost overwhelming.
“Come for me, Kaeya.”
The man’s hips buck up as he squirts all over Tartaglia’s face, drenching his nose, mouth, and chin. It runs down his face, warm and delicious as he licks his lips and admires his work. After his orgasm, his aftermath leaves him shaking, little spurts of liquid still spilling from his pussy, leaving a wet mess on the sheets and on the floor.
Tartaglia’s cock is hard and leaking, almost painful to the touch. But nothing brings him more joy than to see Kaeya’s rapid breathing, recovering from his high.
He has never seen such beauty.
The Harbinger wipes his face with a dry blanket before rising to hover over his superior’s son, still caught in a daze. Gingerly, he brushes aside sweat-dampened bangs to see Kaeya’s golden eye, hazy with lust as he gazes up at Tartaglia. He leans down to kiss him, knowing that his breath smells like sex, but he could care less. His goal is to bring Kaeya pleasure, to spoil him and make him feel like Celestia has a place for him.
He gently pulls Kaeya back towards the pillows resting against the headrest and caresses his face. A soft cheek meets the pad of his thumb, a precious treasure to Tartaglia. Someone he would protect with his life, even if the Tsaritsa no longer favors him and the abyss shall swallow him whole.
He kisses Kaeya again, a tender, yet ravenous action, feeling fingers get tangled in his hair, but too weak to grip. Tartaglia isn’t finished worshiping his deity just yet, because all he needs to do left is the offering .
Hands seize Kaeya’s legs and pull them apart so Tartaglia can slot hips in between them, and press his aching erection flat against those still slickened folds. He grinds slowly, watching how Kaeya’s eyes seal shut and a silent moan escapes his open mouth. Kaeya could feel how large Tartaglia is, and is almost drooling at the thought of it filling him to the brim.
The Harbinger then angles his cock towards Kaeya’s entrance, having his tip brush against his clit before pushing in slowly. He wants to have Kaeya feel every inch of him.
Kaeya’s eyes shoot open at the thick intrusion and lets out a pitiful mewl. Tartaglia smiles as he watches how Kaeya helplessly grabs the pillows behind him with each thrust of his hips, almost prying him open. He squeezes him tight, a heavenly feeling that only Kaeya can provide, a delicious drag of resistance within his walls that almost drives him feral.
Perhaps there could be another time where he can destroy someone so precious to him. But as of now, every inch of skin is as sacred as the land the Tsaritsa’s treads on. Kaeya should be treated with the utmost care during this ritual, and Tartaglia’s only offering to this local God is his own body interconnected with his.
Up until recently the Harbinger had thought that he is the most loyal subject to the Goddess of love, but The Jester’s son rivals everything he ever stood for. Blasphemous; as one may call it. But this man draws Tartaglia to his aura, something worth his teeming adoration. If he could pay homage to Kaeya’s cunt every day, he would.
With every whine and whimper, a confirmation of his efforts, Tartaglia gains speed. Wet and lewd noises fill the room, louder than the haunting chants of the creatures in the Abyss, moaning in unison to the bed creaking with each thrust. The Harbinger feels himself get close, arousal begging to be released.
Each slap of skin on skin makes his brain go haywire, his very own deity’s audible praise filling his ears like the songs of sirens surrounding the bays of Morepesok.
Perfectly manicured nails dig into the flesh on his back, stinging him incessantly, but assuring him that this is all real . Kaeya is below him, taking his cock so well, thunderously accepting his love and worship like a true Archon.
Tartaglia reaches down to play with Kaeya’s clit, rubbing it in time with his movements. The man below chokes on his moan.
Making his deity orgasm once more is his main goal.
Then his ritual will be complete.
Kaeya’s eyes roll up, so far that it may reach the back of his head as his mouth drops open. Clammy hands grab at the pillows and that bewitching body tenses. Tartaglia’s thrusts gain more force and power, at the price of becoming erratic.
He feels a warm stream of liquid spill across his abdomen and drip down his legs.
His deity, the First Harbinger’s son, approves of his devotion.
Tartaglia is about to pull out until Kaeya crosses his ankles and keeps him in place. Breathless, he cups the Harbinger’s cheeks in his palms and kisses him sloppily.
“Inside,” he demands, commanding his disciple, soft in tone.
Who is he to deny his God’s wishes? Within a second, Kaeya gasps as Tartaglia fills him with his hot, thick seed.
It overflows from his pussy and runs down his ass, pooling on the already damp and ruined bedsheets. When Tartaglia finally pulls out, it spills like an endless waterfall and Kaeya falls limp. The Harbinger plants a kiss on Kaeya’s forehead and backs away, then takes one of Kaeya’s thighs and runs his nose along the expanse of his legs to his ankle and kisses a toe.
Through pants and breathless aftershocks, Kaeya finally speaks.
“An archon should be cleaned after they have been worshiped, no?”
Tartaglia blushes as he looks down at the mess he’s made.
“Of course, my love.”