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Varka took a long moment to regard the young man in front of him, the way the low lights of the candle-studded chandeliers bathed Diluc in hues of gold and copper.
It had been a few months since he had last seen the boy, so small and slight in appearance. Diluc’s shoulders had broadened, back straight and head high. Those embers in his eyes had grown brighter still, and long curls of hair spilled down his back. He had started wearing his hair up when he had joined the Knights, and some part of Varka wanted to tell him to stop. To no longer let the rest of the world see the vulnerable nape of his neck, the little fly-away hairs at the back of his head.
The worst part of it all, was how tall he had grown. In Varka's mind, he would always be the little boy with eyes starry and round, waiting for permission and praise. All sharp bones, too eager to please and utterly naïve. But here he was, nearly a teenager, essentially asking his godfather how to court the girl next door.
Varka couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he smiled through his words. "C'mon now, Luc," he teased, pressing a wine glass into his charge's hand. "Surely a noble young lad like you can charm the socks off anyone. Here, have a drink. I won’t tell your old man."
Just another secret between him and a Ragnvindr. Among the endless sea of those already gathered, a treacherous voice murmured in the back of his mind.
Something loosened on Diluc's face. His features seemed to blossom as the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile, lips curving as they pressed against the wine glass. Drinking was still a novelty for young Diluc, though Varka knew his lad was getting closer and closer to the age in which he himself used to sneak a bottle of hard liquor out of his father's stash, and nurse it, with Seamus or Crepus himself, in a clearing somewhere out in the woods. The young were always so eager to become old.
Ah, well. No harm, no foul— At least, that's what Varka told himself as he pulled the boy towards his seat. Everyone deserved at least one lapse in responsibility, didn't they?
“C’mere. Come sit with your uncle Varka. Give an old man some company, eh?"
The tips of Diluc's ears flared a tell-tale red, and Varka had to give Crepus his due. He was no doubt considering how to politely say that sitting on an older man’s lap was unbecoming for someone of his standing. But this was Varka, the man he idolized, the Knight and friend of his father.
It was almost too easy how much Diluc gave into him, how readily he was to please Varka and do his bidding. He hesitated only a second before sliding carefully onto his godfather's lap. There was an awkward moment where both of them tested their position, before Varka slung an arm around his charge, relaxing against the armrest as he tipped his cup, eyeing the vermillion liquid.
“So. One of your fellow knights, eh?"
Diluc hid his embarrassment well enough, though the tips of his ears were practically glowing by now, stark against his pale skin— Diluc looked down into his own glass and swirled the liquid. "We grew up together, Sir."
The way Diluc spoke, formal, if not nervous, piqued his interest.
In some way, Varka knew he was wrong. Wrong for the thoughts that ran through his mind, and especially wrong for doing any of this while Crepus wasn't home. Varka was more selfish than the tales told, a darker man. Without his dearest friend around, he slowly spread his fingers along the soft lace of Diluc's shirt. His thumb idly rubbing circles against the skin of his throat. It was bare, collar unbuttoned, and Varka had found that such was the preferred fashion now amongst the new generation of knights. It was the latest trend, and he had certainly noticed.
Too exposed for his liking.
Diluc was a delicate youth, his body composed of lean lines and lithe muscle earned through his years of training. Varka's breath stuttered to see the curve of his adam’s apple, a sign that Crepus's boy was becoming his own man, but still so familiar. So reminiscent of his father in his own youth. Varka's thumb traced the edges, fingertips pressing into soft flesh, his other hand gripping at a perfect hip. The fire crackled in the room's hearth as they settled into a rare silence, other than Diluc's subtle inhale of breath.
“The Gunnhildr girl, is it? Can't say I'm surprised, she’s quite the catch. Beautiful, skilled and clever. I'd certainly keep that one close, if I were you... Ahh. But her mother can be a little much though. Well, better you dealing with her these days than me, I suppose.”
Varka had never really approved of the stuffy highborn people that were the tradition of Mondstadt. Dirty rich bastards, most of them, even with a noble name and coat of arms. Frederica had run in the same circle, but she was honest, friendly and had the strength to back herself. Still, knight or no, she’d never looked too fondly on him back when Varka and Seamus were young troublemaking lads, though that seemed to change, once he and Frederica ascended the ranks and held distinguished positions as knights.
Oh, her goodwill had turned tolerant for sure, but it was nothing like the old days. Varka smirked into his cup. How some things changed.
“Well, your father will be all sorts of pleased. Couldn't do better, really. A Ragnvindr and Gunnhildr, hahaha! A match made in the heavens, no doubt!"
Diluc, slightly dizzy from the wine and the closeness of another, hot puffs of air ruffling at his hair, leaned into his embrace. Soft and wanting, in the way a sprout searches for the sun. "Would... would you approve, Sir?"
Varka gave a soft huff of a laugh, but Diluc's sudden tightness made him sober, his heart sinking. He shifted uncomfortably, still awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position on his lap, perhaps wishing to pull away—no, Varka couldn't allow that. He pushed down the wriggling guilt inside of him, and patted the boy, more harshly than intended, perhaps, a little overeager in the way his rough hand grasped at his torso.
"Listen, kid. Having a good time with some company is fun and all, but a person, a family? Friends are one thing but letting a woman bind you to her... Your life should belong to you, and your passions. Don't be hasty about this—not with someone as green as Jean Gunnhildr, no matter what your father thinks."
And maybe this was jealousy talking. Because if Diluc were to stay on the path of the Ragnvindr men, then these moments, these nights of sharing some drink, of laughter, of touches that weren't always polite or right— well, hadn’t Crepus himself married, once? Just past Diluc's age, no less. All that grand romance, that wistful smile that never failed to grace his friend's visage whenever he talked about the boy's late mother— well.
Some things would never be his.
Varka tightened his grip. What would Crepus think of him now, indulging his impulses like this, testing Crepus's dearest gift? If the gods would forgive him this one night, so help him... he would be a saint for the rest of his life.
Just one night. Just once.
The young Knight twisted in his lap, looking up at him with a concerned frown on his face. Eyes soft, in a mixture of worry and surprise. So damn innocent.
"Sir? Are you—"
"Shit. Luc, shit. Ah, hold on a moment." Varka ground out between gritted teeth, suddenly jerking forwards, his breathing growing hot and labored against the boy's neck, fighting with his hips, willing his arousal down.
As if breaking from a trance, Diluc tensed, his breath stuttering, body going hot, flushed. Soft, shaking hands found purchase on the strong arms that were wrapped around him, Varka grinding forward once, twice— again, pressing his half hard erection firmly against Diluc's backside.
He was so small.
"Sorry, kid. I'm not feeling so well after all." Varka had his nose pressed against the hollow of Diluc's throat, inhaling deeply. His lips moved against the burning skin of his ward, moist and chaste, and he groaned against the pulse of the boy's jugular. "Drank too much, I reckon. Don't tell your old man, will you?"
"Sir…? Are you alright…?" Even now Diluc worried about him, when all Varka wanted was to bury his thoughts, to devour this one clean to the bones, to carry his tainted soul to the heavens and beyond. And beyond again, where no god nor judge could shackle him for his greed.
“Should I send for Adelinde?" He implored, shifting in concern, and the movement just served to make Varka all the more excitable. His mind ran wild— to imagine Diluc knew well his effect on him, and enjoyed taunting an old man, luring him into his shame. It made it easier, somehow. To have that sort of heat and vigor directed towards him.
It was only some misplaced hero-worship that had led to this, Varka the sole recipient of Diluc's awe, his admiration. Whatever it was, it made Diluc putty in his hands, and no matter the name the gods had bound this beautiful creature to, tonight he could imagine— no. Tonight he knew this boy was his to the very marrow.
Diluc jumped as he ground forward again, burying his nose under the nape of Diluc's neck, running the line of his jaw across warm skin.
"Don't go. Stay with me here, 'Luc. Close the door."
"...Father will be back at midnight."
"Ah, Crepus won't mind. His son keeping an old soldier company, right? Tend to my needs and I'm sure he'd be over the moon for you, haha. What say you, Luc?"
Diluc said nothing, simply held his gaze, red eyes locked to his, body stiff. Varka didn't know if the kid trusted his word or simply wanted to please. Either would work fine.
"Come to think about it, if you’re good, maybe we can think about opening up a position in the Knights for old Crepus. Give him a title, a room by the headquarters. Easy. How does the sound?"
Varka had no doubt that the best he could hope for Crepus without the man possessing a Vision was an administrative position with a fancy title, his knowledge of wine and negotiation with the aristocracy put to use instead of his skills as a swordsman. He’d told Crepus as much before: do something else. You know you wouldn’t be cut out for this. Let your son carry the Ragnvindr legacy. And Crepus had turned down the position— even smiled, and called Varka modest, even though there was nothing of modesty in how the Grand Master had wished to keep the man under his wing a while longer.
What Diluc didn’t know, however, could not hurt him— and so long as he believed that his silence could buy the pride of his father, who was Varka to tell him otherwise?
"So? What's your decision?"
"Please."
"Oh?"
"Master Varka. Please..." There was still a tremor in Diluc's voice, like the boy wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but spoke by sheer virtue of having decided on a course of action and damning the consequences. It was an endearing thing. In youth so unguarded that made Varka covetous for Diluc's trust.
Diluc stood from Varka’s lap, slightly off-kilter and weak-legged, before heading to the heavy oak door and, with one hand, locking it shut with a short and decisive click, as if barring any excuse to run away. Diluc was never one to back down from his convictions. The gesture sparked a hunger in Varka.
Diluc made his way back to the thick armchair Varka had been occupying and situated himself directly over the Grand Master's lap, now straddling the older knight's frame, sitting himself down in a manner that somehow remained elegant, despite his shaky attempt. His weight and presence were more pronounced atop Varka, the boy's legs forced to spread slightly further to accommodate the older knight's thighs.
The entire motion seemed to take a significant amount of courage from him, or so the slight shake in his fingers said, when they made their tentative landing upon Varka's shoulders. He was probably afraid Varka might change his mind, laugh at him for getting the wrong idea, reprimand him for this indecency, perhaps call him a fool. The fact that he wasn't saying anything was likely worrisome, so Varka gave a brief hum, and Diluc drew his hands back in, nervously clasped them between his own knees, while Varka let his thumb run soothing circles against Diluc's flank.
Varka might just regret what happened tonight, but he was loathe to let the tense look on Diluc's face linger. "There, there," He reassured, trying to will the tension out of the younger's shoulders, trying to erase the lines in between his brows. His fingers fisted in the silken locks of red he admired so much, so free, compared to the messy, cropped cut his own kept. Ducking his head, letting his lips kiss against the juncture of his hairline, Varka gently coaxed the young knight into settling fully against his frame.
By the Seven. Varka needed to calm himself— a feat at odds with Diluc squirming in his embrace, his stomach, his abdomen, his groin, pressed full body to his front.
"This is just between friends, right, Diluc? Just keeping a pal company," Varka made his reasoning loud and clear, for both their benefits, as he pushed himself back into the confines of the seat, raising his knees to urge Diluc to follow, so the boy leaned on his elbows and did not fall backwards. A large hand was pressed against the small of his back, grinding Diluc's hips downward in an insistent press, which made Diluc close his eyes briefly, before nodding his confirmation, eyes glassy and just a little disorientated.
"Atta lad. Crepus taught you well. Gorgeous, through and through." Varka praised, his thick fingers carding back Diluc's fiery strands, allowing it to fan all about his soft face, painting his flushed cheeks crimson.
Now Diluc wouldn't dare to look him in the eye, so unused to vulnerability in any form, much less submission, much less offering the both up to someone he'd only ever regarded as untouchable. "I— thank you, Grandmaster."
"What's there to be thanked? You want this, right?"
"I do," Diluc echoed in a small, tentative voice.
When he spoke again, his words sounded like they were clawing themselves out of his throat, some gritty, stubborn shred of doubt having latched on in the brief pause between now and acceptance. "I'm no longer a child, sir. I've been a knight of the Ordo long enough— "
"That you have," Varka readily agreed, only barely pushing the whine in his own breath out of his voice as he groundhimself up and against the soft give of Diluc's body, his reward a hitch in the boy's words.
"And— ahn— that's why— "
Varka shushed him, his face coming in close to press a kiss to the swell of his cheek. "Tell me what your old man does when you misbehave."
"Sir—"
"C’mon, c’mon, it's ok. Off the record."
"..."
“I won’t tell. It can stay between the two of us, yeah?"
"...Father will— as he should —spank me till I apologize," comes the eventual reply, delayed through the soft hum that broke his voice, through the way Diluc's focus and sincerity seemed to swim whenever Varka ground his hips up. But the sudden laugh that escaped him, made Diluc's nerves prickle with shame.
"Old Crepus does what now?" Varka barked out a laugh, feigning ignorance, taking the topic as permission to allow his hands to fall lower. Large palms cupped the swell of his ass, greedily grabbing their handfuls and urging the younger flush against him. "Atta boy. It was the way I was raised, too, and look how fine a man I've become. Though, I never thought Crepus had it in him to lay a finger on you. Proud, stern, soft-hearted he is."
He’d continued rocking Diluc against his front, driving their clothed cocks to rub messily, and the boy instinctively circled his hips, trying to ease the friction, only finding himself gasping with the sensation that bordered on pain, clamped down, unsure how to respond. The whimper that came forth sounded foreign, even to his ears.
"Easy, there." Varka breathed out, lips curling back to bare his teeth, before one hand dropped to his belt, unclasping the front, the leather falling open after a few seconds of fumbling. Fingers undid the buttons of his pants, hooked onto his underclothes before pulling the layers low. Varka's length slapped back, hard and heavy against the hair of his stomach, leaking precum. His swollen glands gleamed with it, a smear left behind as he'd pushed his dick into Diluc's still clothed thigh.
"Your turn, bud."
Even next to Diluc’s thigh, Varka had to wonder just how they were going to make this work, should they get so far. His cock was proportionate to the bulk of his height, in the same vein he was a large man— large everywhere. Diluc’s leg looked almost comically thin and willowy on either side of his lap in comparison.
Then Varka sighed heavily as he palmed over the front of the boy's breeches, groping him squarely through the fabric. Diluc jerked under his palm like he'd been struck, a whining little sound, like it was too much— or not enough. He couldn't tell which, so he pushed his infingers to massage Diluc’s clit once more, and judging by the way Diluc groaned, it seemed like the first.
"You've got a pretty thing here, you know that?"
"M'not."
"Say that again?"
"I'm not pretty." Came the mumbled retort. It seemed pride and logic still existed, that Diluc felt some semblance of embarrassment at being called beautiful, perhaps deeming it to be a tad girlish. Varka couldn't even tell if he'd meant to reply aloud, or if the words had simply leapt off his tongue without preamble.
"Oh?"
Diluc's lower lip vanished into his mouth for a moment, likely chastised by Varka’s disapproving tone. But Diluc being who he was, gave himself away with another short-lived defiance, a quick squeeze of his thighs against Varka's, trying to wriggle out of the older's lap, a sharp twist of his spine, to pull away from the fingers.
The glimmer of refusal lit Varka's senses ablaze, his spine a livewire, and his grip slammed back into the thick curve of Diluc's ass, grounding him down on Varka's thighs once more. Even with a barrier of fabric still separating them, Diluc could now no doubt feel the solid, pulsating length of the other man's erection pressed up against his stomach.
"Got some fight in you, then? Today's my lucky day."
Varka laughed, and he meant it, drawing Diluc back against his chest. His fingers hooked into the line of the boy's pants, made to yank them undone and half off before Diluc's thin fingers descended to grasp at his own, trying to pry him off, and still weakly clawing as his clothing was stripped halfway down the juncture of his soft thighs.
"I've never— this isn't— "
"Something Crepus never covered in his bedtime stories?" Varka mocked, gentle. It clearly did something to quell Diluc's shock and floundering, realising he was being mocked.
His cheeks burned with humiliation instead, the line of his brow darkening into something smoldering, a glare or grimace he likely thought looked fierce on his round, youthful face.
He seemed to realize what was happening just about the time Varka was palming his hand across his bare rear, cupping his ass once more, squeezing, and then drawing his hand back before striking him soundly.
Varka managed not to exhale too openly as Diluc cried out, loud and in surprise as much as pain. For a man so naturally fair-skinned, his ass bloomed pink with Varka's palmprint a lot more quickly than he'd been expecting.
His fingernails dragged in over the bottom curve of the reddening mark his hand left, and this time the spanking brought with it enough heat and force that Diluc flinched away, riding up onto his knees in a bid to get out from under the sting.
"Fuck!"
"In your own time, yeah."
It was already humiliating, getting spanked on his lap, getting humiliated like a child over something so tawdry. Getting laughed at as though he wasn't currently straddling Varka's thighs, his ass bare and burning hot, sex dripping in the open air, aroused as much from shame as the sting of Varka's touch, the way his palms weighed his backside and pulled him towards the other as though he belonged in his hands.
"Varka— please—" He spoke through clenched teeth, mortified, wanting nothing more than to escape his skin. "Ah—" The breath forced out of him choked on the plea he hadn't quite formed.
When Varka's palm came down again on the cheek already struck with most of his might, there was a raw, agonizing sting that forced the tears up into his eyes before he could do a thing. Diluc scrunched them shut in reflexive desperation, and couldn't decide if the fact that Varka had paused and begun kneading circles into the heated skin stoked his annoyance or humiliation. Both, he imagined.
"Beautiful," Varka rumbled deep in his chest, his amusement obvious. He ran a calloused palm over the swells of Diluc's rear before seizing a handful, bruising fingers digging into the soft flesh. The way they split him open slightly, just so his flushed, pink entrance was exposed, made him turn his face in embarrassment.
He willed his legs to relax, the muscles there trembling minutely. He wanted to appear strong, yet all these sensations, as abrupt and confusing as they were, were slowly taking their toll on him.
He flinched when he felt his face grasped at the chin, his head tilting obediently. Varka's mirthful expression met his, a glint evident in those keen amber eyes. His fingers tightened in their hold, forcing his jaw to fall open. He swallowed roughly, suddenly feeling much like a small animal being scorned by its predator, unable to move.
"Say 'ah', now."
One thumb slid between his lips, the pad hooking in and holding his jaw slack, Varka's sharp gaze following intently as his thumb explored the ridges of his teeth. Then it stroked a slick trail up against the side of his tongue before scraping past his molars, the salty tang of skin making his mouth flood with moisture. When Diluc looked up at him questioningly, Varka removed his thumb, and pushed his index and middle finger into his mouth, further, until his fingertips touched the entrance to his throat.
Diluc spluttered, unprepared, and coughed wetly, shying away. Giving him a second to recover, Varka curved his hand around the nape of his neck and gripped tightly, forcing him back into place. With his eyes wide, watery and desperate, he looked absolutely scared.
At the first sign of struggle, Varka began feeding his fingers in deeper. Diluc's head shook side to side, his jaw opening wider, trying to dislodge him. A thick rope of saliva escaped down his chin, a grimace of disgust playing across his face. Though his protest was muffled by the width of the fingers sliding in against his tongue, hands instinctively shooting forward and raking blunt fingernails down Varka's sleeves and shoulders, he sucked in heavy breaths through his nostrils with the brief split-seconds of reprieve whenever Varka eased back, shallow little puffs—
Only to forcibly push himself in again, grinding past Diluc's gag reflex with such ease, despite his pitiful little pained mewls, the raw, helpless little cries welling in his throat.
Fat, shiny tears of anger rolled down his cheeks in a steady stream, Diluc blinking rapidly and sniffling. He pulled away long enough for Diluc to take the opportunity to cough up a mouthful of spit, staring at him incredulously as he heaved between harsh, sobbing pants.
“I don’t like—mmph--, I, please— mmgh. My, my throat— hha— no— it hurts, a, ah— s, stop-- stop— !”
Glancing up, Diluc's tearful, glaring eyes told him he didn't understand why this was happening to him, when all he'd ever wanted to do was help Varka, his hero worship all but written on his face with how trusting he still was, even through his suffering, even as Varka laughed openly at him— a deep belly rumble tinged with no small measure of mockery.
"Theeere you go. Good lad."
Pulling his fingers out of the tight clutch of Diluc's throat, Varka wiped the copious quantity of saliva dripping down the side of his chin.
“I don’t understand... " Diluc sniffled. "Did I upset you somehow? I apologise, I know I have been careless lately, I—"
Wiping the last of the mess from his slack mouth with his calloused fingers, Varka wiped off his hands on his own shirt, letting Diluc bury his face in his chest without complaint while his fingers rose in a gentle massage to knead at his shoulders, along his neck. Diluc was still young, he supposed, too ignorant of these matters. He was obviously distraught.
“C’mon, you’ve never cried during training, Diluc. And I’m sure this hurts a great deal less than some hits during practice, doesn't it? You can do this. For me, or your old man. Yeah?"
He laughed lightly, when Diluc sighed and nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly against him.
"Good. Now, let's get you ready for the main course, then."
Thankfully, he’d already taken Diluc’s pants most of the way off. Though Diluc was more than a little mortified when Varka urged him to stand up and remove his trousers the rest of the way himself. Modesty seemed of little concern to the older man.
Then went his shoes, socks and shirt, pulled off over his head by demanding hands, and Diluc held his breath, stood there shivering with arms folded stiffly at his chest once it was out of the way, completely stark naked and self-conscious in front of Varka, a pair of red, still-watery eyes averting his inquisitive gaze.
He wasn't aware he had little to be ashamed of. Of how pale and supple his skin still was, how much gentler the lines of his figure, where there should have been muscle and some hard angles; instead only the barest shadow of definition, yet lean and shapely in a uniquely feminine way.
Despite his best efforts, his sex betrayed him, flushed rosy and wet, dripping onto the floor. He’d barely started growingbody hair past a thin line at the trail from his navel to his sex, or the tiny curl of red, delicate as the petals of a flower, barely noticeable.
He jumped with a cry of alarm when large hands moved to cover him, hoisting him up by the ass again. Heat flooded his cheeks at how effortlessly he was manhandled, his arms shooting out to cling onto Varka.
It was embarrassing beyond belief how easily he was maneuvered around. Yet he melted into the broadness of Varka's frame as the older buried his face back in his neck, licking and biting, smelling him.
He wrapped his legs instinctively around Varka's waist. Warm palms ran up the backs of his thighs and Varka squeezed his ass with a sigh. They carried Diluc the few steps to one of the edge of his father’s desk, Varka shoving papers and stationery aside with abandon, sitting Diluc at the very edge.
Diluc didn't fight him, and with a hum, his legs tightened around Varka's middle and held on for the ride.
Varka's hot breath fanned across his cheek, their noses bumping together, and as he set him down, Varka kissed him hard, pressing flush against him and practically pinning him down into the varnished wood beneath him. He moaned against his tongue, and when Diluc gasped his name, Varka kissed him even harder.
There was something clumsy, inexperienced about how Diluc kissed back, but then again, this very well could’ve been Diluc’s first kiss. And all of a sudden he found himself strangely eager for it— his fingers once more found Diluc’s curls, fisting them tightly and forcing the boy‘s head at an angle to deepen the kiss.
This time, he was far less gentle and tentative when exploring Diluc's mouth. In his stead he was all burning heat and rough tongue, tasting and mapping, nearly devouring. He bit on Diluc's lips until they plumped up and reddened, drawing a couple little whimpers that got absorbed into Varka's mouth as he eagerly swallowed them, feeding his own small hums of pleasure right back into him.
Diluc clung onto him throughout all of it, nails sinking into his sides and shoulders, and only after Varka had to break away to breathe did he realise that Diluc's legs had hooked onto him, pulling him close, and that he'd ground his erection between the boy's cleft in the fray.
Their labored breathing nearly synchronised in the short silence that befell them then. There was an unspoken reverence in the way Diluc looked at him, wide red eyes and parted lips slick with spit as he panted softly.
When Diluc wet his lips, timid and unsure, a small pink tongue peeking out momentarily, all at once Varka had to grab the boy by the scruff and shove their mouths together again, kissing him desperately and hungrily, much to Diluc's soft, needy whimper in reply.
He had to be aware of what he was doing, with the way he looked back at him, long lashes and half-lidded eyespractically begging. Even the arch of his hips upward, pressing his dripping cunt against him, needy and smearing those damp folds down the length of his front while his legs were still hooked around his thighs.
Diluc whispered his name so hoarsely, eyes watering and flush rising down to his neck from the need and emotional strain. He was far too convincing. For a long moment Varka was nearly struck with the shame and guilt of the need that made him do this in the first place— But the sight of Diluc's spread cunt and parted, wanton lips beckoning him served to chase all sense of regret away.
"Lay down."
Diluc obeyed, quick, merely propping himself up to watch. Varka pulled his own shirt over his head, and he may or may not have thrown the garment halfway across the room in impatience.
He pressed a finger experimentally at the folds of the boy's cunt, spreading them apart slightly. Diluc was soft and hot under his finger, the muscle flinching and giving under the touch.
Diluc mewled, legs jerking involuntarily at the cold air hitting where Varka touched. Swallowing, he bit his lip and tensed as thick fingers probed further down, reaching the folds to slide his forefinger into the channel inside him, nearly to the knuckle.
Diluc shuddered and whimpered. Tight, not stretched out or yielding in the slightest, soft inner walls massaging his finger as he slid his finger deeper to the first knuckle, curling down.
Internally, he cursed at how tight the boy was. It’d take a miracle if he could fit his entire cock without tearing him apart. He could probably loosen Diluc up with his fingers first, make an attempt at stretching him at least, but then again, his patience was waning, and the clock on the wall above ticked by mockingly, a reminder that Crepus was expected to return by midnight, and Varka wasn’t about to push his luck and be discovered. Not now.
He withdrew his finger, noting with a smile how a glistening thread of slick pulled thin as he moved the finger and snapped upon contact with the air. Diluc whined softly, canting his hips up, but was soon silenced by the addition of Varka's second finger into his hole.
He was too small. He had to force it in, with Diluc twitching around his fingers, cunt spasming and clamping around them like a death grip. Another inch, and the next knuckle fit in.
“Ouch—! Hngh, it hurts- Sir... please—stop it, that h-hurts..."
Varka worked his fingers in deeper, splitting his digits and scissoring them open to stretch the boy wider. It was tight work with Diluc clamping his thighs closed like he now was, realising what he'd gotten himself into, tensing up until his insides went tight and locked. Only two fingers, yet the stretch around them left the boy whining, nails scraping the length of Varka's arms uselessly as if to draw him away from his task.
"Open your legs."
The boy shook his head, panting, red eyes watering.
"I-I can't. Ah, I'm sorry..."
Varka pinched his clit hard, taking Diluc by surprise and making him cry out.
"Do you want this or not, Diluc? Spread your legs or I'll put something far worse in here in exchange," Varka growled, punctuating his statement with an aggressive poke to the redhead's abused cunt. "Are we clear?"
Diluc's lower lip quivered, his eyes going glassy as he lowered his head and did as he was told. He did his best to angle himself away, hiding his face against his forearm that he held pressed against his head to shield his eyes, but when Varka began to position himself better in between his trembling legs, the boy bit his arm, stifling the humiliated whimpers he made and holding still, quivering with the effort to not outright try to escape.
Varka spat on his palm, rubbing the globs of saliva all over his length, which stood hard, proud and towering to its full size, thickly veined and heavy. A part of him wasn't even sure if he'd be able to make this work - even from the looks alone, he had little confidence his girth would fit into the tiny boy.
He rolled his foreskin back and positioned the dripping glans against the redhead's cunt, clasping his shoulder with a large hand as he braced himself on the desk above Diluc's small, sobbing figure. He looked utterly lost, both visibly and audibly unwilling as he covered his eyes with both hands as if denying this was even happening.
The first push against Diluc's young, virgin entrance was rough. Varka's cock slipped free of its restraints against his palm and, already anticipating the boy's cries, he snapped his free hand over Diluc's mouth.
Their hips met with a thud, Varka grunting and grabbing onto the boy's waist while Diluc screamed into his palm and bit at his fingers, thrashing.
He was wet, incredibly tight and clamping down hard around his cock, enough to make him dizzy, weak. As much as he had wanted to push deeper, rut against the boy furiously, he stayed still, free hand on Diluc's hips as the boy sobbed against his palm.
Diluc gripped the edge of his desk with white knuckles, arching his spine and trying to keep his hips stubbornly at an angle, away from where they were connected. He whimpered, clenching his knees to his sides. The rim of his cunt that was visible between his legs was stretched painfully, flushed red and stuffed, slickened up with diluted blood and mucus leaking steadily between them.
"It hurts... It hurts, sir-!" Diluc had gone completely limp, hiccupping and pleading, voice tearful and raw. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, take it out-!"
With a sigh, Varka was forced to relent, slowly drawing his cock out. Diluc flinched and made a broken noise with his teeth grit together, cunt spasming as Varka's fat glans pulled at the abused flesh inside him. When Varka only drew half-way out, only leaving the tip lodged inside and effectively plugging the boy up, Diluc whispered an exhale of relief and slumped his shoulders, still shaking and shuddering.
Varka panted, licking sweat off his upper lip as he brushed an errant lock away from his damp forehead. Then, looking down and seeing the abused cunt stretching so tautly around his tip, bright cherry red and glistening with a milky smear of precum, he pushed back in.
Poor Diluc couldn't help his reactions. He went wide-eyed and arched his back in distress. Even more traitorously, his cunt squeezed back around him, as if trying to suck him in, suck his length deeper into his tight hole. He didn't get deep enough; there was no way he'd have been fully seated even if he'd attempted to hilt himself to the pubic bone.
Something wet and hot flooded in the next moment, dripping down his cock—a deluge of fluid, milky and slightly tinted pink with blood, Diluc's cunt gushing and spasming around his length as the boy spilled his orgasm all over the floorboards.
Ah- He hadn't even touched the boy.
"What’ve you done? Are you truly so small, Diluc?" Varka scolded him, hooking a thumb into his puffy red cunt, forcing the muscle open further and tutting.
Diluc writhed against the pressure, clamping around his fingers weakly, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. He twitched again and made a hurt noise when more clear fluid rushed down his stretched cunt and onto Varka's thighs.
Diluc shook his head, lip trembling, face wet with tears. "I...I don't know, I'm sorry— T-that's never happened before-"
He shuddered, rubbing his legs together slightly and squeezing his eyes shut, brows pulling together in self-derision.
"Please..." he whimpered, "don't tell my father about this, please, I'm so sorry. He'd be- oh, god—“
This was music to Varka’s ears. With a harsh push, he slammed home, sheathing himself deep inside the small channel. So long as Diluc felt ashamed, so long as Diluc thought he could not speak to his father of this without punishment, Varka’s innocence would remain intact.
"Disgusting," Varka ground out, pumping his hips once, twice, each movement sloppy and graceless, no doubt sending sparks of agony through Diluc.
"What kind of knight behaves like this? You can’t even control your bladder..."
Behind him, Diluc tensed up further at the implication that he'd wet himself, even though Varka knew well the boy hadn’t— but then tears were welling up all over again, and Diluc seemed to surrender, relaxing back, throat working hard not to sob audibly.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Sir," he rasped brokenly, craning his neck to peer back fearfully at Varka.
God, but that guilt stricken, shameful look on his face was mesmerizing. His wet cheeks and long lashes, red little mouth bruised and tearstained.
Diluc gasped at the invasion, letting out soft broken moans that he couldn’t prevent. He clenched his jaw down and grit his teeth in an attempt to keep his dignity—because maybe he could trick himself into thinking it wasn’t happening at all, if he remained resolute and silent.
Varka gripped both sides of his narrow waist, slamming him into his body, using his entire weight to push deeper into the boy's writhing body. Each movement seemed to drive his cock impossibly far into the poor boy, and Diluc let out loud noises of defeat with each thrust, each breath punched from his lungs.
Again and again, Varka filled him to the very limits, sparing him no time to accommodate. He could feel himself hitting Diluc’s cervix each time he tried to drive himself into the young man, each impact making Diluc cry out, high pitched, more and more frantic.
Still he ground his body into him, never withdrawing entirely, squeezing and rubbing against the sore insides. Drool dripped down the corner of his lips, and he felt wetness underneath him, droplets of tears and semen and a thin sheen of sweat- all the fluids that made obscene, lewd, sticky noises as he worked Diluc into a blubbering mess.
He seemed to sink in further the more Diluc softened under his touch, the broken moans as his hands smoothed down his ribcage, the whimpers silenced only by Varka taking his small throat in his hands. His lower half continued to piston brutally, as if fusing them two together.
They maintained the same slow, steady pace for a while, Varka gradually accelerating as Diluc's moans turned into needy, hiccupped mewls. Diluc's hips raised incrementally, and he found he liked that; the control, the fact that not only was the boy being bred into a drooling, dazed mess, his own biology was actually aiding in his desire to be taken and mated.
"Feel good, Diluc?" he asked. "Think you could give me a child? Hmm, maybe not, you're far too small."
By now, Diluc was far too gone, an avid participant in the depravity being unfurled under Varka's watchful eyes.
"If...-If you wanted, I would."
He hadn’t been expecting an answer, nor had he expected this one. It rendered him a little breathless and stung his chest so bad, his cock throbbed in response. He held the boy tightly and took him deeper, more earnestly, chasing a relief he didn't think he deserved or wanted.
Something else was coiling within him, something born of despair that he didn't recognize. Guilt or misery, or some unholy cocktail of the two — he could feel it just beneath his skin, stinging every inch of him.
So Varka drove himself into Diluc faster, harder, taking him till he felt close to spilling over and then resting inside, not because he wished to show the boy mercy, but because he simply couldn't hold back any more, afraid of what lay beyond climax. He was shaking from over-stimulation, on edge and aching, fingers dug deep enough to bruise the lad's young body.
In the end, it was Diluc who begged him.
"Please... Father will be home soon, and Kaeya, too."
The mention of Crepus— the reason, the true subject of this perversion— finally made him relent. Grunting, he thrust hard into the boy before his instincts took over and he spilled with a muted growl, finally stilling inside as he forced himself to stay buried deep.
Diluc panted heavily, shivering at the intrusion. He had never felt so filled in his life.
Varka's eyes fell upon the small bulge that had formed around Diluc's midriff. Almost childishly, he rubbed circles around his stomach.
Diluc wailed, the sensations overwhelming and seemingly far too intimate. His insides fluttered wildly at the attention, squeezing and pulling Varka into him more.
Breathy sounds escape Varka, eyes clouding with pleasure. "Diluc," he murmured, taking in the sight of him spread out on his softening cock.
His dick still halfway inside Diluc, still pulsing, spurting the last drops of his release into the young redhead.
"Beautiful... truly."
And he was. With his skin flushed and his full lips, reddened and swollen from all the biting.
Clarity returned, Varka's breath hitched. In its wake, a deep regret. He pushed the lingering feeling deep down, along with his steadily softening prick. He pulled out, eliciting a broken noise out of Diluc as he began to leak between his thighs, the white essence seeping out.
Something settled into him, cold and unforgiving—he pressed a thumb to seal the come oozing out of the abused opening.
"Good lad," he whispered softly.
Diluc's fluttering eyelashes stilled and his posture deflated at the praise. "Thank you, Sir."
"Think you can keep all of it in?" Varka asked.
Nod.
"That's good."
Gods, but he was so thoroughly sick.
"I better head off," Varka said, "your father's coming soon, right?"
Diluc paled at the reminder. "Yes."
"Right. You better get cleaned up and dressed. We'll meet again. Real soon, okay?"
He watched as Diluc gingerly rose to his feet, wincing at the twinges of pain he felt.
It made him feel guilty enough to pull the lad into a final kiss. Gentle, almost loving, as if he'd done nothing other than treat Diluc with the utmost care.
Varka forced himself to step away before Diluc began crying once more, reaching for his shirt. The sounds of Diluc sniffling as he, too, struggled to get dressed pricked at his conscience, and he hardened his resolve.
At the door he paused and turned.
"I’ll do you a favor, and won't tell your father about this," he said. "You keep quiet too, all right?"
"Y—yes sir."
"Sleep tight, lad."
With that, he shut the door, careful not to let it slam.