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***
Lohen was, it needed to be said, a punch-drunk beautiful asshat. Smackdab between a pair of shattered boxes, his shirt in ribbons, leggings torn and ragged and tugged round his ankles. His pretty little head lolling against the cracked wood, so that all the dandelion wine poured from the nose of broken bottles into his ear. Sopping red dripped in rivulets off his shoulder, all over his chest and stomach; it pooled in miniature eddies down Lohen’s front, undrunk, gathered in the press of his naked sternum, in what was left of his clothes, or else in the belly button which Mika so loved to lick. The rest of the wine, a crimson sparkle in the moonlight, slicked across Lohen’s exposed genitals; the pale softness of him curled like an upside question mark or a sleepy eel, in its small bloody lake. Above the man, a lamppost flickered; liquid sparkled in the down of Lohen’s damp pubes, final enough to pry Mika from this absurd vision and announce his presence.
Politely, Mika cleared his throat with an ahem!
Lohen’s eyes fluttered open, confused for the briefest moment, before alighting, Mika now idling at the mouth of the alley with his arms crossed. Lohen gazed at him with such stupid love; his expression was goofy, dull, almost manic. How anybody found this man scary, Mika couldn’t tell.
“Ohh, hey… Mika! You’re here.”
There was a sort of whole-body shrug and shuffle, followed by Lohen wincing numbly. The glug glug of another sputum of wine, dribbling down his side in a fresh plummy wave. Lohen went on staring at him, with his senseless grin, apparently unphased. “I should, I should—”
Lohen glanced around, suddenly. His surroundings seemed, at last, to dawn on him. He held out an arm to Mika. “Maybe you could help me up? I seem to have fallen…” This bit was said sheepishly, the smile turned shy.
Mika took the hand proffered him, hoisting Lohen to his feet—or attempting to.
For his part, Lohen wobbled clean into him with an expelled oof! He trembled like a newborn fawn, knocking his forehead into the crook of Mika’s arm, snaking his limbs around the other man to clutch for balance. Mika accepted the embrace, deeply aware they were in the street—even if it was the middle of the night— awkwardly patting Lohen and gently trying to cover him up. It was hopeless effort.
Still, Lohen nuzzled closer, humming for warmth. Over his naked shoulder, where Mika had hooked his chin, his back and backside broke out into goosebumps in the chill of the night air’s indecency.
Mika felt the man gulp against him, the apple bobbing in his throat. “Am I?” Lohen’s voice with breathy, a low whisper. “Why am I naked?”
Abruptly he bent to a frenetic crouch, hugging Mika’s knees, nigh threading himself between Mika’s short legs. The effect was of a frighted rabbit. “You don’t remember?”
“Mika?” Lohen seemed not to have heard him, voice pitching upward. “Why am I naked?!”
Mika bit his tongue. Oddly, there was more wonder and incredulity in it than outright panic. Lohen’s grin was only half-retreated, uncertain; if it mightn’t awaken half of Dornman Port, Mika would have let Lohen keep going. He was halfway between a fit of giggles and the greatest eyeroll he’d ever suffered himself. Instead, Mika suppressed the former of his urges and allowed the latter.
“Come on, up you get…”
He propped Lohen back to standing, holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length. Lohen’s response was to jig out of his grasp and clutch him round the middle again. Mika rolled his eyes again; his clothes were ruined by this point. He tried to pry the man off, ears prickling for any late-night passersby or prowlers less smashed than the idiot clung to him. Mika simply had to get him home.
“No,” Lohen whined. “Don’t wanna.”
“You’re hopeless,” he stated conclusively, the half-a-whisper tickling Lohen’s naked shoulder. Still, the giggles were threatening to rise up and overtake him over a solid foundation of exasperation.
Mika attempted to shift them again, as one unit. Lohen breathed out his next whine. “No, Mika. I’m chilly. Can’t you see I’m chilly?”
Mika kissed the skin near Lohen’s nape, bringing up goosebumps. “And whose fault do you suppose that is?”
He waited for a reply, but Lohen only hugged him more tightly, the hum turning to a purr. Then Lohen swung like a pendulum, bolting quite nimbly away, before twirling ridiculously into a bow. “Shush. You like me, errr…”
Lohen’s bow at its apex, the man almost fell over into the street again, between the trashed cartons and splattered wine. “I mean… You like it when I’m naked. You love—” He hiccupped, then burped. The grin, wider now, plastered onto his face like he was laughing at his own joke. “Hehe, whoops.”
Mika had reached for him again, during this, arresting his fall. “Barbatos, save us,” he intoned. Then a little louder, for Lohen’s benefit, like he was calming a spooked horse: “Yes, Lohen, that’s right. Of course. You’re the handsomest…”
As he paced them both, arm in arm, away from the demolished alley corner, struggling to unfasten Lohen’s cape and swathe him in it to conceal his immodesty, Lohen sputtered in unnerved affront.
“No, wait, Mika!” It came out as another gripe. Lohen spun gracelessly back to the boxes, shoving his hand inside, before… “Ouch!”
The hand withdrew quick, Lohen clutched it like he’d been bit, the surprise on his face blotchy and a few too many seconds delayed—not unlike a child, checking with their parent over a skinned knee. Mika supposed that made him “daddy” for the evening.
“Are you okay, honey?”
Tears were welled in Lohen’s eyes. But he beamed at Mika’s pet name for him, smile wide with undue satisfaction. Knowing Lohen as Mika did, any blood he’d let himself was likely relish for Lohen anyways.
“Here, let me see.”
Mika took Lohen’s fingers in his palm, turning them up to the lamplight, inspecting. Just a little cut, likely from the shattered and emptied wine bottles. He kissed one finger on its end.
Lohen gazed at him in open, cloying admiration. Then his head cocked right, slantwise, curiosity filling his expression. “Can you kiss it better? Again?”
Mika sighed, exasperation again retaking him. “Lohen, it’s the middle of the night! You’re practically naked! We’ve got to get inside!”
Lohen bumped his hand in the direction of Mika’s lips, suddenly pouty. A breeze cut through the air, menacing the loose tie of the cape; the fabric fluttered dangerously. Mika swore he could feel saccharine laughter on the wind. He huffed, wrinkling his nose.
Against his better judgment, Mika took the bleeding finger into his mouth and suckled it. Lohen’s flush was immediate. And as with all of Lohen’s blushes, this one was knowing, awake, bursting with a teasing lustiness that made Mika weak in the knees. In battle, he’d mistaken the expression for manic euphoria—perhaps it was, and Mika had found the feeling plenty admirable there—but with him, when Mika’s hands were all about Lohen or his dick buried inside Lohen’s ass, it was nothing else but the extremity of pleasure fulfilled. The stupid rabbit loved, no lived, to be hunted, dragged out of his hidey hole by the ears. Mika knew him to gleam in these moments like he’d been lifted to Celestia.
The breeze whirled alarmingly once more. Mika noticed, with a dull horror, that Lohen was getting a hardon. Oh no, we are not doing that, he thought.
“Okay, all better, you little rascal,” he spoke with finality. “We’re getting you home and to bed. Before somebody sees us.”
He threaded their fingers together and tugged. But Lohen stayed rooted to the spot, eyes mischievous and a touch obstinate. “Have a drink with me, please, Mika. I’m not tired anyway. I’ll tear off this towel and crow, if we’re going to bed…”
Mika’s protest was past his lips already: “Lohen, it’s 2AM. Are you crazy?”
His resultant gesture to the alleyway seemed, in reflection, more of a solid confirmation than question. Yep, nuts. Certifiable. If the sanatorium in the hills weren’t shuddered or haunted, he ought to admit Lohen this instant. Mika’s hands dropped to his side in a kind of defeat.
The whole time, Lohen looked at him like he knew what Mika was thinking. That saucer-like grin, the red gleam in his pretty eyes.
“Fine,” Mika said. “One drink. But only when we get back.”
Lohen hummed brightly, pulling him closer and bumping their noses, in an ungainly peck. The smell of alcohol, fuzzy and weighty, assaulted his nostrils; for a third time, Mika rolled his eyes. The whole charade reminding him a bit too much of his brother, Huffman—the aftercare of a drunkard—dark spots in an otherwise happy childhood. Lohen hiccupped again, before responding: “Thanks, birdie. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Mika droned, trying again to yank Lohen towards home.
“…love you…” Lohen pestered, teasingly.
“Yeah, I know. You raggamuffin terror...” He groaned, whining for himself this time, “I swear, you’ll be the death of me…”
“Can only hope—” Lohen slurred, glossily. The smile went lopsided and abruptly private. He muttered cryptically, “Maybe earlier than you think.”
Bewildered, Mika began to question this. “Lohen, what—”
Then Lohen was barking, louder, “Hey! Don’t forget the wine!” And the man spun back wildly on his heels, dancing over to the smithereens of the corner. Mika’s question was momentarily forgotten as the cape came loose at last, fluttering to rest on the cobblestone street.
There they were again, the slim cheeks of Lohen’s bottom, sheened in the sop of spilled wine and speckled with bits of dirt. The pale pretty skin caught the light of the moon. Mika groaned, licking his lips nervously. One drink, just one drink, he chanted in his ears, working to convince himself; then plotting how he was going coax Lohen into the bath afterward. There was the sound of rifling, another turn, and Lohen faced him grinning again, a bottle clutched in each hand.
***
“I’m sorry, you did what now?!”
It was, perhaps, 4:30AM, the dawn not far off. Lohen’s flat in the lower city of Mondstadt, propped against the heavy firtree headboard of Lohen’s great big bed. The bed, luxurious and stacked with too many pillows, its thick woolen sheets turned down, still damp with the water from their bath. In the end, it had taken Mika nearly two hours to bully Lohen through one of the wine bottles and wheedle him towards the tub, where Mika had scrubbed off what he could of the night’s ill-fitted revelries.
Though, Mika was just discovering, one other ill-fitted bit of merrymaking still awaited him.
Lohen looked contrite, maybe, but still clearly amused by the whole thing. He pleaded with Mika, dumbly: “I’m sorry, birdie! I was losing bad! I had to wager something worthwhile…”
Mika was, understandably, exasperated. Of all the ludicrous, unaccounted, embarrassing… He practically spit his reply: “So you wagered your boyfriend’s ass?!”
Lohen had been curled in his lap, skin clammy and hair dripping onto his stomach and pubes, his dick half-hard in that lazy, unsexed sort of way that accompanied the intimacy of familiar nudity. Normally, Mika loved these times with a lover; the glow of contact, the low sedateness of comfort and unoriented want, Lohen’s breathing hot against his cock but too cozy to do anything about it. Now, Mika backed up against the headboard, dislodging the drowsy dolt beneath him.
“You’re unbelievable,” he stated. The sheer disbelief kept him from being angry, even.
Lohen fumbled about, half-dazed by the sudden shift in positions and stopping, cross-legged, between Mika’s splayed thighs. They were both still naked, Lohen had insisted; through gritted teeth, Mika watched the man resettle, wondering internally why Lohen always managed to get what he wanted. Food, showered attention, wine, cum and a good dicking, whatever the smarmy rabbit desired.
“Well…” Lohen started, stingy as if about to be struck but grinning like he knew he would not be. “Not your ass, exactly.”
Mika stared him down cooly.
“If anything, I’m the one—”
Mika’s eyes bored into Lohen, relieving the man of any desire to finish that particular sentence. He waited with satisfaction as Lohen shrugged and fidgeted—truthfully, he looked to Mika a little reedy—in the vain hope, maybe, of some absolution. This had not been a serious evening; and as ridiculous and mildly infuriating as the night had turned out to be, Mika could not maintain his irritation.
“So lemme get this straight,” Mika intoned, rubbing his temples. “You, and the deacon, and Venti were at the pub. Dahlia challenged the two of you to a drinking contest. You lost. And then you and the bard were so mind-numbingly, fall-over drunk, that Dahlia’s suggestion to handover your boyfriend as a battle spoil didn’t even, for one moment, phase you or halt you in your brainless tracks? Is that what happened!?”
Mika sat there, breathing hard. His face had gone blotchy and red, more questions caught in his throat. The whole thing sounded even wilder when he’d finally said it aloud.
“Yeah!” Lohen cried. Then, taking in Mika’s expression: “Errrr, no. Umm.”
He couldn’t help it, he gaped at Lohen. The man’s hands fluttered out in front of him, as if to grasp and embrace him, only evidently to reconsider the impulse on a second thought. Yet even flustered, Lohen was impossibly beautiful. Lohen’s hair, washed and fluffed with a towel, gleamed sea-green with an energy like static electricity. His skin, pale and luminous after Mika’s scrubbing, shone where the slivers of moonlight knifed through their little window. Lohen grinned sheepishly, eyes downcast; and Mika followed the line of his nose down past his collar bone, his lean chest—nipples, ruddy and hardened in the chill—and slim waist finally to his cock and sac, plopped like a loose frog on the bedspread, between his crossed legs. So pretty it was annoying.
Mika hugged his chest, too closely, and continued to stare Lohen down. He felt his biceps, slackly flexing against his sternum, brush the puff of his pink nipples—as erect as Lohen’s in the night air. Archons, he was getting turned on by all this. This! This dull silly madness of a notion!
Lohen mumbled out the rest: “…you forgot the part where I have to watch…”
At last, feeling the laugh bubbling to the surface, Mika’s whole body sighed and felt lighter. He shook his head wanly, and spoke up once more, “Three total idiots. And my boyfriend the most idiotic of the bunch. I really can’t believe you.” Mika laughed now, for real. “Dumb little rabbit. Come here.”
Lohen spurred forward into his embrace, pawing at him, inexplicably forgiven. As Mika took him into his lap, wrapping his slender short legs protectively around them both, the boxsprings groaned underneath and Lohen began to purr again. Lohen’s arms snaked around his middle, tickling the downy hair of his armpits; he felt the two hands clasped at his back. Lohen’s butt wiggled, seeking a comfier seat, and he felt the pancake-press of Lohen’s cheeks on his folded lower limbs. Mika loved this part best—outside of Lohen’s wild magnetism—his butt was so attractive, he could barely keep his hands to himself, sometimes even in broad daylight. And Lohen crooned when he was fondled, played with, fingered. The image of Lohen, splayed in the dark alley, swam behind his eyelids; like a Kamera frame, Mika felt his vision zoom on the peeked glimpse of his boyfriend’s asshole in the street, doused in spilt wine and the smithereens of glass, splintered wood, even tidbits of foodstuffs and the remains of Lohen’s tattered clothes. A wrinkled little pink target. Yeah, definitely horny, he thought with a start. Mika itched to find the man’s center, just now.
With the hums of his throat vibrating the air of their room, Lohen started pecking kisses wherever his lips could reach. Throat, nape, the rise of Mika’s chest; the one puffy nipple Lohen could get at from this ankle, which Lohen caught in his teeth and sucked. Mika’s voice broke, garbled, as he relaxed into the feeling. Then there was another shift, as Lohen sought his hardening cock, perching his ass on top of it. His boyfriend started seesawing in his lap, chasing friction lazily.
Lohen’s lips found his chin, pressing another kiss there. Mika’s eyes, which had been shut, fluttered open as Lohen’s tongue swiped up his cheek to the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” Lohen said. Mika was fully erect now, cock jutting out, and trapped between Lohen’s bum and his own legs. He glanced down between their bodies, noting with gratification that Lohen was already hard and dribbling with precum. The rocking motion hadn’t abated. “Thanks for understanding, for coming all the way to get me. I love you.”
Mika kissed him, chastely, in answer. “You’re welcome. I love you, too.”
His breath hitched as Lohen hit a particularly good bit of resistance, his tip dragging across Lohen’s hole. His brain had gone fuzzy with it.
“Can I? Please, Mika…”
Archons, he wanted to. Really, truly, he wanted nothing more than for Lohen to pierce himself on Mika’s dick and feel Lohen’s body turn vessel for his driving need. A bloodless little death, as many as his boyfriend would take. The loony squirt deserved that, didn’t he? For the night Mika had just been put through, for the ordeal still coming. The ordeal still coming, he thought.
He shook like a wet puppy, causing Lohen to stop his rutting. “Wait, Lohen. Just what have you gotten me into, exactly?”
“Mika…” Lohen ignored him, whiny and sour-faced, bucking again. “Come on, stick me! Put it in me, you gotta…”
So Mika lunged, using the headboard to spring himself. In an instant, he was over Lohen, on all fours, pinning the man’s hands at the wrists. Lohen wheezed in surprise, the wind knocked out from him; rosing his cheeks and even his neck, his color bloomed. Between them, the end of Mika’s dick dripped with precum to adorn his boyfriend’s pale stomach. Deliberately, Mika drew a knee up to Lohen’s groin, adding a slight bit of pressure to Lohen’s balls. “You like that? You want me to fuck you?”
Unbelievably, the blush on Lohen’s face deepened. He winced and sighed, sucking his teeth; Lohen was nodding vigorously. “Uh huh,” he moaned. “Yeah…”
Mika watched him beg, watched him writhe under the spider of Mika’s limbs, watched him bite his lip then savor the tiny hurt with a slow swipe of his tongue. The entire time, his eyes were on Mika’s face; Lohen didn’t blink or waver in his attentions. Instead he lapped up Mika’s goading, insatiable and destitute.
It had taken, frankly, a solid year to get Mika to this point. Where he would actively choose to take charge. And, neither break nor balk at Lohen’s abject neediness. The mousy boy Lohen had first encountered, drilled, and judged dependable somewhere along the way turned to a sparrow in Lohen’s sights; then, with a tolerant persuading Lohen didn’t show to anyone, they fumbled together into more (and more serious). When Lohen finally had him, official-like, they discovered a relationship that upended its previous roles. Through it all, Mika learned he could be another kind of bird altogether, not a sparrow only, but also a kestrel. And Lohen, who enjoyed losing a good fight just as much as winning one, found he liked when Mika ruined him with all the man had.
Still, for Mika, some of the old hesitancy remained—worn and oxidized by time, but present. Lohen’s nose wrinkled at compliments; he preferred the confirmation of the body. In contrast, Mika needed assurances, verbal and directed. Otherwise, his mind would run away with him, ripe with worry and vulnerable to rumor (tangible or imaginary). It was beginning to run away from him right now.
Mika’s hips quit their teasing circles. His arms held Lohen steady by the shoulders, and his voice pitched higher and sterner than he’d intended: “Dahlia and Venti, honey. I’m serious. What. Is. Happening.”
Lohen finally gave up or gave in, whatever. His squirming stopped dead, and he lay on the bedclothes like a skinned coney, head tilted slightly away. When he spoke, he spoke to the wall: “They’re coming sometime tomorrow. Or today, I guess. Venti wants your dick. I kept on boasting about how big it is…”
A barest hint of pride crept in with that last part. I dunno about ‘big,’ he thought. In the length-department, he was pretty average. Modest even. But the equipment was certainly girthier than anything else he’d seen, Mika had to admit. Some of the Knights had ribbed him about it, clearly jealous.
Lohen shivered, meeting his eyes again. The pre-dawn light was barely seeping through the room’s humble window, softening one side of Lohen’s features. “It was Dahlia’s idea, the whole cockamamie thing. That little devil’s got it out for me, I swear…”
Privately, Mika marked the irony of Lohen referring to anybody else as a “little devil,” even Dahlia. It should have been a joke; but Mika heard the bitterness in Lohen’s voice, and it bothered and puzzled him. He tried a gentle prompting, “And you have to watch? Why?”
Lohen fingered the place where he’d earlier bit his lip. “I guess…” He paused, thoughtfully, biting the same place again and chewing it; Mika was worried dimly it would bleed. “I guess he thinks I’ll be bothered by the thought of you screwing anybody else but me…”
Mika saw him brighten, Lohen’s whole body awakening again, a lit fuse or sharpened knife. “My hole’s gonna be raw, watching. I might get my entire wrist inside this time. You’re gonna look so sexy…”
The sound exploded out of him, “Pfffft, you absolute dork!”
“I’m a dork?!” Lohen protested. Under him, his boyfriend was wiggling began again; the bunny was alive and kicking. Mika giggled as Lohen’s cock flopped around, dribbing more precum all over his slender, toned stomach.
“Yeah, leave it to you to sacrifice me and my feelings on the altar of your pleasure! You didn’t even ask me first!”
A small part of him was, in fact, miffed about this. Mildly, faintly, some whisper of shame asserting he ought to be more disturbed that Lohen had offered up his body in a drinking contest, of all things. Like some sacrifice or sacrament. But then, mixed in were his own desires—vaguely he considered the bard attractive, not like Lohen, but charming and soft and older still—even if Mika hadn’t really considered the man as anything near a potential partner. As he considered it further, anxiety pooled in his belly; Venti was untouchable, somehow, enigmatic, for all his frivolity and poetic songs. Unbidden came the thought that Venti would be fucking him, even if Mika’s dick was the thing shoved in Venti’s insides.
Lohen mistook his protest for his premonitions of a fight. “I know, Mika. I’m sorry. Really. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
Mika pursed his lips, then grinned, lopsided. “I used to respect you, you know. Like your bow could shoot down the moon and pull it toward me…”
Lohen smirked back, twisting under him towards the end of the bed. Halfway, he glanced back, the crazy glint in his eye once more; he spoke up, hopefully. “I could go get it for you, the moon…”
Mika laughed, a long chuckling breath. “Nahhh…”
He smacked Lohen on the ass, which was turned towards wall. Lohen jolted at the sting, immediately gratified by the slap, as Mika knew he would be; Lohen arched from his position in profile, jutting his ass out more prominently, pinning his own dick between his legs and rubbing them together. Mika spanked him again, listening to Lohen hum his approval.
“I prefer this moon, anyways.”
Lohen’s reply was, almost, a drone. Choked and husky, Mika felt it vibrate in his chest. Their room was full with it, the machinations of a clockwork trap.
“That’s good,” his boyfriend intoned. Mika watched him lick his lips again, eyes on Mika’s crotch. “I prefer stabby things to archery or firearms myself. Easier to marry a good sword.”
He smiled at the innuendo. Lohen flipped and swapped to his front, crawling up between Mika’s knelt legs. Thin, delicate fingers grasped his length, cradling the velvety hardness or else cupping his balls; Lohen’s hands were blessedly warm, caressing. It only took a few more moments before the fat mushroom head of his cock passed Lohen’s lips, wet and hot and heavenly.
“Should we—” He grunted, Lohen working his shaft, the twin rounds of his sac. The sensations short-circuited his brain.
Lohen inquired after him with an Hmmm? around penis, not ceasing or letting it leave his mouth. The Vice Captain’s pelvis was kneading the bedclothes, grinding rhythmically into the mattress. Mika was envious of the night-bugs on the opposite wall, the bookshelf, the air, whatever had a view of the wink of Lohen’s entrance—pink and pretty and puckered—as he suckled on Mika’s cock. He bent over, Lohen’s forehead against his abdomen now, running fingers through his boyfriend’s hair and reaching his other arm down the back to find hole.
Lohen bucked as he found it, spitting out Mika’s dick with a guttural bawl. He peered up at Mika sideways, through heavy lidded eyes, swimming with lust. “Not till I’ve had another drink,” he muttered. Then Lohen re-swallowed his cock.
***
The two did, eventually, sleep. It was dawn by then, Mondstadt slow to wake around them; the City of Freedom wasn’t known for early risers, beyond Jean’s needling of the guards for morning watch. Many shutters stayed shut, often till well after breakfast, and Mika had closed theirs before 7AM to keep out the sunlight.
Frankly speaking, Lohen’s blowjob had been lovely. But after their night, they were both exhausted, his boyfriend sore and hungover from the awkward place that Mika had discovered him. A doze would do Lohen some good. He’d padlocked his nerves, too—as much as he figured he could—judging that rest would be hearty and hale before the bard and the deacon came knocking.
Mika stirred several hours later at the sound of the door jam.
“I see you dressed for the occasion,” Dahlia said, smirking, checking him out.
Mika had gone to the threshold naked, in a spurt of abandon, hovering at the frame and waving Dahlia and Venti swiftly into the room. “Reckoned you’d wanna get started…”
Venti smiled grandly, studying his blushing body with greater interest and aim than the deacon had bothered with. “Too right, my good cartographer. You must have a map ready for the afternoon already, suitable and adventurous. Like I have a song!” Venti paused, gesturing to his penis, which hung soft and limp in the down of his blonde pubic hair. Mika was a grower, but Venti didn’t look at all disappointed. “Or a flute to play…eh he.”
Dahlia on the other hand. “Is that it? The famous monster? I’m already bored…”
Between these two, Mika felt suddenly quite nervous. He glanced back-and-forth, waiting to be saved but fully aware no rescue would be forthcoming. Lohen was facedown in their bed still, snoring loudly; splayed limbs, pale butt pointed at the ceiling, Lohen looked like a human hotcake with a single cherry on top. No help indeed.
“Don’t tease him, Dahlia. He looks scrumptious.”
Mika interrupted the discussion of himself in the third-person, saying, “Won’t you both come in? I can get you some tea, or—”
“Wine, please,” Dahlia retorted immediately, stepping into the center of the room. He was already unbuttoning his coat.
Venti leaned closer, brushing a kiss to his cheek. Mika practically broke into hives, his face flushing deeply red. The bard’s gaze was animated, yet warm as a summer’s breeze. “I would gratefully accept a glass. Thank you, Mika.”
Mika took the long route to their galley kitchen, gesturing his guests to the large armchair or the only two dining chairs, whichever. He passed the end of the bed, sending a kick out at Lohen’s dangling ankle—causing the man to yelp awake, rattled and confused. (Dahlia chuckled, not missing a beat of this.) So Mika went about uncorking the wine, digging in the cupboard for glasses (all of which had fingerprints on them, he cringed), else trying for any other meager victuals he might serve. In truth, unnerved, he was buying himself time.
Venti called from the main room, “Would you like some aid, Mika?”
“No, no, it’s OK,” he said quickly. Mika stole another furtive in his boyfriend’s direction. He summoned some mental daggers. Get up, you lazy waif!
As if Lohen heard him, there was a groan. And then he heard Lohen groggily fumbling about. “Venti! Dahlia, you’re here.”
As Lohen finally, finally joined them, the surreal truth that this was happening—actually happening after all—really struck him. Mika was partway into the big room again, arms full with balanced wine stems and the open flagon and a half-devoured cold cut platter of leftovers, taking in the sight of the three men before him. Dahlia, plonked bodily into the cushioned chair, limbs arranged as if sitting a throne and a smug expression on his prim face; he was shirtless already, breathing easily, his trouser-shorts unfastened and open, so that Mika could see a hint of strawberry-blonde pubes. His skin had that same, almost pastel-pink hue, waxen and rosy like an unlit candle. Venti was still fully dressed, the bright-green garb matching his eyes; observing him now, Mika noted that either the eyes shone livelier or the eagerness in his countenance made them appear to. His hands were elegant, even dainty—and Mika puzzled over the lack of calluses, so unusual for a bard, as they lay folded in Venti’s lap.
In the minutes after he’d gotten up, Lohen had somewhere wrapped himself in a blanket. In typical Lohen-fashion, the fabric was wound poorly; it barely hid anything, though Lohen had no more modesty to lose. Suddenly the action made perfect sense: not poorly, Lohen was already teasing.
Mika put down the food and drink, hopping about to pass off the wine. He watched as Venti unraveled Lohen in an unhurried twirl, his boyfriend grinning and humored from the attention. Little minx, he thought.
There was a smack, playful, yet enough to make him jolt. Dahlia had reached over to slap him on the ass; his perky butt cheek jiggled with the impact. Dahlia smiled at him, lazily; he pushed Mika towards the other end of the room, before leaning back in his chair. “Go on, then,” he said simply.
Lohen hadn’t missed any of this. Nor had Venti, by the looks of it.
Like he was engaged in a dance, for which he already knew the steps, Lohen waltzed up to him. Mika stood rooted, in mild panic over what to do with his hands—before he cupped his dick in front of him. Dahlia chuckled behind; Venti regarded him openly, simply. His attention was drawn to Lohen again, as his boyfriend pecked him near the ear, sidled up to his hipbone. Then Lohen was kissing his ear, licking and biting gently, till his mind hazed. Through the furious lapping, he heard Lohen whisper: “You’ll be great, honey. You look perfect.”
Mika sighed. Venti sat back in their little dining chair, spreading his legs a nudge. He winked, smiling, patting his thigh with a purposeful motion.
Behind him, Mika heard Lohen say something. “So, I’m for you then?”
A jumble of feelings battled in him. Shock, misunderstanding, bleakness, a sort-of cold fury. Before any of it could settle, however, Dahlia replied indolently: “Nah, not really. You can lay across my lap, if you want. But you’re getting yourself off…”
Venti watched him cycle through these impressions with a kind of omniscient knowing. Understanding resided there, a trace of pity, mostly a kind of detached curiosity that struck Mika as seasoned and relentlessly kind. Venti was, what?, in his late twenties? Thirties? Plenty of Mondstadt men he knew were older, yet the intelligence in the bard’s eyes was a sharpened rock, granite-hard and shaped by time. Wind, he thought, didn’t always smooth, it seemed. Now desire filled those eyes, and the look he received was enough like how Lohen looked at him—vanquished, entire—that all the shyness left Mika at once.
Now, he knew what he was about. Dropping his hands from before his crotch, relaxed, he padded over to sit on Venti’s stocking-clad thigh. One arm draped around Venti’s neck, the other settled between his legs, palm up. The wrist nestled by his dick, which was already chubbing up.
“There now. That’s better, isn’t it?”
Venti leaned in again, kissing him. At this, Mika’s eyes fluttered shut, Venti’s tongue slipping inside his mouth. He crooned against the man, pressing back, a high whine escaping his lips. Gently, the sensation of a hand high on his hip, caressing slow and deliberate to his tailbone, then dipping between his cheeks.
Mika got needier as Venti’s fingernail contacted with his rim. The slightest come-hither gesture, less seeking entry and more simply brushing, skimming, petting the wrinkle of his hole. A musician’s touch. Mika squirmed, keen for it, letting himself be handled inside and out. The kiss, especially, felt amazing.
When he came up for air, Venti winked again—more conspiratorially this time. But his voice was without guile, pleasant and melodic. “You’re a stunningly beautiful boy, Mika. You’ve grown up so handsomely.”
It might have been strange, saccharine, perhaps even emasculating from someone else. Lohen’s nose would have wrinkled in disgust. Mika merely flushed, said, “Thank you.”
“I hope you’ll do me the great honor of coupling with me…” When Venti asked this, his other hand, which had been lightly stroking Mika’s arm, skipped up Mika’s stomach and pinched tenderly at one of his nipples. More sensitive than usual, pert and puffy, Mika whined at the sweet pain as Venti smooched him again. Fingers twisted the nub with a flirty resoluteness; and Mika swooned, pinpricked stars blinking in his eyes, as Venti sucked on the end of his tongue.
Snippets of barked chatter from the others idled in Mika’s ears. His thoughts hazy, he couldn’t quite make sense of them, Venti’s ministrations were too overriding.
“Archons, that’s—” There was a gulped back choke. “—so hot.”
“Archons, indeed,” Dahlia mused, his tone mocking.
His boyfriend’s voice had been husky, uneven, almost reverential. Dimly, he heard the slick of spittle or slime on flesh; probably Lohen had fetched the bottled condensate from the bedside nightstand.
Mika felt his asshole give to Venti’s finger, parting just enough to offer entry. He whined, clamping down. Venti curled the digit expertly, scraping his nail on Mika’s inner walls, finding the little nub of his prostate immediately—as if he knew Mika’s body already, inside and out. The moans sprang from Mika easily, matched by a low wordless song in Venti’s throat, vibrating in his head, his chest, all the way through him.
“Ugh, somebody needs to finger-fuck me like that, right now…” Lohen’s grumblings, of course, which clearly Dahlia wasn’t having. Mika heard the man chuckle dismissively in reply.
“I told you, you’re on your own…”
“Hey, your hand’s not busy!” Lohen was feisty, shrill and spoiled about it. His voice sounded in fits-and-starts, broken by the groans and squelches of his masturbation.
“Bite me,” Dahlia spat. “You have two hands. Stick ‘em up your own ass.”
“Bite me yourself,” Lohen spat back, louder.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Venti murmured something close to Mika’s ear, resharpening his attentions. Though it was too swift to really heed. Mika mumbled his response. “Huh?”
The bard’s features swam in front of him, cheery and smirking. His lips were bruised from their making out, somehow even comelier than before. He knew Venti; he was something of a feature in the fair City of Freedom. Yet he realized, looking now, that he hardly knew anything at all about the man. Venti’s coming’s and going’s had never concerned him much, though Mika knew he mixed with everyone effortlessly, changeful and unreadable even albeit kind. “I’d said, only, that those two are quite a lively pair, aren’t they?”
Mika blanked, momentarily, as Venti’s finger chafed against his prostate once more. His eyelids fluttered. “Uh huh,” he agreed; it was bizarre discussion with a hand palming your butt cheeks, even if the sensation was astonishing. “We’d better not leave them alone too long. Lohen might stab him…”
Venti’s mirth at his jest was infectious, the laughter overtaking his face. In a bout of flowed motion, the hand left his asshole—he gasped—and then tickled his side, dancing around to his front. Mika whimpered as his dick was grasped delicately, his sac palmed and lifted a little away from his taint, so there was a light pressure and tingling of air. Venti pumped his shaft, lazy and deliberate, while locked in his gaze. It was a very suggestive expression.
“Mmmm, shall we then? I’ve been wanting a taste of this.” Venti’s grip tightened around the base of his cockhead, under the flared tip, retracting the loose foreskin till he was slippery with precum and then sliding it wetly back into place. Mika felt the small squeeze.
He nodded mutely, worked up and horny now. “OK,” he said.
As Mika moved to stand, Venti rose up with surprising speed and dexterity, hefting him into a bridal carry. His yelp was fractious, almost girly; and he blushed deeply again, embarrassed by both the circumstances and the outburst. His erection, still dripping precum, smacked against his tummy. The absurdity of being fully naked in the bard’s arms, who was as yet completely clothed, was almost too much to bear. Venti was smiling, maybe reading his thoughts. First Lohen with his incomprehensible clairvoyance, now this.
‘Venti, aren’t you gonna—”
“Oh right,” Venti wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “I suppose I can’t be taken in my tights, wouldn’t want to ruin them. Even if it is for a pretty boy like you.”
Mika reddened further, unable to think of how to respond.
He was spared the need, because Venti set him down in the center of the room on his toes. Quickly he spun to glance at the armchair: Dahlia was wholly bared now, reclining with his legs spread apart, one arm thrown casually over the camel back. The pale rose of his skin had pinked further; and Mika noticed the light freckling on his skinny chest and languid limbs. Dahlia’s eyes widened, sighting his cock.
“See? Told you.”
His boyfriend had, indeed, lay across the deacon’s lap. Lohen’s butt was situated on one of Dahlia’s thighs, his back dipping into the empty space between Dahlia’s knees—depressing the cushion—while the rest of him nestled on Dahlia’s other side. Lohen’s legs were mismatched, one dangling off the chair’s end, the other angled frightfully open; clearly so that Lohen could reach his stretched hole. Otherwise, his body hid Dahlia’s groin completely, but Dahlia’s other arm was noticeably not at rest. And though Lohen was occupied with his cock, jerking himself off, his gaze was fixed on Mika.
“Yeah, okay, okay,” Dahlia muttered. There was mild wonder in his voice. “You’re not as much of a liar as you look.”
“Hm. Enjoying yourself, honey?” Lohen asked, largely ignoring the deacon now.
Mika jolted suddenly; as if summoned, Venti came to stand behind him. He peeked over his shoulder from the corner of his eye, skin and skin and skin all over his vision. Not so covered up now, Mika noted, wetting his lips. Venti’s arms encircled him round his front, softly tickling and caressing his pectorals, his tummy; he felt the press of the bard’s naked hip, the impression of a rather prodigious bulge against his bum. (They were almost of a height, Venti a little taller.) Casually, Venti began twisting one of his nipples again, the thrumming rushing of a tongue at his earlobe.
Lohen’s winnowed smile didn’t reach his wine-dark eyes. He looked envious, hungry, a bit pissed off. Buffeted by the bard’s ministrations, Mika’s dick—for the moment, untouched—stood out, thick and proud, pointed at the armchair like a colossal index finger. These are the consequences of your actions, it seemed to say; his boyfriend didn’t look happy about it, not at all. Guilt and pleasure roared in his ears, yet he had little to feel shamefaced about and plenty about which to feel good. Precum drooled from his glans, dirtying the hardwood floor below. Still, as Venti took him properly in hand, the nerves crept back over his skin, sending out goosebumps. Another wave of bliss washed over him, pooling in his belly, and mind fizzled out.
With a rictus-grin, tone mocking and almost bored, Dahlia said: “Time to meet god, Mika.”
The impression of the body against him—hands at his chest and cock, hardness pressed to the small of his back—disappeared abruptly, leaving a feathered prickling absence. Touch flowed lightly down his arm to his fingertips, where Venti tugged him gentle and firm towards the bed. His brain a jumble, the room seemed to have shrunk; his boyfriend’s jealous and resentful gaze beavered up to his skin, wandering down his back, tucked behind the softness of his thighs, or else burrowed into the sweaty bud of his asshole. Mika could feel it on him, possessive. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
He turned away from Lohen with a “Sorry” mouthed dumbly on his lips and greeted the sight of the bard underneath him.
Venti was nude as expected, laid out on his back, legs bent at the knees and dainty feet perched on either side of his hips to expose his hole. His sac hung loosely, and from the neat and downy mess of pubes, his long cock flopped along a tight stomach. Venti’s arms, normally busy at the bottle or lyre, were folded neatly behind his head. His repose was absurdly unbothered, an arresting combination of pretty, flushed, and warm—a breeze in late spring. He smiled that knowing smile again, letting out another “eh he” of laughter, which drummed in Mika’s ears.
There was no denying it, the bard looked ravishing like this. Somehow submissive and in control both, eminently fuckable, a vessel waiting to be filled. Mika had a vision of dandelion fields, soft rolling hills waiting to be seeded. A pearled sheen, lube or precum, shone at his entrance. Mika could simply slot right into him, positioned as he was, butt hanging off the end of the mattress. Again, it was like Venti heard him: his ring clenched and unclenched, winking.
“Come on now, big boy. Join me,” the bard sang, low and sultry.
Mika moved between his legs, heady with closeness. With his eyes fixed on Venti’s face, he swallowed, fumbling a lopsided grin. He fingered the place, experimentally, ringing the soft reddened skin, watching the bard’s eyes go glassy and eager. Heat filled the little pocket of air between their bodies, pregnant with the promise of connecting; his hand came away slick. “Is it OK?” he asked, polite and good.
Distinct behind him, Lohen growled. Then, chiding his boyfriend immediately, Dahlia snickered, “Don’t be irreverent, Lohen. Shush now. You don’t wanna miss this…”
Mika heard another squelch over his shoulder, twisting to glance back. Distracting him. Lohen was shoving his thin fingers into his asshole, hovered over his own wrist like it was a sex toy; his boyfriend whined loudly, trying to sit down, frustrated at the resistance. He was leaned against Dahlia’s chest, the deacon’s body a comical chair, chasing pleasure on his fleshy throne. Lohen thrashed upon it, cock flailing and bouncing, as Dahlia continued to chuckle at his expense.
“Here, Mika.”
He wrenched himself back to Venti, heeding the placid command. With a slight shake of his head, Mika seized his dick round the base, directing it towards the wrinkled pink target; his glans, spongy and wet, kissed and dragged on Venti’s entrance, then parted the ring to plunge inside. He sighed, blissed and refocused. Lohen’s sulking and neediness would have to wait until they were alone together. Now, he had a songster to fuck.
“That’s it,” Venti purred. “Good boy.”
The slender bard was impossibly tight. Hot, velvety walls hugged his shaft in a silky embrace, squeezing and relinquishing, the inner muscles expert and practiced at bringing a man to pleasure. Mika could just draw back far enough for Venti’s rim to grip the head of his cock, vice-snug, unwilling to let him escape—only to relax its hold, butter smooth, as he pistoned himself forward. With every lunging motion, Mika felt he was melting; sweat gathered at his brow, under his armpits, in the dimples of his perky ass.
Wanting to go deeper, Mika leaned over the body on the bed, tossing his hands down on either side of Venti’s middle (just above the hip). The angle allowed him to bend his knees, increasing the power of his thrust. Flared nerves, in tiny pinpricks, ran over his arms; his heart felt like a kite on the end of a string, all tug and slack dancing. In his throat, Mika’s breath guzzled and heaved, as if he were mounting Dragonspine, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to live.
Beneath Mika, Venti appeared right as rain—riding the wind, not hammered about by the gale. The bard rode every shove against him with delicious contentment, eyes shiny, mouth lolled open in a silent ohh!. The pleasure he was taking was frank and palpable, punctuated with low mewling sounds, rose coloring high up the thin torso, a weighty grinding motion in time with Mika’s pounding. Amidst the lewd moaning carnality, he wore a sort-of smile, half-teasing, half-ecstatic, eyes lidded closed in the throes of the fucking he received.
Breathing hard, Mika’s gaze fell to the spot where their bodies joined. The stretch of Venti’s hole was nigh-obscene; the rim angry and reddened, a battered thing. Truthfully, he almost didn’t recognize his own dick; the shaft seemed huge jammed between the bard’s ass cheeks, speared on, thick and glossy with a coating of slime condensate and precum. It wasn’t better than Lohen—nothing was better than Lohen—but it was blisteringly, numbingly good. The silky heat seeped through his skin, spreading and pooling, as if Venti were imparting all his ardor.
There was a yelping cry from the armchair, Lohen’s. Followed by Dahlia shrieking, “Shit!” Yep, Mika knew his boyfriend was cumming.
Somehow, this was enough to send him over the edge himself.
The bard’s eyes flew open, expression wrecked, as his thrusts went wonky and uneven. Mika slammed one last time to the hilt, bucking awkwardly into Venti’s bony hips with a smack; it actually hurt, a good hurt. Gasps and whimpers streamed from his mouth, and Mika’s cock uploaded—spending its fluid. His limbs seized, going rigid; and he felt the seed spill from him.
Venti groaned, head thrown back into the mattress, idyllic. The bard’s arms loosed and flailed. Mika watched, no, sensed, the shuddering delight race up the man’s stomach, his chest—even saw Venti’s nipples perk and grow hard—as Mika’s orgasm coursed through him. It was as if Venti’s body were drinking his cum, soaking it into the marrow. In turn, Mika’s breathing turned ragged; he was destroyed, thin and wispy, picked clean.
“Fuck…” Dahlia was speaking away behind him, fresh wonder in his voice. His boyfriend sounded as if he were half-sobbing, a mangy aroused sniveling creature, wanton and unfulfilled. Guilt bubbled inside him.
As his dick began to shrivel, he tried to move off, but Venti’s legs locked around his butt, holding him there. Mika jolted. The sloppy wetness at his middle, the bruised muscle of the bard’s lax sphincter, unclenched around his tip—failing to keep him inside. His skin, abruptly with clamminess and drying sweat. All of it made Mika yearn for his Lohen’s embrace. “Not yet, baby boy,” Venti cooed. “You must kiss me first, no?”
Plain, Mika looked at him. Still pity and tenderness coexisted in Venti’s expression, but there was a sleepy power now as well. How do he ever fool himself that he, of all people, was the one doing the fucking. Mutely, he leaned over to kiss the bard chastely on the red petals of his lips. An inhuman calm filled him. When he broke and pulled back to settled on his elbows, close yet, Venti was smiling kindly. Uncertainly, he grinned back. “There now, was that nice?”
Vaguely, Mika nodded his head, not speaking. The bard filled the space of the air himself, his pleasing lilt: “You were so lovely, Mika. Thank you.”
Then, with a pop, the spell around them broke and he was released. Noise and senses from the rest of the room began to land, sharp and dull and deeply inordinately human in their mundanity. Lohen’s hiccupped breath, feet, the hissed “Hey!” Dahlia’s swift start out of the armchair. The creak of the springs in their bed, as Venti twisted off the end of the mattress, reaching for his clothing on the hardwood floor. Even the piddle of spunk trickling from between Venti’s cheeks, marking the blankets, didn’t escape his awakened awareness.
Finally, his eyes found Lohen again. Ruddy, splotched, streaked with tears. Moments passed where they stared at one another from across the room. Mika’s throat clogged thick. A sob threatened to tumble out of him.
Dahlia’s voice fractured the quiet, too garish. “Well, much obliged for your hospitality, Mika. Let’s do this again.” Then clipped lower, “Lohen.”
“Get out,” Lohen spat. The look on his tear-stained features was murderous.
In reply, Dahlia’s expression was replete with a smug satisfaction as he maneuvered to the door, cracking it open to the street beyond. Sunlight lanced through to the opposite wall, cutting an angled line over the floor. This Venti shadowed, wordlessly, glancing back only once to give Mika another significant, forlorn smile. Then, firmly shuttered, the two boyfriends were alone.
All the fight left Lohen at once. His boyfriend, still naked and covered in his own crusting semen, pulled his legs up to hug himself round the knees. He sat the middle of the settee’s cushion, his softened cock and gaped asshole visible between his feet and ankles. It did seem, honestly, like he might have fit his whole hand inside; his rim, what Mika could see of it, was a livid red. Under him, blotted spots on the fabric, where lube had oozed out of him. (No blood, Mika realized, sighing in relief.) The used, pinked parts of him—eyes swollen from crying, dick chafed, thin lines (like scars) where he’d bent or folded at the stomach—all seemed signs of a kind of defeat. The rest of his body, pristine but for the sheen of sweat, struck Mika as paler than usual.
His boyfriend talked into his knees, no longer meeting Mika’s eyes. Fingers picked idly at the skin. “That was awful,” he whispered. “Did you have fun?”
Mika choked out a reply. “I guess… Not really.”
Unaccountably, Lohen’s voice pitched lower, quieter. “I’m sorry.”
Tired from the angle of his earlier fucking, tired from being wrung dry, tired in general, Mika half-crawled and half-loped on hands and knees over to the base of the armchair. Forcing Lohen’s legs apart, he slotted himself into the empty space he’d cleared; his arms snaked around Lohen’s middle from his seat on the floor. Lohen didn’t struggle. Mika whispered back, “It’s OK.”
His boyfriend crumpled into him, nuzzling his shoulder. “No, it’s not…”
At least this was more strident, lifelike. Mika’s touch was reawakening him, reviving Mika himself. He tried for a little more: “Dahlia sorta hates you, huh?”
“Yeah, he sure does.” Mumbled, moody. Then Lohen went on, petulant, “I hate him.”
“He is kinda a jerk.”
The teensiest hint of humor sparked in Lohen’s features. Lohen stared at him, skeleton of a grin peeking out. “Why Mika Schmidt, you foul-mouthed rogue, spouting insults like that.”
Mika giggled. Not loudly nor long, but in acknowledgement of the gentle ribbing. A good sign, he thought. However, his boyfriend’s smirk faded just as soon as it showed, Lohen regarding him more seriously now. There was a question on his lips, lingering in the heavy air between them. Mika knew it, knew it was coming, and resolved to lie in order to spare Lohen’s feelings.
“Was it horrible?”
“Yeah, he’s not my cup of tea.” Well, perhaps a partial lie.
“Good,” Lohen said, studying him again. Acceptance, even understanding seemed to be in the glum nod he gave then. “I love you, Mika. You’re the whole cup of tea for me. The whole kettle.”
It was said in a furious rush, ardent and nervy. And in return, Mika offered what they both needed: “I love you. But don’t ever do that again, alright? I don’t want anyone else.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Lohen intoned, the vow sounding genuine. Where their bodies were crushed together, like flowers maybe, or butterflies, Mika apprehended the smooch pressed to the top of his head. Lohen’s voice buzzed against him; he felt himself sigh at last. The next promise struck Mika as less genuine. “I’m never drinking again…”
“Yeah,” Mika alleged. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Listen, boyo. It’s not like I could refuse. He’s the Anemo Archon,” Lohen explained, whirring on without stopping. “And if Lord Barbatos demands you—”
Mika choked, his face going white as a cum-stained sheet. “Lord WHO?!”
***
fin