[ were diluc of clearer mind, it’d been easy to tell him it was terrible. his couch and whatever he filled it with, that is. for now, diluc considers kaeya lucky to receive the half-roll of his eyes and a sharp exhalation of doubt that colors itself in the weight of his own irritation and the heft of his own fatigue.
when he was young, he’d thought it different: no burden was too much to bear when kaeya was there, no dream so insurmountable. toeing at the shoreline, the grit of the sand at their skin, he’d thought no matter where kaeya went he would go with him. along the spines of mountains, against the shadow of the world – all the little promises diluc told him, curled up against his against body. a body, diluc had once thought, was too his own. how many moons had they spent pressed along the seams of one another, folded limb against limb as though the closing of correspondences? how many times had diluc thought – wildly perhaps – that if he might find the space inside him, that he’d draw upon his own sword to open it for him? for kaeya, who asked at first for nothing. for kaeya, who looked upon diluc with the bright northern star in his eye and shrunk from him as though kaeya had reason to shrink at all. for him, who still lingers at diluc’s elbow despite the acidity of their exchanges and the looming years that have left mottled the lay of their skin. he no longer knows what kaeya feels like, sounds like when he wakes in the morning. he no longer knows what kaeya does throughout his days in full. he no longer knows if he snores, if he pushes the cold soles of his feet against the bodies he must share space with now.
he no longer knows and diluc does not bend for it, but the ache of its absence wrenches from the pit of his stomach. it simmers against the curve of his shoulders, the flushed curve of his throat. it beads there, a blistering roll of fire. in its wake, it consumes all the sense and patience that diluc knows that he should own. back then, kaeya had steadied him, tempered him. he’d kept the ember of diluc’s grand ambitions softer, more controlled. and his emotions – ah, it’d been so easy, hadn’t it? what diluc had known, kaeya had too. and now?
it is stubbornness, that drags him into kaeya’s room. into kaeya’s bed. he doesn’t think about it, being potentially played again, until his body is half-draped over the mattress and the poor cut of the fabric scrapes against his chin. smells like him, his brain supplies regardless. smells good. and it is that stupidity and his instincts that settle gladly into bed. ]
Like you managed me across town? [ he slurs out, after a long moment. there’s a little swell of victory in his chest regardless, in the way it puffs up a little no matter how ridiculous. even if this is what he was aiming for, diluc had at least provided no laughter for him. not like that. and not like this, as he hauls himself back up enough to messily unlace his own boots and resolve that he’d be gone by morning anyhow.
no subject
when he was young, he’d thought it different: no burden was too much to bear when kaeya was there, no dream so insurmountable. toeing at the shoreline, the grit of the sand at their skin, he’d thought no matter where kaeya went he would go with him. along the spines of mountains, against the shadow of the world – all the little promises diluc told him, curled up against his against body. a body, diluc had once thought, was too his own. how many moons had they spent pressed along the seams of one another, folded limb against limb as though the closing of correspondences? how many times had diluc thought – wildly perhaps – that if he might find the space inside him, that he’d draw upon his own sword to open it for him? for kaeya, who asked at first for nothing. for kaeya, who looked upon diluc with the bright northern star in his eye and shrunk from him as though kaeya had reason to shrink at all. for him, who still lingers at diluc’s elbow despite the acidity of their exchanges and the looming years that have left mottled the lay of their skin. he no longer knows what kaeya feels like, sounds like when he wakes in the morning. he no longer knows what kaeya does throughout his days in full. he no longer knows if he snores, if he pushes the cold soles of his feet against the bodies he must share space with now.
he no longer knows and diluc does not bend for it, but the ache of its absence wrenches from the pit of his stomach. it simmers against the curve of his shoulders, the flushed curve of his throat. it beads there, a blistering roll of fire. in its wake, it consumes all the sense and patience that diluc knows that he should own. back then, kaeya had steadied him, tempered him. he’d kept the ember of diluc’s grand ambitions softer, more controlled. and his emotions – ah, it’d been so easy, hadn’t it? what diluc had known, kaeya had too. and now?
it is stubbornness, that drags him into kaeya’s room. into kaeya’s bed. he doesn’t think about it, being potentially played again, until his body is half-draped over the mattress and the poor cut of the fabric scrapes against his chin. smells like him, his brain supplies regardless. smells good. and it is that stupidity and his instincts that settle gladly into bed. ]
Like you managed me across town? [ he slurs out, after a long moment. there’s a little swell of victory in his chest regardless, in the way it puffs up a little no matter how ridiculous. even if this is what he was aiming for, diluc had at least provided no laughter for him. not like that. and not like this, as he hauls himself back up enough to messily unlace his own boots and resolve that he’d be gone by morning anyhow.
easy. ]