i dont… i dont

Lohen has always been beautiful, even from the distance that he’s put you at. He’s beautiful every time his lips brush your knuckles at dinners with powerful families in Mondstadt, still beautiful when he forsakes you by your lonesome for the rest of the night, leaving you to entertain yourself in other ways. He’s beautiful when you’re strolling the gardens, and you catch him sparring against other knights, and he smiles like it’s the happiest he’s ever been.

Hell, he’s beautiful now — his bangs fallen over his forehead, eyes widened in shock, his chest rising mid-inhale. He’s moved your vanity chair to the side of your bed, elbows perched on the stand right above your previously sleeping form. Lohen's lips move in response to your question, but he doesn’t answer.

You have to blink yourself awake, try to force your words to come out less groggy.

“Did I oversleep?”

He actually answers this time, his tone with the veneer of professionalism.

“No.”

“… Is there an emergency, then? Has someone passed?”

“… No.”

Your heart thuds dully in your chest, confusion swirling in your head. You shift, your head lifting up from your pillow just a little, and Lohen scrambles. The chair falls to the floor with a thud in his hurry to leave, his voice uncharacteristically wavering as he fumbles, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to come in, please have a good night—”

You prop yourself up in a panic, your hand reaches for his just barely enough to grab his wrist, and he freezes. Your mind races because Lohen hasn’t turned around to face you yet, but you grabbed for his wrist in a hurry, and you had no plan of action for this. With all your might, you tug him backwards — he yelps, forearms falling back on your sheets, his back landing on your lap.

“You are not leaving that easily.” You pant out, scowl on your lips, “What the hell, Lohen?”

He doesn’t respond again, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes blown wide. You watch in real time as the heavy flush at his ears spreads to his cheeks, red blossoming all over his face.

… Ah.

This is Lohen’s first time in a bed with you, you realize.

(And suddenly, your face feels warm too. You wonder if he notices.)

Slowly, you shift again — your thighs raise ever so slightly, so his head is brought closer to you, so you can sit a little more upright.

He's beautiful from this angle, too, and it only steels your resolve more. You’ve been denied the excuse to touch your husband for two years; you might as well take advantage of the opportunity while you have it.

Cautiously, your hand creeps towards him. A part of you is worried he’ll lunge — bite at you like a dog, or run away — but he stays frozen in your lap.

Your palm ghosts the cusp of his chin, tilting his jaw to face you. His skin is so much softer than you imagined, warm and getting warmer — he feels human underneath you.

Your hand travels to the side of his jaw, thumb on his cheek, tracing the deeper red on the apples of his cheek.

Lohen flinches, like your attention on him burns.

He should leave. He should lift himself from your lap, excuse himself to sleep in his cold chambers for the rest of the night so he can think about your touch without going rabid. He should cook you your favorite breakfast tomorrow, apologize profusely with a brilliant excuse for what he was doing in your room the night before.

Lohen knows himself enough to know that he should go. You're the one that stepped into the lion's den — a mouse keeping such a beast under it's paw is unheard of, and it's up to him to be strong enough to retreat back into the shadows, but he's never been strong when it comes to you.

So he stays there, drinking in the sight of you above him with half-lidded eyes, gazing at your lips as they move.

“Were you … watching me in my sleep?”

If only you knew.

He exhales. “Yeah.”

Warmth floods your chest, and your lips move before you can even process your next question. “Do you watch me often?”

Lohen feels like he might die, out of the pure ecstasy his heart can’t take being held by you, or the utter embarrassment of being caught.

“Almost every night.” He spits out, “Whenever I get the chance.”

“… Do you watch me when I'm not sleeping?”

Almost every day, whenever he gets the chance.

He's seen you in every state you've been in — it's not difficult to shrink his duties as the Vice Captain, and it's so easy when he already knows your daily schedule.

He used to chalk it up to keeping you safe. As his partner, you'd automatically be put in more danger than you normally would be, so he'd watch to keep an eye out for any attacks. The only attacks that he'd find out, however, were flirts and eyes from other men.

He wouldn't know what the feeling was when it happened — the something ugly that broiled in his chest, made his bloodlust that much more potent. He'd think about ending them all if he could for a moment — carve out their eyes for looking at you, flay their lips so they couldn't speak, butcher their hands for touching you.

But then you'd laugh. You'd wave your hand to show off the ring on your finger, speak of him, your husband, and all those thoughts would disappear. Because you were his, and he was yours.

Lohen would later find out (through rants with Varka of all people) that the fleeting emotion that overtook him was jealousy, and the emotion he felt towards you was love.

Something sick, tainted and unsure — but love nonetheless.

Lohen feels a rare bout of disgust towards himself. The bear trap he's placed himself in has finally clamped down on his crus, and like any wounded animal, he scrambles for absolution.

A gasp escapes your lips as his head rams into the fat of your stomach, his nose buried into your thigh, arms awkwardly wrapped around your waist. This is certainly the closest he's been to you — he can smell your bodywash through your silk top, just enough to send his panicking mind into overdrive.

“Please don't—” He chokes out, “Please don't leave me — I can be better, I can change, so please don't—”

You can only watch in shock as Lohen babbles on, manic pleas flying from his lips faster than you can process them. His arms squeeze around you, twisting the fabric bunched at your skin, pressing further closer to you. He'd reach past your skin if he could — have his teeth tear into your flesh, burrow into your bones, sink into the fibers of your muscle — he's happy to be a parasite if it means he can be with you—

“Lohen, stop.”

His teeth clamp down on his tongue at your command, just enough to draw blood.

It's embarrassing. The Vice Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ Fifth Company, trembling in his partner's lap, cowering like a child. He can't help it; he can't think properly with you so close to him. Any normal man would knuckle under your warmth, lurch on their axis at your touch, and he is all but just a man—

Your hands cup his cheeks, forcing his face to yours, your noses just inches apart.

It pisses you off — how absolutely angelic he looks, knowing he has so much to apologize for. Tears lace the corners of his eyes like poison on a sharp knife, arched right to your heart. There's a waver of his lips, small knit in his brows, pink in his eyes, the color of love, that makes him that much more pitiful.

“You're acting insane.” Your eye twitches, “I've never met anyone like you.”

“’M sorry,” he mumbles glumly, “I didn't mean for it to go this far.”

(You've never seen a man look more desperate in his life.

And now your heart feels soft again.)

For a moment, there's just silence. Pregnant and heavy, fallen over the two of you. There's not even a rustle on his side, like he's terrified that if he moves, time will go forward again.

“Can I ask why?”

What other reason would there be?

For the first time since being caught, his eyes meet yours wholly. Like you're the only person in the whole world, and his answer is the only truth.

His breath feels tepid on your skin, the shaky inhale and exhale as you await the answer.

“I just like being around you.” He breathes, “… Even when you're unaware of it, I just like you.”

And then his head dips, his cheek nuzzling into the palm of your hand. Like a dog at the heel of its owner, he bathes in the attention you've given him while still begging for more.

“I like you,” he confesses again — it’s not any easier to say it, even now that it's already out in the open. You feel his lips on your skin, not daring to enunciate more than needed, shielding your bare palm from his teeth. “And I’ve been holding back all this time, so please forgive me.”

There's something scrappy in his tone of voice — raw on his tongue, with something frenzied that you can't quite place.

So this is the real Lohen.

Normal? No. Well-adjusted? Certainly not. Like a wolf starving for a meal, he’s gotten himself through with instinct and madness alone. Polite greetings can't quell such a fire, and kisses out of duty will only ignite it further, so he's been staving it off by watching you — but that can't simulate what he truly desires either. He's just as obsessed as you are, to the point where it's debilitating.

Something stirs in your heart.

(Is it bad that this only makes you want him more?)

So you adjust your grip — you sit both of you up straighter on the bed, resting his chin between your propped-up knees.

“I forgive you.” You murmur, finger absentmindedly circling around his cheek, brushing his bangs back. You're impossibly close to him now —enough to see the flutter of his blue eyelashes, the faint freckles that dot his nose.

Your head tilts to the side, moving closer. “And…”

Lohen's breath hitches.

“I'm sorry you felt that you couldn't be yourself around me.”

A peck on his cheek, before you pull back. Far too brief, he'd think he imagined it if you weren't holding him right here.

“I wish you would've told me instead of going to such lengths, y'know.”

Another on his forehead. His neurons feel frayed, sent to death by overstimulation at your touch, his self-control tumbling further and further away, straight to the bear trap shut tightly around his heart.

“It's funny, isn't it?” Your laugh sounds like music to his ears — the crystalflies’ hum that floats around the grapevine at night, the songbirds that wake him up in the morning. “I guess anyone else would be worried about the logistics — how long you've been watching me, what you think about when you watch me, but…”

Your thumb brushes against his eyebags, faint and discolored. And your heart aches for him, because you know the countless hours and dedication he puts into his work, and you know what he puts his body through to keep you safe.

“I'm here worrying if you’re getting enough sleep like this. So now I’m wondering if we were made for eachother.”

He flinches as you kiss him right under his eye, right at the mole — your teeth scrape at his eyebags just lightly, and he shivers. You don’t separate from him completely this time — no, your head tilts until your forehead presses up against his, your noses bumping against the other, your breath on his lips.

You're brighter than the moon outside could ever be, and he can't help but stare with ricochet wonder.

“I just want you as you are. So please don't hide from me.”

Lohen used to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you. Hell, he was thinking about what it'd be like when he was watching you a few minutes ago — for you, he'd be a respectable man, the best he could be.

The second your lips actually touch his, though, the last thread of self-restraint snaps.

His fingers tighten at your shoulders as his face presses against yours, until the back of your skull hits the headboard and he's crawled up over you, caging you between the bed and his body.

It's a foreign feeling — his tongue licking the inside of your lips, teeth bumping awkwardly at how messy it all is — and he tries to keep his thoughts into reign again, tries not to think about how he'd unhinge his jaw to swallow you whole if he could, how he doesn't need another sip of wine ever again if it means getting drunk off of you for the rest of his life.

His partner, his precious partner, mewling vibrations against his lips, thunder in his heart and clouds in his head. Lohen could die happily here, he thinks — you could stab him in the back right now, and he'd have the pleasure of bleeding out in your arms. What an honor it would be to seep into the crevices of your skin, so that no amount of soap or water could ever rid you of him.

You're too sweet, though. Too good for him, so he'll have to stand to sticking his tongue down your throat instead, peeling you open from inside out until the nonsensical sounds you make with your lips learn to form his name instead.

Something carnal bubbles in your chest, like animal to animal alike, saliva in your mouth, melted iron on your tongue.

It's something in the way he laps up your attention, kisses you with a reverence only a devil could, like there's nothing else he'd rather do.

Lohen’s lips separate from yours far earlier than he'd like — his hands weaker on your wrists, chest heaving as he pants.

He's not nearly good enough at this yet, but he wants to be. He wants to be better for you in general, if you'd let him.

And it seems like you want to, with the way you lay your forehead on his shoulder, slowly gathering yourself the same way he is, letting him feel your uneven breaths on his collarbone. Your cheek feels warm on his skin as you turn, a contrast to the nip in the night air.

“So,” you look at him with all the unlocked adoration he used to dream about, “Was that everything you've ever wanted, my dear husband?”

He nods.

If he's being honest, he's still half-expecting you to throw him out now that you've had your fill of him at this point, to let him rot in the dungeons below you where he belongs — but you just laugh, and his heart skips a beat again.

Your lips curve into a teasing smile.

“… Stalker.”

Lohen flushes.

“I didn't—” His protest is cut off short by another kiss on his lips. Softer, this time. Sweeter.

Enough for him to want to go back in and capture yours properly again, but then you sigh contentedly, flopping back down on your mattress.

“You'll stay the night, won't you?” You ask innocently, running your hand up his thigh, “Unless you're content to just watch me until the sun rises.”

(As if on cue, one of the straps to your tank top slips off your shoulder, revealing your bare skin.

Lohen thinks that maybe he's been the one walking into the lion's den this entire time.)

“I…”

“Perfect!” Your hands promptly grab his forearm, pulling him down to you.

This is twice that you've thrown him to the mattress, he thinks, another three or four times more that you've manhandled him just this night alone. Is this what he should expect from married life from now on? Should he invest in a new mattress?

He scarcely has time to think before you're by his side again, arms wrapped around his waist, your lips pressing kisses to his clavicle.

“Y'know … we never consummated the marriage, Lohen,” you murmur, unable to hide the mischievous tone in your voice, “Shall we make it official tonight?”

You're going to be the death of him, but he doesn't mind.

lowkeyyyy hate the way this ended but couldnt think of anything else so . idk i just wanted to make out with him