#despised it

It’s why, when he disappears into a crowd, you first instinct is to search for the fuzzy shape of his white fur collar, the flicker of his cape in the breeze, and the icy glow of the Vision hanging from his hip.

You’ve always thought it to be unfair that he can pull off such bold wear. He always looks so effortlessly put-together, even on sick days when the only sign of a malady is a red nose.

Everything about Kaeya is purposeful.

This fact had eluded you until you first saw him without all the accessories and extravagant distractions, banging your fist on his apartment door until he opened up and offered respite from the torrential rain. It became evident once he answered that you had roused him from a deep slumber—his hair was tousled, and he wore loose sleepwear that had been incorrectly buttoned in his haste. 

The sight left you stricken in the rain. He only grew grumpier with each second you stared blatantly, and the rain was shut out when he put an arm around your shoulders to pull you indoors with an exhausted yawn.

The image hasn’t left your head since. There’s something nice about Kaeya with his walls down—not fully, never fully, but you’ve accepted that there will always be a veil of secrecy obstructing his past. You’re in no position to complain if he so willingly dedicates his present to you.

This morning, you learn that he never looks as vulnerable as he does upon waking.

The sun on Kaeya is always a sight to behold. The brilliant light catches strands of hair and casts them in a glow; the high points of his face, bouncing off his cheekbones and the uneven bridge of his nose; the slope of his shoulders that have long since been marred with scars. You reach forward with a gentle hand to nudge obscuring strands out of the way of his face, so you can press your lips to each blemish on his skin, fingers tracing the string of his eyepatch. Another thing you’ve learned—he trades his daytime leather patch for one fashioned from a softer material, lacking the metal lining that would press against his eye socket as he sleeps.

Vulnerable. You take his face in your palm, kiss his forehead, tuck his head into the crook of your neck. How lucky to see him like this. To hold him. It’s the first time you’ve been able to do so, after lingering in his living room, drinking wine and making fun of some trashy novel Lisa turned her nose up at had lasted until the early hours of the morning, and Kaeya insisted you stay rather than make the trip home. The soft, even breaths exhaled against your skin almost succeed in lulling you back to sleep, if not for Kaeya stirring.

He inhales deeply, shifting to bury himself further into your neck and the sheets, lifting the quilt to cover your tangled bodies. You smile. He has an awful habit of kicking it halfway down the bed throughout the night and chucking pillows onto the floor.

He’s a very fitful sleeper, so you learn. He told you once that the nights where he gets a continuous eight hours of rest are rare, and even rarer are those free of bad dreams that leave him shaking hours before he has to rise. You feel bad for waking him, even if unintentionally.

His eye blearily blinks open. A silent moment passes as his star-shaped pupil dilates, adjusting to the warm, morning light before he groans and pushes his face into the singular pillow that survived his onslaught.

He says something, muffled.

“Good morning to you too, Kaeya,” you laugh, ruffling his hair with as much strength as you can manage with rigid fingers. It’s a feeling you know he hates—that full-body stiffness that comes after sleep, how he can’t seem to clench his fist hard enough, or will his legs to move fluidly.

You think he worries he’d be unable to protect. Against what, you’re not certain, but Kaeya is eternally poised for something. Perhaps, it’s instinct. The unshakable fear that what he holds dear will slip away like every other grain of sand in his hourglass. That’s just the design of this world, it seems.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you whisper, still petting his hair. He’d never verbally admit to liking it, but it’s clear from the release of tension in his shoulders that he does. “Go back to sleep, there’s still a few hours till noon.”

A mumbled protest.

You breathe out a laugh. “It’s Saturday, remember?”

He slumps further against you in response. Snickering, your hand moves to rub at the nape of his neck, feeling the warped flesh of old scars beneath your fingertips. They don’t feel dissimilar to the ones your skin has retained since childhood, the product of an accident involving scalding water, or a close encounter with a Hilichurl’s flaming club. They span across one shoulder, down the expanse of his back. You don’t ask how they came to be.

Kaeya murmurs something else indistinct into the pillowcase, so you nudge his shoulder until he rolls over. Then, you straddle his thighs and lay your forearms flat against his chest, chin pressed against them so you can look up at him earnestly. “What was that?”

He holds your gaze, so sleepy he seems out of it. Still, he manages to free his scarred hands from beneath the quilt and rest one on your back, soothing circles into the skin there. The heel of his other palm rubs at his eye to clear his blurry vision. “I proposed that we pick up lunch at the Good Hunter—my treat… Even if you woke me at such an ungodly hour. I’m a forgiving man, you see.”

“And I’m forever grateful,” you hum, “even if it’s nothing more than a ploy to avoid having to cook breakfast.”

“I can cook—”

“—fruity skewers? I know, I know.”

“My goodness,” he grumbles, aggrieved. Regardless, he pulls your body further up his chest so he can nudge his lips against your chin—ever the charmer. “How lucky you are to have my heart.”

“How lucky you are to have someone with basic cooking skills.”

Kaeya grins. “In a minute, you will find yourself mysteriously on the floor.”

Laughing, you dip your head in time with his persistent kisses so he catches your lips rather than your jawbone. It’s chaste, sweet, and you trace his collarbone with your fingertips. Kaeya isn’t fragile. He never has been, and you’re well aware that strength is hidden in his lithe limbs. Regardless, when he’s like this, vulnerable in bed and having shed all those protective layers, you worry he’ll break.

“Awfully sweet this morning, aren’t you?”

He hums low against your lips and chases you when you pull back, unable to regain your attention once you become enamoured of his bedhead, grinning wildly at the sight. Tentative, you pull on a loose strand that spills over his shoulder and begin to weave it into a plait to distract yourself from the warmth unfurling behind your ribs.

“I must say, there’s something so pleasant about waking up to you,” he confides, tilting into your touch when your lips touch his forehead. “Much better than Amber hammering on my front door, at least. Those mornings aren’t spent in the best of moods.”

“She does that because you ignore her.”

“I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“No one sleeps through that, Kae,” you grouse. “Besides, liar, you’re not a heavy sleeper. How many times a night do you wake up when cats are fighting down the street?”

Kaeya shrugs, scrunching his nose. “My knightly instincts are to blame. I'm bound to be on my guard when there's trouble nearby.”

“Your instincts should take a day off so my dolt of a boyfriend can lie in, Barbatos, please.”

“Boyfriend,” he all but purrs, pleased and content. “Remind me, what does that make you?”

You huff. “Severely unlucky.”

True to his word, the world upturns and a hard shove has you landing on the floor with a startled yelp. 

“Bastard,” you gripe, swaddling yourself in the quilt that had fallen with you and lessened the impact of your fall. “Knightly, my ass.”

“Pass me the quilt, dear. I’m rather cold.”

Your head shakes, bringing it closer to your chest. Kaeya can freeze to death in the comfort of his bed whilst you remain perfectly cosy on his hard floor. If he wished to ward off the cold, morning air, then he should have considered that before enacting petty revenge. Brat.

“Tell me you’re sorry and I might consider it.”

“Give me the blanket and I’ll apologise.”

You scoff, eyes narrowing. Fucking Kaeya and his fucking ways. You’ve half a mind to strangle him to near-death as payback. 

Much to your dismay, he chimes up again. “I can see the cogs turning in your head. I advise you to put a swift stop to that before you wind up with a headache from the overexertion, and I’ve no choice but to take care of you.”

“I’ll kill you, Alberich.”

A hand comes up to cover his heart, his expression wounded. “Such a cruel partner. If anyone were to overhear how you speak to me, they would have trouble believing you love me at all.”

He freezes as soon as he says it.

Your heart thumps erratically in your chest. You love Kaeya, you have for a while. Finding a time and place to tell him so, however, has been a challenge. For all his smooth-talking and flirtatious words, he has trouble believing those who reciprocate his affections. You want him to believe you. You need him to, so you wanted to wait until you found the right way to tell him. This never came.

Well. Perceptive as ever, your Captain is.

“Would you like to repeat that?” you tease, leaning forward on your knees so he can see you over the edge of the mattress. 

For the first time, you’re witnessing Kaeya have nothing to say. It’s a peculiar sight, to say the least. Typically, he has a quip for every situation, but the mere idea of you loving him displaces any attempt at joking.

Your heart feels full. Smiling, you inch your body back into bed, hovering over Kaeya with the quilt draped loosely over your shoulders. You ask, quietly, “Do I make you feel loved?”

This time, you succeed in eliciting a reaction. Staring up at you with the widest, prettiest eye, he nods. It’s only a nod. A measly movement, and yet—

You surge down and kiss him hard. You’re so relieved, you could cry, a hand tangling in his hair to draw him closer whilst you press the words into his skin with your lips. For the longest time, you’d believed the chase would last a lifetime and he would continue to slip through your fingers. You knew, when he first kissed you, it hadn’t ended there. It still hasn’t, but he’s within reach now. 

“Kaeya,” you gasp, muffled by his lips. “Kaeya, I’m so glad.”

“Glad? Why are you glad?”

You see it, then. A flicker of preliminary disappointment like he believes himself to be unworthy. If he wants to voice it, he doesn’t. 

You kiss him again, soft and reverent. Then, you draw back and hold his face between your palms. He’s so fucking beautiful, it sears deep within your chest. “Because I love you, and you know I love you, and I was so, so scared to tell you—”

Kaeya kisses you this time, melding his lips with yours for just a brief moment to keep you quiet. “Of course, I know,” he soothes in a gentle voice. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Yes,” you choke out.

“In light of the situation, I’m willing to overlook that.” He grins, head tilted. “Shall I tell you something, too?”

“Depends. Do you have anything to tell?”

“I’ve not quite come to terms with this yet, but,” he begins, hesitant, “I think we should bother Sara for some hash browns. I’m far too hungry to wait till lunchtime.”

You smack his chest. “Kaeya. You’ve already tempted me to strangle you once this morning, don’t make me follow through with that threat.”

“All right, all right,” he relents, voice lilting with amusement. He beckons you forward. “Come closer.”

Incredulous, you inch closer until you’re eye-level with him. 

He sighs, smiling. “Closer than that.”

You shift down. There’s a scant inch between you, now, and you feel each unsteady breath he takes beneath your fingertips, a hand splayed over his chest to feel the thrumming of his heart. “Just say it, asshole.”

“I love you,” he whispers. He feels it, too—rushing over his skin in calming waves, slipping beneath those otherwise air-tight defences of his with terrifying ease, broken apart and stitched back together with room for you. “Lucky you.”

“I don’t want to hear an ounce of sarcasm,” you chide, prodding his cheek with your finger. “I am lucky. After all, I think having the untouchable, coveted Sir Kaeya wrapped around my finger is a testament to my determination. The elderly folk lament the loss of their future grandson-in-law.”

“A loss, indeed,” he drawls, huffing when you cruelly pinch his arm. “My, be gentle with your lover, would you?”

You laugh fondly, smoothing that same hand up his arm before taking his chin between two fingers, angling his head so you can lay a sweet kiss on his puckered lips. “In all seriousness, thank you.”

Kaeya only gives you that same, coy smirk. “Whatever for?”

“For loving me,” you supply immediately. It’s clear he hadn’t expected you to answer, instead, expected you to duck away and avoid the question, but you already give everything to Kaeya. One answer is nothing compared to the ones yet to come. “For letting me love you. I know your instincts say otherwise, but you deserve much more than what this world can give, I promise you.”

His single eye flickers unceremoniously between yours, gauging. You thought he had seemed vulnerable earlier, but this is jarring, to witness him so willingly place his heart in your hands. 

“Oh, Kaeya,” you murmur, thumbing away the wetness beneath his eye. “You sweet thing, come here, honey.”

He laughs drily when you coax his body into your arms, holding him tight against your chest. “How unsightly. Might I suggest pushing me off the bed? This is the opportune moment to take your revenge, after all.”

“So dramatic,” you sigh, kissing his forehead. “And so very tempting, if not for the fact that I’d never forgive myself should you land on your face. I like it too much.”

Even his crying is time-efficient. As soon as the first few tears have been shed, he’s finished and opts for snuggling further into your arms with a contented sigh. “My face will heal, but will your pride? I imagine it’s quite bruised by now.”

Sighing, you smooth back his hair with careful hands. “It’s shattered, thank you.”

He hums, eye fluttering closed as though on the verge of dozing off. Not that you’d mind, sleeping alongside him has proven to be rather peaceful, all kicking and throwing aside. 

The chill of his hand slipping beneath the hem of your nightshirt causes you to shiver. Trust Kaeya to feign sleep to get away with being his sneaky self, his face still holding that relaxed expression even as his fingers skim your side, press against your spine in fleeting touches.

“Kaeya,” you sigh, but lean back into his touch regardless. “If you want me, all you have to do is ask.”

“Can I have you?”

“With ease, my love.”

“How wonderful.” He simpers, surging forward with little preamble and pulling you to sit atop of him. His fingers tangle with yours and guide them to the buttons of his shirt, impatiently waiting for them to be unfastened. “Spare me the unnecessary wait?”

You huff out a short laugh, grinding your hips down against his. Beneath you, he grows harder, and you watch him become antsy as you aimlessly toy with the uppermost button. “All right,” you yield after a moment. You’d intended to give him what he wants, anyway. “I just wanted to see you look a little desperate first.”

“Well,” he sighs, that faux irritated expression melting into one of triumph when you undo the first button, “I sincerely hope I didn’t disappoint.”

His hand falls away from yours now that you’ve given into him, smoothing over your thigh, instead. Scowling, he pinches at the material of your pyjama pants and tugs sharply, but you only laugh in response, “Just a second. Be patient, yeah?”

Kaeya’s head falls back into the pillow, the action mussing up his hair more. The sun, higher in the sky, beams relentlessly through the window as your hands descend, pulling away his shirt with each open button until you were able to smooth your palms down his chest and around his ribs. Despite his Vision, he’s mostly warm to the touch. His skin burns beneath your own, and a glance at his flustered expression provides the reason why—like this, he feels so open, pulled apart at the seams so his heart is borne to you.

When he comes out of that corner of his mind, he finds you’ve rid him of the nightshirt, and now whisper filthy promises into his skin, touching and grabbing all you can. “Well?” you ask.

Kaeya blanches. “Ah, yes.”

“Uh-huh. What did I ask, genius?” you challenge with a quirked brow, attempting to pull your hands away from his chest if not for him seizing them in his own and placing them back. “I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

“Ride me,” he breathes. He wants you close, certainly needs you closer than this. “Please.”

“How considerate of you to grace me with a coherent answer.”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, pulling on your clothes again in a silent plea to hurry. He’s aching now, writhing against the creased bed sheets with a thinly-veiled need to be touched. “Come on.”

Ignoring, your head dips down to tongue at his pecs, thumbs still rubbing over old scars and new contusions. “Let me admire you for just a minute more.”

“Just one,” he concedes, frustrated.

He remains on his best behaviour as you trace the contours of his chest with your lips and tongue, dragging down to his soft stomach to kiss at the wide scar there. He’s shared the story behind this one—a mishap on his first patrol as a Knight, still young. He swears the Mitachurl’s axe hardly hurt, but you’ve witnessed Kaeya whinge over an insignificant paper cut often enough to know the agony of splitting flesh burned the memory of that day into his mind. He laughs about it, at least. He’d laughed harder at your horrified expression.

“I want to know about this one,” you tell him, swiping your thumb over the glassy ridge of a scar twisting over his hip bone. 

His head lifts to hold your gaze, steady and reminiscent. “Treasure Hoarder,” he laughs. “Quite feisty when you intercept the valuables they have their eye on, that’s for sure.”

You hum, reciprocating his closed-eye smile. “Perhaps if you had your eye on the enemy and not the treasure…”

“We have to learn some way, no?”

Scoffing, you shake your head and press a quick kiss to the base of his sternum before settling your weight on his thighs. The clothing separating your skin begins to irritate you, and Kaeya ever so kindly lifts his hips off the mattress so you can pull away the soft material and discard it at the end of the bed. He helps you out of your own clothes soon after.

His hands come up to hold your hips before you can smack them away and chastise him for touching without permission. You’ve no choice but to grasp onto the headboard when he demonstrates his strength in the act of pulling you further up his body, eye hungrily fixated on your shifting expression when he presses his tongue flat against you, pulling your hips down. 

“Kae,” you whine softly, grinding down against his face. His mouth is always so inviting, so skilled in the way he works you with long glides of his tongue, suckling on the spots that make you keen. “I thought you wanted me to— to— bastard.”

There’s something comforting in the gentle fingers that stroke the outside of your thighs, soft and slow despite how unforgiving he is with his mouth. He sounds so obscene, making these little, wet noises between low moans. Each precise flick of his tongue is white-hot, surging heady pleasure through your veins until you’re smacking your palm against his shoulder for him to stop. He does so within the second, panting when he pulls back and grins at you with lips slicked in your arousal.

“Too much?” he taunts.

You heave a sigh, your skin tingling where he’d touched you. “Give it a rest.”

You shift to sit back on his thighs and laugh when Kaeya rubs the pads of his fingers against his jaw with a grimace. Leaning up, you replace his touch with your own and massage his skin whilst you kiss the tip of his nose. “Much better,” he murmurs, grateful.

“You’re very welcome.” 

It’s quite the stretch to reach his bedside table from your position, but you manage, thanks to Kaeya’s hand that holds you steady, to slide open the drawer. Once you procure the small vial of lube he keeps stashed there, you sit back and uncap it, drizzling the liquid onto your fingers so you can warm it on your skin first. 

Kaeya sighs, shifts his hips. “Let me stretch you on my fingers first.”

“I’ll live without, I’m too impatient today. Just want to feel you.”

“Impossible, you are,” he accuses, a shiver wracking his body when your wet fingers curl around the base of his cock, squeezing to quieten him. The slick noise it produces is enough to have Kaeya blushing, pressing a forearm over his eyes. “See. You prove my point.”

A steady heat mounts in the pit of his stomach when you drag your fist upwards, careful not to give him too much relief. It’s only a few seconds of contact, but it has him burning up, all the same, fucking your fist without care for when you’ll deprive him of your touch.

“Hang on,” you murmur, sensing his disappointment when the warmth of your palm disappears, and you wipe your hand clean on the bedsheets. “Just a second and you’ll feel good, I promise.”

“So nice of you t— hah—” 

He props himself up on his elbows when you sink down on his cock with little warning, a gasp tearing from your throat at the stretch. In hindsight, you should have accepted his considerate offer but the dull sting pales in comparison to how desperately you ache for him in this way. To be filled by Kaeya is such a lewd, indulgent desire, but when he fulfils it so perfectly, you find it difficult to think of much else.

“A moment?” he asks, waiting. Despite his sudden patience, his voice is strained with the effort of keeping still, jaw taut. You nod, and he winds his arms around your waist, scooting back until his shoulders rest against the bed frame and you’re settled in his lap comfortably.

“Damn you, Kaeya,” you manage, along with a half-assed hit to his arm for the things he does to you. Without trying, too. You really are weak for him. “Gods.”

“They can’t help you with this one, I’m afraid.”

Another smack.

He gives an indignant huff but otherwise remains quiet. 

Deep within you, his cock stirs and your breathing stutters, hips grinding down on instinct. Kaeya’s reaction is immediate—his large hands span across your shoulder blades, pulling your front against his chest. He indulges in a messy kiss, tongues twining together with a sense of desperation as though you never seem to get enough of one another. 

“Kaeya,” you moan into his mouth, lifting your hips tentatively before dropping down. Immediately, he shudders, a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head in his palm and press your face into the safety of his shoulder. “You feel so good.”

Simply put, he transcends good, but you think telling him so will only result in a big head so you keep it to yourself and instead focus on building a steady rhythm. The brush of his thick cock against your sweet spot does little in terms of calming your mind, and more so sends you into a frenzy, biting and kissing at his skin with the heady urge to mark him as yours even if he already knows it. 

Kaeya’s hardly unaffected either. Any witty quip or snarky comment he conjures up is held off by the pretty groans and sighs that flow freely from his lips. He’s always been so vocal, blessing you with incoherent babbles of how good you make him feel and the cute sounds that come with that—it matters little the number of times you witness such a visage, it never fails to have blood rushing to your cheeks, pulsing with the need to ruin him.

His skin is sweaty on yours, lips sweet too when he pries your chin up for a long kiss. Your composure has long since fallen away and all that remains is the unadulterated lust for him, the love that simmers in your veins and pools beneath your skin with each pass of his tongue over your bottom lip, asking. 

He’s a dangerous man, Kaeya is. Sidling into your mind like this, meddling and coaxing until each thought revolves around him.

You love him so wholly, it frightens you.

A low cry of your name pulls your attention to Kaeya, who’s long since gained purchase on your hips and used the leverage to fuck into your tight hole. The pressure in your stomach is so close to snapping, but you want to see him with full clarity for just a moment longer, debauched and utterly ruined. 

“Please,” he begs, breathless. Dark hair falls to cover his face when his head drops forward, almost reverent as he regards you with desperation. “Can I come?”

You nod. You need it just as badly as he does. “Fill me up, Kae.” His face is hot between your hands, glowing with a thin sheen of sweat in the morning light. “Want your cum, please.”

He twitches inside of you, large hands holding your hips flush to his as he comes undone with a watery cry. There’s so much of it, spilling inside and dripping out despite his cock keeping the majority inside, onto his thighs and the sheets. Another sharp, sensitised jolt of his hips and the sinful noises of him fucking back into his own mess have you panting into the crook of his neck, squeezing around his cock as your body trembles.

“Ka— mmph!”

He muffles your words by pulling you in for a hot kiss, swallowing any sound you make. They catch in your throat instead, a failed litany of his name, sweet and melting on your tongue. 

“You’re making—” you begin, though he soon interrupts with a peck “—a fucking mess.”

He sighs, grinning. “I know.”

Then, in case you hadn’t bought into his earnest tone, he thrusts into you once more and sends more cum spilling out of your hole. You retaliate almost immediately by tugging sharply on a strand of his hair, your mind reeling with the overstimulation.

The bastard grins in the face of your pissed-off glare, seemingly without a care in the world for the lecture he’s about to receive. 

It never comes. All you do is lean forward and lay your lips against his sweaty forehead, kissing the skin before settling back down into his lap and observing the way he blinks, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” you whisper like you’re not even sure you want him to hear such tender words. Your fingers brush away his bangs. “I love you, even when you drive me up the wall—which is most days, by the way.”

For a long moment, he stares curiously, and you decide that Kaeya looks most vulnerable when you’ve managed to catch him off-guard—no surprise attacks or enemy plots, just the admission of your adoration for him and what a caring, kind soul he is despite the aloofness he cloaks himself in. And a mild insult, but that's a given.

His eye softens, lips pulling into the truest of smiles, all teeth and disbelieving giggles. “I think you hit your head when I pushed you off the bed.”