#pavocelus

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐚𝐬   𝐚   𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞,   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟   𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭   has   never   been   particularly   fond   of   social   interaction.   often,   it   requires   too   much   energy   -   too   much   attention,   when   his   thoughts   would   rather   be   somewhere   else   -   on   his   next   experiment,   or   his   plans   for   the   following   evening.   any   excuse   to   escape   from   most   social   situations,   sans   klee,   albedo   would   take   without   question.   but   it   was   ill   luck   that   kept   him   in   the   city   proper,   a   rogue   thunderstorm   rattling   the   eaves   of   the   angel's   share   enough   that   even   albedo   wasn't   keen   on   making   the   trip   back   to   dragonspine.   it   would   have   to   wait   till   morning.   and   thusly   -   there   he   sat   near   the   fire,   somewhat   soaked   to   the   bone   -   with   a   bowl   of   hot   soup   and   a   drink   in   front   of   him.

ㅤㅤㅤbut   he   was   not   alone.   the   cavalry   captain   keeps   him   company.   kaeya   too   -   is   an   exception   to   albedo's   socialization   rule,   an   anomaly   and   outlier   in   his   experience   of   human   kind.   he   sits   close   to   him,   rather   than   across,   tucked   into   his   side   in   a   way   that   is   distinctly...   more   than   friendly.   but   kaeya   is   warm,   and   albedo   is   cold   -   he   smells   nice,   looks   even   nicer   in   the   firelight,   and   it   helps   that   they're   pouring   over   albedo's   sketches   of   domains,   the   alchemist's   nails   chasing   charcoal   outlines.   in   hushed   tones   they   speak,   albedo   sometimes   leaning   up   to   murmur   a   bit   too   close   to   the   captain's   ear   -   before   lowering   his   head   back   down   to   glean   another   detail   of   his   drawing.   

ㅤㅤㅤthough   albedo   has   spent   his   own   share   of   time   in   domains,   kaeya's   knowledge   is   different   than   his,   and   through   him   he   glean   a   fonder   sort   of   memory.   with   his   guidance   and   descriptions,   the   scenes   bloom   to   life   on   the   pages   before   them,   punctuated   only   by   the   intimate   whisper   of   passing   words   in   khaenri'ahn   -   so   quiet   only   they   could   hear,   or   the   captain's   descriptor   murmured   in   such   a   way   that   the   alchemist   is   able   to   perfectly   replicate   his   descriptors.   there   is   peak   concentration   on   albedo's   beautiful   face   -   so   much   of   it   that   he   is   unaware   that   his   pressing   close   to   kaeya   has   caused   his   shirt   to   dampen,   or   that   his   soup   has   started   to   cool.   no,   he's   far   too   enraptured   in   his   work   (and   kaeya).

@pavocelus: though rare, on nights when the burdensome loneliness could only be soothed with the alluring promise of alcohol, kaeya had been known to drink himself into a near unintelligible state. he couldn't quite remember what had triggered it ; a fight with diluc, some abyss correspondence, maybe it had been too much reminiscing over old burned, and storm soaked letters, but he had woken the next morning with a pounding headache. strange though ; no recollection of charles asking rosaria or venti to escort him home, no memory of who'd shed his outer layers, removed his boots and tucked him in, nor who'd left the water by his bedside table until dainsleif appeared. sucking in a sharp breath, suddenly so painfully sober, kaeya became aware of his bedhead, the drool at the corner of his mouth, how much of an asinine mess he might have made of himself last night and panicked. this was not the carefully constructed image he'd wanted to portray to the former twilight sword. wide blue - gold eyes would stare at dainsleif in something akin to shock, before dramatically diving under the covers with a dramatic fwip of the sheets. followed then by a an amused and faux mortified " don't look at me ! i'm hideous. " maybe he could still salvage this yet.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬   𝐢𝐭   𝐡𝐚𝐝   𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧   𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞   𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧   (   not   that   he   believed   in   that   ),   that   had   brought   dainsleif   back   to   haunting   mondstadt's   locale.   divine   intervention,   still,   that   had   struck   him   with   the   urge   to   check   in   on   the   other   khaenri'ahn   that   night.   and   once   more,   divine   intervention   (   because   undoubtedly   celestia   was   laughing   at   him   )   when   he'd   found   the   other   man   piss   drunk   and   so   utterly,   wakingly   depressive   that   even   he,   dainsleif,   had   felt   bad   for   him.   oh,   what   a   sight   kaeya   had   been   -   beautiful,   as   always,   but   with   sorrow   in   one   revealed   eye   and   a   flush   on   the   bare   plain   of   his   chest   that   dainsleif   had   tried   very,   very   hard   to   ignore.   only   when   the   alberich   had   become...   too   lost,   did   the   twilight   sword   offer   to   take   him   home   -   and   what   a   feat   that   was,   weedling   the   man   from   beneath   that   obnoxious   bartender's   nose   with   more   clandestine   effort   than   he'd   care   to   admit.   

ㅤㅤㅤdainsleif   has   tried   for   the   past   six   or   so   hours   to   blatantly   ignore   how   it'd   felt   to   cart   kaeya   across   the   threshold,   cryo   body   cool   against   the   heat   of   his   tainted   arm.   he   also   continued   to   try   to   ignore   the   way   the   alberich   had   looked   up   at   him,   through   pretty   dark   lashes,   soft   lips   parted,   chasing   the   twilight   sword's   gloved   fingers   when   he'd   gently   removed   his   eyepatch,   his   coat...   oh,   the   poor   bough   keeper,   riddled   with   his   desires   and   instead   forced   into   the   vestiges   of   painful,   painful   propriety.   fortunately,   he'd   passed   out   quickly.   

ㅤㅤㅤdainsleif   had   taken   the   living   room,   but   not   before   untying   kaeya's   hair,   and   laying   the   warmth   of   his   cape   across   the   spread   of   the   younger's   bed.   he   barely   slept,   of   course,   and   spent   most   of   the   night   peering   through   the   ajar   doorframe,   watching   the   steady   rise   and   fall   of   the   sinner   that   lay   beneath   those   sheets,   so   sad,   so   lonely...   morning   came   quickly.   he   spent   it   preparing   a   simple   breakfast,   always   pleased   by   subtle   mondstadt   fare   with   the   lieu   of   sumeru   spices,   allowing   him   to   craft   a   dish   that   reminded   him   of...   home.   coffee   was   brewed,   set   aside   in   two   mugs,   and   only   then   with   one   in   hand   did   he   go   to   check   on   the   cavalry   captain,   and   well...

ㅤㅤㅤit   was   a   comedy   of   epic   proportions.   there   stood   the   twilight   sword,   cursed   claws   clutching   a   steaming   porcelain   mug,   at   the   bedside   of   a   very   sleep-addled,   but   breathlessly   beautiful   kaeya   alberich.   he   stared   at   kaeya.   kaeya   stared   at   him.   they   stared   at   each   other.   and   then   not   a   moment   later   -   there   the   captain   went,   beneath   the   blankets,   and   blatantly   missing   the   soft   and   amused   grin   that   tugged   at   the   twilight   sword's   lips.   ❝   i   beg   to   differ.   ❞   he   murmurs   quietly.   once   more,   kaeya   misses   the   softening   of   sky   blue   hues,   before   there   is   the   clink   of   porcelain   to   wood,   and   he   tugs   lightly   at   the   bedsheets   with   one   clawed   hand,   ❝   rise   and   shine,   sir   alberich.   i   made   breakfast.   and   that   drool   isn't   going   to   wipe   itself,   you   know.   ❞

It was nice to be able to unwind after a long day at work, the air within Lambad's Tavern mellow and warm as a rainstorm had threatened just moments before he'd escaped inside just half an hour before the dinner rush. With a small cup of Aragh Sagi being nursed over a book, the Scribe was hardly in any rush to return home. A page was idly turned and he seemed to tune out the world almost in its entirely. He would've been happy to were it not for a familiar blot of cool blue against the warm jades of the tavern's color scheme.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   hold   still.   ❞   he   admonishes   the   captain   beneath   him   in   their   native   tongue,   greedily   drinking   in   the   bare   plains   of   his   chest.   adorning   his   form   are   khaenri'ahn   letters   -   painted   by   albedo's   steady,   painstaking   hand.   starting   from   his   throat   -   and   down   towards   the   waist   of   his   pants,   albedo   has   transitioned   the   text   to   careful   -   shaky   abyssal,   nigh   on   perfect   in   form   as   he   wrote   it   -   but   still   with   a   slow   sort   of   pain.   he   was   no   master   -   perhaps   he   never   could   be,   but   the   knowledge   and   practice   was   appreciated...   as   was   the   human   canvas   that   made   the   abyssal   words   glow   brighter   than   all   the   others.    ㅤㅤㅤ❝   hm.   ❞   comes   a   thoughtful   noise,   before   the   alchemist   replaces   the   brush   next   to   the   pot   of   gold   ink   (   literal   gold   too   -   and   treated   without   a   care   -   for   albedo   is   made   of   it   ),   and   moves   to   swing   his   leg   over   kaeya's   thighs,   straddling   him   with   the   same   clinical   precision   he   tends   to   do   everything.   downward   -   he   leans,   ashen   locks   falling   forwards   to   mingle   with   dry   painted   letters,   at   the   same   time   his   hands   press   lightly   over   the   wording   upon   his   pectorals.   ❝   you   make...   a   decent   canvas.   ❞

ㅤㅤㅤthe   caress   of   his   hand   roams   that   warm   chest,   and   with   it   letters   ascend,   mingling   slowly   -   slowly   -   slowly   until   within   albedo's   grasp   golden   text   transforms   into   a   real,   pure   white   calla   lily   -   and   disappears   from   kaeya's   skin.   the   abyssal   words   remain,   pulsating   -      humming,   not   threatening,   but   a   lilted   purr,   as   if   they   yearn   for   the   same   treatment.   any   other   man   would   be   fascinated   by   the   fact   that   he   had   created   a   flower   from   a   bit   of   gold   paint   upon   the   chest   of   mondstadt's   cavalry   captain   -   but   albedo   is   frowning.   ❝   still   not   right.   ❞   he   says   without   preamble,   and   tosses   the   plant   carelessly   over   his   shoulder.   

maybe that's why he finds himself stood outside kaeya's office in the knights of favonius headquarters. maybe that's why he finds himself with a simple, wooden box tucked underneath one arm as diluc knocks on the door in front of him and vehemently ignores the stares he can feel burning into the back of his head. everyone will talk, now. everyone will have something to say about the lost knight finding his way home to them. expression falls minutely as diluc dips his head to hide his face from a rookie knight on her way past.

         𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐡'𝐬   𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞   𝐢𝐬   𝐚   𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞   𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐥   through   the   window,   rattling   the   windchimes   that   hang   near   the   door   on   the   outside   of   the   small   home.   stars   -   fake,   endless   stars,   stretch   across   the   fontaine   night   sky,   and   from   this   angle   he   cannot   see   it   -   that   place   of   horror,   that   lofty   throne   of   sin,   and   for   that,   he   is   thankful.   what   he   can   see,   however,   is   the   spill   of   blue   across   his   pale   chest,   mingling   into   the   dark   abyssal-taint   of   his   arm.   he   can   see   the   flush   of   dark   skin   against   his   own,   the   steady   rise   and   fall   of   a   broad   back.   what   he   can   feel   -   is   even   more   important.   his   own   coldness,   chased   away   by   a   cryo   allogenes   of   all   things...   the   steady   puff   of   warm   breath   of   his   clavicle...   and   the   weight,   of   something   real.

         clawed   fingertips   cannot   resist,   caressing   gently   through   silken   splendor   with   the   utmost   reverence   for   allowing   the   alberich   his   rest.   twin   hues   -   bright   as   the   clear   blue   sky   -   peer   down   through   blond   lashes,   and   even   dainsleif   cannot   help   but   allow   the   slightest   twitch   of   kiss-stained   lips,   as   cavalry   captain   stirs   and   nuzzles   closer   (   as   if   he   wasn't   already   blanketing   the   twilight   sword   ).   oh,   how   beautiful   is   he.   in   moments   like   this   -   dainsleif   can   forget   that   he's   meant   to   be   keeping   an   eye   on   this   man,   that   despite   their   shared   heritage   -   he   is   dangerous.   a   sinner.   

                           but   dainsleif   is   already   damned.

         resplendent   claws   smooth   away   bangs   from   sculpted   features,   careful   not   to   prick   flesh,   as   his   good   arm   raises   to   wrap   around   the   other   khaenri'ahn.   closer,   dainsleif   pulls   him   (   if   possible   ),   a   press   of   forlorn   lips   to   the   crown   of   a   blue   mane,   and   a   wistful   sigh   follow   suit.   ❝   go   back   to   sleep,   kaeya.   ❞   he   murmurs,   and   casts   his   gaze   towards   the   open   window   again   -   to   where   he   knew   celestia   waited.   one   day,   perhaps,   he'd   find   himself   there   -   sword   in   hand,   vengeance   on   his   tongue   and   in   his   veins   for   their   people,   but   for   now...   he   was   content,   with   keeping   vigil   over   the   being   in   his   embrace.

albedo looks on, unimpressed with kaeya's obvious attempts at wooing him. in any other circumstances, albedo would LOVE the chance to chat with kaeya, and even let the captain practice his charm, but with klee involved, albedo doesn't want to take that chance. he stands to the side, holding a clipboard up over his face to hide the beginnings of a smile. "you're to stay there," albedo says, glad he can keep his voice steady. "since whatever you did involved klee, you're going to double your sentence."

@pavocelus: “ i belong here, ” at your side, “ and you will not deny me. ”

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐢𝐭   𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝   𝐛𝐞   𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧   𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬   through   him;   it   should   be   discord   and   wariness.   it   should   be   the   knowledge   of   the   secrets   the   man   before   him   harbors,   the   way   he   lies   as   easily   as   he   flirts,   that   keeps   him   reticent.   but   dainsleif   is   technically   a   mortal   man,   a   lonely   one,   trapped   within   a   curse   of   immortality   to   wander   a   land   purveyed   by   the   gods   he   loathed   so   much...   perhaps   he   really   is   a   sinner,   perhaps   he   really   is   as   weak   as   she   claims.   because   when   kaeya   utters   those   words,   when   honeyed   intonation   is   filled   with   strength   and   ardor   -   oh,   the   bough   keeper   yearns   to   believe   him.   

ㅤㅤㅤit   writes   it's   way   across   his   face,   startling   blue   hues   lit   with   wonder.   for   once,   his   usually   cantankerous   behavior   has   evaporated   -   replaced   instead   by   red   at   the   tip   of   his   ears,   lips   parting   with   utter   speechlessness.   he   may   be   a   man   of   few   words,   but   for   kaeya,   he   always   has   something   to   say,   and   yet   this   time...   his   hand   has   moved   without   thinking   -   that   cursed   monstrosity,   the   back   of   black   claws   meandering   over   the   other's   cheek,   brushing   away   silken   blue   tresses   to   reveal   the   curve   of   the   knight's   eyepatch.   the   sigh   dainsleif   lets   loose   is   forlorn   -   as   if   he   knows   what   lay   beneath,   as   if   the   abyssal   energy   does   not   sing   in   this   khaenri'ahn's   veins,   and   as   if   he   does   not   want   him   greater   than   he's   wanted   anything   for   nearly   400   years.   it's   a   consuming   fire.   not   unlike   the   ones   that   had   consumed   his   home   so   many   years   ago,   but   this   is   a   burn   that   dainsleif   does   not   mind.   

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   ⸻   you   know   a   time   will   come   where   you   have   to   make   a   choice.   ❞   the   tenor   of   his   voice   is   soft   in   the   midnight   hour,   a   million   stars   illuminated   in   kaeya's   eyes   but   none   greater   than   that   pupil   -   the   mark   of   his   birth   right,   the   sign   of   his   sin.   his   hand   falls   away   then,   curling   into   the   grass   next   to   the   younger's   thigh,   black   claws   easily   churning   through   dirt   as   they   do   flesh   and   armor.   ❝   and   you   and   i   both   know   that   your   answer   will   likely   not   feature   me.   ❞   the   way   lashes   droop   over   his   own   sad   gaze,   long   and   dark   and   reflective   of   all   the   starlight   that   surrounds   his   burning   eclipse...   how   he   yearns   to   drift   into   kaeya's   orbit   and   fall   free.   

ㅤㅤㅤ❝   spare   me,   ❞   he   whispers,   mere   centimeters   from   those   enchanting   lips,   ❝   ⸻   yet   another   loss,   kaeya.   ❞   and   yet   he   sounds   very   much   like   he   does   not   want   to   be   spared   at   all.