alexis !

"I just … got excited." He mutters, voice uneven, fingers tying the knot one last time.

A whine escapes your lips again, more embarrassed this time — puffed with indignation.

"Ah, don't be so impolite." He scolds, giving the knot a small tap, "You did this to yourself, you know."

Another whine, followed by an attempt to kick him away. He placates your attack all too easily, crawling to sit at your thighs, fingers running along your arm.

You've been working far too hard for his liking lately, practically slaving away under Varka's iron fist like a horse dragging a wagon, perpetually serving under the heel of your city. Hell, even as radiant as you look now, the moonlight only accentuates the bags under your eyes from paperwork, and welts forming on your forearms and back from training for the practical exam.

(The audacity for someone else to even think about bruising you is enough to make his blood boil.

That job is his and his alone.)

And you deserve better than to be working yourself to the bone like this. You're too eager to please the Grandmaster, he thinks, too hungry for the title of a knight that it clouds your mind, pulling your attention away from what really matters to serve a drunk seen in Angel's Share more than his own office.

So he decided to take matters into his own hands. Force you to have the tender loving care you know you deserve but won't take for whatever reason, from the only person who could give it to you correctly.

Well. As tender as Lohen can be, anyways.

"Didn't know you were going to attack me in my own bed." You grumble, head sinking into the pillow with a pout on your lips, "Jeez, babe, you — ah—"

His fingers press into the divots between your spine and the inner edge of your scapulae, feeling your shudder underneath his touch. His teeth press against his lips, knuckles sinking into the dense knots in your back impulsively, a shaky groan jerking from your throat.

"Aww," he croons, "Too much for you?"

You don't answer him, your chest feeling unbearably warm both from the embarrassment and the feeling of his hands on you. The dull ache in the back of your trapezius begins to disappear, months of work falling to relief to Lohen's fingers.

It's an intoxicating friction, the type that pulls you away from your worries about tomorrow, the type that sinks you deeper into him.

His thumbs at the ridges of your shoulder blade, dragging rigid circles at the bone and muscle until the lattice of stress releases underneath him, and he gets to start all over again — on the deltoids of your shoulders, edges of your ribs, reaching under your tied-up hands to get the obliques on your lower back.

(The pain is sharp, barren relief hidden inside of it. His fingers feel foreign, more methodical than he usually is, like the handle to a sharp knife, prodding past your skin and flesh to reach something deeper, suppressed hunger gnashing for more of you.

But it's good. He always is.)

Lohen doesn't show affection easily. It's something that got messed up in his childhood along with everything else, he can't act like a lovesick mutt like Varka nor a stoic gentleman like Diluc, but he does love you. He loves you enough to tie you up to get you to relent to feeling good for yourself for once, loves you enough to break down that pesky hyperdiligence of yours.

And you did need this — he knows your schedule both off and on training, he knows you haven't had an ounce of free time for anything else besides him, knows you haven't been sleeping or eating well. Lohen knows everything about you (loves everything about you), and you've been a fool to try to hide it from him.

Your body twitches underneath him as he works at your knots, nails pressing into your palms, low groan and gasps as you writhe like candy in his ears.

His lips press together from the way his body reacts, the way blood rushes down with every moan, the way his pants tighten as your ass pushes up against him.

Lohen hisses.

"Y—you're doing this on purpose?"

Your eyes squeeze shut, shaking your head 'no' emphatically, lips smearing against the velvet plush of your pillow.

He curses. This is about you feeling good; his own physical wants have no reason to be acted on. He jabs into a spot he hasn't touched yet, earning a garbled yelp from you before continuing on.

It's the knight in him — the part that wanted to join the Knights of Favonius before he became as twisted as he is — the need to care for you, keep you safe forever. You're both knights in practice, and both of you could practice a little bit of self-restraint for tonight.

Eventually, Lohen's movements slow. He's certain he's taken care of every part of your body at this point, paying extra attention to the soles of your feet so they'll be able to carry you tomorrow, to the muscle that pulls your shoulders back so you'll be able to fight properly.

And you're just so beautiful. Like the cobblestone walls of the city under the heat of the sun, his heart can't help but want to burn under your gaze. He'd do it happily, he thinks. No use preserving something you seem so keen on making yours.

So he can't help but stare with bated breath at the shaky exhale you take to recover from the assault of how good everything feels. It's been long enough that the moon highlights a different part of your face — eyelashes fluttering, the scent of eucalyptus and dew right outside your window, eyes bleary with tears.

(A fray edge of the rope finds itself clasped between your fingers. A loose edge — you could escape any time you wanted to, if you truly desired to.)

Your voice comes out as a whisper.

"Please, stop staring."

It's all your fault. All your damn fault, he repeats in his head like a mantra, that he's like this.

"Never." He cobbles the word out through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the fat at your waist.

Your eyes squeeze shut again, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that was denied to you minutes ago. He'd be content to stare at you forever like this, stuck in time posed like a beast over its prey, locked in an eternal state of—

A grunt escapes his lips as his world gets turned upside down. Literally.

When Lohen opens his eyes again, you're straddling his hips, rope in hand. A beat of excitement stops his heart for a moment before it comes back in full force, the notion of you on top of him kindred to something dangerous.

"You were thinking of something weird, weren't you?" You mumble, your torso slowly falling to his, burrowing your face into his neck. "Freak."

Radiant, more than the sun could ever be. You're so bright, a guiding angel that came to him, someone he would follow until his knees broke — a broken moan slips from his throat unintentionally when your bruised lips brush against his collarbone. He feels your tongue lick at the skin, teeth scrape as if you could reach the bone, acting as if you might devour him. Your muscles feel more refreshed than ever; you might as well put them to good use.

It's the knight in you— the part that wanted someone to devote your life to — to kiss a bloodstained hand if it's his, to embrace whatever shadows come with the man you love. And who's to say a knight can't be greedy sometimes?

"Let me take care of you, Lohen."

Your voice feels warm on his skin, feverish as your head dips lower, nuzzling at the heat between his legs.

"A—ah—"

Perhaps it'll be okay if time passes afterall, he thinks. Maybe there are multiple poses he'd like to be in with you under the dim light of the moon. Defined by the quiet rustle of the sheets, Lohen yields his idea of strength to you, just for the night.

And maybe the morning too.

…

Your exam starts at 11, right? Plenty of time.

"I just … got excited." He mutters, voice uneven, fingers tying the knot one last time.

A whine escapes your lips again, more embarrassed this time — puffed with indignation.

"Ah, don't be so impolite." He scolds, giving the knot a small tap, "You did this to yourself, you know."

Another whine, followed by an attempt to kick him away. He placates your attack all too easily, crawling to sit at your thighs, fingers running along your arm.

You've been working far too hard for his liking lately, practically slaving away under Varka's iron fist like a horse dragging a wagon, perpetually serving under the heel of your city. Hell, even as radiant as you look now, the moonlight only accentuates the bags under your eyes from paperwork, and welts forming on your forearms and back from training for the practical exam.

(The audacity for someone else to even think about bruising you is enough to make his blood boil.

That job is his and his alone.)

And you deserve better than to be working yourself to the bone like this. You're too eager to please the Grandmaster, he thinks, too hungry for the title of a knight that it clouds your mind, pulling your attention away from what really matters to serve a drunk seen in Angel's Share more than his own office.

So he decided to take matters into his own hands. Force you to have the tender loving care you know you deserve but won't take for whatever reason, from the only person who could give it to you correctly.

Well. As tender as Lohen can be, anyways.

"Didn't know you were going to attack me in my own bed." You grumble, head sinking into the pillow with a pout on your lips, "Jeez, babe, you — ah—"

His fingers press into the divots between your spine and the inner edge of your scapulae, feeling your shudder underneath his touch. His teeth press against his lips, knuckles sinking into the dense knots in your back impulsively, a shaky groan jerking from your throat.

"Aww," he croons, "Too much for you?"

You don't answer him, your chest feeling unbearably warm both from the embarrassment and the feeling of his hands on you. The dull ache in the back of your trapezius begins to disappear, months of work falling to relief to Lohen's fingers.

It's an intoxicating friction, the type that pulls you away from your worries about tomorrow, the type that sinks you deeper into him.

His thumbs at the ridges of your shoulder blade, dragging rigid circles at the bone and muscle until the lattice of stress releases underneath him, and he gets to start all over again — on the deltoids of your shoulders, edges of your ribs, reaching under your tied-up hands to get the obliques on your lower back.

(The pain is sharp, barren relief hidden inside of it. His fingers feel foreign, more methodical than he usually is, like the handle to a sharp knife, prodding past your skin and flesh to reach something deeper, suppressed hunger gnashing for more of you.

But it's good. He always is.)

Lohen doesn't show affection easily. It's something that got messed up in his childhood along with everything else, he can't act like a lovesick mutt like Varka nor a stoic gentleman like Diluc, but he does love you. He loves you enough to tie you up to get you to relent to feeling good for yourself for once, loves you enough to break down that pesky hyperdiligence of yours.

And you did need this — he knows your schedule both off and on training, he knows you haven't had an ounce of free time for anything else besides him, knows you haven't been sleeping or eating well. Lohen knows everything about you (loves everything about you), and you've been a fool to try to hide it from him.

Your body twitches underneath him as he works at your knots, nails pressing into your palms, low groan and gasps as you writhe like candy in his ears.

His lips press together from the way his body reacts, the way blood rushes down with every moan, the way his pants tighten as your ass pushes up against him.

Lohen hisses.

"Y—you're doing this on purpose?"

Your eyes squeeze shut, shaking your head 'no' emphatically, lips smearing against the velvet plush of your pillow.

He curses. This is about you feeling good; his own physical wants have no reason to be acted on. He jabs into a spot he hasn't touched yet, earning a garbled yelp from you before continuing on.

It's the knight in him — the part that wanted to join the Knights of Favonius before he became as twisted as he is — the need to care for you, keep you safe forever. You're both knights in practice, and both of you could practice a little bit of self-restraint for tonight.

Eventually, Lohen's movements slow. He's certain he's taken care of every part of your body at this point, paying extra attention to the soles of your feet so they'll be able to carry you tomorrow, to the muscle that pulls your shoulders back so you'll be able to fight properly.

And you're just so beautiful. Like the cobblestone walls of the city under the heat of the sun, his heart can't help but want to burn under your gaze. He'd do it happily, he thinks. No use preserving something you seem so keen on making yours.

So he can't help but stare with bated breath at the shaky exhale you take to recover from the assault of how good everything feels. It's been long enough that the moon highlights a different part of your face — eyelashes fluttering, the scent of eucalyptus and dew right outside your window, eyes bleary with tears.

(A fray edge of the rope finds itself clasped between your fingers. A loose edge — you could escape any time you wanted to, if you truly desired to.)

Your voice comes out as a whisper.

"Please, stop staring."

It's all your fault. All your damn fault, he repeats in his head like a mantra, that he's like this.

"Never." He cobbles the word out through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the fat at your waist.

Your eyes squeeze shut again, taking a deep breath of the fresh air that was denied to you minutes ago. He'd be content to stare at you forever like this, stuck in time posed like a beast over its prey, locked in an eternal state of—

A grunt escapes his lips as his world gets turned upside down. Literally.

When Lohen opens his eyes again, you're straddling his hips, rope in hand. A beat of excitement stops his heart for a moment before it comes back in full force, the notion of you on top of him kindred to something dangerous.

"You were thinking of something weird, weren't you?" You mumble, your torso slowly falling to his, burrowing your face into his neck. "Freak."

Radiant, more than the sun could ever be. You're so bright, a guiding angel that came to him, someone he would follow until his knees broke — a broken moan slips from his throat unintentionally when your bruised lips brush against his collarbone. He feels your tongue lick at the skin, teeth scrape as if you could reach the bone, acting as if you might devour him. Your muscles feel more refreshed than ever; you might as well put them to good use.

It's the knight in you— the part that wanted someone to devote your life to — to kiss a bloodstained hand if it's his, to embrace whatever shadows come with the man you love. And who's to say a knight can't be greedy sometimes?

"Let me take care of you, Lohen."

Your voice feels warm on his skin, feverish as your head dips lower, nuzzling at the heat between his legs.

"A—ah—"

Perhaps it'll be okay if time passes afterall, he thinks. Maybe there are multiple poses he'd like to be in with you under the dim light of the moon. Defined by the quiet rustle of the sheets, Lohen yields his idea of strength to you, just for the night.

And maybe the morning too.

…

Your exam starts at 11, right? Plenty of time.